The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

5:30 and the boy is still asleep. When he wakes up he’ll be reminded that the terrible nightmare he thought he was having earlier is actually real, and that Mommy is not in fact going to be home soon as she is otherwise so often described. There’s no sugar coating it for him; to Stinkboy Tuesday night might as well be 2015. I’m hoping another properly administered dose of cookies will effectively clog his memory of the ugly Mommy related facts when he finally does wake up.

Not gonna make it over over to the Chief Educators house today, but the boy and I will be there tomorrow at some point, possibly even with doughnuts. This evening it will be eat-pizza-and-play-with-the boy-time, followed by sit-on-couch-and-watch-insane-Korean-revenge-movie-the-CFO-had-no-interest-in-seeing-while-having-a-scotch-(or two)-time. Some good times ahead.

It begins: I took the CFO to the airport early this morning. She couldn’t drive herself because the stupid parking lot at PDX is full from all the spring breakers. Jr. cried for approximately two hours after we dropped off Mommy. A solid dose of cookies and Wiggles eventually snapped him out of it this morning, and now he seems OK. He is finally taking a nap right now after having a bottle; Daddy would also like a bottle of something, probably imported from Scotland. Instead though I think we are going to the Chief Educators house after the nap and play a bit over there. Daddy might yet get his scotchy scotch scotch after all. . .

HOLLYWOOD — Broward Circuit Judge Lawrence Korda is facing a misdemeanor charge of marijuana possession after city police officers said they busted him for smoking pot in a Hollywood park Sunday afternoon.

This reminds me of a funny story: right after college my dad and I took a three week raft trip down the Colorado river. 4 boats, about a dozen people, a few of whom I loosely knew, but most of them new to me. All very experienced boaters, mostly older guys, but one other guy my age. One day we’re stopped at a creek, and me and the other dude my age decide to go exploring. We wind up about half a mile from the boats, way the hell up in this little box canyon. We stop to drink some water, and out of nowhere the dude pulls out a Bob Marley size joint and fires it up. He then offers it to me. My thought process: “eh, what the hell — I’m on vacation.” I take a rip. At this point another, older guy from our group rounds the corner and practically runs into us. From talking to him previously I know that he is a county judge in Nevada. CEO’s brain chimes in: “Ooh, this could be bad.” The dude I was with didn’t miss a beat and immediately offered the judge a toke. The judge thanked him kindly and took him up on it, and then pulled out his own stash and joined us. The CEO was not expecting that. The hike back down to the boats was enjoyable, to say the least.

The CFO is headed to Florida in a few days for a work-related trip. I’ve survived her absences in the past, but this time around I am more afraid than ever. The Jr. VP is bigger, stronger, faster than he was before, and if he attempts a coup when Mommy is away I’m not at all certain of the outcome. The CFO might return to find Kjel.org ruled by a tripartite junta consisting of a boy and two stuffed puppies. Dark days for Kjel.org, but I am sure that Mommy can wrest back the reins of power when she gets home, and then the counter-revolutionary reprisals will be swift. I will be lenient with the boy, but one puppy might have to be made an example of. Sorry Junior.

The Jr. VP likes to play a game where he stands on a chair next to me in the HQ’s kitchen and looks at the laptop computer. He then will say a word and Daddy has to find a picture of whatever Jr. says (thanks Google image search!). It started out pretty easy: “kitty!”, “puppy!”, “train!”, that kind of thing. Lately it is getting a lot harder as his demands get more and more specific. I went one for two last night on “Mr. Burns!” and “Teacher Kim!” (the instructor at Little Gym). I hope Teacher Kim believes me when I explain why I am taking her picture next week.

He also likes looking at all the pictures stored on my laptop, especially pictures of the Jr. VP. He recognizes himself from about age 1 onward, but a picture of the CFO holding him as a newborn is identified as “Mommy! Baby!” He also loves pictures of all the various beach trips and will shout out the name of anyone he sees, and he’ll also point and scream “Sand!” and “Aqua!” as appropriate. The most fun picture to show him though is one from Halloween a while back: The CEO dressed as Santa Claus standing next to the Chiefs Photographer and Educator. The boy looks at that picture and is absolutely befuddled.

