Don't make me angry...

It has come to my attention that I have much in common with The Hulk.

For one thing, I am busting out of my clothes. I can't even straighten my legs...



For another, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry...


By the way, in some of the photos on this blog, you may notice that there are distractions, such as other people besides me. Did you know that you can expand any picture on the blog by clicking on it, so as to get a better look at me? No? I didn't think you did. And I'm all about spreading happiness.

--Maddie

Unto the third and fourth generation...

Sit down. Are you sitting down? Good.

You know from this blog that I have parents, and you know that my parents have parents. But it has come to my attention this week that my parents' parents have parents!

Can you imagine?! How far could this parenthood thing go? I mean, obviously not everyone has parents -- think about Dick Cheney -- but it must go back a long way in some cases.

Anyway, my great-grandmother gave me a piano lesson today. It turns out I like Irish melodies, which makes perfect sense given my Chinese-English heritage. GG (great grandma) says I have long fingers and will be playing Chopin by the time I'm five. I hope they make tuxedos that size.

The only other news this week is that I have graduated from antacids with two syllables to ones with three syllables. My gas is much better, thank you. And so what if I glow in the dark and am growing sixth toes on both feet?

In any case, the calm that my improved condition has granted has allowed to be of service to my father's research, as he has long anticipated. The photo at right caught me right as I was commenting, "Father, can you believe how slim the evidence is that forms the basis of redaction criticism of First Isaiah?"

Maddie

One small step for mom...

...one giant step for my plans to take over the earth. Starting with Russell Drive.

It was going to be really hard to rule the world from my bouncy chair. Now the powers and principalities will take me more seriously.

Look on my sun hat, ye mighty, and despair.

--Maddie

"There are only two possibilities: a breast or hell"

It's not every day that I have the pleasure of recommending a truly interesting analysis of the inner life of a two-week-old.

This father says of his son: "He doesn't have a drop of morality, not an ounce." Well, maybe when he's a few weeks older and has been to church (or in his case, synagogue) a few times, like me.

Hope you had a blessed Easter (or in his case, Passover),

--Maddie

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

Dear Readers,

The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. But yes, Lordy, I've been down, down so long... although never down for long enough to really give my parents a break.

I was a little loud for a while there. For those who would like to be here, you can simulate the effect by resting a nautical-quality air horn to your shoulder and pressing the button. Dad was about one day away from applying the "Cabernet cure" that I understand is popular in Europe. I personally think I would have enjoyed lolling around in a drunken haze for much of the day, but I'm settling for Zantac and getting drunk only on milk, as usual. It was something about stomach acid -- no more habaneros for me for a while.

So here is the undisputable proof that both Mom and I still exist:

Insert thought bubble: "Am I funny to you? Funny like a clown?"

Thanks to the increased quiet around the house, there has also been more of this:

Peace to my homeez,

Maddie

I went to church, and I have proof

Well, I made my first trip to church today. Do you all have any idea how many people there are out there in the world?! Tons!

But everyone at Central Presbyterian seemed very nice... they were appropriately adoring, and they even gave me this bouquet of roses. At least, that's what they said it was, and since I can't really see colors very well yet, I have to take their word for it.

Maddie

p.s. I lost track of what number day it is. I can't count that high. And besides, I stole that idea from Barritt. I'm giving it back to him as a present since today is his birthday! (I hope he finds younger women attractive... Can you rob the cradle while you're still in the cradle yourself?)

Day 30: I have the hat. Woof.

Dear ASPCA,

Listen carefully, because I only have a few minutes to get this message off to you before my abusive owners catch me and take back the little monster's mind-reading hat.

Did I already mention that my owners are abusive? Well, I can't say it often enough. It's horrible. Let me give you some background. I have seven years of seniority in this household -- or 49, if you're counting in dog years. In all my 49 years I've hardly done anything wrong. (Oh -- like you couldn't spare those Old Navy flip-flops?!)

I've put up with California heat, New Jersey snow and Georgia humidity, guarding my owners on all their mysterious walking expeditions at all hours of the day. I've protected them from all sorts of nefarious threats, like squirrels, geese and maintenance workers. I eat what's put in front of me, and I don't make a lot of noise.

