Man Vs. Baby: Shutter Island Review Part 2 : Sun Kissed

Me: We decided to review the movie "Sun Kissed," which is available on Netflix Watch Instantly, instead of "Shutter Island" because Roxy and I hated that movie too much to speak about it. Except the movie we chose, which was infinitely more excruciating than we could have ever expected, was a bit too much for Roxy (for reasons we'll get to later). So today we have a special treat in the form of guest critic Mark A. Baker! Mark, you remember, was the producer who had me fired off of the TV show Damages. How are you, Baker?
Mark A. Baker: Fine.

Me: This is unexpected, right? It's like "Man Versus Baker!" What do you say we jump right in...first impressions?
Mark A. Baker: [picking at his corn muffin] Hmmmm...the montages.
Me: Oh, Christ, the montages. This movie has more music montages than the '80s put together.
Mark A. Baker: I didn't mind them.
Me: You didn't "mind" them? You thought the film needed 4 five minute montages depicting Gay Writer Teddy and Handsomebutmysterious Caretaker Leo spraying each other down with a hose?
Mark A. Baker: Honestly, I thought it showed frugality on the part of the filmmakers, establishing the deep bond these two characters were developing without spending money unnecessarily.
Me: Then the fact that they were only wearing Speedos probably fits in nicely with your theory of Fiscal Prudence.
Mark A. Baker: [swallowing] Absolutely.
Me: And the others? I think I counted seven of them, total.
Mark A. Baker: [pointing to his temple] Smart. "Don't tell me. Show me." Do you know who first said that?
Me: Beethoven?
A beat. Mark frowns.
Me: You know, the whole deaf...thing.
Mark A. Baker: Sergei Eisenstein.
Me: He was my second guess. Third was Hugh Hefner.
Mark A. Baker: Very clever. Always with the jokes. No, Eisenstein believed that the juxtaposition of two independent images would create a "tertium quid," a "third thing," something more powerful than its components.
Me: So what was the "third thing" created from the couple of montages showing the men dancing and drinking together for an exorbitant amount of time?
Mark A. Baker: Their Love.
Me: Love? What movie did you watch? This was an Erotic Thriller; nobody fell in love here. The whole movie seems to exist solely for the purpose of getting these two dudes to undress. They should have called it "Two Free Ferry Tickets To Fire Island."
Mark A. Baker: You have your opinion, I have mine. Excuse me a moment.
Mark wanders off to text someone.
Me: Well, that may be the one thing we can agree on. Let's see, is he comi...maybe, waitaminute...no, he's gone. Okay, then. Maybe it's best to just end with my favorite bit of dialogue from the film. This should give you, in no uncertain terms, an idea as to how amazing Sun Kissed was. It's later on in the film (we've already seen 6 out of the 7 montages, 2 of the 3 sex scenes, and a lot of crying), when I'm-Not-Gay-Caretaker Leo is sitting at the table with I-Think-You-Might-Be-You-Sure-Seemed-To-Like-It Teddy, ruminating about Life and his wife's murder.

Leo: "I just don't understand how it's so unfair to people. Like my wife, why would anyone want to kill her?"
Teddy: "Yeah, some f**ked up things happen in the world, but I think everything happens for a reason."

Me: That's right. Everything happens for a reason. And just like Leo can learn from the brutal strangulation & death of his wife (which he committed, btw), Sun Kissed has imparted a valuable lesson to me as well: Don't ever watch a 1/2 Star Rated Erotic Thriller on Netflix ever again. Not for you, not for a friend, the Handsome Caretaker, and certainly not for a blog.