All the exclamation marks in the above paragraphs are intended to get across the fact that despite his Mommy’s best efforts, Stinkboy has no indoor voice. He yells when he talks, and often screams just for fun. He’ll also yell in his monster voice (a cross between Cookie Monster and Lemmy from Motörhead), sometimes even speaking the Monster language. This ticks off Mommy since it means I have to translate for her as she doesn’t speak a word of Monster. Even translating is often difficult because English and Monster are designed for different things; many concepts that are easy to express in one are almost totally lacking in the other. For example the closest you can get to “I love you” in Monster is literally translated as “I’ll eat you last!”. “Give Mommy a hug” becomes “Capture the woman!” . “Watch out Mommy” becomes “Attack!” — you get the gist. Monster is a not a language capable of any great subtlety, and it’s not at all suitable for prose or poetry, but on occasion it is just perfect for it’s task: being a little Monster. And it’s fun to speak in front of Mommy.

Saturday evening saw a few select gentlemen gathered at the Chief Educator’s house. The occasion was the 35th anniversary of the Chief Educator’s birth; we celebrated with strong drink and games of chance. * [The lady of the house] quite wisely vacated the premises and indeed spent the evening at the Kjel.org HQ, where she was entertained by the CFO and Jr. VP. The CEO is happy to report that when he claimed at the beginning of the evening that he was “due” he was in fact correct: the (figurative) bacon was brought home. If there had been literal bacon at the Chief Educator’s I would have swiped that too.

It was a fine evening, but some of the regulars were missed. We all rested assure though knowing that the Chief Photographer was in Vegas, collecting stories to entertain us with the next time we all get together. With the Chief Photographer, nothing stays in Vegas if you know what I mean.

* Put her actual title in print and you’ll wind up at Gitmo if you’re lucky. Jack Bauer will be on your ass if you’re not.

It is generally a poor parenting technique to allow your two year old to play with a cheap glass snowglobe while standing precariously on a kitchen chair over a hardwood floor. It is even worse when the snowglobe has King Kong climbing the Empire State building in it, and a certain boy likes to bang his chest, make screeching noises and jump around whenever he sees a primate of any sort (most humans excepted). Luckily, when the monkey-boy falls off his chair he is likely to fling the snow globe instead of falling on it. Water with little flecks of white will be sprayed everywhere, along with broken glass. A very sad and mad boy is produced in this manner.

The other day the CEO was changing clothes in his room while Monkey-boy jumped on the bed. I had just dropped trou when I realized that Monkey-boy was no longer jumping. He was instead standing on the bed, pointing at my junk and laughing his head off. I pulled my shorts up and he stopped and went back to jumping. I’m really not sure what to make of that little episode.

Kjel.org acquired a storage unit at a new place that just opened up on Barbur. It is just up the way from The Big Bang, if for some reason that helps you find it. The CEO really wanted to rent space at a place called “Storage-com” (yet they have no website as far as I can tell) located underneath the Castle Superstore, but that was just a teeny bit too sketchy for the CFO. Anyway, now we are knee deep in the process of moving a large chunk of our crappy old stuff down to the unit so that we’ll have room for all the shiny new stuff that Tank’s arrival will generate.

The storage unit provider made it very clear that (among other things) I can’t cook, spend the night, accept mail at or operate a business out of my unit. All reasonable. But they also seek to prevent me from storing explosives or other hazardous materials in the unit. But according to the CFO I can’t keep them at home either. Something is gonna have to give: I can’t keep that stuff out at my poker shack in the swamp forever.

Some day, Chief Educator. Some day.

Suspended teacher carried out of Moses Lake High School
MOSES LAKE, Wash. — A teacher who has been suspended since January, apparently in part for a derogatory crack about a Mormon-run university, was carried out of Moses Lake High School after “initiating a riot,” officials said. Four school personnel carried Samson “Sam” Lyman, a science teacher, out of the building by his arms and legs Wednesday after he burst through the cafeteria doors and began yelling that he had been treated unfairly, peppering his language with obscenities, Principal Dave Balcom said. “When (school officials) approached him, he jumped on a chair and started initiating a riot in our school commons,” Balcom said. “Unfortunately it led to us having to remove him.”

For good reason, I don’t talk too much about my work, especially since it’s only occasionally interesting, and rarely amusing. Today however it was a little of both. I had occasion this morning to converse with a gentleman from Interpol (the law enforcement agency, not the band). As it turned out, the Frenchman and I vehemently disagreed as to the appropriate disposition of a certain piece of intellectual property, a piece which is currently and will remain under the control of my employer. We had a frank and open exchange of views on the topic, but no consensus was reached, as the diplomats would say.

Afterwards it occurred to me that any phone call that ends with the CEO yelling “Oh yeah Clouseau? You and what army? I dare you to try it, you beret-wearing piece of merde!” before banging the phone down probably got off track somewhere in the middle. I may not be able to travel outside of the U.S. for some time, if ever again.

