04 February 2017

a bag of crap, a jug of coffee, and thou

It’s Super Bowl weekend, which means it’s also time for the Cub Scouts and their “Super Bowl of Giving,” an annual food collection program benefitting local food banks and charities. To participate, you simply leave some canned goods or non-perishables in a bag hanging from your front doorknob (or on your porch) and Cub Scouts in your neighborhood walk thru to collect the bags and deliver to the aforementioned charities.

Great program: simple, easy to understand, easy for the young Scouts to handle. All good.

I am well past the point where any of my sons are Cub Scout aged, so I no longer have occasion to be reminded of it until I see the uniformed little collectors scurrying around, thrilled at each new donation they pick up.

So I am awake this Saturday, doing my usual “curse tehg gods for my existence as I wait for the coffeemaker to hurry up dammit” routine, and our dogs go nuts: barking, leaping against front door, howling. I glance around corner to see if perhaps someone is there, or if there was a delivery, or if maybe the neighbors are out with their Shih-tzu which to my dogs looks like a walking McNugget.

Nothing. “Stupid dumb dogs,” think, and return to the aforementioned cursing and waiting.

A few seconds later, the dogs AGAIN go nuts, this time even louder. Again I glance, and this time I see a tiny little Cub Scout — Cindy Lou Who Scout — leave something on my porch and then scuttle away quickly. Again I yell at dogs to shut up, I pour my coffee, and I step out to see what is going on. I see the Scout — along with his mom and two other Cubs and a wagon loaded with bags of donations — rounding the corner to leave our cul-de-sac.

“Oh yeah…” I mumble. “Super Bowl of Giving. Cool.”

I glance down and there’s a small white Target bag tied closed, with what looks like a large handful of gravel inside.

“Wow— good thinking!” I think. “They provide donation bags, and weigh them down so they don’t just blow around and create an ugly litter situation!” So I pick up my “donation bag” and come inside to see what canned goods I can part with. I open the bag to dump out the gravel, and that’s when I suddenly reassemble these details into a whole different mental LEGO construction.

This is not a donation bag.

This is a bag of cat shit.

Which The Wife collected from our two litter boxes. And tied closed. And dropped outside on our front porch for me to put into the trash whenever I first went outside.

Which was sitting there on the my front porch. On the Super Bowl of Giving.

When a happy little Scout saw “another donation.”

“OH MY GOD…” I shout and sprint back to my door. I bolt outside, scream ‘WAIT! NO! IT WAS A MISTAKE!”

But I see now Cubs. I rush back and grab my keys and hop into the van: I HAVE to find that Cub Scout and explain. And apologize. Beg forgiveness. “IT’S ALL A HUGE FUNNY MISUNDERSTANDING!” I am pre-explaining to myself aloud in the car. ‘WE’RE NOT THAT KIND OF SICK TWISTED SICKO! REALLY!”

(Well, we might be, but the fact remains that we did NOT intentionally leave a bag of cat crap for a Cub Scout donation. That’s beyond even my childish evility, at least on the SUper Bowl fo Giving. This early. Without my coffee yet, which is still back in my kitchen next to an open bag of cat droppings in my kitchen.)

I circle thru our neighborhood twice, but I never see those Scouts. Chances are, I’ll never see them again. In my mind, I can hear that poor Cub Scout’s Mom: “Jimmy— don’t you EVER EVER go back to that AWFUL neighborhood ever again! DO YOU HEAR ME!?!”

I can hear her reporting this obscene sick demented behavior at the next Pack Meeting: “Sweet mother of god! WHAT KIND OF BASTARD DOES THAT?”

I can see the Dad consoling his son: “Jimmy, there are some bad people in the world. And one fine day we shall hunt them down and use them for dingo fodder.”

In my mind, the imagined conversations are always excellent.

I pull back into my driveway, literally on the verge of tears. Tears of shame, embarrassment, and pity. And as I am sitting there, my phone pings: next text message from The Wife:

left bag of litter on the porch. remember to put in trash. thx

And so it goes.