Man Vs. Baby: Shutter Island Review Part 1

Roxy: [reading] "In the magical tradition of UP comes Shutter Island, a heartwarming journey into one boy's imagination as he embarks on the adventure of a lifetime..."
Me: Yes.
Roxy: "Little Teddy Daniels (played by the hilarious Leonardo DiCaprio) must explore the mysterious halls of Ashecliffe, a spooky old hospital, to find a young girl hiding from the Evil Bananas that haunt the island."
Me: No, that sounds about right.
Roxy: "Evil Bananas."
Me: I could have read the review wrong.
Roxy: True, but you wrote this. This is the note you left on my crib to see if I wanted to go to a movie after my nap.
Me: I don't remember any bananas. Or any malevolent fruit, come to think of it...
Roxy: [sighs] I'm so annoyed at this film, I can't even be bothered being angry you lied to me again. I hated hated hated this movie. I'd rather watch them film a version of the instructions that came with my Ikea dresser.
Me: I'm pretty sure that's what they used as the source material. Check this out:
Me: See how in the top frame, Leonardo is despondent over killing the dresser, his eyes (or, eye) filled with regret. That once again, another loved one (in this case, the Aneboda 3 drawer chest [only $49.99]) has fallen victim to his unbridled, drink-laden rage.
Roxy: What?
Me: And in order to displace his guilt, to remove himself from a calamitous lifetime of memories too painful to face, he changes his reality, furnishing his world with other moments, maybe ones that never happened, like the one represented by the Barnslig Rand flat-woven rug.
Roxy: Only $19.99 and on sale now.
[Roxy and I laugh hysterically until it eventually subsides into a shared sigh]
Me: Anyway, what I think we should do is the following...A) Remind people NOT to go see this film.
Roxy: Leo dies in the end.
Me: That's right. He dies and everyone is a ghost...
Roxy: ...including Bruce Willis...
Me: ...Bruce was dead the whole time and Ben Kingsley is his father...
Roxy: ...and also a Jedi. Who had hidden the shotgun in the Grandfather Clock.
Me: Annnnnd B) Check out Part 2, where we will review the movie Sun Kissed instead.
Roxy: Sun Kissed is possibly the worst rated Mystery Thriller we could find on Netflix Watch Instantly, and most likely the closest excruciating experience we could find to Shutter Island.
Me: [reading the description] "Gay writer Teddy heads to his mentor's desert vacation home, where he meets handsome caretaker Leo in this erotic thriller. Unaware that Leo harbors a dark secret [more Ikea furniture, I imagine], Teddy bla bla bla begins to peel back the layers of Leo's mysterious past."
Roxy: That is the actual description from Netflix.
Me: Leo/Leonardo DiCaprio? Teddy/Teddy Daniels? Mysterious past? You're telling me that's just a coincidence?
Roxy: You know what else?
Me: What?
Roxy: Malevolent Fruit.
Me: Ha ha ha ha.
Roxy: Ha ha ha ha.
Me: Good one.

Daddy's Science Project

Max has another Science Project due, and since we only got a B- (which was total bulls**t, Ms. Slepowitz) on our last one (how different pans affect Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough), I've decided not to get involved.

I just kept offering up ridiculous suggestions, quickly frustrating Max and my Mother-In-Law. More importantly, I ensured I wouldn't be printing pictures out and taping them to a piece of f**king foamcore at 3 in the morning the night before it's due. Why? Because I couldn't take it seriously. No surprise there.

Here are some other suggestions I came up with (on my own, away from the table, mind you):

Question 10: Who uses the most Toilet Paper in our house?
Conclusion: It's Max. 2009 Winner was Ali, our Nanny

Question 9: Is there a correlation between the height of dishes left in the sink to Daddy's mood?
Conclusion: Considering we have a dishwasher, you bet your ass there is

Question 8: Do Mommy and Daddy have sex?
Conclusion: Not as much as Daddy would like...Mommy's been busy

Question 7: Which distraction takes up the most of Daddy's time?
Conclusion: Tie score between soliciting Alcoholism and engaging in it

Question 6: What's the most disappointing present you can give a 10 year-old?
Conclusion: Find out March 3rd.

Question 5: Why hasn't Daddy joined a gym?
Conclusion: Because if Daddy has an hour and a half to work out, Roxy is shirking her duties.

Question 4: Why do kids have to shower?
Conclusion: Really? Smell this pillow. Seriously. Just put your nose in there and whiff. Exactly. Now get in there and make sure you use soap [as he changes the pillowcase]

Question 3: What's the longest dream I've ever told someone about?
Conclusion: It was about that one where we went back to Disneyworld, except all of the creatures and animals and stuff were really werewolves who could tapdance and...

