Vicarious Rocky

The Seriously Dying or Dead as reported by AOL finance there are 24 on the official list, but these were in the worst shape:

Linens N Things
Wilson's Leather
Lonestar Steakhouse
Pier 1
Friedman's Jewelers
Sharper Image
Lillian Vernon
Circuit City


Rocky's Pics if the Recession Drags On. This is based on absolutely nothing concrete and no information except my anecdotal experience with these stores:

Max and Erma's
The Exchange
Things Remembered
Ruby Tuesdays
HH Gregg
Fazolis
Arbys
Every Vacuum Repair Store
Bed Bath and Beyond
La-Z-Boy
Rack Room Shoes
K Mart
Waffle House
Borders
GameStop
Marshalls
Spaghetti Warehouse
Friendly's

Want to add any?

OK, this is what I came up with. I did degrade into some comparisons here, but I tried to avoid it:

Valuing Experience over Responsibility
Giving Back to Society
Focus on Creation Outside of the Self
Focus on Personal Development
All Space can be Personal Space
All Time can be Personal Time
Additional Financial Resources
Night Activities

Who has more for me?

This is gate. If the school psychologist wants Indy to really open up, she should get a wire mail holder from Staples, hold it with her hand upright and in the middle, and then jiggle it slightly as she talks. Today, Gate (Sage powered) and Indy conversed for about 20 minutes about everything from emotions and activities at school to how he likes his life generally. Indy had some good questions for Gate too. The most interesting thing he revealed to gate, after some probing about emotions and school was: “I’m never sad.”

Holly has been asking women with children to ponder the blessings of the childfree. And to her horror they seem to be unable or unwilling to accomplish this. As I take on this challenge, I find myself in a linguistic quandary. Why is there no way to discuss this topic without it being a constant comparison to having children? As in, “Well you don’t have to . . .”

Uh, No. That’s not what’s been asked of me. In fact, the only word I can think to describe childfree women, always includes a reference to the non-existence of children and seem to have negative connotations in the true sense. Negative as in someone who is “without.” Spinster, Barren, Child-less, Non-Mother. This is a problem. And so when a colleague asked at our Holiday party if women felt pressured to breed, I think the best answer I can give him is the task to think and look for positive words that connote and describe females (or coupled males) without kids.

You can be without a spouse (widow), without a partner (single), but without a kid? Childfree I think is as close as it gets and there is "child" in the damn word.

You might say, “Oh, well, that’s nature’s fault. Having a child is the default, see?” I hate the nature argument because shitting outside is “natural” too and yet when people talk about remodeling their bathroom it is never discussed in constant relation to the natural default. Just imagine, “This is where we’ll be not shitting in the woods over here.” “This is where we’ll put the paper holder, so we’re not wiping with leaves.” And yet as I sit to write about the blessings of being childfree, my whole brain is drawn to comparisons just like that. “Well, you don’t have to get up at 6am everyday. You have time to read without someone hanging on you.”

OK, just wanted to throw that out there before I craft the blessings because I believe there are many. And they will not simply be the conveniences of not having a kid. More soon.

Full of food and feeling nice and fat. Time to go walk it off in store after store . . .

They describe him at school as a "mystery" and a "puzzle." I am starting to realize it's just a perfect storm of language delay + permissive parenting + deep seeded weirdness.

Example: Yesterday on the way to school Indy and I spent 20 minutes in the car pretending to be "Mommy and Baby dog." Which involved us having an entire conversation that randomly inserted "woofs" into sentences -- replacing real words. When we get to school, he sits down at the art table, waves at a little girl and says, "Hi Woof Woof!" The girl made a sour face and the teacher (who was sitting there) said, "Indy, let's use her name. What is her name?"
Indy: "Callia?"
T: "No That's Jenna. So you would say 'Hi, Jenna.'"
Indy: (Joyless) "Hi Jenna."

(incidentally he knows all the boys names, but the girls are all named the same thing. Olivia, Jenna, Callia, Ava, Lia, Layla, Lilly, Carloline and Catherine) He knows the names of last two. Gee, wonder why?

Then we proceeded to the turtle to say Good Morning (a tradition of ours) and Layla is looking at a book they made in school. Each child re-wrote the "Mary had a little lamb" song and put in their name and the "little animal" that they would have. Lots of dogs and cats and bunnies as one might expect. Guess what Indy has? "A Little Pepper." Layla told me that and then rolled her eyes.

