Last night Elijah brought me a note requesting that we go outside (it was a mere 20 degrees) and play a certain game. Posted below you will find the communique by our little guy, whose spelling of a certain lawn game certainly makes sense to me.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Sign o' the Times
As has been mentioned previously, Elijah is not the greatest of oral communicators. So, to compensate for this shortcoming, he has developed a way of expressing what he wants -- the written word. Normally this consists of requests for food, but he now uses this method to inform us of places he wants to go or things he wants to do.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The cult of the Snuggie
I won't even try to make this a real blog posting. That's because the defining blog post on this topic has already been written and is becoming a hit of its own.
It's by a guy who's technically a co-worker of mine, although I've never met him. He's a great writer. (But rumor has it that he does need copy editors, so if you're one of my bosses, keep this in mind when the next round of job cuts takes shape: YOUR BEST WRITERS STILL NEED COPY EDITORS. And not copy editors in Bangalore. Thank you for your time.)
So, without further rambling..... the Internet's greatest analysis of "The Blanket With Sleeves": http://joeposnanski.com/JoeBlog/2009/01/07/snuggies/
It's by a guy who's technically a co-worker of mine, although I've never met him. He's a great writer. (But rumor has it that he does need copy editors, so if you're one of my bosses, keep this in mind when the next round of job cuts takes shape: YOUR BEST WRITERS STILL NEED COPY EDITORS. And not copy editors in Bangalore. Thank you for your time.)
So, without further rambling..... the Internet's greatest analysis of "The Blanket With Sleeves": http://joeposnanski.com/JoeBlog/2009/01/07/snuggies/
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Example #6874 of what being the parent of toddler means...
Number of Oscar nominated "Best Picture" movies I've seen this past year......ZERO
Number of Oscar nominated "Best Animated Feature Films" I've seen.....EVERY ONE
As well as: Horton Hears a Who, Fly Me to the Moon and one other one about penguins I can't remember.
Thank God for DVDs and HBO!
Number of Oscar nominated "Best Animated Feature Films" I've seen.....EVERY ONE
As well as: Horton Hears a Who, Fly Me to the Moon and one other one about penguins I can't remember.
Thank God for DVDs and HBO!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Say what?!
I'm an Obama fan. I'm also a newspaper fan and a yoga fan and a coffee fan. BIG TIME coffee fan. Fandom is all the rage these days, as anyone who spends time on Facebook can attest.
That's why I'm thinking of starting a Facebook group devoted to the alphabet (come to think of it, one probably already exists). That way, Elijah will have an online community as soon as he gets old enough to care about the world of online social networking. (He's not there yet, but only because he's developmentally delayed. I'm certain there are many 5-year-olds out there with an entire world of online friends.)
Elijah's love for the ABC's stretches back to his infancy, before Jeff or I had heard the word "hyperlexia." It was the Little Guy's all-consuming passion (until he started noticing basketball goals). He had several alphabet sets -- a refrigerator magnet set, a wooden block set, other wooden cut-out sets, a foam set, etc. While typical 18-month-olds were playing with dolls and trucks, he was arranging his ABC's in the proper order. While typical 2-year-olds were cuddling up to their teddy bears at night, he was insisting on taking his wooden letters to bed with him, and he'd snuggle up to them as if they were the softest silk imaginable. You get the picture.
Along with his love for all things alphabet-related came a love for spelling out words. He's always gotten a big kick out of the fact that he can spell something out and then Mom and Dad can actually READ it! This is very exciting for a child who has trouble with spoken language -- it's by far the easiest way he can communicate. So during his toddlerhood, he delighted in spelling out various messages on tabletops throughout the house:
Unbelievable, indeed!
Like I mentioned earlier, I'm a big fan of coffee .... just passing it down to the next generation!
Over the years he has graduated to writing, but every once in a while he still wants one of his alphabet sets. A few days ago, he came running into the den demanding to know where a particular set was. It was his foam set, which I told him was down in the basement. I must confess I've never paid much attention to how he pronounces the word "foam," but when I went down to the basement a few minutes later, it became apparent that "foam" wasn't what he'd been calling them all along (note the label he spelled out at the top):
I had to laugh, because, well, phone letters ARE all uppercase, at least on most phone keypads I've ever seen.
