On Griswolding (or How I Started Becoming My Father)

I have to say, it is hard to keep up writing the blog when I am trying to do a couple of large side projects, working a regular job and raising children. I wanted to get a post out a while ago, but that didn't happen. This is one I wrote a while ago and is probably in need of proper editing, but I just had to get something out. Speaking of raising children, after Christmas I got my first visitation with my three oldest kids since their sudden move to Virginia over the summer. (My ex-wife decided to move down there with her boyfriend which is another story altogether.)

It was great seeing the kids, as one can imagine, but it did have its challenges. Fitting everyone in the house for a week, my oldest son had a seizure in the van on the way home from getting them and one the last night he was here, (He had a seizure a couple of years ago and he is now my third child diagnosed with epilepsy.) and just the change in energy that a they all brought to the house was tough (not to mention the quantities of food they consume!!).  Despite all this it was a great visit.

I have to admit, my older kids have some issues, and whenever I talk to them on the phone, especially around holidays and birthdays, they do remind me a bit of the kids in "Talladega Nights." The scene that always pops into my head is when the children are told by Will Farrell's character that he and their mother are getting a divorce and they start cheering and saying "Yaaaa. Two Christmas' " Not that it is that bad, but the subject of present giving becomes the common theme of all conversations before these holidays/events. 

One of the activities we did as a family when the kids were here was go bowling. My wife and I have taken everyone before so we had a good idea of what we were getting ourselves into. My sister and her husband joined us (My brother-in-law coming was a surprise because he is not a big fan of children (or maybe just my hyperactive ones.)) which helps with kid wrangling and to keep things flowing smoothly. Unfortunately I knew we were going to have trouble as soon as we walked over to our lanes and saw the arcade directly behind us.

My kids, like I was when I was a kid, are obsessed with arcades. Shiny lights and all sorts of noises draw them like moths to a flame. As I said, I understand them because I was them, many moons ago. I am still like that to some degree, just watch me in Applebee's, or any restaurant that has a TV going. I barely like sports and will stare blankly at the screen (Which my wife loves, I can tell you (sarcasm, if you missed it)). I knew the arcade would a sirens call, but I decided I would try to stop it.

I set ground rules at first and said I would give them some time later in our bowling adventure and for a time things were going well. I don't know when I lost it. I think it was when the kids finished their game before ours. They asked if they could go check the games out and I foolishly said "sure." Then I lost them. The adults finished, and we all started the second game. I looked over at the kids lane and only the person bowling was there. The other two were sitting on plastic motorcycles, pretending they were actually playing the arcade game (something else I always did as a kid as well.) 

Time and time again it was calling into the arcade to let the person whose turn it was to come out and bowl and I started getting annoyed. I finally snapped when my older daughter threw the second ball of her frame and ran back to the arcade before the ball even got to the pins. I called all three kids over and made them sit and participate in "Family Fun." Of course I had some scowls and grumpiness, especially from my 15 year old daughter, but they rolled with it pretty well.

On looking back, all I could think was "I'm turning into my father." I remember putting my father through the same kind of stuff when I was younger, especially during the teenage years. We (my family that is) often referred to my dad as Clark Griswold (from the Vacation movies.) He never gave us the "Were going to have so much fun we'll be whistling Zippity-doo-da out of our assholes" speech, but he certainly tried to make sure we all had family fun, whether we wanted to or not. At the time I don't remember much more than being annoyed. Now that I look back and especially now that I am a father, I get it. It hits home even more considering how little time I ended up having with him, since he died of a heart attack at 45.   

I honestly felt bad that I snapped at the kids during bowling. None of it was their fault. I set my expectations way too high and did not follow through with the rules I had established. With only getting to see my kids a few times a year and the fact that they are growing so damn fast, I guess I wanted to have as much "family fun" as I could before the kids are grown up and on their own. With what happened at the bowling alley, I really feel like have embraced my inner Griswold. I bet my father couldn't be prouder.      

On doing it one last time!

I have been away from the Blog for a while so let's try to jump right in. My wife and I just had our second child and all I can say is... what the hell were we thinking? Do not think for a second that I regret the decision or that I in any way do not care for my shiny new son, but as I rapidly approach the 44th anniversary of escaping my mother's womb, I have to say I have a lot of concerns.

Let me state again that I am going to be 44 years old. (Wait, let's throw an exclamation point on that.) 44 years old! Now, I do not think that I am in any way some ancient relic fathering children (like Michael Douglas?) But being 43 right now, it does feel like I should have been out of this game a while ago. People I went to high school with are sending kids to college (some even have grand kids) and I am just starting out again with a newborn. But that is what you get when you get re-married later in life (and an attractive wife). 