That's when it hit me. OH! He's "weird." Of course, I would never call him that. I think he's creative and fun and sweet. But that's not how it's playing out for other people. To them, he's weird. My first instinct on that is to feel proud of him. Because who wants to have a "little dog?" Seriously, get a creative bone in your body! Then again, how would you feel if your child was "weird?" Am I doing him a disservice as a parent not discouraging barking at classmates?

I am leaning towards, "No, that's not my job." I am pretty sure that it's my job as a parent to love and accept barking, maybe even encourage it, full well knowing that the Jenna's and Layla's of the world are out there ready to squash his spirit.

Thoughts?

The scene, Holly, her boyfriend Alex. They're all so friggn' cute in this picture!

This post will reveal that I am a spoiled, overfed, ungrateful American, but I'm going to say it anyway. I think I'm "over" traditional fine dining. Here's the thing. I landed a good job out of college (which was sadly 15 years ago) and I have been on an expense account in the business world ever since. This means I end up at lovely restaurants like Johnny's in downtown Cleveland about once a month. I'll average that out to 120 meals like this in my lifetime thus far. For some reason, I continue to regard it as special and continue to order the same damn shit I know I love. Namely Fillet, Veal chop, Cream Risottos, and Steaky fish entrees. And I get the calamari appetizers or the Bruschetta with the vinaigrette stinky-cheese salad.

Last night I had another of those very nice meals, but this time it left a bad taste in my mouth. I'm over it. I am done willingly choosing the same restaurant with the same savory safe food. I suddenly "got" why restaurant critics pan so many places. Because their total consumption on these meals is way above the 120 mark. And you can only have so many Bearnaise and Au Pouive sauces over medium rare flesh next to an oven-something potato before you ask yourself, "Is this really all there is?"

Is a strange thing. You're embedded in the exciting process of consumerism and charged with finding opportunities. AKA: Selling Shit. And this is the one time of year when every marketer gets to stop apologizing for pushing product, because you consumer, capitalist pigs want it. You want the Black Friday email. You want the scoop on what days that sweater will be the lowest price and you want to buy it right when it's cheapest and right before it's out of stock. Which gives you a false sense of control and power over these large corporations whoring their wares.

But Hah, hah, hah! Jokes on you! Know why? It's December. That's it. That's the only thing that has changed in the relationship between you and the marketer. You love us right now for no other reason than a random and false construct of consumerism with a moral validation called "Holiday Spirit." And bless you for it. Seriously. Because I too embrace this Holiday Spirit facade. It helps me feel less like a Wolf in a fluffy white sweater . . . selling wool eye patches . . . to piggies. They're 2 for a $1, call me.

He plans to ask Santa for Tanks (military vehicles) and a Robot.

I have bought neither of those things, of course. So far he is getting:
Marble Run + Marbles
Books
RC Helicopter
Doctor Kit
Wind Up Fish for the Tub
Space Rocket

Wow, after reading that, I feel Santa is looking kind of cheap and out of touch this year.

Holly and I had a fabulous conversation this afternoon about people we know and the type of Thanksgiving food we felt best characterized them.

Holly - Sweet Potatoes with Mini Marshmallows. Good For You, Comfort Food, Veggie but Sweet, Eclectic.
Rocky - Fresh Green Beans with Almonds. Crunchy, Classic, Tasty, but small helpings preferred.
Sage - Mashed Potatoes with the Works (huge heap, 1/4 stick of butter pool in middle w/salt layer and maybe gravy). Warm, Savory, Easy to Woof down, Delicious, Most want Seconds
Alex - Cranberry Salad. Essential, Tart but sweet, possibly crunchy, love it and chow down or a dab will do ya.

What are you?

My son -- the just now 4-yr-old whose school had me order software from a website for kids with "special needs" -- looked out the window this morning at a squirrel on a snowy tree and said without pause:

"Look out squirrel. Don't fall. The tree is icy. Be careful, it's slippery."

??!?!

When a cop car turns a corner and is now driving behind you in a 35 mph zone? You start to wonder if you did anything wrong and you feel guilty, even though you know full well you’re well within the limits of the law. You know everyone goes 45 mph on this road and you were not even doing that before he pulled up behind you. You start to feel sort of crazy and wonder why the hell you’re so self conscious when, for the most part, you’re a model citizen.

