Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
|
|
|
M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
|
|
Saturday, April 23, 2005 Kung Food Fighting Trash and I have different strengths and weaknesses when it comes to feeding M. Tiny. Trash is much better at feeding him with the bottle. On the other hand, when it comes to spoon-feeding, she's better at that too. But I'm better at burping. Unless you're talking about burping the baby, in which case she's better at that as well. But whereas M. Tiny is more adept at resisting me when I'm trying to give him his bottle (and, for some reason, more motivated), he's less resistant when it's time to spoon-feed whatever the puree of the moment might happen to be. It could be because he likes puree more than formula. It could be that he's already becoming picky about his routine. Or it could be that when I'm spoon-feeding him, he's strapped into his car seat and can't move. So I'm generally more likely to take care of the spoon-feeding end. I've always understood that spoon-feeding a baby is a tricky and messy business, despite my almost complete lack of experience with same. It's not exactly counter-intuitive to conclude that gooey food + no table manners + no table = mess. But I figured that not letting him operate the actual spoon just yet might give me some measure of control over the devastation. I was wrong. As I've said, he goes in his car seat when being spoon-fed. He's strapped in. There's a towel behind his head to protect his car seat, a bib around his neck to protect the top half of his clothes, and another towel over his lap to protect the bottom half of his clothes. If we could put something over his head and still successfully feed him, we'd do that too. As it is, by the time he's done he looks like he's been to a Gallagher concert. Of course, he doesn't get to hold the spoon yet, so he's not able to throw the food all that far. When we first started, we let him hold a "dummy" spoon while we fed him. We figured that keeping his hands occupied would minimize his flailing, and thus the mess. Again, we were wrong. He's not into projectile spitting, at least not yet. You'd think that would help keep things relatively neat. But you'd be wrong. Theoretically, we should outmatch him in terms of size, strength, coordination, and mobility. But our mobility is limited, since we've only got the one hand--the one holding the spoon--to work with. The other hand has to hold the bowl of food, because if we put it down Phantom or Turtle will come and eat out of it (someone should have warned us about barn cats). And the bowl has to be held firmly, because more than once a tight grip has been the only thing preventing a sharp infant kick from spattering squash on the ceiling. And he has a strategic advantage, in the sense that our goal is to not get food all over. His goal is to get food all over. The kid may be small, but he's got entropy on his side, and any parent knows that's a tough team to beat. So without even realizing it, he can deploy an entire Mortal Kombat sized arsenal of jerks, smacks, spits, and combinations thereof. He'll jerk his head to one side at the last second, leaving a trail of fresh goo on his right cheek, while simultaneously drooling out a stream of slightly more watery goo that would be going down his right cheek if he hadn't also simultaneously grabbed his bib and pulled it up over his face, covering it with half-gummed food that's going still to be there the next time he lifts his bib over his face, but his face will be pointing in a different direction by then so he'll get a whole other area. He'll grab your feeding hand and try to pull it down, then release it, causing the spoon to catapult upward and slingshot food up his nose. He'll jam his hands into his face, spit some food out, and then grab everything he can reach, using his mouth, chin, nose, cheeks, neck, and forehead as the palette for the abstract canvas that is his personal space. And despite our superior size, strength, and coordination, we are helpless to stop him. His kung food is the best. And airplane noises? Forget it. He has no idea what an airplane is. Or he does, but he thinks the approaching spoonful is a bomb, and it's up to him to provide the detonation. I can't believe we ever thought giving him his own spoon to hold would be a good idea. All that did was increase his reach. We're not looking forward to a future where he feeds himself with his own spoon. Maybe we'll just swaddle him in blankets so he can't move, put the spoon and the bowl on his chest, and decide he's done after fifteen minutes or so. "Oh, you don't feel like feeding yourself? We'll take care of that. Open up. Here you go. Stop spitting!" Either that or we'll feed him outside, on the deck. He'll grow up with a love of dining al fresco. Year round. Today's best search phrase: "What does 1.5 millimeters look like." I believe 1.5 millimeters is just about the size of my brain aneurysm. posted by M. Giant 9:49 PM 11 comments 11 Comments:My mom had to wear a plastic raincoat while she fed my sister. I, on the other hand, ate pretty much anything in front of me. Which helps explain why my sister is skinny and I am ... not.
By "kung food". Heh.
By Hee. I love Kung Food Fighting. Now that song will be going through my head for the rest of forever.
