Stolen Goods and Hypos

 

Notice the balled up clothes with tags still on them lying on the floor and the plastic bags of syringes about to fall out of the glove box.

It Wasn't Suppose To Be Like This

Monday was suppose to be a day of celebration: My youngest was graduating from his cooperative playschool in Chapel Hill and then after that I was going to take the boys to go see Kung Fu Panda.

But that didn't happen.

What did happen was that our car was stolen.

From a church parking lot.

Outside the school.

With my wallet inside.

I could go on right now and list the litany of bullshit I have had to endure since the moment I realized my car was no longer parked in the shade under an oak tree, but instead I'll just let you wrap your head around it as you think about the contents of your own wallets or purses...

Today is Wednesday and the cops haven't found our car yet and - quite honestly - I don't expect them to find it.

[UPDATE: As I pulled into my driveway with my truck after returning from the DMV with a new DL, smoke started billowing from the hood. Today I'm out $700 in repairs. I just spent $600 to get the other car up to inspection last month before it got jacked]

Metaphors Aside...

It's days like this I can't get this Third World song out of my head.

"Real hot!!"

Tomorrow

There's a reason behind the current heat wave going on in the southeast: and that reason is the NC Dad Summit.

I've managed to round up a group of stay-at-home dads (future,past, and present) from around the Tar Hell state to participate in some group discussions while eating pork barbeque and drinking beer.

It was a feat in and of itself and one that will surely reap some rewards, just what those rewards are I cannot say at the moment.

For all you last minute planners, here's the info:

NC Dad Summit


3pm-5pm: meet, greet and eat

5pm-7pm: discuss topics such as -
a.) dealing with isolation and depression
b.) blogging for money
c.) financial management and the need to spend
d.) life with a special needs child
e.) dads and daughters

7pm to whenever - solve the world's problems

The last one is where we really get deep.

We got a nice write up over at the News & Observers' mom site - Triangle Mom2Mom - which can be accessed by clicking on the header.

Beer

 

Many, many moons ago I began the task of collecting beer bottle caps for an art project.

I wanted to do something fun with them like cover a coffee table or maybe a shed door.

Something.

But after a few years it got out of hand and my wife told me to stop collecting the caps.

Then when we finally bought our house in '98, I was told to "get rid of them" because, really, where would we store them until the creative muse struck us?

Well the muse finally did strike.

And it was a funny moment at that: my wife and I were sitting out on our deck enjoying a lovely evening as kids played in the Back Forty when she quipped, "we should totally cover that table in beer bottle caps" and pointed to a table she had made out of wood scraps when we had out deck built.

I'm not quite sure what kind of look I had on my face but it was one that got the retort, "Wh-wh-whaaaaat?"

She followed that up and asked where all the bottle caps were, you know, the ones I had transported across the country and into and out of one townhouse and one mill house.

"You made me throw them all out," I said.

"Uh-huh, yeah I vaguely remember that," she said.

"But did you?"

I brandished a sheepish grin.

"I saved a couple of bags," I said.

Then I ducked in the house and retreived a couple of plastic bags worth of bottle caps that had been stashed under our bed (where else does a dude stash stuff?)

My idea was to just put them on the wooden table randomly but that was quickly trumped by the realization that my wife rarely does anything randomly.

So we had to sort them by color or logo.

I have to say it looks pretty good.

And I could show you a picture of it.

But I found this picture infinitely more intriguing - and revealing - by the caps that I have collected.

I mean, those are Mickey's Malt Liquor bees, but then who drinks Mickey's and doesn't buy the big mouths? Right next to that is a Schlitz Malt Liquor (a.k.a. The Bull) cap. Who knew The Bull came in a bottle that wasn't a screw top? Kind of defeats the purpose now doesn't it? I also found a good twelve pack's worth of Olde English 800 caps in there, again not twist offs.

Clearly I was going through some sort of malt liquor phase at the time but I thought I had outgrown that in college (well and there was that one time I wrote a review of malt liquors for Big Brother magazine and felt the need to sample them all being a fan of participatory journalism and all) but that still predates living in the Carolinas by over a decade.

The outer ring of the table is lined with Red Hook ESB caps, which back in the day was a tasty microbrew before one of the major breweries sank their claws in to it. A bunch of Sierra Nevedas, followed by Fosters and, of course, a smattering of High Lifes.

There's also a few Lucky Lager's in there which are notable because they were the first, if not one of the first, to put little puzzles on the underside of their caps.

But then there's about a case or so worth of caps that say nothing but "pure cold" with frosting on top of the lettering and I haven't the faintest idea what beer these caps belong to.

It's something to ponder...

Yum

 

Bacon-wrapped, peppercorn'ed pork tenderloin with a (fresh from my garden) herb rub.

De.

Lish.

Us.

Although I have a sneaking suspicion that one of the pots of plants in the herb garden was a (inedible?) perennial not a herb.

I'm really not sure, I'll have to go ask Alice.

That Which Does Not Break You Only Makes You Stronger

 

My wife has been out of town since Wednesday morning.

She had a pre-planned business trip to the Mid-Atlantic region and then - now this didn't come as a surprise - an unplanned visit to her hometown to attend the funeral of her grandmother who happened to pass away the morning she left.

Due to the timing, me and the boys stayed behind it just seemed easier on everybody.

I most likely won't see my wife until late this evening.

Five years ago, the prospect of spending 5 days without spousal support was daunting. Granted the kids were younger and a lot more demanding but I also hadn't developed my ability to go long stretches without so much as a phone call with another adult back in the day.

Wednesday through Friday was a cakewalk: the usual routine of school and backyard shenanigans in place. I was fortunate enough to have my neighbor called Friday to check on my wife and ended up coming over for a cocktail after the kids went to sleep.

