Tenor Dad

Being Cool Sounds Fun

2013-05-23T09:03:00.001-04:00

I am not now, nor have I ever been, cool. But it sounds like it would be fun. I'd love to try it out. I see cool people from time to time, and they always seem to be having fun, whether they are starting jukeboxes with their fists, simply laughing with friends in a devil-may-care sort of way, or making hard stuff look easy. But is cool something you just are, or is it something you can become?

We must first figure out what "cool" is, so that we may better understand what makes it so fun-looking, and so we can try to figure out if it is attainable. But here we already hit a roadblock. One of the prime ingredients of being cool, is not caring about being cool. Here we have already failed the test. So if it is, in fact, attainable, it is not something that is attainable on purpose. Being cool has to happen naturally, or accidentally.

But what else is there to being cool besides not caring? I know lots of people who do not care about things, and they are not cool. They are annoying losers. No, in addition to not caring about what, and how, they are doing, cool people are intrinsically awesome and excellent. Cool people seem to have things come really easily to them, without working hard or worrying about it. I'm not saying that they don't work hard or worry; I'm saying that they present an exterior of easy brilliance.

Doesn't that sound fun? Being really great at life without worrying? No wonder I want to be cool so bad. I want to show up and have people flock to me because of my intense personal magnetism, and then watch me do something amazing. "Eh, whatever, no biggsies," I would say, immediately demonstrating why I am not cool. Because saying that is smug, not cool. It is a fine line, and I am not on the cool side of it.

I do know a few people personally who are cool, and they seem to have pretty great lives, although I have discovered that they do work hard at things and have problems like anyone else. Even knowing this fact, however, I still am in awe whenever we hang out or I hear about the amazing things they are doing. How can they be so freaking cool?! And they don't even know or care! I don't think there is any chance for me when faced with such competition. I might be able to become 5% cooler with a lot of effort, but I will never be as "cool" as a cool person.

So I'm not cool. That's okay. I'm used to it. I worry too much about how I am perceived by other people. I am good at a lot of things, but only with a lot of work and never to the degree that I maybe could be good at things with a little more work and focus. I struggle. I fret. And I laugh, sing, dance, and have a good time. Perhaps I don't look cool doing it, but, as Popeye says, "I am what I am," and what I am is not cool. And I guess I don't need to be cool to be happy. But it sure sounds like it would be fun.

The Worst Thing About Being a Parent

2013-05-22T09:04:00.001-04:00

When you decide to become a parent (or have it sprung upon you), you know in advance that there are going to be ups and downs. Pluses and minuses, if you will. No, there can be no preparation for it, but at least you have some idea of what to expect, right? I imagine that it must be a little bit like going to war. You can train for it, you can be told about it, you can watch videos about it, and you can talk to other people who have been through it, but until you are in it yourself, you can't truly understand. However, you know some of the things to watch out for.

You know that you will get less sleep. Perhaps no sleep. Maybe you don't know exactly how that will feel physically, but you know that it will suck, and you know that it will happen. Crying babies will wake you up at night. You will be cleaning vomit out of teddy bears at 3 am. You know this. But that is not the worst thing about being a parent.

You know that there will be poop involved. Poop in the diapers that you will have to change. Poop during potty training. Perhaps you are not aware that, from time to time, the poop will blast forth from all available clothing openings like a sewage volcano, and that this will likely happen during Easter dinner at a friend's house, but you are at least aware that the frequency of your contact with the feces of another human being will increase. But that is not the worst thing about being a parent.

You know that children are expensive. Diapers cost money. Baby food costs money. Toys and clothes and bikes and summer camps and birthday parties and college educations all cost money. This is money that, were your children not around, could have been spent on something else. Something like a sports car, or a trip to Hawaii. You know this going into it. Kids are going to drain your wallet. But that is not the worst thing about being a parent.

All of these things are bad, but you know, deep down, that the joy and love and satisfaction that you get from your children is worth any number of lost hours of sleep, poopy diapers, or sudden expenses. You are at least partially prepared to deal with all of these things. Well, you're not really, but at least you think you are, and that makes a big difference. Your children are going to fight with you, but you love them anyway. They are going to turn into teenagers and drive you crazy, but you love them anyway. Yesterday, my three year old clogged the toilet with a half a roll of toilet paper and continued flushing it for close to one billion times, completely flooding the bathroom, and subsequently the hallway, with dirty, nasty, toilet water that took me over three hours to clean up. And I love him anyway. Nothing my children could ever do would make me stop loving them.

So then, what is the worst thing about being a parent? I'll tell you. It's the one thing they don't tell you about in all of those books and classes. It's nothing that your children do, or say, or cause, that is the absolute worst. No, the worst thing about being a parent is this:

I am not an uncaring man. I have always felt sympathy for the plight of others. And when small children were involved in any sort of tragedy, I felt it even harder, because they were young, and they had full lives ahead of them, and it made me sad. But holy graham crackers, wait until you have kids. All day yesterday I sat looking at the news from Oklahoma, and reading about the kids who had been killed by the tornado, and their parents, and I was a mess. In fact, I am tearing up right now just thinking about it. I am not a crier! What the heck!

No, seriously, I never used to get so worked up about this stuff, but now that I have children, every time I hear about a parent losing a child, or a child who is missing, or a child who is dying, or a child who is sick, or a child who is mildly uncomfortable, I just start bawling like an idiot. Because I think about what it would be like to lose one of my children, and that is the worst possible thing I could ever think of. But it's not just limited to the news! I can't even get through a freaking episode of CSI with unmoistened eyes if there is a kid involved. Movies that I know have a happy ending, and I'm still a wreck if the kid is missing or hurt. Stupid movies, like apocalyptic zombie flicks! If somebody mentions that their kid was eaten by a zombie, it's over. They don't even have to show it on the screen. Much of popular entertainment is now ruined for me, just because I am a parent.

So be warned my friends! Being a parent will make you feel things that you don't want to feel. It will make you worried about your children all the fricking time! Even when you know they are sleeping, you will go check and make sure that they are still alive. Parenting will give you extreme amounts of empathy for other people. It will make tragedies that were already terrible, about a thousand times worse. But, actually, I suppose if empathy is the worst thing about being a parent, maybe it's not so bad after all. Perhaps I should embrace and appreciate this newfound amount of caring. Maybe it has made me a slightly better person. Just don't tell anyone that I cried the last time I watched "Home Alone."

Ice is Magic

2013-05-21T09:04:00.001-04:00

Me: "Edward, what's going on back there?"

Edward: "I don't want my ice."

Me: "You can't just pour your ice all over the car."

Edward: "I poured my ice in my cup holder. I don't want my ice."

Me: *sigh* "Well, you can't pour your ice in your cup holder either. There is still a little bit of drink in there, and it's going to make a mess once the ice is melted."

Edward: "The ice is mountain?"

Me: "No, melted..."

Edward: "A BIG ICE MOUNTAIN!"

Me: "No, not mountain, melted. The ice is going to melt."

Edward: "Ice will mountain?"

Me: "No, melt. The ice is going to melt. The ice in your cup holder is going to turn into water and spill all over the back seat of the car."

Edward: "The ices turns into water?"

