Woody Cavenaugh

My taste in music typically runs between the 80's, Celtic rock, and ska. The variety is good, but it has the potential to get you into trouble if you are the type who find yourself singing along without realizing it.

I can only imagine what someone would say if they walked into my cube after having heard me quietly crooning along with The Booze Brothers:
"The rest of us don't really feel it our business to know that you are both 'in the mood' and interested in sex outdoors."

Or Great Big Sea: "Clearly Mari Mac is the bell of the ball back in Benifee, but you're here, your wife's name is Sara and I know for a fact she can and will kick your ass for this kind of talk."

Or Winger: "You're one sick puppy. You know, the government keeps websites about people like you. Name, address, the whole deal. Do you need to register?

Or Van Halen Well, you've ruined baked goods forever with that talk

OR The Outfield* Yeah, I'm calling your wife. See you in hell.

Or Reel Big Fish While the tube top is not the sort of clothing a freshman should be wearing, I feel I need to remind you AGAIN that seventeen is illegal, immoral, actionable, and butt kickable. But don't take my word for it, lets go ask your wife.

Or The Red Elvises Look, I've been on the phone with HR and they say that perhaps you should go to health services and talk to a councilor. Now. They said that if necessary I could call security.

Fortunately a friend turned me on to a genre I will forever know as "work music". I don't know what genre it is and Pandora Internet Radio refers to it as electronics roots, trip hop roots, use of modal harmonies, acoustic drum samples and a tight kick sound . Umm...yeah. Anyway here's a sample.

All I know is, there's no singing with it, therefore I can listen without inviting wifely wrath, criminal charges, or a 24 hour involuntary commitment to an asylum. Its job security in my headphones.

"omp omp omp omp
do doot do do do
do doot do do do
omp omp omp omp
the system is down
the system is down
the system is down"

"Has the server crashed or are you having a stroke? I don't know if I should call the service desk or 911"

*Thanks to Stefan and Henry for coming up with the song. The only thing I could remember was the plot, and Sara thinks I may have the plot wrong. Is he cheating with a younger woman or an older one?

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 12:53 PM | Permalink

When planning to have a 10 year old around I picked through my music collection to find stuff that would be enjoyable to Sara and I as well as enlighten and entertain The Niece. I should have thought my clever plan through. Don't get me wrong I was successful in "enlightening" and "entertaining" The Niece, the problem was it never occurred to me she'd actually pay close attention to the lyrics.

This one should have been obvious..even to me. I only heard a upbeat happy tune that gets stuck in your head and makes you want to dance.

Sara managed to hit skip in the first few bars...then she explained to me why. I admit it. I was an idiot on this one.

Similarly Sara hit quickly skipped past "The British Army" before it got to the chorus.

Now, The Wild Rover as you can see from the lyrics is a fine song for all ages. Leave it to the Booze Brothers however to embellish just enough to make ME skip past it. For instance, the original lyrics went something like this:

I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight. She said "I have whiskey and wines of the best And the words that I spoke sure were only in jest."

The Booze Brothers version went something like this:

I took from me pocket ten sovereigns bright
And the landlady's legs opened wide with delight.
She said "I have women and liqueurs of the best"
And she took off her blouse and showed me her chest.

I was perhaps too caution with Carbon Leaf's "The Boxer", but I was a little gun shy after three FAILS in a row. The Young Dubliners tune "Brown Dog" was heard with fingers poised over the skip button while Sara and I hoped and prayed there was nothing in there to cause trouble.

"Cindy" by The Chieftains with Ricky Scaggs and Kentucky Thunder should be OK. "...she's so sweet the honeybees swarm around her mouth..." this is ok I guess "...I wish I was an apple hanging from the tree, and every day that Cindy'd pass she'd take a bite of me..." Hmmm....perhaps we can slide the metaphor past a ten year old.

"Whiskey You're the Devil" I thought this one was OK. I mean it is an anti-drinking song after all. Right?

"When I was a fair maid" could have been OK, but I was worried about what she might ask her parents later if she spent too much time thinking about the story of a girl who pretended to be a man so she could be a sailor and was outed when a girl at port (thinking she was a he) tried to start a relationship of the personal nature.

Sligo Rag worked pretty well, "The Whiskey Never Lies" CLEARLY an anti-drinking song. "No Great Shakes" an honest song about relationships gone wrong. "Suite for a Drunken Sailor" All I would have to do is explain about The Captain's Daughter should she ask. Interestingly the issue with Sligo Rag didn't come from the 10 year old. It came from Sara. I had never noticed it, but they do sure use a lot of chimes in their music.

