Relax

Earlier in the week I posted that I wasn't very fun to be around while "motivating" the kids to clean.  I mentioned that the wife told me to leave and do two things to help me relax.  Turns out, mentioning that was just as bad as actually repeating what she said, as people keep asking her what those two things were.  I'm already in enough trouble as it is so I suppose I might as well spill the beans.

There are two things I do that help me relax.  The first activity that helps me unwind is to drive my old yellow slug bug down by the railroad tracks.  There my friends and I have a secret clubhouse of sorts that the police, our preacher and our parents don’t know about.  Inside this club we have poetry written all over the walls, some from books, others we write ourselves.  When the train comes by sometimes we stand in front of it, hold our hands up for it to stop and scream at the top of our lungs. 

The other activity I do to relieve stress is much more effective.  After school I work in an old mill stacking bags of feed and shoveling up the spills.  At night sometimes it helps to drive my yellow bug to the mill, light up a smoke, pop in a tape and let the music flow into my soul.  As I do this, images of the people who cause me stress pass through my mind.  When I get sufficiently amped, I run through the mill dancing (as a side note, dancing has been banned in our town ever since a group of kids drove their car off of a bridge after a late night of dancing).  I can’t tell you how good it feels to run through the mill, skipping every few steps and moving my body to the music.  There are even some parallel bars on which I do gymnastics if life is extra stressful.  It’s amazing how much better one can feel after participating in such rebellious behavior.

There you have it, I hope your curiosity is sufficiently satisfied. 

Chicken McNugget Challenge

I have an eating problem and have no problem admitting it.  I have never left the table with food still on it.  In fact, yesterday a co-worker and I went to Taco Bell for lunch.  When we sat down at the table I realized someone left their crispy whatevertheyares on the table next to us.  When I finished eating I couldn't resist so I ate those too.  Is that a sign that my problem is larger than I thought? 

After Wally's (this is how our three year old pronounces my oldest son's name) game on Monday night we stopped by McDonalds on the way home.  We typically stick with the dollar menu but that night we were feeling fancy so we ordered the 50 piece chicken mcnugget.  He ate ten and I ate.....ok, so I only ate 30.  I know I could've taken the extra ten but I didn't want my heart to stop while I was driving.  I can risk my own life, but not the life of one of my children.  Ever since then I haven't been able to get the chicken mcnuggets off my mind.  I am dying to try the Chicken McNugget Challenge!!!  Maybe the root of the problem is the inspiration I had as a kid watching John Candy in The Great Outdoors trying to tackle the Ol' 96er.  Whatever the case may be, I'd love for someone to bring me 50 pieces of sweet sweet poultry so that I can attempt this challenge.  Any takers?  The way I see it, what's the worst that can happen?  I've always wanted to pass away peacefully in my sleep anyway.

Support This Band

http://www.northern45.com/Northern45/Home.html

The lead singer of this band is the guy who performed at the wife's class reunion.  Even though they have free music downloads on their web page you should buy the music cause he's a good guy and I really like their music.  In high school the wife wore a dress on a date with him because he told her it was semi-formal.  Turns out they went to a monster truck rally.  Anyone who can pull that off gets a big thumbs up from me so check them out.

Anniversary

The kids’ rooms are clean!!!  There was definitely plenty of yelling, crying, fighting, complaining, whining, weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth and I used plenty of words that I never imagined using with my kids.  At one point the wife told me to leave and do two things to make me relax that if I mention here will cause a swift and immediate divorce. 

Speaking of the wife, it was 14 years ago today that we were married.  Even though you will be at Lunch Meat’s double header tonight while I’m 50 miles away at our oldest son’s game I hope you have a wonderful day. 

Funny story about the day we got married….I picked up the fiancé early in the morning and headed to our ceremony.  As we were getting off the freeway I casually mentioned that a migraine was setting in.  After keeping my bride to be waiting for quite a while as I threw up three times and ate a little old ladie's crackers, I walked in the room and everyone had the same painful expression on their faces.  It appeared as though they had all been told I had a month to live but didn’t know it yet.   Needless to say, I pulled through and now 14 years, 6 kids, 2 homes, 400 baseball games, 5 jobs, 30 lbs (for me anyway), 3 college degrees and 4,834 diaper changes later we are still going strong.  Happy Anniversary, I love you. 

