The Great Highlighting Experiment

I wanted to start out by thanking Jan at Gryphondear's Word of the Day for mentioning Slapinions on her journal, and for Bucko doing the same. In fact he labeled his post "This one is for Dan @ Slapinions". The content of the post was horrific ;) but thanks for the PR none-the-less.

* * * * *

Last week Lisa bought LuLu a Hannah Montana hair highlighting doo-dad and naturally the $5 gizmo didn't work. So the next night, after sending me out for groceries, she had me pick up some hair dye.

Back before digital cameras, when photographs were still recorded on paper that would actually survive the Great Alien Invasion of 2011, Lisa put blonde highlights in my hair. In this ancient world of film cameras there exists a great and noble picture of me with foil and gunk in my once mighty mane. It's a shame I don't have it here.

I have no idea what was up with YaYa in this next picture, as the process went smoothly with her hair.

The results?

Ack! I have a picture of YaYa too but I can't get the file to work. I'm sure her highlights will show up in future posts.

Jessica Alba, headbutts, gang signs, the Red Sox and Favre. What????

I watched the James Toney-Hasim Rahman bout tonight. It was stopped after the 3rd round and ruled a TKO in favor of Toney, handing him the heavyweight belt.

I was pulling for Toney, but this one reeks. Stuff like this, to paraphrase the announcers, doesn't happen in professional bowling.

During a 3rd round that Toney won hands down he accidentally headbutted Rahman and opened a cut above his right eye. This is not in dispute. At the end of the round when questioned by the ring doctor Rahman was quick to say he couldn't see  and the doctor called the fight.

Or did he? If he did and it was stopped because of a head butt it's a no-decision and the belt stays put. If it's called because the fighter resigned it's a TKO and the belt changes hands.

Rahman did say he couldn't see, which is all but yelling "Stop the fight!", but it was the doctor's decision. Therefore I say it's a no-decision. The California board saw it differently but appeals are no doubt in the works.

One thing tho' - no decision or not, Rahman just didn't have the heart. Hey, Lord knows four seconds after entering the ring with either guy my head separates from my neck, but I'm not a heavyweight champion. The cut, while deep, was located above the brow and did not appear to be significantly dripping into the eye. He could've/should've brushed off the cut's impact, at least and especially when talking to the doctor if it was his true intention to carry on.

And afterwards, to say that he had no intention of fighting Toney with one eye? Well, uh, doesn't that mean that you did indeed resign from the fight?

Argh. Make it a no-decision and call a 'do-over' gentlemen.

* * *

You don't like boxing. It's full of gangsters and hoodlums you say. Violent, you say. Uh-huh. Check out this charming exerpt fromCNN/SI.com:

NFL crackdown on gang signs Posted: Wednesday July 16, 2008 06:56AM ET

Hand signals captured on videotape are once again being scrutinized around the NFL. Only this time, it's not the New England Patriots studying them for a competitive advantage, but league officials in search of a more sinister message. The NFL, concerned that some players might celebrate by flashing the hand signals of street gangs, has hired experts to examine game tapes and identify the gestures. "There have been some suspected things we've seen," said Milt Ahlerich, the league's vice president of security. "When we see it, we quietly jump on it immediately, directly with the team and the player or employee involved to cease and desist. Period." Ahlerich says the league has long warned its players about the influence of gangs and other forms of organized crime, but that those admonishments have intensified since the 2007 killing of Denver Broncos cornerback Darrent Williams, who was gunned down after an altercation involving known gang members. NFL game officials will not be responsible for identifying gang signals but will alert league headquarters of anything unusual or suspicious they see. League executives declined to outline what action might be taken against offenders, but Pereira said, "it will be dealt with harshly. The commissioner is not going to stand for gang signals on the field."

Yeah. 'Cuz boxing is full of dangerous thugs.

* * *

The Packers are officially alleging that the Minnesota Vikings have tampered in the Favre situation, citing multiple calls from a Minnesota assistant to Favre.

* * *

Jonathon Papellbon, closer for the Red Sox, was treated like crap at Yankee stadium during the All-Star game and serenaded by chants of 'overrated' that echoed through the park.

Oh, the cries of 'classless' and 'typical New Yorkers' from Boston fans!

Red Sox fans hate Yankees, Yankees fans hate Red Sox. Simple. Easy peezy. Sure it was a little much for my taste, but as far as the classless comment goes, I seem to remember 'Jeter sucks and A-Rod swallows', and crap about Jeter giving herpes to Jessica Alba.

But, uh, yeah, Boston fans would never stoop so low as to yell 'over-rated'.

The Black Dove

                

Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Pub. Date: February 2008

ISBN-13: 9780312347826

The Black Dove in Steve Hockensmith's novel refers to a missing Chinese prostitute who was the last person to see a murder victim alive.

