Dad's Destroying Angels

Technical Difficulties

2010-08-12T16:16:00.002-06:00

I am writing this post using my wii because for some dumb reason, my laptop is not connecting to the internet. I think it has something to do with one of those automatic updates, and I am trying hard to reverse it, but who knows when or if I'll get it back. Stay patient with me please, I may have some interesting things for you when I get back up.

Thank you
The Editor.

Squizzle the Monkey

2010-08-09T15:54:00.002-06:00

Not exactly sure where the weekend went, but it's gone. I called about a job but am still waiting to hear back. The Boss is finishing her last few shifts in Orem this week and by Friday, she'll be back in the valley. I've been fighting a neck ache from staring at the computer, a backache from mowing three lawns on Saturday for my nephews, and a headache from trying to once again reshift my visual focus. I had spent all the time since my transplant with the right side being dominant and I had pretty much stopped using the left eye. When I got my lenses, it took the better part of a week to get adjusted to stereo vision. And now I've spent a weekend with my left eye dominant. Yesterday, I just left my remaining lens out, and spent the day with ice packs on my neck and back.

Gripe. gripe, gripe. What else am I supposed to do with my time?

Today the Boss is off, and she's getting a solid dose of Squizzle. I think that at some point during her pregnancy, the Boss must have had some mutant ice to crunch because the boy is not normal. He may have devolved back to chimp form.

This morning, he climbed out of the tub by himself. I watched to see what he would do. He closed the lid on the toilet seat, climbed on it and from there he pulled himself onto the sink counter. Then he plopped his naked butt down in the sink, pushed the plug in, and turned on the water. This is not a large sink, mind you, but Squizzle seemed to think that it was his own private hot tub. Why not? He screamed like a soccer player trying to draw a yellow card when I finally jerked him out of there.

I thought I was going to have to lock the door to keep him out. His little stumpy legs would spin like he was running when I picked him up and as soon as I set him down, he'd peel out and head back for the bathroom. It reminded me of something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

Then this afternoon he pulled a doozey.

He came into the kitchen while the Boss was doing bills. She watched as he opened the dishwasher and climbed up onto the door. He then pulled out the bottom rack of the dishwasher, posted his right foot on the edge and hefted his chubby little chimp butt up onto the counter.

Not done yet. Not by a sight.

He climbed into the kitchen sink this time and once again turned on the water. He grabbed the drain plug from the window sill and stuck it in the other side of the sink. He sat there contentedly splashing away while the sink filled up. He slogged from sink to sink, laughing and having a grand time. After a minute this became boring and so he turned around, opened the cabinet and pulled out a measuring cup.

Who knew that a plastic measuring cup was the greatest toy in the history of man kind? Squizzle started laughing before he even got back in the sink. He filled the cup and then dumped it over his own head, soaking down the three square inches of himself that were not already waterlogged. And yes, he was still in his diaper. A few more dumps of the cup were fun, but then the boy discovered that using the cup to fling water across the kitchen floor was ten times more fun than just pouring it out.

I'm not sure were he would have taken it from there, but the Boss and I were no longer interested in waiting to find out. She pulled him out of the sink and I grabbed a mop.

Monster!!

I have caught him trying to open the dishwasher three times since then and caught him on the counter once. Life as we knew it is once again over.

And all I can think is what a crummy freaking time it is to not have health insurance. We haven't had a trip to the emergency room for some time, and with this many runts, we are well overdue. With my luck, I am certain that it will be ten minutes before the Boss's new benefits kick in.

That isn't all the Squizzle related funny, though. Yesterday Moe and Puzilla decided to dress him up in his church clothes and send him on "Dates" with their dolls. As they were negotiating the difficult process of selecting wardrobe and affixing it to unwilling participants, Moe fired off what may have been the line of the month.

Turning to Puzilla, she said, "We gotta do Squizzle first, because he's more stubborn...And he's real."

Yeah, he's real all right...A real pain in the...Uh, oh! Gotta go. Just caught him trying to power bomb from the top ropes...er...I mean the top of the sofa. And I'm pretty sure my headache is now turning into a stroke.

Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em on Ebay.

NOOOOOO!!!!!

2010-08-06T12:27:00.003-06:00

So how am I supposed to judge a day like today?

Last night we went to Grandma's work party at Murray park. Free dinner is always a good thing, and the kids love the fishpond and other games. But I must admit that it is a mixed emotion to go each year. This work party was one of the last things we did together as a family before my brother was killed so there is always a bit of association there. And since they hold it around the same time every year, it serves as a reminder that the anniversary of his death is coming up again.

We could have had it a little easier with the dates on that one. His birthday is in January, and his death was on the same day of the month in August; so we get a fresh round of scab-peeling every half year or so. Not my idea of fun, but at least it's symmetrical.

For the last couple of days, my lenses have been bugging me and I had been hitting the 'roids hard to keep from having an allergic reaction. I put them in to go to the party and they were all right for the most part. Then on the way home, the right eye started burning and irritating the heck out of me. It felt like there was a piece of highway gravel stuck in there and it reminded me that I needed to get more lens solution. I asked the Boss if we could stop at Walmart and by the time we got there, I could hardly keep my eye open.

I learned very early on that with my crazy shaped corneas it is always a good idea to keep a complete lens kit on hand at all times because even my custom fit lenses can pop out. And they usually do so at the most inconvenient of times. So I pulled my case out and got ready to remove the irritated lens.

I had foolishly not grabbed my removal plunger, leaving me to try to pry the little sucker out with my fat fingers. While thus engaged, I felt the lens shift, and my eye started to feel better, so I put my case away and the Boss and I headed into the store.

Guess where the lens had "shifted"?

Now you may rightly say to yourself, "If he's so stinking blind, how is it that he did not immediately notice the absence of a lens?" There are two answers to this.

First, I did notice the decline in vision. In fact I said to the Boss, "This lousy lens isn't doing crapola right now. I can't see any better than without it" (perhaps I should have seen this as a warning sign).

And second,when my eyes get irritated like that, it doesn't matter if the lens is in or not, I don't see well. So it was not unusual for me to have bad vision and the thought that the lens was gone did not occur to me. I was too happy not to be still flushing boulders from under my eyelid. I ignored it until we got home and then I went to the bathroom to pull the lenses out for the night.

When the plunger came up empty, I started to royally panic. I made the Boss do a full scale examination to see if perhaps it had rolled up under one of the lids or behind the eye but it was long gone. We scoured the bathroom floor, the sink (I have an OCD tick that makes me put the plug down to ensure a dropped lens won't go down the drain), my clothes, the bedroom floor, outside to the car, the floor of the car, the seat, the dashboard... gone, baby.

Gone.

I have the hurting suspicion that sometime during the night a sweeper at Walmart dusted up a little blue plastic miracle without any idea of what it was. At that very moment I was probably curled into the fetal position feeling like I'd taken a shot to the "Solar Plexus" as the boys of professional wrestling euphemistically describe it. It was a long night filled with some really good panic attacks of the variety I ain't seen in years.

Then this morning, I got a call from the Boss. She had left early for work and on the way she had already gotten a replacement lens ordered (2 weeks to wait might seem like an eternity until I compare it to five years...then, not so much), had found a way to get it paid for, (You know who you are; Ooh Sainted One)and had the good news that I may have legitimate, full time employment. It would be mule work for a disaster cleanup company.

Now it's not writing but there is a steady paycheck involved and who of you that read this blog would argue that I, of all people, am not qualified to "Clean Up" after disasters? Might even help to rectify my "why me" attitude. I'm only blind, fat, broke and ugly. These people will have had their homes flooded, burned, or otherwise demolished. Is it wrong to assume that it would be good for me to see people more messed up than me?

All I know is a job is a job, and I'll take it if officially offered. Cash is cash, and I could sure use me some of that....

Something The Boy Said

2010-08-04T14:49:00.002-06:00

Went to Orem to help the Boss with a little work project yesterday. The city of Orem held a fun run to benefit a police charity. It was called "Run a Crook Out of Town" and we set up a table at the start/finish line with ice water, treats, and coupons for free meals. As the primary sponsor (and the only one present) Village Inn got some nice publicity and community good will.

As a family, we got fed, the kids and I got to get out of the house, and the Boss got paid for three hours of work on her day off. That is a miracle that never would have happened under the Clown.

When we pulled into the parking lot, Peff scored big points with his Old Man when he gently requested that his mother move the car, for she had thoughtlessly parked closer to a red car than a blue one. According to the brainwashing propaganda (also known as the TRUTH!) that I endlessly indoctrinate him with, Red (school colors of the hated Utah Utes) is the color of evil. Blue (school colors of BYU) is the color of loyalty, courage and righteousness. It was a beautiful moment that would have brought tears to my eyes if my tear ducts hadn't been seared shut by overdoses of steroids.

Next up for the Peff? A t-shirt that reads "Me too, Max. Me too."

Of course his turn for the funny was not finished. He ordered the smiley-faced pancakes for dinner, and then asked his mother if he could "blind" his face. I figured he wanted to pluck the blueberries and eat them first, but he was actually after the salt to shake over them. Don't ask me, it's not my fault.

***Editor's Note to Self
I gotta find a way to keep this kid from going to work for the CIA....
***

At dinner, the kids were very good and on their best behavior; except for Squizzle who was so excited by the idea of a drink all for himself that he spent most of the time hooting and laughing and having a grand time. Luckily for us we were there between the lunch and dinner rushes so there was not a lot of others around to be annoyed.

And speaking of annoyed...

After we had finished dinner, I took the kids for a spin around the parking lot while the Boss took care of some work matters before the race. Having been pent up for an hour on their best behaviour, they decided that they needed to cut loose and make a little noise. Moe commented that Squizzle's happy chatter in the restaurant was funny at first but "Got a little annoying after a minute."

I agreed, of course, but the reference to annoyance caused me to foolishly bring up one of my favorite movie quotes from "Dumb & Dumber": "Hey! Wanna hear the most annoying noise in the world?" (Followed by high pitched, nasal squealing equivalent to nails on a chalkboard).

The kids, having never seen this movie, thought it was hilarious and immediately began to create their own unique, individual "most annoying noise in the world".

Most were high pitched wails or screeches of some order or another, and Puzilla in particular, figuratively shattered several storefront windows. Squizzle got back into the spirit adding his own distinctive "Yawp" and I soon found myself suffering from a head-splitting migraine of monolithic proportions.

Thus inspired by "art" I coined a new term...the "Symphannoy". I thought about calling it the "Annoychestra", but Symphannoy has a pop to it that I can't quite explain. It just sounds better.

In theory only, of course.

In practice, it probably rates as the aural equivalent to Peff's salt in the eyes. Whatever you call it, it is torture.

Water boarding, indeed. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Turn those terrorists over to my five kids for twenty minutes, and they'll gleefully spill their guts about where Bin Laden is.

Destroying Angels isn't just a clever nickname, folks.

What the Weekend Wrought...

2010-08-04T06:03:00.003-06:00

Well, the weekend was not without its interesting moments, so I have some catching up to do. Saturday, the Boss got her permanent assignment from work, and she'll be working much closer to home starting on the thirteenth of this month. Not a moment too soon; says I. The Boss said she'll miss the folks in Orem, but she certainly won't miss the two hour daily commutes. She met with her supervisor who had many complimentary things to say, not the least of which was that he was unimpressed with most new hires ability to match his expectations, but that the Boss was already exceeding his hopes and was knocking it out of the park.

Those of us who love her are not the least bit surprised.

After she got done, we went to her sisters house where we tested the quality of their new home's construction by piling just short of fifty people onto the staircase to take a family photo or ten. As soon as they are finished, I'll post one for posterity sake. We had some more shots of the kids done, and having seen some of the advance snaps, I am very happy with how they turned out.

***Editor's Note
I will take this time to offer a shameless plug and laud the professional competency and excellent craftsmanship of our photographer, Phil Massey. Phil does great work at prices even my broke budget can afford. He has top of the line equipment and the know-how to use it. He does everything from bridal shots and weddings to family portraits, get-togethers and reunions; no group is too big. If you live in Utah, you may occasionally see some of his nature shots featured on local newscasts during the weather segments. In the coming days, I will be posting a link to his web page and contact information if you are in need of a photographer. There are other photogs out there, but only Phil Massey comes with the Fatdaddy Seal of Approval.
****

Monday, I went with my brother in law to mow a lawn for our nephews. They are out of town this week and asked if I'd cover their lawn mowing business while they were gone. They basically have one customer every day, it takes about an hour to do each one, and they are pulling in a little more than a hundred bucks a week. They have bought their own equipment, and are frankly making more money than yours truly.

Very impressive gig, and I am starting to wonder whether or not I ought to go into the amateur lawn care biz. One look at my own yard would probably dissuade any potential customers, I'm afraid. One of the downsides of getting my eyesight back was that I realized what a disaster my yard is. I had no idea that I'd been mowing weeds, not grass.

Pitiful.

Also on Monday, I got more writing assignments from my freelance gig and it looks like there is a chance that I might have enough work to make it worth my while. I still wish I could find someone willing to pay me three cents a word for this drivel however. Now that would be a sweet set up!

Yesterday was a loaded day that I think will require its own post. I will put that together later this afternoon after I get the kids up and rolling, so check back later in the day for some funny stories about our trip to the Boss's work.

Breathing Room

2010-07-29T11:12:00.004-06:00

Well, I finished my last article at about two thirty in the morning. It would have been done by dinner time, but the Boss and I decided that we had to have some fun or we'd go Kazoo. The Boss's sister and her family are in town from New York, so we spent a few hours playing Mexican Train dominoes. I got destroyed; I never won a single round. Uncle Chris whooped all our butts.

Peff and Beckett played Mario Party on the Wii for a while, and I once again forgot to ask Beckett the secret of his NCAA prognostication prowess. If nothing else, I fully intend on giving him a serious case of knuckle-nuggies to see if I can't get some of his elfish magic to rub off.

The Boss's sister who lives in California is also in town this week, marking the first time in about three years that all the sisters are in the same place at the same time. We have scheduled a photographer to come take a family portrait on Saturday night as work schedules, arrival and departure times, and other activities mean that we'll all be together for about three hours on Saturday night. Probably a good idea to have a camera there for that one, huh?

The Boss is still loving her new employment and the feelings are mutual. She was quite flattered (and equally uninterested) when she was told by a contact from the clown's place that several of the other local owners had inquired as to her interest in returning to the clown's services under their franchises. One inquiry was regarding her interest in a promotion to a multi-store supervisory role.

I suppose that if the dump truck full of money they backed up to the door was large enough, she might at least give it some consideration, but she's definitely moved on. The work at Village Inn is so much more laid back and so much more suited to her personality that it would take some heavy duty pay increases and probably some lawyers writing up contractual stipulations (such as no phone calls between the hours of 8 and 8, if you please) for her to even give it more than a thought.

It is flattering, though. At least someone in that company appreciated her talents.

Anyway, the big girls are off at cooking camp. The Boss's mom found it and it was a cheap and fun form of summer-get-out-of-the-house entertainment. They go in the morning and are home by lunch time. Yesterday they made pizza, including crust from scratch, guacamole, salsa and homemade ice cream in a bag. They poured the homemade mix into a small Ziploc, and then put that into a gallon Ziploc full of ice chunks and rock salt and then told them to shake the heck out of it. Apparently it works pretty well.

Moe spent the better part of three hours delivering the play by play, including details about each recipe, which she recited from memory. Sometimes that kid scares me. For Haggis, it marks the third straight week she has been at one camp or another. Two weeks ago it was Oakcrest, a camp for LDS girls from all over everywhere. Last week was our local ward's young women's camp and now she's spending her days at cooking camp (even though that one isn't a sleep over camp). She came home from girls camp last week as filthy as a sinner in church. I didn't know girls could get that dirty.

When I was a kid, I once went to Yellowstone with the scouts. We called one of the younger kids "Baskin-Orson" because dude had twenty one flavors staining his shirt by the end of every day. Haggis might not have hit twenty one, but she still managed to get as grimy as I thought any girl could. That child plays hard, and no mater what I think about her attitude when it comes to helping around the house, she puts everything she has into having fun. I think this month has been good for her self esteem. She seems happier than she has been, and she has friends all over every where. Now if I could only keep her off of facebook.....

Well, better go. Squizzle has decided that an empty milk jug makes the perfect club and I get the impression that he's going on a Zoe hunt....

Write, Write, Write...Fight, Fight, Fight

2010-07-28T11:48:00.004-06:00

Sorry about a small delay in posting again. Judging from my hit counter, only about four of you noticed anyway. It's all my fault. I was really good about hitting this every day until my eyes came back. Then I started to see how much I had to do and I got lazy about my writing.

Then this week, my part time work got suddenly nice and busy. With the end of the month approaching, they started to have some difficulty with other writers not having the time to deal with their workloads, so I got the spill-over. It was great, but I got a little brain-fried. Can you believe someone is paying me three to five cents a word for the same stuff that I used to put out just for grades? And the same stuff I dish out here for free?

I cranked out a about a dozen 350 word snaps for a sports site and a mental health blog, so it was the kind of stuff that is right up my alley. Sports and nut jobs. I might as well have just posted a link to this blog....

I suppose that it is due to the down number of visitors, but no one has yet commented on the new look of the blog. I was giddy when I saw the flames template. Now I can watch my blog, like my life, go up in smoke and flames. If you are not a fan, bear with me, I'll get bored sooner rather than later and change it.

Again.

Couple of funny things. We used one of the last of my freebie redbox coupons last night on Percy Jackson. The books were great, and the movie was good, it was just nothing like the book. It will be interesting to see how they resolve some of the plot conflicts that the movie has with the books because as it stands now, there are some major differences. Anyway, right at the start of the movie, Zeus accuses Poseidon of having his (Poseidon's) son, Percy, steal his (Zeus's) lightning bolt. The two of them are standing toe to toe and glaring at one another as thunderclaps are menacing the cloudy sky. Then Peff stood up from where he was sitting on the floor and starts jumping up and down shouting "Fight!Fight!Fight!...Fight!Fight!Fight!"

Classic. I'm pretty sure that it is a Manly Code obligation that if you see a fight about to happen, you should gather any and all other males around the combatants while chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Peff clearly has this in his blood.

As the Boss says, "He's a boy."

And speaking of boys, Squizzle has been a busy little chipmunk of late. He says about ten different words, from "Dog-Dog" which can mean either hot dog, or Zoe, depending on who or what happens to be around at the time (right now, Zoe is. We are watching her until Thursday) to his current favorite "Num-Num" which stands in for anything he wants to stuff in his cry-hole. He is also fond of "Ball" which is an actual ball, an onion, orange, apple, or anything else remotely globe shaped that he can get his hands on. He has also discovered how to open the dishwasher AND the freezer which brings up a whole new set of fun and amusement.

And here I was thinking that when the kids start school this Fall and take Peff with them to kindergarten, I might get some quiet time to get some work done.

Ha.

Ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

Plop...Plop

(These are the sounds of my mother and aunt collectively laughing their heads off)

Well, enough for now, it's close to the end of the month deadline and I'm thinking I might get a little more work thrown my way.

Enjoy!

The Problem of Pain

2010-07-23T07:52:00.005-06:00

Spent most of yesterday at the employment center learning all the new tricks for resume writing. Did you know that it is now accepted practice to not list references on a resume? The theory is that if an employer wants them, they'll ask. Who'd a thunk it?

They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".

This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".

We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.

Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!

Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.

***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****

I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.

Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).

Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"

Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.

When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.

Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.

Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?

Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".

In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.

Who didn't see that one coming?

Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.

Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?

We're busy.

One Down...

2010-07-21T13:08:00.002-06:00

Woke up this morning to find that the job bunny had left me an assignment in my email box last night. My first one. I had to write a 300-350 word article for a Canadian city's tourism blog. It was a little weird expounding the virtues of a travel destination that I have never traveled to. Then again, I suppose that I did write the occasional paper in college on books that I hadn't actually read, so it isn't THAT much of a stretch.

***Editor's Note
There is a reason that I got a Bachelor of Science in English as opposed to a Bachelor of Arts in English.
Officially it was because I couldn't clep my Mandarin. Rather than add another three semesters to my graduation date, my advisor just switched me to a B.S. instead which required no language credits.
Unofficially it is because a BS degree seemed so much more appropriate for me; personally. What I mean is...am I, or am I not the Dark Prince of Bull Shhh...tuff?
***

Anyway, I'm not yet familiar with the rules and regulations regarding what I write for them and what I can and cannot copy or link to; so for now we'll say that I wrote a lovely little piece on the fishing in a small, local lake and that pending editorial review and client acceptance, I'm now ten dollars and twenty three cents richer than I was when I woke up.

Woo Freaking Hoo! Save me a spot at the high roller table, boys; the dice are a' calling my name!!

Yeah. Or not. Ten bucks for an hours worth of writing isn't a bad deal,really, and I think that once I get used to the system and the style guides, I'll crank them out quicker still.

It ain't much but its a start.

I spent yesterday at LDS employment looking for a full time gig. Not looking so hot. I thought it was rough when doctors said "Wow."

Every time I explain my situation and why there's a five year gap in my employment history, people say "Gee. That's just terrible. How do you keep going? I sure wish I had some way to help, but..."

You and me both, buddy. Tomorrow I go back to rework my resume and then next week I go for two days of interview and networking skills. I've already taken classes on this stuff before I graduated, so I'm expecting it to be mostly review, but I hope that I'll get something new out of it. If nothing else, they'll keep me too busy to mope about being a shiftless bum.

Well, it's the Boss's day off today and she's just waking up after closing last night. Time to go run some errands. More tomorrow.

So Where Are They?

2010-07-19T10:26:00.003-06:00

The Boss was up at four this morning to get to work by five. Being the loving and kind husband that I am, I rolled over and went back to sleep for her. Which was fine for about an hour or so. Then Peff woke me up.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Haggis says there are monsters under the bed."

"Well, Haggis is full of it."

"Really?"

"Really." I said, waking up a little. I have a stock in trade answer for this one that I developed when the girls were toddlers and very concerned about the presence of monsters in their rooms. It worked for them, why not Peff?

"I can personally guarantee that there are no monsters in this house, son. When your mother and I bought it, we paid extra for state of the art monster detection and repellant systems. They are imbeded in the insulation between the walls. No monster could be in this house."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. I looked and there was nothing under there."

"I'm thrilled my money was well spent, though I'm beyond curious as to why you are waking me up at the 'plumber's crack of dawn' to tell me there are no monsters in the house. Go back to sleep."

"Um, Dad?"

"WHAT?!"

"How do you turn the monster alarm off? I wanna see one."

And that, my friends... is one more example of the differences between boys and girls.

I reviewed my "Manly Manual" just now and sure as heck; Age (6), section (2), subheading (a) reads:

"Monsters are the end all-be all of cool. You gotta see one."

Guess it's time to dust off that "Gremlins" DVD, huh?

"Deagle, Deagle, Deagle...."

Good News for the Boss

2010-07-15T14:08:00.002-06:00

Well, the Boss gets some good news today.

I found a job.

I have been contracted by an Internet company to do freelance writing/marketing. I am no longer a shiftless layabout. Well....that's not true.

Let's just say that I'm not unemployed any more. It probably won't be a whole lot of money, but it is sure as heck more than I'm making now. It's piecework that pays by the word; some of it for publication on client blogs and websites, but mostly as "keyword" writing designed to boost search engine priority for a company's website.

I think that it is a good opportunity to get some experience, develop my writing/resume skills and there are even some chances to move up the ladder into editing and the like. It would appear that my college degree will be worth more than a high school diploma after all!

Another bonus is that it can be done from home so I don't have to worry about daycare for Squizzle when Peff goes to school. Also it is the kind of work that I can do on the side of something else. I won't earn enough that the Boss should start drafting her retirement notice, but it is certainly a step up from where we currently are.

Maybe soon I'll be able to afford paying attention. In the mean time keep me in mind if you come across any other prospects.

Sinner

2010-07-14T10:32:00.005-06:00

Backlash duly noted.

I offer my heartfelt apologies.

I didn't mean to abandon you all, but that's what happened anyway. I got some eyesight back and discovered just how many things had piled up on my need-to-do-list. I have spent the last two weeks cleaning carpets, washing walls, painting, cleaning the garage, doing yard work, sorting laundry, cooking all the meals, sending Haggis off to camp.... It's astonishing how many chores piled up.

I didn't realize how little spare time an unemployed bum can have when he hasn't been able to see for five years.

So where to start?

I guess I'll start with the Boss. She has been at her new job for a couple of weeks, and she loves it. Her supervisors think she is the "Chosen One", the customers take an immediate shine to her, and her co-workers are already in love.

Can't say I blame them.

The slower pace and attention to personal service are right in the Boss's wheelhouse. Her people skills are her strength, and if she has a minute to stop and chat she'll charm the heck out of you. After a week; her employees would have killed for her. By now they'd go to the moon without space suits if she asked them to. Again, this surprises no one who knows her. At the clown company they had begun to sacrifice service in a quest for speed (they aren't the same thing) so this return to a more pleasant atmosphere is just the balm she needed.

It's not perfect, though. She is training in Orem which is an hour long commute, so the ten hour shifts that she works actually equal twelve hours away from home. It can take a toll, but it's still fewer hours than she was spending at the clown's. Plus they don't call her when she's not at work. No more text messages every two minutes. No more three A.M. phone calls. No more late night trips to re-demonstrate something to the same people for the thirtieth time (See; even the complaints turn into positives). The commute does take it's toll, and the gasoline bill is crippling our budget. The promise is that she'll get transferred to someplace here in the valley within the next month or so, and that will solve that problem.

I do miss the free food from the clown but we have gotten to try a few of the pies and they are better than cheeseburgers by a sight. In all, I'd say even this former blind man can see we made a good decision.

On to the next...

I've been fixing up the things that were neglected by my bad eyes. Last week it was scouring the upstairs rooms. There is a bedroom, an office/toyroom, and a bathroom. The toys got sorted and reduced to a couple of totes. The bookshelves got a makeover and the desk decluttered. Windows got washed and carpets cleaned. The big girls room got a fresh coat of paint. It went from yellow to purple.

When I was blind, I had picked a color that I thought was kind of a light lavender. But when I started to roll it on, it was about ten times darker than that. It looks like the "artist formerly known as Prince" did the interior decorating. If Grimace ever goes in there and shuts his eyes, we will never find him. It is VERY purple. I am not a fan, but the girls love it and so does the Boss. I'm just glad that it's going to be hard to mark it up with crayons.

I replaced the busted ceiling fan with one of the light fixtures that Beak gave us, and by the time I touched up the paint in the hallway and cleaned the bathroom, I was into the third day of that little project.

Cleaning the garage and mowing the lawn took another day, and we also went to celebrate the fourth over at the Boss's sisters. We had a BBQ and did fireworks, much to the delight of Squizzle. He thinks that the "Snap-it" pops that you throw on the ground are the coolest thing ever. I wish that I'd had a video camera because watching him wind up to throw one hard enough to get it to pop was hilarious. He'd toss them as hard as he could and then he'd growl at them if they didn't pop. If they did pop, he'd clap and giggle and run in circles. He never was able to figure out why they didn't work on grass, though.

One day, we went with the Boss to Orem for a manager meeting, and while she worked, I drove around the backstreets of town to get a little driving practice in. I am the world's most cautious driver on my most rebellious days, but driving for the first time in five years added to the caution. It didn't help that I am neither licensed or insured, so if I had been pulled over it would have been off to jail for sure. But hey, I got to practice sometime and by doing it an hour away from home most of my pedestrian friends and family were kept relatively safe.

While I am not quite ready for driving tests, I am past ready for some employment. I have been spending the vast majority of my time looking for a job. Newspaper classifieds, LDS employment, Utah department of workforce services, you name it, I've searched it. I ask for applications at every business we cross, and I've filled out a hundred of 'em. I even have two resumes, one for English degree related jobs (which is not getting very much use, I'm afraid) and one for warehouse/sales/production/anything else-I-might-be-qualified-for jobs. So far all I have to show for a months worth of applying is one rejection email. I haven't even got an interview yet. I'm getting desperate. It annoys me that I spent all that time and money on a college education and I'm going to wind up in the same joe-jobs I was in before.

If I'm lucky.

Again, any leads anyone has would be appreciated.

Speaking of unemployment, Uncle C finally ran out of time with Jordan District and they laid him off. I figure the whole public eduacation system in this state is going to implode one of these days. I still can't figure out why kids that live within blocks of one another are getting different amounts of spending. The first thing I'd do if I got put in charge would be to get per-pupil spending equal for all districts in the state. It's asinine that a kid in Sandy should get more spent on their education than a kid in Carbon county (Sorry, I'll get off my soapbox).

The real crusher here, other than Uncle C needing a new job, is that I no longer watch Reaggers and Bub, so the funny stories seem to have dried up considerably. That's another reason I've been a while without a post, the funny has deserted me in favor of quiet desperation. But then, right as my mother was informing me of my growing line of hate-mail and chastising me for not posting, something funny happened.

My brother just bought a new car. He picked us up one night for a family get-together when the Boss was at work. We were talking about buying cars when I reiterated my opinion the the dodge rotting in my driveway represented the single worst decision I had ever made. From the back seat, Puzilla's tiny voice piped up, "Don't worry daddy. You're still young. You've got plenty of time to make worse choices than that!"

Can't live with 'em; can't sell 'em on e-bay. Where's the Tylenol?

School's Out!!

2010-06-17T10:47:00.003-06:00

Well, we got a happy little surprise when the Clown company decided to buy the Boss out of her two weeks notice. It's funny because just yesterday morning the Boss said to me, "I wish I had thought to plan a little vacation time in between the two jobs so I could recharge."

Well, then! Wish in one hand...get it granted in the other. Our incredible string of fortunate bounces continues. I know who it is that gets the credit, and I will be eternally indebted and infinitely grateful. But to be honest, it's making me a little nervous.

Because of this great news, I will be in and out of the house for a bit, so expect sporadic posting at best. I'll try to keep this updated at night as best I can.

In the meantime, Happy Father's day to all the dads, and have a great weekend!!!!

An Alternator with Fava Beans and Chianti?

2010-06-15T09:57:00.002-06:00

If I did not know better, I would swear that my wife is the Hannibal Lechter of automobiles.

The new van wouldn't start this morning, necessitating another trip to autozone. Hopefully it's just a low battery charge, but with my luck...

On the good side, I think that I'm going to nickname the new car Clarisse.

"You might think you're a sports car, with your fancy wheels and V6 engine; but you're really just a bad oil change and a lower wheelbase away from being a poor, tan, station wagon! Phtppppphtpphtphhht!"

Laugh or cry. I'm kinda on the edge.

Yesterday's post reminded me of a couple of classic family stories that ought to be recorded for posterity. It was the trip to the buffet that triggered 'em.

The first and foremost was a trip that we took right before the Boss and I got married. My brother had just gotten home from his mission and with my grandparents in town, mom and dad took everybody out to eat. The Boss had just had her wisdom teeth pulled and was not in much condition for an all-you-can-eat, but came with us anyway.

