Wasted Time

 


Virgina's Wasted Time deliver the goods at BCHQ.

Pomp & Circumstance

 

I took the boys to the campus of UNC in Chapel Hill Saturday afternoon for they could see the football players make their pre-game walk from the Old Well to Kenan Stadium.

I have to say it was pretty cool.

The crowd was large and electric, clearly juiced about new head coach Butch Davis and the prospect of finally having a ranked football team.

Another reason the crowd was jittery was because of the announcement that Appalachian State beat Michigan.

WTF?

 

Only in North Carolina.

Cole Strikes Again!

 

Dude made off with the digital camera again yesterday.

And once again I discovered these amazing pictures on the camera while looking for the shots I took of the baby squirrel.

Charlie The Squirrel

 

Tuesday night after the family returned from the pool, a little baby squirrel came out of the shrubs next to our driveway and started to approach us.

It was a total Disney-like moment: you could almost see the thought bubbles over his head.

"Are you my dad?"

"Are you my mom?"

"Brothers??"

Now even though squirrels are everywhere in my neighborhood, I have never seen a baby squirrel.

This lil fella was clearly confused and scared.

And he kept looking at me like I gave birth to him.

When we went inside he followed us to the door like a puppy; all clumsy limbs and rocks for brains.

So I left a little bowl of water, some bread and some nuts out there for him and we called it a day. The next morning when the boys woke up they went out front to look for him but Charlie, as I had dubbed him because he just looked like a Charlie, was gone.

After I dropped the boys off at their respective school's I came back to do some laundry. The dryer didn't seem to be doing its job so I went out back to check the exhaust and was startled by a grey blob sitting on the lawnmower in my shed.

It's was Charlie.

And once again he looked at me like I was his parent and beagn to walk toward me. Once again I got some water and food and tried to place it near him but as I walked away he followed me.

So I went inside, did a little quick internet research, got a box, lined it with a towel and then went back out on to my deck. I picked up Charlie with another towel, he shrieked a shriek I've never heard, and I put him in the box. Then I ran some errands. A friend stopped by on his way running about town doing errands and I showed him Charlie. When we came out back Charlie again made a bee line toward me once he saw me and as I bent down to say hello I almost felt like he was about to jump on me.

By now it was 1pm and time to pick up Cole from playschool. He asked about Baby Jr. (his name for the squirrel) and I told him that Charlie was indeed still around and now on the back deck. When we pulled into the driveway, Cole barged out of the car, into the front door, out the back door and on to the deck to see the squirrel.

He was just sitting on the back rest of the bench chillin'.

Cole was totally excited to tell his brother so at 3:15pm we left to pick up Spencer from school and once united the two boys talked about the baby squirrel that was going to live in their backyard. When we got home Spencer went out back but Charlie was no where to be found. They boys played some before Spencer opted to ride his bmx bike around the back yard doing "stunts" dreaming of a day he'd be like Travis Pastrana. I went back inside to finish up the chili I was cooking for dinner when Spencer called out, "Dad! The squirrel! The squirrel!"

And as soon as I stepped out the door I saw Charlie in his rodent toddler gallop heading towards the deck. I scooped him up with a towel (more like he stepped on to it) and placed him back on the box. He was shaking. I then put on some gloves and held him and gently petted (is that even a word?) the little guy to comfort him. I guess it must of worked because after that he sat in the box and ate a raisan and an almond along with lapping up a bunch of water.

By then my wife came home and now Charlie was either trying to nap (my hunch) or dying (her hunch). Once again, after consulting the internet, we found a neighbor just a fews blocks away who was in the business of rehabilitating baby squirrels. So my wife and the boys took a short ride over to the woman's house to drop of Charlie.

The boys were bummed, and quite honestly, I was a little bit as well because we had all daydreamed about the pet squirrel that was going to live in our back yard yet be friendly enough to feed.

Once again a lesson was learned by my sons: wild animals should remain wild.

Twirling

 

"I was twirling Dad," said Cole of this picture he took.

"Twirrrrrrllllliiinnnnggg," he said.

Green Floor

 

I dig this kid pic for some reason.

I think I've got a budding art photographer on my hands.

Eye For Composition

 

My 4-year-old son has got an eye for composition.

I saw him walking around with the digital camera this weekend but only today did I discover that he was actually taking pictures with it.