By Invest in some cheap clear shower curtains and cover the table and the floor, then let 'er rip. And I bet M. Tiny is even more adorable with food all over his head. Sha little baby.
By Feed him outside, and then you can hose him off when he's done. Solved! ~Laura
By My brother and SIL strip my niece down to her diaper before putting on the bibs/towels/etc., as well as do the strapping-down-into-the-seat thing. Maybe you should consider that so you will at least have less clothes to wash (of his, anyway).
By
I got a cheap high chair, and some dollar vinyl tablecloths, and left the baby in his diaper...then after trying to fling as much food in his mouth as I could, I'd take him straight to the bathtub. Oh, and invest in the industrial size buckets of Clorox wipes. Lovely.
By When my son was little (he's 13 now), we said that he was a "method" eater -- he BECAME his food, instead of just eating it. You name it, it was everywhere: nose, ears, hair... Even though 3 meals, plus snacks a day now equals a lot of clean-up, pretty soon this stage will be over, and he'll be on to the next type of mess. At that time, you'll long for the "good ol' days", trust me!
By Does anyone else wonder where the heck M. Giant is?
By Yes - and I really hope everything is OK!
By
Me too! I'm going to go crazy if I see the title 'Kung Food Fighting' another day!
By Sunday, April 17, 2005 Baby Photoblog They say a picture's worth a thousand words. Even given how wordy I usually am, which reduces the value to maybe six or seven hundred words, you're still getting a bargain with this entry.  Is there anything more adorable than a baby in sunglasses? I think not. He looks like a tiny little movie star, doesn't he?  Is there anything more dark and wrong than a tiny little movie star punching out a paparazzo?  "I'm waiting. Are we going or what?"  "I'm gonna need a lot more balloons."  "Hey, you got anything to read?"  "Oh, my God, this is sooooo boring."  "That sucked."  "Well, hello. I didn't see you over there. Care to join me?"  "Hey, that means our birthdays are only two months apart."  "You know, I feel a really strong connection with you."  "Hey, where you going?" "Damn."  Our little ones. From left: Strat, M. Tiny, Turtle, and Phantom. Trash said I could come back inside if I promised to quit taking pictures for a while. Today's best search phrase: "Props to my pterodactyl." The only way this could be better would be if the "p" in "pterodactyl" weren't silent. posted by M. Giant 8:05 PM 9 comments 9 Comments:Still have the Christmas lights up? Cool.
By Oh. And your baby is adorable. But you knew that.
By
Thanks for sharing the adorable pictures. Love those of him in the sunglasses. He has such a "Big Boss" look while sitting on the couch - how did you get him to do that thumb down thing? Cool. :)
By
SOOOOO Cute! That is one adorable baby, M. Giant.
By Awww ... thanks for the baby pictures. So cute! M. Tiny looks terribly startled in the first couch picture. The way my little cousin used to get right before a huuuuge baby burp. ;)
By I don't see Phantom; is she in the window? Also, are all of the kitties getting along now? I love the picture of M. Tiny in the window.
By Hee. I used to tell the my cat I was adopted too when I was little. One of the many ways my parents helped botch up explaining that to me...
By Cutest baby/kitty pictures EVER! They're keepers!
By
BABY! KITTIES! My 'awwww' is maxed out.