28 June 2016

A Cunning Plan

"stupid problems require stupid solutions"

[Note: this essay was originally posted to the now/rightly-defunct Epinions.com site as "satire," but in the aftermath of the recent #Brexit vote by the UK to leave the EU... perhaps it's an idea whose time has now come. Perhaps England itself might suffice for some part of this plan. Ahem. --BN]

A Cunning Plan

The problem is obvious: there are too many stupid damned idjuts running loose, stirring up trouble for the smart people like me (and, to a lesser extent, like you). Now, it's easy enough for me to ignore occasional encounters with rampant moronity, but in these dark and troubled times it seems as though a smart man such as myself can hardly go ten or fifteen feet without having to pause to let some wingnut shuffle across my path.

 The problem seems worse online. Here on Epinions, for example, one can hardly utter three words before some slobbering buffoon blunders up to start flapping their Cheeto-stained lips in your face, blathering on about what they think and what they like and what their opinion on such and such is and blah blah blah and I think we've all seen and heard just about enough of this, right?

So I have a plan.

Once upon a year gone by George Carlin took time away from his cocaine dependency to suggest that maybe it might be a good idea to round up all the stupid people and dump them into one of the western states in the US-- one of the big boxy-shaped ones, like Utah or Wyoming or New Mexico-- so that the rest of us might live in peace and tranquility. Many people laughed at this suggestion from Carlin, due in no small part to the fact that he offered this suggestion as part of a comedy routine, plus I'm pretty sure that the aforementioned cocaine dependency did little to build a reputation as a man recognized for cogent thinking.

But just as Da Vinci envisioned the helicopter long before anyone really understand how to make one, Carlin's coke-fueled fantastic dream well have been simply a glimpse into the future, for today I am here to tell you that I know how to make that dream real.

Carlin's plan would never have worked if put into actual use, since there's simply no way that any state's population (or its congressional representatives) would have allowed their state to be used as a National Dillhole Dumping Ground. At this stage of the planning, Carlin likely threw up his hands in frustration and decided to have a few more lines of blow, but as I am not burdened with such chemical distractions, I have had time to work through the problems, and I'm here to tell you that there is a place in the far West where such a plan could work without significant popular or political opposition.


Guam is perfect for my plan. Just consider the many advantages of Guam for such a plan:

• Guam is U.S.-controlled territory, meaning we won't have to deal with any tiresome immigration issues when we start shipping off the morons, but as a mere protectorate (or territory, or whatever it is... we can look that up later) Guam cannot claim the same rights as might a full-blown state. If we buried Oregon under four feet of mewling dipshit, there would be legal challenges and all sorts of problems, but with Guam... I mean, come on: it's GUAM.

• Guam has no significant military might of its own. If we try shoving our morons down the throats of any other country, no matter how normally pacifist and peaceful they might seem right now, once we start pumping our genetic sewage their way, I think we could expect see serious trouble. I suspect that even Switzerland or, hell, CANADA even would nuke up and go postal if they saw a long bus convoy of American morons coming over the hill, suitcases and change of address cards in hand.

• Guam is a long way away, separated from us back here in the U.S. by a few thousand miles of shark-infested ocean just perfect to alleviate any safety or security concerns of lily-livered folks back here who might otherwise worry about some sort of ugly resentful backlash if the (ahem) "parties to be relocated" were ever to find their way back to the mainland again.

• Guam is a fairly large island, allowing for large numbers of morons to be moved there, BUT-- and this is a strong selling point-- Guam is NOT so large that it might offer sufficient agricultural resources to allow the new moron population to expand even more. We neither want nor need a repeat of that unfortunate bunnyrabbits-into-Australia fiasco, so the limited acreage and rocky terrain of Guam will serve as useful "limiting reagents" to the growth of the moron population.

