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Better Off Dad

I am a stay at home dad. That’s pretty much all I am. I used to be other things before I started staying home with my kids. But now I’m just a stay at home dad, or SAHD for short. I know that’s what I am because that’s how people introduce me. “This is Marcus, he stays home with the kids (can you believe it?)” Or if they’re over the age of 55, I usually get the “He’s a Mr. Mom.” It’s said in a positive way, sort of like the way people say “between jobs” when they mean “fired for being an incompetent loser.”

February 2010 - Posts

  • Monday Morning Mini Music Break

     

     OK, I know it's not Monday (well depending on when you're reading this).  But I sort of needed a music break Monday Morning, and besides, Thursday Afternoon Mini Music Break just sounds lame.

     

    Now, I don’t know how your week is going, but mine seems overly difficult.  Partly this has to do with the fact that I’m still suffering from the after effects of this lingering cold / flu / herpes simplex thing that I seemed to have contracted. 

     

    Also, my youngest son has turned into a crazy man this week.  He screamed at the top of his lungs for 30 minutes in the grocery store because I didn’t want to get the bright green bananas.  Oh, I bought bananas.  I just didn’t buy the bright green ones. 

     

    This is apparently the worst thing that has ever happened to him in his entire life. 

     

    Well…. it was the worst thing, until about two hours later when I gave him the wrong cup to drink his juice out of.

     

    So, anyway, this week has been in need of a little break - a brief moment or two where you can forget your worries (or your children) and just focus on something more pleasant.

     

    For me, this often comes in the shape of a little bit of music.  Yes, a quick song to sing or groove to goes a long way toward recapturing a bit of my sanity. 

     

    Just a bit.


    So I thought I’d share with you some of the songs that I’m particularly enjoying right now.  These aren’t necessarily new songs, they’re just songs that for whatever reason happen to be running through my mind lately.  They’re the songs that when they come up on the Ipod, I immediately turn it up.

     

    I’ve decided to share these songs via youtube clips, which is great, because you should be able to click and here the song instantly, but at the same time, sometime the videos are not quite as awesome as the songs themselves.  So, if you’re a purist, feel free to listen to the songs with your eyes closed.  And if you’re a mindless child of the MTV generation who doesn’t even know how to listen to a song without being told what images to associate with it, then by all means open up your eyes and let your brain continue on its permanent vacation.

     

    We’re going to start with (as I’m typing this, Micah started screaming because Asher Dared to touch his Elmo cup) a song that I first heard as nothing more than a music filler between a couple of NPR segments.  I immediately said, “What is that wacky, awesome little ditty?” and then I whipped out my iphone and opened the Shazam app.


    For those of you not in the know, Shazam is this crazy application that will listen to 20 seconds of a song and then tell you what it is, who sang it and then let you download it. 

     

    Here is my best understanding of how it works.

     

    The app analyzes the millions of unique tones and intervals in the song and then sends them wirelessly to a computer which takes that information and shows it to a tiny demon that uses dark magic from the underworld to figure out what song it is, and then sends the information back to your phone in exchange for part of your soul.

     

    Normally, I wouldn’t say that this kind of thing would be worth it, but for this particulat song, I think it was. 

     

    It’s called “Whole Wide World” and it was written by some old British punk folk singer named Wreckless Eric back in the 70s.  

     

    It’s a love song.  And did I mention that it was written by someone named Wreckless Eric?  I mean, what else could you ask for?

     

     

     

    The next song is an old Tracy Chapman song that I absolutely love, “Talking about a Revolution.”  You know, it’s one of those good ol’ communist liberal songs about how the proletariat are going to rise up one night and attack the ruling class with machetes and stuff.


    Anyway, I got a chance to see Tracy Chapman for the first time a couple of months ago and she was just as wonderful as I thought she would be although even after twenty years of performing she still has the stage presence of a 4 year old girl at the school Christmas pageant who can’t remember her lines.  She’s painfully shy, but as long as she doesn’t make eye contact with the audience, she can sing like nobody’s business. 

     

    But this is not Tracy Chapman (I know!  A pretty big lead in just for a bait and switch, huh?)  Anyway.  An album came out recently that was even more communist liberal than Tracy Chapman.  It was called “Playing for Change” and whoever it was who put the album together traveled around the world finding different people and groups to sing songs and then wove all of their voices together on to an album.  It’s a wonderful album and one of my favorite tracks is “Talking about a Revolution.”

     

    I don’t know who’s singing it, or what country they are in, or anything.  I just know that they’ve taken Tracy’s song and made it even more beautiful and rhythmic and powerful.

     

     

     

    Now we’re going to do a 180 and check out this totally awesome British pop singer guy.  His name is James Morrison (you can tell the difference between him and Jim Morrison, because he goes by James and he’s not dead).

     

    A friend of mine got free tickets to see him at a mini lunch concert one day last year.  So we both tagged along to check this guy out.  He’s a little tiny guy who dresses like he’s been sleeping in Trafalgar Square for most of the last week, but he’s got a great voice and some awesome songs.  He’s huge in Europe but is still trying to break into the American music scene.  Part of the reason he’s having trouble is because when he sang at our mini concert, he sang about three songs, and then just walked off.  It was the weirdest damn thing I’d ever seen.  I’d hardly gotten settled in my seat and he was packing up his guitar. 

     

    Anyway, despite my getting cheated out of my free concert I’ve really taken a liking to this guy’s music.  He’s one of those rare artists where his entire album is actually worth listening too and not just the first two songs. 

     

    I guess my fave off the album has to be this little soaring pop ballad.  It’s called Broken Strings, and Nelly Furtado guests on it.   Now be warned, James Morrison isn’t much to look at unless you’re in to little scruffy dudes, but he’s got a great voice. 


    The video’s a bit odd as well.  It starts with him sitting in a hotel room and singing to himself while Nelly Furtado’s ghost hangs out on the other side of his sliding glass doors.  Then he tries to reach out to her sort of like Kirk and Spock in that movie where Spock died or whatever.  Then at some point his passionate singing makes the room explode and then catch on fire and then magically heal itself.  I’m sure this all means something. 

     

    I think it mainly means he needs to become a bigger star so that he can afford better videos.

     

     

     

    The next song is by one of my favorite little bands: Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers.  They have a great folk rock sound and put on an awesome live show.  The first time I ever saw them, they were opening for another one of my favorite bands, Eddie From Ohio, at Wolf Trap.  Their pianist / accordion / tuba player is especially known for his antics and during one of the songs ran a lap around the entire amphitheater and then ran back on stage and did the worm.

     

    This song is called “Shady Esperanto.”  I don’t know why it’s called Shady Esperanto.  I don’t do a very good job paying attention to lyrics so I never really know what songs are about.  I rather frequently will be bouncing around the kitchen listening to a song, only to discover that it’s a horribly depressing song about dead kittens or something.

     

    One of my favorite songs of all time is “Long Ride Home” by Patty Griffin.  It’s a peppy little number that turns out to be about a funeral.  Another song by Tracy Chapman that always can get me grooving is called “America.”  Here are some sample lyrics:

     

    “You found bodies to serve
    Submit and degrade
    While you were conquering America…..

    Your hands are at my throat
    My back's against the wall
    Because you're still conquering America”

     

    Holy crap!  I mean, how can I possibly dance around with a spatula in my hand humming along to that?