Me: "Yes, that's called melting. If ice is not in the freezer, if it gets too warm, it will melt and turn into a liquid, in this case water, which will then flow out of the cup holder and onto the back seat of the car and get everything sticky, because there is still some of your drink on the ice, and I don't want to have to clean up the back seat again. Do you understand?"

Edward: "ICE is MAGIC! TURN into WATER! YAAAAYYYYYYY!"

Me: *sigh* "I'll get a towel when we get home."

If Women Are Not Objects, Why Are Objects Women?

2013-05-20T09:00:00.000-04:00

For some reason, going to church makes me think a lot about gender issues. Perhaps it is the seemingly constant struggle and debate over the gender of God that does it to me. Does God even have a gender? Yeah, I know, ancient texts refer to God as "he," but back then every authority figure was male, so it made sense at the time. But how "he" is God? Does God have genitalia? I don't think God procreates, but what do I know? Well, I do know that we are created in the image of God, but since people look all kinds of crazy different ways, I view that as referring more to our souls than our bodies.

So anyway, there I am in church, thinking about how manly God is or is not, when we start singing a hymn about the church. And the Christian church, as you may or may not know, is female. At least, it is often referred to as "she." So why is that? Well, one possibility is that the church is often compared to a bride, in terms of Christ being the groom and all, and brides are typically of the female persuasion. Although honestly, saying that the church is betrothed to Christ like a bride to a bridegroom seems more like a clever analogy to me than a declaration of gender. Another possibility might be simply that the Greek word for church (η εκκλησία) is feminine, kind of like the Spanish word for carpet (la alfombra), so when it is translated is comes across as female.

But okay, that sort of explains why the church is a lady, however we cannot use the same reasoning for why boats are also female. Even boats with dude's names! You can have a boat named something totally masculine, and it is still a girl boat! "Welcome to the christening of my new boat, The King Rambo ESPN Sports Center. Isn't she a beauty?" How does that make any sense?! Is that in the Bible too? Was Noah all like, "Get on the ark everyone, she's about to set sail!"? I must have missed that verse.

Of course it's not just boats. Cars, trucks, houses, guns, televisions, mounted trout, and pretty much anything else that one can own, can sometimes be referred to as female. "Yep, had that fish mounted after I finally reeled her in. She put up quite a fight!" Even countries are female! "God bless America! Land that I love! Stand beside her, and guide her..."

Now I know what you are thinking. Wow, women sure are popular and lucky to have everything on the entire planet trying to be like them, gender-wise. But no, as much as it might seem like a compliment, I fear that it is just the opposite. By labeling property as female, we are equating the two, and subconsciously thinking of woman as property too. Anything that can be owned is female, so females can be owned, right? And anything that can own things is male. But who can own things besides people? Bears think they own things, but they really don't. No, the only thing truly above us, that we can say has authority over is, is God. And, wait a minute, let me go back to paragraph one here, oh my goodness, we think God is male! God has been mannonized!

Do I think that you all truly believe that women are property? No. Do I think that we as a culture want to own women? Not most of us. But are we pretty messed up due to centuries of ridiculousness? Absolutely. And I know that this is not a new idea or revelation, but I think that just saying it and acknowledging it helps me to break free from it a little bit. So that's all that this was really about. I have a daughter you know. These things worry me. But no matter how bad it seems sometimes, there is always hope.

And Hope is a girl's name.

Dang it.

How Being a Parent is the Same as Being an Opera Singer

2013-05-17T09:01:00.000-04:00

1) One of your main goals is to be louder than everyone else in the room.

2) Late nights, quick naps, and inconsistent sleeping patterns,

3) Everything you do is critiqued, loudly and angrily, by a small tyrant.

4) You are required to communicate in languages that you do not understand fluently.

5) When your audience is happy they scream and clap; when they aren't, they throw food.

6) When you tell your friends what you do, they think it's really cool, but feel a little sorry for you too.

7) Forget having money or nice things for a while.

8) The dramatic plotlines are ridiculous and over-the-top, but you have to pretend that they are extremely serious and believable.

9) Every couple of years the scholars and experts change their minds about how you are supposed to do everything.

10) All of your best friends are people who do what you do, and you are clearly better at it than all of them.

Things I Have Learned About Monsters

2013-05-16T08:59:00.000-04:00

As if I needed any more problems with getting my son to sleep, now he is scared of monsters. Now, as far as I knew, the only monsters that Edward was aware of are the kind that eat cookies and/or hug people a lot, but apparently there is a lot that he knows, and I did not know, about monsters. Luckily I have received some on-the-job training in this department, and here is what I have learned:

1) Monsters can come through the roof.

2) Monsters have sharp claws.

3) Some of the favorite things that monsters like to claw are blankies, beds, and the faces of young boys.

4) Monsters are very scared of teddy bears.

5) Sisters can often be confused with monsters.

6) If you lock the window, monsters cannot get in. If you think that this is contradictory to #1, you clearly do not know anything about monsters.

7) Monsters are really, really big.

8) Captain Hook is friends with the monsters, and sometimes he comes into our house with them and they play games.

9) There was a scary monster once on "Martha Speaks."

10) Monsters want to bite my son.

There were probably more things that I learned, but I have to admit that after a while, I just wanted the boy to go to sleep. So we surrounded him with teddy bears for protection and locked the window, just to be sure. And he fell asleep, and the next night he was slightly less scared. Slightly. Job well done.

Making Mistakes is Better Than Not Doing it Right

2013-05-15T10:12:00.001-04:00

Let me give you some musical advice. Make mistakes. Not on purpose of course, but don't spend your time worrying about them. I used to, and that itself was the biggest mistake I could have made. Because listen, as long as you are good and you know your stuff, mistakes don't matter. (Caveat: mistakes matter to some, but not to those who matter)

But let me be clear about what I consider a mistake. Showing up to a rehearsal not knowing your music may be a mistake, but those wrong notes you sing are not. Those are calculated decisions made earlier when you decided to do something other than learn your part. When I say mistakes, I am referring to the literal mis-take. This particular take had an error. For whatever reason, you sang a wrong note, despite having gotten it correctly the seven other times you just ran through the piece. That is a mistake. One that will probably not be repeated. And if you let yourself get hung up about it, you could have further problems. So relax.

Recently I had the chance to listen to two different people sing the same piece of music. One of them sang all of the right notes in a passable manner, though the voice and artistry was a bit lacking. The second one sang with beauty, phrasing, intent, and mastery. Except towards the end, this person came in on a completely wrong at a big entrance. It took this singer about a measure and half to recover, and the piece was finished with style and confidence. I will tell you right now. I would rather listen to the second version any day of the week, mistake and all. The choice between a beautifully sung line with a clunker in the middle of it and an averagely sung line with no clunkers is very easy for to me make. Give me the mistake.

We all make mistakes. This is because we happen to be human beings, blessed with a concrete longing for, and absolute inability to achieve, perfection. But honestly, screw perfection. If you want perfection, go listen to someone who has been autotuned. Or a robot. Robot concerts will be very big next century. But in this century, continue to to strive for perfection, knowing that you will never reach it. And just be good. Work hard, get better, be proud, and don't ever worry about the mistakes. The only reason to worry is if you play it so safe that you stop making them.