Saturday was a beast though as my oldest took part in a 3-on-3 soccer tournament. His bracket had games at 10am, noon, 2pm and 4pm (12-minute halves, 2-minute halftimes and no stoppage of the clock so they were quick ones). I had the foresight to pack a cooler with sandwiches and cold drinks which was a damn good thing because it was hot as hell out there on the pitch. My initial plan was to retreat to the comfort of our home between games because we only ive but 10 minutes from the fields. But that was shattered when we showed up at 9:30am and couldn't find a place to park. It was like the Kentucky Derby of soccer - there were team tents sprawled out everywhere, a concessions tent, some tent sponsored by a local soccer distributor called Eurosport and even a cop directing traffic.

I was ill-prepared.

After game one, which found the Chicago Pizza (hey I didn't name the team) victorious, we headed back home so I could:
a.) get a hat so I wouldn't burn my forehead and scalp
b.) lube the boys up with lotion
c.) replenish the two sandwiches my 5-year-old ate during the first game
d.) buy some Gatorade to keep me and the boys alive during the long haul.

When we returned for game 2, I landed a choice parking spot and the deal was sealed that we would not leave again until all this was over. Between games my 8-year-old's coach would get them to sit in the shade and drink water and chill out. He 's got this collapsible 8-seater bench type thingy that was totally crucial for the day's events.

So crucial in fact, that I believe his smarts to keep the kids hydrated and in the shade led them to bringing home the championship.

It never ceases to amaze me how unfazed kids are by the elements, whether (er,weather?) it be a freezing cold ocean or blazing, 90 degree soccer field. It also never ceases to amaze me how many parents seem to let their children run amuck and unsupervised. Several teams were sucking wind by game three and most of these kids were the same kids that I saw running around chasing each other playing tag or throwing empty water bottles at each other between matches.

After the third game, a bunch of us saddled up in the shade and hunkered down with food and drinks to wait it out until the last game of the day, the game that would decide the championship for that bracket. The coach's wife had these things called Sharkies which I'd never seen before that were little fruit chews except they were packed with electrolytes. I made a mental note about these because they most definitely should be kept around the house for flu-like bouts of diarrhea and dehydration. What kids won't choke down a little baggy of fruit chews?

Several times throughout the day I tried to reapply lotion to my 5-year-old (and even myself) but by the day's end it was clear that the lotion had either expired or that hole in the ozone above us had gotten bigger in the last few weeks because we both came home with patches of sunburned skin.

It must have been the shade (or the Sharkies) but my son's team played like madmen considering it was their fourth game of the day and four o'clock in the afternoon. One of his teammates - Charlie - was on fire and after the opposing team scored first he came back and nailed two quick ones to give them the lead. I joked to his mom that it must have been the Sharkies. Even better was that the other team was coached by a bunch of douchebag dads who barked and yelled and harassed the kids in what was one of the truly saddest examples of the byproduct of little league sports: the dad couch who takes things way to seriously.

Of course after the Chicago Pizza scored two more goals, the other team was in tears (my hunch is that they knew they were going to get an earful, if not a spanking, on the way home) and pretty much just fell apart, resorting to cheap, aggressive play and name-calling.

Medals were presented after the game in Olympic-like fashion by the coach as they stood on the cooler (how awesome is that!) and then I treated my boys to a post-game celebratory meal of tacos and enchiladas.

On the way there my son said, "I want to dedicate this medal to mom and Grandma Sadie."

He watches too much ESPN me thinks.

We all washed up and then crashed hard. But my youngest relocated to my bed and soon was taking up just about as much space as a 5-year-old could possibly take up. My rest didn't come as easy to me as their's came to them.

Beat down and bushwhacked, we (mostly I) spent the majority of the day today doing chores (grocery store, laundry) and chilling out comfortably inside (it's fucking 90 plus degrees out) too hot for even the pool (especially with the sunburn) yet financially-challenged enough to not break out the Sunday matinee at the local cinema.

I shudder to think what they've been doing since I started this epic post, but hopefully it doesn't involve putting Play Doh in the DVD player or Rescue Heroes in the fishtank...

So I am stronger I suppose and a better man, father and husband for taking this all in stride.

I foresee some really cold beer in my near future.

Bro'ing Down With The Team

 

The Little Man was a trooper yesterday, holding his own for 7 hours out in the scorching sun while attending his older brother's soccer tourny.

The best part, of course, was even being able to bro down with the team during breaks between games.

Look at that face - is that kid not having a good time?

Much apologies for the sunburn dude but you young tough and made me proud.

F&%$in' G*d@mn Ticks

I found a tick on my ass this morning.

this has happened before

and sometimes it leaves you with

shit like this

So I put the fucker into a zip loc bag, signed the date and made a note of its placement on my body with a Sharpie:

"5/29/08, left buttocks"

I think I'm going to just bathe in DEET this summer.

OBC

 

That's short for Overdrive Bike Club - which my sons and their Our Gang-like group of friends have started.

The took old bike parts and hung them off or around the treehouse, which by the way is no longer a treehouse but a clubhouse. When I saw them gathering up broken bike parts the other day I asked them what they were doing.

"We're making a bike club," said my 8-year-old.
"Oh," I said.

"Well do you have bylaws?" I said.
"What are bylaws?" he asked.
"Rules. The Rules of the club that all must follow," I explained.
"Get me a piece of paper," he said.

The other night my wife had her assistant and her boyfriend over because she just graduated from college and the two are planning to move to Austin.

We took them (and our adult beverages) up into the clubhouse to show them what crafty little buggers my kids and their friends are and how encouraging it is - in this day and age - to see kids being kids building shit and using their imagination instead of squatting in front of the TV watching cartoons or playing video games (trust me, they do do that).

We must have been causing quite a racket up there because we woke up the kids and they both came out on the deck and started yelling at us.

"Hey, get out of there!" said my 5-year-old.
"That's our clubhouse!!!"

He was pissed.

And caused quite a racket himself, enough that his older bro came out and started in on us as well.

"What are you doing???" he screamed.

"Get out of there, it's for club members only!!!"

They were clearly not happy about all of this so we tried not to laugh and smirk too much in their faces and helped ourselves down from the treehouse, er, clubhouse.

