Third Person Thursday: Gamer

The third person post below is inspired by Transformer Generation Dad's logo at the top of this blog entitled Gamers. I wanted to write something with a Father's Day twist to it and realized that this blog was started because of and is centered around fatherhood on a daily basis. Thus, I stared at the logo that I created when I first thought of this blog's purpose and created a story based on my mind's inner workings.

It took him eleven attempts, but once he finally passed the fiery Sea of Skarmoosh, Henry switched over to automatic. His thumbs moved like lightening. The distance between A and Y became nonexistent. The control stick glided from side to side with zero resistance. He flew through never seen before levels as if he had navigated them a thousand times.

In his excitement, Henry had arisen from the big comfy chair in which he had started his adventure and had begun to move around the room. When he dodged the bursts from the anti-matter cannon, he dropped a shoulder and moved the controller in the desired direction in an attempt to get his onscreen counterpart to move faster. As his character ducked below the propeller blades of the level boss’s helicarrier while attempting to board it, Henry too, squatted slightly.

The battle with The Lord of Lamentation proved difficult. It was the first legitimate hiccup in his quest to save the Staff of Eternal Pleasantness since he crossed the fiery sea. After three attempts, no amount of sticking out his tongue seemed to help at all.

Henry hit the Start button and sprinted up the stairs to family computer room. It wasn’t until he needed to type the name of the video game into the walkthrough site that he realized he was still holding the controller in his left hand. Thank God for wireless technology.

His eyes scanned frantically over the pages as he scrolled past them on the screen.

Lillypad Island, psshhht, easy. Like anyone would even need a walkthrough.

Pirate Ship of Unattainable Mercy. Kicked its ass.

Expert Bomb-Maker’s Cabin in the Wild Woods of West Calamity. Done.

Sea of Skarmoosh. Did that.

Hall of Putrid Debris, no; Land of Frigid Zombies, no; Staircase of Forgotten Memories, no; Boarding Helicarrier, no…AHA!

Henry quickly scrolled the page back up and proceeded down with extreme caution so as to not accidentally spy the secrets lying in wait beyond his current level. He just wanted enough information to get past and then he would survive on his own, or at least until he got stuck again.

“His sideburns,” Henry said out loud. “I never would have gotten that.”

Then he ran out of the family computer room and back down the stairs just as fast as he has run up them. “I got it, I got it, I got it,” he assured no one in particular on the entire way back to his rightful place before the television.

Within seconds, he used the Unbreakable Sheep Shearers on The Lord of Lamentation’s sideburns and had left him vulnerable to his basic attack. After unleashing that little gem, he dispatched the daunting boss with ease.

The final battle then went quickly because, despite his best attempts not to, Henry had seen what was next on the walkthrough he had consulted on the internet.

Henry’s thumbs came to rest. They felt warm. As he released the death grip on the controller, his fingers ached. The small molded indents where the tiny screws were recessed on the controller’s bottom side could be seen imprinted into his palms. He gazed in awe at the ending animation sequence. He watched as the Staff of Eternal Pleasantness returned to its owner, King Megamouth, and in return, he had offered the hand of his beautiful daughter, Princess D'Mure to Henry’s in game character.

Henry’s eyes watered. It wasn’t so much out of joy as it was fatigue. He had not blinked them for some time and they stung the first time he allowed them to close. But a few of the tears that ran down his cheeks were actually tears of joy.

“That,” Henry said aloud, “is how it’s done.”

“Great dad,” his sons replied form behind him as he sat upside down in the big comfy chair Henry had abandoned so long ago. “Do you think we can get a turn now?”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to get you past that level.”

“That was thirteen levels ago.”

“Whatever,” Henry said and handed his son the controller. “Might as well just start over on your own save file.”

While he tried to act imposed upon, Henry walked to the stairs with his chest puffed out and his spirits high. Even after his son called after him, “Ewww, you got the controller all sweaty!"

T(GD)-Shirt Giveaway: Day 4

"I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries."

In case you just skip right over the titles of the posts, rest assured that the above text is merely the quote for today's t-shirt giveaway, not a personal attack by me on your or your family's character.

Recognize it? If you do and you would like a Transformer Generation Dad t-shirt (great for painting or using as a dust rag) just leave a comment below this post containing 1. the title of the movie, 2. another quote from the same movie and 3. your e-mail address.

Our Third Person Thursday post will appear later in the day. Good luck and thanks for reading.

T(GD)-Shirt Giveaway: Day 3

Here we are on the third day of our t-shirt giveaway in simultaneous commemoration of Father's Day and the opening of the TGD Store. Due to some confusion yesterday, I will remind you of the rules prior to posting the quote today.

You must do three things in a comment below this post in order to win today's shirt.

1. Name the title of the movie,
2. Leave another quote of your choice from the same movie and
3. Leave your email address so that I can contact you regarding shirt delivery.

With that matter dispatched, let's get to the quote:

"You're not your dad! He could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves!"

Good luck.

Surviving Streaks & Slumps

While I could never love baseball as much as Bob Costas (I’m pretty sure they have a few kids together), my appreciation for it has drastically increased since my kids began playing at a new level. I suppose from a viewer’s perspective, it’s easier to get excited about them hitting a ball that’s pitched to them and it’s more interesting to see them make outs. The screams of the over-competitive jerk inside of me (don’t judge, we all have one) to be released from captivity have been momentarily silenced.