The Loners

 

Eddie Taylor of The Loners.

Two-piece garage rock from Raleigh.

Tooth

 

J-ME from Tooth.

Metal from Durham.

Dedicated to Satan.

This Weekend

Aftering barely surviving last weekend's shenanigans, I now have to pony up tomorrow and play punk rock dad.

Click headline for link...

Last Weekend

I went to a bachelor party in Hollywood.

It consisted of the bachelor dressed in a Batman costume, a booze bus, a midget dominatrix, golden showers, a stop at a Mexican lesbian bar, a trip to what appeared to be a gay porn set complete with tranny lap dances for the bachelor, and well, soo much more.

Pretty much what I expected from a bunch of

Jackasses

Goin' Crazy From The Heat

Seriously.

I can handle a couple of one hundred degree days a summer but this year it has proved to be just too much.

We've had the better part of the last three weeks with temperatures cresting the triple digits.

There's not much to do when it gets that hot in the Southeast. A few weeks back we were blessed to be at the beach (sorta) but even being on the sand with an ocean breeze the temperature was still be unbearable at times and chased us into AC.

The heat has pretty much killed our herb and vegetables gardens. I guess the plus side here is that my lawn is brown and hasn't needed to be mowed that much during the past two months.

80 degrees is going to feel downright chilly when it finally comes.

The BHH, Merv and Me

Unless you live under a rock you probably heard that Merv Griffin passed away this week. I worked for Merv for a few years in the early '90s.

Sort of.

I was a pool boy at the Beverly Hilton in Beverly Hills that Merv owned.

At the time, I had given up on the prospect of finding full-time employment in the film industry and had taken the age old task of working part-time shit jobs and working as a freelance journalist part-time.

I had spent the better part of two months working as a bicycle messenger in downtown Los Angeles ferrying documents back and forth between law offices and the district and superior courts. I loved being on my bike all day and loved the outcome of that: I had legs of steel and lungs the size of the Grand Canyon. But the company I worked for treated us messengers like pawns and paid a wage that was barely livable(I think I was making like $6.50 and hour - in 1993 - in LA!). So one day while waiting for a delivery I scanned the Help Wanted classifieds and saw that the Beverly Hilton was hiring for valet drivers. I had spent the better part of my college days working as a courier in DC so I knew how to drive a car. And I figured the tips would be good.

I called in work late the next day and then went to the hotel and filled out application before arriving at work several hours late. The next day I got a call saying that while I wasn't qualified to be a valet because I didn't have experience with models like Bentleys and Rolls Royces. No shit! But the girl in HR did say, "we are looking for a pool attendant."

A couple of weeks later I found myself poolside at the Beverly Hilton passing out towels to guests and cleaning the Olympci size pool in the mornings.

This was the hotel that had the storied Trader Vic's.

This was the hotel that held the Golden Globe Awards.

This was the hotel that Heidi Fleiss got busted running her prostitution ring in.

There we a lot of odd happenings going on around that place and many stories - too many to delve into at this moment.

But I will tell the Christmas Tree story...

One year during Christmas, there was a celebrity tree auction held in the hotel of the lobby. Essentially, this meant that famous people sent their assistants over to one of the several ballrooms designated for tree decoration to do their work. For two weeks the hotel ballrooms were filled with queeny bitches and uptight wenches all trying to "outdo" each other with their fashion sense.

Rosanne was currently bitch of all bitches at this time so she had her personal assistant cover her tree in black roses.

Whoopi Goldberg was currently in some Star Trek movie so hers was appropriately themed.

We pool boys were called in to help move the trees to the lobby since we were under the guidance of the Maintenance Dept. A few assistants made the blunder of not considering the fact that the doorway out of the ballroom was 8 feet so their 10 foot trees had to be leaned through resulting in ornaments and decorations taking the plunge.

One tree in particular caused us a great problem: it was Bob Hope's tree and it was decorated like Carmen Miranda and had all this fruit on top of it thus making it top heavy.

So me and my co-worker very carefully guided this tree down the hall into the lobby where our boss, Rick, Merv Griffin, and a photographer from somewhere were discussing placement of the said trees.

