Trick or Treat?

t has come to my attention in this most glorious season many homes are failing to fulfill their obligations of giving free candy to those in costumes. Some point to the obvious, saying a weak economy has left little extra money in people’s budgets for frivolous things like delicious candy treats. However, I don’t think the economy is to blame. In fact the jobs market is slowly growing and we are steadily climbing out of the economic nightmare we found ourselves in three and a half years ago.

Others blame oversensitivity towards various religions, saying celebrating Halloween is akin to worshipping the Devil. Balderdash! First, of all this is the 21^st century, that kind of talk is only fit for Stephen King novels or discussions of the Dark Ages. Second, Halloween has never been about the Devil. It is about scary good times and free candy. Period.

Still others seem to want to eliminate all the fun and adventure from childhood by eliminating trick or treating all together because little Billy has a peanut allergy and little Suzie is lactose intolerant and if someone were to give them a Snickers Bar the world might implode. As a parent I feel it is necessary to respect another parent’s decision on how to raise their wiener kids (not to be mistaken for Congressman Anthony Weiner’s kids, judging by their dad those kids are probably pretty cool) but ruining it for everyone is never, ever cool! Gone are the school costume parades, because lame families felt bad because their costumes were not good and their feelings got hurt. Gone are the school parties because of food allergies and special dietary needs. And now they are even refusing to hand out candy. For shame. But these lamewads are not the only culprits in the killing of Halloween.

So what, pray tell, is at the bottom of the miserly-like stinginess of people in America today? The majority of the blame falls squarely on the shoulders of America’s youth.  You thirty and forty-something’s have raised a generation of self-entitled brats that want everything now without working for it. They want the treats without working on the tricks. This laziness has led to people thinking they can get away without providing free candy to the costumed masses; there is no fear of reprisals. Well you well-fed, lazy, vitamin D deficient, children need to learn the TREATS are only half of the Holiday. The other half is at least as important if not more so.

TRICKS! Terrifying, mischievous tricks and the fear of them is the extortion this holiday is built on. If family does not provide candy you give them eggs! Eggs splattered all over their windows and exterior walls! Or toilet paper streamers over their roof and trees and bushes and car! Or you spray poo-in-a-can (yes that’s a real product) into their mailbox (just be sure you don’t leave fingerprints because that one is a federal offense). Now I’m not advocating you go out and commit a crime in order to scare people into giving you free candy but putting on a mask and creating some mischief can help loosen the neighborhood candy coffers. So stop being lazy bastards, design a fun and creative costume, and go out and get some candy. Or else! Muahahahahahaha!

When you’re out there begging for candy remember these words: “Trick or treat is a choice. Either you give me candy or I get to make your life miserable.”

First Time Father Blog

I’ve spent a lot of time in waiting rooms this year. First, there was when dad had his heart attack and subsequent bypass surgery. Then there were all the hospital, doctor’s offices, and lab visits when my face decided to stop working and no one knew why. And of course there were the monthly then weekly trips to see the midwives for the whole pregnancy thing. I met a lot of interesting people, had some nice conversations and learned some things.

One of the things I learned is everywhere I go I am surrounded by tOSU fans (maybe I attract them). Another thing I learned is old guys with cities as part of their name are usually kind of gangster (not gangsta… Pittsburgh Mike is hands down the best waiting room friend I’ve made this year). And I learned when people find out you’re an expectant parent you cannot get them to stop giving you advice. Some of it is helpful, some not so much. Taking the advice I have been given and what I have learned in my first couple of weeks of parenthood I have put together a short guide to new fatherhood. For advice on how to become a father check the Valentine’s Blog I wrote almost 5 years ago here.

1) Get plenty of rest especially in the weeks before the due date. It is tempting to try to get the most out of your last few months without the responsibility of parenthood by staying up late and doing all the stupid crap that makes you happy. However, you should get as much sleep as you can while you can. Trust me.

2) Bring snacks. The hospital will provide mom with food for the duration of her stay, but more often than not dad is on his own to find sustenance. A well stocked snack bag will save you a headache.

3) Be there and be supportive of your wife. This entails knowing when to massage her shoulders, knowing when to tell her you love her, knowing when to hold the barf bag for her (most women throw up during labor, mine didn’t but that’s cause she’s a superwoman), and knowing when to shut the hell up.

4) Doctors are dicks who will not warn you that your little bundle of joy’s head will become conical to help it get out of your woman’s body. That being said YOUR BABY’S HEAD WILL LOOK WEIRD in the moments immediately following birth. Your job is to NOT draw attention to this fact. So bite your tongue and be confident in the knowledge your baby’s head will normalize.

5) Don’t take time spent with your baby for granted. I’ve been a dad for two weeks and everyday brings changes and growth in Milo. Children really do grow up quickly.

6) The birth of your first child is an emotional time. A father of 2 I met while sitting in the waiting room for the midwives told me he cried for a solid half an hour after his baby was born (I think he might have felt compelled to tell me this because my left eye still randomly tears up because of the Bell’s Palsy thing). No one is going to think any less of you if you cry or get pale or faint. However, remember you’re supposed to be a man so sack up and act like it.

7) Follow your instincts… unless your instincts are stupid. Check out “The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding” for some really good advice. It’s an awesome read.

Okay so that covered some of the very basics, the rest you’ll just have to discover on your own. Good luck.

Random Toads

I’m sure you all know that I started a group (of about 3-ish people) to rescue toads and amphibians from their impending doom for man made hazards. Here are some random photos of rescues and little toads we met along the way.

This is Princess. She lives in my mother-in-law’s window well.

 

This is another shot of Princess.

 
Toads like children’s tunnels.

This is Daisy. She’s cool!