     

    I don’t know.  But somehow I do.  Again, it helps that I pay no attention to the lyrics.  Which, again, is why I have no idea what Shady Esperanto means or is about.  And probably I don’t want to know, especially if it’s about dead kittens.  So if you DO listen to the lyrics and figure it out, I’d just assume you don’t tell me.

     

    Their video is very cute, though.  It was made by themselves on a budget that makes James Morrison look like he was shooting Avatar.  If you can believe it, I think they even choreographed it themselves.  I also can not explain why Stephen Kellogg has chosen to don a scruffy beard that makes him look like that guy who always did too many drugs in the theater department. 

     

     

     

    Our final song for the day is by far the best.  It is from the TV show Phineas and Ferb.  For those of you without Elementary aged children, Phineas and Ferb is an extremely funny, extremely clever cartoon.  It is this generation’s Animaniacs. 

     

    Anyway, the cartoon has lots of songs in it and most of them are parodies of different genres.  For instance, there is an old Tom Jones / James Bond number about Perry the Platypus who is a secret agent.  (Yes you read that correctly.)  There’s an Abba-esque number called “Disco Miniature Golfing Queen” and this lovely ethnic piece called “Mexican Jewish Cultural Festival” which is essentially what would happen if the Fiddler on the Roof was up there drinking margaritas.


    Anyway, the show is my newest obsession and we recently bought the soundtrack which has one of my favorite songs of all time on it.  I am not normally into hardcore Rap but this song is called Squirrels in My Pants.  And I am always into hardcore Rap when it involves a topic like rodents in a pair of Wranglers.

     

    Here are some sample lyrics:

    S to the I to the M to the P!

    Who you got back home, watering your plants?

    S-I-M-P, Squirrels in my Pants!

    How can I qualify for government grants?

    S-I-M-P, Squirrels in my Pants!”

     

    It’s like Shakespeare and Oscar Hammerstein had a love child, isn’t it?

     

     

    Now, you might ask, how exactly did these squirrels come to reside in said pants?  Well, the truth is, I haven’t seen this episode, so I don’t really know.  I can certainly make a few suppositions, but in the end, does it really matter?  (get it?  In the end?)

     

     

     

      

    So, there you go.   A little something for everyone.  And honestly, if you can’t find something within this collection of songs to put a smile on your face and a bump in your rump, then there’s really not much I can do to help you. 

     

    Well, not much that doesn’t involve rodents and Wranglers.

     

  • If This is the ER, Where’s Dr. McDreamy?

    I finally became a real father this past weekend.

     

    Sure, there are lots of milestones that you pass through on your journey to complete parentdom.  There are the sweet ones like the first time your child calls you “Da-Da” or the first time they kiss you on the cheek unsolicited.

     

    Then there are the less sweet, but just as significant moments, such as when your son pees on you while you’re changing his diaper, or the first time you’re wiping up vomit off of the bedroom floor at 3 am.

     

    Ah, good times.

     

    Yes, all of these moments make up a complete parenting resume, and with three kids under my belt, I have checked off  just about all of these little boxes, save one:  the late night trip to the emergency room.

     

    I can’t say I was worried by the absence of this critical piece of the parenting puzzle, but at the same time I knew it was coming and was kind of ready to get it over with. 

     

    Thank goodness for Thursday night.

     

    It was at the end of a fairly long week.  My wife had worked late every night and so parenting had been a one man job for a while.  So, I had taken the kids out for dinner (kids eat free with adult entrée at California Tortilla!) and they were all running around for a few minutes before bed.  I was upstairs putting some laundry away when my daughter comes running upstairs to tell me that Asher had fallen off the playset and hurt himself.

     

    Again?  Really?

     

    We have this large, ugly plastic playset that I picked up on the side of the road a few  years ago.  It’s in what used to be the formal living room before we bought the house and is now a huge tacky playroom for the munchkins.  Our children have all become climbing masters.  They scale this thing and swing on it and cavort around it like a squabbling band of chimpanzees and of course, every once in a while, somebody falls off of it on to the plush carpet that once used to host wine tasting parties and now hosts leftover cheerios and polly pocket shoes.

     

    About 6 months ago, Asher fell for the 400th time and banged his head on the corner of a bookshelf.  This was deemed serious enough that we took him to the nighttime pediatrics location and they glued his head back together. 

     

    No, literally. 

     

    They used glue and “stickers” to hold the gash together.  They said the bandages would fall off by themselves, and sure enough, almost 4 months later when we were playing at an indoor playset at the mall, I looked up and the grey, scraggly bandage that had been stuck to my son’s forehead for 100 days or so was missing, presumably now on the bottom of someone’s shoe, or in the mouth of an overly curious infant.

     

    Anyway.

     

    We moved the bookshelf, repositioned the playset and the kids had once again been playing happily and safely.  Of course, they still fell occasionally, but that’s all part of the game, isn’t it?

     

    So, Audra comes yelling that Asher fell and hurt himself.


    Again?  Really?


    So I go downstairs.

     

    There’s Asher lying on the floor crying, but it’s not his “Oh my gosh!  The pain is killing me!” cry.  It was more of his “Wah wah, this hurts, but mainly I just want to cry and be dramatic and get some attention cry.”

     

    Well, not in this house!

     

    I pick him up and tell him that I’m sorry he’s hurt.  I check his head and don’t see any bruises or bumps.  I stroke his head and kiss it better.

     

    But he’s still crying.

     

    Come on…

     

    So, I tell him, “Well, if it hurts this bad, you must need to go straight to bed.”

     

    He’s still crying.

     

    I take him to his room and lay him down in his bed and say, Tthe rest of the family is going to go downstairs and watch the Olympics, but if you need to cry, you can stay up in your room and go to sleep.”

     

    He immediately rolls over.

     

    …….um….. that’s not normal.

     

    I turn the lights off and go downstairs.  As the minutes pass by and he doesn’t appear in the living room ready to admit that he’s lost this battle of wills, my mind starts to race.


    Ohmigosh!  Ohmigosh!  I bet he bumped his head and had one of those sub dermal hematoma things just like in the John Grisham book I read.  He’s going to go into a coma right now as we speak and have brain damage and have to eat strained peas through a straw for the rest of his life while watching the View.

     

    I cant’ let that happen!

     

    I go back upstairs and Asher is asleep…. At 8:00 at night!

     

    Holy crap!  It’s more serious than I thought!  I take the small frog flashlight that Asher sleeps with and used it to do a thorough examination.   I know I’m supposed to wave the light in front of his eyeballs, but what the hell am I looking for?  Am I just supposed to make sure that the eyeballs are still there, or are they supposed to do something?

     

    Asher startles awake, crying again.  I am relieved that he woke up and that he won’t have to spend his entire life as a vegetable.  I ask him if he wants to watch TV and he says yes.  So I take him downstairs and he instantly falls asleep on my lap.

     

    This is exactly what happened in that Grisham book!  And I already know that I’m going to lose the lawsuit against the evil insurance company!

     

    A few minutes later my wife walks in and I tell her what happened; omitting most of the part about how I thought Asher was fake crying.


    We make a few calls and decide that we need to take him to the emergency room.

     

    And here we are.

     

    So I load up my sleeping son and take him to the hospital where I stand around in this hallway with a living example of everything that’s wrong with our health care system.  There’s the lady with a toothache, the old man who looks lost, and the weird young guy in a wheel chair who keeps coughing as loudly as possible while all of the nurses ignore him and roll their eyes.  I don’t know what the heck’s wrong with that guy, but it aint normal.

