Sonic Granades

Views From the Other Side of the Can

2008-08-27T13:35:00.003-05:00

Last week, the News Hour with Jim Lehrer featured an eight-minute segment on Bang on a Can. I urge you to watch it because, like most items on that program, it was well produced and thoughtful enough to spark notions in my head, though I'm sure they were not the notions expected by the reporter. The segment was sparked by David Lang's recent Pulitzer prize (which I commented on back in April) and focused not only on him, but on the summer festival BoaC hosts every year at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art. It highlighted Lang's surprising win, the melding of musical styles that characterizes much of the music composed by the BoaC composers, and the outsider status cultivated by these composers. It hinted at the traditions that influenced the style, barely discussed Julia Wolfe and Michael Gordon, and didn't mention the legendary BoaC marathon at all.

Why bring up those omissions? Because they point to the dominant paradigm used by most people describing adventurous American music (as distinct from music inherited from Europe) - the maverick. Lang is painted as a composer working on his own who is scarcely accepted by any musical establishment and is striking out new ground unexplored by other composers.

The truth is more complex and more interesting.

Bang on a Can has been around a long time now; the first marathon was held in New York City in 1987 and is now routinely labeled "new music's biggest annual party." Its reputation is so well known and regarded that it has become the establishment all on its own, complete with record label and house band that tours extensively throughout the year. It has been so successful that I wouldn't be surprised to find it in the Grout textbook (the standard Music History textbook on college campuses) in the next edition or two. The fact that Lang was even considered for a Pulitzer, much less awarded one for a commission by Carnegie Hall shows that he isn't working on the fringes anymore.

Beyond that point, the notion that American composers work in isolation and obscurity needs to be revised. For the past one hundred years, these "mavericks" have encouraged one another, critiqued one another, stolen musical ideas from one another, performed one another, recorded one another, and created a thriving community. Harry Partch, who is often held up as the most iconoclastic composer of them all had regular contact with John Cage and Lou Harrison and Howard Hanson and Douglas Moore and had numerous disciples who worked with him and were inspired to then follow their own path branching off from his. Sure they were not played in orchestral halls or on operatic stages (at least not until Philip Glass and John Coolidge Adams), but that's because they were not writing for those ensembles. As you can see in the excerpt, even to today, these composers write for new groupings of instruments to find new sounds for their new music.

Now, I know Lang surely pushed the journalist to focus on the festival in order to spark more interest in and money for the project, but it was strange for me to see someone not invested in this music as I am to report on it. It served to remind me how far we have to go (and how daunting my job is in some ways) on educating the public about modern American composition.

New Review - Craig Armstrong's "The Incredible Hulk"

2008-08-26T15:25:00.002-05:00

Back in 2003, I reviewed Danny Elfman's score and the movie Hulk positively. I remembered when my review came out that I felt distinctly in the minority in my opinion on the film and the score. It took a few hearings for me to fully hear what Elfman was going for, but once I did I was completely on board with his vision.

With that in mind, I gave Craig Armstrong's "The Incredible Hulk" a few hearings just to make sure I was hearing it correctly (which is why my review is so late after the film's opening). Unlike five years ago, my opinion did not improve. Too often the score falls into standard action cliches from the past 10 years - pounding synth work, vaguely ethnic percussion, and a pedal point for it all to rest upon. Still, as you will read, there is a bright side to the score, especially in its distribution. Hope you enjoy.

The Many Faces of Noah

2008-08-25T09:41:00.008-05:00

Babies have it hard in this world. They get hungry and how do they let us know? They cry. They are tired and need to sleep and how do they let us know? They cry. They are tired of sitting in their own bodily waste and how do they let us know? They cry.

It's just as hard for adults. A baby cries and you have to try to decipher what he wants. Is he wet? Dirty? Hungry? Tired? Just want attention? Want his brother to stop bothering him? It's all a game of 20 questions.

