My family and I were were invited to the grand opening of Legoland Florida. It was awesome! Cool rides, great stores, entire cities built out of Lego… Words can’t describe how incredible this place is! (But video and photographs could probably do the trick!) Here you go:

Visit their website for all the info!

I always get frustrated when somebody comes up with an incredibly simple idea that makes millions of dollars in a short period of time and then disappears with their wad of cash to a tropical paradise never to be heard from again. Deep down inside I have always believed that is my destiny.

So far, it hasn’t happened for me.

I didn’t write “Everything Men Know About Women” a book that has sold millions of copies and is filled with nothing but blank pages.

I didn’t come up with “Sh!t My Dad Says.” Mainly because I never really listened to my dad when he was talking, and the sh!t I did hear wasn’t all that funny.

I didn’t create “The Million Dollar Homepage” to sell 1,000,000 pixels (which cost absolutely nothing) for $1 each. I mean, it just doesn’t get any more brilliantly simple than that.

I think I am the kind of person with one of those great ideas that is eventually going to erupt from my mind like a volcano and create massive amounts of wealth for me and my family.

The iBeer app is another great example. Why didn’t I think of that? I love my iPhone. I love beer. I kick myself to this day for not being the first one to put those two together.

Sometimes I convince myself that I’m just too talented for ONE big idea. Sometimes I tell myself, “It’s easy to have one GREAT idea. What’s tough is to come up with several thousand really good LITTLE ideas. Not everyone can sit on a beach. Somebody has to talk on the radio everyday and entertain people with witty, non-income generating tweets. In fact, the reason I haven’t come up with that ridiculously simple, highly lucrative, why-didn’t-I-think-of-that idea is because I have too much talent! I am too creative. God wants me working hard everyday! It would not be fair to keep my incredible abilities from the world and just disappear to a tropical island paradise.”

Then I stumble across a TV show about the inventor of “Bubba Teeth” who, to date, has earned over $40 million dollars. I go to my office, close the door, and quietly weep into my iBeer.

But in T-Ball…there’s plenty!

Just a week after Bean’s first big hit, he experienced the dark side of T-Ball: Striking out. He was not happy. Not at all.

See, Bean loves to run. The smile on his face as he plows toward first base is one of the greatest sights in the world. When he steps safely on the bag, and the crowd (mostly me) is screaming at the top of their lungs, he knows that he has done well and he is very proud.

But here’s the problem with T-Ball: If you don’t hit the ball, you don’t get to run.

Yesterday, Bean didn’t hit the ball. He missed the first two pitches and flubbed the next two off the T. That’s it. Four tries and you sit back down. Those are the rules, no exceptions. So, instead of running to first like a 45 inch tall Forrest Gump, Daniel was sent back to the dugout…hitless. That’s when the tears started.

He made it off the field okay, but by the time his butt hit the bench his face was red and his eyes were filled with water. Then he started to wail. “Daddy! DADDY!!!” I was already on my way to the dugout to give him a pep talk. I knew he would be upset, but I didn’t expect this. As a ran to find him in the mess of tiny gloves and bats I racked my brain for something to say. I mean, I’ve read like every Tony Robbins book ever written, this should be a piece of cake, right?

As I sat down next to him he climbed up on me and threw his arms and legs tightly around my torso. He clung to me for dear life and buried his face in my shoulder. He was sad and mad and ashamed and frustrated all at the same time. I mean, he’s five for crying out loud. All he wants to do is swing the bat and run around the bases. He didn’t get a hit. He didn’t get to run. The two things he loved most about playing T-Ball were taken away from him with two bad pitches and a couple of foul balls. I didn’t know what to do.

I gave him a big hug and told him it was okay. Then I pulled him off of me. He’s not a baby anymore and we both need to remember that. I put him next to me on the bench and explained how striking out is just part of the game. Sometimes you hit. Sometime you miss. I went on to tell him “It’s okay. Everyone strikes out from time to time. Even Daddy strikes out.” (Or at least Daddy would strike out if he ever played competitive sports.)

I rambled on about working harder and rechanneling his anger and visualization, blah, blah, blah. I don’t really remember what I said, but it must have worked because he stopped crying. He wiped away his tears and took his head off my shoulder. Thank God he was late in the rotation because the inning ended just as I was running out of my “A” motivational material. Coach Charlie came in and yelled, “Grab your gloves! Grab your hats let’s go!”

Bean’s face was still red and he was sniffling a little, but he grabbed his glove. He put his hat square on his head and when coach yelled out, “Daniel, right field let’s go Baby! Go go go!” He got up and went went went! I was super impressed. In fact, I was ecstatic.

I joined PopMommy on the bleachers. She was also a mess. Her stomach was in knots waiting to find out what happened.

“He was upset.” I said. “He was upset he didn’t hit.”

“How are you?” She asked.

“I am THRILLED!” I told her. And I really was! Daniel’s tears meant one thing to me: He cared. It was the first time I ever saw him so passionate about anything that didn’t come in a Lego box.

Karate? Hated it.

Soccer? Couldn’t care less.

But T-Ball??? He loves it. He loves to hit. He loves to run. And he HATES to strike out. That’s a recipe for success if I ever saw one.

The second half of the inning Bean was on fire. You would never have known he was playing right field because he went wherever the ball did. He spent more time on first base than any of the runners. He charged the pitchers mound three times in a row and almost got into a fist-fight with the kid at center. Bean was determined to get his hands on that ball. Then it happened…

He made a play.

One of the big kids nailed a pitch right to first base. The first baseman missed it because it was going so fast. Guess who was right there behind him ready to pick up the slack? Bean scooped the ball up, spun around and threw it to the mound. The pitcher got it and threw his hands in the air ending the play. Bean saved a double and kept the big kid on first. It was AWESOME and he knew it!