To be honest, I feel fine now and my trepidation is not about the present. I sometimes find it hard to believe that I am in my forties. It is just I keep fast-forwarding in my head to 15 years in the future, seeing myself trying to play basketball with my kids, and being worried about throwing my hip out. I picture me cheering on my kids at a sporting event, waving my little four-legged walking stick with the tennis balls on the feet. When my daughter turns 18 years old, I will be 58 years old. That means I will be over 60 when my son turns 18. I know these are just numbers but my side of the family is not known for its longevity. My dad died at age 45, but the one thing I have on him is the fact that I have gone regularly to the doctor over the years and have been taking care of my health.

I know I am being ridiculous but these are the thoughts that I have. They do not weigh me down and I am not fixated on them, but they do sit at the back of my mind. Everyone says that kids will keep you young, and I do believe this, but this seems like it can only work for so long. It will get to the point where no matter how old you "feel," your body ages normally. You can only put it off for so long. I just want to be around long enough to see my kids grow up and be happy.  

Now that I have got my whining out, let me contradict everything I just wrote, because despite the bitching, I am very glad that we decided to have one more child. Part of this may be because my ex-wife decided to pick up and move to Virginia (me being in upstate New York, on the off chance that someone who doesn't know me personally actually reads this), so my three children from my first marriage, who were once a tornado of energy in my house every other weekend, are now just a twice a week phone call (this will be a complete other story for another time). The new baby has helped fill a large whole in my life that the other kids left when they moved. This isn't to say that my three-year-old daughter is chopped liver (if you enjoy that sort of thing), but the new baby has been a major distraction, especially with how much direct care he requires.

My three-year-old has always been special to me in that she was the first child that I had a direct hand in raising (and the first that I got to go through the entire pregnancy with). My first three children were adopted and as I have mentioned in other posts, my ex really treated me like the fourth child so I didn't really have a large hand in raising them (or at least I didn't feel that I did). After the divorce, she made an even greater effort at keeping me from interacting with the kids, but again, that is a whole different post. Now I have a new child to raise with a woman who values and respects me, which is amazing.

Also, it is very nice to have a matching set of kids. We got the boy and the girl now, so there is balance in the house. It will prove to be more expensive, as now we cannot take advantage of my daughter's hand-me-downs, though maybe I should use them anyway. No need to start asserting gender roles on him.

My daughter now has someone to grow up with as well. Being someone who grew up with a sibling that was close in age (my brother is one year older than me), I know the value of having a playmate throughout your life. (And of course, there will be no fighting or competition or anything negative like this... lol.) My three-year-old will also have someone to boss around, and with the older kids moved away, no one to boss her around. I think she might make out the best in this deal.

No matter how much I worry about the future, I will not let it affect the present. I now have a new beautiful baby boy that I will shower with love and attention--a brand new kid to try and turn into a powerful nerd like me, and yet another child to take care of me and my wife when we get older. Now that my wife has gotten her tubes tied, he is also the last child, and I'm okay with that (and so is my wife!)

On My Autobiography

As I have mentioned before in earlier posts, I listen to a lot of audio books at work. Because I borrow a lot of them from my sister, there is quite a bit of variety in my selection. If I had my own library, it would be mostly Sci-Fi and Fantasy. Because of my sister, I have delved into everything from The Hunger Games to Fifty Shades of Grey to Atlas Shrugged. I was recently thinking about some of the autobiographies I had come across in my listening: the first was Tough Shit: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good by Kevin Smith; second was American on Purpose by Craig Ferguson; and the third was Bossy Pants by Tina Fey. All were good books, and I enjoyed them very much, but I find autobiographies usually make me react in two ways.

Firstly, autobiographies give me brief spurts of creative energy: I get momentarily inspired and work furiously on a project for a week or so. Then my well runs dry, I lose focus (or life ends up running me over) and the project I was working on gets abandoned (until my next inspirational surge). I keep hoping I can ride one of these spurts of energy to greatness, but soon realize that success does not come instantaneously. The people who wrote these books tell tales of struggle and accomplishment and I seem to forget about those pesky struggling parts. There is also the sense of time that is missed. When Kevin Smith says that he worked hard to get the money, talent, equipment and the time to shoot his movie Clerks and it is told on two or three pages, one can lose sight of the fact that it was accomplished over many months, if not years. No one achieves fame or success overnight, unless their step dad is Bruce Jenner and they are "caught" on a sex tape,and then it's all reality shows and non-stop media coverage. (Hmmmm, a sex tape... yeah no, this will never happen!)

