Poop and Boogies Bump

I received an invitation in the mail to go see Brad Meltzer at a book signing in the Philadelphia area(read posts about Brad Here Here and Here). I planned on attending the signing anyway but the fact that I received and invite just meant that they wanted me there. I am sure no one else actually received an invite. Sure it was not addressed specifically to me but they knew who they were sending it to. Right?

I have been to a few book signings but never for Brad Meltzer. The guy is one of my favorite authors and it was a perfect opportunity to meet him and talk to him and you know...stalk him.

I arrived a little early and staked out my seat in the middle of the goup of folding chairs the book store had set up in front of a podium. I did not want to be too close to the front because then I would seem too eager, too dorkish. I did not want to be too far back because I did not want to seem like I was not interested. My seat was perfect.

I met a lovely couple, John and Joanne, who were there to get a book signed for their son Dennis. They were not fans of Brad but were willing to muddle through the event for their son. I chatted with them for a bit before Brad arrived.

Brad spoke for about 30 minutes about his book, his writing, his television projects and comics. He was very funny. Joanne and John seemed like they were entertained. I did not see too many people there taking pictures so I was not sure if I would look like the biggest dork in the world if I started snapping photos. When Brad sat down to sign some books I decided to sneak some pictures in.

That is him there signing away.


The above picture was so I could have a picture of Brad and me together in case they were not going to allow it. I stood in line for about 10 minutes trying to come up with something witty to say but I knew that once I started talking I would sound like Chris Farley interviewing Paul Mc Cartney. Again Iwanted to avoid the whole dorkishiness.

When I got to the table I said hello as Brad asked me if I wanted to have the book personalized.

"I'm Bill, from Poop and Boogies." I said.

Brad jumped up from the table. "I am so glad to meet you." He said. "Thanks so much for coming tonight. Give me a hug."

He hugged me and said. "I really love your blog."

Then we chatted for a few minutes and I do not remember what he said after that,because I could not get past the fact that he told me that he loved my blog.

I aksed him if I could take a stalker picture with him and he said of course. He thanked me for the review and again for attending the signing.

This is how he signed my book.

I was relieved. I was not a dork at all. I did not embarrass myself.

The Book of Lies is now #2 on the New York Times best Seller list. Do you know where it was on the list before my review? It wasn't. I like to think that my review boosted his book to the number 2 position. Poop and Boogies bumped his sales up.

I hung out for a while after and listened to other people talk about his books and I listened to his responses. He was genuinely gracious and appreciative of every person there. He was also very, very funny. I was enjoying listening to him crack jokes. Then, I realized that I was the only one sitting there besides Brad's friends and family. I suddenly felt quite awkward and weird. I was the only person there that was not part of his group. Should I just get up and leave? No, that would be strange, like why was I just hanging out and then get up and bolt out of there? Should I say something else to him? No that would seem waaay too stalker-ish. I was stuck. His friends were kind of giving each other looks, but referring to me, like "yo what's up with this dude?"

I sensed the complete awkwardness of the entire moment. I stood up and shook Brad Meltzer's hand and I left.

All the efforts I took to avoid me being a total dork...gone.

Rule Clarification

Just say you had a rule in your house (relationship) that stated If one person cooks dinner, the other person does the dishes, and that rule works well, but then one day a person cooks such a big meal that it is used for the next nights meal, and even though the other person heated it up shouldn't they be responsible for doing the dishes since the other person cooked dinner originally?

Name Brand

I have posted before that I think that store brand products are just as good as the name brand. There are a few exceptions. Doritos and Oreo Double Stuff are examples of the exceptions.

I have added a new exception to my rule. Lipton Onion Soup mix. I don't use it to make soup. I don't know anyone who uses it to make soup. Most people use it to make dip (or Scoop).

Recently I bought the store brand onion soup mix to make my dip. For some reason the little bits of onion that they use in the store brand do not soften in the sour cream like the Lipton brand. The little tiny crescent shaped pieces of onion stay crunchy.

While I was eating my chips and dip I could not help but feel I was eating a bowl full of sour cream and toenail clippings.

Now can you imagine if I was eating Frito's, which to me always smell like dirty socks, with my dip?

Cemetery

While driving to a party we passed the cemetery where my dad is buried. I mentioned to Lauren that it has been a while since I went to visit his grave.

I went a few times not long after he died. The rectangular plot was still just dirt and pebbles and stark and raw. The grave was fresh, like my sadness, and it reminded me of how I felt because of his passing. But it was still nice to have a place to go and "visit" him. In the spring my brother, the LawnWhisperer, went to cemetery with his rakes and fertilizer and grass seed and even though there is a grounds crew to take care of the plots, he made sure that my dad would have the best looking "lawn" out of everyone there.

I said to Lauren, "I really should go and visit him. It's been a while since I "talked" to him."

Lauren and I discussed the concept of having a place to go to visit our departed loved ones. She told me that I really didn't need to go to the cememtary to talk to him. I could talk anywhere. I agreed with her but I like having a place to go to feel a connection.

Lauren said the she feels more comfortable going to one of her dad's favorite places in order to feel connected. That if she wants to talk to her dad, she could go to the lake where her dad liked to fish. She finds that more comforting. It would be a more happy place. She suggested that maybe I could do that, instead of feeling the need to go to the cemetery.

My dad had many favorite places. I thought about it for a minute and I told Lauren, "I think you are right. I am going to go to Philly Park (horse racing) or maybe the casinos the next time I want to talk to dad."

Visiting dad may become expensive.

Cicada Party

These things are all over our backyard. The only thing we can do is make them part of the fun.

Honey

If you were sent to Sam's Club to pick up 5 lbs of honey, what aisle at Sam's do you think the honey would located?

The aisle marked cereal?

The aisle marked peanut butter and jelly?

The aisle marked spices and sugar?

The aisle marked condiments?

