New song

Carrot Jello cracks me up. Her post about her out-of-state laugh (I would normally link to it, but it is untitled with no hyperlink available) had me in stitches, but it also introduced me to a great song I'd never heard before.

Since then, I've been playing it for pretty much everyone who will let me.

... And now, that includes you.

You're welcome.



Video of VV Brown's Leave.

Incoming!

A coworker showed me this video:



He was cracking up, and when I saw it, all I could do was stare. This little girl's ... enthusiasm is a perfect clone of my daughter.

All I could think is that this is what we have to look forward to. I don't know if I will have enough energy to keep up.

Soap Operas for Boys

I had an epiphany last week about sports.

(Tangent)
I'm one of a few men out there who don't really care about sports. This means I probably need to give up a man card, but my wife loves it.

As a result, I feel like I'm the real winner in all this, despite the public ridicule.
(End Tangent)

As I listened to a couple male coworkers discuss some recent events in college football and how one of their favorite players may have left ...

... but then came back ...

... but then may not have been able to play for the team ...

... but then ended up starting ...

... I realized that sports are the male equivalent of soap operas.


Have you ever watched as a bunch of guys gather around the TV, anxious to find out whether or not the field goal will be good or the free throw will make it in? Have you notice their reaction when it doesn't?

Switch out the Super Bowl for "Days of Our Lives" and a 6th inning for a cat fight between some girl and her evil twin, and B-I-N-G-O.

Granted, soap operas have a little more melodrama, but after watching some guy nearly throw his chair through his window when he thinks the ref made a bad call, I'm starting to wonder if college football may actually have a leg up on daytime TV.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Grow Bioluminescent Algae at Home

I don't think I've ever wanted to be a science geek more in my life than after I saw this.

Painfully True

Does anyone remember this video? I still think it's awesome.

But this one is great too, and it's a relief I'm not the only one who couldn't manage to put the stupid game together correctly.

For those with sensitive ears, be prepared for a few bleeped out swear words.

Bliss

This is where we went on vacation. Just looking at this picture brings back all the relaxation from last week.


I felt like a pile of Jello for a few days, but I had zero guilt.

However, my daughter didn't get the memo that we were on a relaxing vacation. She stayed a bouncy ball of energy the entire time. Fortunately, my wife is a genius and brought markers, playdough, bubbles, fairy wands, movies and her scooter, so we were able to manage even my daughter's manic personality pretty well.

Watching her flit from activity to activity gave me even more appreciation for my mom. I was pretty much identical, and I don't know how she kept up with me.

In case you're wondering ...

I went on a vacation last week. I had a few posts in the queue for while I was gone, but my brain is still recovering from going numb during the 12 hours staring at the road on the drive back.

Oh, and I will never, NEVER stay at the Excalibur in Las Vegas again. Never.

Never.

I thought it would be fun for my daughter, since she regularly pretends she's Sleeping Beauty and I'm Prince Phillip. I had fond memories from childhood when I stayed there with my own parents.

I remember a bunch of kid stuff to do and a great family atmosphere.

What did I find this time?

1. The rooms have the same decorations and threadbare carpet from the original construction.
2. The first "non-smoking" room we were given smelled like an army of chain smokers had lived there for a few years. That room also had a couple "mystery stains" on the tapestry on the wall. *shudder* Thankfully, they moved us to another room that wouldn't give my daughter lung cancer.
3. The cool carnival type stuff has gone the way of the Dodo. Now, there are a bunch of trashy stores and a food court. Yep. A food court. Evidently, McDonald's and Starbucks has been around since the Medieval era.
4. Getting equal billing with Tournament of Kings (something I remember from the glory days) is another show called Thunder from Down Under.
5. Right inside the front entrance was a platform with a go-go dancer perched on top. Is there a word for something smaller than a string bikini? If so, that's what she was wearing. Thankfully, my daughter didn't notice her gyrating around in broad daylight.

I know Las Vegas typically caters to adults, but I didn't realize that attitude had crept so completely into everything. Thankfully, the preceding vacation was so awesome, even this adventure couldn't dampen it.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Rattlesnake Proof a Backyard

I grew up in an area with rattlesnakes. They weren't an infestation, but I always had to listen for their rattles when I was exploring the hill near our house.

Blast from the Past

Does anyone remember the movie, Life with Mikey?

I loved this movie when I was younger, and Cyndi Lauper was surprisingly funny in it.

Wedding Videos ... The New "Vacation Slides"

A friend of mine told me about a wedding dinner he went to recently where part of the program (the phrase "PART of the program" will have alarming connotations by the end of this story) involved watching the couple's wedding video.

The video went on for 45 minutes.

45.

MINUTES.

It reminded me of the old days when people would get you to come over to their house so they could subject you to 485 slides depicting their latest vacation to Death Valley.

Part of me wonders if forcing this kind of torture on people has the ability to lower their IQ a few points (someone should do a study).

Humble Pie

I'm late to the game on this one, but this video helped me with a little dose of perspective.

I get bogged down thinking my problems are enormous, and then something like this comes along and gives me a big helping of humble pie.

