Poop and Boogies

Daniel-san

2009-12-01T21:05:00.000-05:00

A few months ago Lauren asked me if we could re-do the living room and re-do the dining room by Christmas. A few months ago I said, "Sure. No problem."

Since that time I have done very little to get it done. It just so happened that I had some vacation time that I needed to use before the end of the year. I took this week off to finish the two rooms and maybe spend some time with the kids doing holiday stuff.
The dining room required some wallpaper removal. Vinyl wallpaper. With the special two-ply cloth backing invented by the famous designer Ugotta Befuckingkiddingme. Basically I had to remove the wallpaper twice. First I had to take down the vinyl. I then had to spray and scrape a second layer of paper.
When Ugotta first designed her wallpaper she hired a chemist to make sure the glue used on her special wallpaper would work well. She hired Ike Antbelievethisshit who created the world's toughest glue. I had to use a razor scraper to remove the top layer of glue and then I had to use a special scrub brush to take away any residue.

The repetitive motion of the razor scraper and the scrub brush reminded me of the various "training" scenes in the Karate Kid movie. Instead of "wax on" and "paint the fence" I kept uttering to myself "Razor scrape up, scrub the wall down. Razor scrape up, scrub the wall down." Removing the glue took me the better part of a day and now my arms are like Jello.
The razor scraper and shaky hands caused all kinds of divots in the wall which begat me having to Spackle and sand the walls. What I thought was going to be a one, maybe, two day project has already put a big dent into my vacation. I hope to start painting by day three.

The good thing to come out of this home improvement is I now can defend myself against anyone who tries to punch at me three feet above my head. "Razor scrape up. Hai."

If you are looking for cool ideas for home improvement projects check out Genuine Style by Direct Buy.

It's not funny

2009-11-30T14:41:00.002-05:00

I have been criticized for only posting positive, light hearted and funny stories of my life. Here is one that is NOT funny.

Rotisserie

2009-11-24T08:15:00.003-05:00

The following a re-run story from a couple of years ago. I tweaked it a bit.

My mom hosts, on average, about 35 people a year for Thanksgiving. Nine kids, plus spouses, plus 22 or so grand kids, it is a lot of people. Each family brings a dish of some sort but my mom does the cooking of the turkey and the stuffing.

A few years back she started to cook more than one bird for the dinner. Since the larger turkey took up all the space in her main oven she bought a medium sized rotisserie oven to cook a smaller, second turkey.

A few years ago the rotisserie oven broke. A couple of weeks prior to Thanksgiving my mom was giving the (now old) rotisserie oven a test run to make sure it was ready. Well, she found out that the mechanism that turned the fowl (or maybe it was the fetzer valve or the by-pass line, I am not sure) as not working properly. She asked my dad to take a look at it to see if he could fix it. She did not want to have to spend the money to buy a new oven. She left the oven on a table in the laundry room/back office so my dad could tinker with it.

My dad traveled a bit a with his job but he would go in and out of his office almost everyday. Every night for three weeks my mom would ask my dad if he fixed the rotisserie. Every night my dad would say he did not get around to it. My mom explained that rotisseries were expensive and if she had to, she would get a new one. My dad would then tell her that he would fix it and not to waste the time or money.

The rotisserie just sat on the table.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving my dad came home early from work and saw the rotisserie sitting on the table. With only 48 hours left until Thanksgiving he grabbed a screw driver and decided to take the oven apart. Later that evening, when my mom and dad were talking he told her that he disassembled the oven but could not see anything wrong with it. He also told her that the he was having a hard time putting the pieces back together. My mom freaked out.

The day prior, that Monday, my mom went out and bought a new rotisserie oven and threw the old one away.

My dad took apart a brand new oven.

_____________________________________

My favorite Thanksgiving post is up over at What was I Thinking.

Christmas Debate

2009-11-23T08:32:00.003-05:00

There is an argument about to happen in my house. It is the type of argument that could put a serious strain on the harmony of the household. This disagreement can carry and produce as much venom and animosity as any political topic; such as the right to bear arms or separation of church and state. You wanna see a house divided? Health Care Bill, meh, nothing compared to what is going to happen this weekend.

This weekend is the weekend where we typically hang our Christmas Lights. We have the argument every year. One of us likes the house to be decorated in only white lights. One of us prefers the house to be lit in the multi colored twinkle lights.

What do you prefer?

Also, I was given a copy of the new Curious George A Very Monkey Christmas to review. The show's broadcast premiere is on November 25th on PBS Kids (check local listings). I sat down with Maxfield and Wyatt to watch it and, well, it is a Curious George Christmas special. It is cute. Wyatt, who is three, liked it better than Max who is five. They both only asked to watch it one more time, which as far as movies or television shows go is only like a 2 out of 4 stars.

Patio

2009-11-20T07:47:00.003-05:00

Lauren and I were married in the summer of 2002. We bought our first house that fall. The house was a fixer-upper (which when said has the same syllables and cadence as mother-f@%ker). Our first anniversary we decided that instead of doing something/getting gifts, we would build a brick paver-patio off the back of our house. We figured we would get years of use out of a patio, grilling and hosting parties and having fun that it would be worth giving up any type of vacation/anniversary gift. To keep costs down we decided we would do the work ourselves.

The weekend before our anniversary/vacation my friend Bob helped me dig out the 17 by 10 foot area that would become our back patio. I am not a rocket surgeon and Bob (although very smart) is not a brain scientist. It took us the better part of the weekend to figure out how to level the ground that was on a 20 degree pitch.

That Monday, July 14th, was the start of my vacation. I had a few palettes of brick pavers, a few yards of sand and five cubic yards of modified stone (gravel) delivered to my house. All three components of the patio sat on a driveway which I shared with our neighbor. I was determined to have the driveway cleared that day so my neighbors could park their car. Monday July 14th I set out at 8:30 am to clear the driveway. Anyone who has done a paver patio knows that you need to fill the area with modified stone, tamp it down, add sand and then put the bricks into place. Let me tell you, moving five cubic yards of stone, by shovel and wheel barrow, is an incredibly difficult physical feat for a person who is not used to doing that kind of labor.

