Given the cold, dreary, and rainy winter weather as of late, Jeremy and I have been spending a lot of time indoors trying to keep ourselves occupied. Lately, we have been holding numerous intellectual conversations. Really, if you can't at least exercise your mind, what can you do? Needless to say, I figured many would delight in our logical output and marvel at the depth of our thinking. I'm sure that if I submitted this as a book chapter, the academic world would herald us as the next Derrida or Lacan or Foucault, unable to deny the sheer brilliance of our logic and theories.
Just Plane Wrong
Jeremy has been all excited about planes and flying lately. I know nothing about planes, other than they I get a little sick feeling when they make turns. Needless to say, he has been showing me endless pictures of planes, videos of planes, talking about different plane types, the way they are built . . . Usually, I just respond, "ahhh" and "very nice" and continue my cluelessness about whatever it is he’s talking about, figuring I'll tune back in at some point when he's talking about, oh, say finishing my bathroom. In one part of one of the many plane lectures Jeremy has given in recent weeks, I discovered that there are kit planes you can buy and build yourself (although I highly discouraged Jeremy from doing so, remembering the way he was going to "fix" his truck years ago after an accident. He ordered all the parts, stripped off the broken parts, and then the thing sat in the garage for two years before he finally had a mechanic shop tow the truck in and fix it for him). Also, apparently, there are plane plans online, which he was looking at the other night.
Jeremy: “blah, blah, plane, blah, blah.”
Me: “Ahhhh.”
Jeremy: “This looks like a really well-designed plane.”
Me: “That’s good.” I would hope it’s well designed if it’s supposed to fly.
Jeremy: “Except I can’t figure out how they did the dual pitch.”
Me: “Can you go get Abby. She’s stuck around the tree again on her tie out.”
Jeremy: “Only if you can tell me how they did the dual pitch.”
Me: “They used two tuning forks.”
Jeremy: “That is so obviously not right.”
Me: “Are you going to go get Abby?”
Jeremy: “You didn’t answer my question, so no.”
Me: “Yes I did. You never specified it had to be the right answer.”
Jeremy: “Mumble, mumble,” as he heads out into the dark to unwrap Abby from whatever she’s managed to get herself stuck on.
I would have felt bad, making him go out in the cold, dark, and rain to retrieve a tangled, spastic, jumping puppy--no wait, that would be a far better person than I. That's what Jeremy gets for torturing me with planes at 10 pm.
Divided We Stand
Last Saturday morning, we were sitting around being lazy. For some unknown reason, Jeremy was looking through the junk mail--credit card offers. There were three of them, each offering like 18% interest.
Jeremy: "So, that would be 6% interest on one." I just stare at him. What was he talking about?
Silence.
Me: "Of course. It wasn't too difficult to figure it out."
Jeremy: “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have gotten it if I hadn’t told you what I did.”
Me: “Yes, I would have.”
Jeremy: “No you wouldn’t have. Your logic doesn’t work that way.”
Me: "It does too. It's like figuring out a pattern. Like when you're staring at the carpet in a hotel conference room trying to figure out the pattern because it's more interesting than whatever the person up front is saying at the conference. And why do hotels all have such dizzying carpet patterns in their conference rooms?"
Jeremy: "And that's how your logic works."
Me: “I did too figure it out. My logic works in very surprising ways.”
Jeremy: Silence for a moment. I’m sure he’s remembering many of the not so logical conclusions I have come to that seemed perfectly logical at the time, like the infamous low fat macaroni and cheese.
Jeremy: “That’s for sure.”
Puppyrearing 101
Sunday, Abby figured out how to get the lid off the container of unshelled pecans in the kitchen. Jeremy and I watched as she stuck her head in the tub, pulled out a pecan, and headed over to the big dog pillow. She plopped right in the middle and started crunching away on the shell.
Jeremy: "She's so funny."
Me: "At least it's keeping her occupied. She's been driving me nuts, and she's only been in like half an hour. All she wants to do is bite my slippers, the tie on my sweater, jump on me. . . Hopefully, the pecan will keep her busy for a while." I think about putting the lid back on the pecans, but why ruin a good thing.
Jeremy: "You should really put the lid back on. You're going to love it when the broken pecan shell causes her to hack up something nasty that you have to clean up."
Me: Sigh. So much for my peace. "You have a point."
