A Man Called Daddy

Trains, Trains Everywhere

2011-01-22T19:18:00.010-05:00

My father-in-law loves toy trains, model trains, train shows, fishing and boats. Not necessarily in that order. But his love for all things that go clickity-clack brought the whole crew to a very special event this weekend. My wife, my son, my father-in-law, my mother-in-law and I went to the local Model Train Swap Shop.

See that picture you have in your mind? It's... well, it's kind of right. It wasn't in a big, cavernous convention center. There were miles of tables. But it was in a Youth Rec Center hall and there were at least thirty to forty tables spread out over two rooms. More on the Rec Center and the patrons in a bit. First, let's get some of the basics out of the wa

There were about sixty people in this place when we got there. A man and his 8-year old son were in front of us as we got to the nice old man taking money for the entrance fee. All the proceeds on tickets went to the local Model Train club or association or something. What they do at their meetings is... well, we're still trying to figure that one out.

You walk in and it's set up just like any flea market. Tables are arranged in rows and merchants are plying their trade and trying to make deals. In fact, the first person we saw was someone you'll recognize simply from his catch phrase:

Ladies and gentleman, we have a Monty hall sighting! No, not really. But it was the kind of place you might run into an old TV personality trying to make money off something just to fund one more run at the top.

On a side note, I did think that I saw one of the contestants from "Let's Make a Deal" dressed as a railroad conductor.

If you can't read that sign, it says: "Fight Poverty, Buy Here!"

Ok, I'll let your laughter die down a bit. Apparently, one of the little-known and under-reported programs started by the giant Stimulus Bill was a new war on poverty, starting with the model train world. President Obama would have been proud.

At least on some level. Remember that I said this thing was held at a Youth Rec Center? Every picture of a sports team in the trophy case or on the wall. was a celebration of some 100% African-American team from the surrounding area. The walls were covered with educational posters of famous African-Americans throughout United States history. Looking at the surrounding wall, each and every train profiteer or collectible connoisseur could learn about Sojourner Truth, Thurgood Marshall, Barack Obama, Rosa Parks and Malcolm X.

Of the fifty or so people there at the train show? One black guy. The rest looked like happy hour in a North Dakota steak house.

One final picture. Don't look at the train. Don't look at the table where the monstrous train set was arranged in a ten-yard-square track where it went through tunnels, over bridges, and through make-believe towns.

No, take a look at the couple sitting on the stage. He's content as a lark, totally in his element. I know because I went by him at least four times. Each time, he smile seemed to either get bigger or perhaps more pleasant. That's really what he looked like, a nice guy who was enjoying the heck out of his life at that very moment. She's holding her nose like she has the biggest train-induced headache in the world. And it got worse. I looked over later and wished I had my camera up. Her arms were on her knees and she looked like she badly needed a barf bag.

Finally, after we walked outside and were ready to leave, three things happened that caused us immense joy. First, two men walked from their cars to go into the show. The lead guy had a doo-doo brown beret on his head; the follower had the worst comb-over I've ever seen. His hair stopped growing at his ear and stretched over his dome to the other ear. And there wasn't much of it. Second, a man got out of his van to go into the train show and his pants fell halfway down his rear end, giving us all a great view of his rather large butt.

The third thing that happened? My son learned a new meaning for, and then used correctly in a sentence, "the moon!" God Bless trains!

Guy's Night In

2011-01-20T09:34:00.002-05:00

Yes, I know I haven't written in a while. No, I have no excuse except to say that my job is hectic and, well, it's more fun to spend time with my son than write about spending time with my son. And isn't that the way it's supposed to be?

Tomorrow is Guy's Night In. The Wife is going out with her family, so my son and I are going to be spending Friday in "guy heaven". Which means:

- First up is eating dinner. His meal is supposed to be something healthy set up by my wife. Yeah right, we're having hot dogs, chips, ice cream and whatever else he wants. Yes, I'm going to give him cake if he wants it (and if I can find some in the house). Yes, he can have some of my french fries. But only him, no one else.

- Highlight of the night will be either one of two things. One is playing with his trains. My son got a "Thomas the Tank Engine" starter set from Santa Claus and he loves it. I cannot put into words how much he loves his trains. It's like me when the Browns beat the Ravens. Wait, that hasn't happened in a while, remind me how that feels please.

- The second possible highlight of the night will be showing him a new movie we bought: Cars. The Disney Pixar movies are his favorite, and any kind of car is one of his favorite things to play with. Seems like a match made in parenting heaven. Plus, I haven't seen the movie in forever, so it'll be fun to watch. Even better to watch it with him.

- One thing that will not be played unless it is absolutely neccessary is any episode of "Wonder Pets!" This deserves it's own post and I'll do it whenever I can rationally discuss this. But right now, just the thought of this show on Nick Jr. makes the theme song run through my head and I want to punch myself in the face because of it. "The phone... the phone is ringing..." There, if you know the song, you are suffering same as me. Don't get mad at me, I didn't write the thing.

So that's what's going on in my world. I'll let you know how it goes. But for now, enjoy your time with your kids. Sometime soon, I'll be writing them detentions.

I Hate Snooki

2010-10-04T09:34:00.003-04:00

(This blog isn't about being a Daddy; it's about writing, and the industry of writing and publishing. So if you aren't interested in such trivialities, by all means continue with your spreadsheets, emails and other work stuff. However, if you are keen on my take on things, keep reading.)

I hate Snooki. I hate Lauren Conrad. I hate Nicole Richie.

Yes, I am going to teach my son that "we don't hate anyone, that's not a good word; we dislike someone or we aren't interested in something, but we don't hate anything or anyone." However, I hate all three of those girls. Hate them. I don't dislike them; I'm not not interested in them. I hate them. I loathe them. I dispise them. I curse the day I heard their names.

All three of them have no discernible talent. All of them get paid money, when you break it down to its barest level, for no reason whatsoever other than people know who they are. People recognize their faces and their names. That is why they get paid. But, you might say, that's what being famous is! People recognizing your name and image is exactly what it means to have fame. You are correct, but let's look at other famous people. LeBron James is famous. Russell Crowe is famous. Rhianna is famous. All of these people have faces and images and names that we all recognize as famous. But that's where the differences end. You would have to agree that LeBron James is a very talented athlete. If you don't think Russell Crowe is talented, put Gladiator, The Insider, and State of Play as the next three movies on your Netflix queue; the different walks, mannerisms and personality he displays will be all the evidence you need. Rhianna might be lousy at picking boyfriends, but the girl can sing incredibly well.

Snooki, Lauren Conrad and Nicole Richie all have book deals for novels. Yes, you read that sentence correctly. If you want to re-read it a few times to let the idea sink in I'll wait till you're done.

Welcome back. Shocking, huh? Maddening, right? It is a sign that Western Civilization is crumbling before our very eyes if you ask me.

I've been writing fiction for years. I've got two novels finished and at least four more partially finished. I've got a multitude of short stories ready to be submitted to contests and/or magazines. And do I have a literary agent? Nope. An editor interested? No. A publisher ready to fork over six digits (hell, four!) for the prose I've written? Not even close. But I am a smart guy (just ask my wife, who swears that I am even though I'm stupid at times), I've served in the US Air Force, got a degree that involved massive amounts of writing and being taught how to craft words, and I don't have any of that publishing pub. Snooki's greatest contribution to society is... um... hold on, I'm thinking... there's got to be at least one, right?

And she has a f&%king novel coming out!!!!!! Not that I'm bitter...

Rain, Rain Just Go

2010-09-29T16:30:00.004-04:00

I thought that my son was going to get his first named storm hitting our area of his lifetime, but alas we were stuck today and yesterday with basic, run-of-the-mill Tropical Depression 16. Not that I ever want a hurricane to come and hit anywhere near us, but... call it a desire to have something to add to my son's memory bank one day. See, I look at these blog entries not as a way to convey to the world what it's like to be a brand new Dad (even though they are), but rather as a collection of details both funny and meaningful to show to my son when he's old and capable of being totally embarassed in front of a date. I mean isn't that why we had kids in the first place? So that we can do to them what our parents did to us?

My first named storm wasn't until I was thirty years old. It went over this place like a quick thunderstorm. Of course, The Wife's father had us put the storm shutters up while the thing was hitting, which was a perfect time to do so if you ask me. I mean standing in ankle-deep water while a seventy-five mph wind was blowing and a gallon of water a second comes off the roof onto my head is exactly what I wanted to do on that lovely afternoon. What was The Wife doing while I was suffering through this hurricane? Standing under the shelter of the porch laughing at me. I love her. I really do.

Oh, forgot to tell you the name of that delightful baby hurricane. When it passed over South Florida, it was a Category 1. Unfortunately, it would grow once it hit the Gulf of Mexico. Katrina would be memorable, alright but not in a good way. The second named storm to hit my area of the world while I was living there was Wilma. Not good times. Lots of days without power and no hot water makes for one very unhappy me. However, one good thing to come out of the storm was our first trip to the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot in Orlando. That was good times!

So, The Son is still waiting for the first named storm to hit our area in his lifetime. I'm going to say a quick prayer that it is to hurricanes what playing the School for the Deaf and Blind is to football, a breeze. Until then, I'm debating showing him the joys of playing in rain puddles. That is until Mommy makes us come inside cause the street lights are coming on.

UPDATE: Yes, I know this piddling little storm was actually named (Nicole if you're scoring at home, which I know you are) but I've seen sun showers do more damage. So, no this will not be The Son's first named storm. You hear that? I said no! Don't make me pull this blog over.

Movie Review Time

2010-09-28T09:16:00.007-04:00

My son has started watching television, which any parent will tell you doubles as "thank God, I can sit down and not have to chase him all over the house" time. Kids, like most adults, are transfixed by the boob tube. And when they start watching, it's time to get movies that are age appropriate for them to watch. Nothing in the world is better than putting on an hour and a half cartoon movie and being able to do adult stuff for a while. So I thought that for all you new parents out there, I'd give you a list of the movies we've let The Son see, what he thinks and how re-watchable they are. Whether a movie is funny or stupid or colorful or educational isn't the most important thing to us adults. It is how it holds up on the 85th viewing, because you know as soon as it's over the kid is gonna want to watch it again right freaking now!!!

