Things That Make You Go Hmmm

My buddy Joe was one of the first to get his driver’s license out of the guys I hung out with in high school.  Whenever I hear C+C Music Factory (which is extremely rare come to think of it,) my mind teleports to riding through the streets of Manchester in Joe’s Mazda 626 while Gonna Make You Sweat blared out any attempted conversation between the passengers.  Ah, the nineties.  I digress.

Tilly has recently transitioned somewhere from Australopithecus man to Homo habilis man.  Assuming the memory serves me correctly from World Cultures class, Australopithecus was one of the more primitive primates from whom humans evolved.  Homo habilis was the first species in the evolutionary chain who used tools.  I think.  Or maybe it was Homo erectus.

 

Irregardless, Tilly has begun mastering pulling herself up to stand.  The other day, I saw her standing at the toy tool table.  She was firing away at the circular saw until Gus came along and nudged her out of the way.  Tilly then grabbed a toy hammer and whacked away at her brother’s leg.  Hence, homo habilis.

Notwithstanding her evolutionary progression, Tilly’s eating quirks are probably more akin to Cro-Magnon man or possibly Neanderthal.  First, the volume of food she consumes is akin to the intake of a Biggest Loser contestant the night before they begin a competition.  Second, her table manners are atrocious.  We basically need a high-powered hose to blast away all the food scraps and crumbs that accumulate between her fingers, in her hair, on her cheeks, and in the folds of her neck after a meal. 

Most entertaining, though, is the sound that Tilly makes once we’ve begun to feed our little beast.  The only way I can accurately describe my baby’s happy hum while eating is well, um, the sound I imagine of a woman taking a bubble bath with several lit candles around her after a couple glasses of Chardonnay as she watches that movie about male strippers starring Channing Tatum and Matthew McConaughey.  I’m just saying. It’s funny and uncomfortable to witness at the same time.

That’s is for this week.  I’m off to download “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)” because I can’t get it out of my brain.

Thoughts Too Long for Side Note at Side Bar:

THE WIFE graciously granted me a short parole this weekend so I could catch at least one of the four NFL playoff games.  I headed to Owen O’Leary’s, which is an Irish Pub and Restaurant just over the border between Easton and Brockton.  I’d never eaten there but I drive by it literally every single day, so it’s been on the list of places to check out for a while.

Upon entering, I deduced quickly that the average age of the clientele was somewhere between seventy and eighty years old.  Mind you, I was there on a Sunday at four o’clock, but I was still surprised at how much of a hot spot this was for the “well into retirement” crowd.

So this place is an old school type of family restaurant with very affordable entrees and Keno to boot.  The ambience is kind of dark and sleepy.  The décor is kind of outdated but clean and presentable.  Most of the couples ignored each other and their food because their eyes were transfixed on the monitor to see if they hit on their seven pick exacto.

I ordered the shepard’s pie and a stout.  Neither disappointed.  Good stuff.  Rumor has it that OO’s has a younger crowd during Pats’ games and when Stonehill’s students are back in session, but I’ll believe it when I see it…

I caught the Seahawks-Redskins game and just before it began, Erin Andrews (formerly of ESPN, Dancing With The Stars, and the unfortunate victim of a peeping Tom with a camera as she changed in a hotel room) came on the screen with a Fox pre-game report.  I couldn’t help but notice that everyone in the place all took a brief pause to look at the gorgeous woman.  I forgot how attractive she is…

I ask this sincerely because making fun of health issues just isn’t funny.  Has anyone heard Boomer Esiason’s voice lately?  Somebody give that guy a lozenge.  Just listening to him gives me a sore throat.  I’ll feel like a complete jackass if he genuinely has a throat sickness or something, but assuming that’s not the case, he needs to take some time off from work like yesterday.  Every time I hear him on the radio, I crave a hot toddy…

Speaking of the radio, the best report I heard after leaving the restaurant went something like this, “Thanks Jim.  I was just standing near the bench of the Seahawks and [the field goal kicker I think] was having his groin stretched feverishly.”  Personally, I’m pretty sure I know how I’d react to someone stretching my groin.  For said person to stretch my groin feverishly, well, I’d probably start making sounds like Tilly does when she’s eating a nice meal…

The Next Pollock?

