Bibliophiles

The other day, during my babysitting jaunt up in A., I witnessed the following dramatic scene between my niece and her younger brother:

Niece: Oh no!
Brother: Uh oh.
Niece (running over to her book with concern written all over her forehead): Where is it? Where is it?
Brother (looking confused): Uh oh.
Niece (carefully opening the book, scanning the pages): Um.....
Brother (now looking at his fee): Uh oh.

*Tense Moment*

Niece (shooting up her hand in a victory punch): YES! It is still here.
Brother: Um.
Niece (proudly producing a small, ratted piece of paper): My bookmark. I thought it had fallen out.
Brother (attention span now expired): Hey, let's play Wii.
Niece (looking frustrated, looks at me): Hey.
Me (addressing the whole room in my twelve-foot voice): What is the worst thing that could happen to a reader?
Niece, Nephew #1 and #2 (in unison): LOOSE YOUR BOOKMARK!
Me: Exactly.

I love that they read. I love that they read everything. Cereal boxes during breakfast, comics during lunch, and Harry Potter everywhere in between.

Except for "the brother". He's schooling me in the Wii. Still a win.

Only one more episode

My friend Katie recently posted her current TV obsession. I will follow in suit. Yes, it's been on for two years. Yes, I think it's actually filmed in my hometown. And yes, I wish I could be Parker. And date Elliot. All I need is a little leverage.

Doppleganger

Remember when everyone was posting a famous person as their Facebook picture for Doppleganger Week?

Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, I think my older brother could have picked from any of the celebrities (A-list all the way through D-list and beyond). He may not see it but I have taken a polling of the greater metropolitan area and the consensus is "it doesn't get any better than this".

Here's for you Seth:

"Tell us about that 2:30 feeling"

http://www.youtube.com/5hourenergyshot#p/a/u/2/qXHIeeLesKs

Quack quack

Though there are many duck ponds near my home, there is only one "duck pond". It was where my siblings and I went when we were little and chased the web-footed, beady eyed mallards and geese to our hearts content. Or until the ducks decided they had had enough and turned on us, charging with their menancing beaks aimed at our fingers.

But then we grow up. And still do the same thing. But this time, we are taller and we bring ammunition. Or in other words, three day old bread. Oh, how those beady eyes catch the white of the bread in the sun and how those invisible ears (there are ears somewhere in those feathers, right?) hear the soft, plastic rustle of the bag. All timidness is abandoned, along with the tasteless algae they were munching on before. Like bean bags on rubber pegs, they hurl themselves across the sodden grass, bumping fellow ducks out of the way. Smart ones shake the rust off their wings and fly to feast. Either way, within minutes, we become surrounded by a moving carpet of dirty feathers, eager beaks, and the incessent "quacking" that my sister can so deftly immitate.

Actual shot of aforementioned duck pond, with "Honkers" and fellow playmates.

"Quack quack"

*bread thrown*

"Quack quack QUACK"

*more bread*

"HONK HONK"

*last of bread thrown*

"HONK HONK HOOOOONK"

As notated below, the situation was far too dire to take a photo. But the stock image still captures the frightening majesty of these ruffians from the north.

Uh oh. The Canadian geese, the bullies of the playground. With their leather jackets and studded anklets, they stride across the park, flicking little ducks left and right. And as their beaks, full of tiny teeth covered in a diamond grill, near our fingers, we toss our bread and bolt.

We'll just toss the bread out the car window next time.

in honor of mr. frederick larrabee

my brother and sister and i have begun an ongoing quote fest of the classic 1972 film what's up doc?

it is the focus of many of our conversations. at times, we just text a line out of nowhere and thus begins another onslaught of memorable one-liners. and at the focus of many of those one-liners is mr. larrabee. no, frederick.

this is for you S.

Frederick Larrabee: What's going on down here? You two just can't keep away from each other, can you?
Howard: Oh, we were just talking.
Hugh: [Joins them] Are you all right Mr Larrabee? Can I help?
Frederick Larrabee: No, it's fine, we were just chatting.