1) Up - made by Disney/Pixar, it's the story of an old man who is trying to get his house (where he lived for decades with his late wife) to South America using balloons. Yes, it sounds stupid, but it's a kid movie. This one is not only entertaining for the kids with loads of colors and fun characters, it is great for adults. Bonus points for the tremendous handling of three issues that most kid movies won't touch (death, a woman not being able to have children and divorce). And as for it's re-watchablity factor? Off the charts. You notice something different each time you watch it. It's my son's favorite movie.

2) Monsters, Inc. - Another Disney/Pixar flick. It's really, really good. Billy Crystal and John Goodman make it worth watching. But I don't think it holds up after viewing number 70.

3) Ice Age - We finally watched this one the other day. I couldn't believe how much the movie holds up after multiple viewings. I love the story, love the characters, and it is really cool to see Denis Leary voicing a sabertooth cat. The second movie isn't as good, and I've got the third one on the DVR just can't get away from Up long enough to watch it.

4) Shrek - Another of my son's favorites. It is a classic. So is the second movie. But the third... eh. I didn't even see the fourth one.

5) Toy Story - The third movie was my son's first "in the theater" movie and he loved it. I know this sounds weird, but watch the first one of this trilogy on DVD sometime. The technology, which was awesome when it came out, looks like a bad video game. Have we really advanced that much in just a decade? And yet we can't do beaming yet... I'm a little disappointed.

I know there are hundreds of other movies, but understand this: your child will be entertained by things you never thought they would have even watched. For instance, my son can walk and kind of half run now. When he hears the theme music for the Ellen DeGeneres Show, he imitates Usain Bolt getting to a TV. And yes, I have started him early... he is already a fan of football.

Anything Like Me Part 1

2010-09-27T19:34:00.006-04:00

I'm a country music fan. There, I said it. Hi, my name is Daddy and I listen to country music. I even paid money to see Brad Paisley in concert. To some, he might be better known as Mr. Kimberly Williams. But to country fans, he's a terrific guitar player and song writer that captures some of the funniest and most moving moments in life and makes them even more real. Like giving up your significant other for fishing. His latest single is called "Anything Like Me." The song is a look forward to what Brad's son might be like if he's anything like his father. Of course, I saw the song as a perfect blog post.

What will The Son be like if he's like me? What will he do if he imitates his Daddy? If he's the spitting image of me, as the song says, heaven help me and my wife. Here's the evidence.

If my son is like me, he will...

- announce to an entire Red Lobster that he just had an absolutely splendid explosion of diarrhea. His parents will be horrifed. He will laugh. People will leave the restaurant because of the smell. He will laugh harder.

- at 4 years old think that he can get a riding toy from under a still-running car. This wasn't my brightest move. For some reason, my parents still saw fit to have me tested for the gifted program a few years later. And for some inexplicable reason, I passed. However, I have a scar thanks to this move of utter stupidity.

- convince his brother or sister (if we have another that is) that it's a great idea to shoot out the windows of a neighborhood house with a BB gun. See, no one was living in it... so that meant we could do whatever we wanted and no one would care, right? No one will want to buy the thing if no one's been living in it for a month, right? Hello? Uh... anyone there?

- take the Tinker Toys that his mom and dad were so proud to buy him and instead of building gigantic skyscrapers and megaplex cities, he'll divide them up by color and play football with them. Green will be the Eagles, blue the Cowboys, yellow the Steelers and white the Giants.

- jab his dog in the eyeball while shouting for everyone in the house to hear, "Eye!" This will not make the dog happy. And if his dog is anything like his daddy's dog, then the poor pooch will not take it out on my son. He'll take it out on my son's father. Probably in a gift of pee and poop in the bed. Why bite? Watching your owner do laundry at midnight is way more fun!

- not want to let his younger brother or sister play with his Lego blocks. When his mom reminds him that his Bible verse from church that day was "Be ready to share," he'll think for a few minutes before replying, "I'm not quite ready yet."

There will be a part two of this because I'm just up to about age 8. You won't believe what happens in the teenage years. Yeah, my wife and I will be either grey or bald by 40, I'm guaranteeing it.

A Little Off The Top

2010-09-27T10:58:00.008-04:00

The Son got his first haircut last month. I never knew this was a big deal until I made a crucial mistake: I said this out loud. The Wife informed me that everything in a kid's life that is a first is a big deal. I must be getting smarter in my old age because I didn't ask if the first time passing gas or burping was to be celebrated.

I do remember the first time I heard him let one go, because I looked at him wide-eyed. I smiled, so did he and we laughed about it for a good two-three minutes that will go down as one of my favorite memories in life. So I guess they are a big deal. And very, very smelly.

On to the haircut. The place we chose for this important event was on the outside of a mall, along with everything now. Remember when stuff used to be in the mall? I would tell you what's inside now, but I haven't been in one in years. Judging by what used to go on in there, I'm betting a bunch of senior citizens have turned it into a carpeted track where the people working at Spenser's hand out prune juice in old hollowed-out whoopie cushions.

I imagined that the haircut person (I refuse to call them a stylist because they are cutting a toddler's hair... toddlers need a stylist like they need a bank account. Oh wait...) to be a bubbly, bouncy, perky girl that belonged in the Small World ride at Disney. All pony tails, ribbons, and smiles. What we got was a tad bit different. Our haircut person was a bubbly, bouncy, perky man that belonged in the Small World ride at Disney. His name was Luis, which he told me was pronounced "Looooo-EEEEEssss". His arms were bulging with veins big enough to drive a Hot Wheel through and his shirt was painted onto his chest. Then he picked up a bubble blowing device and started to shower my son's head making him squeal with laughter. Looo-EEEss that is; oh, my son laughed, but nothing like Looo-EEEss. I liked him.

He started to wet down my son's head and combed his hair into a mohawk. Why do haircut people do this? You'd think someone would be creative enough to do something different with wet hair other than a mohawk. I can't think of anything, but hey, I don't cut hair for a living. When Looo-EEEss was about to start cutting, he gave the bubble-blowing duties to my wife. And this started maybe the funniest forty-five seconds of my life. The Wife blew on the bubbles, but nothing came out. Spittle rained down on my son's face as he looked on in horrified confusion. I stared. Looo-eeess, to his neverending credit, broke the stunned silence by saying, "Ok, let's take the bubbles away from Mommy and give her something less complicated." I loved Looo-EEEss.

The Son was perfect during his hair cut. He no longer has a toddler mullet, which I am grateful for, and looks like a little boy. And I now have a first that I will remember forever. Thanks to Looo-EEEss and a bubble machine.

Nights Out

2010-05-31T16:27:00.003-04:00

In the past two weeks, The Wife and I have spent a couple of nights away from The Son. It wasn't our first night away from him, mind you. But they were the most memorable.

The first night we were invited to attend "a party" at the home of some friends. I put the word party in quotes not because it wasn't a party. It was in fact a party. The couple hosting didn't lie to us or anyone else. They just... left out some crucial information.

The Wife said that the party started at 6:30 PM. We arrived at 7:00. Which was right on time according to her. I still haven't convinced her that being "on time" doesn't mean "fashionably late." Oh well, I won in the end because she read the invite wrong; the thing started at 7. And by the way, read that sentence again. Some of you are humming "Win in the End" from Teen Wolf, aren't you? Me too.

Once we got there, the girl hosting the thing said, "Forgot to tell you guys... a lady's going to be here at 8:30. This is really a sex toy party!" My wife's jaw, I'd like to introduce you to the floor. Y'all be good to each other. Yep, it was a couples sex toy party. I immediately looked to a friend standing next to me and asked, "Clear up for me the difference between one of these and the beginning part of a swinger's get together?" He didn't have an answer.

Later on in the night, a guy was talking to me, The Wife and another friend of ours. He tried to remember the name of a particular breakfast place right on the beach. He said they had great French toast. My wife came up with the name, which wasn't weird, but a regular name for a restaurant.

The completely sober guy responded: "Oh yeah, that place is gangster. I mean, seriously gangster."

Gangster pancakes, waffles and orange juice. I don't have a joke here.

The next weekend, we went to The Wife's 8th grade class reunion. You read that right. Her 8th grade reunuion. Not high school, not college... middle school.

A grand time was had by all who attended mostly because me and the bartender spent half the night entertaining the whole room with random Tin Cup quotes. Ok, we were just making ourselves laugh, but hey I thought it was fun.

At least the night turned out to be gangster.

Happy Memorial Day

2010-05-28T09:49:00.002-04:00

Its a speech given dozens of times in and around Cape Girardeau, Missouri. The time is "Our Lives, Our Fortunes, Our Sacred Honor".

The speech starts out like this:

It was a glorious morning. The sun was shining and the wind was from the southeast. Up especially early, a tall bony, redheaded young Virginian found time to buy a new thermometer, for which he paid three pounds, fifteen shillings. He also bought gloves for Martha, his wife, who was ill at home.

Thomas Jefferson arrived early at the statehouse. The temperature was 72.5 degrees and the horseflies weren't nearly so bad at that hour. It was a lovely room, very large, with gleaming white walls. The chairs were comfortable. Facing the single door were two brass fireplaces, but they would not be used today.

I suggest you read the rest of it. The author of the speech is R.H. Limbaugh, Jr. He is the father of Rush Limbaugh, conservative talk show host. Ignore the political associations and read the speech in honor of Memorial Day.

Thank you to all veterans and those who serve us now. You are the real heroes.

Writing conest!

2010-05-27T07:36:00.001-04:00

A writing contest for all you potential writers for kids out there.

Here it is!

Good luck!

Thanks for Nothing

2010-05-21T11:22:00.003-04:00

Remember the days of yore when you watched sports on the couch with your dad? Remember watching your favorite team, high-fiving each other when they scored, and getting that consoling pat on the knee if they lost? Remember seeing your favorite athletes on TV throwing their jersey to a kid or running through the streets and thinking they could do no wrong? Yeah, those days are gone.