Question 2: Who ate Max's sushi?
Conclusion: Are you sure we didn't *burp* throw it out, Sweetheart?

Question 1: What topic is the best to bring up at night to stay up past your bedtime?
Conclusion: 1st Place - Is Mommy mad at you?, 2nd Place - Anything involving adolescent fears and crying, 3rd Place - The One-Two Skiddoo, an adorable little dance Max invented

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After that, she slipped off my knee and started crying, reminding me (in Tantrum) I had clearly overlooked her mid-morning nap.

Dear Roxy of the Future...

To celebrate the second occasion in which I've caught you in the toilet (totally not my fault this time), I figure I'd give you an update as to how you're doing. That way, when you look back and read this, you'll have it all mapped out in an easy to read format.

20: Your weight, in pounds
8.5: Your age, in months
8: Amount of formula, in ounces, you consume in a single sitting
5: Teeth you have (3 on bottom, top 2 have just arrived)
3: Hours you sleep before waking up from hunger, gas, or your general s**t-ass attitude
1: Least amount of people you require attention from
3: Size of diaper required to keep you spry and dry
36: Height, in inches, something needs to be to be out of your grasp
2: Words spoken which were clearly discernible: Daddy and Ducky
Hazel: My best guess as to the color of your eyes
0: On a scale from 1 to 10 (10 being the most), how much you like wearing your sneakers

You do not like to be strapped into anything that is not already moving (feeding you on a train would be optimum)

You do not like to sleep, have your face cleaned, play alone, or listen to the blender

You love: Running water, swimming, bathing, the toilet, banging on the lid of the garbage can, being spun around and flipped, tickled, peek-a-boo, Max, touching things with your pointer-finger, picking my nose, things you're not allowed to touch (my blackberry, leni's laptop, electrical outlets, the Xbox, the dishwasher), the empty diaper boxes, looking out the window, and especially, your new sippy cup.

Lost: What we would be without you.

xoxo

Daddy

BAM!

Man Vs. Baby: The Wolfman Review

Roxy: So, regarding The Wolfman, I was thinking we could alter our format slightly.
Me: How so?
Roxy: I thought it would be fun if I ask you a question, except rather than answer as you, you answer as "The Wolfman."
Me: Oh, I see. Got it. Answer as "The Wolfman." Um...
Roxy: Not barking.
Me: No, no, I knew that. Not barking. I got it. All set.
Roxy: Question 1: You are a supernatural being with immeasurable strength. After beheading countless gypsies faster than can be recorded by the naked eye, you A) Rip Benicio Del Toro in half like the fanged bolt of lightning you are, or B) Gently tackle him, playfully biting him on the shoulder, just enough to break the skin and move the plot along...
Me: I would definitely choose "B."
Roxy: Excellent. "B" it is. Question 2: Once transformed, now having the ability to travel at incredible velocities, you A) Run on all fours, at the very least doubling your speed and agility, or B) Run solely on your hind legs, resembling an ostrich in desperate need of a toilet...
Me: I don't see what you have against ostriches. I'd say "B."
Roxy: "B" again. Good. Question 3: As The Wolfman, you have razor sharp teeth, claws that can tear through flesh like knives would a soft plum, and a sanguinary hunger that violently overthrows your spirit. When you fight The Other Wolfman, you A) Employ these attributes, resulting in a frenzied bestial fury of animalistic rage, or B) Awkwardly bodyslam each other onto tables and chairs (and the occasional hanging painted portrait)...
Me: I don't know. Maybe it's not too bad for dogs, but everytime I get hair in my mouth I'm like "thrrrppppp....thrrrpppp...plah...thplah...ptuhh" trying to get it out. I'm going to have to say "B" for Bodyslam.
Roxy: Terriffic. For the next few, I want you to answer as Joe Johnston, the man who directed the film.
Me: Does he have a German accent?
Roxy: Why would he have a German accent?
Me: I don't know. I like doing a German accent.
Roxy: Well, people are reading this so they couldn't hear it anyway.
Me: Fine, be that way.
Roxy: [clears throat] The original "Wolf Man" was released in 1941, well before the Digital Age. Do you A) Update the special effects, astounding audiences by the seamless transitions between the real and the unreal, or B) Use only what was available during World War II, apparently going so far as to digitally reproduce papier mache, thereby causing us to react how we would if a monkey gave us half a banana with a stick smushed into it. "That's great, now get it away from me"...
Me: You know, my grandpappy used to say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Roxy: This is the man who had a Volvo that could only go 7 mph and had over 1,000,000 miles on it?
Me: The very same.
Roxy: Okeedoke. Final question: Seeing how Francis Ford Coppola fared with "Bram Stoker's Dracula," [which was not very well] you A) Use it as your model, much the same way Footloose emulated Flashdance, even though Footloose was pretty awesome, or B) Use it as a lesson of the perils contained in relying too much on Production Design and Anthony Hopkins, and not enough on allowing the characters to really flourish in their suffering...
Me: I would copy it in every way, the excessive use of Smoke Machines, the inconsistency, the wooden acting...I would have even used the same font if it wasn't copyrighted.
Roxy: Although, I did like that Emily Blunt...
Me: Sure. She was great...Her reputation should be considered untarnished, in my opinion.
Roxy: I agree. Well, I think that's about it. I think this went well.
Me: Me too.
A beat.
Me: We should try it with accents next time.
Roxy: I...think that's a spectacular idea. Let's do that.

