Channeling Samuel L.

My daughter has developed a rather annoying habit lately. When I ask her to do something, she'll reply, "What?"

I know she hears me. I know she understands me. But rather than turn her attention from her toys or art or television, she'll just say "What?" without even looking at me. Drives me absolutely crazy.

And yesterday, I finally snapped.

We needed to go to the grocery store. I was changing Zed's diaper.

Me: Put your shoes on.
Zoey: What?
Me: Put your shoes on!
Zoey: What?
Me: Does your Daddy look like a moron?

She looked at me, puzzled, probably afraid to tell me how she really felt.

Me: What room you in?
Zoey: What?
Me: What ain't no room I know. Do they speak English in What?
Zoey: What?
Me: English! Zoey! DO YOU SPEAK IT?
Zoey: Yes.
Me: Then you understand what I'm saying?
Zoey: Yes.
Me: Now tell me if you think your Daddy looks like a moron.
Zoey: What?

At this point, I got really upset. I put Zed on the floor and got right in Zoey's face.

Me: Say What again! C'mon, say What again! I dare ya. I double dare ya, Zoey! Say What one more time!

She was speechless.

Me: Now describe what Daddy looks like.
Zoey: Well... you have brown hair.
Me: Go on!
Zoey: And you've got a goatee.
Me: Do I look like a moron?
Zoey: What?

I picked her up and put her in her timeout chair. As usual, she started crying.

Me: DO I LOOK LIKE A MORON, ZOEY!!!
Zoey: No.
Me: Then why did you pretend you didn't hear me?
Zoey: I didn't.
Me: Yes, you did, Zoey. You pretended not to hear me. You ever read the Bible, Zoey?
Zoey: At school. In the room we take food for people who don't have food.
Me: There's a passage I got memorized, seems appropriate for this situation: Proverbs 23:13. "Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you punish him with the rod, he will not die. Punish him with the rod and save his soul from death."

I must've blacked out because I don't remember what happened next. I can tell you we had a pleasant grocery store experience. However, when I went to pay for our groceries, the words Bad MotherFucker were embroidered on my wallet.

Crazy.

One Man's Trash Is Another Man's Castle

Update: Images have been added at the bottom per Brent's request.

This summer, we had wanted Zoey to attend an art camp sponsored by our city's Arts League. Like everything else, we waited until the last minute to act on it. Guess what? All the spots had already been filled with the children of non-slack parents.

So I abused my standing in the community, pulled a few strings, and got her into camp.

Ok. That's a lie. I have no standing in the community. Unless you count Village Idiot.

So I called them one day, crying frantically, and told them that three hours a day for a week might not seem like much to them, but for me it would mean I might survive the summer with my sanity intact. "PLEASE ENROLL MY DAUGHTER IN YOUR CAMP!" I screamed as I choked back the tears.

That's another lie. But don't think I wouldn't have resorted to such theatrics if I thought it would have helped my cause.

They placed us on the Wait List. Now we all know the Wait List is akin to being a child and having your parents tell you, "Maybe." Maybe, like the Wait List, is just a way of placating you for a while even though the eventual answer will be NO.

So you can imagine my surprise when the Arts League called several weeks ago to tell me they had enough interest to open another camp. They have three kids (counting Zoey) interested and wanted to know if we knew of anyone else that might be interested. We told them that one of Zoey's boy friends (two separate words) would love to take the class.

Last week, Zoey attended the camp. But the two kids the Arts League found never showed up, so it was just Zoey and her little friend for the entire week. Three teachers, two kids, one camp. That's how the rich people roll, right?

She loved the camp. She painted, drew, and colored all week. She made things out of clay. Every day when I went to pick her up, her shirt looked like a multicolor Shroud of Turin. Since the messier a kid gets is directly related to the amount of fun she's having, I knew she had a ball.

She made a superhero cape. Bugs out of clay. Several beautiful watercolors. We were quite pleased and impressed with everything she brought home.

Except her castle.

One day they made castles using found objects (layman's terms: trash). They painted cardboard boxes, packing peanuts, pieces of wood, and other such crap, and duct-taped them together to create castles. These monstrosities were about two feet wide and two feet tall. And since everything was duct-taped together, they weren't the most stable dwellings. Kind of like the first little pig's House of Straw.

Now, imagine carrying that thing, holding your daughter's hand, and pushing your son in a stroller through the downtown area of a medium-sized city. Now imagine a different piece falling off the castle every few feet, causing your daughter to cry because her castle was breaking apart and causing you to stop and try to duct-tape everything back together (the castle and your daughter's heart).

I wanted to burn the Arts League to the ground.

When we finally made it home, I put the castle on the top of our entertainment center. When Ella got home that evening, after she oohed and aahed over it, I told her, "You're either taking that thing to work with you or I'm throwing it in the trash. We have no room for it!"

"I love it! It can stay right where it is!"

"If you love it so much, take it to work with you!"

That was six days ago. Guess where it is? On top of the entertainment center.

And every few hours or so, a different piece of the castle falls off.

What do I do? I put my tail between my legs and carefully duct-tape it back together.

Front View


Rear View


Aerial View


GHS: 4

Cynical Land: America's Destination For Family Fun

Looking for a fun place to spend your afternoon? Tired of taking the kids to Chuck E. Cheese's for their birthday parties? Need a destination for your next vacation? Seeking a friendly location for your church group's next outing?

Welcome to Cynical Land.

