Blowin' in the Wind

Sylvia, my wife, is a loving and caring wife. She depends on me. I help around the house. I earn a living. I, apparently, also come in very handy when it comes to being a wind-block! Little did I know that I signed on to be provider of something so basic as protection from a blustery day.

Today, at track practice for Jake, was just about as windy as it gets here in northern California. When we visited friends in Kansas we came home late from a rodeo to their wonderful home (that he built with his own two hands - I once made a cutting board...it was rectangular). I was following them up the long driveway in my truck and I was surprised when he turned his truck to shine his headlights into the pasture. The reason? Their trampoline was in a tree! Ok, you say, so the wind knocked it over and it rolled into a tallish bush. Nope, the wind picked it up and tossed it OVER their three story house and into a tree taller than any I would dare to climb! When they got out of the truck the family said, "Oh, is it up there again?!" AGAIN?!

So Kansas wins the battle of the winds, but for us today was pretty good. In fact I can't wait for the eleven o'clock news so I can see "STORMWATCH 2010!" This was the kind of day when even a complete fool could have gotten a kite to fly. Jake suggested I get out the kite as we were driving home. I'll be talking to him later. Anyway, while we were out walking the dog around the track, holding hands, watching the kids laugh as they leaned but had the wind keep them up...Sylvia let go of my hand, and started to pass behind me. I assumed that she wanted to switch sides so I could heat up her other hand with mine. She started to give me a little hug from behind (sweet) and then she started walking directly behind me. She lovingly says, "What!? You are blocking the wind!" Oh well, it's nice to be needed...and I always wondered why she is always offering me ice cream, better coverage!

On that note, I am not what you might call travel sized for your convenience. I am six foot three (6 - 9 with the afro - which movie?) I am 200 mumble mumble pounds...I take up space! I found out today that I am perfect for being a shield. I am also quite accomplished at holding places in lines, putting my finger on ribbons when someone is trying to tie a bow, and stirring things that are already on the stove. But, apparently, I could also be a ninja. You would never know it to look at me but I am inadvertently stealthy. Picture Andre the Giant in ballet slippers. I would not consider myself (or my high heeled orthopedic shoes) graceful or quiet, but I have scared more people than I can remember! Apparently I am the human equivalent to the cat in a cupboard at the climax of a horror movie. It has gotten so bad that I started announcing my arrival about 15 feet away from my unsuspecting victims. Tapping on walls, shouting HELLOOOOO, whistling a jaunty tune...All are now part of my repertoire to avoid needing to provide CPR.

So, it is nice to have a new marital skill set. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go update my resume.

Bonnie Hunt is my Celebrity Girlfriend!

Bonnie Hunt is my celebrity girlfriend! There it is. True confession time. It feels good to get that off my chest.



To clarify, Wikipedia defines a celebrity girlfriend as: Someone who you like to see in movies and on TV, but have no chance of ever meeting in person. Not to be confused with actually desiring or attempting a romantic relationship (see stalking).



Ok, true confession time (take two)...there is not a Wikipedia definition for this. I made it up. I do things like that.



Let me also explain, the smartest thing I have ever said was, "I do" and the best thing I've ever eaten is wedding cake. I certainly won the marriage lottery. Additionally, I try really hard to make sure that Sylvia feels the same way. I want her to come away from a "husband complaint session" (I know they exist) feeling great in comparison. I try to give her something to add to the jabs, back and forth, so every once in a while I "forget" to hit the automatic start button on the coffee maker the night before, after I set it up. And if you believe that is the only thing, I have an autographed first edition Bible I can sell you.

Let me also add that Sylvia has held Patrick Swayze and Kurt Russell over my head as her celebrity boyfriends for YEARS!! (and boy are her arms ... sorry, old joke)

Wikipedia defines celebrity boyfriend as: Someone who, if ever met in person, all other attachments and relationships wouldn't matter and running off to frolic on the beach forevermore would ensue(see scantily clad).

True conf...oh you get the idea.

I know there is a disparity in the definitions...It's a risk I am willing to take. But if you ever see me running and carrying Sylvia over my shoulder, fireman style, you'll know that I saw someone who looked like Kurt Russell walking toward us.