This incident got me wondering about all the things I might have mis-heard as a child. I'm sure there were some doozies -- listening carefully never really was my strong suit. I remember one in particular, which came to mind recently because of turmoil halfway around the globe.
I was about 5 when terrorists struck at the 1972 Munich Olympics -- a major news event that I somehow managed to grow up completely ignorant of. I was 30 when Jeff and I were at the local Jewish Community Center and happened to pass by a display honoring the Israeli athletes who were murdered at that Olympics. For Jeff, who's Jewish and 12 years older than me, it was a watershed historical event. For me, it was .... "The what attack? What Munich Olympics? Huh?" (Thanks for marrying me anyway, honey!) All I have to say in my defense is this: I grew up in the rural Ozarks, where the history of Arab-Israeli relations was not a focus of our formal education (But we watched classroom films about rifle and hunting safety! True story!). So give me a break, OK?
Anyway, I'm thinking it must have been during the TV news coverage of that time that I mis-heard a phrase that makes Elijah's "phone letters" look perfectly rational.
Back then, politically motivated killers weren't called "terrorists." They were called "guerrillas." So the phrase "Palestinian guerrillas" was all over the place, and it really had me confused.
I just couldn't figure out what a bunch of gorillas were doing living in a palace.
With Indians.
That's why I'm thinking of starting a Facebook group devoted to the alphabet (come to think of it, one probably already exists). That way, Elijah will have an online community as soon as he gets old enough to care about the world of online social networking. (He's not there yet, but only because he's developmentally delayed. I'm certain there are many 5-year-olds out there with an entire world of online friends.)
Elijah's love for the ABC's stretches back to his infancy, before Jeff or I had heard the word "hyperlexia." It was the Little Guy's all-consuming passion (until he started noticing basketball goals). He had several alphabet sets -- a refrigerator magnet set, a wooden block set, other wooden cut-out sets, a foam set, etc. While typical 18-month-olds were playing with dolls and trucks, he was arranging his ABC's in the proper order. While typical 2-year-olds were cuddling up to their teddy bears at night, he was insisting on taking his wooden letters to bed with him, and he'd snuggle up to them as if they were the softest silk imaginable. You get the picture.
Along with his love for all things alphabet-related came a love for spelling out words. He's always gotten a big kick out of the fact that he can spell something out and then Mom and Dad can actually READ it! This is very exciting for a child who has trouble with spoken language -- it's by far the easiest way he can communicate. So during his toddlerhood, he delighted in spelling out various messages on tabletops throughout the house:
Unbelievable, indeed!
Like I mentioned earlier, I'm a big fan of coffee .... just passing it down to the next generation!
Over the years he has graduated to writing, but every once in a while he still wants one of his alphabet sets. A few days ago, he came running into the den demanding to know where a particular set was. It was his foam set, which I told him was down in the basement. I must confess I've never paid much attention to how he pronounces the word "foam," but when I went down to the basement a few minutes later, it became apparent that "foam" wasn't what he'd been calling them all along (note the label he spelled out at the top):
I had to laugh, because, well, phone letters ARE all uppercase, at least on most phone keypads I've ever seen.
This incident got me wondering about all the things I might have mis-heard as a child. I'm sure there were some doozies -- listening carefully never really was my strong suit. I remember one in particular, which came to mind recently because of turmoil halfway around the globe.
I was about 5 when terrorists struck at the 1972 Munich Olympics -- a major news event that I somehow managed to grow up completely ignorant of. I was 30 when Jeff and I were at the local Jewish Community Center and happened to pass by a display honoring the Israeli athletes who were murdered at that Olympics. For Jeff, who's Jewish and 12 years older than me, it was a watershed historical event. For me, it was .... "The what attack? What Munich Olympics? Huh?" (Thanks for marrying me anyway, honey!) All I have to say in my defense is this: I grew up in the rural Ozarks, where the history of Arab-Israeli relations was not a focus of our formal education (But we watched classroom films about rifle and hunting safety! True story!). So give me a break, OK?