No worries though. I had an ace in the hole. In fact I had FIVE aces in the whole, in the form of five Great Big Sea CDs. "Captain Kidd", "Jack Hinks", "Mari Mac" "I'm a Rover", I could go on for hours. At "The Night Pat Murphy Died", I had to explain to her why they were so happy. I didn't know she had a think about funerals. Then we hit "The Mermaid" and I had to explain (via a lie) to The Niece that the line "That's how I get MY tail" refers to the fact that the mermaid turned him into a merman and they lived happily ever after. I think she bought it hook, line, sinker, and copy of Angling Times.

Next time around I think I'll just stick to Marc Gunn.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 12:46 PM | Permalink

After lunch The Niece suggested smoothies. We figured that was a reasonable idea so we went. We were just pulling out of the parking lot when she announces that she dropped her cup and some spilled. She was pretty upset because she knew that it was in the new car. Sara and I were quick to pass back every napkin we had and to reassure her that it was OK. Accidents happen, and cars can be cleaned.

Then she told us about the hole in her cup. Thinking quickly I told her to put her finger over the hole. When we got back to work, I could give her a new cup from the package I had in my cube. Good plan right?

Have you ever felt like sometimes the world was conspiring against you? Religious or not, you suddenly get the sinking feeling that some force greater than yourself was making your life difficult for their own amusement? Yeah. That happened here.

Every turn Sara made seemed to take us further and further from the office. Every road she took was blocked, being constructed on, finding herself behind someone lost, etc. We caught every stop light. Pedestrians were at every crosswalk. In the back seat The Niece was getting more and more hysterical because the drink was cold and it was freezing her fingers.

The panic was spreading to Sara who was dealing with traffic and trying to calm the girl child. I was breathing slowly and deeply, willing myself into a state of perfect calm. I made not a sound. I was also working furiously on plan "B", which was to drink my smoothy as fast as humanly possible and give my cup to The Niece. Every 90 seconds we had to remind her that in civilized places like Greensboro, you can't just throw your cup out the window.

I finished my smoothy just as we were pulling into the parking lot of the office.

I gave her my cup, which she put around her damaged cup. Mission accomplished! Then I took her inside to wash up. She was covered in peach smoothy. The whole way she kept talking about how cold her fingers were. So cold she couldn't feel them. At least they didn't hurt. But they hurt. Well, at least she could still feel them.

Sara stayed behind to do some damage control on the vehicle.

Sitting in the lobby, mission accomplished- so I believed. The only sound in the whole place was the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the wailing of a sobbing 10 year old. I willed myself to spontaniously combust. I couldn't go in after her. I could only wait, and suspect what she did to cause so much pain. I was pretty sure she cranked up the hot water to wash up. Hot water on cold fingers is never a good plan. Never ever.

Finally she came out. Her dress looked like an army of 10 year old boys used her for target practice at a peach picking. Her eyes are red from crying and she is clearly embarassed.

Sara IM'd me later that The Niece was sullen but otherwise OK, at least until she climbed into the shower. Then she sobbed loudly again.

Dinner was hotdogs from a street vender in Center City Park and an hour of playing in the water around the fountains before we discovered that she didn't bring dry shorts to change into. The hotdogs were pretty good, so I suppose it could have been a lot worse.

All in all I think we gained some valuable lessons. Children make lousey leak stoppers. Street vendors make good hotdogs. You can pack almost enough cloths to change into after playing in the water. 10 year old girls are not shy about undressing in front of you. I need a pair of peril sensitive sunglasses to wear when The Niece is around.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:04 AM | Permalink

Over dinner The Niece is talking about something. Her speech is sort of stream of consciousness where you really have to pay attention to make all the jumps. At the time she was talking about some animal reality show where they rescue hurt pets (I think). She started going on about this dog with a hormone on its leg. Sara was confused as I was, but instead of just letting it go, she opted to try to get some clarification. Sara says, "Did you mean hematoma?" The Niece said yes. Now me, I figure if Sara had said "Helium" she would have said yes to that too, but OK we're moving on.

Sara wanting to be a good teacher, asked The Niece, if she knew what a hormone was. Pretty quickly it was clear that she didn't, and eventually asked, "OK, so what IS a hormone anyway?"
Sara explained that it was a chemical that the body makes to do stuff. I, hoping to be helpful, said, "It helps tell your body to grow". Sara adds, "and when you are older it will help with your woman parts." The Niece makes a face, "you mean like baby making parts?" Sara nods.

The Niece, who is TEN, says in a very determined way, "I'm having my tubes tied."

At this point, my sanity doffed its bowler hat and headed for the door. My jaw was resting on the table top and I had lost the ability to produce sound entirely.

Sara, who seemed to be rehearsing for a role as a Japanese Anime character said, "But you're 10!" The Niece responds casually around a mouthful of pizza, "Yeah, I mean when I'm like 20."

Sara looks at me and notes my apoplexy for the first time. She tries to calm me with a statement which she tried to make sound as sane and as casual as she could; "At 10 I said the same thing."