What is my thanks for my years of loyal service? To be unseated by this wailing little interloper. She gets to sleep in bed with them! She cries and they jump! Do you know that they actually warm her food for her? They don't think those Kibbles'n'Bits would go down a little smoother if they were warmed?

You know, she was born in the Chinese year of the dog, which makes her a puppy in my estimation. I feel like a Wall Street wife at 40 -- so sorry I'm not the latest model!!!!

On the other hand, I am grateful that I don't have to wear diapers. But please hear my cry for help!

--Paloma

Day 25: The Magic Behind the Madness

Dear Readers,

There are some who would rather suspend disbelief, who would rather not know how things work. They do not want to know that the Death Star was actually a model made of styrofoam, or that the guy who played Gimli in The Lord of the Rings is actually bigger than my dad. (And we would probably all rather not know why so many home runs have been hit in the major leagues over the past 10 years...)

But then there are those who wonder, How does that work? How did they make the ape look so realistic in King Kong, especially when they couldn't even write a decent script? How did they get the little dog to jump over the big one in the Kibbles 'n' Bits commercial? Well, this post is for you, courageous inquirer.

There have been ... questions about this blog. Being generous of spirit, I will not call them doubts. There have been those who have said that it seems exceedingly worldly and witty for an author less than a month old. There have been those who, explicitly or otherwise, have even suggested that I have a ghostwriter in my employ. As fabulous as that would be... no.

How do I do it? It is true my hands are too small to type effectively, and that my arms, while deceptively strong, are not yet enough under my control to keep my hands on the keyboard anyway. But I assure you that every word of this is my own, thanks to some cutting-edge technology from the Emory School of Neuroscience for which I have a been test subject:

Do you see now? No? It's the hat, which has had fiber optics woven into each strand of merino wool, forming a matrix of neural sensors over my whole skull. When my neurons fire, this network picks up my thoughts and transmits them to a word-processing program.

I admit, I do have an editor. This is what my unedited thoughts would look without one:

Milkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkwhatisthatoddgassyfeeling?
milkmilkmilkreallyhilariouswittythoughtmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkdamnyou!damnyougassyfeeling! Ihateyouwithallmytinyhatred!poooooooooop!ahhhhh!milkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilkmilk

You wouldn't want to read all that, now would you? So my editor cleans out the quotidien stuff, leaving you with only my really hilarious witty thoughts. Enjoy!

--Maddie

Day 23: I think I still feel a pea...

Dear VH1,

I understand that you are interested in The Fabulous Life. I think you need to put me on one of those shows.

How fabulous is my life? Consider:

• I wear as many as half a dozen outfits in a single day ... Fabulous!
  
• I have a staff of two full-time employees at my beck and call ... Fabulous!
  
• Sometimes I drink so much that I throw up all over myself ... Fabulous!
  
• I don't even have to walk anywhere -- I have people to do that for me! ... Fabulous!

Thank you for considering my life.

Madeleine

p.s. If you're not making any more of those shows, could you forward this to MTV's Cribs? I notice that none of the people on that show even have cribs(!), but we could fix that easily.

Day 21: My many faces

Day 18: March Sadness

The good news: Duke's streak of never losing a game while I'm watching is still alive.

The bad news: That's because I fell asleep last night during the game. You can see how upset I was when I woke up and realized what had happened.

Dear JJ, Shelden and Coach K: I'm sorry I let you down.

-- Maddie

p.s. Dear Coach Goestenkors: I'm going to be tall. Don't understimate me just because I'm half Asian. Don't forget, Yao Ming is Chinese, and so is this woman.

Day 17: Monsters

Hi everyone!

I haven't been able to get to the blog for the past couple of days because I've been helping my dad prepare a monster midterm -- in Ugaritic, which is like Hebrew's eccentric grandaddy. Some people think I'm precocious, but this one was easy since Proto-Semitic is my native tongue (basically a bunch of monosyllabic guttural sounds). It was Aunt Amy's idea for me to learn that in the womb -- good idea!

