Here's A Tall Frosty Glass Of Weekly Features

Welcome to the Sunday ritual of weekly feature updates. This week’s top five is Things To Do In My Backyard On A Sunny Day:

5. Read while enjoying a beer

4. Play ping-pong in the garage while having a few beers

3. Grill up some burgers and brats, which requires the consumption of beer

2. Lie in the hammock with my wife and a beer

1. Play baseball with my sons and enjoy a beer in the hammock afterward

This week’s cool-ass thing you will never own is the high score on my Super Mario Brothers game cartridge. Sure, I’ll let you join me for a retro gaming session. Yes, I would love to see how well you can still do at Super Mario Brothers. However, you better believe I’m going to be watching that score in the upper left hand corner. Should you come within ten thousand points, I may just accidentally trip over the power cord, dislodging it from the back of the console or inadvertently bump my elbow against the reset button. Sorry about that. I can be so clumsy.

This week’s sign you are a nerd is that you own more books than CDs. Although, with the prevalence of the iPod and the various alternate reading devices that are coming out, I suppose owning a ton of either will become increasingly rare. I remember the days when moving in and out of my college dorm consisted mostly of packing and carrying box after box of CDs. And cassette tapes. My kids don’t even know what those are for.

This week’s nemesis is my knees. Okay, grammar police, this week’s nemeses are my knees. There, happy? Anyway, you two villainous joints can’t let me be, can you? If one of you isn’t hurting, it’s the other. Try to hustle and pick up an errant throw of the baseball from one of my sons and there you are saying, “Whoa! Slow down, big guy. What’s the rush?” And once, just once, I’d like to be able to get up from a seated position without groaning like a ghost from an old Scooby-Doo episode due to the pain you cause me.

This week’s lesson learned is that sometimes, in fact, more often than you’d think, less is more. I’ll give you a few examples using the format less (blank) is more (blank). Less stress is more soothing. A less complicated story line is more likely to keep your children’s interest. Less talking is more relaxing. Less butter on your popcorn at the movie is more beneficial to your lifespan. Less beer is more boring-er. Fun! Now you try some.

Finally, this week’s Star Wars quote: “Who’s the more foolish: the fool, or the fool who follows him?” Obi-Wan really needs to write a book. Talk about your ghost writer.

Okay, cheesy jokes are a sure sign I need to cut it off, so, thank you for reading. Regular posts resume tomorrow.

Seeing The Country, Sans Sweaty Tourists

Somewhere, there may exist a fan club for long lines and being in close proximity to sweaty strangers. I am not a member of this club. I do not like crowds. I can handle crowds in places where they’re expected, like a sporting event or concert. When it comes to the zoo, the water park, the mall, an amusement park, I think I’m allergic to them. Being in a large crowd induces symptoms like fatigue, anxiety, annoyance and the sudden urge to punch the guy who just tried to cut in front of me in the face.

Yet, if you want to take your kids somewhere special during their spring break, crowds are part of the game. Everybody else has kids out of school and they all have the same idea. You and I are not geniuses, my friend.

My wife and I have become spoiled. We get days off in the middle of the week on a regular basis, so we are used to being able to take our boys places while avoiding crowds. Again, this doesn’t work when everybody is on spring break. It’s also more difficult in the summer months when all the kids are off. While most places are less crowded on weekdays than they are on weekends, there are always parents who either don’t work or who took a day off. They often bring their kids to the same places I’m going and get in my way. How rude.

There is, however, a solution. It involves radical thinking and a commitment to traveling with your children while avoiding crowds.

The past two years, we have had an opportunity to take very unique trips in the middle of the school year. Our sons were in preschool and kindergarten the first year and kindergarten and first grade the next. These are grade levels where missing a week of school is obviously not going to result in lower ACT scores or prevent their acceptance to the college of their choice. So, we were able to travel to Disney World and Hawaii. Both trips were in the middle of winter which made the warm weather destinations seem all the more special and we ended up with memories sure to last a lifetime.

All that touchy-feely stuff aside, the important detail here is that crowds were at a minimal during that time of year. Most kids were in school, so the parents were at work or doing normal, mundane things. Very few people were out having fun. This crossed my mind recently while I tried to restrain myself from elbowing the lady behind me in line for popcorn at the movies who was wearing too much perfume and violating my personal space.

What if we decided to home school the boys? This was an idea my wife had while they were younger, when she could still feel the ghost umbilical cord between herself and them. This was before we experienced the free time of a day off while they were both in school all day. Sure, it was a few years ago, but maybe I could turn her back on to this way of thinking.

Think of the freedom. Think of the lack of crowds everywhere we took them. Want to hit Six Flags? How does a Tuesday morning in May sound? Want to go to the zoo? Which day is not the free day? That’s when we’re going. No school field trips with kids four rows deep to see the baby polar bear. You’re going to be right at the railing. Careful not to lean over too far.

On top of this, with the money we save on tuition, we could afford more trips like Disney or Hawaii. If I take a few extra days off, we could take a decent road trip once a month. What better education could a child have than seeing the country up close and personal. Studying and reading could be done on the road. Maybe the purchase of an RV is in order. Hell, maybe it’s time to just sell the house and get a big ass bus like John Madden, traveling the country in our own top of the line mobile home. My wife and I are both relatively smart. We could probably teach them the material they would cover through about fourth grade by getting books and reference materials. That would give us a few years worth of traveling. Imagine all the places we could see.

Sure, my wife and I would have to make some major sacrifices. We would have to arrange for childcare/teaching on the days one of us wasn’t off. My wife would probably not like the bathroom facilities in a mobile home as much as our house. On a related front, I would need to become familiar with the ins and outs of human waste disposal. But I think the rewards might be worth it. Just for a few years, we could be vagabonds and then settle back down, put the boys in school, sell the RV and buy another house.

This could work. I’m going to put a down payment down on a mobile home. Then, I’m going to put together a Power Point presentation the likes of which my wife won’t be able to say no to. Maybe I should switch the order on those.

Either way, step three should probably involve creating a sleeping space for myself in the garage, just in case it doesn’t go over as well as I think it will.

Join Me & We Shall Rule This Theme Park As Father & Sons

I love roller coasters. While normally introverted, if I’m seated next to a perfect stranger on a roller coaster, I will turn to them and shout “WHOOOOO!” and feel absolutely no embarrassment over it. If that person wasn’t as excited as I was, they had no business being on a roller coaster in the first place. So, when I received an envelope in the mail from Six Flags the other day and found preprinted season passes for myself and my family inside, my heart instantly started racing.

With the park only an hour and a half to two hours away and opening April 24th, I began planning which days I could go there this summer. Do the boys have any random Mondays or Fridays off? Maybe I could go then. How late are they open on which days? Maybe I could go and ride for an hour or two. The hour or so before closing is the best because most people have left to beat the rush out of the parking lot or to see the character parade. I could squeeze a few coasters in to get my fix and head back home. I better print out a copy of the map and plot out the best route to take through the park, hitting the rides I like first and most often.

In my obsessive frenzy, I forgot an important detail. My wife and sons will not ride roller coasters with me. My hopes came crashing violently back to Earth in the manner my wife is terrified she will if she sets foot on a roller coaster.

I still plan to renew the passes. After all, we had fun last year. My boys like the smaller rides and some of them can be fun. I may have a problem fitting in most of them, but at least my wife will go on those even though they aren’t her favorite. I even took the boys by myself once or twice last summer. It’s still worth it, I thought to myself. I sat on this feeling for a few days. I let it rest like the inactive passes upon my desktop.

Then, my five-year-old wandered up to the makeshift measuring tape on the convenience store doorway meant to help frightened cashiers assign an accurate number to the height of the man that just robbed them.

“How tall am I?” he asked.

“Just over 48 inches,” I said.

I think I blacked out then, because the next thing I remembered was being at home in front of the computer, looking up height restrictions on the roller coasters. The voice in the back of my head spoke up suddenly.

“The time is right.” This voice sounds a lot like Emperor Palpatine, which would make one think I wouldn’t want to listen, but I can’t seem to help myself.

And so my scheme begins. Somehow, I must convince my sons within the next month or two that they want to ride roller coasters. I know that if they both want to go on, my wife will, most likely, agree to ride as well. If she doesn’t, they can ride with one another and I can sit directly behind them next to some stranger who has no idea they are about to get a “WHOOOOO!” in their face within the coming minutes.

Or is this thinking flawed? If my wife still refuses to ride, one of them may be tempted to wait with mommy. Then, if one of them waits, the other will surely be tempted not to ride. That leaves me by myself and, while I have no problem indulging the occasional bought of selfishness, I’m not going to an amusement park with my family just to have them wait around for me to get off rides all day. The boys must be convinced. Anything less is unacceptable.