So, finally, I come to the point of this post. Yesterday I mentioned that Kristiana was mortified that I have a Twitter account. Let me tell you why. The Bonnie Hunt show has a bit where she "tweets" something, and if you are the first caller you win a prize. The world's best dog brusher, celebrity perfume, book of the week...whatever. Almost never wanted the prize, but it would have been great to talk to her. I would have told her that I thought she was very entertaining and that I appreciated her show being thoughtful and funny and respectful and not gossipy...all things that make other shows turn-offs for me. Anyway, that is the only reason why I opened a Twitter account. The problem is, I never got the things that she was sending even though I "followed" her alone. It's OK, I'm not hurt. Sniff.

So that's it. My final true confession. I only have an account to win a prize. I do not even know that I have it set up correctly. I tried to set it up on my new smart phone but the "App" that looked like it had all the parts I needed cost 99 cents! I mean there IS a limit!

And by the way, if this ever gets back to Bonnie Hunt...Let me just tell you, Bonnie, that Larry King and I LOVED you in Twister! KIDDING!

Stuck in the Middle Again.

"I was born a poor black child." is a line from a very funny movie. I, however, was born as the middle son in a family of three children. I have no idea why, but whenever I mention that I am a middle child people always nod knowingly and say something like, "Oh, that explains a lot." I think that is funny, but I have never taken the time to research exactly why people feel the need to say that. Depending on whom I am talking to, I may reply with a range of answers. My response will be anything from, "Oh? Middle children are awesome? And that explains why I am such a wonderful guy? Cool!" or (twitch)"Why do you..(twitch) say that?"(drool)

Whatever they are diagnosing, I am happy that my birth order is a topic of discussion and people are comfortable enough to discuss my personality quirks in public settings. Oh well, I guess it's OK. You know me, always the people pleaser...wait a minute...hey!

Actually, that is not what I wanted to write about tonight. I have already done a blog about my son, who is awesome, and his battle royale with the toy handcuffs. Now I want to do one sparked by my equally wonderful daughter. She is not a middle child (unless you count our cat as the first born) and the rest of this shouldn't be about birth order at all. Who really knows though, because I never have a plan for these ramblings. I sit down, put my hands on the keyboard, and try to hang on as the babbling commences. Tonight I have a paper cut on my finger so I may not be in good form. It is actually so painful that I am purposefully avoiding words that use this finger from the home row. Hah! Gotcha. I'm am not that smart.
Admit it though...you looked back to see if there were any "d"s or "s"s. Ha! I crack myself up!

OK, that sort of brings me to the topic. My daughter, Kristiana, has offered her opinion about her "100 year old" dad doing "A BLOooooooG!" This is almost always followed by, "He even has a Twitter account!" It has been explained to me, numerous times, that I am not cool in many colorful ways. My daughter, the teenager (you know what I mean) is not holding back! She is letting me know that I am an embarrassment to her, our family, and (if we were Scottish) the entire clan, dating back centuries! She complains out loud, but I think she is secretly proud that the old man is capable of doing something that could actually be cool if I happened to be someone a few decades younger.

I, on the other hand, am quite comfortable here in the middle again. The way I see it, I am far too old for anyone to say, "Wow, he has made millions and he started doing this when he was only .... years old" and I, hopefully, am far too young for someone to say, "(sentence about the millions) And he didn't start until he was..." Sort of between the 10 year old doctor and Grandma Moses! I am thinking that the middle is great. I have enough life experience to have some really cool stories, I have a brain that sees things differently than most other people, and I am having a blast writing. I hope you are enjoying it...whoever you are.

So there you have it. I made it. I have successfully completed another blog entry, even with the horrible pain from the papercut on my finger...my MIDDLE finger!

Product Placement

If you didn't already know, product placement is a fancy term that refers to ever so cleverly hiding advertisements in movies and television without being too obvious about it. The thing is that it is a questionable practice that has become all too commonplace and we, the consumer, often do not even notice when it is happening. I, being ever vigilant, am always on the prowl. When the doctors on Scrubs hold out their "coffee bucks" drinks, I know what they are doing. In movies there are products in kitchens, a car brand is mentioned, or less obvious are the clothes the actors wear. There are even websites designed for online shopping where you can browse through TV shows and purchase anything in the scenes. I am not trying to be funny. This is true.


