Our neighbors think we either got a chimp or a stripper

...as Q's been shouting his new favorite word.

First Haircut

Second, really, as we did the first, but that was just a snip of frizz above his ear. This was the real deal.

The barber's chair, the smell, the combs in the jar of mystery liquid and the lady chewing gum like it had done something wrong to her. Q even had an audience. Two guys went in before us and the second let us go first. He was an uncle to six, he said, and felt it was his Karmic duty to give back to a parent because of what he'd wrought on his brothers and sisters. You see, he bought all their young children fireworks last July, and there still seemed to be some sore spots about letting the kids play with explosives.

Quin was excellent. I think it helped he had a crowd. He always does better when it's more than just mom and dad trying to get him to eat/sit/wear pants. If you don't mind I'll have a bunch of you over to watch me change his diaper.

But this is about Quin being good, so good in fact that a mere bystander gave him a bouncy ball. It's not covered in LSD, or at least I don't think, but that's what we'd always hear about toys from strangers. Although Quin has taken to sprinting up and down our newly carpeted hall shouting, "go, go, go, raaaawr, go, go..." so who knows.

Newly carpeted hall

Newly coifed child

Someone please tell my loved ones they mean a lot to me

I'd like to blame Comcast for this.

It all began last July when I decided to cancel my T-Mobile cell phone. I wanted to save money. I was tired of cell phones. Canceling seemed like a good idea.

I've written about the process of getting rid of a cell phone and how the cell phone support staff seems it unthinkable, and if you just go to Starbucks and get a tea and think about it for a while you'll come to your senses.

I didn't, so today I want to pull you through the labyrinth of decisions that has stole from me several hours of my life, as well as many of the friends, family and business contacts who have since made better acquaintance with some guy named Scott.

Shortly after freeing myself of the electronic leash of my T-mobile phone, I found myself in a Radio Shack comparing prices on pay-as-you-go Tracfones. It was a desperate move to get connected for my work with the upcoming DNC. But no matter my intentions, there's just something sad and lonely about shopping for anything at Radio Shack.

I will feel that way one more time in this bumbling manifesto, and I won't be wearing pants.

Now let's fast forward to about one week ago. I'd decided the Tracfone was too expensive because, well, it is. I'd kept it for emergencies but they kept popping up everywhere, like when I was driving and bored. So I talked it down to zero minutes and gave it to Quin as a toy.

To replace the Tracfone I stepped up to a Verizon family plan. This meant that Sarah--the woman WHO NEVER HAS HAD A CELL PHONE (all caps intended to capture the reaction of every human who hears this news)--would get wirelessly connected as well. So, to help you follow this debacle, let me summarize.

--Last summer I dropped my T-mobile plan.
--I gave Quin my Tracfone.
--I ordered two Verizon phones. One for me and one for Sarah.
--Sarah's phone was our home phone. I ported the number to her new cell.
--My phone was 303 264 8234. A very cool and memorable number, but yes, already in the past tense.

We'd officially joined the culture of the cool and untethered. I called my brother to tell him. As I dialed on my new Verizon Samsung phone I made my way to my basement office. The signal faded with each step into the din. I wanted our home phone back.

Where was our home phone?

Gone. And here's where I should blame Comcast. I'd just canceled our home phone because they'd raised our rates on our "bundle", which is advertising for "a way to sell you things you don't want". Fired up about the higher bill, I tried to cancel our cable TV, too, but Comcast said our "bundled" Internet would be more expensive without it. They somehow sold me on the fact that one thing is more expensive than two, so I should pay for two even though I'd only use one.

So, here's where we are:

--No home phone.
--Two Verizon phones, one with our old home number.
--A Tracfone now covered in toddler excretion.

Unhappy with Verizon, disillusioned by Comcast, and realizing I wanted our home phone back, I called Qwest for their best deal on home and Internet. They were so happy to get some business they gave me a fifty dollar gift card. After being showered with deals I'd settled on a new Qwest home number: 303 789 9266. I liked that one not only because of the consecutive exchange digits, but because 9266 spells XCON. I have a friend in San Fran who had the very same number and I used the mnemonic device to keep in touch. (For the record he does have one widely publicized incident with psychedelic mushrooms and that made it appropriate enough.)

So now I have:

--Comcast cable and Internet, which individually are more expensive than both.
--A pending deal for Qwest Internet and phone.
--Two Verizon phones, one being our old home number.
--A Tracfone being used as a hammer on a Pound-a-Peg

And then I went to work yesterday and was issued a work cell phone.

As I was going to sleep last night I started to think about expenses and how stupid it is to have all these phones. Not only that, I asked myself, "Why have a new home phone number when everyone already knows the old one?"

This morning I got up and canceled the two Verizon phones. I even avoided the early termination fee. I called Qwest and asked them if I could get my old home phone number from Verizon. They can, but I had to redo the entire order with this one lady who's fairly new to the country. XCON would be no more. Great. It only took an hour of loudly spelling my name and address and I scored another fifty-dollar gift. However, Qwest can't hook up our home phone for two weeks. That's fine, I say, because we'll just use the Tracfone to keep in touch. I commandeered that from Quin, chipped away dried banana, went online and added minutes, then called my friend who'd I knew been trying to get a hold of us.

That was the last I saw of it.

Until a few moments ago when I found it in my pants. In the washer.

It is rare when I change out of let alone wash my Carharts, but even rarer is when I remember to take my cell phone out of them. I keep it in the little tool pocket that sits just about mid thigh. It's a nice fit for a mobile phone, perhaps too nice, as whenever it rings I end up digging and spinning like a dog with a bad itch. Because of this secure enclosure it isn't often I think of my phone. It has to ring or I have to lose my pants. Tonight I was looking for both when I stopped and, in a tone that made it sound I'd just realized a murderer, whispered "Carharts." Sarah heard me and groaned. She knew she was about to have to tell me the bad news about my durable work jeans. She doesn't check pockets that well, especially the nontraditional tool pockets on a white-collar worker, so at least three other times some gadget or another has been thoroughly cleaned. We're 3 for 3 with functionality, but I'm not so sure with this Tracfone. It's still a little moist. It's still not turning on.

It would have been much safer with Quin.

So here's where we are now:

--Comcast home phone is gone.
--Qwest home phone can't be turned on for another week.
--Verizon phones are in a box to be Fed-Exed back to wherever.

In three days I've had three phone numbers and now none of them work, except maybe the Tracfone, which is by the fireplace drying off. The one phone I know is working is my old T-mobile phone. But some guy named Scott owns that now and he's tired of taking my calls.