Kobayashi Maru

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAA5e6oH2Zs[/youtube]

To quote City Slickers, “Hey you know, the first time I tried to talk to you, you embarrassed me. So I teased you a little bit which maybe I shouldn’t have done, so I’m sorry. And now you’re sitting over there playing with your knife, trying to frighten me - which you’re doing a good job. But if you’re gonna kill me, get on with it; if not, shut the hell up - I’m on vacation.”

That’s me as of today.  I’m on vacation.  I up and took my family away from all this and packed up the car and got out of town like a bat outta hell meatloaf song:

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnVfRjcYulk[/youtube]

In deference to my saintly mother, I did not curse.  (Here is why, in case you forgot) At least not me directly.  It was cuss by proxy.  Which has nothing to do with Munchhausen by proxy, but that is the coolest sounding medical diagnosis ever, so when one has a chance to say Munchhausen by proxy, one should take it.  Even if one has to invent opportunities to have said chance.  But, this was not Munchhausen by proxy, this was cussing by proxy - which is not a cool sounding, but ever so much cooler to do.  I highly recommend it if you have a religious background, or just can’t make cussing sound cool.  I think it is a skill personally.  Some people can just make a cuss word sound so very awesome, and some people sound like they are trying to speak a foreign language with an awkward accent.  They ought not to cuss - not in public any way.  And definitely not if they are doing so in anger.  Cause they may very well be righteous in their anger and have ever reason to legitimately cuss, but when they do everyone around them stops and stares and thinks, “poor guy, he’s really pissed but he sounds like an idiot when he cusses.”  Folks like that need a proxy cusser.  They should find someone who really has a knack for it, and pay them to follow them around - especially if they think a given situation has the probability to turn to a circumstance wherein they will need/want to cuss.  Then when said circumstance arises, they can simply point to their proxy who will immediately stand in for them, cuss a blue streak that would make a sailor blush - but in a way that would garner respect (at least for the delivery if not the content) of everyone in earshot - including the target of said blue streak, and then proxy can sit back down and leave the clean up to the original guy.  The original guy can give a smug, self-satisfied grin and walk out (choosing for himself whether or not to slam an opportune door), while the proxy, having accomplished his work for the day, can continue to sit and enjoy the ambiance he has created.

But I digress…I was packed and headed out of town before that last rabbit trail.  And let me tell you, if I drove like I write, me might still be on the road to nowhere - or at least pulled over on the bridge to nowhere, possibly fishing off of it.

But, thankfully, I do not drive using the same method that I write with…who has ever heard of stream of consciousness drving anyway?  Not that I am always conscious when I write mind you…

Again, I digress.  This is becoming like a Seinfeld episode about nothing…only without so many viewers, or pay…NO SOUP FOR YOU!

SO the whole famn damily (yep, good old Ruxpin too) got in the car and headed out for a vacation.  Some much needed R&R.  Rest and Relaxation are just what the doctor ordered.  Though a friend of mine who served in the military some 40 years ago, did recently tell me that R&R was for the Army.  Navy men went for I&I - Intercourse and Intoxication.  Either way suits me fine for the next 5 days.  In fact, who am I to opine about the correctness of any branch of the military?  That would be semi-unpatriotic.  So, in the interest of my country, I shall rest, do my best to become inebriated, relax and have intercourse.  God Bless America!  And Canada too…I’m sure the Queen’s navy and army did their fair share of sleeping, drinking, relaxing and fornicating during their enlisted days as well.  So we are off to the playground of the interior - the Okanagan.  Yep.  We’re here to be tourists.  I thought about wearing plaid shorts and black socks with tennis shoes and a hawaiian shirt with a nice big straw hat and zinc oxide on my nose.  But I just don’t think I can carry it off.  I would look ridiculous with zinc oxide on my nose.

I cannot honestly remember the last time that we as a nuclear family went off by ourselves to have a family vacation.  I am totally looking forward to it - though if I am in the midst of it am I still looking forward to it.  Maybe I am looking parallel to it…or looking overlapping to it…or maybe I am looking at it like a boson

since bosons can occupy the same place at the same time. An example is the photon, which is a particle of light. Since light can also be regarded as a wave, the laws of superposition apply. This means that the peak intensity of two intersecting waves can overlap at some point in space. Extended to the concept of the photon as a wave-packet, two or more “light-objects” can occupy the same space at the same time.

I love it when I get to bring quantum mechanics and physics into the Maru.  Seriously, I could put the mathematical equation for this in here too, but none of us would get it, so just take my word for it.  Ok fine mister big shot “I understand it”.  You know who you are, you arrogant…

The Pauli exclusion principle with a single-valued many-particle wavefunction is equivalent to the assumption that the wavefunction is antisymmetric. An antisymmetric two-particle state is represented as a sum of states in which one particle is in state and the other in state :

and antisymmetry under exchange means that A(x,y) = -A(y,x). This implies that A(x,x)=0, which is Pauli exclusion. It is true in any basis, since unitary changes of basis keep antisymmetric matrices antisymmetric, although strictly speaking, the quantity A(x,y) is not a matrix but an antisymmetric rank two tensor.