By Tuesday, April 12, 2005 On the Road Again Today was M. Tiny's six-month birthday. He came into our lives with a scant three weeks' notice. It took us some time, but after a period of panicked cluelessness, we got things under control. We have a routine. Trash has organized the nursery brilliantly so that we (or at least she) know where any given item is at any given time. We're able to get all three of us ready for the day in less than an hour, barring any major scatological or alimentary disasters after one or more of us is dressed. He's sleeping through the night, and has been for months. We're getting really good at this. Naturally, we just can't wait to disrupt the hell out of it. Now that weather and good health have conspired to finally allow us to take M. Tiny out of the house on an almost daily basis, we've been seized by the urge to take the Poopsmith out on the open road. It's been almost a year since our last real vacation. Trash and I have a standard vacation procedure: we road-trip. Even when we fly somewhere, we road-trip somewhere else after we arrive. Last year we flew to Los Angeles and road-tripped to San Francisco. We flew to Seattle and road-tripped to Portland. We flew to Albuquerque and road-tripped from Socorro to Roswell to Santa Fe. We flew to London and railroad-tripped to Edinburgh. We flew to Atlanta and road-tripped to Athens and Savannah. We would have road-tripped from New Orleans, but we got bored halfway across Lake Ponchartrain and turned around. We miss doing that, and we're looking forward to the next trip. Sure, we're going to New York in June, but as arduous as the journey from the Upper West Side to Midtown can be, nobody is going to mistake the C train for the open road. Okay, not nobody, but nobody who doesn't have a seat all to himself at rush hour. If we were smart, we'd wait until M. Tiny is at least a year old before we attempt something like this. Those of you who've been reading for the past three years know by now that we are not smart. It's not like M. Tiny is a complete road-trip virgin. We did drive down to Iowa a couple of months ago, and he did brilliantly. He slept in his car seat the whole way down and the whole way back. No complaints whatsoever. From him, either. So where are we going to drive to? When planning vacations, we like to go places we've never been. The past couple of years, Trash and I have repeatedly planned and then postponed an ambitious circumnavigation of Lake Michigan. Hit Door County, the UP, visit friends, maybe even take a ferry. We've never done that before. And we're not going to do that now. That would constitute too many long days of driving--days he'd spend crashed out in his car seat, so he'd be full of energy and noise all night long. So we'll probably do something less demanding. Like the Black Hills. It's about a nine-hour drive to Rapid City, South Dakota. We'd do it in two days, taking our time, not rushing feedings and changes along the way. Going at a leisurely pace, which we never do. We'd stay in a hotel, rather than camping at Custer National Park like we have before. I don't think M. Tiny would react well to us hanging him up at night so the bears don't get him. I think I know why we've chosen this as our destination, after hardly discussing it at all. It's not just because it's accessible. It's not just because it's cheap. It's not just because there's plenty to do once we get there. I think it's also because it's the first real road trip Trash and I ever took. The year after we got married, we took a week off, rented a car, and headed west from our Downtown apartment, resolved to go as far as we could before it was time to turn around and come back. We spent Wednesday night in Butte, Montana, having seen Wall Drug, the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, Devil's Tower, Sturgis, and Sundance, Wyoming (although we couldn't for the life of us figure out where they showed all those movies) for the first time. And then we drove home. As you've already seen above, we've had plenty of road trips since then, but we'll always remember that first one. Two 22-year-old kids in the Mountain Time Zone for the first time in their lives, their first adventure together. We want M. Tiny to be a part of that. Our wanderlust is part of who we are, and it always has been. First as a couple, and now as a family. Besides, the kid has to get some kind of sense of what he's getting into sooner or later. Today's best search phrase: For those who have just joined us in the past two years and aren't clear on what this is, what happens is that someone somewhere in the world enters a goofy phrase into a search engine. If my site comes up, and they click on it, my referral stats show what that phrase was. And then I post it at the end of an entry and make a wise-ass comment about it. Unless, like today, that phrase is "'hyper-blue hair,'" in which case I got nothing. posted by M. Giant 9:58 PM 15 comments 15 Comments:
i've made the trek from N. Idaho to W. Pennsylvania (and back) about 5 times now, and no matter how fast I drive, I can't seem to get through South Dakota in any less than a day and a half. Logically, I should be able to blow right through it. No hills. No curves. But I can't. Every time I end up pulling out the map to see how far it will be before Rapid City and realize it's only 5 miles closer than the last time I checked.
By
Dang, dude, your posts are getting funnier as well as more lyrical and sweet. I know I don't have to tell anyone here that the ability to road-trip together is a key attribute for a really excellent relationship. Good thing M.Tiny shares that quality - it would be a pity if he was not a road-tripper; you might be tempted to leave him at ground level, swathed in pastrami.
By
This, too, is the way that my wife and I vacation. We totally get the need to just drive. Sometimes we fly somewhere and rent a car. Other times, we just decide that driving to Seattle from our home in Connecticut is the way to go (hey, my state job may not pay well, but I get three weeks of vacation time and I'm gonna use it). Of course, we don't have kids, so, "You're a better man than I am, (M.) Gunga Din."
By
Ooops. That's Bob's
By My parents lived in Texas when I was born, I recently found photos of a three day camping trip that they took me on when I was three months old. When asked why they did it, they said "Well we weren't going to let you ruin our vacation, we were about to move again and we didn't think we would make it back anytime". They also took me to Mexico several times in those first three months of life. Anyhoo, I say do it the rugged style, I'm not that screwed up.
