Edie and Pop Ep. 10 - B is for Boston and Baby Saddles

When Edie was only six weeks old, she learned how to text. This is the continuing saga of our communication.

EDIE:  Pop, there's weird brown things around our apartment.  And they aren't mushrooms this time.

POP:  Those are called boxes.  We put stuff we like in them so sweaty ex-Russians can put them in a truck for us and break the things we like.

EDIE:  Ok. I will register this taste as 'box'.  I'm off to lick the mushrooms again. What are the boxes for?

POP:  We're moving.

EDIE:  Cool. Where? To the park?  Because I vote for the park.

POP:  We're moving to Boston.  It's farther than the park.

EDIE: So it's by the library?  That's great.  I love that place.  The librarians are all nice and smell like gouda. And you know how I love gouda.

POP:  Do you remember when we took those plane rides to California and Michigan?

EDIE: What? We're going on a plane?  I hate those.

POP:  I know.  You adequately demonstrate that every time we fly.  Well, Boston is much farther away than the park or library.

EDIE:  You're taking me away from the PARK?!  You monsters!  I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

POP:  Are you throwing an actual temper tantrum or just a text one?

EDIE:  I couldn't decide.  Also, I'm stuck between two of those box things.  I'm going to lick a hole in this one and sabotage the whole move.

POP:  We can just get a new one.  This is happening.  Wrap your little head around it.

EDIE:  Fine! New plan!  I'm going to hide until you have to stay.

POP:  You get hungry like every two hours.

EDIE:  Rats! Alright.  Leave a bunch of cheese and squeezy fruit packages on the ground and then leave and then I'll hide.

POP:  Hey, I don't want to leave New York either.  Me and your Mom love it here.

EDIE:  What's a New York?

POP:  It's the city we live in. Actually, we live in Brooklyn which is a part of New York which is a city in the state of New York.  Boston is in Massachusetts.

EDIE:  I don't even know what you just wrote there.  How about you just not ruin my life and move us to the park?  I want to live near the Dog Pond.  Dogs are hilarious.

POP:  There will be a new park.  A new library.  A whole new world to lick.

EDIE:  Don't pigeonhole me, Pop!  Licking isn't my only 'thing'.  I'm complicated.  I'm a mystery wrapped in a cuddly blanket.  Which is 50 percent mystery and 50 percent rayon.

POP:  What are you licking right now?

EDIE:  The bed spread.  It tastes like soap and high thread count.

POP:  We might live near Harvard.  You could Good Will Hunting yourself into the school.

EDIE:  Do you ever get tired of saying pop culture crap to me I just don't get?

POP:  Not really.  Do you ever get tired of making me tired?

EDIE:  I do not.  Is there a dog pond in Boston?

POP:  We should just get our own dog.  Then you and me could just make our own dog pond. And by that I mean the bathtub.

EDIE:  I don't think Mom wants a dog.  Which is too bad because I just ordered a little baby saddle.

POP:  Oh my gosh.  The thought of you riding a dog makes me not even mad at you for using my credit card.  And being on the internet.

EDIE:  I want to be a baby jouster.  Boston has that kind of crap, right?

POP:  I'm sure. Boston is mega weird.  Your Mom's getting out of the shower.  Let's both look wistful while we stare at pictures of dogs.

EDIE:  I'll get some tears going. She's a sucker for my weepy peepers.

Valerie, They Know You Not

It's hard to sum up a human.  It's harder to sum up Valerie.  I could gush to you for hours about her.  To some of you, I have.  Let me give you a bare bones account at least.  Let me sliver open the door.

Valerie is the most talented person you don't know.  As in you don't really know her.  Here's a small example: in college I was in a comedy improv group.  For some reason, Valerie never tried out and we never asked her to.  She managed the team, maybe we assumed that's all she wanted to do.  Then she and I get to New York.  We decide to take some improv classes at the Upright Citizen's Brigade.  And Valerie kills.  Right off. Nails everything.  The improv instructors love her.  And I find out she's amazing at something else.

It happens that way a lot.  I don't know why I get surprised.

Here's why you don't know her.  She doesn't tell you.  She doesn't advertise.  She took ballet and modern into college.  Do you know that?  No.  She's never mentioned it to you, has she?

Did you know she has dozens of nursery rhymes memorized?  And children's songs?  She wasn't memorizing them because she was going to have a baby.  No.  She just memorizes things.  And they stick.  Forever.

I didn't know this.  Our baby was born and wham! Songs flying out her mouth, lullabying this newborn to sleep.

Valerie doesn't have a great memory...she has a vault.  An underground fortress full of file cabinets.  When she can't think of something, she tells me she'll remember it.  And she sends down her little neuron sized librarian to find it.  And she does find it.  If she learned it, she'll find it.  Her mind is astounding.

We haven't even begun.  Have you seen her act?  Or did you know she acts?  Old friends from college know.  New friends don't.  Why?  Because there's no broadcasting.  Me? I tell everyone every little thing that comes up in my life.  Valerie?  She's an enigma between two slices of mystery with secret sauce on the side.

Here's the way she acts.  It's not like watching an actor.  It's like watching a real person jump off a page.  A real person walk from the audience and make their way onto to set.  Her lines are as simple as speaking. Because her lines to her are just speaking. She gets it.  When she reads a play, she unlocks it.  She's not fretting over words.  Trying to discover meaning.  She's past that.  She's digested it.  She's run these words through nuance machines, through inflection analyzers.  And she puts those words right back into the world. Like she wrote them with her own mouth.

If you ever get the chance to see her act (in a play that she likes) you will be impressed.  You will understand what I mean.  But you better ask me when the play is.  Valerie is not going to tell you.  She's not doing it for other people.  She's not looking for your adoration.

Valerie does it because it's her.  Because what else is she but this?  But the sum of her abilities?  She is the smartest, most talented person I know. I haven't even gotten to her writing.  Her cooking.  Her abilities with people.  Her naturalness at raising a child.  Her easy smile.  The way she befriends everyone.

Do you know what else?  Valerie was pretty in college.  But she just got more and more attractive.  So I win.  I invested early.  I saw what all of you didn't.  Maybe I'm the prize winner then.

Happy Mother's Day, Val.  Many more to come.

The Future of Taste

It’s time to face facts, Dweekins Family. There. Will. Never. Be. A. Dorito. Flavored. Soda! Don’t cry, Grandma. The writing is on the wall! Yes, like the rest of you, I believed the wizards of Frito Lay would be benevolent and open to their customer base. But they are not! Our repeated letters, phone calls, and ambushing of executives in the parking lots have phased them not at all! They are cruel masters of cheese. They are succubi. Don’t correct my Latin, Mom. It’s like pleading with the gods. How can any one group be given that much power on Earth? Remember what they’ve done to us? Cousin Jon-Tom’s skin will never be a lighter shade of orange. And god bless Uncle Hambone. That mystery flavor drove him to his mother cheesing grave. Can we just stand by while our flavor destiny is determined by non-Dweekins? I say unto you, Nay. I have outlined a massive corporate takeover, by which I mean, for those of you who don’t speak corporate-ese, we will make a murder path through the floors of Frito Lay headquarters. After we kill all the higher ups, we will wear their suits and seamlessly blend in as the new Masters. And yes, Step-Daddy, we will have their recipes and we will be the earth’s new gods. And then the sky’s the limit. We’ll create flavors they never dreamed. What do you say, Dweekins? Are we cool? No. We’re better than cool. We’re cool ranch.