By 1PM, that Monday afternoon Lauren found me, whimpering, curled up in a semi-fetal position against the garage. She asked me what was wrong and if she could help. A week before we had just found out she was pregnant and I did not want her to exert herself, so of course I said no. She did help with building the patio but all the heavy lifting was done by me. My bones and muscles ached. I was covered in sweat and dirt. My hands were covered in blisters. The mini mountain of five cubic yards of modified stone, that I spent 5 hours moving, still looked like four and half cubic yards on my driveway. I was dehydrated and tired. I felt defeated and I may have started to cry. Lauren said she would get me a sandwich and beer.

When I finished my lunch I set out to finish the project. By that Friday the 18th of July I was done. It was the single most difficult home improvement task I have ever tried. I promised myself I would never do a paver project again. We only got to enjoy the patio for one full summer because the very next year we moved to Florida. I never got a chance to fully appreciate the hard labor, sweat and tears that were put into that project.

A few years, and two houses, later we moved into our current home that needed some serious work on the back patio. The screened-in porch was all rotted and falling apart. The posts that supported the roof were water damaged and rotting. From a safety standpoint we needed to fix it. The concrete slab was uneven and cracked from years of settling. It seemed kind of silly to build a new patio just as we go into winter but it needed to get done before the ground froze. Lauren and I weighed all of the possibilities of doing it ourselves. I started to have flashbacks to the last time we worked on a patio. Tears may have formed in the corner of my eyes and I may have started to involuntarily twitch. I remembered my promise to myself.

Long story short, we hired my brother's neighbor Mike. It took Mike about a week to do the whole thing. He knocked out the old porch, replaced the support posts and did a paver patio. Mike did an excellent job. If you live in the Philly suburbs and are looking to get a patio done, email me and I will get you his number.

The best part of Mike's work is that he did not cry once.

Neither did I.

Believe

2009-11-17T15:39:00.007-05:00

I took Maxfield and Wyatt with me to the art center so I could attend a theater group meeting. Both kids were, for the most part, well behaved. They enjoyed the time running around the stage and seating area while I participated in discussions about budgets and marketing.

One of the galleries across the hall was hosting some type of event which piqued Wyatt's curiosity.

"Daaaad?" Wyatt whispered. "Can I go over there?"

"Noooo." I whispered back mimicking his tone and cadence.

"Whyyyyy?" he whispered louder.

"Becauuuuse." I said.

"Buuut I waannt tooo."

I could tell Wyatt may put up a loud argument in the middle of the meeting so I lied to him.

"They are having a class in there teaching kids how to eat broccoli. Are you sure you want to go?" I asked him.

He changed his mind pretty quick. I smiled, three-year-olds will believe the possibility of anything.

Two minutes later I could see the mental light bulb go off in his head. Eyes wide and smirk on his face, he ran over to me.

"Daaad?" he said in a whisper.

"Whaaat?" I mimicked back.

"Do they have a pizza eating class here?"

I laughed out loud. Three-year-olds will believe the possibility of anything.

Dinosaur Poop

2009-11-16T19:45:00.005-05:00

A few weeks ago we went to the Academy of Natural Sciences . Sometimes a blog post does not need anything written.

Trouble

2009-11-13T08:14:00.002-05:00

“Dad?” I called tentatively from the other side of the living room.

“Yes.” He replied from the corner of the couch, behind the newspaper he was reading.

“Uhmm. I need to, uhh, ask you something.”

With a quick flip of his wrist, my dad folded one corner of the paper towards himself revealing his face to me. The other half of the paper, closest to the lamp on the end table, still up in the air caused a shadow to fall on his face. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or concerned.

“I uhh. I need you to. What I am trying.” I muttered trying to find the right way to ask.

“Spit it out Mumbles.” He called me mumbles whenever I, well, mumbled my words.

“IneedyoutocometoschoolnextweekandmeetwithMr.DeLorenzotheassistantprincipalsoIcangetoutofasuspension.” I blurted.

My dad lowered the other half of the paper and asked for an explanation. I was his 6th kid. It wasn't the first time he was asked to stop by for a conference and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. I explained the situation and my dad rolled his eyes. I could not tell if he was rolling them at me or rolling them about the whys and the whos.

The following week I was called out of one of my early classes and told to go the assistant principal’s office. As I passed the giant school mascot statue in the main hall I could see my father through the plate glass window that separated the offices from the hallways. I was overcome with a sense of dread. Up until that point I had never, ever, been in trouble in school. I was a good student. I don’t mean that I was getting As and Bs, I mean that I was a good kid. Most teachers liked me. I participated in extracurricular activities. I was on the student government. I was a good kid.

I followed my dad down to Mr. De Lorenzo’s office. Mr. De Lorenzo was on the phone. He waived us in and gestured for us to sit down in the chairs across from his desk. A few minutes later he hung up the phone.

“Thanks for coming in today.” Mr. De Lorenzo said smiling like a cat that ate a canary. “Did your son tell you why I asked you to come in?”

“Yes.” My dad replied. He then went on to repeat the story I had told him. “Apparently my son was working on planning the sophomore class trip, a ski trip to Jack Frost Mountain. He and the other officers collected money from all the students that were interested, made arrangements for the buses, planned the whole trip. You, Mr. De Lorenzo, as the class council supervisor, were supposed to send a deposit check to the ski resort in order to book the place. You never mailed the check. Two weeks before the trip the ski resort called and canceled because they were overbooked. My son was frustrated and apparently made a disrespectful remark about you, which you overheard.”

“Actually, your son, called me an idiot.” The assistant principal clarified.

“I know what he said.” My dad responded. “What is the punishment for a student calling a teacher or yourself a name like that?”

“Well, according to the disciplinary code, they would receive one day of an In-School Suspension.” Mr. De Lorenzo said with a smug look on his face.

“Then that should be the punishment Bill gets.” My dad stood, turned towards the door.

“I didn't call you an idiot.” I argued before my dad could leave. “I told another member of the class council that I thought you were an idiot for not mailing the check. You just happened to over hear me say it. I was not being disrespectful directly towards you. I was just giving my opinion.”

“Bill.” My dad interrupted. “You heard the man. In-School Suspension for one day is the punishment. Do I need to sign something Mr. De Lorenzo?”

“No, but you don’t have anything to say about what your son did? What he said?”

“No.” my dad answered.

