The Marx Brothers They Ain't

The other night my daughter, my mother, and I were sitting on the couch watching "America's Funniest Videos."  We were roaring with laughter.  Since I have the sense of humor of a 14 year old boy I howl whenever they show the "getting whacked in the Lord and Little Gents"* clips.  Fortunately AFV is heavily laden with them.

The R.A. was sitting in a chair across from us.  He would look at the TV, look at us, back to the TV, back to us and so on.  His expression read, "What?  I don't get it."  Finally the R.A. couldn't stand it any more.  He jumped off his chair, tugged on my arm and said, "Night, night" meaning he would rather go to bed than have to watch another minute of dogs riding sleds - yet more evidence that he's from another planet as everyone loves the dogs riding sleds shtick.

So what does the R.A. find amusing?  What tickles his funny bone?  He does have these hysterical laughing fits.  Typically these happen when nothing remotely funny has happened such as Fr. Mark updating the congregation on his father's surgery or while I'm taking an important phone call (that time he was laughing so hard he fell off the bed - thank God for his large and durable noggin).  What's probably happening during these laughing jags is he's on a call to the home planet and is regaling them with one of our dumb ass moves:

Oh, my Kitchen God!  It was hysterical!  That Mommy Lady was busy with that "Sister Person" but I was bored.  So I went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of cream. As I am allergic to dairy I tried to pour some into my mouth.  Unfortunately it primarily ended up on the floor.  It seemed a shame to waste it and it looked so inviting.  Of course I rolled in it and lapped it up from the floor.  That Mommy Lady came charging into the kitchen, screamed, and hauled me into the living room.  As she cleaned up the floor the dairy allergy kicked in and I started to wretch.  I had just situated myself on the couch and was about to vomit all over it when that Mommy Lady came tearing into the living room and dragged me off the couch.  A real shame because I know I could have covered it with boof.

Sometimes, just for the fun of it, I like to gag, make like I'm going to hurl. I do it out of the blue.  You should see how it freaks them out!  Sometimes I laugh so hard I could wet myself.  Heck, most of the time I do!  If there's one thing I've learned from my time here is that you have to make your own fun and preferably at their expense. 

While I don't know what he's laughing at I do know one thing - he's not laughing with us.  He's laughing at us.

*"Man Bits"

A Holy Time of Year

Like Roman Catholics (and some Protestant denominations) have Lent and the Muslims have Ramadan, the Church of the Kitchen God also has its holy time of the year.  It's currently happening as the R.A. has stepped up his "devotionals" to the Kitchen God's shrine.  The shrine rituals (jumping up and down, flicking, babbling in front of the cookbook bookcase i.e. "shrine") have increased.  The R.A. has also developed an attachment to a certain sacramental.  For a Roman Catholic a sacramental might be a statue of the Blessed Virgin or rosary beads.  For one of the Orthodox Christian faith this may be an icon of a revered saint.  For the R.A. it's a small replica of the Eiffel Tower.  The Eiffel Tower is located on a shelf above the KG shrine.  The R.A. will bounce up and down in front of the shrine, flapping his hands wildly and demanding, "Towah!  Towah!" until someone gives it to him.  He then will walk around for a bit clutching it and then places it on a table in the living room.  Currently the R.A. and my mother are in a bit of a pissing contest over the tower.  My brother brought it back from a trip to France as a souvenir for her.  Foolishly she considers the tower hers and is forever trying to wrangle it from the R.A.  As this wrangling is now becoming part of the entire "towah" procedure I think in the R.A.'s mind it's become part of the religious ritual.  I believe that must make my mother an altar girl of sorts.

I do wonder about the significance of the Eiffel Tower in the Church of the Kitchen God.  It must figure prominently as the R.A. knew the object was the Eiffel Tower without anyone telling him.  When he first started demanding, "Towah! Towah!" we didn't know what he was saying (I know.  Odd for us not to be on top of things.)  In a fit of frustration the R.A. climbed the KG bookcase, snatched the Eiffel Tower from the shelf above and shook it in my face hollering, "Towah!  Towah!" and some other things which roughly translated to, "Look, you quarter-witted ninny, a tower!  I mean seriously, what else could I have been talking about?  It's not like you have 20 other towers perched all over the freakin' house!"  How were we supposed to know that the person who didn't know what "elbows" were knew what the Eiffel Tower was?