Back Home to Newsradio

Countless blood and urine tests, a CT Scan, EKG and Echo revealed no major problems.  Since she was feeling better and her blood pressure went down we were sent home last night at 10:00.  Thanks everyone for your support and concern.

On my way to work this morning I realized just how much I didn't miss the newsradio morning hosts for the two days I didn't commute to work.  They are Grant and Amanda and, although I'm sure they are great people and we'd be the bestest of buddies if we met in person, they kinda drive me crazy.  The following are some of the things they do that bug me.

Awkward introduction to the traffic girl every morning. Each morning when they bring in the traffic girl for her first segment they always crack jokes that make me feel as uncomfortable as my dad felt when we were at his house for a bbq, he had spilled something on his shirt and I told him he was lactating.  For example, this morning it was, "And now for our first look at traffic with Rickie...good morning Rickie, How are you?"  "I'm great Grant, on the freeway this morning....."  "Oh Rickie, I'm good too thanks for asking, Bahahahahaha."

Amanda's giggles.  Whenever she tells a feel-good story Amanda talks like she's trying to hold in her giggles while she speaks....drives me absoultely crazy!

Amanda's baby talk.  At least once a day Amanda will tell a story about her children, quoting exacty what they said and how they said it, complete with baby talk.  The only person who can pull off baby talk is Andrew Bernard on The Office.

Grant and Amanda's chemistry.  They are always talking about bringing food for each other or going to lunch together after the show.  I can literally feel the sexual tension flowing through the radio waves when they do this.

Grant, Grant, Grant.  Amanda loves to emphasize the intensity of a story by using Grant's name.  This morning, during an alarming story it was, "Oh Grant."  She also gave a disapproving "Grant!" when he made an inappropriate comment and an overzealous "GRANT!!!"  when the story was shockingly unbelievable.

If you enjoy the trusted newsanchors Grant and Amanda each morning, I hope I haven't ruined your morning experience.

Hospital

Two and a half years ago the wife and I went to Ghana to take supplies to several orphanages there.  While we were there we found little Alimatu, an eight month old baby girl.  The eternal optimist – aka, the wife – immediately made plans to have her home in three months.   In April of this year, two years later, she finally arrived and immediately fit right in with the family. 

Two days ago Alimatu acted like she didn’t feel very well.  She wouldn’t eat and couldn’t stop vomiting.  The wife took her to the doctor, who sent her to the hospital.  She spent the night there before being sent to the children’s hospital in the capital city.  We spent the night and are still here in the hospital.  She has an irregular heartbeat and high blood pressure so they are running tests to find the cause.  The good news is she is eating and drinking again and hasn’t thrown up all day.  I’m wondering if the vomiting and lack of eating were from something different but, because of them, we have discovered the other problems.  These are likely issues she has had her entire life and, since she is more back to her normal self today, I am confident everything will work out.

To lighten the situation I have decided to make a list of the best and worst things about being in a hospital.

Top 5 Reasons to Enjoy a Hospital Stay

5.  Everyone is so helpful. At home everything is always a mess and no one wants to help clean up.  Kids are always hungry yet are helpless when it comes to anything to do with preparing a meal.  Here everyone is so happy to do the nastiest jobs just to make sure you are happy and comfortable. 

4.  Cafeteria. I just had a cheeseburger, fries and a medium Dr. Pepper for $2.70.  Enough said.

3.  People watching. Sitting in a small room all day long gets pretty boring so the baby boy(Buck Double – To be explained later) and I have been wandering the halls most of the day.  No walk of life is exempt from visits to the hospital so we get to see all kinds of people in various situations.  This place is nearly as fun as the airport when it comes to people watching.

2.  No work.  I know I’m going to pay for it when I get back, but it’s nice not to have to wake up at 3:30 in the morning to go to work.

1.  Movies on TV.  6:00.  Tonight.  Harry Potter. The Half Blood Prince.  Yes, I have the DVD at home, but what a wonderful surprise.  Besides, even a chicken sandwich is more delicious in a restaurant than at home.

Top 5 Reasons Not to Enjoy a Hospital Stay

5.  Bathrooms.  Having a bathroom in the room where people are constantly coming and going has the potential to create embarrassing situations for everyone, in so many ways (this pertains more to the wife than to me, of course, hahaha).