If nothing else I can assure you that the sentence you just read is far and away more somber than anything in the book itself.

The Black Dove is a follow up of Holmes on the Range, an Edgar award nominee. Gus and Otto Amlingmeyer are brothers. Gus, an illiterate cowhand, has developed a fondness for the 'real-life' adventures of Sherlock Holmes and has a knack for 'deducifying' himself. Otto, the narrator of the book,  is big and quick with his fists and the puns. Together they find themselves in Chinatown in the latter stages of the 19th century, investigating the murder of a mutual aquaintance.

The book is more concerned with making you laugh than think, with the actual mystery occupying 10% of the work at best. The rest of the space is devoted to comedic adventures that  sometimes slip into a dull Perils of Pauline mode out of sheer redundancy.

Really, how many times a day can someone find themselves surrounded by hatchet weilding Chinamen?

The book accomplishes its task with aplomb and I have to admit the ending, which was tidy if unexpectedly bleak, wrapped things up quite nicely.

The only negative I see? Hockensmith's book, in tone and structure, eerily mirrors a mystery (well, 4 chapters of one) I wrote back in '96. That annoyed me.

I hate people who finish what they start.

3.0 out of 4, 75 out of 100.

More pics

Hey folks, I didn't 'name' Lump, her Mommy did. I'm sure her name will morph with time. After all, Smiley is no longer referred to on this site as "The Maker of Trouble and Mayhem" :)

But for moment, Lump it is.

Here are some more pics, again just camera phone spur of the moment shots. Oh, one thing: at the party yesterday my buddy asked if I ever crawled back to Blackbird to exchange my phone.

Truth be told my 'unfixable' phone was cured of its ailments by whatever those yahoos did to determine it was 'un repairable'. It hasn't acted up since (knock on wood). HaHa!

And one of Smiley for good measure:

Two Pics of the Lump

Two pics of the Lump, just because her outfit was so adorable.

She's standing on her own now, but stubbornly refuses to do it for any longer than it takes her to realize she's standing un-anchored. I'll try to snap a pic of the accomplishment in the near future.

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The 5th (or 6th, I forget) Annual All-Star Game Party

             

You want to know how much I love the game of baseball? Monday night while I was watching Josh Hamilton pound out 28 dingers during the Home Run Derby I turned to my wife and said:

"Do you see how beautiful this is? Do you see the backspin on that ball? You know there are honestly  times when I think I'd rather watch a home run than a naked woman in the street."

Mind you, those would be the times when I wear the t-shirt with 'Dork' written across the chest, but the sentiment holds true.

Tuesday was my annual All-Star game party, and this year even the no-shows dropped off gifts (a nice bottle of brandy from my neighbor). It was a blast.

[Kudos to my wife on preparing a grand spread for the event. Taco dip, pasta salad, sloppy joe's, deviled eggs, two cakes, cheesecake, chips,  and don't forget beverages. God, I must have gained 15 pounds tonight alone]

Along with tying 1967 for the longest game in All-Star history, it was just plain a hell of a game.It helped that for the first time in years I had a rooting interest. With the Yanks apparently out of the running I could invest my energy into rooting for a hometown National League win. Some highlights:

In the bottom of the tenth inning of the tie ballgame, Florida 2nd baseman Dan Uggla - referred to as 'The Cutie' by my wife - committed two errors in a row to put a pair of runners on base. (Uggla would commit a record 3 errors in the game).

Pitcher Aaron Cook intentionally walked the next batter to load the bases and create a force out situation at home. No outs mind you, no outs and the bases loaded with the game on the line and they got out of it unscathed.

Wow!

Then in the bottom of the 11th inning  Dionner Navarro stood on second base with the winning run when a single was rapped into the outfield. By rights the game should have been over but I blurted out "Dionner can't run for s**t. There's a chance."

And booyah, the throw beat him to the plate by a hair. I could've scored on the play, but I've saturated myself enough in this year's games to know Dionner's legs are made out of concrete. 

I was rather proud of myself for that bit of insight, and a few others throughout the night.

The game dragged on into the wee hours and yes, I too was willing to settle for a tie by the time the AL disgustingly won the contest. Eh, such is life. But great defense (minus the Marlins) which I adore, and overwhelming pitching.

A great game, and a great time.

The Ruins - Book and Movie Review

Stephen King called 'The Ruins' (and I'm going by memory here) "the best horror novel of the new century". High praise indeed, even if I think he overshot the mark a bit (Stephen - your son Joe called. Heart Shaped Box says hello).

