It's Dusty in Here...

Anyone who happens to stumble across the Troglodad blog may notice it hasn't been updated in awhile. That's because I've moved on to other projects.

As such, it's probably time to come clean. Troglodad is just a persona. An online troll I developed for a little website called "Mythoughtworld.com".

I'm not really as trollish as Troglodad appears. It was all just an act. Preparation really, for a non-fiction, humourous parenting book.

Alas, I never got that project finished. Real life got in the way and then I got bit by the screenwriting bug. Which led me back to fiction writing and then on to self-publishing.

These days, my time is all focused on that fiction book, which you can read more about over at http://www.StoneSoldiers.info

So it's going to get dustier here at Troglodad. A lot dustier. In fact, I'm letting the .com domain name expire.

Maybe one day in the far future, Trog will return. But for now, I'm putting him back in his cave.

#HighGasPrices #Whatchagonnado

Dear Hollyweird,

 

I regret to inform you that due to the increase in the price of gasoline, due in part to the officials you helped get elected, I will no longer be able to go see your overpriced films in theaters.

 

You see, not only are your tickets prices too high, but the actual cost to drive to your theaters has become prohibitive. As such, myself and my family will have to stay home and rewatch DVDs we have already paid for, and can rewatch countless times for free. Thereby saving ticket money and fuel- to pay for the fuel we need to go to work, the grocery and to take our children to school.

 

I realize this places a hardship on you and your countless employees. This will undoubtably cause many fine ilms to not be made. But the reduction in your funds may also mean that you will have less to invest in political campaigns, and ultimately gas prices might once again return to more reasonable levels.

 

Sincerely,

 

Average Consumer

#ParentTip Teaching Your Kids NOT to Curse

There comes a time in every parent's life when they hear their child utter a profanity for the first time. For me, it was when my oldest was almost 3 and she blurted out "F*CK!"

 

Horrifying.

 

In all fairness, it was my fault. Like a veritable indoor Cody Lundin, I like to go barefoot at home. This is often dangerous when small children lay their toys about. Especially girls with their chintzy vending-machine jewlery. In this case, a metal ring undoubtably made of 50% lead, imported from the finest of Indian jewlers. When I placed my foot on it, then pressed my (then) 265 pounds down on it, it very nearly sliced through my callouses. I immediately exlaimed the F-word, and struck the wall that happened to be nearby. My daughter thought it was hilarious and burst out laughing. For several days thereafter, she would run around and declare "F*CK!" then hit the wall and break out laughing.

 

Not long after, we adopted the "movie talk" policy: you may only use movietalk if you are in a movie, or when you reach 18. It has worked for years.

 

Alas, as the children have grown older and become more exposed to life, they are beginning to hear more and more colorful language. Especially from the internet.

 

Just a few nights ago me and the kids watched some Youtube gamer videos- I'm fascinated by the ways so many people find to glitch and cheat in games. We stumbled across very polissibly the funniest gamer on the internet: ROBBAZ- King of Sweden. Amongst the colorful language we heard from Robbaz was him calling the other team in a commentary of a BF3 match "Pussies" (or as he says it, poo-sies; he has a funny swedish accent). Yoinks!

 

The next night, me and the girls waited in the minivan while the wife grocery shopped (the van having a DVD player and comfortable leather seats- making it far more comfortable than pushing a shopping cart). During this waiting time, my eldest, Sammie, decided to quote Robbaz, and uttered the word "Pussies".

 

Argh.

 

I told her not to say that word... then had to explain why she can't. Crap.

 

I hastily explained that pussies are pussycats, and went into one of my mind-numbingly boring dissertations on the origin of the phrase: how in 1950s people called someone very nice and quiet a pussycat, etc. etc. I then went on to explain that pussycats are the weakest of animals- that even a small child could kill one, and so a "pussy" was someone overly weak. I told her that there was another use of the word that is cursing, and that she didn't need to know it, but just don't use the word and but that Robbaz meant it as a "sissy"-type remark on his gaming opponents.

 

Ha! Clever, on-the-fly lying points for me...

 

Hours later, as I reflected on this, I thought, "Oh, my God, what if my daughter says that word at school? In front of her mother?

 

After a talk with the wife, I decided it was time for a conversation about cursing with my 12 year old.

 

I revealed the origins of the word again... from harmless 1950s & 60s term for a quiet, nice, etc person, to the shortened euphemism for a female body part in the 1970s and 1980s, to it's over use in the 1990s, leading to it cavalierly being thrown about now as a term for a weak person. I equated it to "pantywaist" a term not used much anymore. Then I had to explain that. I stated that I prefer she use "wussy" if she had too, but admitted I don't know the origins of that one.

 

We then went on to cover other profanities, "balls", "Bollux", "fag", etc. etc. I liked to throw the British terms in to demonstrate how something harmless-sounding here might be offensive in other countries and vice-versa. For example, "Tits", another of Robbaz's favorites. I explained teats, boobs, knockers, hooters, etc. I explained that "tit" doesn't have the same offensiveness overseas as here. I should have explained "tit-mouse" but I completely blanked on that one.

 

In the end I answered her questions about other words she's heard at school ("Chode" for example). I explained why boys like to talk about "hot dogs" and "weiners" and why they think it's funny. And I got an agreement that she not repeat any word she doesn't know the meaning of until checking it with me.

 

Thank goodness the wife had already given a Birds and Bees 101 talk. it would have been f*cking awkward to have that conversation with a 12 year old.

 

So to all you Youtubers out there... please watch it with the sex talk. Children are watching.

 

 

Is your Furnace Working?

It's nearly winter here in the midwest, and that's the time of year that many people find out that their furnace isn't working.

 

Fear not, just because the heat won't come on, doesn't mean you have to panic and call a repairman.

 

Here's a quick troubleshooting checklist anyone should be able to do to get things working:

 

1. Check the batteries on your thermostat. Replace them even. Bad batteries can cause the whole system to go off. Or maybe someone (your kid) played with the thermostat and turned it off, or broke it. Thermostats are under a hundred dollars, sometimes under $50 at your local home improvement store. Changing a thermostat is more complicated than changing a light bulb, but less complicated than changing a bad breaker.

 

2. Check the air returns to make sure nothing is blocking air flow TO the furnace. Gas furnaces have a safety feature where they kick off if they can't pull in enough air. This is to prevent catching themselves on fire

 

3. Check the vents- to make sure they aren't blocked, preventing proper air flow (see #2)

 

4. Check your breakers. Maybe one tripped, shutting off power to a part of the furnace. Like the main or secondary blowers.

 

5. Check the filters- a clogged filter can prevent proper air flow. (See #2)

 

6. Look for an error code light. For example on my Trane, there is a curcuit board with an LED. Through a window in the front access panel, you can see the light blink. Count the blinks. Take off the panel off (when the furnace isn't running)and there should be a chart that tells you what the blinks mean. It might be a return heat sensor (upper limit) that's gone bad (ours has three times in 12 years). If it goes out, the furnace thinks it's too hot and shuts off. (See #2)

 

7. Check to make sure the panels are on right- they have to have a good seal to prevent bringing in outside air. If a panel has been knocked loose, the system may shut off- similar to what happens when you open the door to your dryer.

 

8. Get your make and model number and google, google google. You might find it's some simple other problem.

A VAN-tastic Weekend

What a weekend this past one was. Chock full of the perils of parenting and modern day life.

It began on Friday with a quick trip to the local Target to get a birthday card for our friends' little boy. He had a party the next day, and when we got his present earlier in the week, the wife forgot to pick out a card.

I didn't know it at the time, but that turned out to be a $250.00 card.

Saturday, we went to the party, leaving the hous elate as folks with kids so often do. We cruised up the interstate to our friends' house, arriving in their town on a quarter-tank of gas. Whoops. No problem, we pulled into the local Circle K for a fill up. Except the pumps wouldn't come on.