Secondly, I find that autobiographies make me feel absolutely pathetic. I read/listen to the author tell how they had a dream and then proceeded to make it happen. There were usually trials and tribulations along the way, but despite it all, they persevered. I think that I am supposed to be inspired and run out and try to make my dreams a reality, but it usually backfires and just makes me feel worse about my life.

Let me say before I go on, that I have few regrets in my life, and I am by no means unhappy with my life at the present. I have an amazing wife, awesome children and it seems that things are only getting better with each passing year. I can't even say that I regret my first marriage, although granted, it certainly wasn't the best time of my life; but I ended up adopting 3 awesome kids whom I love very much, so how could I could I ever say that I truly regretted it?

When I say these books make me feel worse about my life, I mean my professional life. I have always been a dreamer and that has manifested itself in many ways. I have always been interested in art. My mother told me that when I was in Kindergarten I drew a picture that the teacher had shown her of an Indian (I'm sorry, Native American) village, or something like that. The teacher was impressed by the details I put in the picture, including the blood dripping out of the arrow wounds of the little stick people.

As I got older I became a doodler and took a couple of art classes in high school, probably the mandatory ones. I don't remember any art teacher ever saying, "Hey John, that's pretty good," or giving me any other encouragement, so I certainly did not think of art as anything but a fun hobby. I would not give art a second thought until I was a sophomore in college, where I was bitten by the Walt Disney bug. That is the phrase that I apply to that delusional moment when you say to yourself, "Why, you can do anything you want in life, as long as you work hard and follow your dreams."

Maybe delusional is not a fair statement, some people know exactly what they want to do with their lives and doggedly pursue their dreams. Most people don't make it, but some do, and then write autobiographies about their accomplishments. For goodness sake, Justin Bieber has an autobiography, and he is only 20 years old.... isn't this a bit premature? He obviously knew what he wanted to do at an early age and went for it. To be honest, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I am 43.

I started college with the intent on taking computer programming, because that seemed like it would be something that I could make some good money with later in life. After getting a 2.5 in my first semester class and a 2.0 (my lowest grade ever) in the second class, I decided I needed to shift my focus. That is when the Walt Disney bug actually bit me. I always enjoyed doodling as a kid, even tried to make some comic book characters (I still remember one of my heroes was Tsunami Man--though, with the disasters of the last few years, maybe that would not have been the greatest Superhero name.) so I thought I'd give art a shot. I did pretty well and my grades improved dramatically and I was actually enjoying my classes. I even made the Dean's List 3 of my last 4 semesters.

Then I graduated and got accepted into grad school at the Memphis College of Art in Memphis, Tennessee. Unfortunately, I got married before I started (I will tell this tale in detail at another time) and ended up dropping out halfway through the first semester. That was probably the last time I really did any art. There was a brief time when a good friend recruited me to help with a project that he started. I was very excited about it but the project ended up falling to the wayside. I really wasn't in a position to help that much; between a demanding wife and three active kids, free time was at a minimum. I got a few sketches to him but that was about it. Besides, for me, art is something that needs to be kept up with and one can't expect to not draw anything for a decade and jump right back into it. (I am happy to say that the work he did turned into his first novel. I have plugged it before and I will again: The Daedalus Incident by Michael J. Martinez. He has also turned out a novella called The Gravity of the Affair and book two of the series, The Enceladus Crisis, is coming out May 6th, Order it now on Amazon. He didn't even pay me for that plug!) So for now, the dream of becoming a great artist/illustrator has been set aside.

I have always loved stand up comedy as well. In high school I listened to Andrew Dice Clay, Sam Kinison, Eddie Murphy, Bill Cosby and whatever comedy albums I could get my hands on. I would dream about getting up on stage and performing, even going so far as writing some bits up. My classmates voted me class clown and everyone always complimented me on how funny I was. Unfortunately, I grew up in a small farm town in upstate New York and was nowhere near any comedy venues or open mic nights. Besides this, I was incredibly shy. Around people I was comfortable with, I could say whatever I wanted and act however I needed to in order to get a laugh. The thought of doing the same thing in front of strangers was terrifying.

