Lost in Translation #7

I DON'T WANT YOU SEEING HIM/HER:

Example:
               Parent: I don't want you seeing that Melissa girl, her and her family are nothing but trouble. Isn't she wanted by homeland security?
                 Child: That was a misunderstanding, she was just holding the explosives for her mother.

Parent's Definition: My child will not date, associate with, talk to or have contact with the person in question.
     Child's Definition: I'm saving every penny I can beg, borrow or steal to buy them an engagement ring.
Child's Definition #2:  Mom, Dad....I'm pregnant.


 

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Short term memory

    Yesterday my 9 year old was in my bedroom playing some Madden. While he was doing that I was working on the computer in the kitchen.
    Screams of joy and elation burst from the bedroom, my son is jumping up and down and cheering himself horse. "Yeah!" and "Woo hoo!" and other things that sound like "did you see that?" "Touchdown!" and something about Roethlisberger stream out of the bedroom for an unnaturally long time. The jumping is rattling nick knacks and my nerves. So I holler into the bedroom "ok boy that's enough, you can calm down now!" Which he does to my amazement. Wow, he actually listened, so I check the calendar, nope not my birthday.
     A few minutes pass and I finish up what I was doing and go into the bedroom to check up on my son who is still playing Madden and is using the Steelers to put a whooping on the hated Baltimore Ravens, I'm very proud.
    Swelling with this fatherly pride I ask my son about his outburst.
"Did you score a hundred yard touchdown or something?"
"No."
"So what happened?"
"When?"
"A few minutes ago boy."
"What are you talking about."
"When you were screaming and cheering and jumping up and down"
"About what dad?"
"That's what I'm asking you."
"I don't know what you're talking about dad."
"Oh my god, just a few minutes ago you were screaming and yelling and jumping."
"About what?"
"That's what I want to know."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
AAAARRRRGGGGGG!
You will never convince me my children aren't conspiring to drive me crazy.

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Lost in Translation #6

TURN THAT DOWN.

           Example:
                          Parent: Turn that down! I'm trying to watch something
                           Child: What!?

    Parent's Definition: Lower the volume on your stereo so that I can NOT hear it.
      Child's Definition: I will lower the volume by one. What? why are you looking at me like that? I turned it down like you asked.
 Child's Definition #2: WHAT!?

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Do you need anything?

    Today is the last day of school before summer vacation for my youngest. My wife being the good mother that she is has been asking the boy for a week about any end of school year parties or activities. "Are you having a party?" and "Do you need any snacks for the last day?" were among the questions asked on a daily basis for a week. Inevitably the answer was always "No".
    Yesterday evening upon leaving the house I mentioned that I was going to the store and asked the demon spawn I lovingly refer to as my children if we needed anything. Again the answer was "No". 
    After dinner we all sat in the living room watching some Doctor Who, a personal favorite of my children. I was feeling good. It had been a decent day, the children were content, and I was reveling in the fact that for one last night I could send the kids to bed early under the guise that tomorrow was still a school day. My last peace for more than two months.
    Sometime after 8:30 p.m. my youngest sits bolt upright on the couch, a distressed look claims his face. A panicked and shaky voice asks "Dad, can you get me a snack for my party tomorrow?"
Yet another mini-stroke rattles dad.
    You will never convince me my children aren't holding clandestine weekly meetings where they think up new ways to mess with dad.
    
   

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USA

   I'm inspired to take a break from the normal format of this blog to be amazed, to be a fan. If you were unfortunate enough to miss the USA-Algeria game this morning then I feel sorry for you because you just missed a great moment in USA sports history.
   After a second horrible call by refs against USA in this World Cup it looked a little dark for us. A bad Offside call took a goal away from USA. A game of back and forth non-stop attack by both teams resulted in chance after chance, dramatic near misses over and over.
    Going into stoppage time score still 0-0 and USA being 4 minutes of stoppage time away from going home, eliminated and cheated by referees TWICE, the Yanks never quit, never gave up, and never stopped believing.
   With two minutes left in stoppage, the game, and the World Cup for USA a relentless attack changed the World Cup.  A shot and a rebound gave USA biggest soccer star Landon Donovan saw the game slow to a stop as he slammed the ball into the back of the net for a 1-0 win. In the matter of 2 minutes USA changed their fate from going home the team that was cheated out of a chance, and as always the lovable losers to being the team that WON their group topping even mighty England for the spot.
    I wanted both USA and England to go through and they did. USA just did it as Americans do when they are at their best;dramatically. Like an amazing and inspiring Hollywood movie USA did what they do best, shock the world.