Speaking in Code

2013-05-14T09:01:00.000-04:00

There are many reasons why a parent might want to speak in code. Perhaps the most commonly thought of example is the "Spelling Code." You know what I am talking about. This code, developed by television producer Aaron Spelling, allowed him to produce multiple TV series without his daughter Tori knowing about them. This worked well until she grew old enough to crack the code and was subsequently cast on "Beverly Hills, 90210." The idea of this code, that we all now use, is that instead of saying words, we spell them out, since kids cannot spell. That way we can ask our partners if there is any C-A-N-D-Y around, without our children turning into maniacs.

This code is becoming less useful around our house these days, but there are still plenty other codes available. I have my own personal code for when I am out in public with my three year old. You see, he is (how can I put this...) a rambunctious child, and is often doing things, including, but not limited to, crashing into people, knocking things over, yelling, and crashing into more people even harder. This often results in my scolding him and trying to strap his little body into, or onto, something to prevent further mishaps.

But here's the thing. It's not always his fault. There are, I would say, an equal number of times that some adult is swiftly walking down the street, eyes glued to phone, straight at my knee level son, and when they inevitably collide, these people glare at him and me, placing all of the blame on poor Edward, because, well, it's easier that way. They clearly expect some scolding to happen, so I oblige them, but this is where my secret code comes in.

If I do not refer to my son directly, I am talking to you. That is the code. When he speeds headlong into you at Costco in his search for a straw, I will say "Edward! Watch where you're going!" If he is running a zig zag pattern on the sidewalk and brushes against your leg, I will call out, in a sweet voice, "Be careful there, buddy!" But if you are not paying attention and bump into him? I will say, in an equally sweet voice, "Uh oh, someone needs to watch where they're going!" And this is a true statement, but I will also then follow that up with, "Sorry that person banged into you, buddy." That's the code.

So if you glare at my son, you might hear me say "Oh, you need to be more careful Edward," and you can know that I am taking steps to fix this behavior. But you might also hear me say, "Oh dear, that's not a very nice way to treat people." And when you hear me say that, I hope you are paying attention. 'Cause you just got secret-codinated.

Should Have Taken My Meds First

2013-05-13T09:00:00.000-04:00

So last week I started taking some medication to hopefully help with my focusing issues, and I have to say that I think it is helping. I am getting a lot more done, I am already more organized, and when I do get distracted I realize it quickly and am able to quit the distraction and resume whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. Which is all well and good if I remember to take the medication.

On Saturday morning, before I had taken my brain fixing pill, I decided to go out to the Dunkin' Donuts to get, well, donuts, because my wife loves them, and I like giving my wife what she loves. So I hopped into the car and drove off to the donut shop. At least I tried to drive to the donut shop. I always forget which way to go to get there. I know there is a KFC one way, and a Dunkin' Donuts the other way, and I always get them confused, but feeling confident that left was the direction I should turn, I made my move and headed towards my destination.

After a while I realized that I must have driven past it, because I was almost all the way downtown and had clearly gone too far. I had meant to look for the building out the window, but I had been really into badly singing the theme song from "Sophia the First," and I think I just got distracted and missed it. So I pulled into a parking lot and turned the car around, hoping to spot it on the way back.

Dramatic Reenactment

As I approached my daughter's school I realized that I had come too far again. It was definitely not between the school and our house. So where was it? I was trying really hard to pay attention this time, and yet I couldn't see the donut shop anywhere. I don't know how many times I drove up and down looking for the place before I realized I was on the wrong street entirely. And let me be very clear here. The Dunkin' Donuts is two blocks from my house, and I drive on these roads every day, so I don't think I'm being too hard on myself when I say "Self, you are an idiot. You cannot do simple tasks that can be reasonably expected of normal humans, small children, dogs, cats, and probably squirrels."

I should have driven up one more block before making that left turn, and once I figured this out I was able to quickly stand in a long line and purchase the donuts for my family who were all probably wondering what was taking me so long. Now, I'm not saying that medication definitely would have prevented this situation from occurring, but I'm not not saying it either. In the end though, the donuts were delicious, and that dang Sophia song was stuck in my head for the entire rest of the day. And there's no pill you can take for that.

What Kids Remember

2013-05-10T09:01:00.000-04:00

Kids have weird memories. I always wonder what kinds of stuff they will actually recall from their childhood, and what will be lost to them. For instance, both of my children were born in the same house in Baltimore, and Ruby can still describe it pretty well. Edward only lived there for 6 months, so he has no idea, but just yesterday he described my Mother-in-law's old apartment in great detail, and she moved from there last year, so who knows? But aside from the distant past, even recent details can be iffy. This is an actual conversation I had with my six-year-old daughter two days ago in the car:

Ruby: "I think they will make a Cars 3."

Me: "Hmmm. Maybe. Did you know they are making a sequel to Finding Nemo?"

Ruby: *squeals of glee*

Me: "And there is another Monsters movie coming out this year, and we can go see it!"

Ruby: "Monsters?"

Me: "Yes. Monsters, Inc."

Ruby: "What's it going to be about?"

Me: "It's called Monsters University, and it's going to be about Mike and Sully going to college to learn about scaring before they get their jobs on the scare floor."

Ruby: "What jobs on the scare floor?"

Me: "You know, the scare floor. At Monsters, Incorporated. They worked there to scare kids, because screams give them energy."

Ruby: "Daddy, I don't think that happened."

Me: "Wait, what? That was like the whole movie. They went to work, and went through doors into kids' rooms to scare them, remember?"

Ruby: "No."

Me: "You don't remember all of those doors? And they rode around going through all kids of different doors, because Randall, that monster that was kind of like a lizard, was chasing them?"

Ruby: "No, I don't remember that part."

Me: "That was your favorite movie! We watched it four million times! We watched it recently! You don't remember all those doors?!"

Ruby: "Why were the monsters going through doors?"

Me: "To try to get the kid back! Remember, one little girl named Boo came through the door, and the other monsters thought she was poisonous, but she really wasn't, so they were trying to put her back?!"

Ruby: "Wait, why do monsters think she is poisonous? That doesn't make any sense."

Me: "BECAUSE THEY.... *pant* *pant* *pant* Ruby. Do you remember anything about the movie at all?"

Ruby: "Yeah, I LOVE that movie."

Me: "So what do YOU think happened in the movie?"

Ruby: "I just remember there was this snow monster, and he loved making snow cones and sliding down the mountain. That was a good movie."

So there you have it. Things that I think we should be able to have a conversation about do not ring a bell at all with my daughter. And she's not the one who likes smashing her head into things. Thank goodness I have photographed or videotaped 70% of their lives. At least I'll have proof when we get into arguments twenty years from now.

Falling the Wrong Way

2013-05-09T09:02:00.000-04:00

My son needs stage combat lessons. Or physics lessons. Or maybe both of those lessons and more. But however we solve it, the problem is that Edward does not know which way to fall down. One of his most recent favorite games is Pillow Fight. We play this by throwing pillows at each other in the bed and then falling down once we get hit. I don't want to brag, but I am quite good at this game. It could be the money and years I spent at grad school taking stage combat lessons, or perhaps I am just naturally awesome at Pillow Fight, but when I get hit from the right, I fall to the left. It's not that difficult.