Anyway, I'm thinking it must have been during the TV news coverage of that time that I mis-heard a phrase that makes Elijah's "phone letters" look perfectly rational.
Back then, politically motivated killers weren't called "terrorists." They were called "guerrillas." So the phrase "Palestinian guerrillas" was all over the place, and it really had me confused.
I just couldn't figure out what a bunch of gorillas were doing living in a palace.
With Indians.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Don't Stop Believing....It will show up again
The first time I ever saw MTV was at my sister's home in Tucson. Cable wasn't yet available where I lived, and I thought how cool it was to be able to watch videos by bands (many of them were live performances) 24 hours a day. (Remember, this was the early days of MTV, when all they did play was videos; vapid thoughts expressed by GenXers living in a house together was still years away.)
There was only one problem....there weren't a lot of videos in the rotation, and the really interesting ones were shown sparingly. This meant sitting through countless live performances of Journey songs and "Jack and Diane" to see Springsteen's "Rosalita" on the few days it would appear. For those of you who collected baseball cards, it was like buying ten packs, opening them up and finding one Sandy Koufax among the twenty Don Mossis.
I bring all of this up because I am having the same experience again. As a previous post noted, "Oswald" has become Elijah's favorite show, and with the help of our DVR (and the master list I created) he can view whatever episode he likes -- with one exception. When he first discovered the show (it followed another previous favorite of his "Lazy Town"... and don't get me started on how bizarre that show is!) there was a storyline about digging in the sand at the beach and creating caves. It made such an impression on Elijah that he has asked to see it almost every day.
Unfortunately, that viewing was before we were hooked up with the DVR, so I didn't record it. No problem, you say: With only 30 episodes in the series, just record it when it plays again.
Well, there IS a problem. Over the last three months I have recorded for Elijah 29 "Oswald" episodes, of which some have played at least four times; yet the "At the Beach" show has disappeared completely.
I know this happens in television all the time. For whatever reason, a particular program from a series will be pulled, either due to content or quality, and never seen again until the DVD is released. (An "X-Files" episode involving incest and an SNL hosted by Milton Berle are two examples). But this is a cartoon about an OCTOPUS, for goodness' sake. Each day I record the three episodes on Noggin, and each day it's three of the 29 we already have. It's like I'm back in Arizona waiting to see the Stones and Steve Perry keeps on singing, and singing, and singing. Maybe they're holding it back for the "Director's Cut" release on DVD.
There was only one problem....there weren't a lot of videos in the rotation, and the really interesting ones were shown sparingly. This meant sitting through countless live performances of Journey songs and "Jack and Diane" to see Springsteen's "Rosalita" on the few days it would appear. For those of you who collected baseball cards, it was like buying ten packs, opening them up and finding one Sandy Koufax among the twenty Don Mossis.
I bring all of this up because I am having the same experience again. As a previous post noted, "Oswald" has become Elijah's favorite show, and with the help of our DVR (and the master list I created) he can view whatever episode he likes -- with one exception. When he first discovered the show (it followed another previous favorite of his "Lazy Town"... and don't get me started on how bizarre that show is!) there was a storyline about digging in the sand at the beach and creating caves. It made such an impression on Elijah that he has asked to see it almost every day.
Unfortunately, that viewing was before we were hooked up with the DVR, so I didn't record it. No problem, you say: With only 30 episodes in the series, just record it when it plays again.
Well, there IS a problem. Over the last three months I have recorded for Elijah 29 "Oswald" episodes, of which some have played at least four times; yet the "At the Beach" show has disappeared completely.
