On Halloween Tradition

I recently received an email from Kendra Thornton saying that she was looking for bloggers to collaborate on a series of Halloween posts to help people get excited for Halloween. I sent a reply and got one back, but wasn't really able to find the time to do what she was looking for. In Kendra's email she asked me to answer one of the following questions (and I cut and pasted this directly from her email):

- What is your favorite aspect about Halloween? Does your family have any traditions you do every year? (Pumpkin carving, haunted hay rides, favorite trick or treating candy routes)

- What is your favorite memory in terms of Halloween? Was it something you did growing up, is it one relating to your children, or was there ever a favorite costume [you] wore/created?

- I always try and maintain a healthy eating regime throughout the year; however, once Halloween hits there are always those certain candies and treats I can’t seem resist. Is there a certain type of candy you crave this time or year, a particular dessert you make that is an all time favorite? 
I believe I dealt with my love of candy in my post "On How I got the Beetus, Part 2: Halloween Candy" from last year, so I thought I'd write a bit about some of the other things she talked about.

Before my divorce, I really had become a bit of a humbug about Halloween. I barely decorated, did not dress up and really was not as excited about the day as I once had been. I have a lot of memories of being a kid and getting super excited about every aspect of the holiday. The costumes, the decorating, the trick-or-treating, I couldn't wait. My parents always seemed excited about it as well. I had always wanted kids and one of the reasons was to watch them get excited and make their holidays awesome. Therefore it was very disappointing to me when I did not follow through.

My Halloween apathy really began toward the end of my first marriage. Even with the kids being at prime Halloween-enjoying ages, it was a struggle to get in the mood. Like most things, I blame my ex-wife (just half-kidding). This is not me ex-wife bashing again (well, maybe a little). Unless she does something that sets me off, I usually don't do any bashing. Our marriage failed, I did things, she did things, and one day I will write it all down... but today is all about Halloween. The reason I say that I blame her is that she seemed to be even more apathetic than I did and it seemed like a lot of work to get her excited.

The one thing that has changed Halloween the most for me, for both good and bad, was the divorce. It was bad in that my three oldest kids live with my ex-wife. Even though they only live about 15 minutes away, I never get to see or talk to them. It's hard to get them excited for Halloween and get to do all the other things I'd like to do with them when I only see them 4 days a month. I miss watching them get excited for the holiday and looking at the costume section of every store dozens of times. I miss watching scary movies and thinking of ways to scare the heck out of each other.

Not to bring this post down any lower than I already have, but I felt I should mention the trick-or-treating. I won't say too much because I could do a whole post on the candy-collecting process. But to further emphasize the Halloween depression I had sunk into, or in some cases driven to, there were a few years that we didn't even take the kids out for real trick-or-treating. We would take them to see different people, like my mom or one of my ex's relatives, and we would spend so much time visiting that we only stopped at a couple of places. Not a lot of candy was received those years.

Despite my malaise, there is one tradition that I have always maintained. In all the years of doing it I may have missed one year. That activity is carving pumpkins. Not every year has been carving -- there were a few years where we painted them -- but whether they were cut open or just drawn on, the decorating of the pumpkins would be just about the best part of Halloween for me.

The first thing that I do is get pumpkins. Unfortunately my income has never been that great, as I stated above, so taking a nice family trip to the local pumpkin patch never seemed that feasible. To be honest, it was totally feasible, but because of my ex's and my holiday depression, we never made it a priority. We did go to a patch one year and it was a lot of fun, but only going one time in my kids' carving career is weak. When you are strapped for cash you usually end up in one place... Walmart. I have bought waaaay too many pumpkins from that giant evil super store, but when a huge pumpkin costs $4.50 at the mart, and the same pumpkin is $10-$15 at a local place, you go with cheap. Someday I will make enough money where I will never have to step into a Walmart again. Just like most things in life, you do get what you pay for, so the shelf life of these pumpkins is usually very short. For this reason, I usually take the kids to the store as close to Halloween as possible.

Once the pumpkins are purchased, it's time to scoop them out. This is messy, and to me, the best part of the process. Sticking your hand into the "guts" and squeezing is a truly Halloween experience. Do I put down papers or anything to help prevent the innards from getting all over the place? Heck no! Unfortunately my older kids have never seemed to be as excited as I am about this part. I really think that it is all about the cutting for them and they just don't want to be bothered cleaning the pumpkin out. I scoop the guts out and put them in a bowl. When all the guts are out then I slowly separate the seeds to make a delicious healthy snack for the family. Out of all the years I've sorted the seeds, I have only actually cooked the seeds twice. Usually they sit in the bowl for a week or so before we decide to throw them out. They were delicious!

Finally there comes the carving. Every year I look forward to this part and think hard about what I want to carve on my pumpkin. I see all the awesomely-carved pumpkins on the internet and think, I have a degree in art, I can do something amazing. I tell the kids to take a marker and draw their design on their pumpkin before they cut. Some years it has been faces, others super hero symbols. My oldest daughter is a Jack Skellington fanatic, so every year is new Skellington face.

When it comes down to the cutting, I usually end up doing most of it. I would like to say that the kids prefer it this way, but I really think I just end up taking over because I want their pumpkins to come out perfect. (It has nothing to do with my children wielding sharp instruments.) By the time I get done "helping" the kids, I have no desire to do an intricate design for my own pumpkin and just throw a simple face on it. Besides, they are kids, and easily bored. Once their pumpkin is done they want to fly out of the house to enjoy playing in the great outdoors... just kidding. They want to get back to video games on the Wii and the laptop.

The divorce was good for Halloween in that I married a person who, though this is not her favorite holiday, supports me in just about everything I do. I may not get her to sit down to watch a gory movie fest, but if I wanted to invite a bunch of people over to do that, she would be in the other room, trying to ignore the sounds of zombies eating people. If I decided to invest in a 20-foot tall inflatable headless horseman, she would let me get it. I'd probably have to set it up behind the garage, but still, she would not say no to me buying it.

The most important thing that my wife has done for me for Halloween (and all holidays for that matter) is, given me an awesome daughter. She is now two and a half years old and really starting to figure this all out. We sat her down at the table with some markers and let her do her own pumpkin this year. It's just a bunch of scribble on a pumpkin but hey, she's only two and a half. With my daughter I get another chance to create a new Halloween fan and do all the things that I cannot do with my oldest three. I get to start new traditions with her and watch her discover the joys of Halloween. "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" is coming on, I think that we will have to introduce this to her.

"Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He's gotta pick this one. He's got to. I don't see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there's not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see." - Linus


Happy Halloween Everyone!

On Bicycling

Not my actual bike. Mine did not have a speedometer.

Today's somewhat embarrassing story is brought to you by 15-year-old me.

The other day my beautiful wife (sucking up to my editor never hurts!) and I got my daughter to bed around 8 pm (her normal bedtime) and were just kicking back, ready to chill for the rest of the night. Something was bothering me, though. I knew I was forgetting something, but I didn't know what it was. I needed to go out for some reason after my wife got off of work but couldn't remember why. Then it hit me. Earlier that day I had dropped my car off at the garage to get its annual inspection. I had returned when it was finished, paid and got my keys. This was all done while my wife was working and while using her car, so I couldn't drive both cars home by myself (well I could have, but it would have been complicated) and I figured I'd just have her drive me over later in the day. Unfortunately, I forgot, later in the day came and went, and I was not going to wake up my daughter to have my wife drop me off at the garage.

The solution to this dilemma was very simple, as my wife would suggest. She works out of our home, and our daycare is only a block from our house, so she really didn't need her car for anything. "Just take my car tomorrow and we'll pick up your car after we are both done with work," she said. Simple! Uncomplicated! But in the back of my mind, a plan of my own started to form.

I have been cursed with an overwhelming need to not inconvenience people. I am the type of person that, if someone is blocking the aisle in a grocery store, will turn around and go up a different aisle to get behind them, instead of just saying "excuse me". The thought of leaving my wife without a car was unacceptable. Different plans started bouncing around my head, but I quickly narrowed it down to two. The first was to get up really early and walk to the car. The place where the car was sitting was only about 3 miles away, so it wouldn't take me that long. I've walked further, and in worse conditions (i.e. winter) to get to work in the past. But I really didn't want to walk, especially when there was another option, the second plan.

My three older kids each have bicycles. I picked up two 10 speeds at a lawn sale last year for my oldest two, sprayed them down with WD-40 and my son and daughter have been happily riding them ever since. Besides the little test ride which totaled maybe 300 feet, I hadn't ridden either of the bikes. In fact, the last time I rode a bike of any sort for any distance had to be before I got my license when I was 17 years old. This would put it at about 25 years since I really road a bicycle, so of course, this was the plan that I decided to execute. I decided that I would get up at 4 am, ride my son's bike to the car, stuff the bike into the car and then drive to work. The plan was brilliant! What could possibly go wrong? 

At this point I should disclose the fact that I did not mention anything about my intentions to my wife. If I had told her my ingenious plan, I'm sure she would have resorted to using underhanded tactics like logic and common sense to point out that my plan was absolutely ridiculous. She would have insisted that I just take her car and not to put myself through all the added stress. She would have been right, but I'd show her the brilliance of my plan!