When Bean stepped up to the plate for his second (and final) “at bat” of the game my heart was racing. My face was pale…well, paler than usual.

The pitch was good, but Bean swung high. Strike one.

The second pitch was a little slower, but so was Bean. He swung late. Strike two. Out came the T.

As the coach placed the ball on the top of the long black tube I really started to panic. “Please God. Please let him get a hit. Please God just let him hit the ball. The kid just wants to HIT THE BALL! LET HIM HIT THE FREAKING BALL!”

*Clink!*

When I finally looked down from heaven my son was safe at first, smiling from ear to ear.

Two batters later Bean was rounding third and being encouraged (aka: “screamed at”) to head home (Which he did with another big goofy grin on his face). He stopped short of home plate, looked up at the stands, lifted his right leg in the air and stomped on the base like it was a six-inch cockroach crawling through the kitchen (which I’ve actually seen before.) This time he ran to the dugout screaming “Daddy! DADDY! I got a run!” There were high fives everywhere and more hugs.

Two times at bat. One out and one run. My kid’s batting .500! That’s better than Jorge Posada.

If you like this post also read “The Best Game I Ever Saw!”

Moments ago I heard the news that Steve Jobs died. Appropriately, I got the sad message when a friend texted me on my iPhone.

I never met Steve Jobs. I never heard him lecture. I never read his book or talked to him on the phone. He never leant me money when I was broke. He never gave me advice when I was lost. He never offered me help when I was struggling.

Despite that, Steve Jobs changed my life as much as anyone I’ve ever known.

He changed my life, my relationships, my work, and my entire being. He changed the way I communicate with every single person I know. He changed the way I document and store the most important memories I have. he changed the way I entertain myself and my family. His creativity and imagination have changed the way I showcase and develop my creativity and imagination.

I can honestly say that my life is better because Steve Jobs lived. He lived, he dreamt, and he followed those dreams to an untimely end. I don’t know how to thank him for what he has done. But I’m writing this post, as I do everything else, on a computer that once only existed inside the mind of Steve Jobs.

Steve Jobs changed the world. Now he has left it.

I thought long and hard, but I finally came up with the BEST costume for Halloween this year:

What do you think??

PS: You can order one for yourself by clicking here.

#HappyHalloween!

You do? Cool. Do you want this?

You do? Cool. Comment on this page if you want to be entered into the drawing.

Yesterday I watched my son play his first T-Ball game. He nailed a pitch that came right down the middle for a base hit. A PITCH! It wasn’t even off the T. The coach threw the ball at the plate and my barely 5-year-old son swung and hit the ball. It was an incredible moment.

Incredible for him because he got a hit! A good one too! You could see how happy he was with himself as he moved his little body as fast as he could toward first base. The over-sized batting helmet made him look like a life-sized bobble-head doll as he pumped his skinny little arms back and forth. As he ran by my camera the grin on his face went from ear to ear. He was joyous, and I was there.

It was, by far, the best game I ever saw.

Jason Sadler is a professional “T-Shirt Wearer.”

He wears T-Shirts for a living. No joke. Everyday he puts on a different T-Shirt. He takes some pictures, makes a quirky little video and he gets paid. Cha-ching!

I know what you’re thinking…can you really do this for a living? Ummm…yeah! Jason’s REALLY good at it too. He is sold out for several months in advance. (In fact, there are only ten days left unsold this year! So hurry up…time’s a wasting.)

I’ve been a fan of his website for awhile. He’s from right here in Jacksonville, we follow each other on twitter, and I often swing by to check out what he’s wearing on any given day. Here’s a sample from last week:

Jason is my hero. Some folks idolize athletes or musicians. I idolize creative people who find interesting ways to make a living. This is one of those ideas that I really, really love. It’s silly and successful – two of my absolute favorite things! It’s the kind of endeavor that I wish I had thought of first. (I bet Jason wishes he had a dime for everytime he heard that, of course, at $1500 per day he doesn’t need anymore dimes. He’s doing okay wearing T-Shirts.)

Now, here is some GOOD NEWS for you!

JASON IS HIRING!

He is starting to look for new T-Shirt wearers for 2012. Do you have what it takes? Can you put your head through the big hole and your arms through the little ones? If so, then you can be a “Professional T-Shirt Wearer” just like Jason!

CLICK HERE TO APPLY

I’m more of a Polo man myself, otherwise I would totally do it…

You have your face on a tote bag…

Or in this case, HALF your face…

What’s the weirdest thing you have with a celebrity mug on it? Take a picture of it and post it on my facebook wall! I want to see it!

When I’m 91, I hope I’m just like this:

Back in college I remember hanging out at my fraternity house one night. After a few beers I had to “drain the lizard” so I wandered down to the men’s room. Their was a big hand-written sign on the door that read “Please Piss In Bucket.” There was also an arrow pointing down and on the ground under the sign was – you guessed it – a bucket. (Some folks had already followed the instructions, if you get my meaning.)

Being the team player that I am I added my contribution and went back to the party. About an hour later I saw someone carrying the bucket out the front door: Destination unknown. I never saw the bucket again. I imagine it ended up on some other fraternity’s front stoop as retaliation for some juvenile prank they pulled on one of us. Or maybe it was poured on something (or someone) from a rooftop somewhere. I really don’t like to think about it.

No one has ever made me angry enough to stockpile urine and use it as a weapon. I can’t even fathom thinking of such a thing. But whether it’s the 91-year old man from PA or the guy from my college fraternity I know that one thing is certain:

“It’s better to be pissed off, than pissed on!”

Have you ever done something REALLY disgusting or disturbing out of revenge? What was it?