As the curtain draws on another day, I can't help but reflect on the things that have come.
A strange cloud has fallen over me.
I feel weighted; paralyzed.
Physically, I move with ease, agile like a cheetah, but mentally, I am soggy.
Thoughts I figured were once buried deep within the storage units of my brain have begun to recently seep out from within their locked spaces.
Not so much evil, or reckless thoughts, but thoughts that make no sense whatsoever, creating a random movie in my head over and over.
Where is my passion?
Like a sloth preparing for hibernation, I move slowly from one project to the next, never invoking any sort of enthusiasm or excitement. What is done is just done, and something I accept.
Where is the passion that was once the engine and wheels that drove my car of life, blinding navigating the curves and wrecking more than once?
Buried deep within a dormant soul is my only guess.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Truly, I am slow.
Like a little kid licking a yellow bus window, I am slow. Insensitive as well.
It has been months since I have taken to my dirty, pizza stained keyboard to inform the InterWeb of my wanderings, my life and my maniacal ways.
The wait is over.
I would have to say the No. 1 thing bothering me these days is nose hair. Nobody likes it, it's just there.
Like little tiny baby hands sitting below your nostrils, reaching up and tickling you.
Ridiculous.
I do not like baby hand nose hair.
Ever.
Now you know and your life may move on.
It has been months since I have taken to my dirty, pizza stained keyboard to inform the InterWeb of my wanderings, my life and my maniacal ways.
The wait is over.
I would have to say the No. 1 thing bothering me these days is nose hair. Nobody likes it, it's just there.
Like little tiny baby hands sitting below your nostrils, reaching up and tickling you.
Ridiculous.
I do not like baby hand nose hair.
Ever.
Now you know and your life may move on.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Paths and options
I can't help but wonder what the fly buzzing over my head is really thinking. With such a short life span, why does this fly insist on spending most of his life in my living room. His buzzing is really starting to wear me down.
On a separate note, I can't help but to wonder how many different roads we're faced with when it comes to life. It seems in the past few months, a road I thought I was taking suddenly forked, and thus, new choices were available. While Robert Frost might have taken the one less traveled, it appears I took the one where the bricks were worn down to stubs, the dirt was compacted and the choices were easy.
I wonder if the fly in my living room might have taken a different road had he been given the option.
Also, what makes us take different paths in life? No one likes change, or most of us don't while others thrive on it, but isn't change inevitable.
I'm going to work towards a new change, a better one. One that might boost the realm of civilization to a new high. I'm going to write more, creatively. For too long I've been imprisoned in the journalistic world, forced to write about a pie-eating contest or awards ceremony, that I've forgotten what sort of things I can pull from the depths of my own head that didn't revolve around quotes from other people.
So be warned Internet, I'm bringing baby back.
On a side note, I'm broke. Please send money.
On a separate note, I can't help but to wonder how many different roads we're faced with when it comes to life. It seems in the past few months, a road I thought I was taking suddenly forked, and thus, new choices were available. While Robert Frost might have taken the one less traveled, it appears I took the one where the bricks were worn down to stubs, the dirt was compacted and the choices were easy.
I wonder if the fly in my living room might have taken a different road had he been given the option.
Also, what makes us take different paths in life? No one likes change, or most of us don't while others thrive on it, but isn't change inevitable.
I'm going to work towards a new change, a better one. One that might boost the realm of civilization to a new high. I'm going to write more, creatively. For too long I've been imprisoned in the journalistic world, forced to write about a pie-eating contest or awards ceremony, that I've forgotten what sort of things I can pull from the depths of my own head that didn't revolve around quotes from other people.
So be warned Internet, I'm bringing baby back.
On a side note, I'm broke. Please send money.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Small arms (redux)
Sometimes the world is a very cruel place.
Sometimes you’re dealt a situation you had no idea was coming, or even know how to handle. A situation that was pretty much unfathomable to the human mind, and then it happens, and you’re left wondering, “Why me?”
Yeah, that’s what happened to this kid.
It was bad enough that I had already overslept — I wanted to get up at 9 a.m., and then rose around 3:30 p.m. — leaving myself so much less time to get ready for a big night out being social.
I had a few things to do like eat, do some laundry and of course, take a shower.
But it seems the shower is the stage for the world to pull its most heinous pranks.