After a not-so-great night of sleep, I jumped out of bed a little before 4 am, all ready to get my Lance Armstrong on (minus the doping). I grabbed my stuff and put it all in a little backpack, instead of using the classy Walmart bag that I usually carry my things around in, and headed out to the garage. I grabbed the bike, tested the brakes and the air pressure and walked it out to the road. I double checked a couple of times to make sure I had my car keys, which I did (forgetting my keys on top of everything else would have made this story epic). I said a prayer to the patron saint of bicycles (Pee Wee Herman?) and set out on my big adventure.

The weather was pleasant, there was no rain and the temperature was comfortable. I started peddling, made a couple of adjustments to the gears and continued peddling. I'd like to say I got a mile or two before the burn in my legs kicked in, but the truth is I traveled about 8 houses before the muscles in my leg said, "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" But, since I don't talk to my legs, I just ignored them. When I set my mind to something, especially something stupid like this bike ride, I am committed (or should be). 

I peddled, and I peddled, muscles that have been dormant for 25 years protesting with every turn. When people try to convince others that they will not forget how to do something they haven't done in a long time they use the phrase "It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget." Oh, I forgot all right. I forgot that bicycling requires someone to be in at least a little bit of shape. I forgot that muscles that go unused for a long period of time don't just start working without any protest. I forgot that when you exert yourself, you sweat (and boy, did I sweat!). 

I peddled, and peddled, almost praying that I would arrive at this little hill about half way to my destination. It became my goal. I'd hit that and I could just coast for a while... weeeeeee! Sweet relief from the peddling! Then, I got to the hill, and my brain said "Please try to remember, you paid $10 dollars for this bike. You shouldn't just open it up." I did listen to my brain in this case; it has kept me alive for many years and usually has much better advice than my legs -- usually (this whole bike ride being an example of when I shouldn't listen to my brain). I rode the brakes down the hill, so I didn't get quite as long of a respite as I was hoping, but it was a glorious 3 seconds of not-peddling.

The only problem with hills is the fact that if you go down a hill, you usually have to go up one. I peddled and peddled some more and I knew with a growing joy that my destination was almost at hand. Unfortunately, I also remembered that there were a couple of small hills ahead. As I approached the first one, I realized that it wasn't really a hill. I've seen handicapped entry ramps steeper than this "hill". I approached it, started thinking about building up some speed to "tackle" it but then just stopped the bike and got off. I walked it up. Pathetic, I know! I got to the "summit" and thought about just walking the rest of the way (or setting up a base camp, and trying to get up "K-2"--the second hill--the next day). I also decided that if I just walked the rest of the way to my car I was just going to toss my son's bike in the tall grass on the side of the road and pick it up on the way home. Digging deep into my resolve, I threw away the thoughts of abandoning the bike and pushed (literally) on. 

I rode the bike about 30 feet until the second hill started. This one was a lot steeper than the first, but in the book of the world's steepest inclines, it would have not even been a footnote. I pushed the bike to the top, and saddled up again. I traveled across the road and through the Super Kmart parking lot, and there was the spot I parked the car... and it was there. (You thought I was going to say it was gone or something, didn't you?) I opened the hatchback, pushed the back seat down and stuffed the bike in. I fired up the car and headed down the street. My legs felt like jelly and the fact that it is a manual transmission meant working the clutch was fun, fun, fun. I took my sweaty shirt off and dangled it out the window, to try to dry it out some. I of course did not even think about bringing a change of clothes, but then again, with such a leisurely bicycle ride to my car, why would I even think I would need one?

I got to work. My shirt was pretty dry, and went into the bathroom and ran my head under the water. Of course, this was annoying due to the fact that the faucet is run off of a motion sensor so there was not a steady stream of water. I had made it to work by 4:53 am, so despite all the aches and pain, I was quite pleased with myself. My legs eventually stopped throbbing at some point during the day and I have to say, if this situation ever comes up again, I will just listen to my wife! 15-year-old me can take his banana-seat-riding, curly-handle-bar-using self and his bike (which was named Excalibur, I kid you not) and get lost! And Freddy Mercury, shut up! You may want to ride your bicycle, but I don't. 

Those last few sentiments were brought to you by my legs.     

  

On Cars

In my post about parades I mentioned my disinterest in cars. After dropping $600 dollars on a repair to get my car to pass inspection (and for those of you who happen to be from states that don't require annual inspections, I hate you), I think I can come right out and say that I really hate cars... with a passion.

I realize that in this day and age, in the area of the country I reside, having a car is essential. Most of my jobs have required me to commute quite a distance, so not having a car has not even been an option. I also have never lived in an area where, if there even was mass transit, it would be compatible with my work schedule. (My jobs always seemed to have started depressingly early in the morning). I have always been at the mercy of my cars, but have never had the cash or credit to get a new one (well, until now, and that would be because of my wife's good credit). Therefore I have driven/owned some real winners over the years.

I have been driving since I legally could. Growing up in the backwoods of a tiny town, you had to learn to drive pretty early or be stuck at home. This was especially important during those important dating years. (If you have read my "On Being the Little Fat Boy That Nobody Loved" post, you'll realize that in fact, I really didn't need a car for this reason for many years after that.) Forget about dating--the most important reason to get your license and a car was so that you didn't have to ride the school bus anymore!

Of course the first cars I drove were purchased by my parents. At first it was just their cars that I got to drive on occasion, but then they ended up buying me a car that was "mine". The first car I really remember was a Plymouth Champ, or the "Chump", as it was referred to by my friends. (Actually it started as my brother's car and was passed down to me when he went into the military.) Don't ask me the year or how much my parents paid for it but it had a standard transmission, was reddish-brown in color and not the coolest car in the lot. But that did not bother me. I was off the bus, had a car, and that is all that really mattered. I don't remember how or when the car passed away, but the thing I remember most about it was that it was rather tricky to get into reverse, which would lead me into an embarrassing situation (just one of many in my life). <cue the blurring screen effect for a flashback>

One day when I was still in high school, I was heading to my best friend's house and when I arrived no one was home. I spun around and headed back to my house. On the way back home I passed him and his family heading to their house so I decided to pull a three point turn to go back. I pulled right to the edge of the road, which was very close to a bank that was quite steep and went straight into the lake. I quickly slammed the car into what I thought was reverse and was actually 5th (or 4th... I can't remember what speed it was, but it sure was not reverse!) and the car bucked forward, propelling me right over the bank. I slammed on the brakes, but by that point I was a prisoner of gravity. There was no way I was going to be able to get back up the bank. I tried a couple of times to get up but only ended up heading closer to the lake. Fortunately my friend's father came back and with the help of someone else, we tied a chain to the car and pulled it up. Everything was okay.... well, the car was fine, but as for my pride...

After the Chump I believe I briefly drove an old beat up pickup truck. I think it was from the late 70's and was again, a standard transmission. Three on the tree as they used to say, which meant the shifter was on the steering column. The brakes were pretty hard to work and I really had to press on them firmly to come to a stop (sometimes actually standing up on the pad.) My father had bought it for a general purpose work truck but I had the "pleasure" to drive it. Again, I can't recall the fate of this beauty, but my next car would be one that I remember fondly.

This car was my 1980 Chevy Malibu. It was two-tone blue, had a working tape deck, was an automatic (no more shifting... woohoo!)  and we would end up being together for about three years. My dad paid about $600 for it and it was worth every penny. This car I remember very clearly because I had it for my last year of college years and it was the car I had when I left home and got married. The car was down for a while (when I did my brief tour of Memphis) but was resurrected, before it finally died a most agonizing death.

The car was perfect, until I hit my first deer with it. I was heading to work at my parents' video store when a deer dashed out of the woods. I clipped it and it ran off into the woods. I doubt it lived, but it killed my headlight. Overall, I made out pretty lucky, except for the fact that I ended up getting a parking ticket that same day because the town had changed the parking in front of our store to 15-30 minute parking and I left my car there all day. I remember going to court with my story for why I was parked there all day, ready to go over the trauma I suffered from the vicious animal attack, when the judge exclaimed the ticket would cost like $5 dollars (or some equally small amount). I just paid it. It wasn't even worth the amount of the wasted air I would have expended with an explanation.

It was only a few weeks later that I was attacked by another deer, and this creature would come to be the most-hated animal in all of my life. I was just beginning a relationship with my ex-wife and things were not going well. I was catching glimpses of her true nature but still on the fence about what to do. I was in a relationship and was afraid of being alone (this is a major simplification, but I will talk more about this in another post). Despite this, I had come to the conclusion that we were done. I was going to drive her home and do the adult thing.... avoid her and her phone calls and figure she would get the point, without me having a confrontation or ending it myself. Well it was a cold and quiet ride to her apartment when all of a sudden, there was a large deer in the middle of the road. I hit it head-on and it wrecked the front of the car. The experience was a "sign" that me and my ex-wife should stay together and stop fighting. We would eventually get married and 15 crappy years later, divorce. I hate that deer... even though we got to take him home and eat him, he could have spared my a long painful marriage, and the $300 dollar bill for fixing the front end.

The car was fixed by a local garage and back on the road again. It sat for quite a while but like the mighty phoenix, it rose from the flames. Unfortunately while the car was waiting to be fixed, someone stole all of my tapes out of it. I was saddened to lose them -- many of them were from college -- but my disappointment was overshadowed by the joy of getting my car back.