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Lost in Translation #5

CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF.

                 Example:
                                Parent: When you are done eating clean up after yourself.
                                 Child: Mumbles something incoherent while stuffing their face with macaroni and cheese.

           Parent's Definition: When you are done with what you are doing completely clean the area you are using and have dirtied.
             Child's Definition: I will pick up one obvious thing so it looks like I tried while not actually putting any effort into cleaning up my mess, that includes the food they dropped all over the floor.
              Notes: Pointing out that they left this mess will only be met with the phrase "I didn't see it." which makes me wonder if all children do not suffer from selective blindness.

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Happy Fathers Day

    Just wanted to drop a quick note and say Happy Fathers day to all the dads. Thanks to all the mom's who are going to make the day special for all of us, and thanks to the kids for all the ties, home made cards, and clay ashtrays even though we don't smoke.
     Have a great day Dad's you've earned it, well most of you.

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Saturday Morning

    So much has changed since I was a kid. Sadly there is a lot that my children will never get to experience. Who would have thought something as simple as those great Saturday mornings would be one of them.
    I remember so vividly waking up early on Saturday, wiping the sleep from my eyes and plodding to the living room in my Spider-Man pajamas. By the way I still occasionally sleep in Spider-Man boxers, eat your heart out ladies.
    First thing I'd do was turn on the TV before grabbing my bowl of Lucky Charms (OK, SOME things never change) and plop down for a great morning of cartoons. The charm of those days are undeniable.
      Some of you remember Saturday morning cartoons right? Now there are more than a half dozen whole networks dedicated to 24hour a day cartoons but no more great network toons on Saturday morning.  All those channels feeding non-stop kiddie-crack is just not the same as those mornings that we saw as our special time.
      I still smile wide if someone remembers 70s cartoons such as the Krofft shows like Electra Woman and Dyna-girl, or Land of the Lost. Holly Marshall with those pigtails, plaid shirt and bell-bottoms, was very hot to a 6 year-old, in fact she was my first imaginary girlfriend. I've grown up since then of course, now Angelina Jolie is my new imaginary girlfriend, unless Felicia Day or Megan Pryce are reading this, then...Hey, how you doin'? 
    what about Wonderbug. Come on whats not to love about a cartoon starring a magical VW Beetle, just awesome. Who doesn't laugh at the call of Captain Caveman! or its concept of being Charlie's Angels with a caveman. Not to mention the epic Super Friends and Josie and the Pussycats. Anyone remember The Secrets of Isis and Shazam! live action?
      Do you really think ours kids are gonna have those kind of fond memories of Chowder or Adventure Time. I highly doubt it, in fact most modern cartoons are so disgusting that I'm offended watching them. It's not just my sensibilities that are offended but my intelligence as well. How many snot jokes can you fit into a half hour anyway? Not to say that there are no good cartoons in recent memory. In fact I thought that Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends was fantastic.
      The 80's was a little harder because my sister was old enough to fight for TV time. So as much as I loved Transformers, GI Joe, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and The Real Ghostbusters she had her own ideas. I mistakenly thought that being older and bigger it would be no problem to get my way. I highly underestimated the power of my sisters right foot. To this day I am amazed that I was able to have children.
    After one of her power kicks the TV would eventually end up on something like Strawberry Shortcake, Smurfs or Snorks not to mention Rainbow Brite, and Pound Puppies. We did eventually agree on shows like My Pet Monster and K.I.D.S. Incorporated though.
       There was of course the king of cartoons, pound for pound still the greatest animation in the history of Saturday mornings and beyond. The Warner Brothers Looney Tunes. Was anything better ever created than that catalog of toons?  Bugs Bunny along with Spider-Man are still heroes to me. 
    Bugs, Daffy, Wile E Coyote and Road Runner...Beep Beep Zoooom. Taz, Marvin the Martian, Porky, Sylvester and Tweety all still rule the cartoon kingdom in my opinion, and even these greats have disappeared from the Saturday morning schedule and it breaks my heart.
      Saturday morning and it's simple charms is just one of many things that have disappeared from our children's lives, and it's a shame. My neighborhood no longer has daily pick-up baseball games, or even a paperboy. It makes me sad to see simple things that were part of American life fade away and be forgotten.
       So next time your children are watching some lame Nick or Cartoon Network show that has more body function references than a Kevin Smith movie, take a moment to mourn for what your children are missing and what you had the honor of enjoying. So until next time...Th...Th...That's All Folks!

