October has arrived, and with it the constant October-based puns.  The best of these, of course, is “Rocktober”, which is all but taken for granted at this point.  Recently I came across an incidence of questionable gun-jumping in the term “Rocktember”, in an ad for a sale taking place in September.  I remarked on this to Jared, which lead to a conversation about the possibility of Rockember and Rockcember, which are reasonable, and the less desirable results that occur at the turn of the new year.  Rockuary is still comprehensible, at least, but Rockruary is difficult to pronounce.  Rarch is just stupid; April does not translate except perhaps as Rapril which doesn’t sound like it has much to do with rocking at all.  Things progress poorly throughout the late spring and summer with the pointless Ray, Rune, and Ruly but take a bright turn in Rockgust, which is actually quite decent!

My own Rocktober is off to a good start; the ceremonial purchasing of the novelty Halloween socks (Socktoberfest) took place earlier today!


Although he is too young to produce meaningful speech, Leif is an accomplished babbler and sometimes makes sounds that are identifiable as words.  A few days ago he enuniciated a very clear, distinct, and exasperated “Oy!”  This morning, Jared was convinced he heard him say “Ham.”

In other news, be on the lookout for my upcoming pamphlet about how to eat when you’re a vegetarian (except for a bit of fish, but even that’s limited due to the DEADLY MERCURY!!!), compounded by being a picky eater, compounded by being generally unable to tolerate spices or other exotic flavors, compounded by having to avoid both dairy and soy (I repeat: both dairy and soy) due to nebulous infant tummy issues, compounded by not really knowing how to cook, compounded by requiring a tremendous amount of calories to produce enough breastmilk for a rapidly-growing organism and to sustain one’s extremely necessary running habit.  The pamphlet is called “I Hope You Like Muesli!”  and the illustration on the front is of me punching myself in the fucking face.

have fun in braintree, morons!

Yesterday I had some business to attend to in South Boston.  Afterwards, on a shuttle bus back to the subway station, three young women started having a loud, bothersome conversation about how men don’t understaaaaand and god knows what else.

(Side note:  if you have to complain like that about the opposite sex, it’s generally because you’re only capable of attracting lame members of that sex.  So remember that when you bitch about how all women are ditzy golddiggers or all men are uncaring slobs.  They aren’t.  The good ones just don’t want you.)

They prattered on, and at one point one of them mentioned that her mother was picking her up from their destination.  “She was like, don’t you dare walk home from Davis Square!” she reported.  (Which–what?  Why not?)  The shuttle dropped us at the train station and we stood near each other on the platform.  The outbound train arrived, and before I could intervene*, one of the girls said, “I was confused.  How could we be going inbound if we’re already in the city?” and they hopped aboard.  Oh, how I laughed.  Actually, I didn’t laugh, but I did find it pretty gratifying as the train whisked them away.

*I totally would have helped if I could have, even though they were my sworn enemies.  And full disclosure, it’s been a long-ass time since I rode the red line so I also had a moment of, if I took the inbound train to get here then why am I also taking the inbound train home? But I figured it out with my super-smarts, so I still get to make fun of them.

a little from column a, a little from column b

This evening I went for my first run since giving birth, and in fact my first real run in a very long time.  (The first song that played as I got the treadmill going was TI’s “Live Your Life”, so it was like I was acting out my own little inspirational montage.)  I kept running for the first couple weeks of the pregnancy until the constant nausea kicked in…then went for maybe three half-assed jogs in the second trimester before becoming too hemodynamically unstable to so much as walk down the street without multiple breaks.  So I guess it’s getting on towards ten months since I was really running.  And I was able to do three miles today at essentially the same pace and intensity as before the pregnancy.  So, there’s two ways of looking at this:  I’m an ultra bad-ass who doesn’t need to ease back into my workout regimen; I straight-up resumed that shit.  OR: My pre-pregnancy level of fitness was really not that impressive in the first place.

watch out for flying metaphors!

Last night I dreamed that there were extra doors in my house, and none of them were secure.  I’d lock the locks at night but this guy kept getting in somehow.  One morning I found that he had rigged up this machine on my kitchen counter that turned lemons into lemonade (GGRRROOOAN).  He was short and mustachioed (universal symbol for evil, duh) and I told him to stay out, but he wouldn’t.   The doors just wouldn’t close all the way.  I recruited his two large, sympathetic sons to help me reason with him, and they tried, but he just kept coming back and he yelled at me for throwing out his lemonade.

pro tips

1:  Before the baby was born I read some of The Happiest Baby on the Block and learned about the “5 S” technique for recreating the womb environment.  That shit is no joke; it really does work most of the time when done as instructed.  However, I have trouble with one of the S’s, namely making the loud, prolonged SSSSHHHH sound in Leif’s ear.  During a fussing session one day, I googled “white noise” (actually “white nosie”; I was a tad frantic) and found this site, which has proven to be my own personal mother’s little helper.

2:  Baby boys get erections.  I guess I always knew this on an intellectual level, but still found myself somewhat alarmed when confronted with the reality for the first time.  Tip 2.1: It’s normal so you don’t need to read up on it.  If you choose to do so anyway it will be the most uncomfortable google search of your life and you will want to clear your cache post-haste.  Tip 2.2:  It means they’re about to piss, so take cover.

oh no he di’int

A long time ago, in a fit of punnery, I invented the word “Luftwaffle” all funny-like, and ever since then Jared has tried to front like HE made up the word*.  This morning he was making waffles and said, “If we ever open a diner, we can serve waffles and call them Luftwaffles.”

“Yes, that would be a very funny joke that *I* made,” I replied.

“Yes, it would be.  And are you going to be a [redacted] about it for the rest of your life?” he rebutted.

Ha.  Am I?  What do you think, man?  What do you think?

*According to the internet, many others have had the same idea, but I came up with it on my own so the point still stands.

a recommendation

People always joke that there are certain movies you shouldn’t watch while pregnant, like Eraserhead or anything else where the baby is actually some sort of monster.  I’m unmoved by this argument, having happily watched The Brood (complete with “lady tearing open an external womb with her teeth” scene) in the second trimester.  However, I can state with some degree of authority that one should probably not watch The Fog of War while pregnant.  Sigh.

area gasbag enrages populace

I was happily reading at the coffeeshop when a middle-aged guy plopped himself down in a seat near me, and apropos of absolutely fucking nothing started complaining loudly, to everyone in the general vicinity, about the terrible acoustics in the room.  Despite his clear grasp of the technical aspects of sound control, he seemed to have virtually no awareness of how shouting into a small, enclosed space (and one known to have poor acoustics, no less!) was not really 1) solving the problem or 2) doing anything to improve anyone’s day.  In a heartening display of affability, another guy tried to talk to him and ask questions like, “So how could they fix it?  How much would it cost?” but every time he spoke the first guy would brashly interrupt him.  He then segued into a story about how twenty years ago he was part of some Cambridge-based recording association, but got kicked out because he moved and was no longer a Cambridge resident.

At a certain point it was almost impossible not to grab him by the throat and ask if he noticed the glaring irony of complaining about how much voices carry by taking a high-decibel verbal shit all over those of use who were actually behaving like respectful adults, and furthermore, that it was overwhelmingly obvious to us all that his city of residence had nothing to fucking do with why the association kicked his ass out, but instead I just sat there in dismay.  Eventually he left (failing to bus his table–further evidence of a corrupt soul) and the owner of the coffeeshop came over and apologized, explaining that this was far from his first tirade.  The moral of this story?  STFU, guy.