Wednesday, February 25, 2009
There is a lot of finger pointing about who's to blame for this recession, but so far no one has blamed themselves. Well, I'm willing to step up.
No, I didn't package and re-sell any complex financial securities. But I might have, had I had any clue about how to do it. Apparently I would've made a lot of money in 2006--enough to buy, say, Romania, which would've been kind of cool.
No, I didn't take out a variable-rate mortgage with a low teaser rate so that I could live in a penthouse overlooking Central Park instead of a ground-floor apartment overlooking a sidewalk. But I probably would have, if Jennifer and Samuel weren't around to stop me. (Ethan would've gone along with it.)
I didn't buy several unfinished Miami Beach condos, sight unseen, with the intention of flipping them before construction was complete. But I surely would've, if I'd had a little more ambition and more than $150 in savings.
I didn't even leverage our home equity to the hilt in order to remodel our kitchen. But, hell, I still might. Our circa-1988 white refrigerator is so old that it's starting to look retro. Chalk that up to laziness as well.
So, all in all, I think it's fair to say that this recession is pretty much my fault. The good news is, it would've been even worse if I weren't so stupid, submissive, and unmotivated.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
We've been busy this weekend. We're making a push to finish Ethan's epic movie, which has literally been almost 2 years in the making.
He plays the role of a girl, and as you may recall, he said he'd cut his hair after it's done. He said he's playing a boy in his next movie. So that added further urgency.
We've got a few more scenes to shoot next weekend, then another week of editing. I agreed to buy Adobe AfterEffects so that we can add in lasers and fire and explosions. (We've shot several scenes against a green screen, so we're kind of committed.)
Thursday, February 12, 2009
You are 11 years old today.
You are the sweetest boy in the universe, and I am now quite certain that you always will be. I am very happy about that, because the universe is a much more wonderful place simply because of the love you bring to it.
You are a boy who will always believe in the magic of Christmas, even as you devise a radar navigation system to improve the efficiency of Santa's sleigh.
You are a boy who will always stop to pet a dog or comfort a crying toddler or hug your little brother just because he says he has missed you.
You are a boy who will grow into a loving husband, a doting father, and probably an award-winning architect or Wii game developer or mad scientist.
I have loved you from the very second that you were born, and I will love you forever and ever and ever.
Oh, and before I forget, here is your birthday gift. Don't tell Mom--it's a surprise.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Kahlua informs me that she could've won this year's Westminster Dog Show. She is happy that a Spaniel won first prize, but she thinks that the winner probably had plastic surgery. After all, she is 70 in dog years.
She says that would be like Dyan Cannon winning the Miss America contest.
Kahlua says yikes.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
According to Sports Illustrated, digital media guru and ex-amateur athlete Todd Tarpley tested positive for performance-enhancing chocolate in 2007. Tarpley, then an interactive GM at Doubledown Media, reportedly consumed an assortment of candy bars during his tenure there, most notably Milky Ways but also including Reeses cups, Snickers, and Twix bars.
"If you look at photos of him in 2001, and in 2007, you'll see a remarkable difference," said Sports Illustrated senior editor Mark Johnson. "His pecs and biceps are noticeably larger, and his abs are more cut. He looks like he's getting younger, like in that Brad Pitt movie."
"I once saw him drink an entire Mr. Softee black-and-white milkshake in about 30 seconds," said a former colleague, who requested anonymity. "Then he said, 'Man, that's living,' patted his abs, and proceeded to do 24 pull-ups."
Tarpley made the following statement through his agent, Scott Boras:
"There will always be rumors swirling around Mr. Tarpley simply because it's difficult to fathom that a middle-aged man can still look as good as he does. But let me reiterate that my client has never knowingly consumed any cocoa-containing substances. His physical superiority is strictly the result of hard work, a good diet, and steroids."
Saturday, February 7, 2009
So we saw "Coraline" last night. I'm gonna be all alone on this review, just like I was on "Benjamin Button" (I was apparently the only person in the universe who thought that also sucked).
Here's the thing about "Coraline": if you're one of those techie nerds that gets all excited about stop-motion cinematography, then you will definitely like this. If, however, you like a good story line that moves along at faster than 2 mph, then you'll be bored, as I was.
Jennifer and I were reading about the single mom who just had octuplets. That was in addition to the 6 kids she already has. So...um, I'm not great at math, but that makes something like 13 or 14 kids.
Jennifer asked me if I'd really be happy with 14 kids. I said, "Of course not, sweetheart. Don't be crazy. I'd be perfectly happy with 9 or 10."
I would be perfectly happy with 14 if I didn't have to hold down 7 full-time jobs to feed, clothe, house, and educate them.
We'd have to move to a big barn in rural Kentucky. And we probably wouldn't get to do a lot of weekend trips to Great Wolf Lodge, let alone longer and more exotic vacations. (I don't think there is a Great Wolf Lodge in rural Kentucky, but whatever the local equivalent is--Coal Mine World, maybe.)
It probably would be hard to get good sushi down there, unless it's catfish. All of our kids' friends would be named Joe Bob, and they'd always be giving us Bible pamphlets whenever they came over for playdates.
But when I say I'd be happy with 14 kids, I'm answering it as a theoretical question.
Yes, I'd like a lot of kids. And 5 dogs. And we'd live in an 8-bedroom penthouse at the Beresford, and I'd work 2 hours a day, from home, in my underwear. And the kids would all go to private school. And we'd have a nanny and a housekeeper. And a big country home--I don't know, maybe in Tahiti--where all the kids could run around on weekends.
That's all I'm saying. Okay?