Edward does not know about that sort of thing yet. When he gets hit with the pillow, he falls which ever way he feels like. Often this means flying off in the same direction as the pillow has just come from. It looks ridiculous. No one is ever going to believe that he was just sent sprawling from the force of the pillow attack when he does it that way. Audiences can suspend disbelief, but only so far. Don't believe me? Watch this video and tell me what you think.

See? That is not a convincing performance at all! We're going to have to work on this. But, as always, he makes up for it with cuteness, so maybe I will just let it slide. For now. But this kind of performance is not going to cut it when he turns four.

So You Want To Start Making Ecstasy...

2013-05-08T07:58:00.002-04:00

Last Friday I went to my doctor and asked to be screened for ADHD. Well, my new doctor. My old doctor quit and went into sports medicine, which was fine with me because, honestly, I found him a little intimidating. The last thing I need is super good-looking doctor in great shape looking at my fat rolls and asking me how often I exercise. So anyway, I have this new doctor now, that they assigned to me, and he was the one I asked about my possible attention problems.

The first thing he did was look at me very suspiciously and ask why I thought I might be afflicted with this condition. So I spent twenty minutes and gave him the short version. Fooling around in school, never finishing tasks, trouble prioritizing, problems with SQUIRREL! That sort of thing. He looked me up and down skeptically and took a lot of notes. It felt great. Just like being in a voice jury or an audition.

What he said to me next surprised me. He told me that if I wanted to start taking medication that I would need to come in for monthly urine tests and that I should be aware that ADHD medications are highly controlled substances. Okay. Well, I didn't know that, but that's fine with me, I guess. He then informed me that all ADHD medications are stimulants, and they are used to make the illegal drug Ecstasy. Huh. Isn't that interesting. I tried to laugh this off, since I really had no idea about any of that, but he just gave me a look that said something like "So, you want to start making ecstasy, eh?" It seemed like he got a lot of people coming in claiming to have ADHD, simply so they could start an illegal drug business of some sort.

I assured him that I only wanted the drugs because my brain was broken, so he wrote me a prescription on a piece of paper. These drugs can't be ordered electronically either, he told me, due to their controlled nature, so I needed the paper. He informed me that attention and distraction are a spectrum, and this might help and it might not. But it never hurts to try right? What's the worst that could happen? Psychosis, according to the side-effects list, but that probably won't happen. I asked him how I would know if I did have psychosis, and he said "Your wife will let you know."

I went over to the pharmacy with my paper, ready to get my mind altering drugs, when they informed me that the price was $105. For a month. "That is the generic brand," they told me, when I almost passed out. I cannot afford $105 a month! I am not your normal type of customer who is more than going to make that money back in illegal drug sales! I actually want to take these myself! So I left and did not get them.

Luckily, after reading through all of the insurance stuff, it turns out we have a $100 deductible for prescriptions, and after that it is only a small copay. So this is really a one-time cost. I went back early this week and picked up the meds. I was going to take one on Tuesday, but I chickened out. What if I contracted psychosis? What if my brain melted? What if I dyed my hair black, grew a goatee, and became an evil version of myself?

I finally took one yesterday, and none of that happened. I did get a lot more stuff done than usual, but I think it will take more than a day to judge if things have improved. All I will say is that my brain has not melted, and I am not running an ecstasy lab. And if you don't believe that, I will SQUIRREL!

Five Computer Improvements That Every Parent Needs

2013-05-07T09:00:00.001-04:00

As a parent and a computer-user, I am often frustrated by the times that these two seemingly incompatible worlds collide. Any time my three-year-old gets anywhere near my laptop, something disastrous happens. And yet, it seems to me that with a few simple fixes, these issues could quickly become things of the past. And so I am asking the computer manufacturers to start developing some practical solutions to computer problems faced by parents of young children, starting with these five suggestions.

1) Separate "On" and "Off" Buttons
Guess what Edward's favorite thing to do is. If you guessed "push buttons" then you are correct. And which buttons do you think he likes the best? The biggest lighty-uppiest ones of course. And in case you have never seen a computer before (but then, how are you reading this?), I have to inform you that this would be the power button. I can't tell you how many times I have been in the middle of something, only to have my son run over and push the power button, causing a hard shut off and the loss of whatever I had just spent hours working on. So why not make the big red button the turn ON button, and hide the turn OFF button somewhere inconspicuous where my kids will never find it? It's just common sense.

2) A Universal Undo Button
Individual programs have it. Hitting Ctrl-Z will undo just about anything you have done almost anywhere. But what if you are not in a program? What if you are just sitting there looking at your desktop when your child runs over and smashes a dozen keys at once and suddenly your sound card is no longer installed and the screen resolution is off by a factor of seventy and you have no idea how to fix it? I want to be able to Ctrl-Z that junk.

3) Double-Sided Laptop Screens
Just when I am settling down to work on something important on my laptop, you can rest assured that Edward will choose that moment to demand some silly YouTube videos or episodes of "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" on the Netflix. Then my choices are either: stop what I am doing and give him the laptop, or try to do what I need to do while being slapped repeatedly in the ear. But you know what would be awesome? If I could show Pony videos on the cover side of the top of my laptop while doing work on the normal side. He could sit across from me and be totally entertained and I could do my own thing. Get on this!

4) A Kid Button
Hey, I just thought of an even better way to solve issue number one! Just put in a giant flashing button that doesn't do anything! Kids could push it over and over again and feel like something is happening, but it would not affect anything else on the computer. Maybe it could make a beeping noise or something...

5) A Force Field
Actually, this would solve all of those other problems on its own. Kid tries to throw a drink on the computer? BWOMGH! Deflected! Kid tries to stand on your laptop for jumping purposes? BWOMGH! Deflected right the heck off! Kid tries to smash all of the buttons at once while you are working? ... You know what comes next... BWOMGH!

With these simple innovations, parental computer worry could become a thing of the past. Apple, Dell, Google, HP, Microsoft, and all the rest, this is real consumer feedback happening right here. I hope you're listening.

How It Feels To Be Hated

2013-05-06T08:58:00.000-04:00

(WARNING: I tried to take the adult language out of this post, but it just didn't have same effect. Sorry. Back to happy stuff tomorrow.)

So the weirdest thing happened to me the other day. We had some friends in town for the weekend and they wanted to go see the Vermont Teddy Bear Factory, which we were happy to visit again, and on the way home we did a bit of a car shuffle. My wife wanted to ride with her friend, and both of my children wanted to ride with my wife, because she is so much cooler than I am. This filled up their car, and suddenly the husband half of the visiting pair had nowhere to sit in his own car. No problem! He can ride with me! I have the convertible, the top is down, it is a beautiful day, and honestly, doesn't that sound better than a ride with a bunch of angry children who did not receive teddy bears? Of couse it does. What could go wrong?

I led the two-car parade out of the factory parking lot and onto the road heading north, the car full of my family behind me. I was chatting with my friend about life and other important matters when it happened. A man driving a large pick-up truck that was towing some sort of something else behind it pulled up alongside of my car and started shouting at us. "Fuck you, you fuckin' queers!" he screamed, as I turned my head quickly to try to see who he might be talking about. As there didn't seem to be anyone else around, and he was glaring intently in my direction, I came to the startling conclusion that he was talking to me.