I know this happens in television all the time. For whatever reason, a particular program from a series will be pulled, either due to content or quality, and never seen again until the DVD is released. (An "X-Files" episode involving incest and an SNL hosted by Milton Berle are two examples). But this is a cartoon about an OCTOPUS, for goodness' sake. Each day I record the three episodes on Noggin, and each day it's three of the 29 we already have. It's like I'm back in Arizona waiting to see the Stones and Steve Perry keeps on singing, and singing, and singing. Maybe they're holding it back for the "Director's Cut" release on DVD.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Eat Pray Hate
I love reading. I'm one of those people who would rather curl up with a good book than go to a movie, have a night out on the town or watch television. (If it were not for television's vital role in keeping Elijah occupied while I read the newspaper each morning, I'd be perfectly happy if we didn't even own one.)
So it goes without saying that I will read virtually any book that lands in my lap.
The problem is that a lot of crap lands in my lap. And much of it is straight off the best-seller list.
This is no surprise to the literary crowd, most of whom would not be caught dead reading a best-seller (or anything that included cliches like "would not be caught dead.") But I'm not part of the literary crowd, either by training or association. So I just bumble my way through bookstores and libraries, grabbing titles that look interesting or have been filed away in my brain after I read a review.
And so it is that I recently read, back to back, two books whose very juxtaposition in my reading lineup was startling, and insightful.
The books are "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert and "Infidel" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Both made the New York Times best-seller list, for whatever that's worth. But the similarities end there.
Rather than drag down this posting with paragraph after paragraph of my own observations, I'll just let the back cover blurbs from each book speak for themselves.
From "Infidel":
"One of today's most admired and controversial political figures, Ayaan Hirsi Ali burst into international headlines following the murder of Dutch filmmaker Theo van Gogh by an Islamist who threatened that she would be next. She made headlines again when she was stripped of her citizenship and resigned from the Dutch Parliment.
" 'Infidel' shows the coming of age of this distinguished political superstar and champion of free speech as well as the development of her beliefs, iron will, and extraordinary determination to fight injustice. Raised in a strict Muslim family, Hirsi Ali survived civil war, female mutilation, brutal beatings, adolescence as a devout believer during the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood, and life in four troubled, unstable countries ruled largely by despots. She escaped from a forced marriage and sought asylum in the Netherlands, where she earned a college degree in political science, tried to help her tragically depressed sister adjust to the West, and fought for the rights of Musilm women and the reform of Islam as a member of Parliment. Under constant threat, demonized by reactionary Islamists and politicians, disowned by her father, and expelled from family and clan, she refuses to be silenced."
It goes on, but you get the idea.
Compare that to the descripton of "Eat Pray Love," which I foolishly grabbed from a bookstore display for no better reason than (I cannot believe I'm admitting this) I saw lots of people reading it in airports:
"In her early thirties, Elizabeth Gilbert had everything a modern American woman was supposed to want -- husband, country home, successful career -- but instead of feeling happy and fulfilled, she felt consumed by panic and confusion. This wise and rapturous book is the story of how she left behind all these outward marks of success, and of what she found in their place. Following a divorce and a crushing depression, Gilbert set out to examine three different aspects of her nature, set against the backdrop of three different cultures: pleasure in Italy, devotion in India, and on the Indonesian island of Bali, a balance between worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence."
It goes on, but you get the idea. Again and again.
It's not that Gilbert isn't a good writer. She is. And if you're going to write in the travel-as-self-discovery genre, the result is, by default, rather self-absorbed. That's kind of the point.
But to read Gilbert's book, then immediately follow it with Hirsi Ali's (I seldom wait more than a day between books), is to be slapped in the face with a literary example of, as everyone said in those weeks after Sept. 11, "why they hate us." Never have I seen the vast gulf between contemporary American life and the horrors of life in many African and Arab cultures (particularly for women) so strikingly presented. And the fact that so many Americans seem to be reading "Eat Pray Love," (in airports, anyway) instead of "Infidel" does not bode well for our understanding of what we are up against in terms of radical Islam versus the West (Yes, I know many commentators rant about what an oversimplification that is, but this is my blog. Get over it.).
So if you're looking for a valuable way to spend your reading time, please consider "Infidel."
On the other hand, if you just want brainless beach-blanket fare (assuming that you've already finished "The Da Vinci Code"), then by all means dive into "Eat Pray Love."