The ugly truth is that the companies pay huge amounts to be in these places. They are effective when done correctly, not too complementary when done wrong. One of the most famous blunders in product placement was in the movie, ET. The alien was lured into the house using Reese's Pieces not M&Ms. That was only because M&Ms refused to pay the fee charged by the movie production. That was famous! It became legendary! "Did you hear about Reese's Pieces? M&M was really stupid to not pay for that!" For years if you mentioned ET you were almost guaranteed to hear about the M&M mistake.



Now, companies are looking for anybody to mention their product. If a talk show host mentions that he likes Blue Diamond barbecue flavored almonds it is almost guaranteed he will receive several cases shipped to his house. It was not too long ago that I heard about a celebrity that mentioned a certain product and it was sold out the very next day. Can you imagine the possibility for corruption?



I have decided, that I (with this forum) will be entirely ethical and will not reduce myself to this borderline practice. Perhaps poorer but still, I will sleep soundly at night. I will sleep like the people in their DISNEY ROUND THE WORLD CRUISES. I hear those LUXURY CABINS come complete with TEMPURPEDIC MATTRESSES so of course they sleep well. In fact as I look at what should be a ROLEX watch, I see it is almost time to turn off my SONY television and hit the hay. I hope I have a more restful night than I did last night. I dreamed that my new DODGE RAM CREW CAB TURBO DIESEL was pulling a trailer carrying my new MERCEDES, PORSCHE, and CORVETTE to my new 3200 SQUARE FOOT KAUFMANN AND BROAD home. I am so comforted that I have chosen to take the high road...I am told that the high road is currently designed to be able to accommodate 35 FOOT NEWMAR CLASS A MOTOR HOMES.



Keep your fingers crossed!

I need to expand my audience...

We Have A Cat!!


I say it like that because our cat is unseen. We have had people stay over at our house for weeks at a time and are stunned when we mention something about our cat.

"What? You don't have a cat."

"Umm, yeah, we do. She hides during the day."

"Nope, not buying it."


That's a pretty standard response. These people, who then think that I am a liar, never speak to me again. Then I have nobody to tell my silly little stories to. That is why I need to have a bigger audience. I am starting to lose my mind and I have begun talking to the cat.

Every once in a while our cat (who is a story all by herself) will start to meow endlessly. After I figure out that she has enough water, food, and she has clear access to "the box" (I try to be funny, not cruel) I start having a conversation with her.

Meow
"Really?"

Meow
"You don't say. "

Meow
"Well you can obviously see they are not MY panties!"

You know, normal stuff.

I have a blast trying to make up ridiculous things for the cat to 'say'. That is how I amuse myself. I would much rather amuse myself figuring out which is my favorite new vacation spot, but until I get those millions that I am shamelessly trying to get, this is what I am reduced to. This is also a great way to get a grumpy child to smile. Of course our children are always happy but it does get annoying when they are always hugging each other and helping each other with their homework. jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj Sorry about that, my nose grew and hit the keyboard.

Writing this is a fun way for me to pretend that there are people listening to me blather on about weird things that happen around the house. I would hate to think that people weren't listening.
If I continue just being funny alone then I will end up being one of those guys who sits around having conversations with his cat. Wait... What?

And Now an apology...

I have been at this for a week (or so) and I have already made a blogging faux pas. I have maligned the esteemed profession of clowndom. (which is not a word - and also not a birth control item for people who like to wear red noses.) In making this mistake I also managed to offend my entire fan base...my sister...who is an actual clown. No seriously, she is a clown and a nurse. Picture Patch Adams without the movie deal. I would like to correct this mistake and say that being a clown is a wonderful thing. We flew together to Indiana once, and the crying child behind us (and his mother) were very pleased to see her pull various funny things out of her chicken shaped purse. She has also gone with Patch Adams to Russia and I couldn't be more proud of her. I'm very sorry that I acted like such a clown. (D'oh!)