The thing I love most about using a debit card is not having to go into a gas station and stand in line like a schmuck. To get gas. Instead, I swipe at the pump, select my fuel, pump and go. It's awesome. Unless the people inside don't activate the pump. And instead turn it off. And you have to swipe your card three more times. Then you move to another pump, and it too takes your card, tells you to pump, but the idiots inside won't authorize the pump to start. That's annoying. And a good way to add 20 more minutes onto your lateness. Thankfully, there was a working gas station across the street.

The party was pretty standard fair for an 8 year old. Kids running around playing, no structured activities, while the parents sit around and talk. In this case the parents being my wife, her two female co-workers and one other husband. Myself and the other husband didn't say much.

The party over, we took our kids and headed home, stopping at a McDonalds for some cool drinks. In the case of my over-heated 6 year old, a chocoloate milk shake. Not a good idea.

Once home, me and the kids enjoyed a little TV then crashed on air matresses and sleeping bags on the basement movie room's floor about 11:00 PM. At 2:00 AM or so, my littlest sits up and does an admirable Linda Blair/Exorcist impersonation- vomiting all over her blankets, sheet and mattress. In my dadcave.

A half hour later, after disposing of he chocolate and hot dog chunks (and the sheet they were on), we were all cleaned up and the weekend basement camping resumed. Cause I needed my sleep since I'd be moving furniture on Sunday.

3:00AM or so, my littlest awoke again.. with dry heaves. Been there, done that. Just not from drinking chocolate milkshakes.

The next day, the furniture move commenced. It was time to get rid of the pee couch.

I never knew girls bedwet until my six year old started doing it on my recliner couch in the basement dadcave. Despite scotch guarding and a bottle of dog urine-removing enzymatic cleaner, my couch got ruined in the first few months of the year. I tried to mask the smell with Febreeze, and a couch cover, but that human urine smell just doesn't seem to go away. On top of that, the 12 year old couch finally gave out on one side, it's recliner mechanism buckling under my Shrek-sized mass. It was time for a new couch.

As luck would have it, a friend is getting married. He and his new wife have to reduce their two households to one. Which meant yardsale. And a gently-used couch and recliner. For me.

grabbing a buddy of mine and folding down the stow and go seats in the minivan, I began the move.

It was as I was opening the doors to the van at my engaged friend's home that I noticed the damage to my van. Parking lot hit and run. Maroon paint, from a maroon's car, down the passenger side of my van. Including a nice 6-inch groove in the body above the rear wheel well. How my wife and oldest daughter missed this getting in and out of the van is beyond me. But it was very clear: we got hit at Target. Friday.

After a bout of cursing, I got the couch in my van and headed home. Already pissed off, and not really wanting to carry the pee couch up my basement stairs, I broke out some wrenches and a hand saw and turned pee couch into three piece sectional to relieve some anger. it was also much easier to carry.

Then it was time to bring the new couch down.

Unfortunately, the new couch's narrowest measurement is 31". While my exterior door is 32" wide, the basement door is only 29.5". No couch in my basement. Nope. Now I'm stuck with a couch on my carport, waiting for someone to pick it up. I have a three piece pee couch in my front yard that hopefully the garbage men will take, and two recliners in my movie room... instead of a couch and two recliners.

But best of all... since no one identified the person who hit my van, I have to pay $250.00 in a deductible to get it fixed.

Vantastic.

Many morals to this story:

Buy birthday cards and presents at the same time.

Don't park next to big trucks or SUVs at Target.

Don't rely on passengers to check their side of the car for damage when leaving a parking lot.

Don't get gas from Circle K.

Don't give an Overheated child a milkshake to drink.

Tell your Kids they need to chew their food more thoroughly so their puke is not so chunky.

Get the new furnture inside BEFORE chopping up or moving the old furniture.

Measure new furniture, and your doorways before making any purchase. Even from a yard sale.

Fall is For Family Fun

Finally, the first day of Fall is here.

 

And with it comes the steady stream of family events.

 

Fall is so much better for families. There's no blistering heat nor freezing cold to deal with.

 

Your kids can't make you go swimming- it's too cold.

 

Food is abundant and so are food-centered, fall harvest-type events. Special foods become available in the Fall. Our favorite is Pumpkin-flavored ice cream. Grilling becomes a whole lot more enjoyable in the Fall. No more sitting by the hot grill, in blistering weather sweating while you wait for the meat to sizzle. Slip on a light jacket, enjoy the cool and savor the outdoor cooking time.

 

One of our particular favorite fall family events is the annual trip to the pumpkin patch. There we let the kids slop around in dirty fields, picking their pumpkins. Cost? Fairly cheap. No knick knacks to buy. No admission price. Just pay for the pumpkins. (And hopefully remember to bring bags to carry them in).

 

Even better, Fall trips are short ones. No extended road trips when the kids are back in school. Just short jaunts within your immediate driving area. And road trips aren't just shorter in Fall... the roads are less packed. With school back in session folks tend not to stray so far from home. Which means the amount of lost tourists passing through or visiting your town should hopefully drop off.

 

Fall has two family favorite holidays. Halloween and Thanksgiving. Halloween is great. Maybe a tad expensive with costumes and candy. But think of all the candy parents get to share- either in the form of leftovers you didn't hand out, or sharing in your own kids' gatherings. Thanksgiving? Who doesn't like the annual gorge-fest where we stuff our bird, then ourselves?

 

There's more time for families in Fall. The grass slows down it's growing, and yard work disappears. That means less time in the yard, and more time with the family... or TV.

 

New shows debut in the Fall. Not very many are famly-appropriate but there are always a few. Like this Sunday's "Terra Nova", about a family that journies back in time 83 million years. I plan to watch it with my kids and eat dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets while it's on.

 

Fall is great.

 

 

"It could be worse" are not words of sympathy

How many times have you heard the words "It could be worse"? How many times have you used them yourself? Worse still, how many times have you added an example of how things could be worse?

 

I'd like to propose that is just downright rude.

 

Take for example the current economic problems in our country. How many people out there are suffering from these tough times, and can do absolutely nothing about it? Except maybe complain. So they do complain- they lament that gasoline cost them so much, or that they can't take their kids on vacation, or any of a number of other monetary problems.

 

Should you really open your mouth and spew out "At least you've still got a job- things could be worse."

 

No. No, you should not.

 

Think about that last time your kid was crying in the store, demanding a toy and you told them no. For me, the answer I say no is usually because it's not in our budget and that our house is bursting with toys. We can't afford to buy the kids a toy every time we go to the store and they don't really have anywhere to put any more toys. But kids don't understand that- they don't see the difference between you buying stuff for you or the house, and not a toy for them. It's one of those things you have to teach your kids that really tries your patience.

 

So it goes like this:

 

Kid: "I want a toy!"

 

Parent: "No."

 

Kid: "I WANT A TOY!"

 

Parent: "No."

 

Kid: "Why not?!"

 

Parent: "We can't afford it." or "You don't need any more toys."

 

Kid: "But I need a toy!" or "I don't like my toys!"

 

Can you imagine if at this point you told your child "Be glad you have what toys you do have. There are kids in Africa with no toys. Or food. It could be worse- you could be like them."

 

A teenager might understand that logic. A twelve year old might. A five year old definitely won't. But whether they understand it is not the point. It's not what they want to hear.

 

"It could be worse" doesn't exactly ring sympathetic in any situation. I know the old addage "look for the silver lining" can be helpful, but you don't have to say it that way.

 

Think about it- why does anyone complain? To get comfort. Maybe in the form of that Barbie on sale, maybe from compassionate understanding from the person they are speaking to.

 

When my kids come to me with some complaint, or they are sad, I don't tell them "it could be worse". Or "suck it up". I listen to them, and maybe give them a hug, or a bowl of ice cream or something else to cheer them up.