We stood and waited as they labored over something truly not worthy of laboring over and at some moment in the conversation I saw my co-worker place his leg on the dolly. Then in the kind of slow motion you only see in movies, we all watched helplessly as the Bob Hope tree started to slowly fall. I glanced at the faces around me, then back at the tree, then back at the faces.

Everything not only appeared to be happening in slow motion but in total silence as well. A silence broken by the loud pop of ceramic bulbs exploding on impact.

I laughed. Not a giggle laugh. But a hardy bellow and then immediately had to cup my mouth, turn my back and try not to let them see my shoulders shaking.

"Well don't just stand there boys!" screamed Rick. "Clean that up!"

The damage was too hard to overcome and Bob's tree ended up nestled in a corner because that was the only way it could stand up. We wondered how much it went for in the auction.

It was truly one of the funniest and most surreal moments of my life.

Arrggghhh!

For some reason Picasa isn't posting my pics to Blogger.

I fucking hate my PC. It is shit. it blinks and hums and fades and flcikers and has more viruses than a Shanghai whore.

Part of the problem could stenm from being laid up after hernia surgery and having two kids on the ol' Dell unsupervised.

An error prompt has just appeared as I type this and I have no desire to sit on my Internet provider's help line for two hours like my wife did before we left for the beach only to have nothing solved.

WiFi cafe/library access with my MacBook is just a few weeks away when the boys go back to school.

The Cream Of The Crop

 

Some of the 200 plus sharks teeth we found during our week's stay in North Topsail Island, North Carolina.

Beach Themes

 

The family spent the last week at the beach in North Carolina. This year my wife and I decided that we would have a theme - musically speaking - and that it would be metal. Specifically late '80s metal like Junkyard (picture above), Danzing II, Judas Priest, T.S.O.L. and of course liberal amounts of Dio...

Currently On Tap...

 

A few months back one of my catering gigs had me slinging food in the VIP tent at the World Beer Festival in Raleigh. As part of the VIP ticket, customers where treated to "exclusive" beers which weren't being tasted by the public in the two makeshift beer halls.

I had the smart sense to pull a double that day, working both the afternoon and evening sessions. This allowed for a one hour break in between to rest - and well - sample a few beers. I chatted up one of the volunteers who man'ed one of the beer stations asking him about the beer he was serving. This in turn led to a conversation with one of the master brewers who insisted I stop by his tent at some point.

"They can't fire you for drinking beer at a beer festival can they?" he said.

I told them that they could.

"Well that's not right man!" he said.

On the other hand, it's not unusual when working in fine dining that one has to sample or taste what you are serving. A lot of times tending bar, obscure wines will be served and you at least need to take a swallow just to be able to aptly describe said beverage to your guests.

So with an hour to kill and an empty VIP tent, I sampled a beer or two. I noticed Atlanta's Sweetwater Brewing's 420 Ale which I've had in the past and had half a glass. They don't distribute it around here but I did score a six pack in western NC when we rented a cabin in the mountains last spring.

The other beer I tried was from Bell's Brewery and it was called Two Hearted Ale.

It was yummy. Very yummy.

So the following week at band practice I told my fellow beer geek bandmates about the beer and how I met the publisher of All About Beer magazine at the beer fest and he told me about some other noteworthy brews to try which of course I couldn't remember nor did I have the chance. Practice was a good one and we felt we'd accomplished a great deal in a short period of time so we called practice and went to the local bar... which turned out to have Two Hearted Ale on tap!

Which was not only awesome news but also meant the beer was being distributed locally.

I've since found a few places that carrying it but it's not cheap. It $8.99 a six pack but well worth every penny. I don't get to drink it as often as I'd like because of that but then again if you drank good beer all the time it wouldn't be that special when you did have it right?

But I do plan on taking at least a 12 pack to the beach when we go next week.

Lord Of The Flies

 

We had one of those amazing summer thunderstorms the other night. You know the kind where you hear the thunder rumbling off in the distance but yet it seems like the storm is never going to come.

Well this one came with a vengence - chasing us inside from our vantage point of the roofed-side of the deck - after dime-sized hail started pelting the house.

Before you knew it, the storm was gone, the sun was up and the boys ran around barefoot in the backyard and rubbed mud all over their bodies Lord Of The Flies style.

I used to be incredibly anal when it came to things like this and my wife was quite shocked that I gave them the thumbs up.

Sometimes you just have to allow kids to be kids and sometimes I forget that as a parent.

