Lora's Rorschachs

You're familiar with the Rorschach, or inkblot, test. A psychologist shows you a series of amorphous ink patterns, and you say what the blots look like to you. Kind of like seeing images in clouds as they float by. Then, based on what images your mind sees, the psychologist can assess your mental health.

For example, after staring at the first inkblot above for a minute, I see:

Four Elvis impersonators pelting a horde of rabid mimes with jars of expired mayonnaise.

Realizing how demented this will make me sound to my therapist, I immediately repress this answer and say something else:

I see a rainbow, with doves and balloons from a child's birthday party floating in the sky as the sun breaks through the clouds, nourishing the earth below -- and illuminating a previously dark alley where four Elvis impersonators are pelting a horde of rabid mimes with jars of expired mayonnaise.

Okay. Awkward moment between me and my blog-readers. No sudden movements and we'll all come out of this unharmed...

In any case, my daughter, Lora, has drawn some Rorschach-like masterpieces. The first is a picture of three pine trees, a vine to the sky, Little Red Riding Hood, a lady bug, the Big Bad Wolf, and a monkey with a staff.

The second is a movie poster for "Pete's Dragon." Eliot the Dragon is the big, green inkblot on the right. The man in the top hat dominating the middle of the drawing is Dr. Terminus, with Pete in yellow (looking a bit like C-3PO), and continuing counterclockwise: Paul, Nora, and Lampie.

Of course, if you squint your eyes just right, you might just see the Elvis imersonators and the mimes.

NEXT STOP: A Visit from an Innuit

Even More Halloween Pix

Some more.

NEXT STOP: Lora's Rorschachs

More Halloween Pix: 2008

Here are some more images from Halloween 08. The day shots are from our day of trick-or-treating at the Hogle Zoo. Great day for the kids, tiring day for the parents. The night shots are taken on our front walk prior to venturing onto the streets for two hours of trick-or-treating.

The kids were proud to have Pac-Man as their escort. And as we went along, several adults and kids shouted, "Hey, Pac-Man!" Ian and Lora became my PR reps as we trekked, yelling to people as we approached (if they had not already witnessed the three-and-a-half-foot-in-diameter yellow disc strolling towards them), "My dad's Pac-Man!"

One family requested that I stop and pose for a photo with them, which I did. And a group of teenagers high-fived me as we strolled past.

After three years of creating costumes out of cardboard that I somehow affix to my head, it's become a tradition expected by my kids and the neighborhood. I haven't conceived of next year's costume, but I plan on making it more neck-friendly -- I'm still popping Advil from the two hours of wearing this year's on All Hallow's Eve.

NEXT STOP: Even More Halloween Pix

The Ghosts of Halloweens Past

The first stop on our tour of the Yates family is a brief stroll through our most recent Halloweens. Because, as Confucious wrote, "You can never really begin to know someone until you've walked a mile in their Pac-Man head." (This, of course, is a loose translation: the Chinese character that I'm reading as Pac-Man can alternately mean "yak cart.")

Vital stats: as of today, we're hauling six people in our minivan.

Me -- I'm 37 and swarthy.

Heidi -- the woman I conned into marrying me. She remains 25 as a portrait of her ages in our attic.

Ian -- He's nine, and owns the patent for the sabor squid (Saboris squidititus).

Lora -- She's five, and recently told me, "Dad, did you know that a long time ago, when people were poor, they didn't have computers? They had typewriters." Ouch, said I, as I adjusted my Depends man-diaper.

Isabel -- Bel is three, and tonight, she had me tie a hooded towel on her so she could transform into Super Hood Man.

Tess -- Little Tess can shake her 364-day-old head just like Stevie Wonder. 'Nuff said.

You'll see some or all of us in these Halloweenie pix. You can date the photos by my costume: In 2008, I was Pac-Man; in 2007, I was a hammer; in 2006 I was a mailbox.

Trick-or-treat.

NEXT STOP: More Halloween Pix

Behold, the Sabor Squid

Why blog?

Some are in it for the money. Not I.

Some are in it for the affirmation -- I blog, therefore I am. Not I.

Some are in it for the babes. [pause...wife, Heidi, hits me...I quickly type:] Not I.

No, I began this blog mainly because my son invented a monster. A creature of the sea so fierce and so slimy, I had to create a blog to introduce the world to it. (By "world," I mean "my family," my primary audience for this blog. Of course, I welcome all others who wish to take my hand and go for a ride inside my head.)

Yes, my son conjured the Sabor Squid.

Now, I publish his initial work on the Sabor Squid, the first known studies on the beast:

"My monster is called the Sabor squid. (It means big-tooth squid). The front side is red. The back side is purple. It also has one eye that's black. It's one hundred fifty feet long, ten feet wide. It also has fifty foot long tentacles. And it's dangerous. It lives in the Pacific Ocean.

"It lives toward the middle of the ocean. Of coarse it smells salty. It also sometimes dries up on land. And whre it lives, it's dark blue.

"It only eats people if it's mad. Other than that, it eats fish. And planton. And also seals. It can spray ink. It can jump out of the water fifty feet, and it can swim one hundred m.p.h. How [it] swims is it puts its tentacles together, and wiggles. My monster rocks."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ian's Sabor Squid: (see image above)

NEXT STOP: A Brief Tour of My Family

Pay No Attention to the Man behind the Blog

Chris Yates here.

I'm starting a blog. Yeah, I'm a little late to that bandwagon, I know. Nonetheless, I part the curtain on cyberspace and tentatively slide in.

What should you know about me?

I once caught a fish with my bare hands. This is true. I was nine. At no other time in my life have I been closer to being a ninja.

I love listening to the Carpenters. I admit this of my own free will, waiving my Fifth Amendment Right to not incriminate myself.

Finally, right this very moment, my daughter's Hannah Montana foil balloon, low on helium, but not empty, is floating ominously towards me, bobbing up and down, as if it has become sentient and is stalking me -- I think it can sense that I have no idea how to defend against a balloon attack.

In any case, that's enough for now. I'll let you know a little more about me and the reason for this blog tomorrow.

NEXT STOP: The Birth of the Saber-Tooth Squid