It was a nice dinner with lots of jokes and stories, and we were all having a good time. My brother and I got up to go get ice cream. When we got to the dessert bar, there was this little, old man who looked to be about a thousand and ninety years old, holding a cane and an empty bowl. He had this frustrated look on his face and either out of plain frustration or because he mistook us for employees, he shouts at us, "You wanna tell me just where in the hell they put the damn rice pudding?!"

I fell on the floor; I was laughing so hard. My brother kept it together long enough to help the old geezer out, but by the time we got back to the table, neither one of us could control ourselves. When we told every one else, the whole table was in hysterics.

To this day, I have no idea why that old man asking for "Damn rice pudding" was so utterly hilarious, but it was. More than fifteen years have passed and we cannot have any family function involving dinner without someone asking if there will be "Damn rice pudding" on the menu. Whatever you do, don't call it rice pudding. That just wouldn't be right. Everyone knows there is no rice pudding but "Damn rice pudding".

The other story is just as good. Right after my brother got married, we had one great mass family vacation to Florida and Disney world. Haggis was maybe one or two, and we flew fourteen people to Orlando. It was one of those unforgettable trips that become eternal legend.

Just to give you an idea of how great a trip this was, we flew from Salt Lake to Orlando on a red-eye, and sitting right next to my dad was none other than Bill Goldberg and Diamond Dallas Paige from professional wrestling fame. These were the days before cell phone cameras but Dad did get DDP to autograph a barf-bag. Says he was one of the nicest guys you'd ever meet.

And the trip only got better from there.

But for this post's purpose, I'll just tell about our trip to the Crystal Palace Buffet in Magic Kingdom.

Now, my grandmother started a tradition long before our trip to Florida when we went to a buffet in Jackpot, Nevada. During that meal, Grandma came back from the dessert bar (Sorry, this was pre-Damn rice pudding days) with a plate full of cookies. You have to understand that my grandmother is a woman of great presence, but small stature. So we were all kind of amazed at the quantity of dessert she was planning on putting away.

We had no idea.

A few minutes later, she excused herself from the table and we were stunned to see nothing on her plate but crumbs. When she came back with another stack of cookies, curiosity got the better of manners and someone jokingly asked her where she was putting all the cookies.

"In my purse", she said, pulling out a ziplock baggie now half full of chocolate chip deliciousness. "I bring a ziplock, and take a dozen or so home with me so grandpa can have them for late night snacks."

Well this was far too practical an idea for everyone at the table to NOT adopt, so when we went to the buffet from then on, we always had a "Bag man" for a little take home treat.

Well, the food at Disneyland is...um...pricey. Having a sugar pick-me-up in a purse was a really good idea. So when we ate at the Crystal Palace we made my sister M the "bagman".

To avoid ostentatious displays of greed everyone would get one extra cookie when making a trip to the buffet. It became a bit of a game. We'd go "secret agent" while casually slipping M the loot for storage.

The giggles were getting louder and louder, and to be honest, a dozen people each nicking a couple of extra cookies really does put a dent in a buffet line. By the time we filled the bag, we noticed our waiter was studying us suspiciously. The giggling stopped, and we all started wondering at the ethics of covert cookie capers. We finished eating and everyone was nervously teasing M that if the "heat" came, we'd run interference while she made a break for the door.

Imagine our surprise when the waiter motioned for the manager to come over and then whispered something in his ear while gesturing in our direction. Now I was actually sweating.

The manager walked over to us, cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me a moment."

Everyone froze.

"Were you the people looking for a mail drop to send postcards home? The waiter wasn't sure if it was you or another family that had asked."

Everyone busted up laughing. "Yeah, that was us."

"I'd be happy to take those for you and see that they are mailed."

"Thanks a bunch. The postcards are right here in M's purse...um...."

Needless to say, covert cookie operations were red lighted from that point on.

Now I gotta go, the Boss just pulled bananna bread from the oven and it's calling my name.

The Wrath Of Fatdaddy

2010-06-14T11:31:00.004-06:00

"From Hell's own heart, I stab at thee!"

Wow. Am I really quoting "Khan" from Star Trek?

If "high school me" were here he'd be kicking my butt. Since when was I able to quote Star Trek? That's the kind of crap that'll bring the shades of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan snooping around here looking for my Man Card.

Nevertheless, it's the thought that came to mind on Saturday night at ten when the Boss got a call from one of her piece of dirt managers, who waited until then to tell the Boss that she wasn't going to come in for her three am shift.

Guess who had to go work her sixth shift of the week at a job she should no longer give a fat rat's patoot about? Nothing like one last cheap shot from the ingrates, huh? It was a real slap in the Boss's face and I don't mind saying it made me mad enough to spit. I told her she should have called her "Idiot" supervisor up and give him a taste of what she's had to deal with.

The conversation could go like this:

Boss: "Yeah, I know it's ten at night and you're getting ready for bed and you probably worked today already, but I don't have anyone to cover my closing shift. I think if I were you I'd set my alarm for about 2:30"

The Idiot: "No way am I doing that for you. You can go to Blazes"

Boss: "Sorry, pal, I gave Blazes my two weeks notice. Fire me if you want. Welcome to the world you created. Enjoy."

The Idiot: "Gee. This really is a crappy thing to expect of someone. Who knew?"

This is why they are lucky it was the Boss they employed instead of me. I'd have had that conversation.

But because the Boss is the compassionate woman she is... she went to work on two hours sleep and pulled her second nine hour shift of the day.

Savor the flavor, Clowns. It'll never happen again.

In fact, I have a feeling that about a month from now there is going to be significant weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth when the Clowns above and below realize just how much the Boss was shielding them from each other. By then, she'll be too far away to hear it, and no longer paid to care. I told you I can be bitter, but Karma can be a real beast.

Just ask my Cubbies.

They keep finding new and unusual ways to break my heart. Yesterday, I watched Ted Lilly take a no-no into the bottom of the ninth inning. I don't know when the last time a Cubbie threw a no hitter was, but the TV said there hadn't been one at Wrigley since before I was born. I got really exited as Lilly mowed down the eighth and called my mother to make sure she was tuned into something good actually happening to the Cubbies.

I mean, come on. I've been on a real roll with the Boss finding a new job, my eye sight returning...Miracles have been popping up like daisies.

"Mom!", I shouted into the phone. "Are you watching the Cubs game? Lilly's dealing a no-no!"

"I'll turn it on", she said.

Two pitches into the inning, Lilly tosses a looping off-speed pitch that I could have hit with my contacts out and it gets drilled into short center.

No-no abolished. "From Hell's heart..." I know, I know. I get it.

Five little words.

Loopy pulled Lilly for "Rocket-fuel Marmol", who immediately proceeded to walk the guy representing the winning run, balk the runners to second and third, and try to throw the game away.

I turned to the Boss, who was napping on the couch, and said, "Only the Cubbies could get within three outs of a no-hitter and then proceed to lose."

I called Mom again. "They will..."

"...break your heart!" she finished.

In spite of my bitter sorrow over the lost no-no, they managed to at least squeek out the win.

I guess I was due for one more miracle last week after all.

In spite of those two sour notes, I have to say it does not suck to be me right now. We went to dinner with my parents on Saturday night between the Boss's eighteen hour shifts. We went to the Buffet to celebrate the Boss's new job and the return of my vision. It was a very good evening. The kids even minded their manners.

I gotta say, you have know idea how trippy it is to be able to see street signs and pedestrians again. I even snuck in a joy ride around the block on Friday night.

Just because I could. I kept pointing to signs and reading them. The poor Boss was subjected to me reading inane things for the whole ride home from the doctor. It reminded me of when Peff learned his letters and annoyed us for a month by reading every letter he saw. Remember "Dad has two heart attacks"?

Look at this! Did you see that? When did they put that there? When did they tear that down?

I saw mountains and clouds, and the leaves on trees. I saw the TV from the couch instead of three feet away. I saw that the Rockband game I've been playing for a few years has little gray lines that mark the beat for you. I didn't know that.

I saw that my carpet is far dirtier than I thought, and I saw that what I thought was a grass lawn is really a mowed down weed patch. I also saw that I might have done the world's worst paint job on my living room. I can't believe the Boss has put up me doing such "fractional donkey"(think about it, you'll get it) work for so long.

"What, did a blind man paint this room?" Um, funny you should ask. I think I have some work to do. Or redo.

I saw the Boss is still as good looking as she was fifteen years ago, and I saw Squizzle clearly for the first time in his life. Thank heaven he looks like his mother.

I've seen a lot this weekend. It ain't perfect. The lenses irritate my eyes after about eight hours, and I have some glare in the left eye, but it's so much better than what it was, I don't care.

Hell can stab at me all it wants.

It's good to be me.

How Time Doth Fly

2010-06-11T11:19:00.005-06:00

After we got done informing Village Inn that the Boss would be accepting their offer, we decided to do something fun with the kids to celebrate two good things in one day. So we got everyone dressed and loaded up the van.

We first took a rare visit to the dollar movies to see "Diary of a Wimpy Kid". Um...I guess we got what we paid for. Not my favorite movie but the kids seemed to enjoy it. If I had done the screenplay, I'd have spent more time exploring the relationship between the kid and his dad, who seemed to be at about the same maturity level. They had a shot to make a really good movie but missed it in favor of cheap jokes.

After the movie, we headed downtown to see all the construction that is going on and to take a tour of the Conference Center and Temple Square. I had never been on a tour of the conference center even though I've been there several times, so I had no idea there was a huge garden on the roof.

From the pictures, you'd never guess all that grass and wildflowers and even fully grown pines are on top of the building that the kids are sitting in front of in the other picture. Inside is just as amazing; it seats more people than Energy Solutions Arena down the street where the Jazz play.

There is also a large collection of religious art, including the Arnold Freiberg paintings of scenes from the Book of Mormon. I could have spent all day looking at the one of Abinidai. What a stud. The Lord commanded him to call a wicked King to repentance. The King rejected him and sent him into exile. Then the Lord told Abinidai to return and again preach to the King. Abinidai obeyed, even though he knew it was a death sentence. He stood and testified of the coming of Jesus Christ and even while he was burned at the stake, he obeyed the Lord and taught.

I have to admire a man who does what he knows is right, even if he doesn't understand why. Without Abinidai, Alma doesn't repent; without Alma, the Book of Mormon is a lot shorter read. Abinidai had no idea of the effect he had on the world when he died. Bet you he's glad he was obedient now, huh?

After the Conference Center tour, we went across the street to Temple Square. The Boss and I thought it would be fun to tell the kids about our wedding day and how things have changed over the years. We took some pictures, and I spent some time harassing the Mandarin speaking sister missionaries. Temple Square is about the only place I get to practice anymore. At least I can still carry on a conversation, even if some of the vocabulary is gone.

Finally, we went to the store to try a new activity we call "2 dollar dinner". You go into the grocery store and each member of the family is given two dollars to pick an ingredient. Then you have to go home and plan a menu and everyone helps cook something that hopefully turns out edible.

We let the kids choose without interference, starting with Peff. The Boss and I picked last so we could make sure we could finish something edible, and we decided that Squizzle's two bucks would go to double any ingredient that was key to the menu.

Peff picked a head of lettuce and two cans of chili. Puzey went next and got three kiwi fruit and a can of mandarin oranges. Then Moe, who selected three plums and a zucchini (getting scary, ain't it?). Haggis decided that with all the fruit, she had the makings of dessert pizza so she got two containers of yogurt and a package of cream cheese. Squizzle got more lettuce and some tomato, while the Boss picked a bag of store brand Frito's and a package of sugar cookie mix. I got kool-aid and cheese (OK, so I went over the two buck mark a little, sue me).

We got home and Moe sauteed her zucchini, the Boss made sugar cookies and mixed the lettuce and corn chips. Haggis cut up the tomato and grated the cheese while Peff and Haggis opened all the cans. The boss heated the chili for Frito pie with cheese, tomato, and lettuce. For dessert, we mixed the yogurt and cream cheese and spread that on the sugar cookies which were then topped with plum, kiwi, and mandarin oranges for mini fruit pizza.

Not a bad anniversary, considering that from movies to tours to dinner, we spent less than twenty five bucks.

Well, enough for now, I've got to get ready to go to the eye doctors. By the next time I post, I may not need to magnify the screen by 200% to see it.

Wish us luck and hope we haven't emptied our quota of good things this week!

Where's Your Deliverer Now?

2010-06-10T11:16:00.003-06:00

Apparently at Village Inn.

After much prayer and study and discussion, the Boss is telling the Golden Arches to fly the proverbial kite. Work conditions had been steadily declining ever since a new supervisor was hired to oversee her store. I do not use the word "oversee" lightly.

This miserable son of a beggar has reduced my sweet wife to tears so often that I can hardly stand to think about it. After fifteen years of dedicated service to that company, she had always been a favored employee. She rose on merit and did everything they asked her to. Her sales were always on the increase, but when this no-talent hack of a clown got promoted he decided that she wasn't what he wanted.

Suspiciously, about a week after she told them that she could not go to a week long training course at Hamburger U because of the uncertain condition of my health, she stopped getting compliments and started getting write-ups instead. He wrote her up because even though she met his stated goal for labor costs, she had failed to read his mind and know that he was really expecting her to hit a percentage lower. He didn't bother to tell her this, he just expected her to guess, and wrote her up anyway.

That was when we knew it was time to go. We weren't alone. There has been a mass Exodus of managment ever since this idiot took over, and I have a suspicion that the Boss may be the straw that breaks this Donkey's back. I would love to think that us leaving would cost him his job. To be honest though, neither the Boss or I care. I stand with my favorite "Joe Vs the Volcano" reference.

When Joe quits his job, he tells his boss, "I ought to rip your throat out. But I'm not going to. Because instead; I'm leaving you here...And what could be worse than that?"

So yesterday, she was in a meeting with the Idiot, and he wrote her up again, for some vague failure to meet his impossible expectations. Talk about bad timing. Ten minutes before he darkened her doorway, Village Inn had called the Boss and offered her a position that starts at the same wage she's getting from the Clown after fifteen years.

She came home and we prayed about it and got a sure answer before we could even get to the Amen.

I don't know where I am going to wind up when all is said and done, but I do know this. The Boss is going to be selling pies instead of fries; and I have eaten the last Big Mac of my life. I am a bitter, bitter grudge holder. I have not set a foot inside a Macey's grocery store in ten years. When I quit that dump, I washed my hands of it. I don't care how good their caselot is, I'll never shop there again. Same thing for Mickey D's. My kids have had their last happy meal.

And with that, Joshua blew his horn, and on the fifteenth anniversary of the worst decision the Boss ever made, she had finally removed herself from Egypt and the cruel lash of the task master's fries.

Happy anniversary, baby.

Free at last, Free at last.

WoooooooooooHoooooooooooooooooo!

Now What?

2010-06-09T13:49:00.003-06:00

My eyes might be on the upswing, but it's been a bad week for technology. I left my cell phone on the counter near a glass of ice water, and when I went to pick it up, the condensation had soaked it. I was told by several people that if you put a wet cell phone in a bowl of rice, it will dry it out and it will work again, but all the rice did was bloat the battery up. So now I have no cell phone.

Same day, I was typing a post and Squizzle was doing his usual "how can I annoy Dad while he's trying to type...I know, I'll try and hit the keyboard!" act. And so he did. And the screen froze. I took out the battery, plugged it back in, and tried to turn it on, but when I went to type in the password only half the keys worked.

I still need to send it in to get the screen fixed anyway, and we knew we had five kids when we bought it so we got the two year, "don't ask, don't tell" warranty where it is covered for anything up to and including dipping it in a bathtub. So I wasn't too upset.

Until I realized that I don't have a back up disk of all the pictures that I have been taking for the last year. I know when I finally send this beastie in to the repair shop the first thing they are going to do is erase everything. So I was no longer so sanguine about it.

Plus, I started thinking about not being able to post, read the paper, etc, etc. Not so happy.

Then this morning Haggis asks, "Can I play on the computer?"

I've had a headache all day so as sarcastically as possible I say, "Sure the password is ********. If you can get it on let me know, but since half the keys are frozen I have a suspicion that I'm going to be hearing you cry in a minute."

I went back to picking up the living room. Ten minutes later, Haggis says, "I got it!"

Stunned, I came into the kitchen, and she had left clicked the mouse, pulled up a list of accessibility features and added a "type without a keyboard" feature. I had never seen that on a computer before, but when I entered the password, it worked. I was about to blast a backup disk when I realized that upon logging in, all the keys had started working again.

I have no idea why that happened, but since this family seems to be on a bit of a roll regarding Divine Intervention, I have no choice but to subscribe to the theory that some one up there is looking after me.

Modern technology indeed.

I'm just glad I can post again. I was already testing the Internet connection on the Wii to see how long it would take me to post from there.

The answer is For-freaking-ever.

Thanks to all of you who commented on my last post, it garnered a bit more response than usual, and it was nice to see that it affected so many of my friends and family for the positive. Lord knows that it was one of the more emotionally draining things I've written; probably since "The Rooftop". I don't know if we'll get out of this tunnel while in this life, but it's nice to know that at least we have some company in the dark.

And speaking of the rooftop, I spent most of yesterday on mine, completing the spring ritual of setting up the swamp cooler. It is always tough to do that. I think of my brother every second I'm up there and I always take a little longer than I need to connect the water supply tube. This year was a little harder still. I had to remind myself to be patient as I looked as far as I could across the valley and thought about how nice it will be to see the mountains clearly again. Clear vision, Eternal perspective,...guess Ryan was teaching me more than I thought when I wrote that story.

Well, enough for now. Gotta go crack the whip and get the house picked up before the Boss gets home. Tomorrow will be our 15Th wedding anniversary. I can't believe she's put up with me for this long.

And I gotta change my password...again.

What Else Could It Be?

2010-06-05T10:44:00.005-06:00

I had a good feeling about yesterday, and it turned out to be pretty stinking nice.

The Boss had a tolerable day at work, and we went to the eye doctor. By my count, this guy was the eighth doctor that I have seen about my eyes in the last five years. It never fails. They hear my history, shrug a little and say "Let me take a look". Then I put my head up to the microscope and they turn on the light and inevitably exclaim something similar to "Wow". Occasionally I get a "Hmmm", but mostly it's "Wow". My favorite is waiting for the techs who do the initial exams to try a peek. I've heard more than one tech spout off without thinking, "That's really bad!"

It's ok, I've heard it before.

They also like to tell me how unusual it is for a cornea to go into rejection within the first month after transplant. But they do it with a questioning tone that says "Are you sure you're not putting me on?".

"Nope, I really went into rejection within three weeks."

"Did they put you on steroids?"

"Enough to shame Barry Bonds"

"And injection?"

"Close to twenty of 'em. And oral steroids. And intravenous. And about seven different eye drops." (That usually spins their heads like in the exorcist).

This kid (who looked about 12 years old) yesterday looked at the topographical chart of my eyes and freaked out.

"Are you sure your doctor told you to get contacts? Your astigmatism is awfully steep. Glasses might be a better fit for you."

"Do you know what glasses with my prescription cost?" I asked him.

"Oh, yeah. I guess those would run you about three hundred at the discount stores."

"Tell me about it. The insurance crooks...er.. company covers the cost of contacts."

Then he tried to convince me that contacts were a real pain in the neck. I wanted to say to him, "Yeah, it's even worse when you are allergic to the soft lenses", but I didn't.

Maybe I should have, because he then got really adamant about convincing me that contacts were sometimes difficult to use and required significant investments in effort and attention to care.

I admit I kinda wanted to slap him upside the head. Some how I kept from saying, "Do you have any idea about the time and effort that have been put into the care of my eyes? Do you know how crippling this has been to my family, to my standard of living, my self-esteem? Do you know how long I've wandered around in an impressionist painting? Don't talk to me about "effort" and "care", Pal. If it takes an hour a day to put 'em in and an hour a day to take 'em out, I think I can manage to fit it into my freaking schedule!"

The front half of my tongue may never grow back, but I kept from being a jerk. It's a good thing that the Boss was in the hallway trying to sort out her third call from work at the time, or she might have skinned the kid and used his pelt for a cellphone cover.

Anyway, once I convinced him that my doc really did want me to get contacts, I finally got to see the real doctor. He hit me with the numbing drops that always make my lids feel stuck together, looked into the microscope and said...

"Huh"

Gets 'em every time.

He went over my chart, asked suspiciously if I was sure that the doc wanted lenses for both eyes, and excused himself from the room to read my doctors notes.

I looked in the general direction of where the Boss was sitting.

"Ain't sounding too positive, is it?"

"Have faith" she replied wisely.

The Doctor came back in with a box of sample 'fitting' lenses and said "Let's see what we can do".

He tinkered around in the box for a minute, found what he wanted and stuck it to my right eye.

Now over the years I have lost a lot of my blink reflex. When people are jamming fingers, lenses, probes, pressure gauges, needles, and scalpels in your face five or ten times a week, you learn not to blink much. But my self-imposed boycott of the medical profession seems to have allowed it to return with a vengeance, because he stuck that lens in and my lid clamped down like a prison door and refused to open. While he went back to the box of lenses for the left eye, I tried blinking it open, but it had watered up pretty good and I wasn't seeing much of anything.

The doctor came back over and opened my left eye, had me look straight ahead, and stuck a lens on.

I blinked. The lens shifted. I blinked again.

And then I saw the most beautiful thing in the Lord's vast universe.

Sitting twenty feet away, in the most stunning clarity I am capable of imagining... sat my spectacular, shinning, sainted, wife.

I must have stared, because she laughed.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Just reflecting on the fact that the first thing I've seen in nearly half a decade is the most perfect sight in all creation."

That one made her cry (Sorry sweetie, had to be written).

I live my whole life to a hundred years, I'll not forget that sudden shift in perception. With a day to reflect on it I've come to a couple of conclusions.

First, it was not a coincidence and it was not medical science that provided that moment, it was a miracle promised to me in a priesthood blessing so many years ago. As I said yesterday, what difference between clay and plastic?

It was also not a coincidence that what I saw was the Boss. All the years she's suffered and sacrificed, and worked herself to death, and I'm the one who's rewarded with an image of her as she really is.

How do you pay that back?

Third, there is a spiritual parallel to blindness (Yeah, I know, of course there is or the Savior wouldn't have used it himself. But it got a little personal for me yesterday). We come to this earth having forgotten all we knew in the pre-existence. Our test (this life) is like a maze. We look at it from ground view and all we see are walls, dead ends and more obstacles. How do we get to the end?

We require guides who see the end from the beginning. Who looks on the maze from above?

We have to pray for personal revelation; study the scriptures and seek the council of Prophets and Priesthood leaders, then learn to listen to the Holy Ghost for guidance before we can begin to understand why we are here and how we can successfully return to our Father in Heaven's presence.

If we do these things, we find our way past the obstacles and onto the straight and narrow path that leads to Eternal Salvation.

And every once in a while, for some reason or another, something changes. Be it the need to overcome trials, intense study, or simply as a reward for increasing faith, the Lord applies a spiritual contact lens and for a brief moment we get to glimpse the world as it really is. The way that he sees it, in it's perfection. A second of eternal perspective from above the maze that allows us the rare chance to know the beginning from the end.

How do you pay that back?

It only lasted a moment. Much too short in retrospect. I could have stared all day. Lots of things I wanted to see. But the tests had to be done and then it was time to take the lens out. I wish I'd have shut my eye and stumbled out the door with it.

But I got a glimpse of what I used to know, a view of eternity sitting twenty feet away, and it was worth it.

Then the doctor promised that by next Friday, he'd have a pair of lenses that I could take home to test. 20/30 in the left eye. 20/25 in the right.

I'll be patient. Miracles from the Lord are worth waiting for.

I'll eventually have my vision that clear all the time. And my eyes will work again, too.

I can hardly wait.

A Good Day

2010-06-04T09:36:00.004-06:00

Squizzle is teething again.

He's been running a fever since last night and he is in a really grouchy mood this morning. "Pitiful" might be the better word for it, actually. He just sits there staring at me with a pathetic stream of slobber dripping from his chin and these awfully heartbreaking moans. I know he's really feeling bad because I offered him his all time favorite treat in the universe and he threw it on the floor with out so much as a taste. If Squizzle isn't downing Popsicles, it's a pretty good indicator that something is wrong.

Today is the last day of school for the girls and they are thrilled beyond comprehension with the fact that they did not have to wear their uniforms today. Funny how one person's greatest joy can be their father's greatest misery (OK, I admit that's a little melodramatic). I wish school would never let out. I wish Peff could go to all day kindergarten in the fall and Squizz could find a free all day preschool. I'd get some writing done those days, I can tell you!

Had to pause there for a minute because Squizzle decided that now would be an excellent time to gag himself into a barf-fest. That does it, I'm sure he's getting new chompers, he got mad when I tried to wipe his mouth off. Ah, this ought to be a spectacular weekend for him. What was I saying about how one sister's time of joy is a little brother's weekend of misery?

I applied for a couple of more jobs yesterday, though neither of them look very promising. I did find a reputable publisher that had online directions for manuscript submissions, so that gave me a little hope. I was thinking I'd have to find an agent before I could get a publisher to look at anything so this was good news.

Finally, today is the big day for the eye doctor. At around three thirty today, I'll go spend about an hour and a half getting poked and prodded and set up for what may very well be a miracle of Biblical proportions. I challenge you, what is the difference between the Savior making a clay of mud and restoring the sight of the blind and Him directing a doctor to make a clay of plastic and doing the same thing for me?

I know that sometimes the answers to our prayers don't come in the way we expect (see Teacher, English and Teacher, Seminary) but things have a way of coming out in the wash. I have a good feeling about today and I am not the least worried. Today is going to be a very good day.

I don't recall the last time I could say that at 9:00 in the morning!

What's Up, Nerds?

2010-06-03T09:34:00.005-06:00

I managed to plant my foot firmly in my mouth yesterday. Well, I manage to do it most days, but yesterday was a particularly good one.

I've mentioned the seven kids under five that filled my morning; and by and large, it wasn't as bad as it might have been. They made some messes and did fight over the video games. But they've done worse. Much worse.

Right before Motor was scheduled to get here, I was in the kitchen washing dishes and heard a knock. I figured it was Motor, and so did the kids because they all started shouting, "Motor!" as they made their customary mass stampede down the stairs to open the door. I performed my usual Runt greeting by shouting from the kitchen at pretty much the top of my lungs:

"You ugly, old nerd! Get your big booty upstairs and let's have some fun!"

Imagine my horror when I turned the corner from the kitchen and found my neighbor's mother coming up the stairs. She had arrived to pick his children up and take them back to the hospital to meet their new sister.

Ooops.

Marshmallows and crackers all over the floor, a blanket/pillow fort in one corner, and a full half dozen Destroying Angels hauling butt down the steps to answer the door unsupervised. Then there's me, standing at the top of the stairs in my customary house togs of flip-flops, sweat shorts and a less than spotless t-shirt that was soaked from the navel down with sloshed dishwater. The poster-perfect image of a semi frazzled househusband in his natural habitat.

Probably not my finest moment.

To her credit, she did not seem the least fazed by my um...creative greeting?...and she thanked me for taking care of her grandchildren. I apologized profusely, and she seemed to understand, but I'd love to have been a fly on the wall when she got back to the hospital and asked her son if he knew exactly what kind of lunatic he'd left his kids with.

But I'm sure I'm the only one of you that's ever had a day like that, right?

Gotta go, the job hunt beckons and I must answer her siren signal...

Mormon Mr Mom and How Marshmallows Make It Better

2010-06-02T11:39:00.003-06:00

Spent a few minutes hiding from all the runts and reading the Paper. There was an article in the Deseret News about Mormon Mommy Bloggers and a network they have created for support and to boost readership. Since I am still an avowed technophobe that has yet to figure out how to link articles beyond cut and paste, I'll have to just paste it in and let you all figure out how to get there on your own.

http://www.deseretnews.com/article/700036190/Mormon-moms-connect-through-blogs.html

Now, I know that there are plenty of Mommy blogs and even a good number of Mormon Mommy blogs. There are also a fair batch of Mr. Mom blogs (though most of those are pretty crass and often display questionable humour, even by my "flexible" standards).

But I would love to see another Mormon Mr Mom blog. I have looked and am yet to find anyone else writing about the challenges of being a stay-at-home-Dad in a society that usually deems such circumstances anathema. I always knew I was weird, I just didn't think I was that weird.

While I enjoy being a unique voice, I would not mind the added publicity and especially the extra blog traffic that might come from an association with such a community. Anyone familiar with a group would be helping me out a lot by pointing the way. Things have slowed down around here, no doubt due to my long vacation earlier this spring, and I'd like to build readership back up. If friday's session with the contact fitter doesn't work out, this blog may have to become my source of income. And right now you readers make as much off this thing as I do.

Anyway, as I sat pondering my lonewolf status, I received a steady stream of complainants to the table. Each of them offered a familiar gripe; Peff wouldn't share the video game controller. I solved the problem the way I usually do: I turned the games off.

This produced a reaction similar to the high frequency noise disruption devices employed by tactical S.W.A.T. teams. I have been to an AC/DC show, and Angus' screaming guitar cannot touch this wailing in terms of pitch, sustainability, and sheer decibel level. I am sure that I have told you before that this is how the walls of Jericho came down. Destroying Angels, indeed.

Since I was trying to formulate a few more thoughts for this post, I chose the chicken's way out and bribed those without a controller with marshmallows and green goldfish crackers (ain't that a contradiction in terms?). The screeching stopped immediately.

****Editor's Note
If I were to put a dose of Ritalin in each treat, could I then spell it marshmellows? HaHaHa! Oh, put down the phone. It was funny and you know it. Child Services people are all at lunch right now anyway. And beside, they already know all about me. And this was strictly a theoretical sidebar not actual practice! Shame on you for believing everything you read on the Internet!
****

My favorite part of the morning so far has been Reaggers couture fashion. She came over wearing blue and pink flower-pattern pedal pushers, a matching pink top, sandals, and of course, a pink and blue ski cap. I wish my camera had batteries right now.She is also riding a stick horse that seems to enjoy marshmallows as well. At least I am assuming that is where the mallows are going, because she has been asking for more at least twice as often as the other kids.

Another high point is that Squizzle has learned that if he walks up to the side of the table and reaches from his tippy-toes, he can push the button on the side of the laptop that opens the CDROM drive. He thinks this is utterly hilarious. I find it uber annoying. At least he's not screeching.

I gotta go. I think I hear the telltale sign of another marshmallow fight beginning.

Where the H is that Ritalin?

Expect the Interesting

2010-06-02T08:40:00.002-06:00

I love Chaos.

We've been close for many years, and my time spent playing with four year olds has led me to believe that Chaos is one of the great driving forces of the universe.

Yesterday, there was no Chaos. The Boss had the day off, and we went to the eye doctor. There, I was told that it is the doctor's belief that a new set of hard contact lenses may be sufficient to return my vision. Or at least enough of it that I might return to a functional level of society. He even said the "D" word.

Drive.

Yeah.

As in "drive a car".

"Do I dare disturb the Universe?" (Ah, J. Alfred. You and me both, buddy).