It is a swell horror novel. Not an extraneous word in sight and not a page that doesn't drip with doom and gloom. From the first word on the first page of the first chapter you know it's all going to end poorly, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Having read the book when it came out I was excited to rent the movie, although knowing it didn't do great in the theaters my hopes weren't high. My verdict?

Not bad.

It didn't make me scream, squirm, or bite my nails, as predicted on the box cover, but it did indeed make me cringe at parts. Scott Smith wrote both the book and the screenplay, so I'm a little unsure of why there were so many alterations to the characters (although the Eric - Stacy switcheroo worked much better for the screen).

The story remains the same. While on vacation in Mexico two young college couples wander off the beaten path to explore an ancient Mayan Ruin. While there they come in contact with a vine growing on the temple and in a panic the local villagers refuse to let them leave. Trapped and running out of water, it soon becomes apparent that they are not alone in the ruins.

The major drawback of the movie, as opposed to the book, is the age of the characters. The college age protagonists 'work' in print. On the page they are young enough to gleefully set off for parts unknown but old enough to improvise their way through obstacles. They are old enough to be prisoners to the personality traits they've developed (Jeff, in particular, is defined by his role of 'thinker/fixer') but young enough to rebel against them in their fight for survival.

Yet on screen, all you notice is that it's another horror movie about college kids.

And the 'bad guy' - much scarier in your imagination than in Technicolor.

Book 3.25 out of 4, 80 out of 100.

Movie 2.75 out of 4, 65 out of 100

The Unwanted/Uncomfortable Comeback Attempt of Brett Favre

Here we go again.

You might remember that in March I wasted a few minutes of my day composing a tribute to Brett Favre on his retirement*.

I couldn't believe that after year after year of dragging his feet each summer and making a media circus out of the  "will he or won't he play next year' question, he reached a mature and final decision so quickly.

Well, ha-ha on me.

A few days ago rumors began circulating that Favre wanted back in. Scratch that, make that a few weeks ago; they just got more frequent in recent days. Now the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel reports that Brett's agent has requested that his retirement be nixed and that he be granted an unconditional release by the Packers so that he can pursue employment elsewhere.

Apparently he's upset that the Packer didn't greet the news of his 'return' with open arms.

Ah, and on cue some folks in Wisconsin are rushing to his defense. How dare we not take him back? Don't we remember all he did for us? Sign him up and bump Aaron Rodgers back to backup. Or, you know what, sign him and make it an open competition for starting job. Yeah! Or, how about we just trade away Rodgers and 'worry about it in '09'. 'C'mon Pack, don't break our hearts" one moron wrote.

There are people who repeat the lines above with ease. Good for them. Some of the mainstream media shovels that pile of manure too. Fine for them.

But many Wisconsinites have had enough of the prima donna.

As one insightful sportscaster mentioned, people outside of Green and Gold country might not know that this has been a constant and silly pattern of Brett's. I mentioned the circus that popped up every summer. It would start with some sad, resigned statement by Favre. It would be fueled, in his absence, by rumor and innuendo (read: his family and his agent) and only, only when local news reporters flew out to camp outside his doorstep in Mississippi would he be happy.

"Yes, gosh, I will come back. Whyd'ya'll ever wonder?"

Year. After year. After year.

Enough is enough. No matter how much you love your wife, if she spends every summer threatening to leave you and drags the gut-wrenching decision out for months each time, LET HER GO.

And you know what? It isn't disrespectful. Not on the Packers part, not on Brett's. Letting him move on doesn't mean we don't appreciate all he's done (and all we paid him for, btw, with heaps of both love and money).

Nor does his leaving for another team sully his name. Ruth finished with the Boston Braves, Molitor with the Twins, Emmitt Smith with Arizona, Joe Montana with Kansas City. Do you think any less of them, or see them wearing any of those jerseys in their respective Halls?

The Packers have already deemed Aaron Rodgers as their starter, and ixnaying that will in all likelihood ruin the guy for us. Not the end of the world. With word of Favre's 'retirement' we spent two draft picks on quarterbacks. Not the end of the world if they are wasted.

But none of that should happen. If the Pack is destined to lose 12 games it's going to happen anyway. I think the Packers over-performed in '07 myself. They're probably due for a drop down to reality. We're always going to wonder if the next QB is going to be a flop or the next Steve Young.

 I say we get going and find out.

[BTW as for Brett: with no sarcasm or wise-ass intended, go get some anti-depressants. A healthy person does not look or act as you have for the last few off-seasons, and he does not go around retiring out of depression only to regret it and make everyone's life difficult months later.

I don't know if it's because of your Dad's death, your wife's cancer, or whatever, but get some help. I know what I'm talking about - please, ask for help. ]

*granted, not a very good tribute. But unlike the majority of Wisconsin men, I am not in man-love with Brett.

