On They Might Be Giants and Not Being Too Old to Go to a Show

I recently saw an ad from one of my favorite bands (They Might Be Giants) looking for people to join their secret fan club. I am technically not allowed to talk about the club (haha, inside club joke), but one of the many perks were two "free" tickets to any one of their upcoming shows. I looked up to see where they were going to be playing and I saw Albany (which is close to where I live) was one of the stops on their tour. Doing a little math, comparing the cost of  two tickets and all the other stuff they were offering versus the cost of the membership, it ended up being an easy decision. I joined!

The last time I saw the band, a good 5+ years ago, it had been at the Egg, which is a fantastic venue located in Albany so I assumed that this is where they were going to be playing. TMBG even sang a song about this venue called, surprisingly enough "The Egg," Why would I think the concert would be anywhere else, right? .... right? <Fill in phrase about assuming and asses and me and you, etc.>

Later, as more details came out, I noticed the tour posters and such said they were actually playing at the Upstate Concert Hall... which is not in Albany but Clifton Park (which is 20 miles north of Albany.) This concerned me. I had never been to the UCH before and had heard mixed opinions about it. Some people told me it was good, but it really depended on what band was playing. Others said that it was just a big bar, there was no seating and it got very hot, especially with a lot of people packed in it. 

Now this last bit was a bit distressing. I am not that old (44) but the thought of standing for a couple of hours with my wife, with a ton of people crushed into us in a sweltering, confined space did not appeal to me. I almost talked myself out of going. The tickets were basically good forever and I figured I could just wait for the band to perform in a location where I could sit my lazy ass down. I decided to just suck it up and go and let me tell you, I am very, very , very glad I did.

Just to give a brief history of my concerting experience. My first show was Guns N' Roses opening for Aerosmith late in high school (88'-89' ish). Next I saw the Violent Femmes at my college before  "Blister in the Sun" was a hit for them and that was pretty much it, until I got divorced a little over 5 years ago. Then I saw a friend/co-worker's band play a couple of local bars, went and saw Cake, Weezer (It was also supposed to be Blink 182, but they had to cancel at the last minute) and TMBG the first time. All of the latter venues all had seating, so my wimpy ass was fine.

Fast forward and now I find myself and my wife at the show. We got there really early and got pretty close to the stage (maybe 3-4 "rows" back). The place was not as bad as I had heard... actually it was pretty cool! The temperature was not overwhelming, though I could see it being bad in the middle of summer. The band played two sets and my wife and I dropped back after the first set to cool down a bit.

I can't even begin to tell you how fun it was. I got to annoy the people behind me with my amateur film making (though I covered the back of the camera with my hand to try to minimize the glowing screen, I'm sure the people behind me were like, "All right Spike Jonze, that's a wrap!") I also got repeatedly jostled by the happy, dancing, were-so-in-love couple next to me. My wife kept getting hit by the girls hair, so I think she may have had it worse. We also had the periodic tall person drift in front of us which just made me enjoy the experience all the more.

I never really went to the dive bars and shitty venues to see bands. I don't drink so I never really went to bars in general. This concert made me feel that I was getting to experience a little of what I missed, especially considering I was there with a beautiful woman. Not only was the music great but so was the crowd. Then again, I really wasn't expecting it to be that bad. TMBG is not a death metal band and is known not only for their alternative/indie rock but also their kids albums (they did not bust out with "The Hot Dog Song," but I am sure it would have been hilarious if they had) so there was no mosh pit or really aggressive personality types. It was just a very mellow crowd enjoying an awesome band.

The band was promoting a new album which was good for the people around me because I was unfamiliar with the lion's share of the songs they played so the crowd was spared my awful singing. That is by far my biggest fault as a concert goer. I'm a wanna be singer and I am terrible at it! Despite the many new tunes, they played most of their big older titles for all us long time fans and it took me back to college where I was first introduced to They Might Be Giants.

