Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Follow up Meet the Flintstones

Some of you suggested the Flintstone house of the previous post looked a lot like the place of residence of Barbapapa, and whether I might have gotten my facts wrong. But no, this is not the case. To prove it, I contacted the FBI and CIA and got the Barbapapa address. Underneath a picture of the Barbapapa residence (curtosy of palaisbulles.com)


Strangely enough, the Barbapapa family does not live in California. As to why they chose France over California, I am not sure. Maybe they got tired of people ringing their door in order to meet the Flintstones, or perhaps their first home just kind of shriveled up in a mysterious way. Who knows.

Hopefully, this will put an ending to your doubts, and to posts dedicated to strange houses. May they rest in...well, an inflated state.

Meet the Flintstones

As you might have noticed, most of the fictitious people I know reside in California. Let's not dwell on that.  Apparently this interesting finding also goes for the Flintstones, as I stumbled on their place of residence. I've seen the 'house' time and again driving on highway 280 on my way to San Francisco International Airport. Finally, after several rides during which I was able to see the darn thing long enough to question my sanity, but never long enough to take a snapshot, I smartened up and remembered the closest exit number. Thank you Google Maps (satellite version), thank you Wikipedia and thank you Beatrice Murch, who did manage to take the picture. From the highway nonetheless. Amazing lady.


Oh, and by the way, if you love architecture (and even if you don't) you absolutely have to check out the ridiculous way the building was created. Balloons? Sounds a lot like papier-mâché to me. I wonder whether the thing shriveled up, like my papier-mâché projects always did.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Excommunication

When you are expecting your first child, everything is exciting and extraordinary. You're totally exhilarated, don't know what to expect (except the obvious) and in case you're me, you tend to examine all kinds of tables with examples of age-related milestones. Now, when you're expecting your second born, things are a little different. Because, of course, you know what to expect, right? But that's just what you think. You are better off not expecting to know what to expect and you should definitely refrain from extrapolating from your previous experiences. Because the existence of 50% gene-overlap counts for exactly nothing. Zero that is.

For example, my first born exceeded my expectations concerning his expressive language development. At 19 months his vocabulary consisted of an exceptionally well pronounced 300-something words, some words more exclusive than others (can anybody explain why a child this age would need the word 'label'?). Now, I honestly did not expect my second born to be exactly the same. And it is not that he is at the other extreme with no words to express himself. But his pronunciation is extraordinary, exquisite and very exclusive (or in this case, I should say very INclusive), with most words falling into either one of three categories: auto, tuttel and behh.

Within the category 'auto':
ootoo (auto/car)
tatooh (tractor/tractor)
otoonn (open/open)
ootehh (oma/grandma)
tootehh (broodje/bread)
tooteh (vogel/bird)

The category 'tuttel' (cuddly blanket):
tuttehh (tuttel/cuddly blanket)
titteh (zitten/sit)
tietuh (vliegtuig, airplane)
ditteh (drinken/drink)
ditteh/dit (dicht/shut)
tietteh (fiets/bike)
tuiteh (buiten/outside)
tuttah (Lucas/Lucas) (who - by the way - does not appreciate being called a cuddly blanket)
thitheh (visje/fish)
tijteh (kijken/look)

And the category 'behh':
bah (bah/bwegh)
boo (boom/tree)
ba (bal/ball)
bui (buik/tummy)

The less exclusive, 'other' category:
nee (no), o-o!, kaaa! (klaar/done), koe (cow), jaaa! (lamp/lamp), kaa! (kaas/cheese), papa (daddy), mama (mommy, toettoet (sound of car), aai (hug), kie-ke-boe (peekaboo), haa (haar/hair), tnnn (teen/toe), neu (neus/nose), pepehh (piemel/private parts), wawa (hond/dog)

And last, and also least category 'English':
car, go, eaja (ear), choochoo, hi

Think I'm exaggerating? You'll just have to excuse me.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Where's Waldo...



Yep. Found him too. And I wasn't even looking for him. I must admit he was a bit of a disappointment in real life.

Given the choice, I'd opt for the books rather than meeting him in situ. Much more of a challenge if you ask me.


Thursday, September 1, 2011

Santa's village

I found him. The bugger was hiding right under our very noses. The whole idea that he would choose to live at the North pole was crazy to begin with. Who wouldn't choose warm an' sunny California over the toe freezing, cold catching, teeth clattering North pole? But enough of this. I found him, and even though I did not visit the place, my imagination of it makes it an unnecessary and possibly even insensible journey. After all: Santa's got better things to do.

I imagine elves flying around, tinkering with flowers and playing hopscotch on lily pads, until Grumpy (having enough of this merry scene) manages to trip one smack-bang in the middle of the pond. I imagine Rudolph frolicking about, playing hide and seek, which seems silly because his nose can be spotted from miles away. But that doesn't matter, cause he's playing with Dopey, who wouldn't be able to find his own ears lest he was standing on them. 

Meanwhile, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder, and Blixem attend to more serious matters, cleaning the sleigh karate-style - wax on, wax off - . Mrs. Claus, the real housewife of California, wholeheartedly engages in her task of reading the daily letters composed of endless, crooked written wish lists written by all the children in the world, filing them not only alphabetically, but also based on area of interest, price range, and presence of dyslexia. In what little time remains - though she never minds this, secretly even loves her time consuming, indispensable role - she applies calligraphy to write the names of said children in Santa's big and dusty book 'Naughty 'n Nice'. Occasionally, she glances out of the kitchen window, and catches a glimpse of chipmunks Chip and Dale (Knabbel en Babbel voor de Nederlandse lezertjes) who are having a private pool party in Santa's spray ground. Whereas some of the more serious villagers frown upon this questionable behavior, among which the above mentioned Grumpy, Mrs. Claus knows that Santa actually loves their exuberant demeanor. Chip and Dale took on their share of the work, planting the seeds of the Christmas trees earlier in the year, and it is only fair to let them steam off some of their excess energy. This does not mean that Santa overlooked the fact that Chip munched on some of the seeds whilst planting them, and that Dale keeps a secret stash of them in his tree, causing the orchard to have a slightly haphazard feel to it. Santa did not need Snoopy to rat on them, although Snoopy, being Santa's eyes, ears, and nose especially, showed his true colors and zealous nature upon hearing about this from Sleepy, who is not at all what he seems to be, sleepy that is. But, as one may have gathered by now, Santa has a little soft spot for Chip and Dale.

If you listen carefully, you can probably hear his hearty, boisterous bursts of laughter when Chip and Dale, employing Super Soakers as sprinklers for the orchard, turn against Santa, after which the whole village engages in a merry water fight. HO HO HO.