Slightly before I was to take a shower, I glanced into the tub and noticed the bar of Irish Spring soap— with aloe nonetheless— was getting to the point of no return, because it was so small that if it were to be dropped, it wouldn’t return but instead be whisked away down the drain and gone forever.
Presumably, logic would have kicked in and forced me to replace the soap before showering, but I tend to leave logic and intelligence next to the towels on the rack, especially if I’ve only been conscious and out of bed for 20 minutes.
I didn’t replace the soap. No, I got in, and as cruel as whatever force driving this world is, somehow that little bar of soap, well, it got stuck to my back. Not just in any place, but in the one place on your back where neither arm will just quite reach. No matter how outstretched those fingers get, there’s no chance of getting it. Plus, some of us in this world suffer from a little thing I like to call “T-Rex Syndrome.” (That’s where the arms appear to be proportionately shorter than they should be, making it extremely hard to reach items, especially bars of soap stuck to your back.)
I struggled and struggled with that bar. I tried to wash it off, I slammed my back against the wall on numerous occasions, accompanied by grunts and screams, with a small hope that bar would be gone. Ten minutes went by, and every attempt to remove it failed.
I gave up. I knew I was beat. So I just stood there, astonished at the cruelty of the world.
Then, it all ended. As fate would have it, that Irish Spring bar terminated the situation on its own, fell to the ground, and floated its way to the drain, laughing and mocking me the entire way.
Devastated I had been morally demolished by soap, I ended my shower.
I made it out that night, but I was late, really late, and I was down, but as usual I told everyone about my earlier predicament. Apparently, I forgot to grab logic and intelligence off the towel rack, because that was a mistake.
I have since switched to Dial.
Sometimes you’re dealt a situation you had no idea was coming, or even know how to handle. A situation that was pretty much unfathomable to the human mind, and then it happens, and you’re left wondering, “Why me?”
Yeah, that’s what happened to this kid.
It was bad enough that I had already overslept — I wanted to get up at 9 a.m., and then rose around 3:30 p.m. — leaving myself so much less time to get ready for a big night out being social.
I had a few things to do like eat, do some laundry and of course, take a shower.
But it seems the shower is the stage for the world to pull its most heinous pranks.
Slightly before I was to take a shower, I glanced into the tub and noticed the bar of Irish Spring soap— with aloe nonetheless— was getting to the point of no return, because it was so small that if it were to be dropped, it wouldn’t return but instead be whisked away down the drain and gone forever.
Presumably, logic would have kicked in and forced me to replace the soap before showering, but I tend to leave logic and intelligence next to the towels on the rack, especially if I’ve only been conscious and out of bed for 20 minutes.
I didn’t replace the soap. No, I got in, and as cruel as whatever force driving this world is, somehow that little bar of soap, well, it got stuck to my back. Not just in any place, but in the one place on your back where neither arm will just quite reach. No matter how outstretched those fingers get, there’s no chance of getting it. Plus, some of us in this world suffer from a little thing I like to call “T-Rex Syndrome.” (That’s where the arms appear to be proportionately shorter than they should be, making it extremely hard to reach items, especially bars of soap stuck to your back.)
I struggled and struggled with that bar. I tried to wash it off, I slammed my back against the wall on numerous occasions, accompanied by grunts and screams, with a small hope that bar would be gone. Ten minutes went by, and every attempt to remove it failed.
I gave up. I knew I was beat. So I just stood there, astonished at the cruelty of the world.
Then, it all ended. As fate would have it, that Irish Spring bar terminated the situation on its own, fell to the ground, and floated its way to the drain, laughing and mocking me the entire way.
Devastated I had been morally demolished by soap, I ended my shower.
I made it out that night, but I was late, really late, and I was down, but as usual I told everyone about my earlier predicament. Apparently, I forgot to grab logic and intelligence off the towel rack, because that was a mistake.
I have since switched to Dial.