I will never be a reviewer because I like everything. I am not a musician so I wouldn't even notice if the music was off, unless it was really, really noticeable, so I will just say they sounded great. The light show was good, the volume was good (I was not deafened by the sound) the band was hilarious and really had great onstage banter. Everything was just, in a word... awesome. When the show ended, I could not believe how much time had passed. It went by too quick. But you know what they say about time flying when fun/a good time is involved.

The only thing I will say negative is (not specifically about TMBG, but concerts in general) that I really hate the concept of the "encore." I was already getting tired and hoarse from a long night of screaming and clapping and then you have to do a bunch more to get them to come out and play a couple of more tunes. You know they were already planning on coming out again and then they make you do it again. I wish they would just say that "We are going to do two encores tonight. We will say thank you and good night and duck down a little bit, pretending we ran of the stage. All of you just do one round of rhythmic clapping and we will pop up after it crescendos. You cheer. We play an extra song or three. We will do it all one more time and the show will end."

When my wife and I left the show we were both pretty wired, but weary. In younger days we probably would have hit Denny's or something, but being old folks with kids, we had to get home. My sister was watching the little ones and we figured she would like to get home at some point before dawn. Over all it was a great experience. With having kids and dealing with the regular day to day of adult life, it was nice to jump in the time machine and act like our younger selves. My wife and I have been friends since college, but have only been married for a short time. We missed a lot of these wild crazy nights, but if this concert has shown us anything, we aren't too old to make new memories and rock on! Now if I can only convince her to go see GWAR when they are in town next....

ps. In case you don't know who GWAR is. Here is a photo (though their lead singer just passed last year, I am using a photo with him in it. Miss you Dave!)

           

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 weathering the Sh*t Storm

I don't know if I blocked it out of my head after my daughter was born but how can so much shit come out of something so tiny? As my son hits one month old I have to marvel at the sheer number of diapers that we have gone through in this short amount of time. I have been thinking of advising my wife to just strap the diapers directly to her breast and skip the middleman or, should I say, middlebaby.

I have had this kid poop three times in the middle of changing one diaper. Let me paint the picture for you (insert brown paint joke here): The boy is either finishing eating or sleeping quietly after a feeding. And let me just add, does he ever stop eating? (I see a correlation!) You suddenly hear the sound of his diaper filling (well, not quite filling, but you get the point.) At first my wife and I pretend like we didn't hear it, hoping the other will take care of it. In this example, I decide to cave first and take care of it, because I am just a nice guy (and my wife is much better at pretending nothing happened than me... haha, just kidding!) I get the boy and slowly peel back the diaper, let some air hit the little guy's little yellow water cannon, so it doesn't turn into one. Once the coast is clear, I put the new diaper underneath, and quickly pull out the dirty one. Then I wipe the bottom and in mid-wipe, more poop starts coming out. So I wait and give it a minute or so. Then get another diaper, wipe again and toss the dirty diapers away and seal the new one. Then I go ahead and zip, button, screw, velcro, snap, whatever is required to get his clothes back on and pick him up. He looks at me, gives me the middle finger and unleashes another fecal storm into the new diaper. That's when I scream, then cry a little bit and leave him in a messy diaper for the next three days just to teach him a lesson. Just kidding, I only left him in the messy diaper for two days. Just kidding again (my son cannot give the middle finger yet and I would not leave any baby in a dirty diaper for very long... the scream and the tears--100% true.)

Now this scenario does not happen every time but it has occurred, unfortunately, more than once. And while I am talking about poop, I remember the first time with my daughter there was definitely a lot of concern about the shape, size, color, texture of every poop that she created. They even gave us a chart on what different poops signified. Though they did not give us a chart this time, we were still required to do poop augury. My daughter had wonderful, Dijon mustard colored poo for most of her first months, yet my son's has been greenish. Uh oh.... to the Internet!