"Surely, you can't be serious!"

Did you ever notice how some lines from movies become part of the cultural identity? Me neither. But, I have determined, after moments of extensive and grueling research, that there are three types of people. People who like to quote lines from movies. People who do not care about lines from movies. And people who do not care about lines from movies but still love the people who do like to quote lines from movies without quite understanding what the big deal is. I am planted solidly in the first group. Lucky for me, Sylvia, my wife, is an eye-rolling member of the third group.

There is a common bond among people who are able to rattle off rapid-fire movie quotes. If you can do it at just the right time and with just the right audience the result can be sublime. Time slows down, cheers from adoring fans can be heard, (picture Ralphie from A Christmas Story getting his A+++ on his theme) and your standing among the "quoters" moves up a notch. If however you choose too obscure a quote or miss the tone of the conversation, you are demoted to the rank of newbie and forced to work your way back up starting at (shudder) "Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a damn." or "Houston, we've had a problem."

Knowing your audience is a big part of the equation. There are some perennial golden-oldie favorites that are widely accepted and understood: "Surely, you can't be serious." is one. "Who ya gonna call?" another. "Cinderella story... It's in the hole!" yet another. It is good to have a solid foundation in the classics.

There are some people who will always laugh at certain quotes, and it is always good to know those if you want to brighten someone's day. I have a buddy, Craig, who is a sucker for a certain quote and is always good for a laugh whenever I say it. It is amazing how many times I can work it into a conversation whenever I talk to him. I am not going to tell it...he needs to make a living and there may some among the twos of people who are reading this who may have nefarious plans of world domination starting with causing Craig to laugh uncontrollably. And he has a family to support after all. Leave the poor guy alone.

Still there are tests to see if you are in the presence of a ranking member of the quote club. When you say, "Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking." and it is followed by "Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue." you are in the presence of a quoter. If you are met by a courteous smile and a the laughter equivalent of a golf clap, well then, "move along. Nothing to see here." I am working my way up the ranking ladder and am fairly competetive so when someone fires a quote at me, time slows down, someone in my head whistles the gonna-be-a-gunfight tune from any Clint Eastwood western, tumbleweeds roll between us, and I fire back a line from the same movie. Game, set, match! I blow the smoke from the end of my finger gun and walk slowly off into the sunset. Ca-ching Ca-ching Ca-ching (which is a bit awkward when I am supposed to be doing something important...and I don't wear spurs.)

My late brother and I could entertain ourselves for hours doing this. In fact I still have some of his movie quotes saved as texts on my phone. He would think it was a hoot that I was trying to make millions (because that is the ultimate goal of writing a blog) by telling about movie quotes. He was such a high ranking member of the quote club I very seriously considered standing up at his memorial service and saying a line from City Slickers, "Lord, we give you Danny. Try not to piss him off."

Until next time, "It's scientific experiments for the lot of you."

You Thought I was Kidding!

I feel the need to start by saying that my children are brilliant, talented, and wonderful. They have gifts that I never had, they have hearts as big as the outdoors, and they are destined for wonderful things in whatever they choose to do. I believe that with my whole heart. Most of the time.

Having said that, I want to say that there are times when they, individually or together, decide to prove that we are living in a sitcom.

Today, as we were getting ready to go on a bike ride, Jake found a pair of toy handcuffs in a corner of the garage. Do not ask me why we had a pair of toy handcuffs in the garage, I don't know. All I know is that they were there, Jake was there, and they were drawn to each other like a moth to a flame. If handcuffs were able to move on their own, the boy and the toy would have seemed very natural running toward each other in slow motion across a flower covered prairie. Jake holds them up to me to ask where they came from.
"They are yours."
"No they're not."
"You've had them for years."
"Not these."
"They are yours."
"I'm sure they aren't mine."
"They look like the ones you've had for years."
"No they're not. See." CLICK


Now I ask you....Click? Seriously?
Then he says, "See! I can take mine right off and these are stuck."
I tell you, I have never been so proud. Nothing like going all out to prove a point. If he had the means I am sure he would have clicked these on himself while shut up in a steamer trunk dangling over a tank filled with hungry sharks! He wanted to prove that these, indeed, were not his.
Mission accomplished!

