SOUR HOUR

Speaking of Halloween; you might wonder if I dressed up for my work's annual Halloween party. You might wonder this because you remember that my costume last year was fucking AWESOME (if I do say so myself).

Now, the prize for best costume last year was a pair of round-trip tickets to anywhere in the continental United States. Not a bad prize. I wanted to win them, bad.

I did not.

Instead, this jackass won by dressing up like a woman. Ugh. I was rather put out by the entire thing. I debated if I wanted to make an effort to dress up this year or not; I was still pissed about losing to the tranny (Still, after an entire year? Oh yes.) but I enjoy making and wearing costumes, and if there was a good prize I figured I'd go for it. But, then the prizes were announced and the grand prize for the costume contest (a $50 gift certificate) was less than inspiring.

But, since I'm a good sport, I dressed up anyway:


Yep, I was "Bitter." My costume was a big hit. There were a surprisingly large number people who still remember last year's costume and think I was robbed.

Which I was. Yep, still bitter.

###

CHEAT FEAT

On the way to work this morning I heard a commercial for a website called “Ashley Madison.” It’s a hook-up site for married people. I’m no prude, and I guess I’m not surprised that such a thing exists, but I was floored to hear it on the radio.

Dating sites are one thing, but one that caters to people wanting to have an affair? That’s more than a little creepy.

So, naturally, I had to check out the site.

First thing that hit me was the tagline: “Life is short. Have an affair.” I’m like no shit? This is appealing to people? Clearly, I’m not the target audience.

The whole thing bugs me. Oddly enough, I’d be considerably less offended if a married man went on a traditional dating service or Craig’s list or something similar and pretended to be single.

And it’s not like I’ve never cheated on a girlfriend before, ‘cuz I have. And it’s not like I’m not open to personal ads, even though I’ve never done anything like that. Well, I take that back: there was a brief, dark period in my life where I dabbled in AOL personals (ugh, I know) and even got a few responses… but I never followed up and certainly never went out on any dates. I was single at the time, for what it’s worth.

Anyway, I dug around a little on the site; mostly to see if anywhere it mentioned that having an affair is most likely illegal in your state and we’re not liable if you get caught and lose half your stuff. The TERMS OF USE did include this:

In your use of our Service, you agree to act responsibly in a manner demonstrating the exercise of good judgment. For example and without limitation, you agree not to: (a) violate any applicable law or regulation…

Let me stop you there, because hey? Having an affair isn’t generally thought of as exercising good judgment. Also, isn’t adultery illegal? That would be violating an “applicable law,” right?

But, eh, what do I know? Maybe having an affair is the best thing that could happen to some couples.

I also enjoyed this portion of their FAQ (answering “I'm planning on meeting someone. What should I remember?”)

Try and tell at least two people where you're going to be, the name of the person you're meeting, what they look like and when you expect to be home. You can provide this information without revealing the purpose of your meeting.

Hey, Bob? I’m going to be meeting a blond-haired woman, 5’3”, at the Starbucks on the corner of Green and Cedar this Saturday at 7:30pm. What? Oh, no reason, just wanted to let you know. In case I, y’know, go missing or something.

There’s even a money back guarantee if you don’t hook up! Apparently you may not be able to guarantee the stability of your marriage, but you CAN guarantee your chances of having an affair.

###

BRAIN STRAIN

This morning a blog topic popped, unbidden, into my head. It was perfect: something I could write a reasonable length post about, didn't require me to edit photos to make it interesting, and would be easy to write. It was so perfect and obvious, that I felt no need to write it down on the spot, being that I'd easily remember it for later when I had time to write.

Then I forgot it.

On my drive home, I remembered what it was but, being in the middle of traffic, had no means of recording it. Since this was the second time it came into my head, I was sure I'd remember it this time.

Nope.

I've been racking my brains for the last hour an hour, trying to remember just what the hell it was. No luck. At one point it did come to me, complete and perfect, and I thought Yes! That's it! Then, something on TV caught my attention and it was gone, just like that. Crazy how the brain works (or maybe, just how my brain works).

So, instead of the thoughtful, funny and moving post that should be here, you get this. Blame my brain.

###

SMELL HELL

Lily calling me from the bathroom:

LILY: Daddy! Daddy!
ME: What is it?
LILY: Come here!
ME: (walking over to the bathroom) What's wrong, honey?
LILY: Daddy! You gotta smell this!

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that Lily is potty trained. But I don't feel the need to experience the pooping with her, y'know?

PS: Blah, forgot to post yesterday. So much for NaBloPoMo.

###

WRITE FIGHT

Still working on that novel. Well, not even the novel, now I’m trying to write the necessary BS that comes with trying to sell a novel. Namely, the cover letter and synopsis.

This is critical. A good cover letter and synopsis are just as important as a good book, if you goal is to get published. The reason being that no matter how awesome your novel is, if your cover letter is shitty the agent/publisher is going to chuck it into the trash, unread. And the reason for that is that there’s a lot of wannabe writers (myself included) and all of them are sending submissions.

So you have to grab their attention right away, get them interested enough so they actually read the sample pages you’ve sent. And I think I’ve finally written a pretty decent cover letter.

But the synopsis has been kicking my ass.

It’s no easy task… my book is 74,000 words long. I need to express the entire plot in two double-spaced pages… about 600 words. And it needs to be exciting and engaging. When I first sat down to do it, I thought “Good Lord, how can I ever do that in two pages?”

But I did finally manage to bang out a synopsis, even if it was twice as long as it should be. Re-reading it just now, I see that it’s terrible… a lot of and then this happened, and then this happened, etc. It seemed insurmountable.

But then I came to my senses.

“What the fuck?” I thought to myself. “You do this shit EVERY FUCKING DAY!” And it’s true. As an advertising writer, I am forever being told to condense a three-page specifications sheet into a two line benefit statement. Or expresses the entire concept of a three-month multi-platform advertising campaign into a quick sound bite. I do this all the time, and I’m good at it. So what’s my problem now?

Truth is, it shouldn’t be a problem. And it’s not going to. I am going to bang this damn thing out, tonight if I can. That is, if I can stop blogging for a minute and get to work.

###

HOPE FLOATS

I am thrilled that Obama won the election. While I hoped, I secretly doubted it could really happen. I certainly didn’t expect Ohio to go Democrat… my fellow Ohioans have well and thoroughly dashed my hopes on Ohio being regarded as anything but a hick backwater in the past (constitutional ban on gay marriage anyone?).

But this time, this most important time, the state got it right. The country got it right. It’s hard not to get all sappy about the “future of America,” but I like to believe that yesterday’s election really was us coming together as a nation and saying, “Okay, this is bullshit. We’ve endured enough. We’ve voted for--and received--the president we deserve for nearly a decade now, but we’re willing to elevate ourselves this one time and take a chance on something new. Look past the safe and known and give this young guy a go.”

Fired up? Ready to go!

###

CAT ATTACK

Two things of note happened today: I voted in what may be the most important presidential election of my generation; and my cat puked on me. Knowing you, my audience, as well as I do, I’ll relate that incident that is more interesting to you.

It was 12:30am. I was sleeping, and the cat was sleeping on my head, as usual. Now, when I say “sleeping on my head,” he wasn’t really on top of my head. Rather, he likes to sleep at the top of my pillow, close to the wall. This benefits both of us. He keeps the bald spot on the top of my head warm and, presumably, the heat radiating from my skull keeps him warm. So, y’know, win-win.

Now, we have a couple of rules, this cat and I. He get two trips around… he likes to jump up on the foot of the bed, walk completely around my perimeter, then settle down on the pillow. He does this twice, then we’re okay. But if he goes for three, he gets chucked off my bed, because that’s annoying.

Sometimes, he licks my face in the middle of the night. He gets the brush off once, then if he comes back for me he gets tossed. Nothing is more alarming that getting an unexpected and uninvited lick.

Note to self: holy crap, you sound like crazy cat guy.

Anyway, the cat (“Ash,” if you’re wondering) obeyed all the rules and was sleeping and purring peacefully, as was I (sleeping at least, I don’t purr in my sleep that I know of). And he’s the kicker: if he had started to choke up a hairball, I would have woken up and got him away from the bed. But no, there was no warning noise, just a sudden BLARGH! and my neck and shoulder is covered in cat puke.

I jump up, of course. “Goddammit!” The Scientist jolts up, saying “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

I strip off my shirt and toss it in the hamper. Next is the pillow case, and the one blanket he managed to tag. The puke itself was mostly water, but holy lord did it stink. Enough that I took the foul load straight to the washer downstairs and started a load.

The rest of the night was uneventful, and I woke up with the perpetrator purring contentedly on my pillow, like nothing ever happened.