Let me just go off on a little tangent and say that the worst thing any new parent should do is look for answers to medical questions on the Internet. You go to one of the big MD sites and type in your symptoms, or concerns and you get, the most probable causes, which is good... but then you make the mistake of continuing to reading. At the bottom of the list of possible issues are the rare one-in-a-million-chance diseases that are placed there to scare the living crap out of you (especially when your child has all of the symptoms!) But then again, you also tend to start Jelly Bellying the situation. This is a term that I use for when your mind starts making up stuff based on an implanted suggestion, for example, someone hands you a Jelly Belly jelly bean candy and asks you what flavor it is. You chew, and chew and can't figure out what it is... until the person who gave you the candy says what flavor it is and you instantly taste the flavor. You start seeing symptoms that aren't there and you slowly head down that road to panic and wasteful doctor visits. (Unless your child has the crazy rare one in a million disease... then I am just an ass.) Enough of this, back to the poop!

The green poop (according to both the Internet and poop charts--yes, they are out there, just Google newborn poop chart and see what you get) we believe is an allergy and my wife is pretty sure it is dairy based. God help her (she is a better person than me) since she has decided to cut all dairy out of her diet. I will say, that since she has stopped, the poop has gone to Dijon mustard color (and it was mucusy as well, but that cleared up too) so my wife was/is probably right (am I surprised?) I know that she really hopes that she is wrong, because she is really dying for some cheese, real half and half for her coffee, and lots of other dairy-based foods that I will not describe in detail. (after all, she does edit these posts for me so that would just be cruel.)

I know that the shit storm will eventually end and my son will start pooping normally. Normally will, however, be a double-edged sword. Less diapers, awesome! We will save some time, money and sanity.  But as the frequency of downloads decreases, the smell will start to increase. Right now all of our garbage cans are quickly filling up with dirty diapers, but there is no smell. Hooray! Like all storms, this one will die down and eventually end. I know my wife and I will get through it, as we are an excellent team and work well together, and besides, we have done it before. Though, to be honest, despite my whining, at least the poop does not have the range of his pee. After a couple of near misses, he finally got me this morning, a glancing blow on the hand. Could have been worse!

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 Disney and the Movies that Never End, Tangled Edition

I have very mixed feelings about this Walt Disney fellow. Not only did the man create, but also, because of his success/vision/financing(?), allow to be created, some of the greatest family movies and cartoons of all time. Disney, and now Pixar, are mighty companies, designed to delight children of all ages (and delight their shareholders as well). Disney owns theme parks, cruises, TV networks, Broadway shows, and so much more. They have even acquired two entities that I love: Marvel and Star Wars. Despite what I think of the company's marketing/merchandising machine and my concerns over what will happen to the my beloved Star Wars franchise, the most important thing for me right now is that my three-year-old daughter has been sucked into that machine.

It started when my wife and I decided to put on Cinderella for my youngest. My daughter has never been a huge TV watcher, primarily because we don't watch a ton of television. When she did watch TV, a lot of it was music based (i.e. Barney) and never any full-length movies. We put Cinderella on thinking she would just watch for 10 minutes, if that, and ask for something else or move on to some other activity. That girl sat through the entire film, eyes glued to the TV. She laughed, she asked pertinent questions and said "Oh no!" at the appropriate moments. My wife and I were stunned. And then came the words I dreaded to hear... words that brought back repressed memories from when my three oldest children were younger.. my daughter looked me in the eye and said "Can I watch that again?" Aaaaargh! It was starting!

"Can I watch it again?" How can children watch the same movie (or TV show) over and over again? I mean, what pleasure can they possibly get from it? Einstein once said that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. My daughter watches movies over and over again and somehow seems surprised that everything turns out all right in the end. She is only three, but still... she's insane, right?

Just as an aside, she did watch TV shows over and over but usually there were enough episodes in a season to keep it at least a little fresh. Also, as I mentioned above, when a show has a lot of music in it, the TV almost becomes more like a radio.

Unfortunately I find myself watching these same movies over and over again and then my insanity kicks in. No, I don't expect the outcomes to change but I start picking apart the movies, analyzing them and wondering things that are best left un-wondered. Some of you may be understanding exactly what I am saying, others may be scratching their heads wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Well, for the latter, let me show you what I am talking about.

