Dadblog

Culture kids

I took Alex and Andrew to the orchestra on a rainy Saturday last weekend. We had three tickets to see Peter and the Wolf at the young persons' concert. Interestingly, Rachel and I had been to the old person's concert the night before, so (as Rachel bragged to her parents on the phone that evening) Joe Stern attended two orchestra concerts inside 24 hours. I'm not the unicivilized, half-feral animal I used to be.

Alex elected to skip ballet class and come with me and Andrew at the last moment, when Rachel gave her the option. I was pleased that she wanted to come with us. The last time we went to the orchestra, both of us had to be coerced.

Just after Rachel and Elizabeth dropped the three of us off at the train station, we heard a loud cr-a-a-a-ck!! We looked up in time to see a huge tree branch fall and take down the topmost wire from the adjacent SEPTA pole. It wasn't sparking or crossing the tracks, but I called 911 from my cell anyway. Alex was thrilled to see a real life civics lesson. She'd learned about 911 in school, but never actually seen it used before. I told her that the dispatcher had promised to send a police car.

Three minutes later, a police car circled the parking lot and left without stopping. I didn't spell out the cynical civics lesson to the kids and they didn't mention it. At least the conductor on the train was interested in what we had to tell him.

The older kids are decent walkers now, so we made it from the downtown train station to the beautiful symphony hall in quick time. Alex showed Andrew how the inside of Verizon hall has the shape of a cello. Our seats were in the cheap section, but the view and sound were fine. The program was sixty minutes long, just right for kids, and after it ended Alex suggested that when Andrew grows up, he should be the guy who dances around the stage, interpreting the Peter/Wolf story for young audiences. Both Andrew and I agreed with this.

After the concert, the kids insisted that we have our lunch at the Continental. Rachel had taken Andrew there after a concert once since we went there the first time last December. They sat in the cocoon chairs that hang from the ceiling, and Andrew got really nauseous spinning back and forth during his meal, so this time we took a booth. When our brunch arrived, both kids offered warm "Thank yous" with eye contact to the guy ferrying our plates.

The server said, "You've got really nice manners!"

"Thanks," I said. And then asked, "You were including me too, right?"

Alex and Andrew were so nice to each other and to me. It's a huge relief to see them get older, and stop the incessant squabbling that often makes family time irritating.

boom boom

Andrew's fifth birthday party is tomorrow. His grandparents have already sent him his most desired present, a fervently wished-for drum kit (bass drum, floor tom, snare, cymbal and seat). It will, by God, live in the basement for all time.

Andrew's present from the rest of the family is something that Rachel told me to get. She described it as a set of brightly-colored plastic tubes that, when smacked on the ground, make tuneful percussive noises. Andrew is all about tuneful percussion and smacking, so it seemed like a great idea to me. I was told that it could be found at 8th St. Music in Center City Philadelphia, so I made a special trip to pick it up this week during lunch.

I went inside the showroom and was instantly transported back to a time twenty years ago, when I used to haunt stores like this whenever I could beg a ride. At first it was clarinet reeds, and soon it was rock gear like amplifiers, MIDI controllers and keyboards. I never did anything serious with music as a youth, but I enjoyed browsing and shopping for its equipment. It amused me to see that for all that technology has changed the music business between the 20th and 21st centuries, there is much that remains exactly the same. Drums are still drums, axe-shaped guitar bodies still look scary, and the guys working in the store still seem slightly out of synch with the world that I live in. One of them, wearing too-tight jeans, approached me as I scanned the shelves to ask if I needed help finding something.

"I'm looking for 'Boomwhackers', I told him."

"'Boomwhackers'," he repeated back to me, incredulously.

"Boomwhackers", I said again.

"Boomwhackers," he repeated, his eyebrows going flat while his head tilted sideways.

I saw the setup for what it was and could only admire Rachel's ingenuity. What a crafty prank. And I had fallen for it completely. "You know - colored tubes...music...." I was fumbling, looking for an exit.

At that moment another employee came up and looked at my sales guy imploringly. "Boomwhackers!" He turned to me and nodded. I didn't commit.

"Boomwhackers?" said my sales guy for the third time, but the first time with a question mark at the end.

"Boomwhackers!" said the second guy. "You know - plastic tubes?"

"OHH, BOOMwhackers!" said the first guy. He led me to a high-up shelf where the holiday merch was stored 10 feet off the ground. He stood on a shelf of sheet music to reach a box of BWs, and since he was 50 years old and weighed 110 pounds it didn't crumble beneath him. I paid at the counter and left with my brightly colored tubes in a large, black plastic bag for discretion on the subway.

Rachel said, thanks for thinking I'm so capable, but you know I could never pull off a joke like that.

got the beat

Andrew showed me his LOUD drums last night. He sets up cooking pots in a semicircle around his seat (the bottom step of our staircase) and wails away with chopsticks. You     can't       think          when       he's             play      ing.