I would have one other "accident" with the Malibu, which fortunately was not serious and not reported. My ex-wife and I were driving down some back roads and it had just started to snow. There was barely any on the ground when I came around a small turn and hit a straight away. I don't know if there was black ice under the very thin layer of snow or what, but the back end of the car started to fishtail. I got the car back under control for about 2 seconds and then it started to go again. We spun a couple of times and ended ramming the back end into a tree. Thankfully there was a tree there because it was a 20-30 foot drop down a very steep bank. I banged up the back bumper but that was all. I didn't get it repaired but it really didn't matter. The car reaper was coming.

I would have this car until its death later that winter. I was working for a company down in Clifton Park (nearly an hour commute). I should mention the fact that I was working five ten-hour days and starting at 5 in the morning so I was very tired all of the time. One afternoon on my return home I nodded off briefly. I didn't think I fell asleep at the time--my mind was just wandering, thinking of a hundred different things--when I heard this scrapping sound. I suddenly realized it was coming from my car and I was right up against the guard rail. I jerked the wheel and got back on the road and thanked the good Lord because a few hundred feet ahead were several cars parked on the side of the road that I would have taken out (and possibly myself along with them). Now the Malibu had three racing stripes on the passenger side of the car.

The car was running fine (although looking a little beat up because of my "accidents") when two or three incidents occurred all around the same time. First, the windshield wiper motor died. Well, actually, the heater died first, which made for some very uncomfortable rides in the dead of winter, but I had a blanket that I wrapped around me, so I was okay. Unfortunately the wipers died while I was driving up the Interstate in the middle of a blizzard. They were swooshing right along and then stopped dead. I remember rolling the window down and using my arm as the wiper. I could barely see, and a thin crust of ice was forming on my arm. I was trying to get off at an exit so I could put less people at risk from my death machine. I actually tried to stick my head out the window and drive Ace Ventura style, but my glasses kept misting over. I eventually pulled off the Interstate and slowly made it home on the back roads, still using the arm wiper. I was many hours late and got ripped a new asshole by my future ex-wife for being so late.

Then one day, something else went wrong: it started driving really slow on a trip down to work. I had the gas floored and it would still only creep along. I pulled over and checked under the hood. Flames were actually shooting out of the car (the carburetor to be precise). I was ready to take it out into the backyard and put it down then, but with my ex-father-in-law's help, I got it going again. At this point I figured either this car was going to kill me or I, it.The straw that broke the camel's back was when I was coming home that same winter and I got a flat. I pulled over and started to change the tire in the middle of giant pile of slush. As I used the tire iron that I had, I ended up snapping three out of the five lugs on the tire. I ended borrowing another tire iron from someone at a Stewart's shop and got the other two nuts off, and the tire changed. I drove home slowly and decided that was it. The Malibu was no more. May she rest in "pieces".

I don't think I had any other really memorable cars after that. I would pick up cheap used cars, and my ex-father-in-law would help me to keep them going. He was a car guy and when I say he helped me fix the cars, what I mean is he showed me what needed to be done and then went into the house for a cigarette and coffee. I learned what little I know about cars from him and he saved me a lot of money over the years, but it always drove me nuts to be under a car, half in tears because I was so frustrated, and him just not seeming to care. (It's stupid, but the thing that always made it worse was that he would say that he got nauseous working under cars, but if it was one of his sons, he would be under that car for hours.)

I don't think I paid more than $500 for a car until the year before my divorce. There was just a constant succession of piece of crap cars that I struggled to keep going. I was pulled over so many times for car problems I can't eve guess now how many. All were fix-it tickets and usually muffler related. I remember one time using putty and tape to patch up a muffler system that was too loud. I waited until the absolute last minute to fix it and after applying the material and adjusting the coat hangers that were holding the exhaust system up, I was ready to take it up to court to get the ticket signed off on. Right before I was about to head up, the tape broke loose and it was loud again. In a panic I came up with a solution: I stuffed tin foil in the gap and around the pipe. Then I wrapped it in duct tape. Court was a very short ride up the road and I drove up and had a sheriff come out to listen. I revved the engine and it was nice and quiet. He signed off on my ticket and I drove home. I hadn't even pulled into the driveway when the heat of the exhaust pipe melted the duct tape and the loudness returned.

I owned another car that had the alternator go in it. It first died when my ex and I were driving home from visiting an old college friend of mine who lived in Dannemora (he lived in the town -- he was not a resident of the maximum security prison.) We were travelling in the rain, in the middle of the night, down a section of the Interstate where the exits are many miles apart and far from the nearest towns. Truly the middle of nowhere. We were cruising right along when the lights began to get dimmer and dimmer and the wipers began going slower and slower. I eventually had to stop because I could not see and we decided to head for one of the emergency phones set up every few miles or so. Fortunately a trucker actually picked us up as we headed to a phone (my first and last--to date--ride in an 18 wheeler) and dropped us off in a town we could actually call someone for help in. We went back the next day and the car started right up. I learned the the alternator kept shutting off for some reason. Instead of taking it to a garage to get it fixed I discovered a work-around. Whenever the battery light came on I would pull over, pop the hood and hit the alternator with a stick until it kicked on again. This was going great for a while but slowly became less and less effective. Then, the piece de la resistance, was when I pulled over one time and the hood didn't shut properly. As I headed down the road, the hood flipped back and smashed the windshield. Of course I kept driving it until I got a ticket and just decided to retire it (it wasn't worth fixing all that was wrong with it).

Well this is turning into another novella so let me try to make some kind of point and wrap it up. I have driven a lot of junkers and done a lot of questionable things to keep them running. The main reason for this was because I did not have the money to get them fixed properly. Now that I am older and have a wife that works and makes decent money we are in possession of some decent cars. I don't have to crawl under the damned things in the middle of winter to change a brake pad or anything like that. I actually have tires with treads on them, which is something wondrous, let me tell you. The only problem with this is that it comes with a price. The check engine light came on in our shiny new car (not that new anymore--a 2009 Sonata) and when we took it to the garage it came up as a small emissions leak (or something like that). They reset the light and sent us on our way. It came back on a few days later. We took it back and the "small" emissions leak ended up costing $600 dollars. This repair is more than I paid for just about all the cars I ever owned, which, on a side note, is why I cannot even look at the price of riding lawn mowers at Lowe's. Seriously, $1200 for a mower? If I could ride it back and forth to work, then maybe...

Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to live without a car. I could ride a bike, I guess, but then I would have to invest in little headlights and reflective gear for my 4am bike ride. Let's not even talk about rain, or winter, or other weather conditions. I just really hate cars, and I think it is for that reason why I have no interest in going to car shows or checking out someone's really cool car. I have spent too much time under them and spent too much money fixing them to care. The only car-related thing I have any interest in would be Car Talk on NPR. Not only do those guys crack me up, but I truly don't mind listening to other people's car problems. As long as they aren't mine!

On Not Being the Father I Want to Be

Warning: This post is not funny. Okay, you have been warned.

I have been divorced now for about three and a half years (separated for about 5) and do not have a good relationship with my ex-wife. Despite the fact that we have three kids together, and we should therefore make more of an effort to get along, we don't. When I say that we don't get along, I don't mean that we are miserable or openly belligerent to each other in front of the kids -- we just don't communicate. My shiny new wife and I never say anything bad about her when the kids are at our house, or within ear shot (let me reiterate the "not-when-the-kids-are-around" part). With some of the things the kids have said during their previous visits, I don't think that policy is in place at my ex's home, but I'm not going to judge.

When I say that we don't communicate, I mean we do not talk -- at all. Unless the kids need something, or there is vital information that needs to be shared, we are completely not communicating. Because we don't talk, this means I don't ever talk to my kids either.

I tried. When we first split up, I called my kids every night, but over the years it has trickled down to nothing. A part of this is my fault and part of this my ex-wife's. Whenever I called the kids, conversations were primarily with my youngest son, who would hog the phone to the point where I barely got to say anything to the other two. I would like to say that the older two were upset about this, but when I asked them about it, my older son said that it wasn't a big deal because he was saving up his conversations for when he came over to visit (and then he would spend the whole weekend on the video game... nice talk, son...)

As time went on I started calling the kids less, but would still try to call two to three times a week. Unfortunately I began having more and more trouble getting through to them. The phone would ring and ring but no one would ever answer. I would leave a message, but no one would ever call back. When I did get a hold of them my ex started putting the phone on speaker phone, which made it even harder to have a conversation with the kids. It was much easier for my youngest to drown out the other two, whereas before, he would just refuse to give the phone to his siblings.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when she dropped the home phone altogether in lieu of a cell phone. Trying to have a cell and a land line is just plain expensive, so I don't begrudge her that decision. It just hasn't made it easier to talk to the kids, especially when the speaker phone seems to be so much worse on the cell. The sound quality isn't even the worst thing about it; surprisingly, it seems to have gotten even more difficult to get a hold of her. Hmmm... Isn't the point of a cell phone to be able to get hold of someone anywhere, at anytime? Getting a hold of my ex has become nearly impossible, and it seems even more difficult on special occasions. Nothing is worse than calling the house at least 5 times throughout the day to wish the kids a happy birthday (or a Merry Christmas, or a Happy Easter, or a...) and not being able to get through.

