Naval Expedition Uncovers Tummy

While the existence of the tummy has long been suspected, it had not been completely confirmed until late last week. Spectators gathered around yesterday to learn of this wonderful new mid-sectional discovery.

The tummy is a roundish, pasty place directly below the chest, yet above the belt line. Based on shape and color, it is likely one of those abdominal snowman things I’ve heard about. It is readily discovered hiding above the zipper of pants or shorts, often buried beneath a shirt, sweater or coveralls.

Among its other amazing characteristics includes the funny noise it makes when I slap it and the gurlgly rumbles it periodically emits, seemingly without provocation. Serioulsy though, it’s like a built-in human drum! How can you go wrong with that?

At left, here, you can see me pointing out my freshly uncovered tummy to those gathered around. It is important to quickly document and have your findings verified before someone tries to steal your idea, or in my case before my tummy got too cold.

As you can also see in the photo at left, if you are unhappy with the shape of your tummy, you can suck it in real hard and make it look all svelt and atheletic. That’s right, count them baby ribs, baby.

A suggestion was made to me that all people have tummies and that this is nothing new, but I wasn’t born yesterday. If these things are as old as time, wouldn’t I have heard of it before? You people can’t trick me so easily.

I have no idea why I’m making this face or what it means. I think this is a standard facial expression of discovery. At least, I’m hoping it’s not permanent.

While it remains to be seen as to whether or not all persons have tummies, my preliminary research says that they do. After spending a few minutes exploring and explaining my own to attendees, I checked under each of their shirts only to find that each of them indeed had tummies as well. I tested them by slapping them as well, and it brought me much joy.

I Love the Nightlife

As I’m growing older, my tastes are changing. One thing I’ve learned to love along my journey towards a senior discount is to enjoy the nightlife. There’s just so much fun to be had during hours of darkness.

Pay no mind to the fact I am in the livingroom, it seemed totally normal at the time.

When I was younger it seemed like I was sleeping my life away, in part because I actually was. Now I know so much more about what I’m missing and all the reasons I just can’t miss it anymore.

I know a lot of folks practice their nightlife by staying up late, but that just leads to excessive tiredness. I do it a little differently. What I do is go straight to bed,* then see how I feel when I wake up in the middle of the night.

Now I don’t go looking for a party, music or lots of cool people to enjoy hanging out with. Instead I just see what I’m feeling and go with the flow. If I’m up for it, I wake up everyone in earshot and party it up from there until I’m good and ready to go back to sleep. Oh, it’s a beautiful thing.

Maybe you don’t know how to incite a party. Fair enough, I’ll share what I know.

  • Stand up and give a shout out to your peeps… No response? Read on.
  • Jump around… jump around… get up, get up and get down.
  • Holla’ holla’ yo! Holler your lungs out if you must.
  • Put your hands up in the air and wave them like you just don’t care. (Very quiet choice, thusly optional.)

If people around you seem tired, don’t stress out about it. That means you’ve doing it right. Muhammad Ali used to get up in the middle of the night to do pushups because he knew it was something his competitors weren’t doing. This is no different. If you want to party unlike any of your friends, do it in the middle of the night when you can be sure they are sleeping.

When you want more (yet still legal) fun, I’m here for you. If you need more, don’t be afraid to email me and ask or just jump into the forums. It may seem lonely in there, but you’ll always hear from me.

Much love, peace out,

What the Hell Does THIS Thing Do?

I wrote this (like all my articles) as the news broke in my life. I discovered something interesting and potentially life-changing. I faced a lot of editorial opposition prior to publication, but why?

This isn’t the first time I’ve discovered new appendages, but it is the first time I’ve ever faced potential censorship. Why? Am I unseating the ruling regime or discussing something unnatural or obscene? I don’t think so. I argued that it’s just another (important) stage of development and discovery. Ultimately, reason won out.

A big part of my discovery is devoted to self exploration. It makes sense since as much as we explore space we still research the ocean, mountains and indeed even the human body. My journey, however rude or rudimentary, is not so different.