By My husband and I had some great road trips as a dating couple, then early married life was one big blur of driving, I think! The panic set in when babyboy #1 was six months old, and it was time for the TX to Birmingham jaunt. No worries, great trip all around. Travelling with kiddoes has become even more fun as time goes on - tell Trash to call me when she's ready to take M. Tiny away for a week, just the two of them. A Mommy and a 4-yr-old at the beach for a week is nirvana.
By
M. Tiny is a good age for traveling. Once they're mobile, all hell breaks loose. Enjoy the slug stage now, for it will not last long.
By Thanks for the "search phrase" explanation! I feel like a much more well-rounded Velcrometer reader.
By
I have to say, I fall more in love with the M. Giant family every day. I want to go on the road trip, too!
By
What, you mean you don't have access to the webcam in the corner of the Giant-Trash family window, in the bushes?
By Also, I was naked. There were a variety of charges.
By
For that long drive across our great (boring) state, it can be helpful to know that you can stop for gas or potty about once per hour. Sioux Falls, Mitchell, Chamberlain, Murdo, Wall, and Rapid. Keep a fairly steady 70-80 mph and you'll know you're never far from a diaper change and some truly hideous roadside attractions.
By I think you should write a book of your search phrases. What ARE those people thinking? And I love your responses. I would read that book.
By
Umm, M. Giant...? The Sundance Film Festival (I'm guessing this is what you were referring to above) is held in Park City, Utah, not Sundance, Wyoming. Robert Redford named it in honor of his character in "Butch Cassidy".
By Well, sure, we know that now.
By Saturday, April 09, 2005 How Can I Help You? Between the long, cold winter and having what used to be a brand-new preemie, Trash and I haven't gotten out of the house much the past six months. Now that it's warming up enough for us to go back out into the world a little, I think our short period of exile gives us a unique perspective on how much the world's standards of customer service have in the last half-year turned to shit. For example: 1. The other day, Trash was waiting to get out of a parking ramp. And waiting, and waiting, because the one cashier at the gate was having a personal conversation with a friend while ten cars lined up behind her. Trash, of course, had M. Tiny in the car, who has two automotive modes: asleep, when the car is moving, and awake and pissed-off, when the car is stationary. Guess which mode this put him in? 2. From there, Trash went to the local crap store. It's not actually billed as a crap store; that's just what I call it. Trash spent about an hour shopping there, then got to the counter with a shopping cart full of crap and found out that the cash register was broken. Obviously, waiting around with a baby who was still not entirely over having to sit in a stationary car for no reason was out of the question, so Trash said never mind. "Are you going to but this stuff back away?" the "cashier" said. "No," Trash said. Personally, I don't think it would have taken her much time; she could have just flung everything at the nearest shelf and it wouldn't have made a difference from the way they normally display stuff. 3. The next day, she was having lunch with Bitter at the restaurant at her office park. One of the main things this place has going for it is the cheese bread she likes. Until this week, when it apparently disappeared from the menu. She asked the waiter if they still had it. He suggested a wide variety of other appetizer options, nary a one of them having to do with cheese bread, bread cheese, cheese, or bread. Eventually trash nailed him down to confessing the existence of "breadsticks with cheese melted on 'em." Trash spelled it out for him: "So you do you not make the cheese bread any more?" The waiter spelled it out right back: "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't cook." 4. Today Trash and I went to Sam's Club, and among the other large-volume items we purchase, we picked up a set of interlocking foam-rubber floor mats, thinking they'd be a good surface upon which M. Tiny could develop his crawling skillz. Than we got home and remembered we already owned something nearly identical, so back to the store it was. Things were somewhat complicated by the fact that we'd somehow gotten out of the store without our receipt, but not too complicated. I called before heading back, and some nice person explained to me that they have a list on the computer of the stuff purchased on my membership card, which they can print out and it'll be all good. I get to the member service counter with my big ol' pack-o-mats and slide them over the counter. The person I'm dealing with--not the person I spoke to earlier, and noticeably less nice, prints up a little list and starts processing my refund. "That's kinda crazy," she says. "What's that?" I ask. "I can only credit you $17.44." "That's how much I paid for them, so that's fine." At this point she directs my attention to the line-item on the list, and the corresponding amount of $34.88. "Oh," I say. "They must have rung it up twice by accident. But I only bought one set." At which point she asserts that no, there was only one of these items purchased, as she could clearly see. And it was at the price listed before me. But she'd be happy to refund half of that cost, since half of it is what the system is now telling her it's worth. Even though I paid twice that earlier the same day. At this point, in her head, apparently I'm supposed to go, "Oh. Okay," and turn around and go home, without the item, and without the money I thought I was paying for it. Like it just isn't my day or something. Instead, I very calmly and politely insisted that obviously some mistake had been made at the store's end, and I expected the store to fix it. A brief conference with a manager out of my earshot seemed to resolve things in my favor, and she came pouting back to the counter, grumbling something about how she was going to get in trouble for this. I was pregnant with not caring. Sorry for asking you to fix the problem that you pointed out, lady. 5. I actually feel more guilty than annoyed about this last one. I went to the pharmacy and picked up Strat's insulin syringes. Upon getting home, Trash noticed that in addition to the other stuff I bought, there were two items on the receipt that appeared to relate to the syringes: one for the actual item, and something listed as "pet RX." I returned, and learned that these are the same thing and that I should have only been charged once. The aged cashier who'd rung me up refunded me, apologized, and said, "My first mistake since 1949." I really hope he's lying about that, or I'm going to feel bad. Today's best search phrase: "Recipe for trash." Sorry, but she's tasty enough just the way she is. posted by M. Giant 5:46 PM 4 comments 4 Comments:
Yeah, I lament the lack of decent customer service in this world all the time.
