bhawken: Can you send me those pictures from the trip to D.C.?
Mamahawk: I don't know how to scan them.
bhawken: You own a digital camera...
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Homework? How Dare You.
During my elementary and high school years, anything my teachers assigned for homework was destined to end poorly.
Invariably my assignments would contain a question about past predicates or solving for x, and, invariably, I would rapidly lose interest once I got home and got distracted by more pressing matters, like shoving a tray of ice cubes down Jake's shirt.
Once back at my desk I would spend several more hours drawing pictures in the margins of my notebook, and, eventually, admit defeat and ask Hal or The Beast for help.
Hal was the designated instructor for any questions involving math and science; The Beast oversaw essays, vocab words, social studies and piano lessons.
As a result, between the ages of 7 and 18, I was rarely happy to be speaking to them.
I have never met a respectable human being who enjoyed math homework, but Hal had a special way of making my daily assignments even more poignant.
After reading the story problem aloud several times (and adding additional dramatic inflections with each repetition), Hal would begin thinking out loud while scrawling what he considered to be painfully obvious conclusions across the page.
As I stared at the paper and began turning it a full 360 degrees in an attempt to find a starting point from which to decipher the result, there would be a series of fleeting moments (typically lasting 5 minutes) wherein he would openly question how we were related. Then, to put a positive spin on our time hunched around the kitchen table, he would tell a math-related joke to put my mind at ease. He might as well have been speaking Nigerian.
The Beast got to handle the softer subject matter, but she was no more helpful.
The most notable instance of this fact is the infamous assistance she offered while helping me prepare for a state capitals quiz in 7th grade.
Confident that she did not have to refer to a map while reviewing my answers to various flashcards (and using the capital of Oklahoma as her guide), she proceeded to inform me of the correct names of the other 49 states.
Imagine my surprise when a disappointed Mr. Lee handed back the tests and sternly explained to me that locations such as Hawaii City, Nebraska City, Florida City and Maine City did not exist.
The most unpleasant situations, however, came about whenever Hal was unavailable to help with his assigned areas of the curriculum, and The Beast had to fill in.
One famous assignment from my 8th grade science class asked each student to label the basic (I stress the word basic) components of a nuclear reactor.
Due to the fact I had been reading a Hardy Boys novel during the instructional film strip, I had to rely on The Beast's technical wizardry to apply the proper descriptive language to the various parts of the reactor.
Her final product was, perhaps, some of her finest work.
Invariably my assignments would contain a question about past predicates or solving for x, and, invariably, I would rapidly lose interest once I got home and got distracted by more pressing matters, like shoving a tray of ice cubes down Jake's shirt.
Once back at my desk I would spend several more hours drawing pictures in the margins of my notebook, and, eventually, admit defeat and ask Hal or The Beast for help.
Hal was the designated instructor for any questions involving math and science; The Beast oversaw essays, vocab words, social studies and piano lessons.
As a result, between the ages of 7 and 18, I was rarely happy to be speaking to them.
I have never met a respectable human being who enjoyed math homework, but Hal had a special way of making my daily assignments even more poignant.
After reading the story problem aloud several times (and adding additional dramatic inflections with each repetition), Hal would begin thinking out loud while scrawling what he considered to be painfully obvious conclusions across the page.
As I stared at the paper and began turning it a full 360 degrees in an attempt to find a starting point from which to decipher the result, there would be a series of fleeting moments (typically lasting 5 minutes) wherein he would openly question how we were related. Then, to put a positive spin on our time hunched around the kitchen table, he would tell a math-related joke to put my mind at ease. He might as well have been speaking Nigerian.
The Beast got to handle the softer subject matter, but she was no more helpful.
The most notable instance of this fact is the infamous assistance she offered while helping me prepare for a state capitals quiz in 7th grade.
Confident that she did not have to refer to a map while reviewing my answers to various flashcards (and using the capital of Oklahoma as her guide), she proceeded to inform me of the correct names of the other 49 states.
Imagine my surprise when a disappointed Mr. Lee handed back the tests and sternly explained to me that locations such as Hawaii City, Nebraska City, Florida City and Maine City did not exist.
The most unpleasant situations, however, came about whenever Hal was unavailable to help with his assigned areas of the curriculum, and The Beast had to fill in.
One famous assignment from my 8th grade science class asked each student to label the basic (I stress the word basic) components of a nuclear reactor.
Due to the fact I had been reading a Hardy Boys novel during the instructional film strip, I had to rely on The Beast's technical wizardry to apply the proper descriptive language to the various parts of the reactor.
