As a very-new father (my son Kunal, pictured here, is two weeks old), I’ve decided to adopt different parenting styles depending on the time of day.
If the sun is shining (and I wasn’t awake to see it rise), I change Kunal’s diaper with a silly song I just made up. When he cries, I say “Ohhhhh nonononono,” and give him little kisses on his forehead. I talk to him with a lot of baby talk and smiles, . . .
My dad died of cancer in February. He was 75. Since then I’ve been thinking about him a lot, and what I learned from him.
My wife Pulao and I each take out a small amount of cash every week just to spend on ourselves. My mother-in-law once asked me: “What do you spend yours on?”
“Drinks maybe,” I said. “Shooting pool, going to a casino.”
“Oh,” she said. “All bad things.”
I learned all my bad . . .
My cab driver tried to convert me to Islam the other day, on the way from Oak Park to O’Hare.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that if my own mother couldn’t convert me back to Catholicism, the religion into which I was born and raised, that a non-relative had little chance of converting me to a religion that I know very little about—a conversion that I suspect, also, would piss off my Catholic family and Hindu in-laws equally.
Not that I’m against Islam. If I had to rank the religions of the world (a noncontroversial pass-time we . . .
Six months ago around this time, I got laid off from my job.
Somebody from an unfamiliar branch of the org tree invited me to a conference call. This higher-up wanted to talk to me, my boss, and somebody out-of-state I didn’t know too well.
I tried to blow if off, as the e-mail for the one o’clock phone call came around ten that morning, and I already had a standing “doctor’s appointment” at just that time (the bi-weekly basketball game I had going in MPLS, which precariously balanced improving my cardio-vascular health with avoiding my permanent physical injury).
But . . .
1. Ragged gash on palm from futon’s splintered wood while carrying outside for yard sale.
2. Single cat claw to bared nipple while stuffing cat into cat carrier.
3. Bruised ego after resorting to pliers to remove key from new apartment door lock.
4. Wallet hole from two parking tickets in twelve hours while parked in front of new residence.
5. Acute second thoughts re: moving to new street with Draconian parking restrictions.
6. Pangs of regret at not pausing to put shirt on before stuffing cat into cat carrier.
7. Strained chest muscles . . .
By Anirban on April 8th, 2010 in caption contest, India, mass transit
This one’s from Mumbai… y’ know the city in the country famous for its snake charmers and…