By
Interestingly enough, I just had the best customer service experience I think I've ever had.
By
You should NOT feel bad about that being his first mistake. You should feel proud you're the one who finally caused Mr. Perfect to mess up.
By Speaking as someone who has worked in the service industries, I lament the lack of decent customers.
By Wednesday, April 06, 2005 Humpblog (4/6/05) M. Tiny has something to say. It's not unusual for him to sit on my lap while I write, or read e-mail (99% of which I haven't answered since he was born, by the way. I'll get back to you! I'm sorry!), or moderate the 24 forums. I'll sort of bounce him on my lap to keep him from getting too bored, fencing him in between my arms as I type. Sometimes he'll be fascinated at what's happening on the monitor. Content is not a predictor of this. Homestar Runner cartoons, even those featuring his namesake, don't capture his attention any more than does a Word document. It just depends on his mood. Tonight he was in the mood to lunge for the keyboard. Here's what he had to say: Kmhjun hjk;kpii,,y777h h7yunj7 nyn ;.;;lpp[==============-,l o[]'7 /.> ml>./ 16 Comments:That's Mighty Funny!
By sounds like the Wee Blocker could also be called "Baby's First Codpiece"
By We bought Wee Blockers a few months ago after giving my son a bath (we bathe in him the kitchen so that we can use the high counters and save our knees)and he decided to pee all over my lovely, lovely apples. We have the Whizz Kid and Captain Blast-Off blockers; which one did you get?
By There is more to fear! The only thing worse than a case of the explosive runs is The Rhota Virus (sp?). It's a case of the explosive runs that lasts for 6 weeks and smells like a can a tuna that has been left out for 3 weeks and then gently brought to a boil. It is a smell to behold!!!
By OMG!!! I think I need a wee-blocker after reading that! Still laughing...why is poop-humor always "Comedy Gold"?
By
While explosive diarrhea is bad, you ain't seen nothing until your under-one-year-old is upchucking in his crib! Have you ever tried to train a baby to puke into a container!? It's just not possible!
By
What's worse than that, you might ask? When the baby puking is in your bed.
By ointment hole. that's awesome.
By
Re: Tiny's first document, I'm torn. On the one hand, you are king nerd dad of the universe. On the other, awwwww. I may have become a little verklempt, for a moment.
By
Still worse? The baby puking in your bed is doing so in your hair.
By
The Wee Blocker is classic.
By
Yay! Schuyler's fund at Darn-Tootin' reached goal and soon she will get a voice box. Thanks to everyone who helped to donate -- I understand that (at least) a couple of you clicked over and donated, despite not being Darn-Tootin' readers. So thanks.
By
I swear it took me a good 5 minutes to read your post because I was crying laughing. Couldn't agree more about poop-humour being gold!
By
Thanks for not sparing us too many details. The details make it funny.
By
Having survied both explosive and projectile diarrhea, there are worse things. The boy (now seven) went through a stage where he only pooped once every seven to 10 days. No diaper on earth would contain it. Once he did this on the way to play group so there was I in a public washroom with no changing table trying to clean up a nine-month old with poop coming out of the collar of his shirt and moving into his hair. Very exciting! The other thing that's worse is having a baby with Norwalk who after throwing up in her bed and yours throws up inside your night shirt.