The Son is just over a year old. We don't watch sports together yet. Well, that's not entirely true. I watch the games, he is mesmorized by the cool colors and shapes moving on the screen. My in-laws were shocked that he watched football with me during the season this year at only six months old. But once we all figured out the miracle of high definition television made the colors like crack to a baby, then it all made sense. However, the fact that he couldn't tell the difference between a jersey, the officials flag and a cheerleader doesn't stop me from day-dreaming of the day when we will be able to watch sports together. I just wonder how that's all going to work out with the way things are in the world.

Mark McGwire was the biggest thing in baseball just a decade ago. He was the clean-cut, respectful, All-American professional athlete that everyone wanted their kids to grow up and emmulate. When he hugged the necks of Roger Maris's kids after hitting his 62nd home run, it made everyone cry. Now, regardless of our country's capacity to forgive, I have to explain to my son why the guy who broke Roger's record cheated when he did it. Oh, and thanks Barry Bonds for cheating as well when you broke the recond a few years later. Makes me job as a dad so much easier.

Floyd Landis and Lance Armstrong were members of an American team that dominated world cycling for a decade. Now both of them are either admitted dopers or constantly facing charges of doing it. Thanks guys, appreciate the help.

The most popular players in the NFL get that as much for the way they perform on the field as for their antics off it. Terrel "There is a ME in TEAM" Owens, Chad "I refuse to call you by any other name" Johnson, Ray "Please don't remember the fact that I was involved in a murder" Lewis... you guys suck. Big time.

How are we as parents supposed to get our kids to act correctly when these are their role models? Who are we supposed to look up to and thereby get our kids to look up to? How am I supposed to tell The Son that these guys are "the best" when they act like "the worst? Is there a solution to this crap sandwich I've been tossed as a father?

I think... I HOPE... I have the solution to this problem. Two young men that can help us show our kids not only athletes they can dream of being, but people we can be happy they revere:

Tim Tebow and Colt McCoy.

Boys, don't let me down.

Empty

2010-05-11T11:22:00.002-04:00

I got home from football practice yesterday and received some rather bad news. The Wife and The Son would be leaving today for her grandfather's place an hour north. Pop-Pop, as he's called, is down in the dumps. His health isn't good, and he needed a pick up. So The Wife is taking The Son over to see him for a couple of days.

I agreed with the call; I love Pop-Pop too. Especially when he wears the super-duper headphones that are hooked up to the TV. He turns on FoxNews and spends hours screaming at every commentator or guest with which he disagrees, with no regard for how loud he is talking. That becomes more fun the more he objects and the more he drinks because the language gets more colorful and moms are running to cover their kids' ears. Good times. Pop-Pop is also a hockey fan, which means he sits about a foot from the TV and absorbs New Jersey Devils games like the girl in Poltergiest.

So now my house is going to be empty. Back before we had The Son, my wife being gone for two nights was a cause for celebration... for a couple of hours. I'd watch all my sci-fi, action and western movies that she hates; I'd fire up some cheeseburger macaroni Hamburger Helper; I'd lay around in my underwear with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. And then I'd get bored. And lonely. And sad.

Now, it's doubly as bad. The Son is going to be gone too. I do have football practice till 8 pm each night, but it's not the same. So, if you have any ideas on what to do to keep myself entertained, please feel free to share. Until then, if you will excuse me, I have a date with Bruce Willis and a talking white glove.

My Mother's Day Weekend

2010-05-10T09:35:00.005-04:00

Some experiences from my Mother's Day Weekend:

- The Wife and I found out that The Son loves the pool at our house. He loves to play in the "beach" area; he loves to float in his little seat-floatie thing; and he likes it when you get him giggling and he splashes water everywhere. He does not, however, like it when you dunk his head underwater when he isn't ready. For an hour after The Wife did it during "The Wheels on the Bus" game, he refused to give her a kiss. Let this be a warning to you...

- We ate dinner Mother's Day at a local restaurant. The waitress saw The Son and proclaimed that she had only been on the job for 3 weeks and this was her first table with a baby. Congrats, lady, you just told me you're going to suck as a waitress, and that you are going to bend down and goo-goo with my kid all night. Talk about not getting a win-win.

- Saturday night, we got take-out. I, of course, went to pick it up by myself in The Wife's car. The curbside take-out girl was nice enough to put the food into the back of the car. She said this to me; my thoughts on what she said follow:

"So... I assume you're married, right?" Holy crap, this chick is flirting
with me. The Wife is right, I am good looking!
"Yes, I am."
"Well, we're giving away these ten dollar off cards for all mothers, so since
you're probably not going to be here tomorrow, I'll give you one to give to your
wife when you get home. Thanks for choosing Over-Priced Restaurant, come
back soon!" Bitch.

Things I Will Remember Next Time

2010-05-06T11:38:00.006-04:00

It's been a little over a year since my son was born. The Wife and I were reflecting back on that time spend in the hospital, the nurses and docs who helped along the way, the food we ate (or didn't eat), and of course the birth itself. Looking back, there's a lot of stuff I wish I knew going into that whole thing. Read any baby book in the world, including the ones that appear to only be for women, and they will give you plenty of practical suggestions for what to do when you go the hospital. Allow me to share some things that soon-to-be Daddies need to know but are never told before they enter the large building where your old life ends and parenthood begins:

Parking sucks - This one might just be about the hospital that we went to, but since it applies to every single hospital I've ever visited, it should be mentioned. Prepare yourself to park in BFE (look on a slang website if you are lost), and then prepare to walk back and forth a thousand times. Because you will forget stuff in the car, becahse you will have to go out to get food because nothing on the take-out menu looks good, and because you will have to re-check the car seat more than NASA does the space shuttle. And because of all these things, it is a rule of life that you will parking at least a half mile from the door to the baby wing.

Be ready to be confused - Lots and lots and lots of people are going to come into the room and start talking in a foreign language. Don't be alarmed, these people are professionals. They will check equipment that looks like props from the latest Star Trek movie, and even makes sounds like it. I tried to joke with one of them, saying "Tell Scottie to get the warp core ready, we're making a run to Risa today." He wasn't amused. These people will discuss things with your wife in this foreign language and she will speak it back to them. Just know this will happen and try to stay in the background. You don't need to understand; if something is wrong, no one will tell you. You are the father, it is your job to be lost.

Yes, Nurse Land does exist - Now I know what happened to all those girls who were top tier good looking in high school and said they wanted to go into medicine. You know the ones I mean. The cheerleaders, the beauty queens... all those girls who you wished you had as dates, but would settle for as lab partners. They became nurses in the baby wing of the hospital. And no, not even scrubs can hide a chick's figure. But gentleman, always know that no matter how many drugs your significant other is on, she can still see you looking. And the less drugs she's on, the more vile her retribution will be against your dumb, male self.

Some people in the medical profession are stupid - True story: A day before the birth, my wife went downstairs for her last big ultrasound, and I was made to wait in the hallway. The technician said she'd be out to get me in a few so I could see the baby one last time before... uh, I saw it for real. (A small tip, bring a book or two just for these types of situations and there are lots of them; video games don't work because something about a squaking box in your hands makes everyone working in the hospital think you are an idiot) Twenty minutes later my wife comes out crying because the same technician told her she failed the ultrasound. Never, ever, ever, ever tell a woman filled with more hormones than a hundred middle schools that she failed something that has to do with her baby. You will cause her to break down into tears, and you will risk suffering extreme bodily harm at the hands of her husband. Thankfully, one of our nurses saved me from killing the tech and calmed both of us down. But, I hear the nurse did rip the poor tech girl a new one for saying it. In a British accent no less.

Do NOT complain about anything: The sofa or bed in your significant other's room for you to sleep on is purposefully constructed to be as uncomfortable as possible. The springs will turn your back into a page out of a braille magazine; the lumps will make the greens at Augusta National look benign by comparison; and the sheets and blanket will make you long for the days of basic military training. This is a trick, my friends. It is designed so that you will complain. This in turn will give the nurses and hospital staff, who are 99.87% female, a reason to loathe and scorn you. And they are all looking for one. Their looks will burn through lead as they shoot "How dare you complain about anything with what she is going through!" thoughts your way. If you are asked how you like your sleeping arrangements, the appropriate response is always "I didn't sleep." No explanation is needed and they will give you approving looks the whole time.

Fear is good - When the whole birthing process starts (usually hours before what you see on TV), your wife will appear to be in more pain than anything you've ever seen short of battlefield experience you might have in your past. It is not fake; she really is hurting that badly and is that uncomfortable. You may encounter fear in this moment, and it is natural, even healthy. She is the woman you love, after all. And there ain't a damn thing you can do about it. Let the professionals do their jobs, stay out of the way, and be supportive to her. The fear, along with the pain, will pass in time.

With baby comes... stuff - Her feet are in the upright position, the sweating and grunting has begun and the moment is arriving. The baby is about to come out... and so is a whole bunch of other stuff you weren't told about on "School House Rock." Let's give names to these invaders to your special moment: 1) Amniotic fluid will make an appearance, and it has to because that's the whole "water breaking" stuff. They never show you this on TV, and there's a reason. Trust me. 2) Blood will be a'flowin. It's not like you see in the movies if you have never seen actual flowing blood. It's darker and not as... well, not as liquidy. I don't know, it's hard to explain. You know it when you see it and either you can take it or you can't. 3) At some point after the baby pops out, the placenta is going to follow. And yes, Joey wasn't kidding on "Friends" when he said that some cultures actually eat it in some tradition that a clearly disturbed individual started. 4) Poop. Yes, the urband legend is real. Most don't like to talk about it, but it comes out. Think about it, you're pushing with muscles that control both your birthing canal and your bowels. Really, it's inevitable. So, if you are going to watch the whole birthing process (I'm not a big fan of video taping it, unless you are pro and can keep the bad stuff off screen), just be prepared. You will get an eye full

Here comes the family - Family will arrive. Grandmothers, especially first timers, will completely disobey the orders of the nurses and wait right outside the door. When the whole group gets there, they will take over the room like they run the place and you will be either taking pictures, or running errands. Everyone gets a turn with the kid, and everyone will ask you the same questions. "How's it feel?" "Ready for this?" You feel like you're listening to bad sports reporters at a press conference. But know that everyone will end their questions with the same word, Dad. This is supposed to be funny, and you are supposed to laugh. You will because you will be too tired to do anything else. Just know that the easiest way to get everyone out of the room will be to say your significant other needs her rest, which she will.