I am still in a state of shock; and to some extent, disbelief. I have spent five years living in a world that looks as though it was painted by Monet. The thought of emerging from that makes me a little giddy. The possibilities that the doctor's pronouncement opened are too far reaching to contemplate appropriately.

What if the Boss didn't have to drive every where we went? What's it like to go somewhere by yourself? What kind of job opportunities might there be for someone with eyesight?

The only person happier than me to ponder these mysteries is my wife. After the crushing darkness of the last month, that twenty minutes with the eye Doctor was a high-intensity laser beam of hope.

Fatdaddy in the driver's seat. Who'd a thunk it? It ain't a sure thing, but I choose to dream. Joy is often short lived, and Chaos is quick to return.

Like at about ten or ten thirty today when I will have seven children under the age of five invade my house (Shudder).

I'll have Reaggers, Bub, Peff, and Squizzle as normal. Then Motor is coming because it's Wednesday. Then some friends from the neighborhood are having their third child today, and I am taking their other two for the morning.

I told you me and Chaos were buddies. If nothing else, it ough to provide some solid post fodder. Jericho's walls fell under much less noise and confusion. Could be very dangerous. I'd better post this before I'm buried under rubble.

Pray for me.

Up a Tree

2010-05-31T12:42:00.002-06:00

Went to a family function last night at the home of the Boss's parents. It was a good time, if not a little crowded. We finished family business and calender arrangement, then sent the kids out to play while we did some visiting. After a while the monkeys (there were 10 or 12 of 'em last night) all started filtering back into the house to get ready to leave. As soon as it started getting dark, the Boss and I were getting ready to go ourselves when it dawned on the Boss that we hadn't seen Peff for a while.

"Go tell your brother that it's time to come in and get ready to go", she told Haggis.

After a minute she came in with an obviously irritated Peff.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked.

"They put me in a tree and I couldn't get down and no one could hear me and I'm mad!" He shouted, near tears. Apparently, his sisters and some cousins put him up in one of Grandpa's trees and left him for dead. He was more than a little upset with them. What irritated me was that I had asked Haggis about a dozen times to go back out and keep an eye on the kids and she managed to avoid doing it by hiding away out of sight. Then when I got after her about it, she started sulking and getting mad at me like I was some kind of jerk for expecting her to take responsibility. After Haggis left the room, my sister in law, who is a veteran of three teenage daughters laughed and said "I've been there before; it's normal and she'll eventually grow out of it." My reply was that she will if she lives long enough. Her current life expectancy is not looking so good. Next week would be a pretty good goal to shoot for.

But on the good side, "Up a Tree" seemed like a pretty cool post title, no?

We were supposed to go with my side to the cemetery in Orem where my grandmother and uncle are buried, and then to West Jordan City Cemetery where my brother is to do the annual sod-trimming and headstone scrub, but the Boss spent all last night dealing with work related problems. She has not had a single night of uninterrupted sleep in at least a month. I begged out to let her sleep in a little today, but she's been getting text messages and phone calls non-stop all day long.

Funny, she was almost sure she asked to use a vacation day today. I guess that means she's only required to spend three quarters of her day solving problems instead of all of it. I HATE CELL PHONES!!!!! The worst part is they call and say, "I'm sorry to bother you..."

Then don't. It's not that tough. Figure it out yourselves, 'cause the Good Lord gave you a brain before you coated it with malted hops and bong resin.

Along employment lines, we have some big things in the works that we are really hoping work out (Isn't that a familiar sentence?). Any spare prayers you have or Job leads you might provide or just plain old encouragement would be welcome right now.

Since it's a holiday today, I'll keep it short. I hope you all have an excellent Memorial day and it charges the old batteries for another week at the old grindstone.

I Wish I'd Written That...

2010-05-28T12:04:00.005-06:00

I just got a copy of a poem that my cousin wrote for his Uncle who was killed last week while at work. It passed my personal test of good lit when I read it and said, "Dang. I wish I'd written that." The boy might not have any skill at picking NCAA tournament games, but he's got some verse locked up in his dome for sure.

Uncle RJ

I'll never forget all those warm summer nights,
that followed the days of cold water fights.
Or the man at the center of every one,
my dad's older brother, gramps oldest son.

You could see that big smile all over his face
as his Harley pulled up to visit our place.
And it wasn't to long before he got hold of you,
and each of us knew what we had to do.

We cried,
Mercy, mercy Uncle J,
I think that’s all I can handle today,
I'll be ready for more when you come back again
but until then, I love you my friend.

I have never felt pain like I did on the day
that I learned from my sister he had been taken away.
I fell to my knees and begged the Lord please,
don't let him be gone without one final tease.

I thought of my aunt and my cousins too,
My heart swells with love and sorrow for you.

As we carried his body aloft in the air
past the uniformed brothers and sister all there.
I thought of the times he held me in the air
and tossed me higher than any would dare.

With a mind full of memories and soul of unrest,
I removed the flower that was pinned to my chest.
I placed it back on top of the box dyed tan,
near the truest of banners "The most Wonderful Man"

And I cried,
Mercy, mercy Uncle J,
I think that’s all I can handle today
You'll be waiting for me when I come back again
but until then, I love you my friend.

Mark David Walker
May 2010

Three for the Price of One

2010-05-28T08:12:00.004-06:00

Didn't get a chance to post yesterday. Sorry. things were a little crazy. But the extra time to observe gave me some pretty funny stuff. But first things first.

As you may have figured from this last week or so worth of posts, I am officially on the job hunt. I have been looking in all the usual places; Ward Employment Specialist, LDSjobs.org, newspaper classifieds, etc. But something that I had not thought to do was enlist the help of my loyal and most favored readers. If any of you know of any jobs that I might apply for, please let me know. I have years of warehouse experience in shipping and receiving and when my eyes are good, (which will be soon, we hope) I have nearly a decade on a forklift.

I also have a Bachelor's degree in English which helps with communications skills and as a general indicator of work ethic. I'd really like to find something as a writer or in education, but at this point, I'll take any job that I qualify for.

If nothing else, we could use your prayers in our behalf while we try and figure out which direction to go in.

And now, I'll make with the funny.

The first one comes courtesy of Beak.

After a few months of Bub getting on and off of the potty training band wagon (I don't think he's had an accident here in I don't remember how long), Beak is convinced that the boy finally has it figured out. He hasn't had any accidents here or at home in over a week now, and she is very proud of him.

I spoke to her last night and she said she had some blog-fodder for me.

I'll let her tell it.

"Bub came running up to me today saying, 'Potty! Potty!'. I told him that if he had to go he should hurry up and get to the bathroom and not wait. He looked at me and made a bee-line straight for the back door. I started to tell him the bathroom was the other way, but he was already out the door. By the time I got to the back porch, he was standing on the edge of the deck with his drawers around his ankles and he was making it rain!"

I guess we know why the flowers in Beak's backyard grow so nicely, now, don't we? Kinda makes you wish that the Googlemaps satellite was flying overhead at just that moment, huh? It'd serve the nosey beggars right.

Second was Peff telling the Boss last night that he knew how chicken nuggets were made.

"You take the chicken part and the nugget part and the crust part and you put them in the oven and bake them. When they are done, you put the crust part on the chicken part. Then you put them into a special box and then you put them in happy meals."

Not sure what that "nugget" part is, but I now know why I've always been a cheeseburger kind of guy.

Last of all is my favorite story of the night. The Boss and I had been seeking a date for a while, and last night we got a chance to relax a little, sans monkeys. Uncle C agreed to keep an eye on them so we could have a night out. About 9:30 we went to pick them up. We chatted with Beak and Uncle C for a few minutes, then piled the runts into the van and set out for home. On the way, I told the kids that when we got home, they would have to hurry and get their pajamas on, take a melatonin and get to bed.

Have I never mentioned this stuff before? With all apologies to Ben Franklin and his take on beer, melatonin is the real proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. All natural, doctor recommended, no side effect children's sleep aid. Our pediatrician recommended it to us when Peff was a wild child that would not go to bed.

I'll never forget the first time he took it. He was running in a small circle as fast as he could while singing a song. The Boss gave him a tablet and a drink of water and then he took off again. I turned my head for a minute and when I looked back, he had fallen to the ground like he'd been hit with an ax.

Out cold.

I guess what melatonin does is just flip the switch in your brain that reminds you that you're sleepy. He hadn't slept enough for so long, it smacked him like a hammer.

Usually, it takes about ten minutes before it works, but that first time...Magic happens. I swear by it. Melatonin and Tivo for Sunday football are pretty much how I keep from climbing a clock tower, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I told the kids they had to take some as soon as they got home and get to bed. Peff, from the back seat pipes up, "Don't worry about the melatonin, Dad. Uncle C spiked our drinks at dinner, so we already took some."

Suddenly Haggis shouts, "He did what?!"

Peff repeated, "Uncle C put the 'Tonin in our drinks at dinner."

Haggis: "Oh, crap! I drank my drink and then Reaggers gave me hers! I drank 'em both!"

The Boss and I erupted with laughter.

I called Beak who confirmed that Uncle C, had in fact spiked Reaggers drink. She parted with it so easily because she knew it was loaded and didn't want to take it. She was more than happy to let Haggis take her fall.

Now, I don't know if it's possible to OD on Melatonin, but Haggis takes the same dose as we give Squizzle, so I doubt it. Either way, by the time we got home, I had to practically carry Haggis to bed.

Have you ever tried to push a twelve year old to bed while trying not to bust your guts open with hysterical laughter? That's a funny enough image for its own story.

Ah, well. Who knows what adventure we may find today?

Enough for now.

It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Men

2010-05-25T08:58:00.003-06:00

No runts today; Uncle C is taking the day off. I do have a nice little tale of destruction from about a week ago that may prove entertaining, however.

I was trying to put a lesson plan together while Peff, Reaggers, Bub, and Squizzle played in the next room. They had decided they wanted to play Lego Indiana Jones, and so I gave Squizzle a bottle and put him down for a nap on the couch. I came into the kitchen and sat at the table to work on my lesson.

After about five minutes, I hear Squizzle stomp into the kitchen. I was only half paying attention to him and he ran straight to the cabinet under the sink, or as it is occasionally called, the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries".

I know.

I should have a child lock on it, but I don't. Moms think of that crap, not Mr. Moms. I am not sure what the boy thinks is in there, but I can't believe that it is not a tremendous disappointment for him when he actually manages to get the door open. All that's in there is the tub of dishwasher soap, the roll of garbage bags, and some dishrags. Not exactly Blackbeard's treasure.

Nevertheless, if one keeps one's eye on the prize for long enough, eventually one will find success. Squizzle caught me only paying half attention and snuck into the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries" and pulled the tub of dishwasher detergent from it.

I am fully cognizant of the potential for catastrophic disaster here. My mother warned us thousands of times to keep the little kids out of dishwasher detergent because even though it smelled of wintergreen, it did not taste of it.

Mom had a friend with a child that had to have all kinds of horrible treatments at Primary Children's hospital because they innocently sampled dishwasher machine soap and so it was one of her major worries.

I turned around in time to catch Squizzle trying desperately to get the lid off the tub. While he was unsuccessful, there was plenty of detergent dust on the outside of the container to gain my complete attention. So I snatched him up and pitched him into the sink for a full-on scrub down.

While my back was turned, Peff and Reaggers decided this was their big shot to do some dirty work. They snuck in and snitched a bag of mini-marshmallows from the pantry. By the time I could pay enough attention to see what they were doing, the snack had escalated into a full-blown mini snowball fight.

I knew exactly were this was headed. If I stopped it they'd only find something else to destroy while I was picking up the marshmallows. I've seen this type of escalation before. You turn your back to clean up one thing, and the monsters find something worse to get into and annihilate. It is their S.O.P, and I am becoming somewhat of an expert observer.

Since I still had to go down and get a new outfit for Squizz, I made the call to ignore the destruction for a moment and focus on one thing at a time. What difference between half a bag of marshmallows strewn about the room or a whole bag?

I forgot one of the Cardinal rules of Destroying Angel care. NEVER; I say again, NEVER make the assumption that you have them figured out. As a wise man said, "When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you...and...umption (or was it when you assume you make an ass of u and me? Wait...it's got to be your bull...or was it the butcher's?...Never mind. Forget I wrote it).

While I was dressing the baby, the Runts decided that throwing marshmallows was only about as half as fun as spitting them at one another. According to my theory, this type of escalation should only have occurred as punishment for me stopping them in their previous fun. I did nothing to deserve this! I let them have their way and this is how they repay my generosity?

By the time I got back upstairs, I found about two dozen soggy, sticky, goo-blobs stuck to my carpet as well as the kitchen linoleum, the walls, the TV, and in perhaps the most impressive display of five year old expectoration ever...The kitchen ceiling.

That one was impressive enough that I actually stopped being angry long enough to ask for a demonstration of how it was accomplished. Imagine my surprise to find that both Peff and Bub were able to pull it off. Hidden talents you never thought your kids might have. File "spitting marshmallows to the ceiling" right between "Make yourself belch" and "Use your armpit to create flatulence noises".

Who knew the sins of my youth would haunt me so long?

Enough for now, I gotta go spend the rest of my afternoon hunting on the job boards. Wish me luck!

Shut Up and Eat Your Manna...

2010-05-24T09:09:00.003-06:00

I am almost certain that at this time a week ago, I was mowing a lawn and contemplating firing up the ol' swamp cooler. I didn't because for obvious reasons (if you've read my post "The Rooftop"), I have a love/hate relationship with swamp cooler maintenance.

Probably a good decision. It looks like December out there. Snowing like a son of a gun, and showing no sign of stopping. I'm actually wondering if maybe I didn't clean out the fireplace a bit too early...

Went to church yesterday and had a hard time feeling it. I almost always find something new to satisfy my curious mind, but for some reason I just felt tuned out. You have those kind of days now and again. The Boss and I sent the kids into do a quick pickup on the house while we sat in the car for a few minutes and talked about it. Squizzle sat on her lap playing with buttons and occasionally honking the horn (which he thinks is simultaneously the funniest and most terrifying thing ever).

Oh, yeah, I suppose I should mention that we have a new (to us) car. The Boss's Dad found a solid used Toyota Sienna for us to use. The Dodge is looking more and more like it has seen it's last tire change. If there is one thing in the universe that Pop hates more than crooked politicians, it's an unreliable automobile. Knowing that we were certainly in no position to do anything about it; he and mom stepped in to help.

I'm beyond grateful, yet conflicted. You'd think I'd have gotten used to the fact that a major portion of this little exercise has been about the Lord humbling one of his more arrogant children. You'd think that I'd have figured out by now that I'm simply not going to be allowed to rely on my own force of will to face the obstacles in my path. You'd think I'd just learn to accept the fact that the Lord's help will come in the way that He wants, not how I want.

But I haven't.

It's part of the reason I was so tuned out at church. We were so dam...darned close to being able to take care of that kind of thing ourselves and now we are right back into the cavernous maw of uncertainty. It's the kind of situation that makes a guy feel like his Man Card is about to be irrevocably suspended.

You are trying as best you can to provide for your family, and circumstances beyond your control seem to work against you. It is awfully frustrating. The Boss and I were wondering "what next?" when I mentioned that now that coaching wrestling isn't going to happen, and teaching English isn't going to happen, and Seminary isn't going to happen; Well, heck. My English degree does me about as much good as if I'd dropped out of high school instead.

"We'd have been better off if we hadn't left the warehouse job to begin with", I told her.

That's when it hit me. I've been teaching Old Testament in Sunday School, and all I could hear when I said that was "were it not better for us to return into Egypt?" (Numbers 14:3).

I was sounding suspiciously like Edward G. Robinson in "The Ten Commandments.

Then I heard the still small voice say to me "Shut up and eat your manna." (I know; the Holy Ghost doesn't tell most people to shut up, but most people don't talk as much as me).

I don't get to choose the method of deliverance from my wilderness. No one does. He sent manna because it was what the children of Isreal needed. They wanted meat (That didn't turn out so good. Read Numbers 11:20 for the funniest scripture ever). They needed manna. Yesterday after church, I read why.

Numbers 8:2-7
2 And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments, or no.
3 And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know; that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord doth man live.
4 Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee, neither did thy foot swell, these forty years.
5 Thou shalt also consider in thine heart, that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth thee.
6 Therefore thou shalt keep the commandments of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to fear him.
7 For the Lord thy God bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills;

This is why humility is the "Manliest" of virtues. You have to be really tough to accept the Lord's help when what you really want is to prove to him you can do it yourself. That line about "Thou knewest not" really struck me. The Lord told the people he was going to lead them to the Promised Land in a way they were not familiar with so that they were forced to rely on him. They got to the Promised Land, just not in a way they ever expected.

"Shut up and eat your manna"

About as good a lesson as I'm likely to ever learn.

So back to my original story. After the Boss and I talked in the car for a minute, we came in and decided to do something nice for someone. We got to cooking dinner and the Boss made a peach cobbler with enough to take a pan to the guy in our ward who had helped me with the Seminary internship. We went out to the car, the Boss turned the key and...

Nothing. It was deader than the Cubbies bullpen. Squizzle had turned on the lights when he was playing with things and as the controls are all still pretty unfamiliar, we didn't catch it until 5 hours later when the battery was gone.

If the Lord is leading us to the Promised Land, I am getting the nagging suspicion that we are going to have to walk. Cars just ain't cutting it for us.

The Boss went in to call Pop and have him come give us a jump while I sat down and contemplated whether or not manna tasted like peach cobbler; and if it pairs well with vanilla ice cream.

I wonder what that "Valley" is gonna look like?

Bum Knees and Busted BBQs

2010-05-22T16:52:00.005-06:00

I promised more today, and so here goes.

Yesterday was the Boss's birthday. She turned twenty two and is just as hot and smart as the day we got married. I maintain that I am the only mistake she's ever made.

We were originally going to go to dinner with some friends and then to see Iron Man 2, but the plans fell through, so we just had a quiet night at home.

Woke up this morning and got ready to go to the neighborhood clean up and BBQ. I was supposed to take my grill. The last time I used it we made Teryaki chicken, and that really gums up the bottom, so I scrapped it out and noticed some corrosion on the burner. When I went to fire it up, the burner sputtered and then shot flames out the blowback valve.

Long story short, fifty bucks and 2 hours later I got my grill over to the park just in time to find out they didn't need me after all. If there was a prize for last place, I'd finish second.

While that was going on my mother called to tell me that my niece, who is training for consideration to get into the US Olympic gymnastics program, had landed badly on a dismount from the beam and had collapsed to the ground in agony. She began to go into shock and was taken from the gym by ambulance to the emergency room. The doctors said that she had ruptured her patellar tendon and they decided to do emergency surgery this afternoon before it could swell too much. If they waited, it would have taken weeks for the swelling to go back down, and it would complicate her recovery. So she's going to be spending the next month and a half in a cast.

If you listen really hard you can almost hear the train whistle echoing down the tunnel....

Link to Something Kind

2010-05-21T12:02:00.003-06:00

Right after I posted, I saw this on one of my favorite BYU Blogs. Since I know I just reccomended that you ignore the media, I thought I'd pass this one on. The part you'd be interested in is at the bottom of the post.

Football: Ninth member of the class of 2011 commits to BYU

Posted using ShareThis

Back Again

2010-05-21T10:19:00.004-06:00

Well....

It's been a while. I'm not sure I want to go everywhere yet, but if I don't start writing again soon, I'll lose whatever skills I might have had to begin with.

It's been a miserable kind of month for me; my self-esteem has taken some real shots (and when you are a self described fat, bald, blind, unemployed, layabout...self-esteem is in short supply on a good day).

First (and least important) was I had to shave my beard. I had a beard continuously from about the time that Haggis was born 13 years ago, so shaving was not something I wanted to do. But it was a requirement for an internship that I was trying to get and it could have lead to pretty sweet employment. I'd do anything to take the pressure off the Boss, up to and including the systematic removal of essential body parts. And a beard is definitely an essential body part for the Male Homosapien.

I've said it before and I'll say it again...If the good Lord didn't want men to have beards, why did he give them facial hair?

The result was I felt about 10 years old again, and discovered that I have a second chin that I was not aware of. Add the double chin to the swollen eye, the bald pate, and fat features, and I looked into the mirror and echoed my cousin's son who once said "I'm a Monster!" (Except I didn't like it).

I spent two weeks at the internship, teaching each morning and spending my evenings doing prep work. Since I will probably never find work as a teacher of English, teaching Seminary seemed like a pretty good opportunity for a paycheck.

I personally did not enjoy Seminary (for the Non-Mormon, Seminary is a daily version of Sunday School for teenagers), and was always a little offended when someone suggested that I would be a good Seminary teacher. It just wasn't my cup of postum if you know what I mean. What I know about scripture study, I learned from my Dad and on my mission and by applying the skills I learned in the study of secular lit.

But a year ago, it was finally apparent that the English thing wasn't going to work. So the Boss and I prayed and fasted and went to the Temple and got the very distinct answer that I should start the teacher development courses at the University of Utah Religious Institute.

I had barely learned that just because the Lord tells you to do something (i.e go back to school and get an English degree) doesn't mean that is for the reasons you think it is (otherwise, I'd be teaching somewhere right now, right?). So I didn't want to get sucked into the idea that I was going to be a Seminary teacher. After all, they told us at the start that from a strictly statistical ratio the odds were better for us to get into Harvard's grad school than to finish their program.

I guess they hadn't seen my grades, because with my misspent youth dragging me down, I scraped into graduation with a 3.0. I might have had a shot at being a seminary teacher. Harvard was an impossibility.

Each year the seminary training program starts with around a hundred or so applicants and whittles down from there. By the time we finished the year of classes, we were down to fifty. Those of us that were left got a two week internship, after which they selected twelve to become year long student teachers. Of those, they usually hire three or four as regular staff.

I finished my internship last Thursday. It had gone pretty well, and I was really happy with it. My first observed class was Wednesday and it went alright. The advisor said some complimentary things and the class was responding well.

Thursday was a whole different ball o' wax.

In spite of much prayer and fasting, I taught the worst class I have ever taught. It was classic Fatdaddy implosion. I made several rookie mistakes, not the least of which was not knowing they had changed the bell schedule and nearly ended the class ten minutes early. I recovered OK, but by then it didn't matter.

I'm pretty sure the regular teacher is still picking parts of my toes out of his whiteboard 'cuz I shot myself in the foot with at least a 12 gauge. I knew as soon as I started teaching that day I was doomed...but at least I went down swinging. I have no regrets about my preparation or effort, it just wasn't meant to be. I did what I had to do.

Like I said, I knew that just because I had been told to take the classes didn't mean the Lord wanted me as a Seminary teacher. But when they called and told me that I wasn't one of those moving on, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head anyway. Somewhere down the line I had convinced myself that this was going to be the ticket out of the long black cave of the last five years, and to have it crash down that abruptly was not pleasant.

"If it makes you feel better, you were in the top twenty," they told me. Since it didn't pay any better than fiftieth, it didn't; but I was tactful enough to keep that to myself.

Once again, I find myself without direction. To paraphrase Moroni, "I have no job, nor where to go."

"Close, but no cigar" is rapidly becoming the odds on favorite to find itself on my family crest.

I've been checking the employment sections but I don't need to tell you how depressing that is. I can't even go back to the old warehouse gigs because even with the improvements in my sight, I'm an accident about to happen on a forklift.

So between the work that I was putting in while I taught and the black despair that has inhabited me since, I haven't had that much to laugh about of late. I hope that this is a satisfactory excuse for leaving you all hanging for the better part of the last month.

Of course all this was put into perspective yesterday when I heard some truly devastating news. My uncle's brother was killed in an accident at work. I know exactly what kind of pain my uncle must be feeling. Losing a brother is like having part of you amputated. Nothing seems real, and you have to work to convince yourself that it actually happened. Especially in this type of accident, where a sudden death is a mixed blessing. You are grateful that it was quick and painless, but you mourn the lost opportunity to say what you need to. The shock helps numb the pain, but keeps you from coming to acceptance of it.

The only advice I can give is to stay away from TV's and Newspapers for a while. The callous ignorance and tactless rush to judgement by the media and general public would cause further pain and suffering that you don't need right now. The stupidity of the human race can surprise you at a time like this. Focus on the love of those around you. We'll help you with this burden, if you'll let us. But it'll be hard for a while. In the mean time, I'll stick with my practice of posting a poem that says things better than I can.

More Tomorrow.

Promise

2010-05-21T09:00:00.000-06:00

Not tested above what I can bear,
A promise made to me.
But hid from view,
All that I knew;
How much testing may that be?

I thank Thee for Thy confidence,
I’m not worthy of Thy trust
My will is wanting,
The world, taunting;
My own faith dries like dust.

Heavenward I stretch my prayer,
Oh Father! Hear me weep!
Tears wring out,
I begin to doubt!
And then, a restless sleep….

“I hear your cry, my troubled son
I share your tears this night.
Peace, be still,
This is my will;
I’ll make this burden light.

I have not forgot my promise
Place this thought past any other
For your true worth,
Hidden at your birth
You are my little brother!

I’ll help you all you want me to,
Hold you close, and lead your way,
But it’s still your choice,
To hear my voice;
And do my work this day.

And if you follow where I lead,
Be sure, I know the path.
The clouds will lift
This is my gift
You’ll share all Our Father hath.”

Wait A Minute

2010-04-22T12:32:00.002-06:00

What's that old saw about how even a blind squirrel is going to find a few nuts? Just when I thought I wasn't going to have anything to write about, another wacky kid quote comes from out of the blue.

I'm learning that patience and close observation are the keys to finding the good stuff. Sometimes it doesn't happen until late in the afternoon, but there is almost always going to be something worth writing down.

This morning, I was in washing the breakfast dishes. I knew Squizzle was sporting dirty drawers, but I only have two hands and he wasn't exactly screaming to get changed (and if he really wanted to, he'd just fiddle around until he got his diaper off himself) so I figured I'd get one job done before moving on to the next. Squizzle ran off into the living room where Peff, Bub, and Reaggers were all watching Spongebob on TV.

After .02 seconds, I hear Reaggers and Peff scream in unison, "EWWWW! Bub had an accident!"

Now Bub has been really good about not having accidents lately and since the timing was too close for coincidence, I knew they'd picked up the Squizzle "trail" and were wrongfully blaming Bub.

"He didn't either", I told them. "It's Squizzle."

Then I hear Reaggers say, "I'm sorry, Bub. But you have to understand. You stink."

I just about dropped the plate I was putting in the washer.

Point blank, matter-of-fact, no tact required. Sorry, brother; but you smell bad. Bub's feelings didn't seem to be hurt and no one noticed that I was already starting to plan out today's post.

I decided that I'd go change Squizzle before he caused any more chemical warfare alarms to go off, and while I was downstairs getting a diaper and the wipes, Squizzle had gotten Bub's spare underpants from his bag and was trying desperately to load them into the dishwasher. I guess Reaggers wasn't the only one who wanted to blame Bub.

Anyway, it has been nice to see a real pickup in the number of visits and new followers. I have been at this for a couple of months now and I am pleased with the response that I'm getting. If you are new, check the sidebar for my favorite posts, they give an overview of what I'm trying to record and a few of the ones that make me laugh the most. Make all the wise-acre comments you want. Please share this site with your friends and neighbors. I think everyone could use a good laugh now and again and I know most of you can relate to the train wreck that is my life.

Along those lines, I am looking to add a few guest bloggers to the blog. I need some of you who have better stories than mine to fill in now and again. Just some of your favorite disaster stories, whenever you feel like adding to the chaos. Since even I don't get paid, they don't have to be professional posts, just make sure you hit the punch lines. You can remain anonymous if you want; that's the way I prefer it for myself and hence all the nicknames. If I can do this crap, anyone can.

If you are interested, please get in touch with me in person, or let me know on the comments below, and I'll make the arrangements.

Better Than A Stick in the Eye

2010-04-21T11:14:00.004-06:00

Been a long couple of days. The Boss has had some busy days at work, the kids' school activities have shifted into "full-speed ahead" mode, the van went on the blink (again), and I went back to the eye doctor.

I should have known we were headed for trouble when the van only required $500 worth of repairs to pass registration. Friday night, the Boss got in the van after work and the engine wouldn't even turn over. We just replaced the starter motor two years ago, so she figured it was a dead battery and got a jump start. She came home, parked it, came inside to get me so we could go to the store, and by the time we got back out it was dead again. We got a neighbor to help us jump start it again and drove it down to Checker to get the battery checked. Just for gee-whiz, because we replaced that a year ago as well. The test said the battery was fully charged and fine.

Normally a mechanic telling me something is fine would be great news, but this time...not so much. The Boss has a kid that works part time for her who is a mechanic during the day and he's going to look at it tomorrow.

I'm going to weigh the cost of repairs against the price of a half stick of dynamite and a tow truck to take it into the West Desert. ARGHHHH!!!!

The laptop screen is still on the fritz, and that is going to require a temporary hiatus on the blog while the computer is sent to Bombay or Mumbai, or wherever the heck Laptop Hell is located. Why can't things break down one at a time?

I have an idea of having guest bloggers while I'm offline, I'll let you know before I shut it down. There is one story in particular that I am chasing that frankly outdoes everything I have ever written about, including "Dad Has Two Heart Attacks".

Peff had a funny the other night. We were watching this show on PBS called Cheese Bites, an interesting show where they highlight a type of cheese, show how it's made, how it came to be, the difference between good stuff and bad stuff, etc. This week was on that nasty, drippy, half rotten looking French cheese Camembert. My second favorite line was from the show itself, when the voice over said that good Camembert should "taste like cooked cauliflower and smell like God's feet".

Am I the only one who wants to know who established the baseline on this characteristic? How do they know, and who would want to eat something that smelled like any one's feet? Ick!

But it was Peff who had the line of the night. After watching the segment on how they make Camembert, he turned to the Boss and asked "When do they put the bears in?"

Hilarious. How Willy Wonka-esque. Whipped cream needs to be whipped with real whips, poached eggs aren't poached unless they are stolen in the dead of night, and real Camembert cheese MUST be made with real bears!

Awesome.

After the show, the Jazz game started. I watched Krylo Fesenko get dunked on, miss a shot, throw a pass out of bounds, play matador defense (OLE!!), all in the first minute. I sent a text to T that said, "Fesenko is a Lummox (A Lummox is the worst insult imaginable for a wrestler. Lummox is worse than fish, worse than wuss, and worse than sloth) For the Jazz to have even a prayer, D-Willy is going to need to drop fifty."

Ok so it was thirty three and fourteen assists, but somehow the Jazz pulled it off. Fesenko even played solid enough defense for the rest of the game for me to remove the Lummox tag, at least for the time being. Game three is Friday.

Yesterday, I was sent to a new eye doctor. I spent a year and a half ignoring the Boss, my mother, my mother in law, pretty much everyone that knew me. Now I don't often brush off the advice of my mother, or her in-law counterpart, and I brush off the Boss even less frequently. But I had put my foot down on this one. I could "Wait and see what happens" without needing a to drop a copay. I wasn't going back.