What I’ve come to notice is that the peaks and valley in performance that are part of the long season mirror the shifting of the kids’ confidence. Sometimes a sudden spike in performance leads to a sudden upswing in confidence and sometimes an inexplicable boost in confidence leads to enhanced performance. And it all happens so fast.

My oldest son, in his first year with other kids pitching to him, opened the season with a hit and a walk and was hit by pitches twice. Following this performance, he and I had completely opposite lines of thought.

Me: Awesome, he got on base every time he was up.

Son: Holy, crap, that thing can hit me?! What if it hits me every time? This is a bunch of bulls---!

The hitting slump began. Suddenly my son was afraid to swing. Instead, he liked to try and take walks…aggressively. He would really try and sell the balls, nearly flopping to the ground like a European basketball player. As the pitchers became better over the course of the season, this resulted in more strikeouts which further damaged his confidence. It was a challenge just to convince him it was better to strikeout swinging than looking.

After a few trips to the batting cages, my wife and I managed to convince him he at least needed to stay in the batter’s box. Couple that with the fact that he saw other kids on his team striking out and you could see in his stance that he was more confident. His knees were bent, his bat was back.

Still, when he surprisingly popped a ball up to the second baseman, he was so surprised by his own achievement that the fielder’s drop resulted in an out because he stood there in amazement, watching the path of the ball for several seconds before running to first. I worried that the potential boost to his confidence would go to waste. Thankfully, a run came in on the play.

“Nice RBI,” his coach told him as he jogged back to the dugout. Now he can’t wait to get up to bat again.

Contrast this with the season my youngest son is having. He began his baseball career crying through his first t-ball practice due simply to the pressure of having to be told to run to first as fast as he could. He has come around to being one of the league’s more formidable hitters in his second year as he now takes pitches from the coaches (often me). This led to a bit of a swelled head on his part. “I’m the best hitter on the team,” he told me early in the season. I was beginning to get so frustrated by his bragging that I contemplated beaning him on purpose.

But just as I was looking for a method to temper his confidence, along came his fielding ability to do it for me. He missed a few grounders that he should have had and he began standing out in the field with his lower lip stuck out and his eyes to the dirt. He was still hitting fine, but at least he wasn’t being so cocky about it anymore.

Since then, his fielding has drastically improved. His head coach even mentioned to me a few days ago that he is supposed to make All-Star recommendations and that if I was willing to commit the time, my son was one of the kids he was considering. I told him it might be best to let another kid have the chance this year and figured it would go a long way toward keeping his head from swelling again.

There’s also that fishing trip I have planned that might have just a little something to do with that decision.

T(GD)-shirt Giveaway: Day 2

Congrats to yesterday's winner who correctly identified the quote from Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. Here is today's quote, which should be an easy one:

"You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Remember the rules. You must comment below this post and include:

1. the title of the movie,
2. another quote from the same movie and
3. your email address.

Also, you can win only one shirt during this week's contest. Good luck and be sure to check out the new Transformer Generation Dad store.

T(GD)-shirt Giveaway: Day 1

Okay, here is the first of the quotes.

"My father would womanize. He would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark."

The first to leave a comment beneath this post containing:

1. the title of the film the quote is from,
2. another quote of your choosing from the same film, and
3. your email address

wins a Transformer Generation Dad t-shirt. Supplies are limited (as are sizes, it's either L or XL, sorry you petite readers out there, but rest assured it makes a great nightshirt) so answer quickly.

Also, only one shirt per mailing address. I know you would like to outfit your entire family in TGD shirts, but let's spread the love a little, shall we? Besides, there is plenty of apparel to be had at the Transformer Generation Dad Store, which is the reason we're having this little giveaway in the first place.

Good luck everybody. If you don't win today, check back tomorrow and each day up to and including Father's Day, June 19th.

Exciting News!!! Yes, So Exciting it Required 3 Exclamation Points.

Look to the right side bar of this blog quickly. Quickly now, quickly. Okay, back? Did you see it?

Ladies and gentlemen, I announce here the official opening of the Transformer Generation Dad Store! Huzzah! Our resident graphic designer and I have been working on this thing for months now, well for a few minutes every now and then for a few months, and we have finally deemed it suitable for public consumption.

So now, just in time for Father's Day, I present to you some nifty gifts for geeky dads who might identify with this here blog and who really like the color orange.

But that's not all!

As a special promotional offer, I have decided to hold a contest here on the very pages of this blog. Later today and then everyday between now and Father's Day, I will post a quote from a movie related to fatherhood. The first person to post the correct title of the film and provide another quote of their choosing from the same film will receive a Transformer Generation Dad t-shirt in the mail...for free! Exciting, right? Just place the title and quote in the comments section of the post containing the day's quote and also provide your email. Should you be the winner, I will contact you for your mailing address and a stylish TGD shirt will be on its way to you shortly.

Stay tuned, loyal readers, and feel free to browse the TGD Store in the meantime.

Ringing in New Weekly Features

Welcome one and all to our traditional weekly features post. I say this because we have a new group of Facebook followers whom I want to welcome. Hopefully they actually read the blog that they have claimed to "like." If they don't, then they are phonies. Yes, I'm talking to you! You big fat phony!