Now obviously there are some difficulties to overcome, but that is to be expected with any grand visionary plan such as this. For example, some of the native Guamanians (Guamites? Guamagranates? Someone Google this up for me, please...) will likely grouse and complain about this plan, unhappy that "their" island was chosen to become "Idjut Country" and possibly even reluctant to vacate the premises, but I expect that we can win them over through a combination of slick advertising and thuggish intimidation. Also, let's not lose sight of the fact that "we" (well, "I") back here on the mainland have done the bulk of the planning and organizing, while THEY on their happy little island have done very little to help, so perhaps we could simply play upon their feelings of guilt and tell them it's their turn to kick in.

Also, we need to help the native Guamanders (Guamicans? Guamese? We really need to get this nailed down before we roll out the hard-sell ad campaign...) get past the initial shock and realize that the wheels of progress can't be slowed just for their own petty selfish concerns. We're up to our eyeballs in morons here in the U.S., while there in the middle of nowhere sits a perfectly useful island that could house millions of morons, and it's time to get everyone on board. We need the space, dammit, so sacrifices have to be made, and I think we all agree that it's a far better thing that these sacrifices be made by folks other than us.

Any lingering reluctance from the natives (I really could use that name, people...) could be washed away just by running a nature documentary about Christmas Island. Twice a year that tiny South Pacific island is literally overrun by tens of millions of ant-sized red crabs as they migrate across the island for their mating and spawning. If you've ever seen it, you'll never forget it-- a seething crawling red carpet of walking micro-seafood. We'll show that to the Guamish (Guamolians? Guamozzles? This is starting to become embarrassing, folks...) and then tell them "now just imagine this same situation on YOUR island, except replace those teeny little crabs with Chuck Norris fans, K-car purchasers, and Ross Perot supporters. Are you SURE you wanna hang around?"

Guam would be vacant by lunchtime.

Remember-- future generations will judge us by what we do today. If we leave our children and our children's children to inherit an America littered with great blundering herds of slobbering doddering morons, what kind of parents are we? What kind of people are we? We need to make the tough decision today to ensure that the future is a little less dim for everyone.

Except those poor Guamicaneans. Er, Guamalusions. Guami... (sigh)


14 December 2012

Now seems a good time to shut up

I sit here on a gray blustery Friday, trying to prepare for a Boy Scout camping trip this weekend, but my thoughts instead turn to Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut.

An armed man entered the school just an hour or so ago, and for no reason yet known, opened fire. On a school full of innocent kids and teachers.

Right now, reports indicate upwards of 30 people killed, including at least 18 children.

Twitter and Facebook of course are already seeing the usual major camps draw into familiar circles: the conservatives calling for prayers and bemoaning the sad state of our national character vs the liberals working up some outrage over the issue of gun control, and all I can think of is "SHUT UP -- ALL OF YOU!"

We have people down. Kids. Teachers. Parents. Bleeding and wounded and dying and dead. We have parents of 400 kids terrified beyond belief that their children were in this slice of Hell this morning, and then forced to pray the horrible yet understandable "please let the dead include someone else's family and not mine."

THAT'S where our thoughts and concerns should be at this moment, not on your -- OUR -- silly damned opinions and politics and morality. Later there will be time enough (and seems like there always is, even when there isn't) to argue and bicker and belabor the "why" and "how" and "what went wrong," but right now to try and use a still-unfolding tragedy as support for some pet belief or cause just seems… staggering gallingly offensively arrogant and self-centered.

Right now it's not about you, or me. It's about us: we have people in harm's way and hurting badly.

If you can't physically help that situation, then have the grace and good manners to stay the hell out of the way and not demand attention for yourself. We'll all then listen to your idiot mewling and lecturing just as soon as our people get loaded into ambulances, OK?


04 December 2012

sucking the thumbs on their feet

So Bank of America credited our mortgage acct with a refund of incorrectly applied fees. They didn't tell me this -- they merely changed the amount due on my mortgage statement this month without explanation or remark. When I called to ask "yo- whassup?" I was bounced through three different offices -- having to re-verify all my acct info and ID every time -- before I was finally told by someone in the Research Office that the refund was for (drumroll...) "fees."

"What fees, assessed when?"

"We don't have that information."

"But you are the ones who charged them."

"Yes. That is correct."

"And you don't know why they were refunded."

"That is correct."

"And you work in the Research Office?"


