Pregnancy

The other day, Esther commented that she was "really enjoying" my blog. But I knew this was not a stand alone compliment... there was a qualified "but" coming. Sure enough, here it came: ". . . but can you write some more personal stuff about us and the baby?"

What???!!! Wifey, you crazy. How is my take on annoying television commercials and the harmful effects of video games not personal enough? Do these posts not give the reader a window into my inner soul? What more do I have to do? (Sigh) . . . I knew this "exclusive creative control" clause to my blog had an expiration date. I just didn’t know it would be this soon.

But giving it more thought, I guess Esther has a point. According to the baby tracker on my iGoogle page, there are only 67 days left until the scheduled birth of our child. Only two months and a week left and I haven’t blogged about the pregnancy at all. I obviously can’t post any photos of my daughter now, but what I can do is post photos of the baby’s development in Esther’s body and post photos of my wife in the various stages of her pregnancy. I relayed the idea to Esther and she was thrilled! Because I knew Esther would murder me if I published certain pregnancy photos of her without her prior consent, I told her that she should select the ones she wants to share and e-mail them to me.

It has been several days now and I have not received those photos by e-mail. It has been a week since my last blog entry and my readers are getting antsy and impatient. So I’ve decided to just go ahead and post photos that I feel accurately depict the development of Esther’s pregnancy. Because my wife failed to send me photos in a timely manner, I will use pictures of inanimate objects instead:

(Isn't pregnancy just the most beautiful process you've ever seen?)

Only Board Games for Ella

My wife recently said to me, "When Ella’s born, can you promise that we won’t let her play video games?" I responded with a resounding "Yes" (and actually meant it this time).

I know there are a lot of passionate gamers out there. I’m not one of them. Personally, video games bring out the worst in me. If I get too invested, I get annoyed, frustrated, even irate when I can’t accomplish the video game objective. Life’s too short for me to get pissed when I can’t get the digital character on the screen to grab some sparkling gem to save some princess from some dragon/ogre/monster/the Man. Yet, I fall into the same trap over and over again.

For example, there was a game called NFL Blitz. I would always lose in the last play of the game against a guy who probably didn’t even know the real rules of football. He would drop back to pass by backpeddling 30 or so yards, then just heave a hail mary that would get caught, that receiver would throw a lateral pass to another receiver, who would then throw another forward pass (which is highly illegal in real football by the way) to another receiver for the touchdown, while all of my secondary defenders would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

There was also another fighting game called Tekken Tag that I would play with my cousin. On one particular night, he beat me 30 times in a row. I’m not even exaggerating. It was literally 30-0. And he was beating me with a Brazilian character that essentially fights using breakdance moves (a la Zoolander). You would think I’d walk away after losing the first 10. But I didn’t. I continued to eat flares and windmills until it was past midnight. I finally beat my cousin late into the early Sunday morning. By that time, I was about 3 hours late to my friend’s birthday in K-town. When I arrived, they were obviously drunk and had a good chuckle when I told them why I was late.

But I digress... aside from the obvious stress and anger video games may cause Ella, I will keep my baby away from them because I think that the lessons they teach can be dangerously influential and misleading. Here are some examples off the top of my head:

Mario Brothers will teach Ella that it is fun to play in sewer pipes and partake in funny-looking mushrooms. It will also convince her that obesity is not a serious problem since these fat Italian dudes seem to be able to jump 30 feet in the air with relative ease.

Street Fighter will teach her that a flying fireball can’t possibly hurt her so long as she puts her forearm up in front of her face. I also shudder at the thought of her learning about other cultures through this game. Can’t you just imagine her asking an Indian person to spit some flames for her? Or asking a Brazilian why he/she doesn’t look like the Incredible Hulk on crack?

Mike Tyson’s Punch Out will inspire Ella to think that it doesn’t matter that she’s 3'2". So long as you have heart, you should get into the ring with the reigning world heavyweight champion.

Grand Theft Auto ..... come on, do I really have to explain why this would be a bad idea?

James Bond or any other video game that is ‘first person perspective’ would require that I clean up vomit from the inevitable motion sickness that accompanies playing this game.