I secretly want to buy them all jean jackets with back patches...

If Only

 

They had signed their names in blood.

5 Is The Magic Number

 

My youngest son turned 5 last weekend.

It seems like just yesterday he was in diapers.

Fuck, I'm lying... it seems like an eternity since he was in diapers.

A funny thing about children is that the old adage "they grow so quick" does ring true at times, but when you have spent every waking moment (more or less) with them for those past five years it can seem like an eternity.

One of the unplanned activities that broke out in the backyard amongst the kids was a kickball game, and my son Cole, being the man of the hour decided to break out the traditional Maori Haka war chant (click on header for explanation) before starting the game.

It's been something he'll break out on occasion ever since his big bro got Rugby 06 for his birthday back in March which is where he was exposed to this pre-game tradition from New Zealand's All Blacks.

It's fucking cute as all get out.

Wax Museum

 

A few weeks ago, my 8-year-old's class did a project called the Wax Museum.

The kids had to pick somebody from the history books and give a little oral presentation while dressed like the person they picked.

The teacher requested that they had to pick somebody from the past. The person couldn't be presently famous. The note sent home to us parents basically explained that they didn't won't little Hannah Montanas or the cast of High School Musical running around the halls.

My son labored long and hard over who would be the subject of his biography whittling it down to two people: John Bonham or John Riggins.

Growing up with a father who was a high school football referee and a season-ticket holding Skins fan, Riggins is a figure of mythical proportions in my household. He was one of the original NFL wingnuts who didn't give a fuck about the status quo. With a country boy work ethic and a punk rock attitude, Riggins has always been a personal hero of mine, so when my son was doing his research I gladly saddled up with him to scour the internet for info or to search YouTube for classic clips of Riggins.

I still get goosebumps when I watch Riggins break free on fourth down and rumble to a touchdown against the Dolphins in Super Bowl VXII - a play that has gone down in the annuals of NFL history as one of the greatest ever.

But I also loved the fact that he had the balls to not only sport a Afro but also a mohawk.

And or course there's the "Lighten up Sandy" episode where a drunken Riggo told Supreme Court Justice Sandra O'Conner to relax and enjoy the banquet party they both were attending only to "fall asleep" on the floor later in the evening.

But despite my enthusiasm for Riggins, Zeppelin's drummer still won over my son's heart.

Again, here we have another dude who didn't give a rat's ass about the public perception of him and did whatever the hell he wanted to do. At least Riggins is still alive; it was a challenge trying to explain how some old rock star died chocking on his own vomit (which, by the way, is not something you hear of anymore but was all the rage back in the day).

The obvious thing to do here would be to show a clip of Bonham doing his hand drumming during "Moby Dick" but instead I'll leave you with a little Riggo.

Long Live The Diesel!

You Blunk'ed

Despite the unsavory outcome of the recent weather(see my knee caps below), it has been awesome.

Sometimes we just go straight from winter to summer, with a minor pit stop in spring, just long enough to rain a few times and maybe break out the sweatshirt once or twice before the heat and humidity become the daily norm.

Ironically, the best spring we've had in years came on the heels of one of the severest droughts the Southeast has had to endure.

Things were looking pretty grim in January but we have had plenty of rain since then so much so that they have lifted some of the water restrictions (re: the car washes are back open).

I call this San Diego weather as that is what it reminds me of: party cloudy, mid-70 degree days with little or no humidity. 70 degree highs and 50 degree lows could quite possibly my all-time favorite stretch of weather. Although when I lived in SoCal, it was precisely this kind of weather that drove me bonkers. The lack of seasons can be disconcerting when you have a hard time deciphering between Christmas or the Fourth Of July. Marked not by the articles of clothing you wear but rather by the seasonal displays at your local drug store.

So it was a no brainer last weekend to sit under the covered part of our deck and watch a storm roll in. Yahtzee being the time-killing game of choice.

That was until my two boys spiraled off into playing the Staring Game which - quite obviously - involves staring at your opponent until someone blinks.

"You blunked!" scream my 4-year-old.
"You blunked. I saw you!!" he said.

"Blinked," said their mother.
"It's 'you blinked'" she said.

Ten minutes later I play the reigning champion, my 4-year-old, who stared at me with the widest eyes ever.

"You blunked!" he said.

Victory was his.

Ouch!

 

Yesterday my oldest son found his soccer season ending on a double header. It was a beautiful balmy day. We made lunches for in between the games and brought snack for his teammates.

Turns out everyone had the snack idea as several parents brought food for the budding Beckhams.

Last week I was sporting a freshly shaved head and it got a little sunburned so this week I opted to wear a hat. I couldn't find my sunglasses from last summer so I was still subjected to squinting for the majority of the morning.

I even had the foresight to slather some sun screen on my face... unfortunately I didn't have the sense to put the shit anywhere else on my body.

And apparently, as the Earth's orbit would have it, that hole in the ozone just happened to be over the soccer fields in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, this past weekend.

I also had the pleasure of having to work a catering gig later in the night.

I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to have polyester tux pants rubbing up against your sunburned knees for several hours.

Fuck water boarding, this shit could break the weak at heart in two Gitmo Bay minutes.

Celebrate Diversity

 

It seems lately that my yard has become the default spot for the neighborhood kids to play.

They are a motley bunch ranging from ages 4 to 12 and comprised of El Salvadorians, Egyptians, Indians, a French-American half-breed, a couple of unidentifiable-origin'ed Caucasians and my mutt children. It can get to be a bit much at times, trying to make sure the older ones don't outdo the younger ones (or expose them to "mature" subject matter). For the most part the kids are all well-behaved and cordial to each other and they know they I have a rule that if they all can't agree on something or make piece with each other after a disagreement then the "party is over" as I like to say.

I had to start keeping disposable cups on hand because I was finding that I had to wash too many cups on a daily basis; water is of an utmost premium here in the drought-ridden Southeast.