Her final product was, perhaps, some of her finest work.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Bestial Advocacy
I'm sure that by now you've all seen Chris Crocker on YouTube or ABC news or some other multimedia outlet. Well, I guess this guy has been inspired by Crocker's advocacy, and is picketing our lovely blog.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Uphill Both Ways With A Bum Knee
Aside from his belief that "if you enjoy what you're doing, you should cut it out and get a job," the thing most strongly asserted by Hal during my tenure within the walls of the Hawken home was that he had it a LOT harder than Ben and I did growing up.
How much harder was immeasurable. If it started to appear measurable, it retroactively became even worse.
Apparently, despite the fact that when Hal was a kid a movie only cost a nickel, the average daily wage was actually negative 17 cents. "Yeah," Hal will remark with smugness, "we had to pay to work in my day."
When struggling to learn my major scales on the piano, Hal would point out that it was a lot harder when he had to learn on a piano that had razorblades embedded in the keys.
When Ben joined the swim team, Hal would note that their school couldn't afford a pool and they had to swim through dirt.
This difficulty gap was not only supposed to make us grateful that we didn't have to partake of the indigent circumstances of his childhood, but also grateful that he was so benevolent.
Upon applying to my university's school of music, my dad reminded me that I should be grateful that he was allowing me to be a music major. Upon announcing his intention to not major in Chewing On Barbed Wire, Hal's father apparently put him in a scorpion-lined box and then rolled the box down a hill.
In fact, from a composite of descriptions of his childhood, I can infer that Hal's father was 8 feet tall, performed black magic, ate rocks and was made of out of a combination of steel and anger.
It should be noted that The Beast didn't have a charmed childhood either. Apparently, when her parents made her share a bed with her sister, my aunt regularly stabbed her with a sharpened toothbrush.
Also, something confirmed by both parents is that in their day, instead of being administered with a standard hypodermic needle, inoculations were administered by 86 individual needles, each of which being approximately 2 inches wide, and covered with salt.
How much harder was immeasurable. If it started to appear measurable, it retroactively became even worse.
Apparently, despite the fact that when Hal was a kid a movie only cost a nickel, the average daily wage was actually negative 17 cents. "Yeah," Hal will remark with smugness, "we had to pay to work in my day."
When struggling to learn my major scales on the piano, Hal would point out that it was a lot harder when he had to learn on a piano that had razorblades embedded in the keys.
When Ben joined the swim team, Hal would note that their school couldn't afford a pool and they had to swim through dirt.
This difficulty gap was not only supposed to make us grateful that we didn't have to partake of the indigent circumstances of his childhood, but also grateful that he was so benevolent.
Upon applying to my university's school of music, my dad reminded me that I should be grateful that he was allowing me to be a music major. Upon announcing his intention to not major in Chewing On Barbed Wire, Hal's father apparently put him in a scorpion-lined box and then rolled the box down a hill.
In fact, from a composite of descriptions of his childhood, I can infer that Hal's father was 8 feet tall, performed black magic, ate rocks and was made of out of a combination of steel and anger.
It should be noted that The Beast didn't have a charmed childhood either. Apparently, when her parents made her share a bed with her sister, my aunt regularly stabbed her with a sharpened toothbrush.
Also, something confirmed by both parents is that in their day, instead of being administered with a standard hypodermic needle, inoculations were administered by 86 individual needles, each of which being approximately 2 inches wide, and covered with salt.
They Require a License for a Car, But Not Internet Access
Hal and The Beast were born in the days before color TV, automatic transmissions or microwave popcorn, yet they have grown incredibly comfortable wandering around the Interweb unsupervised.
This, quite often, has led to things which are outlandishly hilarious for Jake and I, and utterly confusing for them.
If simply wandering around cyberspace weren't ridiculous enough, they occasionally try to use this medium as a means of communicating.
That's where our new feature, IM Convos, comes in. It's a detailed record of the elite level of discourse shared by Jake and I with Hal and The Beast.
It's important to note, once again, we're not making this up.
This, quite often, has led to things which are outlandishly hilarious for Jake and I, and utterly confusing for them.
If simply wandering around cyberspace weren't ridiculous enough, they occasionally try to use this medium as a means of communicating.
That's where our new feature, IM Convos, comes in. It's a detailed record of the elite level of discourse shared by Jake and I with Hal and The Beast.
It's important to note, once again, we're not making this up.
Using Letters and Numbers in a New Medium
Hawkman: Hey! I am text messaging you!
bhawken: This is not text messaging.
Hawkman: I saw someone doing this on a commercial.
bhawken: Text messaging is done with a phone.
Hawkman: I think it's was called "the mobile web."
bhawken: Are you doing this on your cell phone right now?
Hawkman: What are you talking about? I'm not talking on my phone, I'm at the computer!
bhawken has signed off.
bhawken: This is not text messaging.
