I tagged along for preschool pickup again today; I think Lumpyhead has turned the corner. Sure, he was still a whiny Pain In the Ass – but I think it was because he didn’t eat his lunch and not because his parents abandon him twice a week.
So there’s that. I don’t think I’ll keep showing up for pickup, even though I can now be back at my desk in about an hour. (Typical. I finally figure out how to do something and I immediately don’t have to do it anymore.)
Bump’s friend Tom (the guy who lost his violin) was in town on Saturday night. My colleague Linda agreed to babysit on very short notice (for she rocks), and Bump and I were able to go meet Tom. We went out to dinner (which was yummy) and played a couple rounds of pool (which went like this:
Bump and Tom: Here you go [handing me my ass]
Me: Why thank you).
Tom was performing at the Warehouse. Bump and I got to hear the sound check, but were too lame (and tired, but mostly lame) to stay for the performance.
We did get to hear the first piece of the night by another artist, which confirmed that I am not the target audience for avant garde performances. At all. For example, it sounded to me like the performer was administering some sort of hearing test, so I kept fighting the urge to raise my hand. Usually when you hear those kinds of noises and see a guy fluttering around with sound equipment, it is because he is trying to get those noises to stop. This guy was making those noises on purpose.
Tom told us we could leave if our ears hurt, but I felt compelled to stay either because it was the polite thing to do or because I was just too stunned by the aural assault to move. It was probably for the best that I didn’t see Tom get up and leave, because if I had, I’m sure I would have beat a double-hasty retreat my own damn self.
Meanwhile, Linda spent all evening drawing Thomas and Rusty for Lumpyhead, much to his squealing delight. The next day when Lumpyhead brought me his magnadoodle and asked me to draw Thomas, I failed miserably. Lumpyhead often points out the obvious by saying, "I see Thomas!" or "I see Rusty!" or "I see [whatever]!" He took one look at my Thomas rendition, started with "I see. . ." only to trail off because the thing I had drawn looked nothing like Thomas. He regarded me quizzically, erased the picture, and instructed me to draw "Thomas" in a tone that suggested perhaps I misunderstood him the first time. My second attempt wasn’t much better.
Bump later drew Gordon to scale, complete with landscaping, just to prove that magnadoodle-drawn trains are not a myth.
7 comments:
I can't draw crap on a magnadoodle either.
Except for really lame cats, hearts and anchors.
Yes, anchors. I was a DG, you know.
We don't have a magnadoodle, but sometimes I've drawn outlines of teddy bears, hands etc for my daughter's entertainment. Trouble is, it put her off trying to do any drawing of her own.
I don't get a lot of avant garde art. I think it's so conceptual that you'd have to know everything about the artist, in order to understand what he/she is trying to say.
I love magnadoodles, but I can't draw anything recogniseable on them. But then again, I can't ever draw anything recogniseable. Hmmm.
Maybe you should ask Lumpyhead if he could do any better, lest he judge you?!?!
You are entirely necessary if for no other reason than to help people like me feel positive about our magnadoodling skills. Thank you.
Dang, that other babysitter is setting the bar too high! I'm going to have to work hard to think of something impressive next time.
There is a babysitting service at our church, and the guy who is in charge of the preschool room is named Parkey. One morning, on the way to church, I told Petunia that she was going to get to play with Parkey. And she said, 'I love Daddy best and then I love Parkey.' I said, 'What about me?' And she said, 'And then I love you.' So I handed her off to Parkey and said, 'Congratulations! Because you're second and I'm third.'
Effer must draw magnadoodle masterpieces too.
Thomas? On a Magnadoodle? I can barely draw one on paper...
Speaking of Thomas, you were so right. Those songs them English kids sing during the show are awful, makes me want to stick a screwdriver in my ear.
And the plot-loop holes! You could, well, drive a train through some of the stories!
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