With the new Green Lantern movie coming out this Friday, I'm nervous again as i was regarding Thor that one of the superheroes I always liked might be made into a mockery on the big screen. While fears were calmed with the Asgardian story, I must remind myself that for every success, there is a box office flop. So our top five list ranks the top five most awful superhero films according to my opinion:

5. Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer - All that keeps this from being the worst is the sequence during which the Human Torch chases down the Surfer in order to find out exactly what he is. That part was awesome, but it was also the entire teaser trailer. This movie had the Silver Surfer, one of the most powerful superheroes of all time and Gallactus, a villain just loaded with special effects potential, and it completely whiffed on both of them. A dust cloud? Granted a big white dude in a purple outfit may not have translated well, but instead you made Gallactus a dust cloud? That's not even trying.

4. Batman and Robin - Two words: Batsuit nipples. Or should that be three words: Bat Suit nipples? Regardless, it sucked.

3. Superman IV: The Quest for Peace - At ten years old, I recall this as one of the first movies I ever watched that took something that was supposed to be awesome and made it preachy. In my opinion, this film opened the door for Happy Feet and other similar movies that make entertainment into a way to feel bad about ourselves. It also killed the Superman franchise for me in a way that only casting Nicolas Cage as Superman could have (does anyone remember that this almost happened?). Further disaster points go to the use of the Statue of Liberty. So wait, is it New York or Metropolis?

2. Ghost Rider - This wasn't a tough one. It should have just been action sequence after special effects action sequence. Instead, it was really cheesy dialogue from Nicolas Cage since this movie lacked the foresight to cancel production before filming.

1. Catwoman - Never watched it all the way through. Completely screwed up the story of Catwoman, was an obvious vehicle to try and display Halle Berry's body (as if that had never been done) and the special effects were so terrible that the Kraken from the 1981 version of Clash of the Titans looked more realistic than the scenes of Catwoman flipping acrobatically through the city.

This week's cool-ass thing you will never own is the main item from the movie on my mind: The Green Lantern's Power Ring. As much as you may want to join the Lantern Corps and generate solid light creations at your slightest whim, it cannot be bought and must be bestowed upon you. Don't be insulted. As hard as it may be to believe, even I don't have what it takes.

This week's sign you are a nerd is that you know exactly how much space you have available on your 1TB hard drive. That is down to the bytes and you can recite this number at a moment's notice.

This week's nemesis is anyone who insists I have to see this video on YouTube. People getting hit in the crotch are funny, kittens are very cute and the randomness of videos such as Chocolate Rain tickle me with bewilderment, but I did just fine before everybody streamed everything they did to the entire world and even before America's Funniest Home Videos for that matter. Come up with a topic of conversation that does not rely on some sort of audio/visual assistance to get your point across. I will give YouTube credit, however for not subjecting us to terrible Bob Saget jokes before every video.

This week's lesson learned is to avoid serving your kids dessert often enough to allow them to think it's a given. "Dad, what's for dessert?" is not a fun question to get when you've already sat down with a beer. It's even worse after they've already brushed their teeth. Should they then whine when told there is none with the righteous indignation of entitlement, you may just lose it. I'm just guessing on all of this, of course.

This week's equation serves as a reminder that a good cup of coffee takes time:

Here we see the inverse relationship between the quality of a cup of coffee in percentage points (Q) and the convenience with which it is made on a scale from one to one hundred (c), one hundred being the most convenient.

This week's Star Wars quote is: "The son of Skywalker must not become a Jedi."

Last week's poll resulted in you all deciding that the Batman movies were the best superhero movie series. Apparently The Dark Knight made up for all the damage Joel Shumacher inflicted after all. This week, I wonder which comic strip you miss the most between my two favorite. Is it Calvin & Hobbes or The Far Side?

That's all for now. Hope you had a great weekend. Check back for a regular post tomorrow.

Embrace Your Anger. Feel the Power of the Dark Side.

Over the past few days, instead of filling every moment of free time in front of a computer screen playing Dr. Mario at nintendo8.com, I have decided to do something more productive. I don't set myself a very high standard there as just about anything else would be more productive but, anyway, I've been archiving all the old photos from my hard drive.

When you have kids, even one kid, in the age of digital photography, when paying for prints is no longer an issue, merely hard drive space, you end up with a lot of pictures. I mean a lot of pictures. I'd be willing to bet that JFK was not photographed as often as my kids have been. There are fewer stars in all the pictures ever taken by the Hubble Telescope than there are pictures of my kids on my computer.

After backing up all the pictures to DVDs and moving them to my newer, larger computer, I decided that time normally spent playing old obsolete video games that I claim are better than any of the new games out there only because I refuse to admit that the world has progressed without me, would be better spent going through the pictures one at a time and making any necessary edits. It has been some time since I've done any photo cataloging and the red eye removal features have come a long way. So, as I rotated photos to their correct orientation and zeroed in on those pesky red eyes one by one, I stumbled upon a discovery.

If you are anything like me, meaning a neurotic parent to pre-teen children, you may already find yourself dreading the inevitable time when your kids hate your guts. By that, of course, I mean the teenage years. I, for one, already imagine the day when my sons will be around me with their friends and laugh at my behavior, much like my peer group did throughout most of my time as a teen. I picture myself running to my room and crying into my pillow all over again. The only question is, should I pour my heart out into a traditional book diary or should I go video diary, potentially posting the results on YouTube for some unknown reason so that my very personal and intimate thoughts can be seen and ridiculed by thousands more people. Then again, when it comes to exposing embarrassing thoughts to anyone who cares to hear them, I suppose that's exactly what I'm doing now with this blog.

But I digress.