 

Telling someone "it could be worse" is not comforting. Telling them "well, at least you've got your health" might be comforting, but probably not. Be like a bartender, or a therapist and just listen. That's all anyone really wants- someone to listen to their belly aching. It's even acceptable to chime in with your own, similar woes. Just make sure to acknowledge the other person's plight. Hugs or ice cream are optional.

Sometimes the Grass Doesn't Want to be Cut

SOMETIMES THE GRASS DOESN'T WANT TO BE CUT

Cutting the grass. A horrible chore any dad would rather skip. But inevtiably, it has to be done- at least until the kids are old enough to do it. So there I was, ready to finally mow the front yard after putting it off for some time due to the record high temps, rain and a flu, cold and sinus infection all within a week of each other.

Knowing my riding mower was out of gas, I went out and got some.

I took the gas out to the mower itself. Uh-oh. Flat tire. Dammit. It seems like every time I use the mower, one tire is low. No problem. Can of fix-a-flat to the rescue.

I turned around to go open the gate from backyard to front... and there was a small tree in the way. A fallen tree. I didn't even know it had falled. But it was there, blocking the way. Not feeling like messing with the chainsaw, I got my bow saw and double-headed axe and chopped away enough to clear a path from shed to gate.

Rolled the mower out of the shed. Ah... a second tire is low, on it's way to being flat. Ah, well, once started, I could drive the mower around to the front of the house and break out my compressor.

If the mower would start. Nothing when I turned the key. If the grass wasn't so long, I'd have given up.

Turns out, it was just dirty contacts on the mower's battery cables. Once cleaned, they let the mower turn over. It sounded awful.

Check of the oil revealed why- very low. Luckily, I keep plenty of oil on hand for the cars- enough for each car to get one change at any time. So I borrowed some from one of our cars.

Finally, I got the mower going, and drove it around front. Got the compressor out from the carport and aired the tires up. I finally got started on the mowing.

I made one pass and the blades stopped turning. Turned out the belt had jumped off one of the pulleys. No problem, I was able to climb down and reconnect. Mowing resumed.

My front yard is divided into four sections: the main yard, then the part between sidewalk and street, barely 4 feet wide running across the front of the property, then a small sliver of yard to the right of the driveway, next to the neighbor, and finally a strip of grass up by the house, again separated by a sidewalk from the rest of the yard.

Main yard. Done. Front of house, done. Front strip by road. Done. Now it was time to move the wife's car that is parked in the grass beside the driveway- where a parking area should be paved, but which I have been putting off doing for years. Gotta move the car to mow it... and the wife's battery is dead. Nice. No problem, I'm pissed at this point, it's near dinner time. I'll mow around her car.

So I do. Or at least I start to. I carefully jockey the mower into position, disengaging the blades as I do so, so that I don't cut the neighbor's grass. Not because I would mind doing it, but because my neighbors are anal about how their yards look. Where as I'd happily replace my grass with sand, moss or even concrete.

Anyways, as I'm positioning my deck into just the right spot, I pull the lever to re-engage the blades. Nothing happens. I look down and there's a belt, broken and hanging out.

And that is quitting time.

Mower out of gas? Just a quick trip to the gas station.

Tree down? Cut it up.

Flat tire? Fill it up, or use the can of fix-a-flat every car shoudl have in it anyways.

Engine won't turn over? Clean the contacts.

No oil? Raid the supplies every garage should have.

Belt breaks? Go to the store and buy a new one. Unless you've had all these problems in one day, in which case it is time to yield to the couch gods and give up for the day.

Skechers Twinkle Toes: Not in the House!

Skechers makes a brand new shoe.
"Twinkle Toes" for boys and girls too.
They have little lights in the sides and on the toe,
They flash and sparkle, wherever kids go.

These lights are too sparkly, I do think.
They flash and sparkle and furiously blink.
They are too bright to wear to a movie.
Your teacher won't think they're very groovy.

I do not like Twinkle Toes, no I do not.
I especially hate that they cost a lot.
I hate them from their soles to their trippy seams.
I hate their retina-burning, laser beams.

TROGLO MOVIE RE-VIEW:

"SUPER" (2010)

At the recommendation of a friend, I watched "SUPER", starring Kevin Bacon and Rainn Wilson.

It is such a terrible movie, I am compelled to offer this warning-review to any dad out there that may not have seen it but is considering doing so. "Super" is one of the most child-inappropriate movies I've ever seen. Easily as inappropriate as "Drive Angry" with Nicholas Cage- both of which feature simulated sex. But while "Drive Angry" keeps it's sex in the consenting-adults, fornicating department, "Super" delves into depictions of Rape, and maybe even a little pedophilia.

By this point in the review, you are undoubtably thinking I'm some kind of religious zealot. Not at all. While I am a Christian, I don't shove my beliefs in your face. I respect the freedom of choice God gave you to choose whatever belief system you want. But I found this film to be particularly blasphemous.

I'd also like to point out that I love movies. When asked what my hobby is, I always list "watching movies" first. And I regularly watch crappy movies- particularly the saturday night schlock on the Syfy Channel. I love that stuff. However, had I not spent money on "Super" I'd have stopped watching it very early on. And I've only ever walked out on one movie: "Johnny Be Good" (1988). But at least I laughed in that one.

Before I proceed to rip this movie apart, and impart on you, why you, as a dad, should never waste your hard-earned dough or that nearly two hours of your life on it, I'd like to acknowledge the good things about "Super".

It is under two hours in length.

It has incredible acting from Rainn Wilson and Kevin Bacon. I knew Kevin Bacon was good, but I never knew the weird guy from "The Office" could actually act.

The movie is perfectly made. Fantastic Direction from James Gunn. Despite it's incredible offensiveness, I'd definitely watch a movie of his again, simply because he directed it. It looked good, was edited tight, and was masterfully done. Things I normally couldn't care about. Too bad the subject matter was such crap.

The special effects were top notch. I normally bitch about bad special effects right off the bat- sometimes as I'm leaving a theater even. But "Super" was superb in the effects department.

Liv Tyler is in it. Even made up to look like her crack whore character, Liv is still a beautiful woman.

Michael Rooker and Kevin Bacon are in it. Being the B Movie fan I am, that alone is enough to get me to watch it.

The opening credits are a cartoon... that is better than the whole movie.

It more accurately protrays firearms. I always hate in movies how firearms are often protrayed inaccurately merely because the writer is either an idiot, or too lazy to work around real world physics. In this film, firearms do damage that isn't 100% real-world, but a hell of a lot closer than you'd expect. I also liked that some of the characters were portrayed as if they knew how to shoot, with Weaver stances, aiming, and what not.

Okay, that's about it. You might notice I didn't mention it's funny. Because it isn't. I didn't laugh out loud one time. Not because it's offensive. "Hot Tub Time Machine" is pretty damned offensive, but I laughed so hard I was crying during that movie. "Super" just isn't funny.

Let me give you a quick synopsis of "Super".

Rainn Wilson's Frank is a cook in a local diner. He has married Live Tyler's reformed crack whore waitress. He chalks this up as one of the two greatest moments of his life- the other being the time he pointed where a fleeing robber had gone to a police officer. Frank is a weird dude with a history of being picked on, as graphically illustrated in flashbacks that include children urinating on him and his prom date having sex with another guy. One day, Frank's wife leaves him- going to shack up with Jacques (Kevin Bacon) the owner of a local strip club and an drig dealer. Frank tries to get Sarah (Liv Tyler) back, and gets the crap beat out him by Jacques' henchmen (which include Michael Rooker). Frank, after watching a parody of the Bibleman TV show, has a vision of God visiting him, touching his brain (after cutting open his head with tentacles). Frank takes this as a sign he should become a superhero. He sews together a shitty-looking costume and embarks on a vigilante spree- beating up drug dealers, child molesters, and some guy that tries to cut in line at the movies. Frank eventually reveals his secret to the 22 year old (but looks like she's 14) girl at the local comic book shop (Ellen Page). She creates a costume and becomes his side kick. Together, the Crimson Bolt and Boltie go out to fight more crime- beating up a guy who may have keyed Boltie's friend's car. In the end, Frank and Boltie do a ful scale assault on Jacques' mansion- during a very important drug deal. This is right after Boltie effectively rapes Frank in her home (that's the pedofile bit). During the assault, Sarah is raped by one of the drug dealers. Boltie is killed in the assault. Frank saves Sarah, who then leaves him a few months later, remarries, and has multiple children- who send "Uncle Frank" drawings regularly. Frank sits on a bed in his room, the walls covered with such drawings, narrating that his purpose was to save Sarah.