     

    Then they check Asher’s temperature, weight and vitals, all of which he sleeps through.  Then I take him and put him on my shoulder while we sit and wait to be called.  We only have to wait a mercifully short time before a surly young nurse who looked like her boyfriend just texted to say he was leaving her for a stripper named Bubbles called us to follow her.

     

    She never said hello or introduced herself.  She just led us to a room, sulked in the corner and asked us a few questions before leaving.  I laid Asher down on the bed, covered him with a blanket and pulled out a book.  It was going to be a long night.

     

    While I’m reading these, two really loud nurses are chatting in the hallway.  One’s talking about how she’s applying for other jobs and this head hunter is sending her application around to other places.  The conversation went something like this:

     

    “So the guy calls and says he’s got something out in Western Kentucky, and I’m like ah man, what the heck is in Western Kentucky?  Just some redneck hicks?  So I called my boyfriend and he’s like, ‘man it must be like Podunk, Kentucky or something like that.’  And  then I get a call back from this head hunter guy and he says this city’s name is like “pah-dook” or something like that and we just laughed and laughed cause it sounded just like Podunk, but we couldn’t find it on a map or anything!  Can you imagine!”

     

    Because my son was lying in the hospital with a possible brain injury direct from a legal thriller I decided not to go up to this woman and tell her that, actually, the name of the town was Paducah and that my father happens to be the City Manager and that it is home to the National Quilt Museum that my mother happens to be the director of and that it is actually a very cute little town with a thriving arts district.

     

    Honestly, I think Paducah dodged a bullet on that one.

     

    Anyway, a few minutes later a very nice man came into the room and introduced himself as the Physician’s assistant.  He had a distinguished beard and a long pony tail in a braid.  He listened to what had happened, examined Asher, was able to locate a small bump on the back of his head and told me that he was sure there was nothing wrong, but that since Asher was not acting normally, that a cat scan was worth doing.


    So, a few minutes later someone took me down the hallway to a fancy pants MRI machine that looked like a giant donut.  It was just like one of those GE commercials where they’re showing you all of their fancy equipment and telling you that now GE has the technology to show your internal organs in color and stuff like that.

     

    Well, Asher is still asleep, we put him on the little tray, cover him with a lead blanket and then the magic machine starts moving around silently taking little picture of his little brain.  A few minutes later the not particularly friendly technician dismisses us and we head back to our room.  I put Asher back in the bed, cover him and turn off the lights.  In a few minutes we’re both asleep until our pony tailed savior returns to announce that the Cat scan was clear and that our little boy is 100% ok.

     

    And so, relieved, I pick him up, take him home and put him in bed.

     

    The next morning Asher woke up a little groggy, but fine.  He came down stairs and pointed to the little hospital bracelet on his wrist and said, “what’s this?”


    He had slept through the whole ordeal and had no recollection of even going to the hospital. 

     

    So, all in all, our first parental trip to the emergency was a flying success.  We escaped with merely a plastic bracelet and some vague memories.  Well…. and a little something else.


    Saturday morning I woke with some weird, sinus coughing disease that I still haven’t quite shaken three days later.

     

    If I end up in a wheel chair hacking my lungs out while the nurses all shake their heads dismissively I’ll know I’m in real trouble, because I’ve read that Grisham book too and I don’t win a million dollar settlement in that one either.

  • Blind Sided

     

    Sarah and I finally got around to seeing “The Blind Side” a few weeks ago.

     

    You know, that movie with Sandra Bullock where she brings this poor black teenager to live in her home and he ends up becoming a professional athlete?

     

    Well, I had wanted to see it.  It’s apparently the feel good movie of the year after all.  But I was a little hesitant.

     

    You see, we brought a couple of poor black teenagers to live in our home and one of them desperately wants to become a professional athlete.

     

    Funny that.

     

    This 18 year old young man, lets call him Antonio, used to be a student of mine when I taught in Mississippi 13 years ago.   He was always wiry and active and as he grew up he was blessed with height and some athletic abilities.  At 6’ 2” he was a star on the local high school basketball team.  And when he ran on to the court, he heard hundreds of people cheering for him. 

     

    When he walked the streets of the small town he grew up in, he heard friends and neighbors tell him every day how amazing he was and how he was going to be a big star in the NBA.

     

    Antonio was sure of this. 

     

    The fact that he wasn’t necessarily the best player on his team didn’t deter him, nor did the fact that his high school team had a pretty weak season that year.  He was sure it was still going to happen.  After all, you heard how Michael Jordan got cut from his high school team, right?  It was still early.

     

    Antonio’s grades were not great and his SAT scores were abysmal.  I helped him apply to a few colleges, but in the end, a mediocre athletic background and substandard academic performance were not enough to open any doors.

     

    So he moved in with us.

     

    Our idea was that he would attend the local community college, earn an associates degree and then transfer to a four year school.  I thought maybe he could get a teaching degree and become a gym teacher.  He could play basketball at the community college and hopefully that would provide enough incentive for him to stick with school and do the hard work it would take to achieve these goals.

     

    I thought Antonio was on board with this plan.  He nodded at all the right times and expressed the right amount of interest.  But this was not his plan.

     

    He didn’t need to worry about the classes, because all he needed to do was play ball well enough and a scout would see him and he would get scooped up by a Division 1 school and then it was just a matter of time until that fat NBA contract appeared in his lap.

     

    Unfortunately, neither of our plans turned out to be very successful. 

     

     I tried to help Antonio with his school work.  I sat up late with him helping him with work.  I showed him how to do research on the computer.  I made an appointment for him at the office that provided free tutors.  But Antonio didn’t do well.  He passed some of his classes but had to drop out of others.  During second semester we signed him up for the easiest classes we could find just to give him a head start, but he had little success.  The classes required hard work to make up for his previously inadequate academic preparation, but Antonio didn’t like the work and was convinced he could get by with doing less.  His grades ended up being ok, but we were running out of easy classes.  Things would only get harder.

     

    Unfortunately his basketball dreams weren’t going much better.  Antonio had some natural ability, but the laziness that infected his academic work seeped into his playing as well.  He attended every practice but rarely spent time practicing outside of school.  Even though we had a basketball goal in the driveway he spent most of his time watching basketball on ESPN instead of spending it practicing free throws.  He never spent time exercising or lifting weights.  He was sure his natural ability was enough.

     

    He was the best player on his team and was voted MVP, but he was a star only amongst much less talented teammates.  His team lost all but two games that year – a ridiculously bad record that attracted no scouts to his poorly attended games.

     

    That summer, I tried to talk him into staying with us and taking some summer classes, maybe getting Biology or History out of the way.  There was also a summer basketball camp that the community college wanted to hire him to work at.  I thought it would be a great way to earn a little money and to get a taste for what being a gym teacher might be like, but Antonio was ready to go home.

     

    He left for Mississippi and told us about his plans to get a summer job, but no one really believed him.  He spent the summer doing just what we all knew he would do - hanging out with his friends and playing pick up basketball in the street.  He had a narrow escape from some guy who jumped him with a gun and was around when his best friend went to jail for selling drugs and shooting at a passing car.

     

    When he came back at the end of the summer he seemed changed, as if the reek of the summer’s laziness and bad habits couldn’t wash off him.