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Lost in translation #4

BECAUSE I SAID SO.

Example:
               Parent: Go to bed.
                 Child: Why?
               Parent: Because I said so.
                 Child : That's not fair.

Parent's Definition: I don't know why, it's just what I want and I'm the parent damn it.
  Child's Definition: They Don't have a reason they are just mean.

ACTUAL Translation Of above example:
                Parent: Go to bed.
                 Child: Why?
                Parent: Because me and your father want to break out the handcuffs and ball gag and we can't until your ass in bed. Now hurry Momma needs a spankin'.
                  Child: You don't have a reason, you're just mean.

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Lost in Translation #3

NOT A MINUTE LATER:

Example:
                Child: Mom, I'm going to Jenny's house for a while.
               Parent: Ok but I want you home by 10 and not a minute later.

Parent's Definition: My child will be in this house before the clock strikes 10, and I don't mean 5 seconds before either. 
Child's Definition: Well it's already 10 o'clock so I might as well stay longer, I wouldn't want to disobey and be a minute late.

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The mandatory bad driver article.

    Every essayist, writer, comedian and columnist has to do "the bit" about bad drivers. It's the law people so just deal with it, seriously look it up.
    The most common complaint is of course about women drivers, especially slow women. This has not been my experience at all. Take my sister for example. Her car no longer has any usable handles on the passenger side. They have all been ripped off by people clutching them in a death grip when she takes a corner. On the other side of the coin is my step-father who is a muscle car enthusiast but is regularly cussed out by Amish in horse drawn carts and aged Asian woman pulling rickshaws.
    In fact I can't count the times that I've been driving down the road doing 60MPH in a 50 zone and some young lady blows by me beeping and throwing me the finger for going to slow. I don't get mad though, in fact I will follow them, after all I need to be able to tell my wife where that to-die-for shoe sale is. Of course she was in a hurry, those sexy, strappy, black pumps that are like the other seven pairs she owns aren't going to be there long. Yeah I went there, What are you gonna do about it?
    I told my wife that my next wife was going to be The Little Mermaid so I wouldn't have to worry about the shoe thing. And she is kinda hot.

    One of the things that will make my wife cringe and duck for cover in preparation of the stream of obscenities I'm about to spew forth is pick-up trucks. I apologize in advance to friends and family that drive them but facts are facts. There seems to be some sort of weird brain-suck that happens when someone steps into a pick-up, they suddenly become stupid (if they weren't already.)
    I'm not just talking about the drunk woman who slammed into my back end or the guy who took out my left fender because he "forgot to stop" or even the guy who crushed my front end because he didn't think the DO NOT ENTER sign meant him. All driving pick-ups. I'm talking about the general dumb-ass, and the red-neck who have bumper stickers that say STUPID things like "Guns don"t kill people I do." or "I support George W Bush." I know those are supposed to be funny but they aren't so just stop it. Someday I'm going to have to explore the connection between pick-ups, Republicans and the need to murder furry creatures.
    I always wanted to strangle the guys at work who would pull their pick-ups in backwards having the bed completely covering the walkway and then get pissed at you when you asked them to move so the rest of the world could get in. I had to be careful though. I didn't want them to go pull their guns out of the back window with the rebel flag on it, shoot me and then brag to their friends about what amazing sportsmen they are.
    What really kills me though are the city dwellers with the pick-ups. What's the point? ok you live in an apartment complex do you need it so you can go fence the back 40? Is it so you can carry the bales of hay for your cattle? Or is it so you can throw on your John Deere cap, grab your 12 pack of Buuuud, and pack of smokes and convince the people at the fast food joint where you work that the reason you can't read is because your a red-neck?
      I've asked these urbanites about owning farm vehicles and the usual answer is something like "Well, if people need to move or something it comes in handy." Hello! see, stupid. Instead of spending one weekend a month carrying furniture for people you haven't seen since high school  wouldn't it be easier to have the conversation go something like this.
"Hey buddy long time no see, I'm in the process of moving. What are you doing this weekend by the way?"
"Sorry I can't help you I drive a Neon."
    Why would you encourage people to ask you to give yourself a hernia loading their appliances in the back of your vehicle for the promise of a warm beer and cold pizza.

    I have a personal pet peeve that needs to be passed along. When you are driving down the road and turn into a parking lot, FINISH the turn BEFORE you start searching for a parking spot with your ass still in the lane and squealing brakes and crushing metal sounding behind you. Just pass this along if you would, Thanks.