Until the subject came up within my dad's earshot over Easter weekend. "You get your butt back to the doctors, and you do it now" he said in a tone that I remembered from my days as an idiot teenager. I made the appointment the next day. You don't ignore dad unless you have brain damage...or wish to obtain it.

So yesterday was the day, and after four hours, two receptionists, a ream of paperwork, one tech, two doctors, and an eye chart that I couldn't even see, they confirmed that I am, indeed legally blind.

It's never a good sign when the first words you hear when the tech looks at your eyes is "Wow".

Less good is when the first doctor says, "Huh. I'm gonna wait until the other doctor comes in to have a look at this".

The punch line is when the specialist and the head honcho doc comes in and says "Oh, my."

For the next hour, the doc's used a microscope, a tiny scalpel, and the smallest tweezers you ever saw to snip and then remove the rest of my stitches from the transplant. Imagine covering a racquetball with a nylon and then plucking at it with tweezers, and that's kinda the sensation going on. I cannot describe the will power required to see that blade come up to and onto your eyeball. You find yourself really hoping that the doc took it easy on the coffee that morning. You really, really want to pull your head away from the microscope base. The pain wasn't that bad, at least not at first. Just the thought.

When I get the shots, it hurts the most during the shot itself and in the first few minutes afterward. The rest is kind of like a dull echo. With this, the flinching was tough to suppress, but the pain wasn't too bad.

Until I got home. It was like watching a Fran Drescher marathon. It was annoying at first but you could mostly ignore it. After a while, you find yourself really distracted, and the next thing you know you are grabbing a deer rifle and looking for a clock tower to climb. By 6 last night, I was not a happy camper.

After they pulled the sutures, they gave me a prescription for the same eye drop steroids I'd been on before and told me...(wait for it)... to come back in two weeks.

Some struggles are eternal.

The van will break down, my kids will say funny things for me to write on this blog, the Jazz will find a way to disapoint me, and two weeks from anytime, I'll be at an eye doctors.

Count on it.

Zoe is Back

2010-04-17T12:04:00.002-06:00

The Boss" is watching her sister's dog again which means a fresh round of "Can we get a dog, Dad?" is being repeated to me every thirty seconds by my kids, one at a time in order of age.

Every day I pray that Squizzle never learns to talk.

They are stoking up the begging fires, but I've got my stock answers and retorts ready to go anytime they want to roll.

"Dad. can we get a Chihuahua?" started Moe, hopefully.

"Heck no!" I replied. "I've been trying to keep rodents OUT of the house. A Chihuahua is just a rat with a short hair cut."

"How about a teacup poodle then?" queried Haggis.

"Um...if a Chihuahua is a rat with short hair, then a poodle is a rat with bad hair."

"I want a dog like Scooby Doo" offered Peff. "That's a big dog".

"Uh-hu. Big enough that it eats more than Squizzle. Heck, a dog that big could eat Squizzle."

I decided I'd save the discussion-killing imagery of cleaning up after such a mutt for a later day when they come to me with stronger arguments than, "But we really want one!"

"I want one" is too easily blocked by the classic retort, "People in Hades want a cool drink of ice water; I guess you'll all be disappointed for a while."

The kids really hate that one, but it always makes me laugh and they haven't found a way to counter it yet.

They'll never learn.

Eat Turnbuckle, Heel!

2010-04-16T10:23:00.003-06:00

We had professional wrestling at our house last night. The girls put pillows on the floor and covered them with a blanket to create a ring in the living room. Moe gave each of the little kids ferocious identities for her promotion. I sense more than a little bit of Bobby "The Brain" Hennan in this child.

She was "The Night Wrestler", Puzey was "The Pink Freak", Peff was "The Critter", and for my personal favorite, Squizzle became "The Grumpifier".

I remain stunned by the imaginations of my children. The Grumpifier? Where on earth does this kid come up with this stuff?

They had several individual matches that involved leaps from the top rope (the couch)and enough submission holds to put the Iron Sheik, Nickolai Volkov, and Andre the Giant out of commission for eternity (or at least the next pay-per-view). The main event was a battle royal where "The Grumpifier" received a double-ax handle to the back of his skull. It was dirty pool, and it caused a chain reaction no one saw coming. The legendary "Revolting Slob" left the stands (as well as a lengthy retirement) to return fair play and deal the heavy hands of justice to the forces of havoc.

It was quite the evening and the show may go on the road if the price is right.

Afterward the Boss and I reminisced about the heady days of George the Animal Steele, Gorilla Monsoon, Mean Gene Okerlund and the boys.

"Remember when the match everyone wanted to see was Hulk Hogan versus Ric Flair to see who was the "real" Heavyweight champion of the world?"

She did not.

Growing up in a house with only sisters is not an environment conducive to Professional Wrestling exposure. But I remember. My brothers and I were mad for the stuff. Couldn't get enough.

Later on, I was watching hockey while waiting for the Boss's show to start. During a commercial, I noticed that there was something called TNA wrestling on Spike. "What the heck" I thought, and turned it on. The first thing I heard was "Pomp and Circumstance".

Now that song combines with the sight of the "squared circle" to activate the most juvenile portion of my brain (I said the MOST juvenile portion. I am fully aware that all of my brain is juvenile in one sense or another, so keep you smart alec stuff to yourselves). "Pomp and Circumstance" was the entrance music for my all-time-can-never-be-replaced-most-favorite wrestler ever; "The Macho Man" Randy Savage.

Suddenly eager with anticipation to see Mach go "Down that Aisle!", I nearly giggled.

"I can't believe this guy is still wrestling!" I shouted to the Boss. "He's got to be a hundred and ninety". Well, in steroid years; anyway.

****Editor's Note
I once went to a show here in Salt Lake. I coughed up thirty bucks to sit on the twelfth row at the E-center with my brothers and a bunch of buddies. When Macho came out, he was getting booed and heckled because he was playing a "heel" at the time. Not me. I was whistling and cheering like the Cubbies had won the series, and when it got quiet so he could take the microphone, I used my best coach voice to bust out an impersonation of his trademarked "OHHHHHH YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAA!!!!!!!" growl that he used before he snapped into a slim jim or an opponents leg. He looked over to where we were sitting...pointed right at me...and gave us the growl. It was THE single greatest moment of my adolescence; even if I was in my mid-twenties at the time.
****

Alas, it was not to be. Some other punk was using the Macho Man entrance music. "He can't do that!" I hollered at the screen. "Only Macho can use that music. It's a rule. Someone needs to snatch that dude's Man Card. What a punk!"

That's why I started laughing when two dudes ambushed this usurper in the tunnel and beat down on him with a couple of folding chairs. He deserved it.

Disappointed I was not going to get to see my hero, I was nevertheless interested in who this poser was so I kept watching for a minute. Imagine my surprise when someone brought Ric Flair down the aisle in a wheelchair.

Stunned, I turned to the Boss who was now playing solitaire on her cellphone. "He looks terrible", I said. "Some guys don't know when to quit."

The Boss mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "HMMM", but probably meant "Grow up". Then all of a sudden, the Nature Boy hops out of his wheelchair like his butt is on fire, grabs a folding chair and starts hammering on the dude in the ring.

"Wow" I said for the third time in about forty seconds.

The only thing more mysterious than what was going on was why I was suddenly so interested.

Then IT happened. The camera swung to the top of the tunnel and right on cue, out stepped the Hulkster himself.

"Holy Cow!!" I started shouting, jumping nearly out of my seat. "Look at this, Hon! It's Hulk versus Flair; we were just talking about this! Right now... this very second! I don't believe it!"

"I don't believe it either", said the Boss patiently, but I'm not sure she was talking about the TV.

Unfortunately, the show started rolling the closing credits as the Nature Boy and the Hulkster glared at each other from thirty feet apart. It was soooo cool. I am absolutely tuning in next week. Vince and Jerry practically required it to keep my Man Card. Besides...now I want to.

I really, really need a hobby.

And If They Lose...

2010-04-15T08:41:00.002-06:00

I have always loved my sports. Many of my childhood memories involve my whole family participating in or watching some sport or another. One of my favorites was when my Dad taught me what it means to be a real fan.

I was in high school and the Jazz were getting run out of the gym by an undermanned, mediocre Golden State team in the first round of the playoffs. In spite of the first or second best record in the league, the Jazz were about to flame out early, yet again.

"I can't stand it anymore", I told Dad right before the last game. "These guys are killing me. I've finally reached the point where if they win; great. If they lose, whatever."

Dad looked at me kind of like I was one of the neighbor's dogs that had just desecrated his lawn.

"I'm kind of the same way" Dad said. "If they win; great. And if they lose I'm gonna be madder than hell."

I instantly felt like a betrayer. A blasphemer. It was around then that I realized that true fans never give up on a team. If I'd given up on the Jazz, that shot that Stock dropped over Chuck Barkley would not be the sweet moment of victory that it is. If I'd quit cheering for the Broncos when Craig Morton was throwing every second pass to the guys in different colored shirts, Elway's dive into the end zone wouldn't be one of the coolest plays ever. And if I'd stopped watching BYU when Gary Crowton was single handed destroying thirty years of powerhouse domination, then Harline would not still be open, fourth and eighteen would be just another punting down, and seeing Andrew George split the middle wouldn't make me laugh every time I see the replay.

You can't give up when it gets ugly. You just can't.

Take the Cubbies. they've blown a half dozen games in the bottom of the eighth inning this year, their bully has been mistaken for solid rocket fuel, and Loopynella doesn't know a foul ball from his elbow. But the day they win the world series will be one of the best feelings ever. Even Cardinal fans will feel it that day. I know it. You can't give up.

Which brings me to the Utah Jazz.

What the crap was that all about? You win last night, you get home court advantage in the first and maybe second rounds. You've swept the season series with two of the three teams on your side of the bracket and you would be highly favored against the third. All you have to do is beat the Suns in your own house.

You lose, and you won't see home court advantage in any series, you start against a team that has pretty much owned you, and IF you beat them, you get the right to be blown out of the sky by the hated, despised, scumbag Lakers.

Naturally the Jazz get popped by twenty.

About halftime, my brother T and I began to exchange text messages.

"These guys suck OUT LOUD!" I said. "I can hear the smell from here."

"Why isn't Steve Nash crumpled in a heap somewhere in the third or fourth row?" T replied. "Is anybody gonna put a body on that guy?"

"And where the crap is Korver?" I wondered.

"What the H is a 'Korver'?" asked T. "I think he got left in Oakland the other night."

"I hope he doesn't fall off a pier there. He would not be able to hit the water."

Yeah, it was that bad. Meanwhile Boozer was where he usually is when he might be called upon to earn his pay. Hiding behind the bench in street clothes. With Andre "Don't turn up the air conditioning, I might blow away and get hurt again" Kirilenko sitting right next to him.

Just for curiosity sake, who knew that Kirilenko even had a calf muscle? How can you strain an imaginary object?

Sometime in the second quarter, the Boss noticed I was getting more than a little agitated. Cementing her greatness and insuring that she has a perfectly chiseled bust for the wife-hall-of-fame, she put the kids in bed and went to watch her shows in the bedroom.

****Editor's Note
Hehehe...Perfect bust for the hall of fame...hehehe. It has two meanings, and both are applicable...giggle, giggle. There's really only three words to say here.

BEST.

PUN.

EVER!!!!
****

The game was as bad as a root canal. But I watched the whole thing anyway. All by myself in a dark, lonely room. I'm lucky I didn't break my neck tripping on a chair again.

It's just like Dad says. If the Jazz win; great. If they lose...

Bacon Juice

2010-04-13T11:13:00.003-06:00

Here's another one that Jamie Oliver can try on for size...

I know I'm an evil man when it comes to nutrition. My personal philosophy has always been that just as many people have heart attacks while jogging as people eating big macs, why not enjoy yourself? My proclivities for "creative" menus are well documented. But this morning, I really tried. I pulled some bacon (a very rare treat) out of the fridge and cooked that up.

How big a treat is bacon? I gave them chocolate cake for breakfast...they didn't even say thank you. I put bacon in the pan and they started a parade between the kitchen and dining room while chanting, "Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!"

They like bacon.

Since I didn't have an empty can in the garbage, I poured the grease into a mug and set it on the counter while scrambling the eggs. I put cheese on the eggs, and poured the milk and the kids were in heaven.

While they ate, I sat down to work on my first post. After a while the kids came in looking for seconds and Reaggers found the grease mug.

"Hot Chocolate!" she shouted with glee.

"No, it's not", said Peff. "That's bacon juice."

"Even better!" Reaggers shouted. "Uncle Fatdaddy, can we drink the bacon juice?"

I cave in to that, and I'll have a "Reaggers Has a Heart Attack" post to go with "Dad Has Two Heart Attacks". Tempting, but no.

I quit.
Again.

Could Have Done Without That...

2010-04-13T09:09:00.003-06:00

I just about managed to kill myself on Sunday night. The Boss and I had Tivo'd (did I just make up a new word?) the Amazing Race so we could actually watch it instead of attempting to watch while breaking up kid wars.

Because I am blind as a referee, I have to sit about a foot and a half from my busted up, old school TV.

****Editor's Note
I once tried to get my doctor to lobby my insurance company to buy me a new large screen HD TV for "therapeutic" reasons. I guess he had some "moral objections" or something, because he politely declined to write the prescription. One more reason I ain't going back there again. In the mean time I've been thinking we should have a blog-a-thon to raise money for a fun little campaign that is close to my heart:

"Fatdaddy's Big Screen. For just a few dollars you could help a fat, bald, blind man watch football without blocking everyone else's view. This poor &@$^@! needs your help and only you can give it to him. Won't you please use your perfectly healthy eyes to look into your non-cholesterol clogged heart and help him out?"

C'mon. You'd donate. Especially if I could get Sally Struthers to read the voice over. You know you would. Alright. I wouldn't either... but you can't blame a guy for trying.
****

Anyway, I HAD a nice comfortable little chair that I could pull up to the side of the TV and watch without rearranging the whole living room or blocking everyone else's view. I say had because on Friday the kids busted it into three pieces. So Sunday night, I'd pulled a dining room chair into the living room. After about an hour of that I'd had enough and once the kids went to bed, I talked the Boss into pulling the couch over (I'll bet she gets a serious case of google eyes trying to sit next to me to watch TV, but she never complains. I think she was born without a complainer gene and that is why she puts up with me).

I set the dining room chair in the corner next to the couch, turned off the lights and we watched the Amazing Race. Or part of it. As usually happens on Sunday night we dozed off long before it was over.

I woke up around 11 and turned the TV off. The room was blacker than a math teacher's soul; but since I can't see anyway it didn't bother me. I got up and forgot all about that D@%&! dining room chair sitting between the couch and the wall. I barked my left shin hard off the sharp bottom edge of the seat.

Since I hadn't seen that one coming, my reflexes were limited to snapping my left leg backward when all my momentum was going forward. My right leg found itself bearing all of my considerable bulk unexpectedly and trying to stop it and the resulting effort pulled a hammy in my right leg.

Within three tenths of a second I went from walking toward the light switch to falling as though pole-axed and then insulting my injuries by bouncing my melon off of the edge of the window sill. It was a three for one kind of deal. I assume my mother will be chagrined to know that my only reflexive action on the way to the ground was to swear. Probably louder than I should have.

The Boss fell asleep watching the "Amazing Race" and woke up to a live action "Three Stooges" short where only Curly made an appearance. We're both lucky it didn't end with a scene from "ER". A day later and my left shin is all ripped up, my right hamstring is still sore, and there's another knot trying to implant itself on my skull. And oh, yeah. The Cubbies blew another lead in the eighth on Sunday.

To her everlasting credit, the Boss didn't laugh at me, but she should have.

What a train wreck she's married to. The woman is a saint.

Happy Birthday, Puzilla

2010-04-12T10:00:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was Puzilla's seventh birthday. There is no way that child is allowed to be that old already. We had french fries and Ice Cream for dinner, because that is what she asked for. Jamie Oliver can bite me. I've fed my kids chocolate cake for breakfast, ice cream for lunch, and at this very moment, Peff, Reaggers, Bub, and Squizzles are eating Popsicles on my deck at ten in the morning. I guess I'm just a bad parent. Besides, Puzilla could use a little fat in her diet. I seriously fear that someone will accuse us of neglect because she is so flipping skinny. She has a free pass to eat a spoonful of peanut butter anytime she wants it. I still have no idea how a kid that scrawny could make it in this family, but she does. And she makes me laugh. All the time.

On Saturday, we went to the nickle arcade and spent about three hours there. It's like a pre-teen Vegas. I showed Peff the OG Donkey Kong and a vintage pacman game and he was very much less than impressed. I also spent thirty cents playing a pinball game because everyone knows that the fat, bald, and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball.

The Boss played a cool video game version of Deal or No Deal, and won the max prize, which turned out to be four hundred tickets. With the tickets the kids won playing skeeball, wheel of fortune and whack-a-mole, we finished a very fun afternoon with about 900 tickets for our efforts.

As a side note, do you have any idea how many wax lips and Chinese finger cuffs you can get with 900 tickets? It's a lot. That's all I'll say.

I was pressing the Boss hard for a few extra nickles at the end. I wanted to try and win enough tickets for this wicked, awesome, switchblade comb. And then I realized that I'm bald. What the H do I need a comb for?

The whole afternoon cost me twenty bucks and the kids got all the stick yo-yo's and slide whistles they could ask for. We came home and watched the Alvin and the Chipmunk Squeaqual. It was as mind-numbingly dopey as you would imagine. The kids loved it.

Happy Seventh Birthday, Puzey. You're sweet and goofy, and skinny as a rail. Don't ever change.

A New Owner For the Cubs Already?

2010-04-10T08:35:00.002-06:00

Wire report-

During the off season, the Cubs were sold by the Tribune Corporation to the Ricketts family (No puns, please). This morning there are rumors that the family was contacted by ATK corporation about a possible takeover.

It seems that the Aerospace giant, which manufactures the solid rocket fuel boosters for the space shuttle program, is interested in testing the flammability of the Cubbie bullpen for possible use in the next generation of spacecraft boosters.

"Those guys are quite possibly the most ferociously combustible material in the known universe," said one anonymous ATK source. "Their bizarre ability to simultaneously implode and explode is unique among terrestrial elements. If we could find a way to harness that... to use it for good, we could really be on to something. We could ride those guys right into space!"

"Good luck with that," replied Lou Pinnella, the Cubs embattled manager when told of the impending acquisition. "We can't even use the bums to climb out of the NL basement."

Pinella added that he might be willing to trade his entire relief staff to ATK for as little as case of "Big League Chew" and a new water cooler and he would involve himself in any future talks.

No one at ATK or the Cubbies front office had any official comment.

*******

Bottom of the 8th: Cubbies 3, Reds 1.

Top of the 9th: Reds 5, Cubs 3.

There's more to say but I can't. It just hurts too much.

Cubs Win, Cubs Win, Hooooly Cow! The Cubs Win!

2010-04-09T08:41:00.002-06:00

I should have known last night that everything was going to be on it's head this morning. My hint came when the Cubbies actually held on to a two run lead; even though they walked the tying run in the bottom of the ninth. I would have bet all I had that some Brave or another was going to put one into orbit, but it didn't happen. So the Cubbies are off the schnide. Wheee!!

Unfortunately the karmic retribution has been brutal this morning. You know it's going to be scary when the first few sentences you hear from your children contain the following Phrases:

"No Toilet diving, Squizzle!"

"Squizzle, get out of the trash can!"

and my personal favorite,

"Dad! There's a yellow puddle on the kitchen floor and I don't think it's lemonade because Squizzle doesn't have a bum on again."

Uh-huh.

That last one was courtesy of Moe who came upstairs to make lunches and found her brother had removed his pajama pants and his diaper. Again.

I'm seriously considering breaking out the duct tape.

We switched diaper brands a few weeks ago. I admit it; it was entirely a cost cutting move. I cheaped out and got the least expensive stuff at the store. It has not been worth it.

On the rare occasion that the boy leaves them on long enough to do their job, they leak. Every time. Plastic crib sheets have been a must. The money I saved on the diapers I have wound up spending on laundry detergent. Plus I'm gonna have to get some duct tape to whip up some Squizzle belts.

And now....I gotta go mop the kitchen.

Again. It's going to be a long morning.

Diary of a Mad Cubs Fan

2010-04-08T08:16:00.002-06:00

Last night sucked.

Speaking strictly from a sports standpoint. The Jazz got blown out of the water (and the 2 seed in the West) by a mediocre Houston team, and my Cubbies were at it again in Atlanta.

Dempster pitched pretty well, but Giovanni "So-So" Soto was...so-so. In the bottom of the second, the Cubs had a chance for a strike-'em-out, throw-'em-out double play, but the throw was late and the secondbaseman dropped it. Instead of ending the inning, the next guy up shot a double down the line and it was 1-0 ATL.

Of course I grumbled and changed the channel, and the %$#! Jazz were already down by fifteen in the first half. Wow.

I put it back on the Cubs in time to see Alphonso "Sorry"-ano get a hit and then score a run. While he was on base I told the Boss, "Every time I watch Soriano run, I hold my breath. I keep waiting for his hamstring to snap like an old rubber band."

Seriously, the guy is a trip to the injured list waiting to happen. He has the weakest hamstrings this side of Carlos Boozer. His twigs are constantly on the verge of self destruction. If he isn't on the DL with some leg injury or another by the all-star break, I'll be stunned.

By the time the Boss left for her church assignment at ten to seven, things were looking up. The Jazz had cut the lead to 4 and the Cubbies were up 2-1 and Dempster was mowing down Braves with impunity.

"Maybe they'll win one", said the Boss as she got up to leave.

"I wouldn't hold my breath", I told her.

****Editor's Note
Due to time and space constraints we now take you forward to the bottom of the eight inning.
****

So by this time, the Jazz are back to down by twenty and the talking heads on ESPN are getting ruthless in their criticism of the Jazz road woes. I can't help but agree with them, but it still ticks me off. So I roll back to the Cubs just in time to watch the bottom of the eighth when Chipper Jones hit a 3-0 changeup from John Grabow so far that it still hasn't landed. Just like that, 2-1 becomes 2-3 and the Cubbies are doomed. Again.

The best part of the night (and I mean that in the most facetious way possible) was watching the Cubs send four guys to the plate in the ninth, down by a run and three of them struck out looking. Come on. At least take a cut at something. Three guys punch out LOOKING, and they're down by a run? You'd think they already didn't give a hangnail. I'd almost rather they lost by thirty again, just so I would only have to watch the first three innings before throwing up my dinner.

And speaking of dinner, I am led now to the "greatest" part of the night. I was flipping channels to see if there was anything on to take my mind off my lousy teams when I happened across "Top Chef" on Bravo. The Boss and I like to watch cooking shows on Food Network, but I'd never seen Top Chef before. They had these 4 star chefs competing and the first challenge was to make a gourmet meal out of ingredients they had to purchase at a gas station.

One of the teams made Macaroni and Cheetos!

I had stroke. Right there on the couch.

THOSE FILTHY BEGGARS STOLE MY RECIPE!!!!!!

I want it officially stated for the record that I thought of it first. Go read the post. Friday, March 12, 2010 titled "Best Idea Ever".

The Jazz ripped my heart out. The Cubbies took my legs, and Top Chef kicked me right in the mouth.

I gotta find a hobby.

Happy Birthday William Wordsworth!

2010-04-07T16:50:00.004-06:00

I cannot let today pass without commenting on the 240th anniversary of William Wordsworth's birth. I was just helping Haggis prepare a report on him and happened to notice that it was his birthday today. I sure as heck hope that someone is reading the stuff I write 200 years from now. That would be an impressive feat!

I will not make my mother sad by posting a copy of "We Are Seven" here, but you should google it. It is one of mom's favorite poems, and mine too. It just hits a little closer to the mark than it used to. Wordsworth has always been one of my very favorite poets.

Happy Birthday, Wordsworth.

Quite the Ash Hole

2010-04-07T10:04:00.003-06:00

I'll bet that's the most intriguing post title you've seen in a while, huh? Only took me a second or two to come up with.

I'm trying to get the house picked up a little this morning because today marks the return of "Wednesday Treat Day" and Motor will be joining Peff, Reagers, Bub and Squizzle (if he's still alive) in an early afternoon round of brownie baking. Yeah, I know, premix brownies don't qualify as actual "baking", but I'm out of practice so leave me alone.

I've spent the first part of the morning in the kitchen washing dishes and sweeping the floor. One might think that I would have learned better by now, but I asked Peff and Reaggers to if not watch Squizzle, at least let me know when he was headed for disaster.

What can I say? I'm a slow learner and I've got the scars to prove it.

I'm loading the dishwasher and Reaggers comes up to me and says. "Um, Uncle Fatdaddy...Squizzle is into something."

"What, pray tell, is he into?"

"I'm not sure, but it's black."

Now, I can't think of one single substance that he might be into that is black in color and not going to be a force of major destruction in my home. Construction paper, maybe?

So I mad dash it into the living room and find my one year old Destroying Angel up to his toddler armpits in fireplace ash. Not that fine gray powder that's left from burning a pressed wax firelog. Oh, no. I'm talkin' that industrial, heavy duty, blacker than a coal miner's backside kind of ash. And the little ash monster is trying desperately to wipe himself off...on my carpet.

Fortunately for me, the Kool-aid stains act as some form of Ash repellent, so a few passes of a rug doctor, and it'll be the same embarrassing, stained and ugly mess that it was before. Is this what I get for fulfilling the commandment to multiply and replenish the earth? Eternally dirty carpet? Someone ought to put a warning label on these kids.

I guess it was a good thing I had just been doing the dishes so Squizzle could spend ten minutes in the "hot tub" sink. Damage report is minimal, but this is a bad omen for the start of treat day.

If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?

2010-04-06T15:47:00.002-06:00

Now that we have discussed the winners (from the Fatdaddy Bracket Challenge) let us move on to something slightly less pleasant. Now, those who know me know that I am loyal to an absolute fault. I hate bandwagon jumpers, and I love my teams with the same passion and fire most people reserve for things like politics or pre-meditated homicides.

So for just a moment, let us pretend that this empty blog space is a water cooler and I am Carlos Zambrano, and let me go ballistic about the one thing I hate to love.

The Chicago Cubs.

Did any of you see the implosion that was opening day?

What the crap was that all about? I asked for you to pretend I was Carlos Zambrano, but the way that fat, screaming lunatic pitched yesterday, it might as well have been this fat, screaming, lunatic out there.

He had an ERA of 54! That means that if he pitched that way all the time, he'd give up 54 runs EVERY NINE INNINGS!!! No one has gotten lit up like that since Ted Kennedy died. Then Loopynella pulls him (about ten pitches too late) in favor of that Notre Dame football reject Jeff Samardzija who goes out there and flames out for another 5 or 10 runs. They removed the rosin bag from the mound in favor of a fire extinguisher. Did someone forget to tell them that batting practice was over?

Lest the hitters chuckle...that robust .154 team batting average was very nice. So much for the new hitting coach being the man to lead the Cubbies into the promised land. I've seen more contact at a seminary girls pref dance. Unforgivable.

Now they may rebound and rally. Even if they don't, I'll keep watching anyway, because I'm pathetic and unemployed, and I've been cheering for the Cubs from the time I could understand the game. But geez....

My Brother in law (a Dodger fan who has forgotten more about baseball than I'll ever know) tells me every year that there are five little words that every true Cubs fan must memorize and repeat in an endless loop. You can change the emphasis to modify the meanings.

They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!

The thing about being a Cubs fan is the creative and unusual way they go about breaking the hearts of their fans. One year, they get four outs away from a world series only to have Bartman interfere with a foul ball. Another year, they get the best record in baseball only to melt down in the first round of the playoffs against a Wild Card team that has one hot home run hitter surrounded by a batch of triple-A scrubs. But most years they are wont to remove suspense and my heart with an early exit from the race and a year long chase for the first pick in the draft.

I got me a bad feeling about this batch. I hope I'm wrong. I really do.

In "Ode to the West Wind" Percy Shelley sums up the heart felt pain of every Cubs fan when he writes "If winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" Wait til next year we tell ourselves. Wait til next year.

Is Opening Day too soon to start looking toward next year?

To The Victor Go the Spoils!

2010-04-06T09:28:00.002-06:00

In spite of the fact that the snotty, entitled, drunken frat-boy team from Duke lucked out when the last second heave from half court clanked off the rim, there was still a major upset in the tournament last night.

Ignoring grade books and library shelves everywhere and causing obsessive-compulsive alphabetizers to have an apoplexy, "D" for Dawnell and Duke was better than "B" for Beckett and Butler.

****Editor's Note:
Google John Scheyer from Duke and tell me that he is not central casting's first choice to play Beavis in the live action Beavis and Butthead movie. Right down to the shorts with white ankle socks and black shoes. All he needs is an AC/DC t-shirt.
"I am CORNHOLIO!!!!!! Are you...threatening me?"
****

Our pint sized picker got his own pocket picked when his mother...his own MOTHER, snuck up from behind and took his redbox rentals away in the waning seconds of the tournament. Had Butler hit their half court heave, we'd have all been bested by a three year old. Alas, it was not to be and when midnight struck, David was slain by Goliath.

That's not a slight on you, Dawnell, we all love you. It's just that you also won your husband's work pool and let's be honest. Who is not amazed by your son's savant-like selections?

Congratulations and honors to Dawnell; Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, the Champion of the First Annual Fatdaddy Bracket Challenge. You have the laurels, the crown, and the glory. You may refer to yourself on this blog as Queen Dawnell the first and your reign will last for one year...or until scandal, dishonor, or Donald Trump says you're done.

Hail to the victor!

And speaking of victors, the following also had major victories during the challenge and I will find a means of rewarding them all.

First, Congratulations to my niece Elizabeth, who also picked Duke to win it all and thus catapulted herself over her esteemed favorite uncle to snag the third spot. First they let the kid date and drive and then she beats me in a sports game. Someone is having a pretty good year!

Second, to Jen Clark who whooped her husband by 3 picks and 14 points. Well done, Jen, and according to the results of the poll, you will be rewarded! (Find me at church Sunday and I'll get you your prize). Mandy will also be getting rewarded for sneaking past Jason, but Beak was unable to grab the trifecta by beating Corbin.

One of Kevin's kids got past him (Not sure which one) so they will get to harass their old man for a year.

Lastly, we have to point out the fantastic rally by Hollie. Stuck at the bottom for the better part of the show, she came roaring back in the later stages to place a very respectable 18th. And she beat her nancy-boy brothers by thirty picks (I am going to continue to trash talk them until they get on here and respond! haha).

Thank you all for playing, I hope you had as much fun with it as I did!

