Published writer, compulsive reader, Old School Whovian, Match Game enthusiast, NKOTB fan, data hoarder, and - surprisingly, given that list - married with four kids. Welcome to my take on life, fatherhood, entertainment, and whatever strikes my fancy. Enjoy!
I was going to log on and write a post about Parker's 1st birthday party, but I arrived to find that the AOL counter has again reset itself.
From 30,500 visitors I'm back down to 105.
The hel* with that.
I don't feel much like spending much time on this lousy service right about now. I'm sure I'll get over my hissy fit, but c'mon . . .
Oh, you had to know I couldn’t resist the chance to get a jab in at Barry Bonds.
It’s a given really, seeing as I like the man as much as I do the clap. It’s never really been a secret.
Even so, I want to take a moment and explain myself.
Most people despise Bonds because he’s an arrogant, cocky, self-righteous S.O.B. that could care less if some fat white guy in Milwaukee doesn’t like him - or anyone for that matter.
That doesn’t bother me. In fact I kind of like it. I was a big fan of Albert Belle, too, and he was no saint. Hell, Ty Cobb killed people, for Pete’s sake.
[Granted, Bonds refusing to sign tshirts for a children’s cancer clinic because ‘I don’t sign autographs for white people” pushes the envelope a tad]
Nope, I don’t like him because, as sappy as it sounds, he’s a cancer on the best sport around.
It’s one thing for some schmuck to cheat here and there. Immoral as it may be, I don’t think the four extra home runs Alex Diaz hit on ‘roids makes all that much of a difference to the world.
But when you take one of the best players ever, juice him up on steroids for years, and find yourself about to crown a new all-time home run champion - well, then I have a problem.
Records are important. They’re important because they decide who gets to have a children’s book written about them in fifty years. It’s important because they decides arguments on message boards and in drunken bar room discussions.
It means something, damnit.
And here we go, about to hand the title of all-time homerun champion to a chronic juicer.
The book Game of Shadows details years of habitual steroid abuse, all geared towards adding power to his game. Well, mission achieved buddy.
The reporters who wrote the book spent two years compiling interviews, reviewing sealed and public court records, and examining the testimony of those involved in the BALCO controversy.
It’s already been excerpted in Sports Illustrated and has prompted the commissioner to announce he’s investigating the claims.
No matter what happens, Bonds’ legacy is forever tainted.
Whoopee.
Without concrete action from MLB it means nothing. Publicly he will still be regarded as one of the greats, and with time the memory of the steroid allegations will fade. People still recall the sins of Shoeless Joe and Pete Rose because MLB make it part of what you remember.
I’m not even sure that’s possible in this case.
Most of the steroid use took place before MLB enacted a firm policy, and unless he fails a test I think the commissioner’s hands are tied.
Here’s what I’m hoping for: either the commissioner risks it all and oversteps his bounds to punish Bonds.
That, or I wake up one morning to news that a mysterious ‘knee injury’ has forced Bonds into retirement.
If anything happens at all, I think it will go the latter route, with behind-the-scenes threats forcing his hand.
In conclusion, I leave you with an excerpt of my own, this one from one of The Onion’s greatest headlines “Barry Bonds Took Steroids, Reports Everyone who has ever watched Baseball”
"Everyone in our front office has known about Bonds since the 2001 season," said San Francisco-area accounts-receivable secretary Mindy Harris of McCullers and Associates, Ltd.
"People in our ninth-floor office, too, and all seven branch offices. None of us were sure exactly which kind of steroids he was on, but we were pretty sure it was the kind that causes you to gain 30 pounds of muscle in one offseason, get injured more easily, become slow-footed, shave your head to conceal your thinning hair, lash out at the media and fans, engage in violent and abrupt mood swings, grow taut tree-trunk-like neck muscles, expand your hatband by six inches, and hit 73 home runs in a single season."
Amen.
I can't believe the little guy is turning one today. Seems like
only yesterday I posted news of his arrival here mere hours
after his birth.
Today we took the whole family to the Olive Garden for dinner to
celebrate.
I know, not very childlike, but his big party will be on
Saturday. This was just for us, and it was very nice.
The waitstaff even sang to him. It was cute - they did so quietly so as not to
'startle' him.
Yeah right - he has two older sisters. He doesn't know what
quiet is.
By the time we got home it was time for bed. Not terribly exciting, I know.
I love the little guy. Happy birthday Parker!
btw - the pics are from his cousins bday party this past Sunday.