Or the aisle marked tea?


If you were sent to Sam's Club, to get honey, and you were already there for, like forever, and you ask the 90 year old lady wearing a hairnet and plastic gloves, who works at Sam's handing out samples of mint jelly, for assistance in locating the honey and the conversation goes like this:

Me: Excuse me. I am looking for honey.

Her: You are looking for a honey?

Me: No. Just. Honey.

Her: Well if it was A honey. You found one right here.

Do you pretend to flirt with her just so she will direct you to the correct aisle that much quicker?

There is a word for it but I am not sure what it is

Maxfield and I had an argument tonight. He refused to eat his dinner and I refused to give him anything else for the rest of the night. He begged me for milk. He begged me for a snack. I kept telling him his dinner was on the table and that if he was hungry he could eat that.

We argued some more. Bad moods surfaced. Max wanted to watch his show and I wanted to watch the Phillies.

Right before bed time he picked up his toy cell phone and dialed a number.

"Hello is Ethan there?" He asked loud enough for me to hear. "Hi Ethan. This is Maxfield. What are you doing?"

He paused as if he was listening to an answer from his friend Ethan.

"Oh really?" Max said into the phone even louder making sure I hear him. "You are drinking milk and watching T.V. Okay. I was just checking."

Ordinary

I have written here before about my history with comic books and superheroes. Superman is considered to be the first superhero.


In highschool I dressed in Superman shirts.

My brothers, at my wedding, dressed as Superman and superheroes.

Here is a cool video sent to me by my buddy Brad about the house where Superman was created. Save the Superman House.

But what I think is even cooler is this site. Ordinary People Change the World Go and surf that site and be Ordinary.

Today's post brought to you by the letter Z

I received an email a couple of weeks ago informing me that Sesame Street launched a new website.

Sesamestreet.org


The email pointed out all the new features that the site has; Games, Videos, Character Bios (did you know Oscar the grouch is a Gemini?)Etc.


My favorite section is the video archive of all celebrity guests. Seeing a young Billy Joel, before his third chin, or a pre-dead Johnny Cash singing to Oscar is great. And this ONE is for Susie over at What Was I Thinking.

And this ONE is for Lauren at Gigglepotamus. I am just sorry that it does not include the new man her life, Timm Gunn, even though I think he resembles a muppet.

Book of Lies the Review

Oh the pressure.

The last time I had to write something even remotely close to a book review was when I was in 11th grade, in Mrs. Bray's English Class, and I had to do a 500 word essay on Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. It started something like this: "The Sun Also Rises, a book by Ernest Hemingway, is very,very,very, very, very, interesting. I really, really, really,really, liked his use symbolism."

Brad Meltzer, through his publisher and marketing people, made sure I received an advanced copy of his latest novel The Book of Lies. The book is not out in stores until Spetember 2nd. I received my copy on August 9th. I had visions that if I read the book that weekend and sent in my review that,maybe, on the back cover of the store copy dust jacket it would say something like: William from Poop and Boogies. com says "An action packed thriller. A true page turner." But a couple of things prevented a quick read. One, I am a very slow reader. And two, I just started reading a book about the Battle of Gettysburg which, is no big deal because I often read more that one book at a time. Oh, and three, I also have two kids to raise, a wife to spend time with, work to do, Project Runway to watch and Guilder to Frame for it. I'm swamped.

I also wanted the excitement of getting a preview copy to wear off so I could give it a fair review. It took me a few days to even attempt to start it. Then something else happened. General Longstreet did not agree with General Lee's plan for Pickett's charge. I had to finish those chapters in "The Killer Angels" first.

The premise of The Book of Lies is that the weapon that Cain used to murder Abel is never mentioned in the Bible and is lost to history. In 1932 Jerry Siegel's father is killed, a murder that is never solved, as a result Jerry goes on to create Superman, one of the worlds most recognized icons. What could these two crimes have in common?

I know it sounds a little strange and somewhat nerdy. I finally found some pieces of time to actually read the book. I kept a little notebook on me so I could make some notes for my review. Guess what? I did not write down one note. I was immediatley caught up in pacing of the book. The Book of Lies has short chapters, so from a pratical level, for someone who is busy like me, it is very easy to read on breaks, during lunch, or in between innings of the Phillies' games

The main character is Cal Harper, a former federal agent, who now works for a homeless shelter, patrolling the streets helping the needy. One night he finds his father, who he has not seen in 18 years, one the side of the road with a bullet wound in his side. Cal's father quickly garners Cal's help in the chase for world's first murder weapon. Not strange or nerdy at all. It reads like The DaVinci Code but instead of the Holy Grail, the characters seek Cain's murder weapon. And instead of clues being left in DaVinci's paintings, the characters are seeking leads from the works of another creative genius, Jerry Siegel. The Book of Lies is very good.

There is a reason why Brad Meltzer is one of my favorite authors and with this book he proved it again. Meltzer does not tell the story. He lets his characters tell the story. Cal, and Lloyd and Serena and Ellis tell this story.

Go to Brad's website and read more about The Book of Lies, you can even read the first chapter. Then go and get the book and read it and then comeback and tell me what you thought.

Oh and Brad, if you happen to read this review, leave a comment just so I can prove my friend Nilbo wrong.

The Book of Lies

Last year I wrote about my slight fascination with the New York Times Best selling author Brad Meltzer. If you go back and read that post, in the comments, you will see that Nilbo somewhat mocks me and doubts that I kinda had an email exchange with a best selling author. I emailed Brad and asked him to read the post in the hopes that he would comment on Poop and Boogies just so I could prove to Nilbo I did not make up my story. Brad never posted a comment.