Although the dark lit room of my art history classroom almost always lulled me to sleep – that is assuming I actually made it to class - I remember how several of the artists had groups of works inspired by a particular theme.  Goya’s black paintings, Gauguin’s Tahitian pieces, and Monet’s haystacks come to mind, for example.  In keeping with such a precedent, I present to you a collection of works by aspiring young artist Greta Teravainen. 

The Early Years: 2012 Holiday Gallery

My Family

Title: Tilly When She's a Big Girl

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Nana

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Gus

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Mom

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on (stained) paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Greta

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Dad

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Winter

Title: Snowballs a/k/a The Map

Date: December 8, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Snowmen

Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Our Christmas Tree from Last Year

Date: December 8, 2012
Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")
Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Untitled

Date: Undated

Type: Sparkle and glue on (stained) paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

The G Series

Title: G Path
Date: Undated

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Big G Path
Date: Undated

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Bigger G Path
Date: Undated

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Still Life

Title: Banana
Date: December 8, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: Rapunzel
Date: December 4, 2012

Type: Sparkle and glue on (stained) paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

Title: A Design (Bird in Flight)
Date: undated

Type: Sparkle and glue on paper (8.5" x 11")

Location: T Family Institute of Art - Kitchen

_____________________________________________________

We hope you enjoyed this collection from Greta.  Come back again for an exclusive interview with the artist...

A Little Summer in Winter

Back in fourth or fifth grade, I had a buddy whose family took me with them to a house party in Manchester on one July Fourth holiday.  Parents pretty much socialized inside the hosts’ house, while the kids ran amok outside.  I don’t recall whether the parents were not watching us closely or simply didn’t have much concern, but we ten or eleven year-olds were left to entertain ourselves.  To my utter shock and delight, it dawned on me that my peers were playing with lighters, matches, and – most importantly – fireworks.  When I look back on this occasion, it was probably one of the highlights of my short life up to that point. 

My parents were reasonably lenient about letting my brother and me engage in those “boys will be boys” activities, which were inherently dangerous but almost impossible to prevent unless they stood watch over us constantly.  You know, I’m thinking about things like climbing trees that were tall enough to kill or maim us, should a branch snap and we fell.  Or riding bikes helmetless while trespassing in the sand and gravel pits with signs clearly marked “Keep Out.”  Or hanging around the train tracks to put pennies on the rails before an engine came rumbling by Robie’s Store as we ate penny candy.  You catch my drift.

Still, my parents had their boundaries.  And handling flammable exploding projectiles was definitely off-limits.  Naturally, when the opportunity arose to handle this contraband unsupervised, I jumped at it.  Fortunately, this is not going to be a story where someone was terribly burned or lost an eyeball.  

The reason that I mention this memory is because Tilly has transported me back to that Fourth of July long ago.  The coolest part to me of playing with fireworks that day was lighting bottle rockets.  I would place the long and narrow red wooden stick with my right hand into an empty twelve ounce bottle that I held with my left.  Then, I’d light the wick until I saw the yellow spark and accompanying hiss.  Next, I’d hold the bottle up over my head at an angle to ensure maximum height until eventually – a sudden *whoosh* sound occurred and the rocket would lift off leaving a trail of sparks.  The moment would culminate with a loud, high-pitched *eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,* then a pause, and finally – the denouement – an exploding pop that temporarily rang in our ears.

Tilly makes almost this exact same noise when she is feeling ignored.  Typically, we’re at the kitchen table and we’re not feeding her fast enough.  Or, we may have left the table and abandoned her in her high chair, so she signals that we’ve left her behind.  When you turn around to acknowledge Tilly and confirm that you, in fact, heard her loud and clear, she smiles triumphantly and kicks her short sausage link legs.  I can’t help but laugh and smile back at her.  Or kiss her beautifully chubby cheeks.

As a result, I’ve re-named Tilly as the “Bottle Rocket.”  Greta, formerly known as the Pterodactyl when she was the same age, seems to like the name, too.  I hope it sticks. 