Now, I don't want to promote any sort of stereotype by saying this, but this gentleman did not have all of his teeth. He looked like he had been ridden hard and hung up wet, if you know what I mean. His hair was scraggly, his face sunworn, and as to his age I could only only guess somewhere between 35 and 60. But it was the hatred in his eyes that was the most frightening part. Not knowing quite how to respond to his shouting, I smiled and waved my hand at him in a friendly manner, while stepping on the gas.

This was not the correct response I guess, because he gunned his engine as well and pulled up alongside of us again. "You fuckin' faggots!" he screamed, his head out the window and his eyes once again not on the road. I hope his passenger was steering for him. No matter how hard I tried to vary my speed, he kept after us, shouting and cursing the whole time. He looked like he wanted to kill us. This was unsettling for a number of reasons.

First of all, I do not want to be killed, so there's that. An on another note, really? You see two men in a car together and your first thought is that they are lovers? I mean, for Pete's sake, I was wearing a buttondown Spider-Man shirt! What gay man would ever be caught dead wearing that? Wouldn't it make more sense to assume that we were two nerd friends who could not get girlfriends on our way to see "Iron Man 3" or something? That would be where my mind would have gone. But no. Apparently two men cannot ride in a car together without being in love. I've been called homosexual in a derogatory way for many things in my life, chiefly singing opera and being in the drama club, but never for driving a car. (Side note: Iron Man 3 was awesome!)

Initially I wanted to be able to sit this man down and explain to him that my wife and children and my friend's wife were all in the car behind us, and that he had made a terrible mistake. We were not gay after all! Ha ha! What a hilarious misunderstanding! But then I realized the absurdity of this thought. The issue was not whether I was gay or straight. The issue was the hatred of this man who would drive like a maniac with his head out of the window screaming threats and curses at the top of his lungs, simply because I appeared, in his mind, to be someone who might be gay. If I was or I wasn't, this person seemed intent on harrassment, and I'm sure he has done it to others and will do it again. The hate is the problem. And the hate is terrifying.

I can't tell you the relief that I felt as he pulled off onto the highway a few blocks from my house. Nobody was going to follow me home and kill me after all. My driving companion and I joked about it, and how strange it was that we encountered something like this in Vermont, of all places. And wasn't it ironic that the angry fellow had had a man as his passenger as well? So maybe it was the convertible that did it. If we had been in a dirty pick-up truck we would have been fine. And isn't the whole thing funny?

No. No, it's not. I have friends who are gay. I have friends who are black. I have friends who are handicapped. I have friends who are different. Is this how they are treated? Have they all feared for their lives at some point, simply for being who they were created to be? I don't think it's funny at all.

Minty Ice Cream Sandwich Pie Cake

2013-05-03T09:01:00.000-04:00

Let me start out by saying that I don't actually know what Pinterest is. I mean, I went to the site once to see what it was all about, and I just didn't get it. It seemed confusing and unnecessary to me. However, my wife found this recipe there, so it can't be all bad. I don't know what kind of flavor geniuses they have working over at Pinterest, but they are full of win.

My wife made the first Ice Cream Sandwich Cake for a dinner we were having at a friend's house. I was not happy about this, because I wanted to eat the entire dessert myself, so the idea of bringing it to someone else's house and letting them share it did not appeal to me. I mean, a layer of ice cream sandwiches, cool whip, caramel, candy, more ice cream sandwiches, more cool whip, and more candy? How is that not the best idea ever?

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups were my wife's candy of choice for her version, but the great thing about this recipe is that it is so versatile! You can put whatever you want into it and it will always be great! We ate that peanut butter cup version on Sunday, and by Monday I was jonesing for some more, but I had already eaten it all up! So on Tuesday I made my own version.

The first variation on the theme is that I used Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream sandwiches. That meant that maybe I didn't want to use the caramel, since I wasn't sure how well caramel and mint go together. Although knowing my kids, they would love it. But no, I used Hershey's syrup instead. The cool whip stayed the same, but for candy's I crumbled up York peppermint patties. Then more sandwiches, more cool whip, and more candy. A few hours in the freezer and suddenly I had something fit for a king, or a housewife in the fifties, I'm not entirely sure which. Luckily I am fifty percent king and fifty percent fifties housewife, so it didn't matter.

Holy Chocamoly, that thing was delicious! I am telling you right now, to go make one. Use chocolate ice cream sandwiches, throw Skittles in there, top it with bacon, I don't care! Just make one! It takes like ten minutes to make and it is seriously worth it. It is definitely my new go-to summer dessert. And if you don't like it? Well, that's fine. I'll eat your piece.

The Allure of a Sharpened Pencil

2013-05-02T09:01:00.000-04:00

I don't know what it is, but something about seeing a pencil with a nicely sharpened point really makes me want to write something. And it has to be sharp. A dull-looking old pencil doesn't have the same effect on me as a nice sharp one. Not needle sharp necessarily, but recently sharpened and ready for use.

Is it a throwback to grade school, with the pencil sharpeners and the writing and drawing and erasing and all of that? I don't know. Maybe it evokes a feeling of that first day of school, when the pencils are long, the points are sharp, and anything feels possible. Or maybe seeing a recently sharpened pencil makes me aware of the fact that someone took the time, not long before, to get this pencil ready to go, and wouldn't it be a shame to let all of that effort go to waste? I don't know the reason. But I do know that when I see such a writing tool in front of me, I need to create something with it.

I saw one in church last Sunday, sitting there in the tiny cylindrical hole made for just such an object, all pointy and ready to go. It was a small pencil, reaching the end of its useful life, but still having something to offer. I know that I was supposed to be paying attention to what was going on up front, but something about this creative utensil kept calling to me. I picked it up, staring for a few moments at the way it rested between my fingers, and then started scribbling absentmindedly.

I could have written a poem, or a screenplay, or the outline for a new novel, or a list of anagrams for the pastor's name (Make Mrs. Red?). All that mattered was that I was writing. Song lyrics started to come into my brain, and I wrote them down, still trying to keep most of my focus on the church service. When I felt satisfied with what I had written, I folded up my bulletin, song lyrics included, and put the pencil away, slightly less sharp now, but still ready for the next person to come along and pick it up. The bug was out of my system and I felt content again.

I may be content now, but I know that I will feel that mental restlessness again. My computer keyboard doesn't call to me in the same way, and pens seem so formal and rigid. Typewriters are loud and confusing, but a pencil... Man. I want to go sharpen one up right now and get started on something else. Doesn't matter what. It's the movement of the hands, the smell of the graphite, and the look of the thing that does it to me. And the writing. Always the writing.

The Problem With My Brain

2013-05-01T08:59:00.000-04:00

There is a problem with my brain. I suspect that I may have ADD. Or ADHD. Or whatever they are calling it these days. Thinking about it now, I was definitely that kid back in school, and even though they didn't have Ritalin in those days, I'm sure they would have tried to give it to me in elementary school to try to focus my attention. I was always acting up in class, and the only time I was really able to be myself without getting into trouble was on the playground. We had a pretty cool playground at my elementary school, with this one really awesome tree that I eventually learned to climb, although I don't think we were really supposed to be climbing it. Actually, now that I think about it, I used to climb that tree after school, not at recess. At recess I would hang out with my friends and play "Girlbusters," which was just like "Ghostbusters" only we were terrified of girls instead of ghosts. We even had our own theme song, which was probably my very first parody ever.