What is the deal (redux)
what is the deal with the word rhythm? huh? what is up with the silent vowels. where is the 'e' between the h and m. it's not like i can just say my name is carl and spell it crl. people will be all who is crole or something...it's ridiculous. it's like you want to take vowels out of your life, but you can't. ...oh but i am. it goes like this
a,e, i o u and sometimes y will come home from work one day, yeah, there'll be dinner on the table or something. a little kfc you know, or some buffalo bill wild wings, with the sweet sauce. but i won't be there, just a letter over the hearth that says this:
Dear vowels,
i realize we've had a good run and all, almost quarter of a century. but i've realized that you're lazy. and you're always being silent, and sometimes you don't exist. there's times i don't even know who you are. i think you're being an 'a', but you've taken on the identity of 'e'. i don't even know you anymore. sometimes you want to work in conjuction with other vowels, and i dont' roll that way. threesomes, they don't work for me. well sometimes. and always trying to change position, this i before e stuff, except after c. what is c anyhow? i ain't buying it.
therefore, dear vowels, i'm leaving you. no more will i burdened by spelling sacramento with an e in the wrong place. i.e. sacremento. and i.e. will now be n.x. for xmpl. cause i don't like you anymore e. and i, as for referring to myself all the time, well, that's now l. it'll be like, hey, l don't like you anymore skanky e.
so that's how it's gonna go. if you feel you want to work this out, maybe we can, but only if you add one of your compadres in rhythm. cause that's damn ridiculous. jsut to reiterate my point, and show how ridiculous these vowels are, i'd like to ask them to make up their minds. like doe or dough. what is the deal? the oe, they get all crazy, but just wanna be a deer, and ou they wanna get even crazier. make up your mind!!! is it oe or ou. when you figure that out, call me.
stupid vowels anyhow.
live the dream.
a,e, i o u and sometimes y will come home from work one day, yeah, there'll be dinner on the table or something. a little kfc you know, or some buffalo bill wild wings, with the sweet sauce. but i won't be there, just a letter over the hearth that says this:
Dear vowels,
i realize we've had a good run and all, almost quarter of a century. but i've realized that you're lazy. and you're always being silent, and sometimes you don't exist. there's times i don't even know who you are. i think you're being an 'a', but you've taken on the identity of 'e'. i don't even know you anymore. sometimes you want to work in conjuction with other vowels, and i dont' roll that way. threesomes, they don't work for me. well sometimes. and always trying to change position, this i before e stuff, except after c. what is c anyhow? i ain't buying it.
therefore, dear vowels, i'm leaving you. no more will i burdened by spelling sacramento with an e in the wrong place. i.e. sacremento. and i.e. will now be n.x. for xmpl. cause i don't like you anymore e. and i, as for referring to myself all the time, well, that's now l. it'll be like, hey, l don't like you anymore skanky e.
so that's how it's gonna go. if you feel you want to work this out, maybe we can, but only if you add one of your compadres in rhythm. cause that's damn ridiculous. jsut to reiterate my point, and show how ridiculous these vowels are, i'd like to ask them to make up their minds. like doe or dough. what is the deal? the oe, they get all crazy, but just wanna be a deer, and ou they wanna get even crazier. make up your mind!!! is it oe or ou. when you figure that out, call me.
stupid vowels anyhow.
live the dream.
Old school writing (redux)
as i was going to bed this morning or night, your choice. i noticed a box that i kind of recognized. it was on top of some other stuff cause i had gone through some of my things the other night looking for stuff. out of curiosity, i opened the box.
the first thing i saw was a picture of this kid in high school. i had the skinny ass face, the huge buck teeth, and the acne. so you ask what's changed? no more skinny face. i didn't drink nearly as much in high school. but the most interesting thing i found was a stack of writing, i guess you can declare it poetry, but i learned a long time ago not to call it that after all the beatings Phill and Edgar gave me for 'writing poetry'.
hilarious.
but for those of you who know me well, i thought if i shared a few of them, they might give you a glimpse into the world of carl before you actually knew me. i can't remember the inspiration for some of them, but i can guess from the dates on the bottom. and the paper is super wrinkly and it smells like old balls. God bless the late ninties. but here you go.
and Jesse, since you think you're a big writer now, you can learn from these.
and quit getting in trouble.
-dated 1995, apparently titled "you"
There is a place in my heart,
Where I find you,
When all my life has turned blue.
I love to think
of all the things about you
It makes me feel joyous
and kind of sad too.
It really hurts when you walk away,
you leave me there wondering
about what i should do
i never come to a decision
cause i'm always thinking of you.
---so cheesy. i'll admit it. -----
---i believe this next one was part of some school work, but vivid expressions. i dig it for sure. ----
"Sinton's 2% Milk"
Sinton's real 2% milk
With added vitamin A&D.