###

MCCAIN PAIN

As reported by AP:

A suburban Detroit woman decided to scare up the vote by just offering candy to John McCain supporters Friday. Shirley Nagel turned away other children empty-handed. Nagel called Democrat Barack Obama "scary." TV station WJBK says a sign outside Nagel's house warned: "No hand-outs for Obama supporters, liars, tricksters or kids of supporters." Asked about children she turned away crying, she said, "Oh well. Everybody has a choice."

And with that one simple story, the difference between McCain supporters and Obama supporters is made clear.

PS: Ohio, try not to fuck me on Tuesday.

###

DRINK FINK

Two things that will help you understand the rest of this post:

1. Macey is potty training (and actually doing a great job of it)
2. The Scientist loves Slurpees. I mean, LOOOOVES Slurpees

The Scientist goes to pick up the girls after daycare. Macey is wearing big-girl panties all day now (as opposed to Pull-Ups) so one of the first things asked of the daycare teachers is if she stayed dry all day. Now, I don’t remember if my wife had talked to Macey about this ahead or time, or just decided on the spur of the moment, but she thought that if Macey had stayed dry all day she would get a special treat right after school; ie., a Slurpee.

So The Scientist shows up to daycare and the girls are all excited and run over to see her. A teacher confirms that Macey has stayed dry all day long. So, my wife says, “Macey, that’s great! Since you stayed dry we’re all going to get Slurpees!”

And then, at that very moment, Macey wets her pants.

She reaches around and grabs her butt. The Scientist says, “Oh no, Macey, you didn’t just…”

And Macey, in a little sad voice says, “Slurpees?”

And, being that The Scientist and I are pretty hardass when it comes to doing what we say, she has to inform Macey that, sorry, now there will be no Slurpees on the way home.

“But… but, Slurpee!” Macey says.

“Sorry, honey, but I said that we could only get Slurpees if you stayed dry…”

Then all hell broke loose.

Macey reacted to this virtual “Psyke!” from The Scientist with unadulterated furry. “Slurpee! Sluuuuuurpeeeee!!” she bellowed. This went on for the entire car ride home. It was about this time I called on my way home, and The Scientist answered from the car. I could barely hear her because of the screaming coming from the back seat.

“Slurrrrrrrrpeee! SLURR-PEE!!”

“What is going on?” I asked. “I’ll tell you when you get home,” my wife answered, grumpily.

When I got home the fit had not abated one bit. “Sluuuurpeee! SLURRPEEEEEEEE!!” I got the run-down and tried my best to distract Macey. Lily was also grumpy, but in the general grousing way: “I wanted to get a Slurpee, too! But Macey messed it up and I don’t like it when she does all that crying and I’m thirsty but not for milk but a red Slurpee….”

This went on for quite some time, and I’m doing a really poor job of explaining the horror/pathos of Macey’s crys. It was a pathetic cross between “Oh dear Lord, I miss my best friend the Slurpee and I’ll never see her again” and “Mama fucked me over big-time.

But this, like all things related to our kids having fits, finally passed.

And the next day, Macey stayed dry and did get a Slurpee.

Thank God.

Addendum: As evidenced above, the entire family got Slurpees the next day. AND the next day after that. Since we only fill them up half-way, that means we're still good parents, right?

EDIT: I've corrected the story above after The Scientist reminded me that it was oh-so much more tragic than I originally related. The corrected tale is above.

###

FANCY DANCY

I'm generally not a "OMG! This video is soooo the awesome!" But this just makes me happy.

###

IT'S ON, LAWN!

Yesterday I seeded the entire back yard and the side yard (plus a few spots here and there in the front yard that were bare), spread starter fertilizer, then watered the ever-living hell out of it. So, if the "lush, full lawn" copy on the side of the Scott's bag isn't complete hyperbole, I should start seeing grass in a matter of days! Or maybe a week or two. Honestly, I didn't read the bag that closely. Then I threw it away. But! The point is: grass! And more importantly, no more digging or grading or mucking about with the lawn.

I hope.

###

TEA SPREE

About a month ago I was cleaning off my dresser when I came across an individually wrapped tea bag. I don’t remember where I got it or how it got on my dresser, but there it was. It might have been a remnant from my brother-in-law’s gift basket when we flew out to California for his wedding.

I’m not a big tea drinker, but I have read good things about green tea. So, I usually keep a box of green tea in the cabinet, and when I have a hankering for something hot, but can’t be bothered to make coffee, I have a cup of green tea. I like to think that the benefits of the antioxidants and whatnot in there makes up for the generous amount of sugar I use. But anyway, this mysterious tea bag is “Good Earth Teas’ Original Sweet & Spicy.” On a lark, I decide to give it a try.

And holy Lord, it is the most delicious tea I have ever had.

I cannot get over just how fantastic this tea is. Man! Naturally, I want more of it. So I hit my local grocery store. They don’t have it. I go to the discount grocery next door. They don’t have it. So I go to the Whole Foods, which is a little out of the way. They don’t have it.

I start getting a little desperate.

So I look it up online and, like everything else in the world, you can have it sent right to your doorstep. So I do.

A couple of days later I’m meeting The Scientist and the girls out for dinner. I’m early, so I run over to Wild Oats which is completely out of my way, but close to where we’re eating. I don’t expect them to have my tea either.

But they do.

Elated, I buy a box. Then, a couple of days after that, the tea I ordered online arrives. But here’s the thing: at the time, I was consumed with getting more of this mélange-like tea. I could have just got a single box of tea, but there were considerable savings if I bought multiple boxes.

Thus:

I got six boxes. Seven, if you count the one I bought at the store.

The tea is still delicious, but… well, it appears that now that I have an ample supply, it’s not quite at delicious as it seemed at first.

Does anyone know if you can freeze tea?

###

ART START

Lily likes to draw. And while she's only four, she sometimes busts out these drawings which I think are really good. Really good meaning that I can tell, more or less, what they're supposed to me.

Yesterday she was drawing and informed me that she was going to make some dinosaurs for me. This is the first one she drew:


Clearly, it's awesome. Our conversation when something like this:

ME: Wow, honey, that's great! Look at all the spikes on his back!
LILY: I know! He's very spikey.
ME: What's his name?
LILY: I don't know. You name him!
ME: How about "Spikeasurus"?
LILY: Yeah! I'm going to draw another!
ME: Great!

Then, about five minutes later, she brought me this:

ME: Wow, honey, that's... wow. That's something else.
LILY: He's very tall!
ME: Yeah, he sure is.
LILY: What's his name?
ME: Boy, I dunno. How about "Dongasurus"?
LILY: Yes! That's the perfect name, daddy!
ME: Sure it is. Go show that to your mama.

So yeah, remember me when you're filling out your ballot for father of the year.

###

HATE STATE

Last week I had encounters with the two kinds of people I most hate in the world. And, lucky me, they both happened at the time.

I was at the grocery store picking up a prescription. There were two people in front of me, and the transaction seemed to be going slowly. Not horribly slowly; I was absorbed enough in my own woolgathering that it didn’t really register as slow. But, apparently, all time stopped for the lady behind me.

Now, I hadn’t been there that long, but apparently I had stepped into line as precisely the correct moment to avoid a line. Because three or four people quickly queued up behind me. The pharmacy in my grocery store is next to the employee time clock, and just as the first woman in front of me was finishing up, a manager came on duty and clocked in. Now, I’m not sure how anyone would know he was a manager; he seemed to be dressed in the same khakis and blue shirt as everyone else, but the woman behind me instantly knew what he was. “Excuse me,” she said to him. “Can you get someone else to ring at the pharmacy? The girl there seems a little… slow.”

Now, this girl did look a little slow to me, as in dim-witted. And when, I have to ask, did they start letting just anyone work at the pharmacy? At one point my prescriptions were only handed to me by actual pharmacists. But now, it seems like they just let any register-jockey man the desk.

Anyway, the manager, a fresh-faced young man in a freshly pressed shirt, was eager to help out this lady, so he went over to the pharmacy window and addressed this only employee who was typing things into a computer. By her equally dull-witted expression it was clear that she, too, was just a lackey, and not a pharmacist.

Now, I didn’t catch what he said to her, but I’m assuming it was something to the effect of, “Hey, can you stop whatever you’re doing and start ringing out some of the people in this line?” And I didn’t hear what she said to him, but I heard the rest of the exchange loud and clear.

FRESH-FACED MANAGER: Okay, put it this way, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.
APATHETIC EMPLOYEE: You can’t tell me.
FFM: Yes, yes I can.
AE: No you can’t. You can ASK me, but you can’t tell me!

But, she got up from the computer and moseyed over to the register. This is kind of person I hate #1. The person who openly hates their job and, by extension, everyone they have to deal with as part of their job. One assumes that she was told that speaking directly to the public would be part of her job when she was hired; maybe she could try not to be so contrary about it. I mean, everyone hates their job at some point, but Jesus, it’s your JOB. You get paid to do it. Just fucking do it.

But, as much as I dislike the woman now “serving” me, I hate the woman behind me even more (she is kind of person I hate #2).

