Last weigh-in:

It is developing into an ass-kicking.

The black death mommy recently started using Twitter, a social website built on the concept that the world needs to know what you are doing every second of the day, and you need to be able to follow the world as it goes to the bathroom. The idea is that you send quick, short updates, called “tweets,” about whatever it is that you are doing at that moment and all your twitter friends can see your updates (and vice-versa, of course). This is called “tweeting.” You can even get tweets from your friends sent to your phone as text messages if you can’t bear the separation when you leave your computer behind.

I’ve been teasing black death mommy about this ’cause it somehow seems more vain and superficial than even blogging. Also because she joined Facebook, but that’s another post. Anyway, I came across the amusing series of videos on Youtube that skewered Twitter pretty nicely. They get a bit redundant but make a good point. Not to mention the star has nice cleavage, which she apparently also recognizes judging by her camera angles. Part one is embedded below. The link to Part Two is just below that. By the way, like most all things tech-related that have befallen the black death monkey household, this is Lee’s fault.

If you are drawn in, watch Part Two.

Is this thing on? Ok…

Since the day we got Lucy in March, we’ve told Griffin it was only a matter of time. She weighed about 15 or 16 pounds then. I can’t remember exactly how much he was, maybe about 40. But we told him it would not be long before she weighed more than him. Her daddy is 100 lbs. plus so it was pretty obvious. Griffin, you must understand, is very competitive and he hated hearing it. Lucy passed Calder a while ago (he’s 34 lbs. now) and was walking down G by a couple few pounds a week. Last time we had a weigh-in, within the last week, they were dead even at 48 lobs. apiece.

They just got off the scales and Lucy is officially in the lead by a half-pound, 48.5 to 48. Griffin chirped, “Oh, man!” and swung his fist in the air when the weights were in. It’s only going to get worse for him for a while, but we’ve reassured him that he will eventually weigh more than her. Of course, the first time we told him that he said, “Yeah, when she’s dead.” Well, that’s not how we meant it, but I can’t argue with him.

Just seeing if this thing still works.

A couple weeks back, Christi, the boys and I were playing in the backyard. It was the usual multi-sport frenzy, this time with sometimes simultaneous games of soccer and football with Griffin and Calder. At some point Griffin was racing around the yard when he suddenly stopped and proclaimed,

Christi and I were struck with huge smiles on our faces. Griffin summoned a bit of Muhammad Ali for that one. I loved it all the more that I completely identified with his words. We have the same engine, tho my version runs at the speed of a 35-year old

Okay, I know I’m no good at updating this thing, which is too bad given all, that has happened in the past couple months, but I promise to think about trying to do better for my loyal reader. The black death family has relocated to the east coast, which right now very much feels like the tropical lands where the black death monkey was born. Probably the highlight of recent times was the road trip from Seattle to Chapel Hill with the BDM’s good friend, Stork. Stork is visible in the second picture below. As you can tell he is the very definition of ruggedly handsome, but, ladies, I am sorry to have to tell you that he recently became engaged to his much better half, the fair Alyssa of Durham.

The second pic is of a crossroads on the way to the spot seen in the first one. We had a 60 mile journey over desolate, inhospitable, but breathtakingly beautiful scenery in SE Utah. We saw one other human being on this several hour journey. All my tangerine dreams were realized.

Calder picked “Walter the Farting Dog,” as his book to read tonight. Griffin laughed and said, “that’s my most craziest book. I like farting. I think it’s funny.”

Walking home from daycare with the boys Thursday, Griffin and I were talking about honeysticks. We usually pick up one or two at the Columbia City Farmer’s Market, which is right next to our home on Wednesdays in the spring and summer, but they had run out the previous day and Griffin was still troubled by it.

He asked, “Where do the honeysticks come from?”

“The honey farm, I guess,” I replied.

“Well, how do they make them?”

“I don’t know how they get the honey in those tubes. I guess they have a machine that does it.”

He wasn’t finished. “But how do they make them?”

“I don’t know.” Frequently that’s all I can offer. The questions come with disarming regularity. Anyway, this is where it got good.

Griffin reflects for a moment then says, “I wish I was a honey stick. Then I would know how they make them.” Pause. “I wish I was a talking honeystick. Then I would know how they make them and I could tell you about it.” (A logical leap, if you accept that he could be a honeystick.)

Amused, I responded, “Maybe you are a talking honeystick because you’re pretty sweet and you sure do talk a lot.”

There was more 4-year old pondering, the the coup de grace.

“I am not a honeystick. ‘Cause if I was a honeystick I would be filled with honey.” Brief pause again as we continue walking down the sidewalk next to the park, and…”I sure do talk a lot though.”

That almost made me weep with laughter. I love my chatty boy.

At some point on my whirlwind trip to North Carolina last weekend, my iPod reset itself and my extended shuffle died, somewhere in the vicinity of song 777. I don’t remember what song it was. I wasn’t prepared for it to end. I started another but I don’t know if my heart is in it. It takes a lot of will to ignore all those song requests, my own and Griffin’s. (”More Dan Zanes” was summarily denied earlier. Callous, I know.)

One track number of note stuck with me. Song 666 on the shuffle was “Let’s Get Married,” by the good Reverend Al Green. A very un-Number-of-the-Beast like song if ever there was one. Hmm, maybe not. Maybe it’s Satan’s secret agenda to marry us all off. He’s gotta know it’s the next best thing to hell. Cue Sam Kinison’s classic monologue/rant now…”I was married for two years…OHHH!!!OOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

In one of my earliest entries I talked about trying to keep a single iPod shuffle session going. I think I ended up making it through about a thousand songs over a most of a week or so. Yesterday I started a new one. Not too far along yet, tho. Now playing: “Tea Time with Maseo” by Lovage off of the album, Lovage: Music to Make Love to your Old Lady By; Song 234 of 3681 on the iPod.

If you are a careful reader, you will notice that I have the same number of songs on my iPod now as I did a year-and-a-half ago. Due to technical glitches and laziness, I have not been able to sync my iPod since before then. It is fixable but I will probably just end up getting a new iPod. Kind of sorry, really.