The result? In the words of Strother Martin's Captain, "What we have here is a failure to communicate." Forget the experts who say you can distinguish a baby's cries - sure I know Noah's cries from most other infants I hear, but an "I'm wet" cry sounds an awful lot like an "I'm tired" cry to me.

Enter the face. Where crying fails to adequately communicate, Noah's facial expressions tell complete stories. I remember Sam having an expressive face, but nothing like Noah's. He tells us exactly how he feels with a raised portion of forehead where eyebrows should be. Don't believe me? Look at these:

Here is the always popular "I'll smirk a bit so you'll quit dancing and speaking nonsense in front of me so I'll smile" face. Noah's a smiley boy. He's also a talker, always flirting with people wherever we go. But sometimes he's had enough. This is one of those times.

This is a common evening face, the "I'm really very tired and don't want to be up playing these games, but I refuse to go to sleep on my own, so I'll be heavy lidded and frown a bit and maybe you'll help me go to sleep even though I'll cry" face. He doesn't have reflux like his older brother, but just like Sam, he hates going to sleep, no matter how tired he is.

Many infants cry to let their parents know they are hungry. Noah often just roots around. This, then, is the "I'm so hungry I'm going to scrunch up my nose, open wide my mouth, wave my head around, and hope food appears in my mouth" face. So far he's done pretty well by this face. It always gets him food.

Noah communicates just fine these days, you just have to now where (and how) to look. There are plenty more where these came from, so be on the lookout later this week for our next installment.

Boppy Camouflage

2008-08-24T20:18:00.002-05:00

Sensing danger, the infant Homo sapien is able to change his coloration to fit into his natural habitat:Believing the infant to be on the boppy, but not seeing it, the older sibling, the natural predator of the infant Homo sapien, moves on to find someone else to torment.

Tastes Like Pocari Sweat

2008-08-23T20:26:00.002-05:00

In a hot and parched August...
Sam seeks nourishment from his shirt. At least he's stopped licking the deck.

Guilt 2.0

2008-08-21T12:38:00.003-05:00

Just as Sam was coming out of detox from his weekend with Eli, he got a cold. So the boy who had been clingy because he desperately needed someone to play with him 24/7 became clingy because he desperately needed to feel better. Last night Sam and I flew solo through dinner, bath, and bed since Joy had a meeting at church, so I learned firsthand how much attention he needed yesterday. I tried to clean up the kitchen after supper only to be thwarted by pleas of "play trains, Dad." I dutifully played trains and read books and had a great time with Sam one-on-one, the kind of playtime we haven't had in a few weeks.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, Sam again wrapped his arms around my legs, looked up with his warm, blue eyes, and asked if I would play trains with him. I succumbed and played for a few minutes, but had to leave to get to work. I gave Sam a hug and kiss and headed out the door.

When I got to my office I had a voice message. Sam called to tell me he wanted me to stay home today. When I called Joy to hear the full story, she said that after I left, Sam came up to her and said through his tears that she needed to start the engine. Thinking perhaps he was speaking of his shinkansen that Misty and Stephen brought him from Japan, Joy asked him to clarify.

"Start the engine on the sliver truck so I can drive to work and go watch Thomas videos with Dad in his office," came the reply.

As my brother might say, that sound you hear is the latest version of guilt uploading through the automatic updater.

Sam's Having Withdrawal

2008-08-19T14:06:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, Eli slept in Sam's room on the trundle bed. Going to sleep was a bit of a hassle - Sam didn't want to stop playing - so we ended up putting them to bed in different rooms and then moving Eli over when we all went to sleep. The best part about that arrangement was that they woke up and entertained themselves, letting us sleep past 7:00 most mornings.

From the moment they began playing in the morning until the moment we separated them at night, the boys played together. Most of the time it was without drama (though there was the occasional foray into "I was playing with that" territory) and Sam and Eli seemed thrilled to have full-time playmates to race cars, taunt Liza, make up stories, and even tussle:
We parents just stayed out of their way and had a lovely time talking and carrying on.

Then Eli left.