Once upon a time, my ex was also pretty good at telling me when school events were coming up. If the kids had a concert or some school event that was coming up, she would make sure I knew about it. I remember one year she even made sure that I was able to get tickets to an event. But those days are long gone. Sometimes the kids tell me something is coming up and I get to go. Other times, the first I hear that they had something was when they come to me after the fact and ask why I didn't go. My youngest gave me the heads up for a big Air Band competition that he was going to be in; he told me when and where it was. I was very excited because I had seen his sister perform in the same event a couple of years ago. My wife and youngest daughter went to the event only to find out, after we had stood in line for forty five minutes (at least) to get tickets, that the show sold out a long time before the day of the event (and there were no scalpers to be found). Everyone in line had already had tickets and was just waiting to get in.

This isn't just about school functions either. My ex-wife recently mentioned, off-handedly, about the last time my older daughter was at the ER because she was having seizures. I was a little surprised because she never even told me that my daughter had been rushed to the ER, ever.

I tell you all of this to set up a story. I mentioned it on Facebook, as a status, but will repeat it here in its entirety. A few weeks ago, when I picked up my kids, my ex-wife and I were parked next to each other in an easy conversation distance. The kids had to run in and get changed -- apparently they are not allowed to wear any decent clothes to my house, so they had to go get their crap clothes on. I tried to start a conversation with her, but my heart wasn't in it. It took every inch of courage and strength I had to leave her in the first place, so trying to pretend like she didn't make me miserable for so many years, and have a normal conversation with her is tough. That isn't even mentioning the new stuff she has thrown on the pile. And let's not forget that I am a big chicken and terrified of her for some reason.

I started with some pleasantries, and she followed by telling me that my oldest had his moving ceremony the next Thursday at 7 pm. I was very excited that she actually told me of an upcoming event. The conversation trailed off quickly and we sat there in silence -- well, that is until she decided to call her boyfriend on the phone and started having a loud conversation with him. I really didn't care, but when the kids came back and were saying goodbye, she had to yell across to them the goodbyes from the boyfriend and tell me that he refers to my daughter as his princess. Again, I don't care. I hope she finds someone and is happy like I am. The only thing I do care about, is that whomever she ends up with, they are good to the kids.

I would never feel threatened by someone my ex was with because I am not insecure about how my kids. They know they I love them and I know they love me. I will always be their dad, and that is that. My only concern is that the kids have never actually met this new person. I think my ex mentioned that they have met a couple of times, but her boyfriend lives down south somewhere and this is an internet/telephone relationship. This won't be the first person she's gushed about, to me and the kids, but usually something happens and she never talks about them again. It's fine to have a long distance relationship, but don't drag the kids into it, not until you are closer to the point where you are ready to take the next step.

Don't tell the kids you are going to be getting gifts or travelling to exotic locales to meet with someone until presents arrive or flights have been booked (which she has done to them with previous relationships). My kids recently told me that they were moving and not going to the same school next year. When I mentioned this to my ex, she insisted that the kids had misunderstood her. She loves the school they go to now, and wasn't going to be leaving the school district; she just wants a bigger apartment. I must confess, I am a little suspicious, because moving would mean she would be giving up a subsidized three bedroom apartment. Hmmm...

Well, anyway, back to the story. She actually told me about the Moving Up ceremony. Maybe this was a turning point? Okay, last event of the year, but still... as Dr. Leo Marvin said, "Baby steps." Thursday came and I was getting excited to go. The only negative thing was that my wife was just coming off of a pretty big illness and was still not at 100%. I was trying to convince her to try and make it, but she just didn't feel well enough. I was going to take our 2 year old to see her big brother, but it was going to end past her bedtime and we didn't know how she would handle it. So I jumped into the car and headed to the school. I pulled in, listening to They Might Be Giants and parked. I got there about twenty minutes early, so I could get a decent seat.

I followed the milling crowd to the blue gym, and saw where the ceremony was going to take place. I climbed up the bleachers and found a good spot, toward the back in the third from the top row. I had my camera all juiced up and ready to shoot, and tested the zoom to make sure I could get a good shot of him getting his certificate. Well, time went on and I was scanning the kids as they came in and were standing about chatting. They were gathering around the fold-up chairs that were set up on the basketball court's floor. I looked, and I looked, but I did not see my son anywhere. I thought that maybe he was mixed in with a crowd I could not see. So I waited.

They started with the national anthem and then four or five speeches. They were nice, but something, I'm sorry to say, that you would only bother to sit through because your child was there. The little orchestra played a tune, they had a little dance number, again, nice, but.... Then the speeches were done and the kids got up row by row and formed a line. One by one, they went to the podium, handed the person a tag and their name was read aloud. I started filming to capture everybody, because I did not want to miss my son, not having located him yet. It was about halfway through the kids lining up that I ended up turning the camera off. I could see the kids that were left, and those that had gone already, and finally realized that my son was not here.

To say I was furious is an understatement. Not only did my ex deprive my son of this moment, but to not even have the decency to call and tell me he wasn't going to be there was just plain wrong. I know my son was excited about this; he was telling me that several of my ex's family were going to go as well. So I sat there in the bleachers and watched the end of the ceremony, the whole time just fuming.

The sad thing is, this whole incident just makes me feel like I am a total failure as a father. I should have taken this rage and done something constructive with it. I should have drove to her apartment (which is right across the street from the school) and confronted her. I should have told her that this is bullshit and that things need to change. We don't have to like each other, but we have to be respectful of each other for the kids' sake. I should have thrown in her face the fact that I had to drive to her apartment on Christmas day to wish the kids a merry one because she refused to answer her phone. I should have screamed at her that if ANY of our kids are taken to the hospital, I should be called immediately. But I didn't. In fact, I still haven't even talked to her about it. I don't know why I am so scared of this woman. As much as I hate to admit it, she still has a certain amount of control/power over me that I cannot understand. Just the thought of confronting her makes my chest tighten and sweat appear on my brow (I am experiencing this as I type).

I don't know if I need to go to some sort of therapy to get over this, or what, but I feel I have let my kids down. I haven't fought for my kids, and that is what being a parent is supposed to be about, right? You're supposed to be able to lift a bus off your kid, go to hell and back to protect your children, and I can't even pick up the phone and talk to their mother. This whole experience should inspire me to be a better father and do more for them. I don't think she is abusing the kids in any way (except for alienating them from their father). If I believed they were being abused, of course that would be enough to rouse me out of this condition to do something. My oldest has talked about playing soccer for two years and says each time that his mother didn't hand in the paperwork. I should have confronted her about this. I should have confronted her about a lot of things, but haven't. I keep saying that someday I will get past this, but when? When the kids have graduated? Will I have any sort of relationship with them by that point? I feel that I have let them down, and continue to let them down. I feel to some degree that I have given up on them, and it makes me feel even worse about myself.

Well, this post has been a big old ex-wife bash/pity party and for that I apologize. Sometimes, everybody needs an outlet and today I have spared my wife (well, sort of, since she is my editor and reading this anyway) and burdened you, the reader, with it. I know I am being hard on myself. There are many people out there who know me well, who would say that I am doing a good job with my kids. My wife and I have really gotten control of my youngest son (thanks to months of therapy) and visits are quite enjoyable now. I have a relationship with my kids and I am convinced that it will only get stronger as the years progress. By trying to keep the kids out of my life, my ex is only going to cause a rift in her relationship with them that will grow wider as they get older. No matter what, I am their dad, and they are my kids, and nothing will ever change that.

On Parades

"I love a parade...." goes the song. Well, the composer obviously hasn't been to a small town parade in a while. Okay, that was a bit harsh, but that has been my basic opinion of hometown parades for several years. The reasons for these feelings will be discussed below, but this year, despite my thoughts about them, my wife and I decided to take our two year old to my hometown's annual 4th of July parade.

The reason for my negative attitude can be boiled down to the number of parades I have gone to over the years. I am not saying that I am a parade stalker or anything like this, but when you have kids, you often find yourself compelled to go. Whether it is because the children are participating in the parade itself, or because they are really excited to go, too many times you find yourself standing in the boiling heat, watching another parade slowly meander by.

Now if I lived in a big city, then I might get excited about going to a parade. Twenty foot tall balloons of classic cartoon characters, today's hottest performers singing on floats, famous actors and actresses riding in cars... now that would be awesome. But those are not the parades I have been to.

Let's break down a small town parade, just in case you have never been to one. First of all, there are the fire trucks. Not just one company, but usually three or four, from the firehouses of the surrounding areas. I have nothing against fire trucks, but really, when you've seen one, you have seen just about every one. You can change the colors as much as you want, but it's still just a fire truck. To be honest, I hope to never see a fire truck, outside of a parade. Because if I do, chances are, someone's property is on fire, and that just sucks.

In the same vein as the fire trucks, there are the rescue squads. Again, I don't want to see ambulances, as they are a sign that something is terribly wrong. (I am not even talking about the fact that it will be about a $1,000 dollar ride to the emergency room.) Besides, don't these people have more important things to do than be in a parade? With all the idiots with fireworks out there, the EMT's and first responders should be sitting in their vehicles ready to roll. I'd hate to see them plow through a marching band to get to the scene of an accident (actually, that would be an interesting sight, as long as no one was hurt).

Speaking of marching bands, are there any local schools that have marching bands anymore? When I was a kid I remember my parents dragging me to the parade because my brother was in the school band. I also remember watching the school band practice at the end of the year for the Independence Day parade. This year, there were no hometown school bands. Because of our town's Scottish heritage, there were two bagpipe bands though. Kilt clad men and women playing the beautiful but shrill bagpipes, doing all of the traditional bagpipe band classics (Amazing Grace, etc.). There was a drum corp from somewhere, a community marching band from the town next door and another local community band that wasn't even marching. They were playing on the bed of a large truck (very smart considering the temperature). They were all very good, and one of the highlights of the parade for me, but still, it was not super exciting.