Recently I discovered an alarming appendage. Now I understand that not everyone out there has one of these, but I know that I do. So far it’s been little more than a tool dedicated to hosing down the people who are stuck changing me. It’s no disrespect to them, I think it’s natural. It’s part of me and all kids my age. And although I’m told it’s as old as humanity, it’s still totally new to me.

Pending a stronger vocabulary, I’m going to call it my wing-dang-doodle. Though I doubt I’m a legitimate tripod or that I’ll ever be able to use it for pole vaulting, this seems like in important matter for me to address.

My dad, who routinely looks over my work prior to publication, assures me that there will come a day when I ask him to delete this article. Until then we feel it’s important to bring up what might be considered an otherwise taboo topic. Yeah, I discovered it. What’s the big deal? We all have genitalia, right? If that’s true, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, ignored, or swept under the rug.

I’m told that in coming years I’ll be using this thing for important tasks like stand-up peeing. According to dad, “God willing, it will just be for going to the bathroom for a very long time, but we’ll discuss that when you’re older.”

While I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, I promise my fellow mini-folk and their parents alike that I’ll continue bringing the news critical to us little folk, as well as those stuck dealing with us. We may not understand all the things we do, but we do them nonetheless. That alone, sometimes, deserves mention

 

Assistant Guitarist Unexpectedly Takes Center Stage

Last night during a live, unplugged concert at the Copa-Cababy, a surprising turn of events led to the assistant guitarist really stealing the show.

Me and old man daddy-o were really ripping loose the tunes.
Me and old man daddy-o were really ripping loose the tunes.

The role of the assistant guitarist is one of the most misunderstood in all of music. Many think that it’s just the one who tunes the guitar before the song or smashes it at the end, but there is so much more involved.

As talented as I imagine Daddy-O is (I wasn’t really listening that intently, so I’m not an authority) I knew he needed a helping hand. As a natural born hinderer, I was just the man for the job.

As I mentioned already, it’s a well misunderstood profession. Rather than try to understand it, I just made it up as I went along. Later I realized that understanding wasn’t the goal, but I figure the ends must surely justify the means, right? I’m sure they’ll teach me that somewhere along the way.

I knew I had it in me to be a show stopper but, oh honey, did that song ever come grinding to a halt. It was so beautiful. I slapped both hands down on the stings and it went quiet. All eyes were on me waiting for my solo, and I let ‘em have it.

I started two-handed plucking the strings like I was writing the score for a conquistador flick. It was so powerful and emotional. Everyone in the room was stirred, some struck silent, others laughing with joy.

I’m Not Zero Anymore

We`ve come a long, long way together, dear readers, through hard times and soft ones too. It’s hard to accept that I’m really a year old now. This year has been a lifetime to me, and now it’s past. So many realizations to look back on and so many questions to look forward to.

Look at what a handsome fella I turned out to be. Just a ladies man waiting for the ladies.
Look at what a handsome fella I turned out to be. Just a ladies man waiting for the ladies.

I’ve learned how to sleep, roll over, crawl, feed myself, even walk and talk a bit. I even figured out that mom and me are two separate people; detachable, imagine that! I’ve learned who my parents are and how much they mean to me. I understand the pain I feel when I’m alone and the joy I feel in loving arms.

My whole life things have been getting more and more complicated and I don’t know why it has to be like this. All the things that used to be so easy are now hard and the things that were impossible are required.

In the beginning I couldn’t even hold my own head up, but now I’m expected to get around the house independantly. For what seemed like ever I couldn’t see past my own face, and now those same things I couldn’t see, I’m supposed to recognize, acknowledge, and manipulate.

In these days I face, I know they expect me to start talking more and more, and learning more about this world around me, and I’m looking forward to it. It’s just that everytime I think I’ve got it figured out, I get another assignment that I’m supposed to master. It’s difficult stuff like figuring out doorknobs and zipping zippers.

