The Oracle

My three year old son is an oracle.

He is wise beyond his years, provides insightful counsel, and regularly makes prophetic predictions.

For instance, when I complain of malaise or headache or a general feeling of blah, he will offer this sage advice: “Maybe you need to drink some water.” And it’s true. I always forget to hydrate. How does one forget to drink the pure liquid hydrogen and oxygen (H20) that sustains us and flows within us? More importantly, how does a three year old possess such wisdom and intelligence?

That isn’t even the half of it.

We, as a family, are obsessed with Seinfeld, and this obsession has stood the test of time (since the mid-90s). The antics, one-liners, and “bon mot” of Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer bring the kind of joy and amusement that is otherwise unknown to me.

A show about nothing? Nay, a show about everything!

When I found out there was a Lego Seinfeld set, I immediately bought it and built it. My son and I play with it on a regular basis – obviously in a very controlled, orderly way in order to maintain the integrity of the collectible set. We are not savages.

What’s the deal with observational comedy?

Seinfeld was also recently added to the streaming service known as Netflix, so my husband and I have been re-watching it in succession on a nightly basis (it’s much, much better than talking to someone you have known for almost 18 years).

Every morning, my son asks us what the previous night’s episode was about and we give him the censored version that is suitable for a 3 year old. My husband and I both regret not starting a YouTube channel because our episode summaries are both insightful and entertaining. I will say, that it was challenging to work around the details in “The Little Jerry” episode – which happens to be my favourite episode and includes storylines about bounced checks, cock fights, Elaine getting engaged to a bald man, and George dating a female convict – but we made it work, and our son learned a lot in the process.

The other night I was summarizing “The Apology” episode, which is about George being angered that an old acquaintance Jason Hanky (played subtlety by James Spader) would not apologize for making fun of his head/neck size. I mentioned that George and Jerry were discussing this at the cafe, and out of the blue my son asked, “Who makes the soup?” I told him that over the past nine seasons, the chef at the coffee shop was not mentioned.

Well, that very evening my husband and I watched “The Strike” episode, in which Jerry dates a woman that looks “different” (ugly or attractive) every time he sees her. In one scene Jerry and Gwen are having lunch at the coffee shop and she finds a rubber band in her soup. When George hears that there is a rubber band in the soup, he grins and says he knows who is cooking today: Paco.

My husband and I immediately turned to each other, amazed and astonished.

We knew that our son possessed great knowledge (he can count to 100), but this is next level. Our son is clearly an “oracle” because he had a strange sense that this (debatably important) information was forthcoming.

Like the oracles of ancient Rome and Greece, who spoke truth, answered important questions and told of the future, hopefully our son will be able to give us tonight’s Lotto Max numbers.

The Show

I am very, very excited that the TV series 24 will be returning to the little screen (your television screen) this spring. The show, which covered a 24-hour period over 24-episodes, stars Keifer Sutherland as Counter Terrorist Agent Jack Bauer. It has been off the air since 2010.

That is literally all I know about the show. I never watched it.

So, by now you’re probably thinking… “Wait! You said you were very, very excited that the TV series 24 is returning, and now you’re saying you never watched it. I don’t understand.”

And to you I would say… “There are things in this world which you will never fully understand… (life, death, jeggings). But this is not one of those.” And then I would tell you to Hold Your Horse, and allow me the opportunity to explain.

I’m not at all excited that 24 is returning to television… (I couldn’t care less about 24 – I don’t care, and I could not care any less.)

Personally, I don’t enjoy TV shows that make me feel anxious, keep me on the edge of my seat, or star Keifer Sutherland. I prefer TV shows that make me feel merry, enable me to recline, and that star anyone but Keifer Sutherland.

The reason I’m excited about the return of this particular TV series, is that it means a TV show can return after a very long hiatus.

I’m not talking about a re-make or spin-off…  I’m talking about the same characters, played by the same actors, returning to TV… like nothing ever happened!

It happened for Arrested Development. The show was cancelled in 2006 and was resurrected last year on Netflix. Now it’s happening with 24…

Now, if my calculations are correct (1+1=2), it could mean that other TV shows will be brought back from the dead, and that is very, very exciting indeed!

My nominations: Seinfeld, The Cosby Show, Friends, 30 Rock, Freaks and Geeks…

 

The City

A visit to New York City is like a first date. Your heart is a flutter with possibilities, but you’re scared at the same time. Having only been to New York twice for a total of 18 days, I realize I’m not educated enough to write the definitive guide to the city, but my best day ever was spent in New York.

There have been a few great days here and there of course. My wedding day was exciting. Christmas Eve in Paris at La Madeleine Cathedral was special. Eating a sandwich in Sandwich, UK was memorable. But they are not New York, New York.

My husband and I stayed at the Carleton on Madison Avenue, a posh, recently renovated hotel, in a room with a view to the street. We slept in, on our 800 threat-count sheets. We drank coffee and ate Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, while reading the complimentary New York Post. We had leisurely hot showers and got ready for a wonderful day in the city that never sleeps.