Now just in case my Bottle Rocket is ever at your house for a July Fourth party, or any party for that matter, she is definitely not allowed to light any fireworks – at least until I go first.  

Quick One

Music fans, please check out my cousin's recent blog post. 

Great stuff: http://peculiargentlemen.blogspot.com/.

Belated Cornucopia

For the last few weeks, I’ve started writing a blog typically too late at night (on a weekend night only, of course) and almost assuredly after that last unnecessary glass of wine.  In any event, most of the ideas were weak and not what I’d consider up to snuff for THE READERS. 

For example, I launched into a 769-word exegesis regarding the songs “I Will Wait” by Mumford & Sons and “Rivers and Roads” by The Head and The Heart.  I hypothesized how the rhythm and crescendo of each song were like snippets of varying sexual escapades.   Once I started to re-read the post, it became clear that there was no real connection to fatherhood other than discussing the process in which a couple may produce a baby.  Consequently, that diatribe did not make the cut - though I’d be happy to discuss the theory with anyone if we cross paths at a party or something.

Then, I started writing about how the kids have become picky when eating meat proteins as of late, yet I discovered that all three of them are huge fans of bacon.  (I never realized this until a breakfast that I made a few weeks ago - I know, inexcusable.)  But then I admitted that bacon seems to get a lot of air play these days, so I got gun shy when I couldn’t think of a cool spin on swine.

A different draft that I threw away was inspired following a night out with the guys when we were commiserating about our honey-do lists.  We weren’t complaining about the chores at all.  We were just laughing about how our wives think that every project takes sixty minutes or less.  We called it the “magic hour.” 

Mow the lawn?  Her estimate - 10 minutes.  His estimate - 90 minutes if you include weed wacking, 120 minutes if you include raking, engine maintenance, clearing debris from the walkways and driveway, etc. 

Assemble something from IKEA?  Her estimate - 30 minutes.  His estimate - 60 minutes.  For me - at least three hours, which includes the inevitable call to customer service about a part that seems to be missing. 

Anyway, the draft started off kind of funny but there wasn’t enough material for a complete blog there.

So, I decided ultimately to revisit the “hodgepodge” concept.  It is a lazy man’s way of writing a proper entry.  Basically, each of the following would be good fodder for “Side Bar” or “For the Record” entries, but I’ve got nothing else to go on and I don’t want to go a whole month without posting.  Without further ado...

~~~~

For better or worse, my awareness of things chic and hip arrives at a glacial pace.  For the last few weeks, or maybe months, I’ve heard both the phrase “Gangnam Style” and the actual song itself.  However, I never connected the song’s title and the song itself until very recently, which made me feel like I was an octogenarian.

When my epiphany occurred and I linked together what were previously two separate concepts, I felt a bit euphoric in knowing that I would be able to google the lyrics.  For the longest time, I’ve been singing “Woke up condom star” in lieu of “Oppan Gangnam Style” and it’s been killing me because I knew I was way off base.  (You laugh, but I dare you to sing “Woke up condom star” next time you hear the song – it’s on all the time – and tell me you don’t think I was at least in the neighborhood.  

Anyway, here is a link to the lyrics if you care:  http://www.lyricsfreak.com/p/psy/gangnam+style_21031735.html.  I anticipate Gangnam will ultimately go the same way of “Who let the dogs out?,” “All I want to do is a zoom, zoom, zoom, and a boom boom,” and “I wish I was a little bit taller” but let’s just enjoy it while it lasts.

Speaking of songs whose words I don’t know, can someone please tell me what “Some Nights” is about by the band “fun.”?  I’m not sure if it is a happy song or a sad one.  The beat tells me it’s happy but then that part in the song towards the end when the singer talks about looking into his nephew’s eyes gets me all confused.  I know I could google these lyrics but I want to figure it out for myself if possible.

~~~~

Recently read Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King.  It is a collection of four novellas that published in 2009 or 2010.  I really loved it.  All four stories were dark.  But each of them were dark for different reasons.  I believe one of them is currently in production for a film.  While I wouldn’t say this collection of novellas is anything close to Different Seasons, which included “Shawshank Redemption,” “Apt Pupil,” and “The Body,” (titled “Stand by Me” at the movies) I recommend it for anyone who enjoys horror fiction.

