A BrickBreaker's lament

As I mentioned in a recent post, my old phone died not too long ago, so I picked up a Blackberry Curve. So far, I've been pretty pleased with it. It's not too different from my previous phone, so it hasn't taken me too long to get familiar with the phone. So, besides the occasional inadvertent sending of what could be construed as a threatening picture to a local energy conglomerate, the only other thing worth mentioning about the Curve is BrickBreaker.

BrickBreaker, if you're unfamiliar with Blackberrys, is a simple game that comes included with the phone's software. It's a pretty standard break-the-bricks-using-a-ball-that-you-hit-with-a-paddle game; except for the fact that it is akin to crack in its addictiveness. I first played it when I found it on my phone while I was exploring all of the features--nothing special, I thought. Then I tried it again, then again, and soon I was playing at many a random moment. It hasn't interrupted my normal/business life (although apocryphal stories online say that it has for some people)--It's not like I'm ignoring Addie to break some bricks--but I can't help but wonder: What am I gaining from this?

I can't figure out why I play this stupid game, but it's just so easy to get pulled in when you have a moment. What's even more galling about BrickBreaker, is that I'm terrible at it. I've yet to break the ten-thousand point mark, which I originally thought was okay...until I saw the high scores online. My best effort, I surmise, would put me someplace between a person who's been dared to sit on his hands and play with his tongue and a would-be psychic who is trying to play solely with her mind. I'm that bad. I just hope that BrickBreaker isn't some Last Starfighter-esque test to determine who is worthy to fight the alien hordes that are plotting for galactic domination using cleverly placed bricks that can only be destroyed by paddle-jockeys who have nothing to lose. If that's the case, we are definitely in trouble.

Then why--I ask again--do I keep playing? Maybe BrickBreaker, and all of the other cell phone time-wasting games are the real plot by the aforementioned brick afficionado aliens. Maybe said aliens are trying to lull us into submission through the use of mindless mobile games. Well, it's time for revolt. Give up your BrickBreaker, your Solitaire, your Tetris, your Pac-Man! Join the resistance, lest our society be dismantled brick by brick (so to speak).

The beach!

Well this past weekend, Anna and I packed up the car and headed for Gulf Shores and the beach to visit Anna's father. And when I say packed up the car, I mean the Beverly Hillbillies would have thought that we went a little overboard on the packing. Somehow we managed to get two suitcases, the pack-n-play, Addie's toy bag, a full beach bag, both laptops with all the cables, a full-sized wagon, the jogging stroller, a large cooler, Miles the diabetic cat and her litterbox, and--somehow--our child. Anna pretty much hit the nail on the head when she said that had we not had a carseat permanently in place, Addie would have had to ride on top like Granny.

Despite the fact that we could have filled an over-size U-haul with all of our stuff, we made it to Gulf Shores early Friday afternoon. Anna, who is normally quite laid back about our travels out of town, was quite geared up for the beach. We basically got inside her father's condo, changed our clothes (I'm abbreviating here--have you ever tried to get an infant ready for the beach? It only takes like three or four hours.), and made our way outside. Well, then the fun begins. We loaded up Addie's brand new Radio Flyer wagon with more beach stuff then you could possibly imagine (including Addie herself)...no harm there, as it rolled pretty easily. But then we reached the sand--oh the sand, bane of my existence!--and the wagon went from easily rollable and not that bulky to I-have-to-drag-it-over-the-sand-like-it's-a-wheeless-dune-buggy heavy. After what felt like hours, we finally got Addie down to the beach.

And boy, did Addie love the beach. She hated the surf and the waves, but she loved the sand. The second we sat down, she took off--crawling all over the place--and she didn't stop for hours. She pretty much didn't slow down at all the whole first day. By the time we got back to the condo, she had bright red patches on her knees from all the crawling, and as far as Anna and I can tell, Addie ate her weight in sand. So it was a good weekend for us. I think it was equal parts relaxing and stressful as Addie would go from extremely happy and sand-eating to incredibly agitated and weepy (but still sand-eating). But I guess those are the breaks of the beach--sand is a fickle foodstuff.

Etiquette at the gym (a.k.a. farts-a-plenty)

I've recently started a new workout program that has me doing cardio intervals three times a week. I prefer to use the elliptical machine at the local YMCA because it's low impact, and I hate running. I could write a missive about how dumb I think running is, but at least you get somewhere. I recognize that the elliptical machine is dumber, as you are fake running without actually getting anywhere--so I'll leave that one alone so that I don't get angry glares from people who get a runner's high (which I'm convinced isn't real, but an El Dorado-esque motivational tool--but again, I'll leave that be).