The contents could hold one gallon
But now it's empty.
It is an odd shaped container
Very large and hard.
The milk was pasteurized, homogenized,
and yes, even grade A
In the sourness inside
A strawberry sits alone
Being left in the container
It now calls home
It is trash now
Ready to be thrown away,
Going to the dump
Is it's destiny for today.
-----i love that strawberry ---
--this is the last of the 1995 batch. i thought it was kind of deep. --
"Sorrow"
I yawn in despair,
Knowing I am unfair.
For what i did was wrong
And shall haunt me long.
I am sorry i did it
And I bow my head with content.
I live in sorrow
For every tomorrow.
I should have not let the thought enter my mind
But i took it for granted that you were kind.
Please forgive me as what I did was untrue,
For you know I would never mean to hurt you.
-----this next batch seems to have the same 1997 marks. maybe it's the penmanship. ----
past the clouds, behind the stars
to the moon,
yeah, this is ours.
the special place where we tend to go
where we lose reality
and the time goes slow.
a place where you savor the sweet sense of touch
a place where you go where there is never too much.
a place to go to to be yourself
a place you go with someone else.
a perfect place where all it does is give.
a perfect place for everyone to live.
------ this next one is apparently titled "lupus". why? i have no clue. i think i was fascinated with a diseases i knew nothing about. damn, i'm awesome. ---
"Lupus"
The virtue of love
and the virtue of sorrow,
these are the virtues that make tomorrow.
the happiness and joy go away with the sun,
but the violence and hate
will never be forgotten by anyone.
if we were all birds and could fly away,
would bad things follow us,
or would they go away?
in the sadness of virtual sleep,
does all virtual time stop,
or does it continue to chase the clock?
to be a dreamer is to chase a cloud.
trying to catch what never is there
only to be awoken by a breeze of cool air.
No, this is not fair.
--no sweat, confuses me too. -----
---and finally, because you've all made it here, this one was my favorite from junior high, or high school, i can't remember. but it's an added bonus. --
"Ode to morning wood"
Rising early with the sun,
My morning wood, I have but one.
Up and at 'em my wood goes
as i run to the bathroom to blow my nose.
Morning wood is a magical thing
that bounces up and down like a spring.
As i start to play with a rubber band
My morning wood dies softly in my hand.
My morning wood has come to an end
So I will wait until tomorrow for my wood to rise again.
--damn. i love that shit.---
i told everybody i was always the weird kid. now you get a glimpse of it. just be weary of what's in those old boxes you have sitting around your house. it could be awesome treasures like these.
live the dream.
C
the first thing i saw was a picture of this kid in high school. i had the skinny ass face, the huge buck teeth, and the acne. so you ask what's changed? no more skinny face. i didn't drink nearly as much in high school. but the most interesting thing i found was a stack of writing, i guess you can declare it poetry, but i learned a long time ago not to call it that after all the beatings Phill and Edgar gave me for 'writing poetry'.
hilarious.
but for those of you who know me well, i thought if i shared a few of them, they might give you a glimpse into the world of carl before you actually knew me. i can't remember the inspiration for some of them, but i can guess from the dates on the bottom. and the paper is super wrinkly and it smells like old balls. God bless the late ninties. but here you go.
and Jesse, since you think you're a big writer now, you can learn from these.
and quit getting in trouble.
-dated 1995, apparently titled "you"
There is a place in my heart,
Where I find you,
When all my life has turned blue.
I love to think
of all the things about you
It makes me feel joyous
and kind of sad too.
It really hurts when you walk away,
you leave me there wondering
about what i should do
i never come to a decision
cause i'm always thinking of you.
---so cheesy. i'll admit it. -----
---i believe this next one was part of some school work, but vivid expressions. i dig it for sure. ----
"Sinton's 2% Milk"
Sinton's real 2% milk
With added vitamin A&D.
The contents could hold one gallon
But now it's empty.
It is an odd shaped container
Very large and hard.
The milk was pasteurized, homogenized,
and yes, even grade A
In the sourness inside
A strawberry sits alone
Being left in the container
It now calls home
It is trash now
Ready to be thrown away,
Going to the dump
Is it's destiny for today.