While we are here, I wanted to quote a blurb from what King wrote in his afterward.  I feel dorky saying this, but I found the message really inspiring.

 “From the start … I felt that the best fiction was both propulsive and assaultive.  It gets in your face.  Sometimes it shouts in your face.  I have no quarrel with literary fiction, which usually concerns itself with extraordinary people in ordinary situations, but as both a reader and a writer, I’m much more interested by ordinary people in extraordinary situations.  I want to provoke an emotional, even visceral, reaction in my readers.  Making them think as they read is not my deal.  I put that in italics, because if the tale is good enough and the characters vivid enough, thinking will supplant emotion when the tale has been told and the book set aside (sometimes with relief.)”

Fucking brilliant.  Couldn’t have written it better.  And that part about setting the book aside with relief – I felt that way when I finished Full Dark, No Stars because the stories made me feel uncomfortable in a good way, if that makes sense.

~~~~

Lana Del Rey?  I don’t deny that she’s talented.  In fact, I do like her voice.  But I’m not sold on her style of music.  At least, just not yet.  And I can’t say that I know anyone who has ever said they are a fan of hers.  Does anyone care enough to try to convince me otherwise?

~~~~

As made abundantly clear by my Gangnam discussion above, I’m one of the least qualified to ever discuss what current fad is now or suddenly passé.  However, I am amused and equally appalled by the sudden resurgence of two trends I’ve seen on the streets recently, which harken back to the late 80’s and early 90’s: flat top hair cuts (a la Kid-n-Play) on African-American men and pegging the pant legs.  I can’t say that I am surprised by the hair style, but the pegging is a shocker to me.  While I fancied myself a pretty good pegger, I couldn’t hold a candle to the peg-skills of my buddy Noonan.  I’m praying that he embraces the fad’s resurgence. 

~~~~

November, 2012 in my household will go down in my book as the bodily secretion trifecta. 

Exhibit 1: Tilly has pooped in the tub three times.  It’s like Caddy Day At The Pool from Caddyshack except I don’t have an assistant groundskeeper to clean up the doodie. 

Exhibit 2: Gus has developed a knack for nailing me with a golden shower when changing his diaper. 

Exhibit 3: Greta puked all over me and sort of into my mouth a few weeks ago as I carried her from her bed to the bathroom.  Perhaps due to my pledging days at Kappa Sig, this did not bother me as much as it probably should. 

All three of them have colds as of tonight, so add mucus and phlegm as a wildcard to the list.  Fingers crossed, they'll be back to normal sooner rather than later.

I’m really looking forward to December, 2012.

Rated R

When I was in elementary school (it was first to sixth grade back then,) the special education classroom was called the “resource room.”  However, I only remember calling it the “retard room.”  To this day I’m not sure what the proper diagnosis was for any of the kids who were enrolled in the special ed program.  I imagine it could have been anything from ADHD or dyslexia to autism or Asberger’s.  (Although I remember one student from a different grade who had Down Syndrome, I don’t believe we were in the same school until junior high.)

I don’t specifically remember calling any classmate – with or without disabilities – a retard.  (That does not necessarily mean I didn’t – I just don’t remember doing it.)  However, I am certain I knew even at a young age that the word was derogatory.

At some point in my maturation (high school maybe?), I became aware that it was totally unacceptable and despicable to ever address a person with disabilities as being a retard.  However, I continued to use the word retard (or retarded) without any reluctance in certain situations because I knew my intent when using these words was never meant to disparage mentally or intellectually disabled people.

Along this school of thought, I suppose there is kind of an unwritten spectrum of social acceptability or unacceptability when using retard or retarded to describe someone or something.

On one end of the more innocent spectrum – let’s call it point A – I have heard many a hungover contemporary say that he or she “got retarded” last night, or even “wicked retahded” if they’re a Masshole.  I think The Black Eyed Peas have two versions of the same song with one being “Let’s get it started” and the other being “Let’s get retarded.”  Personally, I do not interpret these examples as evidence of any specific intent to demean a class of individuals.  (The use of the word may still have that effect, but we’ll discuss that below.)

