I can't blog @ work. Here is more recorded mental wandering.
He brings a new phrase (oxymoron) to mind: cluttered precision.
Whodathunk the baby girls would turn out to be the sane ones?
Do what he say! Do what he say!
I can’t wait to share Blazing Saddles with the kids. I just bought a Three Stooges DVD. I’m going to watch that with BamBam just to see his reaction. He got on my nerves with his precociously sage pronouncement regarding the initial Superman movie, “This is so cheesy!”
What goes around comes around. My mother kicked my and my sisters out of her bedroom when she put on the original version of “The Thing” with James Arness. She built up anticipation by telling how scary the movie was. We howled with derision, “THIS scared you?!? *bwah hah ha ha ha ha!* Why didn’t they just run? How are you gonna catch somebody moving that slowly?” We heaped scorn & ridicule on the movie with the sophomoric certainty of teenagers. The point where my mother had enough of us was tangible! *click* “Get out!”
Why we got such pleasure from aggravating her, I still don’t know.
My children play within earshot and querulously debate things mundane & esoteric. Theories normally degenerate from thoughtful debate to outright goofiness. Then, they laugh riotously when I call them “dingbats”, “goofballs” and “idiots”.
My eight- and ten-year-olds include their little brother in all of their discussions, naturally. As a result, his level of conversational sophistication catches me off-guard, sometimes. It shouldn’t. I’m an expert on precociousness. When I was five-years-old, I gave a six-minute reading & speech in front of 200 people. I was so short that I had to stand on a box to reach the lectern. When I finished the speech and got back to my seat, I promptly threw up all over my burgundy crushed velvet suit. (It was The Seventies.)
He brings a new phrase (oxymoron) to mind: cluttered precision.
Whodathunk the baby girls would turn out to be the sane ones?
Do what he say! Do what he say!
I can’t wait to share Blazing Saddles with the kids. I just bought a Three Stooges DVD. I’m going to watch that with BamBam just to see his reaction. He got on my nerves with his precociously sage pronouncement regarding the initial Superman movie, “This is so cheesy!”
What goes around comes around. My mother kicked my and my sisters out of her bedroom when she put on the original version of “The Thing” with James Arness. She built up anticipation by telling how scary the movie was. We howled with derision, “THIS scared you?!? *bwah hah ha ha ha ha!* Why didn’t they just run? How are you gonna catch somebody moving that slowly?” We heaped scorn & ridicule on the movie with the sophomoric certainty of teenagers. The point where my mother had enough of us was tangible! *click* “Get out!”
Why we got such pleasure from aggravating her, I still don’t know.
My children play within earshot and querulously debate things mundane & esoteric. Theories normally degenerate from thoughtful debate to outright goofiness. Then, they laugh riotously when I call them “dingbats”, “goofballs” and “idiots”.
My eight- and ten-year-olds include their little brother in all of their discussions, naturally. As a result, his level of conversational sophistication catches me off-guard, sometimes. It shouldn’t. I’m an expert on precociousness. When I was five-years-old, I gave a six-minute reading & speech in front of 200 people. I was so short that I had to stand on a box to reach the lectern. When I finished the speech and got back to my seat, I promptly threw up all over my burgundy crushed velvet suit. (It was The Seventies.)
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