And We're Back!

The NeverTown has long sat silent and empty, cold winter winds whistling through the barren streets that never were. My apologies. I've been finishing up my first semester as a doctoral student and research assistant at Tech... and in case you hadn't heard, I have twins. We just finished a trip back home to Louisiana with the boys in tow. It was nice to see everybody there, but the trip really had only one primary purpose: to introduce Benjamin and Kristopher to my one last living direct-line relative who cares about them. Grandma Mabel was pretty excited to say the least. Gotta say, though, I was very disappointed that she didn't have a chance to make her famous gumbo. Damn, I miss that gumbo. Despite that, she remains my favorite person in Louisiana (although my good friend Kristy has got to at least be in the Top 5).

Also got to hang out with some old friends (where I learned I was Eternal, Chunky, and Pure), and revisit my briefest of workplaces, Best Buy #1157. Nice to see the old crew again, but nicer to know that odd men named Bubba can no longer yell at me for failing to instruct my team to sell services to people who don't honestly need them. I like to think I subscribe to a more ethical version of salesmanship, which served me well back at Schwan's and Trustfile, but maybe I just don't want it enough. Who knows?

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" or "Three Days with Twins"

So many lessons learned from the first three days of having both Benjamin Justin Lemoine and Kristopher James Lemoine at home... sounds like it's time for another bullet-point blog post!

• Both babies are healthy. That's the important thing. They seem pretty happy, too. Speaking of which....
• I'm reminded of an old Edwin Edwards (former governor of Louisiana) quote: "Louisiana is not first in everything that is bad, and last in everything that is good." That said, Benjamin is not first in all the negative records, and he is not second in all of the positive records. Sure, Kristopher took top honors for being the first baby to roll over on his own (already!) and Benjamin took top honors for being the first baby to have diarrhea. Sure, Kristopher took top honors for being the first baby to finish off his whole bottle, and Benjamin took top honors for being the first baby to experience explosive projectile defecation (seriously, it was amazing! I'm going to hang a mini-poster of Kenny Chesney next to the diaper-changing table, so he has a target next time!). On the other hand, Benjamin is completely wiping the floor with Kristopher on smile-count (about 27 to 0, at last count), and Benjamin took top honors for being the first twin to do a push-up.

It Comes Before a Fall

The beginning of a recent Facebook chat:

"Hey. Did you and Debby have twins?"

"Hold on, let me check."

"Yeah, I think we did."

***

And so, here we are. I'm surrounded by three computers in my apartment sunroom/office, uploading pictures to Facebook, chatting with well-wishers demanding updates, and fielding multiple requests for a new post to the NeverTown. Meanwhile, Kristopher James Lemoine (the middle name is for my father, not me!) is nestled in a baby swing to my immediate left, undoubtedly confused by the blinking screens, furious typing, and cacophonic gothic rock emanating from my speakers. He's stirring a bit right now... stretching his arms and hands out as best he can from his nest within that Classic Winnie the Pooh blanket.

Wait, he's asleep again. Back to typing.

On the Last Week in Louisiana - Part Three

I'm sitting now in what tomorrow will not be my home, surrounded by an insane number of small brown boxes... mostly because I own an insane number of books.  It's a depressing feeling as I look around.  Usually I'm the first to remind people that we have to give up the lives we have, to have the lives we want... but this house has been more important to me than I'd realized. I don't think I've ever lived in any one place longer than I lived here.  I've moved about an average of every three years for my entire life, so there are few specific buildings that I actually feel any home-like connection with (although McVoy Hall at LSU, and the Loranger High Auditorium and Ag Shop are three).

This is the largest and nicest place I've ever lived, and this is where I've been both happiest and saddest, I think.  I lived here when an evil man destroyed my life as I knew it and threatened all I had.  I lived here while I recovered, readjusted my priorities, and learned to be happy with who, what, and where I am.  I lived here when I reconnected with countless friends, and finally made the effort to actually do as much community service as people seemed to assume I did.  I lived here when I finally got the Milton Berle episode of the Muppet Show on DVD, when I played Rock Band for the first time, and when I stayed up half the night with Debby and my three godsons sharing our imaginary friends' names, biographies, and current activities.  I used my imaginary friend from third grade, Bullwinkle the Very Hungry Bison. 

On the Last Week in Louisiana - Part One

It's odd to look around the house you've lived in for the longest in your life that you've ever really lived in just one place, and know that in a week it will be empty.  The furniture will be gone, my favorite comfy green sofa will be on a truck somewhere, and all of the books in my library will be boxed up.  That last bit almost makes me feel naked.  (ladies, control yourselves)

But we have to give up the life we've earned, to earn the life we want, so it's a price I have to be willing to pay.  As I head out to Atlanta, there are only three things I'll miss about Louisiana, and they all start with the letter F:  family, friends, and food (not necessarily in that order).  Wait, I take it back... I'll miss the football, too.  I guess that's okay, since it starts with an F as well.

I Can't Believe I'm Blogging About the Golden Girls

Hey, two followers! I've doubled my following!! Woo-hoo!!!

I've noted that most of my recent posts have been of a rather serious nature, so instead I thought I'd ramble a bit.

A very unfortunate side effect of my wife's pregnancy has been her fascination (one is tempted to use the word 'fetish') with pregnancy shows on the various offshoots of the Discovery Channel.  For those lucky souls who've never been forced to watch them, these 30-minute shows follow a reality-show documentary-format in introducing us to a pregnant young lass and her loving husband/boyfriend/one-night-stand-partner. After attempting to humanize the subject (she loves exercising!), we get to hear how excited she is to be pregnant. And then we find out that there's a terrible problem that endangers the life of the mother/baby/both. And then after some dramatic music plays, we see a tremendously disgusting birth scene, and then the money shot: happy, makeup-running, sweaty mother and usually-ugly, slimy child are united.