Ghostbusters, as you might have guessed, has been my favorite movie for a very long time. I first saw it in 2nd or 3rd grade, and it has stuck with me through all these years. My wife even took me to see it on the big screen a year or two ago when they brought it back for one night only at a local theater. Nothing beats seeing a movie on the big screen. This Friday we're going to see "Iron Man 3," which looks fairly awesome. I've heard that it is more of a sequel to "The Avengers" than to "Iron Man 2," which is okay with me, because I thought that "The Avengers" was a much better film than "Iron Man 2" anyway.

Iron Man is funny, because he's made of iron, making him different from other superheroes. Like, Spider-Man is not made of spiders. He has the powers of a spider. And Batman is not made of bats. So you would think that Iron Man should have the powers of an iron. You know, smoothing out clothes and stuff. But that would not make a very interesting super hero. Ironing is boring. I hate ironing. In fact, I almost never do it, probably because I don't care if my clothes are a little wrinkled. I do get my suit dry cleaned, and some shirts pressed from time to time, because my voice teacher always gives me a hard time when I come for an audition and he feels that my shirt has a wrinkle in it.

I understand that auditions are about what you look like almost as much as what you sound like, but seriously, you can't even see most of my shirt under my jacket, so unless that wrinkle is right in the front of my shirt to the side of my tie, nobody is going to notice it. Seriously. And it's not even audition season now anyway, so I don't really need to worry about wrinkly shirts. I need to worry about t-shirts and shorts, because it's almost summer!

This summer I really want to take a trip somewhere awesome, although I don't know where yet, and I don't know if I will be able to afford it, because to me "somewhere awesome" means somewhere far away and exotic, and that also means expensive. I guess if I want to take a trip, I need to make more money, which means I need a real job, or at least more of a job. A second part time job. Two part time jobs are not as good as one full time job though, if you need insurance. You can work the same hours and make the same money, but without insurance coverage, you are screwed. Luckily my wife has health insurance for the family through her job, so I can see the doctor whenever I want.

This Friday, before I go see "Iron Man 3," I am going to the doctor to find out if he thinks I have some sort of attention deficit, and if perhaps I can do anything about it. Because it's really hard to get anything done when you are always being distracted by things. And that, dear readers, is the problem with my brain.

Peanut Butter and Bologna

2013-04-30T09:05:00.000-04:00

I assumed that she was joking of course. I asked Ruby if she would rather have a peanut butter sandwich, or a bologna sandwich for lunch, and she said "Both!" And she didn't mean one of each. She wanted a peanut butter. bologna, and cheese sandwich.

I was naturally wary. I must admit to having a bias against such a combination, simply because I had never heard of such a thing being done before, which made me think it shouldn't be done. And this is never a good reason for not doing something. But on the other hand, my kids do not like tons of stuff that has actually been proven over the years to be delicious, so the possibility that they might like this new weird thing seemed extra low to me. And then add in the reality that I do not like wasting food, and so do not want to take chances on unknown entities, and this seemed like a terrible idea.

Luckily I am a cool Dad. I am willing to negotiate. I told Ruby that she had to try such a combination first, before I would make her a whole sandwich of the stuff, and she agreed that this was fair. I tore a small strip of bologna, added a sliver of processed, store-brand American cheese, and covered the whole thing with peanut butter. It looked like nothing I would ever want to eat, but she was excited, so I handed her the unholy concoction and she gobbled it up.

She said that it was quite wonderful, and so then I had to make a whole sandwich for her, as promised. And she ate the whole thing. Peanut Butter, bologna, and cheese. I guess she needed protein. Secretly I was hoping that this was a one-time-only, passed fad that I would not have to think about again, but that was not to be.

Some of her cousins came over a few days later and we were having lunch when the subject of the PB&B came up, and suddenly everyone wanted to try one! And not only that, but now Ruby decided that what this sandwich really needed was mayo. So now everybody is trying peanut butter and bologna, and Ruby has a peanut butter, mayonnaise, cheese, and bologna sandwich. Yum?

I suppose I should not be too disgusted by all of this. People like all sorts of weird combinations of food. I personally love peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, and bacon isn't so far off from bologna, is it? Although, while bologna is fine, bacon is magic and can improve any food, so I don't know if that is a fair comparison after all. Either way, I suppose that, as long as she's eating it and it's not making her sick, I should just be happy that she has food and is happy. But I still think it's gross. What do you think?

Pants-Optional Bach Festival

2013-04-29T09:09:00.000-04:00

I suppose it all started with the shoes. The black shoes that I normally wear with my tuxedo had two broken laces, and I didn't have time to get to a store for new ones. I did have my black Italian leather dress boots that I often wear for auditioning or performing, but they didn't look very tux-like. Luckily, as I recalled from the previous day's rehearsal, I would be singing in front of a podium for the concert, so who cared what my shoes looked like, right? I could wear flip-flops and nobody would notice.

When I got to the dress rehearsal, in my jeans and sneakers, I confirmed the fact that no one would ever see my feet during the concert, and I set my mind at ease. After the rehearsal, as I wandered off to eat, change, and prepare for the concert, the bass soloist mentioned to me that he did not have proper tux shoes, but nobody would be able to see his feet, so it was fine. I laughed and told him that we were in the same boat because I was wearing non-traditional footwear as well.

Over the course of getting ready for the event, we furthered the joke by suggesting that, since no one could see our legs either, there was really no reason to wear pants for the performance. We suggested this to one of the violinists, but she reminded us that there was a chance we would have to come forward for bows, and so it became clear that we would probably need break-away stripper pants for the bows that we could rip off for our Bach solos. We all had a good laugh, and I went forward assuming that I would be wearing a full set of normal pants for the concert. But that was not quite true.

I don't know when it happened, or how. I didn't hear any tell-tale fabric tearing sounds, nor did I feel any sort of pull on my pants, but just before we were about to walk onto the stage I casually scratched my butt, which was when I noticed that the back of my pants had somehow split open. There was a big hole in the seat of my pants, and unfortunately I was not wearing tux-colored underwear. And did I mention that I was about to walk on stage? Suddenly it seemed like the pants-optional concert was not so far-fetched anymore.

Now, the podium covered me from the audience, and the conductor, and the director of the festival who had hired me, but it did not cover my backside from the collegiate choir and the other soloists seated directly to the rear of the podium. My jacket kind of covered me from behind, and if I leaned back at an awkward angle, I was pretty sure no one would notice anything weird about me. And the podium was really more of a pulpit, with sides to it. This meant I could get in there and point my butt out to the side and against the wood, with no one the wiser. Problem solved.

I'm sure I felt far more conspicuous than I looked. I got through the concert with my pants and part of my dignity intact, and no one said anything about me looking weird or wearing bright blue X-Men boxer shorts, although perhaps they were just being polite. The only comments I got were compliments on my singing, and I went home feeling satisfied and good. But this whole problem could have been avoided if they had just made the whole Bach festival pant-optional in the first place. So...something to think about for next year guys.