A couple of weeks later my friend Aly, who reads my blog, told me that her husband's sister is married to Brad Meltzer's roomate from college. I was six degrees separated from one of my favorite authors. That was all the incentive I needed to stalk Brad Meltzer. I sent him another email directing him to my original post and explaining that he and I were practically best friends via his college roomate's wife's brother's wife's highschool friend. He never commented but he did reply saying that he read the post. I was grateful for email but it was not enough to prove to Nilbo I was buddies with a 6 time N.Y Times bestseller.

Some time has passed since then. I am not sure of the exact details (I know that I emailed Brad or commented on his blog a few times) but somewhere along the way I was asked by Brad Meltzer to review his latest book "The Book of Lies." That's right, stalking him has its privledges.

This is me in my best stalker look holding the advanced reading copy.
Here is a picture of the advanced reading copy. See the red circle? That says "Advanced reading copy. Not for resale." Look I even zoomed in on the red circle in the picture below.
And yes, I snickered when I zoomed in that it looks like the book is called Bra Melt.

Needless to say I was very excited to have the oppotunity to review his newest book.

Then I got nervous. What would I write about it? I never have done a review before. What does one say? What if I did not like it? What if Nilbo still doesn't believe me that I kinda know Brad Meltzer.

Oh the pressure.

To Be continued.....

Fries

I try to teach my kids the right things. I really do. Sometimes I feel, no matter what I do, that they just don't get it.

Lately Maxfield has been requesting that I put ketchup directly ON his fries. He used to want his ketchup in a nice pile next to his fries so he could dip his fries and get the proper ketchup-to-fry ratio. Just like his father.

The past few weeks he wants me to squeeze the ketchup, all willy nilly like, back and forth, directly on his french fries. Some fries have lots of ketchup and some barely have any. I don't know where he learned this behavior. Not from his mother. She likes the little pile of ketchup next to her fries also. Maybe he is just being defiant.

When you eat french fries with ketchup, do you pour the ketchup NEXT to the fries or directly ON to the fries?

Money Sharing

If a man is married, and let's say he wins some money playing the lottery or something, is he obligated, morally, ethically, legally to share or split the winnings with his wife?

I am sure most of you that read this site just thought to yourself, "Well, hell yeah he should split it." except for a select few who may be thinking the "I broke even." rule could take effect here.

And if you answered the above question with a yes, does the wife have the same obligation to the husband if she won some money at Bunco night?

Scar

I had this "thing" removed from my neck.

It was a cyst but the definition for cyst is: An abnormal membranous sac containing a gaseous, liquid, or semisolid substance. I find that definition pretty gross so I refer to it as a "thing".

The dermatologist did not lance the "thing" she had to cut it out of my neck. This left an inch and half gash across the center of the front of my neck, right in front of my adams apple. She had to give me four stitches to keep the wound closed. She said the scar would "fall nicely into the crease of my neck" and should not be visible. I say it is placed nicely at the bottom of my slowly forming second chin.

I had to keep the sutures for a week. During that time, I attended a wedding and knew that people may ask questions about the small zipper staring at them from my throat. I told Lauren I was going to tell each person that asked a different story about what happened.

This is what Icame up with.

"I was held at knife point during a robbery and this is where the knife was held."
"I was choking and Lauren performed and emergency tracheotomy."
"I was running with scissors."
"When I was a kid, my brother shot me in the neck with a BB gun and I finally had the BB removed."

Lauren came up with "You woke up with a bug bite on your neck and it grew and when the doctor took it out it was filled with spider eggs."

At the wedding I only got to use two of my stories. The stitches were not as visible in the dim lit reception hall as I thought they would be.

I had the stitches removed and now I have a small scar which is more visible than the doctor claimed it would be. I need more stories to tell in the event that some one asks.

I have an inch and half scar across the front of my neck, tell me a good story that I can use in case someone asks.

Somewhere over the...

Telling You Y

Go here and read the quick post.

We were driving home from the ultra-sound and Lauren said, "Maybe I just can't produce a girl. Maybe there is something genetic that prevents me from having a girl."

I chuckled and said, "Or, maybe, there is something genetic in me that I can't produce a girl."

She smiled. Then she said, "Oh I can get around that."

Signs That Someone in my House is Pregnant

--2, 3, 4, times a night someone gets up in the middle of the night to pee.

--The gallon size jar of pickled artichoke hearts in the fridge.

--2, 3, 4, times a day someone says "I need to take a nap".

--I am gaining weight

--The fact that I, the anti-pet person, am now cleaning the cat's litter box. Because there is some rare disease, toxoplasmosis (which I am sure some pregnant woman invented), that can come from cat litter. ( I am sure there is a labratory filled with pregnant women looking for rare diseases associated with doing dishes, vacuuming, laundry and mowing the yard as well.)

--The various number of magazines scattered through the house that are dog-eared to pitcures of "cute" decor for a baby's room.

--The phrase and rule "Don't jump on Mommy" is now strictly enforced with the kids...and it now also applies to me as well.

Wyatt Sings

I have watched this a hundred times and it makes me smile every time.

Robots Vs. Zombies

My friends and I have have debated this topic in the past. It is a conundrum with logical arguments that cannot be answered until after the fact. It is kind of like discussing who should be picked second in a fantasy football draft. There is no real correct answer until after the season is over.

I am taking a break for a few days so in my absence I will Leave you with this question.

In the future, when the world ends in an apocolyptic war, who wins in a fight between zombies and robots?

Discuss amongst yourselves. I look forward to reading everyone's arguments.

Predicting a Headache

You know there is a headache, a backache, a pain in the ass, as well as a ton of aggravation in your future when you turn on the DVR to check that you recorded last night's season premiere of Mad Men and find that some else also recorded an episode of "Bathroom Renovations" from the DIY network.

Archaeology

A small leak in our laundry tub has begat me re-doing the floors in our laundry room and our powder room.

The plumber came out and removed the old tub/sink and I removed the old floor using a hammer and a chisel/scraper thing. I wanted to put the new floor down under the new sink/tub while the basin was gone. I also had to remove the ugly faux tile from the wall.