4.  Sleeping. This is very similar to the previous item.  It’s impossible to sleep comfortably when you are concerned about the awkward sights and sounds of a 235lb sleeping man.

3.  Leaving the kids with grandma.  As crazy as they drive me most of the time, it doesn’t take long to miss the little stinkers.

2.  The unknown.  I hate not knowing when I’m going to be able to go home and get back into my routine.

1.  Sick kids.  Nothing is worse than seeing your kids sick and feeling so helpless.  As a dad I’m supposed to be able to fix all of their boo boos and I feel bad when I can’t do so. 

Grounded For a Month

When I was a teenager friends would come over and would almost always comment on how clean my bedroom was.  I'm not going to lie and say I have never had a messy room but, for the most part, I like things clean and orderly.  I understand that kids will have messy rooms more often than not but my kids are getting ridiculous. 

This has always been a major source of tension in our home.  In the past, when I'd see their messy rooms, I'd immediately get mad, raise my voice and make everyone in the house miserable.  After a while I realized this wasn't working so I took all of their favorite toys/sporting equipment/electronics and hid them away.  This strategy was also unsuccessful as I realized that not only do they still have messy rooms but they are also incredibly spoiled, so much so that they didn't think getting their toys back was worth cleaning their rooms.  My last attempt was to give them plenty of warning.  On Monday I asked them to have their rooms clean by Friday.  Each day I would ask them how their room looked and remind them patiently that they had to be clean by Friday.  This method resulted in a little success, not perfection, but good enough for me to continue with this strategy.

I typically try to avoid going into the kids' bedrooms (for obvious reasons) but last night I had to.  When I saw the condition of that room I decided I better check the others.  What I saw made me decide my kids are grounded for a month.  Have a look at the pictures and tell me what you'd do if your kids' rooms looked like this.  I'm desperate to find support in making my kids as miserable and remorseful as allowed by law.  There will be suffering, oh yes, there will be suffering.

Egyptians Ain't Got Nothing On Us

Saturday night was the wife’s high school class reunion.  I won’t say which year, but it was a big one.  It was a really nice night with good food, good music and good entertainment.  One of her friends emceed the program and was hilarious.  My favorite part was when he said, “Tonight we have quite a gathering of people.  While we are all here I’d like to present you with an amazing opportunity.”  As he said this, he went to the next slide which was a picture of a triangle.  He was making an obvious reference to the many pyramid schemes that exist in our state and, specifically, our county. 

I’m not exactly sure how it came about, but our valley seems to be the silicon valley of multi-level marketing.  Maybe it has developed from an ungodly marriage of a desire for financial success and an extreme lack of creativity but, by my last count, there are no less than a dozen of these companies in my conservative little county.  In my opinion, only one of these companies has any claim to legitimacy, as it sells a wide range of products and has stood the test of time (holy disclaimer-for-friends-of-mine-who-happen-to-work-for-that-company).  The others, however, are nothing more than the exploitation of juice from a fruit that exists only in the remotest regions of the Brazilian rainforest where, for years, the natives have grown to a staggering height of nine feet and live to an average age of 235 by consuming nothing more than said fruit. 

Under the guise of improving quality of life and creating financial independence, these “philanthropic geniuses” make outrageous claims of first-of-its-kind revolutions that will change the world.   Imagine a life where you work from home, set your own hours, have the financial and scheduling independence to fulfill your wildest dreams, all while creating a race of superhuman genetic freaks that would put Dwight Howard to shame.  As if this isn't enough, the company also has a goal to hug every orphan around the globe.  Are you so excited??????   Make no mistake (wow, I sound just like Obama) they know their target audience and exactly how to seal the deal with them.

If you’d ever like a fun activity, try googling your favorite multi-level marketing company (oh wait, I’m sorry….NETWORK MARKETING) and watch the videos the executives send out to animate the troops.  Nine times out of ten they are plagiarizing the snot out of the Mormon Church or the head coach of the local college football team.  What did I mention before?  Oh yeah, lack of creativity.  As that executive thanks me for my hard work and convinces me that the company couldn’t possibly exist without me I can’t help but think….Is it my personal health, financial freedom and the orphans of the world he is so concerned about or does he just want me to purchase the required monthly minimum of $350 of juice that costs $15 (and all those in my downline who do the same) so that he can skip to the bank to make the deposit?  Another fun activity is to attend one of these company’s annual conventions and/or parties and play close attention to the body mass of its employees.  If the superfruit is so healthy, why are 7 out of 10 of their employees, including executives, dangerously obese?