     

    The next year went by with one miserable decision following another.  He signed up for classes but found them too difficult and just stopped going for a couple of weeks.   I still drove him to the campus every day, thinking I was dropping him off for classes that he never attended.  He eventually decided that he had made a mistake, but the damage was done.  He tried to fix it on his own.  He signed up for half semester classes and tried to withdraw from the others, but there was no way to catch up.  His GPA took a dive and he discovered, too late, that to play basketball you have to pass a certain number of courses a semester.

     

    He was dropped from the team.  Unfortunately, this happened right as the team was finally experiencing some success.  They had gotten a couple of new players and the team was on a winning streak.  They ended up making it to the regional finals, but Antonio just had to watch from the sidelines.

     

    To make matters worse, the NCAA rules prohibited him from playing basketball for more than two years in community college.  His community college career was over and it seemed less and less likely that he would ever make it to a four year schoo.  But he didn’t seem to realize it.  He had been in college for a year and a half, but had hardly completed more than a semester’s worth of credits.  He couldn’t play ball, and no scouts were calling for a kid who had taken algebra three times without passing.

     

    I hoped that this would convince Antonio to double down on his studies without the distraction of basketball, but instead he withdrew even more.  He signed up for online courses so he wouldn’t have to go back to the college campus and revisit his failures.  The classes didn’t go well.  He eventually failed so many that he became ineligible for financial aid.

     

     I tried to talk to Antonio about options, explaining that even though it didn’t look like the NBA was going to work out, that maybe having a teaching degree would allow him to stay active in the game.  Maybe he could take become a High School coach and possibly even work up the ranks from there..

     

    He shot back angrily, “This is too much work if all I’m going to get out of it is a teaching job.”

     

    Antonio had planned out his whole life based on being an NBA star.  He was going to play a game for a living.  He was going to make millions of dollars.  He knew what kind of car he was going to buy and what team he was going to play for.  He was going to live in a big house, but he wasn’t going to be greedy like those other players.  He knew what it was like to be poor.  He was going to give money back to his hometown and be a hero. 

     

    How could he do any of that on a salary of $35,000?

     

    That summer he returned home again to the Delta.  He was arrested within a week of getting back after a fight with his girlfriend.  He returned to us owing the state of Mississippi $900 in fines. 

     

    I realized that basketball was the only dream he had.  I tried to work out scenarios where he could maybe get into a four year college and play basketball for another year or two, but the windows of opportunity were shutting quickly.  You only had so many years of eligibility and he had to have a minimum GPA to play.  I told him what he needed to do to make all that happen.  But he never seemed to really believe me. 

     

    We lent him buy a car and helped him get a part time job at UPS so he could keep paying for classes.  But he didn’t like working at the warehouse.  He had to get up early and the work was hard.  This was not the life he had planned on.  He had secretly resigned himself to the fact that his path to the NBA was not going to be easy any longer.  He knew now, that he would almost certainly have to go play in the European leagues first.

     

    His false dreams in hand, he floundered through another semester.  He only had one course on campus.  Everything else was at home.  He never got a tutor, never asked for help and started hiding his assignments from us.  He cheated brazenly, copying and pasting material from the internet that no teacher could have thought came from him.

     

    He had to drop most of his classes and ended up still being ineligible for financial aid or to play basketball.  Along the way he wrecked our car.  We helped him buy another one so he could continue to go to work.

     

    I tried to convince him to forget about school and seek out a career.  Another former student staying with us had done that and was crafting a solid career as a plumber in the local union. 

     

    But Antonio wasn’t interested.  He didn’t like the hard work and those NBA dreams still burned even more improbably.  He came up with a new plan.  He would return to Mississippi where he had been a star and get a job there and to go to one of the local colleges.

     

    He texted me with this decision one day.  I came home and tried to explain its limits.  I told him that in an economy as bad as ours, leaving one of the top states for job opportunities and education and going to, perhaps, the very poorest area of the very poorest state, was not a good plan.  I further reminded him that most of his friends couldn’t find jobs and spent their time hanging out and getting into trouble and that he was likely to fall into that trap as well.

     

    But I think he had decided that the problems were not with him, but rather with geography.  That NBA career was still out there, he just needed to go back to the place where people believed in him. 

     

    He waited till we were out of town one day and then, without telling us, got into his car and drove to Mississippi, leaving behind two and a half years of work and effort with little to show for it.

     

    So, as my wife and I watched The Blind Side, it wasn’t easy.  As Sandra Bullock stomped around the screen demanding the best for the son she had taken in and reveling in his success as a high school, college and NFL star, I was filled with an odd mixture of anger, jealousy and frustration.

     

    I was jealous that this couldn’t have been Antonio’s story – that his talents and work ethic weren’t great enough to propel him toward his dream.  I was angry that the movie made is seem so easy, further feeding the dreams of marginally talented children around the country.  I was frustrated that my own abilities weren’t enough to bring any success to Antonio’s story.


    The reality is that there is a reason that only one of these stories is a movie.

     

    We make movies of the exceptional, of the extraordinary, of the 1 in a million achievement.

     

    The realities of life are lived by the rest of us. 

     

    In the past few years, I have had four different former students of mine come stay with us, all in an effort to escape the miserable poverty of their Mississippi Delta lives.  So, far, three of them have given up and returned home.  Antonio has been here longer than anyone.  He arrived a month after my youngest son was born and in many ways has been as much a part of our life as our son was.  And then he left, escaping in silence without a goodbye.

     

    My friends try to cheer me up.  They tell me that this is not a waste, that things can be different for Antonio now because of what he has done up here.


    And that’s true.  They can be different.  But they won’t be.

     

    Antonio is returning to one of the poorest areas in the country.  The only factory in town recently closed and jobs are few and far between.  He’s no longer eligible for financial aid because of his grades and without a job there will be no more classes.

     

    The reality is that soon he will fall into the same habits of most of his peers.  He will sleep late, watch TV, hang out on the corner, and when the need for money starts to outweigh his better judgment, he’s likely to join his friends selling drugs.  From there, jail and a further descent into failure are a short step away.

     

    No, this isn’t a given.  There are many ways this story could play out.  Unfortunately, this is simply the most likely.

     

    Sure, there’s still a chance that he did learn something from his time up here.  There’s a chance that he will put away his shiny dreams of riches and fame and realize that very few things in life are achieved without hard work.  Maybe he’ll get one of those few jobs that are available and start up at one of the local colleges.  Maybe he’ll decide to take advantage of the tutors and help that is available to him.  Maybe he’ll end up with a college degree and get a decent job. Maybe he’ll even be able to play a little basketball on the side.

     

    Maybe, he’ll be able to rise above the reality of life and the false allure of gilded dreams.  Maybe he’ll be able to be successful in his adequacy.  Maybe hard work and a comfortable, if ordinary, existence will become his new dream.

     

    Maybe.

     

    Now that’s a movie I’d like to see.

  • Budget Schmudget

     

    There is a phrase floating around Washington nowadays that kind of bugs me.

     

    It’s not a new phrase, but it seems to be in the midst of a revival.  It first popped up during the President’s State of the Union Address and since then I have heard it bandied about by Democrats and Republicans alike.

     

    The phrase is:  “Non Defense Related Discretionary Spending.”

     

    Ok.

     

    So, what does that mean exactly?