More to come someday.

Jeremiah's Tale

As I am sure most of you are aware by now (because I've told you several times) Jeremiah, international toad of mystery, said a tearful goodbye to us on Easter Sunday and went off in search for his toad wife that he was separated from last winter. It was quite sad as we had become very close friends but when true love calls you have to answer.

It was an emotional day for all of us, including Jeremiah.

In the 3 months since Jeremiah headed back into the wild we have not seen him again. Though that does not mean we do not know how he has been. We have been informed that Jeremiah did find his toad wife. They were so happy to be reunited after all these months they immediately got started on making a toad family with 10,000 babies. That was not a typo, 10,000 babies. For about the past month the young ones have occasionally hopped up to my in-laws house (because they live in the surrounding wooded area) to say hello. The first one to do so was a little spitfire named J.J. which he soon explained to me was short for Jeremiah, Jr,

It was easy enough to believe as there was definitely a strong family resemblance but I was surprising that my little J-Rock could be gone for 2 months and make that many kids. As J.J. explained it, his father knew that he would be leaving on Easter but did not want to make his good-bye any harder than it needed to be, especially after my father's heart attack on Good Friday. So the night before he left Jeremiah gave Mollie an extra-special hug and a kiss and me a manly/toadly high-five. Then on Easter when no one was looking he scaled his outdoor terrarium and hopped to the tree line. J.J said his dad told him the hardest part about leaving was that he could hear us calling for him to come back, but he knew that if he turned around he would never find his toad love. So on his epic journey he continued.

After defeating a gang of crows with the deadly speed and precision of ninjukai taijutsu, smacking around a black bear, and outwitting the evil copperhead snake twins (apparently he got them to fight amongst themselves while he walked past them) he was reunited with his love, Marietta. And then they got busy in a big way, as is obvious by the 10,000 tadpoles they hatched. According to J.J., Jeremiah has been taking it easy and spending lots of time with Marietta. And I don't blame him for wanting to spend as much time as possible with her. To go through the challenges and dangers that he battled to get back to her, I would be surprised if he ever left her side again. Just knowing that he is happy is good enough for me.

J.J. in Mollie's hand as he told us his father's story. He's all of 3 months old.

J.J. and some of his siblings have made a point to come by whenever I'm at the in-laws to give me updates and whatnot. I was so inspired by my friend Jeremiah that I have founded the Amphibian Rescue Federation, or ARF for short, (and yes I am aware that ARF would be a better name for a dog rescue group but bite me, it's my rescue team not yours). Actually, it was not so much inspired by Jeremiah as it was by me not liking dead toads in our swimming pool. Never having an in-ground pool before I was unaware that small animals would crawl into it in search of water at night and then drown because they are unable to get out. Then a few weeks after Jeremiah left I was skimming leaves when I came across 2 dead toads, it was not much fun. So I did what any good pool maintenance guy would do, I threw it over the fence, let Arby's worry about it. (Ten bonus points for whomever gets that reference - you can post it in the comments). But out of that act I decided I would do what I could to prevent any toads from dying unnecessarily. To that end I have been doing walk-arounds 2-3 times a day to make sure no toads have fallen into the pool. So far there have been no more dead toads in the pool. Which is good.

About a week and a half ago I did find a grouchy city toad living in our garage though. I named him Benedict, or Benny, after the Benedictine monks because from what I can tell there are not really any female toads within a few miles of our home. I brought him inside and was going to put him in Jeremiah's old terrarium because our garage is not a good place for toads to live. However, Mollie said he was really ugly and that we could not keep him. So I packed him up and took him out to the in-laws so he could live a good country-ish life. Unfortunately, Benny has decided he wants to live in the girls place house. And no matter how many times we move him out into the woods he keeps coming back. Poor guy, he's kind of stupid as well as ugly. I want to bring him back to our house and  move him into a habitat where I can take care of him and make sure he does not get himself killed. However, like I said, as toads go he is kind of not pretty looking and his mug kind of scares Mollie so no dice. (Sorry no pics of Benny, the camera really did not like him.

Anyway, the whole point of this was to let everyone know that our favorite amphibian is doing just fine. He has been fruitful and multiplied (a lot) and he is getting some well deserved time with his Mrs. But I also wanted to let you know that if you ever come across a toad, handsome and smart as Jeremiah or as ugly and stupid as Benny, it is your duty as a friend of the blog to do your best to make sure that amphibian is safe. Whether that means carrying him to the other side of the road so he does not have to dodge traffic or feeding him crickets and flies. Excelsior!

Pain in the neck

I know I have said that I am going to write more often but over the last couple of weeks it has not really been feasible. Back on June 23rd or 24th I started having this neck pain that was really horrific. I popped some Ibuprofen and went about my days though because I'm a man and that is what we do. Then on Sunday the 27th I woke up and the left half of my face would not work. It was kind of lame but I decided maybe I should go to the hospital.A CAT scan showed that my brain was normal (or as normal as my brain ever is) so they decided I had Bell's Palsy, put me on a steroid pack and an anti-viral and sent me on my way.

Tuesday the 29th, I went back to my doctor and she told me to stick with the medicine and to come back in a week to be reevaluated. She also sent me for blood work to check for Lyme's Disease which came back negative. So this past Tuesday I went back and we did see some progress; I can now almost get my left eye closed but there is now lots of numbness in my lower left arm. Weird. So she ordered an MRI and CT scan of  my cervical spine to rule out crazy nerves or something. She also referred me to a Neurologist who I just got back from seeing. He doesn't think it is Bell's Palsy and referred me for more tests, blood and brain.