Rank Team Name Score Correct Best Score Best Correct Champion
1 Dawnell Moon (1) 210 40 210 40 Duke (168)
2 Dawnell Moon (2) 202 36 202 36 Baylor (112)
3 Jil Bircher (2) 186 33 186 33 Duke (77)
4 Fatdaddy 175 36 175 36 Kentucky (110)
5 Mandy Kelly 166 33 166 33 Syracuse (146)
6 Corbin Taylor 162 36 162 36 Kansas (134)
7 Jil Bircher (3) 160 34 160 34 Kansas (97)
8 Brian Beebe 159 32 159 32 Ohio St. (173)
9 Moe 158 37 158 37 BYU (32)
10 Jason Anderson 152 36 152 36 Kentucky (142)
11 Anne Taylor 145 34 145 34 Syracuse (109)
12 Squizzles 145 35 145 35 Kansas (100)
13 Kevin Kelly (2) 143 34 143 34 BYU (130)
14 Kevin Kelly (1) 136 31 136 31 Kansas (152)
15 Jen Clark 135 31 135 31 Kansas (165)
16 The Boss 129 30 129 30 Kentucky (122)
17 Jil Bircher (1) 123 20 123 20 BYU (134)
18 Hollie Downs 122 30 122 30 Syracuse (133)
19 Kevin Kelly (3) 122 30 122 30 Kentucky (165)
20 Jess Clark 120 28 120 28 Kansas (150)
21 Puzey 119 10 119 10 Ark.-Pine Bluff (42)
22 Mike Kelly 116 29 116 29 Syracuse (164)
23 Peff 116 19 116 19 BYU (37)
24 Haggis 115 25 115 25 Kentucky (130)
25 tim kelly 103 26 103 26 Syracuse (135)

April Fools

2010-04-05T12:06:00.004-06:00

I recognize that April Fools day was nearly a week ago but for once in my life, I've been busy. With the Boss working nights and a little from home I have even been able to leave the house. We went to the Grandparents, to the grocery store, took the kids to the dollar movies, all kinds of errands that usually get taken for granted. But for me they have managed to become genuine events simply for the fact that I get out of the house.

On April Fools day, my kids actually pulled off a pretty decent prank. Haggis got some toilet paper and wrote on it with a sharpie marker. They then snuck into my bathroom and laid the note in the toilet. The water "melted" the tp so it was translucent, but the words were pretty easy to read. When I got up in the morning, I had to ask the Boss just what the heck it was (Blind man can't see even that far).

It sounded like one of those Foxworthy "you might be a redneck if..." jokes.

"If you've ever spoken the phrase, "Hey hon...what the heck is this that's floating in the toilet... you might be a red neck..."

At the very least it has been added to the list of phrases that I never, ever thought would escape my lips. It turns out the note said, "Halt, who goes there? Happy April Fools, love your children".

Not too bad an effort, I must say.

It may surprise you that I myself do not participate in April Fools jokes. I know, a guy with the wildly inappropriate sense of humor that I have would skip a day like that? It does seem bizarre but it's true and there are reasons.

Two of them.

First, the last time I tried an April Fools joke it backfired...badly. I was 15 or 16and got the brilliant idea to loosen the lid on the salt shaker. The whole family was sitting down to dinner, which was a real treat because April first also happens to be Uncle T's birthday (We will refrain from making any comments on the irony. Uncle T has heard it all before). We got to have steak, and with seven kids in the family, that was a fairly rare (pardon the pun) delicacy.

One of my bone head friends had told me that he'd loosened the lid on the salt shaker at breakfast at his house and assured me it had been hilarious. Not one to miss a chance to get a laugh, I gave it a go myself.

My sister L got the lucky(?) draw to be first with the salt, and when the lid came off, I cackled and laughed and shouted (way too loudly) "April fools!!!"

No one laughed.

My sister did start to sob, though. Dad got about three quarters of the way between irritated and homicidal and I instantly knew I had way way way overplayed the "prank". I wanted to crawl under the table and figured I was in for something awful. Dad just reached over, took my sister's plate and swapped it with mine.

Looking back, I see this as a brilliant parental move. Not only did I have to eat the saltiest piece of meat this side of a slim jim, but since I was older, my portion had been significantly larger. He wouldn't excuse me from the table until I cleared the plate (no Iodine deficiency here) and when I was finished he gave me his patented piercing stare that I wish I could a) never see again and b) duplicate myself for my own kids. It was worse than a spanking, worse than a grounding, way worse than a time out (which no one had ever heard of back then because parents still had brain cells that worked).

"Was it worth the laugh?" he asked.

It wasn't.

So let me take this opportunity to again apologize to my sister for being a mean spirited jerk all those years ago. Sorry about your steak, sis.

Secondly, when you have been a personal witness to the single greatest April Fools joke in the history of all creation, there seems little sense in trying to one up it. And let me tell you friends, I was present on that day.

Burley, Idaho.

I was nine or ten. My brother and I were watching TV in my Grandparents living room with my Dad and my Grandpa. Mom and Grandma were in the kitchen which was adjacent to the living room.

The living room had a large throw-rug on the floor and my brother and I were laying on the carpet. Suddenly Grandpa got really excited and started to shout "There's a mouse under the rug! There's a mouse under the rug!"

Now, my grandfather was a very large fan of the same things that we found interesting. He was always giving my brothers and I things like rubber snakes, sling shots (and since he sold bearings for a living, he had the greatest wrist rocket ammunition supply dump this side of anywhere), and once he had even shot a jack rabbit and gave my brothers and I real, no longer live, but honest to goodness rabbits feet. They were ten times cooler than those fake little colored things that you could buy in "Boys Life" magazine. We were envied by all our friends back home.

Looking back, I'm sure my mother was not thrilled at having four severed rabbits feet in her house, but she'd have had to sever our hands to take them away from us.

But with a Grandfather like ours, even if there wasn't an actual mouse under the rug there was a fifty-fifty chance that there was at least a rubber rat hiding somewhere for us. So K and I shot up like we'd been blasted out of cannons, and started tossing the rug and looking under the couches for that mouse.

I remember Dad laughing while Grandpa whooped and cheered us on. If all he'd caught with this little prank had been my brother and I, I would say that it was a pretty good gag, and worth the time to write down for posterity. But Grandpa had one other fish on the line, and it was that one which made this the single greatest April Fools Prank ever.

Grandma had been washing dishes in the kitchen and had heard every word. She didn't know how on earth a vermin could have found it's way into her spotlessly clean house; but any rodent with the intestinal fortitude to invade her abode had a VERY SHORT and pain filled existence to look toward. She had grabbed her broom and came into the living room swinging. I still remember the look on her face and it said that if she'd had the time, she'd have gone downstairs and loaded one of Grandpa's shotguns instead of swinging a broom. That would have been the unluckiest mouse under heaven's blue sky.

It suddenly dawned on Grandpa what he had done and he erupted into laughter. Dad was near tears, and my brother and I didn't really get what had happened.

"Where is it?" Grandma asked like she was part of the Spanish Inquisition.

"There isn't one." said Grandpa between peals of laughter. "I was giving the boys a little April Fools fun."

"Not funny" said Grandma.

I think this is probably the only time in eternity that my Grandmother was wrong about anything.

It was funny. Very funny. And Grandpa agrees with me.

Which is why I never play an April Fools joke.

How could I ever hope to top the Master?

Gather Round the Campfire

2010-04-02T11:39:00.003-06:00

Sorry I've been down for a couple of days, the Boss has been working nights doing a lot of work from home during the day which requires the use of the laptop. Combine that with the fact that she hadn't been able to play her favorite games for a while and it seemed prudent to turn her laptop back over to her for a couple of days.

I did get some good stuff though.

Wednesday Bub, Reaggers, and Peff were playing "camp out". The Boss had worked a graveyard and was downstairs sleeping and I was putting Squizz down for a nap when I heard the three of them talking. It was pretty funny. They were pretending to toast smores over the heat vent in the living room and Peff told them he was going to tell them a "Ghost Story". So I put the baby down and grabbed a pen and started to scribble notes so I could retell it later. The conversation went like this:

Peff: "There were some barbies, and they all went to a camp out to ride some horses. But the horses were all hooked up to a carriage that was all black. They got into the carriage and it took them to this mountain, and then they all DIED!!!"

****Editors Note
Someone was watching closer than I thought when I tried to show them Darby O'Gill and the Little People on St. Patrick's day.
****

Reaggers: "Nu-uh. Barbies like horses."

Peff: OK, they were kidnapped by aliens and the aliens tried to kill them but the Barbies cut the aliens heads off and there were wires and stuff sticking out of them because they were robot aliens, and then they died. Now shut your pie-holes and eat some smores."

Reaggers: "Wait! The smores are burning! Get the flashlight!"

Peff(singing his own little campfire song):

"Roar! It's only me, telling a ghost story,
Not some scary 6th grader.
It's not real, just a ghost story,
It's not real, It's not scary.
It's just me....Roar!...hey look, there's a dinosaur!! Argghhh!"

Reaggers: "That's not a dinosaur, that's my lost puppy that ran away. He's been hiding in the woods, and he's going to save the barbies on the scooters from the aliens!"

Peff: "Feed him some smores."

Reaggers: "No. He ran away, he's a naughty dog."

Peff: "Fine. Dumb doggie. Get lost. We don't need you."

It was at this point that I realized that Bub was the "doggie" and he seemed more than a little upset that he would not be partaking of the alleged "Smores". At least he didn't try to pee on my floor.

I thought they showed some clever imagination (though not witout some overly violent themes...but hey, they are DESTROYING angels) and the more I read Peff's "Song" the more impressed I was with it. He did it off the top of his head and it's not really bad stuff for a kid who can't read yet. I especially like the A.D.D.-esque "Hey look, there's a dinosaur" ending.

Things That Are Fun To Do

2010-03-30T09:14:00.005-06:00

Puzilla came home from school yesterday and gave me permission to tell her funny story. I think the lure of fame overcame her embarrassment of people laughing. I'm really glad because I wasn't going to break my promise but I really wanted to record this one.

We went to church on Sunday, and right after the meetings, our neighbor cornered the Boss. This neighbor is a very funny lady who loves to be a wise-cracker. Example: I have a large BYU decal on the back of my van. Her "Fatal Flaw" is that she likes the Utes.

****Editor's Note
Anyone who doesn't live around here needs to know that in Utah you are a Red Utah Ute or a Blue BYU Cougar and that's about it (I know Bircher Bunch; there are about twenty five or thirty Aggie fans, but even the Utah State guys choose sides for BYU-Utah). It is a bitter, mean spirited, ugly rivalry. Think Redsox-Yankees, but if they were forced to live in the same house. More along the lines of Celtic versus Rangers, but without the firebombs (at least so far).
****

This neighbor loves to stop by the house now and then, take the BYU magnet off the back of the van and bring it to the door. When I answer her knock, she tells me that some miserable teenage vandals have been defacing my auto with vulgar and obscene graffiti.

I told you; she's a real pip.

And as my wife so perfectly framed it, she and Puzilla are "matches and gasoline". Their goofy senses of humor are nearly identical. So on Sunday, the neighbor cornered the Boss and told her this classic.

"I was leading the music in Primary and we were singing 'Fun to Do'".

****Editor's Note
"Fun to Do" is a cute little song they sing in Primary now and then that is designed to get small children to focus their attention and have them ready to listen to that week's lesson. It's a fill in the blank song with an easy, catchy, tune. A child gets chosen to pick something they like to do and then all the kids sing, "________ is fun to do, fun to do, fun to do! _________ is fun to do, to do, to do, to do!"
Then another kid gets to pick something new and they sing it again with the new fill in the blank. They do this 4 or 5 times, and the kids will all be paying attention and sitting quietly in the hope that they'll get to pick the next thing that is fun to do. Then they can start the lesson.
****

The neighbor then tells the Boss that she was looking for someone to tell her what they like to do when Puzilla's hand shot up like a rocket. So she called on her and Puzey said "Drinking Pepto Bismol!"

****Editor's Note
Don't ask me, I'm just the Stay-at-home Dad. I have no idea where the H she came up with that one. I'm going to go with...she was raised by wolves.
****

The neighbor, being who she is, decided that this was absolutely perfect ( I warned you...Matches and Gasoline). So she led the entire primary (forty or so kids) in a rousing verse of "Drinking Pepto is fun to do, fun to do, fun to do, Drinking Pepto is fun to do, to do, to do, to do." I seriously doubt if any of them had any idea what Pepto is for, and only my little Puzey would think that drinking that chalky, peppermint goo for an upset stomach would actually be "Fun to do".

I guess that as soon as they were finished (don't ask me how the adults in there kept a straight face, there is simply no way they were not rolling on the floor), Puzey shot her hand into the air again.

Not wanting to miss any more gems, the neighbor called on her again. Puzey purportedly said...

"Um...I think I made a mistake. I said the wrong thing. It was supposed to be drinking Amoxicillin."

Apparently time (and the inability to stop laughing) did not allow for a second verse.

It's OK, sweetheart. I get you. It can be tough to keep all those delicious, pink medicines separate, can't it? It's probably for the best. "Drinking Amoxicillin is fun to do" just doesn't have the same pep (pardon the pun) as "Drinking Pepto is Fun to do".

The story is even better if you've had a chance to hear Puzey's faint, wispy voice tell it. She got a little embarrassed because she wasn't trying to be funny, but she sure as heck was.

****Editor's Note
The extra punch for this comes from the fact that my mother happens to be good friends with the nice woman who wrote "Fun to DO". How ironic. I'll bet nobody has ever hit the spirit of her message quite as well as Puzey. She's nothing if not one of a kind.

A New Haiku By Haggis

2010-03-29T16:53:00.002-06:00

"A Scene You'll Never See in a MouseHouse Film..."

As my Prince rides up
I realize he's not right
And so I shout..."Next"!!

The kid's a regular Wordsworth, ain't she?
Just a Stanza from her Old Man's "lyrical ballad".

She had her teacher laughing like crazy over it and got it read in front of the whole class.

Jesus and the Blond Man

2010-03-29T14:25:00.004-06:00

I have a really funny story to tell that happened yesterday, but I have sworn not to post it until Puzilla gives me permission. It is highly entertaining, but when the Boss told me the story, the first words out of Puzilla's mouth were, "Dad, please don't post this on your blog!"

So I told her that I wouldn't, but since it is so hilarious and classic Puzilla/funny, I asked her to think about it and tell me when I can post it. In the mean time, I'll entertain you with a couple of similar moments from Destroying Angel Lore that are common knowledge in the family, but have yet to be recorded in Blog post form.

A few years ago, when Moe was 3 or 4, she had a series of terrific stories when she would come home from Primary (for the uninitiated, Primary is Mormon Sunday School for small children). Some we heard from her directly and others came from her teachers. Of those that came from the teachers, our favorite is this:

Primary teacher: "Your daughter Moe said something very funny today. We were talking about happy families and what they do for fun. I said that parents often go on dates together to have fun. Moe raised her hand and said 'My parents don't date, they hate each other.'"

Me: "Wow".

Boss: "Where'd she come up with that one?"

Teacher: "But you guys seem so...(Laugh)...happy...(snicker-giggle-chuckle)".

And from those that Moe told us herself we have:

"Ramona and the Paper Plates"

Me: "What did you learn today, Moe?"

Moe: "We learned about Ramona and the paper plates."

Me (Growing curious): "What's that one about?"

Moe: "There was this guy Ramona who burried some paper plates in the ground."

What she meant:
She was trying to retell the story of how the last Prophet to write on the Golden Plates (that would later be translated into the Book of Mormon)took the record that his father Mormon had abridged, and buried it for safe keeping. The Prophet's name was Moroni, not Ramona, and the plates were gold, not paper.

And lastly (for now) and my personal favorite (for obvious reasons)...

Boss: "So what did you learn about in Primary today, Moe?"

Moe: "There was this guy in the bible, and he was blond, and he went to Jesus and Jesus spit into the dirt and made some mud and rubbed it on the blond man's eyes, and then the Blond man could see and he was happy."

Me: "Are you sure it wasn't Jesus and the blind man?"

Moe: "No, Daddy. He was blond. But he couldn't see."

Me(thinking that it's time to start writing this stuff down). "Gotcha."

Unforseen Events

2010-03-27T19:50:00.002-06:00

While Squizzle was busy peeing on my leg, Kentucky was doing the same to my bracket. What a bunch of L7 weeeee-nieeeeees!

That was pathetic. I think the Wildcats were too busy ogling Ashley Judd on the Jumbotron to know they were down by a hundred and fifty with three minutes to go. Lord knows she's easier on the eyes than Kentucky's ridiculous shooting. What were they, 3 for 65 from three?

Haggis's junior high girl's team shot the rock better than that. I thought Ray Charles was dead. Who knew Stevie Wonder was coming off the bench for the Wildcats?

Don't laugh, Mountaineers. You were every bit as sorry. I think they hit a healthy 45% from the free throw line. Wow. Very impressive...if your name is Ted Williams and the .450 is your batting average. For a major college basketball team, it was the saddest thing I've seen since "Brian's Song".

It was like watching Helen Keller play HORSE with Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies. They couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat.

How bad was it?

Somebody hung a pinata from the scoreboard and they didn't bother with a blind fold. Nobody could hit that either. The candy is still safely tucked inside Spongebob's paper mache Squarepants.

It didn't get any better after the game. WVU climbed up the step ladder to cut down the nets, and they missed those too.

****Editor's Note
I thought for a moment about including a Bob Huggins DUI joke here, but decided that it would be in poor taste. And too easy a target. Some bulls eyes are so full of holes that you feel little or no satisfaction when hitting them.
****

The upshot of all this is that with Kentucky going "the way of the One Seed", Becket should have wrapped up his championship tonight (I wonder what he would have shot from three in that game. I'll bet even money it would be better than 4 for 37 or whatever UK was).

But an alert reader will not the "Should have" in that last sentence. I missed a possible contender this morning. Beckett's Mamma can still catch him under the following conditions. Duke has to beat Baylor, and then win it all. If that happens, I think she'll get him by 8 or 10. Otherwise, we'll all be quoting Marv from "Home Alone".

"I think we been scammed by a kindy-gartner."

Who wants to watch Uncle C console his wife or his son when somebody loses those red box rentals? If Beckett wins, ten nights of "Bob the Builder" might be in his future. I bet I know who he'll be cheering for tommorrow!

Have a good Sunday!.

Gee Whizz

2010-03-27T11:58:00.002-06:00

Now, I don't claim to have the experience of say, my mother or mother-in-law; but I think with five kids, I have earned my Captain's bars. There are a whole lot of bizarre, strange, disgusting, hilarious or whacked out experiences to which I can say "been there, done that, got the t-shirt" (you have been reading this blog, yes?).

But this is a new one, even for me.

I got done playing with the brackets this morning and indulged myself in a moment or two of Solitaire.

****Editor's Note
I continue to notice that most, if not all, of my disaster stories begin with me finally getting a chance to take thirty seconds for myself. Coincidence? I doubt it. I wonder what the message is, and who it is that's sending it?
****

I got up to fix chili dogs for lunch, and as I grabbed the pot from the cabinet, I saw the small form of Squizzle come toddling into the kitchen. I turned to the sink to fill the pot with water when I felt something splash my bare foot. I looked down and saw Squizz had toddled up to me and was giggling.

I thought he had slobbered on me, but there was WAY too much splashing to be slobber. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the boy had removed his diaper and was now PEEING ON MY BARE FREAKING FOOT!!!

Remember, I'm blind as a bat, so all I had seen was the boy's silhouette. Not noticing his diaper was gone might be a "Master of the Obvious" circumstance for most of you, but for me, it was improbable at best.

But not as improbable as my one year old son taking off his diaper, locating me, getting over to me, deciding at that moment that he had to go; then aiming, firing and hitting a moving target. Are you kidding me?
The odds...I can't even calculate.

Does that end things? Heck no. After Haggis stopped laughing at me, my father-in-law walked through the door and at the same instant, my sister-in-law called to ask what she should get Squizzle for a belated birthday present.

"A coffin" I said. "I'm gonna kill him."

"I was thinking something more along the lines of pants. What size does he wear?" She asked.

By this point I'm flustered beyond my usual madness. I couldn't have told you what size my own pants were by then.

"Hang on a second" I told her. "Haggis, what size are Squizz's pants?"

"Um...dad? He's not wearing any pants."

"Well no freaking duh! If he was wearing pants right now, I wouldn't be mopping baby pee out of my flip-flop, would I? I meant, when the boy DOES wear pants, what size are they?"

My sister-in-law and her Father both seemed to think something about this was amusing, because all I heard from them was laughter.

"He peed on you?"

"Yeah. Long story. Check the blog. It'll be up in half an hour."

Since then, he has removed his diaper again, tried to do it a third time, and then attempted to swallow a nickle.

Check EBay. The bidding starts at two bits.

Ahhh...The life of a stay-at-home Dad. I should have become a stay-in-Cozumel Dad.

I'll tell you one thing though. If the boy can hit me, he can hit the potty. This daddy just bought his last package of diapers!

It All Comes Down to This

2010-03-27T09:50:00.003-06:00

Rank Team Name Score Correct Best Score Best Correct Champion
1 Dawnell Moon (2) 186 34 258 39 Baylor (112)
2 Fatdaddy 167 35 231 39 Kentucky (110)
3 Moe 158 37 190 40 BYU (32)
4 Jason Anderson 152 36 232 41 Kentucky (142)
5 Brian Beebe 151 31 175 33 Ohio St. (173)
6 Dawnell Moon (1) 146 36 210 40 Duke (168)
7 Anne Taylor 145 34 177 37 Syracuse (109)
8 Jil Bircher (3) 144 32 176 35 Kansas (97)
9 Mandy Kelly 142 31 166 33 Syracuse (146)
10 Corbin Taylor 138 34 170 37 Kansas (134)
11 Squizzles 137 34 169 37 Kansas (100)
12 Jen Clark 135 31 143 32 Kansas (165)
12 Kevin Kelly (2) 135 33 167 36 BYU (130)
14 Jil Bircher (2) 130 30 186 33 Duke (77)
15 The Boss 129 30 185 33 Kentucky (122)
16 Kevin Kelly (1) 128 30 160 33 Kansas (152)
17 Jil Bircher (1) 123 20 123 20 BYU (134)
18 Kevin Kelly (3) 122 30 178 33 Kentucky (165)
19 Jess Clark 120 28 120 28 Kansas (150)
20 Puzey 119 10 119 10 Ark.-Pine Bluff (42)
21 Mike Kelly 116 29 116 29 Syracuse (164)
21 Peff 116 19 116 19 BYU (37)
23 Haggis 115 25 171 28 Kentucky (130)
24 Hollie Downs 114 29 146 32 Syracuse (133)
25 tim kelly 103 26 103 26 Syracuse (135)

Jason needs Kansas State to win to the finals and for Duke lose their next game. If Kentucky beats K-state to win it all, he can pass me and Beckett for the win.

If Kentucky wins it all and Duke beats Baylor, I'll win.

Beckett is cheering for: West Virginia, Baylor and Butler this round and Baylor in the Final Four and Championship. If West Virginia wins today, no one can catch him.

So it all comes down to this. If you want Beckett to win, cheer for West Virginia. If not them, cheer for Baylor and Butler to keep winning. If you want Jason to win, Cheer for K State and Kentucky, and in the unlikely event you are cheering for me, you want Duke and Kentucky(EEEEEWWWWWW!).

Moe, Brian Beebe and a few others can still move up or down in the rankings, but are mathematically eliminated from winning it all.

A three pony race. I gotta say, in order to maintain my hard earned rep for knowing something about sports, I hope I can beat my three year old nephew. From a "fan" perspective, I hope Beckett runs away with it. I am tired of the same five or six teams winning year after year after year. Duke and Kentucky and Michigan State can all go suck eggs for what I care.

Cry big tears for them and their "Bluebloods" mentality. I'd like to see them join Arizona, UCLA, North Carolina, and UCONN in the NIT next year (Of course with Caliparri at UK, there's a good chance that they won't be allowed to participate in ANY tournament due to sanctions and recruiting violations anyway).

I'm pretty lukewarm on Tennessee and Kansas State because they win a lot in other sports and are BCS. I despise West Virginia for the same reasons but with added hatred for their scuzzbag coach; Bob Huggins. While Baylor is usually pretty bad and would otherwise have my sympathy; they still belong to a BCS conference so I can't cheer for them, either.

That leaves Butler.

So for my bracket's sake, I say "Go Kentucky"
From my gut (which is bigger than my bracket), "Go Bulldogs!"

PS...

Win or lose, I have one question for my sister in law. Where do you keep Beckett's broomstick and pointy hat when he isn't picking tournament games? That kid is a straight up witch!

Babysitter Bank Robbers.

2010-03-26T11:55:00.003-06:00

I'm glad it's raining outside today. It discourages pedestrian traffic past my house. And that's probably for the best this morning. Someone out for an early morning spring stroll might misunderstand the voices floating out of my windows and call the cops. What I mean is, what would you do if you were walking around and heard someone yell...

"Sit down and shut up! The next person to talk is going to get hurt! Nobody moves or else!"

Yeah, that's what I was thinking too.

The girls are off school today. The Boss and Beak both had to work. Beak dropped Reaggers and Bub off at the usual time and I told her, "I'm turning them over to Haggis and Moe and going back to bed."

Twenty minutes later, I hear the beginnings of a strong arm robbery going on upstairs. Moe has a ridiculously awesome tone of command (where the H-fire did she get that from?) and a natural ability to get kids her age and younger to do what she wants. And Haggis is taking drama at school, so her work with voice projection seems to be paying off.

Now don't worry if you've hired Haggis to babysit your children in the past, she wasn't really threatening anyone with death (this time, haha). They were playing a game. The little kids were laughing their butts off and having a grand time trying to sneak off the couch when one of the girls would look away from them. It was pretty funny; I just wouldn't have wanted someone to overhear and get the wrong idea. I'm sure that none of the neighbors have ever heard screams from our house before and would have been shocked at the blood-curdlers issuing from it this morning.

****Editors Note
Have I told the story how after the BYU Oklahoma football game last year I went out on to the porch to let out a war whoop and scared the crap out of my neighbor who was sitting on her porch swing enjoying a late summer evening? I was pretty hyped up and used my very best "Coach voice" and caused her to jump about fifteen feet in the air. You can still see the scratches on the raingutter from her fingernails. I laugh every time I think about it.
****

My family is a lot of things. Quiet ain't one of 'em. And I like it that way.

The Old Man Is At It Again...

2010-03-24T11:16:00.004-06:00

Sorry. I can't help it. I get stagnant and bored very easy. If you don't like the new version of the blog, all I can say is...Hang on for a week or two and I'll get bored again. It probably has something to do with me not posting anything yesterday and feeling guilty about not having anything new for the four or five of you who check daily.

I was having another one of those "Blah" days where I just need to change the routine. So none of us got out of our pajamas before Uncle C came to get his kids at 1:30. We watched Barbie Thumbelina. There's two hours of my life I'll never get back. And that's a shame because of could have put those hours toward something fun or productive or...nevermind. I'm not really out that much.

I need to get out of the house.

The Boss has managed to pull of a couple of winners with the girls this week. She let Haggis go down to Walmart at midnight to get a copy of "New Moon". I'm not sure why; we told her that she wasn't going to get to watch it until we had seen it first, so there was no way she was going to be viewing it for at least a day and a half. Might as well have waited for the next afternoon. I guess she just wanted to go to the party.

Whatever. It made her happy and got her to help around the house with less grumbling than usual.

As for me, teenage vampire movies hold all the interest of waiting for sunburns to peel. Twilight was wholly panned by most of the folks I was in school with. I myself only read the first one (I had to before I'd let Haggis read it; the Boss read the rest of them) and it wasn't really my thing.

Most of the pseudo-critics at school thought it was formulaic, cliched, and overly simplistic. They're probably right. But my bit of contention with them was that you still have to give Meyer a TON of credit.

First, not one of them (including me) would stop at anything short of sacrificing their sainted mothers to the ghost of the Venerable Bede in order to get published at all; let alone sell umpteen million copies. If we thought it would sell, we'd write a thousand pages of nothing BUT cliches, just to get our picture and a bio on a dust jacket. It's true.

Second, you can say what you want about her style, Meyer never forgot the first rule of good writing.

"KNOW THY AUDIENCE!"

While I cannot speak for her, I'm pretty sure that Stephanie Meyer could care less about what a bunch of pretentious, arrogant, twenty year old Harold Bloom wannabees have to say. In fact, she needs an accountant to keep track of all the reasons she doesn't care. She wasn't writing for them. She never intended to replace the Bard or Dickens or even JK Rowling. She was aiming her story at little girls, age 12 to 16 (and occasionally their mothers). And darn me if she wasn't dead center of the bulls eye. Kudos. I bow to her success.

No, I don't care for Twilight for the same reason I don't care for Jane Austin and the Bronte sisters. To much angst and hand-wringing and desperate cries for "romance" (whatever the hell that is). I don't say that it is trash or useless. I recognize the audience. It just isn't me.

I'd rather stick to what I like. It would be foolish of me to expect everyone to like Joyce and Yeats as much as I do, but I would certainly put up my dukes if someone were to dismiss it as casually as people do the Twilight books.

But like I said, It made Haggis happy.

Then yesterday, the Boss found out that Brandon Mull, the author of the Fablehaven books was in town for the release of the finale of that series. Now these I haven't yet read (I'm still trying to polish off Percy Jackson and the Olympians), but Moe's teacher read the first one to her class and she has been hooked ever since. Every day she'd come home from school and rehash the day's events to the Boss and I. She poured over every one of them and gushed on and on about how great they were.

So the Boss got off work and hauled Moe down to Deseret Book where Mull was doing a book signing. They got there just in the nick of time, and though they were among the very last in line, Moe got a personalized signing of the last book and a picture with the author. She was thrilled beyond belief and already to chapter three by the time she and the Boss got back home.

Pretty cool if you ask me. Well, Uncle C just got here to pick up Reaggers for school. Better go for now.

Mr Squizzle's Wild Ride

2010-03-22T14:34:00.001-06:00

Sorry I'm later than usual today. Beak brought Veggie Tales over for the Runts to watch. So they did. A hundred and thirty three times in a row. I swear if I hear one more bar of "Oh, where is my hairbrush" someone is going to lose some eyebrows while they sleep.

I have often wondered if the people in charge of writing children's programming are aware of the brain damage they are causing the innocent bystander adults who are unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast zone of their inane drivel.

If they are (and I think they must be) then these are the sick people I want in charge of Guantanamo Bay. Put 'em in charge of interrogations and Intel gathering. Twenty minutes of this stuff broadcast in the right village would have citizens turning over Al Qaida in droves.

"Here they are!! Down in the basement. There's some more in those bushes over there, and that cave is Osama Bin Laden's Summer house. He's usually home on Tuesday afternoons. Take him down, boys! Just turn that crap off! We're losing IQ points by the second. We'll testify wherever you want; just turn off Wonder Pets...Please, water board us instead!!"

They also had a grand time playing "bunny hunter" on the Wii; which meant I spent the morning with my referee shirt on. Video games absolutely drive violent behavior. Not the content, but rather the endless "My turn...No, my turn" fights. It's not like there's not two controllers. Sheesh! Cats and dogs get along better. I should find some way to capitalize on it. Do you think that child welfare services would frown on me posting videos of four year olds involved in "No Holds Barred" cage matches? Yeah, probably not a good idea. Oh, well.