There you go.  Proof that while for most of us, two objects cannot occupy the same space, two “light-objects” can.  And so I can indeed be in the midst of something and still look forward to it at the same time…though I suppose that could invoke Einstein’s theory of relativity, or Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle….Crap for Crap!  I’m on vacation here.  Give me a break!  My head hurts…

I’m going for some R&I - you figure out which ones I mean…

…

…

...Comment [2]

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybXrrTX3LuI[/youtube]

The long dark tea time of the soul - also known as the weekend girly, giggle-fest tea party with a temp-bachelor dad - has come to an end. The gaggle has been disbanded - with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. I love the silent G in gnashing. It rocks. I think we should do more silent G’s. I mean sure we already have gnashing, and gnat, gnome, sign, campaign, reign, foreigner, diaphragm, design, resign, feign, champagne and, my person favorite - phlegm. But the ones that start with a silent “g” are extra special. Uncle Gaydog, is also a fan of silent letters. He and I were both voted down by our respective spouses when we suggested we put a silent “Q” in the middle of our child’s name. Think about how awesome that would be. Little Johnny becomes Little Johqnny. Then when said child goes to school each year on the first day when the teacher is reading the class roll they would get to Little Johqnny and stumble over the pronunciation. At this point Little Johqnny says, with just the right amount of disgust (and a well practiced eye roll), “It’s pronounced Johnny…the Q is silent. Obviously.”

However, now in retrospect, I will admit that having to type Feqrf or Mquppet multiple times in most posts would have been a serious pain in my aqss.

But it appears I have digressed. I was writing to celebrate the end of my 3 day long celibacy time away from my ever lovin’ wifey and my survival of the weekend little girl pinkapalooza - A 24 hour sleep deprivation party that provides opportunity for nail painting, singing and dancing, hair do-ing, dancing and singing, Barbie movies, sugar rushes, giggling and screeching. Little girls absolutely love it. Daddies smile and nod a lot with tears from both joy of knowing their daughters are having fun and a soul-wrenching migraine born of having one’s nails painted instead of watching March Madness all weekend long like had been planned for months and months and made even better with the release of the brackets that provided some of the best match-ups in college basketball. SO, let us celebrate the joy of survival. By no means would I belittle the suffering of others by comparing what I went through to the suffering of others - especially in a historical context. However, there were points where I was ready to admit that this was a whole new standard by which future things could be measured - especially in the midst of the Duke vs. Texas game when there were a series of tears from each girl in succession because they had each wounded another in deeply scarring and immediately forgotten ways.

I love my child with all my heart, but next time such a thing lines up on the horizon, I am taking a short 3 hour boat tour:

And on a completely separate note, Ferf is going to a hip-hop dance class tonight. Oh yes. I said it. She’s gonna go do hip-hop with other moms. They need action figures:

Say it with me, “yo yo yo Ferf!” She left for class listening to Snoop Dog and dressed like Flava Flav:

Yep… Ferf is pimpin’!! I’m thrilled for her because she is so freaking confident that she will do this. And yet, at the same time (in possibly equal amounts) I am horribly embarrassed for her. Cause seriously…upper middle class white Canadian hip hop moms?? Seriously? …
…
…
…
Just in case you want to join her in her quest…I give you free dance lessons courtesy of the Godfather of Soul and the hardest working man in showbiz:
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zdz88MBWomo[/youtube]

...Comment

So my ever-lovin’ wifey is out of the country. Yep, she fled the country. Alright, so we live like 15 minutes to the border, but still, she crossed it for the weekend. She’s down shmoozing TV executives. Go figure. And I am at home - just me and the Muppet…and Ruxpin. Nothing like a nice couple of days of Daddy-daughter time. But did I mention that before she decided to head to the States, she volunteered us to babysit some friends’ children? Did I mention that she scheduled us to do this on this weekend?

Yep, if you do the math, you quickly realize that this leaves me, your friendly neighborhood Tex, to oversee not one - which I can and do handle all the time; not two - which is twice how much I normally handle, but still fully within my capability; but three - three freaking little girls!!

So I am house dad to girls ages 6, 4 and 3 for the weekend. Go me.

Turns out I do girl daddy really well. Who would have thunk it. But NO, this does not mean that I am going to suggest to Ferf that we should have a whack load of girls now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I’m not sayin’ that at all. I’m just sayin’ that I can handle girl daddy. Of course, I am talking about wittle girls here. I reserve the right to be totally inept and frustrated when I become female teenager daddy.