Hawkman: I saw someone doing this on a commercial.
bhawken: Text messaging is done with a phone.
Hawkman: I think it's was called "the mobile web."
bhawken: Are you doing this on your cell phone right now?
Hawkman: What are you talking about? I'm not talking on my phone, I'm at the computer!
bhawken has signed off.
Instant Updates on Random Dog Sightings
Mamahawk: Are you busy right now?
bhawken: Yes, very.
Mamahawk: Are you working?
bhawken: Yes.
Mamahawk: I saw a cute dog today while I was driving to work.
bhawken: I gotta go.
Mamahawk: It looked happy! Call me later and I will tell you about it!
bhawken: Yes, very.
Mamahawk: Are you working?
bhawken: Yes.
Mamahawk: I saw a cute dog today while I was driving to work.
bhawken: I gotta go.
Mamahawk: It looked happy! Call me later and I will tell you about it!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Hawken Dance Party
There was an extended period during our youth (a period which, arguably, is still alive and well) wherein Jake and I developed a deep appreciation of rap music.
Our love of this urban art form was aided and abetted by our father's love of enormous stereo equipment. Whereas he had carefully built a network of speakers designed to blare Boston songs at decibels capable of knocking small satellites out of orbit, Jake and I tested the limits of Hal's fondest possession on a constant supply of mid-90s hip hop.
Inevitably, while we would be slamming around the living room--the bass so loud it was loosening shingles and fillings--The Beast would wander into the fray.
I am fairly certain that she didn't like the music, but something about the primal roar of bass and drums set her body in motion.
Even the most advanced practitioners of kinesiology cannot explain how (or, for that matter, psychologists cannot explain why) she was moving in such a distinct manner, but it was a sight never to be forgotten.
As with so many other topics relating to the Hawken family, her dances defy mere language.
Perhaps the poet (note: younger readers, please click here instead) captured some of it when he famously wrote,
As I watched my mother dance, time and again, I began to see her movements as a distinct form of expression: She was imitating someone who was really dancing, who was imitating someone else who was making a joke about another person who was actually dancing.
It ultimately resembled most of the moves found in this piece of documentary footage. I'll let you guess which particular dancers were most successful at mimicking her movements.
Hint: None of the women.
Our love of this urban art form was aided and abetted by our father's love of enormous stereo equipment. Whereas he had carefully built a network of speakers designed to blare Boston songs at decibels capable of knocking small satellites out of orbit, Jake and I tested the limits of Hal's fondest possession on a constant supply of mid-90s hip hop.
Inevitably, while we would be slamming around the living room--the bass so loud it was loosening shingles and fillings--The Beast would wander into the fray.
I am fairly certain that she didn't like the music, but something about the primal roar of bass and drums set her body in motion.
Even the most advanced practitioners of kinesiology cannot explain how (or, for that matter, psychologists cannot explain why) she was moving in such a distinct manner, but it was a sight never to be forgotten.
As with so many other topics relating to the Hawken family, her dances defy mere language.
Perhaps the poet (note: younger readers, please click here instead) captured some of it when he famously wrote,
Now that I told ya a little bit about myself;
Let me tell ya a little bit about this dance.
It's real easy to do--check it out.
First I limp to the side like my leg was broken;
Shakin' and twitchin' kinda like I was smokin'.
Crazy wack funky.
People say ya look like M.C. Hammer on crack, Humpty.
That's all right 'cause my body's in motion.
It's supposed to look like a fit or a convulsion.
Anyone can play this game;
This is my dance, y'all, Humpty Hump's my name.
No two people will do it the same;
Ya got it down when ya appear to be in pain.
As I watched my mother dance, time and again, I began to see her movements as a distinct form of expression: She was imitating someone who was really dancing, who was imitating someone else who was making a joke about another person who was actually dancing.
It ultimately resembled most of the moves found in this piece of documentary footage. I'll let you guess which particular dancers were most successful at mimicking her movements.
Hint: None of the women.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Survivor: Hal
Survivor 2007
Personal Information
- First Name: Hal
- Last Name: (i refer you to the last question)
- Nicknames (if any): Triple H, Coach Hawk, Chumley, Scumpy
- Age: old enough to have bigger quads than you do
- Height: 6'2"
- Weight: light enough that my bum knees don't go out
- What is your occupation? informations technology football coach
- Please describe your day-to-day at work in 2 sentences: I hate my job. I hate my coworkers.
- Marital Status: sedentary
- Names of children: oh come, on, do i still have to remember that after they move out? i think one of them is Herman, or something.
- Strong-willed: you're damn right, and there's nothing you can do about it.
- Outgoing: i regularly strike up conversations with strangers in public places, often while out for dinner with my family. sometimes they're drunk and pay for our dinner for us.