Nestled on 0.5 picturesque acres, Cynical Land is America's Destination For Family Fun™. Cynical Land offers rides and attractions similar to those found at major amusement parks at only a fraction of the price.

CLASSIC RIDES

King Arthur's Castle Of Merriment
Travel back to the days of knights and knaves. At King Arthur's Castle Of Merriment, your little ones will magically transform into little princes and princesses and battle imaginary dragons. Watch out for that fire!


Chaos Coaster
Brace yourself for this death-defying ride. You'll find yourself hurtling at speeds of up to fifteen miles per hour as you drop a breathtaking ten inches. Hang on tight!


Swiss Cheese Slide
Part slide, part obstacle course, and part clubhouse, kids will spend hours exploring every inch of the Swiss Cheese Slide.


Little Folks, Big Fun Slide
A smaller version of our popular Swiss Cheese Slide for our smaller patrons.

ADVENTURE ISLAND **NEW FOR 2006**

Mount Everest Rock Climb
Think you have what it takes to brave the treacherous heights of the Mount Everest Rock Climb? Grab the rope and find out! Warning: those with heart conditions should not attempt the Mount Everest Rock Climb.


Screaming Swings
Looking to experience heights previously unattainable to mere mortals? Do you desire something a little more daring than your usual amusement park fare? Ride the Screaming Swings!


Slippery Slide Of Terror
Hang on for dear life as you plummet nearly ten feet! A word of advice: eat your lunch after you ride the Slippery Slide Of Terror.


Screaming Swings Junior
A smaller version of our popular Screaming Swings for our smaller patrons.


Good Time Treehouse (Observation Tower)
After experiencing the rest of Adventure Island, your children might like to take a break in the Good Time Treehouse. Here, they can view the activity beneath them. On a clear day, they can see 0.25 miles away!


Mulch Pit O' Fun
Bring your pails and shovels and dig around for buried treasure. Who knows what you might find?

ADDITIONAL ATTRACTIONS

Cynical Botanical Gardens
While the kids are at play, Mom and Dad can go for a leisurely stroll and enjoy the lush landscape that surrounds Cynical Land.




Stonehenge Of America
Discovered just prior to the groundbreaking for Cynical Land, this display baffles archaeologists to this day. Is it a primitive timepiece or calendar developed by indigenous peoples? Was it created by aliens? Or just random pinecones? Take a look and decide for yourself.

PARK RULES

• Everyone three and under must be accompanied by an adult. No exceptions.
• Fighting, name-calling, and non-sharing will not be tolerated. Repeat offenders will be asked to leave immediately.
• If park closes early due to inclement weather or tantrums, no refunds will be issued.
• Alcoholic beverages, food, and coolers are permitted on the premises. No glass bottles, please.
• Have fun!
  

PARK HOURS AND ADMISSION

Admission is $10. Contact a park representative for group rates.

Park is open:
Monday - Thursday: 9:00 AM - 8:00 PM
Friday and Saturday: 9:00 AM - 10:00 PM
Sunday: 1:00 PM - 7:00 PM

Park is closed on major holidays and during naptime.

AMENITIES

Picnic Tables
Picnic tables are available on a first-come, first-served basis. Call early to reserve yours.


Parental Observation Area
Need a rest from the constant fun? Kick back in one of our luxurious chairs!


Car Rental
For only $2/hour, you can rent either our Barbie Jeep or Pink Push Cart. Perfect for tooling around the park!

ADDITIONAL PHOTOS

Franchises are available.

Ultimate Toddler Fighting Championship

I love my television. In fact, my TV was the best man at our wedding (ok, that's an exaggeration, but our TiVo was the flower girl). We are a television household. I know some of you do not allow your children to watch television. That's cool. I believe you have to do what's right for your family and to hell with everyone else. It just so happens that television is right for our family.

Or at least it used to be. I am beginning to see why some parents do not expose their children to television.

Ella leaves town for business once or twice a month. And since I have yet to figure out how to clone myself, it is impossible to put both kids to bed at the same time. So I park Zoey in front of the television, put Zed to bed, and then read Zoey a few books and put her to bed.

The other week I bought Zoey the Disney Princess Sing Along Songs: Perfectly Princess Volume Three DVD for such occasions. It's nothing but songs from Disney classics such as Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs and direct-to-video fare like The Little Mermaid II: Return To The Sea. Pretty harmless, right?

Wrong.

On the DVD, there's a song, Lesson Number One, from Mulan II. During the singing and merry-making, Mulan teaches a group of little girls how to fight. How to kick. How to karate chop. How to say "hi-yah!"

Three guesses who else has suddenly learned to fight, kick, karate chop, and say "hi-yah!" Bingo!

Whenever she gets pissed at me (which, truthfully, seems to be quite often lately; she's exploring her limits), she scrunches up her nose and karate chops the air a few times, yelling "HI-YAH!" Now I know this is toddlerspeak for "Bite me, asshole." But as long as she's not actually making contact with anyone, it's ok (actually, I can't help but laugh every time she does it. I suck.). No harm, no foul, you know?

But I also realize that it's just a matter of time before she does make contact, be it a chop to my stomach or a testicle-shattering kick worthy of America's Funniest Home Videos. So what do I do?

Do I put an end to it N-O-W? Tell her it's not ok to even pretend to hit someone? That sounds kind of stupid. Plus, I'm not one to stifle creativity.

Or do I let her train for a month and schedule a Toddler Cage Match with The Voice and all other takers?

I need answers, people. While I still have my testicles.