Sam is currently in detox. This morning, he didn't understand why I had to get ready for work and couldn't play with him from the moment I awoke. He's always been one to play by himself for long stretches of time, but now that he's experienced the thrill of constant attention, we may never go back. Going cold turkey is a bit tough.

How We SpentOur Weekend

2008-08-18T10:15:00.005-05:00

Here's how we spent our weekend:That's right, we had four children four and under at our house. My brother and his family came to visit and meet Noah over the weekend. General mayhem and madness ensued, but the two oldest, Sam and his cousin Eli, went off and did their own thing (usually chanting that staple of Calvin and Hobbes - "get rid of slimy girls" - as they closed the door to Sam's room) while Liza tottered around after us, fascinated by Noah. In between, we entertained the children by going to eat at the local dinosaur restaurant and to Kindermusik class, playing outside in the sandbox and on the swingset, and inspecting every toy in the house.

You would think that with our busy days, we old folks would crash every night, but when the kids are asleep, the adults will play, so we ended up in bed around midnight each night. Fun times all around, but I think Joy and I will be sleeping through the rest of the week. If Noah and Sam will let us, that is.

Here's a cure for the Summertime Blues

2008-08-14T14:16:00.002-05:00

When we were in Arkansas visiting for a week, it was hot.

When we got home from Arkansas and back to our normal routines, it was hot.

And when it's hot and isn't raining, how do you answer the desire to be cool?

Stick your head in the sprinkler:
Our favorite new activity at the Granade household is running through the sprinkler. Sam hadn't been much into the activity in years past, but this summer he's attacked it with a vengeance. Every time I go outside to water, he begs me to turn the hose on him, when we went to a local park that had a tractor sprinkler going, he ran through the spray continually, and if there is a puddle left on the deck when I finish watering he splashes in it and tries to lap it up like a dog.
That's what we do to stay cool in the dog days of August. Other ideas?

Now I Know How Noah Feels

2008-08-12T14:08:00.002-05:00

Last Friday, we took the longest car trip of our life back from Arkansas. We were driving on winding roads early in the morning and Sam got carsick. We pulled over, he threw up, we got back on the road, and we went a bit slower. Then Noah decided he didn't want to sleep, at least not in the car seat. He cried so much that Joy hopped out of the car to rock him while we were stopped for a lane closure, and we finally pulled over in the middle of nowhere Arkansas where there was only a small rest stop for miles around to eat lunch while Joy rocked Noah desperately hoping he would sleep.

Since all that happened in the first 2 1/2 hours, you can imagine how we felt by the time we rolled into home 7 hours later.

I couldn't sleep that night and woke up feeling achy and sick. Joy had Kindermusik demonstrations scheduled, so I bravely tried to keep the kids and even took Noah and Sam up for a spell, but elected to go home after almost throwing up twice in the bathroom. I lay around barely able to move all day, having almost no control over my gastrointestinal system and only slightly more over my gross motor movements. Sam figured the ability to jump on me and crawl all over me without protest was too good to pass up, so while Noah hung out with Joy and her teachers at the demo, I sat at home being pommeled and hardly caring. But somewhere in the entire ordeal, a realization struck: this is how Noah feels every day. He can't control his body movements, he's constantly spitting up, and strange people are constantly doing strange things to him. Whoever said babies have it easy definitely doesn't remember the feeling.

Review: Music from the Films of Tim Burton

2008-08-10T16:56:00.003-05:00

We're back after a long hiatus. There are plenty of stories to tell, and they will be told, but a quick post to get you back in the groove of stopping by here on your daily rotation.

I just finished a review of the The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir's recording of music from Tim Burton's films. I was a natural to do this review as I've long admired (and reviewed) Elfman's scores for Burton's films, but this release was made to capitalize on the acclaim for Burton's version of Sweeney Todd and so opens with three cuts from the musical and has nothing from the best Elfman score for a Burton film, Big Fish.