So for now I am just an extremely tired, numb, achey-faced jerk who can't do much of anything. But I'm keeping my spirits up and I figure I'll be okay. Hopefully, sooner rather than later. :-)

Century List

So it is my birthday again and I figure it is a good time to reevaluate what I have accomplished and what I want to accomplish with my century list, the 100 things I want to do while I am living in the body (note it is not a bucket list because the good die young, but the best live forever so logically I cannot die).  While trying to find my list I had to go through a lot of my old writings from a few years back over on my myspace blog. While I am not one to look back on my old work I have to say I was a pretty funny, clever writer. If you have not done so you should head over to myspace.com/sipeman and read each and every one of my posts and the comments that come with them because it will seriously change your life and make you a better person. No kidding. The kind of advice and philosophical view points posted there really will make you want to change your life for the better. 

Anyway, here's my century list. Note not everything on my list is appropriate for all audiences. If you get squeamish about things of a PG-13 nature you should stop reading now. I had to check off a few things but I'm not making as much progress as I would like so if anyone wants to help me out by giving me free sky diving lessons or tickets to the Super Bowl or if you have a liger or a functioning spaceship you are willing to let me borrow let me know..

1. See Ohio State win a National Championship in football.
2. Throw a huge party and invite every one of your friends.
3. Swim with a dolphin.
4. Skydive.
5. Have my portrait painted.
6. Learn to speak a foreign language and make sure I use it.
7. Go hang gliding.
8. Leave my footprints on a celestial body.
9. Spend a whole day eating junk food without feeling guilty.
10. Be in a Hollywood film.
11. Tell someone the story of my life story, sparing no details.
12. Make love on a forest floor.
13. Make love on a train.
14. Ride an elephant.
15. Fly a plane.
16. Dance on a white sand beach.
17. Get the minions to build a monument to me.
18. Buy a round-the-world air ticket and a rucksack, and run away.
19. Grow a beard and leave it for at least a month.
20. Give my mother a dozen red roses and tell her I love her.
21. Write a best seller.
22. Pet a liger. Then yell He-man and ride it around while brandishing a sword.
23. Send a message in a bottle.
24. Spit off of the Eiffel Tower.
25. Learn to ride a motorcycle.
26. Plant a tree.
27. Play any position for any professional sports team.
28. Write a fan letter to your all-time favorite hero or heroine.
29. Visit the Senate and the House of Representatives to see how Congress really works.
30. Learn to ballroom dance properly.
31. Run through the streets of London while wearing a werewolf costume.
32. Be the boss.
33. Fall deeply in love -- helplessly and unconditionally.
34. Ride the Trans-Siberian Express across Asia.
35. Sit on a jury.
36. Kick Chuck Norris' butt.
37. Go to Walden Pond and read Thoreau while drifting in a canoe.
38. Ride a bull.
39. Drink beer at Oktoberfest in Munich.
40. Be someone's mentor.
41. Shower in a waterfall.
42. Add a little person to my circle of friends.
43. Release an album.
44. Teach someone illiterate to read.
45. Make a Queens Guardsman crack a smile.
46. Spend a night in a haunted house -- by myself.
47. See a solar eclipse.
48. See a lunar eclipse.
49. Spend New Year's in an exotic location.
50. Get passionate about a cause and spend time helping it, instead of just thinking about it.
51. Experience weightlessness.
52. Sing a great song in front of an audience.
53. Go streaking through the quad and down to the gymnasium.
54. Drive across America.
55. Make a complete and utter fool of myself.
56. Own a car that will run a 10 second quarter-mile.
57. Write my will. Insist that I be mummified and placed in my own pyramid.
58. Sleep under the stars.
59. Take a ride on the highest roller coaster in the country.
60. Become a crotchety old miser.
61. Go wild in Rio during Carnival.
62. Spend a whole day reading a great novel.
63. Ride a horse.
64. Learn to juggle with three balls.
65. Drive the Autobahn.
66. Find a job you love.
67. Spend Christmas on the beach drinking pina coladas.
68. Overcome my fear of success.
69. Raft through the Grand Canyon.
70. Donate money and put my name on something: a college scholarship, a bench in the park.
71. Buy my own house and then spend time making it into exactly what I want.
72. Grow a garden.
73. Spend three months getting my body into optimum shape.
74. Drive a convertible with the top down and music blaring.
75. Accept myself for who I am.
76. Learn to use a microphone and give a speech in public.
77. Scuba dive off Australia's Great Barrier Reef.
78. Go up in a hot-air balloon.
79. Attend one really huge rock concert.
80. Hang out backstage at a kick ass concert.
81. Eat at a 5 star restaurant.
82. Give to a charity -- anonymously.
83. Lose more money than you can afford at roulette in Vegas. Always bet on black.
84. Let someone feed you peeled, seedless grapes.
85. Kiss the Blarney stone and develop the gift of gab.
86. Ride a camel.
87. Make love on the kitchen floor.
88. Run amuck in the streets of Tokyo while wearing a Godzilla costume.
89. Go to the Super Bowl.
90. Visit the Holy Land.
91. Make myself spend a half-day at a concentration camp and swear never to forget.
92. Run to the top of the Statue of Liberty.
93. Create my Family Tree.
94. Catch a ball in the stands of a major league baseball stadium.
95. Sell at least one piece of my artwork.
96. Run with the bulls in Pamplona.
97. Put a saddle on a dog and ride it.
98. Run a marathon.
99. Have a kid. Look into my child's eyes, see myself, and smile.
100. Figure out cloning and brain transplants. Buy myself at least another 80 years.