“But the reason I asked you to come down here was because I don’t have to give him the suspension, I can reduce the punishment to just a detention. I just wanted to ask you your opinion on the matter.” Mr. De Lorenzo sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. He leaned way back in the chair as if he wanted to watch my dad ask him for forgiveness and a lesser punishment for me.

“If what Bill said requires an In-School Suspension, then suspend him.”

Mr. De Lorenzo sat up in his chair. “So you agree that what Bill said was wrong?”

"You asked that I come down here so you could hand-out his punishment. I am missing doing my job so you can do yours." My dad looked at me he then looked at the assistant principal. “My son is entitled to his opinion. If voicing his opinion gets him trouble, so be it. He has to learn.”

Mr. De Lorenzo’s face went red. “But you don’t’ think he was wrong?”

“I just told you he will serve the suspension." My dad said and locked eyes with Mr. De Lorenzo. "You have here a boy who is on the class council trying to do right by his class and school. He doesn't have to do that. He also participates in student council, football, and other extra curricular activities. He got frustrated with you because you were supposed to do your job and you didn't. You want to suspend him, and possibly chase him away from giving back to the school because of ego. Your ego. I am not defending Bill right now just because he is my son, I would defend any kid in his position. But because he is my son he will serve the suspension. I will not admit that Bill was wrong for voicing his opinion in this situation."

“And why is that?” Mr. De Lorenzo asked.

My dad smiled at me. “Because I happen to agree with his opinion.” and my dad walked out of the office.

Three days later I served my In-School Suspension. I smiled the entire time.

Exposure

2009-11-11T09:00:00.001-05:00

I have a question that has been bothering me for a while now and I have never been able to figure out how to ask the question without it sounding totally perverted and messed up. It is a serious question and one that I think other parents may ask and one that I think could be answered by the people of the Internet.

At what age is it inappropriate for a boy to be naked in front of his peers? Especially if his peers are little girls? (See what I mean about the question?)

And at what age is it inappropriate for a girl to see a penis? (See, again, I can't ask the question without it being weird.)

I have three boys and sometimes during play dates with their female friends or cousins one of my boys ends up in a state of undress. Whether it is Max who walks around the house with his pants around his ankles because he had trouble pulling them up after using the bathroom. Or Wyatt, who, if he had his way would be naked all of the time. And of course Jackson needs to get his diaper changed from time to time.

When their girl play dates were young, two or three years old, it never bothered me that my boys were all willy-nilly (pun totally intended) with their nakedness. I guess because the girl's mom's never seemed to care. But now that Max's friends are older, I guess I am feeling somewhat, hell I don't know, more uncomfortable.

I still have no problem changing Jackson's diaper, any where or any time. I understand Wyatt's need to spill stuff on his clothes, on purpose, just so he can run around naked. I get that Max, some times, has problems with his pants. I guess lately I have become more aware of the audience.

So I am asking the Internet, at what age is it uncomfortable for exposure? Being the Exposure-er or the Exposure-ee?

Dodgeball

2009-11-09T03:23:00.004-05:00

My buddy Dan told his wife the only thing he wanted for his 40th birthday was a dodgeball party with his family and friends. She made all the arrangements and a few weeks ago I received an invitation. I have known Dan for about 25 years. Over those years I have spent many parties with Dan drinking and acting up only to wake up feeling awful and in pain from the previous nights shenanigans. I promptly RSVPed "yes" because it seemed like a good idea. I did not want to miss out on the fun.

This past Saturday was the party. Dan was surprised. About 20 people showed up to play Cosmic Dodgeball at the Sports Zone . The staff at the Sports Zone are used to hosting these types of parties for kids and they did their best to treat every one of us there as a kid.

Five minutes into dodgeball the game became more like meander-away ball. And after another 5 minutes I was playing more like malinger ball. And after another five minutes I was playing hide-behind-my-friends-and-pussyfoot-ball, as you can see in the video. Dodgeball lasted an hour and afterwards we all gathered in the one of the little party rooms for pizza, soda and cake.

I had a blast at Dan's party and, as it was when we were younger, I woke up the next morning feeling awful and in pain.

Man Challenge

2009-11-06T05:26:00.007-05:00

Picture this:
A woman struggles opening a mayonnaise jar, turns to her husband for assistance, he tries and tries but cannot get the lid to turn. It is such a simple task yet so difficult. She says, "Honey, let me run it under some hot water." He says, "No, I got it." He struggles some more, sweat beading on his forehead. She says, "Let me tap it with a knife." He says "NO. I said I got it." He keeps trying but the lid refuses to budge. A seemingly simple physical challenge is bringing his manhood into question. A man is supposed to be able to open jars. He places the jar on the counter to re-assess the situation. The woman picks up the jar, bangs the lid on the counter and with a quick flip of her wrist the jar opens. He says, "I loosened it for you."
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Completing a physical challenge, no matter how simple, is good for man. It gives us an opportunity to beat our chest and say "Look. I did that." That is why Carnies are always calling out to men challenging them to throw a softball at milk bottles. Carnies know the challenge seems simple that men will keep trying until we get it just so we can say "I did that." There is nothing like carrying a giant stuffed panda around to heighten ones testosterone level.

Sometimes the more seemingly simple tasks become the more complex challenges. There are a few of these seemingly simple yet complex challenges where men thrive on the competitive nature of the challenge. Getting someones keys out of a locked car is one of those challenges. No key, a locked door, limited tools, its like MacGyver. Men want to be MacGyver.

Yesterday I locked my keys in my car. We do not have a spare key. I was in the parking lot of the Acme food store just a mile from our house. I was up for the challenge. I told the woman at the customer service counter my predicament and asked if they had a screwdriver and a wire hanger. They did. I went back to my car and I began to work. I wedged the screw driver in the door frame and propped the door open just enough to work the wire hanger into the car. I maneuvered hanger's bent end close to the electric button but every time I "pressed" the hanger it would bend. I was close. I "pressed" again but the hanger bent some more. I removed the hanger reshaped it and went back to work. Every time I got close to hitting the button the hanger would bend and I would have to remove it to reshape it.