I just saved you two hours of pain.

Is this a movie about a mentally ill man who regresses into a comic book world when his wife leaves him? Is it a commentary on how ridiculous the concept of costume-clad vigilantes is? Is it an excuse to feature a 40-ish man having sex with a child-like girl? Is it an excuse to mock Christianity and Christian television and comic books?

A better question might be, what could have made this movie better?

A better ending for one thing. They made me sit through one and a half hours of highly offensive content, only to have the "hero" lose the girl in the end.

They could have let the sidekick live. Libby (Ellen Page) was clearly a disturbed kid herself. And even though the film takes great pains to point out she is 22, she still appears to be a child, and her complaining that she hasn't screwed anyone in some time, then forcing Frank to service her, was stomach churning.

Maybe "Super" was an attempt to sicken folks who normally like super hero films?

When you look at my synopsis, the movie has great premise. Scumbags being beaten by a crazy vigilante. Problem is, that's been done, and much better: "Punisher War Zone" (2008) is a movie about a mentally disturbed man who dons a costume and begins a serial-killing spree against criminals. I love that movie. It's great fun. "Super" on the other hand wants to punish me for liking the whole comic book premise. It shows me nothing but negativity.

I think the best part of "Super" was when Libby rams a bad guy with Frank's car, pinning him against a wall. It breaks the guy's legs, and almost disables Frank's car. Realism, with some gruesome, yet deserved violence. I liked it. Too bad that 4 minutes was smack in the middle of this hour-forty movie.

If you want a "realistic" super hero movie, see "Kick Ass" or maybe "Defendor". "Super" is more disturbing than it is entertaining.

The Greatest Scifi Weapon of All Time

 

A while back, IO9.com had an article about the most awesome weapons of all time. They included things like Nova Bombs and the Deathstar. They based their choices on the sheer destructibility of the weapons.

 

That's lame.

 

As I have been gripped by the replica collecting bug, I have been giving serious thought to what makes a great Scifi weapon. For one, I need to be able to own one. I can't very well hang a Deathstar in my basement. A scale replica to be sure, but it's so tiny it kind of loses it's immense coolness.

 

Here then is the criteria that should be used in determing the Greatest Scifi Weapon of All Time, with scores ranging from 1 to 10

 

Lethality. Weapons are afterall for killing, or at least stopping their targets. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being the equivament damage the average, untrained person could do with their bare hands and 10 being the complete disintegration of the intended target.

 

Ease of Use. A weapon isn't very cool if you can't use it. Does a weapon require special training or that you were born a _________ to use? On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 would be a weapon that you need only speak a command, or push a button to eliminate your opponent. 1 Would be a weapon that only that rare 5th -Element kind of person, or someone with years of training could use.

Ammunition. Let's face it, a weapon that uses ammunition is only effective for as long as that ammo holds out. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 would be a weapon that has one shot, and is never replaceable. 10 would be a weapon that requires no ammunition at all, like something bladed.

 

Availability. Those rare, one of a kind weapons are cool on screen, but if you're a five year old kid and another kid has the same rare weapon, you aren't going to be happy. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 point is awarded for a unique weapon that no one else can possess, that is hidden in an impenetrable fortress at an undisclosed location. 10 is a weapon that is readily available to the general populace.

 

Coolness. Cool and Great go together. You can be great at killing, but not cool. Why not have both? On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 point would be awarded for a weapon so dorky only the biggest of nerds would be caught dead with it. 10 points awarded for something that could make the biggest nerd be as cool as Han Solo (the Greatest Starship Captain of All Time)

Replica Accuracy. Remember, what makes a great scifi weapon is the fact that you can own one yourself- or a reasonable facsimile there of. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 would be a replica about as detailed as the scribblings of a kindergartner. In crayon. 10 would be a replica so detailed and masterfully made, it looks better than the fictional thing.

 

Scale. When owning a replica, you want to be able to display it effectively. I can put that Deathstar on my christmas tree, but the lack of it's impossible-in-the-movie/that's-no-moon size lessens it's greatness. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 point is awarded for weapons that have to be miniaturzed to the extent detail is impossible to see without a microscope. 10 points awarded for a 1;1 replica that fits easily in your hand- so you can take it places to show it off.

 

Replica Safety. Oh sure, you could hang a real, iron Mjolnir on your wall, but if it ever fell off, shit is going to be broken- and possibly toes. Similarly, razor sharp katanas may not be the best thing to hang on walls in earthquake country, either. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 point is awarded for replicas so dangerous, just looking at them injures you, and 10 points are awarded for those replicas that are safe enough for babies to slobber all over.

 

Replica Price. Again, the award for Greatest Weapon is going to something I can actually posses. If it's so cheap, it's damn near free, I'm giving it 10 points. If I have to have the personal wealth of Bill Gates to afford one, it gets 1 point.

 

Replica Availability. Even if you have the funds, many replicas can be hard to find- even on the internet. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 point is awarded for replicas that require the use of a Tradis to find, while replicas available in major retail outlets near you, as you read this, are awarded 10 points.

With all that being said, the maximum score for this review will be 100. For a weapon: capable of disintegrating it's target; that the average person could use without training or any special, inherent ability; that does not require ammunition; is readily available to the general public and does not require only the greatest of heroes to locate; is so cool Han Solo wishes he had one.

 

That has a replica that is spot-on accurate; will fit in your hand; is baby-safe; can be purchased with funds saved from skipping lunch; and is readily available right this moment with minimal shopping effort.

 

Which weapon will it be? (See Comments below)

 

 

 

GO FISHIN'!

Part 1: Teach a Kid to Fish

There aren't many things that will get me to voluntarily leave the dadcave, but fishing is one of them. Not because I think it's a sport- I don't. I mean, how could it be a sport? I fish for bluegill and bass- which I outweigh by about oh, three hundred pounds. I'm also way smarter- you don't see me eating food attached to lines leading off out of sight. And I have thumbs. Thumbs are great.

No, I enjoy fishing for other reasons. Mainly, 'cause I like all that free, fresh fish I catch. Throw it back? Only cuz the law says so. Or because they're too small to mess with cleaning. Otherwise... they're goin' straight in muh belly! I also enjoy fishing because it's like a camping trip- a chance to go out into nature and enjoy some fresh air and quiet. Without the overnight stay, tents and crapping in the woods.

But there's one main reason I now fish that I haven't mentioned. My kids.

Kids don't exactly see fishing in the same light we grownups do. Thinking back to when I was a kid, I liked to go because I liked catching fish. Yeah, eating them was good, but the ones at Long John Silver's or Captain D's were just as good (and came with fries). Kids enjoy being outside, sort of. Kids also like the adventure of spending time with their dad, grand-dad or other family member.

But forget about all that for a moment. The reason you need to take your kids fishing is so they learn a critical life skill. People have after all, been fishing for thousands of years. It's a crucial survival skill I put up there with firemaking and finding your way home.

Think about it. How many people do you know that if they had to, could catch a fish, clean it and eat it? I know we live in a modern society where we can order over the phone or on-line for pizza, chinese, or countless other foods. Where we can go to the grocery to meet all our dietary needs. But what if push comes to shove and you find yourself lost, near a body of water, with only a paperclip and some dental floss in your pocket? Could you catch a fish?

You can always buy your kids fishsticks to satisfy their hunger. But if you teach them how to fish... they can feed themselves.