F@#king Mimes

Well I did not write anything in April because April was kind of a crappy month for me and I did not really have time. It started with my dad having a heart attack and needing open heart surgery and all the complications that came with that.  It continued with friend of the blog, Jeremiah, getting spring fever and running away without saying goodbye so he could be with a lady toad. Things went downhill from there but that does not need to be rehashed on the internet.  

So the Penguins lost last night and I’m kind of bummed. I mean I expect this kind of disappointment from teams from Ohio (read: Cleveland Cavaliers) but not from my Pittsburgh teams. But as I watched the first and second period from cubicle I realized there could only be one possible logical explanation for why a goalie as solid Marc-Andre could suddenly allow himself to be beaten like a rented mule repeatedly (I love hockey clichés). So what could be so diabolical that the Penguins defensive wall would play less like a champion and more like an awkward flightless bird with steel blades strapped to his feet?

French. Canadian. Mafia.

Take a minute to let that sink in, I know it is a strange concept. A lot of people do not know even realize there is a French-Canadian Mafia because they do not get as many headlines as say the Italian Mafia or the Russian Mafia or even the 3-6 Mafia. However, the FCM is way more insidious than any of those other groups. Where the Italians will break your legs and the Russians will cut off your testicles to get their points across the FCM will send in the clowns. Literally. Sad, French-Canadian clowns doing pantomime. On the surface that does not seem like it would be that bad but when you understand the average person goes insane if they do not get away from a croissant-eating mimes within minutes you can begin to see how a series than went on for two weeks could have adverse mental effects on those subjected to the horrors of the FCM and their mimes of doom. It makes way more sense than thinking that the lowly Canadiens simply outplayed and outlasted the Pens and Capitals by getting stellar performances from Mike Cammalleri, Hal Gill, Jaroslav Halak, et al. Beware the mimes!

C’est la vie. Now that hockey season is over, for me, and the Cavs are one loss away from elimination, and baseball bores me to tears, I can concentrate on my true sporting passion, college football (not to be confused with my one real passion, Mollie Alice). I will ask you this, dear reader, Ohio State Buckeyes: Great team or the greatest team ever?

Pittsburgh Sports Report

Okay so I have to take a timeout from my regular blogging to talk sports for a few moments.

First, congratulations to Sidney Crosby on winning the Rocket Richard Trophy. Yes, he is sharing the award with Steven Stamkos of Tampa Bay (who scored an empty-netter in the Lightning's win yesterday) but at least Ovie was prevented from getting the three-peat.

Second, the Steelers just made a bold statement about players being held accountable for their off-field shenanigans. In case you had not heard yet, Santanio Holmes, facing a 4 game suspension for violating the leagues substance abuse policy, was traded in the wee-hours of the night to the New York Jets for a fifth-round pick in this month's draft. Now forget that the Jets just got a steal by picking up a former first-rounder and a Super Bowl MVP for a lousy fifth round pick (which seems like an absolutely horrible deal on surface... because it is) and let's concentrate on the PR reasons for this move.

The Steelers have had a ton of bad press over the past six weeks. There was Ben Roethlesberger in trouble over an alleged sexual assault for the second time in the past year and there was Holmes' issue with the lawsuit in Florida for throwing a glass at some chick and the undisclosed substance abuse violation (which if history is an indicator probably means he was recretionally smoking marijuana). So the Steelers had to make an example of someone and the ax fell on Holmes' neck. Which sucks for his fans and fans of the team but you have to be culpable for your actions. Now we must wait and see what Roethelsberger's punishment for being a horny bastard with poor decision making skills off the field will be. At 2pm the authorities in Georgia will announce if Roethelsberger will be charged with sexual assault for what he allegedly did to a 20-year old co-ed in a night club bathroom (and all indications say that Ben will not be charged). Later this week, Ben will meet with NFL commissioner Roger Goodell. And with Goodell's track record you would think that there is a chance Roethelsberger could be suspended for a few games for bringing bad press to the league. Although (not to make this a racial issue) but it does seem like white quarterbacks are held to different standards than African-American players.

I don't know what will happen but the Steelers line-up on opening day may look very different than it did at the end of last season.

Just Mollie and Me.... and baby makes three...

There comes a point in every boy's life when he must put aside childish things and become a man. For some guys it happens later in life than others. We love our fast cars, our video games, and our mint condition, limited edition, new-in-box Star Wars action figures. For me the point when I realized I had to be something more than what I currently am occurred at 5:30 a.m. Sunday, January 31. It was at that point that Mollie told me she had "a baby in her belly."
Now I know humanity has been reproducing for millions of years. And I know all the cool couples have had a baby or more; Jamie and Kelly, Ryan and Brandy, Gabe and Kim, Colt and Jen, Morgan and Toad, etc., et al. However, at no point does anything that anyone tells you prepare you for the realization that you, who can barely take care of yourself, who still eats cereal with marshmellows and watches Saturday morning cartoons, is going to be responsible for a tiny, fragile, adorable human life. AHH!!!

Scary, right? That's not even the half of it. Since the speck first announced "I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!" I've been flooded by a deluge of varying emotions that have threatened to spill over several times. Fear; will I be a good daddy? Happiness; I'm going to have a baby! Nauseated (okay so this is less emotion, more physical reaction but m'eh); I'm not ready for this *bleck*.Excitement; WAHOO! Overwhelming contentment complete with stupid grin; I just made a baby. And that was just the first 5 minutes It really is an absolutely amazing feeling knowing that you played a part in the propagation of the species; the circle of life. 


So at the moment we are 13+ weeks into the pregnancy. I waited for awhile to announce it here because we wanted to make sure everything was okay. If I didn't call and tell you personally don't take it personally. Anyway, I wanted to give a quick recap of what Mollie and I have been going through over the past few weeks to get you up to speed.