In addition to proving that these were not his, he managed to prove that his father could not have been a prison escapee, a locksmith, or a magician. These "toy" metal handcuffs and their toy release mechanism would not let go of my temporarily logic-impaired son. As I am firing up the acetylene torch and making the final adjustments on my welding helmet Jake runs into the house. A few minutes later he comes out, handcuffs IN hand instead of ON hand and he is twirling the key on his finger. Turns out the key to his other handcuffs fits into these. He is free, we are ready to go on our bike ride.

The ride, wonderful...the day, great...the weather, beautiful...all is right with the world.

These are the kinds of things that keep life interesting here on our own version of a sitcom. He gave me permission to write about it. I hope he doesn't regret that decision later on. And I hope, should he have a son, he will remember this episode when he tries to prove to him that the bench was just painted by sitting on it.

Live public service announcements! What will they think of next!?

Tonight the kids had a scavenger hunt in the mall. Sylvia and I decided to grab a bite to eat while we waited for them to run around and get Burger King crowns, applications for employment, shopping bags, and Jimmy Hoffa's pocket watch. (we live in a rough neighborhood-plus, I know a guy)

Anyway, we sat at a table for four. I sat next to Sylvia (pause for the "that's sweet" and "ahhh's" to die down) and ordered our drinks, an appetizer, and started to hear the PSA.

These two gentlemen were sitting perpendicular to our table separated by a half wall. The unfortunate layout of this restaurant, which for legal purposes I will not name but it rhymes with Bed Bobbin and could be called the Crimson Bird of Spring, made it so their conversation was ours as well. Had he made a quarter turn with his head he could have whispered sweet nothings into my darling bride's ear. Well he could have except that I am almost certain that he was genetically incapable of anything quieter than "I FORGOT THAT YOU CAN'T HEAR THE MUSIC ON MY IPOD BECAUSE ONLY I AM WEARING HEADPHONES!"

I figured, I am with Sylvia, we are going to enjoy our time, I can deal with loud. I do, however, have a hard time dealing with loud crap. For those of you who have taken to heart the phrase, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." you may want to stop reading now and try again another day. For those of you who end that saying with,"...come sit by me!" Pull up a chair.

Well this clown starts by talking about how he is the best freestyle rapper ever and that no one can "lay down sweet rhymes" like he can. If he wanted to, he could "bust out 4 and a half minutes of pure gold" right there. But his rhymes are his "intellectual property" and "big word" this and "even bigger word used incorrectly" that, and blah blah blah. Swear swear blah de blah... You get the idea.

Now as an aside, I do not put a lot of stock into looks in terms of your profession. If the kid with the jewelry in his face treats me with the respect I try to earn from him, then we get along famously. If the guy in the tuxedo is being a jerk, then he is a jerk. Having said that, I somehow feel it is wrong for a self-proclaimed king to the freestyle rappers to look like Pee Wee Herman and Art Garfunkel somehow had a love child. I understand that I am being shallow, but he brought it on himself. (Art Garfunkel was the Caucasian, afro wearing other half of Simon and Garfunkel. Google his pic and think "rapper?". Also, I am NOT old!)

Back to my story. Looks and swearing aside, he then begins to tell a story about a "smokeout" he had with his boss. His female boss decided to get some meth so she would have the energy to do something for work. He was worried about getting paid for part of the drugs and she forgot her wallet and "drug phrase" this and "drug phrase with swearing" that and you get the idea again. Then he moved into other people who have also tried to cheat him while partaking of his own private chemical depository and he was none too pleased about it. He said in a much more colorful way and I wished I could have DVR'd the conversation so I could replay it and then relay the special nuances, but alas.

Then, he started talking about his skills as a lethal weapon. He had studied all over the country and continued to go right to the brink of having to register himself as a lethal weapon and then quit. He was going to do this until "they" caught on to him and put him away.