    Apparently there is a need for a law against texting while driving. That should be a joke in and of itself but apparently this is a huge problem. My personal thought is this law is for the same people we need to add "Do not use in the bathtub" to a toasters instruction manual.
    Would you ever drive down the road reading a novel? or writing a letter? How do we allow these people to even have a license? There should be a conditional "Stupid Clause" attached so you can be stripped of you license if you're too stupid to be trusted with a one ton killing machine (Refer to the pick-up paragraphs).
    There is also a law against talking on cell phones while driving in a lot of places (that no one follows). I kinda get if the phone rings you answer it, we are all conditioned to that but I constantly see these woman talking away laughing and joking, holding conversations and I can't figure it out. I mean what the hell is SOOO damn important that we need to have a conversation while driving? What did we do a decade ago before every 3 year old had their own cell phone? What is so important that it can't wait until you get home? Oh, I get it. It's that girl who blew by me earlier at 80MPH telling her friend about the new shoes. Ok never mind then, as long as it's REALLY important.
      Drive safe you knuckleheads that's no joke. Some of us just want to make it home to the people we love...and our families :)
    

   
   
   
   
     

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Lost in Translation #2

I'VE GOT A JOB FOR YOU:
          Example:
                         Parent: Hey Junior, I have a job for you. Don't go anywhere.
                          Child: Ooooh (While rolling eyes)
                         
       Parent's Definition: I have a small task for you to perform. Which I don't think is asking a lot from the person who not only brought you into this world, but pays for your food, clothes, shelter, medical, stereo, cell phone, Xbox, CDs, Ipod, soccer camp....
          Child's Definition: O.M.G. It's like a slave labor camp around here. I'm going to conveniently disappear now.

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Lost in translation #1

IN A MINUTE:
Example:
               Parent: Junior, will you let the dog out?
               Child: Yes mother, in a minute.

 Parent's Definition: In sixty seconds my child will get up and let the dog out.

Child's Definition: I'm going to sit here until I get yelled at and threatened with punishment. Why do I have to do everything around here? I just let the dog out a month ago, it can't possibly have to go to the bathroom again.

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Another bed time story.

               Dad is in the living room watching a baseball game with Mom and the boys.

8:00 PM Son: Can I go in the bedroom and watch cartoons, I don't want to watch the game.
              Mom: Fine, but just for an hour, then you have to go to bed.

9:00 PM Mom: Ok, time to go to bed.
                Son: Can't I stay up? I want to watch the game with dad.
                Dad: D'oh

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Jack Bauer never had to deal with this.

So what happens when Dad has made plans to watch that violent and sexy R rated movie with Mom tonight and wants the young-ens in bed early so that is possible.

8:40 PM Dad: Ok Time to get ready for bed, go brush your teeth and change.
               Son: Ok
8:43 PM Dad: Go brush your teeth.
               Son: In a minute. I need to finish this.
8:48 PM Dad: It's been more than a minute, now go do it.
               Son: Do what?
               Dad: Brush your teeth!
               Son: Fine you don't have to yell.
8:54 PM The boy wanders out of the bathroom.
               Son: Ok, goodnight.
               Dad: so you brushed your teeth?
               Son: Yes
               Dad: Without ever turning the water on? Now go brush them!
               Son: Ohhhh, my teeth.
8:56 PM Dad hears the water running and momentarily stops twitching.
8:56 PM (still) Son comes out of bathroom             
              Son: Goodnight
              Dad: You brushed them that fast the water was on for 10 seconds.
              Son: Yeah
              Dad: Get in there and brush them right!
              Son stomps back to the bathroom.
9:04 PM Water runs for several minutes. Dad realizes that son is standing behind him watching TV.
              Dad: Get into bed!
              Son: Fine.
              Kisses and hugs and goodnights proceed. Dad notices a distinct lack of toothpaste smell.
9:09 PM Dad wanders into bathroom where son's toothbrush is sitting bone dry.
9:11 PM Dad: You didn't brush them now go do it!
               Son runs in fear into bathroom.
9:12 PM There is flushing toilets and running water and Dad gets distracted by the other older son bitching about needing in the bathroom
9:18 PM Son: Goodnight.
               The boy yet again makes his way to his bed.
9:38 PM The boy runs out of his bedroom, through the house
                Dad: Where are you going?
                Son: I forgot to brush my teeth.
                Dad: What the hell were you doing in there last time?
                Son: I had to go to the bathroom.
                At this point dad's twitching turns into an aneurysm.
                Dad Watches the boy brush his teeth this time.
9:43 PM  Son: Oh dad I forgot to finish my homework.
9:44 PM  Dad drops dead from stress on the spot.