There are plenty of copies at the airport.
So it goes without saying that I will read virtually any book that lands in my lap.
The problem is that a lot of crap lands in my lap. And much of it is straight off the best-seller list.
This is no surprise to the literary crowd, most of whom would not be caught dead reading a best-seller (or anything that included cliches like "would not be caught dead.") But I'm not part of the literary crowd, either by training or association. So I just bumble my way through bookstores and libraries, grabbing titles that look interesting or have been filed away in my brain after I read a review.
And so it is that I recently read, back to back, two books whose very juxtaposition in my reading lineup was startling, and insightful.
The books are "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert and "Infidel" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Both made the New York Times best-seller list, for whatever that's worth. But the similarities end there.
Rather than drag down this posting with paragraph after paragraph of my own observations, I'll just let the back cover blurbs from each book speak for themselves.
From "Infidel":
"One of today's most admired and controversial political figures, Ayaan Hirsi Ali burst into international headlines following the murder of Dutch filmmaker Theo van Gogh by an Islamist who threatened that she would be next. She made headlines again when she was stripped of her citizenship and resigned from the Dutch Parliment.
" 'Infidel' shows the coming of age of this distinguished political superstar and champion of free speech as well as the development of her beliefs, iron will, and extraordinary determination to fight injustice. Raised in a strict Muslim family, Hirsi Ali survived civil war, female mutilation, brutal beatings, adolescence as a devout believer during the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood, and life in four troubled, unstable countries ruled largely by despots. She escaped from a forced marriage and sought asylum in the Netherlands, where she earned a college degree in political science, tried to help her tragically depressed sister adjust to the West, and fought for the rights of Musilm women and the reform of Islam as a member of Parliment. Under constant threat, demonized by reactionary Islamists and politicians, disowned by her father, and expelled from family and clan, she refuses to be silenced."
It goes on, but you get the idea.
Compare that to the descripton of "Eat Pray Love," which I foolishly grabbed from a bookstore display for no better reason than (I cannot believe I'm admitting this) I saw lots of people reading it in airports:
"In her early thirties, Elizabeth Gilbert had everything a modern American woman was supposed to want -- husband, country home, successful career -- but instead of feeling happy and fulfilled, she felt consumed by panic and confusion. This wise and rapturous book is the story of how she left behind all these outward marks of success, and of what she found in their place. Following a divorce and a crushing depression, Gilbert set out to examine three different aspects of her nature, set against the backdrop of three different cultures: pleasure in Italy, devotion in India, and on the Indonesian island of Bali, a balance between worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence."
It goes on, but you get the idea. Again and again.
It's not that Gilbert isn't a good writer. She is. And if you're going to write in the travel-as-self-discovery genre, the result is, by default, rather self-absorbed. That's kind of the point.
But to read Gilbert's book, then immediately follow it with Hirsi Ali's (I seldom wait more than a day between books), is to be slapped in the face with a literary example of, as everyone said in those weeks after Sept. 11, "why they hate us." Never have I seen the vast gulf between contemporary American life and the horrors of life in many African and Arab cultures (particularly for women) so strikingly presented. And the fact that so many Americans seem to be reading "Eat Pray Love," (in airports, anyway) instead of "Infidel" does not bode well for our understanding of what we are up against in terms of radical Islam versus the West (Yes, I know many commentators rant about what an oversimplification that is, but this is my blog. Get over it.).
So if you're looking for a valuable way to spend your reading time, please consider "Infidel."
On the other hand, if you just want brainless beach-blanket fare (assuming that you've already finished "The Da Vinci Code"), then by all means dive into "Eat Pray Love."
There are plenty of copies at the airport.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Basketball goals, Edmund Gwenn and the best gift I could have gotten
I can't explain why a Jewish kid who never saw snow during childhood is such a sucker for "Miracle on 34th Street." Since the first time I saw it, the story of the department store Santa who may be the "real deal" has been my favorite holiday film. (I even liked the remake with Richard Attenborough in the Edmund Gwenn role. The scene where he signs for the deaf girl still puts a lump in my throat.)