This morning Rachel took Elizabeth to see Miss Bev at the library. Miss Bev reads stories, blows bubbles, plays a tuneless guitar (the same songs every week, unchanged since Alex was a toddler) and all our kids adore(d) her. Rachel told me that Lizzie really liked the singing, and also the little instruments that got passed around. When it came time to return the little instruments to the bag, though, Lizzie became irate and had to be removed from the circle to go look at the fish tank until she cooled down.

way up in the sky

The bunk beds arrived yesterday while I was at work.

Alex and Andrew were jumpy and excited, and had to be kept out of the bedroom where the delivery men were assembling. Andrew put on his and Alex's new favorite CD, "A Boy Named Goo" by The Goo Goo Dolls and started dancing.

I was riding in the car with them two Saturdays ago when I declared that I simply could not bear to listen to theme songs from the Disney Channel again, and offered up The Goo Goo Dolls instead, as "real RAWK music". To my surprise, they really liked it and now play it daily. Not to my surprise, Rachel doesn't like it at all, which is why I had been keeping the Goo Goo Dolls in the car in the first place.

Alex wanted to know everything I knew about TGGD, but all I could tell her was:

1. This album is now ten years old. I don't know anything before or since, or if they still tour or even talk to each other
2. The Goo Goo Dolls hail from upstate New York
3. I heard a guy on the radio once say that they were really ugly

One of the Bunk Bed guys, paused mid-schlep to say "I didn't think anyone still listened to this stuff anymore. He told Rachel about meeting them at a show on South Street, years ago. But now he listens to country music.

Lizzie, who was snotty sick, hated the strange men coming into the house, carrying lumber up the steps. Rachel had to keep her parked on her hip for hours to keep her from screaming in rage. She didn't recover even after the men had left. Rachel told the big kids that we wouldn't get the mattresses set up until Daddy came home, but they were so bereft that she undertook the project anyway - one handed. Imagine setting up mattresses while counterbalanced by a heavy baby - who'd been up hourly the night before - and appreciate just how tired Rachel was by the time I came in the door.

When I did arrive, Rachel told me that I had neglected to purchase "Bunky Boards" when I got the bed at Baby Supermart. A bunky board is the platform on which the mattresses rest. I believe this is the sort of thing a Baby Supermart salesman ought to tell a customer when he orders a set of bunk beds, but it's too late for blame now. I had a one hour window before Baby Supermart closed for the night. I didn't consider it a choice. I ripped out the minivan seats and stepped heavily on the gas pedal.

$106 later, I had two Bunky Boards in the van and was headed home. I hauled them upstairs and put them on the bunk bed. I put Andrew's new mattress on the bottom bunk, then pushed Alex's mattress up on top. A quick visual inspection revealed that, together with the Bunky Board, the mattress now pushed up to just over an inch from the top of the guard rail. The warning sticker on the bed firmly declares that the minimum clearance is five inches.

Rachel and I had been rolling our eyes over our oversight. When we purchased the two new mattreses earlier this month, we forgot that Alex ALREADY HAD a twin mattress on her bed. We now have an extra one to keep in the basement, either as a hot spare in case of sudden mattress failure or in reserve for Elizabeth. This would seem sensible, except we're going to renovate the basement this summer and everything nonessential must go.

I took down Alex's new mattress and hoisted up her original mattress, a little skinnier and a little smaller than the new one, but hardly worn out by her 45 lb frame. The clearance was now four inches - acceptable on a short term basis. We will have to swap three-quarter-inch plywood (est cost $50) for the two-inch thick bunky board to make up the difference.

At this point, I announced that the top berth was now finally ready for kid exploration. Alex climbed up the ladder and - disappeared. We couldn't see her when she was up there. All we noticed is how close she is to the ceiling. When she sat up, she bumped her head. I saw multiple levels of regret and discomfort surfing across my wife's face.

Alex began reading the safety label out loud to us. "You can peel that off, honey," Rachel told her. "But Mom," Alex replied, "it says 'DO NOT REMOVE THIS LABEL.' It's in all capital letters. That means it's important!" Rachel cringed.

The story has a happy ending, and a happy beginning and middle too, if you focus on how happy the kids are about this expensive project. Everybody slept through the night without plunging to the floor. As the Goo Goo Dolls sing, it's a long way down.

Little Giants

Rachel and I took the kids to see a free They Might Be Giants family concert at a nearby Borders book store. We would have needed to pack a picnic dinner and get there by four for the best spaces, and as it was we just got there before the concert started. Many tall fans were there, several still years away from having children, and I began to worry about how disappointing this could be to my kids.

Alex had to use the bathroom, so Rachel took her up to the second floor. I held Lizzie, dropped all our winter coats in a pile at my feet, and tried to prop Andrew up on my hip so he could see the performers. I wasn't going to keep them both up for a whole song, much less a concert, so I was so relieved when the tall fellow next to me offered to hoist Andrew on his shoulders. I didn't even ask Andrew, I just handed him up.