My daughter's current obsession is Tangled (I know it should be Frozen, but hey, kudos to her for not jumping on the band wagon.) For the last month or so she has wanted to watch it in the mornings before going to day care and also when she gets home from daycare. She knows it so well she is quoting scenes, and singing along to most of the songs. I have watched the film over and over as well and I am left with all sorts of questions.

First off, I don't believe that anyone could be stuck in a tower for 18 years and never go outside. Especially when you have a big window overlooking your secret valley. Rapunzel let down her hair so her "mother" could come and go as she pleased yet she never, before her 18th birthday, lowered herself down to step on the ground. I don't care what kind of psychological abuse one uses on their hostage; it seems highly unlikely that someone would not, at some point even step a foot on the ground below the tower. This would slowly turn into a steady exploration of the valley, and then curiosity would take them outside the valley. Nope, not Rapunzel. She just stared out the window and pined.... I say bullshit!

Next, the movie tries to portray Mother Gothel as this evil woman who stole a baby for her own selfish designs (immortality). Yes, she did steal the child from its birth parents, and yes the primary motivation for the act was to keep her fountain of youth, but Rapunzel grew into a fairly intelligent, well-mannered and lovely woman. I feel some of her behavior (and art talent) could be attributed to birth, but a lot of her development must have been taught/learned. The only person to interact with Rapunzel was Mother Gothel. Therefore, there must have been a level of love that Gothel had for Rapunzel. She may have even reached the point where she thought of Rapunzel as her own daughter.

I think it is wrong to assume that there was nothing but selfishness and evilness behind the woman's actions (at least before the events of the movie). There must have been love of a sort between them. "Stockholm Syndrome", I hear you thinking; sure, maybe that would explain Rapunzel's side of it. After all, she did reach out a hand to try and catch her fake mother as she tumbled out of the window to her death. However, this doesn't explain why Rapunzel was not just locked in a room and ignored, except for "magical youth giving" time. Like I said, Mother Gothel must have developed some sort of love for Rapunzel.

Next, there is a series of little things that I noticed and feel the need to mention.

I know Rapunzel never wore shoes, so her feet must have toughened up a bit, but she was walking on stone floors and rugs in the tower. Running outside in a world full of rocks, twigs and other sharp foot-piercing stuff seems a bit far fetched. Yet Rapunzel puts on a huge dance number in the valley.

At one point during the movie, Flynn Rider and Maximus (the palace horse, who happens to be chasing Rider, who made off with the crown of a certain lost princess) fall from a tree into a very deep gorge. The fall is hundreds of feet yet they just land with an ooof! In real life, there would have been two shattered corpses on the valley floor.

In the bar scene, where Flynn and Rapunzel are hiding from a group of guards who are hot on their trail, Maximus enters the search and is practically a bloodhound. The horse sniffs out an entrance to a secret tunnel out of the bar in under 5 minutes. Yet in an earlier scene, Maximus is no more than two feet away from Flynn, who is blocked by a thin wall of vines, but doesn't detect the rogue. This almost annoys me as much as the Ring Wraith in Fellowship of the Ring. The foul beast is two feet from Frodo and can't find, sense or smell the ring. Hey Sauron, maybe these aren't the best candidates for a Ring recovery team! But, I digress...

Later in the film, when a group of the song and dance ruffians arrange a Flynn Rider rescue operation, the piano playing thug places Flynn on the end of a cart. Another one jumps off a second story landing (2 stories! Broken legs anyone?) onto the cart catapulting Flynn a tremendously large distance to land exactly on the back of Maximus. I am not even going to guess the distance both vertically or horizontally but, it is absolutely ridiculous. A Chinese circus act would have to train years to get that to work (including the death or dismemberment of countless acrobats) and these guys pull it off first try. Not friggin' likely.

After watching Tangled as many times as I have, I am also convinced that most of the royal guards are clones. The majority look exactly alike. And I also might add, they shoot as well as Storm/Clone Troopers from the Star Wars movies as well.