Then the show ends and the next one starts. And the exact same thing happens again.  And 30 minutes later, again.  And 30 minutes later, again.  And 30 minutes later, again.  Ad infinitum, on and on, the exact same plot, the exact same facial expressions, the exact same body parts getting cut open, the exact same music.

I counted thirty-two installments of these shows on my DVR last week, nestled amongst the chick flicks and the reruns of Shaun the Sheep (of which I heartily approve). I'm sure hormones are at work here, but I just can't understand the appeal. You know, maybe it was nice the first time... but after twenty or so identical happy-to-be-pregnant/health-problem/emergency-medical-activity/healthy-but-disgusting-birth cycles, it really starts to get old to me.

Every time I ask my wife if she's sick of it yet, or when I ask her if she's noticed the utter predictability of it, or when I point out that that baby on the screen is absolutely the opposite of cute, or when I start predicting what the doctors will say before they say it... she just tells me to go away.  She offered to change the channel once, and she turned it to... a Kenny Chesney concert. How well my wife knows me.

When she's not watching the nonstop birthing parade on Discovery Health, she invariably finds a Golden Girls marathon on some other channel (which I can only assume is the Lifetime network).  No red-blooded man could be expected to retain his masculinity while having to decide between the Golden Girls and pregnancy surgeries, but whenever offered any kind of choice, the intelligent human must vote with whichever side includes Betty White. I never understood the universal appeal of Bea Arthur (in fact, I must admit that there have been nightmares), but Betty, Rue, and Estelle were comedic masterminds.

I hope that I didn't lose any manhood points for that comment.

I always likened the Golden Girls to the Muppets (but then, I've likened most everything I've encountered to the Muppets).  The character of Blanche, the sexually liberated Southern Belle, was just like Miss Piggy - a tough, independent woman who was very secure in her femininity, but probably ate a bit too much cheesecake.  The character of Dorothy, the more mature and sensible grounded woman, had a lot in common with my childhood idol Kermit the Frog (and I hope Kermit will forgive me for the comparison) - they both seemed to be the only sane characters on their respective shows, and didn't have much luck with significant others.  The character of Rose, the sweet but not altogether intelligent girl from St. Olaf, was just like Gonzo - a devil-may-care optimist whose ideas would be limited by neither taste, likelihood, nor good sense.

And of course, the crotchety old Sophia was just like Statler and Waldorf, always ready to put a negative spin on any success with a carefully placed one-liner, or delight with childish glee in any failure.  Just as the two old men in the balcony enjoyed tormenting Fozzie and the rest of the Muppets with their nonstop heckling, Sophia could always be trusted to make everyone around her look even more foolish. And if there's one thing the modern television viewer enjoys watching, it's someone being made to look foolish.

This is, after all, why reality TV shows are so popular.

Yes, it had sappy plots that made me change the channel, and yes, I hated the theme song, and yes, Bea Arthur still scares me a bit... but I've got to admit, there were five to ten minutes of comedy gold in any given Golden Girls episode. And how many TV shows out there in the last sixty years have dared to star an ensemble of four grandmothers?

I Strongly Dislike Kenny Chesney

Never mind that I'm not a big fan of modern country music (although, to be fair, I was never anything more than a barely moderate fan of any form of country music, with the sole possible exception of the likes of Garth Brooks, Clint Black, and the Kentucky Headhunters, which I know is somewhat stereotypical, but do me a favor, if you like rock and roll music, then go listen to the Kentucky Headhunters, and then tell me that's not some good stuff), but I learned on Friday that I rather detest Kenny Chesney.

Sadly, I was watching the Oprah Winfrey show on Friday, a regrettable side-effect of having a nice girl fall asleep on your couch with the TV on, and of being a gentleman and not wanting to move, reach for the remote, or change the channel for fear of waking her up. It was Kenny Chesney day on Oprah Winfrey on Friday. Kenny Chesney, I quickly learned, is a huge country music star with a penchant for using a wide variety of ill-fitting hats to cover his male-pattern baldness.

Now, the baldness and the bland, stereotypical country music are not reasons enough for me to detest Kenny Chesney. But these are:

• When asked by Oprah why he was making "Kenny Chesney in 3-D," his wholly-necessary-I'm-sure film tribute to himself, he honestly said, "Because I want to show what it's really all about, what's really important. Not my staff, not the record company, not my band... just me. And the fans." Way to appreciate your team, Ken.
• When asked by Oprah about his failed marriage,Chesney replied that he had to keep his priorities straight in life, and music was the most important thing to him, more than family, and that his wife didn't really fit into his lifestyle as well as he'd hoped. She's got her own life, her own career, and he didn't really care for that. Surprisingly, Oprah empathized with him, saying that's why she didn't get married: because any other individualism would cramp her style. Nice people, these.
• When asked by Oprah if there was anything he'd ever wanted to do but hadn't yet done, he said he wanted to take his grandmother on a plane ride. So they did. The multi-million dollar music star, who owns his own plane, had never bothered in the past to take his 'beloved grandmother' on a ride. What made it even worse, as we learned as the cameras followed him for this magical moment, his grandmother lives in a tiny shack in the middle of nowhere. Way to take care of your family, Ken.

So there you go... I've watched an episode of Oprah for the first time in my life, and learned I detest Kenny Chesney. Next time I'll have something more intelligent to talk about, I promise.