So, I am currently overrun with a gaggle of giggling girls and will get back to blogging as soon as my wife gets back and I figure out what and how much of it she owes me for taking it for the team this weekend.

...Comment

So, evidently I am on a roll here with thematic stories. I don’t like it any more than you do - trust me. But this is my life…what am I gonna do. All my loyal reader(s) know that my wife is a professional passion coach. It’s true. And yes, I am a lucky man. But that is not the point. Ok, Ok…considering the fact that my wife is a passion coach, who cares what the point is. You noobies can dwell on that for a bit longer, but I am moving on ahead.

So Ferf is a passion coach and one of the things she does is answer people’s questions. Not the “where’d I leave my socks” type questions, but the “there is no way in hell I am going to ask this out loud” type. Hence, she gets many questions via email. ‘Cause was can all type p-e-n-i-s, s-e-x and v-a-g-i-n-a even if we don’t like to say them out loud.

Sometimes these questions are truly heart wrenching. Sometimes they are truly disturbing. And sometimes, like today, they are down right hilarious. Now, please understand, I am kept completely in the dark as to my wife’s client list - though often times I get these knowing nods of “dude, thanks” from guys and I figure their wife was a client. But outside of that (which makes church awkward) I am out o’ the loop regarding who she sees or who asks what question. And that, my dear friend, is what allows me to share today’s story with you. We are all in the dark and can assume that I might have even made this up…but I didn’t!!!!

So this letter comes from a guy. A dad. Might have even been a single dad. Don’t know. But the fact that it is a dude writing, tells me that this guy is seriously seeking help. Guys are not the first ones to run for “help” in any area that pertains to the sexual organs. If it’s our organ we figure we have got it under control. If it’s someone else’s organ and there is an issue surrounding it, then we are ABSOLUTELY SURE that there is a game on TV that needs watching. If it’s someone else’s organs and the issue is that they are spilling out of a bikini top - then yeah, sure we’re there to help. Outside of that. Not so much.

But this guy - he’s looking for some assistance (though not with his sexual organ I might add for the sake of clarity, and because if I don’t clarify half of you will stop reading…and badger will just be disappointed). No, this gentleman is concerned for another. Which of course is very noble. Only one thing could be more noble according to the Princess Bride:

Miracle Max: You got any money?
Inigo Montoya: Sixty-five.
Miracle Max: I’ve never worked for so little. Except once, and that was a very noble cause.
Inigo Montoya: This is noble, sir. His wife is… crippled. His children are on the brink of starvation.
Miracle Max: Are *you* a rotten liar.
Inigo Montoya: I need him to help avenge my father, murdered these twenty years.
Miracle Max: Your first story was better.

Anyway…the gentleman in question had to gather up all his gumption and sit down at the keyboard and over come the normal PEBCAK issues that stop most of us from doing something on the internet and then write out his story & the resulting question and then send it out into cyberspace.

All in all, not the most fear-free of activities. So kudos to this guy. He deserves a moment of honest appreciation…you know, before we kinda mock him. So here’s to you question sending dad guy!

Ok… on to the story. (Though Ferf did not give me a lot of lead in details, so work with me as I am having to make a lot of this up use inductive reasoning to solidify some of the normal surrounding detail. SO, dude, emails my wife because he has a question that needs addressing so he can get some sleep at night and not feel so awkward when he is out and about with friends and family. The sheer horror of his certainty that he is the only person alive who has been confronted with this potentially humiliating, if not fully scarring issue has provided him with little sleep and even that has been filled with night terrors not seen since before horror movies were serialized into plot-less caricatures by a soulless Hollywood hell bent on turning a genre that was intended to scare children into unquestioning obedience into a uncreative money-grab. But I digress…

This man has come to the guru seeking knowledge. His dilemma is as unconquerable as Mt. Everest to him. He has no one to turn to and needs an answer. How can he look at himself in the mirror and feel that he is anything but a failure as a father if he cannot deal with this? Sure it starts small, but if left unchecked, how can he be certain that he is not a scant couple of decades away from being keelhauled onto Oprah or worse - Jerry Springer because of his inaction as a father…

So he asks the question. “What should I do?” He gives some basic info: “I have a 5 year old daughter. And she, she… *sigh* I have found her in her room on occasions… “should I make an issue out of this, or just let it go…” “My 5 year old daughter likes to hump her teddy bear because she says it feels good!”

I can’t help myself.  As I fall down into fits of hysterical (if not maniacal) laughter, I  suddenly I have this image of a made for TV mini-series, produced by HBO -

The Playground Pimp

.

.

.

If I were writing the response (which I am not for obvious reasons), I’d tell him to get Teddy a necklace and put it on the little stuffy slut:

True Love Waits Teddy…True Love Waits

.

...Comment [1]