Still, although I usually do not appreciate symphonic orchestras taking on film music as a way to make a little extra money, this release works. Just ignore the hopelessly convoluted title and check it out.

Further Thoughts During The Dark Knight

2008-07-26T08:57:00.002-05:00

Do you remember how last week I joked about how Forbes.com suggested you have a batwarehouse since a batcave was a bit unreasonable and costs too much? Imagine my chagrin when The Dark Knight has Batman in a batwarehouse since Wayne Manor was destroyed at the end of Batman Begins, complete with gaudy fluorescent lighting.

*sigh*

Thoughts During The Dark Knight

2008-07-24T12:45:00.002-05:00

When we were watching The Dark Knight yesterday, I wondered if anyone else caught the sly bit of casting humor Nolan threw into an otherwise dark picture. The Mayor is played by Nestor Carbonell, currently known as "the member of the Others who never ages" on Lost, but always and forever Batmanuel on the live version of The Tick. In the comic, Batmanuel was known as Die Fleidermaus, but the producers must have thought the connection between the character and Batman wasn't obvious enough and so changed the name. Still, I found it hilarious that the man who played a slimy version of Batman on TV for 9 episodes was the mayor of Gotham City in the movie.

Oh, and if you're curious, all 9 episodes of The Tick can be seen here.

Out of Step

2008-07-23T06:51:00.002-05:00

When I am teaching and doing research, I tend to exist in my own little musicological bubble. I teach my students the story of music from the past 100 years as it makes sense to me; I've constructed my own narrative over the past few years and am gleefully passing it along. When I research and read, I focus on studies of music that interests me and often find scholars who agree with the significance of the works and composers I find important. It's a warm little bubble and I rarely stray from it.

But I am connected to the larger musicological world through various listservs. I generally ignore their arguments - the past few weeks, for instance, have seen heated debate on whether or not Mozart was left-handed or if Beethoven was black. I shrug, wondering about the fuss but not getting overly excited by it. However, every once and a while, a message comes through that reminds me why my proposals are never accepted by our largest professional society and shows me how out of step I am with much of my profession.

One such message appeared on Monday. Its author posted a month ago asking for input. It seems that she is going to teach a course on living composers and was wondering who we would suggest she teach. I was busy with a brand new baby, and so didn't take the time to respond. I should have. Here is the consensus response:

Top 4 (ranked in order of number of votes):
John Adams
Steve Reich
Kaija Saariaho
Osvaldo Golijov

Other contenders (all have even number of votes):
Thomas Ades
Tania Leon
Philip Glass
Stephen Sondheim
Gyorgi Ligeti
Ellen Taffe Zwillich
Witold Lutoslawski
John Williams
Elliot Carter
George Crumb
Joan Tower
Nico Muhly

Most of those names may be unfamiliar to you, but if you actively listen to modern music, you will recognize many of those names. Still, I had a few shocks looking at the list. The author wanted to teach living composers who are important right now. Ligeti died in 2005, Lutoslawski in 1994. Of the remaining 14, only two are under 40. Expand that to 50 and you pick up one more composer and another if you go to 60 and two more if you go to 70. So of the important living composers to musicologists, two are dead and the majority are over 70. Can you produce important, influential music in your 70s, 80s, or, in the case of Elliot Carter, when you are 100? Absolutely. What amazes me instead is that so many people's knowledge of new music stopped about the time they left graduate school. Most of these composers were new and making an impact in the 1960s, 1970s, and early 1980s, when most musicologists working today were in grad school.

Were I asked to teach a class on living composers, I would probably spend the first week surveying the "old guard," those composers who made a splash 30 or more years ago and are still producing vital music, but would spend most of the time on composers of the past 10-15 years. It just goes to show how out of touch I am with many of my colleagues just by seeking out new composers and new music constantly.