But how shall I carry out my evil, er, I mean, maniacal, wait, wait, I meant to say…master? Yes, master plan. How shall I carry out my master plan? Subliminal messages? Perhaps I shall ever so tactfully inject roller coasters and the positive aspects of them into every discussion.

“Do we need anything else from the store?”

“We need butter.”

“That reminds me, aren’t you excited to go to Six Flags and ride some roller coasters this summer?”

“…”

“What? You saying butter made me think of roller coasters for some reason. Maybe because they’re awesome, just like butter.”

We could invite other family members to join us. It would have to be a family member who is prescreened to love roller coasters and who the boys think is cool. Seeing that person on the ride would have to make them associate it with coolness.

That should work nicely for starters. But there needs to be more. I need some kind of subtle, nurturing, parental way to convince them to want to go on the roller coasters on their own without rushing them. Let it be their decision. Let them be in control.

I’ve got it! Bribery.

A new toy for every roller coaster. Just to try it. Then they don’t have to go on that roller coaster ever again if they didn’t like it…unless they want another toy. But that could become expensive. Maybe five coasters would get them a toy.

I can remember my dad doing this with me. I was afraid to go on a ride so he would offer me a reward of some kind. I would be afraid, but I’d go. Afterward, I would realize that my fear was unfounded and I’d happily go on the roller coaster again without any incentive but the thrill.

Of course, his motives were to get me to try something new without being afraid. Mine are to be able to ride roller coasters without guilt. Same thing. This’ll work. It has to.

Initiate phase one.

Exceptional - Part 3

This is part 3 of our continuing story. Please read the posts from the previous two Thursdays if you haven't already. Enjoy.

James sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes on the floor and let his father talk. They’d had talks like this before and James always seemed to look down at the grey carpet of his room. Usually it was because he was ashamed of something he’d done. This time was different. This time, he didn’t feel he had done anything wrong, yet he knew he must let his father talk.

“Forgetting a few assignments is one thing,” he said as he paced in front of James, “but every single one of your teachers has sent a note home and they’re all the same. James knows the material. He scores well on tests but is not completing his homework assignments. You have a D in Algebra!”

His father stared daggers into him. James looked up for just a second as he felt them. He knew his father was half expecting a response, but James had heard enough lectures to know by this point that you don’t speak unless asked a question.

“It’s like you’ve consciously decided not to do your homework.”

What James’ father didn’t know is that was exactly what James had decided to do. His classes seemed to become more boring each day. James had actually read ahead in all of his textbooks. Some time ago he had read beyond the material that was to be covered by the end of the year. He passed every test with flying colors and knew the material before the teacher presented it. Homework was a waste of his time.

Instead, he had spent every spare moment honing his new found physical skills. Over the past few weeks he had been lifting weights, doing push ups and running for miles at a time on the way home from school instead of taking the bus. James was fascinated at what good shape he was in and felt a drive to push himself further physically every day.

At night, James dreamt of fighting older kids at school who had once bullied him and others like him. In these dreams, he would beat them up easily and then always do something at the end to humiliate them. In one dream, he made a particular bully stuff his own underwear in his mouth. In another, he forced a boy who had once stolen James’ bike to lick the bottom of his shoe.

James noticed his father staring at him again and thought, Still no question, dad. You’re getting nothing until you ask.

“Is that what you’ve decided to do,” his father asked as if he’d read his mind, “skip all your homework?”

“Of course not,” James said quietly. Just because his father finally asked didn’t mean James was required to provide an honest answer.

“Then tell me, why aren’t you doing your homework?”

James sighed in order to buy time for an answer. Half truths come out more naturally than flat-out lies, he decided.

“I’m bored,” he said. “I know all the stuff the teacher’s saying, dad. I almost feel like I could teach the class. When I get home, I guess I just forget about the work because I don’t really feel like I have to practice to get it.”

His father produced the crumpled up teachers’ notes from his back pocket and skimmed through them. “They all say you’re getting the material,” he said, eyes on the notes, “but you still have to do the homework just like everybody else. You’re no better than they are.”

“Yeah I am,” James said suddenly. He realized immediately that he had just broken his cardinal rule about speaking up in these situations. It was too late now, he had to explain. “I am better, dad. I’m smarter than all the other kids. I’m way ahead. I ace practically every test. And didn’t you say there was nothing wrong with being better at things?”

James’ second rule was not to get into an argument over things. No matter how little sense what his father or mother said made, never throw their own words back in their face. Just accept it and move on because you can’t win an argument with a parent. It was a good way to get grounded. Now he’d broken this rule as well.

His father opened his mouth and took a deep, angry breath. He stood up straight, puffed out his chest and seemed to tense every muscle in his body. He looked like a dragon about to incinerate James by summoning flames from deep down inside his belly. He looked extremely intimidating and suddenly, James felt afraid. But, just as quickly as he reared up, his father closed his mouth and blew the breath loudly out of his nose, seeming to shrink as he did so.

“I did say that,” James’ father said. His voice was far quieter than James thought possible from someone who had just looked so very large. “But this is not what I meant. I don’t want you to restrict your natural talents just to fit in. That doesn’t mean you have a different set of rules. Don’t be cocky.”

His father turned suddenly and stormed out of James’ room, slamming the door behind him.

“You are not to come out of there until you’re getting ready for school in the morning,” his father shouted. James heard him easily through the walls.

Soon, James heard the door to their attached garage open and slam shut. Then he heard a great deal of loud banging. He was sure his dad had thrown something. He couldn’t remember ever seeing him so angry.

James sat for a while on his bed, thinking of how little his father understood about him. He made himself promises about how he would treat his own son someday, knowing even as he made these promises that every other teenage boy before him had probably done the same, only to break the same promise. James thought he would be different. He had a confidence about him lately that told him he could do better. He felt like he could do everything better, in fact, not just certain things as his dad had told him. If only he could make people listen.

Like he’d become accustomed to doing, James took out his frustration with physical activity. After several hours’ worth of pushups and sit-ups on the floor of his bedroom, James found it was eleven o’clock. He sat motionless for a moment and listened carefully. He heard nothing. James peeked carefully out of his bedroom door then ventured sheepishly to the garage. He turned on the light and was relieved to find nobody there.

After closing the door silently behind him, he wandered about for a minute. James wanted to see what it was his father had thrown. He inspected various items for damage. Everything seemed in perfect order, just as it had been before.

Eventually, as he was about to return to the solitude of his room, James noticed a large dent in the hood of his father’s car. As he touched the dent with his hand, James imagined his father bringing his fist down in anger on the hood. James could even make out the point where the knuckles met the back of his hand.

For a moment, James was impressed. Then he shook his head. Even if it was a lame car, putting a dent in it seemed silly to James. On top of that, he was disappointed in a way he couldn’t explain. He thought his father would have done something more destructive. James recalled how large his father had seemed before storming out and was looking to find something mangled or smashed beyond recognition. He sort of wanted to find his mountain bike torn into pieces or a bowling ball sized hole in the overhead door. Instead, there was just a dent in a dinky Honda. James recalled he’d made a dent of similar size with his own head in his locker.

James shut off the light and left the garage. He never discovered the steel garbage bin, crushed flat like an aluminum soda can, hidden beneath his father’s Civic.

To Be Continued...

Take A Deep Breath, Then Hold It Some More

I'm sure every single one of my imaginary readers/fans has checked in several times today, just waiting for part 3 of our continuing story, Exceptional. Let me assure you, I am still working on it. It shall be posted either late tonight or tomorrow morning. There will still be a seperate post for tomorrow so that you don't feel cheated. I apologize for the delay and thank you for reading.

In Your Collective Face

Two days ago, Duke won the NCAA championship against Butler. I watched it. Very exciting game. College basketball at its best. As exciting and interesting as that game was, I’d prefer to talk now about something far more exciting and interesting. I’m sure you’ve guessed by now what I mean is the results of my family’s NCAA bracket selections.

It was a tough fought tournament this year. There were upsets aplenty with but a single one seed making the Final Four. Predictions fell left and right like Persian soldiers at the hands of King Leonidas. Needless to say, this tore holes in most brackets that Rosie O’Donnell could walk through. Yet, in the end, only one would be victorious. I greatly appreciate all those who took part in the poll regarding who in my household would have the most accurate predictions. The breakdown of the results follows.

My boys seemed to have a knack for picking upsets with teams like Murray State and Northern Iowa winning in the first round. From there, however, their love for animals lead them astray. My 5-year-old had a Wildcat heavy Final Four including Villanova, Kentucky, and Kansas State. Maryland (he likes turtles) was thrown in there as well. My 7-year-old is still obsessed with Cardinals since playing t-ball for them and finding a family in our tree last summer. Louisville winning it all was a mistake that the rest of his bracket just could not compensate for. The two of them took fourth and fifth place.

