Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Drinking and writing and being a dad

Tequila Gimlet; rocks no sugar.

You watch a lot of the same movies. Luckily we've been able to avoid the mindless schlock normally marketed to toddlers. Finn likes Pixar. And Wes Anderson's stop-motion.

A non-exhaustive list:
Bolt
Cars
Castle in the Sky
Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs
The Fantastic Mr. Fox
Finding Nemo
Kung Fu Panda
Ponyo
Ratatouille
Totoro
Toy Story
Toy Story 2
Toy Story 3
Up



And for that I am glad. Because if you are going to watch a movie over and over, it had better be good. Of course, it all becomes so much background noise. And with luck I can use it as an opportunity to scribble.

In fact, you do a lot of things over and over. Like getting up from the couch to reassemble a Duplo truck (cement truck according to the manufacturer, garbage truck according to an obsessive tot), or to open the fridge to say no to more milk or orange juice, or to reopen the shades revealing the greatest play area ever (windowsill FTW), or to search the house for the bear he needs to hold to calm down but will abandon in discreet corners and under tables and behind beds. Or all manner of additional activities relating to toys, food, annoyances, and tasks he can't or decides not to do on his own. There are many. It has been one of the more difficult things for me to adjust to. I like to sit still, to lie about/in. I lack boundless energy. He doesn't. Getting up means I can't nap. Or finish typing most sentences. C'est la vie avec l'enfant.

There is a Magic Hat bottle cap on the fridge. While the inside of the cap is generally printed with a witty or quirky phrase, usually in rhyme, this one reads: "You need to write more". No, I do not expect it is so unique as to be made just for us, but it is amusing in it's assumptions: writers drink and feel that they need to write more (and need to be reminded of the latter while they are distracted by the former). Given all my trips to the fridge, for Finn and my own aimless wanderings, it's a nice reminder. Occasionally it leads to something (two posts in one day!). Often not. But then there is also the Bukowski magnet: "until you die or it dies in you." I ain't dead yet. And for that, I suppose, I should be grateful, and I should keep writing. Hooray beer! Hooray responsibility!

I worry about his exposure to violence, so redolent in this fragmented Age. Getting tired of the repeat viewings, I occasionally try to watch something else on the side (Netflix for iPad). I've been meaning to watch Baader-Meinhoff Complex for some time, but the violence of it all (disturbing, senseless yet meaningful, timely) is beyond his ken. And it's not like I can explain what's going on when he glances away from the big screen. I think I might save that one for while he is asleep or entertained in another room. [though I am much less concerned, not unconcerned but less, with letting him watch nature shows as lions take down zebras] And so I take to the page, sipping my alternative gimlet and watching a rat cook haute French cuisine. Ah, the days, they are so fleeting. 物の哀れね〜

"... the rat ... he stole my documents..." (sans papiers)




Location:Anchorage Dr,North Palm Beach,United States

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