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The World Cup

    Tomorrow The World Cup begins. The biggest event, the biggest celebration of sport and national pride on the planet. Nations work for 4 years just for a chance to compete, stores and schools around the globe close on game day in order to celebrate or mourn together. Soccer is referred to as the beautiful game, as the world's game, and here in America it's referred to as ...boring.
    I've heard comments about the sport that as a TRUE sports fan disgust me. "It's a foreigners game." or They look like queers running around in those shorts" or It's not an American sport." or  one that makes me itch all over "It's boring." I am offended by everyone of those comments on many levels.
    Calling it a foreigners game baffles me in that it's another way Americans try to show how much better we are than everyone else, while forgetting we are actually made up of everyone else. I don't know about you but my relatives were born in Ireland, Germany, and Yugoslavia. where were yours born? Oh you're an American Indian? I guess you aren't a foreigner then. What about Americans makes them believe that being born In America makes you better than everyone else in the world anyway? These same "Patriots" will bitch and moan about how much they hate people who are born into privilege and money and believe it makes them better than others "Snobs looking down their nose at everyone" Hypocrites!
   As far as what soccer players wear, I'm questioning your sexuality not theirs if your judging athletes on their clothing choices rather than their athletic ability.  Second, stop using the word queer it's offensive and makes you sound like Archie Bunker, Third  basketball, tennis, volleyball, boxing, even MMA, all where those "queer" shorts.  And seriously these guys are running non-stop for 45 minutes at a time, an hour and a half total, what the hell do you want them to wear? Tuxedos would be nice I guess.
    It's not an American Sport. So what do you watch? Football the number one sport in America, was derived from English rugby, which came from a Soccer game in 1823 when William Webb Ellis disregarded the rules during a soccer match, picked up the ball and ran with it. So the most popular sport in the Country owes it's origins to soccer.
    Oh, America's past time what's more American than baseball? well apparently a lot. When Englishman Abner Doubleday created the rules for baseball it was based on the international sport of cricket. That's not very American at all.
    Hockey? No, we know that's Canada's sport, although their national sport is lacrosse which was invented by Native American and Canadian tribes, does that kind of count?
    Boxing, wrestling, martial arts and horse racing all owe their origins to a time before the existence of America as we know it and well outside it's borders.
     How about auto racing? Nope the first car race was run on July 22, 1894 from Paris to Rouen. That's right France. I bet that makes some red necks a little unhappy.
 What about basketball well basketball was invented in a YMCA in Springfield, Massachusetts. It was invented by James Naismith, a Canadian who based it on a game he played back in Ontario called duck-on-a-rock  outside his one room schoolhouse, and it was invented using a soccer ball.
    Let me address the boring issue next. Since this is more of an opinion than the others it's a little more difficult, but best summed up by You're an idiot!
    Soccer is constantly moving for 45 minutes at a time with the only break being at half time. Well trained, and the best conditioned  athletes in the world doing things with only their feet that boggle your mind while using build up strategies that rival a chess master. Games last a total of 2 hours and the celebrations by athletes and fans are epic. Football my own beloved favorite, stops every 15 seconds for a huddle, TV timeout, penalty, or end of quarter and celebrations are penalized. Baseball can last 4 hours or more and barely anyone moves. A 1-0 win over 3 hours with no one running more than 90 feet at a time is considered a epic pitchers duel. Basketball players score so often that doing so has no impact until the last 2 minutes which take 30 minutes to play due to all the fouling and timeouts. Speaking of the foul god forbid you touch someone at any point during a basketball game.
    So while boring is opinion, understanding and learning the game would make you see the game differently.
So do yourself a favor and spend some time over the next month with the rest of the world. A good start might be The US vs England Game 2:30 ET Saturday. You never know maybe you were missing something.

    
    
     

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Never....(Life lessons I've learned the hard way)

Never mix vodka with Kool-Aid
Never decide to eat Spaghetti O's for dinner before drinking a bottle of Tequila.
Never split a bottle of gin with your buddy before getting on the tilt-a-whirl.
Never drink Budweiser...That's it. just don't. I mean seriously it's disgusting what's wrong with you people, there is a reason it's referred to as the McDonald's of beers, now just stop it...right now.
Never assume that just because she has great breasts that she is in fact a SHE.
Never tell a waiter at a questionable Chinese restaurant "Surprise me."
Never tell you're psychotic ex-girlfriend "Surprise me." no matter how much she says she's "over it"
Never tell the traffic court Judge with no sense of humor "Surprise me."
Never assume that poor cute stray isn't thinking that you look like an over-sized  kielbasa.
Never assume that because the cop is fat he can't catch you.
Never play cards with anyone named after a place i.e Tex, Vegas Jim, Cincinnati, Scott Osbourne...ok he's not named after a place but don't play with him either he cheats...really.
Never take the unlabeled pill that "Looks like the right one"
Never try to be normal....what's the point.