My wife didn’t like the one seeds much but this actually served her well to a degree. She made startlingly well-placed predictions as she included Northern Iowa, Cornell, Washington, and St. Mary’s in her Sweet 16 round. At this point in the tournament, I was certain I was to meet my demise at the hand of her selection skills. However, in the end, she pushed her faith in Cornell and St. Mary’s a bit too far and liked the mascot of Oakland (the Golden Grizzlies, a 14 seed) a bit too much. She took third.

Whomever it was that made the single vote for my dog to place first was surely trying to be funny. As luck would have it, they were the closest person to being right beside the person who voted for me. I would like to have that person who voted for my dog make themselves known so that I may congratulate them. My dog’s loyalty to his fellow canines boosted him past my wife as he rode the Butler Bulldogs into the Final Four. The wheels came off his bus, however, when fellow four-legged friends like Georgetown (if only I hadn’t explained to him what a Hoya was) and New Mexico failed. He, ultimately, came in second.

And he came in second to me. HA! That’s right, I said it and I’ll say it again: HA! Despite having only one of my selected teams in the Final Four, I already had enough of a lead to sit back comfortably and enjoy the games without fear of embarrassment. Of course, I’m not sure what’s more embarrassing, losing to your wife, children or dog, or beating them and then bragging about it. Either way, I won. Nobody wanted to vote for me, but that’s alright, I did it anyway. In fact, nobody reading this right now did vote for me. I had but one vote and that was my own. Yes, I voted for myself in the poll.

…

Come to think of it, I think I just answered my own question regarding what’s more embarrassing. I think I’m going to see if I can still return this trophy I bought myself. I haven’t had it engraved yet, so maybe I can still get my money back. At least store credit, don’t you think? I’ll take store credit.

Watch & Learn

Several years ago, I had to decide which new game system to purchase. As a family man, I chose the Wii and set it up on my home’s main television. My kids were not full-time gamers then, but things have changed quickly. They now play more than me by far. I am often jealous of this.

I soon found it hard to get gaming time unless they were involved. I seemed to be at a gaming plateau sure to last a few years. I didn’t see myself playing anything without Mario in the title.

Then, something amazing happened.

One of my sons held up the box for The Legend of Zelda: The Twilight Princess. I explained it was a one player game and that it might be a little too hard for them. I also explained it involved a lot of reading. They were told they could try it if they wanted.

“Can we watch you play it?” my oldest asked.

There are times in our lives when the stars align and everything changes. We have an epiphany, a revelation and something that never occurred to us before becomes so painstakingly, beautifully clear that we almost want to cry from happiness. We go forward, more sure of our place in the universe. This is the feeling I had at that moment. I was so happy I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“Sure,” was all I could say.

I spent the next several hours playing the game as they watched it like a movie. I am eternally grateful for the cinematic aspects of modern gaming. Sure, they would wander around a bit and play with other things, but for the most part, they were content to see what happened as I navigated my way across Hyrule Field. I, of course, was happy to let them watch. Perhaps a better way to put this would be to say that I was happy and thus oblivious to the fact that they were watching.

Okay, I wasn’t that bad. I slowed the action a bit to read dialogue to them and explain what half of it meant. I stopped to prepare chicken nuggets for dinner so they could eat them in front of the TV. I got them changed into pajamas and let them fall asleep on the couch as they watched my adventures, cheering me on during boss stages. I was still an attentive dad, relatively.

This was the closest I’d come to real gaming since sitting alone in the dark of my college dorm room with my copy of The Ocarina of Time. What would you have done? Don’t answer that, hypothetical question.

Well, I became hooked all over again. I was like a background dancer on Sweatin’ To The Oldies and the games were a bag of potato chips. I had to find a way to get my hands on them. We would go to Best Buy or Game Stop, and I would suggest games based on this arrangement. “This one looks pretty cool, but it’s just a one player game. Maybe you guys would like to watch daddy play it.” They rarely bit, but every now and then it paid off.

To justify it to myself, I likened my boys to rookie athletes. They could jump right in and start, but that might actually be a detriment to their learning process. Instead, a few years of sitting on the sidelines and watching a savvy veteran at the wheel could do them a world of good. They could learn from me by simply observing my technique.

Every now and then, I would have to test their progression. We could get some multi-player rounds going. Got killed by daddy again? That’s okay, just keep watching the game film and you’ll catch up in no time.

Their threshold for gore was measured as well. This game’s scaring you? Okay, you go upstairs and daddy will finish playing on his own since he already started.

I have a different system in my room now that I get time with to help with my addiction, but this technique got me through some rough times. If you have young children around and want to play more video games, I suggest you try it. Keep in mind you’ll need to research levels of adult content based on what your kids can handle and what you want to expose them to. Also, you will have to pause the game to explain what is going on or to provide a refill on the apple juice. However, if you can make adjustments to the basic outline above such that you are comfortable with it, it may just help you keep your sanity and get that gaming fix you’ve been looking for.

And when your spouse has a problem with it, just call it bonding. Who needs to get outside and throw the ball around? Sunshine is overrated, harmful UV rays and all. And as far as reading to your kids goes, didn’t I mention earlier you’ll have to read them the dialogue? It’s like a book, but way more fun…for you, at least.

I know. I’m a terrible person. It’s a sickness.

20,000 Fantasy Leagues Under The Sea

Fantasy is a part of my everyday life. I fantasize I write professionally by posting on this blog every day. I fantasize that I really am a super hero when my sons and I chase each other around my house during battles. I’ve always enjoyed the science-fiction/fantasy category of video games. Fantasy is all about imagination. I pride myself in still having a vivid imagination.

The type of fantasy I’m lacking is a dose of fantasy sports. I’ve never participated in a fantasy league. In fact, I’ve avoided it. I’ve always thought that something involving the word fantasy should be fun and care free, like a day dream. Fantasy sports, however, seem to force the team owner (there’s the fantasy of it I suppose) to plunge headlong into a frigid pool of minutia, focusing too much on statistics and raw numbers and not on the enjoyment of the game.

About ten years ago, when I first noticed the craze among my co-workers, I swore I’d never participate. I listened to bickering and arguments about individual athletes, not teams. There was no evidence of any loyalty. Local teams had no bearing on the discussion. If Joe’s catcher was playing against the home town team, he hoped that catcher killed them.

“Where’s the fun in this?” I thought. “How does rooting for a guy I normally hate make me enjoy a sport more?”

To me, half the fun is that innocent optimism in one’s team at the beginning of a season. No matter how badly your team sucks, you think that the team might gel and pull it off this year. The magic there is lost if the focus is on individuals.

On top of that, there seemed to be far too many games to keep track of. After all, more than I am loyal to any team, I am lazy. If something involves too much work, I’ll take a pass. I’m not the type of guy who could enter one of these leagues and then sit back and casually make adjustments. Once I was in, I was all the way in. I saw a great potential in being consumed by the numbers of it all, like a ship at the mercy of the Kraken. Each great tentacle would represent a statistical column. Batting average and total bases would hold me in place while hits and errors would break me in two so that on base percentage and average with runners in scoring position could drag me down to the briny deep. I would then mull over my foolishness at disregarding RBIs for the rest of eternity in Davy Jones’ locker.

These problems I had with fantasy sports led me to believe that I would have a terrible time with it. I wouldn’t want to pick players who were playing against the teams I root for and I would spend way too much time pouring over statistics. Lots of stress for little reward.

So, it was with great skepticism that I took a look at the fantasy baseball contest my brother posed to me. The system he suggested we play in is much simpler. All the data is there at your fingertips, you make a few simple picks each week. You don’t need to draft at the beginning of the year. All the players in the majors are available to you and you just need to pick them when they have a good week. Yet, there is still the need to hope for a handful of specific players to do well instead of any team. This is my fundamental problem with fantasy sports.

I sold out anyway.

Learn from me. The important thing here is that I am doing this to see how it will turn out. If anyone out there has felt like me about fantasy sports, refusing to participate despite tremendous peer pressure, being labeled an outcast around the water cooler because you cared how the teams were faring more than the individuals (in a team sport? how silly of you), I am doing this for you. I will go down this dark and dangerous path. I will play fantasy baseball. Should it ruin my love for the game and suck the enjoyment out of sport, I shall warn you. You need not compromise your principles. I will compromise mine for you. And if this fantasy craze is not everything that it’s cracked up to be, I will report back to you and warn you to stay away. Be prepared to run.

Here’s to Opening Day. Let’s hope I still enjoy it.