Let's not forget the classic cars! Okay, let's do forget the cars. I am not a car person and never have been. The cars are nice to look at, but I have never dreamed of owning one and I sure as heck couldn't care less about what is under the hood. It could be a dozen hamsters on wheels for all I care. (Actually, that might pique my interest.) I know a lot of people would disagree with me on this, but, as Popeye said, I am what I am... and a car lover I am not.

A parade would not be complete without floats, and this parade had four (I think). They were well done, of course. I am not going to belittle the hard work that went into the floats. Everyone involved spent a lot of time designing, constructing and decorating the floats, and they all looked great. I'm just saying, they were not as exciting as a big city's parade floats. There were no stars or famous performs on them, just the people that made them. They did a great job despite the lack of big budget.

Parades like this usually have all kinds of walkers included. From Girl and Boy Scout troops, to other special organizations involved in the area, there are traditionally numerous groups marching and walking the route. This year's parade had only a couple of groups on foot. I am not complaining, I was just surprised that there were so few. Are there just less local activities or school groups than there used to be? It was probably a good thing, as it was about 200 degrees out and I was dying just standing there.

When did parades become Halloween? Kids were standing on the sidewalks with little baskets and bags and gathering candy that was flung out of firetrucks, off of floats, and from pedestrians. It was a shower of candy with kids scrambling about collecting the goodies. A piece landed near me and I refused to bend over and pick it up. I was not willing to debase myself, and grovel on the ground like a starving man for candy. Well, I would have if it had been something other than a peppermint hard candy. I don't even consider this candy.

There of course were a few extras thrown in; the Shriners with their go-carts are always a parade classic. Granted there were only two, but still, they were there, fez's and all. There were horses, and the smell that accompanies them. The Washington County Dairy princes was in attendance with her court, and the cupped royalty hand waves were flying. A horde of children had decorated their bicycles and rode them down the street. I have absolutely nothing negative to say about them -- they were adorable! I am sure I am forgetting some other stuff, but it was your classic small town parade, just like I have seen dozens of times before.

Some maybe saying, why did you bother going? Why devote a whole blog post to criticize a parade that many are so proud of? To be honest, despite my whining, I had an awesome time! I loved it. I love my hometown and am proud of the parade they put on. And this year, I was not watching through my eyes, but those of my two year old daughter. The absolute look of delight in her eyes as she looked and saw the fire trucks and said "look daddy, fire truck!" was priceless. The glee at seeing the horses and the kids riding their bicycles was worth standing in the sweltering heat for more than an hour. "Look Daddy, Look" was repeated over and over again. She loved the parade, and therefore I did as well.

A hometown parades is one of the best parades you can go to. It doesn't have the polish of a big city parade, people don't spend thousands of dollars creating floats or hiring the best marching bands. But it is your friends and neighbors, coming together, in this case to celebrate the birth of our nation. I scanned the crowd and saw the faces of people I grew up with, went to school with, and haven't seen in years. I actually had to stop and talk to the two MCs of the parade; one was my old high school gym coach (who I still wanted to call coach, and who gave me the nickname of Butkus, a name that most people from my hometown still call me). The other was a friend I graduated both high school and college with and hadn't seen in a few years.

I don't live in this town anymore, but the parade was dedicated to a local EMT who recently lost her battle with cancer. Her name seemed familiar but I am not sure if I knew her or not. She obviously was someone who touched many lives in the town and they honored her in a very touching way. They made her the posthumous grand marshal of the parade. I am glad we took my daughter to the parade, because it is not just about fire trucks and marching bands; it's about community spirit. No spirit burns brighter than that of a small town.

On Going to the Drive-Ins

Summer is here... well, almost, and Drive-In season is upon us again. First of all, I don't know if I have mentioned it before but I am really cheap (and I am not referring to my street value). Well, maybe the proper term would be frugal. Secondly, I love going to the movies. Unfortunately, with the current price of the average movie ticket, these two characteristics would seem to work against each other, especially if you throw a wife and four kids into the mix. That is where the Drive-Ins come in and why I love them so much.

There is nowhere a frugal person like me can find a better deal for seeing new movies than the Drive-Ins. Indoor theater prices are getting to the point that I wouldn't even consider taking the family out, unless there were lottery winnings involved (or perhaps a second mortgage). Few things in life get cheaper over time and this is true for the Drive-Ins. My mother tells me of a time when you paid $5 a car. This isn't hard to believe. How many people could you transport when the wheels were massive stones and you propelled the car by putting your feet through the floor and running (just kidding)?

Despite the fact that tickets have gone up to $9 dollars per adult this year it is still a great bargain. It is as good as any matinee price that you would currently pay at the indoor theater. And you get to see two new releases. That's $4.50 a movie, in case anyone's math skills were failing them. Where else can you see a new movie for $4.50, without illegally downloading it (and you don't have to worry about people standing up in the middle of the bootleg, or the subtitles being in German)?

If you thought the nine dollar price was great, you haven't even heard the best part. Kids under the age of 12 only pay $4, and those under 3 are free! This is good because my younger kids never stay awake for the second movie (and sometimes don't even make it through the first movie) and I would be really annoyed if I had paid full price. The unfortunate side effect of this, however, is that it has made me a bit dishonest. I say this primarily because my daughter has been under 12 years old for the last 3 years and I am starting to feel guilty about having her crouch down a little bit to seem shorter. (Yes, I have made my children accomplices. I am a horrible parent... that saves $4.50 a visit! Cha Ching!)

I always leave very early when I head out to the theater -- earlier than I really need to. I have never arrived before the gates were open, but usually I am one of the first dozen cars to arrive. The first reason that I leave so early is that I love getting a good spot right up front. If you arrive late then you end up either off way to the side or in a middle spot, surrounded by people. This can be either good, or very, very bad, depending on the people. Another reason for arriving early and being up front is that it allows me to sit back and relax while the kids hop out and run amok with all the other kids that come to the movies. Up front, right under the giant screen is a strip where all the kids gather. Soccer balls, Frisbees, footballs and baseballs all are brought out and the kids all play together and have a great time. It's awesome to watch. It is a mega-play date and the kids seem to enjoy this as much as the movies themselves.

To go back to the point where I said that I was cheap, I also love the Drive-Ins over the indoor theater because you can bring your own refreshments. There are no limitations on what you bring in your car (at least at our Drive-Ins) so you are not forced to pay the outrageous prices for food and drink that they charge at the snack bar. I usually fire up the air popper before we leave, filling up a couple of bags with popcorn, grab some soda and candy from Walmart or somewhere as cheap, and roll through the gates well-stocked. It is a cheapskate's--I mean, a frugal person's paradise! I sometimes stop and get a pizza or KFC before we arrive and actually eat dinner at the Drive-Ins as well. It's all part of the experience.

Despite everything I love about the Drive-Ins, there are a few things that I don't. First is the weather. In an indoor theater, you always know that you're going to be in a nice temperature controlled room... not at the Drive-Ins. It can be hot, it can be cold, it can rain -- I even remember having to leave early once when I was a kid because fog rolled in and you couldn't see the screen. Apparently, mother nature isn't always a movie fan (obviously she saw the Twilight movies).

Also, because the movie is shown outside, you have to wait until it is dark enough. Often they start it a little before ideal darkness levels, but when you've got two movies to get in and it doesn't actually get dark before 9:00pm, sometimes you need to start before conditions are optimal. Then again, people like to show their impatience by honking their horns, and will do it if they feel it is dark enough, and the movie hasn't started. (I hate the car honkers.) Though our local Drive-In just got new projectors so it has been pretty nice so far.

One of the things that I would have complained about most in the past was the sound system at the Drive-Ins. I hated it so much that I would have gone to the indoor theater if I really wanted to see a film. Those crappy little speakers that you stuck to your car window were terrible. The sound that they created sucked and that is assuming that they even worked in the first place. You quickly learned that the first thing that you did when you pulled into a spot was to test the speaker. Most of the time the speakers were fine but sometimes they would have a short in them, that crackled every time you moved them. This meant every time you opened the door, to let the kids in and out, the sound would go out. I won't even go into the fact that many people have driven away with the speaker still in the window (just for the record, I never did). This is probably why some of them don't work.

But now the sound system for the Drive-Ins is on a radio channel which means the sound goes through your cars speakers. So in many ways, I prefer the sound at the Drive-Ins. Indoor theater sound is waaaaaay too loud, most of the time. Whenever there is an explosion, you feel like your ears are going to bleed. In the car, the volume is always just right! The only problem with this system is the people who leave their car on too long, or have things on other than the radio and end up with a dead battery at the end of the night. I have yet to do this, by the way (knock on wood).

The biggest problem I have with the Drive-Ins is the bugs. Mosquitoes  black flies, other people's children -- these pests descend on you and yours unmercifully in the heat of summer. If you don't bring your bug spray, you are not in for a delightful evening. Nothing is more annoying than the buzz of bugs in your ears while your trying to enjoy a movie. Then there are the bites and the constant smacking of yourself, trying to kill the little beasts, that distract from the film. If it is cool enough the bugs don't come out and all is well, but if it is really muggy out then the bugs are swarming and it is too hot to leave the windows open. But then again, if it is too cool the windows fog up when they're shut. You just can't win sometimes.