Let's jump right to the end, which I have to say was very reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast (hero gets stabbed in the back, villain dies by extreme gravity, and hero brought back from the brink with a tear from their beloved). Flynn, on climbing the tower to save Rapunzel, gets a knife to the back from Mother Gothel. Rapunzel agrees to stay with her fake mother (knowing that she is the lost princess) with no resistance, if Gothel lets her heal Flynn with her magic hair. In an act of supreme sacrifice, Flynn cuts Rapunzel's hair, freeing her from the control of her wicked abductor. All I have to say to this is... how stupid is Flynn Rider? The sacrifice is nice and all, but he could have cut Rapunzel's hair after she healed him. Nope, not Flynn. Maybe deep down inside he realizes he doesn't want to settle down and get married and figures this is the best way out. Probably not, but you never know!

Was I also the only one that thought that if Flynn wants to live forever, all he has to do is be a jerk to her (or marry her, that seems to make a lot of women cry)? Apparently her tears still have the magic healing power, since it was Rapunzel's tear falling on Flynn that healed him. If Flynn could bottle up those tears and force her to sing, he could stay young forever. And he wouldn't even have to use force--she obviously is susceptible to emotional control.... okay, that last bit is getting a bit dark, but it just helps bring home my point.

I have watched this film too many times. If the over-analyzing of the film wasn't enough, the fact that I find the songs popping into my head randomly throughout the week proves it. The sad thing is, is that this is just the beginning. Today it is Tangled, tomorrow it will be something new. A new movie will be placed on repeat. Then my daughter will not just want to watch the movie but she will want the bed sheets and the curtains and the cups and the play set and the dolls and the trading cards and on and on and on. I guess that is just one of the hardships we as parents have to bear, and to be honest, if this is one of the hardest, with all the shitty stuff that can happen to a child in the world today, I say "Let it go, Let it go, Can't hold it back anymore..." (Okay, that was from Frozen, but dammit, that is the movie she should be fixating on!)

On all these Damn Facebook Things

I have been Facebooking for several years now and often have discussions with non-Facebookers on the value of the service. People who don't Facebook bring up numerous arguments for why they do not participate.

Many people feel it is a security risk to put all your information out there for anyone to read. Nay nay I say (That was a little shout out to John Pinette---may he rest in peace). You have control over what you put on Facebook, just like anywhere else on the internet. So if you feel the need to share stuff that you don't want anyone else to see it, maybe you shouldn't put it on Facebook. Just saying...

Some people also tell me that they choose not to get on Facebook because they don't want to get sucked into its world. This is something I can understand. When I first started on Facebook I was obsessively playing games (in particular Mafia Wars) and constantly changing my status with riveting updates such as what I was eating, whether I was having a particularly challenging bowel movement and other even more interesting things. Apparently these constant status updates are what Twitter is for. I shouldn't make fun of Twitter, though. It would be nice to be interesting enough to have people actually care about every trivial thing that I was doing every minute of the day. Eventually, I got past this phase of hyper-Facebooking and just settled into using it to let family and friends know what is going on in my life (and to plug the Blog, of course). By the way, you can all stop sending me game requests. I'm done with them.

People have told me that Facebook is just stupid and pointless and I can't always disagree with them. There are things I really love about Facebook and things I absolutely abhor. It is a wonderful way to reach out and stay in contact with family and friends. When something terrible happens, it is so much easier to blast a post to the whole family as opposed to making individual phone calls. (Okay, there are always people you call. I would never post on Facebook about the passing of a loved one before calling the immediate family first. How crappy would that be? Status: "Mom Died today. And I had a burrito for lunch." <Picture of Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan with Burritos on their heads>)

Facebook is a great way to organize events and activities with your friends. My 25th High School reunion is in the works and I am trying to help, so I created a page for it on FB and only got about 17 people to join. Even though that was 17 people of about 40-ish (not the biggest school), I found myself getting annoyed. It would be son much more simple if the whole class were on Facebook. We could have everything organized in a couple of days. I actually had a friend (well, we're still friends so forget the past tense) who did not want to join so I created a fake Gmail account and then made a fake Facebook account for him, just so that I could have an easier communication system with my gaming group. He actually uses it now and it sure does make things easier for me.

