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space baby



 

 



 

 



housecleaning

Some older photos:

 

 

 

 

xmas ornament made by Sarah



Snowshoeing near Brainerd; xcountry ski trails

 

 

 

 

Afton State Park

Making the most of a freak May snowstorm.

making curtains for the baby's room

thirty days of light and dark

Luke, I am your father. 

 

I can now deliver this line in earnest, except the Luke part, but certainly the rest of it, if with slightly altered meaning and hopefully not preceding a righteous arm-severing.

 

I will spare you the details and get to the cogent points.  1.) Infants are not a lot like Tamagotchis, but they are a little bit.  2.) Infants are more like beloved pets, but not a lot more then they are like Tamagotchis.  3.) Infants are the least like human beings, and the most like aliens.  4.) The wailing and flailing of one's infant is perhaps more anxiety inducing than lying on a bed of nails with a sumo wrestler running backwards circles perilously close around you while chugging sake from a beer helmet blindfolded in a tight room smelling all-at-once of dried blood, sour milk and fear.

 

I could go on, but there's too much to say and not a lot of it would make sense.  I will tell you that watching episodes of the Cosby show where Heathcliff Huxtable counsels pregnant women does not in fact prepare you for childbirth or being a father.  In fact, it serves only to embitter one towards the lies perpetrated by our culture and leave one with an overwhelming desire to skip ahead to the salad days where kids only crash our cars high on stolen prescription medications, and at least spare us long nights of sleeplessness, rolled out nightmarish and punctuated by blood curdling screams only to be followed by eye-bugging days of heat and hallucinatory edginess spent waiting for the baby to sleep, perchance to dream.

 

But after 30 days, I say fuck all that.  I am a warrior.  The baby is not my enemy but the rough terrain upon which I do combat with sore bottoms, hunger, mucus, urine, sour milk vomit, tiny little bodies that can't help themselves etc.  Besides, he is fun to take pictures of.

 

 

A little free advertising for the Mother Baby Center.  The experience was "ok."  I give the facilities a 4/5, service a 3/5, atmosphere a 4/5 and floor cleanliness a 1/5.



What would Foucault say?  More, who would care to listen?  Foucault is the site upon which discursive regimes of pretentious college professors inscribe themselves, tick-like, waiting to be overheard by nubile freshman.  But seriously, the baby is 4 minutes old and he's being weighed, measured, scanned, and surveiled like no baby's business.

 

 

 

 

Measurements now reveal future aptitude for either basketball or jockeying horses

 This picture is hard to look at.  First, they smear greasy ointment all over baby's eyes then stab a needle into his leg.  More, you've got dad standing off to one side taking pictures.

 Oops.  I dropped something.

 Got it!

 Alien with slight jaundice, newborn rash and baby acne.  Thanks again Dr. Huxtable.

 He kind of creeps me out here

 

Baby at home, satisfied after a meal

 

Little feets, one featuring a shortened fifth metatarsal and "scramble toe" from being jammed under mom's rib cage for so many lovely months

 

 

 

 

 At a few weeks, the golden child openly stares at mom, challenging her to produce a low-calorie yet rich and delicious whipped topping

 

 

 

 Then and now

 

 

 

 We love mama

 

 

 

 

 

bucket of wishbone parts

 

 

potpourii

I haven't updated in almost half a year.  Yeesh.  That is terrible blogging to be sure, but I take some comfort in not actually being a blogger, but a guy who shares pictures with an often text-heavy element in the blog format.  The big changes in my life are a new job and a new residence. 

 

My work involves collecting and reporting program outcomes for a collection of after-school centers in Minneapolis and St. Paul.  Basically, I help the grant writers and board members sleep well at night by assuring them (within a reasonable degree of accuracy) that at least 70% of youth who attend 70% of program sessions offered will demonstrate improved character, greater sense of civic pride, and a near-crippling desire to smile and make eye contact with strangers in their communities.

 

I also moved into a house in St. Paul with Sarah.  Having a home has thrown open the doors to a veritable mob of joys and anxieties, some of which I will list here in no particular order: peeing in one's own backyard by the stealthy light of moon, caulking things, engaging in earnest conversations with one's co-workers about plants, spying on neighbors, beating door-to-door solicitors with lengths of rubber hose, sitting on one's porch and staring at passers-by with an inflated sense of entitlement, bitching about property taxes, having a man-cave and being within walking distance of good coffee.

 

In any case, I have prattled on long enough. 

 

 

Lake Minnetonka: 6am

 

 

 

 

 

Some kid riding a carousel at Grand Old Days

Frankie Weaver, world's 382nd smallest Michael Jackson impersonator

 

 

 

 

 

Some diabolical figurines

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I mention we got a dog?  This is Wally

Wally is best captured as a darkish blur racing across the frame

This was prettily heavily photoshopped, which is probably apparent.  I have a conflicted relationship with Photoshop, but am coming to recognize it as a sometimes necessary evil, or the occasional unqualified good.  I'm not sure which this is but I still like it.  The morning was heavy with fog, yet the trees were at maximum Fall, leaves dripping with color.

 

 

 

 

 

majestic dead white man

old church restoration off Summit Ave.