Teen Wolf

Perhaps you're one of the many people who has written me to say that while you personally don't visit places like Perezhilton and the like, someone you know sent you a story about The Beaver which seemed to indicate that it was either awesome or the worst thing ever and that in either case I was certainly an unqualified wacko. Or maybe you were a commenter who mentioned South Park for the millionth time. Or maybe you're one of my countless new facebook friends who I don't actually know but was afraid to turn away and so now I'm keenly aware of when you're watching Heroes and what you think of your latest haircut. Whatever the case, allow me to clear the air.

First of all, I recently bought a pair of slacks. In fact, I have two pair. I wear one for a week and then the other for the next week. I've been doing this for like, a month. So obviously, I'm a professional, and any indication otherwise is libelous.

Second, the movie is nothing at all like South Park. To say so is insulting. It's actually exactly like Teen Wolf but I changed all the instances of 'Wolf' to 'Beaver' and all the instances of 'Teen' to 'Steve Carrell'. The point is, screenwriting is extremely simple and should be done by everyone.

Third, let's all just agree not to use the word whimsical unless we're referring to a musical about Cool Whip.

Hopefully that squares everything. Can't thank those of you who've had swell things to say, about me or my slacks, enough. When and if there's real progress to report I will certainly let you know. At this point the process is mostly a lot of people telling you to chill champagne one minute and then instructing you to beat yourself over the head with it the next. But I've been doing that for years because a) I persoanlly feel that clubbing yourself with champagne is preferrable to drinking it, and b) I'm a professional.

In slacks.

Covered with baby vomit.

Mission To Mars

I have been convinced that we need more children.

I think it went like this.  I said emphatically that I didn't want any more children.  Actually, I think I said I didn't want any children at all, and then I had two and didn't sleep for three months and then said I wanted someone to chop my penis off.  

But then I came up with a name.

Being a writer, which is how we've decided to label my particular mix of napping and checking my email, words are of great importance to me.  Not all words.  I don't like the long ones.  Or any of the ones that start with C, but certain words, and especially names, have a great impact on me.

For instance, I recently realized that I could save time and confusion by just combining the twins' nicknames, Nixie and Ripples, into Nipples.  I would say that this has increased the number of times I address the girls by name, or at least by single unified nickname, at least a hundredfold.  Good morning Nipples.  Nap time Nipples.  Nipples, stop eating Nipples' hair.  I eagerly await the days when they play in the neighborhood and I can stand on the front porch and scream, DINNER NIPPLES!

But I digress.  As excited as I was about the Nipples breakthrough, it didn't make me feel compelled to add another human to the global pile.  That happened when the metal slot wheels all hit on Mars.

I should briefly point out that really, its Nipples that's really driving this train.  At this point they're like little salespeople for the very idea of babies.  They laugh, sleep, and pretty much stay where you put them, which is a pretty compelling pitch for getting all Mormon with your numbers.  Once they start walking and whining and telling me to get a job, I'm sure they'll seem more like 20 pound vasectomy advertisements, which is why their mother is eager to move before we regain our senses.

Anyway, all of this was on the table when I hit on Mars.  At first I was convinced that Mars was a boy name and so I was only interested if I could be sure we'd have a boy.  I looked into the various options and presented them, pointing out that the leading option (microsort) was used all the time to control livestock populations and available for humans with just a short trip to New Jersey.  Amy did not share my enthusiasm for cutting edge science.

I did some soul searching and within days realized that I didn't so much want a boy as I wanted a Mars, and as it turned out, Mars was obviously also an awesome name for a girl and so the whole New Jersey cow impregnation route was just a red herring.  I said this to Amy.  That we didn't need cow science to make a baby and that Mars was totally a great girl name.  She said that she wasn't really aware that it was a name for a human, boy or girl.  But all great things seem appalling and wrong at first, and I knew the greatness of Mars would eventually sink in (although I have to say, Nipples is really not catching on with her).  Lawyers were called, deals negotiated, agreements reached.  Bottom line, we're making a Mars.

As we really have no room for more people in this house, at present the plan is to let Mars live in the backyard and hopefully be raised by some sort of neighborhood animal.  Mostly we've got cats and squirrels running around, so it's a safe bet that he/she will pick up some wicked tree skills.  Amy feels uncertain about this and is suddenly all about finding a house and letting the baby live inside.  I say with resume padding and college admissions getting tougher all the time, 'raised by cats/have large nut collection' would look pretty compelling on an application.  

But she has a higher IQ and tends to outsmart me, so we'll probably do it her way.

p.s.  Seriously, if I have more kids than adults in my house, don't really like to drink, and dig board games, can I at least qualify for some sort of honorary Mormon status?  I'm not really into the church part, but if it comes with a lift pass I'd really like to get more info.

p.p.s  You may have noticed the Twitter feed now on the right, because it's important that we all make all of our thoughts available to everyone at all times.  Now you won't have to wonder, you'll know when I'm using the word Nipples.