The other day they were playing soccer in the backyard - a hectic, discombobulated sea of bodies and heads going in all directions - when I heard the Indian boy, who was playing goalie, yell out defensive strategies.

"Nobody's listening to me," he said as I walked outside to inspect the ruckus.

"Well maybe you should tell them in Punjabi," I said.

He laughed and then let out a tongue-trilling bombardment of sentences.

"See," he said. "They won't listen to me in Punjabi... because THEY DON"T KNOW PUNJABI Greg!" he said.

The next day I was with my 4-year-old and we made a pit stop at the drive-thru teller at the bank.

"Why does that girl have a dot on her head?" he asked.

"It is part of her culture," I told him.

Later that day I told him to ask his neighbor who then explained to me that the size of the dot indicates whether the girl has reached adulthood, is about to get married or is married.

"So her small dot means she's old enough to date?" I asked him.

He laughed.

"Girls don't date," he said. "Marriages are arranged."

"Oh yeah right," I countered.

Today was one of those early release school days which means the kids began congregating in my back yard slightly after 2pm. My son came in and asked if he could play over at the Indian boy's house. He's the oldest but for some reason - one that everybody knows - I'm just not comfortable with a 12-year-old being held responsible for my 4-year-old.

My Indian neighbor stepped up and said that his grandmother and sisters were home.

"Okay," I said much to the delight of my sons and their friends, a rousing round of Hi-Fives ensued.
"But I'm going to walk you over there and make sure it is okay."

Grandma came to the door and I asked her if it was okay that my boys play there.

She looked at me and then at her grandson.

He translated my inquiry.

"She said it's cool," he said.

"Thanks dad," my oldest said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Behave yourself," I said.

"I will," he said. "We always do."

Notice A Pattern?

I've been so hella busy that I haven't had much time do much writing of any kind but this morning while waiting to drop off my youngest son we got to talking.

He brought up how much fun he had at the mountains a few weeks back.

"Yeah," I said. "That was a lot of fun."
"Especially you streaking," I said.

"Streeee-eeekkk-innnngggg?" he said.

"Yeah, remember you would run from one bedroom to the other naked," I said.

"Well that's because I didn't want anybody to see me naked," he explained.

"But everybody saw you naked," I said.

"It's best to put your clothes on before you run about in public," I explained.

"Oh," he said.

Crazy Is As Crazy Does

 

I often tell my friends and relatives about how nuts my oldest son is, and mostly in jest, but the lad does have an obsessive/compulsive streak a mile wide.

Here's a shot of his card collection, separated by sport, then team and then Lord only knows what else...

But then I guess I should expect this from a kid who takes off all his clothes to go poo.

I shudder to think just what he will do at a keg party (that's where I would usually put forth my naked equation).

It Was A Robin's Egg...

 

and it was blue.

I discovered this nest the other day after nearly being side-swipped by Mama Robin.

Having lived in North Carolina for the better part of a decade as well as being a music critic in the Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Durham area for a large chunk of the '90s, it's almost impossible for me to see a robin's egg and not conjure up the Superchunk song "Mower."

So now I'm going to imprint both audio and video so that you too - when spotting a robin's egg - will forever hum this indie rock chestnut.

[UPDATE: The wrens have hatched, the robin has laid three more eggs and Superchunk is playing a free show. From Ross Grady at Trianglerock.com: "You've probably heard about this by now, but just in case. The Barack Obama campaign is running a huge early-voting push in North Carolina, and this show is part of it. Tickets have been available for a couple of days now at Obama tables near early-voting sites in Chapel Hill, Carrboro, Durham and Raleigh. It's unclear how many people the Carrboro Town Commons will actually hold--initial reports were that they were planning for 3-4000, but later I heard 6000.

Gates (what gates?) open at 1:00 p.m., with Superchunk tentatively scheduled to go on at 2:00 & the Arcade Fire at 3:00. Nobody is promising an Obama appearance (and since he's at the Dean Dome on Monday . . .) but it'd be amusing to see him drop in via helicopter or something.

But I daresay most folks in possession of tickets--even folks like me who've been rocking Obama bumper-stickers for years now--are more excited about the chance to see Superchunk (or the Arcade Fire, anyway)."]

All The News That's Fit To Print

Scanning the web this morning as part of the internship I've been doing over at WUNC radio, I came across this fine nuggets.

First up, from my hometown of Durham, NC, is this:

"Traitor" Chinese student threatened
NYT

DURHAM, N.C. -- On the day the Olympic torch was carried through San Francisco last week, Grace Wang, a Chinese freshman at Duke University, came out of her dining hall to find a handful of students gathered for a pro-Tibet vigil facing off with a much larger pro-China counterdemonstration.

Ms. Wang, who had friends on both sides, tried to get the two groups to talk, participants said. She began traversing what she called "the middle ground," asking the groups' leaders to meet and making bargains. She said she agreed to write "Free Tibet, Save Tibet" on one student's back only if he would speak with pro-Chinese demonstrators. She pleaded and lectured. In one photo, she is walking toward a phalanx of Chinese flags and banners, her arms overhead in a "timeout" T.

But the would-be referee went unheeded. With Chinese anger stoked by disruption of the Olympic torch relays and criticism of government policy toward Tibet, what was once a favorite campus cause -- the Dalai Lama's people -- had become a dangerous flash point, as Ms. Wang was soon to find out.

The next day, a photo appeared on an Internet forum for Chinese students with a photo of Ms. Wang and the words "traitor to your country" emblazoned in Chinese across her forehead. Ms. Wang's Chinese name, identification number and contact information were posted, along with directions to her parents' apartment in Qingdao, a Chinese port city.

Salted with ugly rumors and manipulated photographs, the story of the young woman who was said to have taken sides with Tibet spread through China's most popular Web sites, at each stop generating hundreds or thousands of raging, derogatory posts, some even suggesting that Ms. Wang -- a slight, rosy 20-year-old -- be burned in oil. Someone posted a photo of what was purported to be a bucket of feces emptied on the doorstep of her parents, who had gone into hiding.

