superfantastic supernatural nephew

babies are small. all the babies i know right now are extremely small. this does not stop them from exploring what sort of rare creatures they are. the following photos are of my new nephew alex. he is still exploring his supernatural abilities (see earlier entry). it seems he's got some sort of shape/substance shifting skills and also some possible night light skills. his parents posted a few black and white photos on their blog, but this doesn't even begin to capture how spectacular he is. here's their b&w first. the real photos (and his true nature) follow.





this is his bas relief skill. he can just hang out on the facades of buildings, looking for crime to fight if he feels like it. he can also get into museums free this way. he's a pretty smart guy.









this unusual photo captures the split second when alex is rearranging his particulate matter to change from solid to liquid. i know you're jealous. who wouldn't want to be able to swim around with squids and sharks and starfish and let them swim right through your insides?



here he is in his liquid form. this may not seem like a very impressive ability, but here he's 99.99999% liquid with only a thin membrane much like a jellyfish keeping him all together. this allows him a great deal of flexibility so he can pretty much seep into or out of any situation. right now he doesn't shift into this form very often. the diapers present a hazard with their extreme absorbency.





here he's in ghost form. i thought that one seemed a bit silly, but in this form he can fly all over the world, dropping in on the dreams of evildoers, terrifying them into turning their lives around. i know he doesn't look terrifying here, but he's still a baby. he's still working out the kinks.

this last is my favorite. to regular humans he shows his human form because it would be too overwhelming to see what he really looks like all the time, like staring at the sun or having an endless supply of chocolate. you should only glimpse it for a bit, but it's worth a look. in his natural form all his supernaturalness swirls around him and he glows.

chair lift

this entry is under construction and will contain quite a few more images of my mom suffering at some point, but i couldn't make folks wait while i tried to capture the ridiculousness of this story.

my mother subscribes to a logic that is completely indecipherable to normal humans. this is not entirely her fault. moms move within a world defined by selflessness and the protection of helpless small things. i think that for some, when the helpless small things grow up, this motivation warps in on itself and makes many moms into completely baffling creatures whose every move is subject to a new scrutiny that includes hysterical laughter and howls of "i can't even begin to understand what you were thinking!" from the children. this is, obviously, when mothers are at their weakest and dutiful children wouldn't dare capitalize on that weakness. sorry mom. you raised me to seize an opportunity...

a while ago my mom fought a pitched battle against two cruel foes, sheet ice and her calcium-poor bones. perhaps if she hadn't been wearing clogs on the ice in the middle of winter, but that's another story altogether. my dear, sweet mother is legendary for her ability to go from vertical to on her butt (or shoulder or probably even her head) in under a second and for her inability to wear shoes appropriate to the outdoor weather (or any shoes, half the time). this combination of skill and decision-making left her less than victorious against the ice. she ended up with a broken femur and a new appreciation for my dad’s personal assistant skills. although she is mending, she still needs a little help from a wheelchair when she’s out.

just so you know, my parents raised three daughters whose careers center around working with people who have disabilities. we see things like crutches and wheelchairs and even some dogs as tools to help folks do the things they want to do when their bodies have had difficulty. so our mom’s strange attitude about her own wheelchair is not something she learned from us.

we raised her better and are beginning to question those coffee and danish consuming thugs she spends time with at the food court of the mall.

back to the present. a few days ago, the parents were out driving around and had a flat tire. now, you should probably know about the times they’ve run out of gas and all, but I don’t have time for the whole story, so for now we’re at the flat tire. they got their sassy van towed to goodyear and several attempts to patch the tire were failures. they had to buy a new one. no problem. dad picked out a tire, paid and drove the van onto the lift. he got out. mom didn’t get out.

now, to be fair, she claims dad told her they’d only be waiting five minutes and she figured it would take more than that to get her out of the car and into the chair. however, this is not likely. she had to insist. she had to go way beyond insisting. the guys at garages do not allow people to be in the cars when the cars are on lifts. try it. see what you get.

when her children were in school mom kept herself out of trouble by being a substitute teacher. for reasons none of us can figure, she tended to be beloved by evil little boys, the kind who grow up to be written about in the police blotter on a regular but boring basis. we’ve considered that maybe she used some sort of hypnosis on them, but we know for sure she has power over a certain part of the population nobody else seems to have power over. for instance, people who work at toll booths or the returns desk at sears, or even guys operating the lifts at garages.

no one will ever know how mom controls the world, but it doesn't really matter. what does matter is that she spent an entire thursday afternoon on a lift in the goodyear shop, gazing out above the heads of all the grease smeared goodyear guys while my dad sipped coffee and read the paper in the climate controlled waiting room.

the absolutely true story of my new nephew without any embellishment whatsoever

my baby sister had her kid. you can read the version of things she and her husband concocted here: becomingabunch.blogspot.com. or you can find out the sordid truth right where you are. read on. first, in a shameless bid for attention predictable in the youngest of a set of siblings, my sister conspired with her unborn child to create a frightening, dramatic arrival. this arrival involved sharp instruments, a briefly external uterus and a short stint in n.i.c.u. both are resting happily at home with a very giddy dad now, so don't fret. however, any information you read on their blog is a smokescreen to hide the true facts. the child is, well.... supernatural. there. i've said it.