Say goodbye to the other guy - When you get ready to leave the hospital, you will be so tired, so stressed, and so ready for relaxation that all you will be thinking about is sitting on the couch, kicking your feet up and drinking whatever beer is left in the fridge. Oh, forgot to tell you; you can't do that anymore! No, because more family will be coming over, more friends, and then it's time to change the diaper (with everyone making fun of you as you go to do it, and that will get very, very old - believe me). After that, the baby will nap and so will you. Or at least you will want to. But you can't because you have to finish baby-proofing the house, and washing clothes, and taking care of your significant other.

Babies are a lot of fun. And they are special. And painful. Don't believe me? Hold your kid in your arms, kissing the back of his head as he looks out on the world. Then have him jerk his head back, cracking you in the nose like a Mike Tyson left hook. These are the things that no one puts in baby books, and the things I'm here to tell you.

Been Too Long

2010-05-06T11:03:00.003-04:00

Yes, I haven't written on my blog in forever. Yes, I did start a new blog to go along with my writing career. No, I'm not giving up on writing about having a baby.

Here's what you missed since I didn't keep this up-t0-date (by the way, can anyone clear up whether that is a hyphenated word, one big word or three short ones? I'm confused.):
- The Son figured out how to crawl and has alredy scheduled his first attempt in the 40-yard dash; college scouts are waiting with bated breath.
- He can not only stand up by holding onto something, he can do more pull-ups (1) than I can do. Yes, you read that right, my son is in better shape than I am.
- He makes laps around his crib and the pack-n-play with alarming speed. I was thinking he'd be a linebacker, but now maybe running back is in the cards.
- The Son now can point with his index finger. My in-laws were attempting to teach him say he was 1 year old by showing him their middle fingers. I was no amused.
- We held not one, but two one-year old birthday parties. The first was at a pizza joint because The Son enjoys pizza (Daddy is happy). The second was at home because that way The Wife and I could spend the whole night yelling at each other during clean up (Daddy no longer happy).
- The Son got his own "smash cake" for his big birthday party... you know what, this deserves it's own paragraph.

The "smash cake" was a new thing for me. If you haven't heard of it, it's a smaller version of the big birthday cake (more on that one later) that the child can do whatever they want to with. Which means that if they want to throw it on the ground, go right ahead. Feel like rubbing into your face? Knock yourself out! Throwing it on either side of the high chair so that the dog not only gets dizzy trying to keep up, but such a hugh sugar rush that he turns into Usain Bolt in the backyard? Done deal. It's all open for the taking.

However, the whole smash cake experience was a tremendous learning experience for my son in how to deal with women. You see, we've been trying in vain to get him to stop throwing food on the floor if he doesn't want it. With the smash cake, he not only can do that, but we encourage that behavior. There's Mommy and his two grandmothers cheering him on as he sends copious amounts of chocolate cake and vanilla icing onto the ground. My son turned into Pacman Jones for a few moments, making it rain all over our backyard. Then the other shoe dropped. The next day at breakfast, when he wanted to become Pacman again, these same wonderful women were wagging their fingers at him and saying "No!" in stern voices. He looked utterly confused, and appealed to me for help.

My response was to simply smile and say, "The Son, welcome to 'Dealing with Women 101'."

In a related note, I'm wondering how come the whole smash cake idea didn't get invented sooner. Also, why isn't it applied to other aspects of our lives? Just think of the possibilities! Remember when you turned 21 for the first time? I think you should have gotten not only your own bottle or cup to drink out of, but also your own buffet of food that you could do anything you wanted to with Big promotion at work? Get a smash cake to ruin your cubicle before you moved into the corner office. Wouldn't that be fun?

As for the big cake for The Son's party... I think we have found the next big bomb for the military. It was a simple cake, made of the same stuff all cakes are made out of: flour, icing, sugar, milk, eggs, etc. But it weighed in excess of twenty-five freaking pounds! My wife didn't want me to drop it for fear that it would ruin the cake, but I was more worried about breaking my foot, and possibly even putting a hole in our floor.

So, The Son is finally one year old. And I'm going to start writing on this blog a little more, just to relate what it's like not just to be a dad, but also to see if we can all help make sense of this mad world we all live in. If nothing else, maybe I can figure out how to get myself through the toddler years. I'll celebrate with my own smash cake.

Dogging Vick

2009-08-14T13:11:00.003-04:00

Babies, diapers, and Bebe Pods are taking a back seat today to football. And yes, college football is only a couple weeks away, so ladies, you'll have to bear with me until January because in the words of one of the players I coach, "I loves me some college football!"

Yesterday, Michael Vick signed a 1 year/$1.6 million contract with the Philadelphia Eagles, with an option for a second year. He's going to be the back-up quarterback for the Eagles behind Donovan McNabb.

For the uneducated on this story, here's a quick refresher: Vick was indicted in July of 2007, then pled guilty in August of that same year, on charges stemming from a dog-fighting operation that was being run in part from a house Vick owned in Virginia. In January of 2008, he went to prison, got released in May of that year, but was put on house arrest. In May of this year, he was released from custody. Last month, the NFL commissioner, Roger Goodell, conditionally re-instated Vick, clearing the way for some team to sign him. And of course, yesterday the Eagles did just that.

Now, the Philadelphia Daily News had as it's headline this morning, "What Are They Thinking?". Multiple sports commentators and columnists have opined that any team in the NFL would be subjecting themselves to a massive public relations onslaught if they signed him. In fact, whole 30-minute shows on news channels have been devoted to the question of whether Michael Vick was worth having in the league.

Go back to the previous summary paragraph and notice two words. Here, I'll highlight them in italics and bold: "on charges stemming from a dog-fighting operation". You can go back and read the indictments, the transcripts of interviews, everything, but not once does anyone in law enforcement make the case that Michael Vick was actively participating in the dog fighting. It says that his money was used to fund it, he owned some of the dogs, and one of his houses was used. But nowhere does it say he did the dog fighting.

Athletes and celebrities these days have what are called in some circles "posses", in other circles "hangers-on", and in pop culture thanks to HBO, "entourages." These are friends of the athlete or celebrity that basically live off their friend's wealth and fame. They are paid by the friend as an "advisor," or some other such word, but basically they just leech off their friend. The rich friend gives them money, and provides them with a place to live as a show of friendship... to show that they remember their roots. But what happens after that money changes hands, well, let's just look at that.

Suppose your best friend comes up to and says "Hey, can I borrow a couple hundred dollars?" Now, in today's economy that's a sizable loan, but he's your best buddy. You've know each other since childhood. So of course, if you can afford it, you loan him the money, right? Say that same friend then uses that money to buy a gun, then shoots his girlfriend. Are you guilty of murder too? No, of course not. But what if you knew he was going to buy a gun, and knew he was going to shoot his girlfriend, would you be guilty of a crime then? Yes, if you didn't report it to the police. You'd be an accessory to the crime. But what if you just knew he was going to buy a gun with it, and not that he was going to kill his girlfriend?

What if you were rich and famous and your friend wasn't? Ah, now we've got a little bit of a different situation, don't we? Because no newspaper in the world (save your hometown paper) is going to care if your Joe Schmoe friend offs his girl. But if you, Mr. Rich and Famous Celeb were involved, then it's a story!!! Especially if it can be proven that you helped your friend by giving him the money to do it! Now, the media really has a whopper of a story!

Of course, in our example, a person was killed. A human being. Michael Vick, to my knowledge, has never killed a person. He's never done anything to a human being. There are players in the NFL today who have been convicted of manslaughter. For those of you who don't know, a person has to have died for manslaughter to have occurred. Donte Stallworth plays for my team, the Cleveland Browns. He pled guilty this year to manslaughter because he was driving drunk and killed a man with his car. He was suspended from the league for a year. Next year, when his suspension is lifted (which it will be) some team will sign him as a 5th wide receiver and barely a fuss will be kicked up.

Stallworth isn't the first. Ray Lewis was indicted with murder and assault charges. He's still playing with the Baltimore Ravens, is widely considered one of the best linebackers in the league, and no one has said a word about whether the Ravens should have let him back on their team. Hell, every team in the NFL would kill... okay, not the best word... would really love to have him on their roster.

Lewis isn't a pariah; he's loved. Again, I'll put this in bold and italics: He is responsible for killing a person.

Michael Vick is dangerous to the league's reputation. His "friends" used their leeched money to run a dog fighting operation at one of his houses.

The only logical conclusion you can make is that the National Football League and the media feel like a dog's life is more important than a person. Vick gave his friends money and some dogs were killed. Ray Lewis went out with some friends and Jacinth Baker and Richard Loller were murdered. Jacinth and Richard aren't dogs, so that must mean that their lives don't count as much.

Things Every Guy Should Know

2009-08-04T16:34:00.007-04:00

For some reason, probably what my wife calls "Internet ADD" I was searching for things that "every guy should know." You know, I want to be a responsible father to my son, and teach him all the things that he should know. Some of those are pretty easy, like how to tie a tie, cook breakfast, check the oil, and watch 3 football games at the same time on three different channels without the use of picture-in-picture and still not miss more than three plays in any game.

So found an article on Esquire magazine, that bastion of dudeness, that tells 25 skills that all men should be able to do. I'll list theirs, then give some of mine that they missed. If you have some that aren't on either list, by all means add them in the comments section.

Esquire's 25 Essential Skills For Men

1) How to Skin a Moose: A deer, sure, I get that one. But a moose? Good skill to have, but wrong animal, unless you're hanging with Sarah Palin. Which wouldn't be a bad thing. Cause she's hot.

2) Get a Busy Bartender's Attention: This one makes perfect sense. Remember, no gesturing. If you do this well, women will notice.

3) Bet the Horses: Eh. Sometimes being terrible at this isn't such a bad thing.

4) Give a Good Massage: DE-FI-NITE-LY!!

5) Cut Down a Tree: Because the History Channel might just need a new show for their new sea... damn it!

6) Buy a Woman Clothing: I'm not so sure about this one, because while it was cool the first 85 times I saw some rich dude in a movie correctly guess a woman's clothing size, understand this: buying her a gift card might be the easiest thing to do, but it's also the wussy way out; give up a Sat, er Sunday afternoon (college football is Saturday, my bad) and go with her. Then you pay for it.