"Is your office currently hiring?"

"No, sir. Why do you ask?"

"Seems like a cush job -- get paid to know and do nothing useful."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"'Else'? That kinda sorta implies that you helped on some previous or different matter, now don't it?"

. . .

So today I go to make the monthly mortgage payment, and the refunded fees no longer appear. So I call to ask "yo, whassup?"

Again, bouncing through multiple offices and departments to wind up with someone who says (drumroll...) "we returned them."

"Returned them where?"

"Uh, wherever they came from."

"Which was...?"

"Well, I'm not sure."

"Did you tie them to a balloon and release it out a window?"

"No, sir. Let me check."

[on hold for 4 minutes]

"Hello, sir? We returned them to you."

"To me? Ah. And how did you return them?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"I believe that. I mean 'by what mechanism were the funds returned' -- were they deposited or was a check issued or was a credit made to my balance?"

"Oh... we mailed them."

"Why didn't you just credit my account?"

"Which account, sir?"

"My mortgage account balance due, since that's where it was last time I called."

"Yes, sir, but last Thursday a check was issued."

"And where is this check?"

"You've not received the check, sir?

[deep sigh]

"YES. This has all just been a test. I received the check that I didn't know about for the fees that nobody can explain and I have that check in my hand and that's why I decided to call and waste twenty minutes with you trying to figure out where the money in my hand now exists. (sigh) Is there someone else I can talk to -- someone with some abilities in banking or at least verbal communication?"

"I'm trying to help you, sir."

"And failing. Badly. When was the check mailed, and to what address?"

"Last Thursday, and it was mailed to your home."

"Can you please confirm that address?"

"You need your home address, sir?"

"No -- I know my address. I'm trying to confirm that *you* rocket scientists have it."

"Well... OK."

He confirms that they did in fact mail it to the correct address.

"So why didn't you give me the option of just having the fees deposited into my checking account?"

"We don't know your account details, sir."

"Yes, you do. You send me monthly statements for my mortgage, my line of credit, my checking, and my savings accounts. I'm pretty sure you guys save copies of that info since it's all IN YOUR BANK."

"Well how are we supposed to know that, sir?"

"HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHO YOUR CUSTOMERS ARE? Is that what you are asking me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would it be easier for you guys to keep track of who your FORMER customers are? I'm starting to get the distinct sense that you guys aren't really keen on the whole 'banking' thing."

[pregnant pause] How else can, er, do you have any more questions, sir?"

"Quite a few, but none that I expect will be answered in this call. I'll just go wait for my check in the mail returning fees from my account assessed for no known reason at no known date by departments unknown within your bank and now refunded for no know reason."

"Very well, sir."

"Oh-- wait. Actually, I *do* have one more question: if and when I receive this mystery check, I'll need to deposit it, and I'm wondering if there will be the traditional hold on that money."

"It will be a standard check subject to all standard treatment and policies."

"So Bank of America is mailing a Bank of America check to a Bank of America customer who will then deposit that Bank of America check into a Bank of America account which will then have those funds on hold for a few days as Bank of America waits to see if Bank of America has funds to cover their own check?"

[pregnant pause] "Yes."

"Excellent. Thank you so much, and good luck."

"Good luck with what, sir?"

"Avoiding accidental self-injury with a spoon. Good bye."



And so it goes.

people person B

20 July 2012

Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.

I was one of those kids.

The kind from the 60s where rockets and spaceships and astronauts were the coolest thing imaginable. Where every trip to the local Gulf gas station meant an opportunity to claim yet one more NASA-themed collectible: some toy rocket, or pamphlet on spaceflight, or poster about the moon. I drank Tang, because that's what we were going to drink when we traveled to the Moon and Mars and beyond. I had a plush toy Snoopy doll in a NASA suit, complete with oxygen umbilical and "Snoopy" flight cap. I could at a glance tell you the specific differences between all the rockets in the US inventory. I dazzled at the wild artist conceptions of the mighty von Braun-esque winged spaceships depicted in our old encyclopedias.

