Pablo Picasso's Puppet

Aunt Marge, my source for the world’s finest fruit cake, sent Captain Chaos a sock puppet kit for Christmas. The Captain pulled out the kit yesterday afternoon while the Boss took the boys to their karate tournament. We sat on the couch and made three sock puppets.

I made the first puppet for the Captain. Maybe it was the control freak inside of me, but I thought that if I modeled a sock puppet for her she’d have a better chance of creating a puppet that looked…oh, I don’t know…like it was made by someone who wasn’t wacked-out on cocaine?

The second sock puppet was a half-Captain, half-dad project. She chose the adhesive-backed parts, peeled them off their plastic strips, and showed me where to press them into place.

Then I turned the final project completely over to her, and watched as she channeled Pablo Picasso and built her own sock puppet.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

It took me a moment to realize that when she made her puppet she was looking at the sock with the closed end on top, and built the face from the top to the bottom, starting with the eyes. That’s perfectly normal from her perspective. That’s how she sees a face. That’s how we all see a face.

 

She had no clue that in order to make the sock puppet speak she would have to build the puppet with the closed end of the sock on the bottom, and build up starting with the mouth.

The only thing keeping me from wishing that I had let her build all three puppets completely alone is the therapy bills.  What a puppet show that would have made!

Any Way You Look at it, We're Talking Buns Today

The two most frequently asked questions from recent blogs appear to be, “Arby, how do you know that you do not look good in leggings?” and “Did the heart and shamrock shaped burgers hold their shape?” It is refreshing to see that my readers are focusing on the important issues of the day. Let’s take the second question first, as it is the easiest to answer.

The heart and shamrock shaped burgers held their forms quite well. The biggest complaint I received from the family came from the Boss and the General. They both thought that I was a little weird for making something other than boring old round hamburgers. They both found that the burgers were a tad dry. That had nothing at all to do with the shape of the burgers, but rather the meat that I used. 92% lean beef doesn’t make for the tastiest of burgers. The Boss mumbled something about sand through a mouthful of crumbly beef. Let’s face it; you need just a little more fat than 8% for a tasty burger. So, we’ll be downgrading to 85-15 for our next round of burgers. I might venture into other shapes in the near future, as well as play around with making the corresponding shaped buns. Since this appears to be a topic of great interest, I will keep everyone posted as my burger experiments continue.

By the way, if you didn’t read Brownie’s comment on the burger blog, her “Eat your heart out” line was fantastic. I am sooooo jealous that I missed that one!

As for the leggings, well, just look for yourself. There is not a man on the face of the planet that looks good in these:

Does the word "Herm" come to mind?

Here's some stylin' hoops attire.

  Someone should be testing the water in this place.  Dig the love handles on the guy on the far right.

If those pictures don't make my case for the fact that no man should wear anything tighter than a burlap sack, consider the fact that a few decades ago I was a Madrigal singer. Madrigal singers wear fancy period costumes. Unfortunately, those fancy period costumes rarely include pants. They require leggings of some sort, usually the thin kind commonly referred to as tights. This presents a particular dilemma for the average guy, because if you don’t wear one of these tortuous contraptions

while wearing tights, you enter into Pudgyville. I think these were used quite effectively by Torquemada to convert heretics during the Spanish Inquisition.  Anyway, Pudgyville is not a good place to visit for the average man. If you doubt me, revisit the first picture.  Now, the problem that I discovered while wearing one of those contraptions pictured here is that they seriously chafe in an area that is just plain wrong. It’s like walking around with a permanent wedgy. Some places are just not meant to be flossed. And before anyone protests too much, I’ve never asked a woman to wear any equivalent items of undergarment and I never will. Women folk are crazy if they do. While a few women can pull off the no-panty-line look, I've never understood the whole fashion/pain thing.  I'll take the Boss in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt any day of the week. 
 
I am confident that no one I know from my madrigal days reads this blog, so no one will be sharing any pictures of me in tights. I do not have any to post. I wouldn’t even if I did, but I can say with complete honesty that since I do not relish reliving nightmares, I did not retain any pictures from that earlier period of my life.
 
I know.  I have demons.  They all started the day that the rump roast started talking to me.  But that's for another blog.

The I'm-Too-Lazy-To-Run-A-Contest Contest

Close your eyes for a moment and picture this (not literally, you goof, or you won’t be able to continue reading)…a world filled with people wearing brightly colored t-shirts advertising Boarding in Bedlam. Pretty exciting, huh? I thought you’d agree. Since borrowing Glenn Beck’s “sick twisted freaks” line and applying it to the regular group of readers who visit this blog, I’ve received several comments that lead me to believe that being a “sick twisted freak” is a badge of honor. Five, to be exact. And there’s been a couple of t-shirt requests. I can’t use Mr. Beck’s line on a t-shirt, but I can come up with one of my own. Or you can. Then we can print it on t-shirts, you can buy them, and we’ll all help the economy while Arby pays off his mortgage early.

It’s time for a contest. It’s time for a Design Arby’s Blog T-shirt contest. Well, not a contest, really. If it were a contest I would have to have prizes, rules, judges, etc. I’d be asking you to spread the word about this blog by blogging about the contest and encouraging others to come by and participate, all for the purpose of generating new readers. Of course, you should be blogging about this blog, encouraging others to become helplessly addicted to the riveting stories shared on this site. Running an actual contest sounds too much like work. So, let’s just say that I am soliciting suggestions, and we’ll all hope that I do not get arrested for solicitation.

Leave your suggestions for the best one-liner advertising Boarding in Bedlam in the comments section below. It needs to fit on a t-shirt, be semi-appropriate for wearing in public, and have my url underneath it. You may make as many suggestions as you wish. I was thinking, “I read Boarding in Bedlam, and I have the therapy bills to prove it!” Underneath that in smaller letters, http://boardinginbedlam.blogspot.com. My readers are usually far more creative than I am. All six of you. I’m looking forward to your suggestions.
　
On a completely different note, I have not provided a fat-boy weigh-in announcement in two weeks. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday morning and weighed-in. The fat boy is officially 217.8 pounds, down 25 (don’t hold the applause!) pounds from when I started this program in May. I hit my 10% goal by losing 24 pounds. I also earned my 25 pound charm and my fifth gold star. My food intake is not much less than when I started, so I do not feel like I am starving. Well, on some days I do, but not often. I haven’t eaten the cat. Yet. My next goal is to actually get below 217 pounds, a task that I have found difficult over the years. I’m six pounds away from the half-weigh point. And the Boss told me that I’m losing my butt.