As soon as the manager and this dumbass employee get into it, she starts huffing and puffing behind me. “Unbelievable!” she says, just loud enough for the people directly around her to hear. “Unbelievable! If I talked to my boss that way, I’d be fired in a minute! Unbelievable!”

This is the kind of passive-aggressive harpy who never confronts the object of her scorn directly; she only mumbles about the situation, hoping that the people directly in front and behind her will take the bait and initiate a bitch-fest. She’s hoping that I’ll chime in with “I know! You just don’t get good service these days!” or some such shit.

The really crappy thing is that this kind of person usually pipes up when the person behind the counter is doing the best they can. Like they have some crazy return and refund they have to coax out of their computer; something that only comes up once in a lifetime. In these situations I like to say something really cynical to the huffer and puffer; like “I know! How dare she not know those beans were 36 cents a can, and not 38! The nerve!” Sometimes they get that I’m making fun of them, sometimes not.

But, back to this pharmacy situation, the lady behind the counter wasn’t doing the best she could; she was barely doing anything at all. So I just kept my mount shut.

And once again wished I could shoot laser beams out of my eyes.

###

NEW SPEW

As usual, I am going to blame my lack of posting on being busy at work. I could write in the evenings, of course; but the truth is that generally after writing all day, my motivation is low to sit down and write some more. But once we get the new computer set up (Hey! We got a new computer for Christmas!) maybe I’ll be a little more excited, considering that our current computer would lock up if you tried to do something demanding, like cut and paste in Word.

So, a quick update:

• More water in the basement, yah! As I’ve commented on before at length, this fucking money pit of a house drives me crazy. Last month when it was unseasonably warm we got a lot of rain. The basement waterproofing/sump pump system we put in worked great. But the backyard still flooded, and our attempts to divert the water after from the house worked a little too well… the water instead pooled up in the side yard, and filled the basement window wells. When that happened water started to seep in between the cracks in the windows. End result was The Scientist and I out at 11pm digging a trench from the side yard to the street to release the water. And it worked surprisingly well. I spent a long time in the back yard watching the flow of the water, and I’m pretty sure I understand how to contour the land so that the water flows where it should. This is a project (a BIG project) for the spring. Right now the snow and ice have returned, so we should be safe from flooding for a couple of months. *Crosses fingers*
• Lily hasn’t crapped her pants since the big blow-up. So that’s nice.
• I’ve been hacking and coughing for weeks; apparently the tail end of whatever ick I got over the holidays. I finally went to the doctor last Monday and he gave me antibiotics. He also told me that the weird little dry patch on my cheek probably isn’t cancer. So that’s one thing to stop worrying about.

That’s about it for now. I’d love to write about some of the frustrating and ridiculous things that have been going on at work… but I’m about 80% sure that some of my co-workers have discovered this site. So I’m not saying anything.

###

DISPLEASED DISEASE

We all survived the holidays.

As previously reported, The Scientist got sick, and remained sick, for days. She basically didn’t get out of bed for four days. Come day three my father-in-law, who is prone to get a little bored, started to give her some shit about it. “You can’t just lay in bed for three days,” he said. “You have to get up. Take a shower and come downstairs; that’ll make you feel better!”

Then, despite my best efforts, I got sick, too. I started to feel crappy on Christmas day, and rapidly went downhill from there. In a perfect world my wife would have started to feel much better about the time I started to get sick… but it didn’t work that way. We were both sick and cranky at the same time. Thankfully the girls never got as sick as we did.

Speaking of the girls… Christmas morning was a big event, of course. They enjoyed their presents (all of them--it’s fun that they’re still at the stage that everything is fun, even clothes. That was always the bummer present for me when I was a kid. “Oh, a box of underwear. Big deal.” But they’re girls, so maybe it’ll be different) and the dueling toy rockets were a big hit. Maybe the best gift was this dumb marble run toy I bought on a lark.


I have to say, The Scientist and I also enjoy playing with it.

The in-laws left the day after Christmas, hoping to avoid the specter of death that was lurking over our home. Can’t say I blame them. It wasn’t the holiday that anyone had wanted.

And now, nearly two weeks after Christmas, The Scientist and I are mostly recovered. I still have a head full of glue, and my wife’s lungs are still a little labored… but Lord knows we’re head and shoulders above where we were.

EPILOGUE: Both my mother-in-law and father-in-law are now sick with what we had. I wish they weren’t, we tried hard to sequester our sick selves so they wouldn’t be infected. The Scientist’s father told her, “I’m so run down, all I want to do is stay in bed.”

To which I say, “Why don’t you get up, take a shower? That’ll make you feel better!”

###

DAUGHTER FODDER

Whenever someone asks me if there was anything about fatherhood that I didn't expect, I say that I expected to love my children (eventually, as it turned out), I expected to feel protective of them, and I expected them to be terribly cute... but I never expected them to be so funny.

These kids make me laugh every day. And every time one of them does something that makes me laugh, I think I need to remember this so I can post it to my blog! But I never do. Sometimes because it's just funny in the moment, or it's so esoteric to our family that it wouldn't be funny to anyone else, or sometimes because it is just so stupid that I don't like to admit that it made me laugh. Like farts. Any time either of the girls farts, it's good for a chuckle.

But Lily did something earlier this week that made me laugh.

She apparently learned rock-paper-scissors at school, and wanted to play with me. But she didn't have it quite right.

LILY: Daddy! Daddy! Let's play!
ME: Play what, honey?
LILY: Play craft paper, stone, horse!
ME: Wait, what is it?
LILY: Craft paper, stone, horse!
ME: Huh. Honey, do you mean rock-paper-scissors?
LILY: Yeah!

So we play a couple of rounds, and I tell her paper covers rock, scissors cut paper, etc.

LILY: Daddy! Let's play something else!
ME: Okay, what do you want to play?
LILY (looking around) Let's play... um... rock, stove, rug!
ME: Sure!

So we play a couple rounds of rock-stove-rug (rug is in front of stove, rock breaks stove, rug covers rock) then Lily wants to play another game. This time it's Polly Pockets, horse, chair (Polly Pockets sits on chair, horse jumps over Polly Pockets, chair... jeez, I don't know what the chair does). This goes on for some time until she gets bored of it.

See? That's probably only funny to me.

###

SWELL LOL

Holy crap. Rarely have so many odd and esoteric things come together to make me laugh.

LOLsheviks

Awesome. The people demand you click NOW!

###

TERSE VERSE

So, remember how I said that I have written short stories? Well, I've written a few poems, too. Since I'm up against the wall and need to post, I'll share one now. It's meant to be fun... I certainly don't consider myself a serious poet.

ODE TO THE SMOKERS

O! Envy the smokers!
Proud clan of tobacco and fire
Bold in their disregard of modern thought
And the warnings of surgeons or generals.

Huddled together in designated areas
Segregated, disdained, and shunned
Raspy voices discuss future plans
Shrouded in nicotine’s blue haze

Bound by a single cause
A three minute shared experience
Non-smokers give them wide berth
Frightened by their hacking cant

Ivory prison currency
Passed between yellow-tinged fingertips
Cowboy pride fortifying them
When life becomes a drag

A dying breed
They are loyal to the pack
Fighting with flint and steel

Against those who would snuff them out.

###

TAPPED CRAP

Good Lord, what date is it? The 26th? Thanks to Jesus because I am serious running out of motivation to update every day. Pfft. Note to self: bank a bunch of entries before November of next year. I had hoped to sprint to the finish line, but rather, I'm at a pathetic crawl. Even The Scientist (the non-writer in the household) has whipped out the beginnings of what is sure to be an interesting multi-part saga.

I actually have a couple of topics in mind; but it's the drive to write that's lacking, not the ideas. Like I wrote before... turn something into a must-do from a can-do and suddenly it's a chore to me.

I'm this close to filling up my blog with those dumb "what Star Wars character are you?" quizzes.

All right... that's enough garbage for tonight. To make up for it, I promise an interesting post tomorrow. I'm totally cereal.

###

PAINT SAINTS

Boy, kids are useful for all sorts of things. Like, um, filling up a post half an hour before the deadline!

Come home yesterday to discover that my youngest daughter was a princess:

Well, yes, obviously a heart on my cheek makes me a princess. Jeez, daddy, you can be so dumb!

And my oldest was a pirate!

Thumbs up for pirates!

Apparently there was a birthday party at school, complete with clown. But not the same clown as was at the last party, Lily explained to me, because this was a lady clown. And she made balloon animals, but not very many. And she didn't do any magic, but she did dance.

My oldest could have had anything painted on her face, and she went with PIRATE. Awesome. Man, I love my kids.

Which gives me the topic for tomorrow's post. Thank God, because I'm running on fumes here.

Right back 'atcha, daddio!