- Adventurous: Star Trek Voyager and a bowl of cauliflower gets my heart pumping
- Physically and mentally adept: you bet. i wouldn't be a informations whatsamacallit if i wasn't!
- Adaptable to new environments: i'll be honest, i'm not even sure where i am at the present moment
- Interesting lifestyles, backgrounds and personalities: bicycles are neat!
What is your level of education and what school(s) did you attend? i coach football at a school. it's a big gray school with a roof!
Name three of your favorite hobbies.
1) writing email newsletters
2) waking up at 3am and riding my ludicrously expensive bike in the rain and hanging up my stinky bike shorts in the pantry
3) blaming my farts on my family
Have you been treated for any serious physical or mental illness(es) within the last three years?
well, i had 70% of my kneecap removed... for the second time.
List three adjectives that best describe yourself:
1) Prickly
2) Furry
3) Belch-prone
If you could hold any political office, what would it be and why? National Grumpiness Advisor and chair of International Passive-Agressive Complaints.
What is the accomplishment you are most proud of? some ungodly bike trip.
Do you have pets? If so, please list their name and type: I used to have a pet rock, back in the 70's. his name was skippy.
Are you a vegetarian or do you eat meat? meat costs too much. if you're buying though, yeah, i'll eat anything that bleeds.
What is your favorite TV Show? I tell everyone that it's Planet Earth, but really it's all of the episodes of Star Trek Voyager that involve close-ups of the blond in the Lycra jumpsuit.
What is your favorite movie? Back to the Future, and Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure
What is your favorite music to listen to? conservative talk radio
How much Survivor have you seen? what?
Which Survivor contestants do you most relate to? what are you talking about?
Who would you choose for your loved ones visit? Rush Limbaugh
Describe your perfect day: up at 2am and nothing but yard work and uphill bike rides until 11 at night
What magazines do you read? The Fascist Weekly, and Live-in-Fear-of-Conspiracies Quarterly
To which other reality shows or dating shows, if any, have you applied? How far did you get in the application process? reality what?
Do you belong to any affiliations or organizations? NRA, AARP, VFW, and POOP
Do you have any body art (piercing, tattoo, etc. )? i once had a "kick me" sign taped to my back
What is your favorite sport? i coach football
Who is your hero and why? Statler and Waldorf
List three non-survival-related items you would take with you to the remote location, if allowed, and why. my bike, a pair of holey green sweats, a bottle of watered-down ranch dressing
What would be the craziest, wildest thing you would do for a million dollars? jog
What would you NOT do for a million dollars? run
What is your favorite topic of conversation at a dinner party? What topics are off limits? the Hormel Corporation's conspiracy to usurp American sovereignty
What skills do you bring to Survior that would make you a useful member of the group? I can dig a mean hole.
If you were stranded, who would you most want to be stranded with? the Borg lady from Star Trek
What was the last outdoor experience that you had? When was it? I was out digging a hole in the back yard and couldn't get out of the hole. The Beast didn't notice until my next paycheck didn't come.
What sports do you do regularly? i coach football
What is your swimming ability? i am an 8-year-old magnet whenever i get in a pool, so i avoid the water
Why do you believe that you could be the final Survivor? i'm only gonna ask this one more time. what are you talking about?!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Reality Show Applications
You may have noticed a new category here on the blog -- Reality Show Applications!
These are real applications to real reality shows which have been filled out on behalf of Hal and The Beast. We have gone to great efforts to mimic their personality, tone and style when answering each question.
With luck, the producers from some truly awful reality show will be calling them soon.
Chances are they won't be too happy when they see that we're doing this.
And, frankly, that's the point.
These are real applications to real reality shows which have been filled out on behalf of Hal and The Beast. We have gone to great efforts to mimic their personality, tone and style when answering each question.
With luck, the producers from some truly awful reality show will be calling them soon.
Chances are they won't be too happy when they see that we're doing this.
And, frankly, that's the point.
Survivor: The Beast
Survivor 2007
Personal Information
- Strong-willed: I have a stronger will than anyone else I know. Have you met the two kids I had to raise? But if you expect me to put up with a bunch of other people's ignorant crap, I'd just as soon go do some craft projects and watch Law & Order.
- Outgoing: I'm more pleasant and affable than most idiots or buffoons I know.
- Adventurous: Does this mean leaving the house? That's not really my thing...
- Physically and mentally adept: Ha! Who do you think you're dealing with! I'm incredibly smrat!
- Adaptable to new environments: If this is some question about if I saw that Al Gore movie, the answer has two parts: "No" and "He sucks."
- Interesting lifestyles, backgrounds and personalities: I was once hit by a car while playing tetherball in my backyard. True story. I also collect chickens. I haven't eaten a meal that wasn't cooked in the microwave since the Reagan administration. That includes Thanksgiving.