Stranger in Paradise

                       

I was at a used bookstore with LuLu and the Lump when a woman in line noticed a Robert B Parker book in my hands. We had a short but pleasant conversation about the author even though she was a Jesse Stone fan but could not stand Spenser, the kook.

She recommended this book (Stranger in Paradise), which in fact I had just finished, and had some spot-on observations about it. More on her later.

I always feel like a hypocrite when I review a Robert B Parker novel. I've been rightfully criticized for devoting too much space to the author at the expense of  his work, but I don't think you can review only the text in front of you, not with him. More than any author I can think of his work is a product of the man himself and the events of his life.

His nontraditional (they live/lived in separate houses) and bumpy marriage to his wife has created a steady diet of dysfunctional relationships in his books, and the outing of both his sons unleashed a torrent of gay characters for awhile. Likewise his obsession with psychotherapy sometimes rises to the point where it becomes a cheap way to tell the reader what was going on, rather than show them.

But . . . I love the guy. His writing is smooth and crisp, and so sparse that your mind has only a second to dwell on the beauty of it before moving on to the next chapter.

He is my favorite author, the man who wrote one of my ten favorite books, and I named my only son in honor of him.

Stranger in Paradise is the latest installment of the Jesse Stone series. Set in fictional Paradise, Mass., Jesse Stone is an ex-LA cop turned small town sheriff. Ten years ago a violent and lucrative robbery took place in the town. Now one of the men behind the robbery, Wilson 'Crow' Comartie, has returned. Not to return for another crack at the local P.D., but to find the daughter of a Miami crime lord who may be in the area. Soon enough the unlikely team of Comartie and Stone unite to fend off street gangs, hit men, and the mafia.

I enjoyed the book. It was fun and quick and laden with action that makes a Parker book tick. There's the usual witty back and forth, the unchangeable moral code of the main character, the contradictory but understandable respect Stone has for Crow, a man who on the surface seems his direct opposite, and a bevy of reoccurring minor characters that really flesh out the novel.

[I loved the character of Crow but c'mon. A sexy minority hitman of unquestionable violence but with a moral code? Where have I seen that before? Oh, yes. In about 30 Spenser novels, a black guy by the name of Hawk.

Hawk. Crow. What's next? An Asian hitman named Dove?]

The 'good' comprises 97.8% of the book.

The 2.2% of 'bad'? An over the top P.C. storyline involving school bussing. (gasp! A private island of millionaires doesn't want  busses full of the siblings of inner-city gang members sent to their neighborhood, citing a fear of increased crime and reduced property value?! Republicans! They must have voted for Bush! Legitimate gripe be damned, they're racists! What's that? Don't worry about the subsequent gang homicide. That was just one of their older brothers making a 'statement'. Nothing to see, nothing to see)

There's a minor character who acts . . inappropriately and out of character, and I'm sure many folks will no longer view him/her in a favorable light. (I have my issues with the action myself). However, this could also count as a positive for the book and series, as it doesn't open up a can of worms about the character now and for the future.

Finally, the lady at the store couldn't believe that ten years into the series the main character is still hung up on his sex-addicted loser of an ex-wife.

I smiled and agreed. But secretly I was thinking . .

What's a Parker novel without a dysfunctional romance?

CC, Harden, Hart and Sexson. If you don't recognize the names, this won't interest you :)

              

Man was I pumped for CC Sabathia's first start as a Brewer, just like every good Milwaukeean. 27,000 tickets were sold  for future dates that day, 9000 of them for that very game - 3x the normal rate.

It was the first Brewers game of the year I made plans to watch begriming to end (in glorious HD big screen natch!) and CC didn't disappoint. Oh, he wasn't as sharp as he usually is, sporting 2 ER in 6 innings pitched, with 5 BB (a season high) and 5 K's, but it was enough to earn him a win.

The next day the Cubs played catch-up and traded with the A's for hard throwing right hander Rich Harden. .

On the surface the A's got hosed, giving up the guy for what looks like diddly squat. I tend to agree it seems lopsided, but then again I don't entirely trust Billy Beane. I'm not a fan of "Moneyball" and I don't worship Beane as my statistical god, but the guy doesn't get rid of a pitcher unless the hurler is about to fall apart.

To drive home the point Socialist derisively called Harden "Mark Prior Jr". The guy is fragile, recording a mere 73 innings in the last two years COMBINED and never more than 189 in a year. The DL is his second home, and here's hoping he spends a lot time housebound while with Chicago.

Meanwhile, word today that Brewers rightfielder Corey Hart has been named to the final All-Star slot in New York! I've like the guy since I first saw him play and I'm happy for him and for the Brewers.

In the tradition of yin and yang, sad news out of Seattle. Former Brewers star turned Mariners scapegoat Ritchie Sexson was released today.