-----i love that strawberry ---
--this is the last of the 1995 batch. i thought it was kind of deep. --
"Sorrow"
I yawn in despair,
Knowing I am unfair.
For what i did was wrong
And shall haunt me long.
I am sorry i did it
And I bow my head with content.
I live in sorrow
For every tomorrow.
I should have not let the thought enter my mind
But i took it for granted that you were kind.
Please forgive me as what I did was untrue,
For you know I would never mean to hurt you.
-----this next batch seems to have the same 1997 marks. maybe it's the penmanship. ----
past the clouds, behind the stars
to the moon,
yeah, this is ours.
the special place where we tend to go
where we lose reality
and the time goes slow.
a place where you savor the sweet sense of touch
a place where you go where there is never too much.
a place to go to to be yourself
a place you go with someone else.
a perfect place where all it does is give.
a perfect place for everyone to live.
------ this next one is apparently titled "lupus". why? i have no clue. i think i was fascinated with a diseases i knew nothing about. damn, i'm awesome. ---
"Lupus"
The virtue of love
and the virtue of sorrow,
these are the virtues that make tomorrow.
the happiness and joy go away with the sun,
but the violence and hate
will never be forgotten by anyone.
if we were all birds and could fly away,
would bad things follow us,
or would they go away?
in the sadness of virtual sleep,
does all virtual time stop,
or does it continue to chase the clock?
to be a dreamer is to chase a cloud.
trying to catch what never is there
only to be awoken by a breeze of cool air.
No, this is not fair.
--no sweat, confuses me too. -----
---and finally, because you've all made it here, this one was my favorite from junior high, or high school, i can't remember. but it's an added bonus. --
"Ode to morning wood"
Rising early with the sun,
My morning wood, I have but one.
Up and at 'em my wood goes
as i run to the bathroom to blow my nose.
Morning wood is a magical thing
that bounces up and down like a spring.
As i start to play with a rubber band
My morning wood dies softly in my hand.
My morning wood has come to an end
So I will wait until tomorrow for my wood to rise again.
--damn. i love that shit.---
i told everybody i was always the weird kid. now you get a glimpse of it. just be weary of what's in those old boxes you have sitting around your house. it could be awesome treasures like these.
live the dream.
C
Ivan (redux)
"and shoes with steak sauce"
a direct quote from Ivan, the 6-year-old kindergartener that I read to for a half hour every week.
The kid has the attention span of, well....absolutely nothing.
Today's quest when like this:
Me - "Ivan, pick a book. Find something to read."
Ivan quickly runs into the little room and without much hesitation at all, grabs three books for us to read.
In the back of my mind I am thinking, "Three? you seriously chose three books to read? We can hardly ever make it through the opening page of one, and you want to read three. Alright."
Me - "Cool buddy. Let's read those."
We sit down at our little spot and begin to read "The Gingerbread Man."
I love this book, but knew it would never get read. And sure enough, about four pages in, Ivan loses interest and the rest of the half hour is shot.
Ivan - "Are those new shoes?"
Me- "No. I've had them for awhile."
Ivan - "I've never seen them, so they're new."
Me- "No, I've worn them before, you weren't paying attention."
Ivan-"No. Hey, where are your socks? You're not wearing socks."
Me- "Yeah, I know. No socks."
Ivan- "Your feet will be stinky."
Me-"Thanks for the heads up." Seriously, what do you tell a kindergartener.
Ivan, still distracted and not wanting to read, then leans over and places his face directly into my Spider-Man sweatshirt.
Ivan-"How come you always smell so good?"
Things turn awkward. I don't know what to say, especially to a kindergartener who I believe thinks my beer-soaked, party hoodie smells good.
Me-"I don't know man, but thanks. Let's just read"
I try to read, and then Ivan unexpectedly blurts out "You eat your own face."
Me-"That's great buddy, let's read."
Ivan-"You eat your lips."
At this point, not considering I am seriously older than this kid, and in all actuality, if I had a kid six years ago, he could be mine, I go into my usual defensive mode and say "Oh yeah? You eat your own face."
Instantly, I have transported myself back to elementary school. Great, I have not grown up. I'm pathetic.
Ivan, with a huge smile because I retaliated. "You eat your lips."
Keep in mind, Ivan is still developing speech, so I had no clue what he said.
Me-"What? What are you talking about."
Ivan-"You eat your lips. And your nose."