Somewhere along the spectrum – say point B – further away from the innocent end and somewhat closer to the more spiteful end is when a speaker seeks to declare a situation or other person as being retarded.  Perhaps the speaker has encountered an able-minded person who is being a jerk or difficult or mean.  Or maybe the speaker observed another person make a simple mistake.   Or possibly the speaker is trapped in a traffic jam that has occurred due to the sheer ineptitude and stupidity of multiple others.  In all instances, the speaker describes the person as a retard or the situation as retarded.

At the more heinous end of the spectrum – point C – is when one uses retard or retarded to refer specifically to a person who has mental or intellectual handicaps.  The speaker uses the word with a malicious intent of demeaning the individual to whom he or she refers.  (Please note I’m not referring to those who use “mentally retarded” in the clinical and professional – though outdated – sense.  For example, the Massachusetts Department of Developmental Services only recently changed from its former name of Department of Mental Retardation.) 

I will not waste time explaining why point C on the spectrum is hurtful and damaging to the psyche of anyone who is the recipient of such an insult, First Amendment rights or not.  A person with any common sense needs no explanation on that front.  However, I do want to address the gray area from points A to B on the aforementioned spectrum.

First, let me say that this is not an exercise in so-called political correctness.  I know that just uttering the term  “P.C.” makes people of certain ideologies want to spit and roll their eyes with contempt as they yearn for the day when they could openly utter racial epithets. 

In fact, I’m not going to tell anyone whether using the words retard or retarded is right or wrong.  Who am I to say?  Until Gus was born, I used those words freely (as described above) because I knew my intent was never to offend or hurt.

But when Gus was born, I discovered the importance of precision when employing words to describe him.  (I may be repeating myself from prior blogs so forgive me because it bears mention again.)  My first lesson was that Gus is not a “Downs” kid.  No, he is a kid first and foremost.  While trisomy-21 may accurately describe the chromosomal structure of every cell that exists in his body, the diagnosis takes a back seat to a million other more important characteristics.  It’s no different from any other parent who thinks first about how their kid is so funny, smart, beautiful, sweet etc. and not blond, tall, or brown-eyed.  So it stands to reason that we need only begin any description of Gus as simply being a kid.

Next, I developed a sensitivity to use of the term “normal.”  Generally, the occasions when we encountered this situation was when a medical professional was trying to compare and contrast a symptom or body function in Gus’ body that deviated from that of a child without Down Syndrome.  More specifically, the doctor would say something like “Normal kids have VSDs that close upon their first breath of air but Gus’ did not.”  Again, I understand the doctor had no intent at all to insult but the preferred terminology for Michelle and me in these instances is to contrast by saying “typical” rather than “normal.”  In other words, I have a normal two year old boy.  He likes to open kitchen cabinets.  He likes to play.  He pulls his sisters’ hair.  He gets timeouts.  However, typical kids do not have Down Syndrome.  We’re splitting hairs somewhat here I admit.  But the choice of words goes a long way for my family at least. 

To the ignorant and/or those incapable of empathy, these two explanations may fairly be chalked up to me being “oversensitive.”  On one hand, perhaps you’re right.  On the other hand, I say cue the violins for the old days.  But sensitivity is the perfect segue to the point I’m trying to make.

What is respect for another person but simply being sensitive to that person’s likes/dislikes, interests, or beliefs?  Specifically, if I know that someone could misinterpret my use of any word, be it douche bag or loser, even though I had no intent to offend him or her, isn’t it just more sensible for me to eliminate the word from my vocabulary simply out of respect for him or her?   

Self-proclaimed intellectual Ann Coulter made headlines this week for using retard to describe a segment of voters that she despises.  See: http://www.cnn.com/2012/10/23/living/ann-coulter-obama-tweet/index.html?hpt=hp_t2 .  Full disclosure, I abhor Coulter and her politics.  Notwithstanding, I have no desire either to politicize this non-political topic, or to bring any further attention to her.  I merely point this out because she is a well-educated woman whose opinion matters to a lot of people.  So when she nonchalantly and callously uses the r-word to insult , she a) perpetuates the derogatory connotation associated with it and b) fosters support for the continued use of the term in our general parlance.