The Walls Are Closing In On Me

I haven't left the house in a week.

Well there was that 2 hour chunk last Sunday where we went to a neighbor's house for a cookout but, for the most part, I've been on recovery lockdown.

It's kind of weird.

There's a truck out front but getting in and out of it would hurt not to mention its a five-speed and pushing in a clutch could be painful as well.

I've watched about all the movies I could possibly watch but I just can't find the focus to read or write which is something I should be doing during these past few days of solitary confinement.

It's awfully quiet without the bous around - they'd been shipped off to either friends' of the family or put in camp at the last minute to free me up for recovery purposes.

The bottom line is this: I am bored.

No One Told Me It Would Be Like This

 



















Notice the bruising, which goes from my balls all the way up my side clear on over the the bottom of my torso.

Think you move any of those muscles on a daily basis?

It's Tuesday and I'm starting to feel human again.

That is, I can actually poo without the help of Milk of Magnesia, I can walk from one end of the house to the other without feeling like my balls are going to explode, and I only say "ouch" every five minutes or so instead of saying it at every movement.

I guess if they told you what really was going to happen, most men would never have hernia surgery.

Our Overgrown Garden

 

The corn was sweet but the cobs were small and stunted.

The strawberries were a no-show.

The zuccini has taken over most of the plot.

The mixed greens salad already came and went.

We're still waiting on the tomatoes to really come to fruition.

The peppers never amounted to anything.

But the garden was a nice little experiment of sustainabilty for the family.

You live, you learn.

Sweet, Sweet Sunflower

 

We planted four sunflower seeds on the request of our youngest son.

Three fell victim to rodents, rabbits or the drought.

One survived.

It's almost as tall as the house.

Ouch!

 

Left inguinal hernia with a three-inch incision.

Open Letter To Bon Scott

Dear Mr. Scott,

In 1976 you wrote that you've got big balls.

"My balls are always bouncing, my ballrooms are always full," you said.

You also pointed out that some balls are held for charity and some for fancy dress but you confessed that the "one's held for pleasure" were the ones you liked the best.

You went on to proclaim, Mr. Scott, that you've got "the biggest balls of all."

But right now, dead or alive, I have got you beat Bon: I've got the biggest balls of all.

Prepping For Surgery

I have been trying to do all I can to distract myself from my impending hernia surgery tomorrow. And I have been getting plenty of help from my wife, as her return flight from a business trip which ended last night was cancelled due to the weather and she almost found herself stuck at JFK airport in NYC.

The weather is still bad on the East Coast and as of this moment fingers are still crossed that her flight won't be cancelled again. If that happens, she's going to have to rent a car and make a bee line to North Carolina in time for my noon procedure.

We like to keep things interesting around here.

Last night I made filet mignon with mash potatoes for dinner. Today I woke up and had banana pancakes and then for lunch tossed some cubed filet into a salad with just a dash of blue cheese dressing.

I feel like I need to stuff myself since I can't eat or drink anything after midnight tonight.

Childcare has been set up for the boys tomorrow and we just went to the video store and grocery store to make sure some of their needs are covered. We also made a list of things they can do because the teenage boy who is doing us a favor by watching the kids for several hours was concerned about what to do with them.

For his sake, I hope it doesn't rain all day tomorrow because if it does and he is force to spend five to six hours inside with the boys that could - and for most of the uninitiated - break him.

Christmas In July

I was talking to my brother about family vacations the other day and I got to thinking about how, for many years, my family would go to the Jersey Shore from the DC metro area for fun in the sun.

My parents both grew up in Philly so it was a logical destination - that's where their friends and family would congregate. It was either in Sea Isle City or Avalon. I believe there was the odd Stone Harbor rental thrown in there once or twice.

But besides the aunts, uncles and cousins; besides the sunburn, salt water taffy, swedish fish, and skee ball; besides the boardwalk, bodyboarding, and the buff lifeguards all the cute girls would gravitate to, there was the trip to the Christmas shop which would inevitably be having its "Xmas in July!" sale.

My mother loved Christmas. I say that like she still doesn't. There's an unwritten code in the family and that is that you go to mom's house for Christmas. She has taken to collecting Santas over the years. She has to take pictures of them displayed because otherwise she might forget she possesses them.