Not sold on the survival skills? Well, let's go back to that whole kids-love-fishing theme. Kids do. My earliest memories are from when I was three years old and went on a fishing trip to Canada with my parents and grandparents. I can't remember what my dearly departed papaw's face looked like, but I distinctly remember sitting in his lap and driving the boat. And later getting a horrible splinter in the palm of my hand on shore. 40 years later.

When you go fishing, you can leave a lot of the hecticness of modern life behind. Just you, your kids, some fresh air, some mosquitos and a nice lake or pond. But best of all, when the kids get bored or have to go potty, you grab up your gear and drive home. Hopefully with some fishies. That beats camping any day of the week!



In part 2, I'll discuss something most anglers wouldn't: the dangers of taking your kids fishing.

THOR: EPIC ADVENTURE FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY

It's always nice to find a movie you can watch safely with your kids- that doesn't have sex, or extreme violence or heart-stopping terror. Something with a positive message and admirable characters for your children to emulate. Thor has all that and more.

 

If you don't have a comic book background, don't worry. Thor may be based on Marvel Comics' interpretation of Norse Mythology, but it's a solid movie that stands on its own. And it's far less crimefighter than it is fantasy adventure.

 

Thor tells the tale of the Prince of Asgard- an otherworldly domain far from, but connected to, Earth. Thor, the character, is an impetuous hero full of swagger and ready to leap joyously into battle. His brother, Loki, is a more reserved, thinking man. Both vie for the attention of their father, Odin. Through the course of the movie, we see the two very different paths the brothers take, but which both threaten the peaceful kingdom of Asgard.

 

If you're overly religious, you might be a little worried about Thor and it's "gods". Don't be. The movie deftly avoids the whole "gods" issue even more than the comic book did. The Asgardians, or "Aesir", are a humanoid race gifted with super strength, longevity and advanced, almost magical technology. They have visited Earth before, as well as many other realms, prompting (in the movie) the Nordic legends of Odin and his pantheon. But they aren't gods- they're near-immortals who are fallible and emotional and basically just super-versions of us.

 

Thor has several redeeming messages. Instead of just fighting evil, the movie's hero undergoes a short journey, to Earth, where he learns humility and self-sacrifice. He is rewarded for this journey and hopefully kids will pick up on the message: being a butthead is wrong. Being good and noble is right.

 

Thor also shows us the dynamic between father and son- the impetuous Thor disobeys his powerful father and is stripped of his powers and cast down to Earth to live among mortals. A valuable lesson for kids to be sure- listen to your parents. If you don't, you'll eventually see they were right anyway.

 

But what about violence? Thor is after all a viking-like figure who carries a warhammer and loves bashing his foes with it. There is some comic book violence, but the best thing is none of it is directed by Thor against people. Only monsters. The odds of little Timmy smashing his brother in the head with dad's claw hammer should be minimal.

 

Sex? None to be had in this film. In fact, Thor is a gentleman who kisses female lead Natalie Portman's hand when he must bid her goodbye- despite the fact they fell in love at first sight. True, Portman's Jane Foster grabs Thor by the face and lip wrassles him, but still, it's very tame and very safe for impressionable children.

 

Aside from the issue of whether or not your kids should see this, there's the question of will your kids like this. Mine did. Thor is all about fantasy lands and magic and swords and men in armor fighting beasts. There are princes and kings and queens. There's even a badass female warrior, named Sif. It's all very magical and stuff. Little girls will be enchanted, boys will want to watch monsters getting smashed.

 

How about the 3D? Well, I personally didn't think it needed it. Only a very few scenes really utilized 3D. My kids don't like wearing those dorky 3D glasses, so I think they'll like this much better at the drive in and on DVD/Bluray in a few months.

 

Finally, you might be wondering how this compares to other superhero movies. Well, it doesn't.

 

Ironman had a gigalo, alcoholic playboy in the lead. It was all high-tech and heavy metal and humor. My kids enjoyed it, but Tony Stark's sleepover really made me wish for a fast forward button in the theater. Ironman, while in my opinion the best superhero movie ever made, is not kid-friendly.

 

Ironman 2 wasn't much better... more booze, more babes. And more funny.

 

The Incredible Hulk? Well... again, they had to throw the sex thing in. Dr. Banner getting a little too excited during some heavy petting. Totally understandable- it was Liv Tyler... but still... not really appropriate for kids.

 

Batman? Of all the Batman movies, none seem appropriate for small children. Unless you go back to Adam West's 1966 flick.

 

Superman? Well, Superman Returns was better than most, but still it had to go all supersexy, by introducing Superman's love child by Lois Lane. Again, just not child appropriate.

 

Thor beats them all. With a hammer of goodness. Four Hammers Up!

Movie Re-View: "INVASION U.S.A."

Tired of all the smut and slasher violence on TV these days? Turn back the clock and pop in something from yesteryear that might just be kinder and gentler for you and your kids...

 

 

 

While we may not be able to watch Osama Bin Laden get blown away, we can fulfill our terrorist-killing hunger by watching the Chuck Norris-classic, INVASION U.S.A.

 

Premiering in 1985, this Cannon Films action epic pitted ex-CIA Agent Matt Hunter (Norris) against a Soviet-engineered invasion of America by an army of mercenaries and terrorists from around the world. Explosions! Gun fights! Car Chases! Ass-kicking! Invasion U.S.A. had it all!

 

The film starts off the Coast of Florida, with a boat load of cuban refugees adrift. A Coast Guard cutter comes along but instead of saving the poor immigrants, machine guns them all straight to Davy Jones' locker. The movie quickly moves to a night time beach in Florida where refurbished WWII landing craft set down, pouring out an army of terrorists that load up into waiting vehicles and spread across the country, killing Americans one neighborhood at a time.

 

But fear not! Agent Hunter comes out of retirement from his Everglades home and unleashes a war of whoop ass on the invaders, culminating in their crushing defeat in a downtown Florida office building.

 

 

IS IT APPROPRIATE FOR MY KIDS?

 

Only with some fast remote control work. In addition to cheesy kills, squibs and pyrotechnic explosions, Invasion U.S.A. does feature a brief visit to a titty bar, as Agent Hunter tracks down leads in his search for the invaders' leader. Floppy 80s boobies sure surprised me and were not in my memory of this awesome asskickfest, and were entirely inappropriate for kids. As soon as Chuck enters the bars, it's time to chapter skip past the hooters.

 

Aside from the boobage, Invasion U.S.A. is a very child appropriate film. Power Rangers has more violence, albeit slightly less graphic. And, Invasion U.S.A. teaches the very real lesson that the good guys always win- primarily because bad guys are such incredible morons.

 

OVERALL RATING: Both fists up on this great action movie- as long as you keep the remote control in hand!

 

Available on DVD, via Amazon.com and other online retailers. Good luck finding this gem in a local store.

TERMINAL CANCER PATIENT AND GAMER BURGLARIZED WHILE RECOVERING FROM SURGERY

At 24, Tom (aka PhantomHalfling) should have died. Medulloblastoma, a highly malignant brain tumor, wracked his body leading to brain surgery and a long, grueling, recovery. But Tom fought the cancer and survived.



Tom went on to marry and to have two daughters, now aged eleven and fourteen. Tom is not only a super dad, but a great family man who enjoys life the way only someone who has come so close to death can. He is a loving father, a great uncle, and a great friend.


Twenty three years later, life has again kicked Tom squarely where it hurts. First, Tom's wife walked out on him the day after New Year's. After she unexpectedly filed for divorce, Tom lost his job - a victim of downsizing. When Tom thought things couldn't get any worse, Tom's cancer roared back with a vengeance. This time attacking not only in his brain, but also his spine- costing him the use of his legs.


But Tom wouldn't give up. He continued to fight. He fought the cancer and kept on being the best dad he can on the too short occasions he gets to see his kids. On Xbox, Tom has fought against nazis, zombies and nazi-zombies. He patrolled the radioactive wastelands of New Vegas and fought the denizens of the post-apocalyptic wasteland.