But with the good comes the bad, unfortunately. Facebook has changed a lot since I started. Advertisements are taking more and more space. Ads are appearing in our feeds. Constant changes to the layout are annoying. Posts to other people's walls are showing up in my feed and sometimes it is something I don't think the writer is intending for other people to read (awkward!) Worst of all is what other people post.

I'm not saying everything that people post is bad. I have gotten a good laugh out of some things and have been educated on various subjects through articles my friends have shared. I enjoy seeing people on vacation (though I am often jealous, especially when the people are somewhere warm and sunny while I suffer through another cold winter's day in upstate New York), and I like seeing family photos. It is nice to keep track (not in a creepy, stalker way) of how everyone and their families are doing. It is heartbreaking to see people dealing with adversity, but it makes me feel closer to them, even though we may hardly ever talk or see each other (especially when so many of my friends are spread across the globe.) This all being said, there are plenty of things that people post that drive me crazy!

I hate when people share political stuff. Well, I should say, I hate when people post political stuff that I disagree with. Someday I will share all my political views, but until then, much like Donny and Marie were a little bit country and a little bit Rock and Roll, I am conservative on some things, and liberal on others. Whether you are a hard-core conservative or a hard-core liberal, I don't want see 20 posts a day, sharing articles that support your viewpoint. I will block your feed and I have blocked feeds from people because of it.

I also hate the "Like, Comment, or Share if you love/hate  <Fill in the Blank>" posts.  I don't care what the Blank is, whether it is Jesus, or your daughter/son, or Herpes, or GMO's, or Nickelback--I am not going to do it. This does not mean that I don't love/hate whatever the Blank is; it just not how I choose to show my support/aversion to something/someone. Along the same vein, I hate the passive aggressive "most of you probably won't share this" posts. Your right: I'm not going to re-post it. Maybe I should call it the psychic post.

Some people don't like Vague Booking, the time honored tradition of putting up a post, almost demanding someone to comment "is everything all right?" I personally have no problem with the practice. I don't usually do it, but can't swear that I have never done it. I think we all get to the point where we just want to blast out some frustration without telling everyone the whole story behind it. Besides, many of us have people on Facebook that are close friends and family, and some people whom we barely know. Usually the post is not that vague to the people in your inner circle. (And sometimes, the post is about one of the people in your "friends" list.)