Why the Eiffel Tower?  I have two theories.  Both, I am certain, are wrong.  But here it goes anyway:

1. The Eiffel Tower resembles something they use during religious rituals on the home planet.  Perhaps it is used to impale sinners, which would explain the R.A.'s attachment.  He's probably dreaming about using it on me especially when I refuse to allow him to open a third brand new 500 count bag of Dum Dums.

2. They revere the actual Eiffel Tower on the home planet.  Maybe it is a holy site for them.  The Kitchen God could have ascended or descended from the Eiffel Tower.  Or he could have preached great sermons from the Eiffel Tower - "Blessed are the crabby for they shall inherit anything they want because their incessant crabbiness will wear others down and they will give in."

During Lent I know there are extra things we are supposed to do - fasting, abstaining from meat on Fridays, making extra sacrifices, alms giving.  Extra things I have observed the R.A. doing for his holy season are:

 - placing the Eiffel Tower in a specific spot on a specific table in the living room.  No one is allowed to touch or move the tower.  My brother moved it once just to see the R.A.'s reaction.  The R.A. snatched the tower back.  While returning it to the proper spot he shot his uncle a scathing look that clearly said, "Have you no respect?"  It actually reminded me of the looks the nuns would give us if we were goofing around during Mass.
- covering the living room floor with various wooden puzzle pieces.  The R.A. gets positively wild when we pick them up.  He himself refuses to pick them up even when we sing the "Clean Up" song - which goes to show you how opposed he is to picking them up.  I wonder if it's his equivalent to our decorating for Christmas? 
- frequent wranglings with his grandmother over the Eiffel Tower.

I don't know how long this holy season lasts or how it culminates.  I just hope it doesn't involve impaling any of us.

May the Kitchen God be with you.

Amen.

Welcome to Bugaboo Creek, My Name is Lumberjack Jack and I'll Be Your Server

Friday night, to celebrate my upcoming vacation week, we went to Bugaboo Creek for dinner.  The minute we walked in the R.A. looked apprehensive and nervous.  He regarded our very personable server with absolute suspicion.  For my mother, daughter, and myself, it was a night out for dinner.  I think the R.A.'s interpretation of the event was completely different:

231st of Kwyzer in the 856th Year of Our Kitchen God

Report to Home Command

They have stepped up their efforts to break me.  This evening, in an attempt to intimidate, they brought me to another facility.  It was a chilling experience.  The facility itself was imposing and an exhibition in cruelty.  Hung around the large room were, what I am assuming, past prisoners.  One victim I did recognize, as I have seen his brethren at the place where I lodge.  They are ninja-like creatures that wear black and grayish fur costumes, complete with black masks.  I believe their order is called "Those G-Damn Raccoons" as that is what I have heard that Daddy Guy refer to them as as he picks up trash from knocked over trash cans in the back yard.  They are one of the big man's greatest adversaries.  Due to their intelligence, skill, and stealth, they always best him.  I am sad to report that their comrade in the intimidation facility was not lucky.  Apparently he attempted to scale the wall and was frozen to the spot obviously as a warning to others.  Other creatures were not only hung from walls but were also forced to speak at regular intervals about "thick prime cuts of meat" and "succulent summer shrimp."  It was completely barbaric and demonstrated the savagery of these Earthlings.  I must confess I was surprised that such a dimwitted race was capable of it.

The agent assigned to me attempted to play with my mind.  She acted friendly and smiled a lot, calling me, "Little Guy" and remarking how cute I was, especially my chubby cheeks.  But I wasn't fooled.  I knew that at the first opportunity she would grab me and mount me on the wall.  I made sure to never look her in the eye as we all know that making eye contact with Earthlings is fatal (or at least that's the rumor that's been circulating for the last 52 years.)  I even refused to share a "High 5" with her which for some reason all these Earthlings are completely mad about and constantly pester me for.  I notice they rarely request "High 5's" of each other which makes me wonder.