And Mr Squizzle has been on a wild ride this weekend. I have mentioned that his mobility and motor skills have been improving at an alarming rate, and his ability to get into stuff he shouldn't be is getting ridiculous. His latest trick is opening kitchen cabinets and drawers and emptying them onto the floor.

He has also: Stolen the TV remote and hid it.

Absconded with Daddy's drink and then marked it for his own with just the right amount of backwash.

Used his stroller as a bulldozer to knock over anything or anyone that was in his way. My shins will be bruised for a while, I think.

Used a chocolate cupcake and an Oreo for a facial peel to give his face that "just been dumpster diving" glow. That filling is mostly just Crisco, you know. Mmm...Delicious fat...

I managed to snap a few picks for posterity and future blackmail attempts. Enjoy them. The kid is a real pip.

Lastly, I'll post the results from Sunday's Bracket Challenge, but I don't want to analyze it anymore. Too depressing. One more three year old has found still another way to shame me. I talked to a few of my friends at church yesterday, and we agree. It's a beat down of historic proportions. Couldn't catch that kid with a butterfly net.

If I were his parents, I'd watch the boy close to make sure that he's not talking to his thumb named "Tony". And make darn sure that he doesn't have a troop of leprechauns hiding out in his room. Sooner or later the little people will stop giving him winners and start telling him to burn things.

Believe me, I've seen it happen.

Team Name Score Correct Best Score Best Correct Champion
1 Dawnell Moon (2) 166 29 258 39 Baylor (112)
2 Fatdaddy 151 31 243 41 Kentucky (110)
3 Brian Beebe 139 28 247 39 Ohio St. (173)
4 Moe 138 32 194 41 BYU (32)
5 Jason Anderson 136 32 252 45 Kentucky (142)
6 Anne Taylor 133 31 249 43 Syracuse (109)
7 Jen Clark 131 30 159 35 Kansas (165)
8 Mandy Kelly 130 28 226 37 Syracuse (146)
9 Jil Bircher (3) 128 28 188 37 Kansas (97)
10 Dawnell Moon (1) 126 31 222 42 Duke (168)
11 Jil Bircher (1) 123 20 123 20 BYU (134)
11 Kevin Kelly (2) 123 30 171 37 BYU (130)
13 Corbin Taylor 122 30 186 40 Kansas (134)
14 Squizzles 121 30 185 40 Kansas (100)
15 Puzey 119 10 119 10 Ark.-Pine Bluff (42)
16 Jil Bircher (2) 118 27 198 35 Duke (77)
16 Kevin Kelly (3) 118 29 198 37 Kentucky (165)
18 The Boss 117 27 197 35 Kentucky (122)
19 Kevin Kelly (1) 116 27 172 35 Kansas (152)
19 Peff 116 19 124 21 BYU (37)
21 Jess Clark 112 26 132 30 Kansas (150)
22 Mike Kelly 108 27 180 34 Syracuse (164)
23 Haggis 107 23 183 30 Kentucky (130)
24 tim kelly 99 25 163 30 Syracuse (135)
25 Hollie Downs 98 25 206 36 Syracuse (133)

Oh, Kansas, Where Art Thou?

2010-03-21T01:24:00.004-06:00

R Name Score Correct BestScore BestCorrect
1 Dawnell Moon (2) 162 27 266 42
2 Fatdaddy 141 26 249 44
3 Brian Beebe 131 24 255 42
4 Moe 126 26 196 42
5 Jason Anderson 124 26 254 46
6 Anne Taylor 123 26 259 47
7 Jen Clark 121 25 165 37
8 Mandy Kelly 120 23 236 41
9 Jil Bircher (1) 119 18 155 25
9 Puzey 119 10 119 10
11 Jil Bircher (3) 118 23 194 39
12 Dawnell Moon (1) 114 25 226 44
13 Kevin Kelly (2) 113 25 173 38
14 Peff 112 17 124 21
15 Squizzles 111 25 191 43
16 Corbin Taylor 110 24 190 42
17 The Boss 107 22 201 37
18 Jil Bircher (2) 106 21 200 36
18 Kevin Kelly (1) 106 22 176 37
18 Kevin Kelly (3) 106 23 200 38
21 Jess Clark 104 22 150 35
22 Haggis 101 20 201 35
23 Mike Kelly 98 22 198 39
24 tim kelly 89 20 165 31
25 Hollie Downs 86 19 214 39

I went two for eight today.

Ouch.

Beebe got one of eight.

Eeep.

Beckett...got six of eight. His lead is back to 21.

Wow.

Just send the kid his prize already. What a boat race. Jeez, Dawnell. Why didn't you tell us the boy's nickname was "the Greek"?

****Editor's Note
I once heard a very good bit of advice, but I don't remember where. It was this. "Never play pool, darts, poker, or gamble in any way against a man who is nicknamed after a place or a body type...ie Slim, Fats, Skinny, Tubby, Minnesota, Tex, or Boston. This is doubly true for someone whose nickname is a combination of both. If a guy named Slim Tex wants to play poker, Run!!!
****

Jason moved past Mandy, thus avoiding a visit from Vince and Jerry; at least until tomorrow night. That's about the extent of the good from last night.

I thought BYU did a good job of playing respectable basketball. It was pretty clear that K State was going to get away with whatever muggings they wanted to (Two KSU players run into the same screen and BYU gets called? Really?), but the Cougars adjusted pretty well and kept it a lot closer than most folks thought. I'm not disappointed. Especially when I look at what they have coming back next year. Good things are coming to Cougar Bball. At least I no longer have to listen to "One and Done" chants from a certain, unspecified fan base.

K State's victory combined with Kansas choking to death and Georgetown's mighty collapse to decimate my picks. Suddenly one side of my bracket looks as empty as the inside of my skull. Bad news.

For this update, I left two extra numbers on; both the score and the number of correct picks plus the number of correct picks still possible in each player's bracket and what score they could achieve if they get all the rest of it correct.

No post tomorrow, but I'll be back on Monday.
Enjoy your Sunday.

A New Haiku

2010-03-20T17:49:00.003-06:00

Kansas plays asleep.
Farukmanesh chucks daggers.
Brackets all deflate!!!

So much devastation. So very, very funny.

"You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The biggest is to get involved in a land war in Asia. Only slightly less well known is to never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line!!! And last...Never, I repeat never, pick the Jayhawks when they are a one seed. Five or higher is ok, but one? Never!!"
Vizzini the Sicilian, "The Princess Bride"

I told you all when Georgetown destroyed my bracket. The Kansas Jayhawks are the biggest chokers of all chokers. Somewhere, Danny Manning is puking into a hotel garbage can.

Oh, please. Let it be a state thing! Let the Wildcats follow their state bretheren into bracket obscurity!

PS, Villanova and the Big Least weren't at all over rated, were they?

Chasing Tricycle Motors

2010-03-20T10:52:00.004-06:00

I suppose that the writer of the "Destroying Angels" blog should not be stunned by the capabilities of a three year old. And yet...my nephew's miraculous run continues to astound. Thanks to my "brilliant" idea of granting an "Upset Special" bonus for the first round, we are still chasing a tricycle motor to glory.

Beckett managed to pull ten out of sixteen games, which is one less than his first day efforts but is still respectable enough for him to start wearing a plaid sports coat while appearing on ESPN "the Ocho" in commercials encouraging viewers to "Call my number right now to get my patented 'Diamond plated, five star, iron-clad' lock of the week! Only $29.99 a minute!"

I, myself had a better than respectable day, going 13 for 16. You can add the Pac 10 to the list of things I hate about the tourney. Two wins for a conference that sucked out loud during the season? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!!Thanks a heap Cal and Washington. My flier on Sienna also cost me, but none of them beyond the next round.

Didn't matter though, as the bonus points relegated my view to only the back of Beckett's curly head. I cut his lead over me from 24 to 13, but the kid has a gift and we'll all be lucky to catch him. I'm really sweating my BYU pick this morning.

At least the "Upset" bonus is off.

Brian Beebe had perhaps the best day of anyone, going from 9 picks and 47 points to 23 correct for 129 points. That's 14 out of 16 correct for a Beckett-like 82 points. 14 out of 16? Really? Are you sure you didn't let your son make your picks?

Puzilla's method of straight underdogs paid off handsomely in the first round. Even though only 10 of 32 games were won by 'dogs, the bonus points blasted her into a tie for fifth.

Squizzle, on the other hand, stuck to the favorites and got a hefty 22 correct (not bad for a kid who drools and can only say "numm!"), but his complete lack of bonus points relegated him to the middle of the pack. He's tied for 14th.

It will be very interesting to see how the lack of bonus points and the usual trend for fewer upsets in the later rounds will affect these two in the standings.

A quick shout to my sister-in-law, who continues to shine in a very respectable fifth place, despite her amateur standing. And to my cousin Holly. She may be in 25th place, but she is still killing her bum brothers by a whopping 17 correct picks. Way to go Holly! Tell them they can expect a "visit" from Vince and Jerry at any time.

Speaking of Vince and Jerry...Corbin, Jason, and Jess; you are all still getting whooped by your significant others. I would not be pandering to my target demographic if I didn't call you out for some public humiliation (insert smiley face here). Perhaps we can offer a pair of cards good for free combo meals at the golden arches for any wife who drops a hammer on her hubby? We can call it "The Boss Bonus". I'll put up a poll.

Here's the full rundown of the first two days.

Standings after the First Round

R Team Points Correct
1 Dawnell Moon (2) 150 21
2 Fatdaddy 137 24
3 Brian Beebe 129 23
4 Moe 120 23
5 Jil Bircher (1) 119 18
5 Puzey 119 10
7 Mandy Kelly 118 22
8 Jason Anderson 116 22
9 Anne Taylor 115 22
9 Jen Clark 115 22
11 Jil Bircher (3) 112 20
12 Peff 110 16
13 Dawnell Moon (1) 108 22
14 Kevin Kelly (2) 105 21
14 Squizzles 105 22
16 Corbin Taylor 104 21
17 The Boss 103 20
18 Jil Bircher (2) 102 19
18 Kevin Kelly (1) 102 20
18 Kevin Kelly (3) 102 21
21 Jess Clark 100 20
22 Haggis 97 18
23 Mike Kelly 94 20
24 Tim kelly 85 18
25 Hollie Downs 82 17

Good luck to everyone for today, and Go Cougars!!!

And A Little Child Shall Lead Them

2010-03-19T09:18:00.003-06:00

Standings

Thanks to a BRUTAL day of upsets, most of us took somewhat of a beating. And just like I told you, the winners for the day were those who tossed sports acumen out the window and went with what they liked.

And the result...

The winner on the first day is a three year old who managed to tag 11 out of 16 games including Old Dominion, St Mary's and the Murray State upsets. And before you laugh, it could have been worse. If Villanova hadn't managed a last second Heimlich maneuver to prevent itself from choking to death and San "Go" Diego "Go" had hit their desperation three at the buzzer, my three year old nephew would have popped 13 of 16 games and been whipping us all by a landslide too steep to think about. Congratulations Beckett. We bow before thy prognostication prowess!!

I imagine your old man will be pointing this one out to the boys at the office, huh?

It gets better.

The top five is a who's who of college basketball neophytes. In second place is my seven year old daughter Puzilla; who picked nothing but underdogs for the whole tournament. While she only got 7 of 16 right (which is a pretty amazing cover for the 'dogs) the "upset special" bonus for the first round has her sitting just one point back of Beckett. Peff sits next in third, with ten correct picks and an 81. Astonishing results for a child who based most of his picks on which mascot was capable of eating the other one.

In fourth place is my sister in law who based her picks on what she could remember of basketball from when she was at Utah State in the 90's. Hence she did take a shot to the bracket when UNLV got punched in the face, but is still doing quite well for someone who hasn't even watched a game since Tark the Shark was piling up NCAA violations to go with his championship. She picked ten of sixteen for 74 points.

Yours truly was feeling quite good about himself, calling the Old Dominion smack down of Notre Dame, hitting a much needed BYU triumph (was JFred the man or what?), and then...and then the proverbial excrement went into the oscillator.

Thank you ever so much, Georgetown. I have always hated your crummy university and your arrogant, classless ball teams; but I saw you play on TV the other day, and you looked soooo good and no one could stop talking about you and your first round game was against a team the was a nine seed in their CONFERENCE tournament, and...and...and you were in the same bracket as Kansas. The worst chokers in the history of all chokers. You had a walk to the Final Four! How in the name of all that is decent on earth could you look ever so good a week ago and today....AGHHH!!!

Allow me to express my downfall in the form of a Haiku:

'Zo was a Hoya
Ewing and AI were too.
I still hate them all!!!

Or as Captain George Taylor so memorably puts it in "Planet of the Apes"(and I really think he was talking about my bracket here):

"You Maniacs! You Blew it up! Oh, Damn you! Damn you all to hell!"

I still got 11 for 16 (tied for most with Beckett), but my 61 points has me well off the pace, and now one whole side of my bracket has been laid waste.

"Let the name of Georgetown be stricken from every temple, monument and obelisk. Let no man speak the name lest they be taken in treason. Let no one ever pick them again. Place no trust in their seeding. Have no faith in their bracket. So let it be written...So let it be done!"
Pharaoh Fatdaddy the First

We shan't mention the bottom dwellers at this juncture; today is another day, with upset specials galore. Though for honor sake, it should be mentioned that several husbands should probably be cooking dinner for their much better halves tonight. I'd like to be a fly on the dining room wall in a few places when these scores get posted!

Group Standings
R Team Score Correct
1 Dawnell Moon (2) 85 11
2 Puzey 84 7
3 Peff 81 10
4 Jil Bircher (1) 74 10
5 Fatdaddy 61 11
6 Jil Bircher (3) 60 10
7 Anne Taylor 56 10
8 Kevin Kelly (2) 54 10
9 Jen Clark 53 10
9 Jil Bircher (2) 53 9
11 Jason Anderson 50 10
12 Dawnell Moon (1)49 10
12 Moe 49 10
14 Brian Beebe 47 9
15 The Boss 46 9
16 Hollie Downs 43 8
16 Kevin Kelly (3) 43 9
16 Mike Kelly 43 9
19 Haggis 39 8
19 Squizzles 39 9
21 Jess Clark 37 8
22 Kevin Kelly (1) 36 8
23 Mandy Kelly 32 8
24 Corbin Taylor 31 8
25 tim kelly 26 7

PS I really don't mind that Georgetown blew up my bracket. It was worth it to see those pompous cretins get popped in the schnozz. If only Robert Morris could have held on....

What Time Is It?

2010-03-18T09:25:00.002-06:00

It's Game Time, Baby!!!

There are very few days each year when I feel blessed to be a worthless layabout. Usually I am wracked with guilt and angst that my wife is doing all the bread winning, while I play with four year olds.

Today...Not so much. I am a football guy through and through. I'll watch any football that comes on TV, NFL, College, High school, Indoor, Canadian, Pee-wee, whatever. Since I spent winters barricaded in a wrestling room for the first half of my life, Basketball (to me) was mostly the sport for kids that didn't have the guts to go out for wrestling.

I'll watch Jazz games if they are on, but if it isn't Utah, I'll just catch the scores later. Beyond the way the results affect the Jazz, I could care less about the rest of the NBA. Kobe and LeBron could collide at mid court and implode into a Charles Barkley clone, and I'd never know unless they showed it during a Jazz game.

But NCAA? I like the madness. I love watching underdogs take down the big timers. I think it's because I like fair play and I think that hard work pays better than a sense of entitlement. So it's fun to see some self-important, media darling program like North Carolina miss the tourney altogether, while Middle Tennessee State gets in.

When I think how wonderful a March Madness style tournament could be for football, it warms my heart. But there, the self-important, media darling teams have hijacked the game away from the NCAA and it galls me. For my money, it is the only point that Basketball wins over football.

So for a couple of days, I am glad to be a stay at home, bum of a husband. Because I get to watch the games.

As for the Challenge, a couple of things. First, I love my cousin Holly, but I can't believe her brothers are going to let her take down their house championship without filling out a bracket. I'm going to send Holly an email full of taunts, teases, and insulting heckles that she can use to make fun of you two. And Holly...I always did like you best(insert smiley face here).

Second, Squizzle is really smart, so his bracket is the test for what happens when you pick only the favorite according to seed. Puzilla is the champion of the underdog, so her bracket is the test for what happens should the lower seed always win,

Thanks to everyone who has entered, I will try to get some kind of prize for each of you, be it a Redbox rental, or a combo meal coupon, or something similar.

I'll post some updates later in the day, Happy Madness!

Happy Saint Patricks Day!

2010-03-17T13:08:00.003-06:00

Top o' the mornin' to ya! Everybody got their green on? Good. Fatdaddy has great affinity for Saint Patricks Day; for reasons that may be clearer to some than others. It's a day where everyone can feel as lucky as the Irish. Here's a few of my favorite Irish jokes to make your day a little greener. (Relax,PC police. I'm mostly Irish with a little bit of Scot and Dane mixed in so I'm allowed to make fun of my self)

Whats the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish Wake?
There's one less drunk at the Wake.

Why did God create Whiskey?
So the Irish wouldn't take over the universe.

An Irishman goes to Switzerland to climb the Matterhorn. He and the guide get caught in an avalanche and are buried up to their waists in snow and ice. The Swiss guide tells the Irishman not to worry, and then blows a small whistle hanging from his coat. After a few minutes, a huge Saint Bernard comes running up the hill with the traditional keg of brandy tied around his neck.
"Now, that is truly man's best friend!" says the guide.
"Yep" says the Irishman. "and can ya believe the size of the dog that they have deliverin' it?"

What's long and green and sways back and forth?
The Saint Patrick's Day Parade

An old Irish dad calls his son in prison and says, "What shall I do? With you and your brother in English Prisons, I've no one to spade the garden this year and I'll have no potatoes."
The son replies "Geez, Da'! Ya know ya can't be diggin' up the garden! That's where we hid the guns!"
The next day, English soldiers surround the house and spend all day digging up the garden with heavy equipment. Finding nothing, the finally give up and leave after searching the house and likewise, finding nothing.
The Da calls his son again and says "What was all that about guns in the garden? The English spent all day digging up the yard and they didn't find a thing."
"I know Da. Now shut up and plant yer potatoes."

An Irish-American Judge has been getting drunk every night for weeks. His wife tells him that if he gets drunk one more time, she's going to leave him. He promises to stay sober, and life goes on. But then comes Saint Paddy's day. The Judges friends all expect him to go out and knock down a few, but the wife has her foot firmly down. Luckily, the wife's sister calls her from out of town on the day before Saint Paddy's and asks for a few days of help. The wife agrees to go but tells the judge, "Remember, no more drinking. If you do, I'll divorce you and tell the press what a lousy drunk you are."
As soon as she leaves, the judge is out the door.
After an indeterminate amount of barhopping passes, the judge wakes to find that it is seven thirty on the day after the holiday and he is due in court in less than half an hour.
He looks at himself and wonders what he had been doing while drinking because he is in full court regalia, and covered in vomit. He strips down, showers, shaves, gets dressed, and grabs a fresh black robe from the closet. In his car, he realizes that he has forgotten to wash his soiled clothes and they are still sitting in a filthy pile on the bathroom floor. He has no time to turn around and the wife will be home before he is done with work.
Panicked, he concocts a brilliant alibi.
When the wife calls at noon, the Judge calls a recess and goes to his chambers. The wife is screaming bloody murder from the moment he picks up the phone,
"You lousy drunk! I saw your clothes! It's over between us, I can't trust you at all!"
Calmly the judge spins his alibi.
"Sweetheart. Please don't be upset with me, I wasn't drinking. You see, the first case on my docket this morning, as it usually is on the day after Saint Patrick's Day, was for public intoxication. The man was clearly still inebriated, and just before I could sentence him to a fine, he ran toward the bench and vomited all over me and my desk. So I came home and changed clothes, but didn't have time to wash the dirty ones. You'll be pleased to know that I changed his sentence and gave him thirty days."
The wife pauses for a moment and says "Oh. I didn't know that. But tell me, dear. How much more time is he going to get when you realize that he messed your drawers as well?"

And last, my personal favorite...
An Irishman, an Englishman and an American are walking down a country road near Galway. It's a dry, dusty day and they decide they need to stop for a drink at the next pub they come to.

Sadly, the next pub is a rundown, filthy hut that is hardly more than a barn. In desperate need of a drink, the three go in and order a pint. The barkeep, who looks to be a thousand years old, slowly fills three glasses and sets them on the warped and stained board that serves as a bar. They pay and the American picks up his glass to drink.

"What the...There is a FLY IN MY BEER!!" he roars. He tips his glass over, spilling beer and fly all over the bar and loudly demands a fresh beer in a clean glass.

The Englishman is appalled by his friend's lack of tact and manners, yet he, too, finds a fly swimming in his glass. In an attempt to show some dignity, he casually reaches into the cup with his thumb and forefinger and plucks the fly from his barley water and sets it gently on the counter. As the fly shakes off the beer and takes off, the Englishman picks up the warm, flyless beverage and drinks.

Having seen the conditions of his two friends' drinks, the Irishman is already on full alert. He picks up his glass, and sure enough, finds a fly happily floating in the beer.

Enraged, the Irishman's face turns red, and his whole body begins to shake. With trembling hands, he slowly reaches into the glass and snatches the fly out by the wings. Muttering profanity under his breath the Irishman grabs the fly's legs with his other hand and screams, "Spit it out you little B@$#!@%!!! That's mine, and if you drink another drop, I'll pull your lousy wings off, you freebooter!"

Ok, enough. Happy Saint Patrick's day to all of you. Don't forget that you still have time to fill out a bracket for the Fatdaddy Bracket Challenge. Just don't wait much longer, the deadline in tomorrow at 9 am mountain time. No experience is necessary. I have one bracket that predicts BYU versus the Woofie dogs (Wofford) and another that is "B" is for Beckett (Baylor) versus "go Diego, go" (San Diego State). Usually the winner is someone who just guesses blindly.

Now I'm gonna go take some Nyquil and try not to cough up a lung.

Away From the Things of Man- Day 3- Off At Sea

2010-03-16T11:46:00.011-06:00

It has been warming up considerably here for the last few days and Spring is on it's way. I personally prefer winter (I can always put on a jacket or get a blanket but there are only so many clothes a guy like me can remove before someone calls the cops), but spring is nice.

Nice...except for the rotten allergies. And yesterday I knew I was in trouble. I figured whatever it was I was reacting to was something pretty awful because I downed some allergy pills and did nothing for the symptoms but did manage to make me dizzy (alright...dizzier) and somewhat incoherent (OK, OK)...more incoherent than usuall. Happy now? Smart alec readers.....

Not to be graphic, but usually a runny nose does not actually run. I gave up trying to dab at it with tissues and just stuffed some tissues up my nose and started mouth-breathing. The kids thought it was hilarious but the Boss was less than impressed with my homeade remedy. At least my nose doesn't feel like it has been dragged over asphault from constantly wiping with tissues. Remind me to be a little more patient next time Squizz needs his face washed and he's not cooperative...

I still feel pretty crappy. My sinuses have packed up and left their posts, my throat feels like I swallowed battery acid and my face feels like a half inflated helium ballon, but I will soldier on in the name of the blog.

Time for more happy vacation memories!!! I can almost taste the non-alcoholic fruity umbrella drinks. Mmmmm....

Day three was a sea day. We woke up at our accustomed time but waking up at six thirty Mountain time is eight thirty Eastern time, so it felt like we slept in (sort of).

When we had gone to bed, the water depth was about 600 feet and when we woke up, the bottom had fallen out of the ocean. 11,000 feet. That is a LOT of water. The map showed us passing some little islands, but we never did catch sight of them.

We went up for breakfast at the lido deck buffet. I had hashbrowns, bacon, ham, and a Bagel with OJ to drink. The Boss had French toast, eggs, ham, bacon and OJ. It was typical buffet food, tasty, but nothing I'd call gourmet. After breakfast, we went out and wandered around the deck. The temperature had shot up at least ten degrees overnight and though it was warm, the skies were overcast and the wind was ABLOWIN'! We went out to the nose of the ship and shot some pictures.

As we got toward the front, I was got a picture of the wheelhouse, though the "action" seemed to be on the other side, where the curtains were drawn.

The wind was blowing between 25 and 35 mph all day long so not many people were hitting the pool, though the hot tubs were usually full. We just walked around snapping pictures and noticing the change in the water color from Galeveston. When we left the water was the color of clay, but here in the middle of the Gulf it was a very dark blue that seemed to sparkle or even glow turquoise when it was rolled up in the ship's wake. We went out to the little deck that looked like a snubbed off wing and found a gyroscope and a compass, as well as a very nice view along the side of the boat. It seemed like we were just above the water surface from this spot, but when you look at the pictures I took from off the boat in port, you can see that it is really about five or six stories up.

After a nice long walk and half an hour in the deck chairs with a smoothie or two, we decided it was too windy to stay out on deck trying to read. We had lunch in our room because if room service is free, you use it. I had a steak and brie sandwich on a french roll and it was not nearly as good as it sounds. The boss had a portabello sandwich with mozzarrella that she said was pretty good. Choclate cake was dessert, and it was far and away the very best part of the meal.

I had wanted to surprise the Boss with a little something from the spa, but the only appointment she could get for her pedicure was at three o'clock, right in the middle of the Coke sponsored slot turnament. So after lunch she went to get her feet rubbed and I went to the casino to sign up. When I got there I found out that they had a hundred and fifty people there to play and only five machines so they were making appointments to come back and play at a later time. I talked to the travel agent who was running the show and asked if I could sign up for myself and the Boss to come back together. Not knowing how long a pedicure takes, I signed us up for the last time available before the finals at six.

This turned out to be a bad idea. I went back to the room and read until the Boss got done. We went up to the Casino and found that the tournament was already closed. They had gotten to the last people in line and not thought to check the later sign up times and forgot we were coming at six. I was disappointed but the gal in charge felt really bad about it and promised that she'd find us something to make up for it. She was more than slightly toasted though and completely forgot about it.

I cried and cried and cried. Here I was stuck on this giant boat with nothing but free fruity umbrella drinks and free food whenever you wanted it and nothing to do but go to dance clubs (OK, not really my cup of tea) and bingo games and a casino and shows and pools...and I couldn't play in a slots tournament. I was SO upset. It completely ruined my trip.

I've gone blind, my brother got killed, I'm broke as a two bit watch, and my college degree is as useless as a two legged hunting dog. But the worst thing that has ever happened to me was missing that slot tournament.

I may never recover.

The Boss helped me start the process by taking me over to a penny machine and throwing in twenty bucks. I took a picture of the machine because as soon as I saw it, I thought of my cousin Traci, who is another "Great Scot". So this one is for her.

It had sheep and floppy hats and golf clubs and bagpipes that would shoot sheep out of them if they lined up as a winner. If you got three Loch Ness monsters on a pay line, you got to go to the bonus where you could choose which monsters to take pictures of. Depending on the monster and the number of pictures you won, you got paid big bucks.

****Editor's Note
Keep in mind, it's a penny machine. You hit a really big bonus and you win ten dollars. I like to play but I'm not much of a gambler. I don't have the money. But there is something to be said for jumping up and down and hollering like your ship came in at a casino. People think you just won hundreds or thousands, and all you really got was ten bucks. You cheer and holler and carry on, and even if you lose, you can play on a penny machine for practically ever on twenty bucks. That's not much more than you'd pay to see a movie. Think of it like this...if you went to a grocery store you expect to hand them money and so you aren't sad if you do. But if someone said "You just chose the right aisle to walk down, here's ten bucks!" would you walk away sad? Didn't think so. Ten bucks is worth cheering about.
****

I have to admit that my heritage and cultural pride was stung a little. I saw that there was a Great Scot Machine and a Leprechaun Luck machine. This was OK by me. Celebrate the stereotypes that are me; says I.

But the fact that between the two was a "filthy rich little piggies" machine made me wonder.

Irish, Scots, and Filthy Piggies? Just what, exactly were they trying to say here?
I was really offended until the Boss lined up Nessie and we walked away up fifty five bucks. Not bad for an hours work. Fifty bucks an hour is more than I've ever made. As long as they kept doubling my money, they could make whatever disparaging remarks about my heritage that they wanted. I was the one laughing.

Well, as much as I'd like to finish today, I've got to go get ready for class, so the formal dinner will have to wait till later.

Stupid Technology, Stupid Eyes, Stupid Fatdaddy

2010-03-15T19:10:00.003-06:00

Ok, so along with being visually impaired, apparently I am technologically impaired as well. The link I had previously posted was not working. Hopefully now that the Boss came home from work, did some editing, and added a new link, we will be in business.

You can use the updated url in the post below or click on the link now posted on the sidebar under ncaa brackets. All other instructions still apply and the group password is still maggie42.

If you have any other problems or questions let me know. If all else fails you can email me your picks and I will add you as an offline player.

I will try to keep a leader board updated throughout out the tourney so you all know when to cheer really hard for that upset.

Thanks again for playing. I hope you all have a great time!

Fatdaddy's Madness!!!

2010-03-15T10:49:00.004-06:00

Welcome to "Fatdaddy's Bracket Challenge".

Below is a link that will take you to the group's homepage on CBS sportsline. Their bracket manager is free, pretty easy to fill out and follow, and should work for what we need. You will have to create a user for the site, but all they want is a username (make sure I can tell who you are, or you won't get the prizes), and a valid e-mail.

It will let you fill out up to three brackets per account so your spouse, kids or whoever can also play on one e-mail but I'd like to keep it to one bracket per person. If you have more than three people that want to play, you'll have to set up another CBS account under a different email to get another three brackets. We tried to allow more so a whole family could have a bracket on just one email, but three was the max allowable. Sorry if this makes it more difficult.

Please don't feel that you have to have some knowledge of college hoops to play. My kids usually kick my butt and they have some pretty odd ways of picking winners. Peff goes with knicknames he likes; and of course, BYU wins it all on his bracket every year because they are his team. Thanks to the Sunday school song "I Love to See the Temple", he had a real dilemma when he was forced to choose between BYU and Temple this year, and he better hope that Wofford plays out of their heads, because he has the "woofies" going to the final four.

The girls will pick based on uniform color, mascot,or funny school name, and The Boss watches press conferences to see what coaches are criers, and then picks against them. However you pick, please play because I think it is much more fun with heavy participation. The winner will receive ten free passwords for Redbox DVD rentals, or if you live in an area without Redboxes, We'll find a suitable replacement prize.

Here's how it will score:

1st round is worth one point per game for each correct pick, plus a little twist. For the first round games only, we will have an "Upset Special" bonus score. If you have the guts to pick an underdog in the opening round, you will win not only the one point for the correct pick, but also bonus points that equal the seed of the winning team. For instance, if you pick a 12 seed team to upset a 5 seed, you will earn 1 point for the win plus 12 points for the seed of the winner, for a total of 13points. This means that even if you blow a whole day, one or two good upsets can keep you in the running.

2nd round worth two points per win

3rd round worth four points per win

4th round worth eight points per win

Semi-finals worth 16 points per win

Picking the Champion is worth 32 points

Any ties will be settled by the closest guess at the combined total score of the Championship game.