###

WRITE BLIGHT

Oh boy. NoBloPoMo day#19, and I’m tapped. Only 12 more days, but I think I’ve run out of crap to write about. Or maybe the spirit to keep going. Worse yet, we leave for Maryland to visit the in-laws in two days. I had hoped to create a bank of posts in advance, but now I can hardly fill up the space day by day. Not good. How am I going to be creative during the hustle and bustle of the holiday?

At least I should return to Ohio with a bunch of stuff to write about. Holiday gatherings are like that.

I’ll attempt to be less lame tomorrow. At least I'm not just posting about my shoes.

###

SEED FEED

Something is eating my pumpkins:

Squirrels, I assume. But, given my previous post, perhaps something more ominous? Regardless, this is scarier than anything I could have carved myself.

###

SLEEPY CREEPY

Recent bedtime conversation with my oldest:

LILY: Daddy?
ME: Yes, honey?
LILY: I want 'too-loo.
ME: Who do you want, honey?
LILY: 'Coo-loo!
ME: Oh! You mean Cthulhu? *
LILY: Yeah! Ca-too-loo!
ME: I don't know where Cthulhu is right now, honey.
LILY: Maybe he's lost!
ME: Oh no, sweetheart. Cthulhu isn't lost... he's sleeping.

* What? You don't have a stuffed Cthulhu?

###

LOCKDOWN TOWN

Decided that I wanted something else for lunch rather than what I had brought. I headed out to the front doors, only to find them locked. The receptionist came around the front of her desk to confront me.

ME: Why are the doors locked?
RECEPTIONIST: Oh, sorry, Craig. There’s, um, a security issue in the building, which I can’t reveal.
ME: What?
RECEPTIONIST: If you want, I can let you out, then just call when you want to come back in. Or you can use your keycard to get out the back door.
ME: Um, okay. I’ll get my card, I guess.

So suddenly I was in the position of deciding if it was worth my life to go down to the deli on the first floor for a grilled cheese sandwich. I decided it was.

I poked my head out of the door and looked around. Coast seemed to be clear. Then I looked over the railing of the atrium, and it appeared to be business as usual. People where getting food from the deli, eating in the little food court area, wandering in and out of offices.

It soon became clear that whatever was happening, it was just in our agency. And, as I write this, it still is. No-one knows what’s going on. HR isn’t talking. We’re in lock-down, and no-one will say why.

Very odd.

If I had to guess, I’d say it was a threat against a specific employee. Maybe an angry boyfriend situation? At least, I hope that’s what it is. Because if someone called the president and said they were going to blow up the agency, well… I think I’d go home. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not willing to risk my life for any of the clients I work with.

That’s all I know about the situation at this time. I’ll update later, if I survive.

EDIT: As of 1:45pm the front doors are now open. I happened to run into the relentlessly chipper HR Director in the hall and had this conversation:

ME: Hey, I don't suppose you could tell me why we were on lockdown?
HR: We had some security issues to deal with. And now they've been dealt with!
ME: Un-huh. In other words, no, you can't tell me.
HR: But I did! The issues have been resolved! We're all secure again! Doesn’t that answer your question?
ME: It would if I had asked you to tell me in the vaguest and most obscure way possible.
HR: Ha-ha!

So, apparently my life is no longer in danger. I hope.

###

F'ING CHEF'N

Just finished watching The Next Iron Chef and I'm stupidly excited that the guy from Cleveland won. I'm not sure why... I'm not a Cleveland represent! sort of person; I mean, I moved up here because the woman I wanted to marry lived here... that's it. I'm not passionate about Cleveland.
But it does get old when people use Cleveland as an easy punchline. But while I know plenty of people who are all how dare you! when someone maligns the city, I don't really care. I mean, yeah, Cleveland does suck sometimes, I agree. In fact, stick around for about a week and you'll see for yourself when it starts dumping snow.

But, I do live here, and I'm raising my family here, so it's nice when Cleveland gets a break. So hey, Michael Symon, good on you for winning the big prize! The local paper has been abuzz lately about how Symon's performance is putting Cleveland on the map, culinarily speaking. I don't know about that, but Symon seems like a really nice guy, and I'm glad he won. I don't think his losing would have put the city into a funk (like a certain professional baseball team) but it's nice not to come in second again.

So, thanks for putting it all out there, Mike. Maybe The Scientist and I will make an effort to eat at one of your restaurants now.

###

SPACE WASTE

Posting on the weekends? Killing me.

Just about anything I do (even things I really enjoy, such as writing) take on the feeling of a chore when you tell me I have to do them every day. That's part of the reason that it's 10:30pm and I just realized "Oh shit, I need to post something. But I don't have any motivation."

So, to that end: 5 REASONS to keep posting every day:

$100 Amazon gift certificate
Professionally designed blog header
$25 iTunes gift certificate
Weird homemade plushes
$100 of Burt's Bees merch

These are, coincidentally, some of the dozens of available prizes for those who manage to post every day during NaBloPoMo. I would love to have any of the above (honestly, I'd love to have nearly anything on the list; it's a wonderful collection of the overtly valuable and the oddly adorable) and unless I keep posting, I'll be out of the running.

And so, I am done for the day.

###

HEAD CRED

Never before have people been so interested in my hair. First everyone was amazed that I actually shaved my head; now everyone is interested in my plans for the future: Are you going to grow it back? Will you keep it shaved? How long are you going to let it get? Are you growing back the goatee?

And, I’ve also found that not only are people interested in my melon, they are influenced by it, too. In a good way. Allow me to illustrate.

Couple of days ago I ran into Dillard’s to pick up a new pair of shoelaces for my Docs. The shoe department guy (a rather tired looking man in an ill-fitting suit) said that the style of shoe I had wasn’t available in the states any more, and they didn’t have shoelaces that would fit it. One’s made by Doc Martens, at least. So I asked if he had any that would fit, I didn’t really care if they were the signature yellow laces that I already had (and had to knot where they broke). He came out with some fancy-pants Italian brand that was brown. They fit nicely. “What’s this going to cost me?” I asked.

Nothing, he said. You can just have them.

Then, yesterday, I went to the Chinese restaurant near our house to pick up dinner. I ordered and paid, and as I was waiting, the nice lady behind the counter handed me a can of Coke. “Here,” she said. “For while you wait.” She must have read the confused look on my face, because she said, “Oh, do you want a different one?” I told her that the Coke would be fine.

So, yeah, free stuff.

Coincidence, you say? Well, people didn’t start giving me free stuff until after I shaved my head. I see direct cause and effect.

For years I kept this money-maker under wraps. Now that it is revealed to the world, there may be no limit to its power!

###

TREAT DEFEAT

For Halloween, The Scientist walked the girls around our cul-de-sac, then I took over the took them down the block. I ended up taking them about four or five houses too far before turning around, because near the end they were more interested in sitting down and examining their loot then collecting more. And I had to carry both of them for the last three houses. Note to self: next year bring wagon.

While I was waiting for my turn to walk with the girls, I sat outside and handed out the candy. And while I was doing that, I could only wonder when, exactly, Halloween became less about playing dress-up and more about grubbing all the free candy you could?

I know I’m not alone in this because I’ve read several blogs from people who have had the same experience: kid comes to the door with no attempt at a costume whatsoever. Just a big sack in hand demanding candy. And, sometimes, his/her parent is right there too.

Now, a lot has been said about the underlying theme of racism in this line of thinking. And the people who are saying, “Well, these kids from other neighborhoods are being driven over here by their parents!” should probably re-evaluate what they’re really objecting to. Me personally, I don’t give a crap if these kids are black or white, or if they're from my neighborhood or not, I’m just pissed that they aren’t wearing costumes.

And don’t get me wrong, I know that not every family has the money to go out and get a nice store-bought costume. But come on… I don’t believe for a moment that you can’t cobble together something, anything, that would pass as a costume. I mean, throw on a Steelers’ jersey and say, “I’m a Steelers’ fan!” That’s good enough. Put on a red t-shirt and say “I’m the color red!” I’m good with that. But when I ask “what are you supposed to be?” you should be able to give me a reply. I got a lot of “I don’t know” or just silence when I asked that this year.

And that sucks.

There’s an unspoken contract at Halloween: you dress up and knock on my door; I give you candy. I put some effort into my part of the contract (albeit not much, but I do drive to the store, pay for it, and stand by waiting to dish it out) so you should put some effort into your part, too.

It’s come to this: next year, I’m going to buy the smallest, nastiest candy I can find. And when you come knocking in your jeans and t-shirt, and you can’t answer my question of “what are you supposed to be?” you're getting the nasty stuff.

Happy Halloween.

###

HARD CARD

It’s come to this… I’m only on day six of NoBloPoMo and I’ve already dipped into the “blog fodder” document I set up a couple weeks ago. Every so often, when something interesting hit me, instead of actually posting about it at the time, I wrote it down to be used in November. Of course, what I couldn’t capture on paper was the motivation to write about it. That, sadly, is fleeting.

