Babies are Gross

Birth. Our nephew’s daughter entered Earth’s atmosphere in the vicinity of San Antonio. Hardly a moment later photos came as email attachments, precious new yet-to-be-swaddled human, her waxy white and vernix coat softening the blushing red. Other than in emails, this image was spared social media exposure as far as we know. The parents are commended.
The joy of a new family member spread quickly to the other side of the world. Our daughter in Seoul quickly shot back her observation. “Babies are gross.” Such candor attests to her lineage, and the adage: she is her father’s daughter. I’m so proud.
She’s right, you know. She, at birth, was no exception. None of us are. Caesar’s entry into life and exit from his mother, the method of which bears his name, was probably more especially gross. And of course all the accompanying baggage, you know, that cord and a couple of square feet of amniotic membrane, the child’s weight in placenta, have got to go somewhere and aren’t going to dispose of themselves.
Even the immaculately conceived Jesus, vaginally birthed in circumstances so abjectly humble so as to emphasize the glory of his virgin mother’s deliverance, halos all around, angels attending, afterbirth lost somewhere in the hay, not unusual for that kind of place.
Civilization removes the grossness of childbirth. But there’s no escaping the reality. I was born in my father’s absence as was the custom in those days. He was in the waiting room down the hall. One could argue that my mother wasn’t even there. I don’t know if she was anesthetized for the event, also an easy option of the times. As for me? I don’t remember. And no manner of hypnotic regression will change that. What would be the point. My mother tells me she thought I looked like a red rat when she saw me for the first time. And looking at the black-and-white of me as a newborn, I’ve got to agree.
Continue reading “Babies are Gross”

chicken went down

our wonderful household is wonderful in our wonderful house: two cats, a rabbit still living and thriving indoors only. A legion of expired pets are buried or somehow inaccessibly disposed within property lines of our sweet residence. And so, as my blessed wife left for a week’s fun in Florida, her final pleas to me before closing the back door upon leaving were these: take out the garbage because it stinks; please make sure the cats have an extra bowl of water and a heaping bowl of food; please change the paper in the rabbit cage and see that Cici (the rabbit) has plenty of water and food too.

But an hour before she left, my beloved apologized to me and begged that I cut the chicken, I didn’t necessary have to de-bone the thing, but I at least remove the remaining breast meat into separate bags and place them in the freezer. Would I please do it now because I’ll forget about it if I don’t.

I didn’t. And I did. Continue reading “chicken went down”

seamus never disappoints

always in-person when the opportunity allows, you should, you really should try to meet with him whatever the occasion. You just won’t be disappointed. And so, here we are, there he is. Who, exactly who is holding court at this gathering? The jury is out on that for the moment. The conversation moved beyond the point of that mattering probably before it began, sort of a spiritual creation of ideas articulated in the singularly peculiar mix of minds and ways of thinking, the cool balance of yin and yang as settled as cornflakes during shipping, that renders all judgement neutral. No ideas spoken here are new.

James M Hendrix
James M Hendrix

None of them. We’ve merely brought them to our forum, the pub that is not really a pub, to speak and be spoken about, agreed with, acknowledged, ignored at worst. Things get said worthy of any scholarly record, any humorists notebook, clergy’s sermon sketches, pornographer’s napkin. But Seamus, forget what he said about writing up a nice account for the company newsletter. It’ll never happen. Continue reading “seamus never disappoints”

ugly rotating head on top

our architect firm pitched the idea of mounting a rotating head atop SCC HQ, proportionate to the size of the building so as to be “life-size.”

metropolis goddess
Makes your head spin just thinking about it. So, don’t.

Now this is the kind of off-the-grid-fifty-universes-over-from-the-next-parking-lot-from-the-warehouse-where-the-box-usually-is thinking we like to encourage around here. Following our company’s founding tenets of non-critical criticizing, we congratulated the firm and thanked them for their hard work and visionary insight.  We especially liked the part about the giant head on top making the building a spitting image, at a distance, of a PEZ dispenser. Our legal team pointed out all kinds of potential legal problems. We were disappointed that our company did not at the time of this writing produce something that would come out of the dispenser’s mouth periodically. But that would be a horribly awkward delivery system owing to the highly trafficked streets below. No one mentioned anything about how PEZ heads don’t rotate. Still, big fat kudos for the thoughtfulness. The real problem is that we facade over the high-speed, hyper RPM sub-quantum warning system antenna. But we’ll get there.