Anyways, I missed going to the gym this morning because Addie slept poorly last night, so I went this afternoon after I got home from work. I don't know if you've ever done intervals, but they're pretty intense. They get your heart rate up, and I definitely start sucking wind toward the end of the minute-long "on" periods that I do. Well, you know what makes intervals harder? When someone farts nearby. Don't get me wrong--sometimes it happens, and I'm willing to forgive the occasional mishap. But these were terrible, I-can't-breathe, sentient farts--it's like they were trying to punish me for having a sense of smell. I mean, there I am, trying my best to huff and puff through my workout, when all of the sudden it's like I'm trying to breathe through a surgical mask that's been hanging out in Addie's diaper pail. It was that bad.

What stinks (awesome pun alert!), is that it's impossible to know who's taking care of business--so to speak. And what's worse, people could be assuming it's you. For instance, I noticed the woman on the machine next to me start to glance around her shortly after the first "incident." The problem is, was it a "I can't believe the guy next to me is farting" look, or was it "I hope nobody knows that it's me that's farting right now" look? You know that look because we've all been there--looking around to see if we've gotten away with the crime. Thankfully, I finished up my workout shortly thereafter, so I didn't have to keep fake-running through a cloud of ick. I guess the advantage of running would be that I could have run away; so that's one in your column running--just don't count me as a convert

The Dentist

No, Addie's not quite ready to go to her first dentist appointment yet. Today was Anna's and my turn to have our gums stabbed repeatedly...er, I mean, have our teeth cleaned. We've started scheduling our dentist appointments back-to-back as it allows us both to get our appointments out of the way, while the other keeps Addie in the lobby. Normally, you would think this post would be about Addie's lobby freakout; however, she was great today. We brought plenty of toys, which kept her happily occupied. I'm glad that I was able to distract her, because the dentist had the Disney Channel playing on their "kids area" TV.

I don't know if you've watched the Disney Channel lately, but when did Disney go from light-hearted cartoons to targeting pre-teens with soap opera facsimilies that are somehow dumber and more poorly acted (and that's saying something)? I don't really think Addie cares much about what's on TV right now, and for that I'm glad. Anna and I walked in toward the end of an episode of some show (although it might have been a movie) where some girl was apparently trying to be queen of some sort of dance, or something. Nothing too far afield there--that could practically be Teen Wolf. But here's where things get weird, that same girl trying to be queen or whatnot, was apparently being advised by herself, as a separate character--meaning there were two of her on the screen at once. Therefore, I am led to believe that this poor girl is either a) mentally ill or b) pursued by a devious doppelganger who is making constant mischief in her life. Why would I want to subject my child to such horrors? Why can't we just watch Sleeping Beauty or The Rescuers?

Fortunately, I didn't have too much time to think about why that Disney show ended with the girl--now doppelganger-free--dropping a host of "Save the Whales" flyers on her fellow dance goers (it really was that weird...if I saw this late at night I would have sworn I dreamed it) because I got called back for my appointment. And who doesn't love a good dentist appointment? Seriously, does anyone not absoultely hate going to the dentist--does anyone leave the office thinking, "now that was refreshing?" Because there I am, laying on a chair while my hygenist is--as far as I can tell--trying to drill for oil in my gums, all the while asking me the most unrelated, random questions possible. It was like she had a Wheel of Fortune wheel in her head that had a subject of conversation on each slice...."Internet security," to "rural Montgomery," to "my mother won't take her medicine" all in the span of two minutes, with me being unable to reply as I'm face deep in dental instruments.

At least my appointment came out clean. No cavities, and not another appointment for six months. And if you're anything like me, as soon as you leave the dentist with a clean bill of health it's like you got a stay of execution from the Governor. So, now I don't need to brush for at least three months....I'm kidding, I probably won't go for more than two weeks.

A little cheerleader?

I was watching Addie this afternoon, and as we were sitting on the floor, playing with her Little People Noah's Ark, I had the TV news on in the background. Nothing unusual there, as Anna and I typically try to catch the local news. First, to stay informed, and second to be incredibly entertained for all of the wrong reasons. Local news in Montgomery is a study in nigh-continual, unintended hilarity. At least once every two weeks, our local news will devote an entire telecast to discussing how to prepare for severe weather. Not because there is severe weather in the area, but because there MAY be severe weather in the future. I don't mind prepping for the unforeseeable, but Montgomery news outlets revel in chicken-littleism to the highest degree--and there are only so many times you can be told not to stand near windows during a storm. And it's not just the weather that's great about the news--it's also the bungled headlines (my favorite is "Humane Skeleton Found"), anchors who believe their reading of health department scores will change the world, and frequent misuse of the term irony.