And all the things I used to get away with are totally in the past. I can never again pretend I don’t understand the meaning of “No” or demand someone else feed me or play dumb about unplugging the TV.

So what’s the coming year going to hold for me? Well, like those who went before me, I guess I’m going to have to go after those tricky tasks like potty training and learning the names of the colors and the letters of the alphabet. Suppose I’ll have to kick this bottle habit at some point too. Yes, I am now mature enough to admit it’s a habit.

My goal for the next twelve months is to be a completely mobile jabber-baby and to spend as much time with my parents as I can. They’re getting older too and I don’t want them to feel forgotten or left behind. Okay, maybe there’s some of my own seperation anxiety in there, but who can know for sure?

The only thing I really do know for sure is that I’m not zero anymore.

 

Goofy Faced Kid Keeps Copying Me

So I met this kid the other day, man what a goofball. Not only was he all wobbly and distorted, but he kept copying everything I did. story199

Ever had somebody do that? Like follow you while you’re going along and copy you? It’s wierd. It’s not like I’m at home or in the car hanging out with my brother or anything, I’m out in public.

I was just chilling downtown with my old man, getting in some good family time, letting him know he’s still my Pops, when out of nowhere this guy decides to start heckling me.

I didn’t notice him at first because I had my crawl going on, but it didn’t take long before he caught my attention. It’s pretty hard not to notice a pseudo-twin when the dude’s like two inches away from you.

He looked odd though. Like he was trying to do an impression of me, but it was coming out all wrong. See, his impression was all purple and distorted-like. Ever had someone do an impression of you that was too purple? I don’t know how to explain it, but it was a little unsettling in that regard.

He was good though, I’ll grant him that. Every crawl I took he was straight up in stride. When I faced him, he faced back. When I smiled, he kind of smiled. (I only say “kind of” because he was all distorted and funky-like.)

I tried to kick him some change for entertaining me, but Dad said it wasn’t necessary and we moved on. Are street entertainers like this common?

In summation, I give this clowny entertainer a full four stars, except on the curry and/or restaurant scale, where I give him a full five stars. While a little odd and unsettling, he was exceptionally talented and as handsome a kid as I’ve ever laid eyes on. Keep it up, you entertainer of the masses you, you’re going somewhere

 

Stroll N’ Bash Discouragingly Complicated

For those of you who aren’t yet keen on walking (as a newby myself I understand) I can strongly recommend the Stroll N’ Bash, even with its shortcomings.

Don`t look at my butt, that ain`t cool.
Don`t look at my butt, that ain`t cool.

If you wanna strut yer stuff around the house, you’ve got some options. You’ve got your crawl. You’ve got your walk (if you’re feeling up to such a complicated fiasco) and you’ve got your assisted methods… Did I say assisted? Oh I sure did. Why, it’s the household Stroll N’ Bash, designed to aid in just such adventures!

What I like most about walking is the speed of it all. Yep, can kind of haul yourself around at any pace you see fit. As momentum gains I tend to side-step, but maybe that’s just me. The Stroll N’ Bash offers comparable speed to walking, but without all that icky balance and gravity you have to deal with.

Here’s my biggest beef though, why does this thing have to be so tricky to get into? Mom and dad hop in their car with what appears to be relative ease. Me? Oh heck no! When I wanna climb in it’s all kinds of work. I actually made it in by myself once, both legs and all. Turns out it was a huge anomaly… sad because I’ve tried to repeat it like twenty times.

I thought I’d found a foolproof way of getting into this thing, but you know how it is. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again, make something foolproof and they’ll just build better fools. Until I can remedy this disaster on my own, I’m only rating it three and a half stars. I’ll get back with you when I figger it out though. Until then, wish me luck and improved happiness.

Stroll N’ Bash is available at toy stores, sporting goods and off-road supply stores, just ask for it by name

 

Rose by Any Other Name, Still Like 10 Feet Tall

Roses, the eternal icon of romance. Lovely, fragrant, ouchy and like, ridiculously big. Seriously, man, huge.