We arrived at the Ed Sullivan Theatre mid-morning in an attempt to get tickets for the David Letterman show that night. We stood in line for a few minutes before we were ushered inside for the interview. They asked us a few questions, to see if we were suitable to sit in the audience. They said if we got tickets they would call my cellphone.

We went up to 112^th Street at Broadway to Tom’s Diner, famous as “Monk’s” from the television program “Seinfeld”. We ate our BLTs for lunch and by noon, I was quite sure the day couldn’t get any better. But then my cellphone rang. We had David Letterman tickets. I gave my husband a high-five, and then a low five.

We decided to cut through Central Park on the way back to the theatre, as it was a balmy 22 degrees Celsius, in January. People were wearing shorts and t-shirts and playing Frisbee on the grass. As we strolled through the park, people were greeting one another with a smile and a hello, and a skywriter began the long process of writing a message for all New Yorkers in the bright blue sky.

When we arrived back at the theatre we were ushered inside and sat in the front row. The excitement was palpable, and David Letterman was on his A-game. It didn’t matter who his guests were (Matt Lauer, Artie Lange, Augustana), as it was about the experience.

The show wrapped up around 6:30pm, which gave us just enough time to get to the Bernard B. Jacobs theatre for Martin Short’s comedy musical, “Fame Becomes Me”. The sights and sounds of Short’s autobiographical Broadway show enthralled all, and we were forever changed.

We finished off the day down with a few pints in Greenwich Village at McSorley’s Old Ale House ($1 for a pint) where we joyously recounted our day. And what a day it was. Indeed, the best day ever.

The New

Out with the old, in with the new. That’s what they say, and what they mean is that when things become old, they are not worth keeping. They should be traded in for a newer and better version. This model sets the standard in all avenues of life.

For instance, if your wife isn’t pulling her weight, if she refuses your advances, if she’s getting thick around the middle, if she never did learn to cook, or her age is showing: get rid of her. Trade up!

You could easily find a new wife! One who would appreciate you; one who would do anything for you; one who would find you irresistible; and one who maintains her taught, young body. And who really cares if she doesn’t know how to cook?

Some people consider the tearing down of an old building a travesty, while others like to stay current. Hardwood floors, decorative wallpaper, crown mouldings are so 1910. It’s not as though the architect of the house would feel bad or insulted that you didn’t like the house he built. So why not tear down an old, decrepit building to make room for a better one? And while you’re at it, why not have a surgeon cut into your face to make room for a better one?

Out with the old: Your giant hook nose, your saggy jaw line, your lack of facial symmetry, your Neanderthal hairline, your flabby stomach, your varicose veins, and your fat a**. In with the new: Jennifer Grey nose, regal jaw line, symmetrical face, manageable hairline, six-pack, nice pegs, and a nice, firm bottom.

It is not as though people who get plastic surgery are insulting their Creator or suggesting that God didn’t do a good job. They just don’t like what God did. It’s not as though God feels bad or insulted that you didn’t like the nose he gave you, or the breasts, or the teeth. Do you really think God has an opinion about you just because took the time to knit you together in your mother’s womb? Please.

That nose is old. You are so over it. You want a new one. And those breasts are so yesterday: deflated and sad. You’ve had them for like, twenty years. And your teeth are old and yellow, and they can just knock them all out to make room for veneers. What’s the big deal?

What? Are you really supposed to keep things forever? Your Honda Civic was like four years old before you traded it in for a newer model. It didn’t have air conditioning. Hello! It gets hot in the summer.

Times change. It wouldn’t be okay to still sport a mullet or spiral perm or the Flock of Seagulls haircut in the year 2010. Styles change. It’s the same as keeping the same wife or husband for more than a few years. People change. Things aren’t supposed to last forever. That’s why they sell new noses and stuff. Hello!

The Resolutions

As the clock strikes 12, and you raise your glass to a new year, your head swims.

Like everyone else, you think this year will be different than all subsequent years. It’s 2010 after all, different than 2009 and certainly different than 2008, 2007, 2006, and the dismal year that was 2005.

This is the year you will lose your love handles, stop smoking while drinking, stop drinking while smoking, get out of debt, and find an attractive mate. Obviously, easily attainable and realistic resolutions are best. You are committed to change.

Step one: Lose the love handles. Wonderful for loving, yes, but you’d like to look good in a wedding dress. If, you manage to find an attractive mate and entice him into a proposal.

You will start running. In fact, you are going to get up first thing in the morning and buy yourself a brand new pair of runners, the kind with air right inside them. The kind that practically run for themselves. You will also need some fashionable workout wear. You will buy some yoga pants. The kind that you can wear anywhere, even work. You will also need to buy some cushiony socks, a headband, and a waterproof, breathable, zip-up, rain jacket. You will also buy yourself a new ipod. After all, you are investing in your health.

Step two: Stop smoking while drinking. It stains your teeth and leaves you smelling like an ashtray. You’ll chew gum instead. Easy.

Step three: Stop drinking while smoking. You’ll be chewing gum so the temptation to drink will be minimal. Stop buying six-packs, start working on your six-pack.

