The Ghe Conspiracy

As most of you know, I've long held the suspicion that the gays had their own secret food supply that was unavailable to us straights and furthermore that it was fabulous. I never had any proof, however, until I saw this truck driving through town the other day.

Normal people would have thought nothing of it but I saw right through their misdirection misspelling of the word gay. I realized I'd need more proof in order to blow the lid off this thing so I started "hanging around" (staking out) Steve (the gay guy I work with)'s cubicle around lunchtime. For several weeks, nothing looked amiss although he seemed to be eating in such a way as to never give someone who might be passing by a good look at what he was eating. But then he got careless.

I saw him start to peel what appeared to be a normal banana. Instead of the usual soft, pale flesh inside, however, this had alternating bands of what appeared to be banana, watermelon, cantaloupe, and kiwi. An entire fruit salad inside a banana peel! I immediately sprang into his cube from my hiding place across the hall.

"Hey Steve, what's that you're eating, it looks good." I said.  He tried to quickly shove the entire thing in his mouth but, miraculously, failed.
"Oh, hi Rick," he tried to mumble through a mouthful of miracle fruit, "Nothin', just a banana."
"That's one crazy lookin' banana," I said, "Why does it have all those different colors?"
"Huh, I guess you're right," he said, "Must have gone bad, better throw it away."
"Not so fast, Steve," I said. "I know all about the gay food supply so why don't you just come clean!"

He tried to laugh it off and deny everything, but I wasn't having any of it. I'd come too far.
"Ok look, Rick, you've always been a supporter of equal rights for our community and I'd like to tell you more but I just can't...you don't know what you're messing with...there are powerful forces at play here," he said cryptically.
"Steve, how long have you known me?" I replied, "You can trust me."
"Well...Ok, but you don't sporadically publish some poorly read internet blog or anything, do you?"
"Pssht, me? Noooooo, nothing like that," I lied, crossing my fingers behind my back to absolve me of any repercussions of my dishonesty.  He went on to tell me one of the most fascinating tales I've ever heard in my life...

He told me that there's a secret plantation in the Maldives that was started by Alexander the Great, who, presciently, worried that one day homosexuals might be persecuted and need a stable food supply of their own. For centuries it has employed the best gay geneticists, botanists, and gourmands in the world, with operations currently being overseen by none other than Neil Patrick Harris. Damn, that guy's multi-talented. I sat in stunned silence while he finished his tale, and then asked him if I could have a bite of his fancy banana.

"Rick," he said, "Do yourself a favor and never taste anything from the gay food supply. It's so delicious that you will never again be satisfied by straight food."
"So wait, you're saying that once I go gay, I'll never go...a word that rhymes with gay that means back but also has a vague food connotation? Maybe something like Once you go gay, all other food tastes like hay?"
"Exactly," he said, "And besides, I can't supply you with gay food...its distribution is strictly rationed and the consequences for giving it to straights are, well...let's just say that the guy from that movie Milk's death might not have been an accident."
"Wait, how could that have been an accident? Wasn't he shot?"
"Exactly."
"Wait, so is there more than just the fancy bananas?" I asked.
"The Rainbownana is just the tip of the iceberg," he said "We have carb-less bread that's much more delicious than regular bread, non-habit-forming wines so delicious they bring tears to your eyes, and meats the likes of which you couldn't even fathom."
"Oh right, what do you guys have like a pig that poops bacon without harming the pig?" I asked jokingly.
"Who told you about Gayc-Os Bacon Shitz? Those aren't going to be released until 2016!"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was some next level conspiracy stuff. Despite my promise to never tell a soul what I'd heard, I couldn't help but blog about it. Plus, it's the 100th LickandRiz blogpost. In what was probably an unrelated incident, I saw Steve being led out of the office by two handsome and impeccably groomed gentlemen in perfectly tailored suits the day after I uploaded this. I started to worry a bit when he missed the next two days of work but then on the third day he was back. Whew. I went to go talk to him over lunch but he was busy eating a regular banana and a Healthy Choice Lunch Express microwavable pasta entree and sobbing quietly to himself.      



       
  

Decisions

Max contemplates keeping the jack to go for the more likely knobs cut or keeping the inside double run possibility and going for the big score.

Hat Fashion Show

Two Months!

Max turned two months old on August 8th!  He weighed in at 12 pounds 3 ounces at his check up.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame...

Max attended his first baseball game on Thursday, August 2nd.  Our hometown Minnesota Twins were in town for the weekend and we were excited for Max to experience some great baseball.  And it didn't hurt that the Twins showed Max how the game should be played by beating the Red Sox 5 to 0.

Max loved Fenway!  He "talked" to the people around us and stared at the lights.  He didn't exactly pay attention to the game but was content to take in all of the sights, smells and sounds of the ballpark.  When he had had enough, he cuddled up to his mom in his Baby Bjorn and slept.  Next year should be even more fun!

One Month!

It's hard to believe that this was just a month ago...