Me-"Thanks."
Ivan-"You eat your eyeball." He giggles and then yells out, "Eyeball!"
Me-"Yeah, I dont' really eat my eyeball."
Ivan, with a smile as huge as his tiny head, "I'm gonna hit you with your eyeball."
I was kind of struck by this. No little kid as ever said this to me. Usually, when little kids said something like that, I made them eat rocks. But that's old-school Carl, I guess. Now, I just nonchalantly let it go.
Me- "You're crazy man. You're crazy."
Ivan-"You're crazy, too."
Whew, we finally agree on soemthing, now we can read. Throughout the chatter, the supervisor lady has heard Ivan and I's ramblings and has made a few passes to see what we are doing. I have the book open, and it looks like we are reading, but it doesn't happen.
I begin to read "Fast as fast can be..."
Ivan interrupts me and blurts in "I like fish."
Me - "That's great buddy, we should read."
Ivan-"No, I like fish."
At this point I realize that getting this kid is lost cause.
Me-"Oh yeah, what kind? Salmon, tuna, something like that?"
Ivan-"Asian fish."
Me-"So no salmon or nothing. That's cool."
I pretty much just agree with him to avoid any confrontation that could get out of control. But that doesn't work.
Ivan-"Do you like Asian fish?"
Me-"I don't eat fish, I eat cow."
Ivan-"You eat cow's faces. You eat your nose."
I think to myself, "Great, right back where we started." I glance at the clock, there's only about five minutes left. What else could possibly happen in five minutes?
Ivan-"You eat your shoes. You eat your shoes with steak sauce."
Me-"You're right buddy, I do. I eat my shoes." there's obviously no need to argue, you can't beat a kindergartener.
Me"You're crazy."
Ivan"You're crazy."
Me-"Alright, let's read before I take you to the library."
Ivan-"Alright, let's read before I take you to the library."
Me-"That's what I said."
Ivan-"That's what i said."
It didn't hit me at this point that he was doing the thing where kids just copy everything you say. And I can't say bad things, he's young and impressionable and supposedly looks up to me.
Me-"Ivan, you're crazy."
Ivan-"Ivan, you're crazy."
Me-"Oh, so you're copying me. I got it."
This goes on for a few minutes. Finally Ivan decided to quit copying me. I think it's over and it's time to go.
Me-"Alright Ivan, get your book, let's go the library."
We start to walk up the stairs so he join his class. Kindergarteners aren't allowed to walk by themselves. As we walk, I feel something strange. Little Ivan has snuck his hand into mine, it's like we're crossing the street. My first thought was to rip it away and say "Whoa, I don't do that." And then I remembered he's five, and that if I did that, it would cement any insecurity that I have.
So we walked hand-in-hand to the library. And then Ivan got the last word in as he struggled to open the heavy door.
Me-"I'll see you in two weeks, kid." (They have spring break next week so I won't have to be there to read to them.)
I turned and started to walk away.
Ivan yells "Still, you eat your face. And your shoes with steak sauce." It echoes through the school. I am humbled.
A kindergartener who can't read has beaten me at my own game. Never did I think that a five-year-old kid would get me with sarcasm and wit, but he did.
I bet he can't even spell "shoes."
And that's how my day went. The day I was beaten by a kindergartener.
a direct quote from Ivan, the 6-year-old kindergartener that I read to for a half hour every week.
The kid has the attention span of, well....absolutely nothing.
Today's quest when like this:
Me - "Ivan, pick a book. Find something to read."
Ivan quickly runs into the little room and without much hesitation at all, grabs three books for us to read.
In the back of my mind I am thinking, "Three? you seriously chose three books to read? We can hardly ever make it through the opening page of one, and you want to read three. Alright."
Me - "Cool buddy. Let's read those."
We sit down at our little spot and begin to read "The Gingerbread Man."
I love this book, but knew it would never get read. And sure enough, about four pages in, Ivan loses interest and the rest of the half hour is shot.
Ivan - "Are those new shoes?"
Me- "No. I've had them for awhile."
Ivan - "I've never seen them, so they're new."
Me- "No, I've worn them before, you weren't paying attention."
Ivan-"No. Hey, where are your socks? You're not wearing socks."
Me- "Yeah, I know. No socks."
Ivan- "Your feet will be stinky."