Step four: Get out of debt. You will look at want versus need and curb all unnecessary spending. You will make a budget and follow it to the number. You will freeze your credit card in a block of ice.

You will have to budget for those running shoes. You will not be able to afford them this month, as you are paying off Christmas debt. You will buy them in February. You will buy the yoga pants in March. The cushiony socks, headband, and rain jacket in April. The ipod you will buy now, as the sales are really too good to pass up.

Step five: Find a rich, elderly, yet attractive mate and entice him into a proposal. You will need to frequent places where rich men assemble: golf courses, banks, ski resorts, yacht clubs, and 5-star hotel bars. Any costs associated with finding a rich, elderly, yet attractive mate is an investment in your future, and should be looked upon as such. You will need to buy an ice pick to free up your payment options.

Should step five be successfully consummated, steps one through four will be subsequently accomplished. It will have been one successful year.

Cheers to that!

The Child

They are so lucky really. They can do whatever they want with little or no consequence. Their only “job” is to play, and their payment is toys, candy, and free time.

A child’s day normally starts with a natural awakening. As an adult we are woken with buzzing or beeping alarm clocks, which disrupts our internal clocks.

When the child wakes, he or she will express their immediate wishes. If these wishes are not met, the child may cry. As an adult this is frowned upon. When I express my immediate wishes to my husband: that he would carry me to the bathroom, he refuses. I don’t cry.

If breakfast is not to the child’s satisfaction, he or she may throw it to the floor. If my toast is not quite toasty enough, I silently stew about having to buy a new toaster.

After breakfast is free time for most children. They usually have several hours of uninterrupted play. They can build a blanket fort, play with Barbies, or watch a movie. Their day is generally not scheduled with board meetings or talking to assholes on the phone.

Mid-afternoon the children need a nap. Apparently, all their “hard work” has caught up to them. Meanwhile, I’m working on my fifth cup of coffee just to remember my co-worker’s first names, not to mention keeping alert as I drive home in rush hour traffic. No wonder there’s road rage: people just want to take a nap.

At dinner, the child can and will refuse to eat their vegetables. The parents will make accommodations for the child. They will allow children to play with their food. They will treat a broccoli stalk as an airplane and have the child’s mouth be the hangar. If the child requests the vegetables be removed from their plate altogether, most parents will make the adjustment. If the child requests a vegetable variation, one or more parents will jump at the opportunity to julienne a carrot.

When I, as an adult, refused to eat my vegetables my husband was less than accommodating. He would not make airplane noises, nor would he remove the less desirables from my plate. He wouldn’t even bring me a third white wine spritzer.

At bedtime, parents help their children with their pyjamas and brushing their teeth. They are coaxed into bed with the promise of a story, and tucked under the covers with a kiss on the head.

I put on my pyjamas all by myself (even when stumbling through the house in a drunken rage). My husband refuses to help me brush my teeth (even when I take them out of my mouth for him). He doesn’t even try to coax me into bed, with the promise of anything. He usually waits for me to pass out on the couch and then covers my legs with an afghan.

Oh, to be a child.

The Judgement

If you’re like me, you silently judge: people who litter, people who ride motorcycles, people with too much eye make-up, people who go to strip clubs, people who use curse words as adjectives, people who wear provocative clothing, people who drive SUVs, people who tell jokes that aren’t funny, people who play acoustic guitar, people who can wear skinny jeans, people who hunt and kill animals, people who own expensive purses, people who buy suggestive magazines, people who try too hard, people who don’t try at all, people who take expensive vacations and don’t send postcards, people who get pregnant in their teens, people who wear sunglasses inside, people who gossip, people who don’t gossip and act self-superior about it, people with tattoos, people who have body odour, people who pledge fraternities, people who fly business class, people with holes in their socks, people who talk about their stock portfolio, people who floss their teeth while driving, people who read self-help books, people who have their own libraries, and people who pay to swim with dolphins. The list goes on.

If you say you’re not like me, you’re lying. You’re exactly like me, except with a different first and last name, and maybe a better metabolic and digestive system.

We all pass judgement. We all form an opinion of certain traits or activities that we may find uncivilized, impolite, or annoying.

And upon meeting someone for the first time, you hesitantly extend your right hand and give a half-smile. You’re not sure if you should even form the words to speak to this person. Within seconds you’ve likely sized up their height, weight, age, marital status, their household income, and maybe even their inseam.

You may not have intended to, but you did. You think you’re not that sort of person? You are exactly that sort of person!

You even judge strangers! You think that if someone comes into eyeshot, they are fair game. And you would be right. If they have dared to step within your field of vision, they are essentially consenting to an evaluation of their overall being.

It’s called “constructive criticism” when done right; when done with tact and subtlety. It can be successfully achieved with an eye roll, a head tilt, a nudge to a friend’s arm, a gasp, a guffaw, or a hand to the cheek in feign horror.

Did they not consult with a mirror before leaving the house? OMG!

After all, you are refined. You are educated. You received a Dogwood diploma. You are cultured. You watch foreign films. You recycle. You have RRSPs. You are elegant. You eat with a knife and fork and drape a napkin gently over your lap. You are definitely not like them.

Ugh.