I loved the film so much that I married the grown-up version of the cynical little girl who doesn't believe in Santa, but then is shown he can do miraculous things. (I guess when we get that beachfront home in Hawaii, with no mortgage, Sarah will leave cookies and milk out on Christmas Eve.) So perhaps I was looking for a little of that holiday magic when Elijah requested that Santa bring him numerous (the number seemed to change every day) basketball goals.
Lo and behold, we had our own little miracle on our street. While at work on Christmas Eve, Sarah was discussing with co-workers the basketball goal dilemma we were facing the next
morning. One of them mentioned that the paper had done a photo essay on various basketball goals in the area, and in fact the pictures were somewhere in the paper's system. That night Sarah came home with a stack of photos of all sorts of goals. The goals were new, old, broken and pristine. Perfect for our little aficionado.
Needless to say the pictures were the ultimate gift. For Hanukah and Christmas Elijah got all sorts of toys, DVDs and books, but nothing on Christmas morning was more important or caused a wider smile. As soon as he saw the pictures he asked me to staple them together so they could become a "book." Then he spent the entire day carrying it around with him, ignoring almost all of the other gifts he received (the exception being anything having to do with Wall-E). He was ecstatic, describing each and every goal, whether there was writing on the backboard or if the net was missing. In fact, the basketball goal "book" received the ultimate seal of approval; Elijah wouldn't let go of it even when he fell asleep.
As for Sarah and I, we had decided not to exchange gifts this year so while I got nothing tangible each night I lit the menorah, nor anything under the tree, I did get an incredible gift the day after Christmas. When Elijah came down the stairs that morning he saw all of his gifts piled high on a table in our entry. A smile that could only be described as "from ear to ear" graced his face as he viewed his bounty. But the best was yet to come. As he stepped off the final stair, Elijah walked over and wrapped his arms around me in as warm a hug one can imagine, and told me, "I love you so much, Daddy." Playing Pebble Beach with a new set of Pings couldn't hold a candle to that.
I loved the film so much that I married the grown-up version of the cynical little girl who doesn't believe in Santa, but then is shown he can do miraculous things. (I guess when we get that beachfront home in Hawaii, with no mortgage, Sarah will leave cookies and milk out on Christmas Eve.) So perhaps I was looking for a little of that holiday magic when Elijah requested that Santa bring him numerous (the number seemed to change every day) basketball goals.
Lo and behold, we had our own little miracle on our street. While at work on Christmas Eve, Sarah was discussing with co-workers the basketball goal dilemma we were facing the next
morning. One of them mentioned that the paper had done a photo essay on various basketball goals in the area, and in fact the pictures were somewhere in the paper's system. That night Sarah came home with a stack of photos of all sorts of goals. The goals were new, old, broken and pristine. Perfect for our little aficionado.Needless to say the pictures were the ultimate gift. For Hanukah and Christmas Elijah got all sorts of toys, DVDs and books, but nothing on Christmas morning was more important or caused a wider smile. As soon as he saw the pictures he asked me to staple them together so they could become a "book." Then he spent the entire day carrying it around with him, ignoring almost all of the other gifts he received (the exception being anything having to do with Wall-E). He was ecstatic, describing each and every goal, whether there was writing on the backboard or if the net was missing. In fact, the basketball goal "book" received the ultimate seal of approval; Elijah wouldn't let go of it even when he fell asleep.
As for Sarah and I, we had decided not to exchange gifts this year so while I got nothing tangible each night I lit the menorah, nor anything under the tree, I did get an incredible gift the day after Christmas. When Elijah came down the stairs that morning he saw all of his gifts piled high on a table in our entry. A smile that could only be described as "from ear to ear" graced his face as he viewed his bounty. But the best was yet to come. As he stepped off the final stair, Elijah walked over and wrapped his arms around me in as warm a hug one can imagine, and told me, "I love you so much, Daddy." Playing Pebble Beach with a new set of Pings couldn't hold a candle to that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
