take me to meet the monster
THE LOVELY URBAN GRIT
On one of those “fuck dinner” days, I made arrangements to pick LT up from the train and take him and Nora out to our favorite bar/pizza restaurant. The memory of even the worst workday with the stupidest meetings can be erased by fried cheese. We got to the Howard station and pulled over to the curb to await his arrival. Nora was in the backseat reading, as usual, so it was up to me to soak in the spectacle of Rogers Park citizenry going about their business. And I do not use the term “business” casually! As I waited, a balding white dude pulled in to the space in front of mine, put his blinkers on, and made a cell phone call. Then a youth with a small bicycle and a large white t-shirt rode up, dumped the bike, got into the car, and quickly exited and cycled away as the man drove off. It all took about fifteen seconds, so maybe he was just saying hello? And he had to do it all up close and personal. And he probably had to give the guy a little baggie, because he knows how much his friend likes to organize all his small items, and then he asked for some ice-cream money and the balding guy was happy to oblige on this beautiful summer day. Yes, that’s probably it.
STEALTH TROUBADOUR
Do you sing when you are alone in the house? I do, but I also don’t. I don’t sing actual songs, nor do I even sing fake songs sincerely. What I like to do instead is belt out some LA LA LA operatic nonsense in a Germanic basso profundo, while pretending I am very fat and have a beard. I make Gotterdammerung-style Wagnerian stage gestures and everything. So on Saturday LT and Nora went for a bike ride, and I faffed about the house enjoying the solitude. As I walked into Nora’s room to put away laundry, I let loose a LOUD stream of cartoony faux-opera, and then froze when I heard voices outside. Yes, some neighbors were hanging on the back patio. I simply dropped to my knees and crawled away from the window. No encore for you!
THERE WILL BE NO CHILDREN’S LITERATURE LEFT BY THE TIME SHE’S SEVEN
Although Nora is taking a Potter break before diving in to Chamber of Secrets, she did make it to the MSI exhibit last week. Then she promptly came home and made her own Sorting Hat out of paper. It gave us all house assignments in its oracular way: Nora Gryffindor (duh), me Ravenclaw, and LT Hufflepuff.
The very next time that LT misspoke and corrected himself:
Nora: Why did you say that first thing?
LT: I said it wrong. Guess I’m just a doofus.
Nora: Well, that’s why you’re in Hufflepuff!
HARSH.
Later that week I took a day off and Nora and I headed to the library so I can try to keep up with her habit. We found Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with the awesome Quentin Blake illustrations, and I told her all about how I loved that book to pieces. She became intrigued, insisted we check it out (it’s a little weird I didn’t own it already—that situation has since been rectified) and wanted to start reading it immediately.
With only one short mandatory break (I was starting to worry about her eyes) and one or two of the Oompa-Loompa’s songs read aloud by me (Nora claims she hates italics and groans aloud whenever they show up in her books, which cracks me up), she finished C&CF that same day. And continues to bring up points from the story, which shows me that the comprehension is there. I was proud of my little bookworm, but perhaps even more proud that she took my book recommendation! I will look back on this day with fondness when she is a bad-taste teenager, reading Star Wars novels or dreadful medieval-weapons-heavy fantasy or adolescent vampire schlock.
RED IN TOOTH, CLAW, AND POUCH
On Nora’s art table I found this lovely little drawing of three marsupials, except now that I look it up it seems that the pangolin is not a marsupial, but oh well, the pangolin is super-awesome regardless:
I just thought it was cute until I turned it over and saw what was written on the back:
MARSUPIAL SMACKDOWN! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!
—mimi smartypants wrestled a pangolin once.