Sunday, March 1, 2009

More apologies to R.E.M.

We were getting ready for dinner the other night, when Jeff put on R.E.M.'s "Automatic for the People" album.

I'm not sure why Ali was in the kitchen and we were at the dining room table, but we were a house divided. Her voice drifted in and out as she cartwheeled her way around the other room.

"That is one weird song," she said.

"What?" asked her hearing-impaired but musically defensive father.

"That song is weird," she repeated, landing a round-off and coming back to the table. "Everybody burps sometimes? Weird."

We managed not to shoot spaghetti out of our noses, but it was a close call.


Alison and I spent most of Saturday out of the house, so I left Jeff in charge of her and snuggled on living room couch with a new paperback At 10 o'clock or so, I wandered downstairs to see why he hadn't gotten her up to bed.

He was hard at work laying plans for his fantasy baseball league. The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack (not my favorite 'toon) was blaring on the television and Ali was curled up on the papasan chair with the television remote and my laptop, snoozing to beat the band.

Well, actually, she was playing a mean game of possum but she was so into that I didn't disturb her. She likes to get a few things over on the 'rental units from time to time and I didn't want to disappoint her.

If she could sleep with that laptop every night, I know she would.


My friend Cindy alarmed me the other day with an email she sent entitled, "My Private Part Died."

In mortal fear for her pokey (as Amer would call it) I read further to find this gem:

An old man, Mr. Wallace, was living in a nursing home. One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed. A young nurse asked him if there was anything wrong.

"Yes, Nurse Tracy, my private part died today and I am very sad," he said.

Knowing Mr. Wallace mixed a little bit of forgetfulness with a shot of crazy, she replied tactfully, "Oh I'm so sorry, please accept my condolences."

The next day, Mr. Wallace was walking down the hall, his private part having fully escaped his pajamas. He passed Nurse Tracy, his head, at least one of them, held high.

"Mr. Wallace," she scolded. "You know good and well that you can't be walking down the hall like that! Please put your private part back inside your pajamas this minute!"

"But Nurse Tracy, I can't," he said, with a gleam in his eye. "Today is the viewing."

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