NOLA Part 1

INT. AIRPLANE - NIGHT

LENI and RODNEY sit resting in their seats, heads canted towards eachother. She smiles; he kisses her on the nose.

-The CAMERA PULLS BACK, moving down the aisle. We hear "I Can't Hold Back" by Survivor as we cut to:

MONTAGE

Rodney and Leni heading to the airport in a Taxi.

Rodney and Leni hold up two boarding passes to the two identical twins sitting in their seats, 10C and 10D. The twins offer their boarding passes: 10C and 10D. They all laugh.

The couple walking arm and arm through Bourbon Street in the pouring rain; it is empty.

Rodney sipping Absynthe and making a face.

Leni strolling along, smoking a cigar.

Rodney and Leni wrap their arms together, each one offering the other a taste of their dinner at Brigsten's. It is delicious.

An old man naked except for a speedo, his entire body painted gold.

The couple shopping for antiques: Leni tries on a funny hat.

The Gorton's Fisherman and two very old whores dirty dancing on the street.

The Endymion Parade in full swing, thousands of people abound.

Rodney jumps up, catches some beads. He places them around Leni's neck and they kiss.

The couple do shots off of the bar.

A small Jazz/Blues band play to an empty club. Rodney and Leni dance.

INT. AIRPLANE - SAME NIGHT

Rodney pulls away slightly. Leni looks confused: Is something wrong?

Rodney quickly grabs something from the back of the seat. It is the BARF BAG.

He throws up into it, violently filling the bag.

CUT TO BLACK

No, No, It's Not You. It's Me.

Roxy's nighttime habits were relatively (ab)normal while we were away. She'd indulge in an 8 o'clock feeding, a 10 or 11 o'clock feeding, and then just-to-really-rub-it-in sleep until about 8 o'clock in the morning.

That's 9 hours without a feeding.

What did she do the first night she was home? An 8 o'clock. An 11 PM. 12:30. 1:30. 2:20. 3:30. And 4:30. But rather than stop there and deprive us the ability to make Valentine's Day truly special, she sprinkled a bit of cinnamon on top, waking up at 5 AM for the morning.

So we've established something here. Doyle and Holmes will tell us that once we've eliminated the impossible (all of the variants in diet, bedtime, Zantac, light, texture of blanket, the wide net of Sleep Training methods, internet websites and Mommy Blogs - where none of these produce any discernible effect), the only thing to still remain (leaning over the crib at 3 in the morning, no less) is me.