One Month (July 8th)

Family Picture Time

Coordinating a family picture just got a little more complicated...

Visitors!

Max had a very busy June and early July with visitors from Minnesota.  We are hoping that he listened to their Minnesotan accents...

Grandma Nancy came to visit first. While she was here Max took his first visit to the Roslindale Farmers Market and his first nature walk at the Stony Brook Reservation.  She was a ton of help around the house and got lots of snuggle time in with Max.

We had about a week by ourselves and then my sister Kris arrived.  Kris is an excellent burper and even took over a couple of the night time/early am feedings!

Then Grandma Patty and Papa Mitch arrived.  They helped us catch up on our yard work and babysat while Phoebe went to the vet.

Baby Name Thought Process

(Theme music) Maa-a-ax Sherva, he's the maximum level of Sherva in the world...

Chief, the terrorists are holding the hostages in the nuclear power plant!
I know, it looks grim.
We need Seal Team Six!
Yevchenko and those terrorists would eat Seal Team Six for breakfast, plus we can't risk causing a nuclear meltdown...I hate to say it, but the only chance we have is to go to Max Sherva.
But Chief, the Sherva level in the reactor is already dangerously high! I don't think we can risk any more Sherva!
I didn't say we needed more Sherva, Judy, I said we needed Max Sherva...

 
Oh God, surely you don't mean...
He's the only chance we've got.
But Chief, he's a sexy, dangerous maverick who plays and poops and loves by his own rules!
That may be true, Judy, but he's the best damn hostage negotiator slash terrorist killer slash nuclear reactor defuser the world has ever seen.
But Chief, the last time we used him on a job, infant and toddler pregnancies went up 37 percent!
And if it weren't for that crop of abnormally brave and sexy newborn commandos we'd all be speaking baby Taliban right now.
But Chief, Max Sherva is...
 ...Two hours past needing a fresh diaper, Judy?
Max!

Long time no see, Judy.

You've got a lot of nerve showing your cherubic face around here!
Sorry about the way things went down in Helsinki, Judy, but are we going to sit around all day debating who threw which terrorists into which nuclear reactors and saving which hostages slash creating which radioactive terrorists or are we going to get Yevchenko slash free those hostages slash secure that plutonium?

(Later, teetering on the edge of the cooling tower)

Mwahaha!  Don't you see, Max?, you already lost!  The hostages are buried in cement and reactor mass is already critical!

You're forgetting four things, Yevchenko.  One: I gave all the hostages cement snorkels when you were busy overriding the automatic reactor failsafe valve.  Two: that cement will shield them from the radioactive fallout.  And three: I invited every terrorist in the world to a fake terrorist rave party...at this very nuclear reactor...tonight...which means every terrorist in the world is currently receiving one million millirems of ionizing radiation per minute while they're dancing the terrorist Macarena.

Curses!  Well played Max, but I still have gun which means I shoot you dead and...wait, what was fourth thing?

You're standing in my soiled diaper, Yevchenko...and I had pureed bananas for dinner.
(Yevchenko slips and falls into the reactor core) Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaax! Sherva!     
Adieu, Yevchenko, Adieu...Or should I say, "Agoo."  

Maa-a-ax Sherva, he's the maximum level of Sherva in the world!

And scene.  

Yep, Max Manford Sherva it is.

Nursery

The guest room has been officially transformed into the nursery.  Don't worry, we still have room for guests so come visit us!

Before

After

The Great Baby Gear Heist of 2012

(To be read in the slick-talking east coast criminal voice of your choosing)

We left real late at night, see, under cover of darkness...harder for people to see our plates. Packed light, would need the trunk space later for "the goods." Headed east on the Mass Pike, crossed into New York sometime around midnight. Started raining. Made it real hard to see since our wipers sucked. Hadn't needed them all winter. Harder to drive but harder to see our plates too, gotta cover your tracks, don't take no chances. We drove all night and through the next day. Laughed at a sign for Fangboner Road in Ohio.

Heh heh hee...Fangboner. C'mon, even us hardened criminals like a good laugh. Ok that's enough. Back to the caper. We thought about stopping to see some of our "associates" in Chicago, but we had bigger fish to fry. We pushed on and rolled in to my brother and Danita's place outside Minneapolis exactly 23.5 hours after we left Boston.

The next day we had Liz's mom do our taxes. When the great criminals go down, it's always for tax evasion. Ya gots to have a good tax person if you don't want to end up in the pokey, blind and syphilis-ridden.

That night we met up with some of the old gang at Town Hall Brewery to cool our heels a bit before the capering. The Schulz's came all the way up from Northfield, where they are more feared than Jesse James and his gang. The Neshes (who are planning their own baby heist), Reeses, Walkowiaks, Kovalas, Peiks, and Kerns showed up too. We had some laughs.