Here Are This Week's Features, Everybunny

Happy Easter! Let’s just get right into this week’s Easter-themed features, shall we?

Our top five for this week is top five Easter candies:

5. Peeps – While I personally don’t like these things, their appearance in stores is an unmistakable sign that Easter is near. And, I suppose they’re kind of cute. There, I said it.

4. Jelly Beans – Whether Jelly Belly, Starburst or any other brand, jelly beans have been a staple of the Easter diet. Plus, they fill in the spaces of an Easter basket even better than that plastic grass.

3. Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs – Okay, so they’re just a peanut butter cup with a different shape. Still awesome.

2. Cadbury Creme Eggs – Available only in the weeks surrounding Easter, this is the candy equivalent of the McRib. Each year, I try to stuff myself with them before they’re gone. If I can consume enough to make myself barf then I don’t miss them as badly for a whole year.

1. Choclate Bunny – The brand here doesn’t matter, much like the jelly beans. As long as it is a solid (I’ve seen hollow ones – a sin) milk chocolate (I don’t care how much better dark chocolate is for you) rabbit shaped hunk of chocolate, there’s no better edible item that can be found in an Easter basket.

This week’s cool-ass thing you will never own is the Holy Grail. I don’t mean the Monty Python movie, you ninny. You probably already own that and have all the lines memorized. I mean the real thing. Sure, you already know how to find it, pass all the trials to get to it and what it looks like thanks to the Last Crusade of everybody’s favorite archeologist, Indiana Jones (not Paul Sereno, sorry Paul). However, if you remember correctly, the grail was lost in a large crack as the cave it was kept in began to collapse. Even Indiana barely escaped with his life, though the temptation to risk it all for the possession of the grail was great. Anyway, it would be cool as hell to drink coffee out of that bad boy in the mornings, wouldn’t it? “This old thing? It belonged to a carpenter friend of mine. Yeah, that’s him, Jesus. You knew him too? Small world.”

This week’s sign you are a nerd is that you refuse to start eating a chocolate bunny at the head. You might take off the ears first, but some weird part of you wants to start at the legs or rump. There’s something about biting the head off an animal, even one made of chocolate that doesn’t sit right with you.

This week’s nemesis is April showers. The temperature is up, I want to get outside and enjoy myself without getting wet. I know they bring May flowers, but I wouldn’t be broken up about delaying those flowers to early June if it meant spreading out that rainfall a little.

This week’s lesson learned is that the Easter Bunny is apparently female. I had no idea. My seven-year-old, however, repeatedly and decidedly used the pronoun she when talking about the Easter Bunny. Not sure where he got this information, but then again, I’m not sure what made me believe the Easter Bunny was male all these years.

Last but not least, this week’s Star Wars quote has to do with resurrection. It is Obi-Wan’s final warning to Darth Vader: “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.”

Again, Happy Easter! Hope everyone has a great day and you find everything you were hoping for and more in your baskets. Heck, I just hope you actually find your basket. That rascally rabbit really knows how to hide things. And I hope you find all the eggs. Make sure you count the eggs. Yuck!

I Was The Most Popular Kid At School Today

A few days ago, my wife and I were picking my sons up from school and I happened to be wearing a Marvel t-shirt. It featured the faces of 16 different super heroes on it. Captain America, Spider-Man, Hulk, Thor, and several Inhumans were just a few. As confident as I have become in expressing my love for comic book heroes in public, I may never have worn the t-shirt around a large assembly of children had I known what their reaction would be.

“Super Hero Squad!” several of them shouted excitedly. Then I was suddenly being poked and prodded in the chest and stomach by the numerous small index fingers of children I did not know.

At first, in the back of my mind there was the mild panic of unwanted attention. It was the feeling of a boy whose mother sent him out in public in a sailor outfit while the first kid to notice just pointed it out to everybody else at full volume. As I regained my senses, I realized this was not a bully situation. I was much bigger than all these kids and could easily kick their butts. A new concern set in. I realized I was the adult wearing a child’s themed t-shirt who all the other parents were staring at as their children felt compelled to touch me.

Oh my God, I’m a creep, I thought to myself.

The best recovery I could make was to take the bottom of my shirt and stretch it out so that any pointed fingers would just touch cotton and no pudgy flesh beneath. Then, I tried to be polite and nice while not being too over-obliging. I had to act a little put-off and annoyed without being a jerk. I had to just give a passing “okay” instead of a, “Yes, that’s Silver Surfer, and who is this?”

Eventually, my own son came up and held my hand, ready to go. The most important thing about this was that it proved to the other parents who might not have known or recognized me that I was, in fact, there to pick up my own child. With my credibility still intact, I distanced myself from the fingers and got out of there while I could.

Once in the car, the worry about how much of a weirdo I looked like subsided and I found myself genuinely excited. Not for the wrong reasons, but because this was proof that these children are obviously better super-hero educated than I gave them credit for. Sure, they knew Spider-Man, Wolverine, Hulk, you know, the easy guys. The surprising thing was that they also knew characters like Falcon and Silver Surfer. I was impressed to say the least. It gave me hope. I suddenly had more faith in the leaders of tomorrow.

I attribute this knowledge to the Super Hero Squad. That is, after all, what the first few kids who saw my shirt shouted out. For any that may not know, the Super Hero Squad started out as small, kid-like Marvel action figures with oversized hands and feet. I used the figures to develop my sons’ interest in Marvel comics when I first discovered them several years ago. They have quite a collection at this point. The figures soon spawned a comic book and now have a television show on Cartoon Network.

There is one small problem. The story line of the characters is a bit off. The Super Hero Squad is a group of good guys, resembling The Avengers, but it’s a hodge-podge collection at best. The backgrounds of each character are barely explained and, when they are, it usually differs from the original comics. I’ve never been a stickler for adherence to original story lines, but the depth of the characters really suffers from the kid-friendly adaptation. I suppose, however, that generating interest from new fans is a good start. They can correct the story later on down the road as they grow up.

I feel that’s where my boys come in. They have a responsibility at this point to make sure their peers are being fed accurate information. I have endowed them with the ability to know the true origin of each Marvel hero. I haven’t denied them access to my copy of the Marvel Encyclopedia once. Thus, when a friend of theirs has it wrong, they need to make sure they educate them.

As a wise man once said, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Spring Break & Broken Springs

Over the last few weeks, in stages, I’ve been cleaning up my garage. This involved clearing out the old refrigerator and stocking it with beer, pop, and water. It included shifting around the numerous items that made their way out there for storage so that I could unfold the ping pong table.

Now my kids are on spring break, the weather has been beautiful and my wife and I were both off yesterday. All of this combined to make the conditions perfect for a celebratory spring barbeque.

It’s a great feeling, being outside and enjoying the weather for the first time in an official, party-related capacity. A nice breeze blowing. Watching my sons alternate between shoving Doritos into their faces and jumping on the newly assembled trampoline. Wondering which would be the first to develop a stomach ache. A regular Norman Rockwell portrait of the American dream, complete with yours truly at the helm. Replace helm with grill.

My grilling technique requires constant attention to the positioning of the various meat products placed on the grill, pounds at a time. Thus, I end up with a lot of charcoal smoke blown directly into my face. It seems that even when I try to use the breeze to my advantage and stay upwind the smoke finds a way to attack my eyes. It obviously enjoys making me cry. I try to offset this smoke inhalation by consuming as many cold beers as possible while manning the grill. I really think this works. It must be a kind of smoke repellent, because after a while, the smoke doesn’t seem to bother me any longer.

I find that as a successful barbeque progresses, there must always be a childhood presence. To start with, it’s the kids. Eventually, though, the real kids get tired, crash and head in to bed. The adults then replace them. You can tell they sat, watching the kids bounce on the trampoline, waiting for an appropriate time to try it themselves. I use the words they and them as if I was not also a culprit in this attempted cheating of age.

I hadn’t bounced on a big trampoline for about twenty years. Sure I’ve been known to narrowly climb my way through the undersized entryway of the occasional inflatable bouncy house, but the sensation isn’t quite the same. You get nowhere near the amount of air in a bouncy house as you do from a trampoline. Nor does a bouncy house require as much physical strain.

As an adult, especially one who has just consumed a number of frosty beverages, you don’t realize this until the next day. When you wake up, you have unexplained soreness in muscles you didn’t remember even having the night before. You notice joints are a bit harder to move and more swollen than they usually are. You keep hearing a clicking sound following you around the house and it occurs to you after some time it’s your knees or ankles.

However, in the moment, that doesn’t matter. All that matters is the exhilaration you feel from the recurring momentary weightlessness. All you care about is whether or not you can still go from feet to knees to feet. Then, since that wasn’t as hard as you thought, you challenge yourself to go down to your butt and back to your feet. While this proves to be much harder, pulling it off seems important and you lose yourself in being a kid again.