On Beauty in Music

2008-07-21T12:20:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago, when Jesse Helms passed away, I was astounded by one of the three issues constantly mentioned in obituaries:

1. He was a old-school, hard-line conservative
2. He was a Southern gentleman who, although dubbed "Dr. No" in the Senate, always had good manners

(and then the one that astounded me)

3. He fought, in the words of the New York Times obit, "against civil rights, gay rights, foreign aid and modern art."

That's right, to his dying day he was remembered for opposing federal funding for the arts because some of the money went to artists he didn't like. And what didn't he like? Anything that wasn't, in his definition, beautiful, including the marvelous Calder mobile "Mountains and Clouds" that sits in the Hart Senate Building's atrium.

I spend most of my days trying to convince people that art, specifically music, does not have to be beautiful, that it can usefully serve other purposes. Some of the most affecting art I know is not beautiful classically or popularly. It achieves its power by causing us to listen closely in new and unexpected ways to the world around us. Then, when it has gotten us to stop and listen, it brings us into empathy (harmony, if you don't mind the unintentional pun) with a view we've never considered. With conventionally beautiful art, I find that we allow our ears to, in Charles Ives's memorable phrase, sit back in an easy chair. We don't expand ourselves in any way, but reinforce prejudices we've had since we were teenagers.

The result of this view has been, to my mind, a segregating of music off from life. There are a variety of ways we do this - we let other people do our music, missing the vital role it can play in healing us and creating family and community; we constantly surround ourselves with music like a warm fuzzy blanket that we then leave in the background, let it subtly affect us but rarely engaging with it directly; we rarely discover what music actually has to say about the human condition. I was teaching about Meredith Monk this morning and found these strong relevant words from her about the state of art and music in the United States:

"Here, art has become a commodity rather than a way of life. It is thought of as a diversion rather than an essential need. … What we need to do in America now is to fight for our right to jump off the cliff; to create a climate that affirms the ability to take risks; to demand recognition, from the top, that art is a vital and pungent force in our lives. Art, even the most irreverent, is a vivid response to the time in which one lives. … It is possible to learn from each other, affirm each other, dissolve boundaries both between the art form and between cultural communities. Art should be a reflection of our rapidly changing world and our concern for the future of the planet."

Take a chance and take a listen. You never know what you'll hear.

Peanut Butter Monster

2008-07-19T13:53:00.002-05:00

I can tell that having a second child is already effecting our parenting of the first. We are complete rule followers, keeping eggs and chocolate out of Sam's mouth for the required amount of time. We're supposed to wait until he's three for peanut butter, but today, as we were picnicking at a local park, Sam asked for some of Joy's peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She shrugged, "you're almost three," and gave him a bite.

Joy could barely eat her sandwich after that.

Now I know why you're supposed to wait - we've created a monster.

The Cost of Batman

2008-07-18T15:06:00.002-05:00

When I through out a title like "The Cost of Batman" on opening day of the new Batman movie, you might think I'm referring to that's movie's cost (which the New York Times puts "north of $100 million"). But no, I'm actually speaking of how much it would cost in raw dollars to be Batman.

One of Batman's primary allures is that anyone can be him. With enough money, training, and psychological scarring from a traumatic childhood event, any person could potentially fight crime. And run around in tights and a cape. You don't have to be an alien from the planet Krypton or be struck by gamma radiation or be bitten by a radioactive/genetically altered spider. No, you can be a superhero through sheer tenacity.

Well, tenacity and a $6.3 billion fortune that puts you at #28 on Forbes's list.

I've been reading through some of the early Batman comics from the early 1940s and have been struck that, though wealthy, Bruce Wayne was not a millionaire at first. But as costs have gone up over the past sixty years, so has his fortune, first to millionaire, then to multi-millionaire, and now to billionaire. But does he need all that money to be Batman? Surely a millionaire could do it.

Fortunately Forbes not only figured out where Bruce Wayne would be on the scale of wealthiest people, but also how much it would cost to be Batman per year. Their estimated cost? $3,365,449. But their list cheats. Batman Begins tells us that the batsuit costs $300,000. Forbes wants you to be realistic and so recommends a lightweight ProMAX OTV bulletproof jacket for $1,085 and a Kevlar helmet for $500. What about the legs? Every bad guy would know that a penknife to the legs would incapacitate you so you'd get a rouges gallery including the Fearsome Letter Opener. Obviously not acceptable.