All picks must be made by 9:00 AM, Mountain Daylight Time on THIS THURSDAY, in order to participate! Don't delay!

Here's the link to our page, and the password. Once you are signed in, pick your bracket and just click on a team you think will win.

http://fdangels.mayhem.cbssports.com/e

The group password is maggie42

I'm still running some tests to make sure everything works, so if you can't sign up right away let me know in the comments and I'll see if I can fix it up!

Happy Picking, and good luck!

Squizzle the Bluebeard

2010-03-15T09:53:00.007-06:00

Morning, everyone!

I know I promised a Saturday posting and then failed to deliver. You can skip paying your subscription fee for a month to make up for it (where, again, is one of them smiley faces when I need one?).

The reason is that senor Squizzle has gone on a major developmental tear over the last few days and is causing a good deal of chaos.

For starters, he has developed his first verbal communication skill. "Nummmm". Which I am one hundred percent sure translates into "give me something to stuff in my mouth as soon as possible. And while your at it, is it too much to ask for a little snack? And get me some cheerios, I'm starving!"

I know, that seems like a lot of meaning for a single, monosyllabic tone; but the child has his Mother's good looks and his Old Man's gift of tongues.

But the reason I didn't post Saturday is that his motor skills have finally caught up with his curiosity, which pretty much means that he or I am a dead man. He was into EVERYTHING!!!

He tried to unload the dishwasher while I was loading it, resulting in something akin to a "Three Stooges" routine. Then he tried to eat dishwasher soap. Then he tried to play in the toilet (raise your hands if you've dealt with THAT one before; moms!). Then he figured out how to open the disc tray on the XBOX, but only after he decided that it made an acceptable substitute for a drum.

I was not pleased with any of these milestones, and spent a good portion of Saturday toddler proofing the house (again). I also moved my favorite toy to higher ground before it went the way of the dodo.

During the course of these chores, Squizzle said "Nummm" several times, one of which resulted in his big brother providing a delicious delicacy. Peff gave Squizz one of those blue, candy coated, robin's egg's that the Easter Bunny leaves every year.

Yes, I am aware that the Bunny has not made his trip yet, but the Boss, bless her heart, brought some home from work. They lasted slightly longer than my intentions to write a post on Saturday, but not long enough for me to get one. Looks like the boy enjoyed his though.

Lastly, Today I am going to start the First Annual "Fatdaddy's Destroying Angel Bracket Contest". It will be free to enter, and the grand prize will be ten free "Redbox" DVD rental codes. Check back later this morning for more information.

Well, gotta go, Squizzles is wandering around the kitchen chanting "Nummm!!" at the top of his lungs. I'm gonna need to get more groceries.

Best Idea Ever!!

2010-03-12T12:51:00.003-07:00

Just spent a few minutes cranking out the greatest lunch menu ever! Macaroni and Cheese with Kool-aide. It is very hard to top because it's cheaper than water and what kid won't eat Mac-n'-cheese?

But since I am a curious fellow and I like to experiment on my monkeys, I try to mix it up a little now and then. It's hard to mess up the classics and the more variety you can toss at 'em, the less bored they'll get with the cheap stuff.

Last week, I tried leftover breakfast bacon in the Mac and Cheese. I liked it; the kids thought it was poison. But today?

Today, I am a genius.

Macaroni and cheese mixed with Cheetos!! Don't ask me where I come up with this stuff, its like...a gift...or something. Why hasn't anyone ever thought to mix mac and cheese with Cheetos before? It's a perfect fit. They both use the same cheese like powdered substance for "flavor", so it's like adding extra cheese to the mac; plus, you get a little crunch for your munch. It's win-win!!

The kids loved it! Especially Squizzle, who seems to think it is better as war paint.

We had more red vines for dessert, as shown by Bub.

Sorry, Beak.

Kinda gives new meaning to the old saw about "eat it today, wear it tomorrow", don't it?

Lemon Trees

2010-03-12T09:58:00.003-07:00

It's alright. I'm cool again. Had to spend a couple days on the IR (that's the "injured reserve" to you non-sports fans), but the swelling has gone back down and the itchy, watery, burning sensations in my eye are diminishing. At least as much as they ever do. But hey, I didn't switch to Geico, and I still just saved myself a lot of money.

If I'd gone to the doc, he'd have charged me a fifty dollar co-pay, and then charged the insurance three hundred dollars for sticking a needle in my eye.

****Editor's Note
If I haven't mentioned it to you before, you want NO PART of that whole "cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye" crap. It's really not worth it. If my blindness is not the direct result of "soap poisoning"(it very well may be), then it is almost surely the fates coming back to bite me for all the times I used the "Cross my heart, mom! Hope to die...." line to get out of trouble I deserved. Needles in the eye hurt. A lot. Trust me. I've had more than a dozen. Whatever punishment a kid is headed for, it is absolutely less painful than a needle to the eye.
****

Shortly after this funtastic time playing pin the needle on my bull's eye, the doc would then tell me to come back in a week to "See where we are at". This would cost me another fifty bucks at which point he would say, "Well it's looking better. I know you still can't see very well, but it's getting better. Come back in two weeks."

Another fifty bucks and I'd be told we were almost ready to talk about transplanting the other eye, and to come back in another week. By then I'd be up to 200 dollars in co-pays in just over a month, and it would be about time to go back into rejection again, thus starting the cycle over again.

It's a lot more cost effective to just accept a day or two of misery (which is STILL better than the shots) and not spend a dime.

Who says health care isn't busted? And no; that does not mean I am in favor of the President's health care reform. Shifting the bill collectors from one bunch of crooks (insurance companies) to another (the government) is not a solution. After all, look at what a fantastic job the boys in Washington did when they took retirement programs over! Can't wait to see what they do to health care...

Anyway, two days later, and I'm no worse off than I was on Monday. I just have fewer debts.

And that's probably a good thing, because it's time to register the van again.

Speaking of throwing good money after bad lemons, do you know what's the difference between our car and my eye?

There's two. First difference? We can't survive with out the car. The eye is optional. Second difference? The eye actually works once in a while.

Allow me a moment to use the Internet to register my disgust.

****Editor's Note
You'd think I was in a bad mood this morning, but I'm not. I'm actually laughing my butt off thinking of all the snide, snarky things I can say about what's annoying me. I got my comedy mojo workin' again! It's been awhile. Enjoy!
****

If there is a bigger lemon in the car buying universe than the Dodge Caravan, I'm sure I would have bought it. But I bought the Caravan, so that is all you need to know about it's reliability. That two ton chunk of metal represents the single worst decision I have ever made in all my life; and that's coming from a guy who chose to cheer for the Chicago Cubs and who is known for occasionally smashing soda cans against his head.

We purchased the hunk of junk just before Peff was born. Waiting until we had to buy was our first mistake. We knew that with four kids, we could no longer smash into the sedan we were driving. We HAD to have a van. I was still working so we figured that having two cars would be a blessing for us (mistake #2). We looked around for a while, studying prices (a good idea), but mostly looking for the most cost effective purchase price.

My hindsight is twenty-twenty, even if my eyesight isn't; so I know now that I should have spent a little more time researching "cost of ownership" issues (mistake #3).

My dad had bought one of the original Caravans while I was in Taiwan on my mission and he owned it for five years. He had the transmission replaced six times. Yet for some reason, we went to the Dodge dealer anyway (mistake #4). I asked about the transmission issues and the salesman assured me with written reports that the trannie problem had been fixed.

Again with the hindsight, but I now realize that they must have fixed the transmission by stealing parts from the electrical, exhaust, and fuel systems.

We have owned this crap car for almost six years. Due to the um...questionable? service record of the Caravan, we were upside down in it almost before we drove it off the lot. Every year that we have owned it, we have had to make major repairs in order for it to pass safety inspection. The average is about $1,100 a year. This time we got off fairly easy. In order to make lemonade, we need:

Two new tires (I'm not kidding when I say that we change the tires on this car more often than we change the oil. I have literally lost count of the flats, blow outs and too worn to pass inspection tires we have replaced. Ten pairs is not an exaggeration. It's been balanced, aligned, rotated, you name it. The Caravan chews up tires like a big leaguer chews Redman.)

Both front end sway bars replaced (fortunately, not as scary as it initially sounded).

New brake light (at least that's cheap).

The emergency brake repaired

We won't count the fact that the bonehead inspector tried to unroll the passenger side power window which will probably never go back up. I missed feeling the breeze, so I'm not too upset, but the kids keep whining about 40 degree temperatures.

Wussies.

At least that won't cause it to fail inspection.

We got lucky and found a guy who will do the sway bars and the emergency brake for under a hundred bucks and the Boss found a couple of slightly used tires for fifty. The brake light is only about three bucks and I can do that myself (unless its the symptomatic result of some early stage, massive electrical system shut down. Don't laugh, it's entirely plausible. I give it even money odds).

If we throw in the fifty bucks to inspect it and the hundred and twenty five to register it; we're talking about three, three and a quarter to drive for another year. And that's getting off easy? Thank heaven our rainyday fund will be able to cover it (for once).

We finally got the heap of scrap paid off this year, but if you add up all the repair costs we've shot into it, we could have bought a brand new Honda or Toyota for less money and now had much, much more to show for it.

The good news is that when we buy a new car, I will feel no compunction whatsoever about not trading this heap in. They wouldn't give me a dime for it anyway. So I'm gonna park it in the drive way, wake up every morning and beat it with a sledgehammer until I can no longer swing. Then I'm gonna light a different part of it on fire each day just so I can pee on the flames (Sorry mom, it had to be written...too funny to pass up!). All my "fat guy aggression" will get channeled into that "quality" piece of...American engineering.

I can't wait!

PS: Speaking of waiting, I'll try to have more vacation up after Beak gets her kids this afternoon and I'll put up a special Saturday edition post tomorrow to make up for missing yesterday.

The Downward Spiral?

2010-03-09T09:33:00.003-07:00

It's been a pretty good year so far. It really has; and I feel like our life is turning upward and for the better. It dawned on me as I was typing last night's quick post about "Squizzle and the Paint Chips" that it has been a while since I was frustrated enough to rant and rave and say smart-mouth things (mostly).

While this is a VERY good thing, it has cut down on the funny posts quite a bit. I suppose that the old saw about humor being the stepchild of misery is probably true in my case. But there is something to be said for tranquility, and you may remember that not long ago I promised not to take good times for granted.

Hence my now weeklong project to document our vacation. I realize that this is probably boring most of you to tears, and I apologize if that is the case. But I did intend for this to be a journal of sorts, and heaven forbid that I record the times in my life when I feel blessed instead of put upon. I can't help it if it's not as funny. Rest assured that the bitter, raving, lunatic that is Fatdaddy is lurking just under the surface; waiting for the next disaster to unleash his scathing sarcasm and lethal irony onto the blank screen of my word processor.

Waiting for days like today...

Usually, I can hit the little magnifying glass on the bottom of my screen, blow things up to 150% and can see enough to type just fine. This morning, I woke up with the worst eye day I've had in years. My good eye was glued shut and it took a good half hour with hot water and towels just to get it open. It is all puffed up so that I'm even squintier (is that a word?) than usual and I can't see nothin'. I had to type this on Word with size 16 font and the screen blown up to 250, and I'm still having a heck of a time seeing what I'm doing. So typos and bad syntax probably abound. Sorry.

I can't really see the kids, but I can sure as heck hear them. Someone turned the "whine" dial up to 11 and it's starting to annoy me...A LOT!!! I'm still fighting that headache I wrote about last night, so the piercing tattle-tale voices of four year olds is causing my face to melt like that guy at the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark". On the good side, maybe my eyeballs will fall out like that dude's did, and I can get them replaced. Anyway, if you are a parent, you'll understand what I am talking about when I say that I have reached the point where the more they whine and complain to me, the less sympathetic I am likely to become.

I made scrambled eggs, they wanted cereal. I turned on Spongebob, they wanted to watch Max and Ruby. I put Squizzle in his chair, he wants to play on the floor. I want them to get dressed, they want to run around all day in their pajamas...

OK, I may give in to them on that one. But for the rest of it, I say tough tukas. It's a Fatdaddy way or the highway kinda day. Be obedient or be toast. I'm ready to go mythical on these runts.

"Look out, Odysseus, here comes the Cyclops!!!"

Wait a second. I don't like the way that one turned out for the cyclops. Bad example. Where's that $%#@ delete key...?

Anyway, IF I can get everyone settled back down and IF I can get my eye issues worked out enough to review pictures and IF I still have thirty seconds this afternoon, I'll try to put up more on the vacation.

In the mean time, I'm going to take some asprin and think happy thoughts. I'd just as soon mornings like this become the exception rather than the rule. Otherwise, I'll start running out of FedEx envelopes again.

Did You Live Under Power Lines as a Kid?

2010-03-08T20:34:00.003-07:00

Here's an emergency post from the "Wow-I-never-thought-I'd-have-to-say-that-to-one-of-my-kids" department.

Just got home from the grocery store. While at Wal-mart, we had done a little pipe-dreaming in the paint section on the off chance that we can do a little improvement in the upstairs bathroom. We looked at a few different colors and then went about our grocery shopping. Squizzle felt that he had been pushed about as far as he was willing to go and by the time we got him through the line and out to the van, he was, as my father likes to say, "a bear with a sore butt".

Excedrin headache number twelve was blooming at the base of my shriveled brain stem and this bear was feeling a little chapped himself. The boss buckled him in and in an effort to keep him from splitting my skull, handed him some spare papers from her pocket. The boy got quiet and by the time we got home, he was silent.

We pulled into the drive, got out of the car and started to bring in the groceries. I was just opening the tailgate when I hear Haggis say "Squizzles, why are you eating paint chips?"

It seems one of the papers the Boss gave him to keep him quiet was one of the sample paint cards. The boy felt that it was pretty good eatin'.

All I can do is shake my head. As if the boy didn't have enough challenges in the brain department with me as his old man.

Chew away, Squizzle. Just stay out from under those powerlines.

What's Bub Doing?

2010-03-08T12:52:00.003-07:00

Me(finishing my vacation post for this morning): Hey Peff, what's Bub up to?
Peff (Playing Lego Batman): I think he's dead.
Me:Huh?
Peff:He was playin' with me, but now he's out.
Me: Yeah...I guess you could say that. Where's the camera?

Away From the Things of Man Day 2-Mardi Gras and Dinner

2010-03-08T10:38:00.009-07:00

Well, that weekend shot by like it came out of a rifle, didn't it? The "jet lag" caught up with the Boss and I on Saturday night and we slept right through the alarm on Sunday morning. Oops. I do now have significantly more energy to face the horde this morning though and I need it. The Angels have been into everything and they have been playing the divide and conquer game to perfection.

Let's say I needed to change and dress Squizzle but the diapers are downstairs. I took him down and trusted that the quality cartoon entertainment was enough to prevent disasters. As usual, I am mistaken. Bub finds the package of cookies left on the counter from making the girl's lunches. Reaggers and Peff pile all the couch cushions and pillows onto the living room floor and pull the dinning room chairs into the living room to serve as "tent poles" for their "Fort".

I set Squizzle down and try to wipe pink crumbs off Bub's face, while Peff and Squizzle decide that this is an excellent time to sample Squizzle's favorite delicacy; red licorice. Ever see what a one year old does with a piece of red licorice? He looks like a Picasso clown. I was so irritated that I threw him into the tub without taking a picture first. DOH!!!!

I now have the "fort" picked up, Squizzle washed off and in his chair, and the rest of the runts are dressed and upstairs fighting over the toy Nerf guns. I might get a minute to finish up Day 2.

Uh-hu. Here goes...

After lunch, we could go check out our rooms, and I have to say that for a inside (no window) room on a boat, it was not bad. It was clean; much bigger than I was expecting and didn't feel very claustrophobic at all.

The bathroom was a little on the small side but very clean and all the fixtures were working. Frankly it was a step up from the joint we stayed at in Houston; even if it was a little (OK a lot) smaller. I started thinking about how many rooms there were on the boat, and what a logistical nightmare the plumbing must be. Trying to cram all those pipes for every bathroom, plus the electrical for each room, air conditioning, not to mention all the space needed for normal boat operations...I bet there isn't three square inches of wasted space on a boat like that.

They had a behind the scenes tour of the boat that I thought would have been really cool to take, but it was seventy bucks a pop. I might have a curious nature, but I'm way too cheap to blow that kind of cash on a walking tour. Besides, they did have a TV channel in the room that was devoted to all kinds of trivia about how the ship worked. It showed the engine rooms (very cool), the electrical generators (enough juice to light up West Jordan), and the desalination plant. They also used waste heat from the generators to heat the water, so it was pretty much impossible to run out of hot water. Some very interesting info.

One of the other channels had information about the boat's navigation, like position, speed, wind direction, course, and ocean depth. I tried to get pics in the morning and before bed that would show where we were, or if the wind was blowing really hard or if the water was extra deep. I thought it might be like a kind of passengers log.

We got unpacked and then headed up to the Mardi Gras party that Coke was throwing for our group. We got cokes and hors d'oeuvres (What an asinine way to spell a word) and they tossed cheap plastic beads at us. The Boss and I hunted down as many strands as we could because, hey...Free treats for the girls!!! I also got to wear a ridiculous foil "snitch" hat.

They played a scavenger hunt game but we didn't come close to winning. The food was good and it was fun to watch others make dopes of themselves.

When it was over, we went to dinner in the dining room. I had a duck salad (really good; it was cold, smoked duck and tasted a little like ham), a tasty steak with garlic mashed potatoes and curried carrots, and Blackforest cake for dessert.

The Boss had broccoli cheese soup (she said it was OK but more broccoli than cheese which is actually an unforgivable sin) BBQ ribs, and cheesecake for dessert. The cheesecake was a real disappointment, apparently. Almost everyone at the table ordered it and not one person finished their piece. It had a funny taste that no one was very impressed with. The one thing that the Boss was looking most forward too, and they blew it. Oh well. Overall, dinner was a thumbs up from me and a neutral from the Boss. We said our goodnights, and went to bed, but not before I caught the tail end of the US whooping up on the Fins in Hockey. We also found that our room steward, in a Carnival cruise tradition, had done a turndown service, leaving mints, a schedule for the next day's activities, and a towl animal. The first night it was this sealion with sunglasses

It was not a bad way to spend a day. And I enjoyed every second of it.

Pictures of the Ecstacy, Leaving the Pier

2010-03-05T14:17:00.004-07:00

Pictures of Galveston Harbor

2010-03-05T13:04:00.010-07:00

This is the loading area for the boat. They had two huge tanker trucks pulled up in here pumping deisel when we were getting on the ship via the ramp you can see in the distance. I don't even want to think about the fuel bill for this beastie!

From the roof of the boat looking forward. Doesn't seem that high up until you look at the pictures of the ship from ground level. The wind was really whipping up here.

Away From the Things of Man-Day 2, Boarding

2010-03-05T08:41:00.013-07:00

Reaggers and Bub are back this morning, and thanks to parent/teacher conferences, the girls are home as well.

Moe just came down from bed and asked me, "Are these kids this noisy every morning?"

I just laughed at her.

"Come on, guys! Let's go up to my room and play the 'quiet game'!" she said.

Bless her innocent heart! Good luck with that one, kiddo. I admire your spunk. Let me know how it turns out.

Alright, back to warm memories. I'll need them today, as we woke up to half a foot of white stuff on the lawn.

I swear I was standing on a pier this week in 90 degree weather.

Now I will say this for the hotel we stayed at. The office chair was like a perpetual motion machine. I sat down and gave it my customary spin and honestly, I haven't spun that much since me and Uncle B tried to make ourselves barf on the teacups at disneyworld ten years ago. That was one well packed set of bearings. If nothing else, they get high marks for free spinning office chairs.

We slept pretty well, and had no problem getting dressed and ready to go to breakfast before the eight thirty alarm even went off. We went down to the cafe and used our "cup'ns" for breakfast. I had an apple danish, orange juice, and because I was in the South; biscuits and gravy. Not bad, but the gravy was in serious need of Tabasco and salt.

The Boss had french toast, hash browns and OJ. We had a nice little chat with the manager who was a Rockets fan, and so I had to tease her a bit because I was wearing my Jazz hat.

We went for a little walk around the hotel but it was dang windy and the Boss forgot her jacket, so we beat a hasty retreat back to the room to make sure we were ready to go. We sat in the lobby for a bit and then the buses showed up to take us to Galveston. There were perhaps a hundred people in our group; a third from Utah and Colorado, and the rest from Texas, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. We loaded up the buses, and I fired up the camera.

Since we live in the huge bowl that is the Salt Lake Valley, our kids have no idea how flat the rest of the country is. I pulled out the camera and started snapping away to give them an idea of Houston geography. Flat, flat, flat. Real, live, horizons. And of course the obligatory shots of the stilt houses along the Galveston coast.

****Editors Note
Hey Blogger people: Do you folks realize what a pain in the rump your picture upload system is? Its taken me six months to figure out how to put a picture in the middle of a post, and I still can't get them to line up the way I want. Not to mention the five minute wait for EVERY download. What the crap is wrong with "Click and Point"?
****

We got to Galveston and saw the boat. I saw it first on the camera because it was still way too far for my bad eyes to make out. But the Boss worked out a nice system of taking pictures with the zoom lens and then I could see what she was talking about on the camera display. It was a neat little trick that we used most of the vacation.

By the way, see if you can guess which of the following pictures I took!

We got to the terminal and got our luggage to the porters while we began the long process of check-in, clearing security, and boarding. Most of that process is done in a no camera zone, so I didn't get many pictures, but I do have one funny story.

We had been very worried about our paperwork, particularly mine. I haven't been able to drive for several years and my license expired long ago. I hadn't ever needed ID for anything so I did not have one of the state issued ID cards.

We knew we were already on thin ice because we were sailing on birth certificates instead of passports. It turns out that you can ONLY do this if you are leaving and re-entering the US from the same port. But since we didn't have a passport, we had to make sure that all the other ducks were in a row. The old Fatdaddy luck kicked in and my ID card did not make it through the mail in time so all I had was the temporary paper ID and my birth certificate.

The travel agent told us we would be fine, but I know how my luck is so I had visions of waving to my wife as she sailed to Mexico, while I slept on a bench in the customs office of Galveston.

When we got to the check-in desk (after nearly an hour of wandering past various checkpoints and security stations) they looked at my papers and handed me my boarding pass. They looked at the Boss's papers and said something to the effect that since some of her ID had her maiden name and some of it her married name, she might have to provide extra ID to get back in to the country. Lucky for us the Boss had such ID, and it was not a problem. But I found it utterly hilarious that after all the worry over my ID, it was the Boss's that raised eyebrows.

We finally got on the boat around noon, but the rooms were not ready until one thirty. We went to the Lido deck where a reggae band was playing, and lunch was being served. I saved us a table while the Boss went to get us something to eat. I snapped a pic with my camera phone and sent it to Uncle T, who texted back that I was a jerk, but he wanted me to have fun anyway.

The Boss came back with Mongolian BBQ (which wasn't bad), goat cheese and mushroom pizza (which was probably the tastiest thing we ate all week), and big tall glasses of the previously saluted lemonade.

After lunch, we wandered around the boat taking pictures of the harbor, our boat, other boats, and a dry dock (Peff liked that one). I think that I'll post those on a seperate post below this one since they are sight seeing pics and don't require much explanaton.

Soon it was time to muster for the safety drills though thankfully we didn't have to actually put on life jackets or do life boat drills. Beak said that when she and Uncle C went to Alaska on their cruise they had to do all that stuff, and it took forever. We didn't have to do all that, but going to the muster station meant that I didn't get to watch us pull away from the dock. But as my sea-faring grandfather would say, it was "Anchors Aweigh!"

Away From the Things of Man-Day 1

2010-03-04T09:01:00.006-07:00

Alrighty then...I got my notebook out, my photo album up in another window, and I don't have Reaggers or Bub today. Squizzle is still sleeping (hallelujah!) and Peff is glued to the Lego Batman controls. So settle in for a nice long post.

Last Tuesday, I got done with class at 8:30, took the train to West Jordan and had Aunt M and Uncle J bring me home. The house was mostly picked up, but we still had to get everybody packed and all the last minute details worked out. By the time the kids were in bed and the Boss and I could get to work it was nearly 10. We finished packing at about 1 A.M, then had to print off the "permission to treat" forms, schedules, maps and phone numbers for who would have the kids and when.

It is at this point that I will once again give credit and thanks to those brave souls who were willing to increase their usual workload by five so that the Boss and I could do this. The Boss's sister, Aunt J and her husband Uncle D get thanks and love for accepting the difficult task of getting the kids to school and back each day, and housing them from Wednesday to Friday and then again Sunday night until we got home.

Aunt M and Aunt Beak took the kids for the weekend, in spite of the fact that it was Beak's anniversary on Sunday. If I had known that, I would have found alternative lodgings for my brood. Coming from a man who once bought a toilet snake for his anniversary and spent the day trying to remove the comb and two hot wheels cars that Peff had flushed down the toilet, I can say that Beak deserved better for her anniversary than keeping Destroying Angels from burning her house to the snowline.

While I'm on the subject, thanks to Uncles C and J for fixing a home repair problem while we were gone that had been bugging me for a while. You guys rock.

Also, My mother and Uncle T spent time with Squizzle and Peff on Friday and for that I thank them also. The Boss's Mother went with Haggis (AKA the Eldest) to her young women's "new beginnings night", while my Mom took Moe to her mother-daughter activity on Friday, and to numerous family members were in attendance at Haggis's last basketball game on Wednesday. Thank you all.

For a reward, each of the previously mentioned Aunts will receive from the Cozumel Fairy a bottle of real Vanilla extract and a bracelet. All the Uncles will receive a copy of my two favorite photos from the trip(get your minds out of the gutter! It ain't what you're thinking!...Sort of).

Back to the trip. We finally got to bed at about two or two thirty and since we had an eight A.M. flight, we had to be at the airport no later than six. So it was back up at five, marched the kids to the van and filled it with enough bags to make Paris Hilton blush (or whatever it is she does if she ever feels shame). We said family prayer and then dumped the kids on Aunt J while Uncle D took us to the airport.

We cleared security much faster than anticipated although part of that was due to the fact that I had to take my belt off. This meant they really didn't need a metal detector or even one of those fancy "strip search" machines, 'cause my drawers about fell off and they could have done a visual.

****Editor;s Note
I can think of so many airport security jokes right here that they have all just lodged together into one giant traffic jam of thoughts best left unspoken. So feel free to invent your own and insert it here.
****

In spite of the fairly dense (for Salt Lake anyway) fog, our plane to Denver left pretty close to on time. Thanks to on-line early check in, we had a boarding number in the twenties so we could pretty much pick where we wanted to sit. I thought it would be nice to have more leg room by sitting up front, but all it really meant was no table tray and a nasty sense of claustrophobia from staring at a wall for the whole trip. The flight was smooth and the landing smoother. We had an hour to kill in Enver (still can't find a "d" in that city)so we grabbed a bite to eat (Mmmm...Airport Nachos for breakfast!) and made fun of the weirdos who inevitably inhabit Airport Terminal lobbies.

We saw the New Mexico Lobos basketball team on their way to play at Air Force and if I had known then all the nice things their coach was going to say about my BYU team, I'd have returned the favor for old JT. Jerks.

One other thing I noticed about the Denver Airport...it is in the middle of NOWHERE! I've seen more crowded neighborhoods in the heart of the Bonneville Salt Flats. It has to be a two hour drive from the airport to anywhere in Colorado worth visiting. Not that we had to go anywhere there, I'm just sayin'...

For some reason that I'm still trying to figure out, I picked the same seat for the flight from Denver to Houston. Never again.

By the time we landed at Hobby Airport, I had a cramp in my ribcage (ever had one of those? Avoid it if at all possible) from squeezing and twisting my frame away from the wall. I was already not looking forward to flying home.

The good news was that it was pretty clear most of the way, and even with my lousy eyes, I got to see some pretty cool geography. Thanks to the cramped conditions and the newness of flying again (it has been about ten years since I flew anywhere), I left my camera in my bag and didn't get any pictures.

Houston was flat and cool and much less humid than I expected. I could learn to dig Houston in February. May through September would probably kill me, but February is very nice. The Boss was thankful she had worn a jacket.

We got our luggage and then due to the size of our group we had to wait for about forty minutes to get on the hotel shuttle. It was worth it though when the driver got out and looked like he could have been Ossie Davis's twin (Another Joe Vs Volcano reference). I wanted to tell him I was shopping for clothes or better yet, that we were "off to the Pierre" but I am one hundred percent certain he would have had no idea what I was talking about. Oh well. I thought it was a good omen anyway.

We got to our hotel and found that they had lost our reservations. Something to do with them not completing a name change the way our travel agent had requested. All they had left was a room with twin beds and a "spectacular" view of the airport runway. I suppose it was better than sleeping in a broom closet but for a hotel chain with such a hoity-toity reputation, I was expecting a LOT more.

I won't name names, but we'll say that if and when a certain famous (notorious?) daughter of the founder takes over, I imagine things will get a lot worse. The shower wasn't working quite right, the shower curtains were too short to keep water from flooding the bathroom floor, and from the tile damage it had been that way for a while. The TV was a high def flat screen, but it looked like someone had let their cat use it as a scratching post. Had we been spending our vacation there...we wouldn't have. Motel 6 can and does do better. But it was free so I mostly kept my mouth shut. Thank heaven that this is the only complaining I have to do about the whole week. One night in a mediocre hotel room is far from the worst thing that's happened to us in the last few years.

That night, we had a buffet style kick off dinner with the obligatory open bar. In retrospect I have to ask, is drinking the only form of fun "adults" are looking for while on vacation? No wonder people think you can't get a drink in Utah.

There was plenty of Coke and Sprite for us teetotalers and more than plenty of food. There was a Tex-Mex version of a Cesar salad that had the spiciest dressing I've ever tasted. The Boss and I had a fun time watching as unsuspecting people would sit down, try a bite of salad, chew for a moment and then have flames shoot out their ears. It happened over and over again. Very funny.

There were chicken enchiladas, rice, beans, and both steak and chicken fajita fixin's. None of it was even close to as spicey as the salad dressing. Cake and cookies rounded out the menu.

After dinner, they had a quick run through of what would be happening in the morning, when to be ready to board the bus, and what we'd need to do to get on the boat. Then they went around the room and had each winner introduce themselves, where they were from and tell their most funny/ memorable McDonald's moment.

The Boss scored some of the best laughs of the night when she told the group about how we met at McD's sixteen years ago when she was a swing manager and I joined as crew fresh off my mission. Now we were married, had five kids, and she was still the Boss (everyone laughed, but no one found this funnier than me). We also got big cheers when it was discovered that this was our first trip without kids since Haggis was born almost thirteen years ago. More than one person thought that this made us more deserving to go than the Boss's sales success.

We had to be in the hotel lobby and ready to leave by 10:30 and knowing we'd want breakfast (for which we had free coupons or as Texans call 'em... "cup'ns") we decided to turn in early and in spite of the lullaby of landing aircraft, we were asleep by 10 P.M.