What is your level of education and what school(s) did you attend? I've seen enough of your show's "contestants" and "winners" to know that you do not screen people based on their scholastic aptitude, so why even ask?
Name three of your favorite hobbies.
1) Sending e-mail forwards.
2) Losing my cell phone.
3) Is sleeping until 11 a.m. a hobby?
Have you been treated for any serious physical or mental illness(es) within the last three years? Yes, my foot had to be surgically removed from the [bleep] of some person who kept asking stupid questions.
List three adjectives that best describe yourself:
1) Intuitive
2) Interesting
3) Chocolate chip cookies
If you could hold any political office, what would it be and why? I would be President of the World and outlaw people who don't like Dancing with the Stars. And terrorists.
What is the accomplishment you are most proud of? I showered every single day in May 2005.
Do you have pets? If so, please list their name and type: Would you like to hear more about Anna? How much time do you have?
Are you a vegetarian or do you eat meat? What do I look like, some Marxist, commune-living fruitball?
What is your favorite TV Show? HAVE YOU HEARD OF DANCING WITH THE STARS??? YOU BETTER HOPE I NEVER GET ELECTED PRESIDENT OF THE WORLD! NEXT QUESTION!
What is your favorite movie? I bought my last DVD in 2001.
What is your favorite music to listen to? If it doesn't involve Michael Medved, I'm not interested.
How much Survivor have you seen? I don't watch this crap.
Which Survivor contestants do you most relate to? The ugly one covered with mud.
Who would you choose for your loved ones visit? I'd rather Michael Buble visited. He's yummy.
Describe your perfect day: Several copies of Readers Digest (the joke sections), a marathon of ER reruns, and a strip mall full of craft stores.
What magazines do you read? I'm more of a "look at the pictures" type.
To which other reality shows or dating shows, if any, have you applied? How far did you get in the application process? I was on Love Connection. You may remember the episode; I punched Chuck Woolery in the face. I've known three-year-old girls who could take fist to the teeth better than him.
Do you belong to any affiliations or organizations? Well, you may have heard of a certain grass roots effort to elect me President of the World...
Do you have any body art (piercing, tattoo, etc. )? Do moles count?
What is your favorite sport? Does the combination of reclining chairs and TiVo count as a sport?
Who is your hero and why? That one guy who had that movie made with that weird music and the junk all over stuff and that really inspiring part of the thing.
List three non-survival-related items you would take with you to the remote location, if allowed, and why. The inserts for my shoes, a house, microwave popcorn.
What would be the craziest, wildest thing you would do for a million dollars? Wake up at 8 a.m.
What would you NOT do for a million dollars? Wake up at 7 a.m.
What is your favorite topic of conversation at a dinner party? What topics are off limits? I like to talk about anything that involves eBay, craigslist or watching Hal do yardwork.
What skills do you bring to Survior that would make you a useful member of the group? I'll probably be the only person who isn't incapactitated by how much they suck.
If you were stranded, who would you most want to be stranded with? David Hasselhoff's chest.
What was the last outdoor experience that you had? When was it? I slept at a Motel 6 in Spokane in 1987.
What sports do you do regularly? I hear my oldest son complain about the Seattle Mariners a lot. I consider that a sport.
What is your swimming ability? I'm aware the sport exists.
Why do you believe that you could be the final Survivor? Hold on, I have take the curlers out of my hair. The Beast for Prez in '08!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Lockdown Comic Strip
When Jake and I were both young enough to attend the same elementary school (he in 1st grade, me in 5th), a prisoner escaped from a regional detention facility over 30 miles away.
The result? A full scale lockdown of our school.
The rationale for this was to limit any possibility that this felon might be able to enter the school and comprise the safety of students or staff, or that he might apprehend a student or staff member while in transit from the school to the safety of their home.
Furthermore, this lockdown ensured that if this escapee desperately needed art supplies or a Voltron backpack, his nefarious scheme would be thwarted.
Although it was kind of exciting to be in a lockdown situation versus an escaped prisoner, I recognized that there was basically zero chance of anything happening on our school grounds. Although recess was cancelled, we spent an uneventful day playing Heads-Up-7-Up and hangman with our vocab words.
Down the hall, however, the collective psyche of the 1st grade classes was volatile.
Having had the situation explained to them, each child was certain they were about to die. Except for Jake.
Noticing the wide-eyed panic gripping his classmates, Jake's instincts took over. While everyone around him fell helplessly into a spiraling miasma of fear and paranoia, Jake overcame these powerful emotions, and took control. Summoning every talent at his disposal, he dedicated himself to exacerbating the problem.