There are other minor annoyances at the Drive-Ins, just like in any theater. The indoor theater has the chit-chatters; Drive-Ins have the people who turn their lights on during the show. Despite the differences, it usually boils down to other people being inconsiderate and this can happen anywhere. I do have to say that the Drive-Ins do have some pretty unique situations. I had a skunk walk up to me and sniff my feet when I was younger and sitting outside, something that I doubt happens in regular theaters.

Unfortunately, Drive-Ins are slowly disappearing across the country. It is sad, especially with all the fantastic memories I have accumulated over the years. From the years of going with my parents to the present where I am bringing my kids. I can only hope that Drive-Ins will be around long enough for my kids to bring their kids, or for me to bring them. Not that I am in any rush to be a grandparent.

I have seen many movies throughout the years at the Drive-Ins -- some awesome, some not so much. I have only ever left early once in my Drive-In theater history because a movie was just so bad, and I think that was more because my wife-at-the time insisted. (I believe the film was Mafia!, starring Jay Mohr, so I really can't fault her too much for that.) That to me is truly the best thing about the Drive-Ins, the fact that if one of the two movies is an absolute piece of shit, you can justify the money you paid with creative math. You can say that you paid full price to see the good movie, and got to see the crappy one for free. This may seem stupid to most people, but to those who are cheap like me, this fuzzy math helps.

P.S. I just have to mention, because of the nature of this blog, that our local Drive-In theater has the second most disgusting bathroom I have ever been in. Number one goes to the bar in New Jersey I went to for my brothers bachelor party. I must confess that first, I have not been in many bars in my life, so the concept of a pee troth was a little jarring. Second was the fact that my time in there was spent watching my brother lean against the stall and projectile vomit.

On Vacations and Hotels

My first vacation of the year has come and gone and all I can say is, where the hell did that week go? This, I believe, is a very common sentiment, shared by just about everyone who has ever taken a vacation. You spend weeks looking forward to the day when you are going to leave, then it comes, and in a blink you're back home. My family's journey brought us to the wonderful state of Rhode Island. I would specify Providence, but do I really need to? I don't think Rhode Island is large enough to have more than one city. Just kidding. I am not going to sit here and make fun of the state because it is small--though I did notice, when I saw the sign that said "Now Leaving Rhode Island" the d of "Island" was actually on the "Welcome to Massachusetts" sign. Okay, no more RI jokes.

We hopped into the car Monday afternoon and travelled 3-4 hours down to Coventry, RI, to stay at the wonderful Hampton Inn. The appeal of this particular hotel was a pool, proximity to the places we wanted to go, the price and a free warm breakfast.

I love hotels (probably because I travel so rarely). Even though every hotel room I have ever been in has been about the same, I am always excited to slide that pass key and walk in for the first time. The hotel room we had on our vacation held no surprises. There was the giant bed (neatly made), the desk with the lamp and internet/phone cables and the dresser with the large TV on it. The bed had a nice little lap desk thingy that had the Showtime program guide and the traditional welcome to the Hampton Inn paper.

As I did my usual exploration, just in case there was a secret Jacuzzi or something equally awesome hidden in the room (hey, you never know), I explored the closet and the bathroom. The closet, the door of which was a large mirror, had an iron and ironing board in it, in case I needed to iron one of the four pairs of shorts I packed. There was nothing else of interest--no Jacuzzi, no passage to Narnia (drats!). The bathroom was all shiny, with fresh white towels, the little soap, shampoo and conditioner on a little tray, and the toilet paper folded over to form a V. I did notice that the little card that was with the soap said to call down to the front desk for any number of toiletries that you may have forgotten. (I should have left everything at home so I could of gotten the most out of the hotel.)

We were only staying for two nights, so there was no real reason to make use of the dressers in the room, so we left them untouched. We left our clothes in the suitcase and found a place to set them that was out of the way and easy to get to. The room actually had a refrigerator and a microwave, which was nice. We could have saved a fortune on eating out by packing a family-sized box of Hot Pockets. Though the microwave wasn't necessary, the refrigerator did end up being of use: not only was I able to chill our beverages in it, I was also able store the leftovers from our various eating trips there (I am cheap and hate to waste food).

The bed was enormous, and after being in the car for so long, I just wanted to dive in and sleep. Well, maybe not sleep right away -- there was that large TV calling to me, with its many channels. We only have about 23 channels at home, so having been presented with the next tier up in the cable world (including multiple Showtime Channels), I could not wait to give the controller a spin. Unfortunately, I had two small problems, the first being my two year old daughter. Because we were in a new place full of new things to check out, she was wide awake, despite the late hour. That meant only kid-appropriate programming was going to be on until she went to sleep. (Not that I was planning on ordering a bunch of porn or anything, but there is always a mindless action movie or something on.) The second issue was that, because we haven't had good cable in a while, I forgot how crappy cable television was. There are some excellent TV shows on cable, I am very aware of this, and usually have to wait for them to show up on Netflix. Being at the hotel for only two days, and with all of the activities we had in store, it was unlikely that they were going to have a marathon of a good show on while we were in the room to see it. Then again, if all of last season's Walking Dead was on, I probably wouldn't have left the hotel room.

I did feel the urge to take a shower after we had all gotten settled in, which had nothing to do with being in a car for several hours. I think it has something to do with the need to use all of the free stuff that the hotel had to offer. Not only did I have to use the soap, shampoo and conditioner (and I never use conditioner at home), but I also had to use every towel that was available. I used the wash cloth, the hand towel and the big towel. (By the way, the big towels aren't really that big. I don't know why anyone would even think to steal them, but then again, I wasn't exactly in the Waldorf Astoria.) Once used, I just piled them up in the middle of the floor, something I would never do at home. In fact, at home I would have reused the same towel for two or three showers.

It is a nice feeling to know someone else would be cleaning the room and doing all the laundry after we left. Just for the record, neither my wife nor I were jerks about it. I wasn't throwing garbage around and saying, "oh well, the help will get that." We kept the room tidy, and piled all the towels up neatly for easy access. I even folded the toilet paper to make an arrow again.

Once I was out of the shower and we got the young lady to sleep it was time for my wife and I to spend some quality alone time. And by quality alone time, I meant me trying to convince my wife that we should have sex. There is something about hotel rooms that just makes me want to have wild crazy hotel room sex, whether my wife is with me, or I'm alone (this would explain why people order porn in hotel rooms). I think alot of people share this view/feeling--unfortunately, my wife wasn't one of them. Maybe it was because she had done all the driving that day and was tired, or maybe she couldn't get past the fact that Gabby was only about three feet away. Maybe the whole sex-in-a-hotel thing is a guy thing? Whatever the reason, we ended up just going to bed. It wasn't even a great night of sleep; the matress was much firmer than the one we have at home and neither of us could sleep just right. (Maybe if there had been some exhausting/satisfying sex involved....)

The next morning it was time to enjoy our free breakfast. I am by no means a great traveller, but I have stayed in enough hotels to know that the breakfast wasn't going to be prepared by Wolfgang Puck in the hotel's four star restaurant. It actually ended up being not horrible, but then again, anyone who knows me would agree that I would eat rocks if they were prepared propely. The breakfast buffet included cheese omelets and sausage, which weren't too bad. There was also all your usual continental breakfast fare: toast/bagels, muffins, a cereal bar (three types of cereal only), a crock full of oatmeal, fresh (or not so fresh) fruit, etc. They even had the traditional make-your-own waffle maker, which has always made me wonder, why make-it-yourself waffles? I have seen them in a number of hotels and have been left wondering each time. Do people love waffles so much they refuse to eat prepared ones? How does Eggo make any money if this is true?

The next day was spent visiting the Roger Williams Zoo, followed by a quick trip to the grave of HP Lovecraft, and then back to the hotel. We were planning on meeting up with a friend of my wife's from Seattle who had moved to Providence, but, through a series of failing technologies and miscommunications, we were unable to meet up. This left a hole in our itinerary so we decided to go crazy and fill it with eating dinner at a typical Rhode Islandy eatery, and ended up at the Crackle Barrel (well, we tried). The restaurant was right across the street, and I think that was the main reason we went there. The meal was not great, but we had a good time.

Because we weren't meeting up with Christy's friends, I thought that night would be a great opportunity to hit the pool. I have stayed at several hotels with pools and always bring my swim trunks--unfortunately, I have never actually gone in. I love to swim, yet I never seem to make the time to use a hotel's pool. This time, I was bound and determined to use the pool.... and I didn't. I am still trying to figure out why I never got down to the pool. We got back from dinner that night and just hung out. It took a while once again to get the little one to sleep, and after that, we ended up sleeping.... no sex again. Rats!

That was it for our stay in the hotel. The next morning I showered again, of course: I had to use up the shampoo and conditioner. Breakfast was the same, just a different style of egg (scrambled) and meat choice (smoked suasage). We packed, loaded the car and headed for our next destination. We did not steal anything from the room, except a couple of pens (which wasn't really "stealing", but I had to take something from the room, and since the TV wouldn't fit in one of our bags...)