GHS: 7

Related:
Fight Club Junior

Father's Day Recap

Zoey, Zed, and Ella woke me up at 8:30 AM with breakfast in bed (a hot Krispy Kreme donut and milk, if you must know). They gave me their gifts: two cards, one from each kid, and a laptop carrying case. And no, my wife is not a sadist (masochist, maybe; she did marry me): I get to fill the case with the laptop of my choice. SCORE!

Apparently, my kids do read this site. Who knew?

Then it was time to get ready for our traditional Father's Day outing: a trip to the zoo. I showered while Ella gave the kids baths. We had meant to get an early start, but we didn't leave the house until 10:30. Does anyone know the secret to leaving the house at a decent hour when you have kids? Because any time we try to leave early for some major outing, by the time we get the kids ready, get ourselves ready, and get all the kids' crap together, half the day's gone. We suck.

Rather than waiting until we got to the zoo to buy their overpriced food, we stopped and ate along the way. Once we got to the zoo, it took us roughly forty-seven minutes to lube the kids from head to toe with sunscreen. By the time we passed through the zoo's gate, it was 12:20. So much for an early start.

Knowing Zoey would probably tire soon as it was almost naptime, we had the bright idea of renting a double stroller. Or at least I was told it was a double stroller. It actually looked like one of those dollies you push through Home Depot (and every bit as difficult to push), only made of plastic, with a mesh canopy and seatbelts.

But we soon realized our bright idea was quite stupid. There are two entrances to the zoo. You must walk 2 1/4 miles from one entrance to the other. And it's not flat, either. You walk uphill for the entire first half.

But there are trams at the zoo that will take you from one of the zoo's six major areas to another. However, you cannot take these Depot Dollies on the tram because they do not fold up. So we could have ditched the stroller, taken the tram, and carried the kids the rest of the way, or we could march on with Satan's Stroller.

We chose the latter. I was pushing the stroller. Uphill. In 90º weather. We got about three-fourths of the way to the halfway point when I told Ella she would have to push the stroller for a little bit if she still wanted a living husband at the end of the day. So she took over.

Ella: Damn, this thing's hard to push.
Me: See? Now you know why I'm dying. Will you remarry?

She stopped the stroller, looked it over, and moved a black bar. She then pushed it a few more feet. Effortlessly.

Ella: Moron. You had the parking brake on the entire time. I think I'll remarry even if you do live.

Because one of my many major character flaws is the inability to believe what someone tells me without seeing or experiencing it for myself, I pushed the stroller. It was like pushing a feather!

I am an idiot. But you knew that already.

Stuff Only I Care About XV

Weekly Random Thoughts On The Yankees

The Yankees went 3-3 this week, bringing their overall record to 38-28, and are now tied with Boston atop the AL East.

What the hell happened Saturday? The Yankees had a 9-2 lead against the Nationals and ended up losing 11-9. It was painful to watch.

The Yankees designated Aaron Small for assignment this week. When will they do the same with Jaret Wright?

As I told Mr. Big Dubya this week, if the Yankees or the Red Sox don't start pulling away from the pack, the Blue Jays are eventually going to overtake them both.

Randy Johnson and Chien-Ming Wang both had strong outings this week. Johnson went six and a third, giving up four hits and one earned run while striking out six in a win against Cleveland. Wang pitched seven and a third innings of shutout ball, giving up five hits.

God Save The Internet

I'm sure by now everyone's heard about the Save The Internet campaign. Telephone and cable companies are lobbying Congress to end network neutrality. This would give said companies the ability to restrict what you can see and do on the Internet. Basically, if Site X pays more money to the telecom companies than Site Y, they can make Site Y load m-u-c-h slower, if at all. It could also lead to a la carte pricing. Imagine having to pay x dollars a month just to visit Blogger sites. Or imagine having to pay a certain amount for every single site you visit. Would you pay to read this site? Neither would I.

So, have you signed the petition yet?

Not only is the protest strong, it's got its own protest song. God Save The Internet is by The Broadband (Jill Sobule, Kay Hanley (former Letters To Cleo singer), and Michelle Lewis). You can download it for free here.

When You Care Enough To Send The Very Worst

Based on my search engine hits the past few days, I'm the Hallmark of the Internet. A lot of people have come here looking for Father's Day poems, songs, etc.

Some of you will get sweet cards:

• kind words to say to your father on fathers day
• poems about dads
• stay at home dad father's day CARD
  

Some of you will be get funny cards:

• fun songs with word dad in
• funny dads day phrases
• funny saying for dads day
• funny songs about dads
• funny things about dads
• funny things my dad did
• funny things kids say about their dads
• Funny things that Kids really think of their Father
• funny words for dad
• humorous poems about dads
• really funny fathers day
  

Some of you will get cards that are far from sweet and funny:

• FATHER'S DAY POEM TO A FATHER THAT WASNT REALLY AROUND
• Poems about dads who walked out
• Poems about dads that are not around
• poems for dads that leave
• poems on when a child dad dont show that they love there children
• sarcastic fathers day cards for dads who left their kids
• sarcastic father poems
  

At least one of you should duck when you get your card:

• "i hate you" fathers day cards

And then there's this poor bastard:

• a little poem for my dad on fathers day who has only died in the last three months

Sunday Morning Hangover

Since it's Father's Day, I'm ditching the usual Sunday Morning Hangover links this week. Instead, I'd like you to visit some of my favorite dads and give them a big slobbery kiss. Tell 'em Chag sent you.