What is worse about the list is that it only calls for $24,000 for the Batcave, which it recommends you put in a warehouse as there are no naturally occurring caves large enough in New York. The Batwarehouse? Really? No, you need to do as they've done in Kansas City and find an abandoned mine to convert. Will that cost you $24,000? No indeed.

But all in all, it's nice to see that for the cost of making the movie, you could probably fund a Batman for a year. So it's possible for any respectable millionaire to be Batman.

As long as they have a pension to go with it.

Further Proof that My Son is Huge

2008-07-15T14:03:00.004-05:00

Joy's sister Heather came to visit us this weekend along with her daughter Ana. That's right, we had two children under six months of age in our house at the same time. At the same time as a toddler. At the same time that we only had three adults.

Clearly we are crazy.

But we had an excellent time playing with our kids, or, really, watching Ana and Noah look cute and grab things that passed their field of vision and trying to keep Sam contained. Heather had to go home a bit early just because our house couldn't contain the cuteness any longer. I mean, look at this picture:Noah seems to be eyeing his cousin as if to say "What's she doing in my crib? And being so smiley about it?" But in any event, the two of them together is too much for one house to contain for too long. And speaking on long, look at this:
Ana was born in February, Noah in June. But he's already as long as her and almost as beefy. But he still has that newborn look (which must come from sleeping all the time - I want to try and see if I can get that look back) while Ana looks like a baby now. Noah's going to be a giant! (which for our families, is about 5 foot 11.)

My Other Son is Huge

2008-07-11T10:45:00.002-05:00

This lack of sleep thing has kept me from almost all pursuits this past week except for going back to work (though my students might have appreciated if no sleep had kept me away from class as well). It also can evidently harm your growth, as a new large study out of India has shown. I try to tell this to Noah at 1:00 in the morning when we're having a heart to heart because he won't go to sleep. "Noah," I say, "you're a younger brother which means the best way to get back at your older brother for years of torment is to grow bigger than he."

Noah just blinks back at me, or makes his monkey face, or clicks his tongue. And then smiles as he refuses to go to sleep.

Still, I believed he would eventually come around to solid logic. Then, at his one-month well baby, his doctor ruined my reasoning. Noah dropped to 8 lbs 1 ounce after birth and was still 19 1/2 inches long. Yesterday he was 10 lbs, 4 ounces and 22 1/2 inches long. Obviously the lack of sleep isn't hurting him at all.

I see tough times when he's a teenager if he's already thwarting my logic.

My Son is Charles Ives

2008-07-05T18:47:00.003-05:00

This afternoon, it was pleasant outside and Joy was getting cabin fever, so we decided to break out the sprinkler. Sam got suited up, pulled out bubbles, and had a high old time playing in the water. He spent most of the time sticking his face in the spray and then picking up the sprinkler to try and get us wet.

Afterwards, he and I were sitting on his swingset, gently rocking back and forth on our swings when Sam turns to me and says, "You sing your favorite song and I'll sing mine." Knowing there was a trick to this game, I asked, "What's my favorite song?" "'I've been working on the Railroad,'" he declared, "and mine is 'Soaring.'" I dutifully began singing, and he quickly joined in in a key and tempo relationship that would have made Charles Ives proud.

I suppose this makes me George Ives. Which means that the next thing you know, we'll be sliding while singing quarter tones.

I Love a Parade

2008-07-04T12:49:00.003-05:00

Every Fourth of July, all the neighborhood kids get together and parade down the street to a local church where the home owners association rents a big inflatable something for the kids to jump on and fly off. You may recall that last year, Sam rode in a wagon for the parade. This year, Sam was ready to join the big kids on his tricycle:Sure he needed a little help from me through the rope I tied to the front to keep him moving, but he steered all by himself, pedaled a bit, and rode in the stroller when he got tired. And everyone commented on his cool retro trike (thanks May and Pop). Noah enjoyed the parade by sleeping through it, but I'll bet next year he'll be in the wagon and we'll start all over again.