As I was standing at my car with the wire hanger and a screwdriver protruding from the door I began to notice a strange phenomena. Men would come up to me and offer advice or they would look in their trunks and cars to see if they had the right tool to open the car. Every guy that passed me in that parking lot, over the half hour or so I was standing there, could feel the MacGyver in them. They wanted a piece of the challenge. It is a man thing. Carnies should have a game where they lock keys in a car.

Every woman that walked by, all said pretty much the same thing, "Don't you have a spare key somewhere?"

Knowing that the hanger was too soft for the job (hey now) I finally broke down and called Lauren. I asked her to grab a wooden dowel that I knew we had in the garage and another screwdriver. I knew that with something less pliable than the wire hanger I would be able to open the door. Lauren thought that at that time she should mention that I am probably ruining the car door. I got a little frustrated and said, "Just bring me the stuff I asked for okay." and I hung up.

Five minutes later Lauren called me back. " I am not coming to get you." She said. "I called the police. Someone will be there soon. Just wave them down when you see them."

"You called the police?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Why? They have more important things to do than help me. Besides I knew I could get it open if you just brought the stuff."

"They will have the right tools to get into the car."

"I can't believe you called the police on me."

"Well I did."

I hung up and worked very quickly trying to get the car door open before the cops showed up. I could not believe that Lauren would emasculate me like that. Getting keys out of a locked car is a manly thing. Its one of those things we are supposed to do. Two minutes later a cop showed up. I lowered my eyes in shame avoiding his judgemental look. I pretty much gave up my man card right then and there. The officer had the car open in 30 seconds.

"There you go, sir" He said. Adding the "sir" as if he may have been questioning it.

"Thank you." I said. "I am sorry my wife called. I could have gotten it if I had a few more minutes."

"No problem." He responded as he got into his cruiser.

"Well I DID loosen it for you." I said.

Symptom

2009-11-04T14:20:00.005-05:00

I was in the process/hell of shoveling 5 yards of mulch, last fall, when I started to feel tightness in my chest. I stopped to catch my breath and found that it was short. A minute later I threw a few more shovel-fulls into the wheelbarrow to top it off. I bent my knees, grabbed the long wooden handles and dead-lifted the weight of the wheelbarrow. As I steered the mulch toward the front garden the left, I felt a sharp pinch in my left shoulder. I lost my grip on the left handle and it dropped from my hand, the metal container crashed to the ground spilling its contents all over the yard. My left arm and hand were numb. I could feel a tingling sensation in my funny bone area.

I did a quick mental check; chest pain, check, shortness of breath, check, numbness in my left arm, check. I did what any normal 38 year-old (this was last year) red blooded American would do in this situation, I went inside, drank a glass of water, sat on the couch and let the symptoms subside. I also did not tell my wife.

Two days later, while at work, I ran up two flights of steps two at a time. As I pulled on the stairwell door I could feel my left arm go numb and I felt a shooting pain emanate from my neck and chest. I returned to my desk, sat down and tied to wait out the pain. I was not short of breath this time but I could feel muscles in my chest close in around my lungs.

I thought to myself.

“I wonder if I am having a heart attack. I can’t be. I am only 38. But wait a minute there are people who have heart attacks who are even younger than me. I am having chest pain. Left arm, numb. I got pins and needles in my left pinky, is that a sign of a heart attack? Could be. I guess. No shortness of breath so that is a good sign. Hold on a sec, two days ago I was mulching, a heavy activity, and I started to feel this way. I just ran up some steps and I feel this way. Holy crap I am having a heart attack. Is this what angina feels like? Heh, heh, I said angina. Now that I just told myself I am having a heart attack I can feel my breath getting shorter. Wait a minute the pain in my arm is gone. Whew. Wait, now it is back. Try not to think about it. I wonder if someone in the office has Nitroglycerine tablets. How come Nitroglycerine tablets do not explode? Like in cartoons? Or is that TNT? Okay the pain in my arm is now gone but It still feels numb. I can hear my pulse. That is a good thing. That mean I have a pulse. But maybe that is a sign that my heart is working harder because it is under attack. My doctor did tell me I had high cholesterol. well not really high but elevated. Wow, now I can feel my back and shoulder blades cramping up. Okay maybe I am only having a panic attack. What are the symptoms of a panic attack? Let me Google it. S.y.s.m.t.o.m.s.o.f.p.a.n.i.c., Crap I spelled symptom wrong. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspacebackspacebackspacebackspacebackspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. m p.t.o.m.s.o.f.p.a.n.i.c.a.t.t.a.c.k. Enter. I should have just used the mouse I don’t know why I always delete the entire sentence or word instead of highlighting the mista… and here we go. Let’s see, symptoms are kind of the same as a heart attack. But wait I have numbness in my arm. Oh numbness in arm is a sign of a panic attack. I need to call 911. No if I call 911 and it’s only a panic attack I would feel foolish ahving an ambulance wisk me away from work. But if I die at my desk of a myocardial infarction, heh heh infarction, I would feel foolish. Well actually I would be dead so I guess I would not feel foolish. I am sweating. I am starting to feel lightheaded. Breathe. Breathe. Deep breath. No good. Still have chest pain. If I die Lauren is going to be so pissed. Now I am getting tunnel vision. Getting hard to swallow. Great now I am having a heart attack AND a panic attack. Maybe it is a panic attack. What if it is a heart attack? Fuck.”

I called my doctor and explained what I was feeling. They told me to come in right away. The office that I go to trains new physicians. I never really see the same doctor twice. The person on-call was a young female who seemed pretty sharp. She hooked me up to an EKG and immediately ruled out a heart attack. I immediately felt 100 times better. We went over my symptoms again and again. She reprimanded me for not going to the ER over the weekend when I first experienced the chest pain

“But it wasn’t my heart.” I said.

“But you did not know that at the time.” She responded. “What if it was?”

“But it wasn’t.”

“Next time you should go to the ER. It is better to be safe than sorry.”

"But it wasn't"

"You are closer to the higher risk heart attack age than you think."

Ouch. That hurt.

I started to argue with her but a nurse entered the exam room and handed the doctor my chart. She flipped the file open and started to read my history. I could feel my face flush. She was reading about my last visit. We spent the next few minutes in silence. She closed the chart with a flourish and smiled at me.

“There is nothing in here to indicate that you would have any heart issues.” She said.

