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[child] The trials of being a parent

This is a despatch from the Department of No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

the_child and her mother recently argued about whether or not the_child should be allowed the watch/listen to Hannah Montana. The disagreement was on aesthetic grounds rather than matters of principle. This kid had Talking Heads and Annie Lenox as her cradle music, after all.

I pointed out to the_child that she didn’t have to like the same things her parents did. I pointed out to her mother that this fight would only end in tears, and Hannah Montana was reasonable enough a form of rebellion.

I am now being treated to a Hannah Montana movie for my sins. On the other hand, the teacher in the frametale sitcom looks a lot like Chris Garcia, so all is not lost.

[personal] Father’s Day

So it was a good Father’s Day yesterday, even if I pooped out at 7 pm. Morning with the_child, lunch with Mom and Dad and lillypond (a/k/a the sororal unit), then the almost-impromptu afternoon reading with barthanderson and a cast of dozen, followed by hanging out at the McMenamin’s St. John’s, which turned out to be in an unexpectedly historic building.

Got home around 6:30, passed out around 7:00, slept for about nine hours without any drugs. Whee!

[writing] Your favorite sentences

the_child and I have talked frequently about “perfect sentences.” A sentence is of course perfect only in context, but within context there can be some real humdingers. Probably my favorite (and it’s actually a phrase, part of a longer sentence) is from Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather, “Man is where the falling angel meets the rising ape.” She and I spent a good forty-five minutes one day analyzing that one.

I am also quite fond of Tom Stoppard’s line from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, “We cross our bridges when we come to them, and burn them behind us, with nothing left to show for our progress except the memory of the smell of smoke and the presumption that our eyes once watered.”

Gene Wolfe has an excellent one from Book of the New Sun, “In the end, our one unforgiveable sin is that we can only be who we are.”

All quotes from memory, and therefore likely wobbly.

This afternoon the_child asked me to ask you what your favorite sentences were — who wrote them (including yourself, that’s allowed), where they appeared, and if you like, what they mean, either to the world or to you personally.

[personal] Out of gas

This was one of those days when my body decided healing was more important than, well, anything. Like writing. Or even getting out of the recliner. Once I got the Day Jobbe wrapped, I made no progress on nothing today, except for watching Herbie Reloaded with the_child.

Oh, and adding my agent representation to my new Web site, on account of arcaedia is teh awsum. I got that done!

[personal] Updatery

No work on Green yesterday. Several people close to me were having very hard days, and it kind of spilled over. I’ll be at the Fireside today, so I expect to recapture the lost ground there.

the_child‘s last day of school is coming up Wednesday, which will change the complexion of evenings around Nuevo Rancho Lake. Especially this time of year, when it doesn’t get dark until after 9 pm — she tends to stay up later than me.

In other news, seventorches has posted some photos of JayCon VIII to Flickr. So has the_flea_king, here. See also his recent photo sets of his trip to Oregon, including some awesome portraits of Saturday market entertainers and attendees here.

Day Jobbe is cranking up early today, but watch for a link salad soon.

[personal] Taking that midnight train

This afternoon Mother of the Child took Pas de Chat, her cat of 23 years (that is not a typo) to the vet to be put to sleep. After about four years of kitty Alzheimer’s and growing completely deaf, Pas de Chat’s quality of life had dropped precipitously over the past few weeks, with no food or water intake for the past several days.

I went to say good-bye (I’ve known Pas de Chat since 1992) and found myself in tears. I suppose death and dying has become a far more immediate and personal topic than it used to be for me. Mother of the Child and the_child will have a Buddhist ceremony later in the back yard.

Pas de Chat’s final portrait, just before they headed out the door…


[personal] And I am off

Took a nap after work, which probably means no progress on Green today. I am now wearing pants, which feels very weird after all this time pantless. We’re about to head and pick up the_child from her Do Jump class, then meet my parents at the Chart House for a quiet birthday dinner.

I leave you with this thought. “Ficta” seems to me like a very good word we should be using in criticism and critique, meaning units of fiction. A “fictum” would be the singular, I suppose. As in, “This story has a lot problems, but there is a series of ficta in the closing scenes which are worth rewriting for.”

How would you use “ficta/fictum” in a sentence?