By
Well, I blame YOU that I just woke up my wife giggling too loudly about the phrase "ointment hole."
By Friday, April 01, 2005 Humpblog (4/1/05) For this year's April Fool's joke, I'm going to try to convince you that today is still Wednesday and that this entry isn't actually two days late. Is it working? * * * Hey, wanna buy a Television Without Pity recapper? In an auction? It's for a good cause. Actually, you wouldn't be buying one. You'd be renting one. But not in a coming-to-your-house-and-making-snotty-remarks-at-whatever-you're-watching-on-TV way. Basically, you'd be buying a recap for any old show you want (as long as it's an hour or less). You pick the show, you pick the recapper. And, of course, it doesn't have to be me. Most of the TWoP staff is in the pool of available recappers for the winning bidder to choose from. Did I mention it's for charity? This month's auction is for the benefit of Donors Choose, a charity designed to help support public schools with limited resources. Gotta make sure kids develop intelligence and critical thinking skills. For the next generation of recappers, you know. And you probably don't have to raise the cash all by yourself. Check out the Tubey's Kids forum at TWoP to see if there's a bid in progress for your show of choice. It's snark for smarts! Everybody wins! Unless I end up recapping an hour of C-SPAN, of course. * * * Of course, if you lose the auction, that leaves the question of what you're going to do with the money you would have spent that now you aren't going to. If it were me, I'd say give it to Rob from Darn Tootin', who's trying to raise money for his five-year-old daughter, who has a congenital neurological disorder called CBPS. Little Schuyler will never be physically able to speak, but a machine can help her communicate with the world while developing her language skills. Naturally, the machine costs a bomb. Which is where you come in. Or, more accurately, come off. Some cash, I mean. Hey, a minute ago you were seriously thinking about which episode of Saved by the Bell you were prepared to drop a few bills to get recapped. Read more about Schuyler's Fund here.  * * * Speaking of linguistic challenges, I thought that I'd read and remembered every Dr. Seuss book ever, from Hop on Pop to The Tree Hugging Hippie Lorax. But I have no memory whatsoever of Fox in Socks. It's basically a book-length tongue twister. The first couple of pages have more warnings than a pack of smokes, which I scoffed at. I was in speech in high school; I can handle myself. Then I started reading. See, the danger isn't that you'll actually hurt yourself. There's very little physical danger in reading about the fox in socks and his friend Knox, with their box, even when the chicks with bricks show up with their clocks that tock. No, the danger is that as you're reading your five-and-a-half month-old his bedtime story, you'll find yourself involuntarily sputtering about chicks with dicks and foxes' cocks. And I just don't think M. Tiny is ready for that yet. I gave up halfway through, and I don't even know how it ends. Probably with bitches biting butts and pissy, passé pussies and twenty tons of tits. A pox on Fox in Socks. * * * Today's best search phrase: "When the flame-retardant books came out They had to burn the readers." Every once in a while, the search phrase comes up with something I wish I'd said. posted by M. Giant 6:04 PM 7 comments 7 Comments:Funny, I don't remember Fox in Socks ending quite like that. You must have a different version.
By
But not in a coming-to-your-house-and-making-snotty-remarks-at-whatever-you're-watching-on-TV way.
By
I just spent several hours reading about Schuyler, and wow. Thank you for linking to her story. I can't give right now, but I plan to send something very soon.
By
Hee, when I was in college we used to play a drinking game with Fox in Sox. Everyone sat in a circle and you had to read one line from the book. If you read it correctly, you pass the book, if not, you have to drink and try again until you get it right. The first time through it goes ok, but, when you get to the end of the book, you pass to the next person and you then go through the book BACKWARDS. Yeah, after that no one is left standing. Ummm, don't tell M.Tiny about this yet either, I think.
By
We played a game like that in college, but we would each come up with another word that the reader would have to insert into the book. If you failed, you drank. SO we did have lots of cocks-with-socks and chicks-suck-dicks.
By
I just finished your play, and all I can say is wow! It's beautiful. And bloody. And in verse -- that's amazing. Have you been interviewed about why and how you did it? I would love to hear the backstory.
By My sister and I used to torture our dad with *Fox in Socks* when we were little. He has a North Florida drawl (all the speed of Southern without the accent) and would get impossibly tongue-tied. Heh. Then we made him pay for college.
By 
|
|
|
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
 |
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
