Triumph of a Man Called Da-Da: valentine's day

Showing posts with label valentine's day. Show all posts

14.2.13

How Kirk Met Spock

Is that why it's called, "THE COMMAND CHAIR"?

12.2.13

Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky: A Postmodern Valentine

Oh, give it a rest, willya?

True story. Before wife and kids, Da-da lived in a three-story apartment building that boasted paper-thin walls, ceilings and floors. You could hear everything, and Da-da means everything. Yeah, it was as fun as it sounds, but the apartments had great views, so we all put up with it.

Da-da lived on the second floor, sandwiched between The Grumps, a nearly soundless/loveless marriage on the first floor below, and the perky Lapins on the top floor above. (No, those aren't their real names.)

The loveless Grumps always looked like this:

How Ma-ma Met Da-da: A Rare Photo Montage

When Da-da Met Ma-ma

SUAKM.

9.2.12

Da-da's Peanuts Energy Discovery

Keep cranking out that angst-energy, kid.

Charles Schultz must've sighed all the time, poor guy. But what he never could've known was that his angst could potentially produce a whole new green alternative energy source that could satisfy the energy chomping needs of the entire earth. Yup, Da-da's talking 'bout SIGH energy. (Oh, not another fake acronym... alright, howbout, "Sigh Integration Gone Hoobah" energy. Happy?)

Charlie Brown and the other Peanuts characters SIGH, on average, once every three seconds. We've already got the primary Sigh producers -- Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Linus, Lucy, Schroeder, Sally, Peppermint Patty, etc. -- now all we need (get right on that) is to create that hoobah SIGH apparatus... and then of course attach the thing to teenagers, the world's largest untapped SIGH energy source, and show them Peanuts specials over and over. Free energy for all!

Note that future SIGH Storage facilities would be fullest on and around Valentine's Day, as well as during the various proms, finals week, and of course every time homework is assigned, so that means MORE HOMEWORK, kids. (**SIGH.**) Think of the limitless teen energy being wasted -- as well as that of people stuck working in cubicles all day, and that of parents waiting for tantrums to end, and of really anyone who hates their job, which is about 98% of the earth's population. Sure, all these hominid sighs are big producers of carbon dioxide and are probably THE main cause of climate change, but good luck trying to solve that problem this side of a Soylent Green rendering plant and cracker factory. Best we can do is harness all that human angst and put it to good use, posthaste. 2012 is looking to be a SIGH paradise; Da-da knows he's certainly doing his part.

Keep cranking it out, kid.

14.2.11

Valentine's Day SMOKED CHEESE

Yeah, yeah, another... Awwwwwwww moment. At least there will be no Space Chicken sightings.

For the Valentine's Day record, Da-da's wife exhibits so many superlatives it makes your head spin... except when she gets on Da-da about emptying the trash. And scotchguarding the cat. C'mon, Da-da LOVES scotchguarding the cat, but these things take time.

Anyway, Da-da tried to think of ONE THING wrong with her (Ma-ma, not the cat), and all he came up with was that, besides that righteous left hook, she smelled like smoked cheese for two days during her two pregnancies. Seriously. Women's pregnancies (as opposed to men's) have chemical and somatic changes that are mind-boggling, not the least of which is the dreaded, "SMOKED CHEESE SYNDROME." Some pregnant women smell like smoked cheese, while others smell like pepperoni, proscuitto, East Rutherford, NJ... etc. Factually, proto-Ma-ma was redolent of either a five-year-old smoked gouda or some kind of ancient Basque manchego; it was both FASCINATING and DISGUSTING at the same time, and left Da-da wondering what wine to pair Ma-ma with, a viognier or a montrachet? On our budget, we're lookin' at NIGHTTRAIN, if you can find it. Serve chilled.

Speaking of fascinating and disgusting...

Astonishing. Happy V-day, Captain. You guys always were hot for each other.

11.2.11

TAKING HER OVER THE EDGE:

A Valentine's Day Warning

Da-da was recently forced to stand in line at the grocery while the checkers did something checker-like for a long time. LIKE FIVE MINUTES. Jeez, don't they know how BUSY Da-da is?? Anyway, Da-da stood there, blasted by not only some jaunty Ramones Muzak, but also by terrible phalanges of salacious, trashy magazines that lined all the exits. Do people even read magazines anymore? Nine out of ten cheesed-out covers had the same theme, as we're pre-Valentine's Day and there's money to be made:

"HOTTEST TOP TEN TIPS TO TAKING HER OVER THE EDGE."

As if that line wasn't loaded enough. But Da-da wondered what this edge might be, it having been quite some time since Da-da was near any kind of edge; indeed, small children remove one's edge and cut you into countless pieces with so many others. However, being a college graduate (Ed's Mechanics' College in Winnepeg, summa c*m cloude), Da-da interpolated this 'edge' to mean $EX. (And Da-da's guessing that he cleverly bypassed spam filters everywhere... or, more likely, has been trebucheted along with this entire blog into some cybernetic Pottersville Dimension.)

Ah. So, back to what the hell we were talkin' about. Check it, proto-Da-da wannabes. Read this carefully, especially if you're below the age of 30. Da-da knows you've all had advanced $ex education since the third grade, but let's review: if you take her over the edge in an unoprotected fashion (you know what Da-da's talkin' 'bout), like Stephen King says, therein lay monsters. Little ones. Tiny cute monster cherubs that smile and giggle and barf and poop and YELL and keep you awake for the rest of your unnatural life BECAUSE THEY NEED THEIR BLANKIE RIGHT FREAKING NOW AND WHY CAN'T YOU FIND IT YOU MECHANICS' SCHOOL GRADUATE? Worse, they make you love them. Krikey.

Point in fact, "taking her over the edge" is the perfect way of putting it. Over the edge of real adulthood and parental responsibility (Da-da can hear you packing the Prius and heading for the hills, they go over hills, right?). Over the edge of intimacy. Over the edge of biological imperative. Over the ontological edge -- which features the biggest drop: having children means it ain't about YOU anymore, Myron. But above all, over the edge of SANITY.

Da-da used to be sane. (Lies.) He used to play golf, have a job, go on vacation, go to Rotary meetings, drink SANKA, listen to The New Christy Minstrels. He used to only capitalize the first letter of a sentence and people's names. Now... well. If you read this blog, you know. If you don't, then Da-da suggests you aim for the pocket and TAKE HER OVER THE EDGE, MISTER GIRTH. Good luck. We're all counting on you. And Happy V-day, brother.

V-Day Note: Ever notice how people, with unerring frequency, often seem to fall in love with and/or marry people WHO LOOK EXACTLY LIKE THEM? It's narcissism in action, makes mirrors redundant, and gives Freudians something to mull over for days and days.