January 31: Though I find it odd to pee on a stuck, Mollie passed her pregnancy test with flying colors. I freaked out a little bit.


February: I was on a freaky roller coaster of emotion mainly because not having health insurance and expecting a baby is a scary prospect. But overall I was pretty happy.


March 1: Mollie and I drove an hour in snowy/rainy conditions to get to the midwife offices in Irwin because we wouldn't feel right having anyone other than Aunt Gretchen delivering our little bundle of joy. The mentioned things looked a bit big for 8 weeks. I had a many anxiety attack as thoughts of twins danced in my head.


March 19: I earned a full-time position with my company. Hooray for health insurance!


March 31: Back to Irwin. Gretchen only heard one, strong, fast heart beat. The implications make my anxiety levels drop to the point where I can actually write this blog.


I do not know if I am ready to be parent. I don't know if anyone is ever really ready. But what I do know is that Mollie and I love each other. And I know that both of our families will offer love and suppport as our baby makes his or her debut in this world. I truly believe that this may be the beginning of our greatest adventure ever, adventures in parenthood, and I cannot wait to meet our baby in October.

Thoughts on the Olympics: part deux

As the Olympics conclude I have realized I was wrong about a few things in my last post. You see I thought the people of the most wonderful country on Earth, America, were acting like a bunch of jerks with the way we were emphasizing the desire to defeat the world instead of being magnanimous in victory. I thought the entire point of the games was to bring the world together in brotherhood by celebrating the strongest, fastest, and best winter athletes humanity has ever produced. I was wrong. 

Evgeni Plushenko earned a silver medal in figure skating. Instead of accepting his award like one of the greatest champions his slightly gay sport has ever known, he cried like a little girl with a skinned knee and claimed the imaginary title of Platinum Medal Winner.  

South Koreans complained about being robbed in speed skating when an Australian judge DQed their women's relay team after their dominating performance in the 3000-meter. Americans complained and threatened to invade Canada after a Canadian judge disqualified Apolo Ohno for touching a Canadian competitor on his way to second place, when the same Canadian completely took out a Korean skater and was awarded a bronze medal for his effort. Thee South Korean team also got into a bottle throwing fight with the Chinese team at the Pacific Coliseum when Chinese filmed a Korean practice. While not necessarily against the rules it did seem to show poor sportsmanship.

And then there was the Canadian Women's hockey team's celebration after winning the gold medal. Underage drinking, smoking cigars, and just generally having a good time on the ice could be considered

d all in good fun. However, the media decided it was in poor taste after they released photos. Despite the photographic evidence the Canadian authorities have decided to turn a blind eye to the illegalities that were perpetrated since the team is basically national heroes. What had me a little bothered was that Scotty Lago was kicked out of the olympics when photographs of him being "inappropriate" with his medal even though what he did was not technically illegal. I guess gold is better than bronze in the eyes of the IOC.

What these things have taught me more than anything is that no matter where we come from, no matter what color  our skin is, no matter what we believe in, we are all assholes. Loud-mouthed, angry,short-sighted, close-minded, arrogant, nationalistic, assholes. In some weird way, knowing we are all assholes makes me feel closer to all of humanity. And that feels good. So, you Canadian eh-holes, congratulations for putting together a showcase for American domination. Even though your judges showed blatant favoritism towards Canadian athletes and complete disregard towards the Koreans you did good, little bro. You did good! Now get back to work creating decent actors and hockey players who will run for the American border the first chance they get.

Thoughts on the Olympics

As the Olympics move through their second week I have come to a few shocking (and by shocking I mean “m’eh”) conclusions.

First, as a whole, we Americans are an extremely competitive lot. I am all about giving your all, leaving everything you have on the ice (or slopes or halfpipe, et al.), and representing the stars and stripes with pride and honor. Yet I can not help but wonder if other countries keep track of the medal count as if the country who wins gets some super valuable prize for being the overall champions of the world. Now don’t get me wrong. I think it would be really awesome if the leader of the country with the “win” in the overall medal count became the president of the world until the next Olympics. Since this is not the case, though, maybe we should calm down about worrying who wins the most hardware. I mean the Olympics are supposed to be about fair play, brotherhood, and pushing oneself to the limits of human strength, speed, and endurance. They are supposed to be about humanity coming together to celebrate our very best. When we mock other countries and go out to “defeat the world” it kind of makes us look like douche bags. Come on America, can’t we leave that to the Russians?

Second, why curling? I know that it is a really popular sport (in Canada) but do we need to see 10 hours of it a day? For those of you not paying attention or who do not have cable, NBC has been broadcasting the games of the 21st Winter Olympiad on their family of networks (NBC, USA, MSNBC, and CNBC) since the opening ceremony on February 12. On NBC during primetime they have been showing a lot of the upper echelon sports like Speed Skating, Snowboarding, Figure Skating, and a handful of fast-paced, exciting sports where Americans usually do well. And I cannot really complain about the mix of sports they have shown (though not showing USA vs. Canada Men’s Hockey on NBC seemed to be a rather bizarre programming decision).

Aaron, Jeremiah, and Carl, Jr. curling for America... with boobies... because everything is better with boobies.

However, the sport that has received more coverage than any other during this Olympiad has been Curling. Between MSNBC and CNBC there has been between 6-12 hours of curling on everyday since the games began. Now I like Curling. I have defended it to friends and co-workers over the past week because I know it takes a lot of skill and practice the be able to slide a 42 pound rock down 150 feet of ice and have it stop within inches of where you were aiming through careful and precise broom work. However, I do not think it should be the most televised Olympic sport for one simple reason. It is boring as heck to watch because it is slow, non-exciting, and anyone can do it. I mean J-Rock, CJ, and I are going to start our own curling team if we can find a fourth. What really kills the television audience though is that it is the same thing over and over again for 3 hours. I can handle about 10 minutes and then my head starts to hurt and I need to change the channel. Jeremiah watches for about 7 minutes before having a reaction similar to the one he has when he watches disfigured frogs on Animal Planet. Carl, Jr. watches for about 5 minutes and then begins furiously licking his own eyeballs to clean away the sucktitude. So IOC officials and NBC execs, let’s keep Curling in the games but not show so much of it on TV. Okay? Thanks.

