The Park

Jim: Today we went to the park and ran through the grass and looked at all the beautiful flowers and walked the dog and had our snacks. Oh, and Estella had to pee while we were there and she saw Harland peeing standing up so she thought she would try it too. When she stood up things didn't work like she thought: the pee ran down her leg and soaked her shorts and went all over her shoes. She was very upset. She's not like boys who like to have pee on everything. No--there were tears all the way home. I will never understand girls.

Jim on Child Rearing

"I raised my first kid using Freud and it didn't work. I'm raising these kids using Game Theory."

Sage Advice

Jim, after feeding the kids rice crispy treats for dinner: "People who tell you sugar doesn't make kids crazy are full of crap."

"You should WISH I was dead!"

 Me, thinking of my grandmother with Alzheimers and how my grandfather is taking care of her: "Who's going to take care of me when I'm old?" 

Jim: "You know what your problem is? You haven't had enough husbands! I'm just a starter husband! Look at all my other wives! They obviously knew that! The problem with you is that you think I'm going to be your *only* husband."


Me, flabbergasted: "You *are* my only husband! You just need to live forever. You need to take better care of yourself so you live until at least 100."


Jim: "You should WISH that I was dead! I'm an asshole! Aren't I an asshole? You should be wishing I was dead so you didn't have to deal with me anymore! The sooner I die, the sooner your life gets easier!"

Smoke Signals

Me, following the smell of burning plastic to where Jim is hunched over the sewing machine, working feverishly: "Why does it smell like something is burning?"

Jim: "Because something is. See the smoke?" Then looking up from his work in an unconcerned way, he reaches over and removes a large piece of aluminum foil from the plastic lampshade to reveal what used to be the plastic of the lampshade now melted onto the bulb and going up in smoke. He sits back down in his seat and keeps working.

Me, turning the light off: "I guess putting the aluminum foil on there wasn't such a good idea."

Jim, without even stopping his work, "No, it was a great idea. It was a bad idea to buy such a cheap lamp. Now how am I supposed to see?"

100 Penises

"I wish I had 100 eyes and 100 penises." -Harland
"Um...don't tell your mom that. But that's interesting. Why?" -Jim
"Because then I could spin around in a circle, pee on everything and see what I'm peeing on." -Harland

Phone Call At Work

"______ Library Reference, How may I help you?" -Me
“Hi. Is Emily there?" [screaming and crying in the background] -Jim
“Yes. This is her.”
“Where’s the yeast?” -Jim
“What?”
“THE YEAST! WHERE IS THE YEAST?”
“Oh! It’s in the refridgerator, on the door, third shelf down.”
“Is it in the big mason jar or the little mason jar? Or is it in this tupperware thing? There’s two jars that look like they have yeast in them.”
“It’s in the big mason jar.”
“What’s in the little mason jar? What’s in this tupperware container?”
“I don’t know. I’m at work. I can’t see in the jar.”
“Are you sure this is yeast?”
“Smell it if you’re not sure. Does it smell like yeast?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you need yeast?”
“Because you put a note in Emerson’s lunch saying he’d have pizza for dinner. How much yeast do I put in?”
“A package or two and a half teaspoons.”
“Two teaspoons? That seems like a lot. I thought it was just one teaspoon. Okay. Now how much flour?”
“Wait a minute. Are you doing this right now?”
“Yes. How much flour? [screaming in background gets louder]”
“I don’t know know--why don’t you use a recipe?”
“A recipe? I’m not doing that! Just tell me! How much flour?”
“Okay...wait...1 cup of warm water, 2.5 teaspoons of yeast, one tablespoon of sugar, two tablespoons of oil,” I continue to give him the rest of the ingredients. After each ingredient he inserts an impatient yes.
“Fine, fine, fine. But how much flour?”
“Two cups, mix it up and then keep adding flour until it’s of a consistency that you can knead.”
“Great.” Hangs up phone. 

The Beginning

It is almost Walt Whitman's birthday (May 31, 1819).

"I sound my barbaric Yawp over the rooftops of the world," he penned in Leaves of Grass.

Growing up in the wilds of Vermont, this sentiment is not just beautiful to me but real.

Scaling a Vermont mountain is not the equivalent of conquering Everest, but it does lend itself to that innate human desire to make one's voice heard throughout the mountains and valleys in one's gorgeous line of sight. We have all done it: scaled the mountain, sounded our barbaric yawp.

This is my attempt to sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the electronic universe.