But there was one thing Tom could not fight: thieves.


While Tom was hospitalized, recovering from surgery, some fine citizens decided to drop by for a visit. It's unknown if they came like thieves in the night or boldly during the day, but what is known is that they came up the wheelchair ramp to Tom's front door, kicked it in, and stole him blind. Not dissuaded by the sight of two wheelchairs in the home, they set upon Tom's meager belongings like locusts. Everything Tom could enjoy while confined to his bed or wheelchair was stolen. Tom's TV, his surround sound system, his blueray player, his laptop, his printer, the replacement Xbox he'd purchased just months before- all gone. Along with his games, music, and movies. Anything that Tom could enjoy as a paralyzed adult was taken from his home.


Maybe the thieves thought Tom was too old to play Xbox. Maybe they thought the entertainment center was for when he got to see his kids, every other weekend. I mean, why would someone who is so sick even want an Xbox? Wouldn't they rather sit around and contemplate the not-to-distant end of their life? And Tom's kids shouldn't be inside- they should be playing in the yard, instead of spending time with their paralyzed father.

Who could have done such a thing? Was it the two guys who had helped move a couch from the home a few days earlier? Or maybe the juvenile delinquents across the street?Or someone else from the neighborhood who knew Tom's predicament and his recent surgery? It doesn't really matter. Afterall, surely Tom has insurance that might cover this loss...

It's All Fun and Games, 'til somebody lases an eye

Lasers. They're very cool. And very dangerous. And that's apparently something people need to be reminded of.

 

When I was a kid, lasers were the stuff of TV. I remember watching Professor John Robinson battling rubbery-costumed aliens outside the Jupiter 2, his laser gun blazing. I'd have given anything for a laser pistol of my own back then. Fast forward forty years, and lasers are fairly common. While there are some capable of igniting paper, most are strictly of the low-wattage, pointer-variety. I can't blast annoying varmints in the backyard with average laser. Yet. 

 

Today's lasers come in a variety of colors, some small enough to fit on your keychain. They are for use as pointers during presentations, to aim digital thermometers or tapeless measuring systems, as levels for home improvement work, and even for tormenting your pets. All of these lasers share one very important feature: a prominent warning message on the side, advising you NOT to point them at anyone's eyes. That you could risk blinding them.

 

I carry a laser with me all the time. It's built into my flashlight. I carry a flashlight on my belt because I often have to retrieve files from the dimly lit, baasement storage room at my day job. I didn't order this flashlight off the internet solely because it had a laser. I was just looking for a super-bright, LED, AA-battery powered flashlight. The laser was just an unexpected benefit.

 

Having desperately desired a laser as a child, I of course have to use my laser flashlight as much as possible. It's a sort of repressed childhood wish come true. My most common use of a laser at work is when I'm consulted as an advanced computer user.

 

"How do I change my wallpaper?" my co-workers will ask. "Where did my tool bar go?" they ask. "Why isn't my document printing?" they ask. How people who use computers daily lack these simple, basic skills is beyond me. But I step in and try to help. Before my laser light, I would have to lean over their shoulders and extended a hammy hand to their screen, pointing out exactly where they needed to click on their tool bar. I'm a teach-a-man-to-fish kind of guy, and I insist on people learning how to solve the problem in the future, rather than keep bugging me about it. Now that I am armed with laser technology, I can stand back, all Professor-like, and point at their screens from a safe distance.

 

On my most recent foray into teaching Windows Basics for Dummies, one of my co-workers was more interested in my laser flashlight than learning how to solve problems for herself. She asked if she could see my gadget. I handed it over after a brief explanation of how to alternate between LED light and laser emitter. I then turned back to the computer of another co-worker to solve the pressing computer problem.

 

And promptly got my eye lased.

 

You would think that a 60-something year old grandmother would know better than to shine a laser in someone's eye. But no, like a small kid incapable of reading the laser warning, she was oblivious to the danger of lasers. She thought it would be funny to shine the laser around at people.

 

Some online resources may tell you that brief exposure to a laser-pointer device cannot cause permanent eye injury. That it takes several seconds of continuous staring to do significant damage. But do you really want to gamble with your vision?

 

Just last year I learned that not only can lasers damage your vision, they can trigger migraines.

 

There I was illuminating various objects around the house with a laser for my children's amusement. It was an impromptu laser light show. The finale of the show was when Iilluminated a crystal one of the kids had picked up at a museum giftshop. Instead of just hitting it with the laser from afar, I set the crystal on the laser. I'd already shown the kids how the crystal could diffuse light from a flashlight. The crystal glowed brilliantly, but didn't produce a lightsaber or any cool multi-beam effect. But it did sparkle a little. I was hypnotized by the odd sparkling. I kept staring at it. For several moments. I then thought- should I really be staring at a laser?

 

About ten minutes after the light show, we all sat down to watch TV. I noticed a floater in my field of vision. It began to grow. Over the course of fifteen minutes, it went from the size of a quarter held at arm's length, to the size of a dinner plate. The floater was surrounded by a dazzling, rainbow-hued line, surrounding an out of focus blob in the middle. This was accompanied by an excruciating headache. Panic set it.

 

Some ibuprofen and a multi-hour nap later, my vision came back. I paid my doctor a visit and learned that the symptoms I described indicated I had a migraine but no lasting eye damage. Lesson learned.

 

If you own, or find yourself using a laser, please be responsible and heed the safety warnings- they are put there for a reason. Don't point them at your own, or other people's eyes!

 

 

GODADDY: Feeding the Children One Elephant at a Time

For years, one of my favorite things to say is "Save the Whales- I'll eat them Later".

 

Not because I hate whales (I don't) but because it absolutely drives me crazy everytime I see some animal nut going on and on about poor abused dogs when there are countless children starving around the world right now. Those morons that ram Japanese Whaling ships should be ashamed to show their face in public. The money they piss away on protecting whales could feed more children than Sally Struthers could ever think of.

 

Today, I did my afternoon check of Twitter news blurbs and saw that Marlee Matlin is having a fit about an elephant being killed in Africa by GoDaddy CEO on safari. The article she linked to went on to say how the elephant in question was actually destroying crops near a village. This wasn't Dumbo harmlessly entertaining kids in the big top, gunned down by anti-fun terrorists. This was a dangerous animal causing villagers to starve.

 

Now, maybe Mr. Parsons shouldn't have posted graphic videos on the internet (I haven't seen them yet, so I don't know if they're that bad). But how can anyone with one iota of intelligence condemn this? Especially when said elephant was eaten by the villagers (and their children). Do you think that any of the little M'Timmies there shed a tear as they got a decent meal for what could have been the first time in months? I sure don't.

 

Ms. Matlin is a mother herself, and after seeing her on the Celebrity Apprentice (which was why I was following her in the first place) seemed like a pretty sensible woman. But after her tirade all in the name of poor Dumbo, I have to re-evaluate that.

 

I've been a godaddy customer for several years now, but was considering changing to a different company. After seeing Mr. Parsons aid to the children of Africa, I will be staying a GoDaddy customer for a very long time.

 

TALL PEOPLE DON'T GET PAID MORE- SHORT PEOPLE BITCH MORE

There it was again on the morning news- the myth that tall people get paid more. What utter bullshit. And it annoys me more and more everytime I hear it.

 

I'm 6'5".

 

This whiney myth- typically told by short people- really irks me to no end. I've been tall all my life and have had a variety of jobs. In not one of them have I had a co-worker taller than me. And in not one of them was I the highest-paid employee.

 

My current job, the other guy working with me in the same position made the exact same money as me- despite the fact I had 13 years seniority on him and was a foot taller. Before him, I had 12 years seniority and 6 inches height advantage- we made the same. The guy before him... well, he was my supervisor and had 15 years seniority on me, and was 8 inches shorter- and made a buttload more than I did.