When I got to college nothing really changed, except I had access to actual live comedy shows. The school had a comedy series and would regularly get comedians to perform at the school. I went to as many shows as I could, watching, taking in their acts, wishing I had the guts to do the same thing. I never did. We did have a little talent show for two years in International House, the place I resided for most of my college career. One year I sang a duet with my good friend Jalal, who sadly is no longer with us. We sang Ram it Down by Judas Priest, a capella. There was no real preparation--we just agreed to do it and read the lyrics off the cassette jacket, with fist hammering motions. It went over well and we got some good laughs. I cannot sing, which is why it was probably entertaining to watch.

The other year at the talent show I decided to show off my juggling skills. I talked while I was juggling and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I know it was just a little thing, but the adrenaline rush I got and the energy I got from the crowd was awesome. But, it was not enough to get me to try it again. Where the people in the autobiographies would have used the experience as a catalyst to their future careers, I just went on living, never trying to achieve more. Then I left school, got married, and just let the dream of becoming a stand up comedian fade away as well.

Another dream I have had (and still have) is becoming a writer. I know this may be a surprise, as you read my blog (that was sarcasm, by the way), but I would love to write something someday. My brain is constantly bombarded with story ideas and I have started numerous projects. Unfortunately, I pretty much blew off English classes in school, never having the slightest interest in writing until maybe the last 10 years or so.

English and writing were the furthest things from my mind when I was in college; I guess my brain has only so much dream capacity. When I got out of college and my other dreams seemed to be unattainable (not that they really were in actuality, I just wasn't mental/spiritually capable of making them happen-- in other words I was too much of a coward to take a chance), I started thinking about writing.

I frequently have had story ideas pop into my head. I think part of it comes from all the fantasy roleplaying I do. Constantly coming up with adventures to run my friends through really gets the creative juices flowing. For those unfamiliar with fantasy roleplaying, basically it is creating stories that your friends take an active part in. You create a story with an open plot and the players, who take on the roles of the protagonists, interact with the setting you have created and try to resolve the mystery/adventure/whatever the story is about.

I have actually written a book, but it currently resides in two one-subject notebooks, that I am now very slowly rewriting and getting into an electronic format. I have tried writing a couple of screenplays and have several movie ideas bouncing through my head which I hope someday to get down. This dream I haven't "abandoned" yet.

There are other projects I have started: I tried to develop a card game and often think of coming up with my own roleplaying game or system. But, this post is now getting waaaay too long, so I will not go into any other dreams I have had. Let me get back to the main topic--if you remember, it was about autobiographies--so I can wrap this up.

All I know is that I have been writing this blog since last May--believe me, I am stunned I haven't given up on it by now. It's amazing how much more you can achieve with a supportive wife. (And one who does understand how the English language works. I should publish a post that she hasn't edited and you will see how bad my grammar is.)

As I reread this blog, I realized that I did little more than whine about how I haven't really followed any of my dreams. All I have to say is, not yet! I haven't given up; I still have plenty of years to turn this around and I am going to do it! In fact, this post has nearly inspired me to write my own autobiography. Why should famous people have all the fun? Instead of tales of inspiration from those who have traveled the road to success, you can hear the tale of a chubby kid with low self-esteem and high hopes, who grew into a chubby guy with low self-esteem, working a dead-end job. A guy who found the courage to leave a bad marriage after 15 years and ended up reconnecting and marrying an old college friend he hadn't talked to in over seven years. A girl who makes him feel like his dreams are attainable and who is more of an inspiration than any book I have ever read or listened to. This, by the way, is just a cheap ploy to get her to continue editing my blog, but don't tell her that.

On Organized Sports

The Super Bowl has come and gone and I'd like to say, in the immortal words of Robbie Hart (Adam Sandler's character in the "Wedding Singer"), "Whoopity Dooo!" I do not say this because I want to diminish the achievements of the Seattle Seahawks this season, or incur the wrath of their fans; I am merely expressing the fact that I am just not that into sports.

I am by no means a sports hater, In fact, I was a sports lover for most of my youth. I do still catch the occasional sporting event on TV, but what I guess I am trying to say is that I am not really a fan of organized sports. I will happily shoot hoops with someone, throw a football around or even jump into a hockey game... well, maybe not hockey, seeing as though it has been over a decade since I strapped on a pair of skates and I would probably end up killing myself or some other unsuspecting participant. (Or more likely, strain muscles that have not been used in a looong time.)