Anyway, my youngest son decided to rent some Nickelodeon compilation DVD of Nick Xmas shows.

"Christmas in July," I thought. Then I thought about how one of the reasons I hated living in Los Angeles was that, as I once proudly proclaimed in a poem, that in LA it is the same in July as it is in December. In other words, outside of the piped music and displays in drug stores, you may never know Christmas was upon you because you'd still be wearing a t-shirt, shorts and ride with your windows down. This was a huge mindfucked for a boy who grew up on the East Coast with a mom who made the most out of Christmas. Hell, I don't like scraping the ice off my windshield but at least I feel like time has passed, not like I'm stuck in some age-less Twilight Zone episode.

So today we had to return the Christmas DVD and my boys were talking in the back about to each other about what they wanted to ask Santa for Christmas this year and would alternately then ask me how long it would be until Christmas. And, as it is common with the post-modern world, I got blindsided by "questions I cannot answer."

The first was, "If people don't have chimneys, how does Santa get into there house?"

That was followed by, "Those people have two chimneys, which one does Santa use?"

And then, brace yourself, there was this: "What's Santa's email address?"

Ah, modern technology.

So Santa may have an email address but he rarely checks it because it gets so much spam and he's too busy getting his elves to make all those toys that he doesn't have time to go through all that junk email. Sorry kids.

Cell phone? Well when you live at the North Pole your signal tends to drop out a lot. I mean that aurora borealis can really throw off a signal.

They're gonna catch me in the lie soon. It almost happened last fall when we saw road killed deer on the side of the road with blood on its snout.

"Dad look!" said my son Spencer. "Something's dead on the side of the road."

His younger brother chimed in, "Is that Rudolph?"

Of course I had to stop, show them the corpse, explain it wasn't Rudolph.

Because showing them a dead deer was better than trying to explain the lore of a Red-Nosed Reindeer.

I've Been Tagged (Eight Is Enough)

On account of my buddy Dan, I'm going down this road...

First, the rules, always with the rules:
1.We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them each a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

HABIT: I don’t like hair in my ears so I pluck the random few that occasionally grow.

FACT: I fancy myself quite the amateur chef and often replicate meals I’ve eaten at restaurants or served catering like pad thai or seared tuna on a crispy wonton with chipotle mayo and avocado.

HABIT: I am addicted to Chapstick and have carried it on my person everyday since probably the fourth grade.

HABIT: I often wait for the gas gauge to get to E before refilling up. This drives my wife insane yet I always reiterate that I don’t recall ever running out of gas.

FACT: My close friends often debate as to whether I survived 12 years of Catholic school.

FACT: If I were in the middle of the ocean on a chartered fishing boat I would not jump into the water and go for a swim.

HABIT: I keep my hair cut short because I’m lazy.

FACT: Some of my fondest memories growing up are of my family vacations to the Jersey shore.

now these people may play or may not but let's give 'em some traffic!

Daniel
Darren
Mick O'Grady
Andy
Chris
Mile Hi
Chaz
Chag

A Soldier For Rock & Roll

So despite having been diagnosed early Friday with a hernia that would require surgery, I soldiered on and played a show with my band Chest Pains at the three-day festival in Winston-Salem, NC, known as Heavy Rebel Weekend.

It would have been a crime to have to cancel it and I'm glad doc gave me the thumbs up saying that it was okay (although doc didn't have any idea what kind of music my band plays or how hernia-inducing my singing, er, hollering can be).

One thing I had on my side was the prescence of a honest-to-God real soundman with a topnotch PA. Had the show been at some house with a shitty PA (or worse yet none) or one of the seedier local clubs we've been known to play, I myself would have pulled the plug.

But I felt it was my duty.

And it went smoother than I could have possibly imagined, not just the fact that it was easier to play through a real PA, but the fact that we managed to turn some heads in a sea of psychobilly, twang stomp and Cramps-meets-Bow Wow Wow garage pop.

It's True

 

I was officially diagnosed with a having a hernia today.

One that requires surgery.

Oh joy!

I could elaborate on how bad this blows but why bother.

Just stare at the picture for a little bit, don't blink, and think about how uncomfortable that must feel.

Or spending a day in the hospital drugged up, a few days laid up and a couple of weeks out of working commission.

I Don't...

 

...have a thousand words to go with this picture so feel free to make up your own.

