For starters, your weekly baby poop story. M. had an epic blast Monday night. She had been backed up for about 12 hours, to the point where she was even spitting up a little bit after eating, which she’s never done before (our theory being she was too full to digest anything). We took her for a walk and joked that all the bouncing of the stroller would really loosen her up. We got home, I sat down with her in front of the TV, and sure enough, she starts unloading. It seemed like any normal baby crap at first. Then she started to seem really warm. I turned her around, and the back of her outfit was covered. I’m talking about prodigious amounts of poop. Biblical quantities of bowel movement. Extravagant volumes of excrement. So much, in fact, that we decided just to dump her into the tub for her second bath of the day rather than even attempt a wipe-only clean up. The whole time this was going on, I was thinking of a couple of my KC friends who are due with their first child later this year. Thinking of a couple KC cats being in this same situation made me laugh uncontrollably. Cheers, fellas!
We got some take out from a noodle place Monday night, and they threw in some chopsticks. I’m always excited about what is printed on the packaging of Asian foods, and these did not disappoint. Below is exactly what it said, punctuation and capitalization have not been changed.
Welcome to Chinese Restaurant
please try your Nice Chinese Food with Chopsticks
the traditional and typical of Chinese glorious history.
I don’t even know what the message is supposed to be there. But it made me laugh. We received an alphabet abacus as a gift for M. that was made in China. We unpacked it, started to pit it together, and then we noticed the alphabet went A-B-C-B… I wondered if the same poor laborer who was knocking back about a nickel a day was responsible for each of these items.
How about all the drama at the Olympic gymnastic meet? I’m not sure what I love more, Svetty playing the role of the ugly American, of Paul Hamm being called an ugly American for not really doing anything wrong. The ten minute whistle/boo-fest last night was surreal. Those Greeks sure are persistent! Props to Paul Hamm for nailing his routine after having to stand around and wait for the officials to take control of the situation. But his routine was the third best of the night. As my man Tim Daggett said, “Look at more the landing, please!”
My friends who attended the University of Missouri in the early 90s (specifically 1990) might argue, but I’m not sure you hold a competitor accountable for an officiating error. I think Hamm could have been a little less indignant that someone would suggest he wasn’t completely deserving of the gold medal, but it was more of a whine than steadfast opposition to the proposition. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Throughout the week, the officiating at the gymnastics venue has been wildly erratic lending support to the argument the Olympics suck because they rely on judging in so many events.
I’ve always thought the idea of taking medals away after the fact, or awarding a second medal is a little odd. Let’s say they did give the Korean gymnast a co-gold. Will that match the experience of winning it in front of 12,000 people and a TV audience? When Carl Lewis was awarded the gold medal in 1988 after Ben Johnson was disqualified, was it the same thrill as if he had actually beaten Johnson on the track? But maybe I’m getting it all wrong and the medal itself is what’s important, not the moment of actually winning it. I won a blue ribbon in the 50 yard dash in 1st grade, but don’t really recall what the sensation of winning it felt like, nor do I recall how it felt to have the blue ribbon taken away when it was discovered I had drank too much Kool Aid before the race, giving me an unfair advantage over the other competitors.