• Because I'm Your Father
  
• The Blogfathers
  
• Cheeky's Hideaway
  
• Childs Play x2
  
• Chocolate Makes It Better
  
• Clare's Dad
• DadCentric
• Daddychip
• Daddy Types
• Dad Gone Mad
• Home On The Fringe
• In The Schutte House
• MetroDad
• Miles, Etc.
• More Diapers
• Mother-Woman
• Mr. Big Dubya
• No Ma'am, This IS My Job
• Pet Cobra
• Rebel Dad
• Rice Daddies
• Rude Cactus
• Spare The Rock, Spoil The Child
• Sweet Juniper!
• Turn Into Stone
• Where Boys Fear To Tread
• Zooglobble

Happy Father's Day, everyone!

Greetings, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Visitors

Hi! If you're visiting me due to the article in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, welcome to Cynical Dad. My name is Chag, and I am a stay-at-home dad. My daughter, Zoey, is almost four years old and my son, Zed, is sixteen months old. Feel free to look around. If you'd like a quick introduction to my site, here are some of my favorite posts:

• At Least I'm Not I-Hate-You-Daddy Bear
• Because It's Not A Birthday Party Until You're Performing The Heimlich Maneuver
• Civil Disobedience
• Don't Tell Me How To Raise My Kids And I Won't Tell You Your Eyebrows Make You Look Like A Clown
• Encyclopedia Zoey And The Case Of The Missing Gingerbread Men
• Every Picture Tells A Story (But Some Tales Are Better Left Untold)
• Fight Club Junior
• Friday Playdate
• Given The Choice, I'd Take Folgers Crystals Over Linda Blair Any Day Of The Week
• The Gratingest* Show On Earth**
• Hair, Apparent
• I Don't Want To Be Buried In A Pet Sematary
• I Only Hope I Get Off This Cheap When It's Time For The Real Thing
• Just Because I Am Not Without Sin Doesn't Mean I Won't Cast The First Stone Upside Your Head
• Me v. Them
• My Daughter Wants Her Daddy Dead
• Of Princess Parties And Candle Fellatio
• Rock 'N' Roll Lifestyle
• Rockin' Out With Dora The Explorer
• Sex And The Suburbs
• Zoeypalooza 2005 -- Day Two

And please take a look at the other fine daddy blogs mentioned in that article as well. There are some great dads represented.

Ancient

The girl across the street just returned from her post-high-school-graduation beach trip. You can still make out Senior Week '06 written in soap on her car window (along with Beach Or Bust and some other inane saying).

I graduated high school in 1988.

Do you know what that means?

There's a chance she was born on the day I graduated high school.

Christ.

But that got me to thinking. If everything goes to plan, I will be fifty when Zoey graduates high school.

Fifty!

5. 0.

I'll be 53 when Zed graduates. How am I supposed to flirt with Zoey's high school chums in my dentures and Depends?

Now, if you'll excuse me, Grandpa has to go take his Metamucil.

Anyone else feeling old today?

A Quickie While The Kids Are Napping

Hate To Say I Told You So

Remember when I told you back in March that I thought The Flaming Lips' Yeah Yeah Yeah Song would make a great commercial? No? Let me refresh your memory.

Guess what? I was flipping the channels last night and heard it playing in a JCPenny commercial. I still think they should've held out for the big Windows or Apple dollars, but you've got to pay the bills.

So if there are any advertising executives reading who would like advice on music to use in your commercials, have your people get in touch with my people.

Cover Song Du Jour

And while we're on the subject of music, I heard a great cover of George Michael's Faith over at You Ain't No Picasso. Done by The Boy Least Likely To, this version adds an element sorely missing from Michael's original: B-A-N-J-O!
Give your ears some candy.

Father's Day Came Early This Year

I know everyone's already heard about this, but it just warms the cockles of my Tar Heel lovin' heart: J.J. Redick was charged with drunken driving on Tuesday morning.

Somewhere, Dick Vitale weeps.

META

Bloggers blogging about blogging. Great reads:

• Emily has a few problems with blogging.
  
• Izzy talks about blogrolling.
• Kristen discusses comments.
• Weirdgirl feels the pressure from blogging.
  

And Since This Site Is About My Kids

Zoey had her first dentist appointment yesterday. No crying, no freaking out, and most importantly, no cavities! At least we're doing something right.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

For the past few days, Zoey has forgotten to wipe herself about twenty-five percent of the time after she urinates. Since she refuses to flush the toilet, it's fairly easy to tell if she used toilet paper. Dear, you need to do a better job of hiding (or in this case, flushing) your evidence if you want to pull one over on me.

The first time it happened, it led to the following exchange:

Me: Zoey, why didn't you wipe yourself after you tinkled? Nothing makes me feel manlier than saying tinkle ten times a day.
Zoey: I did!
Me: No, you didn't! There's no toilet paper in the toilet.
Zoey: I forgot.
Me: You have to remember to wipe. Ok?
Zoey: It will dry.

The hell? She's planning on air-drying from now on? Hippie.

I figured someone had told her she didn't need to wipe herself after she urinates. I initially suspected a preschool chum, but school's been out for two weeks. Then I realized it must have been one of her grandmothers. In a rush to get out the door one day, one of them told her she didn't have to wipe. I was going to interrogate both of them, but I forgot.

This morning, she forgot again.