We talked about anxiety and she did some reflex tests. The doctor ruled out a panic attack although she did think I talked myself into some of the symptoms (stupid internet). She then suggested I see a specialist who handles Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. It sounded serious, but it wasn’t.

The Thoracic guy sent me to an x-ray guy. The x-ray guy sent me to an MRI person. The MRI Person sent me to a nerve conduction woman. The nerve conduction woman stuck 2 inch needles into the muscles up and down my neck shoulder and left arm and sent electricity through them. She then sent me back to my regular doctor.

The final diagnosis is herniated discs in my neck, C3, C4, C5. Now, if I ever do have a real heart attack I am just going to think it is a pain in the neck.

Monster Squad

2009-11-01T09:12:00.002-05:00

I prefer scary Halloween costumes over the super hero or movie character variety. I was very happy when Maxfield said he wanted to be a skeleton. I was even happier when our friend Kristan lent us a skeleton costume. Wyatt, who wanted to be Iron Man, and then a robot, and then Wolverine, made me happy when finally decided he wanted to be a mummy. Lauren took an old bed sheet, tea-stained it,tore it into pieces and zip-boom-viola, a cheap mummy costume. Lauren decided she would recycle an old Frankenstein costume for Jackson. Our Halloween costumes were cheap and scary, kind of like a "Fish-Town" hooker.

Here is the monster squad- Skeleton, Mummy, Frankenstein and the Blob.

Book Review, kind of

2009-10-29T19:25:00.009-04:00

I was 23 years old and I had just broken up with my girlfriend of a few years, when my roommate and friend, Rob, put on the song Murder of One by the Counting Crows. We got drunk on Rolling Rock at the local bar and listened to that CD all weekend. That song is a great song but, to me, it is even a better song because it reminds me a good time.

Lauren and I started to watch the show Lost in the fall of 2004. Max, who was only six months old at that time had just started to sleep through the night around that same time. Lauren and I would put Max to bed and make Lost a TV "date night". Lost is a great show but, to me, it is even a better show because it reminds me of a good time in my life where everything was falling into place.

A few weeks ago David Baldacci's, the NY Times Best selling author, publisher contacted me and asked that I review his latest book True Blue. I have read and heard good things about Baldacci's other books but I never have read any. I usually turn down book review opportunities because I am a slow reader. I also read slow. I can never finish a book by the deadline the publisher sets to turn in the review. I had just finished reading Outliers by Malcom Gladwell (what a really cool read) and I was looking for a new book. The publisher said they would send me a copy for free if I would give it an honest review on the blog. They also gave me a few weeks to read True Blue. I figured what the hell, and agreed to the arrangement. I figured I could read a few chapters every night.

The book arrived in the mail and I cracked the spine of Baldacci's True Blue some time in the first week of October. The story is about Mace, a cop, who was framed for a crime she did not commit. The first couple of chapters cover her getting out of prison and starting her investigation of who framed her. Without her badge and her gun she knows she will have a difficult time finding those that set her up. The book starts a little to slow for my liking but Baldacci does a nice job of making me want to see what happens next. Like, all of the sudden someone is killed and Mace finds herself investigating that murder as well.

Just as I was on a roll reading True Blue the story takes another twist. Not in the pages, but in MLB. The Phillies were in the playoffs and playing the Rockies. I watched every game with the book on my lap, glancing at the words between pitches. The Phils beat the Rockies in five games. I had a few more days to read more of the book.

Just when I got the part where Mace and Roy, her lawyer love interest, get shot at by gang members in a bad part of Washington DC (or was it gang bangers? Could be the FBI is also after Mace) the Phillies start the National League Championship series against the Dodgers. Again I sit with the book on my lap, glancing at pages, while watching the Phils take the Dodgers in five games. Baldacci's True Blue is in my hands when I jump up to celebrate the fact that the Phillies are going to the World Series for the second year in a row.

The week between the NLCS and the World Series I work really hard to finish the book. I have re-read a few chapters to refresh my memory. The story of Mace and Roy and Mace's sister who is also a cop takes a couple of twists as more bad guys surface and a homeless man is taking into custody for a murder he may or may not have committed.

I am about 250 pages into the book when the World Series starts. I am not really a superstitious person but I am sitting on the couch watching the Phillies with the book True Blue on my lap. Baldacci writes some interesting characters and the story is a good story so far. The book is a good book.

If the Phils, as my friend Charlotte in PA says, don't cock it up and win the World Series True Blue may just become an excellent book in my eyes.

Want to see the cutest mummy in the world? Click Here

Inspiration and Intimidation

2009-10-28T09:53:00.002-04:00

I have been in a funk.

It all started when we took the kids to go see Where the Wild Things Are two weeks ago. Lauren said the movie (the emotional undertones) depressed her. I left the theater feeling inspired. Visually the movie is stunning and the characters are well developed with excellent acting. Seeing a film like that makes me want to create, to be a better storyteller, to be a better writer. Then I became intimidated because I know that I will never be able to tell a story like that.

In the book and in the film there is the line “I’ll eat you up. I love you so.”

Did you ever see someone so cute you just want to squish and scrunch up their face and eat it? Like a toddlers plump round cheeks just need to be squeezed and pinched even though you know that in the back of your head you may be pinching the kid’s cheek just a bit too hard, but you don’t care, because oh my gosh, he is so cute you just want to eat him up and you can’t help yourself. Then you realize you may not be able to control yourself and you may actually eat the cuteness and so to be safe you stay away and try not to look.

I have been trying to figure out a way I can take this blog to the next level. What that level is I am not sure. Blogs have kind of gone out of fashion with most people finding their online voices through Facebook and Twitter. I do both, but they are not the same to me as writing or reading a blog post. I don’t find Twitter or FB inspiring. I am inspired by people whose blog writing, photography, style or just their outlook on life makes me want to do better as a person and as a writer. You can’t get that from 140 characters.

Lately I have been inspired by bloggers like The Bloggess, BHJ, Whit, and The Pioneer Woman. I have been reading each of these bloggers for a while now (Pioneer Woman for a few years) and I have come to the conclusions that these people are just flat out excellent at the craft of blogging. I do follow them on Twitter but it is their blog posts inspire me to be a better writer, a better storyteller.

