Goofball to the rescue

I've hit the wall.  I'm too exhausted or stubborn to give in. . . or maybe I worry that if I start crying, I just won't stop.

I don't know if the kid understood my mental state, or if it were her usual goofiness, but my favorite 10 year old and I had the silliest conversation the other night, and it could not have been better timed.

Lately, she has become quite interested in universal domination.  What's cute is that she totally defers to the monkeys as the future evil overlords of the universe.  (And, me as the supreme leader, natch.)  We have come to the decision that the chipmunks will be our henchmen.  She, of course, will be my personal henchman.  Each henchman chipmunk will be armed with a slingshot for doling out instant justice.

She decided that we should just do away with most of the humans.  I proposed that the really good ones (our personal favorites) could become our pets.  She thought it might be better if we let the really rich ones become our pets.  (That kid may think of herself as a chipmunk, but she has real monkey potential.)

She also decided we should devise games so that our pets can be healthy.  We made up several games . . . like "go, fetch" and "monkey ball."  I'll leave the particular rules up to my henchman to craft.

She also decided that in our utopia universe, ruled by the Evil Overlord Monkey, there should be gifts and parades honoring the Evil Overlord Monkey on a daily basis.  I thought we should have special parades and plays dedicated to the heroics of the henchmen chipmunks on at least a weekly basis.

We are going to rename our universe "M" and the anthem will be "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"

Gifts and parades!  Chipmunks armed with slingshots!  How could this go badly?

Skillz

Day two of lunch monkey duty.  Apparently, I heat up a mean pot of Ragu.  Today, lunch was chicken nuggets and mac and cheese from a box.  The kids ate and ate and ate.

But, the sweet moment came when I took the ball of tin foil from the cookie sheets the nuggets cooked on, balled it up, and tried to make a wicked bank shot into the recycle box.  And, I missed.  In front of all the kids.

I turned, hung my head and said "I've got no game.  I have no skills."  And one little boy said "cooking is your skill."

Too bad they can't stay 5 years old forever.

Cracker Crumbs

For years now, I've been saying "I wouldn't kick Tony Bourdain out of bed for eating crackers." And, then explaining that one would normally kick their lover out of bed if they were leaving crumbs that would be uncomfortable to sleep on, no? Really? You humans can sleep on crumbs? And you think we're animals?

No, seriously, I have had, for years, a huge monkey crush on Tony Bourdain. I love his dry style. I don't think I could keep up with his drinking. But, I have to say, I am amused when he snarks on other celeb-cooks who shill for the corporate overlords (or are so insecure in their sexuality that they can't bring themselves to be in the same kitchen with someone who bats for the other team, so to speak.)

Sometime last year, I saw that my beloved and Eric Ripert (Tony's opposite but OMG does he do good voice and hair) were sharing a stage in Boston. My own travels to Boston that year meant that I was going to miss them. But, I consoled myself on the thoughts of not being jailed due to inappropriate behavior.

This time next week, I just might be sporting the prisoner orange jumpsuit. I've got tickets to see both objects of my culinary lust. And, the days during which I can purchase just the right pair of knickers to fling on stage are ticking away quickly.

I'm going with a girlfriend. She's agreed to be my designated driver . . . I hope she realizes that means "getaway driver" rather than sober driver. hee hee.

Favorite Fantasy

It started with Ed McMahon and has moved on to the lotto. I actually had a chance with Ed . . . I returned the entries with the right stickers carefully applied to the right squares. I don't buy lotto tickets, so this is purely the stuff of fantasy. But, I think I could win massive millions of dollars and it not ruin me as a monkey.

I have a very specific plan for what I'd do with my huge lotto win. First, it needs to be a gobsmacking amount . . . like a few hundred million. I like to start the fantasy in the ballpark of 200-250 million. (I'd like to be a high maintenance monkey) I need the massive win because you ALWAYS take the cash up front and not the annual payment. You could be abducted by aliens any day . . . and if you are, the annual payment does no one any good.

So, my fantasy starts with the ginormous check for 100 million dollars. First thing, I'd establish a non-profit with about 10 million. I would use my non-profit for good works of my own choosing. Next, I've found a house in New Orleans I will buy for 2.25 million. It is on Royal Street and has over 4500 square feet and a veranda that wraps around the house and a huge gourmet kitchen.

The next part of the fantasy hits a snag. The Phenom insists that we will not LIVE in NOLA. I say we should . . . it will be much easier to be barflies, if you know, we lived near bars. I also have generously allowed for a total house budget of 5 million. The Phenom says no. The Phenom says that if we spend 2.25 million the house, we'll furnish it with lawn chairs from walgreens. I think I need to have a few choice items from this place. I can live without the crystal living room suite . . . but a tiffany lamp would be lovely, no?