I felt my best defense was to call as little attention to myself as possible.  I maintained silence and tried to keep as still as I could.  That Mommy Lady and her second (Nana Lady) attempted to make contact with me but I refused.  I did show my disdain for them and the facility by throwing my juice box on the floor.  Twice.

Despite their best efforts, they did not break me although I admit it was quite an attempt.  Let me just say that Mommy Lady had quite a diaper to change when we got home.

Is That a Twisted Sister Pin on Your Lapel?

As time progresses, the R.A.'s faith in us dwindles.  I believes he grows increasingly alarmed by our stupendous stupidity.  He probably thinks, "Isn't wisdom supposed to come with age?  If so, Mr. and Mrs. Methuselah should be super geniuses."

But sadly this is not the case.

I have noticed that lately the R.A. rarely allows us to complete tasks without his close supervision.  Tonight he wanted carrots con ketchup.  He verbally placed his order (demand) - "Caahwot.  Caahwot."  Then, knowing full well what a dimwit I am, proceeded to the fridge, opened the door, pulled out the bag of carrots, thrust them at me and repeated, "Caahwot.  Caahwot."  This was accompanied by an expression that read, "Are you getting this?  Because you really don't look like you are.  Are you sure you're getting it?"  It's a look one usually reserves for non English speaking exchange students.  Not trusting that I was competent in how the carrots are served, the R.A. then dug out the ketchup.  "Keh up.  Keh up."  Unfortunately at that moment I had the bag of carrots and a small bowl in my hands so was not immediately prepared for the thrusting of the ketchup bottle.  Thankfully the bottle was plastic and it simply bounced on the floor.  This greatly annoyed the R.A. who screeched, "Keh up!  Keh up!" as if I had committed a grave and unforgivable error.  He also shot me a look that said, "You are worthless and weak."

This close supervision makes me nervous as the R.A. doesn't simply watch to make sure one is completing the task correctly.  The monitoring is accompanied by his barking and snapping and if the R.A. finds me particularly exasperating that day, some tugging and poking.  It gives me the shakes.  I'm trying to go as fast as I can but it's never fast enough and my jangly nerves only add to my clumsiness.  Tonight, as I'm frantically attempting to put the carrots in the bowl, the R.A. is equally frantic.  He's caterwalling to beat the band.  I don't speak fluent alien but if I were capable of translating his remarks I'm sure it would be:

"Just put some carrots in the bowl!  Honestly, how difficult can it be?  No, not that carrot!  What's wrong with you? Can't you see it isn't fit for consumption?  Creatures without opposable thumbs do a better job!  Put the ketchup in the bowl.  Do it now.  Now!  Now!  Now!  Why are you lollygagging?  You are impossible!  Now, what are you doing?  Are you crying?  There's no crying in food preparation!"

I think the R.A. is unrealistic in his expectations of us.  For his own blood pressure's sake he's simply got to lower the bar.  Either that or I've got to spend more time in one.

Lego My Lego

At my place of employment we run a popular Lego Club for kids.  We have a ginormous box of  Lego pieces from various kits.  For Lego Club I just plonk large piles of random Legos on tables and the kids go to town.  And boy do they go to town!  The things they construct are amazing.  Meanwhile I can't figure out how to attach wheels.  At one Lego Club meeting a kid watched me struggle for a few minutes.  He snatched the pieces out of my hands, discarded most of them, substituted new ones and "Voila!" in less than 30 seconds had constructed a wheeled vehicle.  Slapping the vehicle on the table he told me, "You were using the wrong pieces."  Since the kid was only 8 years old he was too young to properly correct me in such a way as to let me know I was a significantly hapless and hopeless dope i.e. shaking of his head, an impatient tut accompanied by a sigh implying he found my stupidity tedious and an irritated "God!" which was shorthand for "Oh my God.  How can anyone be that stupid and still be allowed to live?  Everyone knows how to make Lego vehicles."  Fortunately he's not at that place - yet.  But due to extensive training from the R.A. who, except for the irritated declaration of "God!" (only because of his speech issues) pretty much does everything else described above to imply I am a hapless and hopeless dope. I am already prepared.