To Praise, or to Punish?

2013-04-26T09:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, the hardest thing about being a parent is having to make the on-the-spot decision as to whether or not you are going to thank you child for a well-intentioned gesture, or scream at them for blatantly disregarding rules and safety, and thus taking the risk that they will never try to do anything helpful ever again. I was faced with just such a decision a few short mornings ago.

I had decided, as I often do, to take a shower, which meant that Edward was left to his own devices for approximately a fifteen minute period. Usually he is watching Calliou, or some other weird show at that time and it is uneventful. But this time, when I got out of of the shower, Edward announced that he had made breakfast for me.

Now, it would be one thing if he had pulled a string cheese stick out of the fridge for me or something, but in this case he had made me toast. Which meant that he had used the toaster. Which he has not been trained on and has been warned against using. And he had made himself some toast as well. There were two plates out, and four pieces of toast, two on each plate. He even had the butter out of the fridge, and I could see how proud he was of himself, and how excited he was to have made breakfast for me.

Obviously the first thing that ran through my mind was, "You could have burned the house down! You could have burned yourself down! You could have broken the toaster! You know that you are not supposed to touch the toaster! Bad! Bad! Bad!" But on the other hand, I was thinking, "Awwwww, that is so cute and thoughtful! I can't believe you made some toast for me! I love you sooooo much! How about we go to the toy store and you pick out whatever you want? Because you are the best son in the whole wide world!"

So which way do I go? Do I tell him that making me breakfast was bad, scarring him for life? Or do I tell him that making me breakfast was good, thus ensuring that he eventually burns the house down, scarring us all for life? This is another one of those parental Catch-22s.

Okay, look, I know that the real correct answer is to sit him down and thank him for the toast, but explain that the toaster is really for grown-ups, and next time would he please ask for some supervision if he wants to make toast. That way he knows that I appreciate his effort but he also understands that he broke some rules along the way. But when you are in the heat of the moment it is hard to remember all of the good parenting tips that are obvious to you a day later.

So you probably want to know what I did. Well, it was not option 3, so I got the question wrong already, since we now know that the answer was "c." Although it wasn't strictly an "a" or a "b" response either. In the end I went with "d) Eat the toast and unplug the toaster."

The Catch-22s of Parenting

2013-04-25T09:01:00.003-04:00

- If your kid doesn't get their nap, they will be overtired and won't fall asleep well at night. But if your kid gets a good nap in, they will be well rested and not at all tired at bedtime.

- The more kids you have, the more helpers you have around the house to help with chores. But the more kids you have, the more chores there are to begin with, so you end up with too much work either way.

- Kids only eat food at restaurants if you don't order them anything.

- You can tell your children a thousand times to do something, and they will not remember, or they didn't hear you, or they didn't understand. And yet somehow they quickly recall that thing you said under your breath while they were in another room three weeks ago, and they repeat it at just the wrong moment.

- Whatever snack you did not buy at the store this week is automatically their favorite snack.

- If you bring them a plate of food that is not cut up, but needs to be, they will sit there and stare at it until you cut the food for them. That is, unless you bring them a plate of cut up food, in which case they will throw a fit because they wanted to cut it up themselves.

- Kids are so expensive that you need several jobs just to afford them, which you would happily get except that then you wouldn't be able to afford the childcare.

- If you leave your children with someone else, and you explain in detail all of the terrible behaviors that may erupt from your offspring at any given moment, that pretty much guarantees that they will be perfect angels the entire time you are gone. It's those poor people to whom you say "They should be fine, I won't be gone long" that had better watch out.

- When you're with your kids, you need a break. But when you are away from them, you can't stop wishing they were with you.

- Your children will do the sweetest, cutest, coolest, most amazing things...right up until the exact moment that your camera is out.

- You will repeatedly want to hug them and strangle them at the same time.

- The only way to keep a house clean while there are children living in it is to have no children living in it.

- Everything in your life changed once you had kids, and yet you can't even begin to imagine what life would be like without them.

You Hello This One

2013-04-24T08:59:00.000-04:00

My son is very polite. For a three year old, I get more 'please's and 'thank you's out of him that I could ever even hope to expect. He is quick with a 'you're welcome' and full of 'I'm sorry's when he bashes you in the face with his head, which is about every twenty minutes or so. In fact, he is so polite that it extends to his play.

When Edward wants you to play toys with him, he does not say "Play with that toy," or "You be this guy over here." No, he says "You Hello this one," and hands you a Little Einstein, a matchbox car, or a Sesame Street friend. He says this because every toy interaction starts out the same way.

Big Bird: "Hello."
Thor, God of Thunder: "Hello."
Big Bird: "How you doin' today Thor?"
Thor: "Oh, I'm good Big Bird, how are you?"
Big Bird: "I'm good sweetie. Did you have a good sleep last night?"

And so on and so forth. Edward loves to play small talk. Toys are often saying goodbye to each other, and 'I'll be right back, see you later," and then they will fly away across the room for a few seconds, returning moments later to start the whole process over again with another "Hello!" Edward and I will spend hours helloing his toys

They also love to help each other out of holes. When the toys are not standing around chatting about how their days are going, they are falling into pits. This invariably leads to the other toys helping out their fallen comrades and generally being polite some more.

Super Why: "Ahhhhhh!"
Thomas the Tank Engine: "What's wrong, sweetie?"
Super Why: "I'm stuck in a hole! Help me!"
Thomas: "Okay Super Why, I help you."
Super Why: "Thank you Thomas. Thank you helping me."
Thomas: "You welcome."
Super Why: "Thank you helping me out that hole, Thomas."
Thomas: "You welcome Super Why."
Super Why: "Thank you so much!"
Thomas: "You welcome."
Super Why: "How is your day, sweetie?"

Also, the toys call each other 'sweetie' a lot, which I don't quite get. I never call him sweetie. I don't recall hearing my wife call him that a lot, but somebody must have said it at some point, and it stuck. Now it is the default term of endearment among all of the local toys.

I guess, since he spends most of his day crashing into things, screaming at the top of his lungs, and wildly bashing his head around, he needs a place to get out all of his non-aggression, and play time with toys fills that need for him. It's nice that he can be so calm and polite in such a safe environment. After all, play is just practice for life, right? And I know that, after watching my son play with his toys, he is going to grow up to be a loving, helpful person that anybody would be happy to call a friend, and who falls into a lot of holes.

The Amazing Gracenotes

2013-04-23T09:10:00.001-04:00

So Sunday was my birthday, and yesterday I posted some apparently depressing ruminations on getting older, that I had hoped would maybe be funnier than I guess they were. So I feel like I need to clarify something. It's true that I am not as thrilled with getting older as I once was, but I had a fantastic birthday and don't wish to imply that I didn't have a great day, or that I am deeply pessimistic about the future. In fact, I spent a lot of my birthday doing my favorite thing in the world.

Sunday morning was the well-received debut of what I have decided to call "The Amazing Gracenotes," an a cappella group for my church. I don't know if the singers know that they are called this awesome name yet, or even if they will all continue on with me, but in my mind, I have created this group, and we will be performing again in the future.