Unable to produce sound yet I texted her on my blackberry, "At 10 migratory wading birds as a delivery mechanism for human young was more than enough explanation for me." Now I remember why girls were icky in the first place.

The next morning while Sara was getting ready for work, I had to wake The Niece and send her to take a shower. I used a long stick to poke her with from across the room. Cooties are suddenly a real and present danger again.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I dodged an emotional scar. The Niece was playing Wii, I was puttering around trying to do a little bit a cleaning around the living room. I had something in my hand that I needed to take to the computer room. I took one step and suddenly my danger sense started quivering faster than a girl in her first prom dress. What do I do?

Stop.
Look.
Listen.

The Niece is no longer in the living room.
The bathroom light is on.
I hear the sound of running water.
It is NOT the sink.
The bathroom door is open.

Code blue emergency! This is not a drill!
Code blue emergency! This is not a drill!

In a code blue emergency you sit your fat ass down on the closest thing to you and you don't move until The Niece returns to the living room, and the game. You pray to all that is holy that they come out wearing everything they were wearing when they went in.

She came out. She was fully clothed, and remembered to flush. As an extra precaution I did not enter the computer room for the rest of the evening. It was a close call, and I don't need the extra therapy.

I do need a drink though.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:46 AM | Permalink

In the past two days I have eaten more pizza than I would eat in a normal month. I have determined that children only eat pizza.

Me: "What would you like to eat?"
Niece: "I don't know, what do you have."
Me: "Well, we have hot dogs, and sausage dogs, and peaches, and pizza"
Niece: "Pizza."
Me: "and steak, and shrimp, and beef tenderloin medallions that I can braise in a light port wine sauce and serve over polinta with a side of sauted summer vegetables.
Niece: "Pizza."
Me: "Its pretty cheap pizza."
Niece: "Pizza."
Me: "It has vegetables."
Niece: "I can pick it off"
Me: "Anchovies"
Niece: "Gross! I can definitely pick it off."

So we had pizza...again...It was peperoni.

Before this week is over, I'm serving chicken curry. If necessary I'll pour the curry sauce down her gullet. It will be fun!

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:59 AM | Permalink

In the back of my mind I always suspected it was true, but I really didn't know for sure until I found myself staring down the barrel of a visiting 10 year old girl on her first week away from home. I am not a level 10 parent. In fact I'm a level 0 parent. At this phase I should only be worrying about practicing to create them. Instead, I've gone from zero to OMFGWTF do I feed them??? (The answer to that one turns out to be "pizza" but that's an entry for another day.)

Today's entry is about me learning to understand the rules of the game.

Level One: The baby gets born, you are in complete control of an eating and pooping machine. Level one teaches you how to handle bio-hazards, and getting over any hangups you might have about being clean-ever again.

Level Two: You think you're so cool now that you've mastered the diaper? Now we're giving the child two speeds, sleeping and full throttle. We're also including the volume feature, it has two settings, sleeping, and screaming. At no extra cost we're throwing in a vocabulary word, "No".

Level Five: Now the child is away from your sphere of influence for eight hours a day and introduced to others their own age. They will teach each other everything you've been trying to protect your child from. If you've been a successful parent so far, this is where your child will pick up their first neurosis.

Levels Six through Ten: You know that little feature about your precious snowflake that you think is so adorable. It's now their number one neurosis. Children at these levels hate everything out of the ordinary, and will attack it voraciously.

Level Thirteen: Cost of ownership is upped by one third as they discover high end consumer electronics and boy bands. If you don't have a drawer filled with batteries already, you'd better clear some space.

Level Fifteen: Time to have "The Talk" as a preemptive measure. Include diagrams and lepers for bonus effects. Child earn bonus therapy time if you teach them to apply a condom to a garden vegetable. You earn bonus therapy time if they get it right on their first attempt.

Level Sixteen: Child's first car. You gain extra gray hair. If you have no hair on your head by this point, you'll suddenly sprout it in strange places. Their diary starts to read like a Jackie Collins novel; you gain one facial tick.

Level Seventeen: You get a taste of what's to come when you are forced to pay out for prom gear. You also gain a nervous habit when you realize that your child qualifies as the subject of an '80s hair band song.

Level Eighteen: Your child mentions for the first time the idea they've been kicking around with friends about NOT going to college and starting a band. You lose consciousness.

Things start to slow down once you get them through college, they land a job, move out of your basement, and they get married. You can relax now and exercise your one wish, that their children turn out just like they did. If you've been successful in child rearing you are comfortable in the knowledge that in your old age you aren't destined to eat dog food while trying to pay for your prescription medications.

You win if you manage to get buried in a real casket in a marked grave surrounded by family who are really sad to see you go. Congratulations! You have ascended.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:13 AM | Permalink