Wednesday, April 9, 2008

He cannot tell a lie

This afternoon, as I was supposed to be working:

(Video game noises emanate from the living room. I hear the someone-drowning sound effect.)
David: Argh! SpongeBob! I hate when you do that!
(Same sound effect, moments later.)
David: SpongeBob! Quit it right now!
(Same sound effect.)
David: Stupid freak SpongeBob! Stupidstupidstupid. Stooooooopid!
(Same sound effect.)
David: Grrr! (Really. "Grrr." As in, "Frosted Flakes! They're Grrreat!") Grrr, SpongeBob! Why do you keep doing that?

Me (after mumbling a few verboten words myself, wrapping up with "just want five freakin' minutes"): David! Why don't you put that down and come back to it some other time, when you can enjoy it.
Him: I am enjoying it! (Throws murderous glares toward the television.)
Me: You don't look like you're enjoying it.
Him: Well, I am. SpongeBob just keeps being stupid.
Me: Why don't you just play it later? Maybe practice that part.
Him: SpongeBob is just stupid right there!
Me: You know SpongeBob isn't real.
Him: Well, he's stupid anyway.
Me: I think you've said that word enough.
Him: No!
Me: Excuse me?
Him: SpongeBob made me. He made me say stupid. And freak. And he makes me want to keep saying it. Stupid! Stupid! Freak! Stupid! Freak! Freak! Freak! stupidfreakstupidfreakstupidstupid!
Me (Later, as a teary, but much calmed face turns to emerge from the corner): Do you know why you were in the corner?
Him: Because I said words I shouldn't. And because I acted like a baby about the game.
Me: Good. Are you going to do it again?
Him: Probably.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Writerly stuff and stupid husband tricks

Did I say a day or two? I really took longer than I expected and am a little freaked out now meant to say a week or two. Yeah.

Until then, a couple of things:

First thing: I love this guy. If I had the free time, this would totally be me. According to my friends, it already is me.

And second: My husband, for as long as I can remember, has done this ridiculous noise where he grabs his throat skin and muscle tightly over his Adam's apple, wiggles it in and out, and says huunngh haaahhh huuuungha in a strained, high-pitched tone while his voice wiggles as he assaults his own neck, but which he insists sounds "just like" bagpipes. It actually sounds a little like a flock of violently ill, asthmatic geese, and a very little like bagpipes, and a whole lot like the voice of someone who you are not surprised finds the bagpipe term "blowstick" extremely funny. He and one friend who used to "accompany" his performances were, I thought, the planet's sole self-injuring bagpipe-imitating artists.

Turns out I was wrong. This video was on my homepage the other day. If you go to Youtube and do a cursory search, there emerges a whole bizarre community of folks who have cultivated this, um, "talent."

I made the further mistake of showing this to my husband, who now seems to think this is a talent clearly worthy of cultivation and, heaven help us, practice. And lest I get bored of bagpipe ambiance, he's expanding to include several other sound effects. He seems to fancy himself the next Michael Winslow.


Oh well. At least I'm safe for now, since my demeanor ramping up to submitting my manuscript is well above Don't-even-look-at-me and just south of Keep-sharp-objects-away-from-Kim. I'm sure he'll redouble his rehearsal in a few days, though. Lucky me.