Next, I'm taking up Mandarin -- that should be easy, too, since I've had a private tutor here for the past week -- thanks, Grandma! I'll always be your Xiao Guai Guai.*



What else can I tell you? I'm convinced there are monsters under my bed, but Mom and Dad say it's not so...


* -- Good little girl

Day 14: A dark-horse winner

Dear readers,

You may recall that we staged a poll recently to determine which parent I resemble. Well, the results are in, and the surprise result is... neither!

Whom do I resemble? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the winner:


If you don't get it, you obviously haven't seen me when I'm hungry...

Maddie

Day 13: My so-called blog

It seems to me that the focus of this space has meandered a bit too much over the past few days. As I told my agent, people don't come here to look at Mom and Dad. I'm the franchise, baby. (Or should I say, "I'm the franchise baby"?)

So let's get re-acquainted, shall we? Think of yourself as Barbara Walters doing an interview, and I'll be happy to cry for you. You want to know the real me? Here I am in a quiet moment:
That's pretty much what I'm like... Pardon me for a second -- Mom and Dad, why are you laughing?

A few of you have probably noticed my profile, that one of my hobbies is "looking askance at people." You may wonder, What does that look like? Like this:

Just imagine yourself being manhandled all the time by 18-foot-tall, 3,000-pound people, and you will understand how I feel. In order to keep my cool under such challenging conditions, I have taken up yoga. This position is called the Inverted Flamingo:

Day nine: Now look here

It has come to my attention that there is a group of people out there who think Dad should be doing something other than paying rapt attention to me. This dangerous group, known as "Faculty," is a threat to our (well, OK, my) way of life.

I just want to say to those "Faculty": You do not stand a chance. I am the future, and you will never gain a foothold here. Here is what Dad sees when he looks up from his work:
"You want those books, scholar boy? You're gonna have to go through me!"

Surrender now!

--Maddie

The first Maddie-ness reader poll!

As you may remember, there is a disagreement brewing in the house about which parent I resemble most -- Dad says Mom, Mom says Dad. I've gotten a little tired of hearing everyone talk about it -- in fact, it's been keeping me up at night -- so I've decided to let you, dear readers, decide.

Do I look like Mom? Here is some data on her to allow you draw your own conclusions:

Dad says, "I rest my case."

Do I resemble Dad? Here is some data to allow you to decide for yourself:



Mom says: "I rest my case."

You are invited to vote in the "Comments" section.

Day eight: Hangin' with my peeps

Yesterday and today I finally got to meet two of the babies who were making me leap around in the womb (Luke 1:41ff.). They came down from Athens and Alpharetta to the mean streets of Dekalb County, where we keep it real, yo.

Barritt Chambers is every bit as cute as he looks on his blog -- he's the quiet, creative type. And today it was Miriam Anderson, who is my new hero. I aspire to get as big as you and shout like you, girlfriend.

Well, there's a lot more going on, but Blogspot's server is not letting me post photos today, so I'll hold out for multimedia.

Peace to my homeez,

Maddie

Day six: The cavalry arrives

Gram and Grampa have been here the last couple of days helping out; it's been a mixed bag.

I am publishing the first photo in order to document the conditions of my confinement here. This torture method is called "bath" in the language of my captors. I don't know what the statute of limitations is on abuse cases like this one, but hopefully I will know how to use words before it runs out. On the other hand, that lady really knows how to burp you.

In the other photo, Grampa (we were going to call him Gandalf, but it didn't take) provides tanning services. It's Spring Break, after all, and swimsuit season is just around the corner.

p.s. Leroy, that's a good dissertation chapter; but I do have a few comments which I will convey to you via abstract milk-spit shapes on your paper.

They tell me this is supposed to be educational...

...but since I passed my first test yesterday anyway (I'm beating my jaundice), I'm not going to study very hard.

Day four

So, today we had our first real excursion, to the pediatrician. The doctors say it's something about "John diss." I don't who John is or why he's feeling dissed, but enough with the blood tests. I thought you had to be more than four days old to be a blood donor.

You don't want to hear me cry, though (that's my parents' job). So anyway, I had a first-class seat for the trip, but the entertainment options were slim. I thought the supplied reading material (see photo) was a little formulaic and dull, despite the graphic nature of the diagrams.