He quickly sketched a three-panel comic strip which he thought would best explain the dire gravity of this predicament to his classmates.
Having completed the first rendering of the scene unfolding directly outside their doors, Jake quickly drew additional copies and circulated them throughout the room.
Doing this--especially with the specific intention of traumatizing his classmates--is despicable, evil, cruel and fantastic.
When I finally heard about this later in the day, I couldn't have been more proud.
Even Hal and The Beast cracked a smile. Then chastised him. Then scrapbooked the comic.
The result? A full scale lockdown of our school.
The rationale for this was to limit any possibility that this felon might be able to enter the school and comprise the safety of students or staff, or that he might apprehend a student or staff member while in transit from the school to the safety of their home.
Furthermore, this lockdown ensured that if this escapee desperately needed art supplies or a Voltron backpack, his nefarious scheme would be thwarted.
Although it was kind of exciting to be in a lockdown situation versus an escaped prisoner, I recognized that there was basically zero chance of anything happening on our school grounds. Although recess was cancelled, we spent an uneventful day playing Heads-Up-7-Up and hangman with our vocab words.
Down the hall, however, the collective psyche of the 1st grade classes was volatile.
Having had the situation explained to them, each child was certain they were about to die. Except for Jake.
Noticing the wide-eyed panic gripping his classmates, Jake's instincts took over. While everyone around him fell helplessly into a spiraling miasma of fear and paranoia, Jake overcame these powerful emotions, and took control. Summoning every talent at his disposal, he dedicated himself to exacerbating the problem.
He quickly sketched a three-panel comic strip which he thought would best explain the dire gravity of this predicament to his classmates.
Having completed the first rendering of the scene unfolding directly outside their doors, Jake quickly drew additional copies and circulated them throughout the room.
Doing this--especially with the specific intention of traumatizing his classmates--is despicable, evil, cruel and fantastic.
When I finally heard about this later in the day, I couldn't have been more proud.
Even Hal and The Beast cracked a smile. Then chastised him. Then scrapbooked the comic.
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words...and Dozens of Years
When I reflect on a childhood spent under Hal and The Beast's roof, I recognize that I can never articulately describe, or fully convey, precisely what it was like. Even now, despite being a techincal writer by trade, I cannot accurately capture the nuances and extravagances of it all.
There was, and is, an odd dynamic between my parents, Jake and I that repells being described by mere language.
I might have gone my whole life without properly encapsulating it, were it not for this photograph.
I have entitled it, My Childhood.
I still have the talon marks on my scalp.
There was, and is, an odd dynamic between my parents, Jake and I that repells being described by mere language.
I might have gone my whole life without properly encapsulating it, were it not for this photograph.
I have entitled it, My Childhood.
I still have the talon marks on my scalp.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Keen, Terrible Ears
Something that I learned about Hal and The Beast growing up is that they have excellent hearing.
Something else that I learned about Hal and The Beast growing up is that they have horrible hearing.
Now for all of you "logical" people out there, this appears to be a contradictory statement. The two statements are mutually exclusive, you say? Such a thing as the realm of logical possibility, however, has never been able to contain the my parents' powers of absurdity.
Their cochlear ability was a function of the subject matter. If what The Beast was listening to involved a new idea, learning how to do something, or anything I wanted her to hear, her eardrum went slack and the microscopic hairs of her inner ear curled up and refused to be bothered until Labor Day. At this point, everything I said became clicks and pops. My mother's face would contort into an expression that screamed, "What the heck is wrong with you? For the last time: I DON'T SPEAK SWAHILI!!"
Similarly, Hal's hearing would give out during the main body of any joke or story, and until it returned halfway through the punchline, he would become distracted and floss his teeth with the nearest available envelope or sheet of paper, while quite believably pretending he could still hear. The amazing thing about Hal's lapses in hearing was their corresponding lapses in memory. Upon regaining his hearing during the punchline, he would forget that any time had passed since the introduction of the story or joke in question, and would then proceed to ask questions easily answered by listening to the previous 40 or so sentences. When answering these questions and reminding him that the information had been stated seconds earlier, one would receive the impression that the hearing problem was returning to some degree, indicated by a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression.
The paradox is in their moments of hyper-sensitive, almost prescient hearing. If in frustration at their failing ears or after an argument Ben or I would mutter something under our breath, at the other end of the house, in the basement, beneath the level of our own hearing, with our head wrapped in a towel, while we stood inside an anechoic chamber, we would immediately have a shrieking, frothing parent standing at our side, breathing heavily and inquiring as to exactly what it was we had just called them.
Don't believe me? Just last week, I was tyring to explain to The Beast (via phone, from Utah) how to send an email. After giving up after several minutes of her saying nothing but, "Huh?" I hung up and grumbled something about my frustration. 0.736 seconds later, I received an email from my mother in all caps, reading, "I AM NOT!!!!!!!!!!"
