Month: March 2013

Ollie becomes an artist

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Ollie seems to have had a bit of a breakthrough on the drawing front.

Up until now, he’s always just drawn squiggles all over the paper, which he then interprets for us later. Every once in awhile some vaguely recognizable shape emerges, but then it’s hard to tell if it was intentional, or if he recognized the likeness himself and claimed retrospectively that the ink blot was actually Whistler’s Mother.

And then, all of a sudden, he drew a person:

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“Goldilocks with bloody spots and feet with toes”

It’s not like it happened little by little, he just all of a sudden drew something recognizable. There is a mouth, nose, and eyes. He picked the right hair color. And it’s even anatomically correct, in the sense that if you were crippled with only 4 toes on one foot and 3 toes on the other, you’d be pretty clumsy, and probably covered in bloody spots.

Also, I can’t remember the story exactly, but I’m pretty sure Goldilocks was mauled by bears.

I think she’s on to us

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“I don’t understand,” said Evie. “On Easter, the Easter Bunny brings you things, and on Christmas, Santa Claus brings you things. Why don’t the Leprechauns bring you things on St. Patrick’s day?”

She makes a good point. “It doesn’t work that way,” doesn’t seem like a very good answer. Why doesn’t it? If we live in a world where magic creatures have nothing better to do than bring you presents, and this is normal, then is it so crazy that leprechauns should bring you things too?

“It doesn’t work that way,” I said.

“It does for [my friend*]. Leprechauns bring him things all the time.”

(*Her friend with a name so Irish that I would never use it in a story because nobody would believe an Irish person would be named that.)

Eventually she gave up pestering me when she realized I had nothing more to add.

The next morning she told Ollie, “After we’re dressed, let’s go check under our pillows to see if the leprechauns left us anything!” Ollie didn’t really seem interested, but she kept insisting and asking him, “Did you feel anything under your pillow last night?” I had mostly forgotten about the conversation, but she seemed absolutely sure the leprechauns would have left something under there. I braced myself for the inevitable crying to follow.

Instead I was met with excited shouting.

Under Evie’s pillow was a card written in green crayon that said, “I Love Evelyn Lois Halbach The Leprekans”. Ollie was staring rapturously at a tiny card from under his pillow that was mostly green hearts.

Evie looked me in the eyes and dared me to say the cards hadn’t come from leprechauns.

I don’t think that she has connected this back to other things, like the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus, but it seems like it can’t be far behind. In duping her brother (and me as far as she knows), she’s seen behind the curtain a little bit. She’s far too bright to not eventually make the connection between how easy it was to orchestrate the leprechaun cards and how easy it would be to fake other things.

On the other hand, she’s already demonstrated a supreme willingness to hold on to her childhood longer than completely necessary. I would not be surprised in the slightest if she ignored all evidence to the contrary, simply because she *wanted* to believe in something. I guess maybe we all do that. I guess that’s called being human.

I want her to resist. Believing in magic is something that I hope she holds on to for a long, long time. Maybe forever.

The President comes to work

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When they first announced that the president was coming to my work, I have to say I was less than impressed. It’s a pretty big place, with a couple of thousand employees. I kind of figured it was like when people say, “Oh, you live in Chicago? Do you know Bill Smith?” And besides, haven’t I been dealing with my famous neighbor for 5 or 6 years now? Yawners.

But then it turned out he was coming specifically to talk about transportation research, in my specific building, which was a little bit cool. Things started to get exciting. They were painting offices, cleaning up parking lots, planting flowers. They even renovated a bathroom for the Presidential tushy. A memo went around saying not to look in the direction of the President, or approach the windows, lest we catch a sniper’s bullet for our impertinence.

At some point, though, we crossed a line. It became pretty obvious that we were quickly becoming a pretty backdrop and nothing more. First they told us his speech was invitation only, and we weren’t invited. The President was arriving with his own crowd of people, who would watch the speech. Between that and all the work being done to clean the place up, I started to wonder why he didn’t just film his speech in front of a green screen, and paint on a generic backdrop after the fact. Finally they sent an email telling us to just go ahead and work from home that day. I guess the fill-in “scientist” extras felt a little self-conscious around the real thing.

And then the actual day rolled around. There were pictures and live streaming videos. And there was the president, at my work. Talking to people I talk to every day. Hanging out where we eat Burrito Loco. Joking with the guy who runs the football pool at work. It was *totally awesome*! My boss’ boss gave him a hug!

There he is! The guy who runs the football pool at work! (among several other people I recognize in this picture) (such as the President)

Now here’s the thing: it was *not* like when someone asks you if you know Bill Smith from Chicago. 8 of my co-workers, people who I pass in the hall every day, have coffee with, or chat with while I’m warming up my lunch, got to present their research to the President of the United States. Not just attend his speech, not just shake his hand, but talk to him and explain what they do. No matter what happens, they’ll always be able to point to a picture of them chatting with the sitting President of the United States.

All of my world-weary ennui went right out the window. It was damn cool.

I wasn’t at work that day, so it was all sort of one-off. I’ve been a lot closer to Mr. Obama on several other occasions. But I did a little vicarious living, and I still feel like it was a little closer than the average man gets to the president. We’re practically old buddies now. Maybe next time he comes to work he’ll want to carpool.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my tushy needs to go have an important “meeting” in the Presidential Suite.

Trivial Superpowers Save the Day!

/ Shane / 2 Comments

I’m pleased to announce my story “Random Play All and the League of Awesome” will appear in the anthology “Oomph: A little super goes a long way” from Crossed Genres publications.

Oomph is a collection of stories about superheroes. But not just any superheroes:

It’s easy to save the day when you’re invulnerable, can fly, or can punch through steel. But what if you’re just… really calloused? Or can hover for three seconds? Or can only punch through things made of aluminum?

Oomph: A little super goes a long way explores what it takes to be a superhero with just a little bit of power, where heroes and heroines use their small gifts to great advantage. Sometimes, you don’t need a big lever to move the world.

This is exciting for several reasons: first, because I have a lifelong love of trivial superpowers (see The Tick). Second, because it’s exciting to be included in something I’d actually want to read anyway. Third, because it’s quite a bit longer than the other stories I’ve sold. And fourth, because it will mark the first time I’ll be published in an actual dead tree book (although it will also be offered in e-book format).

I don’t know yet when the book will go on sale, but I’ll certainly keep you posted.

Quote Monday reports accurate fortunes

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Evie: “Daddy, look at my fortune from my cookie!”
Fortune: Avoid agreeing with people just to keep peace.
Evie: “Mama says I do that naturally.”

Grandma Kathy: “Wow, Evie, you’re getting tall!”
Evie: “Well, maybe to you, but not to daddy.”

Grandma Kathy: “Well, does your mommy eat lettuce?”
Ollie: “No. She eats food.”

Ollie: “Can we play Wizardofoz?”
Grandma Kathy: “Sure. Who should we be?”
Ollie: “I can be Dorthy, and you can be Foz.”