The finding that I wanted to pass on to you all was a method by which to desensitize yourself to the impending mental anguish that your children will put you through when they reject your existence as a human being for a few years. When it does happen, maybe you can avoid the massive heartbreak, instead spreading said heartbreak over several years. When your teenager attempts to make you feel like dirt, you can grin through it and say, "You can't break this heart, kid, because I've been slowly chipping away at it for the last decade in preparation for this very day. Bring it."

Look through the old photos of your kids. The round little faces, the smiles that more and more teeth slowly begin to appear in, the absolute joy on their faces that the simplest interaction with you would illicit. Then, as you progress through the pictures chronologically, notice how they seem happy less often. Take note of the times when their smile is forced. See if you can recall taking some of those pictures and hearing your kid whine in between them, "How many more are you going to take," because while you and your family were trying to share a nice dinner at that restaurant for once he couldn't wait to get to that stupid freaking skill crane near the front door even though those cranes can't lift anything for crap anymore and the toys contained within them have probably been there for about eight years. Go ahead, notice how over time you already start to get just as many sullen, angry looks at the camera as you get smiles.

Let your anger and you disappointment build. A nice, firm callous will form over your emotions and, before you know it, you will be making sarcastic comments to them before they can make any to you. You'll begin treating them as if they are already teenagers despite being a solid five years away from it. They'll never see it coming and you'll have the upper hand.

I have already found myself doing this. As I prepare to take a picture now, I recall how when I used to tell my sons to smile they just did as they were told. Instead of saying, "Say cheese," I give them a dirty look and say, "You are going to stand right there and smile for this picture or I swear before all things holy I will put you right to bed when we get home and then throw away all your toys and I'll burn the ones you like most so that you can't possible rescue them from the garbage."

They never saw it coming and, man, did it make for a great picture. They held perfectly still and I could have used the picture for dental records you saw so many teeth.

She Must Really Love Me

You end up influencing the ones you love. With my sons, I have developed specific strategies for fostering their love of video games, Lego and Nerf guns. I have also planted the seeds of hate for the Green Bay Packers and provide said seeds metaphorical water and sunshine on a consistent basis.

While the ways you influence your kids may be in the interest of guidance and raising them with morals or out of self-serving reasons, it is usually intentional. Your influence over your spouse or significant other, however, may be more incidental.

When my wife and I first met, she was a borderline vegetarian. This wasn’t something that she told me early on in our relationship or it may very well have taken a very different course. She had almost entirely cut meat out of her diet when I showed up to unwittingly remind her of the joy of being an omnivore.

After all, we have these canine teeth for a reason. That reason is the biting and tearing of flesh, said flesh preferably being lovingly grilled over an open flame to juicy succulence with a cool red to warm pink center, or slow roasted so that you can nearly cut it with a fork, or smoked to add that woodsy flavor or…ahem, you get the picture.

Of course, she influences me as well. I have seamlessly and without my own knowledge until recently added dance to my list of acceptable musical genres and romantic comedies to my movie-viewing repertoire. She has helped me to be more patient with our sons and made me an avid reader. That last bit occurred more out of jealousy, really. I watched her fly through books faster than I ever had and said to myself, “Wait a second. I used to be smart. I can read too. Just watch me.” But despite my most blatant attempts to stand in front of her, novel in hand, I suppose watching someone else read a book just isn’t terribly interesting. Still, I read more despite the lack of recognition because of her.

As proud as I was for bringing my wife back to the chosen path of the carnivorous lifestyle, something happened last week that made me even more proud.

We were out at a dinner table with family and, as often happens within my circle of influence, the topic of discussion turned to meat. My wife acknowledged how delicious it is. Brownie points. Heart swells with pride. Then she upped her game. When bacon worked its way into the conversation (as it ought to with more conversations, thus we might achieve world peace) my wife mentioned how many glorious meats come from the pig: ham, pork, bacon. Then she placed the bacon-wrapped cherry atop the sundae.

“It all comes from the same animal. A magical animal,” she said.

I nearly cried.

For those of you who do not recognize that reference, I’m disappointed. In an episode of The Simpsons, Homer said that in disbelief as Lisa tried to explain to him that all those meats came from the same animal.

So not only was my wife eating meat and talking about meat, but she was now quoting The Simpsons while eating and talking about meat. When I came to after having fainted, I told my wife I had never been more proud of her. She laughed at me and the conversation continued.

A few days later we stood outside in the sweltering heat of early summer. I fumbled with the keys and tried to unlock our front door and gain access to the air-conditioned house as soon as possible. My wife groaned, “It’s so hot. Milk was a bad choice.”

I froze and stared at her in awe. The Simpsons a few days before and now Anchorman?! This was too good to be true. A strange golden glow seemed to emanate from around her. I could hear angels singing. A vision came to me. It was my wife stepping out of an inter-dimensional phone booth made entirely our of Lego bricks, clad in Princess Leia’s metal slave bikini, light saber in one hand, Captain America’s shield serving as a platter with which to carry medium rare porterhouse steaks in the other, mouthing the words, “I love you, you big, hairy geek.”

Then a voice said, “C’mon! Open the door!” I was snapped back to reality and saw my wife staring daggers into me as beads of sweat stood on her forehead. I clumsily opened the door and allowed my family access to the cool air, the image still in my head.