When I compare what I write here to what they write at their spaces I get intimidated. Sometimes I look at what I consider their success and I feel that maybe I should give up on the whole blogging thing.

Inspiration; I want to tell stories like they do.

Intimidation; I know that I could never tell stories like that.

Inspiration and Intimidation.

I want to eat them up but then I find it better to take a break and stay away. Stay away from reading and stay away from writing.

I try not to look.

I am inspired. I am intimidated. Mostly inspired.

Neighborhood Watch

2009-10-22T08:07:00.003-04:00

This morning, as I walked to my car, I a folded flier tucked behind the flag on my mail box. I scanned the street to see if there were pieces of paper sticking out from other mailboxes. I thought it strange that my mailbox was the only one to receive some type of solicitation in the middle of the night.

The flier is from my township's Neighborhood Watch Program inviting me to volunteer. Part of it reads "volunteers patrol our neighborhoods on foot...between 8 and 10 each evening." It also states that "volunteers assist the police department" and that "training will be provided".

It did not say anything about them providing uniforms or costumes, which is okay because I am sure Lauren will make me something if I join.

I am going to need to take a break from the Internet and blogging for a few days while I work on my utility belt.

What kind of weapons should I make? What kind of superhero name should I give myself? Help me out.

While I am gone try these other cool blogs.

The Bloggess

Fadkog

Homefires

Creative Type Dad

Sci Fi Dad

Honea Express

the Meanest Mom

BHJ

Jealous

2009-10-19T21:23:00.017-04:00

Lauren and I (mostly Lauren) are in the middle of Begatting our living room. We (she) are doing it in stages. We tore up the carpet to find beautiful hardwood floors which begat taking out the old base molding which will begat adding new molding etc, etc. We hope to make some "built-in" bookshelves and create a new computer/office space.

In preparation for the project the whole family went to Lowe's to pick up supplies. The first ten or so minutes went well until the kids started getting antsy. Lauren and I agreed that I would find ways to entertain the kids while she finished the shopping. The kids became even more rambunctious. Max wanted to ride in the cart which begat Wyatt wanting to ride in the cart. There was not enough room for both so I told Max he had to walk which begat him crying and having a temper tantrum which begat Wyatt having an attitude and causing both kids to argue with each other which begat me to become extremely agitated.

I decided to take the kids to see the Christmas decorations in Lowe's (yep Christmas decorations in early October) hoping that that would make everyone happy. As we passed the paint aisle I saw Lauren at the other end talking to the Paint Guy. He was all smiley and flirty with Lauren. I called down to Lauren to let he know I was going to the decorations. It took me five or six tries to get her attention. When she finally looked up I told her where to meet us in the store.

The Christmas decorations turned out to put everyone in a worse mood because Max told me he wanted the new Geo-Trax Timbertown Railway for Christmas which begat Wyatt saying he wanted the new Geo-Trax Timbertown Railway, which begat Max telling Wyatt he could not ask for the same thing, which begat a battle of "yes-I-can-No-you-can't". Anyone familiar with YIC-NYC battle knows that the volume gradually increases 10 decibels with each volley. When the kids hit about 120 dB I had had enough and hurried them to the front door where Lauren was finished making her purchases and we left.

Both kids were upset that we did not see all of the decorations and they started to whine and cry. Lauren and I did our best to ignore them as we drove away. Lauren could tell my nerves were shot. She had to raise her voice over the volume of the crying in the back of the mini-van to ask me what happened

While you were flirting with the Paint Guy, these two" I said pointing to the back seat and loud enough for her to hear me, "decided to throw fits.

I then announced that because of their behavior we were going home and not to the toy store like we originally planned. The boys cried louder. We tried to ignore them.

"I was not flirting with the Paint Guy." Lauren yelled back over the noise of the boys. She rolled her eyes

"Well he was flirting with you." I hollered back

"No he wasn't"

"Yes he was. With his short sleeved maroon apron showing off his tatooed bi-ceps. He was flirting

"Oh my gosh." Lauren yelled tyring to over power the sound of the crying. "I can't believe you are jealous of the Paint Guy

"I am." I shouted back.

"You are? Really? " Lauren asked.

"Yes. I am jealous that he is back in the store and I am sitting here listening to these kids screaming."

Rules

2009-10-15T19:36:00.004-04:00

When I was a kid, the Number One Rule, set down by my dad, in our house was "Don't hit your brother." It was good rule since there were 8 boys in the house (There was never a need for the rule "don't hit your sister" because my parents knew that all of the boys were afraid of my sister). There were other rules (some self explanatory, others were family rules) that were enforced like, "Be home at 5." "Don't talk back to your mother." "No ball in the house." "Quiet time." Etc. Etc. But on the list of rules they all fell below the Number One Rule (not that there was an actual written list of rules, all rules in our House were just known) .

We broke the number one rule many times. Most of the physical fights amongst the brothers were of the nature of wrestling or some type of rugby scrum, until someone "gave-up". But every now and then, during one of the altercations, someone, somehow, would break the rule. An errant fist would fly and make contact. All hell would break loose and we all knew that dad was going to be pissed when he found out. It was the Number One Rule.

Now that I am raising boys of my own I realize that I too have to implement a list of rules of the house. Right now, the Number One Rule is "Don't hit your brother." Boys are boys and they like to fight. It is a good rule. I think it gets broken everyday.

Here is the list of other rules we set down.

2.-Everyone must wear pants to eat dinner at the dinner table.

3.-No picking your butt.

4.-Everyone must wear pants to eat lunch at the table.

5.-Use a tissue

6.-No jumping on the furniture.

7.-Put your shoes in the closet.

8.- Everyone must wear pants to eat breakfast at the table.

9.-Lillian can not use the telephone.

10.-No throwing toys.

After reviewing my list I think I need to re-evaluate my Number One Rule.

What is your Number One Rule at your house?

Brotherly Love

2009-10-14T14:35:00.000-04:00

Lauren and I were at a wedding reception, sitting at a large table, talking with a bunch of friends when another friend's (who was not at the wedding) name came up.

"I love him like a brother." I said proudly.

"Well that's not a big deal." joked one of the guys across the table. "You have like 8 brothers."

"Exactly." I said as the table became quiet. "Let me put it this way. I love him enough to let him pee between my legs if he really really had to go and I was sitting on the only toilet in the house and the tub and the sink were occupied."

Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.

I leaned over to Lauren and said under the noise of the laughs "Did I just reveal too much information about how it was growing up in a large family?"

Family Snapshot

2009-10-12T06:12:00.010-04:00

There is a picture of Lauren, Maxfield, and Wyatt hanging in my cube at work. The picture was taken on a perfect day two years ago, on our trip to the pumpkin patch. I loved the picture so much that Lauren had the photo enlarged and framed and gave it to me for Christmas.

This past weekend we decided to go to the pumpkin patch. I told Lauren I wanted to take some pictures of the family (now with the addition of Jackson) to replace (update) the one hanging by my desk.

Within 5 minutes of arriving at the pumpkin patch I discovered that Lauren forgot to put the camera card into the camera. This was going to limit the number of pictures we would be able to take to about 12. I am the type of person who will take 100 pictures of the same thing just to get a decent photo. Without the camera card, getting a family picture was going to be difficult.

Within ten minutes of arriving at the pumpkin festival I was stung by a bee on my thigh. It hurt a lot.

With in twenty minutes of arriving at the pumpkin festival Max cut his finger. It bled for a bit. Within 30 seconds of that, I put Purell on his hands because he was just petting farm animals. The Purell in the cut hurt a lot. Like 140 decibels a lot.

My leg, where I was stung, hurt so much that I told Lauren that maybe I was bitten by some kind of rare Pumpkin Spider and that I may die. She basically told me to "man-up".

After a frustrating far trek trying to push Wyatt in a wheelbarrow and Jackson in a stroller over mud, smashed gourds, stalks, stems and tractor ruts out into the patch I was ready to stop and take the family picture.

We were all in a "mood".

Max was mad that we did not pick out any pumpkins yet.
Wyatt was mad that we wanted to put Jackson in the wheelbarrow with him.
Lauren was mad at me for complaining that my leg was stung by a swarm of killer bees and bitten by a tarantula.
Jackson was mad about the bumpy ride.
I was mad that I only had a few pictures left on the camera card.

In picture one, Lauren is asking Max to remove his sunglasses for the photo. Max refuses because he wants to pick pumpkins. Wyatt sees an opening and figures he can get rid of Jackson. Max gives Lauren attitude and she starts to correct him.

In picture two, Max is still giving attitude to his mother. Lauren is telling him he better "knock it off." Meanwhile Wyatt goes in for the kill which really upsets Jackson.
With only one more picture left on the camera I started to laugh at the whole scene. Everyone stopped and looked at me to see what I was laughing at. I yelled "Say cheese!" which gave me the pic I was looking for, picture number three.

I really am the luckiest.

I can't decide which one I want enlarged to replace the one at my desk. Which one would you pick?

Cow Lick

2009-10-07T19:33:00.004-04:00

So I posted this picture,last month, about how I looked in kindergarten. I am shocked and awed at how my parents let me go to school looking that way. I dug out some more pictures from elementary school.

First grade. Notice the Cow Lick on the back of my head.

Fourth Grade- Look closely, same Cow Lick.

Fifth Grade-ummm....very close to sporting a...ummm...seriously what the hell is up with my hair?

No wonder I am very vain about how my hair looks now.

I call you out

2009-10-04T13:45:00.011-04:00

"I call you out! Behind the church!" was how my fellow classmates in elementary school handled disputes.

Being "called out" meant someone wanted to fight you. "Behind the church" meant they wanted to fight you behind the little red brick church that was at the end of the school property. Even at an early age I felt it somewhat ironic that the kids in my school settled their differences through physical violence behind a church. Kids were "called-out" for the strangest reasons. One may have disrespected someone on the kick ball field; they were "called out." One may have said something mean about another kid's mom; they were "called out." Stuff like that.

Usually it was the bully "calling out" the weaker kids in an effort to boost their street cred and keep up with the scare tactics. Nine out of ten times the bully "called-out" other kids because he was embarrassed and hurt by something that was said or done to him. The main reason for "calling out" someone was to save face, make a point and to prove that you were better than someone.

I never called any out and I was never "called out". I was friends with Steve L, who was pretty tough, and Colin, who, as far as I am concerned was the (pronounced thee) toughest kid I ever knew. Colin was also the funniest kid and most of the other kids in our class did not know how to take him. Maybe they thought he was crazy like Murdock from the A-Team so no one wanted to mess with him. Since I was his buddy, they did not want to mess with me.

I also had four older brothers. The other kids, the ones that would want to beat me up because I made a joke about them, would say to me, "I would call you out but I don't think it would be fair because I am sure your brothers would just jump in and save you."

----------------------------------------------------------

I have been Maxfield's best friend for three-fifths of his life. For the past three years, if you asked my oldest son who he wanted to hang-out with for any occasion, any event, he would say, "Dad." I have always relished in the fact that Max would choose me over anyone else. It warms my heart knowing that he likes his dad.

My wife, Lauren, had another art show this past weekend (or as Wyatt, my three year old, likes to say "arts and Crabs.") She was going to be gone most of the day and I was looking forward to hanging out with my three boys. We planned a day of playing in the backyard to be followed by watching football and eating snacks that are not healthy for us. After Wyatt and Jackson would go down for their afternoon naps Max and I would play checkers or Uno. It was going to be a good day.

Then Kenny, a kid Max's age who lives up the street, stopped by with his mom. Kenny's mom asked if she could take Max with her and Kenny and Kenny's older brothers, who are eight years old, to the pumpkin patch. I asked Max what he wanted to do figuring he would rather stay with me. Max chose to go with Kenny. I couldn't believe it. I was a bit heartbroken.

Max, I think, has a new best friend.

I am ready to call him out.

But Kenny's older brothers would probably jump in and save him.

Last Quarter

2009-10-01T13:00:00.012-04:00

At the beginning of the year I wrote this post about what I wanted to write about in 2009. As I mentioned in that post some of the stuff already happened and I just needed to write about them. The other topics were stories I knew would happen or that I was hoping would happen. Below is the same list from that post back in January with links to the actual post and/or a quick explanation.