A Bird's Life

 


Turns out that the Carolina wrens that are living in our backyard are some horny birds.

The wife finally took the intiative to finish cleaning the shed which I tore apart during Round One of bird birthing and during the process we came to discover a new clutch of eggs. A lil internet research later and I found out that it is not that uncommon for wrens to have several broods during a season. I also found out that wrens are monogamous and pair up for life, foraging their territory year round.

So it looks like we're going to have our own bird Brady Bunch tweetin' around the yard in the next few months.

I'm sort of surprised to see that they came back to the shed after my attempted good to to rescue the hatchlings turned into total disaster. I had noticed them shift to the crepe myrtle on our side yard, then migrated to the a bush on the front so I was aware that they were still in the neighborhood so to speak.

What is surprising is that I haven't seen any activity going in or out of the shed so my hope is that they haven't abandoned the eggs. Now it has been oppressively hot so the backyard chillin' hasn't been on par as it usually is around this time of year.

At least they didn't make their nest in the oil pan under the paint pan again...

Mr. Ed

 

The first party, the one that kicked off a week long string of parties (because that's what happens when the 4th falls in the middle of the week) found the family at the edge of a horse pasture. It's amazing sometimes to think how rural the area is and how things like farms and lakes are just a stone's throw away from me.

We're finding ourselves at the age where more and more of the indie rock contingency are now parents themselves so a house party with some bands playing is much more kid-friendly than say a few years ago. Now, they start earlier and kids are in attendance but almost always there seems to be some music.

But before the music got going the kids got to feed some horses on the adjoining field. The were some real pretty horses. And their lips tickled your palm when you fed them. And the way their lips moved totally reminded me of Mr. Ed.

The famous Mr. Ed.

The Bickering Has Begun

 

I started off summer vacation really well.

First there was the matinee viewing of Surf's Up! A trip to the Museum of Life & Science and then a play date hike through the NC Botanical Gardens. I wanted to keep on my toes by keeping them on their toes so I made a list and have been consulting it.

Aside form these field trips, there has also been many games of Candyland, Chutes & Ladders, Go Fish, playing catch, riding bikes and then there's always the pool.

But last weekend the whole tick bite thing threw me for a loop (plus I aslo think I may have a hernia but I'll save that for later). Because of the antibiotics I'm taking for the tick bite, my exposure to sun has been limited.

So this week, without the pool to fall back on, I had to dig deep for some other plans, preferrable of the non-paying variety. Also to be considered is that it has been pushing one hundred degrees in the shade here. So I took the boys to the mall (the small mall, not the big mall) and we browsed the hobby shop, books at the book store and sealed the deal with pizza at Alfredo's - they could possibly have the best pizza in the area.

Next day was the pet store, which is by the grocery store so we could kill two birds with one stone. Speaking of birds, the boys want a new pet. Should it be a bird? A lizard? Fish? These are the pressing questions you have to ask yourself. We also cat sat for our neighbors recently and so now Cole has a hankerin' for a kitten. But we already have a cat and she's an old lady so maybe it would be a good idea/maybe it would be a bad idea.

Yesterday I decided to take them to the Ackland Art Museum which is part of UNC but it was a bust (no pun intended there!): Spencer, unbeknownest to me, had recently gone there on a field trip with his class. And Cole didn't like it because it was too quiet. I was bummed because the second floor was closed down to install a new exhibit. So my planned "kill a couple of hours" scheme went belly up in about 30 minutes flat. I tried to rally the troops with yet again another slice of pizza, this time at the storied Pepper's Pizza on Franklin Street followed up by locally-made ice cream at the Maple View Farms store in Carrboro just across the street from Weaver Street Market (local co-op grocery store).

But today, I had nothing.

As a matter of fact, I totally forgot that it was Friday because it is the first weeekend that I haven't had to work since mid-April and the obvious fact that school is out so all my days blur together now. I barely remembered to take out the trash; it would have been ugly had I forgotten that because last Saturday my wife satisfied her blue crab jones for the first time this summer so crab shells had been festering in the can all week.

In hundred degree heat.

Phew. Glad I remembered.

The plan for today was to "record" the boys' band. You see this week I picked up the artwork for the CD my band is about to release and this spurred Spencer into prying into asking about how he could make his own CD. So I told him that my MacBook has GarageBand and that I could record them and then burn a CD.

