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Dr. Robert Runté on popular culture, education, and life. Recent Posts
The The Impotence of Proofreading Anthem for SF Writers Pure Speculation Hope, BC. Kelowna, BC Revelstoke Maple and Banff Lipizzaner Stallions, Magicians, Calgary Dining Tigana and Story Time Comments
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The Princess, The Mermaid, and Their Hot Air Ballon by Tigana Runté March 2003 Blog Indexes:
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Ten CommandmentsHere is a great little video clip exposing hypocrisy of American religious right.....http://youtube.com/watch?v=veIU0Jwu54w Speaking of AirportsI'm writing a trip report on our journeys to Montreal, Halifax, Meteghan, Calgary and Banff over the past month or so, but it has to wait until I can get my Garageband files to work. In the meantime, however, I would like to relate one minor incident that pretty well sums up life with a 2 and a half year old:We are in Halifax airport. Mary and Tigana have gone off in search of Star Bucks; Kasia and I have settled into one of the three play areas thoughtfully provided by the airport authority in the departure lounge. Kasia climbs to the top of the Fisher-Price treehouse, looks out at the vast crowd awaiting for their various flights to be announced, and cries out at the top of her lungs, "F***, Dad! F***, F*** F***." Somewhat taken aback to discover Kasia has added the F*** word to her vocabulary, I sweep her into my arms and ask what is the matter. "F***, Dad, F***! "Yes, well, um, can you use another word and tell Daddy what is wrong?" "F***, Dad! Put me down!" Um, Kasia, I can't see that there is anything wrong, and you keep using that word--" "F***! Put me down! I want Mommy! F***! Mommy, help! F***!" It begins to occur to me, that to the crowd of onlookers now starring in our direction, it looks very much like some white-haired guy (clearly too old to be this child's parent) is attempting to carry off a toddler who is swearing and calling for its Mommy, and that this could easily be misconstrued; at a minimum, I am a bad parent who has taught his kid how to swear colourfully and very loudly. I put Kasia down. She immediately treks back to the Fisher-Price Treehouse and points at its plastic roots. "F***, Daddy, F***!" I bend over, and detect, molded into the giant plastic roots of the giant plastic tree, a plastic frog. "Oh, FROG!" You're trying to say, FROG!" I explain to Kasia -- and every passanger within a hundred foot radius --"the word is FROG!" "That's right Daddy, F***!" Next time I hit my thumb with the hammer, or otherwise require an expletive, I think I'll yell out "Frooooggggy!"  Labels: Kasia Drunk PilotsOkay, this is very funny....in a completely scary kind of way.http://www.metacafe.com/watch/115499/drunk_airline_pilots/ |