A new baby story --Here. I never did write the complete story but Lauren did here. I kind of knew this was going to happen since Lauren was pregnant and all.

a guest post by my brother Anonymous--I asked him two months ago. He said he would send me something. He must not have my email address.

stories about me meeting other bloggers that I never met before --I had no idea I was going to meet other bloggers and I was pleasantly surprised that the opportunities came up-Here and Here . There is till time this year to meet others that I linked from my post in January.
my 1000th post -- Cooler than David Boreanz

Bathroom Begats -The details of this project are still not completed even though the bulk of the work was done last December. I still have to do some spackling, painting and minor floor work.

my 500,000 visitor --Cooler Than David Boreanz

a story about me winning the lottery --I still have my fingers crossed.

Stories about Maxfield entering Kindergarten--Here. Seriously click on that link. I have been told that people go to that post if they are feeling down and it instantly cheers them up.

I Could Have Been a Contender parts 4 and 5 -I hope to write these over the next few weeks.

Wyatt going to pre-school--Here

the vibrating testicle story --Any decent testicle story needs to be told in two parts. Part ONE and Part TWO.

being in a play -Only half complete. I am cast in a show which is scheduled for performances next March.

meeting someone famous--I had no idea at the beginning of the year I would be meeting celebrities. -Here and Here and also I met this writer.

nerve conduction study -This happened last year I have not yet written the story. I still don't know the outcome.

how advertisers keep asking to pay me --I have some advertisers. Not much but I have some. I am still waiting for the big one (That's what she said).

a book deal --Clearly I am not a writer.

lose 15 pounds-- I have three months to go.

My Dad and the assistant principle-I will write this story by year's end.

I win fantasy football --I am in two leagues. I am 0-3 with players like Drew Brees, Colston and Dallas Clarke in my work league. I can't figure it out. I am 2-1 in my other league. We'll see. C'mon Drew Brees.

Tripling my readership--Not yet, but someone did start a fan club and Dr. Phil reads me (no really he does). If I can get more readers then I am sure I will get more advertisers.

Poop and Boogies turns Four--Clearly I am not a writer.

LawnWhisperer returns--He is waiting for reader demand.

I write a screenplay --I am actually working on this. In my mind.

finish begatting my man space --I have better chance at completing the next thing on the list.

Take photos of UFO,Bigfoot,alien,or ghost --I have a better chance at completing the prior thing on my list.

guest post from Momo9 --She read this so I think she will send me something to post.

get invited to speak at some blog convention--I do not think this is going to happen.

win an award--Still have a couple of months for this. Someone nominate me for something. Anything.

Thank you to everyone who stops by here on a regular basis to read Poop and Boogies.

My Prom Date Jason Sehorn

2009-09-29T16:00:00.001-04:00

When I took Jackson to NY last week for the Huggies/ KaBOOM event I had the opportunity to meet Jason Sehorn. Jason Sehorn is a former defensive back for the NY Giants and also the husband of Angie Harmon. We were two of only a handful of men that attended the event. While his wife was being interviewed by the press I made a bee line for Jason and introduced myself. He was very nice and friendly. He seemed genuinely interested in talking to me and we talked for about football for about 5 minutes. In an area that was filled with women and babies it was nice to have a good macho man to man conversation about my favorite sport.

Knowing that my brothers, who all consider me the non-athlete of the family, would never believe that I met and spoke to a professional football player I asked Torrie, another blogger attending the event, to take our picture. As Jackson, Jason and I struck our pose, Jackson got all squirmy and turned away from the camera. Instead of forcing Jackson around and having him look all ticked off for the photo, I simply turned my body the other way. Jason put his hand on my shoulder and we waited for Torrie to take the picture. Torrie asked that we hold the pose so she could take another with a different camera setting. Then someone from the Edelman group,the people who hosted the whole thing, asked us to stay in the pose so they too could snap a shot. We stood there for seem like a really long time.

The end result kind of reminds me of my prom picture.

A bigger picture can be found at Torrie's Flickr site here. And check out this pic of Jackson. He is so cute and should be the spokesbaby for Huggies. Thanks Torrie.

As seen on Dr. Phil ('s website)

2009-09-28T08:34:00.008-04:00

Last Thursday I noticed in my Statcounter, that someone from the Dr. Phil show visited Poop and Boogies. I did not think too much about it although I did mention it to my wife Lauren. After some clicks and research we saw that the next show was from an Amtrak train. I just took an Amtrak train to the Huggies event I attended and I assumed someone from Dr. Phil's production company found my site through some type of Google search.

On Friday I checked my Statcounter and I saw a bunch of visits from Dr. Phil's website. They were coming from here.

Holy crap! Dr. Phil was recommending my site. I, of course, immediately posted that on my Facebook and Twitter pages. I read through the Dr. Phil website to see why. Apparently Dr. Phil was giving some advice to a new dad and encouraged him to start his own website. If you read the paragraph where Poop and Boogies is mentioned, it reads as if P&B is some kind of group support site for fathers. This was pointed out to me by several people (naysayers) on Facebook and Twitter that the Dr Phil people got it wrong because P and B is not a support site. But, you see, I saw the glass as half full and I read it as Dr. Phil encouraging the new dad to start his own website and P&B is one example of such a website. Someone at Dr. Phil knows about P & B. (Hi Email me.)

After reading the paragraph a few times it struck me that there was a possibility that Dr. Phil would, maybe, mention the name of this site on his show. I wondered how Poop and Boogies would sound with his Texas drawl. I spent a better part of the day daydreaming about what would happen if he does mention the blog on his show. I would be kind of like famous. I would be approached by all kinds of advertisers wanting to pay me for space on my blog. I could tell people that Dr. Phil himself reads and recommends my blog (which, you know, he probably does). Dr. Phil got his start on Oprah and I could get my start by being on his show. I was going places. The Poop and Boogies Show has such a nice ring to it. My dad would be so proud.

I DVRed the show and I watched the segment about the new father. The New Dad tells Dr. Phil that there are so many Mommy sites out there for women, by women, but that there are not too many by men. And just as Dr. Phil is about to mention some sites by men, his wife Robin interrupts the conversation to gush over the cuteness of the New Dad's baby. They then go to commercial and come back to a different segment.

So, Robin McGraw, Dr. Phil's wife, destroyed all my hopes of being famous by having Poop and Boogies mentioned on national television.

Does any one know anybody over at the Ellen show?