    Well, basically, it’s talking about our massive Federal budget and how we keep spending more each year than we are taking in. 

     

    This is a problem.  

     

    It’s actually a really really big problem.

     

    You see, we’ve been spending more money than we’ve been taking in for years now and it’s kind of turned into a financial disaster.


    Let’s think of it this way.  Let’s think about our national budget as an American family:  The Joneses.  And to make it simple, we’re going to use easy math.  Let’s say that the Joneses make a total of $100,000 dollars a year.

     

    Not bad, huh?

     

    That’s the husband and the wife both working and little Timmy earning some money from his paper route.   Altogether:  100K.

     

    Ok, you know how you read about how the average American has a ton of credit card debt?  Some estimates say that the average family has $10,000 in credit card debt.


    That’s bad.  That’s really bad, because with interest and whatnot, they’re going to be paying for years and the interest alone adds up to a significant chunk of that family’s budget.

     

    So the average family has $10K in credit card debt.  That’s 10% of their total income for the year.

     

    If the Joneses, our American government family had debts that were 10% of their annual income, that would be bad…. But manageable.


    The Joneses do not.

     

    They have a debt slightly higher than that.

     

    The Joneses take in $100,000 a year, but they have a credit card debt of $500,000!

     

    That’s 500% of their annual salary.  Think about that!  Think about what it would mean if you had a mastercard that was carrying a balance that was 5 times what you make each year.

     

    Scary, huh?


    Each year, our government takes in 2.5 trillion dollars, but we have a debt of almost 12.5 trillion.

     

    And what makes matters worse.  Even though the Joneses have a debt that is five times their annual income, they keep spending more and more every single year.  So even though they only make $100,000 they spend $120,000 every year!

     

    You see, the Joneses aren’t off by just a little, they are off by a ton – 20% to be exact.

     

    So next year, they will have a debt of $520,000 and the year after that $540,000.  And it keeps going up.  In fact, in the last 40 years, there have only been 4 years where the Joneses didn’t spend more than they made (late 90s, under Bill Clinton).  And whenever the debt gets higher, the Joneses have to pay more money just to cover the interest, which means they have less money to do all the other things they were doing, which means they have to charge more to the credit card each year just to maintain their lifestyle.

     

    Now, I think we can all agree, that the Joneses are horrible horrible and incredibly stupid people.

     

    I mean how do you get that far in debt and think that it’s going to be ok?

    These people need Suze Orman like nobody’s business.

     

    Ok. So how can we help these idiotic Joneses?  How do you get out of a hole where you owe 5 times as much as you earn and each year you STILL spend too much?

     

    Well, the first thing to do (and I’m no economist here) is to stop spending so damn money!

     

    Of course, that’s easier said than done and here’s where that whole “Non Defense Related Discretionary Spending” thing comes in.

     

    You see, there are certain expenditures that the Joneses HAVE to pay each year.  They don’t have a choice.

     

    The government has certain costs that are locked in by law.  One is payment on the debt.  If we don’t keep paying the interest on the debt, China will come over and repossess California.  (I know, I know, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but I’ve got family who live there and besides, I don’t think eating lunch at “China Pizza Kitchen” sounds as tasty.)

     

    In addition to the debt, most of what is called “entitlement’ spending is locked in.  This is stuff like Medicare and Social Security and all that other good stuff.  There is a federal law that congress must pay for that each year.  So we can’t touch that.  Now we could do things like raise the retirement age so that less people were on Social Security, or we could cut the kinds of benefits that they received, but then the old people would march on Washington brandishing canes and bags of Werther’s Originals and disembowel all of our congressman, and we wouldn’t want that…… Ok, there are times when you think you want that, but, come on, you don’t really….. do you?

     

    Ok, so we have to pay the interest, we have to make sure the old people can get Viagra and watch Family Feud.  And there’s other legally mandated spending such as salaries for government employees and food stamps and stuff like that. 

     

    So, all of those things are non-discretionary spending.  We don’t have any discretion over whether we spend it or not. We have to.  Think of it as stuff like the mortgage and the car payment and taxes.

     

    Those are locked in costs.  You have to pay them, or you end up living in a box.

     

    For the Joneses (our metaphorical government family) these locked in costs total about 62% of their budget.


    Almost 2/3 of the Joneses budget is going toward stuff they can’t change (at least not easily and without really causing some problems)

     

    That’s about $75,000 (because remember, the Joneses aren’t operating on a budget of the 100K they take in, they are operating on a budget of the 120K they spend each year.) 

     

    This leaves $25,000 dollars of discretionary spending that they have money for.  Of course, remember, they are actually spending $120,000 a year, so there is actually $45,000 of discretionary spending and they need to cut it by 45% just to break even, if they actually want to start paying off that monster debt, they need to cut it by even more than that, let’s say by at least 50%. 

     

    So, we need to cut $22,500 out of the Joneses crazy budget. 

     

    Alright.  I know that this seems like a lot, but I’ve got faith in us, let’s give it a whirl.

     

    What makes this hard though, is that all of that discretionary spending isn’t just going to lottery tickets and Haagen Dazs, it’s going to good stuff, like food and school supplies and gasoline.

     

    You see, that “discretionary spending” includes everything else that the government does, such as building roads, funding education, researching cancer, maintaining Yosemite National Park, jobs programs, college loans and funding the military.

     

    Sure, there’s some things that can be cut.  And sure, every year, some idiot congressman gets some kind of stupid pet project built in his home state, but the reality is that this petty stupid stuff is pennies of that $45,000 and that each of those stupid pet projects, no matter how asinine is giving someone a job.


    Now, there is no question that there is waste in the federal government, but every single cut, even the wasteful ones  is going to hurt someone.  Some person will lose a job, or some family will lose the ability to pay for college.  Even the stupid expenditures are helping someone.

     

    So these cuts are not going to be easy.

     

    And remember, we’ve got to cut $22,500.

     

    Holy crap!

     

    Ok, remember how I started all of this out talking about the phrase “Non Defense Related Discretionary Spending?”

     

    Ok, well what the Obama was saying was that he can only cut “discretionary spending” (none of that Medicare / Social Security stuff).  Ok, but discretionary spending includes “defense related spending” (the army, homeland security, B2 bombers etc.)  Now, since we all support our troops, the president is saying that we can’t cut any “defense related” discretionary spending either.

     

    Ok, I kind of get that.

     

    And so does everyone else, apparently, because on all of the talk shows and political venues everyone is talking about the need to cut “non defense related discretionary spending.”

     

    Ok, here’s the problem.  We’ve got to cut $22,500 out of $45,000.

     

    Our defense related spending is $27,600.

     

    Anyone see any problems here?


    Even if we cut every single non defense related program in this country.  That means if we sent no more money to schools, we close NASA, we don’t give a dime to other countries, we cancel college loans, we stop paving roads and travel on dirt, we don’t fund any medical research, we shutter the Center for Disease Control, we close all of our national parks, give Big bird the axe, close down the FBI and run lawless.  Even if we do all of that.  Even if we eliminate everything in America that makes us great, save for taking care of the old people, fully funding our military and paying the interest on our debt, we still run over budget by $5,000.

     

    And you know there is no way in hell we will ever eliminate all of that other stuff.  Because as much as everyone likes to bitch and moan about the government we all really like roads and education and museums and parks and cheap food and not dying of lead poisoning and having someone making sure that China isn’t selling us poisoned baby formula.