It all started with a sermon series entitled "What Keeps You Up At Night?" dealing with our worries and fears, and learning to place our trust in a larger plan. The first thing that came to my mind, musically, was the song "Some Nights," by Fun.. A whole song about being up at night wrestling with life! Perfect! But honestly, it seemed a little to bleak and specific for church. No, I would need to mash it up with something else, to give it a little hope at the end. I chose "Don't You Worry Child," by Swedish House Mafia, which I thought gave it the message I wanted.

But if you have heard my choir, you know that these are not the songs for them. I needed a smaller group of people more familiar with a pop style. So I called some people and began arranging. We rehearsed a few times, got a drummer to help out, since none of us are great at vocal percussion, and the whole thing came together nicely.

The arrangement went over very well too. Switching back and forth between "What do I stand for?" and "Don't you worry child; heaven's got a plan for you," completely conveyed the message I was going for, even though the sermon series was moved at a meeting last week that I missed, and the theme of the service was now "Hunger." Several people came up to me afterward and told me how great the music was, and when would we be singing again, and "Well, it was good, but I'll have to get used to that sort of thing I guess."

And so it happened that I spent the morning of my birthday singing a cappella music to an appreciative audience. And I really can't think of a better way to spend any of my days. So I named the group, and I am already starting to think about our next performance, maybe in a month or two. See, one of the nice things about being older is the experience you have. I can whip up a musical arrangement, throw a group together, and put on a performance like it is nothing. In fact, I can do all sorts of stuff now that I couldn't ten years ago. So while I wish more of my hair would stay in place, and I wish I was in a somewhat more stable place in my life, I wouldn't trade my years of experiences and growth for anything. And that's something that only gets better with age. And for real, I want the senior discounts.

It's All Downhill After 25

2013-04-22T10:07:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday. And I have to admit that I was not really looking forward to it. This was weird, because I always look forward to my birthdays. A whole day to celebrate the wonder and majesty that is me? What's not to love, right? Except now, instead of counting down to exciting things, the years are counting down to, well, death I suppose. So you will forgive my lack of enthusiasm.

You see, when you are a kid, every year means something exciting. Each age is a new grade, new developments, more privileges and responsibilities, and also lots of cake and new toys. And you get bonuses along the way. Do you remember being 9, and realizing that your age was going to get a whole new digit? How awesome was that?! For most of us, that will not happen again.

Of course the big one was driving. I know it's different in different states, but in Vermont, where I grew up, age 15 meant a learner's permit. It meant that we would be getting behind the wheel of a vehicle of some sort, and then operating it. Even if our lame parents or driving teachers had to be in the car with us, it was a huge milestone. We drove, practiced, and looked forward to 16.

Sixteen! Now we we able to drive for real. An honest to goodness driver's license. But even though these blessings had been bestowed up on us, we knew that that the best was yet to come. Could anybody wait to turn 18? Of course not.

Man. Eighteen. A full blown adult (Ha! Or so we thought...). We could smoke (don't smoke; it's the worst thing ever). We could buy lottery tickets. We could join the military. We could do pretty much whatever we wanted. On my eighteenth birthday, I went down to the grocery store and bought a scratcher, just because I could. And I lost. And it was awesome. But even as a legal adult, there were still goodies to come.

Turning 21 was not a huge deal to me, because I don't drink. I didn't then, and I don't now. By the time my twenty-first birthday rolled around, I already knew that alcohol was not for me. But I can recognize and appreciate what a big milestone it is for everyone else. And you might think it stops there, but in fact it does not. There is one more thing you can look forward to.

The day you turn 25, you can rent a car. At a reasonable price. As someone who often did not have a car, or who often had recently destroyed his car, renting a car was important to me. And many places would not rent a car to you if you were younger than 25. And the ones that would, charged approximately a 900% bonus fee to the under-25 set that was interested in their services.

Now, I won't say that there are no more ages to look forward to after 25, but what you get is not nearly as cool. For instance, when you turn 33, that is your "Jesus Year." You spend the whole year trying not to be crucified and if you survive, you breathe a sigh of relief and move on to 34. But somehow this is not as cool and exciting as driving a car for the first time. And when you hit 35, like some of us have recently, you are able to run for president. Unfortunately, unless you are in possession of millions upon millions of dollars, this does not apply to you. And honestly, being president sounds like it sucks, and is certainly not as great as being able to go into any bar you want.

So here I am, having already passed any birthday milestone that I would be interested in celebrating, and where does that leave me? Starting to become an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die alone? Or are there still things to look forward to? I mean, retirement sounds pretty cool, but aside from being over 30 years away, I think you need to have a job to really appreciate that.

Oh wait, I know! My AARP discount card! Can't you start getting discounts at, like, 55 or something? That's only twenty years from now! Ok, that does sound pretty cool. Getting to order off the senior menu and everything is 10% off (or more!). Yeah, that's worth looking forward to. I'm feeling better now. Let the countdown begin! Only nineteen sad birthdays to go.

Too Many Conflicting Reports - I'll Just Wait for the Movie

2013-04-19T09:58:00.000-04:00

Normally I would be sitting down today to write something silly about something that Ruby had said, or that Edward had peed on. Or perhaps I would be giving helpful musical advice, or singing silly songs. But not today. Today I, like much of America, am sitting in front of news coverage of a crazy manhunt going on in the city and surrounding suburbs of Boston.

I was originally watching the coverage on television, but it suddenly seemed like something I didn't want Edward to be listening to as he sat on the floor playing with his snuffalupagus (not a euphemism, it's part of his Sesame Street playset). So now I am glued to my computer screen, watching, waiting, reading, praying, and worrying.

As the news comes in, it shifts and changes as the media gets new information, changes old information, and makes up the rest. What is clear is that Boston is in a lockdown, and I have friends and family in that area. After that, not much else seems to matter.

I'm not technically from Boston, but both of my parents are from the area, so in a way I really am from Boston. And so is most of America. Sure, Plymouth Rock has been replaced by Ellis Island as a symbol of people coming to America to be free. And Ellis Island has been replaced by a giant fence with a lot of armed guards and angry Republicans. But from back in the day, in a pilgrimy sort of way, we are all from Boston. And that just makes this even more surreal.

A couple of brothers hurling explosives out of the back of a car on a high speed chase through the streets of Watertown? That seems to be what has been going on, but were the brothers here for a short time, or have they lived here most of their lives? Are they in this town, or that? Did they have no friends and hated America, or did they have lots of friends and live relatively normal lives? What were their motivations? What is really going on here? I have no idea. Everyone has a different story, and I need to unplug for a few minutes. Not much I can do about any of it from here anyway, except to worry and wonder. Of course the biggest question is, will the movie made about the events of the past 24 hours be ready in time for a December release and Oscar season, or will we have to wait another year for it?

Actually, the question is, what is the responsibility of the media in a situation like this? To get the word out about things like the lockdown, keeping people safe? To report on actual facts? To get as many viewers as possible by throwing out wild speculations and interviewing the alleged suspects' former mailman? To make people crazy and worried? All of the above? All I know is that trying to keep up with what is going on is exhausting, and probably far more so for the people of Boston, who are clearly more scared and worried than I am, and are having to watch the same national news outlets as me. Sorry guys. Hope your local news is a bit more helpful. And stay safe.