So, one of the things (the first thing, actually) in the blog fodder folder was this:

Work thank you card

You know what I’m talking about… those thank you cards that are pinned up to the bulletin board in the break room. They’re usually of the thank you for your kindness regarding the passing of my grandmother sort of things.

I don’t get ‘em.

I mean if, God forbid, you lose a loved one, and someone at work gets you flowers, shouldn’t you thank that person? In person? I guess these cards are used more if you get a card from the entire department or agency… but still. It just strikes me as odd that you’d buy a card, write out a nice thank you message in it, then anonymously pin it up on a corkboard. Seems a little impersonal for such a personal thing.

And when I read those things, I’m generally at a loss. Unless they say specifically what happened, I read them and think, “oh crap… what’s going on with Mary? Who died?” Then I’m tip-toeing around her because I don’t want to say something that would conjure up bad memories. And then I feel bad if I didn’t chip in for flowers or whatever. I mean, I don’t deserve your thanks, since I didn’t do anything to help you through the difficult passing of your gerbil or whatnot.

Maybe it’s a female thing and I don’t get it. Or maybe I’m just a prick.

###

BUSY HIZZY

Seems like I’ll have days and weeks where I don’t have much to post… then I’ll suddenly get creamed with a bunch of blog-worthy stuff. That’s what’s been happening lately; starting two weekends ago stuff started to happen--not all of it good--and I thought I needed to get to it and post something to my loyal fans (and or the people who accidentally came here looking for naked pictures of the Satterfield Triplets naked--here’s a hint, guys… use Google images with the keywords “Satterfield Triplets.” It took me all of two minutes to find some photos of them naked. PS: Eh, I’m not impressed).

Also, I’ve been busy at work, my preferred place to write blog entries. In fact, since I stopped to write this entry, six things have come into my in-box. I need to read these new briefs over, then get to the other stuff that I left hanging from last week--including stuff for a big new business pitch happening tomorrow.

So, I have stuff to write about, honest. Hang in there. Until then, here’s the most recent keyword searches that brought people to my site, annotated.

satterfield triplets picture
No surprises here.

satterfield triplets
Again, I wasn’t that impressed.

steampunk costume ideas
Oh yeah! That Steampunk costume party was last Saturday. It was a lot of fun. Something else to write about…

need to know about hurpis
Need to know about a dictionary.

meshuggna
oy gevalt!

super head
Huh?

does pfaltzgraff scratch easily
In my experience, no. We’ve been really happy with ours.

shark shit
Again, huh?

horse-widower
Hope they found this.

satterfield triplets nude
Honestly, guys, they aren’t that sexy.

vicki Satterfield
Wait, they have individual names?

He groped mother’s boobs
Good Lord… I don’t even know what to say about this. What entry did this even turn up when they searched? Ugh!

###

DRUNK SKUNK

Busy, busy.

But, I had to take a moment to comment on this:

Lindsay Lohan says rehab was 'sobering'

“Sobering?” Rehab was sobering? No shit? I wonder if she went on to say, with a complete lack of irony, that drinking water is a “quenching” experience, or driving her car is a “transporting” experience.

###

SPIT FIT

Say you’re three years old. And you’re playing nicely with your friends when, suddenly, one of your little buddies takes the game in a direction you do not care for. Like, say, they want to be the red truck, but you don’t want them to be the red truck. How would you tackle that challenge?

If you were my oldest daughter, you would spit on them.

This is the information we got from one of Lily’s teachers last week. That Lily had had a bad day and was put in time out for spitting on a schoolmate.

When we got home I sat Lily down and had a talk. It went something like this:

ME: Lily, did you spit on someone today?
LILY: Yeah.
ME: Why did you do that?
LILY: Brendan was playing a scary game and I didn’t like it.
ME: So you spit on him?
LILY: Yeah.
ME: You know spitting is not nice, don’t you?
LILY: But Brendan was the ‘ronnosaurus and it was scaring me and I got up to sit on a different part of the carpet but he came over and was bothering me so I spit on him.
ME: …

I’m split between what the fuck and that’s right, you don’t fuck with my daughter or you’re going to get a face-full but mostly I’m wondering how in the world she decided that spitting was the answer? Hitting I can understand (if not condone) but good Lord, spitting?

Anyway, we had the big talk and she agreed to not spit at her friends if they were bothering her, and that it would be better to just get up and sit somewhere else or tell a teacher.

Then the next day she spit on someone else.

So then we had to have a bigger talk complete with threats (“if you spit on someone again, we’re going to take away your pacifier that night”--a pretty serious threat for our little girl) and more assurances that she wouldn’t do it again.

And the next day she didn’t. Macey did.

Which isn’t surprising at all, since Macey wants to do everything Lily does. But I’m not sure if Macey instigated it, since we were told that the entire toddler class had to have a time out because they were all spitting.

My little darlings. Spitting on their classmates.

And to think that I used to worry about hitting.

###

FLEETING MEETING

Things that I will do in the next five days:

• Travel more than 800 miles, round trip
• Wear a tie
• Spend time with people I’d rather not spend time with
• Host a party for 20 relatives
• Dig a large ditch
• Miss my wife and children
• Order an expensive meal on the agency’s dime
• Take delivery of a new washer and dryer, temporarily
• Purchase an obscenely large cake
• Party with a woman three-quarters of a century old
• Lie to my mother
• Chase my children
• Curse, most likely

Things that I will not do in the next five days:

• Update my blog

CAPE SHAPE part V

Oh, SciFi Channel, you never fail to provide entertainment that is so horrifying bad, that’s it’s good! Wait, no, it’s not. It’s just bad.

Take episode five of Who Wants to be a Superhero? Just when you think it can’t get any more cheeseball… it does.

So the superheroes return from the rooftop elimination challenge “stunned” that two of them were kicked off. But I have to say… really? Stunned? Isn’t one of them maybe, just maybe, thinking “Fantastic! That puts me one closer to the big prize”?

When they get back to the lair, they discover it’s been ransacked by Dr. Dark! And by “ransacked” I mean stuff’s been tossed around! A little bit! And, um, someone pulled the sheets off of one of the beds. And carefully tipped over a coffee mug. The heroes, of course, are shaken to their very core. Or so they say. However, I gotta think that at this point it’s becoming hard to really muster up a shit. They’ve been running around for a week in tights, and something must be chaffing. Does anyone really care that a poor AD had to come in and toss around some papers? Well, apparently Whip-Snap does, because the competition has become “too much” for her to handle.

At this point, I have to mention that I have no tolerance whatsoever for people on reality shows who start whining about how hard everything is. It’s a competition, you knew going in that you’d have to perform dumbass stunts and see your fellow housemates kicked out, one by one. Contestants who can’t differentiate between making friends and attempting to win a prize have no business being there. Suck it up. Stay in touch after the show is over, if you’d like, but keep your eye on the prize while you’re there.

But Whip-Snap starts to cry, again, saying how she doesn’t have any family, and this is her family and it’s so hard to see them go, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard all about her problems by now. Matter of fact, Whip-Snap has received a lot to TV time. Certainly more than Basura or Hyper-Strike. It’s almost like the producers are letting us, the audience, get to know her better for some reason. Like, maybe, so that when she wins it won’t be a surprise? That she’ll seem like the natural choice? I give Whip-Snap a 60% chance of winning.

Back to the challenges.

The team has to go to a park and intercept a currier who is trying to pass off their secrets. But they have to be in disguise to do it. Because that’s what superheroes in the comics do: when a bad guy has sensitive information, they dick around and try to trick the bad guy into giving up the goods. Because using their super powers to get the job done would just be dumb.

But! The very best park is that their mission comes not from Stan Lee, but for “Erin Esurance” who is, I’m sure you know, the animated cartoon spy girl from the E-surance commercials. The heroes all pay close attention while she’s talking, but you know they’re thinking: good lord, SciFi, isn’t this taking product placement a little too far?

(Side note: when I did a Google:images search for the Erin Esurance image I linked to above, I got a distrubing number of returns with her naked. Just sayin'.)

And, of course, during the challenge there’s a secret challenge within the challenge. And Boob-sura misses the boat completely when a stranger asks, “Can you help me find my daughter?” and she doesn’t immediately drop everything to help. Thing is, on this show, if a stranger ever asks you for a favor, you need to be, “Can I help you? You’re goddamn right I can help you! What do you need? Money? A lift to the liquor store? Handjob? Name it and it is yours, citizen!”

As soon as she waffled, the producers probably all high-fived each other.

So Parthenon wins the challenge, and gets a phone call home as a reward. And he’s also allowed someone else to call home, too. Now, I know it can’t be easy to come up with totally new and original challenges/rewards… but does this show need to start cribbing from Survivor so soon? I mean, every season of Survivor has the phone home/visit from your loved one/video message/etc. reward. And by making one of the contestant pick someone else--but only one--it’s clearly designed to stir up some tension between players. Same thing with these dumbass “mission reports.” Blah.