     

    We actually love what our government does for us and many people, literally, could not live without it.


    So, let me ask you this?  With a budget and a debt this screwed up, why is the military a sacred cow?

     

    I understand terrorism and I DO remember 9/11, but do you honestly believe that the way the military spends its three quarters of a trillion dollars each year is being spent without any waste?

     

    Is there no room for cuts?

     

    Is it not possible to shave off the extraordinary amount of money we are spending on planes and missiles and sending troops overseas?

     

    I don’t want to rehash the questionable decisions that got us into Iraq, or the questionable decisions that keep us in Afghanistan, even though the military believes that there are less than 100 al Qaeda in Afghanistan.

     

    http://abcnews.go.com/Blotter/president-obamas-secret-100-al-qaeda-now-afghanistan/story?id=9227861

     

    I don’t know enough about Terrorist machinations to personally re-direct our military.  I dare say none of us do (possibly including the military) but I do know that we have spent almost a trillion or so dollars in Iraq where no al Qaeda existed and are now spending another fair penny in Afghanistan to take out a few dozen.

     

    Now, I believe that we need a strong defense.  We need a mighty military.  We need a well funded and vigilant homeland security, but we also need roads and schools and food for the hungry.

     

    I am not saying we should stop funding the military nor that I want the air force to hold that apocryphal bake sale to buy their bombers, but I do believe this whole heartedly: 

     

    There is waste and bloated expenditures in the military in the same way there is waste and bloated expenditures in every other area of government and I suspect it is even worse in the military because they have been given a blank check to do what they pleased.

     

    In fact, in the last several budgets, congress has decided, as a matter of political posturing, to give the military MORE money than they asked for in their budget.

     

    Think about that.  The military, who knows, they will pretty much get whatever they ask for, asks for a quarter of the US budget and then the congress, says, “oh sure,” take all that, oh, and here’s a little extra just in case.”

     

    The military has become the spoiled teenager of the Jones family.  Sure, we need to take care of Timmy.  We need to give him new shoes and a computer and maybe even one of those Wii games, but does he need to drive a Ferrari to high school?  Wouldn’t a Ford Focus be plenty?

     

    Ok, I’m sure I’ve just pissed a lot of people off, but here’s the bottom line.  Our country is screwed and we have to fix it. 

     

    We must get our spending under control.  And if anyone was willing to be honest, they would have to admit that the only solution will be from a combination of increased taxes and reduced services.  We have been living in excess for too long and it is time to be responsible.

     

    And it will be hard, but in this difficult situation, there should be no sacred cows.  The military has more room to cut than many other departments and I think they should participate.

     

    Let’s cut discretionary spending.  Let’s do something to fix our runaway entitlement spending, but don’t take Defense spending off the table.

     

    When there is a family crisis of this proportion, we all need to participate.


    And yes, the military cuts will hurt.  Bases will be closed, jobs will be lost, factories will be shuttered, but this is true with every cut in the government budget and there is not a doubt in my mind that the military can make those cuts without even coming close to sacrificing our safety.  The cuts must be made wisely, but I am confident that the military is wise enough to know what is fat and what is muscle and where the trimming needs to be done.

     

    I think the pain of budget cuts should be shared across the board of all discretionary spending.  And I think Congress needs to put on its big girl panties and figure out how to cut our non-discretionary spending as well.

     

    It will be hard.  It will be painful.  But it is necessary and we can not wait much longer.

     

    Because judging by history, the only way to get our budget under control, create a surplus and start paying down the debt is for Mrs. Jones to divorce Mr. Jones and to marry Bill Clinton.

     

    And I don’t think anyone really wants that.

     

    Well, except, maybe Hillary.

  • Protests and Anti-tests

     

     

    Oh boy folks.  I have a doozy of a story for you this morning.  It’s just wonderful.  It will make you smile all day long.

     

    But to truly appreciate it, first I have to make you a little sad.

     

    You probably know who the Westboro Baptist Church is, even if you don’t know them by name.  They are the total nutjobs who travel around the country holding protests with signs that say things like “God Hates Fags,”  “God Hates America,”  “Thank God for IED’s”  “Thank God for 9/11”  etc. etc.

     

    Basically, they kind of hate everyone, but they really really hate gay people.

     

    This Kansas church is famous for their in your face, offensive protests.  They regularly go to the funerals of homosexuals and soldiers and famous people to wave their signs outside the funeral home. 

     

    They protested at Matthew Shepherd’s funeral as well as that of Heath Ledger, Michael Jackson, Mr. Rogers, and Coretta Scott King. 

     

    They try to attend the funerals of any prominent homosexual or Aids related death as well and that of a number of fallen soldiers and college students.

     

    Wikipedia has an excellent synopsis of their wacky history:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westboro_Baptist_Church

     

    Basically, they really really hate Gays, so much so, that they hate everything that has to do with gays or anyone who has ever supported gays or any place where a gay has ever been.  So they hate the military because there are gays in it and they hate Catholics because of the Priest thing and they hate Episcopalians and Presbyterians and Methodists (I’m so proud!) because they haven’t condemned homosexuality adequately.

     

    Oh yeah, they hate Jews too, but mainly just because the Jews like the gays.


    They also have a number of websites promoting their hate, such as GodHatesAustralia.com, PriestsRapeBoys.com and GodHatesIreland.com

     

    Now come on!  God SO does not hate Ireland.  Ireland is where God goes to drink after a long day!

     

    They also protested a local appliance store because it sold Swedish vacuum cleaners and the Swedes like the gays too much.  (good logic)

     

    They have even recorded a version of “We are the World” called “God Hates the World.”  If you’re in the right mood, it can be very funny - to listen to these sweetly singing voices proclaiming hatred, but at its core it is deeply disturbing.  If you’re in the right mood, here’s a link:

     

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0enY6pf6L0

     

    So, obviously, they are slightly deranged, but also rather wily.  Their goal is to gain publicity and attract attention (although I’m not sure to what end) and they are masters at this.  They go where the cameras are and come out with the most outrageous proclamations they can all designed to draw media attention.

     

    When you show up at the funeral of someone who was murdered because he was gay and you hold signs that say “God Hates Fags” you know it’s going to be on the nightly news.

     

    They approach society at its most vulnerable, at its most emotionally fractious and they stoke the flames of anger, hoping for a response. 

     

    And they usually get one. 

     

    People get angry, people yell at them.  The TV cameras flock to cover their vitriol.  And most of the time they are given precisely the attention they desire, all wrapped up in the safety blanket of our first amendment.


    This makes dealing with this group extremely difficult.  Over the years, different people have tried a number of methods to stop them, all with little success. 

     

    Initially cops were called, but the group always has a protest permit for their performances and they have clearly figured out precisely how vulgar they can be without crossing outside of the grey area protected by the freedom of speech.

     

    Then groups started planning counter protests, but these usually just turned ugly.  Shouting ensued, and people holding signs saying “Love not Hate,” usually ended up in tears or with balled fists, ready to strike.  Regardless, the shouting of the voices of hate usually dominates over the calm suggestion of peace and love.

     

    People have showed up to turn their backs symbolically on the group or to encircle them to shield the community from the church, but these are largely symbolic and not actually effective at blocking the signs or voices.

     

    At one funeral a group held up white sheets to block the signs, but they couldn’t block the shouting of the people holding those signs. 

