Is There Something Wrong Here?

Last night, after an afternoon of running errands followed by dinner out, we rushed home to see The Police open the 49th Grammy Awards. We made it by a minute, having enough time to get in the door, turn on the TV, and surf to the right channel before hearing Sting declare, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are the Police and we are back!" Insert chills here. They sounded amazing, but I was disappointed when they left the stage after performing Roxanne. I wanted more.

I settled in and Diane gave the girls their baths, graciously allowing me to absorb the show. Thanks, hon, you're the best! She took Kailey away first, leaving Kyra and I to watch The Dixie Chicks perform Not Ready to Make Nice. Joan Baez introduced them by saying something to the effect of "some people tell artists to shut up and sing". This struck a chord with Kyra. After the performance she asked me, "Why are people telling them to shut up and sing?" I offered what I thought to be a lame answer, but it seemed to make sense to her, so for the rest of the evening the Dixie Chicks became known as the "girls who were told to shut up and sing."

Kailey came in after her bath and Kyra took her turn in the tub as I gave Kailey her pajamas and dried her hair. Kyra returned a short while later because she wanted to see Shakira and Wyclef Jean perform Hips Don't Lie. SAY WHAT!?! Don't ask me where my six year-old learned this song...I barely even know it. But that's what she wanted to watch.

We were just about ready to send the girls to bed when Shakira came on. And I don't know what's worse: the fact that Kyra knows the song, or that we LET her watch the performance. Shakira comes on the stage in a long gold skirt and a matching, um, top, for lack of a better word, and her infamous midriff bared for all the world to see. The song begins and Shakira does her thing, shaking it all over the stage. Then the backup dancers show up and they're shaking it all over the stage too. There's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on. However, the backup dancers, I noticed, were not allowed to show their midriffs...only Shakira. I think that's #1 in Shakira's Ten Commandments: Thou shalt have no other midriffs before mine, sayeth Shakira.

It makes sense...thar's pow'r in them thar hips!! Hypnotic power mixed with a little morse code. It goes like this: shake, shake, shake...you are getting very sleepy...shake, shake, shake...you are now under my command...shake, shake, shake...you will buy all of my CD's, DVD's, concert tickets, t-shirts, posters, and bumper stickers...shake, shake, shake...now when I slap my butt...shake, shake, shake...you will wake up, go to your computer and empty your checking accounts, savings accounts, and load up all your credit cards at my website...

SLAP!! Thank goodness that slap was from my wife, up the side of my head. I guess I was drooling. She saved me from the hypnotic trance of Shakira's hips. Thanks, hon, you're the best! And to think that we subjected our precious little girls to this. Not to mention the fact that I taped it and allowed Kyra to watch it THREE MORE TIMES this morning. What is wrong with me? I blame it on the trance.

Ch-Ch-Changes

It's official...I'm no longer a generic blogger. It took me the better part of two days to figure it out (I'm not too bright), but I finally added a bit o' flair to my title. Now, I'm legit...2 legit to quit...sorry, I couldn't resist. Let me know what you think!

Feeling Like a Fool

I walked into the men's room at work to find the solitary urinal occupied by one of the account executives who works upstairs. We've seen each other on occasion and have exchanged pleasantries, but that's about the extent of our relationship. I gave him a "How goes?" (no pun intended) and made my way to one of the stalls, not expecting a reply.

"So, do you think I need to stop at the store to pick up something for dinner?" he asked, still facing the wall.

I stopped dead in my tracks and did a quick scan of the men's room. No one else was there. I looked back at him...one hand rested on his hip while the other, well, you know, WASN'T holding a cell phone, so I decided he must be talking to me. "Ummm, I don't know...I guess it depends on what you want," I offered, a little unnerved and still unsure of why in the world he would ask me such a question.

He wasn't talking to me. He turned his head toward me (his body was still engaged) to reveal a wireless Bluetooth receiver in his left ear. Darn you, modern technology! Dude was apparently making dinner plans with wifey-poo while taking a leak. Talk about multitasking. He shot me a quick grin then turned back to continue his conversation and finish the job. I felt like a big dork (pun again not intended), and walked swiftly into the nearest stall where I conducted my business while waiting patiently for him to exit the men's room.

Thank goodness I don't see him that often, but I'm not going to avoid him. Next time I see him I'm going to ask him what they had for dinner. He'll probably have no idea of what I'm talking about and I'll look like a dork again...what's new.

Getting Used to Disappointment

With all the crap that goes on in my life, you'd think that my paradigm, my default approach or mantra would be somewhere in the realm of "expect disappointment". Like that poor, lovable sap, Charlie Brown, I come truckin' full speed ahead whenever life holds that beautiful football to the ground, fully expecting that this time I'll send it soaring end over end through the golden goal posts, only to have it yanked from my reach at the last second. I end up on my back, again, looking up at the sky where I utter a little prayer, "Why me?"

OK, so that intro is a little over the top (now you know where Kyra gets her melodramatic tendencies), but I'm frustrated. With my Zune. Well, not with my Zune specifically, but with the FM transmitter I couldn't buy at Best Buy but could buy on Best Buy's website, so I did and then had to wait in anxious anticipation for ten days for it to arrive. Pssst, here it is...look at this big, juicy football...

Diane called me at work last Thursday to tell me that my "thing" came. Finally! I arrived home to find a box, much bigger than necessary, waiting for me on the counter. Cool! I opened it, removed two yards of bubble pouches, and found the treasure resting at the bottom of the box. Let's see if it works! I removed the transmitter from its box, grabbed my Zune, and headed to the bedroom. Diane was in bed and she immediately noticed the look of determination in my eyes. "Got your new toy?" she asked.

"Yup."

I sat down next to her and began to demonstrate the capabilities of the long-awaited transmitter, "You plug this into the Zune, dial in an unassigned frequency, then tune the radio to the same frequency." I dialed the transmitter to 90.1, the frequency that worked best according to the Best Buy guy, then slowly turned the dial on the clock radio sitting next to the bed. The radio crackled and warbled as I scrolled through the various stations until Coldplay's "Don't Panic" came roaring to life. "Well, I'll be...it works!"

The real test would come in the car and the results vary. At times it sounds great, but overall I'm disappointed. I haven't been able to find a completely static-free channel, and every time I drive through an intersection with stoplights, I lose the signal due to interference. A couple of friends have told me that cassette adapters work better than the transmitter, but I don't have a cassette player in my car. Once again, I'm screwed. He swings...he misses...he catapults through the air!

I've already invested nearly $500 in the Zune, the system upgrade, and the transmitter in a vain attempt to enjoy my music with a high-quality signal in my car. I guess my next Zune upgrade will have to be the purchase of a new vehicle. At least then I can say I got a car out of the deal.

Kyra's First Blog

i love you daddy love kyra and i like you and rex too evne grammy i love you mommy and i am6 ueeh old and i like my mommy and i am skard uv mummy be kuz i dod like mummy kailey is 7 ueeh old mommy and daddy is 38 ueeh old wen i woz in predy skool airanna and alsin wrhr callng me a crai babby and i woohz crai but i tall miss debbie