 

What about in the military? Nope- height had nothing to do with it. Rank and how many mouths you had to feed did. Despite the fact I had been in three years, I remember new guys coming in, two ranks lower than me, but with a wife and kids, making far more than me. And they were all shorter.

 

I could go on and on, but I've proven my point.

 

Short, ugly people also like to claim that beautiful tall people get paid more. Now, I'm not vain, so I don't think I'm handsome- I am just me. My wife likes to tell me I'm handsome all the time- when she's not telling me I'm gross. And I've had an unnerving amount of older and married women work-stalking me. But I still never made any more money.

 

It's all bullshit. Nobody makes more money because they're tall- except basketball players. All you whiners that keep claiming this need to shut up. The reason you get paid less is because you're a shitty worker or have a bad attitude. In fact, in my experience, the short, ugly, overweight folks tend to stick together and be envious of those they wish they could be like. They hire and promote other insecure, obnoxious people.

 

I don't play sports. I sit at a desk. I get paid far less than I think I should or than what people in other areas get paid for my same job. Being tall hasn't done me any good- except maybe making it easier to change light bulbs.

LICENSE TO FART

I am gross. I am SO gross. Just ask my wife.

 

When I'm sucking down a home-cooked meal a little too fast and have to let fly a gut-rumbling, table-shaking belch, I'm gross.

 

When I'm in bed for the night, my body relaxing, and I unleash a bed-shaking, cheek-slapping, nose-burning fart, I'm gross.

 

Even when I'm using a kleenex to sound the air horn and expel snot from my head, I'm gross.

 

My wife pretty much either tells me she loves me, or that I'm gross. It's a 50/50 chance at any given time.

 

I don't think I'm gross. Do I not courtesy flush when emitting stomach-churning, paint-peeling fumes from the porcelain throne? Do I not roll down the window of the van when I've ripped a silent-but-deadly?

 

The kids don't think I'm gross. They love potty humor. They think I'm funny. Especially when they can join in. They clearly took the potty training book title Everyone Poops  to heart. Not so the wife.

 

And as I get older, it's become harder to resist the constant barrage of condemnation from the wife. At long last, I had to point out she is living in a glass house. Wives- in particular moms- are pretty gross, too.

 

First off, everyone breaks wind. It's a biological function. It is true many folks manage to hold it in until they can get to a safe blasting distance, but the occassional emission is had. Same thing with belches- especially when drinking carbonated drinks. Everyone does it.

 

And let's not forget morning sickness.

 

Oh, yes, my wife forgot all about that. She forgot her all-hours-of-the-day-and-night Linda Blair impersonations. Her fountains of projectile vomit that went on for weeks and weeks. She forgot how I had to clean up her half-digested sweet tea and pineapple chunks. From the carpet, bed cover, walls, and even refrigerator. Even with the wet/dry shop vac I bought with our second child, it was a disgusting task. I don't like vomit, and I sure didn't enjoy having to clean it up from wherever Mommy Appleseed happened to drop it around the house. Multiple times a day. But did I complain? No.

 

Then there were the diapers. I helped change them too. The nasty, liquified peanut-buttery like messes that made me wish for a hazmat suit. In fact, my worst memory of child rearing was the time my child walked up, pulling a hand from where she'd been scratching her butt, as if to initiate a secret father-daughter handshake. In the midst of reading the internet, I absent-mindedly took the sweet, innocent hand of my barely-walking baby. That was covered in crap. I wish she had kept that handshake a secret. Not the best way to let da-da know she needed a butt change.

 

I think, nay, I KNOW that I've earned the license to be gross. It's like uncouth Karma. Even more, I think my wife should shut up about it. Did I constantly tell her that her projectile vomit was disgusting while washing it off the walls? No. I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose, ground my teeth and fought the urge to vomit myself as I blotted up congealed stomach solutions and chunks of her last craving. I soldiered on.

 

It's not like I walk up to the wife and ask her to pull my finger. Or dash across the room, whirl around and stick my wallet in her face immediately prior to a discharge. I don't blow the hair from her eyes with a massive burp at the dinner table. These natural body emissions just happen on their own. She should accept this, be polite and pretend to ignore them- even if she does occassionally turn green and have to physically pinch her nose shut.

 

And it's only going to get worse. I remember my grandfathers. I remember how they bubbled and hissed and filled a room with all sorts of port-a-potty-like smells from time to time. As I get older, my self-control will decrease and my bodily functions will increase. The Fart Factory is just coming online.

 

The next time the mother of your children lets fly a barb about your grossness, look her square in the eyes and reply "Glass Houses, baby... glass houses...".

 

Or you could burp-talk "Sorry." I think that works pretty good, too.

 

 

The Blankey of DOOM

Just when you think you've seen it all, your kids unleash some new, horrifying ability. My daughter, Indy-manda Jones (age 5)  sure did last night. With her blankey.

 

I should start by pointing out that "White" isn't really a blankey. It's a tattered, faded, two sizes too small Hello Kitty body suit made of faux velvety goodness. She carries it around everywhere, Linus-style. It is part security blanket, part napkin, part germ gathering drag along, part car pillow, part night time teddy bear/rag-thing. White has many cousins: Blue, Pink, Black... they too aren't really blankets, but rather pillows, pajama tops and even a sheet of fabric that could have been made into a blanket, but which we never got around to doing. But like in the Highlander, there can only be one. And it is White.

 

So there we were settling down to watch TV in the dadcave, Mandi clutching White and doing the sleepy time head nod. Big Sis, age 11, moved a neatly folded quilt onto the couch. Mandi immediately sprang awake, snatching the quilt and using it as a pillow. Rather than admit she was outwitted by her 5 year old nemesis, my older daughter regressed a few years and began to bicker with her sister about the quilt. In mere moments, the damage had been done. Mandi leapt into a Hulk-like rage, screaming and crying and declaring that "Nobody Loves Me!" before storming off to the playroom, germ-encrusted White dragging on the ground behind her.

 

Wishing I could just once have some peace and quiet during one of my television shows, I first begged, then later demanded, Mandi come back, sit down and be quiet. My plan almost worked. Until Big Sis tackled me on the couch- wrapping me in a death grip and evilly declaring to her little sister "My Daddy!" The Shrieking She-Hulk immediately returned.

 

Apparently intent to beat her older sister to a bloody pulp with the dirty, plush softness of White, Indy-Manda began whipping her White back and forth over head. On the second back stroke of her enraged fly fishing routine, she snared a prize. A half empty bottle of cream soda Big Sis had left out on the dry bar- because kids never put stuff away.

 

Had White been made of kangaroo leather or some material with just the slightest surface friction, I have no doubt the glass soda bottle would have been plucked from the bar, flown across the room and struck me square in the temple just like how David felled Goliath. Instead, the dirty softness of White merely pulled the bottle over- dumping the contents all over White. By this time, though, White was arcing around and snapping back toward Big Sis. Who ducked just in time for White to snap out, releasing its cream soda cargo in a mighty gusher of spray. Coating me and the couch in drink.

 

There's no real moral to this story. I just thought that I should share the amazing The Cape-like ability of Blankeys, formerly hidden from parental eyes.

TROGLO-VIEW: The Cheesecake Factory- bird food for the whole family

So it's spring break and we once again take our kids out to local attractions to broaden their minds and my wife picks restaurants to broaden her waistband. It's our week of splurge.

 

Well, it would have been.

 

It's my fault, really. I should have known that with a girly name like "Cheesecake Factory" the place wouldn't be worth a damn. But I was feeling all magnanimous and happy to be away from my craphole of work for a week. So I caved in.

 

Man, the prices in the over-decorated restaurant were high. But seeing as how the decor was right out of an old folks home or a 70s gangster movie, I kind of expected that. Being a bit of a rebel and a cheeseburger connosieur, I opted for a burger, instead of some fru-fru platter of poached pomegranites smothered in sissy sauce.