Third, who decided bronze was the third best metal? Gold, I get. Silver, makes since. But bronze? Really? I mean it is nice that we want to make third place finishers feel like they have achieved something (other than choking) but bronze? Why not nickel? Why not aluminum? Or mercury? Or copper? I like bronze but I think we could have made the third place medal a little bit more awesome. Although, to be fair, no matter what choice they made before the 1904 St. Louis games I probably would have still been here talking about how lame and arbitrary the choice of metals for the third place medal is. But I suppose it will never change, so m’eh!

Fourth, it turns out Alexander Ovechkin, much like Charlie White, always really wanted to be an ice dancer. But after his skate partner left him for another he gave it up in a haze of tears for hockey. Sad, but it makes you wonder what could have been.

Fifth, USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA!

Animal Planet

Jeremiah, Carl, Jr, and I were watching Animal Planet (because it is Jeremiah's second favorite channel, right behind the NHL Network) the other day. There was a program on about animals that go through transformations. As he had gone through a metamorphosis of his own when he was younger, Jeremiah was really enjoying the program. Then the program got to an animal that undergoes a more radical transformation than any other. A certain parasitic flatworm goes through four distinct stages in its life, the third of which being a cyst near the tail of a frog tadpole. To ensure the flatworm makes it to it's final life cycle in the intestinal tract of a bird, it messes up the frogs metamorphosis. Instead of dropping the tail and growing two legs, the flatworm causes the frog to sprout up to fifteen legs. With the extra legs the frog is unable to move and eaten by a crane. 

The image of the 15 leg frog was disturbing enough to me, which is why I am not including a picture of it, but Jeremiah's reaction was close to unbelievable. He flipped over to his back then covered his mouth with his front legs to, I'm pretty sure, prevent himself from vomiting up his breakfast of crickets. I wish I had taken a picture but the camera was upstairs and by the time I got to it Big Cat Diary was on and Jeremiah had regained his composure. 

Since we did not take any shots that day we decided to do a reenactment. CJ worked the camera.

J-Rock watching Animal Planet.

 

J-Rock flipping over on to his back as he sees a disgustingly disfigured frog.

Aaron making the face Jeremiah made on Wednesday because J-Rock was too embarrassed to do it again.

Good times.

Jeremiah's Song

Contrary to popular belief Jeremiah is not a bullfrog. He is an American toad (Bufo Americanus). Now normally I am  big believer in leaving wild animals in their natural habitats. I mean generally speaking you would not enjoy it if some giant came and scooped you up then made you live in a small recreation of your original home inside of his giant house, would you? Of course not. However, Mollie and I did not really have the option to leave Jeremiah Roosevelt, a.k.a J.R. a.k.a. Bubbie, in his natural environment.

Jeremiah reading the sports page.

You see it all started on a Sunday in November. As happens sometimes, Mollie and I went to her family's homestead after mass for food and family fun. As I recall it was a beautiful day with temperatures in the 60s. However, as we settled in to watch the Steelers on NBC's Sunday Night Football the temperature plummeted and snow began to fall. Some time in the third quarter Mollie went down to the basement and noticed Jeremiah snow covered and pressed against the window in a window-well. For those that do not know toads in colder climates typically dig themselves a little whole a few inches down in the dirt to insulate themselves from the cold and then hibernate. Unfortunately for J. R. the sudden change in the weather caught him off guard and he was on the verge of becoming a toad-sicle. Mollie acted quickly by bringing him inside and warming him up and Bubbie has been a part of the family ever since.

Carl, Jr looking out the window.

These days Jeremiah spends much of his time in a 10 gallon terrarium, but he also spends some of his time hopping about our living room under our careful supervision so he can get exercise and whatnot (right now he is chilling under the couch). Through his own certainty Jeremiah has convinced me that he and his invisible friend Carl Chameleon, Jr. (I totally thought Carl, Jr was imaginary at first yet apparently he is just really good at camouflage) do not just hang out in their terrarium all day but are able to come and go as they please so that when the nation is in trouble they can hop off to save the day or whatever it is that amphibians and reptiles do when they are unsupervised.

Jeremiah has just asked that I document some of his adventures for him because his nuptial pads make it difficult to type so look for those in the future. They'll be tagged Jeremiah.

A letter to the president

Dear President Obama,


I just watched the State of the Union Address on the interweb. I must say I was reminded of why we all voted for you in the first place: you are handsome, charismatic, and very articulate. I thoroughly enjoyed that you used your nationally televised forum to call out the various bodies of our government for all the bonehead moves they have made in the last year. Your beautiful words and high ideals would motivate good men and women to great heights.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten you are not dealing with good men and women in Washington. You are dealing with, for lack of a better term, whores. Taken as individuals the members of Congress, the Supreme Court, and your own cabinet are intelligent people who could conceivably do some good in this world. However, when placed in the context of the national government they become manipulative, lying whores who would do anything to get their hands on A.) more votes or B.) more special interest money. The thing about whores is that you can whisper all the sweet words you want to them but at the end of the day they are just going to take your money and, if you're not careful, shank you! Why? Because whores have no respect for anyone or anything besides money and their pimp.