7) Fillet a Fish: Because you never know when Captain D's might be hiring.

8) Know how to make Eggs 4 different ways: Scrambled, baked, poached, and sunny-side up. No one I know, and I mean N-O one, eats baked eggs. So just go with scrambled, sunny-side up, and over easy and you'll be fine.

9) Google Efficiently: If you can't do this in 2009, then you shouldn't be allowed on the Internet.

10) Sew a button: Ok, I'll go with that.

11) Console a crying woman: Just make sure you aren't the reason for the crying before you go grabbing your handkerchief.

12) Look good in a picture: Just so you know, the example picture in the article has an ugly dork trying to be Bogart. And it's not a good picture. It's Esquire, what are you gonna do?

13) Calm a crying baby: This one is my speciality now, but every baby is different. What works for one, doesn't for another... same with women.

14) Parallel Park (Like a man): Meaning don't go in from the front. Not that I would do that... um...

15) Wire a Ceiling Fixture: All together now, "Turn off the main first."

16) Make pancakes from scratch: Take this, the egg thing, some bacon and Clemenza's recipe for cooking for "20 guys" and that will be the only thing you'll need to be the most popular cook ever at hunting camp.

17) Stop a running toilet: Just a tip, praying won't do it. But it helps.

18) Rock the man in the boat (aka how to give a woman the 'O' face): I'm iffy on whether a dad should be giving this advice to his son. Well, I guess better from your dad than Peter Pimple Face down the street... or your mom.

19) Carve a turkey: I'd go for how to cook it too, but just in case someone does a National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, it's a good skill to be handy with a knife.

20) Make a drink, just for her: I like this one. I can make a mean Manhattan for my mother-in-law and father-in-law. Now, I'm working on martinis.

21) Pick out ripe fruit: No, this doesn't mean success on match.com.

22) Jump-start a car: This is a useful skill to have, but it requires the one thing that no one has in their car... jumper cables.

23) Get a table in a restaurant: Here's a simple solution... call for reservations. See? Problem solved.

24) Kill an injured animal: First examples are a toad, a gopher and a deer. Most needed examples are boss that just fired you and IRS worker.

25) Shine a shoe: You can read the instructions online, or for better results, enlist in the military. Also, the latter option will help in your life as well.

Todd's List:

1) Quote at least five different movies regularly: Personal favorites include "Tombstone", "Ghostbusters", "The Godfather", and "Groundhog Day."

2) Shoot a gun: God gave us the Second Amendment, not the government.

3) Throw a baseball and a football: It's essential to growing up in America.

4 Know the basic rules of the three major American sports: If you are ever in a room with a girl who is not a) related to a football coach, b) married to a football coach, or c) is a football coach and this girl knows more about the game than you do, it's time to call up the castration guy.

5) Be able to talk intelligently about politics: Not saying which way you should swing politically right or left, but when someone asks you why you're voting for a particular candidate and the only thing you can say is, "for hope... and... uh... change!" then you don't need to vote (longer article on the need for an IQ test required before voting coming later).

6) Enjoy the thrill of peeing outside: Sure, I know it's not really a skill, but it's one of those things that all men should enjoy at least once or twice a year, if for no other reason than to remind us of why we are men, and why that is so freaking cool.

Stupidest Jobs in the World

2009-08-04T12:53:00.003-04:00

Sunday night, K, AJ and I went to a dinner party hosted by some friends of ours. During the conversation that night, our hosts let it slip that they had taken their cocker spaniels to a doggie dermatologist. Yep, a doctor who specializes in the skin of dogs. My first reaction was that this was the stupidest job in the world. But I wanted to reserve judgment on that one. Especially when the couple dropped some more stuff that was way easier to make fun of. Like the fact that their dog has been prescribed kangaroo meat to help with his skin condition. Yes, you can read that again, but it won't change what it says. Kangaroo meat. Next time you go to the supermarket, take a gander through the meat section and see if they have some kangaroo meat under celophane.

So that got me thinking, what's the stupidest jobs in the world that people actually get paid to do? I mean, besides being a doggie dermatologist. Here's the list I came up with:

Odor Judge: These people work for deodorant companies and actually get paid to smell people's armpits after different kinds of spray and roll-on deodorants are applied. Would this even be something you'd admit to your friends that you did? Hey, speaking of smells...

Flatulence Analyst: This person does just exactly what it says. A professor hired college students to actually smell the farts of study participants (who'd probably eaten more beans than anyone should in a lifetime) to see if gas can accurately tell a person's intestinal health. This is further proof that college kids will do anything for beer money.

Mosquito Researcher: Wanted, someone with a lot of time on their hands at night, and a fetish for itching, to be bitten repeatedly by mosquitoes in order that scientists can catch several of the little buggers to study... something about them. Interested?

Dog Food Tester: You know how you've always thought that the gravy-covered, meaty square-shaped dog food you've poured into Pooch's bowl has always looked like it might taste good? Well, someone somewhere gets paid to actually find out.

Video Game Tester: 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, you play video games. These are not the people to challenge to a Madden or Halo game with money on the line.

Paper Towel Sniffer: These people smell paper towels to see if they smell after mopping up stuff. So, the next time you use a sheet of Hefty to sweep up your dog's pee, take a quick whiff. If it doesn't smell, then this guy has done his job. If it does, well, then your dog wins that round.

Potato Chip Inspector: They look at and taste potato chips for imperfections. I saw Mike Rowe, of "Dirty Jobs," do this one on an episode. It was at the Dirty Chip Company. He didn't look like he was too upset at this one. No word on if these people get a complimentary membership to Weight Watchers is part of the company benefits.

Beer Tester: The only bad part about this job is that you can't actually swallow the beer you put in your mouth. There's a handy spit cup right next to you. Reminds me of the worst job for an animal, that of the horse fluffer (a male horse whose job is to get the in heat female horse sufficiently in heat so that he can be led away from the girl so that a better, more worthy male can come in and do the job... yeah, his life sucks).

Furniture Tester: Hmm, this recliner doesn't feel right for football games on Saturday afternoons. But if you like a nice Cognac, and some Masterpiece theater, this baby's perfect for you!

Chicken Sexer & Hair Boiler: I saved these for last because they sound like the worst ones to admit to another person that you do for a living. A chicken sexer looks at baby chickens to see if they are male or female so they can be separated, and a hair boiler actually boils the hair of different kinds of animals so they curl up for later use. Neither of these seem to be very high on most people's "Must Do This Job" list, but hey, the economy's bad.

So what are you waiting for? Start on careerbuilder and craigslist today! You're future as the world's best fart smeller is only a couple cans of beans away.

Saving Ourselves To Death

2009-07-31T12:03:00.005-04:00

We are saving our babies to death... protecting ourselves and killing ourselves at the same time.

Ever seen AJ was born, and even before when The Wife was pregnant, we've been given advice regarding the dreaded "shots" and "immunizations." You know what I'm talking about right? The always popular "what's causing all these childhood diseases and defects that are so numerous these days?" debate! Let's have a party!

Jenny McCarthy is now the big expert that all the morning news shows go to when autism comes up. Apparently, all you need to do to be considered a media expert in something is to pose nude several times, be the sidekick on a horrible game show ("Remote Control" anyone?), and pop out a baby. Never mind the fact that Jenny doesn't have a degree in medicine, child psychology, or anything like that.

- Side note: Does Jenny even have a degree? If so, is she using it? What's the difference between her and Tori Spelling? Is it possible that those two and Denise Richards will be the outfield at a celebrity softball game in the near future?

Jenny's big case is that the shots that kids get to be immunized against diseases like polio, smallpox, and others are causing this recent surge in autism. But, the offending shot has been given since the late 1960's. The whole autism craze didn't hit until the 1990's. So... what happened in that 30 years between the 60's and the 90's besides disco, a gas shortage, and that whole tight-rolling-your-pants thing? Did something change in the anatomy and physiology of humans that I'm not aware of? Did mutation move from comic books to reality and no know let me in on it?

The Wife has weighed in on this issue several times and these are her big evil doers that could be the cause: birth control pills (right now, millions of men are screaming for this not to be the cause), muscle building supplaments (and millions of women are screaming the same thing), or some other mystery... something that we haven't discovered yet.

My point is when I was a kid, we:

- sat in the car without a car seat worthy of the latest in NASCAR engineering
- ate paint chips (thank you Chris Farley and my you rest in peace)
- dropped a hot dog on the ground, called the "5-second rule," picked it up and ate it
- played above the backseat of a car, right under the back windshield, while it was driving
- didn't know the meaning of the word organic (and wouldn't eat it anyway if we knew that "organic" meant grown in poop)
- got spanked when we screwed up
- and basically bumped, bruised, cut, scratched, and bloodied every part of our bodies playing outside, and didn't get some fancy antiseptic, but rather brushed it off and kept right on playing...

and we are still here, alive and kicking!!!!

If you listen to the media today, none of us over the age of 25 should even be alive today, and yet we are the parents that are killing ourselves and our kids by trying to save everyone. Maybe the reason all of these diseases and illnesses are flaring up and becoming much more prevalent is because we are trying our best to save everyone from anything bad that could possibly happen. Call me old fashioned, but how's about we go back to the way things use to be done and see if things don't change back? Just a suggestion. But if you feel the need to debate, shoot me a comment.

Banned from Netflix

2009-07-23T11:32:00.005-04:00

My wife is one more bad movie choice away from being banned from Netflix.

We joined Netflix, as I told you in this post, and it was one of the best decisions we've ever made, both financially and as far as entertainment goes. I still feel that way. However, let me reprint something I said regarding one of our first movies we picked to be on our list:

The Wife picked this one because she likes old movies (nope, I didn't know this when I met, proposed or married her... but it would have only made her more attractive as you'll see), and because she likes Marilyn Monroe. I seconded this pick because I'd like to return to the days when big boobs and curves made a woman pretty, and bones poking through skin made a woman dead.