The loot grab began in earnest on Saturday. It's almost too easy, like taking candy from babies except for the candy is actually things babies use and you take it from other people and not actual babies and all's you have to do is have a pregnant lady show up somewhere, throw a few bucks worth of chicken chili in a crockpot, and everyone gives you tons of free stuff on their own free will and you don't have to "take" so much as "receive." Got it? Even people who can't show up for the free chili SEND gifts in the mail. My aunts Lori and Lois sent us an entire baby stroller and got not a single scoop of chili! There's a sucker born every minute, as the saying goes. The best part: I didn't have to do nothin'--I played some golf with some "associates" while Liz worked her magic.

Saturday Shower at Alli's

We pulled a second job that night at Amy and Andy's place. We haven't been on that softball team in 7 years and they STILL gave us a bunch of loot. We also got the most hilarious gag shower gift ever designed by Kristy Rolig. It's too hard to explain bu t it was "from" a couple we used to bowl against, Herb and Vicki. Herb killed a guy after 'Nam and was in the St. Peter hospital. The gift included Winstons, lighters, and defaced stuffed animals.

The final phase of the operation was on Sunday at a nondescript community room in a senior citizens condo. Might have been Liz's grandma. Not sayin' for sure so as not to implicate her. After bowling a few games, I showed up at the end to help load the loot into the getaway car...during which time we notices a little problem: there was no way we were going to get all the loot into our '78 Challenger (car year and model changed to protect the innocent). We stuffed everything we could into space bags so as not to transport air across state lines. We ended up having to return a bunch of stuff, get gift cards, and re-buy them once we got back to MA, which if you think about it is really like stealing gas. To really top things off, my brother, a legitimate businessman, gave us a free new set of wipers that "fell off a truck" at his legitimate business. And since no self-respecting caper wouldn't involve the transport of alcohol, we got some discounted wine and Surly from Vinifera Wines and Ales, along with a discounted bottle of scotch which I later sold to a co-worker. OK, now here's the best part...the thing that's really gonna put us in the criminal hall of fame along with Bonnie and Clyde and and the diaper astronaut: we grabbed three Diet Cokes for the drive home from my mom's place...you see where I'm going with this? That's right--street value in Massachusetts: 15 cents. yep, 3/5th of two bits, allllll profit.

Sunday Shower

In short, it's good to have family and friends...you know, to fleece.

St. Pats in Southie

We crossed another item off our "things you have to do to be considered a true Bostonian" list* when we finally attended the annual St. Patrick's day parade in Southie earlier today. It was an experience to say the least. Just getting there was an adventure; the trains were packed. Like, India packed. Like European football game stampede packed. Like one toxic fart away from killing an entire subway car full of people packed. But we finally made it onto a train and soon joined the wasted throngs to watch the parade. Luckily Liz's friend Erin from school and her opera singing boyfriend David were there to protect the fetus from any Irish jostling.


Well, we saw things. Bad things. Five year old boys fist fighting while their parents watched? Check ("You need to stop fighting and cussing," said one of the moms as they walked away. At least she was trying). Extreme intoxication? Oh yes. Thirteen year olds smoking? Yup. Public drama? Oh you better believe there was public drama. Hoochies? As far as the eye could see. Sunburned gingers? Yes. Weeping? Also yes. We saw a belligerently civic minded girl spot a discarded paper bag (among a sea of litter), pick it up, and yell "Who! FU#KIN!' litters!?" "YOU'RE littering the streets...with your profanity!" yelled a clever guy. Liz and I were discussing whether this event or the St. Louis Mardi Gras bacchanal was trashier. We deemed it a draw.

The parade itself was, in a word, shitty, even by parade standards. The first thing in the parade, a recycling truck, really set the tone. This was followed by several SWAT trucks and paddy wagons, many of which were likely occupied. A show of force right off the bat was probably a good reminder to all the Southie hoodlums and their kids.

OK, the bagpipers and world war II reenacters were cool, but that was it.

There were all these weird gaps in the parade flow, as if it was planned by hungover Irishmen or something. They didn't even have port-a-potties or food for sale. We did see Scott Brown, so there's that.

"The Emperor says if I lose fifteen more pounds a Speederbike will be able to hover with me on it. Then I'll get deployed to Endor for sure. Finally kill me a coupla' them Ewoks."

We were glad we went but it might be our last time. Since we were all dead sober, I told Liz we owed it to ourselves to try it one more time hammered. You know, after the kid is old enough to drive us but too young to drink. I reckon that would give us a narrow window between age 14 and 14.5 by Southie standards. After an arduous bus trip, we retired to the relative calm of Roslindale for corned beef, cabbage, and a Murphy's. Real dignified like.

*Other list items include: finishing the Boston marathon, bayoneting a Redcoat, sexual intercourse with an Affleck and/or Wahlberg, beating up a MIT geek, Truck Day (yes, this is an actual thing), getting tossed out of Cheers before noon on a Sunday, having a verbal altercation with someone in Yankee garb on the Green Line, murdering somone on Craigslist, and summering on Nantucket.