Lastly, Dance Dance Revolution (DDR). I know what you’re thinking: ‘But DDR promotes exercise and physical fitness!’. No, it doesn’t. It promotes ‘dancing.’ And I do not want to expose my daughter to anything that may encourage her to seek dancing as a profession. Because there are only two types of professional dancing: One where the opportunities are scarce and the pay is low, and one where the opportunities are plentiful and the pay is extremely good. And I wouldn’t want her involved in either, particularly the latter. Chris Rock once eloquently said that the main objective of a father of a girl is to "keep her off the pole." I agree wholeheartedly.

Is Ella in good hands or what?

Commercials

Being without a TV has spurred me to seek alternative ways to keep myself busy. So far, I’ve used this free time to do some chores around the house (cleaning, watering the plants), go market shopping, go furniture shopping, read, and have quiet, meaningful conversations with my wife. In other words, it sucks being without a television.

One thing from the boob tube that I will not miss, however, are the inane commercials that seem to be popping up more frequently. Why can’t all commercials be as good as those "Real Men of Genius" TV and radio spots?

Here are the most egregious culprits:

1. GEICO

Someone, please stop the madness. It doesn’t get any worse than pasting a couple of eyeballs on a stack of cash and making the ‘80s hit "Somebody’s Watching Me" relevant again. The only ones benefitting from this sad excuse for a commercial is Rockwell, the group that sang the aforementioned song. And yes, I had to Google it.

Working for Geico’s advertising firm, so easy, a caveman can do it.

2. SWIFFER WET JET

Another cringeworthy commercial. This is the one where a woman receives flowers and candygrams from a "Mr. Mop," who is trying to woo her back to using conventional mops. Their song of choice: the 1970's hit "Baby Come Back" by Player. Did you know that Vanessa Hudgens of High School Musical fame did a remake of this song for the Disney channel? Don’t care? See, nothing can make this commercial interesting. (And yes, I Googled that as well).

By the way, we’ve recently purchased a Swiffer Wet Jet and I hate myself for actually liking the product.

3. DOS EQUIS BEER

Notice how they call him "the most interesting man in the world" and not the most "original" man in the world? These spots wouldn’t be so bad except that they’re a clear rip-off of ‘Chuck Norris facts.’

"I don’t always plagiarize... but when I do, I prefer Chuck Norris."

4. JARRITOS

I’ve been hearing more and more radio ads for Jarritos lately. These ads prove that you don’t need visual images in your commercials to make it suck.

For those of you who don’t know, Jarritos is a fruit-flavored soda company whose catch phrase is, get this, "What the fruit!?" When I heard it the first time, I thought the FCC had fallen asleep at the wheel. I’ve never, ever heard a commercial that used a play off of an expletive to pimp their product. That’s the equivalent of if Mother’s Cookies came out with a new brand of fudge cookies and called it Mother Fudgers. Is this even legal?

(As you can see, I do watch lots of TV. Esther said that no one would be able to understand this entry because no one could have possibly seen/heard all of these commercials. I beg to differ. I’d be surprised if you haven’t seen these ads.)

Desperate Times . . .

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Our New Home and a Lost Friend

Lots of big changes going on in my life. As most of you know by now, we are expecting our first child, a girl, in July. We’ve named her Ella. Our friends had a lot of theories as to how we came up with the name. Some thought it was a play off of "L.A.," since I’ve got a lot of Los Angeles pride (particularly with the sports teams). Others thought it started with an "E" and ended with an "A" for our names, "Esther" and "Austin". The truth is, we just liked the name. And "Ella" means "bright light," which we thought was perfect seeing how her mother’s name means "star."

When we found out we were expecting, we knew we had to move out of our one-bedroom apartment. We recently moved into our new townhouse in Redondo Beach. Since I’m sure many of you are curious, below are some pre-move photos we took of our new home:

If you’re wondering why I’m making that face in the last photo, it’s because the dining room light is hung too low which caused me to hit my head at least four times. I’ve now had as many concussions as Steve Young and Troy Aikman combined.

Things are slowly starting to come together. I am no longer living out of a suitcase, but there are still a few boxes lying around. All was good in Austher Land until I discovered something that I knew would alter my existence forever:

The movers busted my television set.

I was devastated when I discovered it. I would’ve preferred that the movers key my car, scuff up my walls, or even defecate on my bed before destroying my wonderful TV. Esther said I looked like I had just found out my best friend had died. She was exaggerating of course. I never considered the TV a "friend." Future babysitter, yes. Friend, no.