Now, I don't know what that implies or how I am going to resolve this. I just know that I am the problem.

And so the game is afoot.

Top 10 Suggested Meanings for "Mardi Gras"

I didn't finish any of my other posts, so here's a Top 10 to consider in the interim.

My Top 10 Alternate Translations for "Mardi Gras"

10. Mardi Gras (-noun): Indecent Businessman
9. Mardi Gras (pl. -noun): Rampant Sores
8. Mardi Gras (-adjective): Having No Value, or Worthless, as in Look How Many Mardi Gras Beads I Caught
7. Mardi Gras (-noun): Wet Bathroom
6. Mardi Gras (-verb phrase): Weak, or Watered Down, as in This Daiquiri is Mardi Gras'd
5. Mardi Gras (-noun): Underage Treasures
4. Mardi Gras (-event): Unsolicited Geriatric Nudity
3. Mardi Gras (Origin Fr. -noun): Excessive Beard with Vomit (in it)
2. Mardi Gras (pl. -noun): Transgender Delights
1. Mardi Gras (-noun): Lonely Penis

And It's Mardi Gras By A Nose!

Well, in January I had bought plane tickets for Leni and I to go to New Orleans for Valentine's Day. It was going to be a surprise, except once I found out it was Mardi Gras, I figured I better make sure she still wanted to go.

I didn't actually know it was Mardi Gras. I called up the hotel because I was having trouble making a reservation online. Apparently, I had to extend my stay by one day to secure my room, so I did.

Concierge: And don't worry, you guys are really close to the parade, so if you want to come back early, it's only a block away.
Me: Parade?
Concierge: Yeah, the Mardi Gras Parade.
Me: It's Mardi Gras?
Concierge: Of course, it's Mardi Gras. Have you never been?
Me: No. Never.
Concierge: [yelling] Hey, Terez! We got a Mardi Gras virgin! We love virgins!

The point is, the Blizzard of 2010 was thisclose to preventing us from going. But it looks like we'll be Isomil-free for the whole weekend, sleeping away the effects of alcohol undisturbed while the girls are at Grandma and Grandpa's.

So, I'll be back on Sunday. If I can post, I will. If not, please enjoy this picture of Roxy's first snowstorm until then.
R

Where's Don "No Soul" Simmons When You Need Him?

I took a picture of this because I'm not quite sure just telling you about this would have the same impact (and don't worry, it's boobs-and-monkey free). So here we go:That's my friend Brent's car radio, the fancy one that tells you the title of the song that's playing on the radio. It also tells you the TITLE of the song you are IMPORTING from your iPHONE. So if your name is Brent and you have embarrassing music on your iPhone (music you have personally chosen to be portable and brought with you at all times because we all know how people are with their iPhones), "Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round The Old Oak Tree" by Tony Orlando will be depicted as it is in the photo.

Although I also would have accepted "TERRIBLE>"

Who's A Hungry Little Monkey?

Go do a Google Image search on "monkey." Good. Did you see this one?Maybe? But possibly not. Because what you probably did is what I did which was quickly glance around until what-in-the-barnacle-hell-is that?!
That, my friends, is called Surrogate Breastfeeding. Click on the link (here) and you'll meet Bruce M. Hood, a Professor of Developmental Psychology. He'll talk a little bit about why you are uncomfortable looking at that picture (hint: it rhymes with "breastfeeding a monkey") And I'm guessing, had we taken some data on everyone's reactions, we would have gotten something in the neighborhood of this:

Disgust: 14
Jesus, Dude, I'm at work: 38
Thanks, I'll eat this later: 4
Sympathy for the Poor Little Orphan Monkey: 0

That's right: Zero. None of you. So maybe the next time a Jaguar eats your parents and your only option is living with your weird Uncle Kaspar next to a grumpy Anaconda or going to the Jungle Orphanage for Wayward Saddleback Tamarin's, you won't let yourself starve to death because of some outdated cultural superstitions. You'll find love and sustenance in the arms of that nice woman from Ohio who always wanted to see the Amazon. While she was nursing.