This notice constitutes fair warning to all PSU students and any other slack-jawed halfwit pedestrians, bikers, and skateboarders in the north downtown area: The CEO has had enough of your bullshit. I will run you over. No more skateboarding down the middle of Market at rush hour. No more stopping in the middle of the crosswalk to chat with your friends. No more weaving in and out of traffic on your bike and making it my problem not to hit you. No more hobbling across the street while 50 cars wait for your ass to move. And I don’t for a second believe that those crutches are real.

At lunch today I plan to set a car on fire. This particular car is parked on the street outside my office on 4th. It has an alarm that goes off every time another car drives past it. There is a lot of traffic on 4th. If I call you from jail later today please pick up.

The CEO lives, but I’m still a little thirsty. God bless you fruit punch flavored Gatorade.

I’m sorry if Kjel.org ever seems anal about having people watch their language around the Jr. VP. It just has to be done, at least until he can be convinced not to say certain words. Example: I’m driving the boy home the other day and am waiting at the stoplight at 49th and Taylors Ferry. Some insane woman runs the light and almost takes out the guy in front of me. I mumble (under my breath, I thought) “crazy-ass bitch.” Of course, clear as day from the backseat comes “Crazy-ass bitch!” “Crazy-ass bitch!”. I made sure the windows were all rolled up.

Kjel.org went to the zoo Sunday morning, and ate lunch at the zoo’s “Africafe.” Within about two hours of dining the CEO became sick as hell: trouble both in Midtown and in the Battery Park region. Yesterday’s “cheeseburger” (Go ahead and insert your own mystery meat jokes about the burger. Was I wrong to order one at a zoo?) was the last bit of solid food I’ve been able to eat. Lunch today did not sound good, and I wouldn’t put any large bets on dinner. I’m getting worried: the CEO is only two or three more missed meals from the grave. I’m beginning to get a little bit woozy. Tonight I’ll force something down, maybe beer and tacos. That’ll get me back on my feet for sure. If it doesn’t instead seal the deal.

We did see the whole Schleestack family while at the zoo, so that was nice. They were smart and brought their own lunch: an important lesson for the Kjel.org next time we go. The Schleestacks obviously know what they’re doing. I did watch the smallest one eat a raisin off the ground under our table, so maybe not though . . .

The absolute best thing about Daylight Savings time being extended is that the official beer pong season is also thereby extended. I look forward to kicking the bejesus out of the Chief Educator tomorrow evening at the pong table, a kicking I likely would have had to deliver under the lights at this time last year. I’m sure that’s entirely what Congress had in mind when they passed that particular law.

The CFO and the lad made it back from The Wiggles more or less safe and sound: no head explosion on the boy. Apparently the four gentlemen from Australia put on quite a show. According to the CFO Jr. at first had no idea what to make of it, but eventually got into the flow of things. Daddy is going to have a tough time competing, especially since my singing and dancing are not what you would call entertaining, or interesting, or even remotely tolerable.

The Jr VP got himself a shirt at the concert. I have no idea how we are going to get that thing off of him. Maybe after he’s asleep? I suppose it doesn’t hurt him to wear the same shirt all the time. It’s what Daddy does with a certain black golf shirt after all. I do at least take mine off to wash it from time to time. Maybe we’ll just need to throw the boy in the shower with the shirt on? That would at least get the outside parts of it. Whatever — the lads cleanliness or lack thereof is not a battle I’m interested in fighting.

When I pick the Jr. VP up from school (aka daycare, but school sounds better) he always wants to say goodbye to his pals before we leave. “Adios Jacob!” “Adios Johnson!” “Adios Athena!”. But then when he goes to say goodbye to whichever Spanish speaking daycare lady is closest, he gets a devious look in his eye and then very clearly says “Bye, bye!” He thinks he’s funny. He’s recently also favored “See ya!” You can see that same sorta crazy look when is trying to trick you into getting up so that he can steal your spot. That game never gets old to him.

It’s probably good that we don’t have any pets. Recently, his second favorite game after the spot stealing is one called “Fly Puppy!” In this game he throws the stuffed animals, normally puppies, as far and as hard as he can while yelling “Fly Puppy!” He is especially pleased if he can get a puppy stuck on a high shelf, or even make a basket with one in his hoop. Or a basket in the sink or the fireplace.