Of course, every now and then, you get the brave soul who decides to do the full midair flip. That’s the moment when everybody watching stops being a kid for a moment and becomes a parent as they say a silent prayer that the jumper won’t break their neck. But, once they pull it off, the roars of celebration erupt through the backyard and the childhood revelry returns to us all again.

In these moments, it really is spring for everybody. Who cares how you feel the next morning. Who cares about remembering what the suggested weight capacity of the trampoline or the scooter or the kinetic motion car is. It is a time for renewal and for feeling reborn.

Third Person Thursday: Exceptional - Part 2

This is part 2 of a continuing story. See the post from March 25th before reading further...

Over the next few weeks, James noticed his father watching him more than usual. He’d look over and catch his father staring at him sideways, like he was waiting for something to happen. He turned away suddenly each time he noticed James had seen him.

Then there was the dinner table conversation.

“How was school?” his father would ask every night.

“Fine,” James would answer through a mouthful of whatever was on his plate that evening. Then his father would stare at him a while longer, waiting. I’ve given the same answer every night for at least the past two years, he thought to himself. What more is he expecting?

He wouldn’t take a bite of food, wouldn’t let his eyes drift, wouldn’t blink, wouldn’t even breath as far as James could tell. He would just stare and wait.

“Nothing unusual happened?” he would finally ask.

While James normally answered “No” through more food, one night he was particularly fed up with the recurring question. “Nothing unusual at all,” he responded. “How was work?” he then asked and looked straight into his father’s eyes.

His father grinned. It was the kind of grin one grins when they are on the inside of an extremely inside joke. It was a grin that said I know what I’m smiling about and you know what I’m smiling about, but nobody else here does. Isn’t that awesome? It gave James the creeps.

“Boring and uneventful,” his father then replied, “just like every other day.”

He then went back to his food, but whatever he had found so funny kept that grin on his face for the rest of dinner. As James snuck glances across the table, he saw his father shoveling food past a broad smile.

As funny as boring and uneventful obviously was to his father, it was the opposite to James. It wasn’t funny, it was boring. School day after school day went past with no excitement. The work came easily to James as he was an intelligent kid, at least that’s what he always overheard said about him.

With little to challenge him in his other classes, James actually found himself becoming more interested in gym. While he had never been a jock, he’d come to find something exhilarating about physical activity lately. He’d also noticed himself in the mirror without a shirt a few times recently and liked what he was beginning to see. The traces of muscle definition were starting to show. He could actually flex and see something in his chest and biceps where he wasn’t sure there had been anything before. “Puberty,” he would say out loud to himself. He guessed he was beginning to grow into his father’s physique after all.

For the most part, activities in gym class consisted of things you could do either by yourself or with a “spotter” as Coach Tulowitzki liked to call a partner. James guessed it was because the term partner made Coach feel homophobic and spotter sounded manly. James refused to call anyone a spotter unless they were lifting weights together, which they couldn’t do anyway because the weight room was for the restricted use of whatever varsity team was currently in season, or football players.

“James, who’s your spotter?”

“Dave’s my partner, coach. He’s in the bathroom.”

“Tell your spotter,” there was emphasis on the word, “to see me when he gets back.”

When Dave returned, James found out the reason Coach T had wanted to see him. Every now and then, promoting physical fitness and health just wasn’t enough for Coach. Once of twice a month, the man would get a hankering for good, old-fashioned bloodshed. Today was one of those days and the venue would be dodgeball. Dave was to be a captain.

Dave was smaller in stature and less athletic than James. They had been friends since kindergarten. Despite all this, Dave never picked James first, always with his second pick. James understood. Dodgeball teams weren’t about popularity, it was strike or be struck. The hardest throwers were picked first. James knew he was a mid-level talent.

Soon enough, teams were picked and the game began. The weakest were taken out immediately and viciously with shouting and whooping from Coach T each time he got to call, “OUT!” As the pack on both sides of the half court line thinned, the game became more strategic. Combatants no longer grabbed a ball and whipped it as quickly as possible at the first thing they saw. They started to pick their targets.

Jerry Hart nailed Dave in the thigh. James felt sorry for Dave instantly. He knew Jerry could throw hard and on top of that Coach T seemed to over-inflate the balls to the point of bursting anytime there was to be a dodgeball game. James also felt for Dave because he knew Jerry was a complete ass hat, as Dave liked to call him. Being knocked out by a jerk always stung a little worse.

After a few more exchanges, James was genuinely surprised to find himself still in the game. He was one of only two on his side and three remained cross court. James seemed to be dodging like he never had before. He felt more agile every time a round rubber canon blast came his way. Still, he passed each ball he retrieved off to Scott Bostick. He had a better arm. Sure enough, Scott picked off two more opponents and it was just Jerry Hart on the other side.

Then, tragedy struck. Scott’s would be game winner ended up awkwardly caught between Jerry Hart’s pale forearms and his man-jacks. Scott was out and Jerry could bring a partner in.

“What a catch! Pick a spotter,” Coach T yelled.

In came Frank, whose last name James couldn’t remember. At the moment, he was too busy realizing this was the first time in his life he had ever been alone on his side of the dodgeball arena. And it was two on one. And the other guys could hurt you.

Luckily, James had one ball and he easily dodged the first throw from Jerry. He now had both balls on his side. His first mark would be Frank. It seemed unjust that Frank was back anyway, so James reasoned he ought to be the first to go.

Starting form the baseline, James ran forward and intended to throw at Frank’s feet, hoping to catch an ankle before he could jump over it. But, as soon as he let the ball go, he could see it was high. Frank squared and prepared to catch it. Instead, the ball seemed to push itself through Frank’s hands and off his chest where it echoed loudly as he fell into a sitting position on the court.

“Ow,” Frank said through clenched teeth and held a hand to his chest..

“OUT AGAIN!” Coach bellowed.

One down, thought James.

Before he could get comfortable, Jerry had the ball that had nearly knocked the wind out of Frank. James glanced to the other ball on his side and knew it was too far away. He needed to focus on his dodge.

Jerry stalked back and forth the half court line like a caged tiger. The sheer cockiness of it annoyed James, as he stood still, waiting to jump or run or whatever he was about to have to do. Suddenly, Jerry cocked his arm back and took a big step forward. Right then, as everything seemed to move in overused movie cliché slow-motion, James noticed Jerry’s eye level.

He’s going for a crotch shot, James thought. What a douche.

James couldn’t blame him…much. The crotch shot was good form in this scenario. Too high to jump over, too low to catch easily if you threw it hard enough. Jerry was sure to throw it hard enough.

With the ball still in Jerry’s hands, James began to move towards the other ball. It seemed so far away, but James had a thought. As Jerry released, James went down to his stomach, in full Pete Rose baseball slide. The ball sailed over his back and James turned sideways onto his hip, still gliding across the hardwood, coming to a stop with the other dodgeball in his hands. For a second, James was amazed at how well that had worked and wondered if his move had looked as cool as he imagined it did. He pictured it like an action movie cop performing a hood slide.

Jerry had already begun to retreat to the back wall to create distance as James got up to one knee and fired the ball forward with everything he had. It closed the distance between he and Jerry like it wasn’t even real, but barely missed as it whizzed past his shoulder.

However, when the ball struck the back wall, just a few feet past Jerry, it exploded into a cloud of powder and dropped to the floor. There was a resounding boom that echoed for a while and a gasp from all the gym class attendees. Either James had thrown it harder than he thought or Coach T had really gone overboard inflating the balls this time. Jerry picked up the airless sack of useless rubber the ball had now become and turned to Coach with a look of astonishment on his face.

In the meantime, James noticed the other dodgeball had conveniently rolled right up next to him. As Jerry Hart stood there with his stupid fat lipped mouth hanging wide open, waiting for Coach to tell him what to do, James delivered the winning shot. And he delivered it right in Jerry’s crotch.

“Ohhhhh!” Coach T shouted sympathetically. Then he added, “You snooze you lose, Hart! Showers!”

As James exited the gym, Jerry Hart was still doubled over with his hands concealed between his legs.

Later on that day, Dave caught up with James near his locker.

“I never told you how awesome that dodgeball game was. I don’t think Jerry can have kids now. I am totally picking you first next time. Thanks for avenging me, by the way.”

James laughed. “No problem.”

“Seriously, that ass hat left a mark.” Dave tried to roll his pants up high enough to show the welt he suffered but gave up. Then he asked, “What happened to your locker?”

James looked to see the dent in its door. “I hit my head on it a few weeks ago.”

Dave looked at him sideways and chuckled. “Okay, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Seriously,” James said. “I’m not messing around.”