My Dad just called to tell me Kirby Puckett died following a stroke yesterday
at his home in Arizona. He was 44.
I remember the '91 World Series that converted me to a baseball fan
and that gut-wrenching home run Kirby hit to win game six . .
I was rooting against his team, but it was impossible to root against him.
A few years ago he published a children's book of baseball games,
which just showed the love he had for the Greatest Game.
He'll be missed.
Figured it's about time to post some pictures of my progeny here . . is
that even the right word?
I think I failed to size the pics correctly, which will probably throw your frame
all out of whack. My humblest apoligies, but I'm not about to waste more
time redoing them.
On Feb 12th we took advantage of a fresh snowfall and took the kids
sledding near my childhood home. There's a huge hill in the park across
the street (Suicide Hill, growing up) and an equal sized one right next to it.
This second hill is neatly cut in half by a plateau, and that's where we took
the kids.
And yup, we took Parker too. He rode down the hill with both the Mrs. and I,
giggling each time.
The worst part of the whole thing, aside from the legitimate fear that
my 300# frame will be shattered on the way down, is the long, lonely climb up.
On the 18th, for no real reason at all, my wife made a butterfly cake
with YaYa. Just wanted to show off what a good Mom she is by including this pic.
Yesterday, to celebrate my sister's birthday, the family met at the Ale House,
a bar/restaurant downtown. I wasn't too keen on taking three kids to a bar
so late in the evening (my fear being they'd bug out and make it
miserable) but honetly, it was a really nice time.
No family tension, everyone was cheerful, and both the kids and myself
were 'on'. No pics, though, as I anticipated disaster, not fun times.
Quote of the night:
ME: YaYa, who's the girl that I love the most?
Stunned silence from the room, all of whom thought I was setting
Middle Child up for a fall.
YaYa: Mommy!
Right answer. Sometimes the Mrs. says I don't give my family the
impression I'm happy with our marriage (I am) and for once, I think I
won the day.
Today, we took the girls to go see a performance of Cats by an excellent
children's theater. It (as always) was a high quality, entertaining show, all
choreagraphed by a 16 year old performer who seems destined for
Broadway.
The show started at 7:30, which is just pleading for trouble
(as it's half an hour past their bedtime when it started).
We wound up having to leave two songs before the finale when
Middle Child wigged out, but it was fun and they enjoyed it.
The kids will see just about every musical out there by the time
they're adults.
They had their faces painted by a local anchorwoman during
intermission. Excuse the pics, as they were EXHAUSTED by the time we
got home. Still cute tho'.
I missed half the show courtesy of American Idol, but what I saw was pretty worthy of a yawn.
Yeah, yeah, the baby was almost kidnapped by some weirdo Other medical faction. Whoohoo. Guessed that already, thank you.
Echo's little speech to the captive was pretty interesting, leading me to think he believes the Other's are more than mere humans - angels, perhaps? I don't know what the beard trimming was about, but I'm sure there's a hundred theories already in circulation.
The captive, who I'm sure is an Other, was pretty obvious about his attempt to split Jack and Locke. That it worked just points out how impotent and emotionally weak Locke really is.
BTW, if you like American Idol (AI in my parlance) check out Coldhearted Truth's blog on the sidebar. A conservative political blog, it has a seperate AI blog attached to it. It's worth a look.
* * *
Bought a laptop by the way. Not much to say about, but this is the first post I've typed out on it.
Wouldn't you know it?
I spend the week in a shirt and tie, my wife and kids ride around in a minivan, and most days I'm cleanshaven (sans my standard goatee).
But today I go bumming to the grocery store wearing pants older than my kids, a scrubby t-shirt, and two days worth of facial hair (which for me, is dang near a beard by itself). In additon, I'm driving the same ten year old, $8,000 (when new) car my wife and I took on our first date.
And I run into some old co-workers I haven't seen in six or seven years.
Nice.
But overall it's been a positive week. Last Wednesday was the 11th anniversary of the day my wife and I met, so at the last minute we dumped the kids and spent the night at a bed-and-breakfast in Cedarburg, WI.
It's a nice place, built in 1847 and still in business. We were the only guests, and the innkeeper doesn't stay overnight, so it was a wee spooky in the dead of morning. But aside from the obvious uses of a hotel room (heh heh),which came w/ a fireplace and whirlpool big enough for my hearty frame, we went up and down the street browsing through stores.
According to a Wall St. Journal article, the candy shop down the road has the 'world's best' carmel apples, and at a bookstore across the street I found a great Andre Norton novel "Empire of the Eagle".