Something else that I learned about Hal and The Beast growing up is that they have horrible hearing.
Now for all of you "logical" people out there, this appears to be a contradictory statement. The two statements are mutually exclusive, you say? Such a thing as the realm of logical possibility, however, has never been able to contain the my parents' powers of absurdity.
Their cochlear ability was a function of the subject matter. If what The Beast was listening to involved a new idea, learning how to do something, or anything I wanted her to hear, her eardrum went slack and the microscopic hairs of her inner ear curled up and refused to be bothered until Labor Day. At this point, everything I said became clicks and pops. My mother's face would contort into an expression that screamed, "What the heck is wrong with you? For the last time: I DON'T SPEAK SWAHILI!!"
Similarly, Hal's hearing would give out during the main body of any joke or story, and until it returned halfway through the punchline, he would become distracted and floss his teeth with the nearest available envelope or sheet of paper, while quite believably pretending he could still hear. The amazing thing about Hal's lapses in hearing was their corresponding lapses in memory. Upon regaining his hearing during the punchline, he would forget that any time had passed since the introduction of the story or joke in question, and would then proceed to ask questions easily answered by listening to the previous 40 or so sentences. When answering these questions and reminding him that the information had been stated seconds earlier, one would receive the impression that the hearing problem was returning to some degree, indicated by a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression.
The paradox is in their moments of hyper-sensitive, almost prescient hearing. If in frustration at their failing ears or after an argument Ben or I would mutter something under our breath, at the other end of the house, in the basement, beneath the level of our own hearing, with our head wrapped in a towel, while we stood inside an anechoic chamber, we would immediately have a shrieking, frothing parent standing at our side, breathing heavily and inquiring as to exactly what it was we had just called them.
Don't believe me? Just last week, I was tyring to explain to The Beast (via phone, from Utah) how to send an email. After giving up after several minutes of her saying nothing but, "Huh?" I hung up and grumbled something about my frustration. 0.736 seconds later, I received an email from my mother in all caps, reading, "I AM NOT!!!!!!!!!!"
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Vacancy at Casa de Hawken
Shortly after Jake moved away to college, and I was living on the east coast, The Beast and Hal had to come to terms with being empty nesters.
Throughout our childhood, they they had spoken at great length about how much they were looking forward to having an empty home without the trials and travails of raising both of us.
Everytime we'd have a bleach fight, invent games like "Steak Knife Tag," knock a door off its hinges, misuse Roman Candles, or incur the petty wrath of school administrators, The Beast and Hal would embark on the same well-rehearsed rant about how much they were looking forward to having some peace.
Once we were both gone, they lost their minds.
Apparently, over time, they had used the intense, unpleasant feelings associated with raising us as benchmarks to measure the passage of time.
No sooner were we gone than they began offering a spare room in the basement to a series of shady, miserable young adults who were trying to get back on their feet.
I couldn't have been more shocked.
If Jake or I had ever left a freezer door open over the weekend or re-spilled Nair on the hood of the Tahoe we were suddenly written out of the will, but a revolving door of 20-somethings with bad credit and GEDs were suddenly invited carte blanche into a well-furnished room.
In an attempt to keep a bad situation from becoming disastrous, I tried to help The Beast be a little more selective about who she let into the basement, but helping either parent salvage their dignity was like trying to desalinate the ocean or legitimize boxing.
I thought the best place to start would be the long list of e-mails from would-be housemates.
Despite passionate protests from Hal and The Beast, we quickly eliminated three people from the running.
The first e-mail read, "I am very clean, I can cook, and I promise to never get drunk and puke in the oven."
The second was similar: "I do not own a pet, I am applying for jobs, I can hear what vegetables are thinking."
Number three: "I currently have $45,631 in credit card debt, so I need a place to lay low for a while. Are either of you immune to scabies?"
No sooner had my visit ended than there were new visitors in the basement.
Hal and The Beast claim they're happy to help, but I know for a fact they weren't to excited about having to replace their oven.
Throughout our childhood, they they had spoken at great length about how much they were looking forward to having an empty home without the trials and travails of raising both of us.
Everytime we'd have a bleach fight, invent games like "Steak Knife Tag," knock a door off its hinges, misuse Roman Candles, or incur the petty wrath of school administrators, The Beast and Hal would embark on the same well-rehearsed rant about how much they were looking forward to having some peace.
Once we were both gone, they lost their minds.
Apparently, over time, they had used the intense, unpleasant feelings associated with raising us as benchmarks to measure the passage of time.
No sooner were we gone than they began offering a spare room in the basement to a series of shady, miserable young adults who were trying to get back on their feet.
