Monday, September 26, 2011
Well, given that it is now Monday, no matter how much I might protest, I must hold forth five times to satisfy tradition. Here we go!
1) I think it was good to get back to some foam fighting yesterday. I've taken a long break due to a shoulder injury, compounded by weather as hot as Satan's underdrawers. It took a while to knock the rust off, which may account for the tire-ironing, but once I got going I settled in well. I only died to stupidity once, completely mistaking the enemy behind me for a teammate until feeling a series of foam-padded whacks on my spinal column that left bruises nowhere on my body, just a bit on the pride. Oooo, that stings. So that's why team sports have uniforms.
2) I think one of my favorite times of day is actually nighttime, and more specifically, storytime. Little Danger listens with rapt attention, whether I'm reading Mouse on the Moon, or Midsummer Night's Dream. So far, bedtime has been very simple...he rarely fights sleep after stories. I think it'll be great if that continues.
3) I think I had a good time at a local farm festival this Saturday. Wifefish was doing some facepainting, so Little Danger and I had a guys day. After a morning of piracy and Sith Lords, we enjoyed an afternoon with piglets and sheep, goats and farm cats. We'd gone from techno-rich to rural retro in the span of a few miles and a few minutes, and I hope we can keep him grounded in both worlds as he grows.
Wifefish painted an adorable big-head Vader on one kid's face. The force remains strong in this one.
4) I think it drives me insane when producers take a decent concept and screw it up with "drama." I used to like the show "Stormchasers", because tornadoes are cool and HD footage of them is cooler. Watching the new season opener was like watching a Godzilla movie, with all the screaming and shouting and "ohmigods".
Dear Discovery, bring back the science and the cool, and leave the histrionics to Jersey Shore. Love, Dangerboy.
5) I think crazytime of the year is here, a time where I am inevitably stretched far too thin. I hope this doesn't lead to me being sparse here, but the job certainly comes first. I have about 5 whiskey entries to write, a ton of stories, and maybe a rant or two. So it's not lack of material or drive, but rather time management that messes with me. Alas, alack, woe is me yadda yadda.
Monday continues! Let's whip it's posterior aspect!
Friday, September 23, 2011
"DUh, BILLS, boss." "Hey...ain't you gotta Haunt to get prepped? Why you only got 3 things crossed off the to do list?" "ummm...duh...Stressed out anxiety outta nowhere???"
Dude, you're fired. Go on back to the agency, just tell them I'll muddle through without Muse whenever that bitch takes a break.
I did manage to have a bit of fun over at Sprocket Ink, and I managed to lock down a bunch of sales at work. So it wasn't wasted, my productivity.
We talked about the NFL cracking down on fakers.
We talked about a real-life Weekend at Bernie's.
And that's about all I've had time for this week. Time to drink some scotch and slow down for a minute and a half, I think. Have a great weekend, and a very happy equinox to you!
Monday, September 19, 2011
On the whole, business trips are better with beer and ball games.
2) I think Little Danger is already exploring his career options. He's decided, I think, on something with swords. A pirate, an itinerant adventurer, a gentleman duelist, perhaps even a supervillain.
He has fallen in love with his kid-weight foam swords, and scores a few hits on Daddy from time to time. I've fallen in love with his Han Solo grin as he stands en garde, preparing to release his barbaric Yawp in a full-on assault.
3) I think I'm glad Little Danger made it back from the dreaded Ikea in one piece. Wifefish took him along with Meemaw, and they explored the bane of my existence last week. Wifefish succumbed to the dreaded kottbullar, which we had for dinner last night along with potatismos, which is evidently the Ikea-fied way of saying mashed potatoes. Little Danger had potatismos hair by the end of dinner.
The lingonberry jam was delicious. There, I said it. But I'm still not going into that store anytime soon.
4) I think I am very happy to have been excused early from the jury pool this morning. The chairs in that box are torture devices. After only an hour of sitting in one, my lower back feels like it's been pummeled by a circus strong man with the big wooden mallet after having been trampled upon by a herd of rampaging pygmy sloths.
5) I think it be International Talk Like a Pirate Day this mornin'. Ye should be certain ta celebrate most hearty, swill some rum and tilt some ale. An' say "avast" a lot, and don't be afraid ta call yer lubber workmates "barnacle-sucking codswallops!" I'll be swillin' a shot o' The Kraken before I cast off fer the land o' sleep this eve, an' I'll be jabberin' nonsenical nauticals with Little Danger, me prime first mate, as well. But I'll try to keep it "normal" while I'm talking to clients today, limiting myself to a single "Yaaaar" per conversation.