And speaking of Parthenon… he’s a little gay, isn’t he? I mean, I’m not a homophobe, but… wow.

So we finally get to the elimination and to no-one’s surprise Boob-sura is booted. She turns in her costume and reverts to street clothes and, WTF? So, she’s a clown in real life? Is that what she was supposed to be? Huh?

Down to five. Half way there.

Oh! And did everyone catch the trailer for Feedback’s SciFi TV movie? MEGASNAKE! From the commercial it looks like it will live up to the high standards set by other SciFi TV movies, like Mansquito or S.S. Doomtrooper.

Next week! Dr. Dark has isolated Stan Lee’s DNA! Oh please, please, please let there be clone Stan Lee! And if it’s EVIL clone Stan Lee, all past sins will be forgiven!

###

MAKE CAKE

Thirty-nine years ago today my wife was born in Maryland. Forth months later, and three states west, I was born.

I’m more than a little stunned at the events that followed: she and her family moved to California; I never left Ohio. Then, for some unthinkable reason, she moved to Cleveland; I never got further north than Columbus. Yet, despite these considerable odds, we met, fell in love, and have been happily married for nearly six years now.

Happy birthday, sweets. I love you.

###

CAPE SHAPE part IV

Missed last week’s episode. It’s tough to tell what really happened from SciFi.com’s brief synopsis of the episode, but it sounds like more of the same old-same old. It’s becoming clear that the producers can find something to criticize any superhero for at any time, so actual performance seems to fall second to whatever scripted results they have in mind. However, I will give them credit for booting Mr. Mitzvah so early. This guy tended to rub the others wrong, so keeping him around would have been a nice source of tension. And they booted Ms. Limelight, too! This really surprises me, since she’s so young and there’s so much opportunity to what her grow and become a stronger person and a real superhero and blah-da-blah-da-blah. Out of all the cast members she bugged me the most, so no tears shed on her leaving.

Next week! The superheroes are shocked to find that the safe holding their secret identities has been compromised! Holy shit! I guess Dr. Dark figured out how to use IMDb!

###

VACATION RUINATION

Hey Internet, wot uppa?

For reasons of national security I couldn’t revel this before, but now I can tell you that last week I was on vacation. The Scientist’s parents came up and watched the girls and we went camping (and to those of you who know us in real life, that would be “camping”) in western Pennsylvania.

So how was it? Perhaps it’s best to express my feelings in song:

Got home from camping last spring.
Saw people, places and things.
We barely had arrived
Friends asked us to describe
The people, places and every last thing.
So we unpacked our adjectives.

I unpacked "frustrating" first.
Reached in and found the word "worst".

Then I picked "soggy" and

Next I picked "foggy" and

Then I was ready to tell them my tale.
'Cause I'd unpacked my adjectives.

So yeah, it rained. And then rained some more. It’s been hot and dry all summer, and then last week--the only week-long vacation I have planned all year--was the wettest of the season. When it wasn’t torrential downpours, it was hot and humid.

But, we were still surrounded by friends, and we didn’t let the weather interfere with our drinking, so it was still a good time. Except for Thursday, which was my low point. After four days straight of being wet, I was extremely grouchy. So much so, that we did something we never do: laundry. The Scientist packed up my wet crap and went into town with a friend to wash and (more importantly) dry my stuff. It really made a difference in my mood. That, and all the booze I drank while she was in town.

Thank you, honey; I really appreciated it.

But now that I’m back I’m rushing around like crazy trying to get back into the groove, especially at work. Busy, busy. And I still have to set up my tent to dry properly (I can almost hear Jeff right now screaming, “What? You haven’t dried out your tent? Good night!”) and I need to hump all the camping crap back into the basement.

It is good to be back at home, to see those girls. Who, incidentally, were great for Nana and Pop-pop. But, as it turns out, Lily didn’t manage to stay dry the entire week, either.

###

CAPE SHAPE part III

Mindset?! Ah, bullshit! As much as I love the camp of Who Wants to be a Superhero? the rampant hypocrisy and obvious scripting of this “reality” show drives me nuts.

I missed the very beginning of last night’s episode (damn kids! Can’t you just go to bed without all the brushing of teeth and reading of stories and tucking in? Don’t you see that daddy has TV to watch?!) so I missed the exchange between Miss Limelight and Mindset. Apparently, it went something like this:

MISS LIMELIGHT: People think I’m stupid!
MINDSET: I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re just playing a role.
ML: I’m not playing a role! This is how I really am!
MS: Oh, so you really are stupid. I get it.

Or something. But before this carefully edited drama can play out any more, the heroes are summoned to stop the newest super-villain in town, Bee Sting! The nefarious force of evil captures our heroes and forces them to… SPELL!

The horror!

I know these are just regular people and you can’t very well make them physically duke it out with super villains (actors) but come on… a spelling bee? Really? I guess you can’t make every challenge physical like the first one, but never in middle school would I have guessed that my destiny as a superhero would depend on “i before e expect after c.”

Full disclosure: even though I’m a writer by trade, I’m a terrible speller. If I was on that show when they revealed the challenge, I’d be all “Well shit. I’m done. Can I just turn in my tights now?”

However, as it turns out, most of them were terrible spellers. Even when they figured out the twist (“She’s BEE Sting, so everything has to be spelled with B-E-E!”) they couldn’t spell worth crap.

But I do have to say that releasing real bees in with them was pretty hard core. I don’t really think there were as many bees as they made them out to be (I suspect some sharp editing there) but it looked like people really got stung. I imagine the form you had to sign to get on the show read: Are you allergic to bee stings? Serious, we need to know, no fucking around: [ ] YES [ ] NO.

And here’s the first place I call bullshit on Stan. Mindset refuses to play along with Bee Sting’s weird spelling game. I was all, “Right on, Mindset! Stay true to your character! Live it, baby!” Yeah, his team lost points because of it, but fighting against the will of the bad guys is what being a hero is all about, right?

Apparently not.

Stan reamed him for letting his ego get in the way of helping his team. Said he was “a smart man, but not wise.” Stan seemed to be saying that sometimes you have to do the bidding of the bad guys in order to achieve “the greater good.” Really Stan? This from the “great power comes great responsibility” guy? I thought Mindset very elegantly stated his case, saying that to purposefully misspell a word would be tantamount to lying, and he respected the truth too much to do that. And that any of his team mates would risk minor injury in order to preserve the truth. To which I said, Fucking-A, Mindset! He was really playing the part of a comic book superhero; much more than any of the others.

But in the end, it wasn’t good enough. Clearly Mindset’s number was up, and no amount of well thought out rhetoric was going to save him. Pity too. As far as how to act like a hero in the made-up reality of funny books, this Mindset guy got it.

And this is what drives me crazy about the show. As Stan berated him his “pride” I could just as easily imagine Stan saying something like “A hero is always loyal to the truth! Even at cost to his own personal safety. That is what being a superhero is really about!” So Mindset, the ONE guy out of the entire cast to stand up to the villain gets the boot, and Mr. Mitzvah, who cowered under a blindfold whimpering “oy, meshuggna bees!” gets to stay. That’s great.

And the other great hypocrisy moment of the show: the heroes get their new costumes and Hyper-Strike doesn’t like his. He’s respectful about it, telling Stan that he just wasn’t digging the tights, and missed his old costume. Now, you’ll remember the hullabaloo from last season when Stan gave Ty’Veculus a ridonkulous costume, just to test to see if he’d object or not. He played along just to make Stan happy, only to be lambasted later for lying about liking his new outfit. He was ultimately told to put his old costume back on.

But this time, the heroes were all given decent costumes, and Stan seemed a little offended that one of them would dare to not like what he created. “I designed that costume myself, y’know” he chided Hyper-Strike. Instead of complimenting him on his honesty and letting him go back to his old costume, Stan motored ahead, saying “give it a couple days. See if you like it then.” And Hyper-Strike wisely got the hint, later in the show saying “Y’know what? Stan was right. I do like this new costume.” Silently adding, “There, I said it. Can I stay now?”

So my favorite is out. And, Whip-Snap’s story arc continues to build. The “overcoming adversity” element and “earning the admiration of her fellow team mates” story elements have been covered; I expect next week she will do something that “demonstrates her inner strength” or her “hidden bravery” or some-such.

I put Whip-Snap’s odds of winning it even-up now.

Oh, and if you’re not watching “The Aftershow” at SciFi.com, you’re missing some good stuff. Feedback, continuing his supergeek journey which will ultimately end in clinical depression and alcoholism, interviews those kicked off the show--in full costume, of course (him, not them). But Mindset is incredible in the interview, and just reinforced that this guy really committed to the idea of being a comic book superhero, and still is. His unspoken, "Stan, WTF?” is clear throughout. My favorite part, speaking of the spelling bee: “It was a boring challenge. Then they dumped honey on us. It was a little too Nickelodeon, if you ask me.”

For the future!