And on July 20, 1969, I sat there in slack-jawed amazement as every fantastic imagination became a little less fantastic and suddenly a lot more possible as we, the people of Earth, watched one of our own step out for the first time onto the surface of another world.

To kids today, it's difficult to fully explain the monumental sea-change that event represented. We've walked on another world.

Never again could our species say "this planet is the limit of our reach." Never again would a child be born into a world where men had not traveled through the deathly empty black of space to leave prints on the face of that white disk smiling down at us from the night sky since our first ancestors looked up.

From now on, the sky is no longer the limit. From now on, there are no limits.


Somehow, in the intervening decades, we've lost that feeling. Instead of a world where we might achieve any goal if we set our collective will to it, we bemoan all those things we accept as somehow beyond our control.

The planet is warming. The oceans are dying. Our institutions are failing. Our leaders are corrupt, our favorite foods are killing us, pointless wars and fighting seem to be escalating wherever we look.

And still the Moon smiles down at us, amused at our petty worries and distractions.

Remember me? You used to find me so amazing -- so tantalizing. Now... you stare at your feet and mumble about how far you've sunk.

I liked looking up and wondering what miracles I might see in my future. I liked it a lot. And I miss that feeling.

And so, to the men and women of the Apollo program, on the occasion of the anniversary of quite possibly the Coolest Moment Man Has Yet Managed, a geeky red-headed kid from the 60s again says "thank you."

04 July 2012

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

• He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
• He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
• He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
• He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
• He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
• He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
• He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
• He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
• He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
• He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
• He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
• He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
• He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
-- For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
-- For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
-- For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
-- For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
-- For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
-- For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
-- For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
-- For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
-- For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
• He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
• He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
• He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
• He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
• He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

Happy Birthday, old girl.

08 May 2012

This one hurts

"Where The Wild Things Are" is probably my favorite book, ever. It was written right around the time I was born, so I came into a world that had never seen that book, and I've grown up never knowing a world that didn't have that book.

I recall learning how to read for myself around age 4, and I recall all the Seuss books for their silly word fun, but it was Sendak's wild phantasm that totally swallowed me like some great wild beast. The world of that book was wild, dark, and somehow both dangerous and enticing at once. I recall spending long afternoons as a small child just staring at the pictures-- focusing on the tiny droplets of ink, as if somehow the pixelation itself might reveal another even more magical amazing world hidden between the colors of every frame, every graphical element.

Because magic is real, if you really want it to be.

I remember trying to imagine a world where such beasts might be real -- what might possibly explain their form and anatomy, their odd traditions, the geography of the ocean and forests. I owned a pair of cotton footy pajamas which I wore and secretly pretended gave me the power to travel, like Max, to the land of the Wild Things.

The book was, for all practical purposes, my first love affair. I recall marveling that "there's this guy named Maurice Sendak, and he just sat down and made this up. How cool is THAT?"

Pretty cool.

I carried the book with me through college, and it survived on through to marriage, and then, eventually, to the arrival of my own children. And when I started to have kids, each of them got their own copy of Wild Things. It was not a fact that I specifically ever explained to anyone -- at no point did I ever sit any of the kids down and say "and here's your magic book, and I hope it serves you as well as mine has me." That kind of overt sentimentality would have been totally counter to the Wild Things, to Sendak. Instead, I just gave them their book, and we'd then read it nightly, and we'd do the faces and make the growls and show our terrible claws and roll our terrible eyes, and then, like Max, every night we'd return to the world of the Real. And there was soup, and cake, and milk, and all was good.

For almost ten straight years, this was a nightly thing in my world, as each of four kids drifted through that young age where this book could fascinate and amaze and dazzle. Thousands of nights where I and some strange wild thing that carried some portion of my DNA would sail off through night and day
and in an out of weeks
and almost over a year
to where the wild things are.

And again, that book proved to me just how real magic might be.

And today I wake and find that Sendak has left this world and sailed on to another, and all I can think is Oh please don't go -- we'll eat you up -- we love you so!

And I wish I could wear my wolf suit and make mischief of some kind, and say "thanks."