Image of Koko screaming, rendered as a black and white logo.
John John is almost 6 and the world of knock-knock jokes has arrived unceremoniously on our door step. I vaguely remember some David Cross bit that had to do with hating family gatherings because of all the knock-knock jokes he had to endure from his nieces and nephews, and I only am thinking about it for the first time because we are literally under assault.
The thing is, knock-knock jokes are by nature totally lame. How could they become even less tolerable? By kids thinking that the structure of the joke is the joke, so as the adult we are forced to part-take in meaningless set ups like, “Knock knock,” “Who’s there?” “Truck.” “Truck who?” “Truckee,” (then child laughs maniacally) or whathaveyou. I made that one up to represent because the actual versions I’ve been told, which have been so so many, are so unmemorable I cannot even recall a single one. I believe that today alone I have endured dozens. Literally zero made the recall grade. I really tried but, nothing.
However! There can be a silver lining to such inanity. Especially if you are married to John Hoppin! At breakfast today, we were both indulging John John as he was bandying about his new found craft. We even told him some vintage knock-knock jokes of the “orange you glad I didn’t say banana” variety. But it went on so long and knock-knock patience was wearing thin….when John turned to John John and said:
“Who’s there?” said John John, delighted that Papa was playing the game.
“Your father who?”
“It’s your father,” said John, “Open the door.”
I immediately started crying from laughter, which made John start crying from laughter. For minutes we were laughing so hard no sound came out, wiping our eyes in a feedback loop of hysteria. John John got so mad at us, partly because he didn’t understand what was so funny, but mostly because we were no longer being his knock-knock pawns.
It’s been hours and I still can hardly write this out because it is cracking me up so hard. Either it was hilarious or my brain has been cracked by too much child humor; I can’t tell.
John John is a bit of a fraidy cat. Example: He’s been sending his little sister to go turn on lights in dark rooms since she was about 2 1/2. When I say ‘boo,’ his screams echo far longer than Koko’s. There are no two ways about it – brave in that way, he is not.
Recently at dinner, he was recounting some scary experience he had had recently, neigh, shared with Koko recently. Maybe it was something on TV that he thought was scary. The actual item is unimportant.
“Koko and I are both scardey-cats, right Papa?” He asks John for confirmation and reassurance.
“Well, yes,” says John, it seems the ever obliging dad. But no.
“Except Koko’s is a function of her age.”
Stated so matter-of-factly that the meaning is totally lost on John John, who just agrees, “yeah.”
Meanwhile, I’m busting a gut over in the corner by myself trying not to draw any attention.
John John has requested some fruit after finishing his meal, and he is allowed. He departs to the kitchen to choose said fruit, and wash and clean it for consumption. This latter period is taking some time.
“Is everything OK back there?” I ask worriedly.
“Yes, and you will all be so amazed at what I am making to share with you,” he lets me know.
The time finally comes, and he bring out a bowl of nectarines and peaches which he has cut up for everyone in our familiy’s consumption. They are, certainly, delicious.
“Aren’t you happy that I’m sharing so well?” he asks me in a weird reverse humble moment. Just as I am busy eye-rolling John across the table, John John pipes in with his other wisdom:
“Peaches are mammals.”
A better parent than I would not have laughed as hard. I did try to keep it in, long enough for him to eek out, “I know, because of their fuzzy hair.”
I either aged 10 years, or got back the same. Not sure which, not sure that it matters.
Koko is now big enough to be trusted to walk next to me through a parking lot. She won’t run off putting herself in harm’s way because she knows the rules and mostly abides. Number one rule, of course, is holding my hand through the parking lot. But when we are holding hands through a parking lot, old habits have a way of creeping in and I still instinctively make the pinky-thumb-wrist-lock on her sometimes. You know, the kind you do when they are newly ambulatory babies prone to breaking from your handhold, rushing off to certain danger. It is not conscious and I would not have even noticed I do it, except for the little voice recently.
“Mama, you’re hurting my ankle.”
I looked down at Koko, confused. Her ankle appeared fine. “Your ankle?”
“You’re hurting my…little ankle,” she said, hesitating. “My ankie?” she added, helpfully.
At this point I realize she is referring to her wrist and just about melt from the cuteness.
She still refers to most any joint as an ankie lately – shoulder, elbow, you name it. But I am trying not to put the lock on her hand ‘ankie’ anymore lest I cause discomfort, to say nothing of preventing her from being the big girl she is.
New Music: Hot Mops “Back to Back”
Ensemble of hand drums, shakers, and cymbals, organ, bass, bass saxophone, tenor saxophone.
Recalls Miles Davis’ In A Silent Way groups. “Back To Black” is Mops’ breakthrough statement.
drums & hand percussion
Blowing Fearsome Wind
“Tryad A” for bass, drums, arpeggiator, clarinets, trumpet, and saxophone. Exploring the textures of brass and wind. The simple brass harmony is based on the direct approach taken by rap producers like The Heatmakerz.
The core trio is bass and drums playing to an arpeggio.
Feeling, not thinking
New to my Soundcloud feed, a flowing glitchy trip-hop number. I’ve been working on the feel of the music and focusing less on the structure of the compositions. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but there it is.
Sessions occur in the late morning or noontime, often when I’m trying to use music to relieve stress and increase positive feelings. They get quite strange and out sometimes, and it can be difficult to tell whether I’ve achieved my goal. I think JJJJ here is alright.
Quartet sax, bass, drums, organ. Marching to the end of the moon, honk!
Three For Boom Hemroid The Leader
working with boom and clavinet sound, September 2018