I may never be carried off a Ugandan tarmac on a palanquin by thousands of adoring drones but there is a certain amount of honest satisfaction in cashing a check for having produced a real product to sell to real customers instead of selling marketing fluff under the disguise of a superjuice/gel/powder/pill that is, at most, the equivalent of a Flintstones chewable vitamin.    If I’m wrong, please let me know…I dare you. 

Wow, this blog is more therapeutic than I thought. 

Lunch Meat

Last night when I got home from work nobody was home so I sat on the porch and relaxed for a bit.  Before long the brother and sister from across the stress began fighting.  The girl is 9 and her brother is 7.  They yelled and pushed each other around like a couple of bull elephants for a few minutes until the sister ran into the house crying.  This left the brother outside alone, pacing the sidewalk while continuing the argument he had with his sister.  He was reenacting their entire conversation, shaking his head and throwing his arms up into the air. 

This situation reminded me of an argument he had with my seven year old son a few weeks ago.  Lunch Meat, as I like to call my son, is a big, strong boy who just so happens to love sodium and msg enriched preprocessed deli meat.  He holds no punches and is very outspoken, thus it’s easy to know exactly what he’s thinking.  He and our neighbor are buddies and, unfortunately, have very similar personalities.  Both are stubborn as can be and refuse to let the other have the last word.  This means most of their play time ends with lots of yelling and both swearing they’ll never play together again.

So one day they were playing outside when, as usual, they got into an argument.  The neighbor stormed across the street and they began hurling insults back and forth at each other like rotten egg bombs.  At first I tried to intervene, but I was enjoying far too much the creativity, yet childish simplicity, of their insults.  Apparently the neighbor is a “stupid butthead who sucks at sports.” I did learn, however, that he is quite fluent in the language of four letters.  This carried on a bit until they both started to lose steam.  Lunch Meat had the last word, leaving his friend with the only option he had left...go after his parents.  “Well your dad…” he began, quickly glancing over to see if I was listening, “is a big, round fatty.”  I couldn’t believe it.  There I was, innocently supervising as Lunch Meat and his buddy were developing valuable social skills when he throws me into the mix.  He had even looked over to make sure I wasn’t listening but when I was, still wasn’t deterred.  I hate to admit it, but I felt a certain closeness to our little neighbor boy that day.  That was the day I learned that he and I are both members of the same club, the Broken Filter Club. 

Is That an Audio Cassette in Your Pocket?

We have an itunes gift card and the other night the wife and kids were on the computer trying to decide what songs to buy.  I threw out a couple of suggestions that were immediately and unanimously ignored.  For some reason they had no interest whatsoever in rock classics such as Metallica (the black album) or Alice in Chains (Live in NY – a must-have in my humble opinion).The more I thought about it the more I began to revert back to my high school butt-rocker days. This didn’t give me the urge to make a late night run for the border (please tell me you know what that means) or shave the sides of my head just above the ears (I only did that once) but I did, nonetheless, decide to head to the basement to pull out some old tapes.  Yes, I said it…TAPES.  I loaded a small selection into a bag and placed them in my car to listen to on the way to work.

Before we proceed there is something I must explain.  I never get embarrassed. I have no shame and have often been known to humiliate myself (or my kids) in order to get a laugh.  My brother, let’s call him Larry the Liberal, once told me about how he covers his mouth with his hand when he sings in the car so no one will catch him singing.  I, on the other hand, firmly believe that if you are feeling Carrie Underwood when she is digging her key into the side of that pretty little souped up four wheel drive then you should let the world know.  I think the only time I have ever turned down my voice while singing in the car was when I was particularly into Notorious B-I-G as I pulled up to a stoplight alongside two African American guys.  Before you judge me, try to imagine yourself as an African American male rocking out to Kenny Rogers when you pull up next to a jacked up Dodge with a picture of Calvin relieving himself on the Ford logo with two mullet-heads inside.  Do we understand each other?  Good.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, I don’t get embarrassed.  So there I was in my car on Monday morning holding up a tape case trying to figure out how to get to the song I wanted to listen to and which side of the tape was playing, then overrunning the songs as I hit fast forward and rewind four hundred times until I finally decided to give up starting the song from the beginning.  I don’t know if it was how inept I felt trying to skip through the songs, the fact that I was actually holding a cassette tape case in my hand in the year 2010, or the realization that any song by Poison should have been put away forever with the neon clothes, hairspray and makeup but suddenly I was overcome with a cloud of humiliation.   I stuffed all of my tapes back into the bag and quickly hid them under the seat of my car, never to see the light of day again.  As fast as I could I tuned my stereo to the best (and only) hip hop radio station in town.  I’d like to say I plugged my ipod into its port in the dash but hey, as you can see, I’m not all that into cutting-edge technology.