That is EXACTLY how you feel when the teacher asks permission for your son to see the school psychologist.

I kind of expected an emergency room feel over there, but it was not busy and not filled with sad, needy folks. Just me and the pleasant receptionist taking to patients on the phone about payment plans and explaining to me that since they couldn’t call to confirm that my insurance card was real on Saturday, I would have to pay for everything up front. So clearly, they have a target demo and it’s not me.

Since there were no patients to study at the place, I turned my judgmental eye towards those who worked there.

1) The Dental Assistant – A clearly competent, friendly, attractive woman who most likely got a job at ImmediaDent (instead of elsewhere) because she weighed around 300 lbs. She casually asked, “How are you today.” And when I responded and asked her back in turn, she said, genuinely surprised, “I’m doing well! Thank You!”
2) The Dentist – Heaved an audible sigh when told he had a new patient (me). He spent 5 minutes with me, solved my problem, and parentally patted my shoulder at the end of our time together as he slunk off.
3) The Office – New. Just opened in June. But instead of posters of rotting gums, or floss techniques like at normal offices, they had lots of pictures of things you could buy – whitening procedures, dentures, etc.
4) The Receptionist – Seemed to be the one happy gal there. But on my way out the DA, me and her were talking about the shit weather and I said, “Well, it’s a good day to be working.” The DA agreed but the Receptionist said wistfully, “I’d rather be home playing with my kids.”

I would like to give everyone at ImmediaDent a coke and smile. Or a warm embrace. I want to let them know that it’s going to be OK. Their lives are worthwhile. Their jobs are worthwhile. They should be proud of bringing affordable dental care to the masses.

Yesterday Indy asked me what the cemetery near our house was and in retrospect, I should have a said it was a park, or a field, or something else generic. But NO, I had to say, “That’s where we put our dead people.”

Well, the conversation developed, through his questioning, to reveal that the dead people were actually underneath the grass and dirt and leaves and that the cement markers showed where they were buried. It sounded rather ghoulish when I said it and since we’d just come out of Halloween where everything was not scary because it was “pretend,” it didn’t surprise me to hear him then ask, “It’s just pretend though, right?” To which I said, “Uh, no, ‘fraid not.”

I realize now my responses to his line of questions were not at all comforting. It went like this:
Indy: “Do I go in there?”
Me: “No, just dead people.”
I: “Will I be dead?”
M: “Yes, you will die.”
I: “Why?”
M: “Your heart stops beating and you go to sleep.”
I: “What happens when you wake up?”
M: “You don’t wake up.”
I: “What would I say when I wake up?”
M: “Well, It’s not like regular sleep. You don’t wake up.”
I: “You tell me what I’d say.”
M: “Well, if you did wake up from being dead, which you wouldn’t, you would say, ‘Get these leaves off me.”
I: (Not amused, Worried) “When don’t I wake up?”
M: “Don’t worry. You won’t die for a long time. Old people die.”
I: “Like Mommy’s and Daddy’s?”
M: (Now really rethinking this whole conversation) “No, even older.”
I: “Like Grammy?”
M: “Older than that too. Like your great grandma and grandpa at your party. The guy you thought was a witch.”
I: “Oh.”

That thankfully ended our chat, but as you might expect it left an impression because Indy asked Dad later that night, as if to fact check, “You know about the dead place, with the leaves?” Sage looked at me and I summarized, so he said, “Oh yeah, I know. What about it?” And Indy said something like, “Yeah,” the tone of which sounded a lot like, “OK, just checking.” Because let’s face it, that is one wacky, unfortunate piece of news. So, when your just-turned 4-yr-old asks what a cemetery is, tell him it’s a park. And if he asks about the headstones, I’d go with, “They’re signs.” Just saying.

Indy had a great birthday. Lots of fun times and nice gifts. Grammy decorated her house all fancy and dinorsaury. He loved his birthday hats. Four looks good on him.

My son thinks Obama and McCain are in a foot Race.

Oh My! Expedia has landed me an apartment for $130/night in Lincoln Park. I am definitely bringing Indy, Grammy, and Sage to this place. I have a view of the Zoo across the street . . . IT's Surreal.

Spending wonderful quality time with my BFF. Last night John Hancock Lounge drinks and then this morning we went to a divine breakfast place and I got this obscene fruit bowl w/ giant muffin thing: