Monday, November 26, 2007

My daughter, The Monkey.

Hi and who wants to hear about gym class? Not me. Here are some Maeve pics to cleanse our palates. In case anyone was wondering how big Maeve is, the answer is an emphatic “so big”.

"Yeah, that’s right. I’m wearing cute overalls and I’m on a couch. Want to fight about it? You don’t know me."
"And now I’m upside-down. But Bear is upside-up. The important bases have been covered."


By the way, that girl will be a big sister in 20ish days...

Fizz-ehd

When I was in high school, the evil powers-that-were insisted on mandatory gym class for all students. I remember one short stretch of time (also, not so coincidentally, known as “when I was in high school”) when I was pretty much never prepared for PE. It was *gasp!* as if I just didn’t want to frickin’ be there. I know, I know. Hard to believe. The drama major didn’t want to spend 55 minutes in some other pubescent’s armpit.

The worst was when we were (accidental alliteration!) forced into the gym’s pool. Half pee, half chlorine, half Band-aids. Billions of years ago, a primordial stew with this exact same chemical make-up was struck by lightening and subsequently bore life.

Occasionally, when I forgot a towel, I’d just pull something from the lost and found and use that to dry off. Because, well, I’d rather spend the rest of the day dry and disgusting than wet and disgusting. A forgotten, rank tee shirt will only do so much, though, and never was this more apparent than when I tried to pull on my socks.

Imagine it: A wet, sweaty sock, yanked over a wet, wrinkly foot, the smell of someone else’s discarded tee shirt still sweet in the air. It was the most physically uncomfortable I’d ever been.

Before today, that is. Today is the day that starts the week that starts the three week period from scholastic hell, and comparing it to putting on a dirty sock is generous. This week I have two final projects due (one of which puts me in front of a real, honest-to-goodness judge), and then two weeks of exams.

Of course, just as lunch followed gym, good follows bad here, too. Unless Awooka comes early, we’ll have a brand new crying/pooping Christmas present four days after my last exam. (22 days and counting! *gasp!*)

Thursday, November 22, 2007

To you from Daddy and Maevljnalkdnklflvlk...

Dear Everyone,

Maeve and I are still in our pajamas. She's on my lap, helping me check my email, read through a winter weather advisory, and watch cartoons. I can't imagine being more thankful than I am right now, but ask me again in 26 days and we'll see where we stand then.

In the meantime, I'll let Maeve express to you our fondest Thanksgiving wishes. We all know she's a much better typist than I am anyway:

bjvmgjhgrttt js5 fddhbccccccccctttt6777ts s ssssssssssssssssssssssswerftdfdfddddcdc xxxxxxxxaDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDXSSSSSSSSSSS

-Da, Mom, Maeve, and Awooka

PS - After posting this, I smiled and hugged my baby close, thinking about how lucky and blessed I am. Then Oportunistic Maeve decided I was being far too mushy, so she broke the moment by grabbing a handful of my nearby oatmeal and running it through her hair. And now I'm thankful Lisa is in the shower and didn't see that.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Because she and I didn't have enough to do...

Oh do I ever have good news for you’s. My sister, Mary (AKA Aunt Mooey) finally stepped up, put on her big girl pants, and STARTED A BLOG. By that, I mean, I made a blog for her, like, thirty years ago, and she finally posted to it. Like the name?

Blog, Pink and be Mary

By the way, I’m pretty sure mom had five kids so there’d be more than one blog to read each day. (Coming soon, Louis’ blog. “BuffaLouis”? “You’ve Been IllLouminated”? “Blouis’s Blog”?)

Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood, Mooey.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

I'll post when I'm done playing dragon warrior.

I got an email from my own mother this morning, rebuking my poor blogging of late. Most kids are told to wash behind their ears, to sit up straight, to eat their leafy green vegetables, but not this guy. My Momma done raised a dirty-eared, poorly-postured, iron-deficient web-logger.