Jeremy: "I usually do." No comment. That would be a whole big debate about all the times if I just would have listened to him in the first place. . .
Me: "But it's a huge dilemma. She's actually being good, laying down, chewing her pecan, not causing any trouble. Do I take it away just to prevent a future hack, or do I enjoy the calm?"
Jeremy: "But she's chewing MY pecans." (I tend not to like pecans unless they are in or coated with something. Okay, so that's mostly why I like about anything--for the condiment, not the food itself. I would be the first to lobby for more condiment space in refrigerators, a cause I feel deeply about. "Otherwise, I understand your dilemma."
Me: "On the plus side, that's one less pecan you have to crack open. And, from the looks of it, I think she might mostly be eating the pecan and spitting out the shell."
Jeremy: Looking around the kitchen floor. "Thank God no one is coming over today. If they were they'd look around and think that we really are rather grimy people."
Me: "Oh, she finished that one. Off for another."
Jeremy: Sigh.
Me: "Our kitchen is going to look like a redneck bar with shells all over the floor. It should go nicely with the Mt. Dew box she tore up this morning." Yes, I should have taken the box away. Yes, the floor was now littered with tiny bits of green everywhere. On the other hand, I figured picking up all the little pieces was a small price to pay for redirecting pogo puppy away from me until I had enough coffee. Will I be one of those parents who plops her kids in front of the television? If it means I get coffee and an hour of peace, definitely! Wonder if I can give them rawhide chewies like I do Abby to redirect her attention?
Me: "I'm really getting exciting about these papers I want to work on."
Jeremy: "I'm not looking forward to that, I should have put in a prenup clause forbidding you from discussing (or referencing) theory, in our conversations."
Me: "Well, the one will drive you batty--feminist theory. The other you might be interested in--posthumanism."
Jeremy: "Absolutely not and definitely not, in that order."
Me: "You're not interested in posthumanism?"
Jeremy: "Pre- post- or anything in between! I have no interests, I'm a dud."
Me: "Posthuman is the mixing of man and machine."
Jeremy: "No, posthuman is death. At least, if you started outhuman. Unless, of course, you're Hindu, in which case, I think posthuman is bovine."
Me: Sigh. Pause. I think how I can sucker him into a discussion of posthumanism. "But that's part of Battlestar Gallactica, which you love."
Jeremy: "No no, Battlestar Galactica is about things blowing up in space. And THAT I like! You're not going to get intelligent conversation out of me today wife, so stop trying!"
Me: "Obviously, my theoretical notions are just way beyond your grasp."
Jeremy: "I'm thinking about patching schedules, server moves, tilling the garden, how to gate the fence, etc... i.e. I'm thinking about my prebovine state. You think THAT obvious attempt to get my gander up is going to work?" I ponder the fact that he actually used the word "gander" in conversation. Is that even the right word? Or is he saying he's a male goose? I think the word might be dander. Or is that just the stuff you need a special shampoo for?
Me: "Well, I had to try. Even it my attempts at reverse psychology were blatantly obvious. I always hold out the hope that, at some point, they might work. I think I have to get you drunk first though."
Jeremy: "I don't think they 'ever' work. You don't manipulate me well, one of the reasons I married you. You tried, get an A for effort, but you suck."
Me: "I can be manipulative if I want! Just give me a few more years to figure it out (obviously, 14 is just not enough)."
Jeremy: "You should create a new theory called 'prebovine.' Now THAT would make for an interesting paper."
Me: "Umm, I'm not sure what that theory would entail? Milk? A steak? Okay, so now I see why that theory might interest you."
Jeremy: "Steak is clearly postbovine."
Me: "Oh, good point. That would mean milk would be presentbovine. Maybe grass or hay is prebovine."
Jeremy: "No, milk is unusual in that it's both pre and present. I've seen grass post bovine too--didn't care for THAT at all."
Me: "How can milk be prebovine if there is no cow to produce or drink the milk? I've fallen in the prebovine grass before too. Let's just say, not one of my finer moments, nor very pleasantly scented."
Jeremy: "Preadultbovine then. No no, I think you meant you fell in the POSTbovine grass."
Me: "Oh, my mistake. You are quite right. I don't think I can use any of this theory in my paper."
Jeremy: "Clearly, your paper isn't going to be any good then."
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