S

Sexson remains one of my favorite players and I hate to see this happen to him. Yeah, he was hitting an anemic .218 with only 11 homers and 30 RBI, but believe me, the Mariners had worse guys on the field. Vidro anyone???

It was only a few years ago this two time All Star was mashing 45 homers for the Brew Crew (twice), doubling to keep a 10 win streak alive, and playing every inning of every game for an entire season, the first such feat since Ripken in '86.

And in case anyone forgets, the trade that sent him to Arizona bought this team the much needed time to develop its core of minor league talent - the same guys that now play in Miller Park.

December 1, 2003: Traded by the Milwaukee Brewers with a player to be named later and Shane Nance to the Arizona Diamondbacks for Junior Spivey, Craig Counsell, Lyle Overbay, Chad Moeller, Chris Capuano, and Jorge de la Rosa. The Milwaukee Brewers sent Noochie Varner (minors) (December 15, 2003) to the Arizona Diamondbacks to complete the trade.

In a lot of ways, the playoff contenders of '07-'08 wouldn't be possible without Ritchie.

I wish him well, and I hope he gets picked up by another team.

* * *
On an unrelated and largely sacrilegious note: I enjoy the heck out of listening to Vin Scully as I watch a Dodgers game. But does anyone else question why he has a constant and repetitive desire to tell us a players measurements? ("Here's Doe, standing in at 6'2" and a lanky but finely muscled 180#") It's just a wee bit  . . ah, never mind.  

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Quotes of the Day - LuLu Version

I was sitting on the couch tonight when LuLu came up to me.

"Daddy, do you know what time it is?", she asked.

"No," I said.

"It's FARTY time," she said, then jumped on my lap, passed gas, and ran away giggling.

* * * *

Earlier in the week my wife had asked her what she was going to wear to bed.

"I'll just wear naked" she said.

* * * * *

For the record, I have never met a kid so 'at one' with the TV. Not enthralled or even zoned out (I've seen kids that would stare at the screen if their pants were on fire. That's not the case here). Nor does she watch 'that' much TV by American standards. Maybe an hour of Disney Channel, and even then it's often playing as white noise while life goes on.

But does she ever soak it in:

* She'll finish character's sentences FOR AN ENTIRE SCENE

* She'll tell you what episode of Hannah Montana or The Suite Life of Zach and Cody or whatever it is within a minute of watching, no matter at what point she joins the show.

* She'll mimic the actions of the characters to a T

*She will constantly reference the lives, personalities, and mischief of characters throughout the day, sprinkled into conversation so easily that a stranger would think she was talking about her siblings

One day last week I saw her watching an episode of Zach and Cody guest starring Tom Poston. "It's sad that he's dead now," I said. She was confused.

"Who?"

"That guy"

"Nuh-uh. He's sitting right there talking. Duh!"

"Lu, he's just an actor playing a role. This was taped long ago. Zach and Cody aren't real you know"

"They're not?" she said.

Now I think that last line might have been tossed in there to play cutesie-wootsie, because she seems perfectly capable of identifying actorsas they play different parts in different movies and shows. I think the knowledge just slipped from her five-year old brain for a second there.

In no way does this TV quirk trouble me or my wife. I think mental tics like that must run through  our combined DNA. Give me five notes of a song and I'll give you the title and artist (I wish Name that Tune had a modern day version). Play a song for YaYa just once and she'll have the lyrics down. Give Lisa the name of any business past or present and she'll sing you their jingle on the spot. LuLu's quirk just seems to be audio and visual.

One thing did, well, not alarm me per se but throw me off. She doesn't watch Nickelodeon here, but she must at Grandma's. She calls the station 'Zoe 101' (referencing one of its shows) and proudly told me today that "Zoe had a baby. And she wasn't even married! For real Daddy!"

'Zoe' of course, is played by Jamie Lynn Spears.

Sigh.

Phone rage and a guilty confession

Somewhere in this world wide web I'm sure there is another Milwaukee based blog that will relate this very story from a very different point of view. 

Let me preface this by saying (and I know full well that phrase is shorthand for 'I did something bad but I'm gonna try to talk my way out of it') that I am ordinarily quite good with irate, irrational, or even flat out insane customers. It is a knack of mine, one acknowledged by even anti-Dan factions within the politics of the office, and because I see so much of it I try (try) to be extra kind to people on the clock when I'm out and about.

With that out of the way,  I was at the cell phone store with Smiley today after his appointment. Let's call the cell phone company, oh, BlackBird. My phone, for reasons yet unknown, had begun beeping and flashing out of the blue and would not stop until it felt damn good and ready. So I took it in for repair, retired to the bookstore with Smiley for awhile, and then returned to pick it up.