Later on that evening, my wife repeatedly asked me, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Third Person Thursday: Marty's Race to Freedom

Marty stared at the clock and completely ignored the announcements over the loud speaker. He wondered if the teachers had secretly discovered some way to manipulate the passage of time to slow the half-day and actually make it take longer than a full day. That was how it felt.

He wouldn’t put it past them. It was just the sort of diabolical thing they would spend their time working on to make the last day of school drag out and torture the schoolchildren a while longer. They certainly weren’t putting time into making their lessons any more interesting.

But even as Marty cursed the teachers’ suspected Einstein-esque villainy, he refused to have his spirit broken. No matter how slowly, the hands of the clock were still rotating toward summer vacation. Soon, victory would be his. He would be free from the constraints of higher learning. No longer would his days be full of the torment that was the fourth grade. The icy grip of authority would melt in the sun and leave him free to the brain atrophying pursuits of summer.

Provided he could survive the last five minutes. The longest five minutes ever.

The principal continued to talk about something over the loud speaker that Marty tried his damndest to completely ignore. Despite this, a few words and phrases stormed their way into his consciousness. Blah, blah, blah, achievement, blah, summer safety, blah, blah, vacating school grounds promptly.

Eventually…RRRRRIIINNNNGGGGGGGGGG!!! The big payoff. It was officially over. He was free.

Marty had braced his left foot against the leg of his desk. He used it the way a sprinter does a starting block and launched himself down the aisle between his classmates’ desks and out the door. He was somehow the first to exit the classroom despite sitting in the back row.

He was also pretty certain that this moved knocked his desk over and into his neighbor’s because as he left, he heard a lot of banging and a girl shout, “Ouch!” The voice sounded like Janet McCarthy, whose desk would have been directly in the line of potential casualties, but this was collateral damage that Marty had already accounted for and he didn’t much care for Janet.

Down the hallway Marty raced. He created as much space as possible whenever passing a classroom full of seventh graders. With the eighth graders already out all week due to their graduation, they had become increasingly brazen about being the oldest ones in the school and a few fifth graders had already been forced to lick the bottoms of various seventh grade shoes. Marty wanted nothing but the taste of summer vacation in his mouth today.

While he zipped between his fellow students, Marty imagined that he was going faster and faster. He envisioned himself as a racecar, advancing through the pack and overtaking his competitors. The lockers that lined the hall seemed to blur in his peripheral vision as he approached Millenium Falcon-type warp speed and then burst through the exterior door and out into the play lot.

It wasn’t until he was a block away, any sight of the school obscured by the nearby homes, that Marty slowed to a walk. It was the first time since that propelling push off his desk leg that he could be sure his feet were touching the ground.

With all things school firmly behind him for the next three months, Marty soaked in every item of sensory input. The robins’ song sounded beautiful in direct contrast to how they seemed to taunt him every morning on his way to school. The sun shone warm and comforting upon his skin instead of menacingly through the classroom windows causing the stifling humidity that caused his uniform shirt to cling to his back. The residences along the street all seemed to have perfectly manicured lawns and the smell of their fresh cut grass hung sweetly in the air. Marty took a deep breath of it and sighed contentedly.

The entire length of his mile long walk home was an absolute delight. Marty sometimes had to keep himself from skipping down the sidewalk in fear of a classmate seeing him and calling him a sissy. By the time he arrived at his front porch, he was relaxed and happy. It felt as if he had already been out of school for several weeks.

“Mom, I’m home,” Marty shouted as he walked in the front door. He purposely kicked his school shoes across the living room, hoping his mother would throw them out in frustration and further remove any reminder of the school year from the house. Then he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, shedding the other pieces of his school uniform as he went, leaving them wherever they happened to fall.

At long last, he collapsed in his bed in his underwear. He put his hands behind his head and stretched out, feeling the air conditioning on every inch of his skin. He took a deep breath, then another, then another.

After a few minutes, he rose from his bed and wandered through the house in search of his mother. Upon finding her in the laundry room, removing clothes from the washing and tossing them into the dryer, he stood in the doorway and waited for her to notice him.

Finally she looked up and said, “Hi, honey. I didn’t hear you come in. Happy summer vacation.”

Marty stared at her blankly, sighed and then said, “I’m so boooooooored.”

Back In My Day...

Warning: The following post adopts the tone of a jaded old codger who rambles on about how, in is day, he didn’t have such fancy whose-its and what-nots to keep him entertained and had to endure some sort of hardship. It further seeks to blame today’s younger generation for the existence of advancements that were not available to me at the same age, despite the fact that I would have killed to have such things. You’ve had your warning, continue reading at your own risk.

When I was a kid and summer hit, the free time and the endless sunlight was all the entertainment my friends and I needed. Okay, so maybe there was a ball involved. We played our own version of handball. It required no more than a tennis ball, an opponent and any variety of flat surface with a crack in it, preferably cement. It was played basically like ping-pong but with your hands.

We played running bases with a tennis ball. This is the classic game where you and your friends run back and forth from one square of sidewalk to another while two friends throw said tennis ball back and forth and try to tag you somewhere in the middle. If you were to watch people play it for the first time, they would behave similar to dogs playing fetch except the point is to avoid the tennis ball.

We also played “Off the Stairs.” This was another baseball themed game where you threw a tennis ball off the stairs (hence the name) and tried to bounce it as far away as possible without your competitors catching it.