I tried to watch the Lakers-Rockets playoff game last night on the busted set. Ever try to watch a basketball game when you can’t see the bottom 1/4 of the screen? I could only see when the Lakers scored on the left side of the screen. All of Houston’s offensive possessions on the right side of the screen were hidden behind a distorted mask of multicolored vertical lines. If I had to guess the score at halftime, I would’ve said Lakers 57, Rockets 0. To make matters worse, the TV started shutting off on its own during inopportune moments. For example, it shut off right after Fisher "backed that thang up" and checked Scola and his greasy mop of a hairdo to the floor.

As the playoff intensity escalated, I desperately wanted—no, needed, to see the rest of the game. As Esther was mindlessly surfing the web, I asked her whether I could run across the street to the local Japanese/sushi restaurant to finish the rest of the game. She gives me this incredulous look, sighs, then says, ‘Fine, go.’ Being married has taught me a thing or two. Like the SATs, this was clearly a test. The manner in which my wife said ‘yes’ clearly translated into, "Yes, you can go, but if you do, I’m going to tell all of my girlfriends that you left your pregnant wife and unborn child to fend for themselves at home so that you could go to a bar and watch TV."

Needless to say, I did not go. And I could not track the game on the internet because *gritting teeth* my wonderful wife was on the computer. So in my desperation, I kept turning the TV on, even though it would shut off by itself 10 seconds later. It was the electronic equivalent of a dying patient pleading for the doctor to "pull the plug," only to have the doctor say ‘nahhh’ and use the defibrillator instead.

CLEAR!

OK, this post is way too long and has taken up too much of my time. But I bet yer pretty surprised I blogged two days in a row! ‘Til next time. (If you're ever in the South Bay, give us a call. We'd love to show you around the new hood.)

Intro

Well, here I am again. Doing something I vowed I would walk away from forever due to the amount of time it consumed in my daily life. My last blog entry, which was on Xanga, was on December 30, 2006. That’s virtually two and a half years ago! What has brought me back after all this lost time? The steady nagging of my beautiful wife, Esther.

When we got married, I promised Esther that I would start up my blog again at some point. Months and months passed, and I had not fulfilled my promise. Esther appeared to have given up on her crusade until she recently stumbled upon a friend’s blog chronicling her pregnancy and other life changes. Esther, who is over six months pregnant with our first child (the baby prenatally known as "Ella"), caught a bout of "blog envy," and again requested (nagged) that I create a blog. I indicated I would do so, but only under certain conditions. Esther, fearful that I would never get around to blogging otherwise, shockingly agreed to all of my conditions. (This should serve as a lesson to all you gents out there: Always lower your woman’s expectations. It works out at the end.)

So what were the conditions of my blog? There were only two:

1. It will be my own personal page.

Not our "family webpage" or our future daughter’s page. Mine, mine, mine–all mine! I’m not saying I’ll never post anything personal about our family or Ella, but at the same time, I didn’t want to be forced to write my entries as Ella in the first person. I’m hoping my kid will be talented, but having the ability to type from the confines of the womb? Naw, my readers will see right through that and know I’m ghostwriting. Which brings me to my next point: If you ever see a blog where a baby is actually saying stuff like, "I took a big poop today and poor daddy had to clean it up", don’t believe it! It’s a hoax. No baby is bright enough to have his own blog with the possible exception of Stewie from Family Guy. And even then it’s typed with a British accent.

2. I will have absolute creative control of my blog.

Again, like I said, I’ll gladly post about significant events in my daughter’s life. But there will be times that her bowel movements will have to take a backseat to a Dodgers’ walk-off homerun or even a wonderful cheeseburger I had for lunch. My blog will have no script and no set timetable for new entries. To test whether Esther is truly OK with this Rule #2, I took the liberty of unilaterally deciding on the name of the blog. I’m sure Esther was hoping this blog would be named something sentimental like "Ella’s Heart." Instead, I went the exact opposite route and named it "Gibby’s Limp." For those of you who don’t know the significance of the title, let’s just say it stems from the greatest ever Los Angeles sports moment:

So, Kuk Bi, here you go. Enjoy. Reap the benefits of your labor (nagging). You have truly been a worthy adversary.