I have been meaning to write about this topic for months.  However, every time I was ready to finally post a blog about the r-word, a loved one in my life coincidentally uttered the word in my presence (without any intent to offend whatsoever and only to convey a sentiment somewhere along points A and B of the spectrum I described above) so I held off because I did not want him or her to feel that I was chastising or judging them.  But Coulter’s reckless disregard in her choice of words this week was finally enough for me to take to my keyboard.

So with that, I make a simple request to anyone who respects me and my family.  Please reconsider your use of the r-word.  I’m not saying that there is a right or a wrong here.  I’m simply asking you to think before you speak the next time you are tempted to say the word retard or retarded.  I bet you that there is a different word at your disposal that can describe whatever it is you’re trying to say.  I’ve eliminated the terms from my vocabulary.  And it’s not that hard to do.

If the rationale I’ve set forth above is not compelling enough for anyone to reconsider whether to continue saying the word “retard,” let me make one request of you in closing.  If you ever say the r-word within earshot of Gus, be sure that you have your explanation ready as to why you do not mean to offend him when you say it.  Soon enough, my son will be able to tell you why he thinks it’s a bad idea.

Side Project

Back in August of this year during our family vacation, I mentioned how I was beginning to work on a writing project that was going to be a lot different from Daddio de Novo.  The first installment is finally ready.  I’m very eager to share it with anyone interested in taking a look.  But before we get there, I have a few comments first.

The blog has been and continues to be a really enjoyable way for me to write.  Coincidentally, my first posting went public almost exactly four years ago.  If my wife Michelle (best known here affectionately as “THE WIFE”) had not encouraged me to pull the trigger on go public, I’m pretty certain that no more than a handful of people would have ever read anything that I created.  By comparison, the blog has received over 30,000 impressions since we started tracking them.  Granted, about 50% of the hits are from me doing half-assed re-reads to search for typos at three a.m. after I prematurely published something but who cares?

Virtually all of the feedback I have ever received from THE READERS about the blog these past four years has been overwhelmingly positive.  To this day, it makes me so happy to hear from any of our relatives or friends who say that they have read a post.  My only regret is that I have been unable to write as frequently as I was able to before, which is mostly due to the population control problem we’ve been experiencing at Casa de Teravainen but also because I fear any sort of a backlash due to overexposure. 

Now while Daddio de Novo certainly offers the opportunity to me to be creative through written expression, I find that the blog does not present an appropriate medium to present “traditionally pure” fiction like short stories or essays.  Another chronic problem I’ve encountered is simply starting projects and never finishing them.  I can’t tell you how many ideas or the beginnings of writings are sitting in various journals that never went anywhere, not including a screenplay that still awaits conversion into industry format and a play that just needs some finishing touches. 

Long story short, I’ve finally taken what I believe to be the next logical step as far as scratching the itch I have to entertain people with words.  I wrote nine different “pieces” (that sounds really pretentious but I can’t think of a better word) in a new blog called Gap Tooth Tales.  Basically what I’ve done is published current drafts of totally different fictional stories that are mostly short in length, which will demonstrate an entirely different range of style than what THE READERS are accustomed to seeing here in Daddio.

 

I’d love to say that Gap Tooth Tales will be updated every week or month, but I know that is probably unrealistic.  I’m going to wait and see what kind of reaction I get from any readers first, if any.  At least as of now, I intend to update the “To be continued” stories as inspiration arises.  As for any new posts unconnected to prior entries, I’ll probably post them in groups so that a reader can select from multiple new stories.

Before I go further, let me repeat myself that a few (definitely not all) of the posts may be disturbing or even offensive to those with more traditional tastes.  My intent is not to shock and awe necessarily.  In fact, some people may not even blink at all when they get to the parts that I’m talking about.  I just wanted to write without limitations on any subject matter.  I don’t expect everyone to be a fan and I’m cool with that.  In other words, I understand already a reader here or there may prefer to just stay with this blog, which is also totally okay.

If you made it this far, I hope you check out the site.  Go to the link for “Introduction” first, if you don’t mind.  Without further delay, here is the link to Gap Tooth Tales: http://gaptoothtales.wordpress.com/.