Me: Zoey! Why didn't you wipe after you tinkled?
Zoey: I forgot. I'm really getting tired of this excuse. She views it as her foolproof alibi for any situation.
Me: Zoey, you must wipe after you tinkle!
Zoey: But I won't have to wipe when I get bigger!
Me: What? What are you talking about? Who told you that? You still have to wipe yourself after you tinkle when you're bigger.
Zoey: You don't.

Oh hell.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to deprogram my child and teach her that men do not wipe after they urinate but women do. Wish me luck!

You know, maybe if I got a minute or two of privacy now and then, I wouldn't be having these conversations.

GHS: 2

My Wife, My Hero

Note: As I was not present for the following event, I cannot account for its veracity. But Ella assures me what you are about to read is entirely accurate.

Ella rounded up the kids and took them to Target on Sunday afternoon while I worked on a project that has slowly eaten away what little brains I have remaining taken much of my free time lately. She decided to look at the Father's Day cards.

Zoey: First it was Mother's Day.
Ella: Yes.
Zoey: Now it's Father's Day.
Ella: Right.
Zoey: When is Kid's Day?
Unknown Woman Standing A Few Feet From Them: Every day is Kid's Day.
Ella: Ha! That's the truth.

Ella and Zoey turned their attention back to the card selection. Ella picked up one that a button inside which read, "Go ask your Mom!"

Zoey: What does that say?
Ella: Go ask your Mom.
Zoey: Why does it say that?
Ella: It means that Daddy gets to take the day off.
Unknown Woman Standing A Few Feet From Them: Which is also every day.

Now I would love to tell you that Ella turned around, pounced on the woman, and bitchslapped her senseless while the kids cheered her on. But Ella did tell the woman I was a caring, loving stay-at-home dad who seldom received days off as the woman backpedaled, stammered, and apologized.

God, I wish I had been there to witness Ella putting that woman in her place. But of course, had I been present, the following announcement might have been heard over the loudspeaker: "We need all available employees to clean up the headless woman in the greeting card section."

Stuff Only I Care About XIV

Weekly Random Thoughts On The Yankees

The Yankees went 2-4 this week and now find themselves trailing Boston by a half game in the AL East.

The Yankees had won nine of their previous eleven games before dropping their last three. Injuries are starting to catch up with them.

The Yankees have given up five or more runs in each of those three losses.

Bright spot: The Yankees did take two of three against Boston this past week.

Fun Fact: Every starter except Robinson Cano has missed at least one game this season due to illness or injury.

The Yankees start a two-and-a-half-week interleague schedule next weekend after hosting the Indians in a three-game series.

Must-See TV

Deadwood and Entourage both return Sunday evening on HBO. Cool! I LOVE Deadwood. I'll also be checking out the premieres of Lucky Louie and Dane Cook's Tourgasm because most of HBO's original programming kicks ass. Except Big Love. Just couldn't get into that. TV almost never puts me to sleep. But Big Love did.

Stuff Only You Care About

So, I found a great children's book at Borders that talks about Dads in different roles, including a stay-at-home dad. Do you think this is a good gift idea for Father's Day? Any better ideas? -- Overwhelmed!

Books make great gifts. But since you asked, here are some other ideas.

Everyone who isn't a blood relative please skip this paragraph. Zoey? Zed? You guys reading this? Good. If Mommy asks what you want to get Daddy for Father's Day, tell her Daddy needs a new computer! A pretty Dell laptop. Yeah, you're right. Daddy does have a computer. But Daddy's computer is very sick. Daddy has had to reinstall Windows twice in the past six months. I know you don't know what that means, but it's very bad. Daddy's CD drive also stopped working last week. Tell her Daddy won't be able to make those mix tapes you guys love so much without a new computer. Daddy's computer is six years old. In people years, that's older than the Earth! Whatever you do, do not mention that all we got Mommy for Mother's Day was a flashlight and a DVD. --Love, Daddy

While I cannot speak for everyone, I believe most men enjoy receiving personal gifts from the kids. A collage of photographs and a homemade card are always nice to hang in our special places, be it the office, the garage, or Booth 3 at the adult video store down the street.

If the father in your life isn't into sentimental offerings, walk into your local electronics store and toss a rock in the middle of the store. Purchase the item the rock lands on. There's a damn good chance he'll like it.

You asked.

If you have a question you'd like to see me answer, drop me a line or leave a comment. Make it funny, serious, whatever. I'll try to answer at least one every weekend.

Sunday Morning Hangover

Here are some of the more interesting/entertaining posts I've come across this week:

• Arwen discusses the differences between whores and sluts.
• Dad Gone Mad fails to become a Rock Star.
• Dave admits Kelly Osbourne is a worthy replacement for Liz Hurley (yeah, this is self-referential as hell, but it's still funny).
• Freezio learns the real story behind Jack and the Beanstalk.
• Girl's Gone Child talks about her first time (no, not that first time).
• Kristen (Home On The Fringe) is done with the silence of ignorant conformity.
• Kristen (The Mom Trap) accepts the TV as her friend.
• Lucinda finds the Hope Diamond of mockery.
• Paige examines the bumper sticker mind.
  

From Now On, We'll Call Him Aluminum Dave

How the mighty have fallen.

School's Out Forever (At Least It Feels That Way)

There's no way I can say this without coming off like a complete ass. So be it. I've been called much worse.

Two weeks ago, Zoey's preschool closed for summer vacation. It feels like it was two months ago.

She only went there three hours a day, three days a week. Nine measly hours. That's just a little more than a working day. So what's the big deal?

I could do so much in those three hours. Zed and I were able to spend some quality one-on-one time together. We could play, read, walk around the neighborhood, and laugh without worrying if and when his jealous sister would end our fun.