I was dressed in a shirt and tie, I was friendly and social and ever so pleasant to be around.

And then the guy handed back my phone.

"The tech said he opened it and there was a liquid inside the case, and we're not supposed to work on phones with water damage. So it's considered unrepairable and you'll have to buy a new phone."  he said. And yes, he said those words, in that order. Now granted, he said it in a polite and sorrowful tone of voice.

To which I responded  . .

"Fu** that!," I said. "Every damn time I bring a phone in here for repair, whether its mine, a work phone or whatever,  you people say it's water damage. Do you even  open the thing or do you just say it to everyone to try to con them into buying a new phone? Because I heard you use that line with the guy in front of me too."

The guy had the look of a panic on his face. Oh, I'm sure he's used to people getting plenty angry, but the abrupt switch from a happy guy in a tie with his three year old, to angry 300 pound man in under a second undid his confidence.

"Well, um, you know all it takes is one exposure to water . . . " he said.

"What water?! The damn thing is never more than two feet from me. It's in my pocket most of the time."

(re: the pics from the lake. The beeping started prior to the weekend, and even on the trip the phone never touched H20)

"Well, things could get wet in a pocket, you know, sweat or whatever."

"Whatever"? Such as what, I pee myself on a regular basis? I make damn sure to take my phone out of my pocket before watching a Will Ferrell movie.

I should have said a $10 watch can make it 5 meters under the ocean - why can't a $200 phone stnad up to the alleged rigors of sweat? But of course you never think of such things in the moment.

"So how much is a new phone?" I asked.

"Well, you just renewed and got a free phone in March, and you didn't buy the insurance, but it would depend on what you'd want."

"'What I'd want' is something comparable," I said.

"Well we no longer carry that particular model. So the least expensive option would be $250"

To which I replied (drum roll please)

"F**k Blackbird,  I'll live without a phone" I said. "Come on Smiley, let's go."

I should not have sworn at the guy, no matter how angry I was at the moment. Still, I do fully believe the tech is full of it and it's just the company's way to upsell, like telling a guy he'll need new tires because the nail hole is just too big to patch. How can a layman prove or disprove the alleged presence of water? Wouldn't it evaporate even if it was there to be seen?

Sadly, as you know, inevitably I'm going to have to crawl back there and either pretend it didn't happen or kiss some butt, because I have no choice. I'm not  going to live without a cell phone and everyone in the world knows it.

But a small measure of glee. Smiley, during the conversation, kept mimicking the actions of a credit card sale on the kiosk at the desk. (you know, the card swipe/sign in the box on the screen thingamabobs?).

I shushed him away from it many times, but at the tail end of the above conversation noticed he was not only playing with it but mercilessly beating the screen with the light pen. I let it carry on a bit longer than a good Daddy would have allowed.

In reality it did no damage, I'm sure. But I'm going to go to bed tonight and dream about a repair bill for, oh, $250, payable to Blackbird.

An update on Smiley

I left work early today to take Smiley to the ear specialist. He'd had wax just pour out of his left ear for the umpteenth time and he still isn't hearing right, seven months after the tubes went in his ears.

[Lisa is volunteering all week at Girl Scout camp with my oldest girls, otherwise she'd have taken him]

Well, it turns out his left ear is infected, the eardrum doesn't appear to be moving right, and he'll need to be seen again in two weeks because there's a possibility the tube is damaged.

Swell.

I did have the doc check to see if he was tongue-tied, since I went to school with a boy who was, but it appears he's got full movement. Good of course, but disappointing too - it would be wonderful to have a solution to his lack of speech.

[Later in the day I'd learn that coincidentally our infant niece, the daughter of my wife's estranged brother, is tongue-tied and will need surgery to even allow her to eat properly]

[One positive: he did say  "One more choo-choo' while playing with some trains in the waiting room. I was caught off guard and asked him to repeat it, and man was he happy to see how excited I was]

Some misc. Smiley notes:

1. I was happy and proud to see him quickly decipher how to, uh, transform a Transformer. He did it quicker than I could.

2. He went twice to the bathroom at the Dr's office, the first time aiming up instead of down and power washing the wall behind the toilet. At Lisa's insistence, he's been trained  to clean up such messes and he did so, but in my heart I object: it seems to cancel out an integral part of being a boy. :)

3.He's developed some more signs in place of speech. I'm not sure if they're 'real' and taught by his teacher or something improvised. A quick palm-up gripping motion seems to mean 'I'm sorry', while his name continues (incorrectly) to be signed by a quick brush of a finger down his cheek.

4. At the cell phone store he objected when the clerk took my phone away for repair, reacting with alarm at what he perceived as a theft of my property.