Frederick Larrabee: We would like to hear the story that Miss Burns...
Judy: Burnsey!
Frederick Larrabee: That Burnsey...
Howard: He's calling her Burnsey.
Frederick Larrabee: That Burnsey was telling us. What was it Howard? Some incredible adventure you had on your flight here?


Frederick Larrabee: Of course! Professor Heinrich Findelmeyer, the university of Zurich, 1911, the controversial Findelmeyer Proposition, no wonder it sounded so familiar. I'm sorry Simon
[rips up the grant check]
Hugh: This is despicable.
Frederick Larrabee: Hugh, you're a bad loser, you're a plagiarist and you're nasty. I don't like you and I want you to go away.


Frederick Larrabee: I must point out to you that foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.
Judy: Emerson!
Frederick Larrabee: I beg your pardon?
Judy: Ralph Waldo Emerson, born 1803 died 1882.
Frederick Larrabee: You like Emerson?
Judy: I adore him.
Frederick Larrabee: I adore anyone who adores Emerson.
Judy: And I adore anyone who adores anyone who adores Emerson, your turn!
Frederick Larrabee: She's a delight Bannister, a delight and you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I...
Frederick Larrabee: Admit it! Admit you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I'm a lucky dog.


and for R.

Frederick Larrabee: GRAB HIS LEG!!!

sticks and stones

oh, they may break my bones but words...

...words make me want to stand up and defend myself. i was at work this evening and i heard my name. my ears perked up, as all of ours do when we hear the most magic word - our own name. since i am the only one of my name at my workplace, i popped up out of my cubicle to see who wanted something.

only they did not want anything from me. rather, they wanted feedback/gossip/laughter/an eye roll/ and a sympathetic pat from whomever they were chatting with.

which was not me.

it is funny how many things we do not grow out of when we grow up: missing our parents when we are away, getting excited for christmas as soon as halloween is over (and then feeling guilty for skipping thanksgiving), talking to our pets in special voices, and feeling a twinge of hurt when we find someone talking about us.

behind our backs but accidentally in front of our faces.

i am home from work but still back there in that tiny cube, wondering what warranted the comment. i immediatley resolved to change in order to prevent another comment like that being uttered.

but then stopped. should our desire for self-progress and improvement stem from the snide remarks made from others too small to say them to our faces?

i am still quite bitter, to be sure. and a tiny bit hurt. and still wondering if those sticks and stones can break me.

p.s. to my family who might read this, i really am fine. but still, feel free to barrage me with a slew of sympathetic and pity filled emails.

"You Uncultured Swine"

"It" really is as bad as they say. The temperature. The aches. The nausea. The pure delusion which stems from being in so much discomfort.

"It" is the H1N1 - or, as my brother says, H1NoFun. Perhaps I am using this as an excuse not to write for over a month. I wish I could erase the months of October and November 2009 away completely. Except for maybe the ten pounds that I lost from being so sick.

That was a nice side benefit. (It's true R. Sniff sniff). Another nice benefit: quality time with my parents, or rather, my mother. She barricaded me in my bedroom and when my dad lingered outside the door to see if I was still alive, she shooed him out.

Me: Aren't you afraid of getting it?
Mom: No. I'm immune to the flu.
Me: I guess ten children will do that to you.
Mom: Yup.
Me: And taking inordinate amounts of aspirin daily, eh?

I also have to thank my sister, R, for being "on call" for that entire month. Whenever there was a medicine I wasn't sure I could take, I called her. She'd flip open her prescription bible and let me know the side effects. I did appreciate her constant disclosure of "You know, I'm STILL in nursing school. You CAN call a doctor. You know. With a degree."

Meh.

But all is better now - it was the worst of times. Now I'm gearing up for the best of times. Which includes "enjoying" my older sister, E's, children. Yesterday, her young son ran around the house with a Barbie umbrella for the better part of an hour. I happened to glance over and he was on the floor, laying on top of the open umbrella, gazing up at the ceiling.

I was wondering if he was waiting for it to rain.