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O' Captain My Captain

    We all want to believe teachers are like John Keating in Dead Poet's Society (an absolutely amazing movie in case you haven't seen it). That all teachers are inspiring and patient and completely dedicated to their students. Unfortunately my youngest son has reminded me how painfully untrue that is. I find it sad that in this day and age (yes I sound like a grandpa saying that) that teachers can pick out favorites, and single out kids to pick on, to publicly humiliate and to verbally abuse.
     I am very sensitive to the subject I spent three years of grammar school going through hell with no recourse and no where to turn. Back in the 70's and well prior, people turned a blind eye to student complaints and assumed you were just a whiny kid. The teacher was the authority and that was that. My Mother suffered horrible abuses at the hands of bitter, vicious nuns in catholic school and her pleas for help fell on deaf ears. Similarly this is how battered woman and victims of children abuse were treated not all that long ago as well.
    In first grade I had the unfortunate luck to be put in Ms Mandeville's class, an aged, horrible woman with an unending hatred for me, and still to this day I have no idea why. I was an adorable little kid, I had no attitude problems, behavior problems or learning disabilities, in fact I was way ahead of the rest of the class in reading skills.
    My cuteness be damned she treated me like Al Sharpton at a West Texas Klan rally. I was called names, screamed at, and humiliated daily. One day David Rodriguez and I finally worked up the courage to kiss the the girls we liked during lunch. Unfortunately Ms Mandeville found out, I was singled out while David got a pass. I was forced to stand in front of the whole class and repeat the kiss, which by the way had landed on the girls ear. After that Ms Mandeville directed the girl in question to "Go wash his disgusting germs off you." and told the class that I was a pig .
    After an entire week of her torture I couldn't wait to leave for the weekend, unfortunately Friday at dismissal time was now designated "Dump Paul's messy desk time." so every Friday while the rest of the class was leaving I was frantically putting my "pigsty of a desk" back together.
    On the very last day of school I was so happy I was in tears, I'd never have to see this woman again, my hell was over. I tore open the envelope containing my report card and classroom assignment for the following year and then fell to the floor in uncontrollable sobs, I'd have Ms. Mandeville for second grade as well. She later told me she was just as unhappy about having me in her class again as I was at being there.
    Ms. Mandeville's favorite song was "It's a Small World" and everyday when we were lining up and filing out we were forced to sing it. To this day hearing that song actually causes me to become ill.
     In Fifth grade I was assigned to Ms. Irene Roberts class, her reputation proceeded her, and it was not good. To make it even worse it was a sixth grade class, and me and a few other "exceptional" fifth graders  were mixed in as an experiment. Needless to say when there was already a target on me Ms Roberts' choice to single me out as this years example made life impossible. This was a woman so mean I later found out even the other teachers were scared to confront her about her actions.
    When my sister found out she'd have her five years later she refused to go to school and needed to be transferred to make sure she did.
     My fifth grade was true hell, Ms Roberts found new degrading names for me on a weekly basis which she freely used during class time to call on me instead of using my name and she ENCOURAGED my class mates to pick on me and even beat me up I swear to god I'm not joking, she said, "Paul needs to be toughened up, it will be good for him." When I'd come in with cuts, bruises and ripped clothes she'd laugh when Id tell her about being ganged up on.
     So needless to say I'm sympathetic and attentive when my children come home and tell me that they are being singled out and abused by a teacher, and in my second piece of advice for parents, when your child comes home upset about treatment by teachers, coaches, scout masters or whoever please pay attention, there really may be a legitimate problem.
   