###

CAPE SHAPE part II

So yeah, I watched the premier of Who Wants to be a Superhero? And my first reaction was, “eh.”

I don’t know if the excitement of seeing real people in silly superhero costumes has already waned since season one, but I wasn’t that impressed. I mean, even the best of reality TV is pretty formulaic, and this was no exception: all the heroes meet for the first time, Stan Lee appears on the big screen TV, they have to immediately jump into a mission, once resolved they hang out at the lair, they get another mission, then that night someone is arbitrarily cast out. End of show.

Things that stick out in my memory:

Feedback. Oh, poor sweet Feedback. The uber-geek winner from season one. This guy was promised fame, fortune and his own SciFi Network-produced TV movie… and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t received any of those yet. Well, maybe a little fame, in the insular geek universe, at least. I know he was at Mid-Ohio Con (Columbus, OH comic book convention) and I bet he was in San Diego for Comic-Con this past week. As far as comic book geeks go, he’s a lot more famous than me, I guess.

And he seems more than happy to don his costume again and gather up the contestants for the show; sneaking into their homes and workplaces to announce, “Stan wants you!”

The first challenge. I thought this challenge was actually pretty… challenging. Rather physical right out of the box. I thought they played up the “you’ve got to use teamwork!” angle a bit much… all you really needed was one big guy to handle the heavy lifting.

And it’s with challenges like this that I have a problem with the show. They are all supposed to be superheroes, with super powers, right? At least two of these heroes list flight as a power, and Mindset claims to have telekinesis… so why not use your powers? I know, I know, it’s not real, and I’m willing to suspend my disbelieve to a certain degree… but the premises of the show is that this is real, that Stan is shaping real superheroes. Why not create some excuse for them to not use their powers? All Stan has to say is something like, “Heroes, in this challenge I want to see how you would handle it if a supervillian managed to steal your powers!” or “There will be many civilians nearby in this challenge, so please don’t use your powers!”

Defuser. This guy quickly established himself as a leader, if not THE Leader (well, not The Leader, of course. BTW--best villain ever, and rumored to be in the new Hulk movie). Anyway, this guy’s a cop in real life, so no surprise that he’s large and in charge. I’m torn if this is a good thing or not… every team needs a leader, but Stan seems to favor the geeky underdog (witness Feedback). Stan may be looking for any excuse to eliminate the guy. Such as…

The second challenge. Hey, looks like the contestants were paying attention to season one! I’m glad to see none of them were lured into revealing their secret identities, and obvious superhero faux-pas that many of the heroes fell into last season. But then, most of them dropped the ball once they left the warehouse, especially Defuser, who was so focused on getting tires back on the trucks that he missed the real challenges.

Now, it can’t be easy to be on this show. I mean, set aside the fact that you’re wearing a ridiculous costume, but you’re under scrutiny at every moment and you’re just waiting for the next test. So when you come out of the warehouse to find your cars wheel-less, I’m sure it’s easy to think, “Holy shit, we need to get those tires back on the trucks, and like now!” Because it’s not a far stretch to imagine Stan berating them if they didn’t do it toot-sweet: “Heroes, what if there was another emergency?! A true superhero must be ready to react at a moment’s notice!” So they jump into action and most of them don’t notice the little old lady and guy carrying boxes and the dog--even thought the “lost dog” seemed like a real stretch. (Which, by the way, the SciFi website describes as an “obviously lost and frightened dog” to which I say buuuuull-shit! That dog laid on the sideway and calmly looked around. If it was howling or crying, it would have been one thing. But anyway.

So yeah, it’s got to be a tough call between jumping in and solving the obvious challenge and stopping to look around to see if there’s a more subtle challenge involved. Which, frankly, there always is. If these guys are smart they’ll figure that out and start to assign a person or two as lookouts for every challenge.

Mr. Mitzvah. Holy shit! Did I say in my last post that he was too ethnic? I had no idea. I mean, there’s no way that the guy really talks like that. He’s doing a dead-on impersonation of Jackie Mason! Oy vey! I’m kibitzing with the meshuggner when the shiksa drops the latke and she gets verklempt and oy gevalt the crying!

Ms. Limelight. Is she really only 18? Jesus, she’s certainly annoying enough for it. She was on the chopping block last time, here’s hoping she gets canned next go-round. I don’t think I can take much more of that voice.

Next week! New costumes! Mazal tov!

###

CAPE SHAPE, part I.

Mark your calendars for July 26, 2007. That’s when Who Wants to be a Superhero, season 2 premiers.

I am, of course, psyched!

Last season never let me down with the unfailing onslaught of cheesy nonsense, created and ring-led by Stan "The Man" Lee. I expect season 2 to do the same, and then some. Oh, Stan Lee, you bat-shit crazy old man, how I love you!

I seriously considered trying out for season two, but I never really got past the origin story stage. And it really seems like you have to go to a cattle-call to grab the producer’s attention. So who knows… maybe next time.

Let’s take a look at this season’s heroes!

NAME: The Defuser
SUPER POWERS: Gadgeteer; enhanced physical abilities, night vision.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 4 (He looks like a cop, and who’s going to argue with that?)
COMMENTS: Nice package of powers that make sense together. Refuses to use firearms and fights drug dealers… Stan’s gotta love that!
CHANCE OF WINNING: 25% (he looks serious… a little too series. Unless he turns out to be a huge geek, Stan is going to pass him over for a more established resident of geektown.)



NAME: Ms. Limelight
SUPER POWERS: Can emulate powers of action movie stars.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 2 (fringe? No thank you)
COMMENTS: “Vulnerability: She has very sensitive legs: if someone tells her to ‘break a leg,’ it really breaks!” WTF? I’d call her origin story really stupid, but it’s very similar to Feedback’s from last season, and we know how it turned out for him!
CHANCE OF WINNING: 5% (Her power sounds dumb and, again, fringe?)



NAME: Hyper-Strike
SUPER POWERS: Martial artist; “can turn his own sweat into a weapon” (WTF?); can manipulate his own chi and that of others.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 3 (nicely put together; but with those tights, I’m a little afraid that I’m going to see more than I want.
COMMENTS: Love his nemesis (Komodo, a lizardman bent on becoming the world’s greatest fighter), but his vulnerability is profuse sweating? Yuck.
CHANCE OF WINNING: 35% (tough call on this guy… he’ll either go pretty far, or get on everyone’s nerves and burn out in the first couple episodes.)


NAME: Whip-Snap
SUPER POWERS: Master of the whip, can turn her foes to dust.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 4 (I dig the cowboy influence and, again, nice bod doesn’t hurt)
COMMENTS: I’ll give this lady huge points is she can really do tricks with her whip. Her vulnerability is asthma? Come on…
CHANCE OF WINNING: 10% (A little too series, and Stan has long held a dislike for heroes who use weapons.)




NAME: Mindset
SUPER POWERS: Telekinesis; danger sense.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 3 (4 if that light on his chest actually works)
COMMENTS: “Nemesis: Sigmus, a Galactic Starlord from Mindset’s future.” Awesome! “Catch phrase: For the future!” Double awesome!!
CHANCE OF WINNING: 75% (he has the geek-cred in spades and really went for it, costume-wise. I think this guy is smart money.)




NAME: Basura
SUPER POWERS: Communicates with insects and small animals, can tell how any object was created; turns trash into robots.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (0-5): 4 (lots of skin, and the body to pull it off)
COMMENTS: Flakey artist-type, Odd hodge-podge of powers. On the plus side: nice bode and not afraid to show it off!
CHANCE OF WINNING: Zero (I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that she’s going to be so consumed with telling the other heroes about how you can turn trash into treasure, “Like I do with my art work” that she’ll break character and be out in the first four shows.)


NAME: Mr. Mitzvah
SUPER POWERS: Flight, night vision, super-strength, enhanced senses AND a magic Star of David ping-pong paddle!
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 4 (it’s working for me, and the white hair pulls it all together)
COMMENTS: Unlikely that someone so ethnic will win, but Stan is a Jew himself, so who knows?
CHANCE OF WINNING: Zero (The ethnic thing. Do you know what religion Superman is? How about Captain America? No? Exactly.)



NAME: Braid
SUPER POWERS: Shape shifter (so far so good); braids act as tentacles to snare foes (okaaay); rainbow eyelids take digital photos (huh?); superior sense of small (um, sure); transforms into Braid with Prism Stone (what now?).
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 2 (I get the concept, but still think it looks dumb)
COMMENTS: Her power is lost if you cut her braids… that’s a cool Stan Lee-esque vulnerability.
CHANCE OF WINNING: Zero (She’s probably get further than she should, but there’s no getting around the fact that she has Rainbow Brite hair).


NAME: Parthenon
SUPER POWERS: Gains super strength, limited invulnerability, flight and more from his “Armaguard,” an ancient Atlantian gauntlet.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 2 (dude, lift some weights)
COMMENTS: Love the origin story and nemesis. And the catch phrase, “Rock on!” Because he uses magical rocks for power, get it? Stan will.
CHANCE OF WINNING: 40% (My dark horse to win. He looks like a geek, and I bet he talks and acts like a geek, too.)




