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Welcome FreelanceSwitch Readers

Fear not Monday.

rose girl no more at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com


Eat and Grow

copy-of-100_2089.jpgWhen Will The Baby Nephew was an even younger nephew, maybe a month old, I'd lay down on a couch, settle him back-up on my chest and pull a blanket over us both. He'd put up with this. He had no choice. He was in Lump Stage, and not in a position to give me any lip.

There are still naps, which I covet, but now he will tolerate maybe one story and two minutes in a rocking chair before requesting that everyone leave his royal presence. I lamented this until Josh The Pilot pointed out, "He's one. That's his job right now. Eat and grow." My job is most certainly not to grow. If anything, I need to de-grow.

The child has discovered how to throw tantrums now, shrieking and beating his tiny little fists on the glass door separating him from his parents' computer if they dare to do anything with it but play McQueen's Desert Dash, for why else have a monitor and an Internet connection?

Most fittingly-- since he no doubt apparently learned this behavior from me--I was present for Will's very first fit: His parents were putting up the Christmas tree, and my job was to run Nephew Interference. We moved some DVD's out of the way to make room, at which point Will began wandering after the adults, whimpering piteously. I put the movies out of his reach. He wanted no part of Aunt Beth then and began tailing after his mother, who was darting around the kitchen, and if you have never seen one-year-old try to fully mirror the quick pivotations of a mother of two, I highly recommend it. He wound up making orbit after tearful, wobbly orbit in his mother's wake, a sad little space station.

We consulted worriedly with one another: Was he traumatized that we were upsetting the balance of his home? Was he hungry? Was he tired? Was he sick? Julie the NephewsMama put a concerned hand to his forehead. Finally I herded both boys away from the action with the promise of watching a movie on Aunt Beth's computer. Jim looked dubious, as though fearing some sort of trick (tm Tom Wolfe). Will wanted nothing to do with anything--until he saw me crack open a DVD case. Then? All smiles. "Hee!" he said, his vocal pronouncement of approval.

Mommy was two parts relieved, one part exasperated, one part incredulous. She called for children's father. "He's fine now," she said, pointing to the baby. "That was all about wanting to watch a movie. His first tantrum." Country The Brother-In-Law noted this as the probably the first of many, many, and many. "You," she said, making a face at her second child, imitating devil's horns at the back of her head. Will, oblivious, continued to squat on the floor, applauding Mickey Mouse.

copy-of-100_2102.jpgHis brother, meanwhile, is exploring his career options. We've already ruled out jockeydom; we may now add another to the list.

Last month, Uncle Josh helped him with a toddler computer game in which Jim was expected to move a little electronic bar at the bottom of the screen to catch a little electronic ball. It was single-player Pong for the new millennium, and therefore highly awesome. But instead of actually moving the bar, Jim instead preferred to watch the ball inch closer and closer, clutching his hair and wailing, "Oh no, oh no! What's gonna happen?!"

"You would make a terrible air traffic controller," his uncle said finally.

However, Jim may yet have a future on Project Runway. He was recently permitted to pick out his own clothes on the very day a blizzard moved across the Tri-State area. This is what he selected:



Sweatpants and a sweater vest. He ran around the house looking like Alex P. Keaton on the skids, wondering why his arms were cold.

But, having lived through the eighties, I've seen--and participated in--much, much worse. I purposefully arrayed myself in neon, people. I think we'll see this on Wall Street in a decade or so.

banana clip at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com


Endless, Pre-Shrunk JAMMING!

Today I ran a mile and a half and my legs hurt, which of course affects typing.black_plain_menus_300x300.jpg

Fortunately for us all, I have another mega! exciting! JamsBio update. New account holders are welcome to start writing there as well, which means that if you'd like to read what I've written so far, you can now do so and have a fun music memory page of your own. And if you complete ten posts, you will receive-- are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready for this?--a tee shirt. Oh! Yes, it's true! One whole TEE SHIRT! Plus a shot at concert tickets and other swag, I'm told. But, you guys! TEE SHIRT!

A few The Readers have already begun their epic climb to teedom. Join them on the Mighty Rock Wall of... of...rock. Once you're in, go ahead on to my URL. The jammin' we shall do! In our tee shirts! (I don't get a tee shirt. I get paid. But you-- it's all 100% cotton goodness for you, my friend.)

You'll still need an invite. If you're invitable, please do leave a comment or email media@drinktothelasses.com with "JamsBio" in the subject line.

largess at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

But Was Anybody Wearing Parachute Pants?

Every Presidential election cycle has a Humor Apogee, the point which defies written commentary, the point that puts me out of a job for a day or two. If you asked me about it last week, I would have told you that the apogee of 2008 would arrive in late September or mid-October.

But like many members of the media as of late, I've been incorrectly applying conventional wisdom.  I committed that most classic of political blunders: I did not consider the potential impact of the Sinbad.

In other political news, I give The Whore of Spitzer exactly seven days to a book deal, which shall follow in the train of the plea deal--truly, the source of all the world's great literature.  Always exactly what MFA's love to see.

go hillman at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com


The Jammin' That Will Not Stop

Okay! Now I gots me an email from the editor of JamsBio (as attention-getting goes, that's pretty cool, but in the grand scheme of global impact, I'd still rank it somewhat below the Incident of the Mormon Lolita Prom Dress.) Apparently I read some site information in error, and the public launch hasn't been shoved back; JamsBio is indeed going mega-live on March 31. I was wrong, and I am sorry, and I hereby resign my post. I shall now run for Governor of the great state of New York.

I am in the process of cleaning up my JamsBio site, as yesterday I woke up and some of them were all-- you know that thing when you do an attachment, and a completely innocuous character like " suddenly becomes *%&@? That thing. I am not swearing at you. I am merely somehow misformatted. Neither hate nor hit.

Some of you have reported not receiving the invitation email. To you, I say: Check your spam filter. I registered into the site with my public email address, mbe@drinktothelasses.com, which apparently is distasteful to many a Yahoo! inbox. If you're still having issues, please let us know at the media@drinktothelasses.com address.

A few bounced back. We're working on that. If this affected you, please give us another email address.

Endeavor launched last night. Fortunately for the rest of us, I was not in charge of the countdown clock.

your personal Lent at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com