it shouldn't come as a surprise. his older cousin is supernatural as well. when that child arrived he was unable to ingest human milk, formula or cow milk. he began to get very sick and was slightly terrifying. his parents finally consulted an oracle living in the crashed space ship in their backyard and began feeding the child a combination of crushed meteorites, stalactites and copper wrapped in cheese. he now gets stars and happy faces on all his papers at school.

back to the new one. if you've visited their blog, you'll see him in those goggles and will read their claim of a mildly lemony child. those of you who have been to sedona, area 51, spooklight or our fine new chud sanctuary will be fully aware that they've figured out he has a vision skill. now, supernatural babies are just like other babies in that they don't necessarily have control of their skills. if they did, they wouldn't need diapers. he was born with legs but will have to learn to control their movement so he can walk, run, swim and fly. likewise, whatever is behind those goggles isn't yet entirely under his control and his very responsible parents are goggling him to protect the world from potential accidental laser beams or levitation. personally, i am hoping his vision skill involves being able to move lumber from one place to another and assemble it in a pleasing manner because we need a new fence here and the wood floors are going to need to be replaced soon.

he called the other day and although i have not yet been able to decipher his supernatural language, i think he said, "i will be coming to visit in late may. get me a ticket to that levon helm show you're seeing." it might have been, "why didn't i get any angel pants? mine have a pointy tail!" the smaller dog who lives here thinks it was, "saddle up the dogs! i'll be out in september for a nice fall hike!"

and of course i told him, "come on out. bring the big cousin. we've got the bunk beds up and the dogs are saddled. there's plenty of cheese."

post office train station

first off, a kid in class today called me a fucking pussy. i kicked him out of class for something else and he was mad and muttered it as he walked past me. generally, i deal with evil language in the classroom. it is rare that kids say anything directly to me, but when they do it's usually "you're such a bitch". my response is generally "i'm well aware of that. do you have anything new to contribute to the class?"

after school i went to the post office to mail a package. i did not go to the post office in my neighborhood because i have considered whether i could get away with stabbing someone each time i've been inside the place. so i went to another one. three people in line. two people behind the bulletproof glass. evidently this is a stressful ratio for the postal folk. ten minutes later the little bell dings and the arrow lights up pointing left. i go left. the troll behind the glass snarls, "i''m closed!" i say, "but the bell and the arrow..." as i am saying this, the bell dings again and the light points left. i point at it. there is no other clerk on the left and she has to be pushing the button to signal the bell and light. she does not address this issue. "i'm closed!" she howls. i attempt, through three more bells and lights, to explain that her hideous self is sitting at a window that says "open" and the stupid bell and light keep saying she's open. the other clerk has been with the same person since i walked in. eventually, i walk out in disgust.

i turn a corner and see a woman teetering on ill-fitting high heeled boots. she's maybe 40 with a bag full of groceries and a horrible pleather coat. i walk behind her half a block before the faceplant. it sounds horrible. bananas, cucumbers, onions, papers everywhere. i help her up. she is physically fine but is nearly in tears. she thanks and thanks and thanks, says she fell a few weeks ago. once she's standing i help her get the food back in her bag. she only lives a block away. it isn't likely she'll make it home.

post office two. three clerks and fifteen people in line. the clerks are rowdy, yelling across the room to each other, cackling. one calls everyone baby. the old men like this more than anyone. this is my second favorite post office. although it is wild, i know i'll be out in ten minutes, even if the line is out the door. i am finally second from the windows when the woman in front of me sees a package on the table. she asks the woman at the window if it's hers. it isn't. we look. it is a small item in a padded envelope. small but fat. it has an address in very weak handwriting with no zip code. there is no return address. the envelope is poorly sealed. the woman in front of me is uncomfortable. i am a paranoid person so i am even more uncomfortable. i get tunnel vision. we come up with the same solution at the same time. we talk loudly about the unclaimed package sitting a foot from us at chest level. we wonder loudly what it could be and who might have left it. we live in a town where people are still slightly on edge. we don't think of ourselves as on edge, but this morning someone exploded a small bomb somewhere around times square and we felt uneasy coming to work on the trains. there is nothing really to be done about it, so we don't go all out. we don't panic. we just keep a reserve of unease and suspiciousness. finally, a clerk says, "some man stole a guy's wallet and now he's trying to mail it back to the guy. i ain't about to touch it". i mail my package and am out in ten minutes.

subway platform. it is about five pm on a southbound underground platform in brooklyn. there is a woman on my side of the platform who looks like a soccer mom with an unsuccessful bid to bring back the early eighties, at least in terms of fashion. she is heavy, but only through the hips. they are three times a wide as any other part of her. this does not help her look. she is muttering across the tracks angrily. her target is a man who makes me question miles davis' death. he doesn't look like the man. he is. right down to the suit. the hair. the shoes. her muttering intensifies and she screams "DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT IMMIGRATION?"

i get on the train, tired because i've been up since five am, mostly standing and talking. nobody screams. nobody shakes. nobody slaps a child in the face. there are no terrifying lectures about jesus, the trains or impending doom. no homeless people near death. nobody is whispering about bombs,guns, knives. the train is not even crowded. only a few of us are standing. i lean against the pole, rest my head on it. a man get up and gives me his seat.