 

Our waitress was fantastic. Despite the fact she looked like she was barely out high school, the girl was an old pro at the serving game. Plenty of smiles, graciousness, neat and clean and superb service.

 

And when the food came I was shocked to see the bathtub-sized platter of food my wife got. Same for my oldest daughter, who got a ginormous platter of spaghetti. It was clear both the girls would be taking food home. My mouth started to water at the idea of a Fred Flintstone-sized bronto burger. Instead, I got a happy meal. Without the toy.

 

I shit you not, I have gotten burgers from Dairy Queen the same size. Maybe bigger. Americana Burger? More like, tiniest-assed country in Central America burger. A Texan would have bitch slapped somebody if they were served something that small. My God, it was like White Castle catering a fancy dinner. But on a giant sized plate. You could have fit three or four of those burgers on there. Did the waitress drop some of my food on the way from the kitchen? Do I really need a foot-long plate for a single quarter-pounder? I sure as hell didn't need it for the bouquet of french fries served in a metal cup on the side. Wrapped in paper and planted in the cup to make it look like I got more than I could count on both hands- but which I really could.

 

You know, I can understand a restaurant that hikes it's prices sky high and serves diet-sized portions. It's for a healthy profit margin. But why in the hell do you serve a bucket of spaghetti and a kiddie burger in the same place? I damn well know that I didn't order off the kid's menu.

 

My wife sat there and gorged herself on a major protion of the Atlantic's shrimp population, pushing her plate away and complaining she was stuffed. Same for my oldest daughter- lamenting that she just couldn't eat any more of that wonderful spaghetti. Me and my cheeseburger crumbs were not amused. My littlest made it worse by not eating her grilled cheese. It was "yucky". So we got her a second dinner of kids' chicken strips. Which I'll note was more food than my happy meal.

 

After everyone else finished- I had been done with my dining experience in like five minutes- we ordered cheesecake. At $7 a slice. I was expecting a candy-bar sized sliver of screw-you, but we actually got some decent-sized slices. Of course, at that price-to-food ratio, a whole cheesecake would have cost Donald Trump prices. My wife and oldest again lamented how full they were. I of course didn't have that problem, since the mouthful of cheeseburger I got was rolling around in my stomach all alone.

 

End result: $93.00 for our family of four, which I calculated was the same as almost three trips to Five Guys.

 

Will I return? Not very likely. Unless I have a bag of carry out from a real restaurant with me. Like sneaking food into the movie theater.

 

Cheesecake Factory: Not Dad friendly.

BATTLE: LOS ANGELES- Kid Friendly?

One of the things many a dad wrestles with is deciding if a movie is suitable for their kids. Kids often want to watch the same thing mom and dad do. Digital Video Recorders at home have really helped in the family watching, as they allow parents to skip past objectionable parts of movies and even television shows- assuming you are watching those programs on a delay.

 

This past weekend though I had to go it without a remote control and chance taking my girls, ages 5 and 11, to go see the new alien invasion flick, BATTLE: Los Angeles. (Not to be confused with the Syfy Channel's lame-o Battlefield Los Angeles).

 

I based my decision to take the girls on two factors: first, I've made a real effort to make sure my kids know movies are make believe. We watch all the behind-the-scenes stuff on the DVDs/Blurays, and we watch as many Movie Magic-type programs as possible. Syfy's reality competition, Face Off, has helped immeasurably with my youngest, showing her step by step how makeup effects are done. That being said, I do still limit a lot of horror or gore-type programs. Make believe or not, I don't want my kids being scared to sleep in the dark or getting bad nightmares.

 

Secondly, I read several reviews of the movie friday. Roger Ebert had one particularly scathing review in which he compared Battle Los Angeles to Independance Day- one of our family favorites. It was this comparison (with which I heartily disagree) that made me decide to take the whole family to watch some invading aliens get their asses kicked by the Marine Corps.

 

Both my kids fell asleep during this movie.

 

Shockingly, my 5 year old lasted far longer than her big sister, dozing off only moments before the big climax of the movie. My 11 year old dozed off twice during the movie, for very prolonged naps. How either was able to sleep through the ear drum bursting, chest-thumping loudness of the theater is beyond me. And I'll note I find it odd that as I get older and become hard of hearing, movies seem louder to me. One of the main reasons I dislike going to the movies is the brain-jsotling volume levels. I can control the sound in my home theater.

 

Is this movie appropriate for kids? Well, aside from boring mine to sleep, I'd say that it is. Sure, we see innocent civilians being killed by aliens. There are bodies in the streets everywhere. But this is a war/diaster movie and nothing on screen is going to be any worse than what children see on the news. Sadly, death and violence occur in plain view in the real world, and I am of the opinion we shouldn't encourage or shield kids from it. They need to be aware of it. I'm not saying they should be forced to watch violence, or that we as parents should drag the kids to a movie because it has violence.

 

Where does the level of violence fall in Battle: Los Angeles? It's not SAW. Nor is it Saving Private Ryan. The best analogy I've read is comparing the film to Black Hawk Down. And maybe that's why it bored my kids to sleep. The violence wasn't over the top. It's wasn't particularly bloody or gruesome. There weren't flesh eating zombies or disemboweling monsters. The violence, aside from being excessively loud, is fairly low key. Possibly even realistic. The violence isn't bad at all.

 

What about profanity? Well, it's a war movie. As a veteran I can tell you, soldiers do swear. In fact, I swear at home: "Clean up this (blank) room!" "Didn't I tell you to put these (blank) (blank) toys (blank) away!!!"  My kids have heard swearing- or "movie talk" as we like to call it. They understand that movie talk is reserved for adults or those people appearing on TV. Preferably both. I admit to cringing at the G-D I heard in the movie, but again, swearing is something kids are going to hear in real life.

 

What I do hate to see in movies is sex and nudity. My kids aren't going to see that in plain view. There's a far greater chance of my kids seeing a horrific traffic accident as we drive somewhere, then two consenting adults going at it on the side of the road. I shield my kids from the sex scenes and anyone who argues that sex is natural, it's no big deal for kids to see, etc. etc. I'll gladly accuse of being a closet pedophile. Thankfully, there's no sex in Battle Los Angeles. The only f-ing you see is the alien invaders f-ing up Los Angeles, and the Marines f-ing kicking their asses afterward.

 

All in all, I'd have to say that Battle Los Angeles is kid-friendly. It may bore them, it may give them a headache, but it's not going to scar them for life. And, in the end, the good guys win, so they hopefully won't come away being particularly worried about any aliens invading.

 

Yes, you can bring your kids. And you should, because this is a great movie for adults. If you like the whole scifi genre, this is a definite must see. Most of the goofiness of similar movies, plagued with technical inaccuracies and ridiculous writing are gone from Battle Los Angeles. Sure, there are a few corny moments, but you have to have a few in every movie. Sure there are a few errors- but again, every movie has them, and 2 of the 4 I noted were required due to the limitations of filming. For example, the Marines moving on patrol only a few feet from one another. They shouold have been at least 5 meters apart- the kill-radius of a hand grenade. But then they wouldn't have all fit in the frame, and the scene wouldn't have had the same impact. I can forgive the director that. In another scene, the Marines fail to use smoke to obscure their movement. If they had, some fantastic special effects and CGI aliens would have been obscured from my view. So I can live with that too.

 

And speaking of the aliens... they're great. They are tougher and more advanced than the humans, but our bullets do kill them- unlike many a movie where a 5.56mm round (capable of penetrating concrete blocks) doesn't even tickle the alien/monster/zombie/etc. Nor do the aliens look like people in crazy prosthetics like a Star Trek rerun. Nor do they use fancy lasers or energy-spitting weapons- they shoot projectiles just like we do, because a projectile does far more damage for the energy used to send it. The aliens, and their technology, blend seamlessly with this extremly well-made movie.

 

Battle Los Angeles is a great movie, and Roger Ebert has again confused entertainment with art.