"If you return to China, your dead corpse will be chopped into 10,000 pieces," one person wrote in an e-mail message to Ms. Wang. "Call the human flesh search engines!" another threatened, using an Internet phrase that implies physical, as opposed to virtual, action.


Not to be outdone, there's always are hapless, helpless government as evidence by these two short entries:

"Secure" WTC plans found in trash
NYP

It's a good thing Osama wasn't walking through SoHo yesterday morning.

Two sets of confidential blueprints for the planned Freedom Tower, which is set to rise at Ground Zero, were carelessly dumped in a city garbage can on the corner of West Houston and Sullivan streets, The Post has learned.

Experts said the detailed, floor-by-floor schematics contain enough detail for terrorists to plot a devastating attack.

"Secure Document - Confidential," warns the title page on each of the two copies of the 150-page schematic that a homeless, recovering drug addict discovered in the public trash can.

*or*

Military doubles felon recruits
GRDN

The US army doubled its use of "moral waivers" for enlisted soldiers last year to cope with the demands of the Iraq war, allowing sex offenders, people convicted of making terrorist threats, and child abusers into the military, new records released yesterday showed.

The army gave out 511 moral waivers to soldiers with felony convictions last year. Criminals got 249 army waivers in 2006, a sign that the demand for US forces in Iraq has forced a sharp increase in the number of criminals allowed on the battlefield.

The felons accepted into the army and marines included 87 soldiers convicted of assault or maiming, 130 convicted of non-cannabis-related drug offences, seven convicted of making terrorist threats, and two convicted of indecent behaviour with a child. Waivers were also granted to 500 burglars and thieves, 19 arsonists and nine sex offenders.

The new data were released by the oversight committee of the House of Representatives. Henry Waxman, the Democratic chairman of the oversight panel, said that while "providing opportunities to individuals who have served their sentences and rehabilitated themselves" is important, the waivers are a sign that the US military is stretched too thin.

The number of moral waivers in the military, mostly for misdemeanours such as speeding fines, reached 34,476 in 2006, or nearly 20% of all enlisted soldiers, according to the Palm Centre at the University of California. Recruits with felony convictions are more likely than other soldiers to drop out or be released from the military.

And now something to cheer you up:

Wii Fit ...to strip?
ABC

As the new Wii Fit made the rounds on morning talk shows this week, a U.K. company was working on a buzzy tidbit of its own: a stripping game for the popular console.

Peekaboo, a company that specializes in temporary at-home stripper polls, including one endorsed by Carmen Electra, announced this week that it's developing a strip aerobics game for the Wii.

"Peekaboo is pleased to confirm that it is in talks to develop a game for the Nintendo Wii that meets mainstream demand for the fun and fitness benefits of pole dancing," the company said in an e-mailed statement. "Peekaboo and its partners are focused on using Wii-friendly hardware to make aerobic pole dancing instantly accessible just as 'Guitar Hero' did for rock'n'roll."

Electra will not be involved in the game, according to the company.

"It would be natural for the platform. ... That's the Wii's strength," said Rob Enderle, a Silicon Valley analyst. "If you wanted to create a stripper poll game, this would be the system you'd target."

Ah, It's That Time of Year

The time when I step back and think about the fucking gnarly ordeal I went through four years ago.

Over-the-counter drugs are evil folks.

Worse than street drugs because you are told to take them.

Click on headline for linkage.

Rob & Big

Tonight is the season finale and final episode of the MTV hit show Rob & Big.

If you pay close attention, you just might hear the Chest Pains song "Action!" tucked somewhere in the television show.

Below is the trailer for Season 3:

My Friends The Wrens

 

They are back to making babies!

This time around my neighborhood wrens have decided to make a nest in this pine cone Christmas tree thingy my wife made during one her Martha Stewart moments.

While it is obviously an awesome place to make a birdy home - it comes with a heavy price as it is located next to the front door and therefore finds itself next to heavy foot traffic. I moved it a little bit further down the porch so it would be bit more out of the way of the kids but not far enough away to confuse the birds.

Cheetos Sandwich

 

Crazy busy and finding little time to write anything.

Yet it's times like this when I feel I have the most to write about.

Conundrums.

Above is a staple sandwich from when I was a kid: The Cheetos Sandwich.

White bread with yellow mustard, yellow cheese and topped with Cheetos.

It doesn't get any better than this folks.

Fort Totten

 

Do you remember when you were a kid?

One thing I love about being the parent who stays at home is that I get to revisit all these goofy memories that would probably stay in some dusty corner of my brain without the daily inspiration from my two boys.

Currently, they are all about the indoor fort (as seen above).

I remember making many pillow and blanket forts as a kid.

At some point I branched out and began to include the closet into the action before all together abandoning pillows and blankets for the crawl space under the steps in our basement. The problem with that spot was it was barely big enough for one person much less two so it didn't see much action with any of my friends.

Soon or later, the couch and its pillows became the goal line stand for whatever team I was pretending to play and I would practice my over-the-top touchdown dives.

My kids have been holed up in their fort playing PS2 from behind their afghan curtain for a couple of days now. They had asked me to name the fort so I called it Fort Totten after a Red Line stop on DC's Metro rail system because after I outgrew forts I became fascinated with riding the subway. I would just get on it a ride to a stop on the other side of town, then switch trains and turn around. Once, in high school, I used this plan as a first date with a girl I had asked out. I went to an all-boys private school so my dating skills were limited at best and when she requested that I actually have a plan for the date, I chose conversation while riding the Metro. What seemed like to me to be a clueless first date proposition turned into something "cool" and "edgy" and I was soon cast as some punk rock wanderer amongst the local public school girls. You know, the guy your mother warned you about. I had a lot of first dates but not to many second dates. Of course I had no idea about this and didn't find out for probably a decade that I had unknowing been cast as the freak in my own John Hughes teen flick.

Sadly, the fort had to be taken down this morning after my cat gacked up a hairball on one of the blankets used as "the floor" for one of the rooms in the fort.