Now remember, there are two people here. Otherwise this paranoid drug dealing rapper would have been talking to himself. He might as well have been because the Lenny to his Squiggy was doing nothing but nodding and urging him on with the occasional monosyllabic filler. I have now decided that the only thing worse than listening to someone who is full of crap, is to watch someone hang onto every word of crap like it was truth from on high. It was truly amazing.

It continued like this for quite a while and Sylvia, the little trooper, was doing a good job at not laughing. Good thing, we were sitting within the strike zone of this multi-disciplinarial (I know it's not a word) killing machine. They ended up leaving before we did and then it hit me. I wish the kids were there to see this. This was the best anti drug ad I had ever seen! Not only would they have been scared away from drugs in the present, I am sure this anti-drug message would have been powerful enough to last a lifetime!

I Smell Pretty...Oh So Pretty...

Yes, this lovely morning I am feeling somewhat festive. More alert. Ready to, perhaps, ride a white horse on the beach in slow motion. The cause? Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

The following should be read in your best imaginary TV announcer's voice...you know, the voice at the end of commercials that state use of this product may result in death and dismemberment.

The following post, while not being explicit may inadvertently cause trauma. The writers of this silliness wish to inform you that by continuing to read you are agreeing to the terms of this disclaimer and you shall hold harmless all parties involved. Furthermore, should you get a mental image that you find disturbing, you realize that they have not yet invented "mental floss" and you could be stuck with said image like someone who comes back from Disneyland is stuck with It's a Small World for quite some time.

Still here? Let's venture on.

So I am in the shower this morning... getting ready to squeeze a little "Manly Body Wash" onto my imported European scrunchy thingy and the most I can get is...sssssspt sssssspt. Curses, foiled again! Whoever said that you should use liquid soap in the size of a coin didn't account for the fact that my children would envision the large, carved, stone coins of Easter Island (They are not from there, nor would a 7 foot diameter coin fit into our shower...creative license. Sue me.) Goodness knows why but I am now faced with the choice between smelling like tangerine infused with white ginger, and smelling...period.

So now I smell like a life saver. Were I still in junior high, I would get beaten up for sure. I might be worried except that I am going to watch a black belt test today and they are trained to watch out for the weak and pitiful. If I was going to a super model convention I would be terrified! I mean a life saver? That probably represents food intake for the entire year! I would be toast (or at least served on toast...low carb of course).

So as I wish my friends who are taking the test luck, I ask that you wish me luck...I would hate to run into someone from junior high...or a super model!

Do NOT let this happen to you...

This is embarrassing to admit but I have a monkey on my back. Actually it is more of a mouse than a monkey, but I am finally ready to admit that I have a problem. You may try to guess that the mouse might be "The Mouse"...you know...M-O-U-S-EEEEEEEE, but it isn't him. My mouse is the illegitimate child of the second cousin to Mickey. Yes, I am talking about the 6 foot 2 inch tall rodent that IS Charles Emerson Cheese. Known only to his closest friends as Chuck E. (Truth be told I do have an affinity for the grandaddy of all mice, and his good pal Goofy, but that is for another day)

It started out as a friendly sort of thing. A birthday party here, a t-ball gathering there. Now I have moved onto the hard stuff...fund raising for schools. Oh sure I can pretend I have the best of intentions and only want to support them by donating 15% of the proceeds of the night to our schools, but actually I am there for the coins.

"But Honey, if we only spend another 8 dollars we get an additional 100 tokens!"

I know the only place they are useful is this place, but I still feel like Bill Gates when I walk away from the counter with TWO plastic cups filled with little counterfeit quarters. I mean it's like I have discovered another country where the exchange rate is ridiculously in my favor! This is get-a-lobster-dinner-for-72-cents good.

But let's face it, even if you were to spend your entire take home pay on tokens, play skeeball until you needed carpal tunnel surgery, and win enough tickets to fill a wheelbarrow, you would still only be able to walk out of there with a miniature lava lamp filled with glitter and three Tootsie Rolls. But still, it's like a casino in there! Pay for the pizza and wait for the coin dispenser to start paying off! Chingching chingchingching ching ching chingchingching...98, 99, 100...101! HAH! It gave us an extra! In YOUR Face!! I stuck it to The Man! Ok, breathe, breathe, happy place, happy place, serenity now. fooooooo.