My husband has brought both of our children to Lego Club.  My daughter spends the time building Lego creations.  My son spends his time:

1. Out in the audio-visual section of the Children's Department.  One of his favorite library activities is visiting the Thomas the Tank Engine videos (no, not DVD's).  The visit begins with the R.A. breaking free from whatever adult (usually my husband) has accompanied him to the library.  He then bombs over to the AV section.  After locating the videos the R.A. then excitedly jumps up and down in front of them while flashing his gang signals (stimming his hands).  Once the niceties are out of the way he then removes the videos from the shelves, sometimes creating patterns on  the floor a la Dum Dums, sometimes using them as one would building blocks.  Always screeching when  the accompanying adult attempts to remove the videos or the R.A.

2. In my office "coloring" on any piece of paper he can get his hands on, regardless if it's something I actually need for work.  I used to have a bag of Dum Dums in my office (used to bribe middle schoolers into answering questions while on library tours).  Although that was last year the R.A. still enters my office searching, demanding, and keening for the Dum Dums.

Toward the end of Lego Club, my husband and the R.A. will venture back into the meeting room.  As the R.A. is so quiet and retiring he never likes to call attention to himself.  Therefore he usually tears around the room at a frantic pace, cater walling.  He sort of looks like a slightly bigger than average chihuahua on smack.  The R.A. does have a strong aesthetic sense and will occasionally pause to check out some of the creations.  He will demonstrate his approval for a piece of work by leaving a half eaten lolly next to it on the table.

The R.A. also takes time to mingle with the other kids.  A loud cater wall call will alert some unsuspecting child that something is happening.  The child will then look up from his Legos to see the R.A. racing toward him at full speed.  The R.A. comes to a screeching halt just prior to perceived impact.  What the unsuspecting (yet now a little freaked out) child sees is a small boy with more than his fair share of cowlicks, probably with a Dum Dum stuck somewhere to him, screeching and wildly flailing his arms.  In the R.A.'s mind what is actually happening is, "Oh, hey!  I really love your work!  Let's be friends!"

Obviously, since it is Lego Club and the purpose of the activity is to build with Legos, the R.A. does not go near a Lego.  Occasionally he will make a move  to take a Lego from his sister but that isn't interest so much as an opportunity to torment.

But then, suddenly, the R.A. noticed the Legos.  It was like, "Wait a minute!  Are you making stuff out of those little plastic things?  They connect??!!  All this stuff is made out of those little plastic things?  Is that why you guys come here?  So everyone is making stuff?  Let me try!"  Once that light bulb went off the R.A. grabbed some Legos and tried to connect them.  He became so enthusiastic he not only tried to take from other kids' Lego piles but attempted to break down their creations to get at the Legos.

Unfortunately the R.A. finally copped on to the whole concept of Legos at the last meeting he could attend because he started a new school and it was a schedule conflict for him.  I guess this is one of those "better late than never" deals.

Sleep Is Over-Rated

I am certain that we earthlings frustrate the bejaysus out of the R.A.  He finds it impossible to assimilate into Earth society because, to him, we are Magnificent Dopes of the highest order.  No, scratch that.  We're not competent enough to aspire to the "highest order" of Dopedom. I'm sure that when the R.A. first began his mission the plan was assimilation but as time went on and it became apparent to the R.A. that we are seriously messed up, he simply could not bring himself to do it.  I can imagine the calls "home:"

"Yes, it's me again.  Look, that Mommy lady has this thing about not allowing me to climb bureaus.  Honestly, it's bordering on obsession.  Every time I just manage to pull myself up into the sock drawer, there she is.  It's creepy."