Obama

Last night I had a dream that President Obama stopped by my house while on a tour to visit average American households.  When he was about to leave I asked him if it would be alright if I grabbed my camera so that we could take some pictures.  As I was looking for my camera I realized that the vertical striped sweats I was wearing didn't exactly match my horizontal striped sweater.  I dug through my clothes but couldn't find anything to wear which made me wake up feeling very frustrated and stressed.

Several months ago a blown call by an umpire with two outs in the ninth inning prevented a major league pitcher from throwing a perfect game.  At the time, my brother and I had been involved in some pretty ridiculous political discusssions.  I wrote the following article to send to him after the blown call:

Umpire Admits to Presidential Influence


DETRIOT (AP) – In a stunning development, umpire Jim Joyce has admitted President Obama influenced his controversial call in the final inning of Armando Galarraga’s attempt at a perfect game. With two outs and the Detroit Tigers leading the Cleveland Indians 3-0, Galarraga needed one out to record only the 21st perfect game in Major League History. Jason Donald hit a ground ball to Miguel Cabrera, whose throw to a covering Galarraga beat Donald by a half a step. However, Joyce signaled safe, crushing Galarraga’s dreams of perfection.

“I couldn’t bear to see the look of despair in the eyes of those men, who had all competed so valiantly, yet were unable to achieve their dreams,” said Joyce in a post game interview. “It just didn’t seem fair to watch one man enjoy such success, while so many had none" continued the umpire. I thought to myself, “What would President Obama do in this situation? The answer was crystal clear: Baseball should be enjoyed by everyone, not just by one man or one team.”

Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid praised the Umpire, “My hope is that someday every American will stand up and do the right thing, like Mr. Joyce. This is a man who, seeing inequality in the world, took it upon himself to level the playing field and give another man his unalienable right to be happy. I commend Mr. Joyce on his bravery and challenge men and women of every industry to take something from someone who, through hard work and sacrifice, has achieved so much, and distribute it to someone who maybe didn’t practice quite so hard.”

Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, took a more direct approach. “What we saw in Mr. Galarraga is everything that is wrong in America today. How can one man be so overtaken with greed that he fails to see the consequences of his selfish actions on his fellow man? I applaud Mr. Joyce and call on every American to follow his lead. After all, it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”

For the first time in his term, President Obama reserved comment. “It would be unfair for me to pass judgment on the events of last night’s game, due to the fact that I throw like a girl.”

Sally Field

Am I the only person who giggles uncontrollably when he hears Sally Field mention Once Monthly Boniva?

Having a Baby

I just had my epidural and it was a piece of cake.  That whole "having a baby is hard" thing is soooo blown out of proportion.  I think women have been milking that one far too long.  No more sympathy for the wife...we are having a baby in 9 months whether she likes it or not!!!

In case you were wondering/offended, I call my wife THE wife here for a reason.  One of my favorite people in the world is my uncle.  If you don't know him he might come across as intimidating with his deep voice, goatee and long hair (he cut it a few years ago).  However, he is one of the kindest people in the world and tells amazing hunting stories.  More than once he has referred to his wife as THE wife, which I found highly entertaining.  In the interest of anonymity I have decided that my wife will be referred to as THE wife here.  I can't wait to tell you about my kids' nicknames.