Dave shook his head. “Whatever. Just because you won a dodgeball game, that doesn’t mean you’re Johnny Bad-Ass all of a sudden. Let’s go to lunch.”

To Be Continued…

Goodbye, Productivity. Hello, Eye Strain!

My productivity dial has been cranked up higher than usual lately. I’ve been keeping my pledge to write here daily. I’ve been making renovations to my home office. I’ve been practicing baseball in the backyard with the boys, which also means staying on top of the dog poop retrieval. I’ve even had the chance to engage in family time, going out to the movies or having a nice dinner together. I’ve been in what one might call “the zone.”

All that may very well change. Curiosity hit me after completing this week’s top 5 list and I, innocently enough, conducted a Google search for Tecmo Bowl. What I discovered may be enough to distract me from all responsibilities for the next several years.

I happened to stumble upon http://www.nintendo8.com/. I have a link now posted for it along the side of the page. Before you click on it, allow me to warn you that unless you have at least three hours to spend hunched over your keyboard in the dark, save this journey for another time.

At this website, you will discover every single NES game that I ever knew to exist. This includes Super Mario Brothers 1-3, Mega Man 1-6, Castlevania, Tecmo Bowl, Blades of Steel, The Addams Family: Fester’s Quest (I know, random), Contra, Spy Hunter, Metal Gear…well, you get the picture. In fact, I am throwing down the gauntlet right now (that reminds me, I wonder if Gauntlet is on there) to see if anyone out there can scour this site and find a game for the original Nintendo Entertainment System that is not available to play.

I immediately began playing Tecmo Bowl. Suddenly, it was a Saturday morning in the late eighties and I was still in my pajamas, trying to get a few games in by myself before my older brothers woke up and wanted to play. It didn’t take long to get the hang of it again either. After a 500 plus rushing yard performance by the late, great Walter Payton, I defeated Dallas by a whopping 70-0 (or 00 as represented during touchdown highlights on the screen). I then turned to my dry erase board and scribbled down the pass code so I could continue some other time. I proceeded to play five more games, erasing the old pass code and writing down the new one each time, having every intention to stop.

Eventually, I’d had enough, but this was only because I wanted to play Blades of Steel. You’ll be happy to know that after going down 2-0 in the first period, I was able to rally (winning fight after fight I might add) and pull out a 3-2 victory. A good time was had by all, meaning just me. A few levels of Super Mario Brothers later, I noticed soreness in my back, eye fatigue and blisters on the index and middle fingers of both hands. Best night ever.

I’m looking forward to showing my sons this site. I wonder if they will think it’s cool or just laugh and roll their eyes at how excited their father is over such old looking games. The latter of the two would certainly leave less competition for computer time in order to play said games, so I think I’ll accept the eye rolling.

I must warn anyone reading this once again that this site is at once dangerous and unspeakably awesome. Perhaps I’m behind the times on noticing it and everybody else has been visiting it and playing for years. In that case, I wish somebody would have told me. Why am I always the last to know? I think of all the wasted time I’ve spent doing other things when I could have been wasting time playing old NES games.

Of course, this does leave me with a lot to do tomorrow. Immediately after dropping the boys off at school, I’ll need get the next few days chores out of the way early so that I can start a new campaign on Legend of Zelda with minimal interruption. I wonder if I still have all those self made maps somewhere.

I Want To (Pretend To) Rock!

I’ve had the urge to play one of several music based video games lately. Sometimes my sons will play these games along with me but, most often, I go it alone in my basement after putting them to bed. When playing Rock Band, I usually play the guitar and sing at the same time, using my makeshift microphone stand constructed of an old music stand and duct tape. If it’s Guitar Hero, I sing along anyway since I was too cheap to upgrade to Band Hero.

Needless to say, I have a lot of fun and it’s a fantastic way to blow off some steam after a long day. However, even though there are so many volumes of each of these games and extra track packs, I find myself growing weary of the same songs. I think if I sing Radiohead’s Creep one more time, I will completely burn out the octave I use near the end to sing, “She’s running out the door” and while Soundgarden’s Black Hole Sun was a popular song whose lyrics I know, it’s not exactly my favorite. Frankly, singing it sort of gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I dream of a day when every song can be downloaded for play on Rock Band or Guitar Hero. I have no doubt this is somewhere in the future of gaming. Eventually, as soon as a song is available for download on iTunes, a video game playable version of it will be created and available as well. Despite how obscure a track may be, you will be able to play several levels of difficulty of it on your faux guitar and have the words to sing along to scrolling across your screen. Someday, I will be able to rock out to The Killers’ A Dustland Fairytale and follow it with Air Supply’s Making Love Out Of Nothing At All, though you certainly wouldn’t want to be in earshot for it.

Of course this does make me wish I’d had the foresight to learn to play a cool instrument when I was a kid. Had I learned the guitar or drums, I might have had the courage to start my own band. Alas, I played the trombone in the school band. Not exactly a big demand for trombone players on today’s rock n’ roll scene.

Often, I actually find myself wishing I’d learned to play the piano. I would most surely assemble a monster band then. I’d base it upon Electric Mayhem from the Muppets and myself after Dr. Teeth.

In fact, since there have been music games released specifically for various bands (Aerosmith, Metallica, AC/DC, The Beatles) why not come out with an Electric Mayhem version of Rock Band. You would just have to add an organ. Seeing as their library of hits wasn’t very extensive, they could just cover other band’s songs and just have the Muppets displayed on screen playing along. Of course every song would have to have a raging drum solo added to its end. Then there would have to be a headset microphone to make sure that upon the song’s completion, the drummer breathed in and out heavily and did the “Ahhh ahhh ahhh” trademark Animal laugh.

Can you picture that?

Now My Wife Wants A Pet Dragon

My wife and I took my sons to the movies on Saturday. Quick side point: Why do people insist on saying movies? I have a lot of respect for those who just say, “I went to see a movie,” rather than, “I went to the movies.” How many did you see? Was it a talkie or a silent film? When I go to the library I don’t say I went to the books. Now that I’m done with my Andy Rooney shtick, let me get back to my point.

We don’t usually go to see a movie (better) on the weekends due to crowds. Likewise, we usually don’t see a movie that has just opened. Again, crowds. This time, however, we bought our tickets online and got there early enough to get a good seat for How to Train Your Dragon. Yes, we did see it in 3D.

I have two words for you: awe and some.

If you have kids of pretty much any age and enjoy action, this is it, this is the movie you want to take your kids to see. So often, there’s this fine line between a movie having a good amount of action and being too scary for little ones. Yes, there were some pretty dangerous looking dragons in it, a lot of them, in fact. However, they were drawn in such a way that made them kid-friendly without making them wimpy. Tough to do, I know, but all credit to the animators at Dreamworks for pulling this balancing act off. The expressive eyes and mannerisms made them more canine-like and less threatening.

I noticed kids of all ages sitting in the theater and only heard one cry. I have no doubt that this was not because of anything that happened on the screen but because her diaper was full or she was hungry. She was that little.

From the very beginning of the movie, you are hit with action. There’s a shot that closes in from over the ocean on the coastal town where the film is set. Immediately the first of many harrowing dragon battles begins. It was impressive. The 3D effects were used effectively without being overused. I for one tend to feel with the rush of 3D movies being released that it is difficult to keep track of what’s happening. I become overwhelmed by too much action. This movie didn’t do that. I felt I could appreciate the animation without everything jumping off the screen and distracting me.

Meanwhile, there was plenty done to promote the plot of the movie. The plot itself was nothing incredibly new, but it was well told. But even if you’re not a fan of the plot, you never had long to wait before the action began again.

Of course, there was plenty comedic relief involved, but nothing too childish, nor too adult. I told my wife that this movie is the offspring of Shrek and Avatar. Furthermore, you had the voice of Gerard Butler as the tough, gruff, overbearing Viking leader. It was like a fat, ginger-haired version of his role in 300. It’s nice to see him get back to the basics.

Anyway, while I’m not in the business of promoting movies, I do have to give credit where credit is due. Also, I know movies are expensive these days, so when you can spend that cash on something worth while, it makes all the difference. That’s why I’m passing this along. If you want to go enjoy a movie with the whole family, go see How to Train Your Dragon, whether 3D or not. You’re sure to enjoy it.

No, I don’t have some sort of cheesy rating system, but maybe I’ll work on developing one.

Weekly Features Just For The Sport Of It

Spring is in full swing (didn’t mean to rhyme there) and that puts me in the mood for outdoor sports, or sports in general. So, today’s weekly features have that kind of flare. Our top five this week is sports video games, because what better way to fulfill that urge to get outside and involved in physical activity than to sit inside and play video games.