Liz just watched with borderline interest, I bobbed and smiled, and kept checking Andrew. He was expressionless, in a trance. I knew he was engaged because he clapped furiously at the end of every song.

Rachel and Alex had been having a hard time finding us, so they had ridden up and down in the glass elevator a few times, discovering it afforded the best view in the store. Finally, they ran into friends who had reported seeing Andrew standing head and shoulders above the crowd and were able to give Rachel coordinates to our location. I traded daughters with Rachel and put Alex upstairs on my shoulders.

After 25 minutes, my generous neighbor needed to take a break, so we went upstairs to catch the last songs from the mezannine. Alex liked the show alright - I think her favorite part was sharing a common interest with her dad. Rachel pronounced the performers even goofier than she thought they would be. Andrew decided that when he grows up, he's going to be a drummer and a guitar player.

If you have kids or are a big TMBG fan, you should pick up the latest album (Here Come the ABCs). It's very catchy. Andrew plays it multiple times per day. If we're discreet and don't let him know we're watching, he will set up his drum kit and play along.

rock *

Indulge me for a moment in a post that has very little to do with children.

Last night I went with my friend Chuck to see They Might Be Giants perform at the TLA on South Street. We skipped the opening act, and ended up in the back of the hall. Chuck was excited because he'd recently learned that the guitar player - Dan Miller - was the very same Dan Miller who had played in Chuck's high school cover band in Rochester, NY. When the band took the stage with a rollicking rendition of "Experimental Film", Chuck looked on slack-jawed as his old bandmate rocked out on stage.

The show was very good, just like the last time I saw them in 2001. They played a lot of material from the new album, which I like. It was amazing to see the age spread in the auditorium. There were as many 16 year olds as 40 year olds, and of course lots of people in their 20s and 30s. Lots of the younger dudes were singing along with all the old songs too. TMBG has a very deep catalog for today's youth to master.

I saw TMBG for the first time when I was 19 years old, when they came to play at Haverford College. I had joined the concert committee so I spent the afternoon unloading amplifiers off the truck and sitting in on the sound check. At one point, John Flansburgh (the garrulous one) offhandedly mentioned that one song would separate the boys from the girls.

"Wait," I told him. "'Girl' is a loaded term on this campus. You're going to get booed if you say it."

"Oh come on," he replied. "That is so feeble. Once you get out of college nobody cares about that shit. All my lesbian separatists friends call themselves girls."

"Really, 'girl' is a shin-kicking word here. You should say 'separate the boys from the women.' The crowd will love it."

He looked disgusted, but sure enough, during the show, he delivered the line with perfect timing. And it brought the roof down. What can I say, other than it was 1989? Do people today remember what "PC" meant back then?

During last night's show, the band played three songs from "No!", their kids' album. I discovered I was standing in a small pocket of fathers when we all recognized the songs.

After the final encore, Chuck moved towards the front of the stage as the crowd receded back towards the exit. Dan the guitarist came onto the floor, on his way to the sound board, when Chuck arrested him with a shout of "Opus reunion!" Dan did a double-take and they had a emotional connection. It had been twenty years since they had seen each other last.

Dan escorted us back to the cordoned off sound board so he could pick up his Powerbook. He was so very down to earth and friendly. Here's an excerpt from my exclusive interview:

JS: Do you get to list "Rock Star" as your occupation on your tax forms? DM: Yes. I change it around. Sometimes I put "Guitar Hero".

JS: Are you an independent contractor, or do you work for the They Might Be Giants Corporation?
DM: I'm kind of a limited partner.

JS: Do they offer you a 401(k)?
DM: I get all the paperwork.

He promised to get in touch with Chuck the next time they play in Philadelphia so they can go out for dinner and get his name on the guest list.

I was thinking what it would be like to see one of the fellows I played in bands with make it as a professional - in one of my very favorite bands, no less - and realized that it would have been Tony Went, who died much too young.

Enjoy the show

Looking over the previous entries, I don't see much description of Andrew's love of music and performing. This is a terrible oversight. The little dude is a rock star waiting to happen.

His favorite musical influence is still The Wiggles but he's open to other ideas. He used to play air guitar with anything handy, but then someone gave him a kid-size acoustic guitar and that's what he plays now. We put music on the stereo and he plays along, dancing and singing. He can carry a tune.

He is also very brave about performing for visitors. Given the slightest suggestion, he will command a stage and anounce, "Wadies and Gentamin, the instwument show is about to begin!"

[Pause to tune his guitar, like Uncle Dan and Uncle Steve do.]

"I am going to sing...ABCD!"

Yesterday he and Alex were scouring a catalog of Halloween costumes, a favorite pastime. They came to the punk rocker page, and Andrew got very excited. Alex liked the clothes, but Andrew wanted to get the photo props: a microphone and purple curtains.

Concerts he has grooved to so far:
The Wiggles (Danbury CT)
IKE (Radnor, PA)