I'm Just Walking Here By Myself Next To Some Weirdo

This is Max pretending not to know me on our way to school. Every time we get about a block or two from dropping her off, I make a funny face, or speak with a ridiculous accent, or skip. And she just smiles and wanders a bit away as if I were some very strange man hopping behind a stroller.

This was Friday's conversation:
Max: You ever get tired of it?
Me: Tired of what?
Max: The routine...
Me: What, this?
Max: Every morning, you come in, you wake me up, I grumble, I get out of bed, I get dressed, I brush my hair, you make me lunch, I eat my breakfast, I take too long, you get annoyed that we're late, we leave, I forget something and have to go back, and then just before we get to school you do something to embarrass me.
Me: Well, we can try something different. You can try to embarrass me...
Max: No! I like it!

Happy Birthday To Me!

If you don't remember, in November I went on an elimination diet to figure out what makes me sick. Hate to ruin the ending of the movie, but it was Gluten (dun-dun-dunnnnnnnnn!). Since then, as I've been Gluten-Free, I've limited myself to, pretty much, only drinking Gin. Gin and Tonics, the Army & Navy at Dutch Kills. That sort of thing; not a single other form of alcohol.

Until tonight, Ladies!

I just looked up Gluten-Free Alcohol on Celiac.com and look what I found (some highlights):

• Bourbon - Makers Mark
• Gin
• Kahlua
• Rum
• Sake
• Scotch Whiskey
• Sherry
• Tequila
• Vodka
• Wine - all wines
• Wine Coolers:
• Bartle & James - their wine-based beverages (EXCEPT their malt beverages - read the label carefully!).

Bartles & James? Thankee Jesus! Now I won't feel like such an outsider at Mardi Gras!

Just What Kind of Pop-Up Book Is This?

While walking down Ditmars Avenue today, I happened to notice the lovely window dressing of the store shown in the photo below. They have candles and stuff, books, gifts, and from what I can tell, a few antiques. But, and you can glean this yourself from the picture, what they really want to showcase is their copy of a book you stick your penis in.

Now, "Novelty Gifts" aside, what exactly can you do with this book? Does it have any other applications other than offering a few mazes your penis (or a loved one's) can solve? What if you need help with the SuDoku? And let's say you weren't done with the crossword, but wanted to come back later, would a bookmark be superfluous?

But more importantly, were you longing for those days you could come within 500 feet of schools so you did the next best thing: bring the kids to you?

Because you have no choice but to see it, which means there is no avoiding the conversation between yourself and your 10 year-old daughter about how she probably won't like the answer as to why there is a hole in the book.

And just so you know, while the $9.95 price tag did seem a bit steep to me, I appreciated the fact that it came in a gift basket with a Mining Helmet, a few #2 Pencils, and a Faceshield.

EZ Cracker Egg Cracker

Dear sweet Christ, are you kidding me? You tell me, what's easier? Cracking an egg on the side of a bowl? Or loading it into this ridiculously unneccessary contraption that, by the time you read this, will be collecting more dust than the cases of Lorenzo Lamas' DVD Box Sets somebody left to rot in a Pasedena warehouse (and should you have time for a lobotomy, check out the commercial here)?

Has the irony escaped anyone involved that if you don't have the dexterity to break an egg, how the f**k are you going to be able to load it into this abomination of American Innovation? Are you Craig Wolfe, creator of the amazing Celebriducks? Could you invent an object with any less value? Even a coaster shaped like a couch to rest your drink on has more inherent worth than the EZ Cracker (and, by the way, I'm filling out the copyright application for my couch-shaped-coaster idea right now, so, back off) but I would never produce it because the last thing we need is more s**t on this planet!

Let me level with you: If you have trouble penetrating the delicate wall that protects an unborn chicken, than you have no business, and I have to stress that again, no business going near things that are sharp, open flames, or anything else one would normally associate with a kitchen.

So go ask your mom if you can have your helmet back, get some crayons, and draw yourself a picture of the most delicious breakfast you can imagine, and then EAT the drawing.

Although, I guess your mom will have to read this to you as well.