They tell me moderation is important in life.
Bonus thought: I see that with only 1 more person clicking that "follow" button, I shall have triple digits on the follow list. Don't you want to be number 100?
Now, powder to the guns an' have a great Monday, ye mangy louts!!!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I hadn’t intended to play poker. I was just going to hang out for a bit, watching Little Danger while Wifefish played. I had the most mild of Saturday night intentions.
Some very vigorous arm-twisting and buy-in fronting from some friends ensued, and I was strongarmed into a slot at the table. A friend’s daughter volunteered to watch the lad. Truth be told, I didn’t fight the armtwisting very much. I loves me some poker.
Poker games with our group are always interesting. It’s a heavy theatre crowd, which leans toward raucous. There’s a husband and wife team that are goddamn poker ninjas, and sitting at a table with them is like sitting down at the dining room table of the Great White Poker Sharks next door in an evening gown of porterhouse and sausage. It really ain’t pretty.
They're kind of like this, but less silly.
We opened with some typical table banter and fun, and I mentioned that I would be going “All in” anytime I got deuce-seven off suit, well known as the absolute worst hand in Texas Hold ‘Em.
“I can never leave it alone,” I said, “I just have to drop the Hammer.” There was general hilarity and head shaking…and then shit got weird. Mathematical improbabilities stacked up so quickly that somewhere, a whale and a potted plant raced each other to the ground.
This hand...is NOT your friend.
Not one, not two, not even three but FIVE of the first eight hands produced flops, turns, and rivers that were winnable by deuce-seven. I won one of them thusly, in fact. We laughed uproariously. With great uproar. I apologized for bringing my weird mojo to the table, but I really didn’t mean it. We were having more fun than a barrel of strippers.
At some point, the 2-7 craziness seemed to subside. My turn to deal came around, and Jim said to me “Why don’t you deal me something really horrible, like 9-4 offsuit?”
I said I’d be happy to oblige, and with exaggerated care laid a card in front of him. “This is your 9,” I said.
I continued around the table, and delivered his second card. “And here is your 4.” The hand played out, and Mr. Shark showed his cards as he folded: 9-4 offsuit.
“I missed!!!” I yelled. There may have been more uproar. It was the loudest we’d been sans beer in a long time.
At some point, Little Danger got bored with the sitter, and needed some Daddy time. I put him on my knee and showed him my cards for a couple of hands, playing up that he was deciding what we were doing. On his third hand, I said “What should we do with this one?” and he pointed with great authority at the table… “DA!!!” he exclaimed.
“I think that means all in”, I said. I was short stacked, and had a chance at a straight draw, so I went for it. It turned into a 4 way all-in, everybody jumping in the pool like a pack of crazed third graders on a hot august day.
Needless to say, that was my last hand. Note to self…teach Little Danger basic poker rules before letting him tell me to go all in.
The tables combined after the carnage of losing 3 players at once, but our funky Hammer hijinks continued. One of the players at this table tossed his cards down to fold, and they flipped face-up on the way to the felt…showing deuce-seven of clubs.
“No!!!” several of us cried. “You never fold deuce-seven,” I admonished. “You’re going to regret that in just a minute.”
The board ended up showing 7-10-J-7-2. Somewhere on the planet, Stephen Hawking’s head exploded. There was more uproar. Before the game ended, I took Little Danger and exited, stage left. I walked out with a huge grin on my grill.
I did not win, not even the Charlie Sheen way. I didn’t place in the money. In fact, I left early to give Little Danger his nighttime milk and storytime before bed. But I will say this: I had more fun at the poker table than I’ve had in a long, long time.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
“So…when are you having the talk?”
A friend and I were discussing adoption. He knew what we’d gone through to be united with Little Danger, and he had settled on a point of curiosity. I was confused by the question.
“Which talk, birds and bees?”
“No, THE talk.” I stared back at him blankly. I raised one eyebrow, quizzically. I’d always wanted to do something quizzically, anyhow.
“When are you going to tell him he’s adopted?” he asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world.
“Oh, we’ve already done that,” I answered, as if it were the most natural answer.
“But he’s not 1 yet…when are you going to tell him so he’ll understand?”
For us, that’s just not an issue. It’s something natural, something we bandy about. When he plays with that one certain toy, the one his birthmother gifted to him, we call it by her name. We call her his birthmother. We talk about how we love her, as a family, just like Memaw…well, maybe an aunt or uncle. Memaw is irreplaceable, moon pie.
Adoption is a fact, it will always be there. It’s his story, his background. It’ll be part of the scenery for us, just as it should be.