5. He often unbuckles himself mid-ride, forcing us to pull over and make a big to-do about putting his seat belt back on.

6. Despite his lack of speech he seems to be quite the charmer among the ladies, using that grin of his to woo them. Let's hope he has the same success 15 years down the road :)

Semi-Pro and The Eye, oh My!

Why bother reviewing a Will Ferrell film? By now everyone either hates the man or loves him, and nothing I say will sway you from your chosen path.

Personally I love the guy (although I hated Anchorman) and I enjoyed the heck out of this movie.

Ferell plays Jackie Moon, player/owner of the American Basketball Association's Flint Tropics, a team designated to fold  in the late '70's merger with the NBA.But if Moon can coerce his lackluster, last place team to finish fourth or better they still have a shot to join the NBA. If not, they're kaput.

Sophomoric jokes abound here, but so does a halfway decent plot of the standard sports-genre variety. Still who watches a Ferrell movie for the storyline? I laughed so hard during the mascara game I darn near peed my pants, and Love Me Sexy - brilliant!

And never mind that I was five when the '70's ended. Somehow I've still grown nostalgic for what looks like a fun decade, and so I got an extra kick from seeing the leisure suits and disco dancers.

3 stars out of 4, 80 out of 100 - if you have a childish sense of humor.

                                                  

The Eye is an American remake of a Hong Kong horror film. This version stars Jessica Alba as a blind woman who undergoes a cornea transplant that mysteriously grants her the ability to see the dead. She struggles to understand a horrific vision that plagues her and sets off to find the family of the  donor to come to terms with her personal curse.

The movie itself was well done and there was nothing cheesy or half-baked about the production itself. But there was also precious little that was original either. Zap this movie back to 1970 and it'd be a groundbreaking hit. In 2008 it's little more a retread of a hundred other horror plots.

There was also something that bothered me, something Lisa originally pointed out. The blind character is not a teacher, clerk, a phone operator, or God forbid disabled. Such everyday professions/classifications are apparently demeaning to the portrayal of the blind. Instead Alba is, of course, a popular and accomplished concert violinist with a vast and eclectic circle of friends and she is openly loved by all. This isn't the first time this phenomenon has shown up in Hollywood.

Why is it beneath a blind or disabled character to be portrayed as a normal, everyday person? Isn't that the point of equality in the first place? Being compelled to use them in such an elevated manner is just another form of bigotry, as if they 'need' special assistance in the script to be taken seriously by the audience.

What a crock.

2.0 stars out of 4, 50 out of 100. Ok, 55 out of 100 because you do, in fairness, get to look at Jessica Alba for ninety minutes.

CC Sabathia, the Cubs, Arod, and Heather McCartney!

                 

I watch a lot of baseball. The MLB Extra Innings package that Lisa got me as an early Father's Day gift ranks as one of my ten favorite things in all the world. I get to watch all the Yankees games I want, and because of my schedule I see a ton of west coast games. Right now, as a matter of fact, Seattle-Oakland is on the tube and Ritchie Sexon just launched a three run blast to left in the first.

One of the oddities of that package is that the incredible varitety offered to me often means that I skip watching my hometown Brewers. Oh, I've seen a few games, including two in person. And I follow them online and in print. But I don't see many games on TV, (the exception being the fine 9th inning win on Saturday and the Suppan disaster on Sunday).

Let me tell ya though, the excitement is building in this town. Sure, we're still behind the Cubs in the standings and yes, we choked last year. There is a difference tho', and it is palpatable.

Last year was exciting but reeked of 'too good to be true', which of course turned out to be the case. This year has a more working-class, 'grinder' feel to it. And underneath it all, right here, right now, is this wonderful feeling of awakening. I liken it to those moments in history when the tide began to turn; a slow, steady, but unforgiving rise to dominance.

Damnit, I think we have a shot.

And of course the weekend brought great news, and memories of the Sutton trade that led us to the Series in '82. The Brewers traded for CC Sabathia, reigning A.L. Cy Young winner and a blue chip pitcher all around.

Sabathia has a lifetime win/loss record of 105-71 with a 3.84 ERA and 1249 strikeouts. I haven't seen much of him in person, but I'm told he has a  94-98 mph fastball, a 11-5 curveball (meaning it moves from 11 o'clock on the face of a clock to 5 o'clock) and a 10-4 slider in the mid eighties.

He seems to be hesitant to use the slider this year, probably because he saw a teamate blow out his arm on the pitch, but he's still a blue chip stock.

Hot daggone dog.

So now it's Sabathia/Sheets/Parra at the top of the rotation, and there are still whispers that the great Greg Maddux will leave San Diego to join his brother in Milwaukee.

Sabathia/Sheets/Maddux/Parra/Suppan . . my that has a nice ring to it.