There's no subway to ride here either.

And Now For Something Completely Different*

A gratuitous plug for my friends over at:

jackassworld

My association with jackass goes back to when I was a teenager and used to ride BMX bikes and skateboard with jackass creator/director Jeff Tremaine.

We'd ride around in his station wagon that was plastered with Meatland bumper stickers ("The Meat That Can't Be Beat") going to jumps/skate spots drinking Dr. Pepper's and eating Slim Jims. We'd steal plywood in the light of day from newly-birthed subdivisions and spray paint the walls of the local high schools with Black Flag logos. We'd go to matinee punk shows at the old 9:30 Club.

Basically your typical '80s kids with Thrasher subscriptions and weekly trips to the local surf shop to ogle the cute girls who worked there.

Early on it was apparent that Jeff had a fucked up sense of humor as I was one of the first to be subjected to it. Jeff used to blame his stinky ass farts on his dog until one day his dog passed away and the farts still came. He tried to convince me, Joey and Andy that the band on the back of the Dead Kennedys record - the record where the back cover has a '50s band with Danelectro guitars - was indeed the Dead Kennedys. He talked me into going to the beach guaranteeing us a place to stay only to wind up sleeping in his wagon. That same trip he convinced me how cool it would be to pierce my ear and wear a fish lure in it like Darby Crash. Man, that shit fucking hurt.

He also forced me to watch Heavy Metal and Monty Python's Holy Grail*.

College came.

Jeff went to St. Louis and joined a fraternity while I went to Baltimore and started to play rugby.

We stayed in touch and eventually both of us would end up living in Los Angeles. At the time he worked at a BMX magazine that I would end up writing music reviews for and so began a music journalism career I've had for over 15 years now but that's a whole nother story.

Eventually Jeff ended up as the creative director for Big Brother skateboard magazine and me - after bouncing around through various Hollywood jobs (Restless Records, writing radio promos for Baywatch, being a proofreader at DIRT), I found myself working as the pool boy at the Beverly Hills Hilton.

For real.

It was a brainless day job that allowed me to write for magazines like Transworld Skateboarding, Warp, Blunt, Bikini and Big Brother.

I wrote some great articles for Big Brother: the malt liquor review, buying drugs at the parking lot of a Dead show, how to bet on horse racing and a beastiality porn review to name a few. Ah, good times.

Things get all James Frey'ed fuzzy somewhere around the mid-'90s.

I was living in Los Feliz which turned out to house a hot skate spot and found myself shooting footage of people like Paulo Diaz (clip below which isn't mine by the way), hanging out with photographer Rick Kosik in some sketchy areas all in the name of skateboard photography or trying to convince Jeff and Marc McKee to not call the cops during the infamous Bong Olympics.

I moved to North Carolina and got married while Jeff continued to ply his warped sensibilities on the world mixing Howard Stern, Monty Python and a few reads of Terry Southern's Magic Christian into the brand we know it as today: jackass.

jackass took over television and the big screen and now they are setting their sights on the internet (i.e. new media).

Be afraid.

Be very afraid.

Sure Is Purty

 

It's called the High Country around these parts and for good reason.

Elevation fluctuates between 3,000 and 4,500 feet which made my already out-of-shape ass feel even more out of shape, especially traversing the plot of land that went from the cabin to the river.

I have only been to the mountains a handful of time since I moved to North Carolina because early on I had a few bad experiences; sometimes I swear it's like the bends or something - if you go up/come down too fast it leaves you feeling off-kilter.

Dunno, maybe it's just me but I do know that altitude can affect the senses.

They don't call them the Blue Ridge Mountains for nothing!

Churches

 

There are a lot of baptist churches in western North Carolina.

Here's St. Matthews.

Small towns, small churches.

Gem Mining

 

On our second day in the mountains, we woke up to cold rain.

So what do two families do when it rains in the mountains?

Why you take the kids gem mining.

This gem mine was called the Foggy Mountain Gem Mine.

Cue up the bluegrass bitches!

The New River

 

The New River as seen from our cabin in the sleepy, mountain town of Todd, NC.

I just realized that when we stay at the beach, we usually stay at North Topsail Island which is located below the New River Inlet.

Weird.

The fucker didn't give up any trout for us (but plenty of crawfish), yet it was still fun to whittle away the day fishing.

It's A Party!

 

Last weekend - amidst planning for the family's spring vacation to the mountains - we hosted a birthday party.

My oldest turned eight.

Nothing like waking up to find the day in question cold and rainy - which meant 14 boys hopped up on ice cream sundaes in my house.

The wife did an awesome job corraling the kids who ranged in age from 4 to 14 by moderating an marbles tournament and a rock, paper, scissors challenge.

Plus, the rain cleared up just enough towards the end so we got to salvage the scavenger hunt.

Of course, present time was a blur of arms and paper (as see above).

Bring On The Drone

 

My 4-year-old on bass, played through a MXR distortion pedal.

My now 8-year-old playing a 4-stringed, out-of-tune Kramer Strat knockoff...

Next time I'll make 'em wear some robes and maybe light some candles.

Oh, yeah and hopefully record it.

Duh.

Chris Jones, This One's For You

Few people understand my love of NorCal and San Fran punk rock - and SF skate rock for that matter - like my friend Chris Jones. Chris has been a fixture on the Raleigh music scene for ages working at the used record store, playing in bands and doing sound at the local clubs. You can currently find him playing the drums in the two-piece garage rock band The Loners (http://www.myspace.com/thelonersnc)

I saw Tales Of Terror once at the Wilson Center in D.C. back as a teenager and I hated them and thought they sucked. But then again I saw a lot of bands that sucked live. The Meatmen didn't. Anyway, Chris convinced me I should rethink my stance and slid me this burn copy of few years ago of their long-out-of-print debut LP as well as Rebel Truth and some other choice compilation tracks.

I suddenly felt the urge to revisit this record today...

I feel like gettin' ugly...

I feel like gettin'...