I'm sure there are a lot of trends/fads that have risen and fallen during the time I've been Facebooking, There was/is Grumpy Cat, just to give an example, but the one that is currently driving me crazy is the stupid quizzes. The "What kind of <Fill in the Blank> are you?" ones. Oh my goodness. Enough! I don't care which member of the Partridge family you are or what toe you are. Stop! Stop! Stop! There is no way answering 6 simple questions can do much of anything, let alone give you great insight about yourself. I wish I could find it, but, I saw a post where someone famous took a quiz that they were in and didn't get themselves. It's stupid and ridiculous, so enough! And in case you were wondering...
I am....
Joey Gladstone (from Full House)
Artemis (from Always Sunny)
Andrea Zuckerman (BH 90210)
I'm destined to win the Amazing Race
Stu Pickles (from the Rugrats)
Dan Humphrey (from Gossip Girl)
Sara (from Orphan Black)
Ross (from Friends)
Apple Jack (from My Little Pony)
Rose Tyler (from Doctor Who)
The Office is the TV Workplace that is right for me
House Baelish (from Game of Thrones)
Eric (from True Blood)
Star's Hollow is the TV town I should live in
Yoda (from which 80's alien are you)
Maury Ballstein (from Zoolander)
The Bride (which bad ass Tarantino character)
John McClane (which 80's action hero)
Miracle Max (Princess Bride)
I am Divergent (Which faction are you)
The Beast is the Disney Prince that is my True Love
Kermit (which Muppet)
Ichabod Crane (which Johnny Depp character)
Iron Man (which Avenger)
Josh (which Clueless character)
Iago (which Disney Sidekick)
Mystique (which X-men character)
Gatsby Leo (which Leo DiCaprio character)
Ursula (which Disney villain)
Sulu (which Star Trek character)
Geordi La Forge (which Next Generation character)
Rex (which Toy Story character)
Luke Skywalker (which Star Wars Character)
Tiana (which Disney Princess)
Ron Weasley (which Harry Potter character)
Brick Tamland (which Anchorman newscaster)
A Hobbit (which magical Tolkein creature)
Haymitch (which Hunger Games character)
Princess Ella (which Movie Princess)
Tweedledum and Tweedledee (which Alice in Wonderland character)
Damian (which Mean Girl character)
Valley Girl Cage (which Nicolas Cage character)
Bertram Weeks (which Sandlot character)
Bane (which Batman Villain)
The Mandarin (which Marvel Movie Villain)
The 80's Fantasy World I should live in is Florin (Princess Bride)
Chunk (which Goonies Character)
Frodo (which Lord of the Rings character)
Alfalfa (which little rascal)
Chas Tenenbaum (which Royal blah blah)
Nala (Lion King character)
The Scarecrow (which Wizard of Oz character)
Ferris Bueller is my 80's Movie Boyfriend
Velociraptor (which Jurassic Park dino)
Anna (which Frozen character)
Super Speed is the Super Power that is right for me
28 Days Later is the Movie Plague that killed me
Anna (which Downton Abbey character)
Fall/Autumn (what season)
I will live to 106 years old
Pig (what farm animal)
Enlightened (what type of person)
Octopus (what ocean animal)
True Neutral (what alignment)
Impulsive (what one word describes you)
Serious/Creative (What personality)
Flirty (Ideal Clothing style)
American Apparel (what corporation)
Oldies (what music style)
Boxing (my fighting style)
Oyster Mushroom (what mushroom)
Orange (my aura color)
Hazelnut (what nut)
Seafood (what food)
Paul McCartney (which Beatle)   75
Smell of a Lilac Flower (what smell of spring)
Snake (what pet)
Barbados (what Caribbean Island)
Hamburger (what type of burger)
Couch (what furniture)
Thumb (which finger)
Jet Plane (what vehicle)
Star (what shape)
A Saint (what were you in a past life)
Storm Cloud (what cloud)
A Rubber Duck (what toy are you)
Flexible (what is your brain good at)
Low Key Fun (what kind of fun)
Judd Apatow (which director)
Ice Wine (what wine)
Passionate Kisser (what type of kisser)
George W. Bush (what president)
Black Sabbath (what classic rock band)
Loyal Best Friend (what type of best friend)
Thunder (are you thunder or lightning)
Pickup Truck (what type of car)
Daernerys Targaryen (what Game of Thrones character)
Chocolate Cupcake (what flavor of cupcake)
The Ghostly Hitchhiker (which Urban Legend)
Shao Yang Body (what is your Chinese Body Type)
Comedy (what movie genre)
Pablo Picaso (which artist should paint your portrait)

Ps. Bitstrip... not a fan.

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 Creativity in the bathroom and passing it on

As one can tell from the title of my blog, I spend a lot of time in the bathroom. That's not to say that I suffer from some sort of lower intestinal problem--it's just that when I have to go number 2, I like to take my time. Being someone who tries to be efficient, I try to make the best use of my bathroom time whenever I am in there. Life is so busy, especially with a 2 year old, that it's not very often that one gets to sit down and have 10-30 minutes of alone time. That is why the bathroom is a logical place to get some shit done, literally and figuratively. (Sorry to work blue... or brown.... I better stop here...)

And let's face it, when you're on the toilet it's your time. People tend to leave you alone when you're in the bathroom (well, except for kids) so you can do whatever you want... within reason. That which brought you in there usually doesn't take up too much of your attention, unless you're having a really rough go of it, so it is truly your own private time. Nice and quiet, sometimes a bit smelly, but very relaxing. Thank God Lay-z-Boy doesn't make a toilet, I'd never leave!

The three "extra" activities I most commonly engage in while on the throne are writing, reading and using my laptop. I do a lot of writing in cheap one subject notebooks and have tons of started projects all over the house. There is almost always a notebook within easy reach as I walk (and sometimes run) to the bathroom. The bathroom is a wonderful place to just get ideas and stories onto paper. Since the trip usually ends with paper, it is good for the sake of continuity.