Now I feel like I've been wailing over a stubbed toe or a hangnail.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Keep Car Windows Fog Free Using a Potato

Somehow I can't imagine this will result in a sparkling clean windshield.

The Eagle Project Disaster

You know those obnoxious little kids who line up when they're supposed to after recess, who always throw their garbage in the trash and who feel the need to follow their teachers' instructions to the letter?

I was one of those kids (with a surprisingly low wedgie ratio).

I was also a Boy Scout (and I probably would have made a great Hall Monitor if I'd been given the opportunity).


I was a Boy Scout, not because I love camping or can't wait to skin a rattlesnake.

I was a Boy Scout because all my brothers were Boy Scouts, my dad and his brothers were Boy Scouts and my grandpa was a Boy Scout.

(Tangent)
My grandma had a great sense of humor. She kept all the Eagle mother's pins from her grandsons' Eagle ranks on a charm bracelet. There was one grandson who didn't get his Eagle, and every time he came over, she would feel the weight of the charm bracelet on her wrist and say, "Hmm, something's missing ... I wonder what it is ..."
(End Tangent)

I got my Eagle out of duty. But for the record, I'm still glad I did. One of the things I tried to do during those years of itchy, puke-colored socks and short shorts was to tailor the entire process to my own interests. Since I liked music, I made sure to get the Music Merit Badge.

Since I liked to read, I wanted my Eagle Project to involve getting a bunch of book donations for the local library. While everyone else was digging ditches in the desert and maintaining hiking trails, I wanted to be different.

I went to the library and spoke with a lady who assured me they would love to receive book donations, either for inclusion on their shelves or to sell at the next book sale. Then I went to work organizing the project.

I selected a grid of the city in which to work, and on one Saturday, we passed out fliers. The next Saturday, we went around to collect all the books from those willing to donate.

(Tangent)
One house had 20 file boxes full of romance novels. 20. Boxes.

The kicker was that they were all organized, not by author, but by publisher.
(End Tangent)

It was a rousing success, and we had tons of books to take down to the library loading dock.

(By the way, if you're still reading this, I owe you a candy bar.)

When I got to the dock, the guy at the door said, "Oh, we don't accept book donations."

I was dumbfounded. He got his manager, and when she came to the door, she repeated their policy. I replied, "But I spoke with someone a couple months ago who said you would be happy to take them if I organized it for my Eagle Project.

"Who did you speak with?" she asked.

When I gave her the woman's name, she let out an exasperated sigh and told me just to leave the books on the loading dock, and they would take care of it.

And that is the way I ended my career as a Boy Scout, knowing that the 100+ hours I spent working on a project was completely wasted and that the 60 boxes of books we collected probably ended up in the dumpster.

Potty Training

(While I'd love to blog about something cool or hip, this is all I've got today.)


My daughter has shown absolutely no interest in potty training. Rather than push her into it, we've decided to wait until she shows signs of being ready.

The way this tactic is going, I'm starting to wonder if she'll head off to 6th grade someday still strapped into Huggies.

My wife recently bought a book about potty training at one of those neighborhood "parties" where people try to get you to buy stuff.

The book has a little boy who is tired of wearing diapers because they get soggy and smelly. They also get in the way. The boy realizes that his pets and stuffed animals don't wear diapers, so he decides he can be potty trained.

The book ends with him on his little potty.

My daughter has her father's swift synapses and is totally missing the point of this book.

Instead of realizing the freeing benefits of a diaperless world, she only had one thing to say when my wife finished reading the book to her:

"Where's his mommy? Where's his mommy? She needs to change his diaper. Where's his mommy?"

Patting Myself on the Back

Since most of this blog focuses on exposing my own embarrassing stories for public ridicule, I thought I would share two compliments I received in the past that I was just reminded about the other day.

Bear in mind, my legitimate compliment list is pretty meager, so this will not be an extended habit.

Compliment #1:

When my wife and I were engaged, she confided in me that she always prayed about the boys she dated to see if she would be happy marrying them. In every case, she received the answer, "Yes, you will be happy." Then she would ask, "But will I be the happiest I can be?" The inevitable response was always, "No." That is ... until yours truly came around. In my case, she got a resounding "Yes, you will be as happy as you can be."

I will forever be grateful that she received that answer because it would be impossible for me to find anyone that could make me happier than my wife. This thought was triggered by Laughing at Life's Little Wedgies. She tells a great story about her own experience meeting her future husband and waiting for the right one.

The moral: Don't settle.

Compliment #2

During our reception, there were four other receptions going on in the Mormon community that same evening in my wife's hometown. She grew up in a rural area, and her dad was good friends with a "persnickety" old farmer. After going to all the receptions, he pulled my wife's dad aside and said, "I've been to all the receptions tonight, and your son-in-law is the only one that isn't a dud."

Bear in mind that is probably the biggest compliment I could have received from him.

The moral: Be really happy at your reception to the point that you eagerly greet all of the strangers that already know your new wife really well. Being giddy enough to have a perma-smile plastered on your face couldn't hurt either (allegedly).

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Play the Saw

Maybe this would be cool, but I should probably focus on rehashing the piano lessons my parents paid for when I was younger.

I don't want to appear ungrateful or anything.