The Dustbowl

Tonight, I heard the heartbeat of my first child emanate from a contraption that looks like the controller from an Intellivision. The business end of this machine was pressed firmly against my wife's stomach and a long and antiquated spiral telephone cable connected it to the controller/speaker unit. When this machine was first lubricated and pressed to her abdomen, it just sounded the stock footage of a dry valley from a Spagetti western. Like the wind blowing into a microphone in the barren 1930s Dustbowl midwest, but with a random click or stutter that reminded me that I live in the digital age. It took the midwife a minute to finally land on the heart. When she did, the gushing metronomic whooshes were spine-tingling and smirk-inducing.

Honest first thought: "How many shitty thrillers have used a similar recording in a tense scene just before something jumps out and frightens the audience?"

Next thought: "I'm gonna be a dad!"

Darwin and Punk Rock

All life is the same: 1) want what you don't have and 2) resent it when you get it.

Top Gear

Season Six started tonight. I'd really enjoyed the last few seasons. Tonight sucked...I realize that they've always been big on selling, granted. But, seriously, they came out of the gate selling Toyotas and Hondas (with nice new hair, mind you). The "crazy hour of British madness" was mostly just branding...it wasn't reminiscent of the Top Gear I've come to enjoy until the Tank bit at the end. I won't own a tank and I'll never own a Rover, boys...and that, my British chums, is why we watch.

Holmes on Homes

Nothing new here (other than a posting, that is). B and I have spent the last several months or so enjoying the show "Holmes on Homes." The premise consists of a Canadian journeyman going out to homes wherein some no-talent ass-clown has really buggered the construction up on some poor, unsuspecting homeowners castle. It's really enjoyable and Mike Holmes is the man, mind you. But it struck me recently...and yes, I'm slow...he's only helping out the moderately retarded landed gentry. Where is the help for those folks that don't own blackacre in fee simple, Mike? Why can't you expand your show, now in its 7th season, to include botched jobs in non-owner situations? You've helped good people with means build the Taj Mahal; why not help the less fortunate? Renovating a rental building would be a start, mind you...I realize that's going to benefit the owner disproportionately at the outset but perhaps you can find some sponsors to kick down a little bit extra to "make it right" on more than just a single family level. Just a thought.

Gangs of New York

I miss you, Pops. I think you'd like this movie. Just like when we watched "My Own Private Idaho" together. And probably like my 24th b-day but, hey, that's to be expected, right? What's a van Eyk gathering without such shenanigans? Still, though, it amazes me how far your reach was. How far away you kept us...how good you were at keeping us safe.

Getting Old

So, in a fit of drunken Wrestlemania stuntliness over the holidays, I may have strained-cum-torn my MCLs. The X Factor was my 260 pound little brother. Landing on top of me. Think lifting wrongly but injuring your knees, not your back. Good times. I'm supposed to go to an orthopedist next week. In the meantime, I'm feeling old, slow to heal and beaten. And in pain. A new pain that I'm not familiar with so it's hard to accept. I get old pain; I can handle that. This is new and it sucks. What's next? My hips? Perhaps I should buy a walker now...

Conan the Destroyer

So, I was just flipping through the channels tonight and came across this epic flick from 1984. Fun factoid for you: Not only is Wilt Chamberlain "Bombaata", the protector of the Princess (irony), he wears a necklace that looks suspiciously like the continent of Africa. Africa Bambaataa. Get it? Pure comedy gold...

In other news, the toe is healing nicely. And I'm thinking that the next bone I break should be a significant one. Maybe an arm? An ulna, though, not a radius. I have my standards.