As with all begats projects, it was not that simple. I must have used 20 tools and 30 curse words for that little space under the sink.

You can see in the second picture here the new floor and new tub.
I then had to tackle the rest of the floor in the room. Lauren, who should have her own home improvement show, told me to use an iron and a wet towel to heat up the tiles. It worked like a charm. It made the whole process so much easier.

I felt like an Archaeologist, discovering layer upon layer of the past. As you can see in the bottom half of the picture (below) the pale octagon patterned tile that is circa 1980s. The orange tile that is underneath it is definitely from the early 1970s or as some scientists call it the Bradybunchzoic period.

And in this last picture (the yellow tile) you can see the original asbestos tiles from when the house was built in the 1960s. If you look closely at the wall you can see the yellow flower wall paper that I have not been able put into a time period but I am sending out for carbon dating.

Guest Post

Today I did a guest post for Nicki over at I, Wright. Go and check it out.

Plagiarism

My next door neighbor is a good a guy. Although we are a generation or two apart, I enjoy his company. We help each other out with various home projects. Like, if I need a precision cut of wood or some advice regarding a specific tool or assistance with an analytical problem I ask him for help. If he needs something heavy carried, he asks me.

One day I was helping him move some equipment to his backyard which he needed to landscape the area around his pool and perfectly cared for garden railway. He explained that he needed to do something or other to the pool because his homeowner insurance required the change.

"So I have to reface this area." He explained.

"Why?" I asked.

"Well the insurance company considers this" he said pointing to the pool and railway, "an attractive nuisance."

Following the comedy trail and the perfect set up I said, "Oh, just like my wife."

He laughed.

A couple of weeks later, Lauren, my neighbor, and I were chatting and he was explaining to Lauren the changes he made. He used the phrase 'attractive nuisance' again. He stopped himself and told Lauren about the joke I made, which I already told her.

He turned to me and said, "I use that joke all the time now with my family or friends."

We laughed.

I was kind of happy that he was using some of my material. But after thinking about it for a bit, I have to wonder if he is telling his family and friends that his wife is an 'attractive nuisance' or is he saying that he thinks Lauren is the 'attractive nuisance'.

New Pet

We haven't named it yet. Any suggestions?

I've been duped

Last week, Lauren asked me to take the Maxfield and Wyatt to either Lowe's or Home Depot for the kids workshops they hold on Saturday mornings.

I arrived at the Lowe's promptly at 10 AM. I checked in with the customer service center and went through the store, to the back, where they hold the kids workshops. There were already a few parents and their children waiting in the back. A gentleman wearing the maroon apron with a Lowe's logo asked me if I was there for the kids workshop.

"Yes." I replied.

"Well, you are at the right spot." He said.

"Good. I am hoping that you can get this one" I said, pointing to Max, "to eat his vegetables and the shorter one is in his terrible twos, so I am hoping you can fix that."

The guy just stared at me. He then pointed to a box filled with small wooden go-cart kits and hammers and safety goggles.

"Ooohhhh." I said. "By kids workshops, you mean that the kids get to build stuff. Here I thought it meant you were going to fix my kids."

Happy Anniversary

Go to my wife's blog, I think I need to blame the aliens (3rd paragraph last sentence).

Lawn Circles

I made the joke with this post about a UFO landing near Lauren. Well, yesterday, I discovered this Lawn Circle in my backyard. I am pretty sure that it was caused by a small scouting ship looking to abduct someone from my house (keeping my fingers crossed they want the cats and the dog and if they take the cats they have to take the litter box as well).



Some people may say that the circle was caused by my lack of experience with my Scotts' broadcast spreader and how much Weed and Feed I used. But seeing that the lawn circle is right next to the path that leads to my back porch I am thinking the UFO landed right there for easy access to back door. Its eerie.

Blogging Milestone

Some time this past week, one of the stat counters I use to track visits to Poop and Boogies registered that this here blog had its 500,000 page view. Since March of 2005 this blog has been viewed half a million times. I know that that number is nothing compared to what other blogs get, but it made me smile to see that number on the site meter.

One of the tracker services I use has a map that shows where certain visits come from. Sometimes I click on the pushpin icons to see "who" is visiting. I am always curious to see where they are from. I get visists from the offices of Dupont, USA Today, The Department of Justice, The State of Texas Attorney's General Office, Nicholas Spark's agent's office (psst, call me) LaSalle University, The US Post Office and various other businesses.

Some of the pushpins I can tell are from other bloggers. I see one from Portsmouth VA I immediatley think it is Bogart. I see a push pin from Denver I think it must be GreebleMonkey. If I see one in DC I think it must be Cat or RudeCactus. The pushpin from Rome has got to be the Pope, because I am sure one day he was doing some ego surfing and was googling his name and what not and he fat fingered the keyboard and accidentally typed "poop" and found my blog and now he is a regular reader.

I have not reached 500 K visits yet (just pageviews) which is my next goal. Hell, I may be reading my stats all wrong but a half million hits by the end of the year would be pretty cool. I know there are people out there that link this site over the past few years and I want to say thank you to them. I really do appreciate it.

I do not do a blogroll but, every now and then, I list some of the blogs I am currently enjoying.
Besides the ones I mentioned above here are some of my current reads.

A Year Here and Year There , Eclectic, Gigglepotamus, Bossy, Klog, Raising the Boys, Rattling the Kettle , Cynical Dad, Creative Type Dad, April, The Donovan Clan, Practically Wisdom, Mindy.


I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who stops by here. I am always amazed at how people have found this site. I know it is difficult to remember what brought you here but if you could leave a comment and tell me how you found me, where are you on my pushpin map I would love it.

And again Thank You.

Awkward recipe

Lauren makes an awesome anti-pasta salad. I was sent out to pick up some of the ingredients so she could make it for our 4th of July celebration.

