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A Trailer for Every Academy Award Winning Movie Ever

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Gender And Strollers

All kids love strollers. They're one of the most sought after toys at the daycare. Boys and girls both love them. There is a difference, however, in how they're used. The girls put babies in them and stroll them around. The boys dump the babies out and fill the space with toys. I'm not sure what this says about innate gender differences, but it says something. I call it my PRC study. (Well, I didn't. I do now.)

Before I had kids, I would have never believed there is a natural inclination towards certain behavior in boys and girls. But watching kids over the years at the daycare I believe there is something to it. The PRC actually makes a good sample, since we have single moms, lesbian moms, stay at home dads, and all kinds of in between. Some of the dads are boisterous football players, some are silent and gentle. It's part of what makes the job great. We have a diverse group, from different countries and different backgrounds. But every boy dumps out the stroller, and every girl puts a baby in it and pushes it around.

There is probably a case to be made for different explanations. Maybe the kids copy who they see looks like them. But that doesn't work perfectly: why does the stocky dark skinned girl identify with the tiny blonde above a stocky dark skinned boy? Gender means something to the little ones. I don't know why, or how. But they know, or at least are acting upon, something within themselves. It's interesting.

One of the most bizarre and pervasive divides I have seen since returning to the U.S. is the pathologically individualist side, where the ego reigns and everything is about individual expression, and the monotonous, "everyone is special" politically correct engine. It's fascinating, and both sides take the argument very seriously. Most individualists, ironically, would argue that boys are boys and girls are girls. Most of the p.c. crowd argues against any innate gender differences, that boys and girls are blank slates that we impose a political will upon. It's a cross-over, a revolt against the party line in a funny and weird way. I wonder if it could signal a positive approach; a possibility of dialogue.

I think the country is in real trouble. It's bigger than if we are naturally inclined to push babies or machines. But the inability to discuss gender and politics and health care all lead to the death of a nation if we are so convinced we know everything that we can't communicate. I think it starts with watching, and listening. It begins when I can clearly explain that I see the boys pushing toys, and the girls strolling babies. And get an audience instead of a lecture.

My Crazy!

Arkaedi Sue has catapulted into the terrible two Hall of Fame this week. She has thrown water, pooped on the floor, and made our frequent trips to Wayward a challenge in Pretty management. Today she ran around and made trouble, then went to the zoo with our good friends Tiffany and Wade. They said she was perfect. So the craziness is just for me.

This morning she came screeching into my room, "Papa sleeping!" He was, Pretty Sue. Now he isn't. Later was the floor pooping incident, which I admit was partly my fault. She came to the door while I was getting out of the shower, and said "My poopy!" as she frequently does. Well, I didn't move fast enough, and she took off her pull up and pooped on the floor. My poopy indeed.

She always is intense. She always screams. Sometimes, like now, she is asleep. I imagine her in the future, though, using this intensity to her advantage. She'll be in her thirties when the genetically altered supermen like Khan take over. She can be a fighter pilot. Her dialogue alone will make it worth all the trouble. Plus, she'll destroy Khan before he has a chance to bother Kirk and crew.

"No, Khan! You bad! My nice! Fire!"

A Perfect Baseball Blessing

I had hoped to visit the Albuqurque Isotopes while I was on the road. We'll be driving right through there, and I figured it'd be a nice stop for a day, we could get a motel, and have a short driving day. I checked online, and realized the Isotopes where not in town. I was bummed. Until I noticed a little asterisk next to the schedule. There was a game on April 3rd, but it wasn't the beloved minor league team named for the Simpsons episode; it was my Seattle Mariners! Playing a spring training game! In the one place this year I'll be able to see them! Perfection! (Ironically, the first Isotopes episode featured Ken Griffey Jr., now back with the Mariners. So I'll get to see him.)

There have been a lot of serendipitous aspects of this move back east. Some are more important to our overall well being. But none made me happier than to realize I'll get to see the Mariners at least once this season. If they go on to have a wonderful season, I can have the satisfaction of knowing I saw the beginning. If not, then, well, I still had a good day in April in New Mexico watching baseball. If baseball is blessing my move back east, then it must be a good idea.

We may also hit some more minor league games while we're traveling. I love minor league baseball. There is something so pure about the game. The stadiums are small, the players are not paid much more than normal people. There is a speed to the game, uninterrupted by jumbotrons and grounds crews. I hope to see the Nashville Sounds, and the Oklahoma Redbirds. I'm planning on taking my son and my dad down to see the West Virginia Power. (Great name. Sounds like a wrestling move.)

The one benefit of Ithaca is its proximity to great minor league teams. The Syracuse Chiefs and Binghamton Mets can be seen with easy day trips. I'll try and make lots of trips this summer to see games. I'm looking forward to the minor league baseball season. Even more so now that I get one chance to see the Mariners in 2010. Even if I end up buying an Isotopes souvenir.

King 5 Does A Mighty-O Story

The fun thing is, we were there! They didn't use the footage of us, but we were there as they shot the story.

Music Supreme

I used to be a big fan of jazz. I listened to jazz most every day, I owned some nice vinyl, I knew tons about jazz from 1939-1960. Then, I slowed down. I listened less and less, sold some of my records and cds. I eventually stopped listening to music in general, barring the occasional car trip or interesting song I'd choose to plug into my ipod. I'm not sure exactly why, though I suspect a busy schedule and kids made enjoyment of sound a problem. Children are noisy, and I imagine I wanted quiet. Or maybe I got bored with my choices. Either way, I stopped. Recently I unearthed some of my digital music files I'd stashed away, including some of my jazz. I only kept the greatest hits, like Coltrane and Charlie Parker. Some Mingus made it to the computer.

Oh, I didn't know what I was missing. It's heaven. Perfect music. I realize why I fell in love with it in the first place. Unlike my other musical interests, there isn't a narrative. No story, just intensity. I'll always have a soft spot for bluegrass, or country, or early punk rock. It's fun. But jazz is music. It's analogous to the feeling I get when I compare baseball to other sports. I love other sports. I enjoy watching them with friends, and cheering for different teams. But baseball is the game, it is powerful in a way that others don't approach.

I wish I understood exactly why I drifted away. Maybe it was a necessary change, a chance to better understand why I loved it. I'm almost glad I did, in a way. It gave me the opportunity to jump back in and see what is so amazing about it. Now I need to run around to used music stores and gather up my old favorites. I can no longer live in a world where Sketches of Spain and Blue Train aren't available at the click of a button. That'd be as bad as not knowing Ichiro's single season hits record.

(262.)

Greatest Goldberg Contraption Ever