And to that I say: geez, ma, get off my back! you're always smothering me with chores! none of the other moms make their kids blog all the time, why should I have to!? God, I can't WAIT until I'm old enough to have my own server.

But she’s right, I haven’t even been much of a weh-blogger lately.

My time is hardly my own these days. If I’m not in class, I’m working. If I’m not in class or working, I’m studying. If I’m none of those, I’m looking for a job. And if I’m none of those, I’m deep in the labyrinth of my own psyche, hunting furiously for that elusive reason I decided to go to law school in the first place.

Of course, it’s not as bad as all that. Certainly, I feel cheated that this semester, which has traditionally been given the subtitle of “The Era of Graduate Level Senioritis”, is actually the most hectic of my life. But with five fewer credit hours per week, next semester will be better. Yes, more bottles and less sleep, but also less reading and more time to watch Chuck.

Speaking of which, you’ll notice I haven’t been counting down to my birthday (which is 31 days away). Here, though, is a more important countdown: 33 DAYS UNTIL BABYTIME.

That’s right. In less than five weeks, there’ll be four Garveys on our street. Lisa has been furiously preparing – doing all those magical things that mothers do to get ready for a new baby. I, of course, have no idea what those things are, except that they involve enormous push-up-pop-sized tubes of what appears to be lip balm, and blaming things on something called “pregnancy brain”.

One task was especially confusing to this dad. The other day, I watched Lisa packaging up the leftovers after a fine homemade meal. I watched her seal that container, then get out a box of cereal for a quick dessert. I watched her get out the milk and a spoon. Then I watched in utter amazement as she sleepily poured her wegman’s brand cocoa crispies onto a sealed Tupperware container of leftover spaghetti. I, of course, was dumbtruck by this display of nesting, so by the time I finally regained the motor skillz necessary to pull out my cell phone camera, she’d wiped away the evidence.

Wow, this post is disjointed. Tune in tomorrow when I talk about jelly beans, Samual Gompers, Kermit’s nephew Robin, my feet, and Xaxon, all in the course of a few paragraphs. See, mom? This is what happens when you rush me.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Notes On Yesterday

Part the First
I took a test yesterday called the MPRE which stands for “Multistate Responsibility I Was Too Busy Studying To Find Out What The Test Stands For. Suffice it to say a) it’s required of all law students seeking admittance to the bar, b) it tests students’ knowledge of ethics and professional responsibility and c) it blew big donkey balls.

But everyone says that’s the intended reaction. “Here at the MPRE Testing Center, if you don’t leave thinking you failed and we blow big donkey balls... then we’re not doing our job right.” I’ll let you know in four weeks and six days if the big donkey ball blowers think I’m ethicalish enough to be a lawyer.

For two reasons, I took the test at Canisius. One, it’s closer to where I live, and two, I wanted to see if you could still smell my dorm room from across campus. You cannot! Also different from when I went to college there: they have a waffle bar now. Fresh waffles AND no Mike Garvey smell? You kids have it good.

Part the Second
Lisa took me to see Batboy at Studio Arena last night. I have to say, I wasn’t really looking forward to seeing one of these. It seems like musicals these days are more a parody of themselves than any honest attempt at story telling. Like the creators sat down and got high and said “wouldn’t it be ridiculous if someone made a musical about _____” and then they went and made a musical about exactly that.

But of course, every time Lisa takes me to see one of these, well goddamn I’m entertained regardless. No matter how much I want to hate a play about an alter-boy boy-band, or a town where no one can pee, or about a tabloid-esque half boy/half bat, the people who put them on are just too good. Also, the crowd was huge and alert and not entirely made up of geriatrics, which made my heart warm for the Buffalo arts community.

I'm pretty sure this show is sold out for the rest of the run. If not, go see it.

Part the Miscellaneous
I got my new car! It’s an Escape. It’s red and beautiful. It’s my phat red escape. Hey, maybe that’s what it stands for...