Sacro-mental!

Go Heels!

 


Future Tar Heels in the making.

Point guards at best as I don't see either cracking the six foot mark.

Everybody around - including the neighborhood kids - has a serious case of basketball fever what with UNC currently kicking every body's ass on the way to a NCAA championship.

So basketball has been the top priority on the afterschool play list.

We inherited a hoop that is set at about six feet or so and yesterday I took the sidewalk chalk and made a lane and three-point line.

I earned total cool dad points by dunking the ball in front of the kids.

Didn't matter that I almost killed myself in the process.

The Sound Of Summer

 

The kids were all playing in the backyard when one of the middle school kids jumped up and ran out front, hopped on his bike and took off.

"Where are you going?" said my son.

"I hear the ice cream man!" he said.

My wife looked at me and said she didn't think she'd ever seen an ice cream man before in our neighborhood, a spot we've been nestled in for over a decade.

We all walked up to the top of the hill in our front yard to the edge of the street and listened.

And sure enough, you could hear the jingle jangle of an ice cream truck, and then we saw it pass by at the end of the street... and the kids went fucking ballistic!

The biggest mindfuck of this whole situation was when the truck came down out street.

One of my neighbors - and older guy probably in his mid- to late-50s who is arguably a recluse - came out with this confused look on his face.

I jokingly said, "So this is what it takes to get you out of the house."

He looked at me like Jim from Taxi and said, "I haven't heard that sound in FORTY years!"

He paused and then said, "And it's a BEAUTIFUL sound!"


So, in honor of this moment, I give you a little Diamond Dave:

Fascinating!

 

Kids still play marbles.

The older boys in the neighborhood - the middle schoolers - have turn my boys on to marbles.

I find it downright amazing that in this modern day and age of Playstations and Gameboys that kids still find playing and collecting marbles to be something that is cool.

It's only a matter of time before that start in on the firecrackers...

ah, timeless fun!

Finding A Honey Hole

Sometime last week I heard the sound of chainsaws coming from up across the street.

It turned out that a neighbor across the street and a few houses up decided to pretty much decimate their front yard and rid it of about a dozen pines trees.

A few days later, the same tree-removing company was seen next door tackling a few more pines in the yard of a neighbor next to the original house.

Then a day later, another house - one who already recently had some (shitty) tree work done - enlisted the help of this same company.

As I was driving up the street, I saw one of my neighbors. Max is an older, retired man who is often seen walking the block with his cane and hat and Harvard sweatshirt. I rolled down my window and spoke to him.

"Max," I said, "seems like those guys hit the jackpot on this street."

"Found themselves a honey hole," he said with a smile.

Today, I noticed that the tree guys had moved on to yet another house.

Honey hole indeed.

It's Officially Springtime

R.I.P. Mikey Dread

Mikey Dread: Renaissance man of reggae

Just as punk rock was peaking in the UK in 1977, a young technician called Michael Campbell took on a graveyard shift as a DJ at the Jamaica Broadcasting Corporation (JBC). He adopted the radio name of "Mikey Dread", and the show soon earned him national and then international celebrity, helping to popularise "dub" reggae. It also brought him to the attention of the British rockers The Clash, and reggae veterans UB40, both of whom Dread eventually recorded and toured with.


Dread's innovative DJ-ing had a wide influence, as did his style as a producer. Reggae's renaissance man also became a recording artist in his own right, founded his own record label and later worked in television in both the UK and the United States. He gained a reputation as a shrewd businessman, almost unique among Jamaican artists in gaining control of his entire back catalogue. He was a hard-working and dapper performer; his fedora hat and jacket became a visual trademark.

From an early age, Campbell showed a voracious appetite for learning – a life-long attribute that would serve him well. Electronics fascinated him, and he taught himself the basics from books. His biographer Trevor Holland notes that he improvised with batteries and old bicycle lamps to supply lighting for his mother's house. At Titchfield High School in Port Antonio he began to make broadcasts after persuading the headmaster to get the school a licence.

Later, while studying electrical and mechanical engineering at the College of Art, Science and Technology in Kingston, he applied for a position as a technical operator at JBC in 1976. By 1977, this work had led to him being offered a shift DJ-ing six nights a week from midnight till 4.30am, but because of his professional status, he wasn't supposed to talk on the radio. Thus he began using jingles and sound effects between songs rather than spoken word intros – a style emulated ever since on reggae shows the world over.

Dread at the Controls focused on the rootsier side of local music at a time when most Jamaican radio favoured imported sounds, and it soon became the nation's most popular radio show. Tapes circulated among music industry figures, spreading his reputation to the UK. Mikey Dread's association with Jamaican musicians such as Lee Perry and King Tubby gave him exclusive early access to dub plates and artists they were producing.

He also got to use their studios, where he made the jump to recording artist in 1978 with "Love the Dread". "Dread at the Mantrols" was another early work featuring him toasting over Perry's classic "Dreadlocks in Moonlight", but the song that really propelled him into the limelight was "Barber Saloon", a number one hit in Jamaica.

In 1979, friction between JBC's conservative management and Dread led him to quit. He had already founded the 40 Legs record label with his JBC colleague Pam Hickling, and now had his own label, Dread at the Controls, which allowed him to produce influential cuts for the likes of Sugar Minott, Junior Murvin, Earl Sixteen and Edi Fitzroy. Often working with the engineer Scientist, his sides between then and 1981 are widely credited with helping to repopularise dub at the time. His first album was Dread at the Controls (1978) and the classic African Anthem (1979) would later prove a fertile source of samples for US rappers.

In January 1980, he finally responded to a stream of calls from The Clash to join them on their "16 Tons" tour, shortly afterwards producing "Bankrobber". "I couldn't understand what Joe [Strummer] was saying," Dread recalled of the two-day session, in which he also supplied backing vocals on the song. "So I told him to slow it down, and we could make it reggae-style."