I mean, we don't go overboard...it's not like we sing "Head, shoulders knees and toes you're adopted". But we also don't hide it. It just is.
We talked a bit more, but my friend still didn’t get it. “No, Danger, when do you tell him about it?”
This had gone on for a little while, and I had struggled to get the point across. Finally I saw my opening.
“Well, when do you think T is going to tell her kids they’re black?” He stopped talking, the look of a man just hit by a conversational 2x4 on his face.
“Oh, OK,” he said. The light of understanding had come on in his eyes. Sometimes, only the absurd example will work. We moved on to the really important stuff…football scores and wines.
I was reminded of this by Single Dad Laughing, and I can say I’ve been lucky never to have come across some of these rude damn questions. I am truly thankful for that.
Monday, September 12, 2011
There is no 5 more minutes with a 1 year old. And hell, I don't need to take an hour off at the beginning of a Monday either.
But I'm writing this one while inventing a coffee bong. I think maybe iced coffee, so as not to scald the esophagus...hmm...
1) I think I'm getting annoyed with the scale. We are having a tug of war over the number 200...I want to see 199 and lower, and the scale refuses. Hitting the gym more often and hiking should help...Saturday's hike was 4.2 miles of beautiful trails (including waterfalls) with Little Danger strapped to my back. Do or do not, there is no try. Watch out, little digital scale...your time has come.
2) I think I had a blast playing an unexpected game of poker Saturday night. It was the most improbable and uproarious poker I've played, ever. And it deserves its own post this week.
3) I think yesterday's honey-mango-BBQ lamb and chicken was a good idea. Coupling it with a baked potato (and a sweet potato for Wifefish) and corn-on-the-cob was a good idea. But adding the Sam Adams Octoberfest was sheer genius.
4) I think our haunted trail is going to whip ass this year. I got some input by a man we all affectionately call our Monster Man...and he lives up to it quite well. Bwahahahaaaa! This is my evil laugh!
5) I think I'm glad I stayed away from the media overcoverage of the 9/11 tributes. I didn't like how every channel on the tube had some WTC-themed thing on. I know what yesterday was. I know what happened, it's viscerally imprinted upon me, like all Americans and much of the world over. And even though we all share the day, we share many days. Ultimately, my remembrance is a private thing, the tears shed and the fears felt are my own, even though I know you have them as well. Perhaps it's prickish of me to say, but I didn't need 583 TV shows to share it with.
It's the other days, the thousands since, that I live for...and the thousands hence, if I'm lucky.
Well, that's Monday started...make it a great one, gang!
Friday, September 9, 2011
At Sprocket Ink this week,
I talked about the tiniest motor ever,
and I talked about a crazy TSA-agent-sues-blogger-who-she-molested story.
I also put up some new fiction, of the high fantasy variety. It's a bit long, but I had fun with it. This is 1st person, from a character who has much more brawn than brain...it's a challenge to write him slow and methodical in thought, but not stupid or boring to read.
Something that made me laugh today...you have to read THIS to understand why THIS was completely hilarious. I would have given the kid an A, with only one red mark for spelling.
Have a great weekend, and "I'll catch you on the flip side."
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for you to strap in. This is a Dangerboy rant, and that means a stream of expletives will soon issue forth. If you do not like the use of enough F-bombs that a B-52 is required for their transport, it may well be time for you to click the red X. Still with me? Good…here we go.
This sets the tone nicely, I think.
Fuck you, George Lucas. I know that’s a fairly strong statement to use as an opener, but seriously, this guy has gone bonkers. There is a point at which you have GOT to stop tinkering with things that are better left alone.
Like our childhood, dickhead.
Look, I enjoyed some of the adds in the “special editions”. Really. I didn’t bitch too much about the prequels. I put up with the casting of the Sock Puppet. I dealt with said sock puppet replacing Sebastian Shaw in the final shots of Return of the Jedi. I allowed Jar Jar to eclipse C3P0 as the comedic foil in the prequels. I accepted, even though I bitch about it constantly, that “Yub Yub” is gone gone. But goddammit, just stop already.
George, you took a fantastic scene where Vader’s silent sacrifice, his mute crisis of conscience played out by brilliant tight shot on the blank mask of evil he had become, and you fucking ruined it by adding the whiny-bitch NOOOOOOOOO (you really wanna click that) that left me hating the end of episode III. Ruined. It.
Seriously, guys? It's called the Dark Side, not the Whiny Bitch Side.
Also, Han shot first, asswipe.