Dr. Doolittle

Tomorrow I get to go to the Doctor for a steroid shot in my back. Over the 4th of July weekend I tweaked my back and, after a few weeks, decided I should go to the Doctor. I went to my local clinic and had the following conversation with the Doctor:


Dr: What seems to be the problem?
Me: Well, about ten years ago I tweaked my back pretty badly. It has happened a couple of times a year since then. In the morning I can’t really stand up straight and it’s generally sore most of the time. I can usually deal with it, but I’ve reached the point that I don’t really care what the treatment is, I just want to find out what is wrong.
Dr: What did we give you last time?
Me: A muscle relaxer and an anti-inflammatory but this time is different. When I tweak it I can usually feel my muscles lock up but this time I feel it more in the bones and the pain going through my hips and butt is pretty bad. Like I said, I just really want to find out what the problem is.
Dr: Ok, let’s get you the same prescription as last time.
Me: So what do you think is wrong (keep in mind he hadn’t even looked at my back)?
Dr: I’ll write you a prescription for physical therapy too in case you don’t feel better in the next couple of days.
Me: I’d really like to find out what the problem is then explore my options to get it taken care of.
Dr: Hmmm (finally touching my back), well it doesn’t feel tight.
Me: I know, like I said it feels different this time. What could it be?
Dr: Where would you like these prescriptions sent?
Me: The drug store on Main. You know, I also noticed a big toe growing out of my left elbow.
Dr: I’ll send these prescriptions over right away, you should be able to pick them up before the drug store closes.
Me: My stomach has been really swollen lately and I swear I can feel something moving in there. I’m 99% sure that I’m pregnant.
Dr: Let us know if your back isn’t feeling any better in a couple of weeks.
Me: Ok, thanks.

The next day I called an orthopedic center who, after an X-Ray and MRI, diagnosed a degenerated disc that has caused bone bruises on my vertebrae. I’m getting the steroid shot to help get me by until the new artificial discs are on the market so they can do a discectomy and eventually a fusion. The pregnancy tests have so far been inconclusive.

No Soliciting

There is nothing more obnoxious to me than to drive into my neighborhood and see the big white van parked on the side of the road while the team splits up and heads out door to door. My first experience with this was when a toothless (yes, literally toothless) woman showed up at our apartment in San Jose selling cleaning solution. I was sold the moment she unscrewed the sprayer, pulled out the tube and licked it to show me how harmless the chemicals are. Hmmm…I wonder what happened to her teeth. I’m a sucker for a sob story so I naturally overspent and sent her on her way.


Since we moved into our neighborhood five years ago we have been door to door violated by people selling concrete, water softeners, home security systems, attic insulation, magazines and pesticides that promise to kill Aragog and his children before they storm the house and carry away my offspring.

So the other night the wife, the kids and I had the rare occasion of sitting down together for dinner when the doorbell rang. One of the kids opened the door and I heard, “Oh, ya’ll are eatin’ dinner? I’m so sorry. I’ll just run visit your neighbors and will be right back.” You’d have thought we just received the public service warning that Hurricane Earl was 5 minutes away. My wife was boarding up the windows while I was screaming at the kids to carry as many precious memories as their little arms could handle downstairs into the bomb shelter. Unfortunately, our emergency response training failed us miserably as good ol’ Byron returned and spotted me through the window.

Byron gave us the tired old story about living on the mean streets of Chicago and trying to get his life back together to be a good example for his 15 year old son. Apparently God has blessed him with an amazing opportunity to get his life back in order, “Praise Jesus.” I think he honestly believed this was the first time we had heard this story. I loved how quickly his face could go from happy-go-lucky to serious-as-a-heart-attack.

His first plan of attack was Flattery. He commented on our kids, the mountains, our house, how good our spaghetti smelled and how if I happened to break wind he was sure it would smell of fresh daisies. He was so friendly that, for a minute, I thought we were long lost war buddies. We laughed, we cried, we reminisced. Once we were properly softened up, Byron pulled out his list of neighbors who had purchased magazines from him. Obviously, this was step two of the attack – Peer Pressure. Now we were his. He pulled out the list of magazines and told me that the minimum order is three, with the cheapest magazine being $55. The look of shock on my face told him to push step two even more forcefully. He told us that he could go to any house in our neighborhood and they would gladly order $300-$500 of magazines. When my wife asked him if there was anything a little cheaper he went to step three – Guilt. Apparently because I don’t spend $150 on magazines I hate the poor, have no compassion, love Al Qaeda, eat kittens and kick babies. When my wife asked if we could just make a donation he went on a tirade about how dishonest we are for even offering that when he is trying to be honest in the eyes of God. I believe it was when my wife asked, “Why they gots to be so expensive?” when he moved into step 4 – Anger. He packed up his stuff and walked out of the door mumbling under his breath. I definitely took it as the kiss of death when he hit the sidewalk and lit up a cigarette. Needless to say, the kids didn’t get to play outside for the rest of the night and we made a quick run to Walmart to do something I never thought I’d do….buy a No Soliciting sign.