I'm Baaaaack!

2010-03-03T09:15:00.005-07:00

It was rough.
Really rough.
Somehow we survived.
It wasn't easy.

Miraculously, the Boss managed to prevent me from stowing away in Cozumel for a week or two. Ah, well. All good things must eventually get posted in blog form and for that, I needed to come home.

Alright. The kids missing us had something to do with it, too.

I suppose.

But dang, it was a good time while it lasted.

Oh, Blog! How I missed thee!(...and the kids)

But don't worry. I took about a hundred pictures a day so the kids would get to experience everything and somehow or other I'll get them posted. This is, after all a record of my existence and posterity may someday be interested in where the Boss and I celebrated our upcoming fifteenth anniversary (that would actually not be until June tenth, but what's three or four months over a decade and a half?)

The boat was heaven. No Destroying Angels messing up my house (thanks to Aunts J,M, and Beak with some grandma and Uncle T added for good measure). Meanwhile, we had a Malaysian room steward named Eko who came in and cleaned up twice a day (I tried to fit him into my suitcase to bring him home but customs got REALLY upset).

The Coca Cola company, our generous benefactors for the trip, provided us with open bar cards. So all I had to do was snap and someone was putting a delicious, fruity, non-alcoholic, umbrella drink in my fat little fingers (though we got some pretty wild eyed responses from waiters who couldn't believe we weren't taking advantage of the free booze).

Three course meals were served by a team of no less than three waiters (who like their bartender compatriots seemed stunned that we weren't trying to get smashed at every opportunity. "What's a 'Mormon'?"). What made this even funnier is that through some weird and twisted chain of fluky influences, our nightly dinner table was made up of five couples, all from Utah, and all Mormon. So nobody was having wine with dinner.

"But it's free!" they kept telling us. "We'll save it for you so you can drink a little tonight and have the rest tomorrow!". It took pretty much the whole first night of dinner service to convince them they could leave the coffee cups and wine glasses off the table. The ten of us found the whole thing highly entertaining. From the funny looks we got, you'd have thought we had told the wait staff we were from the planet Mergatron and would like to be served glasses of motor oil.

Good times.

The weather was pretty good by Utah standards, though it was windy the whole time and it rained on us when we got back to Galveston. The wind meant our day at the beach was um...abbreviated? It was warm though, hitting around the upper 80's.

The flights were fine, and Southwest did not kick me off the plane for being fat (take that Kevin Smith), though on the way to Houston, we made the mistake of sitting in the front row and I got a serious crick in my neck trying to look out the window.

I kept my notebook with me and wrote a record of all the food we ate and things we did and if I pulled it off, I should have a pictorial "Captains Log" of the journey. That will make more sense later. We lost more than our share of bingo, but made up for it by cleaning out the penny slots. We saw shows, went to parties, ate everything in sight, and bought seven for twenty dollar t-shirts from little back-alley shops run by cute and chubby Mexican Grandmothers. We drank coke by the gallon and enough Shirley Temples and tasty lemonade to flood the ship's three hot tubs.

We flew over the States at nearly thirty thousand feet cruising altitude and then sailed over water in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico that was almost twenty thousand feet deep. We started in a high mountain desert, went to a low, humid coastal plain and then sailed from the brown, muddy waters of Galveston to the eye popping, too-blue-to-be-real waters of a tiny flat island in the Mexican Caribbean.

A day later, I'm still shifting from foot to foot in order to compensate for a ship's roll that isn't there anymore (Sadly). It was grand entertainment of the highest order, and I intend to describe as much as possible here. Not for gloating purposes (though that might be a fun side effect [insert smiley face emoticon here]),but because I'd like to have something fond to look back on when the kids are slowly tearing up my house and causing their unique brand of destructive mischief.

It's good to be back. Back to the kids, back to the house, back to the mountains. Back to my beloved Blog. Back to unemployment. Back to having the only time people call me "Sir" is when they also add "you're causing a scene." Back to...Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

I wish I was still in Mexico!

Enjoy It While It Lasts

2010-02-18T08:59:00.006-07:00

Where to start?

Many things happening, not much time to write because A) the Boss is off today and today is the last day we will have to get things ready for our "away from the things of man" tour; and B) before we can go, we have to take the laptop into the repair shop because there is an annoying digitized line running right down the middle of the screen.

So this might be the last post for a couple of days. I'm not looking forward to having my favorite steam vent shut off. To paraphrase Homer, "All destroying angels and no computer make Fatdaddy...something...something....Go crazy? Don't mind if I do!"

I have said before that having a blog is an excellent way for me to blow off the crazy things the runts do; it doesn't tick me off as much if I can turn it into a joke and the only reason to joke is if someone will laugh at it. So you guys are my therapy.

Last night it dawned on me that the blog just widens my audience a bit. The snide comments I make on here are pretty much the snide things I say to the TV when it's just the Boss and the kids, but they've heard all my "A" material before.

Repeatedly.

Now if only I could figure out a way to get paid for it...

Moving right along, I watched more curling yesterday and it made more sense this time. My sister in law made an excellent point in her comment yesterday that I had missed, though, and I wanted to share it with all of you in case you also missed it. She wonders why there is someone called "Skip" when everyone seems to be sliding.

An excellent question, and one that I wish I had been clever enough to ask. I'd call myself a Hack, but apparently that's the block they use to push off from when they start their slides.

The US men's team is still lousy. The US women's team is still cute. The German women did have a couple of cuties, but also a couple who were...um...the exception to the rule? Yes, that's the delicate way to put it. They were excellent curlers though. And I have to be honest here, I was expecting a little more from the Swedish team. Lousy stereotypes.

Something does need to be said about the women's hockey. I am seriously wondering about the format. Canada has won their two games by an aggregate of about 10,000 to zed. The US women have won their games by about 9,999 to 1.

At what point do we have a tournament amongst the other teams for the Bronze and just let the US and Canada duke it out in a Best of Seven for the gold? I won't watch anymore until the medal rounds, or until they put a mercy rule in place the way women's softball has. If some one is up double digits at the end of any period, the match is called. The winners don't have to suit up their managers and water-girls and the losers don't have to get pounded through the ice any more than necessary.

Honestly, it is kind of painful to watch.

But not as painful as the women's downhill. Now there are some TOUGH women. Did anyone else happen to see some of those crashes? Seriously, I cannot believe they all walked away from them. A couple of girls went through the finish face-first and one gal went past the line completely airborne; spinning like a top. I haven't seen that many rag dolls since our trip to the pioneer museum.

And that Italian girl (I think she was Italian) that went into orbit off of the last jump? She landed hard and then did the best imitation of a curling stone I have ever seen. They showed her go through the air for two hundred yards, and she easily slid another two hundred on her backside. My brother wondered aloud if she was going to have any material left on the backside of her suit.

She got up and walked off the course. That's guts.

Vince and Jerry certainly approved.

Well that's it for now. I'll keep taking notes and try to catch up when the computer gets back from the geek squad. No telling how long that might take. In the meantime, I'll try to sneak over to Beak's or Mom's to post a little something here or there.

Enjoy the circus and behave yourselves.

Yeah, right.

Curling is the Coolest!

2010-02-17T09:38:00.003-07:00

Having not had satellite TV for the past several five ring circuses (circi?), I have missed the ratings juggernaut that is Curling.

I am hooked.

And I'm not sure why. I have NO IDEA what the announcers are talking about. The words they speak are English (at least I think so), but the structure and placement of the words make it impossible to understand what the heck they are talking about.

The only sentence that I have been able to understand is, "They need to use a lot of weight to zoom the hammer down there and smash the opponents stones out of the house."

Even if that doesn't mean what I think it does, any sport in which you get to throw a hammer at your opponents stones is a sport worth investigating! Especially if you are an unemployed bum with nothing better to do.

Now during my foray into the odd world of curling yesterday, I have made the following conclusions.

First:
The US men's team is lousy. I didn't need to get the scoring system to know that if every time you slide a stone into the bull's eye, and the opponent replaces it with two of their own, you're loosing. Not to mention they have miked the participants up so we can hear their mid-game conversations and the US captain spent most of yesterday using words that would make Vince and Jerry blush. Not a good sign.

Second:
I don't know who does the wardrobe for the Norwegian Men's team, but I want to buy my next suit from them. Red, white, and blue argyle pants that are as loud and obnoxious as me. I did not know that I had a fabric equivalent, but yesterday I saw it on TV. Two different pairs even. They have replaced Rodney Dangerfield's "Caddyshack" wardrobe as the clothes I'd most like to wear to one of my daughters weddings. If you haven't seen the Norwegian team's pants yet, you should google it. It is worth the time. The mysteries of the universe may well be hidden in those diamond patterns!

Third:
I recognize that my readership is comprised mainly of housewives and at the risk of offending many of you I would appreciate a paragraph or two to go into misogynistic Man Card Mode. I apologize in advance but if you ask your husbands to do some research, they will agree with me on this one.

Most, if not all, women curlers are pretty dang good looking. The US team is all cute. Best of all, curlers are built like real live women, not those scrawny skin and bone Hollywood types. Plus there's not a hatchet face in the bunch.

And the Japanese team? Let's just say the Irish bobsled team now has some competition.

Now you know me. I belong only to the Boss. And I respect the athletic prowess of the female athletes. And I'm not saying there should be a competition at the games based on looks. But if there was, I'd like to volunteer my services as a judge.

It would give new meaning to the idea that something won "in a double blind test".

Well, Motor just got here so he, Reaggers and Peff are about to make a batch of macaroni and cheese for baking day.

Enjoy the Five Ring Circus!!

The Five Ring Circus to the North

2010-02-16T09:48:00.002-07:00

I am an avid follower of all things sports so of course the five ring circus in Vancouver has not escaped my notice. I call it the "five ring circus" because I remember that in 2002 when it was here, anybody that even thought about using the "O" word in print or on merchandise without paying royalties was threatened with a lawsuit.

I have no doubt that as small as my readership is and in spite of the complete lack of monetary recompense for my services; any unauthorized use the "O" word would surely get me hunted down like the dog that I am.

I watched the opening and frankly I thought Salt Lake was a million times better; though I may be biased. The totem poles looked so much like Boris Karloff in "Frankenstein" that even my kids noticed. Moe asked, "Why do they have zombies?"

Good question.

I liked some of the special effects, though I'm still wondering whose brilliant idea it was to have a beat poet read. What the heck? I love poetry more than the next man, but that guy was A)the single most out of place moment in the history of the five ring circus(Poetry? What a blatant Man Card Violation), and B)was pretty sucky anyway. All he really said was "Hey, eh. You hosers stop making fun of the Great White North. Now take off!"

What, were Bob and Doug McKenzie booked elsewhere?

Personally, I think the judicious use of Bob and Doug would have been a terrific move. NBC could have used them as "Sideline reporters"to interview athletes and comment on the show. The potential for much needed comic relief was enormous.

Since I had no McKenzie brothers to keep me entertained, and the "culture pageant" was boring me to tears, I had to find my own fun. It didn't hurt that I was in a pretty snarky mood, so I started to invent bets for myself and think of creative broadcast ideas.

Of the latter, the best one I came up with is the Loner Channel. Its a cable station like NBC shopping or whatever that is devoted to covering the athletes from nations with fewer than 10 participants. I wanna see the cross country skier from Bermuda perform. And I am totally cheering for the Irish women's bobsled team (and not just because of my culture and heritage; those chickies are not hard to look at!). I also think it would be very interesting to see the stories about how these people from the middle east and tiny, tropical islands found themselves on skis and skates.

As far as the bets went, they were by far my favorite part of the evening. I was counting the number of Gretzky references (my pen ran out of ink after about ten million). I put even money on either a Celene Dion or Alanis Morissette performance, and was glad to lose the bet so as to be spared the broken eardrums (though Brian Adams was scary enough by himself, wasn't he? Can you imagine the deafening sound of channels changing if Brian Adams and Celene sang a duet? shudder).

Perhaps my favorite bet of the night was on a contest that won't be taking place. I wanted to see what would happen if a pack of PETA protesters and the Native Canadian dancers went at it, Gladiator style. Pardon the guilt of an easy pun, but I'll bet the fur would really fly.

Hmmm, not really politically correct, but a better fight than the last heavyweight boxing match, I'll bet. I wonder what Bob and Doug would have made of it?

Ah, well. I'm off to watch "Cool Runnings". I felt really old when I found out four of my kids had no clue as to why Jamaican Bobsled references were funny.

Who Needs A Dog, You Have a Brother

2010-02-15T10:13:00.003-07:00

My children are constantly attempting to convince me that they need a dog. I, on the other hand clearly remember having a dog as a child. It was an awesome dog, not so big that it would knock you over, but not so small that it mistaken as a rodent.

She was a very peculiar animal; a Basinji. They are Egyptian hunting dogs, with pointy ears and a curly tail, and short, orange hair. The best part about them (and the only reason we got one) is that they clean themselves like a cat and they can't bark.

Even if they wanted to. They don't have vocal cords. Centuries of training them to be quiet trackers bred the bark right out of them. We had neighbors come over and make total fools of themselves because they were convinced they could make that mutt bark. It was hilarious.

You might think that a Basinji was the perfect dog because they don't need frequent baths or grooming, they don't bark and they're not too big. But until they find a dog that can feed itself and use the toilet, all dogs were, are, and always will be more trouble than they are worth. Not to mention that when that dog died it nearly broke my brother's heart.

I don't need a pet, I have kids instead.

Now, I'm a dumb man. But I do know that about a month after the "cute puppy" phase wears off, no one is going to want to feed, water, walk or play with the annoying dog who is desperate for their attention. But guess who will have to choose between doing it himself and listening to the whining complaints of the spoiled children who are told to do it?

Let's look at Squizzle as our paradigm. When he was less than a month old, we had to keep a list of who's turn it was to burp the baby, who got to change the baby, who got to choose the baby's outfits....these are the fights you have with three older sisters.

But now that he walks (Yeah; walks. He decided on Saturday that walking was almost as fast as crawling but has the added bonus of being able to carry things in your hands. Much more fun!)and has a mind of his own and isn't so much "fun" to take care of, his sisters could care less if he wanders around in a dirty diaper with a snotty nose while finding and eating floor treats.

If they treat their BROTHER like that, how long do you figure it'll be before I have to be the one to take care of the $%#!! dog?

I'm not doing it.

But the subjects of Squizzle, dogs and floor treats all bring me to my point for the morning. While we were watching my sister in law's dog this weekend, I found myself not once, twice or thrice; but rather a dozen times asking Squizle (or more directly his sisters who were supposed to be watching him) why he was once again partaking from Zoe's bowl.

It seems that my one year old has a craving for kibble.

Did you ever think as a parent that the words "Son! Don't eat out of the dog bowl" would escape your lips?

Me neither. But this weekend, they did. Frequently.

And that, oh daughters of mine, is precisely why you will never own a dog while living under my roof.

A Discussion With Puzilla

2010-02-12T16:55:00.006-07:00

Just had the BEST conversation with one of my kids in about a week. I was downstairs cleaning the bathroom (see today's post for the how's and why's of that) when Puzilla comes down.

"Dad, can I say the H word?"

Now I am a do as I say kind of Dad not the say as I say kind. My own word selection is oft discussed ("disCUSSED". Ha Ha Ha, that's pretty good word usage!) but I don't let my kids swear.

Yes, that makes me a hypocrite.

Anyway, if my shy little waif of a thirty-pound-soaking-wet-in-all-her-clothes daughter thinks she has a compelling reason to cuss and is willing to ask my permission, I am willing to listen to her.

"Why, pray tell, would you need to say the H word?" I asked her.

"Because Haggis (my brothers nickname for the Eldest) and Moe are supposed to be helping me clean the living room and they won't listen to me. So I want to tell them to get the "h" on the stick. If they hear me swear, they'll pay better attention."

Having subscribed to this theory myself on a plentitude of occasions, I was forced to agree that she was probably right. And frankly there is a large part of me that would be highly amused to see the improbable sight of meek and tiny Puzilla cussing at anyone.

But fortunately it is not as large as the part of me that knows I shouldn't be cussing myself, let alone granting permission for my kids to do it.

So I told her that I was sorry, but she could not.

After all, I wouldn't want us to both wind up in the H word when we die!

Selective Memory

2010-02-12T09:30:00.002-07:00

You know, I clearly remember my wife telling me this week that her sister would be bringing her dog and bird over for us to watch while they went on a little trip. What I do not clearly remember is my wife telling me when they would be coming.

Very unfortunate.

Yesterday, you see, was a day filled with running around town getting things arranged for the cruise that we are now referring to as the "away from the things of man" tour.

****Editor's Note
Everyone now gets this joke because all of you who had not seen "Joe Versus the Volcano" went out and watched it after reading my comments this week on the Snickers commercial with Abe Vagoda. Right? I'd better be.
****

Because of the multitude of things to be done before we can go and the dearth of time in which to do them, I spent a whole day out of the house yesterday (a very rare occurrence, indeed) with the Boss.

I didn't get any cleaning done so the messes made on Wednesday combined with the messes made yesterday morning while getting the girls out the door and the messes made last night providing kids with dinner and then to bed and back up this morning and ready for school again and getting the runts breakfast plus it's Friday so the accumulation of the whole week's worth of messes is growing and....

....Imagine, if you will, the worst disaster scene from "Mr. Mom". Multiply it. By oh...let's say fifteen or twenty. That's getting close.

Right now my house is in the following condition:

Both sides of the sink are full of dirty dishes.

The kitchen counter is littered with peanut butter and jam bottles and spills, a half empty loaf of bread, a container of milk Moe didn't put away after making cereal for breakfast, assorted hot cocoa wrappers and a half empty cocoa mug. The kitchen floor has three days worth of dirt on it.

The living room is covered with blankets, toys, discarded pajamas and for reasons none of the runts will explain, a crumbled up granola bar. The unneeded contents of three separate school bags were dumped unceremoniously on the couch and have since spilled onto the floor. The rug has not been vacuumed in three days either, and the fireplace is full of junk mail and cardboard that I've been waiting for a green burn day to get rid of (yes, Al Gore, I occasionally burn recyclables. Arrest me. I need the vacation).

The laundry hall is filled a foot deep because I haven't been home to wash anything. Some of you do know this, but others of you would not believe how much laundry a family of seven can generate in the course of three days. Particularly when three of the kids wear uniforms to school, necessitating two outfits per day, each.

The trash is once again at "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout" levels, and the stairs need to be vacuumed something fierce. the bathrooms are approaching "gas station" certification.

The Toy room....I can't bring myself to go there right now. It...um...needs work. AGAIN!!!!!!

Top everything off with a Squizzle who still isn't sleeping worth a $#@% and when Beak's kids got here at 6:30, I gave up. The Boss pushed the girls out the door to school and I took a quick nap (It officially qualifies as a bad day when you need your first nap at 7:00 AM). When I woke up at 8:30 to the piercing screams an indignant Reaggers who did not think Peff should be allowed to change the cartoon she was watching, I saw that they had increased the mess in the living room three-fold.

"Forget it," I said to myself. "Go take a shower, and start cleaning when you are alive."

It would have worked, too, but as soon as the water heated up, Peff came pounding on the door.

"Daaaad! Aunt J is heeeeerreee!"

Why would Aunt J come over at 8:30 on a Friday morning.... The dog!!!

Just perfect. Couldn't have timed it any better. Kids running around unsupervised in a house that looks like directionally challenged suicide bombers hit it and the baby is roaming free-range style with a snotty nose. Nice. At least he had a diaper on.

I just hope Aunt J chalks it up as evidence of how bad I need to get on that stinking boat and away from the things of man.

I swear that if Cozumel has a smokin' volcano... we're jumping. This brain cloud is driving me nuts.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets the Piggy Flu

2010-02-10T08:25:00.003-07:00

Got a call from Beak about a week ago.

"I'm really, really sorry," she said, "but the pediatrician's office just called and that runny nose of Bub's that they said yesterday was just a cold was actually strep throat. He was contagious all day today"

"I'm not really worried about it," I told her.

Fatdaddy rule number one for medicine is that I'm not sure how anyone survived before the CDC and news shows like "Sixty Minutes" told us how we should all be dead. I am almost positive that in spite of the happy advancements of modern medicine, the pioneers somehow managed to survive without anti-bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer. Think about it. The last time you played "Oregon Trail", how many times did you need to heal someone with a case of strep throat before you could move again?

They used to subscribe to the same school of medicine that my wrestling coach used. If there is not a bone sticking out or copious amounts of blood gushing from an open wound, you rub some aspirin on it, eat some dirt, and get back on the mat.

Or was it eat some aspirin and rub the dirt? Didn't matter. It was all about bein' tough.

"I'm sure that my little outbreak monkeys have and will again return the favor," I told Beak.

And I was right.

Yesterday, after a quick trip to the pediatrician with Senor Squizzle, I called Beak and left a message on her phone.

"Tag, you're it! Squizzles has RSV. First kid to swine flu wins!"

I'm not sure what they'll win, but I thought the message was funny. Squizzle is not laughing though. Wheezing pathetically? Yes. Laughing? Not so much.

Like all small children who get sick, he seems to be allergic to the dark. What I mean is he will stay up all night long, gasping and moaning pathetically and reminding you with sad little groans that he must be held in just the right position to be comfortable.

Then, as soon as it's light outside and Dad has things he has to do and can't go back to bed, he'll sleep comfortably for the bulk of the afternoon.

And I wonder why I'm so %$#@ short tempered around here all the time.

I noticed that my super bowl review seems to have incited massive amounts of apathy. My boy Jess is the only one with a favorite commercial? Nobody thought my line about the Four Horsemen stopping at the Flying J for beef jerky and Big Gulps was funny?

Perfectly good "A" material, shot to hell....

Now might be a bad time to mention it, but some of you may have noticed a new feature at the top of the page. I put this little collection of inane diatribes and semi-psychotic ramblings on blogcatalog in a pathetic attempt to boost readership. It seems I may have reached the limits of the Facebook advertisements and "family and friends" demographic(that's not a knock on you guys, you know I love you all) so if I want to turn this into a paying gig, I'm gonna have to expand a little.

One of the features offered is the Rate My Blog tab. If you click on it, it will take you to the Blogcatalog page for Dad's Destroying Angels, and you can rate this bad boy on a scale of 1-5 and leave comments or curses. The more reviews I get, the higher up the food chain I go for exposure. If you have a second, I'd appreciate it.

****Editor's Note
At first glance, it would appear that I narcissistically reviewed my own work, but rest assured that it was the Boss who posted the first review. She just happened to be signed in as me when she did. Even I'm not that egotistical.
****

Also, feel free to share my site or use the email button at the bottom of each post to send any bits you think worthy to friends or strangers who might enjoy my particular brand of "humor".

Well, I gotta go. Gotta find a recipe for baking day. So many things to burn, so little time...

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

2010-02-09T15:54:00.005-07:00

"Abandon all hope ye who enter here"

Cheery ain't it? According to the esteemed poet Dante Alighieri, this is the sign that hangs over the doorway to Hell. I read a translation of "The Divine Comedy" while I was doing my research on Joyce, so I guess my English degree should have warned me.

It didn't.

Today has been my own little Dantean trip through the afterlife; limbo, purgatory, and finally paradise. All I needed was the poet Virgil to act as my guide (guess that's you, mom). I'll be honest, you wouldn't believe the whole story even if I was willing to tell it so we will sum it up thusly.

When I woke up, we were going to get to go. Then we were going to go if certain conditions were met. Then we were NOT going to get to go. Then we could go if OTHER conditions were met. Then that fell through and we were back to No Go.

All this before noon.

It was the worst kind of tease imaginable. It was Limbo. Every time I found a potential land mine, we found a way to avoid it only to find another, larger landmine blocking the path behind it. At noon I found an insurmountable obstacle and it was over. I had to call and tell the Boss it wasn't going to work.

I cannot tell you how very badly I did not want to make that phone call. She has busted her attractive backside off for this opportunity and to have it taken away not once but twice seemed like the most awful thing imaginable. I really didn't want to do it. I was in Hell. Dante was right; abandon hope, 'cause dude...it's over.

The Boss took it well, all things considered. I felt bad for her...she felt bad for me...and we chalked it up to the Anti-Midas touch. Shouldn't have been surprising, but it was.

Then the Boss called back with a solution. We could go under another condition. It was not a best case scenario, but it would work. We decided to go for it.

Then the Boss called again and the condition was no longer required, so we could go without worry. Heaven.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I felt like I was on "As the World Turns" or something. It was one of the oddest days I have ever been through. Holy cow, it was weird. Up and down like a yo-yo.

I won't say we are back on because I know better, but it looks like we may get to see Mexico after all. I just ain't gonna hold my breath.

What I will do is profusely thank those friends, employers and family who are doing their best to see if they can't get us on a cruise ship someday. All you do is noticed and appreciated. From the people who offered babysitting help to those who just listened to me gripe all afternoon, you know who you are. Whether we finally end up going or not, I say thank you for your love and support anyway.

Now I'm going to go lie down. I've got class tonight and a doozey of a headache to get rid of.

Good News? Really?

2010-02-08T11:27:00.004-07:00

Well. We are still waiting to get some news on that really cool opportunity for us, and while we wait, we just got slapped upside the head with THE coolest news we've heard in four or five years.

I almost don't dare type it for fear I'll jinx it.

Most of you have heard me say that if there was a prize for finishing last, we'd take second. It's true. So last fall, when the Boss's employers held a contest for sales increases from the previous year, we knew that if they were taking five store winners on a cruise to Mexico, we'd finish sixth. It has happened to us so often, I don't like to think about it.

Guess what place the Boss finished in out of the umpteen thousand stores in the Denver region?

Uh-hu. I give you the Anti-Midas touch.

This morning, she got a call to tell her one of the winners was backing out, and we get to go. As long as we can navigate passports, babysitting, and three dozen other potential landmines (any or all of which will blow the deal to Hades). But the very fact that there is a chance suggests to me that if there is hope for the "Aint's", there is hope for us!

In the meantime, Peff and Reaggers are doing flips on the couch, Squizzle just woke from his nap, and I think Bub just wet his pants for the first time in a month.

What was I saying about hope?

It may be a bit before I finish my Big Game Review. And there is a ton of other stuff I gotta write about. First I better go keep my house from burning down.

Here Come The Horsemen

2010-02-08T09:14:00.006-07:00

Well this weekend wasn't at all what I was hoping for. BYU got clobbered at UNLV, and yesterday we got more proof that the Cubs will NEVER win. The most unlikely teams will all win championships in every sport possible, just to torment us Cubbies. Look for the Clippers to win the NBA in the next three years. And some team in Canada will finally win the Stanley Cup soon.

****Editor's Note
Why do Canadians drink from Mason jars?
They haven't had a Cup in thirty years!!!!
C'mon. That's funny. You know it is.
****

Anyway...

New Orleans Saints; Champions.

The Horsemen just called. They've stopped to get some beef jerky and a fountain drink at the Flying J in Tremonton, but they'll be here by noon.

While I wait, I'm going to post a bevy of rantings I like to call:

"Fatdaddy's Official Big Game Review"

I'll post 'em below when I finish 'em, so scroll down now and again to make sure you haven't missed anything new.

Worst and Best Commercials

2010-02-08T09:13:00.000-07:00

Frankly, the hype of Superbowl commercials has blown way overboard in recent years. I think the last memorable one was years ago. My all time favorite was that Snickers commercial awhile back where the Quarterback got a concussion and thought he was Batman. They sat him on the bench and took his helmet away and the tag line was "Not going anywhere for a while?"

I thought it was funny as H@!! but some group of professional complainers whined about how it was insensitive to people with head injuries and made Snickers take it off the air. I've suffered as many head injuries as any three people(that ought to be readily apparent to my readers), and I wasn't offended. PC thugs.

Anyway, I usually watch the commercials with trepidation. At least there were fewer sappy jewelry store spots this year (you already know how I feel about those).

The "Bad"

Easy. The runaway winner was that crappy Audi bit with the "Green Police". If you think that the best way to get me to spend seventy thousand dollars on a car is by going through my trash and threatening me to "go Green or else"; you need to think again. I am now less likely to buy their stupid car, even if I did have that kind of bread.

I dare the green police to go through my trash. They'll run into the same problem the identity thieves have at my house. When I toss Squizzle's dirty diapers, I don't roll em up, I just pitch 'em straight into the can. If someone wants to dig through that to steal my ID or trash me for not being "green"; I say enjoy!

Dishonorable Mentions:
The Talking Babies commercials. Disturbing. Very disturbing.

The Clydesdale spot. It's over guys. You can't beat a dead horse, but you can keep making lame attempts to sell beer with one. Time to try something new.

Any and all commercials with dudes in tightey-whiteys. We all know that it is a Man Card requirement to spend time in your drawers, but the Manly Manual says NOTHING about doing it in front of the largest TV audience of the year. And what about the fact that three or four of them all went this same route? If I was a company that paid that much for a thirty second spot and the next bit up was virtually the same thing...I'd be gettin' my money back. Again I ask you, WHO WRITES THIS STUFF?

Is there anyone in advertising with an original idea?

Yes. There is.

For the first time in about a hundred years, I saw a clever, original, laugh out loud, funny commercial! I couldn't believe it. I laughed for five minutes, then hit rewind on the Tivo to watch it again. Any guesses?

First, the Honorable Mention:
The Betty White/Abe Vagoda Snickers commercial. Funny. And it had Abe Vagoda. He's the Tobi. It is his place to hope for his people!

****Editor's Note
If you did not laugh at that, you need to shut off your computer and go watch the greatest movie ever made; "Joe Versus the Volcano". Do it now. Shame on you for not seeing it before.
****

....And the Winner.

Punxsatawny Polamalu.

When he gets scared of his shadow, six more weeks of football (I wish). That huge mane, hiding in a tree stump. "Jerk him outta there" the guy shouts. Very funny. Original. Awesome.

Of course it might have been more realistic to do Punxsatawny McNabb who is scared of his shadow and throws six more interceptions (Please, let my Eagles get rid of Donovan so they can be the next beneficiary of the Cubbie Curse. They haven't won in forever. They're due.)

Eagle jokes aside, this was easily the funniest commercial in a long time.

Anybody else have a favorite?

The Grub

2010-02-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

It's hard to gripe when the menu is put together by the Boss. We went with a garden theme this year and had lots of veggies. There was the usual tray of brocoli, cauliflower, cucumber, bell pepper and carrots with ranch dip.

Then the Boss fired up the deep fryer (all real big game food must be fried) and cranked out some first rate tempura. All of the previously mentioned veggies got the coat-and-cook treatment with the exception of the cauliflower and 'cukes. She also dipped mushrooms, sweet potatoes and zuchini.

Top it off with Wings for me (none of my uncultured children will eat them and I like it that way) and chicken nuggets for them and you have the makings of a pretty good spread. The only thing we forgot to do was make homeade root beer. We had done that for four or five years in a row, and this year it slipped our minds until it was too late to do anything about it.

The food was the best part of the day.