A signal to be afraid: the other day Jr. woke up and immediately started exclaiming “Diaper! Diaper!” Normally in that context he denies anything and everything, or at least pleads the fifth (and occasionally the fizifth if he’s feeling feisty.) He yells “Watch out Mommy!” when those two are playing; it would have been quite appropriate there.

There is a slightly better than 50% chance that the boy’s head may explode tomorrow at roughly 3:00 PM. Jr and the CFO are journeying to the Rose Garden tomorrow to take in a show from what may well be the highest grossing Australian act ever. Let’s Get Ready to Wiggle!

The CFO was invited but he enthusiastically declined. I am now rethinking it a little. I suppose I could go and plug my ears and not look at the stage (sorta like Indy when the stupid Nazis opened the Ark) and instead just watch the boy’s reactions, which could be pretty amusing. Maybe I’ll ask the CFO to take some pictures. The lad and I are going to have to find a punk or metal show to go to this summer. It’s what the parenting books call quality time. Look it up.

The Daylight Savings time shift really messed with the boy. He slept in yesterday and then didn’t take a nap, then he didn’t want to wake up this morning. When he doesn’t sleep he gets extremely irritable and the slightest thing can set him off; he’ll have a screaming fit at the drop of a hat. Jr. had the worst one yesterday I’ve seen yet. The CFO wouldn’t let him brush his teeth a third time (he loves brushing his teeth, which really involves him sucking the tasty baby-toothpaste off of a wet brush) and made him put the brush away. Jr. exploded with rage. He pitched a enormous screaming fit, and kicked and pounded on the floor. This time though he also started banging the wall with a kitchen chair. Check out the marks on the paint:

And when Mommy put a quick stop to that, Jr. pointed at the front door and yelled “Go Mommy” and I don’t think he meant it in a “Go Mariners” type of way. Unheard of behavior from a boy who loves his Mommy, but like his Mommy, he’ll do crazy things if he doesn’t get enough sleep. Sleep tight tonight Stinkboy. For the love of God, sleep tight.

The CFO considers herself a Catholic, but she’s not really in line with the Pope on most issues if you know what I mean. The CFO’s parents on the other hand go a little bit further with things. On rare occasions this puts the CEO in a tight spot as I am not the most sensitive person to issues like this, and of course I have no wish to in any way offend, intentionally or otherwise, the CFO’s parents. Case in point: Friday evening the CFO’s parents were town; we were going to go out for dinner. The moment I heard that I start running down a list of food/restaurants in my head. Pizza? Daddies and boys both like pizza. Burgers sound good, maybe we go to McMenamins? Me gusta muy mucho tacos y burritos — maybe Mexican? I was then informed by the CFO that since it was a Friday during the season of Lent no meat could be consumed. Huh? The CEO was sad and mad. I was slightly less mortified (but significantly more confused) when I learned that fish doesn’t count as meat. That just makes no sense, but whatever, at least we could all go out for fish and chips, and since I really do like the fish and the chips that was no hardship at all. Still . . .

The no meat/fish dilemma was not brought up at dinner that night, and I think I’ll keep it that way: I do believe my tongue will stay bitten on this topic for evermore. While I like to make fun of religions with silly rules (No bacon? Allah can’t expect to be taken seriously) I have no desire to make it personal with anyone. Well, at least not with the CFO’s family.

A special thanks goes out to the Chief Educator and * [his ladyfriend, as my grandma might have said] for allowing me to accompany them to Hillsboro yesterday to look at potential cabinets and countertops for their pad. And letting me watch most of Conan the Barbarian on their couch. Did you know that Conan the Barbarian was the first movie that * [the lady in question] can remember seeing? She even wrote a report about it in the first grade. I bet it was a fine report. Someting worthy of a newly minted International Director even. Well done, ma’am; your cover story just got that much better. And the CEO is very, very sorry for the zipper incident. The “mule” stayed in the barn so to speak, thank God, and now let’s never speak of it again.

* The Lady actually works for a certain shadowy organization attached to the U.S. government. Hint: it’s name is a three letter acronym. The CEO refuses to divulge her actual title because I might want to work them some day. Freedom isn’t free.

The CFO’s parents are in town again this weekend. They’ve got some crazy jones to paint one of the bedrooms at the HQ. I don’t really understand it myself, but if that’s what they want to do, the CEO is happy to get out of their way.