This was a very bad idea.

Because for the last two days he has been badgering his brother to play their set so I can record it. But getting two boys - ages 4 and 7 - to do the same thing at the same time takes crucial planning. So for two days, if one boy wants to play, the other defiantly says no. I tried to explain that this interaction is very much like a real band but they just can't grasp the real world explanation.

Enter the bickering.

"Wanna play?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to!"
"Daaaaaaaaddddd!!!"

"Where's Spencer?" asked Cole.
"He's in his room," I said.
"I want to tell him something," he said.
"What?" I said.
"That he's not my brother anymore," he said.

Nice.

Then I tell Spencer he's has got to change his approach. Don't whine at your brother and demand him to play, but rather ask him if he wants to record or be on a CD or play rock star.

He had almost convinced him when Cole delivered the fatal blow: "I don't like your songs. Can we play something else?"

"Wh-Wha-Whaaaattttt?" said Spencer.
"But dad he said he was going to play," he said on the verge of tears.
"Welcome to the real world son," I said.
"Maybe you could ask him if he wants to play some of his songs?" I said.
"But I don't waaannnnnaaaa play his songs," said Spencer.
"Guess you got a problem," I said.

That Old Cliche

 

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Here is a picture of my 4-year-old doing "work" on a dead lap top.

He's been kind of moody lately. Mostly because since the summer began he has lost his personal time with me. When his older brother was in school, we had half days together on Monday, Thursday, Friday and all day together on Tuesdays and Wednesdays until we picked up Spencer from elementary school at 3:30pm.

Now all day everyday it's a threesome.

Of course Spencer is jazzed just to be able to hang out with me (affectionately known as Papa G) and his little bro who is now his right hand man in free play and in terrorizing me.

Spencer got some serious big boy time with Papa G the other day when he helped me deliver some stuff. One of the odd jobs that I do is deliver maps and visitor guides to the local hotels, senior centers and parks & rec offices for the Orange County Visitors Bureau. On Monday morning my wife took Cole to his annual check-up while Spencer and I made the rounds making deliveries. By the third delivery, after the third person echoed the sentiment "You got a helper today!" Spencer suggested that it might be a good idea if he got paid for his services.

I thought it was a good idea.

So we agreed on the nominal fee of $1 per deliver for him.

He helped me make 9 deliveries.

Later in the day, I heard a knock on the door and Spencer came in with two boxes on a dolly.

"Delivery for Greg Barbera," he said.

Kids, they soak up everything like a sponge.

A Souvenir

 

So one of the ticks I pulled off my body a few weeks ago left me with a souvenir.

It's called Southern Tick-Associated Rash Illness and pretty much mimics Lyme disease.

Of course I could possibly have Lyme disease but all my symptoms didn't match up, so they put me on some antibiotics and told me to just "keep an eye out" for any Lyme diseases symptoms like muscle and joint pain, fever and extreme headaches.

This sucks on many levels:

a.) You shouldn't drink alcohol while taking antibiotics (which I have to take for the next 21 days). In the next 21 days there's a pre-Fourth of July cookout, a Fourth of July cookout, my band plays a show at Heavy Rebel weekend in Winston-Salem and another in Raleigh at Sadlacks with our guitar player's friends' band from Wisconsin called Shady Haze. Bands from Wisconsin like to drink beer. Punk rock without beer sucks.

b.) One should not have prolonged exposure to the sun while taking antibiotics because you are more prone to getting sunburned. Taking my boys to the pool is one of the ways I keep myself sane during the summer months.

Cabin Fever

 

So what do my two boys do when it is pushing one hundred degrees and it is raining out?

Why they wrestle.

But not just any kind of wrestling.

It's got to be Mexican - Nacho Libre style.

So they put underwear on their heads and attack each other.

They've never even seen the movie only the commercial.

Thanks Jack Black, I owe you one.

Getting Dick'ed

A few weeks ago I ran into another stay-at-home dad - coincidentally named Greg - at the playground of my youngest son's co-op playschool.

We got to chatting and it turned out that his wife worked for this radio show called The Story hosted by Dick Gordon.

I suggested he get the wife to do a piece on stay-at-home-dads.

He suggested I pitch it to her myself.

So I did.

Today, The Story aired my story.

You can find it at: www.thestory.org