If you’re so hell bent on “fixing” things, why does Luke still yell “Carrie!” when he gets out of the X-Wing? Why does Captain Panaka call Bail Organa “Bail Antilles”? Come on, George, get with your own program! (There was a kerfuffle in explaining the Antilles/Organa goof, too. The official responses are…oddly disturbing.)
Look, I know these are your movies, and so you feel like you can change them willy-nilly and we’ll buy the everloving shit out of them. And you’re not far wrong, except for one little thing. We own them too, now. In our minds, we are a part of the whole Saga, the cheeseheads to your Frostbite Bowl, the kool-aid drinkers in your compound, the ewoks on your Endor.
And we say “Enough.”
Moreover, I say it with my wallet. I am not buying the Blue-Ray version, George. Not until DVDs cannot be played anymore. I want my son to watch Vader’s silent dilemma, the way I did. These aren’t the dollars you’re looking for.
Look, man, you made something wonderful. Something amazing. You shaped an entire fucking generation, and that’s no small task. The Force was clearly with you. But understand that you have slid down the path of the Dark Side, and forever will it dominate your destiny. I picture you grasping these Blu-Rays and tossing them down a shaft in the Death Star, redeeming yourself to us, the fans. But, then, you are the guy who made Howard the Duck.
And so I salute you, George, you and your “enhanced” Blu-ray versions of one of my favorite film series ever. But I salute them with one finger. Guess which one. I just hope I don’t end up like that Aqualish guy in the cantina after I do it.
Discounted from the normal arm and a leg.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
1) I think I need someone to handcuff me to a Playstation controller the next time a holiday comes around. I could not resist the concept of Labor on Labor day, and went apeshit on the garage of Doom. It is now again possible to walk unimpeded the length of the garage, though I expect that will not last more than a few weeks. I have a Haunted Trail to run, which means seeking all the props and masks and makeups and accoutrements that I have sequestered in the garage of Doom. As I will undoubtedly be in a mad rush, I expect the detritus of discard to create a new mine field across the concrete.
In the interest of full disclosure, I did actually spend too much time playing Dragon Age on said Playstation.
2) I think I had a good time last week near DC. I wasn't in the Capitol itself, but in a little convention area called National Harbor. I had great steak, great sushi, and several Irish Whiskeys. There was a cool Irish pub there, wherein I had a lamb sandwich while sipping whiskey while listening to an Irishman playing guitar while watching the Red Sox on TV. I felt fairly authentic, and couldn't help but sing along to "Whiskey in the Jar".
It wasn't all fun and games, and I got some work done as well. But I try not to focus on that here, lest you think I'm *GASP* responsible or some shit like that.
3) I think it was pretty sweet getting a bunch of the old gang together from the awesome thing we used to all do together. A picnic was had in the park, and of course we managed to schedule the only rainy day in 2 solid months of parching drought. It was a thing of humor and happy, as we've played in the rain before. There were more memories and stories and laughs being bandied about than I could possibly keep track of, but I soaked in as much of it as I could. It's good to smile once in a while.
4) I think you should check out The Manhattan Dolls. If you like the sounds of the 40's, those tight harmonies and sweet sounds, then you'll love them. Wifefish, Ruffstuff and I got to see them in a near command peformance, a small venue in the Great Midwest. It was quite lovely indeed. Here's a sampler of what they serve up:
5) I think I need to get some fictions posted! I've been typing furiously, and I expect to get something on your screen this week, I promise! I think I'll be posting a rant here this week, at the very least. Something twisted my knickers and I'm almost done with it...
That's 5 Things, a day late and probably a dollar short...like all of us these days. Have a fantastic week, and hurry back!
Friday, September 2, 2011
This week, I was given an award by the Habitual Hobbit, who has also started his own "5 Things" tradition. Give him a read, you may well like what you see.
Over at Sprocket Ink this week,
I talked about the wildest road rage I've ever read about
I ragged on the Fast and Furious fiasco. It should be the Iran-Contra hearings of our decade, but it's getting a lot of time under the rug. If you don't know about it, check it out...you won't believe the government can be this stupid.
In shit that made me guffaw elsewhere on the series of tubes, The Bloggess is being stalked by her own stuffed monkey
Noa wrote an open letter to college freshmen that made me think maybe I'm not funny anymore, because she used all the laughs in the world ever.
As for me, I'm out for the weekend. I may post 5 Things on Monday, or it may happen Tuesday, because Labor Day is for being lazy, but I'll probably be attempting to cross items off of that mythical to-do list of Mordor, or I may just throw that fucking post-it into the fires of Mount Doom lest it continue mocking me.