Meet Our Neighbor, Noah.

One of the real delights of springtime is having the windows open again so you can spy and eavesdrop on your eccentric neighbors. The man who lives in the lawn adjacent to ours (the site of this year's Blackbird Convention, you'll remember) provides endless treats when the warm weather starts.


We call him Noah because he keeps a large boat in his backyard, even though we live in a decidedly landlocked part of the country.

 


From time to time, Noah hauls his boat from one side of the yard to the other. This weekend was pretty busy.




Later, while digging his garden patch with some loud, gas-powered machinery, Noah even began praying quite loudly when something caused the machine to stop working.
 

What a delight neighbors are!

Your Father's Full-Time Job (Hopefully).

You may have noticed, children, that your friends' fathers are surprisingly boring. At the risk of shocking you, I feel it is my duty to reveal that these men are not, in fact boring. In reality, it's your father who is the outlier.



That's right, kids. What you have perceived as "normal" your whole lives is considered by most people to be "wildly entertaining."

Which is why your father goes out in public, stands in front of rooms full of people, and tells jokes. He just has that much comedic joy to share. Now I need you to go next door and apologize to Mr. Helms about yawning while he told you about his tomato garden.

Being American.

Children, it is not often that I give much thought to my nationality, except to feel mildly embarrassed about it while reading about Canada's healthcare system. But today, that all changed. For today, I received in the mail my very own copy of the Constitution of the United States of America.

This semi-sacred document was a gift from my dear friends at the American Civil Liberties Union, who apparently believe that my theoretical support of their organization will translate to financial support, which is not the case, despite the charming gift they sent me.



Naturally, I began reading my Constitution at once.



You can probably guess which Amendment I was reading when this image was captured completely by chance by your father, who happened to be strolling around our house with my camera, seeking out things to photograph.



But of course, my favorite Amendment is this one. Most likely, children, the passage of this very Amendment will be at least indirectly responsible for your existence*.

*If you're not sure what I mean by that, go back outside and enjoy what's left of your innocence.

Big Stomach, Small Stomach.

Sometimes I play a game where I photograph myself in two different ways. For example, this is my stomach pushed out (what I like to call "big stomach").



This is my stomach sucked in ("small stomach").



Notice how my feet come into view in the second picture, as if they were the stars hidden behind a once-full moon. Or stomach. Also, notice how I can make my foot bones stand out like a witch's finger bones. Isn't the human body fascinating?

The Encroaching Clutter.

I have never won any awards for neatness, and if any of you do, children, it will be by sheer genetic fluke. Lately, though, I've noticed that the clutter around the house has been evolving, as if of its own accord.

It starts on my desk, which seems normal enough. Messy desks are par for the course for "creative" types. (Right?)



But then it hit the kitchen table, which seems like a slippery slope.



And then it hit the extra desk we keep in the kitchen, which itself is a form of clutter, as we didn't really need another desk, but the former tenant left it here, and it was a surface on which we could place things, so...



It has now found its way onto the coffee maker counter, and I don't think there's any chance it will stop spreading in the near future. I have surrendered to it, and assume that one day I will be washed out the front door on a wave of my own clutter. And that's how I'll know it's time to move.

Your Father Adopts a Hunting Hound.

After a riveting business trip during which I posted absolutely nothing about my everyday life on the road, I'm back in town and I've got lots to report.

Children, you know very well that I am highly allergic to animals of all kinds (as well as all things that bring joy to humans, including Christmas trees and possibly ice cream). However, your father does not seem to care.



In fact, this weekend, he adopted a hunting hound as his new Official Best Friend.

He also adopted a sidekick, in the form of an absurdly cute two-year-old girl. I can only imagine what world-saving adventures they will get up to in the coming months and years. What a team.

BIG News from Carbondale.

Living in a big city like Carbondale means that our lives proceed at the rate of approximately one thrill per minute--if not more.

This week was no exception, as you can see from the front page of the Carbondale Times, published every Wednesday, whether or not anything has happened in the interim:


Needless to say, children, what with the return of sliding weather, I've hardly had a chance to catch my breath.

(In real news, the farmer's market is now open and I bought some of the season's first spargel* on Saturday--splendid!)


*asparagus. I know one German word, and dammit, I'm going to use it when it comes up.