By noon the next day I was back at work, but it was great while it lasted.
* * * *
YaYa's commercial premiers this Monday. A sad lack of respectable enthusiasm among family and friends has embittered this household, but we push on . . Wednesday, right before the trip, I volunteered at her school and then gave a speech to her class for career day (which included playing the commercial!). YaYa seemed proud and the kids said I was 'funny', but the Mrs. felt I should have been more informative. Next time I guess. Oh, YaYa went to Libby Lu this weekend too, and had a blast.
* * * *
I've spent more alone time with P-Diddy (Parker) this weekend then I have in - well, maybe ever. While the Mrs. took the girls to the mall YaYa's godfather and I went looking at laptops. Parker was a blast while my friend was around, laughing and smiling and not making any trouble.
Then we split up and I went solo, and things changed.
Not too much tho'. He got moodier as he got hungry and tired. We stopped at McDonald's, and as all the highchairs were taken we (nervously) sat side by side in a both sharing a meal. Then we hopped over to my nephew's Championship Basketball game, where Parker really started to lose it. I made a quick stop at the post office and Blockbuster and we were home.
Total time together: 5 or 6 hours.
Ditto today, minus my buddy. With the girls and Mrs. at a birthday party Parker and I went shopping here and there, including the grocery store (where he was my only saving grace with those co-workers).
Overall, I'm really starting to dig the little guy - except for the fact he never EVER sleeps through the night.
* * *
The championship game went poorly, as my nephews team was dominated by a larger squad that took the title by 16 points. He did pretty well though. As one of the few big guys on the team he nabbed a few rebounds, stole a ball, and wound up on the court three times when fouled.
********
The kids are all in swim class. I take YaYa first. She's gotten over the fear she had in the last semester and is kicking butt. Then Middle Child and Parker share a class, with the Mrs. taking the baby.
Middle Child, who I repeat is a Kewpie Doll incarnate, is becoming a dang good swimmer in her own right. Parker doesn't act afraid, but seems to be rather bored.
** * * *
After swim class on Saturday we took in one of the earlier rounds of the basketball tournament. My nephews team was down by three baskets with 90 seconds left.
With 1.6 seconds left and the defense pressing hard, a teammate of Jonah's eased up and hit a shot from three point land to give them the lead.
Man, I was on my feet screaming like the Yanks just took the series!
My nephew got a piece of the inbound pass, but it landed in an opponents hand. A teammate stepped up and covered him, and time ran out.
Oh Nellie! My immediate family accounted for 4/5ths of Jonah's fans in the stands - this was enemy ground. But let me tell you, we made enough noise to drown out a Madison Square Garden crowd.
Even the Mrs. was thrilled. "More exciting than any pro game I've seen" she said.
And the best - if most immature - part: the other team's fans were certain, dead certain, the game was in the bag. And then booya!, their hearts were ripped away. I wish I could have bottled the dead silence that came after that shot. Oh man!
.
This Thursday my business had our annual city inspection.
In recent years this has been a disaster - nothing worthy of a 20/20 report mind you, but pages of nicks and scratches against us. Traditionally we put it off as long as possible, until the city said 'time's up'.
Nothing against the previous administration, mind you, both of whom I respect, but it just wasn't made a priority.
This year, on the heels of some recent improvements and a stronger diligence in upkeep, I asked the city to schedule it for last week. Kind of caught them off guard, I'd imagine.
The results? Half an hour into the exhausting five hour inspection the inspector started using phrases like " this is the best its ever been" and "nice, nice".
After completing one building he had a half page of notes. According to him, he'd usually be up to a few pages by that point.
If there is such a thing as 'aceing' an inspection, this was it. The inspector wrote us up for tiny things that have been in place for years.
"Frankly, I don't know how I missed them before," he told us. "Except there were just so many big things in the past."
I was so damn happy I took the family to Ponderosa to celebrate.
In other, much more memorable news in the scheme of things . . .
Today, as I’d briefly mentioned awhile back, my wife and YaYa taped a radio commercial for the company.
I hadn’t told anyone the details because if my daughter had freaked out we’d have backed out with no harm done.
It was my wife’s idea to tape us doing the commercial, so that we could play it to and from school each day. It was the best way for YaYa to learn her lines, since she’s still too young to read.
Tommorow, we'll burn the thing. No one should hear a 300# man say "Mommy, can I ever be a real Princess?" on a loop tape.
We pulled her out of school a wee bit (okay, okay, a few hours) early to make sure she had a nap.
