Do the Yak

In what may very well be the first gift he personally picked out for his granddaughters (and certainly the first one he personally inscribed to them), my father gave the girls Walter the Farting Dog for Hanukkah. He admitted he wasn’t sure if Ben and I would be pleased, but I don’t think he could help himself. Actually we don’t mind, especially since we also got a real live (stuffed) Walter who makes the requisite sounds when you squeeze his ample tummy. The main effect has been that the girls now use the word “fart” more often than it’s predecessor, “tushy burp,” which was pretty cute but perhaps a bit too precious for school-age children. It’s become a topic of great interest, especially for Becky, who turns four tomorrow (Happy birthday, Boo-boo!). She recently asked me if grownups farted as well as kids. I replied with a tactfully worded “Duh!” given the freedom with which her parents let loose in the privacy of our home. The more delicate part came with the follow-up question: sh...

I have this little piece of paper I carry around with me that lists the books I intend to read for when I’m in a library or bookstore. I used to use my PDA, but now that I have a Windows piece o’ crap at work and a Mac at home, this became too difficult, but that’s a rant for another day. Anyway, I checked a book out of the library a few weeks ago that had been on my list for a long time -- so long that I have no memory of where I heard about it. No matter; it was one of the best I’ve read in a long time: My Own Country by Abraham Verghese. It’s a doctor’s first-person account of how AIDS began to manifest itself in a small town in Tennessee where he worked in the 1980s.The way he interweaves medical information, his patients’ stories and snippets of his own life was fascinating and moving. Turns out he wanted to be a journalist as a kid but chose medicine after reading Of Human Bondage . I was so taken with this guy that I looked for more stuff about him and discovered this interview...

I thought when they handed me that master’s diploma that I was done with homework forever -- wheee! Wrong. The reason I haven’t posted in a while is because I have a new part-time job: Children’s Project Manager and Social Coordinator. Part 1 involves tracking and shepherding homework, including (a) assisting in the assembly of multimedia for “I Am Special” preschool autobiography project, and (b) oversight of spouse’s labors on “100 Things” kindergarten project where 100 items have to be gathered and affixed to a large piece of paper as an educational experience about quantities, sets of 10 and the benefits of packing tape. Part 2 of my new job requires that I make RSVP phone calls to the 793 birthday parties each child has been invited to over the next month, write them on the calendar, purchase presents and cards, wrap ’em and then attend the actual parties with children, trying not to turn into a blimp from the copious quantities of pizza, cake and ice cream. Oh, and there was also...

We saw "Brokeback Mountain" last night, which caused me to spend some time this morning reading past reviews and other information, even going so far as to call the New Yorker to see if I could get a free copy of Annie Proulx’s short story printed in 1997. And of course I have to add to the great pile of vegetable matter resulting from endless discussion of the movie. Yes, it is a gay love story, though it’s really more about repression (by oneself and society) than about love or homosexuality. Kind of like “Star Wars” looked like a sci-fi movie but was really a western. Second, it is not sexually explicit, so I don’t see what the conservative Christians are frothing at the mouth about. There are a couple of quick, distant shots of male backsides, and nothing frontal. You’ll see a lot more skin and simulated action in your average music video or episode of “The O.C.” Yes, there is hugging and kissing, but there are none of the usual trappings of romance movies, since it’s a...