We could go grocery shopping, to Target, to the DMV, all those necessary duties that no one wants to do. Especially with two children in tow.

Since Zed naps in the morning (I swear, if it wasn't for the fact that the boy's tummy wakes him up, he'd sleep until 8), I was able to enjoy some much-needed me time. I could veg out and watch TV. I could read. I could write.

I could just recharge, you know?

September's a long way away.

Rock 'N' Roll Is The Devil's Music

Since it appears we all made it through 06.06.06 relatively unscathed, I figured it was now safe to talk about Satan again. But truth be told, I was worried there for a while, what with the AntiChrist Ann Coulter roaming the Earth freely and turning up on several talk shows Tuesday. Seriously, did anyone catch Today Tuesday? Was I the only one that was waiting for Coulter to rip off poor Matt Lauer's head and suck out his soul?

Anyway, in honor of us surviving 06.06.06, I thought I'd share Zoey's Mix Tape For The Devil. These are three of her favorite songs right now. Two of the songs mention Satan and I believe Satan himself wrote the third. I'll leave it up to you to guess which is which.

Rolling Stones Sympathy For The Devil
Zoey boogies her butt off to the beginning of this song. She walks around the house yelling the "Ooh-who!" part.

Billy Joe Armstrong Mechanical Man
This is one of my favorite songs right now as well. Armstrong recorded this number for the upcoming puppet movie, Live Freaky! Die Freaky! Armstrong is the Charles Manson puppet in the flick. Sounds interesting.

Bay City Rollers Saturday Night
If nothing else, this song taught her how to spell Saturday. Please do not turn me in to Social Services for allowing my daughter to listen to the Bay City Rollers.

I also have a current favorite song that was evidently spawned by the Devil.

Everyone loves Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, right? It's two great tastes, peanut butter and chocolate, mixed together to create one of the greatest foods known to man.

Now imagine if you tried to make a candy bar out of motor oil and bleach. Pretty disgusting, no?

But now imagine that your concoction of motor oil and bleach turned out to be delicious! That's what this song is like. Cheesy Artist + Cheesy Song = Killer Tune.

The song? Tiffany (remember her?) covering Poison's Talk Dirty To Me. Don't judge me unless you've heard it.

I pulled out a mix CD I made two months ago that had this tune on it. I. Just. Can't. Stop. Listening. To. This. Song.

But then again, I'm also digging Paris Hilton's song.

I have no taste.

Rock on!

In Lieu Of An Actual Entry, Let's Make Fun Of Stupid People!

I realize I haven't done this in awhile, so enjoy these recent interesting/amusing/demented search phrases people have used to get to my site:

What kind of dad am I?
Folks, Google is not your psychiatrist. It is not a Magic 8-Ball. It does not cure herpes. It is a search engine. Treat it as such.

smile for mr camera show me your teeth school picture day
Is it just me or does this creep you out too?

all different kind of poems for dads who are not there for there child
How about this one:
Dad, since you've gone, my life's gone to hell.
If only you had stayed, maybe I would have learned to spell.

catch-it cost cat diapers
Moving along...

beethoven drunk and bitch father
Do you ever get the feeling that some people just type random words into Google just to see what pops up? Like they're playing some sort of Web Mad Libs or something?

caillou is a whiny bitch
See? I'm not the only person who feels this way.

daddy died holding me poems
Did a pirate perform this search? Arrrrrh! Ahoy, me matey!

It's late. I apologize for that corny joke.

attention grabber for the heimlich maneuver
Stick out your tongue. Make your eyes bug out of your head. Put your hands to your throat. Turn purple. Hopefully this will grab someone's attention.

"class picture" "kid vomiting"
Yikes! Someone won't be ordering extra prints this year.

diaper changing how many times per day
Dude? Diaper changing happens on an as-needed basis. You can't just say around 6:30 PM, "But I've already changed your diaper your allotted nine times today! You'll have to stew in it until morning."

Is Dad supposed to celebrate Mother's Day?
If Dad wants to live to see Father's Day.

really bored mommies
... read Cynical Dad! Meet my new slogan.

i don't like soccer moms and soccer moms don't like me
Then take your ball and go home.

a story about a freshly scrubbed floor
Oooooh! Erotica for obsessive-compulsives.

how can i tell what my children look like
Um, look at them?

derek jeter and johnny damon Brokeback Mountain
Which one of my Red Sox readers performed this search? Arwen?

change diaper blindfolded
Some people need to find new ways to add a little excitement to their lives.

elephant wrinkles laurie berkner
Yeah, I think Laurie's looking a little rough lately, too. But elephant wrinkles? That's a little harsh.

How to handle someone who is always late
Kill them. Seriously, nobody digs tardiness.

Satan Fellatio
If any of you have a fourteen-year-old son trying to name his garage band, please pass this along. He (and I) will thank you for it.

Previous Search Engine Fun:
Stuff Only I Care About VIII
Stuff Only I Care About VI
Stuff Only I Care About IV
Stuff Only I Care About

And You're A Prima Ballerina On A Spring Afternoon

In my thirty-six years on this planet, my eyes have seen many things. Beautiful things. Ugly things. Funny things. Sad things. Scary things. Things people would pay big money to see. Things people should never have to see.

But nothing I have witnessed in my journeys prepared me for what I faced on Saturday. The delicate balance between sickening and cute, between ecstasy and agony, and between the ridiculous and the sublime: the utter chaos that is a dance recital starring three-and four-year-old girls.