Parts of that statement are still very much true. I still think Lindsey Lohan, the chick from new Superman movie and that horrible surfing flick Blue Crush, and other walking stick figures are ruining the self-esteem and health of women everywhere by being too damn skinny and thinking that is what makes a female hot when they should have just asked a normal guy like me. And I still like classic movies. But I want you to pay close attention to the first four words in that quote: The Wife picked this one.

Gentleman Prefer Blondes was one of the worst movies ever made. It's a musical, with almost-naked gay men dancing around a cruise ship. Trust me on this one, don't get it.

Last night The Wife went 2 for 2 in the stinker category. She picked Bride Wars with two more examples of the "looking like an Ethiopian from the 1980's will only make us more attractive to the opposite sex" club, Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson. It is perhaps one of the worst chick flicks ever made. The plot, what little there is, might be the most convoluted thing ever written down. At one point, everyone, audience included, knows that a break-up of one couple is coming. But the writers couldn't think of a good reason for the couple to break up, so they picked... no reason at all and then tried to pretend it was the best reason ever. Oh, and then they decided to pray that no one watching the movie would notice.

So The Wife gets one more chance at this whole picking movies through Netflix thing. And it comes with Confessions of a Shopaholic. I don't have high hopes here considering her current batting average, but the funny redheaded chick from Wedding Crashers is the star, so maybe it'll be good.

Ok, maybe that's asking too much.

Quick Hitters Part II

2009-07-22T16:01:00.007-04:00

These are the thoughts that ran through my brain while getting my car a new battery:

- My car sat for 10 days not moving, not running, with no lights on, and still the battery went dead. You explain that one. Maybe my car is really a Transformer and went off to fight evil in some shape or form for the week and a half we were gone! If so, can it do that cool trick where it (in the form of a 1997 Volvo wagon) goes by a brand new Ford F-150 King Ranch and then turns into that? Is that too much to ask?

- These are the suggestions I've been given today to add as friends on Facebook. Two friends of mine from high school (both accepted), the official Cleveland Browns Fan Club (you're darn right I accepted them!), a fan group of the dirt from my home state, and a convicted felon. Yes, you read that last one right.

- I went to get my car's new battery at the same place where the 6-foot blonde was last time. She wasn't there today, and my car was worked on in record time. Perhaps it's time to start losing weight. The mechanics might be suspecting I've got breasts.

- Speaking of my car, when I opened the hood this morning to figure out what was wrong, there was strange set of pliers underneath the hood. They weren't mine, nor my father-in-law's. Which means they've been sitting under the hood since the last time my car got checked out about a year ago. Those SOB's hold on tight!

- Oh, one more car note... my air conditioner isn't working. It's only blowing hot air. Some would say that could be stopped if I simply stopped talking. They might be right.

- Facebook actually suggested that I should be friends with a convicted felon. You might be rolling your eyes right now, but inside I know you're just a little bit jealous. Admit it. You are.

Time to Read

2009-07-21T14:14:00.010-04:00

I'm starting something new today... book reviews. There are a few reasons for this:

I really like reading; it's what I would do if I had nothing else to do, and what I do if my wife gives me housework.

Books are something of a dying pleasure thanks to the internet, but I think that they hold a certain charm and appeal for people... besides it's more enlightening than looking for porn.

Reading certain books got me through a lot of rough patches of boredom in my life, and I want to pass on the knowledge.

And the best reason... The Wife said she thought it'd be a good idea and you know what they say when your wife suggests something.

First up are several books that got me through not only the down time at the hospital waiting on my son to be born, but also afternoons of umemployment when nothing is on the boob tube by Maury Povich and the People's Court. Oh, and one last note: I buy from Barnes & Noble but link to Amazon because, well Amazon's website is better in my opinion.

Twelve Mighty Orphans: The Inspiring True Story of the Mighty Mites Who Ruled Texas Football by Jim Dent.

This is one of the best sports books I've ever read. It tells the story of an orphanage in the heart of 1920's, 30's and 40's Texas that sported one of the best football teams in the state. The coach of this bunch of rag-tags was Coach Rusty Russell, who you'll learn was the possible innovator of the modern offenses you see on Friday and Saturday nights today. Incidently, Dent is the same guy who wrote Junction Boys , which ESPN turned into a movie, about the Texas A&M football team coached by "Bear" Bryant. Highly recommend this for any football fan on you gift list, and guys, the chapters break down quite nicely for light reading in between getting ice chips at the hospital. And if you are not as impressed as I was about the legend that is Hardy Brown, well, I'll apologize publically for the recommendation.

The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon by David Grann

Grann's book is non-fiction and tells the story of British explorer Percy Fawcett, a guy you've probably never heard of, but once you get a small taste of his life, you'll wonder how come Harrison Ford's character wasn't named after him instead of his dog Indiana. Fawcett spent a large majority of his life looking for a lost civilization in the Amazon rainforest, what some called El Dorado. But far from a City of Gold, Fawcett believed it was something far greater, more unbelieavable. Gann alternates the telling of Fawcett's last trip into the jungle (on which he disappeared into myth and legend) with the telling of his own quest to follow in Fawcett's bootsteps, and hopefully not get killed by poisonous snakes, deadly bugs bigger than your hand, and cannibals. See, it's got everything a growing boy needs!

Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34 by Bryan Burrough

Ok, so we've got sports, adventures in the jungle... what are we missing? Oh yeah, gangsters!! Well, this is the real deal, baby. Burrough doesn't give you Captain Jack Sparrow trying to shoot a Tommy gun without falling down, and then going after some ugly chick we're supposed to believe is hot just because Hollywood tells us she is. No, Burrough's book is the actual story of all those bad boys (and girls) you love to hate: Pretty Boy Floyd, Machine Gun Kelly, the Barkers, Bonnie and Clyde, Baby Face Nelson, and of course, the best of the best... John Dillinger. And if you think you saw everything because you paid your $9 at the movies and got the 1967 version of Bonnie & Clyde from Netflix, you might want to rethink it. This stuff really happened, to real people, and it's way more interesting than anything Michael Mann can put on the screen.

I'll give you some more at regular intervals... or basically whenever I'm done reading whatever I'm working on. Right now, since I read two at a time, it's a novel and a historical non-fiction book. Until then, put the remote down and read!

Boobs, Bumps, and Boobs

2009-07-20T15:25:00.006-04:00

Just got back from Mississippi. The trip went pretty well, especially the food. If you want recommendations for places to go in Mississippi (or on the Gulf Coast of Alabama) let me know.

Before we left, The Wife had me take her car in for an oil change and to get the tires rotated (no jokes about not changing my own oil... don't trust myself to do it, so why bother screwing it up?). I pull into the parking lot and see more guys working than on any four other trips I've made to the shop combined. Why the sudden interest in the car fixing field? Couldn't be the 6-foot blonde with the gargantuan knockers and legs for days - check that, weeks - could it? Surely not! I mean, men aren't that shallow are they?

I asked the guy who runs the place, "Hey, how come I don't get that kind of attention?"

He just laughed, but one of his mechanics says, "I got her phone number... and I got a girlfriend!" Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the car service industry's finest.

Two and a half hours into the trip, the car decided that apparently it was more pissed than I was that it didn't get the "6-foot blonde with DD's" treatment because it decided to take a crap right in the middle of the Florida Turnpike. In the first five minutes we were stopped on the side of the road with our hood up, two complete strangers stopped, got out of their vehicles and asked if they could help. They even took a gander under the hood themselves to see if they could do anything. That's not counting the others that stopped just to ask if we were alright. I laughed and said to The Wife: "Yep, we are definitely north of Orlando and back in the South."

Our first stop for the trip was Gainesville, Florida at the Sleep Inn. Yes, it was the same place we stopped when we watched Ole Miss beat the national champion Florida Gators 31-30 (sorry, had to get that in). The Wife tells me to go in and see what their price is for a room. The receptionist is another blonde, but this one's wearing a nice blouse with a neckline that shows off her belly button. It also really does a nice job of accentuating her Holly Gunn-style fake breasts. I'm sure the management of this place just loves her outfits.

I know for a fact that the Sleep Inn is usually around $100 for a king bed for one night, but this little debutante is going down, and I don't mean in the bad way. Actual conversation between Holly Gunn and myself:

"Hey, how are ya?"
"Good"
"I'd like to get one room, with a king bed for the night. "
Holly starts to search for the price, but I don't let her get a word in edge wise.
"You know, we've stayed her before and loved it."
Holly smiles a little at this, or at my smile. Either one is good for me.
"Oh really? When?"
"You probably wouldn't like that weekend. We're Ole Miss fans..."
Recognition sets in slowly with this one.
"Oh... OH! Oh, yeah, that wasn't a good weekend at all. You know I went to that game!"
"Really? Me too!"
"Yeah, the guy I was dating then didn't know a thing about football. I had to tell him why we were so bummed."
"Good thing you're not with him anymore, huh?" Translation: Why would you date a gay man?
"I know, right? How many nights are you staying?"
"Just the one... heading home to Mississippi where I'm from to show off my new son."
"Awwwww... a baby? That's so awesome!!!"
"I know... our first and the grandparents want to see him."
"Aww, that's so cute. We'll I can get you a king bed for $85, but I'll give you a special for $75 and upgrade it to a suite."
"Done. Want me to bring the baby in so you can see him?"
"Yes! Awww... I love babies!"
"I know, me too." Translation: You just got taken down by the Master... don't feel bad. Here, look at the baby, doesn't that make the beatdown you just suffered a little easier to take?

So, to celebrate my unmatched skills at what I call strategic flirting, The Wife, The Son and I decided to go to (drumroll please) Hooters for dinner. Insert your eye roll and laugh here.

Ole Miss Bound

2009-07-08T18:30:00.005-04:00

The Wife, The Son, and I are leaving tomorrow to head off to Mississippi for a little over a week. It'll be nice to get back to where things make sense, no one threatens to fight you for taking a parking spot in a grocery store parking lot, a beer doesn't cost over $5, and calling a lady "maam" won't get you the evil eye.

Oh, and something I didn't add to the Michael Jackson thoughts from yesterday: Michael's memorial service was yesterday at the Staples Center; today at the same location, Ringling Brothers opens up. Yep, the circus is in town. Do I even need a joke here?

I'll try to do a quick update from Mississippi at some point. My mom is usually pretty good about me using her laptop, that is when she isn't freaking out that I'll break it just by breathing on the thing.