The Jr. VP is a friendly tyke. Too friendly: I’m worried he is gonna get Daddy’s ass kicked someday when we are out and about. He and I were at the market yesterday getting some stuff for dinner. A grizzled homeless* guy was sitting on the curb outside. Of course the lad walks right up to him screaming “Hi!” “Hi!” “Hi!”. When he gets no response with that he changes over to “Hola!” “Hola!”. Doesn’t matter who or where, or if the person being greeted is at all appreciative: Jr. has to greet them. He even tries to yell at people inside other cars when we are driving around. And if he sees a dog in another car he’ll himself start barking. I am never taking Jr. on the MAX, not unless both of us are armed. Also, anytime he sees anyone with a beard he immediately points and starts screaming “Santa!” “Santa!” Looks like we aren’t going to any biker bars either.

* I suppose it’s possible he’s actually a guy with a home who just likes pushing his stuff around in a cart all day.

The CFO has been unable to speak since Friday. She can whisper, but even that is hard for her. She had a sore throat all last week, and at the weekend it turned into this. At first I thought it might be in her head, so I tried a few remedies. Turned out she was also whisper-only if she talked in gibberish, or sang. Or spoke French. I tried to scare the muteness out of her, sorta like curing hiccups. Quite enjoyable (for me), but equally innefective. No cure is on the the horizon; this thing may have to fix itself.

The other day me and the boy were sitting at the table, drinking chocolate milk. The CFO was standing in the kitchen doing dishes, barefoot, and unable to speak. She also happens to be pregnant, in case you’ve been in a cave for the last three months. It was quite a scene. Barefoot, pregnant, in the kitchen, and unable to speak. It’s not as great as it sounds. For instance, she can’t yell at the boy when he starts to do so something stupid. Then she gets mad at me for not yelling at him to stop whatever it is he is doing. On occasion she has a point, but often she is just being silly. Trust me, Jr. will only stick a fork in the outlet once, or you can yell at him for trying forever. Isn’t it better that he learns by observing the consequences of his actions instead of just being told what to do? Daddy is looking out for you son.

Jr. had two dinners tonight. He pretended to like the soup prepared by the CFO, but once she was gone (she left at 6:30 for a work related event) he started screaming about cheese and ham. You don’t have to draw me a picture: dinner #2 was quickly made for the lad.

The Cougs beat USC in a thriller this afternoon. Alas, the CEO had no money on that one. The CEO is pretty dumb but even I know not to tempt fate like that. More than once in the same way, anyway.

The CEO’s side of a recent conversation with the boy: “Jim? Huh? Who’s that? You got a buddy named Jim? No? What? Gin? You offering? It’s still a little early for Daddy but you go ahead if you want. No? Ohhh, Gym. Little Gym. No, we’re not going to Little Gym today, sorry.” Cue screaming from the Jr. VP.

We’ve been taking the boy to Little Gym the last few Saturdays. The jury is still out on how much he really likes it. He definitely loves certain parts of the program, like when the balls and the bubbles come out, or when he gets to jump on the springboard or hang off the bars. He does ask all the time if we are going back and yells a bit when we aren’t so I’d guess that means he likes it more than not.

Who cares though what he thinks. Taking him to Little Gym is a good Saturday morning motivator for the adults to get up, get showered, and get dressed. If not for Little Gym all three of us might be in our pajamas until two in the afternoon. I am surprising no one here when I admit that it’s happened before. On many occasions, in fact.

Seattle Times:

UCLA downs WSU, 53-45, in Pac-10 showdown
PULLMAN — Arron Afflalo scored 14 points to help No. 2 UCLA beat No. 13 Washington State 53-45 on Thursday night to wrap up its second consecutive Pac-10 title.

Good thing that when God tells me directly to do something, as a matter of course I tend to do the opposite. $1200 on UCLA to cover. CFO, buy a new dress and find a sitter! I’m taking you out somewhere nice tomorrow night!

I think I had a religious experience this morning. Check out this picture:

This vehicle was in front of me today on I-5 during my entire commute. It’s hard to make out the plate (I was already moderately tailgaiting, driving one handed and staring at a camera phone, after all. I didn’t want to get any closer than that), but it says GO WSU. Squint a little, you can see it. I’m sorry the picture is not better; it truly was a beautiful license plate, almost beatific in it’s way.

I’ve never seen this car before, and Portland is just not that big of a town. I should have noticed that plate by now, and I damn sure would have remembered seeing it. Why was it revealed to me on today of all days? Has the CEO been given some sort of sign from above? Should I call my bookie and put a dime or two on the Cougars tonight against UCLA? I was thinking about doing that anyway, but now I might have to. I feel that by revealing this sign to me today the good Lord himself has commanded me to bet on the Cougs. Who am I to disobey? I’m still going to take the points though.