"Listen, the food here is inedible.  There are seven maybe eight items fit for consumption.  I have had to fend for myself and those people are determined to starve me out.  Is this a mission or an intergalactic P.O.W. camp?  The other day I was forced to take matters into my own hands.  That Daddy guy took me to one of those CVS shops.  Despite being weak with hunger I was able to make a bee-line for the candy aisle.  Luckily I was able to recall its coordinates due to past recon.  The Daddy guy came bearing down behind me and we had quite a tussle over the utility sized bag of Dum Dums.  Of course I won.  I know the big man's Achilles.  No, it's not actually his Achilles tendon.  Let's just say it's further north and in the center and when I make contact he crumples like an old Dum Dum wrapper."

"Hi.  Yeah, it's me again.  Look, I just can't do it.  They poo in the jacuzzi and now they expect me to.  No, I am not making this up!  I wish they were as cultivated as barbarians.  No, I can't do this.  You've got to get me out of here.  They've stepped up their plans.  I am now wearing undergarments that are not absorbent."

As the R.A. cannot bring himself to assimilate into Earth society (and a transfer from Central Command does not appear forthcoming) he has adopted a different course of action.  He is going to try to mold us into one of his kind.

Boy, does he have his work cut out for him!  The R.A., however is fearless, relentless, and determined to whip us into shape - despite our astonishingly dimwittedness.  Obviously the R.A. digs a challenge.

Today's tactic was sleep deprivation.  The R.A. started serenading us with whiny cater walling at about 3 AM.  With neural typical children, the common wisdom states to leave them alone and they will either get the message that no one is coming or cry themselves to sleep.  This does not work with the R.A.  He has been known to go on for three solid hours.  That's the record and not a true one as he didn't stop crying.  We finally broke down and retrieved him.  You have to understand that the sounds the R.A. emits are very shrill and actually cause one's eardrums to rattle.  There's a real fear that if the R.A. is allowed to continue there will be ear bleeding.  Occasionally we will catch a break and the R.A. will piss, bitch, and moan for an hour and then for some reason he decides he's not up to the challenge and will go back to sleep.  We don't want to rush too soon into his room because as we often say, "Once you pull him out, you're stuck with him."  This morning we gave it the requisite hour and at about 4 AM my husband pulled the R.A. out of his room and brought him into our bed.  Such an act pretty much guarantees that neither my husband or myself will sleep but at least everyone else in the house has a pretty good shot of getting some sleep.

The R.A. is a terrible bed fellow - no doubt all part of his toughening up plan.  If he were all sweet and cozy and snuggled right down to sleep once ensconced in our bed it would defeat the whole purpose of his sleep deprivation plan.  Instead he torments us.  The R.A. has various methods - hair pulling (head, arm, eyebrow), jumping up and down on the bed and jumping up and down on the two twits in the bed, continued screeching in the bed, continued screeching in the bed while jumping up and down on the two twits in the bed.  Torture makes a crazed despot hungry so often in mid torture he will demand a snack.  Last night was primarily screeching and hair pulling night, interrupted only by orders for juice and chips.  As it was still very early morning my husband and I irrationally refused to acquiesce to this request.  I'm sure you know how that went over.

Once the R.A. was confident that we were denied enough sleep to function well during the day ahead he himself fell fast asleep.  No doubt he slept the deep sleep of one who knows he has done a job well.  And he did do his job well.  I base this on the fact that I put my pants on backwards this morning and did not notice until I got to work.

Sing for Your Supper

The R.A. makes all sorts of noises and sounds.  That's what they sound like to our human ears.  In reality he's probably on conference calls to the home planet - "I didn't think it possible but these people are actually becoming even stupider as time progresses.  Let's deep six the invasion and just vaporize the bejeebers out of the whole planet.  I think it would be a real public service for the whole universe.  Oh, and is Whurt Mlerb 8 there?  I have another ketchup recipe for his wife.  Sure, I'll hold."