I'm Sorry, Billy Mahoney, Okay? I'm Sorry We Threw The Rock At You, You Fell Out Of The Tree And Died. Okay?

One of the most frequently barbed accusations aimed in my direction is that I can "dish it out but can't take it." And I admit, that's true.

Oh, I can "dish it out," alright. I'll serve you a 10 Course Meal of Obnoxicity until you throw up from how sarcastic dessert was. That, complimented with a Wine Tour accompanying each plate leaving no question as to depth's I'll go to embarrass you, should give you the general idea.

Which is incredible considering how pissed off I get when someone does it to me...

Last night, and I don't even know why Max brought it up, I was moving some furniture out of the guest room and onto the curb for the garbagemen. After dropping a few drawers on the sidewalk, I was on my way back inside when she stopped me.

"Daddy, daddy..." She hopped in front of me to make sure she got my attention.

"Yes, Sweetheart," I said.

And then she pointed towards the underside of her chin and said "Gobble, gobble."

Let's give you some frame of reference: I hate my chin, or rather, the "extra" chin I've developed utilizing the few additional pounds I carry around with me. Especially during photographs, when my sub-mandibular area becomes a twin as well as a source of insecurity. It was during a conversation about my binary chin that Max decided to come over to where I was laying, poke it, and say (you guessed it): Gobble, gobble.

I have no idea why she said it last night. But, and this is my get out of having that kid kill me in a tree type Flatliners complex redemption, but if I've ever hurt your feelings...Here's your revenge. Gobble gobble. It's that simple. Point and shoot. This is your chance, not only to even the score, but to save my soul.

Who Ever Wrote Last Night's Blog Entry Clearly Has No Idea What He's Talking About

Roxy woke up around 11 PM in the car seat. We gave her a bottle, utilizing the "tank up your kid" technique to help them sleep, and then waited for her to fall back asleep. Which had about the same odds as happening as Follow That Cookie starring Cookie Monster as Idi Amin, although the early renderings showed promise:

See, at some point during most feedings, Roxy will arch her back, twist like an angry Hotdog rolling off a counter (I've seen this, it's terrifying), and fart several times loudly. And while at some point in her future she might be able to harvest this skill (because dreams can come true, sweetheart, see: Jersey Shore), right now it makes for a very frustrating night. So is it stubborness? Gas pain? Solar flares? I just don't know.

After an hour's walk outside, I returned to my old friend Steven Seagal and employed the philosophy of the martial art Aikido: to redirect the force of the attacker. Every time Roxy stood back up in her crib, I flipped her over a pool table or whacked her with a cueball in a sock, then gently laid her back down and said "bedtime." Twenty one times. But she soon tired herself out and fell asleep. And slept 'til 7 this morning.

So am I on to something here? Was the cueball too much?

One Million Percent

That's how much Sleep Training sucks. If Sleep Training were bullets, Roxy would be Superman, hiding behind a two-mile thick block of ballistic gelatin, surrounded by steel, except the steel would have been plied with sexual innuendo and wine if the bla bla bla bla bla.

That's enough of that joke.

Anyway, the Occupational Therapist said that she believes Roxy suffers from something called Sensory Processing Disorder. This is when an infant or child reacts either underwhelmingly or overwhelmingly disproportionate to stimuli. Auditory, Tactile, Emotional. You name it. It's just like Grover's Everything in the World Museum, if Grover's intent was to either terrorize children and distress their parents. There are a few issues affecting my little girl, the most troublesome of which seems to be her response to changes in state: from sleep to waking or from waking to sleep. She screams, kicks, thrashes, twists her head back and tries to roll out of your lap if she even catches you thinking of putting her to bed.

This apparently also explains why Roxy is behind cognitively: she hasn't slept through a single night in 8 months, either.

So last night we put her down in the car seat, which helps because buckled in, she can't flip, roll, and stand right back up again. She has to relax, which she did eventually. And it wasn't too terrible an evening.

Accepting temporary defeat, I'm going to keep doing this until she starts Early Intervention. Because I'm out of ideas.