Combined with the potent offence of All Star and Rookie of the Year Ryan Braun, Prince Fielder, Corey Hart, Rickie Weeks, JJ Hardy, Bill Hall, Mike Cameron, Jason Kendall (ok, not a great power threat), etc and you have the makings for a hell of a stretch run.

Like I said, they really have a shot. It could blow up in our faces, or we could take home rings in October. I'll tell you one thing tho'. All respect to my friends who are Cubs fans (Emo, Psychfun), and it's nothing personal, but there is dang near nothing NOTHING I detest more than the Cubs, not even the Bears.

That is not hyperbole, I am completely serious.

So it would please me for years and years and years if the Brewers were to deny Chicago entry to the post-season and extend their misery to a solid one hundred years (since their last Series win in 1908).

Whatever happens I'm glad the Brewers sucked it up and traded for CC. We've waited for the future for far too long.

The future is NOW.

* * *

On the east coast my favorite player, Alex Rodriguez, saw his name dragged through the tabloids when they alleged he was having an affair with Madonna. Then his wife allegedly ran off to Paris with Lenny Kravitz, and things got goofy times infinity.

Now she's filed for divorce in Florida, and even though the laws of that state don't necessitate listing adultery as a prereq for divorce, she was quick to throw out the notion.

Because adultery could be used as grounds for alimony. But it's not about the money, of course.

I guess she's forgotten about that 2002 prenup. Then again, this is the same woman who claimed she never realized someone could make a living playing sports until she married her husband.

Her husband who, btw, makes 25 million a year on the field and probably another 25/year for endorsements.

But she never ever had a clue. It was never about the money.

Look, I'm not condoning adultery. But the guys good looking, super rich, the best damn athlete in the game, he's adored by millions, he's out of town six months a year, and groupies abound. This should be a surprise? It doesn't make it right, but please. You knew what you were getting into, and if she's going to be greedy and try to do a Heather McCartney, at least be upfront and say you were in it for the green.

Anything else is bull.

BTW - Congrats to ARod for tying Mickey Mantle's career home run mark of 536. I'm looking forward to the day when he takes sole possesion of first place on the home run list.

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Two Great Pics

I saved these last two pics from our trip for two reasons. First, I thought they were so beautiful they deserved top billing of their own.

And second, because my wife sarcastically told her friend, when asked if I liked the trip, that yes, it would be a 'four post minimum'.

So you know what wisea**?  Here's the fourth one for ya. ;)

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Sunday up North

Sunday morning dawned with yet another early wake up call from Lump. I took her outside to the gazebo at 6:30 and let her crawl around while I read some of The Dante Club and enjoyed the sight of cardinals in the backyard.

Eventually, after an hour or so, she tuckered out and I returned her to bed. No one else was up yet so I took advantage of the morning to do some fishing. Unfortunately we were out of bait and the fish weren't interested in the least in the artificial lures. So I started hunting under rocks and logs for a grub or worm to do the trick, and wound up coming across a huge honeybee that had stung something and dropped dead.

I was going to use it on the hook but then realized the kids would like to see it so I held on to it. And yeah, the kids loved it. In fact, we took the bee home with us.

Soon enough all the kids were up and joined me in the water.

 

The husband made a trip for bait and returned with wax worms, which the fish just couldn't refuse. Within only a few minutes I had caught three (and wound end up with six on the day). All the kids started clamoring to join me and by the end of the adventure YaYa caught two fish

Smiley one

,

and LuLu three.

 

And I mean they caught them. All you had to do once the fish were fired up was drop the hook in the water and pull up, they were biting like mad.

[sidenote: one time I was ready to cast when I checked behind me to make sure the kids wereclear. There was Smiley and his 3 year old female counterpart buck naked and swimming. Heathens! I sent them both out to put their swimsuits on.]

Speaking of biting, here's some pics of LuLu's bites, which covered her from head to toe. Like me she's allergic, although thankfully not as bad. Most of the pics fail to show the majority of the bites, but you'll get the idea. The kid looked like she had the pox.

And yes, duh, we used Deep Woods Off, but the damn skeeters up there are nasty and indifferent to it.

Well, soon after it was time to pack up and head out. On the road we stopped back at the Pamida to clean them out of the cheap diapers, and picked up some sandals at Family Dollar. We got lost on the way home, going an hour out of our way, but aside from a stop at McDonald's it was a straight shot once we found the highway.

The only argument on the way back was with YaYa. She'd received a scrapbook from the 11 year old to document the trip and she'd wanted the McDonald's receipt to put inside. I'd thrown it away and she broke down into tears.

Such is life with four kids.

Ah well, a fine and enjoyable weekend. In closing, here's some more pics of the fun we had.