When I got home from the store she pointed out that I picked up the wrong type of the main ingredient.

I went back to the store to return the item. This is the conversation I had with the guy behind the deli counter.

"I need to return this. My wife said I picked up the wrong thing for her recipe."

"Okay. What does your wife need?"

"She needs a harder salami. Apparently the one I got is too soft."

He turned red. So did I.

"What's the difference between a hard salami and soft salami?" I asked.

"Are you setting me up for a joke?"

"No. I looked out here." I said pointing to the prepackaged meats in the aisle."But they are all the same brand."

I then paused and composed myself and accepted what I had to ask. "Do you have hard salami back there?"

He paused and composed himself and then answered. "Yes. How much hard salami does your wife need?"

"I don't know. Can I see it?"

Ring

My mom was and is very proud of her high school. Go Cardinal Dougherty Cardinals. Seriously they are the Cardinal's Cardinals. That is like having General MacArthur High School Generals. Redundant somewhat.

When my mom got married, she gave her class ring to her father. In the 50's this was some type of tradition (as was getting class rings and knowing your high school fight song and pep rallies). She was his odlest child and the first to get married. The idea being that she would replace her class ring with her wedding ring.

I can picture my Pop-Pop asking her, "Barbara, what am I supposed to do with this?"

"You are supposed to wear it dad. It will indicate that your daughter is married."

My grandfather's response was something like, "Barbara, I have ten daughters, if each one gets married I will have to wear ten class rings. I can't do that."

But my grandfather promised to hold onto the ring for my mom. Over the years the ring disappeared. Misplaced and forgotten. But not by my mom. Every now and then she would ask her father if he still had it. He did not know where it was.

Misplaced and forgotten.

My grandfather died 6 years ago. His wife, my Mom-Mom died two years ago. My aunt, who lived with them and cared for them, was responsible for settling their affairs. Slowly but surely she made sure that their final wishes were handled. She took her time removing their belongings, giving some items to charity and also making sure that each of their twelve children received the mementos that they each wanted.

Settling the affairs of two people who lived into their late 70's/early 80's, who had twelve kids and 37 grand children, and 30 plus great grand children, takes some time. The last thing my aunt needed to do was to clean out the basement of all my grandfather's tools. He had quite the collection. My aunt scheduled an "open house" for February 2008 for all of Pop Pop's grandchildren to come and take any tools they wanted.

A bunch of the grandkids and many of my siblings showed up to take various gadgets and tools. My siblings and I were still mourning the passing of my dad and the "open house" provided a good distraction. My grandfather was very organized and had multiple light switches and plates and outlet covers and connecters still in their orginal packages. He had every type of screw, nail, nuts, and bolts in little containers each marked with its contents. There was a ton of stuff.

My brother Jim eyed a clear container that was not makred and that was packed with fabric of some kind. He asked my aunt if he could open it and she said yes. Inside the container were old boy scout and girl scout patches that my aunts and uncles had all received. At the bottom of the container, wrapped in a patch, was my mom's class ring.

My dad, my mom's husband of 44 years, had died a month before. It was a very trying time for my mom. As the wedding vows go "til death do us part" and she was no longer a wife but a widow. She was no longer married. My brother Jim brought the class ring to my mom. She was thrilled. Like the ring's shape, it had come back full circle.

My grandfather, my mom's dad, did not misplace the ring. It was not forgotten. He was waiting for the right time to return the ring to my mom.

His timing was perfect.


My mom's birthday is July 4th. Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.

UFO

Lauren totally unaware that a UFO just landed behind her.

Data

I was talking to a friend the other day and I said the word "data".

"It's data. The way you say it is annoying." She said to me.

I had flashbacks to my first time on an Ivy League campus where I was corrected on how I spoke several times. No, I did not go to an Ivy League school but the students there felt the need to correct my pronuniciation of several words.

Feeling very self-conscious, because my friends are very smart and bright people and I am not so much, I looked up the pronunciation of the word data. I used dictionary dot com, does anyone actually own a dictionary any more? I wanted to make sure I was saying it the correct way.

Both ways of pronouncing it are correct.

How do you pronounce data?

Day-Ta? or Datta?...

...and which way is annoying?

Subconscious Decisions

I figured something out about myself regarding a subconscious decision I make when I am dressing Maxfield and Wyatt.

When getting the kids dressed in the morning, if I know that we are going out to a public place or a party where there will be lots of other kids, I dress them both with the same color shirts. Not matching shirts just the same color. That way, when we are out and I scan the room or yard or park, I only have to look for one color shirt to locate my kids.

The last time I did this is when we went to my friend's farm for a picnic. I dressed both kids in green shirts. If I heard a cry or a shout or a commotion I just looked up and if I saw no green shirt by the commotion I knew my kids were not involved. I could relax.

I also realized that dressing your kids in green at a farm makes them blend right in to the crops. Which defeats the purpose of being able to locate the kids.

Secret Porn Name

When I get into a book I often times find myself overcome by the characters or the mood of the book. I also do this with movies or television series. In normal everyday situations I end up thinking to myself “What would Lou Boltd do?” Or I ask myself “Would I rather be Swearengen or would I want to be Bullock?” both characters from the HBO series Deadwood. (I am just finishing the first season).

I am also captured by the situations in the stories. I can’t help but think about what I would do if I was caught in the middle of an international espionage ring. How would I get a message to my family if I was kidnapped? I play these dilemmas over and over in my head until I move onto the next book or television series and ask myself different questions.

Recently I have been reading a bunch of Harlan Coben books. Harlan Coben writes mystery/thrillers. I was lucky enough to discover his books just a few months ago and a friend has lent me several of his works. I do not devour books. I am a slow reader. It usually takes me a week or two to finish a book. So, I, more or less, snack on them. And using the comparison of snacks I would rate Harlan Coben’s stories like a bag of Ranch flavored Doritos. Not my favorite flavor, but still Doritos, and I can finish a bag (or book) in just a few days.