Later taters.

Not So Quick Hitters

2009-07-07T10:41:00.010-04:00

- Dads, I'm doing an incredibly brave thing: I'm taking my son on his first road trip. Sure, this is an experience that should be done when he can appreciate hours of quiet driving when the only sounds are the radio and the spitting of sunflower seed hulls into a soda bottle. Or when he can fully appreciate all his mother does to clean the house just by the simple act of walking into a rest stop bathroom (yeah, that was directed at you Britney).

- The Wife, The Son, and I are heading north from South Florida to my home state of Mississippi. We're gonna hit my dad's place, let my aunts, uncles and my grandmother finally meet my son, and then finish up at my mom and step-dad's house. It'll be The Son's first experience in the real South. Finally, some education for the boy!

- One of my worst fears was realized yesterday. We left dinner at Miller's Ale House with The Son crying for either a bottle, a bed, a new diaper or some combination of the three. Our niece was with us, and as soon as the car starts up, she says in the cutest voice imaginable: "Maybe The Son will stop crying if you put the Boom, Boom, Boom song on." The Wife giggles nearly made me sick as she hit the CD button with a little too much glee. You can see what's coming, right? Yep, he stopped crying right when the song started. I will now light myself on fire.

- Michael Jackson's memorial service is today. Just a small list of the things that have either irritated, confused, or delighted me during this whole saga:

The never-ending list of "Jackson Family" spokespeople. It's like they hire a new one for the day or something, then fire them and hire somebody else.
Today's "Jackson Family Spokesman" deserves special recognition for his name alone: Ken Sunshine. Only in the life and death of Michael Jackson would a reporter not comment on that guy's name, right?
Every channel on TV has had some sort of retrospective on Michael's life, focusing on how bad his dad was, how popular Michael was, how talented he was, and the impact he had on music and pop culture.
Despite the above fact, Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson have spent the last week complaining that the media has only focused on the allegations of abuse.
Sharpton and Jackson don't miss an opportunity to insinuate themselves into whatever media circus is handy, do they?
The "food poisoning" and "Legos" jokes are classic.
I would have thought that Maury Povich would have been all over the "Are the kids really Michael's?" debate. I would have thought Debbie Rowe would have been a prime candidate for one of those "paternity tests" specials Maury's always running. Anyone else secretly wanting this to happen?

- In truth, I don't think America is, or ever will be, surprised at anything that comes out about Michael Jackson. Seriously, would you even bat an eye if there was a report that Bubbles the chimp was really Michael's vocal coach for the latter part of his life? Or that Michael and Elizabeth Taylor plan to have their remains combined after they are both dead then used to form the cure for some new disease that hasn't even appeared yet? Or that Michael wants his music played forever from a space station so that aliens will understand love and soul? Would any of that shock you?

I mean the spokeman's name was Ken Freaking Sunshine!!! This was one weird dude!

Money, money, money, money!

2009-07-06T13:05:00.005-04:00

A sad fact that all dads will have to learn is that babies require lots of everything. Time? Better cancel all those tee times you've got planned for the next, oh, I don't know, three years. Love? Your heart's gonna swell bigger than the Grinch ever dreamed of. Attention? If the Goodyear blimp was painted up like a ginormous boob it wouldn't demand more of your attention than your kid. Money? Prepare, my fellow dads, to be broker than you've ever been in your life.

Dads already give a lot of their money. That's just part of being the traditional bread-winner in the family. Moms spend a lot of time at home with the baby after it's born; sorry feminists, it's just a fact of nature. Mom is the one who a) has the built-in feeding equipment, and b) has that God-given ability to comfort her baby. Dads on the other hand have the unique ability to work and provide for Mom and baby.

However, when baby comes, you won't believe how fast money will evaporate from your wallet, and be deleted from your bank account. Diapers are $30 a box, and that's at Costco where things are almost always cheapr. Then there's baby wipes, formula, bottles, special super-duper baby nursery water (babies even have their own kind of water! Who knew? Bet you thought water was just water... see, told ya I'd teach ya something!), toys, car seats, carriers, car seat carrier combinations, swings, bouncey seats, blankets, burp cloths, and clothes.

If you made $1000 a month, I'm better about $900 of that will go toward the baby in some form or fashion. I'm not great at math, but I think that leaves about $100 for your meals, your clothes, your car, your entertainment. Now you know why you always hear this conversation from your going-out buddies:

"Hey, what happened to Joe?"
"Had a baby. Can't afford to do anything anymore."
Slight moment of silence from every male within earshot as they mourn Joe's passing.
"Ok, so guess that means we've got room for someone else in the group. Candidates?"

Of course, Joe now has new friends and new activities. But these things don't require a whole lot of scratch. For instance, Joe's 8:45 AM weekly tee time at the local golf course has been replaced by Joe's 9:00 AM weekly "Daddy and Me" session. "Wednesday happy hour at the bar" is now "Friday night Babies 'R Us trip." Joe doesn't mind this, because Joe has his new baby to think about. And because he has other dads to commiserate with at these functions. So it's not all bad. At least he's not by himself.

And if I ever see Joe at any of these things, I'll be sure to give him your best.

Writing vs. Crap

2009-06-30T11:24:00.003-04:00

Remember the scene in Swingers when Jon Favreau's character, Mikey, meets the girls in Vegas? One of them works at the MGM Grand in a show, and says, "I'm a Dorothy." Mikey responds quickly with "Well, we're not in Kansas anymore!" It's perhaps the lamest joke ever because it's so unbelievable obvious it's been overdone to the point that if it were a biscuit you could use it as a hockey puck. Mikey does the same thing when he meets Lorraine, and immediately after she introduces herself, he replies, "Like the quiche." Same problem; over-used joke that is no longer funny.

Think there's a reason "why did the chicken cross the road" isn't used anymore? You guessed it.
Which brings me to my topic of the day: books for new Dads. To put it bluntly, for the most part they suck donkey turds. They are written mostly by "normal guy" dads which is supposed to make them more accessible to other normal guy dads. But along the path from idea to publication to entry into your local bookstore, no one stopped to ask if these guys could actually write!

I've seen books written like "outdoorsy" instruction manuals, books that utilize sports terminology, and books that try to throw in jokes around clinically boring info dumps. All of these books are written by "Average Joes." The publishers probably thought that a regular dude would have more credibility with their targeted demographic, but as any writing teacher will tell you, most people aren't good writers. It takes more than just throwing around "guy" words from sports, tools, or camping. Just because you as a writer call passing off a dirty diaper to your wife "illegal procedure" or a "flagrant foul" doesn't mean guys are going to enjoy reading your book, nor does it mean it's well-written.

Oh, and that brings up another pet peeve of mine when it comes to these books. I know funny. Doesn't mean I always write funny, but I do know funny. And throwing in all-new cute names for a dirty diaper every other page like "Mr. Stinky" and "Poo-pourri" doesn't make you funny. It makes you a dork. A large dork. Is poop funny? Abso-freaking-lutely it is! But inserting "poop monster" into a normal sentense doesn't make it funny. It makes it sad. Poop is funny in situations the same as everything else. Case in point: a street sign isn't funny no matter how many phallic names you give in a regular sentence like "The street schlong said we were on Main Street." However, if it's inserted into a situation like the outstanding TruCredit "Investigative Reporter Chuck Storm" commercial; it becomes hysterically funny.

The writing counts, people. The quality counts. If you're going to write a how-to book, that's great. But don't disguise it as a comedy book. And something that I didn't touch on, but just want to mention briefly in closing... men are not as stupid as you make us out to be. Just because a book is marketed to men doesn't mean the writing should be substandard. I'm just saying.

Leaving... On a Jet Plane

2009-06-24T14:24:00.004-04:00

Well, not really. But I am leaving on a big school bus tomorrow morning for my first extended trip away from The Son. Our football team is going to a team camp at the University of Central Florida and we'll be gone from Thursday morning until Saturday night. I haven't spent more than a day away from The Son since he's been born. This sucks.

The Wife will be of course holding down the fort, but the worst part is we've got friends coming into town. It's The Wife's godmother and her husband. They are a lot of fun, and she should have a great time. At least someone will be there with her. Oh, and of course, Mr. 9mm will be there as well, which makes me feel a lot better.

More blogging when I get back.

Kick Back and Let the Big Dog Eat

2009-06-23T15:05:00.007-04:00

The Wife and I did something that to my reckoning is an absolute necessity for parents in today's world: we joined Netflix. Of course, The Wife, in typical The Wife fashion, can't say the word "Netflix" so it comes out "Netflex." And if you think I'm not taking every opportunity to poke fun at her because of that... well, then to paraphrase Bugs Bunny, "You don't know me very well, do you?"

Here's the movies we put on our queue (side note: Where did The Wife get her talent of mispronouncing everything? From her mother of course, who says "that movie is next in my quay") since AJ is only 10 weeks old and unable to comprehend the spoken word:

Tin Cup: If you like this movie then no explanation is needed. If you haven't seen it, add it to your queue. If you don't like this movie, well, then "this one's for Venturi up in the booth who thinks I should lay up."

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: The Wife picked this one because she likes old movies (nope, I didn't know this when I met, proposed or married her... but it would have only made her more attractive as you'll see), and because she likes Marilyn Monroe. I seconded this pick because I'd like to return to the days when big boobs and curves made a woman pretty, and bones poking through skin made a woman dead.

Fireproof: We both liked Facing the Giants and since the same bunch made this one, it's on the list. Plus, I've gotten too many good reviews from other married couples.

Gran Torino: "Get off my lawn." Eastwood at his menacing whisper best, plus at something like 80 years old, he kicks the crap out of a street gang. I think it would be a bad idea for any of us to miss this one. And we wouldn't want to make anyone's day would we?

Blade Runner: Duh, best Sci-Fi movie ever made. Harrison Ford, before he became an ear-ring-wearing-pansy, stars as Deckard, his third-best role behind Indy and Solo. With the added bonus that, in 1982, Sean Young was a hottie.

Hancock and The Prestige: What can I say, I like superhero and magician movies.