Our next stop was Cape Cod, to visit my wife's co-worker/friend and her husband (and their charming 3 year old daughter). Thankfully we were able to meet up with them, especially since we were supposed to be staying in their guest room that night. It was a nice room and a beautiful home. We enjoyed a delicious home-cooked dinner and spent most of the night chatting and had a great time. As great as it was, it was no hotel. And by that I mean, at someone's home you are required to be respectful of the home and the the things in it. You are under pressure to be on your best behavior. At a hotel, the only thing that prevents you from acting like a cocaine-fueled rock star (or Charlie Sheen -- wait, that's redundant) is the fact that they have your credit card info and will charge you for the damages. That and having a two year old go a log way to keeping you from going too crazy.

On the First Year

Well, I have been writing the blog for officially one year. May 16th, 2012 was the day I posted my first entry. It wasn't much of an entry, just a brief explanation of what the blog was going to be about, but still the beginning. What a strange journey it has been, for those that have been following it. There have been a number of embarrassing stories, from the time I pooped the bed, to the fact that I actually listened to the 50 Shades of Grey books at work. I have talked about the challenges of Diabetes (okay, maybe it has just been me whining about the food and drink I can no longer enjoy), my neighbor and his cereal exchange program, my children, and even tapped into some deep feelings to talk about friends/loved ones lost, and other personal stuff. What can I say, it's all about me!

Mostly, I have tried to focus on random non-sensical stuff that strikes me as funny. Whether it is about automated bathroom fixtures, lawn sales or the Olympics there is little rhyme or reason to my subject matter. I try not to get too political, but every now and then, I feel compelled to say something. Which is often a mistake, but what can I say, the level of political nonsense seems to be at an all-time high. But then again, when isn't it? Believe me when I say I have a lot more to share, and I always seem to run into stuff that makes me laugh (sometimes I'm the only one laughing), so don't think I am running out of stuff to write about!

What I really wanted to do with this post is to thank all of you who have shared or commented on my ramblings over the last year. It has been appreciated, and I am going to try to get back to a regular posting schedule. I started this as a way to try my hand at writing, seeing as how I never really wrote anything before. I never took an English class past high school because I was never really interested in it. I always wanted to be an artist and took drawing in college, but that has fallen by the wayside, and now, I really don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Writing is fun and therapeutic (you are all saving me a fortune in therapy), and is something that has my interest right now. Maybe I can figure out how to make something of this--I doubt it, but you never know!

Since I am insecure, I find myself constantly checking the stats on my blog (and now my Facebook page). I thought I'd take some time to share some of the numbers I have pulled. Compared to a real, professional blogger, my numbers are quite pathetic. Professionals probably get as many hits in a day/hour as I have gotten in months, but, because I am new to this, I am happy with any numbers I get. So without further ado, here are they are. (These are the numbers at the time of my writing. They may have shot up a whole point or two by the time anyone reads this.)

The post I have gotten the most hits to date is the one about wedgies and the Olympics. I have 322 views and every time I click on the post, the number seems to increase by one (just kidding, I stole that from The Office). The worst post so far was my first post (technically the second--the first, as I mentioned earlier, was the intro to the blog): apparently no one cared about my revelation that the short urinal at work was for midgets, not children (that is speculation on my part, but I still believe it wholeheartedly). It only has received 18 hits, but also has no tags and was before I got onto Google Plus, so maybe I should revisit it...

To go back to the more successful posts, my piece about stand-up comedy and unintended plagiarism was at 206 hits, making it the second most-viewed post. My review of the 50 Shades of Grey series, and the challenges of listening to it in the workplace, came in (no pun intended) at number three with 150 hits. The fourth and fifth highest are neck and neck, with 110 views logged of the story about when the crotch of my pants ripped out at a temp job, and 108 views for the one about the annoying energy-supplier-sales people who had been bombarding my house last year (and I see them again, walking the streets).

Most of my posts seem to settle in at around 50 views or so, with some spiking up over 70. A few have struggled and not been able to get much over 30 views, including such classics as the first Diabetes post, the story about pooping the bed, and the one I wrote about the Sesame Street Sex Scandal. I have no idea why some seem to take off, and others just do nothing. I don't think it is because of subject matter, though the "political" posts are among the lower viewages. Maybe it is the subject matter, maybe it is my awesome writing (that, I doubt) but what ever it is, I will keep writing about whatever, and maybe a pattern will reveal itself.

I have 35 posts to date, and I hope to match this number for the next year. A post a week seems a bit daunting, but we will see. Thanks again for reading, please continue, and feel free to leave comments on the page. I promise I will respond when I get a chance. Also, spread the word! Tell your neighbors (even the creepy ones who bring you half-eaten boxes of serial) and your friends about the blog. Don't forget to like the Facebook page as well. I only have 41 likes for the page and would like to get more (https://www.facebook.com/NonWisdomFromTheFirstStall  ). I have been trying to make pseudo-memes (the random non-wisdoms that have been appearing on my pages feed) through the FB page and it seems to be going well so far. Anyway, I am rambling and I want to get this out. Thanks again and I will be getting another post out soon! I also added a list of the top ten of my posts on the site... enjoy!

On Terror, Terrorism and Why I Stopped Wearing Underpants

I wanted to write something about what happened at this year's Boston Marathon. Since I usually avoid writing about current events or anything too serious, I figured I would balance the seriousness of the subject matter with an explanation of why I gave up wearing underwear all those years ago.

I was not watching the Boston Marathon, as I am 100% opposed to running, so I did not see things happen live. (I have said it before, and I'll say it again: I only run if someone is chasing me, and I am happy with that.) My wife had come downstairs (she works upstairs in our home) and told me that something had happened at the Marathon and it might have been a terrorist attack. Bombs went off near the finish line and two people had been killed.

I waited a bit before I switched the TV over to see what was happening. Gabby and I were in the middle of a Barney view-fest and God knows, I would hate to interrupt the 138th viewing of Barney's Animal Alphabet Matching Game. Besides, did I really want Gabby (who is 2) to see all the stuff that was sure to be unfolding on the television? Sadly, I have to confess, Gabby was more of an excuse than anything else. It was really me who didn't want to see what was happening. There were two reasons I didn't want to watch: first was the strong feelings that were already starting to hit me because of this potentially being an act of terrorism, and the second reason was that I knew I would just get mad at the network TV coverage.

When I eventually switched over to see what had happened, it brought me right back to September 11th, 2001. I can remember very clearly (as I am sure most people who experienced it can) the day that the Twin Towers came down. I was not working that day, for whatever reason, and came out of the bedroom and turned the TV on. I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing. On the screen were the Twin Towers, smoke pouring out of one. Then suddenly the cameras started tracking a plane and it flew right into the second tower. Once I realized what was happening, I felt this tremendous surge of emotion.

I don't know if I cried or not, but the pain in my chest... well, pain is not the right word. I don't even know if I even know what the right words are. The closest that I can come to describing it is to take how I feel when I get really angry/frustrated (which usually results in tears) and add the sorrow I felt when I got the news that my father had passed away (which definitely left me crying) and smush the two feelings together. As I watched the coverage of the towers throughout the day, these feelings would ebb and flow inside me. When I saw what was done in Boston, those feelings came right back to the surface.

Maybe it is because I am the farthest thing from being an extremist in any way, but I cannot fathom what could bring a person to the point where they could murder innocent people to express their ideology, or disenfranchisement with something. I can't understand it and I never will. I know that the USA is not the wonderful, benevolent and innocent country that so many people who live here seem to think it is. Over the years our country has done plenty of questionable, if not down right "evil" things, both overtly and covertly. We, however, are not the only country guilty of  this. There are few countries out there that have a spotless history, and many are guilty of a lot worse things than we have ever dreamed of (I'm looking at you Josef and Adolph.) To think that it is justifiable to perform acts of terror is inexcusable.

And speaking of inexcusable, we need to do something, as a people, about the media in this country. It is getting out of control. I am just about to the point where I want the government to control the media. I pine to have the freedom of speech taken away from this country, because some people just won't shut the F__k up! 24 hour news channels are ruining this country. Maybe that is a bit extreme, but seriously, has any good come from this phenomenon? Every tragedy that befalls our country is blasted with non-stop coverage: interviews with neighbors, cousins, digging up any little bit of info, trying to beat out the other channels. The networks want to evoke emotional reactions in their viewers and pull out everything they can to manipulate them. I'm not even going to get into the fact that news channels seem to be more and more biased these days and appear to take advantage of events like this to promote what ever political viewpoint that they are championing. I think they all need to go away.

The best thing I saw, that seemed to sum up everything I am feeling toward the media, is a little cartoon with a guy sitting in a chair watching the news. The news reporter says "What can we do to lessen the grip of fear from terrorism?" and the guy turns off the TV. Brilliant.

If network TV isn't bad enough, then let's talk about social media... I'm talking about you, Facebook. Boy, my feelings on what showed up on there during this whole Boston Marathon business run the entire range from pride to utter disgust. Memes are often funny, but sometimes loathsome. I saw outpourings of support and kindness, I saw people taking advantage of the situation by posting erroneous or outright false images and I saw the usual political battles being waged again and again, shamefully using this tragedy to make their points.

Yes, they were Muslims, despite the fact that many thought that they were domestic terrorists. What is the big deal? I thought they were domestic terrorists as well, and I didn't watch any of the coverage, so was not influenced by any media source. I've seen several memes pointing out that they were both Muslims. Does this make it worse? I saw one that said they received welfare and financial aid. Again, does it matter? These people people were willing to plant bombs and kill innocent people -- is this the time to point out that we have a system that is easy to take advantage of? I am getting to the point where I am about to take some computer programming classes so that I can learn to write a program that will filter out and delete any meme that is not funny... or has Grumpy cat on it... I'm getting tired of Grumpy Cat.