So, Mr. President, might I suggest a small change in your demeanor for your second year. Instead of being a charming, egghead who talks the talk but gets shot down every time he tries to walk the walk be smooooooothe, be ruthless, be PIMP! I know as the first biracial president you have to walk a very careful line to prevent the ignorant, bigots from revolting (although the completely revolt me - ha! See what I did there?) but the only way you are going to get anything done in Washington is if you make the whores of Congress respect your pimphand. What's a pimphand, you ask? What kind of jive turkey are you, man? Not knowing about the pimphand. Geesh! Okay, I'll lay it out for you. The pimphand is a lot like a nuclear bomb; it is the pimp's ultimate offensive weapon and the ultimate deterrent. The mere threat of it reminds his street walkers who is in charge, which prevents them from doing something stupid… most of the time. And if for some reason the sacred trust between pimp and hoe is violated, one open-handed slap from the pimphand is enough to ensure that everyone gets back on track.

President Obama, I implore you to use the pimphand against Congress. The next time Joe Lieberman tries to filibuster against something as important as Health Care Reform, remember what Dr. Dre taught us and smack the taste out of his mouth! It may not be politically correct but liberally (no pun intended) using the pimphand gets stuff done.



Your Homie,
Aaron

P.S. if all else fails you can always invite the Geto Boyz, Scarface, Warren G, and Nate Dogg (because it ain't a party unless Nate Dogg is there) to join your cabinet. They will bring some real regulation to the District of Columbia to ensure reform gets done!

Scar Tissue

I've heard it said scars are like tattoos but with better stories. This always intrigued me but I never really thought about it. That is until today when I stepped out of the shower, looked at myself in the mirror and noticed a long scar stretching from the center of my rib cage just under my left pectoral all the way to my back. Suddenly, I found myself reliving the night I got it the zipper like strip on my chest..


It was the evening of our senior dinner back in April of 2000. I remember I was wore black slacks, a black jacket, a black silk shirt emblazoned with a white dragon down the left side, a black tie tied directly around my neck and worn under the shirt which was unbuttoned at the neck, my trademark black sunglasses (seriously I don't think I went anywhere in high school without a pair of black sunglasses on... even at night), and a black ball cap that sported the Zero Bird logo. I either looked hella-sexy-sheik or like a complete and total fashion victim. Either way I felt pretty good about myself. The dinner was pretty good (which is high marks coming from me... Mollie hates that I say that) and the company was great. We spent a couple of hours looking at pictures of our four years together and thinking about what the future would hold for us.

The night was so fun we did not want it to end. After the dinner was over a group of friends slightly larger and more diverse than I usually hung out with headed for JK, one of my bestest friends, place. Where we sat around in our fancy clothes (well everyone else was in fancy clothes, I was still possibly dressed like a douche) and reminisced about the good ole days growing up in Columbus and we may have had a few drinks (probably wine coolers or MGD, nothing serious). Then for no reason, or possibly because JK's mom wanted us out of her family room, we decided to take our little party on the road as a skate party. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Sk8 or die! through the dark suburban streets as moonlit clouds rushed across ominous charcoal sky. A cool spring breezed rustled over fresh blossoms on near skeletal trees. Truly it was a magical night. And then I hit some wet leaves halfway down the path from Oakmont Elementary, crashed into a chain-link fence and tore open my flesh on the jagged metal. It hurt. A lot. But not enough to make me want to go to the hospital and get a tetanus shot and stitches. Instead I went home and slept it off. Or I tried to anyway. As I remember for the next week and a half everyone at school was a lot more touchy, feely with me than they had ever been before... knowing some of my sadistic friends the random hugs were probably an excuse to inflict pain on me.

After a few moments staring into the mirror I suddenly became aware of all the other scars on my body and face. Not all of them are as pronounced or as large as my chest scar but most of them seem to be able to transport me back to a moment in time (usually a rather painful moment) where I am suddenly surrounded by friends, family, sights, sounds, and smells of my past. It is almost like a mini-vacation in torture, but not really because besides the pain the memories are usually kind of comforting. Comforting in the way that reminds me that I am alive, that I exist. And I know if I ever get amnesia (in a weird sit-com sort of way… I watch way too much television… but it is my job so shut up!) all I'll have to do is look at the wound marks that cover my flesh and instantly everything will come racing back to me. It is pretty sick and twisted but it is also pretty friggin' cool. As bizarre as it sounds, I would not trade any of my scars or the stories that come with them for the world.

Lucky

Luck. The dictionary people say it is good fortune; advantage or success, considered as the result of chance. Every coach I have ever been guided by has said luck is simply when hard work and preperation meets opportunity. Seth D. always used to say that luck beat skill every time. Although this was usually in response to some newb getting the better at him at Halo or someone hitting his fastball.

When I was around eight years old or so I saw an episode of Duck Tales featuring Donald Duck's extremely lucky cousin Gladstone Gander. Gladstone was so lucky it defied all odds. He never worked for anything as his eternal good fortune provided him with any and everything he ever needed or wanted. He deplored work so much that he only did it once; after that he decided to leave everything to chance and to take advantage of opportunities as they came his way. Of course Gander's lack of ambition and his seemingly inability to create any long-term plans or goals was totally lost on me as a child, and I decided that my heart's desire, more than anything else, was to be the luckiest person on the planet. Every year when I would blow out my birthday candles, I would wish to be lucky. Every night when I looked up at the first star to show itself in the Heavens, I would wish to be lucky. Any shootings stars or wishing well coins, had me wishing to be lucky. Every selfish silent prayer, I have said to God has been for, you guessed it, luck.