The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep: See, in the writing world we call this a "pay off." Told ya I'd come back to the classic movies. Dashiel Hammett (Falcon) and Raymond Chandler (Sleep) practically invented the private detective story and noir. Thomas Magnum, Columbo, Harry Bosch, Spenser, Elvis Cole, and to a degree, even Bruce Wayne aka Batman owe their very existence to the best of the best: Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe.

Oh, sure, once The Son gets a little older, we're gonna put all the Disney, Pixar, Disney-Pixar, and kiddie movies in the quay. But for now, we've got to watch all those movies we missed when The Wife was a throwing-up-everyday, waddling-down-the-street, adorable, pregnant mess.

If you have other suggestions, please, by all means leave comments.

Things I Learned This Week

2009-06-21T10:19:00.007-04:00

These are the things I learned this week off from blogging:

- My mother and step-father love my son, to the point that they actively want to hold him even when he projectile poops all over them.

- Breast milk does not taste good.

- My dog loves me, The Wife and our son but he loves pooping on the floor more.

- Scarlett Johansson's boobs and butt are not enough to make He's Just Not That Into You worth your time. Although it will reconfirm your belief that all women in movies are nuts.

- Churches have yet to figure out that if you turn your air conditioner on in the summer, more people will come.

- There's not enough pleading, begging, crying, wailing or gnashing of teeth in the world to make a baby stop crying; however letting him sleep on your chest is a miracle cure.

- Turner & Hooch is just as funny today as it was 20 years ago when it came out.

- The only thing that comes close on the pain scale to being racked in the nads for a guy is having the hair right around your nipple ripped out by your 9-week old son.

- I felt old after learning that it's been 20-freaking years since Tom Hanks made every parent in America hate him because he made every kid in America want a dog that looked like it swallowed a tennis shoe.

Baptism Break

2009-06-10T13:36:00.004-04:00

My son's baptism is this Sunday, and a whole lot of family is coming into town starting tomorrow. So, don't expect a new update until maybe Monday. I'll give you all the highlights of course.

Babysitting and practice

2009-06-08T21:09:00.005-04:00

I had the opportunity to babysit The Son today all by my lonesome. That is unless you counted my 5-year old nephew. Who decided he wanted to play "gun fight" while The Son was feeding, then decided that he wanted to watch Twilight instead of anything else in the world. And then wanted to play "gun fight" while The Son was asleep on my chest.

I also had the first day of summer workouts with the football team today. I didn't change before I went to the gym for conditioning, and failed to notice that The Son had left a little present on my shirt. Our defensive coordinator, who we call Coach Boom, didn't fail to notice.

The guys were about five-suicides into running (oh wait, you can't call them suicides anymore, can you? how about we call them "run until want to die"?) when Coach Boom decided to encourage them to run the last one with everything they had in them. He yelled at the top of his lungs, " Do you see Coach over there? He's got puke all over his shirt, and you're gonna keep running until somebody else has puke on their shirt!!!"

Yep, I love being a Daddy.

Wants...

2009-06-05T13:19:00.006-04:00

Some things I want for, and to do with, my son:

- I want him to enjoy reading as much, or more, than I do.

- I want him to love his country as much as I do.

- I want him to love the absolute joy of watching Rocky, and know that while all the Rocky movies are great, Rocky V never happened.

- I want to watch all the Star Trek movies with him, and for him to see the awesomeness of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, the utter stupidity of Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, the coolness of Star Trek: First Contact, and the genius that is J.J. Abrams's Star Trek.

- I want him to love sports for the right reasons like the feeling I got watching Ole Miss beat Florida live, and even the gut-wrenching sadness of something like "The Fumble."

- I want him to appreciate history, and how it is can be a roadmap for the life laid out before him.

- I want to watch all six Star Wars movies with my son, but exactly how they came out: 4, 5, 6, 1, 2, 3.

- I want him to understand what it feels like to not start for a team, and to know what it takes to get on the starting team.

- I want him to see one of his teams win a championship. I hope it's also one of my teams.

- I want him to learn how to put a worm on a hook, and take a fish off a hook.

- I want him to know how to tie a tie, change a tire, check the oil, and be the friend that will be the DD on occasion when he gets older.

- I want my son to love to learn, just like I do.

- Mostly I want my son to know he is loved.

My Kid is Better Than Your Kid

2009-06-04T15:48:00.005-04:00

Sometimes, a kid is just a kid.

Sports Illustrated is going for broke with its latest cover, proclaiming 16-year old Bryce Harper the greatest baseball player of all time. Practically anyway. They are talking about him hitting 570-foot home runs, throwing 96-mile per hour fastballs, and being fast enough to score on a wild pitch from second base. All those feats are impressive, but, Bryce is 16 freaking years old!

This of course brings up a discussion that as dads we avoid like the plague. Sure, we all have stories of runaway parents at our Little League games. Like the dad who threatened to slash the umpire's tires after calling his kid out at the plate. Or the dad who spent the entire third, fourth, fifth, and sixth inning of a game cussing, muttering and berating his kid for a called taking strike three with the bases loaded in the second. Or the dad who pushed his own son's coach because the poor guy took the dad's son out of the game.

All those stories are true, and from my one summer umpiring 9- and 10-year old baseball. No, I didn't get my tires slashed. But I did get cussed at more that summer than during Basic Training in the military. At least at Basic I knew the Drill Instructor was cussing me for my benefit. All the dads that summer, and every dad who has crossed the line during his kid's game, did was embarrass himself and his family. It is a kids league, guys, with kids playing. No money is at stake, and the trophy is made of plastic. Should there be a winner and a league champ? Absolutely, because that teaches kids that there is a reward for success. But should the way we act also teach our kids something? You're darn right.

Which brings us back to Bryce Harper. SI is doing what too many dads do. J.D. McCoy's dad did it on this past season of "Friday Night Lights." Because we dads couldn't make it as pro sports stars, we try to force our sons and daughters to do it for us. And we forget that our first job is to raise our children in love. That means letting them decide how much they want to pursue sports, or music, or theater, or basket weaving if that's what they want to do. It also means not putting undue pressure on them to succeed.

SI should be ashamed for putting this much on a 16-year old's shoulders. Will he be the next Babe Ruth? I have no clue. How's about we give him time to figure that one out for himself?

Quick hitters

2009-06-03T21:43:00.006-04:00

On a day when not much happened baby wise, some quick hitters for your consideration and rumination:

- Babies probably grab people's attention more than anything else on the planet except a) anything remotely close to boobs for men and b) a shoe sale for women.

- "Boom, Boom, Pow" by the Black-Eyed Peas is K's new favorite song; it also doubles as the one song right now that might make me drive into a telephone pole.

- My baby went into the pool for the first time today. Sure, only his feet got wet and the bathing suit was about eight sizes too big for him, but a lifetime of wrinkled-up fingers, being told to"stop running!" and skinny dipping is finally underway. I'll admit, I got a little verklempt.

- My mother-in-law deeply cares for my son, which is outstanding. But she has taken to expressing that care by literally freaking out everytime The Son is passed from one person to another, or placed into his swing or carrier. I'm talking a hand-waving, "every person has the coordination of a crash-test dummy," panic-attack spasm. This makes me smile, only because I know she cares so much.

- I lied, I also think it's pretty darn funny to watch.

- "Boom, Boom, Pow" is the number one song in the nation; I just looked it up. Also, my wife spends about 75% of her time in her car searching for the song on every station in the listening area. And at the same time, I'm wistfully looking at telephone poles.

- The Wife, The Son, The Dog and I are currently living with my in-laws, so already there's six of us in the house. Yesterday, one of my sisters-in-law showed up with her three kids and their 130-pound St. Bernard. 11 in the house, including two dogs and a baby. Screw Calgon, get me a beer.

Raising a Culture of Wimps

2009-06-02T11:14:00.004-04:00

Our babies are growing up in a world where they'll be forced to apologize for anything and everything they do. And let me be bluntly honest here, most of the stuff they'll have to apologize for will be absolutely correct!

In the last decade there's been a rash of political correctness that's forced untold numbers of people in the public eye to apologize for stuff they said or did. Examples include, but aren't limited to Clay Aiken expressing his opinion on "American Idol" finalist Adam Lambert, David Feherty after his joke about Senator Harry Reid and Representative Nancy Pelosi, and even a zoo in London after a gorilla farted in front of patrons. This has got to stop, for our babies' sake.

First off, David Feherty's joke was absolutely on point, because it expressed the opinion of many US service members (and yes I used to be one, and since I have friends still in uniform, I think I'm authority enough to speak on it). Are we not allowed to have opinions anymore? Clay Aiken, who I'm not a big fan of, did the same thing. He gave the readers of his blog his opinion of Adam's singing. Apparently we are not on notice that having an opinion that is not popular in the media can get you in trouble. Are we living in 1984 and no one told me?

Opinions are not facts, but if your opinion is backed up with facts, then it is a valid one. I'm teaching my son that as soon as he can learn it. And if you opinion isn't popular, but you have facts to back it up, hold fast to it. That is the measure of character.

Oh, and if you need to let a fart out in a zoo, LET. IT. GO! They happen, people. Get over it.

Baby Race

2009-06-01T15:53:00.007-04:00

Who cares whose baby develops faster? Why do parents try to one up each other so much with what their little puddin' has done before the "expected time"? Shouldn't we just be happy that our babies are developing at their own pace and leave the competition out of it? Who cares if their baby is better than the guy down the street's child?

I'll tell you who... me! Life is unfair, it rewards winners with tremendous perks and punishes losers severely. Yes, I know that things like whose baby can hold their head up the longest is a stupid competition, but hey, all these kids will be competing for what seems like a rapidly deteriorating job market someday soon, so why not start the lessons now? I'm a dad, and I love sports and competition. I think that I should teach my son to love it as well. If he doesn't love it, he'll shrink from it and I definitely don't want that.

When did competition become an ugly word in our society, especially when it comes to children? I read stories about towns where every Little League team in town got the same size trophy no matter where they finished in the league standings. Or how about the one where the coaches, refs and parents all decided to not keep score in the kid basketball league? That's just, to paraphrase Dr. Evil, re-damn-diculous!

So let's do it! The Son's six and a half weeks, and on the "holding his head up" thing we're at a minute and counting. In the words of The Rock... "Just bring it!"