Come to think of it, the eighties must have seen a surplus in tennis ball production because we always seemed to have plenty of them around. The only thing we didn’t do with them was play tennis. Even when one ended up in somebody’s gutter, we just always seemed to have another one at the ready. As a homeowner, I can now only imagine the frustration all those tennis balls in the various neighborhood gutters caused come autumn seeing as we never bothered to alert an adult to the potential downspout blockage.

But enough about the glory that is the benevolent and versatile tennis ball. My point is that it didn’t take much to keep us thinking that we had it made every summer. As long as whatever we decided to do was not being scrutinized beneath the oppressive eye of school-year authority, we loved it.

On the particularly hot days, a sprinkler kept you busy for a minimum of four hours. If someone had a Slip n’ Slide, your parents had to arrive to drag you home. A friend with a pool could have held sleepovers every night of the season with most of the children wanting to sleep on an inflatable float in the pool in order to avoid having to put too much distance between themselves and the water.

Cut to my sons, knowing I haven’t had time to set up our pool yet this year, begging me for seventy-two hours straight, including calling out in their sleep, to set up the Slip n’ Slide my oldest had received for his December birthday. They continued their pleading despite two solid days of thunderstorms. This was especially odd seeing as my youngest son is terrified of thunderstorms the way only dogs usually are.

Finally, the time came. “Can you set it up now?” they asked. “Can we invite friends?” they implored. “Is it ready yet?” they pestered.

Once it was ready and they had at least thirty (or maybe it just felt that way) friends over to play on it, they began laughing and having a grand old time. Needless to say, I was quite pleased with myself. Saying this is needless because I am often quite pleased with myself completely undeservedly. So when my actions actually result directly in someone’s happiness, my being quite pleased becomes obvious.

Within a few minutes of being reminded by yours truly, “Take turns,” and, “One at a time,” they had gotten the hang of it. They were throwing themselves headfirst across my front lawn and splashing into the miniature pool at the end of the plastic strip with veracity. In triumph, I retreated to my refrigerator momentarily to get myself a beer. The first sip tasted like victory.

But all was not as it seemed. Not even halfway into my beer, whose subsequent sips tasted more of contentedness than victory, things abruptly changed.

“Can we go in the backyard?”

“Can we jump on the trampoline?”

“This is getting boring.”

“I wanna go inside and play video games!”

“Can we go to someone else’s house?”

This caused the rest of the beer to taste like frustration and bitterness, which oddly enough tasted very much like tears and blood…mixed with beer. I drank it anyway since I didn’t want it to go to waste.

The kids who lived within a block were told that they could go home if they were bored. Some took the offer. My sons attempted to walk off with them and were told that after hearing them whine for three days, I would be damned if they were not going to slide on that freaking Slip n’ Slide until their stomachs were raw.

While they played a bit longer, they kept complaining occasionally when the fun stopped long enough for them to remember they didn’t get something they wanted. When all their friends had finally gone home, my boys were informed that it’s going to be a long summer if they keep this act up.

But I think I have a solution. Tomorrow, I plan on buying a package of tennis balls.

Weekly Features That Will...Oh, Let's Just Get On With It.

In order to avoid being even later than usual with the weekly features update, I'm just going to get right into it, starting with out top five list for the week: Marvel superhero role models:

5. Professor Xavier - An intelligent man and mentor to troubled, exiled youth who really need guidance. Sometimes come off as a bit holier than thou to me however.

4. Dr. Strange - Once a medicinal healer, now more of a spiritual one. He refuses to use his abilities in any way that might be questionable.

3. The Invisible Woman - The most powerful member of the Fantastic Four, Susan Storm still puts a priority on being a mother and wife. That's hard to do when constantly traveling through space and time to various alternate dimensions. We could all learn something about time management from her.

2. Spider-Man - One of the most important things about Peter Parker's character is that he's just a normal kid...with web-shooters, wall-crawling ability, the proportional strength of a spider and...ok, he still tries to lead the life of a normal kid. He keeps it simple. He decides within any given moment what is right or wrong. What would Spider-Man do?

1. Captain America - Again, a man who does what is right just because it's right. For Cap the line between right and wrong is well defined. The reason he beats out Spider-Man, however, is his skill as a natural leader. Steve Rogers (not Bucky, just so we're clear) inspired the men around him to fight harder and always had time to help them better themselves.

This week's cool-ass thing you will never own is unbreakable skin, like Luke Cage and the hero of our previous story, Exceptional. It would be great to have particularly this time of year with all the mosquitoes around.

This week's sign you are a nerd is that you have a shelf somewhere in your home dedicated solely to the display of action figures, Lego sets, or some other variety comic book, science fiction or fantasy memorabilia. Throwing a picture of your spouse or kids on there doesn't change anything. If the purpose of the shelf is to display the figures and what not, you are a nerd.

This week's nemesis is weeds. If trees or any other useful plant grew at the alarming rate of the weeds that continue to return in my front garden, there would be absolutely no threat to the rain forests. In fact, people would be encouraged to cut them down like they are to hunt deer to prevent overpopulation.

This week's lesson learned is to make sure that you just grabbed the carton of cream to pour into your coffee and not the carton of egg whites. For one, the egg whites are far more expensive and then you end up wasting both coffee and egg whites. Most importantly, in your pre-caffeinated state, you may not notice what you've just done and you will thus end up consuming some awfully nasty coffee.

This week's equation is:

Is this equation, we can calculate the total mass of gunk that will end up on your bathroom mirror in grams (m) by multiplying the sum of the number of times you eat popcorn per week (p) and the number of times you eat broccoli per week (b) with the elapsed time in days since you last flossed (t) all divided by the distance you stand from the mirror while flossing in feet (d).