Things I'd Forgotten

2008-07-02T12:04:00.001-05:00

Sam will only be three in October, but I've been astounded by how much I'd forgotten about a newborn in those few years.

Like how good their heads smell, especially after a bath. Joy laughs at me because I'll smell Noah's head for hours after bathing him. Bono was onto something.

Like how they take a few short, quick intakes of breath before letting out a long sigh when they are sleeping.

Like how their voice and bottom lip quavers when they cry particularly hard.

Like how they smile when they sleep and occasionally laugh.

Like how their skin looks like a Sharpei with rolls upon rolls of skin hiding all sorts of things in their grasp.

Like how people look askance at a dad out with small children. I took Noah and Sam to Walmart the other day so Joy could have a few moments by herself. Knowing getting into the store would require a one-man caravan, I parked next to the cart return so I could grab a cart easily. When I got out of the car I laughed because I not only parked next to the cart return, but next to two dirty diapers. I quickly forgot them in trying to get sleeping Noah into the Baby Bjorn and trying to lift Sam into the cart while holding Joy's shopping list and the grocery circular for price matching and avoiding the gaggle of ladies who parked next to me and were looking alarmed at what I was attempting. I had forgotten those looks of "are you really capable of taking care of small children" I used to get from women when out alone with Sam, but put it from my mind until I arrived home 30 minutes later. As I went to the back of the car to retrieve my groceries, I noticed that one of the dirty diapers had found its way into the crack between the spare tire and the back window of my car. That's right, as the ladies returned their cart, they saw the diapers and assumed that I, a single dad obviously barely hanging on in his first outing with two boys, had casually tossed both my sons' diapers on the ground after changing them. And then decided that since they were picking them up, instead of putting them in the trash can close by, they would wedge them on my car hard enough to survive the ride home.

*sigh*

Some things I'm going to try not to forget as Noah grows. Others I probably will.

Why is Lost so Complicated

2008-07-01T09:28:00.002-05:00

I love me some Lost. Sure the second season was meandering, but this last, truncated season was intense and exciting. Yet even though both Joy and I eagerly look forward to each week, we both recognize that its mythology is beginning to make the X-Files look tame. That's why I laughed and nodded along with this video. If you've never seen Lost, you may be a little, well, lost, but it gives you an idea of what its fans sometimes feel. Besides, who doesn't enjoy a little Weird Al take on Avril Lavigne?

Samisms

2008-06-25T13:12:00.002-05:00

True, we're swamped these days with adjusting our house to its newest inhabitant, but that doesn't mean we haven't been thinking about you, our reader. So here quickly are two Samisms from this week.

First, I knew that I'd be sharing birthday celebrations with Noah since our birthdays are only 12 days apart, but I never knew I'd be sharing them with Sam. On Monday, Joy asked him whose birthday it was and Sam pointed and me and declared "Yours!" He then thought and moment and followed up his answer with "and Mine!" I suppose he has been getting presents and lots of chocolate cake recently.

Second, last night I was bathing Noah when Sam wandered up. He stared at Noah's shriveled umbilical cord stump and exclaimed "Baby Noah's penis is black!" I really have no witty comeback for that one.

On Why Sam is so Busy

2008-06-19T08:33:00.002-05:00

Sam is a constant blur of motion. He's constantly climbing on something he shouldn't, pulling something out of a cabinet he shouldn't, playing with something he shouldn't; he never stops moving. Joy and I have laughed at him on more than one occasion as he kicks his legs in bed to stay awake or simply shifts in his seat twenty times during supper, but we've never known the reason for his energy.

This morning he enlightened us.

We were lying in bed, trying to wake up and keeping an ear on Sam when we heard silence, then Sam proclaim, "When I stop moving I poop."

Mystery solved.