Well I have sunk to a new low. True story. The kid who delivers the pizzas to the table has recognized me. "Hey sir. Weren't you here at the beginning of the week?" Busted! "Yes." I meekly offer. "We are here for another school's fund raiser." But he just gave me a sideways glance and walked away leaving me there with my shame, and my single order of buffalo wings.

There it is. My rock bottom. I have sunk to a new low. I am done. Cold turkey (sandwiches). I shall not darken their door ever again. Get thee behind me Mouse! I can do it, one day at a time...until I tuck my son into bed tonight. Unprovoked and unaware he declares, "Dad, we should go to Chuck E. Cheese more often! I am getting really good at the games!"

Curses!!

I need some sleep. Anybody want to buy a slightly used miniature lava lamp?

A little about the title...

All right. You "give people millions of dollars" types are really dragging your feet. I may just have to do something to kill the time while I wait. Not that I have anything against time. I bear it no ill will. If I were to meet time in a bar I might just buy it a beer. But just one...if time were to get tipsy who knows what would happen? But I digress...



About the title;

I once heard from a comedian that they were a sitcom...Single Income Two Children Oppressive Mortgage...S.I.T.C.O.M. Not only does that describe me to a "t" but it seems that I may be in a situation comedy as well. I have always said that there is nothing quite so wonderful as the sound of laughter in a living room. I encourage this. And have, more than once, needed to apologize for the new word I taught the kids, the sensibility I offended, or just crossed over the line. Usually, when laughter is the goal, I end up in the another time zone saying something like, "Line? What line? I don't remember seeing a line. Are you sure it's me that did that?"



Another reason I chose this title is that I am CONVINCED that there are people from the comic strips who have installed tiny little cameras all over our house and are recording all the silly little things that happen here to use in their strips. Personally I think it would be decent of them to finally give me a royalty from all of this hysterical material we are providing, but I understand that they would then have to admit what they had done so it won't happen. Additionally, I think it would be nice to know which rooms have the cameras because it would be nice to be able to have at least one room where I didn't need to suck in my gut.

All right, I promise that whenever something happens that makes milk come flying out of the nose of one or more members of the household I will try to convince the parties involved to let me tell you all...even if the names will be changed to protect the hysterical. I may start by telling you about the time SOMEONE fell on his backside while trying to be impressive and jump over a puddle...I meant to do that.

You mean I need to keep doing this?

All right, I have waited, (patiently I might add) to be discovered and offered millions(plural) of dollars to write my book. Then someone told me that I may have to write again. So here it is...I have officially written again. I am ready to be lauded.

tap, tap, tap, ...

anytime...

OK, I'll check back.


P.S. My sister is not a liar.

Is my sister a liar?

Hello there. I have no idea what I am doing and I don't have any idea who would want to read this but here goes.

So I just watched the movie Julie and Julia. You know, the movie about a girl who wrote a blog about cooking through the Julia Child cookbook in a year. Anyway, I remembered something my sister once told me. "If you write a blog I will read it." I was the brother who disrupted dinners and had to clean up when everyone shot milk out their noses. So here I am, finding out if my sister is a liar.
I have always loved words and humor and found out that when I write people seem to enjoy it. I wanted to be the next Ray Orrock. He was the humor columnist in the local paper here in the east bay of California. He had a way with words and would make me laugh daily. He even printed a few of my ideas in his column, giving me credit, I guess I will see if I can make you smile here. If you are looking for credentials (apart from the numerous college degrees I possess) I am considered by my friends to be darn funny on the Facebook comment circuit. I have also been getting requests for my family Christmas letter! Do you hear me? Requests! And, even if I do have to toot my own horn, my responses to e-mails have been passed from classroom to classroom all across this great land (well the great land that happens to be in our school and most of the playground).

My ultimate goal is to a) be discovered as a comedic genius and offered millions to write a series of childrens books, have my life story made into a movie (John Goodman will play me) and b) to buy a really delicious pineapple shake!

So that's it. I am officially a blogger. I'm out.