     

    The Westboro Church is persistent and they don’t care what you think.  There is nothing you can say that will change their mind or force them to back down.

     

    The only example I could find of them being run off was at a funeral for three college students who died in a fire in Wisconsin.  The church showed up to protest at the funeral because they said that the students deaths were from a “Fire sent by God” because their parents taught them to be “whores and bastards.”  Well, over 1,000 students from the local community showed up and literally drove the protestors off.

     

    This is however one incident of success out of an estimated 41,000 protests the church has conducted over the last two decades.

     

    In general, all of the peaceful protests and counter protests and singing of songs has been largely ineffectual.  The Westboro church has stayed, the signs remained visible and the hatred continued to spew and to hurt.  No one left these events happy.  Any passerby left them angry, or sad, or both.

     

    Until now.

     

    Someone, (God bless ‘em) has come up with the perfect response to the absurdity and ridiculousness of the protests of the Westboro Baptist Church:

     

    Absurdity and Ridiculousness.

     

    Last week the nut cases showed up to protest outside the headquarters of Twitter in San Francisco, presumably because Twitter (sigh) likes gays.  (It really does get old after a while).

     

    Well, some brilliant individual realized that there was no point in trying to fight insanity with logic, the only solution was to fight it with even more insanity.  So the counter protest group made up its own signs.  Signs that carried equally logical and damning statements, such as:

     

    God Hates Kittens!

     

    Build Prisons on the Moon!

     

    Where’s Waldo?

     

    God Hates Ponies!

     

    ME!

     

    God Hates Retweets!

     

    I Was Promised Donuts!

     

    God Hates Signs!

     

    God Never Gonna Give You Up!


    God Never Gonna Let You Down!

     

    God Never Gonna Turn You Round And Desert You!

     

    (and my personal favorite)

     

    God Hates Sporks!

     

     

     

    Please, please, please take 51 seconds and watch this video.  Just sit back and enjoy it.  Rewind it, listen to the laughter and the constant requests for donuts.  It is delightful.

     

     

     

     

    You see, the beauty is that this worked.  Look at the passersby in the video.  No one is angry.  No one is crying.  They are laughing.  They are pointing.  And no one is looking at the signs being held by the crazy people, they’re looking at the signs being held by the sane crazy people.

     

    It’s brilliant.  It accomplishes what no other counter protest had managed.  It completely robs the Westboro church of their potency.  They are now nothing more than a bunch of flaccid protestors trying to keep their signs up.

     

    And where the hell are those donuts?

     

    Furthermore, the church was scheduled to protest at a production of Fiddler on the Roof later that evening because…….oh, hell, I don’t know, I guess because it’s about Jews and Jews like gays and, oh, whatever.

     

    Anyway, the church decided not to show up.

     

    Think about it.

     

    The crazies had traveled from Kansas to San Francisco and then didn’t bother to go out for their evening protest because they knew there would be no point.  No one would care about their signs, because they had been robbed of their potential to hurt.  Once onlookers were given permission to laugh at the insanity instead of be hurt by it, all of that anger and evil dissolved in a puddle of nonsense.

     

    I would absolutely give whoever came up with this idea the Nobel Peace Prize and I am 100% serious about that.

     

    And I’d sure as heck give them a donut.

     

  • Kayaks, Fox 5 News and Gay Marriage

     

     

    My brother is a bit of a wild man.

     

    He lives down in Asheville, NC and is one of those outdoorsy types who takes vacations to go rock climbing in Utah and likes to eat tofu that he has shot and killed himself. 

     

    Anyway, every once in a while he’ll forward on some tale of a recent adventure of a raft journey into the Costa Rican rainforest or climbing up the side of Devils Tower or creating a robot out of an old carbeurator and tongue depressors.

     

    Well, a couple of days ago he sent me a video of him kayaking down a hill in the snow.

     

    Yes, you read that correctly.

     

    I think the logic went, “Why spend $10 on a sled when I already have a kayak.  Besides, the maneuverability is much better.”

     

    So, he took some video and spliced it together to some music and waited for it to go viral (boy, now that it’s made my blog, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time!)  Anyway, the virality never came (It’s awful when someone questions your virality, isn’t it?) but he did make the local news.  He sent me a quick link and I dutifully clicked on it to check out his primetime debut.

     

    Well, I never found his news segment.  I’m sure it was on their somewhere, but as you probably know, local news websites all appear to be cobbled together by monkeys living in a meth lab.  It’s all just a series of lights and ads and blinking boxes - and absolutely no logical format whatsoever. 

     

    I searched around without much success, but the thing I truly couldn’t get over was the horrible horrible news happening in this little town.

     

    Now, my brother sent me a link from the Greenville, SC Fox news station, (not Asheville) and let me tell you there was nothing about the news there that makes me want to drive within 100 miles of that den of misery much less move there.

     

    http://www.foxcarolina.com/index.html

     

    I don’t know what’s on the website now, probably new horrible horrible things, but this is an exact reprint of the top dozen stories there as I write this:

     

    Cherrydale Girl Run Over By Grandmother's SUV, Killed

     

    Campobello Man Killed When He Slips On Ice

     

    Advocates: Bauer Off-Base With 'Strays' Remark

     

    Man Killed In Gray Court House Fire

     

    Cleanup From Winter Storm Continues

     

    Teen Pleads Guilty To Burying Stillborn Baby

     

    Slow, Steady Recovery Expected For SC Travel

     

    Gas Leak Prompts Evacuation Of Middle School

     

    Greenville Man Accused Of Molesting Children

     

    Expectant Mother Killed In Travelers Rest Crash

     

    Suspect Identified In Haiti Donations Jar Theft

     

    Anderson County Woman Shot In Face

     

     

    Holy Crap!  People burying babies!  People running over their grandmothers!  Child molestations!  Haiti donation thefts!  People getting shot in the face! 


    Damn!  The happiest thing that happened in that hellhole yesterday was the gas leak in the middle school.

     

    Now, I know that these crappy little local news stations go out of their way to find the very most wretched things that have happened in their town and then they pretend that those events are news, but still… this is just ridiculous.

     

    I decided that I should check out the local DC news just as a comparison.  I mean, DC has a couple of hundred murders a year and we’ve always got some politician doing something naughty.  Is our news this bad as well?

     

    Here are the headlines from our local Fox station:

     

     http://www.myfoxdc.com/

     

    Weather Closings and Delays on myfoxdc

     

    2 Men Struck, Killed After Car Accident

     

    Car Slides Into Chinese Restaurant Kitchen

     

    Teen Rescued After Fall in Steep, Snowy Ravine    

     

    Frederick Soldier Killed in Afghanistan

     

    Arenas Writes Op-Ed for Washington Post

     

    Alexandria Officials Don't Want Terror Trials

     

    Md. Scientist Turned Artist Leaves Mark

     

    Md. Sex Offender Advisory Board Grows

     

    Wintry Mix, Light Snow for Tuesday PM

     

    Biologist Protects Aircrafts From Birds

     

     

    Ok, so we’ve got some bad stuff too.  I mean some idiot drove into a Chinese Restaurant and there was a bad car accident, and another soldier’s been killed, but come on!  Most of the stories are about the weather and we’ve even got tales of a teen being rescued from a ravine and artists doing artsty things and biologists trying to save us from some Hitchcockian aeronautical demise.