There have been an awful lot of great sports video games over the years, so I have to mention some of the omissions. Tiger Woods (philanderer or not) Golf for the Wii is awesome, but didn’t make it. Blades of Steel on the NES was unbelievable if for no other reason than it was the first hockey game to my knowledge that involved fights, but other titles overtook it. Who was not wowed by the halftime show of Double Dribble for the NES? Alas, space ran thin. There is not a single MLB game on the list despite the many titles I’ve enjoyed. Despite these regrets, my list appears below sans these worthy titles and I’m sticking with it:

5. NBA Jam – What I have in mind here is the arcade, cabinet version of this game. The high flying dunks, the flaming basketball, the oversized heads. Awesome.

4. Madden ’10 – The Madden franchise has revolutionized video football. This installment being the most recent, I find it the most engaging and realistic even though another football game gets my emotional nod for the top spot.

3. Wii Sports – The boxing game alone on here is worth inclusion on this list

2. Mike Tyson’s Punch Out (NES) – Nothing need be said here

1. Tecmo Bowl (NES) – For as revolutionary as the Madden franchise of football games has been, Tecmo Bowl is a classic, including the soundtrack

This week’s cool-ass thing you’ll never own is a golf course. You may be able to own your own miniature golf course, but a full 18-hole real golf course, no. I would personally love to own one because I love golfing and would do it more often if it weren’t for other golfers. The pressure of proper golf etiquette is too much for me. If I could be alone on several acres of picturesque green with a sleeve of balls and my clubs, I’d be a happy man. Okay, add a few buddies and some beer, then we’re good.

This week’s sign you are a nerd is that you still remember cheat codes from games that are well over ten years old. By this, I don’t just mean the sequence of up, down, up, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, B, A, start. I mean you remember the sequence, which game it belongs to and what cheat it gives you even though you haven’t played that game in fifteen years.

This week’s nemesis is my NCAA tournament bracket selections. I picked a few upsets successfully, even had Cornell winning a few games, but I’ve blown all kinds of other picks. The most maddening part of it is that most of these picks are ones I talked myself out of.

This week’s lesson learned is that once a toothbrush falls in a toilet, it’s gone. However, you still need to fish it out. Flushing it will only make things worse.

And finally, this week’s Star Wars quote is Han Solo’s developing appraisal of Princess Leia. “Wonderful girl. Either I’m going to kill her or I’m beginning to like her.”

That’s all for this week. For those of you who did read this, my enduring thanks. Regular posts resume tomorrow.

Can We Reschedule Your Cold To Next Thursday?

Kids only get sick when you think you can coast another day or two without anything going wrong. You’re down to your last pair of socks, low on toilet paper, deprived of sleep. You’re stretching yourself thin, knowing those days off are coming and you put off chores and day to day responsibilities because you’re worn out. You plan on catching up soon and that’s when it happens.

The next thing you know, that eight unbroken hours of sleep you’d been looking forward to for the last two weeks gets broken. There’s this sad little face staring into yours as you open your eyes. You don’t remember how you woke up and at times like this it seems there may be some sort of mental link your child has with you.

Wake up, father. It’s me. Don’t be startled. I’m in your mind. I won’t tell anyone about the dream you were having if you get me a glass of water and let me climb in between you and mom for the rest of the night. Agreed?

That’s what happens if you’re lucky. Of course, it could be the unmistakable sound of barfing that wakes you up. Then you hope that it’s landing on an acceptable target or at least an expendable one, like something you can wrap into several layers of plastic bags and throw straight into the trash.

Either way, from that point on, all plans change. That pile of dishes you were putting off is going to start to smell like old milk. The garbage is not going to accept that one last wadded up paper towel you want to cram into the corner of the bag. You will run out of socks and you will find yourself wearing those old pairs of underwear that you were going to throw out but saved because, for some reason, you couldn’t escape the images in your head of some sort of underwear shortage in the future.

Sleep will seem so far away, like the Grand Canyon when you’re actually standing on the rim. You know it’s right there in front of you, but it still seems so far off and unreal. When you do manage to sink into that deep, blissful sleep, you are bound to be woken by requests for water or coughing.

Timing is everything. This is why I’m convinced that part of the evolution of bacteria and viruses has been a timed release mechanism. These diseases have developed a sense for when their host or their host’s parents are least able to combat them. That’s when they spring.

Also, the children always seem to be attacked first in a household. I don’t think this is because of conventional reasons, being at school or not having built up an immunity to different strains. I think these sicknesses are evil. I’m picturing a green gaseous cloud with a sharp-toothed grin and thick V-shaped eyebrows that meet in the middle who, though cartoonish in appearance, is still menacing. Close your eyes for a second and picture it with me.

Yes, these things have studied us and know that, even though that little one is the smallest in the house, he’s the one that has the biggest influence on everybody else’s daily activities. They watch us and see our weaknesses. Okay, picture that evil gas cloud again and now he’s looking in the window (all peeping tom and creepy) and maybe he’s even taking down notes. Maybe he even has his own covert van that he’s conducting surveillance from. Come to think of it, give him a dark mustache and have it curl on the ends while you’re at it. Anyway, it knows that if I wake up and say I have a sore throat, nobody is really going to care. That’s why it goes after the little ones first, because by the time it’s done with them, the adults are on the ropes and ready to pull their hair out.

And for some reason, this evil disease cloud guy has a real problem with me getting anything done. It’s obvious because he decides to act on days when I had some activity planned. Inevitably, the day I was planning on waking up early to get some things done around the house or finally finish a long forgotten project is the day I spend at the doctor’s office instead or walking up and down the cold medicine aisle at the drug store to find the cherry, not the grape. I think he gets a kick out of knowing I’ve been too tired to get to the store and likes watching me separate two ply toilet paper into one ply to make that final roll last a little longer.

Well, good thing I have nothing at all to do tomorrow. Tomorrow, I have cleared my entire schedule just to deal with my kids being sick. That ought to fool him.

Supply (Junk) & Demand (Praise)

Anyone out there who has purchased something on eBay has, no doubt, been a part of what I consider a strange custom. Not the buying and selling of useless items. I’m all for that. What I mean is the grade school level need for acceptance and praise that is officially referred to as “feedback”.

Whether buyer or seller, eBay itself reminds you to leave feedback about the other party involved in your transaction. They do so politely at first, with a very conspicuously placed button that appears when you sign in to your account. If you do not leave feedback in a timely manner, you begin getting e-mails reminding you to leave feedback. If it goes long enough, eventually you get condescending e-mails explaining to you the importance of feedback. Apparently, the entire eBay universe relies upon your review of the Charles In Charge collectable crystal tumbler set you just purchased. You, lowly buyer, hold the fate of a multi-million dollar corporation in the palm of your greasy, sunlight deprived hand.

eBay’s insistence upon extracting your opinion by force isn’t even the odd part to me. The company needs input, I get it. The funny thing is the messages you get from the sellers. You’ll get things like Please leave positive feedback, or I hope you will review this purchase favorably, or my personal favorite, If you review this transaction favorably, I will be sure to return the favor.

What they mean here is they will review you, as a buyer, favorably. You want to return the favor, buddy? How about free shipping on that Spider-Man lava lamp instead?

My rating as a good buyer is really of no concern to me. Is someone going to refuse to sell me something because I don’t give five stars across the board to everyone? Fine by me. Good luck finding someone else who wants a 32-ounce Chris Mullin McDonald’s cup celebrating the original Dream Team.

The way I see it, if you gave me the product and I gave you your money, that’s it. As far as buyer ratings go, there should be a checkbox. Did the buyer pay you in full for the product? Yes or no? If a buyer has yes checked every time, he’s a good buyer. What other criteria do you need here? I didn’t like this buyer because I asked him if he would be my best friend and he never responded.

This isn’t a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours situation. That’s already done when I feel compelled to give you money for crap that you want to get rid of and I want to own. That’s the mutual benefit right there. The rest is like leaning over to your friend during class president elections and saying, “If you vote for me, I’ll vote for you.” How about we just vote for ourselves then? In this case, it’s more like saying, I don’t even want to be class president. I don’t give a damn if you vote for me.

Seeing people beg for approval is just sad. Have some self respect. I think a precedent needs to be set here. In fact, I will start leaving commentary as part of my feedback. If the whole thing went fine and I got what I wanted when I wanted it, you’ll see five stars all the way. However, when you look in the comments section you’ll see: While the item arrived exactly as described, the seller requested that I leave positive feedback and seemed to try and coerce me with subtle threats into doing so. This made me feel uncomfortable and dirty. I went out and purchased a P.O. Box to have the item shipped to, just so the seller would not have my home address. You hear me, stalker? Stay away!

Beware, eBay sellers. Do not attempt to force my hand or you may not like the results.

