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.