NAME: Hygena
SUPER POWERS: Uses weapons created from cleaning tools.
COSTUME COOLNESS FACTOR (1-5): 1 (as if I needed another reason not to like this hero, her costume is stupid)
COMMENTS: Ugh, a gimmicky hero, ala “Cell Phone Girl” from last season.
CHANCE OF WINNING: Zero. (Stan likes cheesy, but this is too stupid even for him. That said… Fat Momma got into the finals last time, so we’ll see.)



General comments: I’ve based my who will win opinions strictly on costume and publicity shots; we’ll see how much that changes after the first episode.

Also, again based on appearances, these contestants have learned something from season one. Namely, if you are a woman and you have a decent body, show it off. And, street hockey gear makes good armor.

Here’s hoping they took note of the fact that they need to be superheroes ALL THE TIME. Stan Lee is watching your every movement, and it’s not going to fly if you break character, even for a moment.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this season won’t be as obviously orchestrated as last season. And, of course, I pray that it will be just as chock-full of dumbass stunts as season one. Excelsior!

###

INCH CINCH

Check out the first three messages in my spam folder this morning:


Is someone trying to tell me something?

###

MONDAY FUNDAY

Monday morning.

I should be working (I have several job jackets on my desk giving me the hairy eyeball) but nothing is due immediately, and sometimes on Monday I have a hard time getting back into the groove. This is especially true this morning. I blame The Scientist.

See, Macey started to fuss at 5am, so The Scientist got up and brought her into bed with us. Which is fine, she settled down immediately and went back to sleep, as did I. But there was something about having one of our children in bed with us that made it feel like a lazy Sunday morning to me, and my wife finally poked me and said, “It’s six-thirty. Get up!” my brain was all, “What the fuck? You tellin’ me it isn’t Sunday? Shiiiit!”

So here’s a bunch of unorganized things of note that have happened lately:

We had a garage sale.

Actually, our entire street did. Or rather, the non-stick in the mud families did. This was organized by our garage sale veteran neighbor, who had the 4-1-1 on everything you needed for a successful garage sale in our town. Like, a permit.

I was a little horrified that our city requires you to pay five bucks to get a neon green piece of paper with your address on it to confirm that your garage sale is “legal.” Along with the permit came four sheets outlining what you can and cannot do at your garage sale, heavily weighted to the “can’t” side of the equation.

I humped a bunch of crap out of the basement and lined it up neatly in our driveway and let the invisible hand do its magic. And it was very successful! We got rid of all the big crap we no longer wanted (and only moderately wanted in the first place) and made a few bucks in the process.

It helped a great deal that everything was Priced! To! Move! The gigantic bulky end tables? $8 for the set! The dirty snow blower that desperately needs serviced? $10 (but I actually took $5)! The 1980s-era stereo with speakers? $5! The tiny black-and-white TV? Fifty cents!

The basement has never looked better.

We took a vacation.

A little one. We just ran up to the cabin (I’ve mentioned my family’s cabin before, right? Ah, yes I have) for Saturday and Sunday morning. We brought up some friends, and Mom met us up there and it was a good time. The girls are getting old enough to appreciate it, and I always enjoy my time up there. The Scientist’s severe allergies to mold and mildew make it… challenging… at times, but we’ve figured it out, for the most part. There was hiking and drinking and over-eating and poker and it was all-in-all a very fun weekend.

That is, until the trip back home.

We always dope up the girls with Dramamine, just to be safe, since the roads are a little twisty-turny. Well, we didn’t on the way home. About an hour into the trip, Macey let out a big burp that sounded more than a little on the wet side. The Scientist and I exchanged terrified glances and looked back. Macey was still just watching the portable DVD player, seemingly happy. Whew, we both thought. Glad she didn’t--

And that’s when the puke flood gates opened up.

The Scientist was driving, and I was still looking back at Macey when the dam burst. It’s always funny to watch little kids puke… unlike adults who look around in desperation for something to yak into, little kids just let it come. All down the front of her, all over her car seat.

We pulled off into the nearest gas station. She had started to cry, and The Scientist took her into the bathroom to comfort her and clean her up, leaving me to deal with the puke-splattered car seat. Which actually cleaned-up fairly easily. Lily took the opportunity to remind me several times that she didn’t get car sick, for which we were happier than she could ever know.

We dosed both kids, waited about a half hour, then got back on the road. Fortunately, there were no further incidents. But the car did smell like puke for the rest of the trip.

I parked cars and took a leap of faith.

Right across the street from our church is a catholic church. Every year in July this church has a little festival on their property with rides, games of chance, fried dough, that sort of thing--I’m guessing here, I’ve actually never been to it.

Anyway, this church pays our church some amount of money to allow fair-goers to park in our parking lot. And here’s the thing: there’s nothing tricky about the parking lot, you don’t need a pass-card to get in or anything like that. It’s asphalt, flat, marked by lines. So you might think that the church would say, “Fantastic! Give us that check, and have at!”

But it doesn’t go down like that. Rather, the parking is this amazingly over-orchestrated affair with signs, roadblocks, 2-way radios, flashlights, parking cones and a bunch of volunteers.

All of this is run by one little old lady at the church, whom we will call Sue. The parking lot deal is Sue’s baby. It’s her territory, and you are wise to tread softly when entering her territory.

I got a frantic call from Sue on Tuesday night. One of the guys scheduled to work the parking lot had been hit by a tram (apparently he was time-traveling in the 18th century) and had sprained his ankle. Could I fill in? Sure, I figured… I hadn’t been the best parishioner of late, so I figured I’d better jump on any opportunity to get good with God. My shift was the final one of Thursday night, 8-11pm. “I’ll mail you the instructions,” Sue informed me. I reminded her that I had actually volunteered for this parking lot duty before a couple years ago, and wasn’t sure if she needed to waste a stamp. She assured me she did, and that was that.

Two days later my instructions arrived (the morning of the duty--Sue must have been sweating bullets worrying that I’d get them in time) and, honestly, I never opened them. It wasn’t until after my shift that I opened the envelope to review the five pages of instructions. To say that these instructions were thorough is to bad-mouth the gods of thoroughness. Everything was covered… how to hang the signs, where to place the signs, where to block off certain parking spots, and with what, and for how long… and so on. When to close the lot. How to operate the radios--because you needed a “front lot” person and “back lot” person, and it was critical that they be in constant communication. I mean, what if you didn’t block off the lot when it was full and someone had to--I shutter to even imagine it--drive through and not find a spot and have to drive out again?

But in all fairness, I suppose all the rigmarole isn't completely superfluous. I mean, if there’s actually people from the church there, I suppose any troublemakers would be less likely to, I dunno, key cars or try to break in to the church or whatnot. But is this event of such a scale that it requires five pages to properly explain? I guess Sue wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.

And just to reinforce this, Sue was there herself to review the policies with me again when I got there. In the course of discuss the night’s clean-up, she noticed that whoever had put the FREE PARKING sign over the usual Church Parking sign had neglected to first cover it with the protective plastic sheeting--which is clearly outlined in the SET UP section of the instructions. “Oh boy,” I thought. “Somebody fucked up. Sue isn’t going to like this.” Sue seemed to take it in stride, although the look on her face was clearly a long-suffering “Why do I even bother?” I suggested I could go put up the protective sheet now, but Sue told me that “it’s too late, now.”

Luckily there were no parking shenanigans on my watch, and I spent most of the time texting stupid things to my wife.

But one thing did happen at the end of the night that’s worth noting.

Around 11:45pm we started to tear down all the parking materials (because if they stayed up all night--well, that just would NOT do) and I had to remove some signs from the rear lot. As the lot is designed, it does downhill a bit before it exits to the street. And it winds around a corner. So it happened that I ended up on the top of an eight foot tall wall, in the dark, looking over the edge. I would have taken about a minute and half to walk around. Or! my brain suggested for some unknown reason, You could just jump down! I shined by flashlight (Please make sure flashlights are OFF!!! and return to the box labeled “Flashlights And Batteries” at the end of your shift”) on the ground, didn’t see any rocks or glass and jumped.

Now, I’m a 200lb. guy, and don’t make a habit of leaping off walls or, well, anything. I think my brain had the imgine of me lightly springing to the ground like a cat (or a ninja!), but the reality was somewhat different. I landed hard on my feet, which immediately slid out in front and deposited me rudely on my ass.

Of course, it was at that moment that my brain spoke up and said, “Jesus, dude, that was stupid.” Damn you, brain!

Anyway, my ankles hurt for the rest of the evening, but I didn’t manage to do any lasting damage. Which is nothing short of miraculous.

And on that note, I must now return to work before someone notices I'm blogging and not working and I again land hard on my ass.

###