All that is awesome about the news aside, that's not what brings me to today's blog entry. While Addie and I were playing, I heard our local weatherman announce that he was on the road in Tallassee (a town shortly outside of Montgomery). So--intrigued by the weather being read from the sprawling metropolis of Tallassee, Alabama--I started watching the news. As soon as the weather was done, our local weatherman introduced the Tallassee High School cheerleaders, who did a cheer for the benefit of the viewing audience. As soon as those peppy teenagers started in with "Go...Big...Purple," clapping all the while, Addie turned to the TV, completely entranced. She stared at the cheerleaders, slack-jawed, completely hypnotized by the upbeat cheering on of the Tallassee Tigers (but, go big purple?...seriously?). "Uh oh," I thought. Perhaps I have a little cheerleader in the making.

As soon as the cheer was done--and the cheerleaders did their requisite wooing, jumping, clapping, and other general merry-making--Addie clapped for a second, lost interest in the news, and went back to playing. But I'm concerned the cheerleading seed has been planted. What's going to happen next? Will Addie become a cheerleader? Will the local news freak out about upcoming weather and interrupt every TV show I like to watch in order to describe a particularly menacing cloud? Will said weather freakouts be, in some way, ironic? Stayed tuned to future blog entries to find out.

Squirrel bits

Rather than try to explain away my multi-month absence from blogging, I thought I would just go about things like I've never been gone. It's kind of like the time between seasons of a television series. What was many months for you was only days for your favorite characters. It's the same--but different. So, last season on Blogsted...Paul had a six-month-old daughter. Now she's 13 months old. There, you're caught up.

So, today while I'm at work, I got a lovely picture message from Anna. She hasn't ever sent me a picture message before, so I was quite intrigued. Well, the picture that graced my Blackberry screen was that of a recently deceased squirrel laying on our front porch. Unfortunately (for the squirrel) it was only a head, tail, and feet. No legs--just feet. It appears that Fuzz, our most savvy, hunting-prone cat, perpetrated this crime against tree-dwelling rodents. Don't get me wrong--there is no love lost between myself and squirrels, but you have to feel bad for any animal that gets partially devoured by a house cat.

So, I'm looking at the picture in disgust, and then I try to reply to Anna. Well, the Blackberry that I mentioned above is new to me, as my previous phone recently died. Normally, with my Blackberry, I would press the track ball, roll to "Reply" and click the track ball again. However--and if you have a Blackberry, you will recognize this--I accidentally scrolled to "Forward" and pressed the button. The "Forward" button took me to my address book, and as I was flustered by my misunderstanding Blackberry functionality, I somehow forwared the picture of our newly dead rodent friend to Alabama Power (the first entry in my phonebook). I haven't heard yet what they thought of the picture...but Alabama Power has raised their rates recently, so I would imagine they've received worse.

Well, that's not quite the end of the story. I get home, and Anna informs me that she has left the dead squirrel for me to clean up. No big deal--I decided that I would take care of it after a few minutes. That was before I accidentally stepped in the recently thrown-up, partially digested squirrel parts that Fuzz had deposited on our foyer rug (at least I was wearing shoes). I wish Fuzz was smart enough to know that squirrel is rough on the digestive system. I also wish that the throw-up bug didn't spread to Addie, who just threw up in her bed tonight. At least Addie didn't throw up any squirrels.

One of my most (and quite unexpected) favorite things

If you would have asked me, before Addie was born, to speculate on what I would enjoy most about being a father, I certainly would not have guessed it would be waking up in the middle of the night. But now, as I've grown into my new role as father, it is absolutely one of favorite things about having a daugher. Now let me qualify here, so that I don't get myself a permanent job of waking up in the middle of the night. I don't desire to wake up--in fact, I would prefer to stay in the bed, and I appreciate the fact that Anna and I trade off on waking-up duty. However, it is when Addie does wake up, and it is when I go to her room, that I have some of the best experiences with her.

As Addie has grown, her waking up in the middle of the night is not an indication of hunger. Rather, as I have read, she has reached the end of a sleep cycle, so a great deal of effort is not required to get her back to sleep. When Addie cries in the middle of the night, pretty much all we have to do is put her pacifier back in her mouth, which leads her--almost directly--back to sleep.

When I wake up with Addie crying, and I make my way into her room, she will invariably have woken herself up and rolled on her stomach (I think she's a little disoriented after being asleep--although I don't have any proof of that). I'll step up to her crib, and with my left hand cradling her head and my right hand gently holding her stomach, I'll roll her over onto her back. It's that moment, right after she's rolled over as I grab her pacifier and her lovey (blanket, for the uninitiated), that I see in her eyes that she recognizes my face, and she immediately calms down, and her crying stops. Every time that she has the look of recognition in her eyes, it melts my heart, because it is immediately followed by a look of complete contentment. Then I see that Addie knows that she is safe because her daddy is there.

I don't claim to know if Addie is really awake enough during these late-night moments to truly recognize that her daddy is there, but I hope she does. Even so, if she thinks it's only a dream, I'm glad that she falls back asleep dreaming of me.