I have learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to Zoey's musical performances. But this was her first dance recital! Things would go differently, right?

Truth be told, I went in with the mindset that as long as she didn't hit anyone, kiss anyone, or cry, it would be well worth the $250 that, contrary to the bickering from my inner cheapskate, we spent for dance lessons this spring. And if she wiggled once or twice? Happy Early Father's Day, Chag!

As we were driving to the recital, I asked Ella, "Should we have gotten Zoey some flowers to hand to her after the performance?" "That's cheesy. I doubt anyone else will bring flowers," she replied.

As soon as we opened the door to the joint, we saw twenty pairs of parents, each carrying bouquets of carnations or roses. We suck.

Zoey took her place with the other dancers on stage, all giggling nervously over the clickety-clickety-clacking of their tap shoes. The girls all looked adorable despite the fact that they were dressed in glittery polyester Pageant Dresses From Hell that were offensive to four of my five senses (I did not actually lick or taste the dress, but if I had to guess I would say it tasted like petroleum).

Right before the show began, Zoey's preschool teacher came in and sat with us. She loves Zoey so much she asked if she could come to her recital. And guess what? She brought flowers for Zoey. Apparently, she loves Zoey more than we do.

The music started. While there were some girls dancing and acting like they actually knew what they were doing, there were also some girls just standing there, making their parents proud.

Zoey? She was doing some sort of perverse pelvic thrusting that was really driving me insa-ay-ay-ay-ay-ane. That's my girl.

But she was trying and was having a great time. That's all that's important. Not the fact that it looked like she was auditioning to be a Cheetah Club girl.

Next, it was time to do ballet. When Zoey came up to us to change into her ballet shoes, she asked me, "How did I do?" I hugged her, gave her a high five, and sang the New York Dolls lyric to her. She beamed.

She hurried back out to the stage. And that's when everything began to fall apart.

She wanted to be on the end of the line, as did another dancer. They started arguing. The instructor put the other girl at the end and Zoey right beside her. Zoey was visibly pissed.

Other Girls 1, Zoey 0

As they were dancing, the girls began bunching up at Zoey's end. Two of the girls managed to get in front of Zoey, blocking her out of the line. As soon as she noticed that she was behind all the other girls, she yelled out, "HEY!"

Other Girls 2, Zoey 0

Zoey inched her way between the two girls that were blocking her view of the audience. She then stretched her arms out to her sides, effectively pushing both girls behind her. She even knocked one of them on her ass in the process.

Final Score: Zoey 100, Other Girls 2

After the recital, the children and parents went into another room for cupcakes and juice boxes. Except me. I headed to the front desk to cancel her summer dance lessons.

GHS: I think you can figure this out yourself.

Related:
The Gratingest Show On Earth
Why Do I Even Bother Bringing The Camcorder To These Things?

Stuff Only I Care About XIII

Weekly Random Thoughts On The Yankees

The Yankees went 6-1 this week and now find themselves leading Boston by a half game in the AL East.

Fun fact: In thirteen games this year, Randy Johnson has given up eighteen first-inning runs, for a sparkling ERA of 12.46. From the second inning on in those eighteen games, he has an ERA of 3.72. Maybe he needs to warm up longer?

Mariano Rivera injured his back while putting on his cleats before Thursday night's game. Couple this with the injuries to Sheffield and Matsui and the stomach bug that hit Jason Giambi and A-Rod this weekend, and I'm really beginning to believe that some Red Sox fan somewhere has voodoo dolls of all the key Yankees.

Chien-Ming Wang earned the save on Saturday night. That's how bad off the Yankees are right now. Seriously, they have no business in first place.

The Yankees start a four-game series at home with Boston on Monday night. Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday's games are on ESPN.

Father's Day Gift Guide

One of my favorite horror movies is finally making its way to DVD on June 13. Dellamorte Dellamore (known as Cemetery Man in the United States) is a 1996 Italian zombie flick that stars Rupert Everett (yes, that Rupert Everett) as a cemetery guard who must keep the dead inside the cemetery's gates when they rise from their graves during the night. It's a cool gory dark comedy. Ella calls it "an artsy-fartsy horror porno." But her taste is suspect. She married me, after all.

Sunday Morning Hangover

Here are some of the more interesting/entertaining posts I've come across this week:

• Emily completes the transformation from Goth to Mom.
• Kristen enjoys a day at the zoo with her boys.
• Lucinda admits she's a technofrump.
• Mom-101 learns her ice cream main isn't just pushing popsicles.
• Patrick chronicles his douchebaggery through the ages.
• Sarcastic Journalist wants respect (this is a great post).
  

Stuff Only You Care About

Hey! Remember when I said I was going to start answering questions from you guys? I did a few a while back, but I kind of forgot about the whole thing until I received the following question in my Inbox:

Why did you refer to James Van Der Beek as your archenemy? -- Allison

Ok. My answer will hopefully not only satisfy Allison's question but also those I received when I wrote about my failed screenwriting career in an earlier meme.

As I mentioned in my answer to the death threats question, I used to have an online magazine. One day, I received an email from a Hollywood producer that basically said he liked my stuff and wondered if I had ever tried writing a screenplay. As a cynical pessimist, I assumed the email was a fake, despite the fact that it had a movie studio email address. So I spent the weekend IMDBing him and digging up dirt on the guy. Look, I was as far away from Hollywood, both geographically and mentally, as one could get. Turned out he was real.