Last week, you all decided that unicorns either poop rainbows or regular old poop (my top two choices as well). This week, I will acknowledge the fact that I am completely obsessed with the number of superhero movies coming out this summer. It used to be that there was one superhero movie per summer at most, but developments in CGI technology over the last dozen years or so have made it much easier to bring those once stuck in comic books to life. Thus, I ask this week in our poll question which superhero has had the best catalog of films up to this point. Your choices are: Batman, Iron Man, Spider-Man or Superman. Tough choices, I know, but remember to allow the bad with the good. The 1960's Adam West Batman movie should be included as should the Joel Shumacher Batman films with the nipples on the Bat-suit. Choose wisely.

Finally, this week's Star Wars quote is: "Always two there are, no more, no less. A master and an apprentice."

Thanks for reading. Now I'm off to try and watch the Godfather while my kids are sleeping.

It Takes One to Know One

Consider today's post a confession. I am a thirty-four year old American male (that's not the confession yet...wait for it....) yet I have never seen The Godfather in its entirety from start to finish. Whew, it feels good getting that off my chest.

It is my understanding that for a man my age, seeing The Godfather at least eight hundred times is a mandatory requirement. I have seen every portion of the movie at some point, but I will not pretend to believe that this is an appropriate substitute for viewing it properly. I sincerely apologize for my glaring shortcoming on this matter. Please don't think any less of me than you already do.

The good news is I now have a few weeks of vacation ahead of me. While I have plenty of other projects that need attention around my house I think it is finally time to embrace my destiny and make watching the iconic film a priority. The thought of no longer having to hang my head in shame when The Godfather inevitably works its way into a conversation far outweighs reorganizing that storage space beneath the stairs, replacing the burnt out lightbulbs throughout the house and paying the bills. Like they're really going to turn the gas off. Who needs it this time of year anyway?

There exists a significant reason for my sudden desire to catch up to the rest of the world on this matter that I have neglected to mention. I'm not planning on developing my own organized crime syndicate, nor am I looking for new ways to influence people through the use of racehorses. I'm already pretty well versed on the latter of those two.

No, the real reason I have an urge to watch The Godfather is because I am about to become a godfather myself. Tomorrow, I will have the honor and the privilege of holding my young nephew and speaking on his behalf. Keep in mind, this is his parents' choice, not his. He strikes me as already knowing better than to put too much faith in me, but they apparently have yet to realize this.

Since being a godfather is a pretty big deal to me I'd like to get my lines and my Brando impersonation down as soon as possible. That will give me a few years to practice before my godson can realistically grasp the meaning behind any of the Godfather references that I will no doubt be dropping on him throughout the rest of his childhood.

Here's to my soon-to-be godson's baptism. May God bless him and may he recognize what the hell I'm talking about seven years from now when I tell him that I will tie his shoes as a personal favor to him and that he will be asked someday to do a favor for me in return.

HB to the SC!

I am lucky to have two older brothers. Both serve as inspiration to me. While growing up, their lives served as a map to manhood. Watching them, I learned which mistakes to avoid completely and which mistakes were worth the chance and sometimes how not to get caught making them.

As chronology would dictate, my oldest brother was the first of the three of us to experience risk taking. I watched my oldest brother with great interest, eager to see how a given situation would play out. While I acted as if I were a trailblazer in my own right, often I was simply following in my oldest brother’s footsteps. For example, he chose the high school that all three of us attended without quarrel. He paved the path for all of us to end up at the same (dare I say prestigious?) university where we received quality educations. Why am I a geek? Because of my oldest brother’s influence. What can I say? He left some damn fine footsteps to follow.

Although he was the frontiersman of us boys, life’s wedge buster if you will, he has always carried himself through these situations with grace and composure. I can probably count on one hand (definitely no more than two) the number of times I have seen him mad for any reason other than having hit his funny bone on a door jamb or having dropped a 2x4 on his foot. He is one of the most laid back people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing and takes everything in stride. At least that’s how it has always seemed to me. He may very well have been freaking out on the inside and just didn’t show it all these years.

If I have left the impression that my oldest brother was a strong, silent, emotionally detached leader, let me assure you that this was not the case. Despite having different interests while growing up at times, he was always there to show support for us. Whether it was occasionally assisting in coaching my basketball team or showing up to watch one of my other brother’s games and then bragging to his friends, we knew he was proud of us.

He continues to be this way. Adult lives naturally take people in opposite directions, but my oldest brother makes a point of stopping by to see my sons anytime he feels like it has been too long. He’s a fantastic uncle with whom my boys love interacting. They know that he has the answer to a lot of questions that their daddy doesn’t and in that way serves as a role model to them regarding the importance of education.

I get a kick out of this because he was always the source of great knowledge for me. I owe him a debt of gratitude to him for being the first to expose me to Star Wars and explain to me back before Episodes I-III were even rumored to be released why Obi-Wan was sometimes referred to as General Kenobi and that there had even been such an event as the Clone Wars. He is still the only Dungeon Master I have ever known and it is for these reasons that he was the only person I trusted to help me make the final selections for our Geek Tournament back in March.

Over the years, my eldest brother has been many things to me and the others who have had the privilege to know him. Son, brother, husband, uncle, leader, teacher, friend and last but not least, my geek role model. So it is with love in my heart and an exceptional amount of awe that I extend to my oldest brother, previously referred to here as “the selection committee” a Happy 40^th Birthday.