In conclusion, my heart goes out to all those who were affected by this horrible attack. I, like most of us, were glad to see that they got the two responsible. I don't even care that the one was killed. If that makes me a bad person, then so be it. I am glad they caught one alive, though. I think it will help answer questions that may have been left if he wasn't (like, if there were more people involved). With the capture of the assailants, let us hope we can put this tragic event behind us, and allow those who were affected directly to recover.

Now that I have had my say, as promised, here is a brief (pardon the pun) explanation of why I don't wear underwear anymore: I am not sure if I have mentioned it before (this would be a great opportunity to read through all my blog posts and check) but at some point late in my high school career I decided that underwear was not for me. How I came to this decision, I cannot remember. I always have said jokingly that I thought this would help my chances of having crazy porn sex (since the "actors" in the adult film industry never seemed to wear underwear). I did not really believe this, as many years of "going commando" did not seem to help me have any sex, forget crazy porn sex.

I do remember ending up with several pairs of jockey shorts one year and wearing them quite happily, until we had gym class. The underwear actually hung down past the bottom of my shorts. I was so self conscious that I found my self constantly adjusting them as we were engaged in whatever the sport du jour was. Unfortunately it did not escape the eyes of the gym teacher who liked to "pick" on kids (not to an excessive level) and he started teasing me about my wardrobe malfunction. I refused to wear my jockey shorts again after that.

I also remember preferring to let the old twig and berries bounce free instead of wearing a jock strap when I played sports. I found jock straps uncomfortable and knew there would be no thong wearing in my future. Not that the jock strap went up my crack or anything, but I didn't like the feel of the straps on my butt.

The exact reason for my non-underwear decision will probably always be a mystery. But then again, I don't understand why I do a lot of the things that I do. What I do know, is that "going commando" has saved me hundreds of dollars over the years, from buying new pairs, to all of the laundry related expenses I have incurred. Despite a few occasions where I was wearing short shorts (not male Daisy Dukes, or LT. Jim Dangle from Reno 911 short shorts, just regular short shorts) and I had an escapee, free balling has served me well. Though I must confess, I do have a few pairs of underwear in my drawer, primarily for doctor visits. I feel uncomfortable when the doctor says to strip down to my underwear and they come in and I am fully nude.

I don't think that I will ever go back to wearing underwear. When I do, it feels weird and uncomfortable. It gets so hot and sweaty down there -- how do you people stand it? And if anyone feels like performing an act of terrorism, just pull my shorts down in a public place. That image will terrorize people for years to come.

On the Album That Changed My Life

I love music! There is no other way to say it. I love it so much that I really believe that I was a famous musician in a past life, but a truly despicable person. If you believe in reincarnation and the whole Karma thing, this statement makes perfect sense because the level at which I love music, is only surpassed by how badly I perform it. As the saying goes, I couldn't carry a tune in a basket.

I also lack the ability (or maybe it is just the energy) to learn an instrument. I may have mentioned this before, but after I left my first wife, and before I started really dating my current (and God willing, last) wife, I bought a guitar and decided I was going to learn how to play it. Heading over to my local library, I found a book entitled something like "Learn How to Play the Guitar in Three Easy Steps". What they neglected to say was that step two was learn and memorize hundreds of chords. It was like those activity books that we had as kids, when they showed you how to draw Barney Rubble in four steps. It started with a couple of circles, next a lot of lines and Shazam! Done! There needed to be at least 6 more boxes to actually do it.

I am not sure why, but I was thinking back on the music I liked as a kid, and what I listen to now. There is a significant difference and I have to say there was one album that jumps out at me as THE ALBUM that changed my musical preference. Before I tell you which one it was, let me tell you about my musical choices when I was younger.

In several blog posts I have mentioned my parents' large album collection. That is where I began listening to music. It was mostly 50's and 60's stuff with lots of Beach Boys, The Animals, The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel and stuff like that. I remember having a music class in school and we were supposed to bring in an album that we liked and play a song. The other kids brought popular music of the times, but I remember bringing in the soundtrack to American Hotwax. I also remember being embarrassed because it was unlike anything any of the other kids were listening to.

I was also a product of the early 80's and remember listening to the radio a lot as well. Some of the top 40 music I listened to back then, I still enjoy today--some just makes me shake my head in disbelief. I can even remember hearing myself exclaim "I don't think there is a single Duran Duran song that I don't like." I'll let you judge whether that statement is groan-worthy or not. The Steve Miller Band's Abracadabra also was a song I loved and when it first came out and it takes me to a week spent at Black Lake, NY. I could run down a long list of bands that I enjoyed and share the memories associated with them but I will try and stick to important ones.

When I started junior high school, my musical taste did take a turn, to some degree. I think as soon as you got to 7th grade at Argyle Central School, they gave you your locker combination and a copy of Aerosmith's Greatest Hits. That was the album of choice, it seemed, for my class. That, and AC/DC, seemed to be regulars on field trips and such. I enjoyed them, but I also found I liked nontraditional music as well. I remember our class was going to Canada for a field trip and of course someone was playing the required listening in the back of the bus. My friend brought his boom box (I miss boom boxes, it was a much simpler time) and he had a tape that he had gotten recently by some guy named Falco. We listened to it in our seat, and to quote McDonald's, I was loving it! I talked him into slowly turning the volume up, little by little, because I wanted others to hear this awesome music. I think I got to about volume level 3 before the first "Turn that shit off" came from the "cool" kids in the back. It went off.

At this point, I was at a bit of a crossroads. What music was going to define me? Was I going to fit in and listen to what everyone else was listening to, whether it be the Top 40 stuff, or the prescribed classic rock of my peers? It was around this time that THE ALBUM appeared to me and redefined my musical taste for years to come. Sifting through my parents collection I found an album that caught my eye. On the cover was this guy swinging a sword or something. He had a shield and was glowing with motion blur all around him. I read the title: Black Sabbath Paranoid. I played the album and instantly fell in love.

I played that album countless times, over and over again, for months. I was a little partial to side one, but that may have been a bit of laziness on my part (you had to flip albums over when they were done, this being directed at anyone under a certain age) but all of the songs were awesome. (Well, Planet Caravan was my least favorite, and there was a skip on the beginning of Rat Salad that I always would forget about. To this day, when I hear that song, I am always surprised when there are only two little riffs before the song starts in earnest. I would hear at least 4 before I bumped the player.)

Heavy metal was to become my music of choice. Paranoid was my gateway drug to progressively harder music. Being geographically isolated, I didn't even know about Punk Rock music until I got to college, but for the later years of High School, it was Iron Maiden, Anthrax, Judas Priest, Pantera, Megadeath, etc. I never grew my hair long and you could not tell I was a heavy metal lover, but I was. I arrived at college with a collection of hair metal bands and a stereo/dual tape deck/record player combo, ready to rock out with my roommate. Unfortunately he was from India and played classical Indian music on his violin. This tale I will leave for another time.

College would be my next big musical shift as I discovered Punk rock. I didn't even realize this genre existed. The Ramones, the Dead Kennedys, The Descendents, Black Flag -- all of these bands I discovered when I became a DJ at the school radio station. For the sake of not making this a novella, I will tell you all about my radio show at KSLU, the only K in the east, another time. My big hair band collection started collecting dust as my new favorite genre took its rightful place.

I brought punk rock home with me, much to my parents' dismay. Not only because the singers tended to liberally use profanity in their songs, but also for my tendency to crank the radio up to the point of ear-splitting volume, but forget to turn it down when I got out of the car. Surprise! Punk both made me feel happy and sad when I bought an album: one album could have 20 something songs on it -- now that is getting your money's worth! Then I would realize the album was only 30 minutes long, and feel a little cheated. Punk rock and the emotion in the music was something that helped me through some rough times and helped punctuate the awesome times. I can remember sitting under the stars on a deserted bleacher, with the Descendents telling me that "my day will come, someday I'll be the only one" in reference to that girl I was pining for (it never did, by the way). When I got dumped by my very first girlfriend, it was Suicidal Tendencies telling me that "You can't bring me down!" 

As I have grown, I find myself realizing I never stopped liking the bands I listened to in the past. Today I love just about every kind of music. I still sing along when Hungry Like the Wolf  comes on, as well as The Trooper by Iron Maiden. My musical tastes have even broadened as I discovered Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, Loius Prima and other musicians that I would never have given a second listen to in my youth. I just love music, in any form (except Justin Bieber -- I'm just saying).

Despite the broad range of music I like, I find I gravitate to 80's and 90's punk bands like NOFX, Pennywise, The Descendents, The Ramones, etc. Because I listen to these bands, I am actually passing the torch on to my kids. Nothing makes me happier than watching my kids sing along to the Blitzkrieg Bop on Rock Band or singing along with my CAKE albums in the car. Even my two year old surprised me with her own rendition of I Will Wait by Mumford & Sons. It's my job as a parent to make sure that they realize that there are a lot of different styles of music and that they should feel free to listen to whatever they want, to hell what anyone else says. Except for Barney -- that shit has got to go!

Just in case anyone asks you, or you are trying to hack my account and this security question comes up, my favorite band is Bad Religion. And if you are in Glens Falls or Hudson Falls and the weather is nice and some yahoo is blaring really fast, loud and obnoxious music out of there car, it's probably me.