The result became a Top Ten hit, and spawned an enduring craze for reggae among punk rockers. Dread also worked on the subsequent albums Black Market Clash and Sandinista!, and relocated to the UK for much of the early 1980s. He was invited to tour with UB40 in 1982 and reputedly had a hand in mixing their 1983 comeback smash "Red Red Wine".

It was also during this period that Dread became involved in television, working as a researcher, presenter and narrator on the Deep Roots Music series in 1982, and then Rockers Roadshow in 1983. By the mid-1980s, he was beginning to work more in the US, thus precipitating a move to Florida. He eventually resumed ownership of the rights to his entire back catalogue, and was thus able to re-release it on his own label. The Dread did seem to be in control.

In 2004 Dread appeared at Glastonbury, which introduced him to a new generation of fans. He was back in the UK on a short tour in 2006, and continued to work until a brain tumour caused him to lose his voice last spring.

Jon Lusk

Michael George Campbell (Mikey Dread), DJ, broadcaster, producer and singer: born Port Antonio, Jamaica 4 June 1954; married (four sons, two daughters); died Stamford, Connecticut 15 March 2008.

Cassettes

I found this old Maxell XLII 90 minute cassette in the car the other day, it had gone to where all tapes go to die in cars - that is cars that still have tape decks - the nether region that used to house ashtrays.

We bought our Buick Regal off of a rental car fleet shortly before our second kid was born (he's turns 5 in May so do the math) and its probably one of the last production vehicles that had a tape deck and a CD player as a stock option.

Anyway, I vaguely remember getting all tanked up in those first few months rocking a high unlike no other after the birth of my first born son and making a few mix tapes that I would one day share with him.

I had dug out a handful of cassettes from a shoebox under the bed after we bought that car because it was one of the few places I could play one (except for my truck but by that point insertion was a dicey proposition and these were tapes deserving of archival classification and therefore required more care).

And that is where they have stayed for several years, gathering dust after the prerequisite bi-annual rotation, and being forgotten by things like mp3s and iPods.

This said tape would probably have stayed there for many more years yet it was rescue by the fact that we decided to put a boombox outside on the deck sorta permanently.

I dug the cassette out the other day and had this hankering to post some blog with YouTube clips of each song but as YouTube can be - I went off in some other direction and completely forgot my original plan.

Fortunately, I remembered. So here is a clip from the mix... but first you'll need to read the set list:

Side One

Three Mile Pilot - Pinhut
Shudder To Think - So Into You
Magnetic Fields - It's A Crime
Velvet Underground - I'll Be Your Mirror
The Chantells - Children Of Jah
X- Los Angeles
Thelonious Monster - My Boy
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - The Weeping Song
The Persuasions - You Are What You Is (Zappa cover)
Stubborn Allstars - I Can't Touch You
Otis Redding - That's What MY Heart Needs
Guided By Voices - Mincer Ray


Side Two

Butthole Surfers - X-ray Girl
Metal Flake Mother - Wingtip Lizard
Drunk Horse - Arroyo Grande
P.W. Long - The James
Nina Soul - Sleeping Trees
Funkadelic - You And Your Folks Me And My Folks
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Easily
Flaming Lips - Waitin' For Superman
Blackheart Procession - Blue Tears
Knoxville Girls - He Stopped Loving Her Today
Mountain Goats - Going To Catalina
Promise Ring - Happiness Is All The Rage

Gray Water Up My Ass

My wife, she warms my heart sometimes for the things that she does, like putting a bucket in the shower to use for flushing the toilet in an effort to minimize water waste.

In times of calamity, you make the necessary changes, and here in the southeast we have been in the midst of a serious drought, serious enough that they've contemplated shutting down nuclear reactors, outlawed garbage disposals in sinks in Raleigh, and made it against the law to fill your pool or hot tub.

I think having a bucket in the shower is a practice we'll probably stick with, although I said the same thing about sleeping with sneakers on after "experiencing" the Northridge earthquake and that didn't last very long.

So now the top of the tank remains to the side and showers - which we also do with the boys in an effort to eliminate baths which are such a gratuitous waste of water -and the saving of the cast off, gray water are now the rule not the exception.

But that might have to change soon as well.

Because the other night I heard the sound of my cat lapping up water from that tank, the same tank that is filled with man musk, dingle berries, and stray pubes from my man plume. Toss in soap, God-knows-what-comes-off-the-kids and my wife's salon product - all which sounds like a lethal concoction for felines.

Dreaming Of Chicks

When my 4-year-old woke up today, we talked - as we often do - about the dreams we had the night before.

Today he told me he had a dream about two chicks.

"They were outside on the deck," he said.

"Both of them were together in one egg."

"And then I tried to helped them out but one of them bit me on the finger... and his beak came off!!!" he said.

"On my thumb."

"What did you do next?" I asked him.

"I told you I needed gloves for my hands," he said.

We talked about it more on the way to school mostly me applauding him for problem-solving the situation by asking for protection for his hands. When I dropped him off I told him that he should share his dream with his teacher.

"You had a dream last night?" she asked.

"Yeah, about two chicks!" he said.

She shot a glance at me and I cupped my hands into a ball to try to non-verbally signaled an egg.

He went on to explain the rest of the dream to her and she laughed, then paused, and as I was leaving his classroom she said, "A guy dreaming about two chicks, isn't that always the case."

I was kind of surprised because this is the kind of school where parent meetings go on for hours over topics like whether they should use soap, gel or wipes to clean the the childrens' hands.

I'm sure I could have taken offense if I was of the stinky, hippie variety, but instead, as I walked to my car I thought, "Man, wish I had a dream about two chicks last night."

OMG

My four-year-old mooned me today.

Daylight Savings Hangover?

Anybody else got one?

I don't quite remember Daylight Savings fucking up my regularly scheduled program as much as it has this time around.

The kids are all off-kilter, my sleep pattern has been totally knocked off course and the sight of the sun up after 7pm seems truly unreal.

But this happens every year?

So why this year is it making me feel more whacked out then I can ever remember?

Mother Nature is a strange beast...