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Bring me the head of Stephanie Meyer

    Never has there been a bigger threat to America's literary and film credibility then Stephanie Meyer and her vomitous excuse for writing. The fact that Stephanie Meyer is living out her fantasies using Bella as a proxy and then passing these horrible life lessons on to 12 year old girls around the world is not just sad, but should be considered a crime.
    The Twilight Saga is nothing more than a tween's version of a Harlequin romance (aka chick porn) and just as huge a pile of crap. Harlequin books and their kind are nothing more than a way for unhappy, unfulfilled women to fantasize about something they can't seem to achieve in their life, they create an unrealistic concept of relationships then blame men when they can't live up to it, not to mention teaching woman 127 alternate ways to say penis.
    The Twilight series is not much different and aimed at impressionable, weak minded young girls, and the life lesson is, you never need to develop your own personality, strength, or sense of self if you can throw yourself at troubled, emotionally, damaged, bad boys. Way to go Meyer, if you taught your daughter this at home child services would rightly take her away.
    As far as the quality of the books, and even worse those horrible movies, I'm not even sure where to begin so I won't go into a complete diatribe about all the shortcomings. I do remember the very moment where I developed a hatred for all things Twilight though. I rented the first movie out of a morbid curiosity and was mostly bored or amused by the incredibly shallow story and characters when Edward stepped into the light for the first time. "That's it" I yelled. "The reason this effeminate emo bitch can't be in sunlight is because it makes him...PRETTY...WTF?! Yup that was the moment I realized Bram Stoker rolled over in his grave.
    I am a huge advocate of childhood literacy, and reading in general, and there are hundreds or amazing books for kids and teens to read.  There are even a dozen series featuring vampires if that is what your child wants. So many children grew up on books that taught them inner strength, and how to deal with issues that are central to growing up, Judy Blume for instance.
     I can't believe any parent would want their daughter absorbing the relationship lessons in these stories and weaving them into their own personalities for future use, and if you think even for a minute that 12 year old girls aren't easily influenced and incapable of making good decisions then explain Justin Bieber.
    Stephanie Meyer was the American response to the J.K. Rowling phenomenon, England gave us Harry Potter and we gave back team Edward and team Jacob, we should be embarrassed.
    For 80 years America was the world leader in film making and literature, now British prime time TV writers are starting to make us look like a bunch of bored, talentless, housewives with typewriters and a Zoloft prescription. Thank God for the likes of Diablo Cody, Joss Whedon, Stephen King and others carrying the burden.
    Twilight sucks, there I said it. Now go buy your kids real books and movies and stop turning your kids into weak, insecure, boy crazy, trollops.
   

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Paranormal Activity

     I should start by saying my wife is pretty awesome, she's gorgeous, she loves sports, and would rather watch sci-fi, action, or horror movies than some lame chick flick.     Side note-Seriously ladies how can you stand this stuff you do realize no matter what they call it or who's in it, they are all the same movie. I don't mean to spoil it for you but the neurotic, needy woman...she gets the guy. See now you never again have to waste two hours that could have been spent watching Sports Center. Ok, now back to what I was saying.

     Normally all the horror movies we watch are just light-hearted fun for us, but we all have certain movies that affect us. Ive known people who couldn't watch Children of the Corn, It, Saw and others. For me I can't watch The Exorcist, and for my wife it's The Entity.
   Last nights movie, 100 Feet was apparently a little too similar to The Entity for my wife. Bothered at first by the movie by the time she went to bed, all was right with the world. I stayed up for a couple more hours cursing my insomnia. After watching some TV I wandered into bed, pulled up the covers and got comfortable. It took a while but sleep started to come. I was in that beautiful state just before sleep completely takes you. Suddenly I was wide awake while my still sleeping wife was pummeling me, fists flying, legs kicking and incoherent cries of panic. Suddenly I was Ralph Macchio having my ass handed to me by the Cobra Kai Dojo.

    Jumping out of bed to avoid serious injury, and because being woken up that way makes you pee a little, I was suddenly wide awake again while my wife just rolled over completely oblivious to her first round TKO and continued her slumber. She looked like a peaceful angel, I felt like Mike Tyson's wife.
    After making the much needed trip to the bathroom, checking my bruises, and wiping the trickle of blood from my face I tentatively made my way back to bed, briefly considering squeezing into my old hockey gear or grabbing a baseball bat to defend myself from my viscous 4 foot 11 wife. Sorry 4 foot 11 1/2, she hates when I forget the half, and at this point I'm a little nervous about ticking her off. I eventually managed to get back to sleep.
    When morning arrived, gray skies, pouring rain and all, my wife, with no memory of last night's unprovoked attacked was confused when she woke me with a gentle nudge and my response was to shoot bolt upright in bed and shriek like a Twi-mom realizing she was way too old to care about either team Jacob or team Edward. I explained the previous nights events to her, she giggled and climbed out of bed and said, "Sorry, I was having bad dreams." ...YOU THINK?! I'm pretty sure the next few movies we watch together will be Pixar films...just to be safe.
    