Anyway, sometimes the noises sound like certain words.  For a while he was making sounds that resembled, "Pop Pop weeeezil."  One day my husband said, "I think he's saying, 'Pop goes the weasel.'"

"No, he's not," I disagreed.  "Where would he have heard such a thing?  It isn't in his orbit."

My husband counter disagreed with my disagreeing and insisted that the R.A. was saying "Pop goes the weasel." 

"Look," said my husband.  He turned to the R.A. and said, "Pop goes the weasel."  The R.A. became excited so then my husband started singing the song.  This only excited the R.A. more.

Son of a gun.  My husband was right.  The R.A. was singing "Pop Goes the Weasel."  Where he heard it, we don't know.  I asked his teacher and she said they did not sing it at school.  Maybe it is on his greatest hits MP3 player from the home planet.

The R.A. was thrilled that his significantly dim caregivers finally copped on to his favorite song.  Despite our dimness, we were thrilled that he was using language.  We always sing to him and with him to encourage his language development and added "Pop Goes the Weasel" to our limited repertoire. (We'll never be confused for a white, mixed gender version of Destiny's Child but we sing with great gusto.  Hopefully that makes up for our general lack of "bootyliciousness.")

Eventually, instead of us initiating the singing of PGTW*, the R.A. would come to us, jump up and down, wave his hands and say, "Pop Pop Weeeezil" meaning, "Excuse me, Mother/Father, I should very much like a rousing rendition of my favorite tune, 'Pop Goes the Weasel."  Gladly we would oblige, and would sing the first 27 rounds of it with tremendous spirit.  By about the 28th or so our enthusiasm would wane not to mention that we had lives to lead so we were unable to sing PGTW completely uninterrupted for hours at a time.  To this the R.A. responded, "Not my problem."  Of course he didn't say "Not my problem" but we could tell by his body language (grabbing our arms and shaking them while demanding "POP POP WEEEEZIL") that's what he felt.

The other night I was getting my dinner ready.  The R.A. was keeping me company - toe walking around the kitchen while making his nightly conference call to the home planet and also lining up his trains on the floor - you know, the usual.  Suddenly he decided it was music time, tugging on my shirt and saying, "Pop pop weeezil."  One never denies a command performance so I started to trill, "All around the cobbler's bench..." and pretty much kept it up right up until I finally sat down and picked up my fork.  I thought since I'd sung it about 42 times I had satisfied the R.A. and also earned my right to a meal.

I believe the R.A. comes from a very tough planet.  They probably think ancient Spartans were nothing but a bunch of froofy Princess Kitties - "Come back with your shield or on it?" the R.A.'s people would scoff at this common directive from Spartan mothers sending their sons off to battle.  "What sort of delicate deely beepers (home planet equivalent to our daisies) need shields?"  Then they no doubt laugh uproariously.

This toughness no doubt permeates all life on the home planet including entertainment.  I say this because although I kept telling the R.A. that I could not continue singing as I was eating, he wasn't buying it.  He grabbed my hand that was holding my fork and shook it - "POP POP WEEEZIL!!!"  To no avail was I able to convince him that singing and eating were not a good combination.  Obviously there is no messing around with dinner theater on the home planet.  Woe to the alien that is not tough enough to perform and consume dinner.  (I would also hate to see the state of the floors and tables during these shows.  I wonder if the audience is provided with rain type ponchos to keep themselves somewhat clean during the performance.)

This type of thing is not something to compromise on.  It isn't safe to sing and eat and anyway, even if the R.A. does have autism he still has to understand that I am the parent and what I say goes.

Yeah, right.  You know darn well that I sang and attempted to eat dinner simultaneously.  I do not recommend it as there is a lot of sputtering and choking involved, neither of which is tolerated by the R.A. who viewed them as unnecessary interruptions.  When it was finally over he looked at me as if to say, "Not your best performance."  I was just relieved he didn't make me start all over again. I live to sing another day!  Oh, wait.  Maybe that isn't such a good thing...

*"Pop Goes the Weasel"