When I say that I don't like organized sports, I mean that I do not follow teams or really care who is winning or losing a particular game, set, match or whatever. I wasn't always so indifferent about sports. When I was a kid I was a huge Yankees fan (I liked Graig Nettles in particular). I also rooted for the Montreal Canadiens and was proud to say that I was a Patriots fan, at a time when saying it out loud was met with scorn and ridicule (I was a huge Steve Grogan  fan!) I collected baseball cards (which I endlessly sorted and re-arranged) and would watch sporting events on TV all the time. Part of this love probably came from my father.

My father was definitely a sports fan. He loved the Bills for football (my brother was a Dolphins fan so there was a lot of smack talk during football season) and I'm sad to say I'm not sure who he favored in the other sports. In addition to his love of organized sports, he was always a part of my school sports. He coached little league, went to my basketball and soccer games and was really supportive of all my sporting endeavors. He would take the family to local sporting events: AHL hockey games and minor league baseball games, and he even took me and my brother to the only professional sporting event I have ever been too, a Montreal Expos game in Montreal.

Unfortunately my interest in organized sports started to wane as I got older. As other interests increased, my love of following teams diminished. In fact, by the time I got out of college, I couldn't have cared less what the Yankees or my former beloved Patriots were up to. I did not watch games on TV, unless there was nothing else on, and I really didn't care who was in the World Series, Super Bowl or Stanley Cup.

Let me stop for one second and say that I have never, ever had any interest in watching or following basketball, whether professional or college. Maybe there was a time that I would root for the Lakers, but overall, there was no interest. I think the Lakers were just a programmed response for when/if someone asked who I liked based on their success at that particular time. I was never interested in college basketball and now I pretty much hate it, primarily because it makes my current job harder once March rolls around.

Just because I do not follow sports teams does not mean I would never go to a sporting event if invited. There is something amazing about being at a live sporting event: the sights, the smells, the people, the energy, the food, it's wonderful... and there are no commercials! (Well except for the fact that everything that can be labeled with a corporate logo usually is.) There are also no annoying commentators, endlessly spouting off stats to fill in the spaces between the action. Commentators are why I can't even watch baseball games anymore and why I still do enjoy an occasional hockey game on the TV (there is no time for silly stats as the action is virtually non-stop.) In college I would go with a group of friends, which included several women (my wife being one of them) and had an awesome time. When it came right down to it, however, I didn't care where our school team finished each season or if they lost that night. To be honest, I was much more interested in the girls that we went with than the hockey game.

I will confess that of all the sports out there, I can understand following football more than any other. The fact that the season is so short and there are so few games, it makes each game very important. With hockey, baseball or basketball, considering the fact there are 5,000 games per season, there doesn't seem to be a need watch until the end of the season. And I also must confess, I do check up on the Patriots throughout the season, just to see how they are doing. But unlike my youth, I am not upset for days following a heartbreaking loss.

Sports fans come in a variety of flavors. You have the casual follower, who has a favorite team, and tries to catch a game every now and then. They usually know whether their team won their last game or not and probably know where their team is ranked, but that's about it. At the other extreme is the total sports fanatic. They know stats about the team and the players and have been to an actual game or two (if geographically/ economical possible). They own multiple pieces of clothing with their sports team on it and their mood is affected by the performance of their team for days after the last game. They may have even been responsible for hate mail/threats of violence to referees/officials after a loss. They may even hold a grudge for years and years after a particularly painful defeat.

I would never criticize the super fans out there. (Well, I'm sure there are a few out there who deserve criticism...) We all have our obsessions/ things we are passionate about. Some people collect guns, others are into comic books and some people are into "My Little Ponies" (they are out there... they are called Bronies. There is a documentary about it... who knew.) I personally devote many hours in a week, whether it is writing adventures (mini-stories) or just doing prep work, for my weekly pen and paper Role Playing Games. (If you don't know what this is, then it will take too much time to explain. Just know that it's pretty high on the nerdiness scale.)

To wrap this up, let me say that I am not in any way condemning the sports fans out there. You love your sports and that is cool. I have things I am passionate about and that is cool. We can all co-exist. Do not push your sports loving agenda on me, and I will not try to get you all to start playing Dungeons and Dragons. I was one of you once, so I understand you. I have stayed up late to catch the end of a game. I have cried after a crushing defeat (Remember, I was a Patriots fan, lot of tears back in the 80's). I rode the high of a World Series victory. I get the passion, the love of sports, the need to follow a team. The only thing I can't understand, the one mystery that eludes me to this day, is the love of NASCAR. It's not a sport, people. Calm down!

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 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 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 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.