Let’s Blog, Blog, Daddy-O, Daddy-O: March 10, 2006

In which there are dancing sled dogs.

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If I seem a little cranky today, you can blame it on the adorable little girl in a red coat who is standing on the sidewalk across the street and S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G like she is being eaten alive, very slowly, by wolves. Now, I am all for allowing Small People to exercise their growing vocal cords to a reasonable extent, and God and all my former neighbors know that I was nowhere near to being the quietest kid on the playground when I was young. But if you, child or not, decide to make that kind of noise on the street in broad daylight, there’s a very good chance that I’m going to come outside to make sure you’re not getting bamboo slivers shoved under your fingernails—and if you’re not getting bamboo slivers shoved under your fingernails, then I’m going to do so, because it is apparently Opposite Day and only agonizing torture will make you shut up. And don’t think you’re going to get out of it because you’re all cute in your little red coat. That kid in Schindler’s List had a little red coat too, and she still ended up in a Nazi wheelbarrow.

Ahem. On with the entry.

I know that this whole “write a ton of entries offline and then upload them all at once, with most of them being way past their ‘sell-by’ date” thing has probably got you all confused and embittered, and for that I am sorry. But the thing is—and I’m going to be brutally honest here, because I love you and I want this relationship to work—it’s probably not going to change. See, my life runs quite similar to an Arctic expedition: slipping on ice, warding off scurvy, and stock-piling “letters” that are all sent off (and therefore arrive) all at once. It’s a bad analogy, but it’s a bad analogy with a point: when there’s a little lull and then you get a bunch of entries at once, don’t grumble about my lack of organization; be glad that I’m alive and haven’t been eaten by my starving subordinates. (And then send me some lime juice, because my gums are bleeding.)

Arctic exploration has been on my mind a lot lately, mostly—and this may sound trivial, but believe me, it’s not—as a means of escape from that goddamned Old Navy commercial, the one with the stripes and the human chain and that catchy song where the girls go, “shake, shake, daddy-o, daddy-o!”* With my luck, I’d wind up in some wind-blasted, snow-scoured icehell, all settled in for the long northern night… and then into my igloo would shuffle a line of sled dogs, all holding paws and singing, “mush, mush, daddy-o, daddy-o!” And then I would crawl outside, onto the vast and freezing expanse of newly-named Old Navy Tundra, where I would throw myself on my seal harpoon and die, die, daddy-o, daddy-o.

As is the case with all my weird obsessions, this recent Arctic fascination has begun to wear on my family, who have heard way too many “interesting” facts about polar bears and igloos to still consider me sane. Fortunately for them, I have almost finished the Arctic shelf at the library, and will soon have no more to say about the Northwest Passage and the Franklin Expedition (are you sure you don’t want to hear about that last one, guys? It’s got cannibalism… oh, all right, then). Fortunately for me and my morbid inclinations, right next to the library’s Arctic shelf is the section on mutinies. Yarr, matey! Fear my insubordinate wrath! Yarr!

* Because people keep looking up the song in Google and finding this page: the song is “Clap! Shake! Jump” by Behavior (featuring Andrea Revel); you can download a free partial version at the band’s site.

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