So I started writing my spec screenplay. Despite the fact that I had never written anything longer than a term paper, I banged out a 106-page screenplay (it was a political/media satire with a touch of romantic comedy for those of you who may care) in three months. The producer loved it.

Except...

I needed to make some changes before he could shop it around. The main problem, according to him, was that my story did not have a Hollywood Happy Ending. In my screenplay, the guy did not end up with the girl. I fought with him over this for a while, but I was starry-eyed, so I eventually put in an ending where the reader was the left with the hope the guy might get the girl.

So he shopped it around. After another month, he phoned me and said that Mr. Van Der Beek's people really loved the script. Dawson? I thought. Ugh.

Nothing against James Van Der Beek, but when I was writing the script, I had only one person in mind for the lead character: Jason Lee. I had loved him in Mallrats and had seen Chasing Amy four times in the theater while writing the script (DVDs were made for people like me), so I couldn't picture anyone else in the role.

But like I said before, I was starry-eyed.

"His people?" I asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means his agent read it and loved it. James is supposed to read it tonight."

So there I was, constantly checking my email and waiting impatiently by the phone for a call from the producer. Finally, after a week, I couldn't take it anymore so I called the producer.

"He passed on it."

The producer shopped it around for a few more months, but nothing ever came of it. Other than giving me something to write about tonight.

If only he had made my movie, both Mr. Van Der Beek and I might have careers in Hollywood today.

You asked.

If you have a question you'd like to see me answer, drop me a line or leave a comment. Make it funny, serious, whatever. I'll try to answer at least one every weekend.

Self-Promotion Friday (Because I Have Been Up Working Well Past Midnight Every Night This Week And Really Don't Have The Energy To Say Anything Else)

I was named Blog of the Week over at Overwhelmed With Joy!. I truly appreciate all the nice things she said about me. She also did a five-question interview with me. Come on. You know you want to read it.

Also, you may have noticed that I am running BlogAds on my site. See? Over there in the left column? If you've got a product or site you'd like me to pimp, by all means have your people call my people. We'll work something out. Or you can just click the little Advertise here link. Whatever works for you. They're affordable and I've been told they make great Father's Day gifts.

And yes, I realize that my title was damn near longer than my actual entry.

Good night.

I Wonder How They Would Fare With Def Leppard

Confession time: I am a nerd. Not a self-proclaimed sexy geek. A nerd.

Today is a national holiday for nerds. Why, you ask? It's one of the greatest yearly events in Nerdville: The Scripps National Spelling Bee.

When I was in fourth grade, I came in second in my school's spelling bee. When I was in fifth grade, I won my school's spelling bee. I don't remember hearing about a spelling bee when I was in middle school though. Perhaps my school system just washed their hands of the whole affair.

Now before you start thinking differently, my parents did not feed me flashcards for breakfast; I've always been a fairly decent speller (grammar, on the other hand, remains a mystery to me). And around these parts, if you can successfully spell lunch, cat, or Monday, you have a pretty good chance of winning your school's spelling bee. But I lost in one of the early rounds of the county championship.

The word that knocked me out of the competition? Marriage. According to my ten-year-old brain, there was no "I" in marriage. I would say that a lot during my footloose single days.

Actually, I still tell that joke today. It's a wonder Ella ever married me. For that and oh-so-many more reasons.

But back to the REAL spellers. The Scripps National Spelling Bee has been televised on ESPN for as long as I can remember. This year, they're showing the early rounds on ESPN on Thursday from noon to three. The championship round will follow on ABC at 8:00 PM.

That's right, bitches. Spelling's gone mainstream. Deal.

I looooooooove watching the spelling bee. Armed with equal parts empathy and morbid fascination, I watch these poor kids fumble their way through words I've never heard of. Look, it's hard enough being a normal twelve-to-fourteen-year-old in this day and age. Imagine being a kid whose only human contact for the past six months has been some deranged Alphabet Dictator constantly barking obscure French spelling rules. You'd develop severe tics as well.

Whether it be clutching the microphone as if to keep from falling into some imaginary pit beneath them, sweating profusely, swaying back and forth, uncontrollable blinking, gasping between letters, sniffing their fingers (I'm looking at you, E-U-O-N-Y-M! girl), or writing on their placards with their BIC® Index Fingers, these kids are glorious messes.

But you know who also has it rough? The pronouncer. The fortitude of the pronouncers simply amazes me. How has something like the following never happened?

Pronouncer: Dik-taht.
Contestant: Dik-tat.
Pronouncer: Dik-taht.
Contestant: Dik-tat.
Pronouncer: Dik-TAHT.
Contestant: Dik-taht. May I have the definition, please?
Pronouncer: Diktat: an authoritative decree or order.
Contestant: Can you use it in a sentence?
Pronouncer: The czar issued a diktat that many citizens deemed unfair.
Contestant: Are there any alternate pronunciations?
Pronouncer: No. Just dik-taht.
Contestant: Dik-tat.
Pronouncer: Dik-TAHT.
Contestant: Dik-taht. What's the language of origin?
Pronouncer: Latin. To dictate.
Contestant: Dik-tat.
Pronouncer: DIK-TAHT!
Contestant: Can you use it in a sentence?
Pronouncer: Yes! This moron can't say dik-TAHT! How's that sentence for you, DICK-HEAD?

Needless to say, I'll be Tivoing it just in case something like that occurs. Anyone else watching? Does anyone have any early lines on the kids? Any dark horses I should be aware of?

It's March Madness for nerds!