Third Person Thursday: Exceptional - Part 1

Today's post is the first part of a story to be told in several installments. It will be continued each Thursday and concluded within three to four weeks. Please Enjoy.

James woke up to his parents arguing in whispers down the hall.

“It’s too much for him. Besides, how can you be sure he’ll be like you,” his mother said.

“He may not be exactly like me, but something’s coming. I’ve already seen the signs,” his father answered, seeming calmer than his mother.

“What signs? What have you seen?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re blind to them, but please trust that I’ve seen them. You know I only want the best for him.”

“It’s dangerous!”

James decided he would get no sleep if this went on too much longer, and he wanted his rest. When he woke, he would be thirteen, finally a teenager. He wanted enough energy to celebrate properly. So, he yelled, “Mom! Can I have a glass of water,” in his most pathetic, sleepy voice, but loud enough to be sure they’d hear him.

Without answering, his mother came in with a fresh glass of water. “What woke you up?” she asked, fishing to see what he’d heard.

“I don’t know,” he spared her and drank his water. “Thanks, mom.”

She kissed his forehead and left. He was asleep again within seconds.

The next thing he knew, his mother, father and younger brother were singing Happy Birthday as they stormed his bedroom. Then it was downstairs for his father’s pancakes, which he only made on special occasions. After the table was cleared, he opened the new iPod he had wanted from his parents and the new video game he’d wanted from his brother, which he knew his parents had also paid for. Soon, the morning became like any other and it was time to head to school.

Usually, his mother drove his younger brother to school while he took a bus. “I’ll drive you today,” his father insisted instead.

His father drove the most ordinary of cars. It always bothered James that his father’s vehicle of choice did not fit him. He thought a car was like a pet, it should resemble its owner. His father was a tall man with a muscular physique, a build James had yet to grow into but hoped he might someday. Yet he drove a Honda Civic. A beige one at that. James felt white or black or red would at least be bold and decisive. Beige was the color of one who couldn’t make up their mind.

He got into the passenger seat and watched his father struggle to fit behind the wheel and then adjust his mirrors. The first ten minutes were silent but for the AM radio in the background, too quiet for James to hear what the monotone voices were saying.

“I wanted to have a talk,” his father said, his gaze remaining out the windshield. “You’re a teenager now. You’re becoming a man.”

Oh, no! Not the sex talk, James thought. Couldn’t this wait a day? Couldn’t he enjoy his birthday as much as possible and endure this later?

“I know you think this is going to be about the birds and the bees, but it’s not,” his father reassured him. “But it most certainly is about growing up, and it is about changes.”

James was bored already and he knew the meat of this lecture had yet to start. He found it funny how parents told you they want to talk with you but ended up talking at you. He shifted in his seat to get comfortable.

“Every parent thinks their child is special,” his father began, “but I know you are special. Tell me, have you ever felt like you didn’t fit in at school?”

“Sometimes.”

“Tell me more,” his father said. “In what ways did you feel different from everybody else?”

“I dunno,” James shrugged, not knowing where this conversation was going. “If I do better than other people like with grades or sports, I guess.”

“People give you a hard time for doing better than them? What do you do when that happens?”

“I kind of wish I was more like everybody else. More normal.”

His father sighed and furrowed his brow. James’ response seemed to have caused him pain, like it was the worst possible thing James could have said.

“Don’t worry about normal,” he said. “Normal is easy. Normal is being overlooked and obscure. Normal people drag down the exceptional. That’s what you are. You’re not normal, you’re exceptional. Embrace that.”

“What’s wrong with being normal? You’re normal,” James said with a hint of defensiveness.

His father’s eyes met his. The pained expression was still there. “I know that’s how you see me,” he said slowly, “and I regret that in many ways. But, someday, you’ll understand that I’m more than what I’ve shown you thus far. As your father, you see certain parts of me and there are other parts that…” He sighed again. “The hardest part of all this, James, is that I know you will not understand this now. It will take time.”

He paused, sighed yet again, and put a heavy hand on James’ shoulder.

“Buddy, some people are smarter, stronger, faster or just better at things than other people without knowing exactly why. They are exceptional. The important thing is that you don’t stifle this just to fit in. It’s who you really are. People will be jealous and try to tear you down, but don’t let them. Being exceptional is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Suddenly, they were in front of the school and the car was silent again.

“So, is that it?” James asked.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just remember we had this talk and promise you’ll come talk to me if anything feels different soon, okay?”

“You or mom, right?” he added, feeling his father needed to know he trusted them.

“No, just me,” his father said, and James jumped backward slightly in surprise. “I’d really rather have you come to me. I think you’ll find I understand the changes you’re going through better.”

“Okay,” James responded and grabbed his bag. His father was being weird and he just wanted out of the car now.

“Happy birthday,” his father called after him as James exited and headed toward the school building. Then he drove away.

James barely noticed his surroundings as he walked the same path he walked every day to his locker. If that wasn’t about my body changing sexually, what the hell was that about exactly, he wondered. He drifted through the rest of his morning routine without focusing. The conversation with his father seemed so odd.

He hadn’t realized he was moving slower than usual until the bell rang, signaling he should already be in his homeroom. As James grabbed his last book from his locker and shut its door securely, the top textbook slid from the pile under his arm. As he bent suddenly to catch it, he felt his head glance lightly off his locker. After replacing the book on his stack, he looked up to see a large dent in the metal where his head had hit the locker door.

“Aw crap,” he said and touched his hand to his forehead. While it didn’t hurt now, he imagined he’d have quite a headache later.

A few hours later, when he returned to his locker prior to lunch, James noticed the dent again. Hmm, no headache, he thought. Then he said out loud, “Cheap lockers,” and went to lunch.

To Be Continued…

Want To Be Cool? Just Act Like Me.

My efforts have met resistance. Recent developments have lead to the discovery that someone other than me has been influencing my sons’ interests. By this, I do not mean my wife. An in-house situation would prove far less complicated to thwart. This influence is from an outside source. I suspect peer pressure.

Of course, I don’t mean peer pressure in the sense that my sons are being pushed to do something irresponsible, immoral or illegal. I’ve just noticed that their friends are starting to guide their interests. Their super hero action figures have sat in the drawer for longer than I’m comfortable with. Instead, things like Pokemon and Bakugan and monster trucks are being played with because that is what their buddies like.

Star Wars, Legos and video games remain near the top of their lists currently, but it is only a matter of time before some new fad hits the shelves and they’re telling me they need it because everybody in their class has it. No doubt, it will be something lame and aggravating. It will probably involve a cartoon with a completely unnecessary narrator seeing as the fast-talking, round-mouthed characters constantly narrate their own actions. It’ll be something which, before you know it, will have its own aisle in Toys R Us or Target and my kids will be telling me the names of all the characters as I stare longingly into the next aisle at the Marvel action figures, where we used to shop together.

I need to reestablish myself as the main influence on their preferences. If I don’t take aggressive steps now, I won’t be prepared to counteract an uprising. I need to come up with a plan.

Stage one will be subliminal persuasion. When they invite friends over, I will make sure a Star Wars movie is playing on every television in the house. Return of the Jedi would probably be best. They’re still young enough to like the Ewoks. Note to self, buy several more copies of Episode VI. Also, I will find the most alluring comic book covers I own and begin leaving them throughout the house in conspicuous places. All other reading material shall be removed to an unreachably high shelf.

Stage two shall extend my reach outside our home. Any invitation to a birthday party will result in that child receiving Lego, Star Wars or Marvel merchandise. What’s that? Billy likes Bakugan? Too bad, he’s getting a seven inch stealth armor Iron Man figure. If other parents are not going to get their kids to play with this stuff, I must inject its influence into their homes myself. I suppose it is my duty, for the greater good of society.

This should lay the foundation of my movement. Stages to follow will include structured playtime. Each guest to our home will be required to select either a Star Wars or Marvel character upon their entry and they will be referred to by that name for the duration of their stay. Furthermore, they will be encouraged to act like their adopted persona. I will provide guidance upon how any specific costumed hero would act in a given situation.

Later, a toy or video game exchange program can be developed. We will loan out games we like and borrow lame ones. Then, these inferior games will just so happen to meet their demise while we are in possession of them. Oops, the dog must have gotten to it. We will then, of course, attempt to replace the item. However, because we won’t be able to find the exact same product, no doubt because its lameness has made it obsolete, we will replace it with two things. One Star Wars item and one Marvel item. You know what? There’s also this Lego set we had lying around. I’d like you to have it. Yes, that will do nicely.

Think they can nudge me out, do they? I’ll show them. Before they know it, they will all be nerds like me.

Insurrection will not be tolerated. The rebellion must be stopped.