    

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Instruction Set #1 : Garbage

    Sometimes the simplest tasks are apparently more complicated than they first appear. So in what I'm sure will be an ongoing series I would like to give my evil spawn instructions on the proper way to carry out certain basic activities.
    In this edition we will cover taking out the garbage. You'd assume that when dealing with the task of taking out the garbage certain obvious details and rules would apply, well in my first rule for parents I'd like to advise you to NEVER assume ANYTHING, not when it comes to your children.

1) When you are told to take out the garbage, you are to understand that it means now. 
    A) Not "In a minute" because in kids terms this means "I'm going to stall until you forget then have to end up doing it yourself dad."
    B) Not when you are ready, you obviously will never be ready.
    C) Not twenty minutes after the garbage truck has left so that last nights dinner, which you refused to eat, can smell up the yard for a week.
     D) And definitely not when you are "done with this level", "finished watching this" or through flirting with Jenny from the block.
2) If you see that the garbage is very full do not continue to pile stuff on top until it falls all over the floor, then proceed to walk away and leave it there. Take it upon yourself to remove the garbage before we mistakenly end up on an episode of Hoarders.
3) When you do take out the garbage that is now spilling onto the floor do not leave the fallen garbage on the floor thinking your job is done. Pick up the floor as well and yes, YES my children that includes BEHIND the garbage.
4) When the garbage bag has been removed, that big empty space you see, it needs a new bag. Come on I didn't drop you THAT many times.
5) When you take the garbage out...TAKE IT OUT. Don't leave it in front of the garbage, in the hall, on the porch, or in the car...seriously what the hell were you thinking there?
6) As a bit of side note, garbage in general should go INTO the garbage can. Having a corner of your room, or the underside of your bed designated as a "garbage area" does NOT count. Seriously dude, you want to know what took FEMA so long after Katrina, well your room was considered a priority.

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Get Me Ten CC's of sympathy STAT.

    The treatment for this medical emergency began as most of this nature do, with an on the spot M.A.S.H. style triage and assurances that there would be no loss of life or limb.
    Next we moved to the emergency care facility, otherwise known as the bathroom. This is where the advanced medical techniques for treating these life threatening boo boos began. There was a washing and some anti-bacterial treatment, as well as liberal usage of the powerful pain killers "Aw honey you'll be ok" and big hugs from the well known boo boo specialist Dr. Mommy.
    Treatment then moved to the bandaging area of the living room where dad could get a good look and administer more much needed sypathy and words of encouragement. which is probably not the best idea since dad comes from the "rub some dirt in it" and "walk it off" schools of medicine.
    With over-sized bandages applied the victim of these devastating injuries proceeded to limp off in manner befitting the walking wounded. Which actually more resembled a one legged drunken zombie. George Romero would have wept.
     For two days the horrible lingering effects of this injury meant my son's ability to walk was greatly impaired, to the point where passing neighbors, teachers and school mates looked on with pity.
    On this second day, in the middle of one of my son's death marches down the sidewalk he saw his new friend Connie down the street and he called to her with joy and a smile. Then a miracle on the level of the Red Sea parting occurred. The leg dragging and hop-scotch like limp dissappeared as my son broke into a full sprint with not so much as a grimace or yelp. Yes, a true miracle in front of my very eyes, and funny enough not unlike the miracles that occur with boys of all ages around pretty girls. So ends my son's ordeal with his debilitating road rash and it appears he shall live to fall another day.
    Of course the true lesson of this experience should be don't run in flip flops.

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Children are a blessing...?!

    For those of you who ONLY have very young children my take on things may seem a little on the mean side. Suffice it to say you need to hold your criticisms until your children are fully immersed in the school experience and feel the need to develop their own unique and adversarial personalities. At that point come back and we will talk.
    Don't get me wrong I love kids, mine and rug rats in general especially up until say six or seven years old. Kids are great fun, they give you a reason to act immature and silly, they laugh at your worst jokes, they can grab you another beer when the game is in OT and you can't (won't) get up.
   Just keep in mind that these same little darlings that bring joy and tears of happiness at birth will surely bring you sleepless nights and migraines as well. Fear not though, finding that you are suddenly going through antacids like my son does cell phone minutes is a good sign that as a parent you care enough to worry yourself sick.
    So while you can, make sure to revel in the simple beautiful pleasures that the first trip to the zoo, peekaboo, and nap time can bring, they are gone and forgotten by your kids way too soon, and then all they remember is how you ruined their life by buying them Tommy Hilfiger instead of Aeropostale.

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