The one I most recently read was “Tell No One”. Basically a guy thinks his wife is dead but then he starts getting mysterious emails containing information only his wife would know. One of the bits of secret information was that his wife was using an alias and the name she was using was that of her middle name and the street she grew up on. She took her middle name as her first name and her hometown street name as her last name. And of course her husband knew this and of course finds her eventually.

A few nights ago I was in bed watching 48 Hours Mystery. Lauren was asleep next to me. 48 Hours is basically a show about murder and who done it and how did they do it etc. etc. I forget the actual case because they run 48 Hours marathons on cable all the time and I get confused, but a woman went missing and they were trying to find her. There was a ransom demand and the police wanted to make sure that the woman was still alive and asked a question that only the woman would know.

I forget the details because I immediately had to wake Lauren so we could come up with a secret code word in the event she ever witnessed a horrible crime committed by the KGB and had to go into hiding and she needed to contact me.

“Lauren, wake up.”

“What?”

“If you ever need to use a secret name to get into contact with me, I want you to use Andrea Carlson.”

“You want me to use my stripper name?” she said referring to the various “Name Generator” types of websites, using her middle name and street name.

“Yes.”

“You woke me up for that?”

“Yes. I just want to make sure we are on the same page.”

The next day, after I put some thought into it, I realized that the KGB or rogue CIA agents would probably know her middle name and street name. So we needed to come up with a different plan.

“I think we need to change your secret code name.” I told her the next morning over coffee. “What was the name of your first pet? Was it B.C.?”

“No. My first pet’s name was Miss Catsky.” She said. "So now you want me to use my porn star name?”

“Your porn name is Miss Catsky Carlson? I think I like that.”

Define Couple

"In a couple of minutes."


"Take a few more bites."


"You can take a couple of more."


"Eat a couple more carrots and you can be excused."


"In a few mniutes."


"I'll be out in a couple of minutes."


"A couple more minutes then it is time for bed."


We use the words "few" and "couple" all the time with the kids. My definition of couple and few are pretty much the same thing. They both mean less than 10 but more than one and "few" is a slightly higher value than "couple." Anything over 10, I consider a "bunch".


Lauren has taught Maxfield her definitions of the words.

"Couple" is two. No more no less. "Few" is three, no more or no less.


Max's new knowledge and definition of the words is causing some issues in our house. When I say a couple or few I am thinking less than 10. He is thinking exact.


Let's just say he has 7 pieces of carrotts on his dinner plate. I, being the parent, want him to eat at least more than half of the carrots. So I say, "Eat a couple more carrots." I am thinking 4 or 5.


Max will eat just two carrots and argue with me that I said "couple".


Or maybe we are sharing a bag of Swedish Fish and I tell Max he can have a few. I am thinking about 7 or 8. Max will get upset because he thinks I am only giving him 3.

I made the mistake, while giving the kids some grapes, telling Max he could have a "couple more" and then saying Wyatt could have "few more". Max was beside himself that I was giving Wyatt more.

How do you define couple, few and bunch?

Confessions of a Former Class Officer

Below is my friend Susan's response to yesterday's post.

Clarifications and Confessions of a Former Class Officer
By Susan aka Tori

Dear Bill,
I obviously feel compelled to respond at length to your blog entry about the reunion, having been called out in such fashion.

Clarification 1. How can you say you weren’t popular? If you went to our high school with the last name M****m, you were automatically popular, even if you were secretly a big dork with an enormous comic book collection.

Clarification 2. I was not popular. Viola-playing, theater-loving, academic decathletes by definition are not popular. Now, according to Clarification 1, if my last name had been M****m like yours, it wouldn’t matter if I picked my nose and ate it every day, I still would have been popular.

I wish I could tell you that I ran for class officer because I was super passionate about who won the Hallway Decorating Competition (we lost our senior year and Steve G yelled at me) or because I wholeheartedly looked forward to the day when I would be privileged enough to plan the reunion. But really, I just wanted two things.

First, I wanted that bright yellow hall pass that enabled me to do whatever the hell I wanted at any point in the school day, that golden ticket that said, “Class Council Business.” As a class officer senior year, you were just given this blank hall pass with unlimited use. Flash that golden slip at any hall monitor or teacher, saying something like, oh I don’t know, “I need to go buy more posters for the Pep Rally,” and you were out of class. Sadly, or not, depending on your perspective, I used most of this time to go get Slurpees, which, looking back, was this weird status symbol in our school. If you showed up in school with a Slurpee, it meant a) you had a car and b) you somehow got out of school. None of this iPod, iPhone status-y crap. A Slurpee meant something in our town.

And now the second reason I ran for class officer. I am sorry to confess that I ran for class officer because…I really just needed something good for my college applications. Bill, I might not have needed to partake in this sham if I had not spent all of 9th grade Social Studies competing with you for who could get the most zeros. (Although it is worth noting that for as many of the zeros I accumulated for not doing a shred of homework and talking to you through entire classes, many of my zeros were also accumulated by eating in class. You may remember that the marching band was selling candy to go to Florida and I single-handedly bought and consumed enough candy to fund the entire trip.)

From the bitter, bitter tone in your blog entry, I now understand that there were many people, such as you, who held pure, practically holy motives in running for Class Council, and to all of those individuals, I apologize for snagging the job in the interest of Slurpees and entrance into an excellent liberal arts college. And so, realizing the errors of my past, I hereby in the presence of the entire blogosphere, renounce my claim to the position of Secretary of the Class of 1988 and appoint Bill as my worthy successor.

To Cyndi, Kim, Tiffany, Tara, and anyone else who planned and executed our 5th, 10th and 15th reunions: a belated thank you for doing my former job for me. I had a lot of fun and got really drunk at all three. I would feel really happy if you all did it again, and this time I will be more outwardly thankful. I think you clearly have a very interested person to recruit for the planning committee named Bill, especially since he is now Secretary of the Class of 1988. And it seems that if you’re really lucky, at the end of each planning meeting, he might dry hump you like he did Steve W.

