Welcome to Tub Squid
Many must be wondering what Tub Squid could possibly be (how many hundreds, I wonder?) Well, never mind that for now. This is going to be a new blog. I'm reviving my blogging side partially because my father has agreed to revive his, which is great news for the blog world, even if most of it isn't yet aware of the fact.
I'll try to make posting here regular, so that all of you that want to become regular readers can feel as regular as possible about it. Regularity in posting = regularity in reading, right? I'm trying to read the latest translation of "Swann's Way" by Marcel Proust and I can't seem to manage any regularity with that, so I guess I can't blame anyone for being erratic about visiting my blog. Enough with musing on theoretical visitors, though. Lets get some content!
Someone moved in next door to me and not only does she have tattoos and a boyfriend she screams at, but she also always waits to move around her furniture until around 12:30 a.m., maybe 1. She moves her furniture while wearing boots. The wall between my head and her boots is so thin that I tend to have the sensation, lying in bed, that she is stepping on my head. I haven't confronted her yet.
That's on my to-do list along with getting a California drivers license to replace my New York one. I might have put it off for months more, but my friend Peter just noticed for me yesterday, when we were buying beer at 7-Eleven (Pacifico, to bring to a Tamale Party), that my license is due to expire in a couple of months. I've heard it requires a written test which is harder than most DMV-related written tests.
Other items on my to-do list: gain "young rising star" status at a hip production company or ad agency, watch my Netflix so I can get some more, pick up the first two rolls of medium-format film I ever shot at the lab (shot with my latest possession/love interest, a Mamiya 6 w/50mm lens), and, well, the list is fairly long.
Oh, hey, now it's approaching 11 p.m. and my next-door neighbour/plague of my life has broken out the guitar.
Joe, the five-and-three-quarter year-old I live with, had three girl-friends over this afternoon. I came back from a meeting at Ogilvy (yes, I have meetings sometimes) and was instantly brought in to Joe's room so I could "be the monster." The procedure for this is: we put blankets and comforters on Joe's bunkbed so that they hang down and create a cave where the lower bunk is, then all the children gather in there, and I proceed to run around reaching through cracks in the blanket and between the wall and the bed growling and barking and clawing at them, occasionally grabbing a foot and pulling a child part of the way out before letting go. I've honed the timing down to a science, and it yields maximum screaming. Kind of fun, but it's also exhausting, and on top of that the children actually don't realize that at a certain point if the monster keeps attacking it gets considerably less scary. So today I reasoned with them to let me stop being the monster and bench press them instead. They were delighted to be bench-pressed and soon forgot about the monster.
So, the moral of the story is: bench-pressing children can be a great solution. Just don't drop one of them.
I'll try to make posting here regular, so that all of you that want to become regular readers can feel as regular as possible about it. Regularity in posting = regularity in reading, right? I'm trying to read the latest translation of "Swann's Way" by Marcel Proust and I can't seem to manage any regularity with that, so I guess I can't blame anyone for being erratic about visiting my blog. Enough with musing on theoretical visitors, though. Lets get some content!
Someone moved in next door to me and not only does she have tattoos and a boyfriend she screams at, but she also always waits to move around her furniture until around 12:30 a.m., maybe 1. She moves her furniture while wearing boots. The wall between my head and her boots is so thin that I tend to have the sensation, lying in bed, that she is stepping on my head. I haven't confronted her yet.
That's on my to-do list along with getting a California drivers license to replace my New York one. I might have put it off for months more, but my friend Peter just noticed for me yesterday, when we were buying beer at 7-Eleven (Pacifico, to bring to a Tamale Party), that my license is due to expire in a couple of months. I've heard it requires a written test which is harder than most DMV-related written tests.
Other items on my to-do list: gain "young rising star" status at a hip production company or ad agency, watch my Netflix so I can get some more, pick up the first two rolls of medium-format film I ever shot at the lab (shot with my latest possession/love interest, a Mamiya 6 w/50mm lens), and, well, the list is fairly long.
Oh, hey, now it's approaching 11 p.m. and my next-door neighbour/plague of my life has broken out the guitar.
Joe, the five-and-three-quarter year-old I live with, had three girl-friends over this afternoon. I came back from a meeting at Ogilvy (yes, I have meetings sometimes) and was instantly brought in to Joe's room so I could "be the monster." The procedure for this is: we put blankets and comforters on Joe's bunkbed so that they hang down and create a cave where the lower bunk is, then all the children gather in there, and I proceed to run around reaching through cracks in the blanket and between the wall and the bed growling and barking and clawing at them, occasionally grabbing a foot and pulling a child part of the way out before letting go. I've honed the timing down to a science, and it yields maximum screaming. Kind of fun, but it's also exhausting, and on top of that the children actually don't realize that at a certain point if the monster keeps attacking it gets considerably less scary. So today I reasoned with them to let me stop being the monster and bench press them instead. They were delighted to be bench-pressed and soon forgot about the monster.
So, the moral of the story is: bench-pressing children can be a great solution. Just don't drop one of them.
posted by Gabriel Leigh at 10:17 PM
1 Comments:
Your return to the world of disenchanted blogging is a breath of fresh air. Brilliant blog name! How you came up with it is a total mystery. I only wish I had thought of it first.
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