Wow, are these like a freak breed or something?
Wow, are these like a freak breed or something?

I’m all about tradition. Okay, no not really. Help me understand a handful of things first, then I’ll let you know if I am in on this one or not.

  • How does something that’s already dead signify undying love?
  • How is purchasing fauna carcass romantic?
  • Is the same true of apple cores or road kill?
  • Does the thought still count if she* pokes herself on a thorn?
  • Should a flower always be bigger than the suitor?
  • If a diamond is substituted, does it also need to be about “me-sized”?

You know, there’s just too many questions outstanding. Until I can get some really good and serious answers I’m just not going to get in on this whole “roses” bandwagon. It just doesn’t add up, and the more I think about it, the less likely I am to think there’s going to be answers to all these questions. Until further notice, just count me out.

 

Acid Jazz Effortless

After several minutes of distracted tutelage, I’ve finally got the hang of this whole jazz piano thing. They warned me it would be hard but I had no idea how rewarding it would be.

Skiddlydee doo doo bop de bop!

I sat down with master Thom. I was told he’d studied for many years and practiced for decades to get this good, but if I got it down in three minutes, I think “master” may be a bit of an overstatement.

The piano is a sacred instrument. It’s old, classic, wooden, huge and as terribly noisy as the artist can dream. I didn’t have a tuxedo or jazz hat, but there was a faux marble bust, so I figured it was probably okay.

We started out with a duo. Not really a duet, but more of a duel, now that I think about it. He was banging out some pretty good chords, and I followed with more complicated and aggressive ones. He went on to bigger chords and I followed right behind with some unresolved shifting major chords. And since I was off chord, I figured I’d throw in some syncopation as well.

He tried to follow, but I was already onto my key change with a few mixed minor ninths and an arm span bass line. He really tried to keep up, but I think I went over his head when I fist hammered the druge through a time and tempo change. As if that wasn’t enough, I threw a foot up on the keys crawl-style ala Jerry Lee Lewis. A move he admitted he’d never even tried. Clearly, he was impressed. Hey, what can I say, I’m just a natural.

Oh, and before you get it in your head that I was just doing something easy like playing in the key of C (a crime he says my dad is guilty of) I should point out I almost never used the white keys. Not even sure what they’re for, honestly. Kind of stuck to the ebony ones. Just seemed right for the music.

While free-form jazz explorations, like my little deal here, have more wiggle room on the rules, I’m told classical piano is much more rigid. That would make it harder for me to learn, I suspect. But who wants it really? I don’t see classical music really having the same kind of sticking around power as free-floating, rule-free, dischordal chaotic jazz. Besides, I think I’ve done enough for contemporary music anyhow.

 

Pantomime Made Easy Thanks to Glass

One of the most revered, skilled, and respected professions in the history of man has just been given a tool by which even children can get their little feet in the door. The mime’s newest friend, you see, is glass.

For anyone who’s ever been fortunate enough to see a mime, you know their craft is amazing. It’s unique, striking and not the least bit annoying. Especially not when they follow you around or mock you. Certainly not when you’re trying to make a good impression on a date, co-worker or boss.

Aspiring mimesmen the world over, rejoice, for you now have a new ally. Whether you’re trying to be trapped in an invisible box (as many spectators wish you were) or trying to pass an invisible wall, glass may be just the ticket the doctor demanded.

Glass baby, glass. Put your hands on it, your face or mouth, whatever. If you’re suggesting there’s a clear flat surface holding you back, nothing could be more convincing.

Do you see me here in this picture? I’m pantomiming that the coffeetable actually has a top, though as you can see, it doesn’t. How is the illusion done? Glass! It’s not just make-believe, I’m actually slapping glass, do you get it?

If you are pursuing a lucrative career in pantomime but your morals prevent you from lying about invisible barriers, do not despair. Once you’ve got your sheet of glass, you’ll be ready to graduate to the pulling of invisible rope in the form of dental floss tied to a manhole cover or mailbox. Thanks to modern technology, you’re on your way… thank me later.