Class of 88-20 Year reunion?

Twenty years ago, around this time of the year, I graduated from high school. I was recently with some friends (friends from high school, yes 90% of my friends today are from my high school years.) and we were discussing the 20 year reunion. Were we going to have one? Were we not? Who would we want to see? Etc. Etc.

I am not sure how all this works but in my junior year I ran for one of the officer positions for class council for my senior year. I clearly remember that one of the "responsibilities" of being an officer was to be part of the planning committee for the reunions. I lost the election. I was not popular enough. I may have been upset at the time but now, 20 years later, I am so glad I lost.

One of the people that was elected as an officer was my friend Susan (who comments here occasionally as Tori Spelling). She was popular. Now, 20 years later she is trying to back out of her responsibilities of organizing the reunion. She, of course, is blaming Albie, John R and Cindy Z who were the other officers elected. I am not sure if they were even the other officers but she throws Albie in there, because I think she understands that for some unknown reason he is "Newman" to my Jerry Seinfeld.

I just want her to realize that 20 years ago, when she was elected, she took on a responsibility and she should follow through on that promise or pledge. I am sure she is bogged down with her other duties to the French Club (she was the President) and the Academic Decathlon.

All the talk about the reunion made me pull out the year book.

Then: I was very vain about my dark dark hair. Now: I am very vain about my salt and pepper hair. Then: I made the yearbook. I was not voted as "Most Likely to Succeed" or "Most Athletic" but part of the great distinction of "Cutest Couple". Now: I am part of the "hottest" couple. Lauren makes up most of the percentage of the hotness.
Then: I played football. I made the year book. That is me, # 20, dry humping Steve W. after a touchdown. You would think they would have used a different picture. I think this would have worked better as the "Cutest Couple." Now: The only football player I would dry hump would be Ladainian Tomlinson and only if he scored four TDs in a game and he was on my Fantasy Football Team. Then: I performed a Rap on our Senior Class Trip as part of the talent show. Now: I struggle to remember nursery rhymes for my kids.
Then: Meeting my friends at 7-11 to get Slurpees on our way to the prom. Now: We occasionally meet for beers but we never wear tuxedos's and actually try to avoid situations where we have to wear a tux.
This picture represents the start of my interest in writing. All seniors, as part of their English requirements, had a to write a senior speech. Mine was selected to be presented at one of the graduation services. Then: This is me after I gave my speech at the Baccalaureate Service. The speech was about super heroes and so, toward the end of my presentation I ripped off my shirt to reveal that I was actually Superman. Now: I still wear superhero shirts but they are stretched way too far across my mid-section.

I know that some of my friends from high school read this blog. For those that do, call Susan, tell her she has to keep her commitment to the class of 88. Everyone else, I would like to use my comment section as a petition for Susan and the other class officers to get the reunion going.

Special Delivery

My mother-in-law was very generous and bought us a new mail box. We have talked about replacing the old one from the day we moved in, but it was never a priority. Now that we had a new one I figured it would be an easy job the kids and I could do together. The new mailbox stated that it was "no dig" type of post and assembly and that the only tools I would need would be a screwdriver, a hammer and a wrench. Three tools total.

I knew that I would have to dig out the old one and that is where the kids could help. We started at 8:30 AM on Saturday.

Actual number of tools we used for this project. Three of my shovels, a hammer, two screwdrivers, a wrench, a pair of pliers, a ratchet wrench. That is 9. Plus I had to borrow from my neighbor another shovel, a Saws-All with a hack blade and his sledgehammer. So another 3. That is a total of 12 tools.

I finally mounted the post (thats what she said) onto the bracket that was hammered into the ground and was almost done when Lauren pointed out to me that the Mailbox leaned forward a bit. I tried to make my case that Mailmen rarely leave any round objects in our mailbox that may roll out. She didn't buy it so I had to re-do the post.

I finished this project at 2:30 PM on Saturday. Saturday night I went to an event and my friend Bob was kind enough to drive me home. During the ride I told him the story of my new mailbox. 10 minutes after dropping me off he called me.

"Bill?" He said.

"Hey. What's up?"

"I just took out your mailbox."

My heart skipped a beat or two until I realized he was only joking. I still went out in the rain to make sure it was okay though.

After six hours of labor I think I should name the thing. Any suggestions?

Why I enjoy shopping alone

I took the kids to the Super Wal-Mart the other night to pick up some items for Wyatt’s B-day. I usually fly through shopping trips when the kids are with me because they have a limited patience and are usually a handful. I usually shop by myself. Wyatt sat in the cart and Maxfield walked along next to us. A promise of Cheetos after the trip kept the kids in check.

Wal-Mart was a having a sale on the name brand Cheetos and I needed to compare the sale price against the price of the lesser-known brand. I like to know that I am getting the best price ounce for ounce when it comes to cheesy goodness. The Cheetos were about 18 cents an ounce while the imposter brand was about 14cents per ounce. But figuring in the 5 cents an ounce cushion I am usually willing to pay for a brand like Cheetos I was going to go with the name brand. (I am not that cheap but there are only a few name brands of food I am willing to pay more for. Examples would be Dorito’s and Turkey Hill Ice Cream and TasyKake)

I was standing in the aisle a little too long doing the math and Max started to wander. He was about ten feet from me and ten feet from the end of the aisle. A rather large woman, very large, all over large, turned the corner of the aisle and almost hit Max with her cart. Not because she was not paying attention, but more because Max stood in the middle of aisle, staring in awe of her large-ness.

“Dad!” He yelled. “Does that lady have a baby in her belly?”