In terms of reading, there is usually a book at both of our toilets, just in case the need to read comes upon me. If I am actually reading a book--which doesn't happen as much as it used to, being a devout audio book listener--I have been known to take unnecessary bathroom breaks, just to get more reading time. You know a book is good when you take 10 bathroom breaks a day and each time you finish, your butt and legs are numb.

The most recent, and now primary bathrooming activity, would be using the laptop. The computer gives me the ability to do many different activities. Whether it is playing a game, checking my Social Media or writing, the laptop is now something that usually is my bathroom companion. I even have a little table in the downstairs bathroom that I set the computer on so I don't overheat my lap. (If you're perverted and your mind has gone there, feel free to insert an internet porn comment here.)

I mention all of this to make another point. Sometimes, as a parent, I truly forget how much influence we have over our children. They sit and watch everything we do, the good and the bad. How many times, for those parents out there, have you heard your child use a phrase or a word and said to yourself "Where in God's name did he/she hear that?" Then you realize it is a phrase you have used your entire life and just never noticed. Some parents forget that children have ears and despite the other twenty activities they are currently performing, they are listening to every word you say. That's why you should really wait and run down your family to your spouse after the kids are asleep. That's some free advice! It will save you some embarrassing moments at the next family picnic.

In addition to copying language, children also mimic behavior. Why does my daughter pick her nose constantly? (I say this with my finger first knuckle deep in my nose.) We are their role models and what we do--there is a good chance they will do it as well. We all hope our children will pick up the good stuff and not the bad but usually it is mixture of both, especially for children under 5. I don't know if it is a good thing or not, but my daughter has definitely developed my need/love to spend quality time on the toilet.

I posted on my Facebook account a couple of weeks ago how, when my daughter announces she has to go to the bathroom, it turns into a scene from the movie "The Jerk." It's the scene after Steve Martin loses his fortune and is writing checks out to pay people back who bought his glasses thing. After a conversation with his girl, he says that he doesn't need anything and starts grabbing random items from around the house, and saying "except this thing". My daughter does something similar, without the dialogue (and without her pants around her ankles.) She just starts grabbing random toys and items as she works her way to the bathroom. The other day she had a cup, a comb, a doll, a notebook and pen. She'll bring a snack. She'll bring a book. Whatever she was doing before the need to go hits her, comes along with her to the restroom.

She grabs whatever she can and marches to the bathroom, arms full. If she can't carry it all she will ask whoever is accompanying her to lend a hand. Once in the bathroom she piles the stuff on the little table/stand we have set up in there. Then she asks me to snug the table up to the toilet so she can play.

The thing that she does the most on the toilet is draw. I have a bunch of scrap paper that I bring home from work and she grabs a couple of sheets and her crayon container and heads in. She'll be in there so long that the kids seat we have set on it toilet leaves grooves on her butt, yet she doesn't seem to mind. It has been amazing watching her squiggles turn into recognizable things. Granted, she is primarily drawing smiley faces, but still I'm impressed.

I don't know if it is wrong or not, but I feel a little bit of pride every time I walk past the open bathroom door and see her so engaged in whatever she is doing. I feel I have opened up the First Stall of her bathroom creativity and hope someday a masterpiece/great discovery of some sort will arise from her porcelain throne. Maybe my daughter will find the cure for cancer during a particularly slow bowel movement. Perhaps she will write an Oscar-winning screenplay or a Grammy-winning song after a Mexican feast gone wrong. All I know is I would love to hear her on stage some day accepting her Nobel prize/Oscar/Grammy and thanking not only her mom and dad, but also Sir John Harrington, the inventor of the flush toilet.

P.S. Don't be creeped out that I have so many different pictures of my daughter on the toilet. I just happened to have the camera handy and was cracked up by what she was doing.

On Halloween Tradition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Happy Halloween Everyone!

On Bicycling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

On Cars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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