Ray Brinzer

Having no time to say anything substantive, a picture will have to stand for 1000 words. We had this taken at Idlewild Park.

Historically, of course, it’s a mess. Teddy Bears didn’t come about until, I believe, 1903. Johannes doesn’t match the rest of the family at all, but he politely pointed out that, “I WANT TO BE A COWBOY!” and “I WANT A GUN!” so accomodations were made. And most obviously, one has to wonder where such a well-dressed, brazenly miscegenous family would actually have existed in the 19th century.

Despite which, this pleases me a lot. In my old age, I occasionally manage to put aside over-analysis in the interest of some silly fun.

It’s a good picture. Johannes seems excessively comfortable with a pistol for a 3-year-old, which appeals to my sense of political incorrectness. Felabi’s outfit looks beautiful sitting; standing I thought it made her look a bit too much like the madame of a bordello. And the more I look at it, the more I think Astrid, who would not wear her hat, looks the best of anyone.

Not that I mind, but I’m pretty shabby. I hadn’t shaved, the fake collar was much too loose, and my coat is rumpled. Along with my dolorous expression, the general effect is of a foppish drunk.

Life goes on. Later we can look at this and say, “There we were.”

I received the unwelcome suggestion, yesterday, that it might not be a good time to head to a wrestling tournament, because it was “Mother’s Day Weekend”.

Huh? Mother’s Day… Weekend? That’s a special occasion?

I was informed that, yes, it was the weekend during which Mother’s Day fell.

Now, it seems to me that Mother’s Day is a day… else we’d just call it, “Mother’s Weekend.” But to follow this line of reasoning, why had I gone to practice earlier this week? After all, it was Mother’s Day Weekend Week: the week during which that cherished occasion, Mother’s Day Weekend, fell.

For that matter, I hadn’t realized that we were in the midst of Mother’s Day Weekend Week Month. That’s a short step from Mother’s Day Weekend Week Month Year, at which point we males are all tools of the Matriarchy, ineluctably marginalized. And otherness really isn’t my kind of modality.

Needless to say, these points were not well-received, though I did escape to the tournament, liberating my son with me. Today we’re back, and happy to acknowledge that his mom is actually pretty swell (as, in fact, is mine).

Happy Mother’s Day!

A bit late… but still.

Exhibit A: My son, Johannes, age 2.

On the whole, I am somewhat surprised that people allow me to talk to their children, much less coach them.

I should, I suppose, mention that I did a few interviews over on Flowrestling. This is the more interesting one.

It felt like I was just rambling, but watching it, I find it’s not as bad as I thought (except for a tendency to stutter; I’m not sure when that came about). It does capture how I’ve felt about the state of affairs in American wrestling for some time, now.

I hate to go on about gloom and doom; pessimism doesn’t suit me, and I’m more inclined to fix problems than to complain about them. Some problems really are awfully hard to solve, however. This is such a case… amongst other reasons, because there isn’t an economic basis for great developmental wrestling programs in this country. And if there were, the requirements would cut directly across the grain of the public school system.

Possibly we’ll get it done anyway; “difficult” doesn’t mean “impossible”, after all. If not, it’s still the sport that gave me a lot of my close friends and best experiences, and will continue to do so for others. It’s too bad that my own involvement as a coach is much less than it was, and seems likely to be less still, but I have a family to compensate me for that. As trade-offs go, it’s a very good one.

I was away from my family on Valentine’s Day. I decided I wanted to send Felabi something nice, so I set to work creating an image for the occasion. After several hours, however, the Gimp crashed, and I lost all my work. I wasn’t up for doing it all over again, so I went to sleep, and didn’t send anything special.

Later, I discovered the existence of South Park character creation sites. After playing for a bit, I used this one and this one to create base characters for my family, tweaked them with the Gimp, and made this little scene as a late valentine “card”.

While this sort of thing doesn’t require much in the way of artistic ability, I’m pleased with it. Felabi, in particular, is easily recognizable, and the whole scene is very reminiscent of my home.

There are a good number of in-jokes, here, by the way. And in case you’re wondering, “Caillou” is a children’s television show. Johannes loves it.

I’m using this as my desktop, right now. I’m not sure why anyone else would want a cartoon of my family on their desktop, but just in case, here it is.

The Saturday before last (that is, January 10th) it snowed heavily. We were staying at my mother’s house, and I naturally felt it my responsibility to make sure the walk, stairs, and driveway were clear and safe. So I sent Johannes out to shovel them.

We discovered that the snow came up easily and packed tightly into the shovel — perfect for snowballs and snowmen.

I decided to do a classic 3-ball snowman, for my son’s amusement. Read more »

After six days as “Baby X”, “what’s-her-face”, and so on, our child got her name: Astrid Theresa Brinzer. Astrid I got from the Heimskringla, a Norse saga I read parts of as a lad, and Theresa after the young lady’s maternal grandmother. Six days after that, I finally got around to publishing the fact; life isn’t exactly busy, but I seem to have no free time.

Astrid Eiriksdottir’s story made a big impression on me. When her husband, the king, is murdered, she flees with her faithful men and bears a son in hiding on a small island in a lake. The name stuck in my mind, and 20-some years later wound up as an afterthought on a long list of names for Felabi to consider (and, mostly, reject).

Felabi and I have almost directly contrary sentiments about names: I prefer old, traditional, literary names, preferably associated with remarkable people, while she prefers “unique”, contemporary names. This makes the naming process arduous; the winning names have been names old and foreign enough to sound striking to her.

This morning, at (I think) 9:23 am, we had a little girl. “Little” is relative; at 8 pounds 12 ounces, and 21 inches long, she seemed a bit large for her mother’s taste. Still, the whole process went quickly and easily compared to our first.

We haven’t named her yet. It’s a bit odd, having a little person with no name. We’ll do that shortly.

Update: Some pictures.

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My family and I are often in Manhattan, these days. Every day while we’re there, I take Johannes (who is now almost 19 months old) to a series of playgrounds. I spend a lot of time spotting him on the monkey-bars, and other challenging apparatus, which I like a lot. Of course, he also wants to interact with other kids, so I get to watch him take part in the constant negotiations of the playground. This is less enjoyable, mostly because one is always obliged to assess the other parents and their expectations, but it is often interesting.

Toys are the currency of the playground. Kids want them — particularly new ones, which invariably belong to someone else — and parents try to keep the kids from doing socially unacceptable things to get them. I suspect that if by some agreement nobody brought any toys at all, most parents would be much happier. But as there will be toys there, most of us bring along some bauble to try to keep junior’s attention off of everyone elses’, or, failing that, at least give him something to share in exchange.

Back in early August, Johannes, a small, silver H2 Hummer, and I crossed 1st Avenue and headed to the first park on our route. There were a good number of kids there, and Johannes immediately took off and left me with the Hummer. Read more »