Exceptions Must Be Made For Awesomeness

Third Person Thursday is a sacred institution here at Transformer Generation Dad. Normally, only a post written in the third person narrative would appear here. However, every now and then some news happens to come my way that must be shared. From time to time I am made aware of something so awesome that the celebration over it cannot wait more than twenty-four hours. When such a thing happens, it does matter what day of the week it is and i would be remiss not to pass it along to my loyal readers.

As I do at least every other day at least, I checked The Brothers Brick today and was astounded at one of their June 1st posts.

I have long regretted not having purchased the Lego Star Wars Sandcrawler many years ago when it was on shelves. Since, I occasionally find myself looking it up on eBay only to see that it is well outside my price range. It was always a set that I would have loved to have. But if you think Lego made a decent likeness of the mobile Jawa base, you haven't seen anything.

On The Brothers Brick, you will bear witness to a creation by Marshal Banana that was recognized by yours truly as the most amazing and spot-on Star Wars themed Lego recreation ever. A three-foot long, motorized, minifigure scale Sandcrawler, complete with night photos and a short video revealing some of the interior detail absolutely blew me away.

I encourage you to stop reading this blog and go check it out. Yes, it is that awesome that I am actually encouraging you leave this site if you haven't already and go there now. Go ahead. We'll be waiting here patiently for you when you come back.

...

Awesome, right?

My congratulations go out to Marshal Banana and I am going to the bank first thing in the morning to open up a new savings dedicated to the sole purpose of building up enough change to make a purchase should Lego ever have the good sense to collaborate with the artist and make it into an official set.

Third Person Thursday: Being Too Ready for Summer

As Ned stood before the shelves stacked against the concrete wall, he thought back to his time spent stocking them. At the time, the task of preparing his fallout shelter for the worst-case scenario was a whim.

The summer had arrived and he started going down his to do list. At the very bottom on the crumpled loose-leaf sheet was: “Stock shelter.” So that’s what Ned did.

He acted almost as much out of spite as concern. If every single item on the list was done, his wife could not bother him for the rest of the summer. Ned envisioned lying in his hammock, entire afternoon spent fishing and heading down to the stadium to catch a game just an hour before first pitch if he so decided. He imagined himself playing endless rounds of golf and shuddered to think how intimidated his friends would be by his soon to be magnificent short game.

Yes, for once Ned planned on mastering his summer free time at the beginning of the season and fitting in all that he hoped.

For all the fallout shelters in the world, few of them are owned by people who actually expect to use them.

When the accident happened the choice Ned and his wife were faced with was live below ground until decontamination was complete or risk the one in a million shot that the toxins accidentally released from the nearby lab would not effect their nervous systems. That was how Ned found himself standing before the survival inventory on that day, a day when he was hoping to squeeze in thirty-six holes.

It wasn’t until that moment that Ned actually looked at the shelves and analyzed the true value of the items stacked upon them. It wasn’t until then that Ned recognized the influence of his mindset while stocking those same shelves. Now that he stood before them and really looked, Ned realized that his summer fever might just have gotten the best of him.

He was afraid to turn around and face his wife. It would be difficult to explain to her why ninety percent of the shelf space was occupied by cases of beer and bags of charcoal. He only hoped that the lasers he could feel his wife staring into the back of his head didn’t ignite said charcoal before he could figure something out.

Commence Summer......Now!

The climb to a mountain’s peak begins at its lowest point. Great literature causes you to care about the characters before the story’s climax is reached. Classic music often inspires by building to a crescendo after skillfully adding different elements of the orchestra.

Why is it then, that the official beginning of summer is in the second half of June, on its longest day?

Make no mistake that the festivities and attitude of summer have set in. Here we sit on June first, and I guarantee you not a single kid in any school that observes summer vacation (because it is a holiday) is thinking about anything else but how many more days they have until they get three months of freedom.

Remember your own childhood summers and I’m sure you will fondly recall how the days got longer and longer for the first month. Summer started with your release from captivity and built to a celebration of extended sunlight, warm weather and all around outdoors-y-ness. August was the month when you slowly came down off the euphoric high of July and began purchasing school supplies in perhaps one of the most sobering traditions of our society. Excitement for a new school year, my ass.

Why do we continue to recognize the summer solstice as the first official day of summer? I say we take a stand and change that. Everyone knows that June first is the beginning of summer. Memorial day has passed. We can all wear white again. The weather has become relatively stable. It’s summer already, dammit!

So what if some ancient Greeks studied all this crap hundreds of years ago and deemed it so? We can’t change our minds? It’s similar to the tyranny of Daylight Savings Time, when I lose and hour of sleep every Spring. I don’t care if George Vernon Hudson (its inventor) and Benjamin Franklin (its often mistakenly credited inventor) were geniuses. It doesn’t mean they have all the answers.

You want to know who else was a genius? Ted Kaczynski. That’s right, the Unibomber. We aren’t taking life lessons from some wacko who lived in a run down shack in the woods now are we?

Let’s embrace the true meaning of summer. Let’s live life as it comes. Let’s make decisions with our gut. Gut instinct leaders are people like Captain Kirk, Joe Friday and General Custer. They got results.

On behalf of Transformer Generation Dad, I would like to begin the revolution now and wish you all a Happy Summer. You won’t hear it again from me on June 21^st.