I couldn't have been more shocked.
If Jake or I had ever left a freezer door open over the weekend or re-spilled Nair on the hood of the Tahoe we were suddenly written out of the will, but a revolving door of 20-somethings with bad credit and GEDs were suddenly invited carte blanche into a well-furnished room.
In an attempt to keep a bad situation from becoming disastrous, I tried to help The Beast be a little more selective about who she let into the basement, but helping either parent salvage their dignity was like trying to desalinate the ocean or legitimize boxing.
I thought the best place to start would be the long list of e-mails from would-be housemates.
Despite passionate protests from Hal and The Beast, we quickly eliminated three people from the running.
The first e-mail read, "I am very clean, I can cook, and I promise to never get drunk and puke in the oven."
The second was similar: "I do not own a pet, I am applying for jobs, I can hear what vegetables are thinking."
Number three: "I currently have $45,631 in credit card debt, so I need a place to lay low for a while. Are either of you immune to scabies?"
No sooner had my visit ended than there were new visitors in the basement.
Hal and The Beast claim they're happy to help, but I know for a fact they weren't to excited about having to replace their oven.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
All Roads Point to Aisle 7
One of the nice things about living within the NYC city limits is the notable lack of Wal-Marts.
This means a drastic decline in the volume of white trash breathing my air and having barbecues in the parking lot. The latter reason stems from the fact that NYC outlawed parking lots in the 16th century.
Despite what you may have heard, the only downside to a Wal-Mart-less life is the limited access to jumbo packs of crazy straws for 99 cents, or 42 oz. of shampoo for $1.57.
Back home, however, The Beast and Hal can barely drive 10 minutes without seeing two of Sam Walton's infamous inventions.
While I was visiting them back in mid-August it reminded me of a particularly humorous activity from my pre-NYC years: Anytime I happened to enter a Wal-Mart after coming home from work or attending a meeting (and this was not a terribly regular occurrence), I would always be swarmed with questions.
It is no stretch of the imagination to say that if you walk into a Wal-Mart dressed like a professional (i.e. shirt and tie) you and the manager will be the only two people who do so all day.
Rarely was I in the store more than three minutes before someone came up and asked where some item was located.
"Where are the light bulbs?" they would ask. My answer: Aisle seven.
As I turned the next corner in search of my own items, I was approached again about eggs. "Aisle seven."
On one such occasion, and entirely by accident, I was at one of these stores during its grand opening.
For the entire 45 minutes I was there I answered a non-stop stream of questions.
Where are the batteries? Aisle seven.
Where is the toilet paper? Aisle seven, next to the batteries.
Where are the Power Rangers? Ummm, aisle fiv…seven.
There's a "bargain" store opening near my building later this week, and I am barely restraining the urge to throw on a fresh-pressed pair of slacks, my favorite tie and walk amidst the rows of neatly arranged goods.
If any of you out on the Intraweb want to come with me and enjoy some free samples that’d be great.
Meet me on aisle seven.
This means a drastic decline in the volume of white trash breathing my air and having barbecues in the parking lot. The latter reason stems from the fact that NYC outlawed parking lots in the 16th century.
Despite what you may have heard, the only downside to a Wal-Mart-less life is the limited access to jumbo packs of crazy straws for 99 cents, or 42 oz. of shampoo for $1.57.
Back home, however, The Beast and Hal can barely drive 10 minutes without seeing two of Sam Walton's infamous inventions.
While I was visiting them back in mid-August it reminded me of a particularly humorous activity from my pre-NYC years: Anytime I happened to enter a Wal-Mart after coming home from work or attending a meeting (and this was not a terribly regular occurrence), I would always be swarmed with questions.
It is no stretch of the imagination to say that if you walk into a Wal-Mart dressed like a professional (i.e. shirt and tie) you and the manager will be the only two people who do so all day.
Rarely was I in the store more than three minutes before someone came up and asked where some item was located.
"Where are the light bulbs?" they would ask. My answer: Aisle seven.
As I turned the next corner in search of my own items, I was approached again about eggs. "Aisle seven."
On one such occasion, and entirely by accident, I was at one of these stores during its grand opening.
For the entire 45 minutes I was there I answered a non-stop stream of questions.
Where are the batteries? Aisle seven.
Where is the toilet paper? Aisle seven, next to the batteries.
Where are the Power Rangers? Ummm, aisle fiv…seven.
There's a "bargain" store opening near my building later this week, and I am barely restraining the urge to throw on a fresh-pressed pair of slacks, my favorite tie and walk amidst the rows of neatly arranged goods.
If any of you out on the Intraweb want to come with me and enjoy some free samples that’d be great.
Meet me on aisle seven.
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