The Filter

One of my favorite traits about senior citizens is the inability to internalize their thoughts.  The other night I was at the grocery story and it was very busy.  An older man was sitting on his Rascal (you know, the little motorized carts for senior citizens that are usually monopolized by the obese) trying to maneuver through the store.  Although I couldn't decipher his exact words, he was muttering out loud, undoubtedly something about how irresponsible and inconsiderate young people are these days.  Finally, he lost all patience, backed his Rascal into me, and headed down a separate isle, mumbling as he left.  This is my favorite thing about it - they don't want to be outright rude, yet at the same time they can't hold it in any longer - hence the low volume muttering and grumbling. 

Now, onto the point of my rambling.  Inside our brain, between the Basal Ganglia and the Hippocampus, is a very important structure known as the Thalamus. The purpose of the Thalamus is to serve as a filter between the brain and the mouth.  Wow, for as early as it is this morning I am exceptionally full of crap.  Anyway, this filter keeps comments we should never say in public safely internalized in our brain.  As we get older, this filter eventually wears out and becomes useless.  This is the main reason why old people are never afraid to tell you that your lawn needs to be mowed or that you look inappropriate in that skirt.  It's not their fault, they are physiologically unable to keep their thoughts, opinions and frustrations inside.  What does this have to do with me you ask?  Well, several years ago I was playing in a basketball game and was hit in the head by an elbow.  I'm fairly certain that this particular blow to the head seriously damaged my Thalamus.  You know the sirens that go off in your head when you're about to say something you shouldn't?  I still hear those but, no matter how hard I try, I still can't hold in my comments.   To help you understand just think about those little water-filled rubber tubes they had when we were kids that, as much as you tried to hold onto, they still slipped easily through your fingers.  That's how my Thalamus functions.

Let me give you an example.  Two houses away live three children who, to quote the Hogwarts Potionmaster Severus Snape, are insufferable know-it-alls.  Don't get me wrong, I love the kids, but every time I am outside working on a project they stop by to tell me I'm doing it wrong.  When I was laying sod the oldest walked over and announced that I'd never be able to get my sod to take root because I have "grade two soil."  He was only 9 years old at the time.  Now whenever he walks past my house I ask him if he'd like to have a picnic on my lush, green grass.  To the side of my house is a bike track and one day he wasn't letting the younger kids play on it.  I tried talking to him rationally but he talked back and argued with me over everything I said.  I started to tell him, "If you don't let them ride on the track I'm going to come down there and tear out the track" but he only let me get as far as "I'm going to come down there and..." when he interrupted me with, "you can't touch me!!!"  The sirens immediately screamed in my head, lights were flashing but I didn't care.  The rebuttal that rushed into my head was too good not to throw back at him.  I couldn't help myself so I yelled back, "then I'll go down the street and touch your mom." 

Yes, my filter is definitely broken.

Why I am Here

When I was young my friends and I loved watching goofy movies late at night.  Quotes from those movies always seemed to find their way into our lives.  One of those movies was the Chevy Chase classic Fletch.  The two best quotes from that movie are 1) when the old man asks Fletch, "Boy, what in THE hell is the matter with you?" and 2) when he goes in for a physical and bursts into singing "Moon River" as the doctor checks his prostate.  Any time something strange or awkward happened we would spontaneously sing that song.  Soon after graduating from high school, I found myself alone in the middle of a seven hour bus ride in South America when what soothing sounds should flow through the speakers of the bus?  You guessed it, Moon River.  I literally laughed out loud and scanned the bus desperately looking for someone, ANYONE with whom I could revel in the comedic perfection of the situation.  I soon realized that my limited spanish speaking abilities combined with the cultural differences between me and everyone who surrounded me in preventing anyone from even remotely understanding me.

Too many times I have found myself in that same situation, watching something hysterical happen (visions of my thirtysomething neighbor rolling head over heels into his flower bed while attempting to ride his son's rip stick -as I just so happened to be passing by- are suddenly passing through my mind) but having no one to share it with.  This blog is an attempt to share some of those experiences with you because maybe, just maybe, you are someone who will understand the funny events of my life.