Me-"Thanks for the heads up." Seriously, what do you tell a kindergartener.
Ivan, still distracted and not wanting to read, then leans over and places his face directly into my Spider-Man sweatshirt.
Ivan-"How come you always smell so good?"
Things turn awkward. I don't know what to say, especially to a kindergartener who I believe thinks my beer-soaked, party hoodie smells good.
Me-"I don't know man, but thanks. Let's just read"
I try to read, and then Ivan unexpectedly blurts out "You eat your own face."
Me-"That's great buddy, let's read."
Ivan-"You eat your lips."
At this point, not considering I am seriously older than this kid, and in all actuality, if I had a kid six years ago, he could be mine, I go into my usual defensive mode and say "Oh yeah? You eat your own face."
Instantly, I have transported myself back to elementary school. Great, I have not grown up. I'm pathetic.
Ivan, with a huge smile because I retaliated. "You eat your lips."
Keep in mind, Ivan is still developing speech, so I had no clue what he said.
Me-"What? What are you talking about."
Ivan-"You eat your lips. And your nose."
Me-"Thanks."
Ivan-"You eat your eyeball." He giggles and then yells out, "Eyeball!"
Me-"Yeah, I dont' really eat my eyeball."
Ivan, with a smile as huge as his tiny head, "I'm gonna hit you with your eyeball."
I was kind of struck by this. No little kid as ever said this to me. Usually, when little kids said something like that, I made them eat rocks. But that's old-school Carl, I guess. Now, I just nonchalantly let it go.
Me- "You're crazy man. You're crazy."
Ivan-"You're crazy, too."
Whew, we finally agree on soemthing, now we can read. Throughout the chatter, the supervisor lady has heard Ivan and I's ramblings and has made a few passes to see what we are doing. I have the book open, and it looks like we are reading, but it doesn't happen.
I begin to read "Fast as fast can be..."
Ivan interrupts me and blurts in "I like fish."
Me - "That's great buddy, we should read."
Ivan-"No, I like fish."
At this point I realize that getting this kid is lost cause.
Me-"Oh yeah, what kind? Salmon, tuna, something like that?"
Ivan-"Asian fish."
Me-"So no salmon or nothing. That's cool."
I pretty much just agree with him to avoid any confrontation that could get out of control. But that doesn't work.
Ivan-"Do you like Asian fish?"
Me-"I don't eat fish, I eat cow."
Ivan-"You eat cow's faces. You eat your nose."
I think to myself, "Great, right back where we started." I glance at the clock, there's only about five minutes left. What else could possibly happen in five minutes?
Ivan-"You eat your shoes. You eat your shoes with steak sauce."
Me-"You're right buddy, I do. I eat my shoes." there's obviously no need to argue, you can't beat a kindergartener.
Me"You're crazy."
Ivan"You're crazy."
Me-"Alright, let's read before I take you to the library."
Ivan-"Alright, let's read before I take you to the library."
Me-"That's what I said."
Ivan-"That's what i said."
It didn't hit me at this point that he was doing the thing where kids just copy everything you say. And I can't say bad things, he's young and impressionable and supposedly looks up to me.
Me-"Ivan, you're crazy."
Ivan-"Ivan, you're crazy."
Me-"Oh, so you're copying me. I got it."
This goes on for a few minutes. Finally Ivan decided to quit copying me. I think it's over and it's time to go.
Me-"Alright Ivan, get your book, let's go the library."
We start to walk up the stairs so he join his class. Kindergarteners aren't allowed to walk by themselves. As we walk, I feel something strange. Little Ivan has snuck his hand into mine, it's like we're crossing the street. My first thought was to rip it away and say "Whoa, I don't do that." And then I remembered he's five, and that if I did that, it would cement any insecurity that I have.
So we walked hand-in-hand to the library. And then Ivan got the last word in as he struggled to open the heavy door.
Me-"I'll see you in two weeks, kid." (They have spring break next week so I won't have to be there to read to them.)
I turned and started to walk away.
Ivan yells "Still, you eat your face. And your shoes with steak sauce." It echoes through the school. I am humbled.
A kindergartener who can't read has beaten me at my own game. Never did I think that a five-year-old kid would get me with sarcasm and wit, but he did.
I bet he can't even spell "shoes."
And that's how my day went. The day I was beaten by a kindergartener.
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