And for the most part I have led an extremely fortunate life; I had a nice family, always had enough to eat, always had a roof over my head, and more importantly I've always had someone to pull me out of the fire when I was in trouble. And though I've encountered a few crappy situations in my life (*cough, cough* the angry lesbian incident, the disappearing bank account *cough*) I have encountered no real tragedies in my life. In fact all those crappy parts led me to where I am today, which really ain't so bad. Beautiful wife, decent job, loving family, et al. And then there is the matter of my luck. I won a door prize and a 50/50 raffle (Mollie and I gave part of the winnings to the Haiti relief effort) at the company holiday party. But come to think of it that probably had more to do with math as the odds of winning were pretty good because there were not a lot of people there. On the other hand maybe I truly have been blessed with good luck. Maybe everything will always work out for the best for me. Meh, I think now that I'm an adult it would be more prudent to actually plan for the future and be responsible and stuff... but where is the fun in that?

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I wanted to mention something that kind of fit in but not really. It is sort of a weird cosmic coincidence (ha! no such thing!) but for Christmas my team at work did a Santa's workshop theme and one of the things they did was to punch all of our names into a random "elf name generator." My elf name: Lucky Candylips.

Super Powers

I've been debating what I should write about on here. I have many crazy and outlandish thoughts that could fuel a rant or four but I really don't think I want this to be a forum where I let off steam about the stupid things that annoy me. I would much rather this be a happy place where people can come away saying to themselves "gee, I never thought about it like that" or "hey that is an idea I can use to improve my own life."

That being said I could not think about anything positive or uplifting to write, so I figured I would write the official-for-now story of how I became a Real Life Super Hero, since that was what everyone has been asking me about for the past week. Now the official-for-now story differs from the unofficial-for-now story in the fact that after I tell it to you I do not have to kill you to protect the double-plus-ultra-super secret truth behind the matter. Besides I have to save something for "My Extraordinary Life." That's the working title of my autobiography. As soon as I make the roster of a professional sports team and learn the joys of parenthood I'll wrap it up and send it off the the publisher. I imagine it will be so awesome Oprah will come out of retirement to have me on her show so she can tell all of her hundreds of millions of minions and fans to buy my book! Buy my book! BUY MY BOOK!! (Ha Ha! Killinger gets it.)

But I digress. Here it is, the official-for-now story. A couple of years ago I was writing for a website called storyofmylife.com. As part of my job I interviewed several interesting people then wrote "the story of their lives" or at least one story from their life in a neat, tidy readable web post. In early of 2008 I came across a group of people who called themselves Real Life Super Heroes, or RLSH. I was intrigued by this movement. I've always been interested in saving the world and here were guys and girls actually doing something, albeit in a rather odd way. So I contacted a few of these guys and after a few conversations I was granted a series of interviews. First up was Anax, think Jason Vorhees and Snake Eyes having an illegitimate baby but with a really good sense of humor. He provided me with a lot of insight into the why RLSH do what they do. Next up was Superhero, think a boy scout in really tight pants with a cape and a Corvette. Supes was great and had the best story. Out of all of them I totally enjoyed speaking with him the most. The final interview of my triluxe special was with Master Legend. Now this was a good 7 months before he reached rock star status with his massive spread in Rolling Stone but the article was well written and the general consensus was that the three stories together combined for the best press the RLSH community had received at the time. As a token of appreciation I was made an honorary super hero with my very own mask. Which is awesome because as a super hero I am allowed to wear tights without fear of ridicule, I am allowed wear a mask in public on days other than Halloween, and I am allowed to dispense justice at the end of my fist without worry of collateral damage.

And that is the official-for-now story. Sure it is not as exciting as the unofficial-for-now story but you get the idea. Good times.

Gas Company

Hear that noise? It is my gears and they are being ground by the local gas and oil company (Mollie says I'm not allowed to call them out by name). Mollie and I moved back in mid-December. Since the Monday after we moved in the gas company has been outside jackhammering our street and sidewalk because the guy who made the decision on where to locate originally locate the gas lines was apparently a drunk chimpanzee who put them in such awkward places that the company has decided it needs to move them. Or the lines were just really old... or something, I'm too tired to really know what's going on at the moment.

Currently, workers from the gas company are here to relocate the meter from our basement to outside of the house. At this point they have been here for an hour and a half. Which is 90 minutes I have had to be out of bed. Now in principle I think putting the meter outside is a good thing. I cannot think of any reason why it should have ever been installed in the basement in the first place as that would mean that every month they want to take a reading I would have to be home to let one of their meter readers into the house. Not cool. However, the actual process of moving the meter is turning into a right pain in the ears. And I'm not just saying that because I'm grumpy because they are not letting me sleep. Right now they are sawing, drilling, and jackhammering the pipes and the foundation wall to be able to move the pipe. I'm no science-tician but it sounds like the noise level in here is at least 150 decibels and I that is probably unhealthy for human and toad hearing ability. In any case, it is driving both of us, Jeremiah and myself, insane. Yeah, I know tools are loud but 8 a.m. is too early to say "Hey, I know we didn't give you any real notice but we want to come inside, tear up your basement, and create a headache that may literally may cause your head to explode."

Actually, I would have probably been okay with the noise if it were not working in conjunction with the cold. Obviously, the workers had to turn off the gas while they do their thing to prevent the house from exploding but did they have to leave the basement door open? I'm sure their evil gas company overlords train them to do this as it will make the furnace work overtime to reheat the home after they are done but in the middle of January it was kind of an arsehole thing to do. And after I politely explained this to them they looked at me like I was the crazy one.

The noise just suddenly stopped and now I smell gas. I think I'm going to go investigate. Hope I don't get blown up. If this morning is any indication of how the rest of the day is going to go, today is going to be great!