You see, a few of Lauren’s friends have had babies in the past few weeks and Max has become fascinated with babies in bellies. I grabbed two bags of Cheetos threw them in the cart and quick stepped it over to Max to escort him out of the aisle, past the woman, as quick as possible. I did not make eye contact with the woman and I muttered a quick apology.

“No Max.” I said in a very loud fatherly whisper.

I tried to turn his head in the other direction from the woman but I couldn’t manage the cart and Max at the same time. Max pulled his head out of my grip to get a better look at the lady.

“Dad!?” He yelled again. “Maybe she has a baby in her chest. Maybe, maybe she has TWO babies in her chest.”

1,051,200 Minutes

Maxfield has an amazing memory. Although he can't remember things he did yesterday I am impressed with some of the stuff he remembers from a couple of years ago. That, is half his lifetime ago.

We were talking about Wyatt's birthday and Max looked up to me and said, "The day Wyatt was born I had a sleep over at Jason and Cora's."

Jason and Cora are Max's friends in Orlando. Their parents, Anne and Joel, watched Max the night we went to the hospital to have Wyatt. Max was two at the time. I don't know if all kids are like that with their memory but I am impressed. Anne and Joel will always be remembered by us for being there for us on such a special day.
Two years ago Wyatt Blue was born.

Here is the story of his arrival, Part One, Part Two and Part Three.

Wyatt Blue is Two today.




He looks so much older with the chocolate goatee.

Man Space

A long time ago, before Lauren and I bought our first house, she told me I would eventually get to have my own man-space. Some men get to have the garage or the basement as a workshop or a gym as their space in their house but that is not me. I always wanted to have an office.

My man space would be a dimly lit room with dark furniture and bookshelves. The desk would have multiple rings stained into the grain of the wood from too many cups of coffee which would only be visible if I turned on the green shaded bankers desk light. I would sit in a leather, highback executive swivel chair with wheels. Unless I was reading, then I would sit in the corner, under a tall floor lamp, in a old, musty wing back chair. I would have a decanter of scotch on a small serving table. Who am I kidding I would have an empty decanter. It would be decorated the way I would want it. And if I could, my man-space would have a secret entrance, like a rolling book shelf or a fake wall.

In our new house there is not really a room I can use for an office so Lauren agreed I will eventually get a corner of the living room. It is not the same as having my own space but it will have to do. Over the years I have gathered items I would put in my man-space. I have saved these items like I had a hope chest. One of the items I found is reprodcution of Rembrandt's "The Man in the Golden Helmet". A few weeks ago I decided to hang it on the living room wall.

Now, Lauren is rethinking whether I can have the corner in the living room.

I cannot understand why she does not like it.

Do you have man-space in your house? What's it like?

It's not the size...it's the bounce

I know my last post was about the bounce house but I found it hysterical that this past weekend our neighbor had a birthday party for one of her grandchildren and she had a bigger bounce house in her shed. Both of my kids refused to use our bounce house.

They stood at the fence all weekend and coveted our neighbor's things.

Apparently size does matter.

Body Slam

Our friends Bill and Jessica have one of these Little Tykes "Bounce House". Their cute little girl, who is dainty and pretty and nice, loves the bounce house. Bill and Jessica claim she can jump for hours and hours. My kids love going to Bill and Jessica's house because of the "Bounce House." Since the Little Tykes "bounce house" is portable, Bill and Jessica brought it to our house for a party one day. The kids loved it and they bounced with glee.

Witnesses to the glee and joy at the party thought it would be a great idea to have a bounce house permantly at our house, and so we acquired one.

The joy and glee and happy little jumpers lasted a day. You see, I made the mistake of thinking that my boys would be like Bill and Jessica's daughter. I was wrong.

LAAADIES and GENTLEMENNNN. LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLLLLLEEEE...
In this corner we have Wyatt "Super-Fly" Snooka and in the opposite corner we have Max "King Kong Bundy".

We now have Steel Cage Matches every night. Wyatt was the first to get hurt. Max kicked him in the ear. It looks a lot worse in person.


I need to get a black and white Ref shirt now. The only problem is when I go into the bounce house, to separate the two rough housing kids, or to check on injuries, the whole thing deflates. I do not think the "maximum weight" warnings marked on the side are very accurate.

Monkey See, Monkey Don't.

Why, when I give a toy or a lollipop or a piggyback ride or whatever, to one of my two boys, the other one immediatley wants the exact same thing (the same exact action figure, the same color, flavor, what have you, it has to be exactly the same) and they will carry-on until they get it, but when I offer a choice of a TV show or dessert or whether we will play in the front yard or back yard they can never agree and they will argue nonstop?

Snakes, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails.

We spent about an hour down by (and in) the creek. While we were there I realized that I say both "creek" and "crick" depending on the situation.

How do you pronounce it?

Beggin

We recently changed the type of dog food we feed Luna from a cheap brand to even cheaper. The 20 lb bag of Purina included a sample package of Purina's dog treats Beggin' Strips.

I opened the package to give Luna a treat and I was surprised to see the bacon shaped meat-and-meat-by-product treats. Why would Purina make a dog treat that is shaped like bacon?
Do dogs really know what bacon looks like?

The treats kind of smelled like bacon but they really smelled more like beef jerky. I gave Luna one of the treats and she gobbled it up and I put the package in the pantry. The next day I gave her another one. I was still intrigued by the whole bacon shape of the treat. I mean, c'mon, dogs eat their own shit from time to time, why does the treat have to be bacon shaped?

The following day I gave her another treat. Again I was struck by the bacon shape. It looks like bacon. It kind of smells like bacon. Seriously look at it.

I think it looks good.
I asked Lauren her thoughts about it but she seemed indifferent to the whole thing.

Just for the record it does NOT taste like bacon. I took a bite. Not good.

So again I ask, why the bacon shape? Does a dog know what bacon looks like? Or are the people at Purina just banking on the fact that people are going to try these treats?