     

    That’s good stuff!  I mean we even have a story about how a basketball player wrote a letter!  Now that’s news!

     

    So in short, Greenville SC is a wretched, horrible, miserable place to live….. or at least to watch the news.

     

    However, I do have to complain that neither of these stations carried my favorite news story of the day. 

     

    Thank God for MSNBC. 

     

    The headline is:

     

    “Lovers Told to Pay Fine In Buffaloes, Pigs”

     

    http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/35164774/ns/world_news-weird_news/

     

    Ok.  So apparently a couple in Malaysia was having an affair.  This is illegal, so the court ordered them to make restitution to the community in the only form of currency they had….. pigs and buffaloes.

     

    My favorite part of the article was this quote right here:

     

    The man's wife filed a complaint last year after finding her husband in shorts and her colleague in a sarong at the man's second home. The court rejected their claim that they were just "best friends."

     

    Oh, I think we’ve all heard that one before haven’t we?  You’re having a great day and then you walk in and find your spouse in a sarong and your friend there in shorts.  And they’re claiming that they’re just “best friends.”

     

    Uh huh. 

     

    Best friends who are now short a buffalo and a couple of pigs.

     

    The only thing that was weird about this story (Ok, maybe not the only thing) was that the infidelitators had to make restitution to the community.  Why the community?  Why not the wronged wife who had to come home to the sight of her husband in shorts with another woman?

     

    I think it’s the same logic as to why we can’t allow gay marriage, because it will damage the community……. somehow.

    So, here’s my solution, we can let the gays marry and parade around in their…… well, shorts and sarongs, ….. but we will require them to pay something to the community as restitution – something as valuable as pigs and buffaloes. 

     

    Perhaps gym memberships and Liza Minnelli posters for the men and Home Depot gift cards and clogs for the women.

     

    (If there was a line there that I just crossed, I apologize…. but not much.)

     

    So, I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson from our Malaysian neighbors… primarily about shorts…. but also about other things.

     

    And I hope our local news stations have also learned a valuable lesson – that this is the kind of news that people are interested in!  Something that stirs the soul and makes you view the world differently, not one more story about a dead baby or a kitten being eaten by a meth addict or whatever. 

     

    Or at least that’s the kind of story that I’m interested in.  Of course, I never never watch the local news because it is so unbelievably bad.

     

    And for all of you who have stuck with this blog entry this long wondering if I had some kind of point buried in here somewhere, well the answer is: no, I don’t.  But I do have a little gift for you.

     

    A video of my brother kayaking in the snow.

     

    Enjoy.

     

     

  • To Do or Not to Do

     

    I’m a doer.

     

    That’s who I am.  I get a little uncomfortable sitting around doing nothing, or worse, having nothing to do.  Luckily, as the father of three, with a family of seven to feed and clean up after, I rarely am at a loss for activities. 

     

    But beyond the obligations of life (dishes, laundry, vacuuming) I like to be out experiencing the world.  This world, and more specifically, this DC area I live in has so much to offer.  There is always a new museum, exhibit, concert, play, festival, or something going on.  And I have no intention of sitting on the sidelines while all that passes by.  (I’m already planning on taking in the Portrait gallery’s Elvis exhibit and the Corcoran’s Cezanne)

     

    One of my biggest criticisms of my fellow DC metro neighbors is that they don’t take advantage of all that this wonderful city has to offer.  If you’re not getting out and doing some of the things that this city has going on than you’re really just paying too much on your mortgage.  If you want to live somewhere that doesn’t have anything to do, you can move out to the middle of nowheresville and have a much easier commute, lower house payment and milk probably won’t cost you $4.00 either.

     

    But we take advantage of this wonderful little corner of the world.  Pretty much every weekend, we are off doing something. 

     

    But not this weekend.

     

    Somehow, our January got a little crazy.  We had birthday parties, guests from out of town, work trips, a trip to Disney….. It was all wonderful, but also a little intense.  There was hardly any time to breathe, and I have always been a big fan of breathing.

     

    So, this weekend, we sat down and stared at something that I haven’t seen in several months -  a weekend with nothing written on the calendar.

     

    We weren’t traveling to visit relatives, we didn’t have any birthday parties, no one had a soccer game, there wasn’t even a church meeting slipped in.  We were completely free!

     

    Completely free to do whatever we wanted.  Or, as it turned out, absolutely nothing at all. 

     

    We made the bold (for us) decision not to do anything this past weekend.

     

    Ok, when I say we didn’t do anything, I don’t really mean that we really didn’t do anything.  I took the kids to a movie, Sarah did some shopping, we did the taxes and we went out for ice cream.

     

    But for us, that’s hardly anything.  Any weekend where we put less than 200 miles on the odometer was a nothing weekend.  So, yes, we did get out of the house a couple of times, but for the most part we just sat around. 

     

    We watched a movie with the kids, we played a couple of card games, we had a roaring fire going for almost the entire day and we caught up on a lot of our backlogged DVR and Netflix viewing (very important.  I had been suffering from severe Netflix guilt)

     

    I got to spend (like most red blooded American males) a couple of hours on Saturday afternoon doing nothing but sitting by the fire, drinking a beer, watching Jack Bauer torture some people on 24…. and knitting  (I’m pretty sure that’s what Bret Favre was doing on Saturday).

     

    It was really quite wonderful.  I don’t know why we don’t do this more often.  Of course, it was coming to a speedy end.  We had church the next morning.  But then, we were given the added bonus of church being cancelled (there was almost 6 inches of snow on the ground after all) and so Sunday morning we sat around and ate pancakes and watched the kids play by the fire and read the paper.  Then we played in the snow and took baths and watched more TV and…

    And then, somewhere around Sunday afternoon the children started to lose it.  Their peaceful playing somehow morphed into constant arguments about someone touching someone else or about who’s toy belonged to whom.

    All of a sudden our peaceful Sunday afternoon didn’t seem so peaceful.  These kids were crazy.  We had to get them the heck out of the house, ASAP.

    So we packed up and bustled them out the door for ice cream and sanity.  Then we came home and for naps and dinner, bedtime and a little more sitting around watching TV by the fireplace. 

    And I have to tell you, it was all pretty nice.  I enjoyed the emptiness of the days.  I enjoyed mentally checking out and casting all of my obligations out the window for a while and just sitting around and doing a whole lot of nothing.

    I doubt we will get another weekend like this, probably not for the rest of the year, and I don’t even think I would want too many more.  If I had a series of weekends of sitting around the house, I think I would get as stir crazy and nutty as the children and start yelling at my wife to “stop touching me!”….. Ok, that’s probably not real likely, but I can definitely get a little stir crazy. 

    But not to worry, next weekend we’ve got a friend’s birthday party, the superbowl (we don’t watch the game that carefully, but the snacks are very important) and probably a few other things squeezed in. 

    Yes, the days of sitting by the fireplace and reading or watching TV are probably already gone for 2010, but they were nice while they lasted…. (well, for a little while.  Sunday afternoon was rough)

    And now Monday is here and as soon as we get past this 2 hour snow delay, (I mean, honestly?  My two teens from Mississippi had no trouble navigating the “icy roads”) it will be back to the whirlwind of drop offs, pick ups, cooking and cleaning.

    The Doing will begin once again.  But that’s ok.  I’m a Doer.

    It’s just that sometimes, it’s nice to be a Don’t.

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