So was she eager, or were we just being typical stage parents?
Well, she’d been nervous one day, excited the next. Today she was both, depending on the hour.
(She’d told my sister yesterday that she was ‘scared of the radio’. My sister, in the dark all along, thought she was bonkers)
So we got to the radio station. It was an otherwise inconspicuous building tucked into a wooded area in a southwestern suburb. From the vesitbule you could look into the working DJ booths of two local stations.
That got YaYa’s excitement up.
The sales rep, a really nice guy, came and took us to a recording booth where we all chatted for a bit. I started to get worried that YaYa was going to go stir crazy, and as it turns out it was the wrong booth – the right one was down the hall.
Then it was showtime.
It was a much smaller room than I imagined. Just a chair, a table of mixing equipment, and a producer’s station with a computer in front of it. A single microphone was mounted to the table.
[The sales rep asked if I brought my camera and bemoaned the fact that I didn't. I had left it behind because I thought it was a no-no, but if I'm being honest with myself I can't be too upset. It was rather dim in the studio and in all likelihood my camera wouldn't have been up to the task.
Can't seem to get the hang of low light shots, dangit. That's the only time I miss my old Olympus Stylus.]
Wouldn't ya know it, YaYa started to cry.
Here’s where it got dicey; should the crying have gone aminute longer she’d be in a full blown fit, and the commercial would have to be scrapped.
I don’t remember what we did to shut it down, but she sucked it up and we got down to business.
It wasn’t flawless, but it was much better than I think anyone could reasonably have expected from a four year old. The girl had five lines and 38 words to speak on cue for Pete’s sake!
In the end there were several takes, and the producer had YaYa ‘practice without the microphone’ (wink wink) to get her to relax as they redid some individual lines. She had just the most adorable expression everytime she goofed up a line – her eyes bugged out and she brought both hands to her mouth ‘speak no evil’ style.
I haven’t heard the completed commercial yet, as they still have to add the ‘announcer’s’ voice, but they played some of it back.
And heck, I’m not embarrassed – their equipment blew the heck out of the $19 K-Mart recorder we’d used to practice.
It was like listening to the Voice of God, it was that crisp and clear.
Only, you know, audible.
As far as my wife’s part? The sales rep seemed genuinely impressed by her performance and called her a natural. I don’t think it was b.s. – she really is good, and I think he was wondering if she’d done it before in a past life.
After ten years of poverty, I’m finally making her a star :)
So the commercial went well, if not spectacular, and soon I’ll have a copy on CD, and be able to listen to it on the radio.
And YaYa?
I stopped at a custard stand and bought her a strawberry dipped cone that promptly dripped all over my tie.
Such is the price I pay for being married to one star and father to another.
Assuming Sawyer was capable of planning the whole thing out means you think he had the foresight to know everyone on the island was going to act out of character.
Locke, while my least favorite regular and IMHO a boob, would not have fallen for such a blatant ploy and certainly not with such meekness. He acted downright wimpy in the episode.
Jack, while prone to bouts of temper, clearly didn’t think it wise to give Chin a gun. Yet minutes later he’s knocking on the door to give him one. Huh?
Charlie wants to humiliate Locke, so he agrees to assault an innocent woman? Again, huh?
Kate’s a professional con artist, at least so far as bank robberies go, falls hook line and sinker for the ruse. Ugh.
And Sawyer himself - the new sheriff in town – is a moron. Everyone hates him now, and quite frankly, who cares about the guns? Haven’t done any of ‘em a bit of good yet.
Tonight’s episode was much better, with characters acting true to themselves. Jack is unwilling to see a man tortured and (hypocritically?) is willing to resort to violence to stop it. Locke stands his ground until his precious island is threatened. The secret of Hurley’s weight is revealed as nothing more than stolen food, but he admirably stands up for himself. Sayid is wickedly awe-inspiring (the line "My name is Sayid, and I am a torturer" sent shivers down my spine).
Of course the guy Michelle found is an Other, though you’ll probably see a balloon in the jungle somewhere just to mess with our heads.
Two quick new Lost ideas to try on you folks:
The island seems to be riddled with people that have Savior complexes. Jack for sure, but Kate killed her stepdad to ‘save’ her mother. Charlie is obsessed with ‘rescuing’ his family, Locke donated a kidney to his father, etc. I’m too tired to elaborate tonight.
The second thing is more of a question that an idea: Charlie was hanged by The Others. If memory serves Judas met a similar fate, and he’s already shown himself to be a betrayer of the group. Coincidence?
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