My Mom Wants To Fake Rock-N-Roll All Nite

This post could also be titled "Being For The Benefit Of Mrs. B", but then it wouldn’t be a KISS reference as much as a Beatle’s reference. And the KISS reference is important here.

My mom is something of a saint to me. Since my ex (insert double entendre here) over three years ago, my mom has been coming to stay a couple days every week to help with my kids while I’m at work. It’s not a small thing since she lives a bit over an hour away. She wathces the youngest who will start school next year, she helps with homework, and more than anything else…she spends time on the phone.

She’s a township trustee, and a good one. It’s something of a thankless job, having to deal with local weasels and whiners for little pay. And it consumes a lot of phone time. She’s also pretty conservative in her tastes. It’s really getting her out of her shell to have her watch some lame reality television with us. But hey, family bonding time is family bonding time.

So imagine my surprise when I came home from running some errands the other evening with one of my daughters and found my mom, plastic guitar slung over her shoulders, playing Guitar Hero III. Specifically ‘Rock And Roll All Nite’ by KISS.

Her defense was "I’ve never played before and wanted to try it." I didn’t really care what her reason was. I just thought it was great she was playing.

So I grabbed the other guitar and we spent the next hour or so playing a few songs I’m sure she didn’t know or recognize the lyrics for. This is the woman who used to go around singing lines from Sublime’s ‘Santaria’ because she thought it was catchy after all. She never seemed to get to those bits where they sung about poppin’ a cap in the guy hitting on the girl. So I got some fun out of pointing out "Remember all those crazy posters we had in the basement when I was a kid? That was Iron Maiden, and this is one of their songs." Yes, I had my mom playing the bass line on ‘Number of the Beast’.

And then her phone rang in the middle of a song. And just that fast the band was broken up. She was on the phone talking about issues with the local fire department and our audience booed us off the stage.

But for a while, we were rockin’. And after all these years, my mom showed she had a bit of cool in her.

Being Careful What You Wish For

My brother “gave” me my Christmas present this evening. Not a present really, other than that of time, but that’s good too.

He had told me on Christmas day that he wanted to watch something in particular with me. Something that we, as brothers, could bond over.

What he didn’t realize, and I couldn’t have forseen, was that he gifted me with my warm-down lap I was complaining about the other day.

“How so?” you might ask. Simple. He had located the Star Wars Holiday Special, in its unholy entirety, online. This show is a thing of myth. Legendary in its fecal prowess. The kind of thing that prisoners in Guantanamo are subjected to when waterboarding doesn’t prove to be successful.

In short, it’s a painful piece of dreck that George Lucas wishes had never been produced. And with good reason.

Feel free to watch the first few minutes (or the whole thing if you’re a masochist), and keep in mind that the breakneck pacing in the first 10 minutes is kept up throughout the whole of the show.

For those of you also requiring a holiday warm-down lap, enjoy!

How Can She Be Saying Hello When She’s Showing Ta-Ta?

I keep saying I’m going to do this more than once a week, and yet here it is a week later. Again. Good thing I’m not trying to generate any ad revenue. Google would probably have me owing them money if I were. Not that they aren’t already selling my soul online one small piece at a time.

Side thought: If Google if mining me for information, should I feel guilty enough to talk to my bishop? I should probably just feel guilty for seeing innuendo in things like that. (heh)

Anywho…speaking of innuendo, this post’s title is loaded with it. I’ve had it in mind for a while now as I’ve held back this story for a bit. So the story goes something like this:

My oldest (the Model) has a cell phone on my dime. It makes it handy to get in touch with the kids since their mom doesn’t see fit to (a) have a home phone number and (b) ever answer her own cell phone when called. After a surprise bill one month thanks to the fine folks at "Joke-A-Day" though I disabled instant messaging and so forth on her phone. She knows not the vastness of her own power to inadvertently cost me $45 in a month without hardly trying.

At least, I thought I had completely disabled instant messaging on her phone. Perhaps I have. It’s kind of hard to say really. Because one evening she received a picture message from her mom, although because of the block she couldn’t see it. Instead she received a blurb telling her that she had one and needed to go to a web site from my carrier to view it.

When she received the notice I was on the main computer (yes, as in there are multiple) at home, so she asked if I could open the web site for her to see the message. I was happy to since I wanted a distraction from the side-project I was working on. So I type in the web address, punch in the code to access the message, and get…

A tight shot of a big-chested woman wearing a t-shirt that says "I (heart) You". And almost before I can realize it’s an animated image, and definitely before I can finish thinking "This won’t end well" off comes the shirt and a second of bouncing commences.

So there it is. My oldest daughter receives a booby-shot message from her mother. Her very overtly, "you need to love me no matter who I am", gay mother.

As fast as my fingers would move, I closed the web browser. But it was too late. It had been seen, and the damage was done. Reflexes, as those of us old enough to remember from WKRP, have their limits. And those limits can only be exceeded when alcohol is provided to Dr. Johnny Fever. I neither drink, nor am I Dr. Johnny Fever. So there it is.

Brakeback did tell me later that the message must have somehow sent by accident from her phone. It was definitely her message though, as a "friend" had sent it to her. My oldest immediately knew which friend that must be, who I shall simply refer to as "The Flake". That didn’t help her feel any better about it.

So the moral of the story is this: if you have friends that send you phone porn, make sure you keep your keypad locked so it doesn’t accidentally forward to your kids, or your boss, or someone else important that might form a negative opinion about you.

Or, better yet, just avoid phone porn altogether I guess.

Job Opening: Must Be Proficient With Hammers and Children

The third trimester of Hallowchristmagiving is almost over, and the tryptophan is wearing off. So what to do next? Dream of the Big Dance, of course. Do the shopping, trim the tree, fire up the oven (yes, I do my own baking…and I’m good at it), and dream of having a "special someone" with which to share a smooch under the mistletoe.

Add all that together, and this morning’s conversation with my youngest makes complete sense. Not that we haven’t had these conversations before, but when I’m wishing there were someone with whom I could share a couch, a blanket, some popcorn, and a movie it’s just a little more poignant.

(Oh, and bear in mind that my youngest, "Z", is all of five years old)

Z: When are you going to get married again?

M: I don’t know. I’m not even dating anyone. (My last date was back in March)

Z: I know.

M: Do you want me to get married again?

Z: Yeah. And when you get married again, then I’ll have a step-mom, right?

M: Yep. Are you wanting a step-mom?

Z: Uh-huh. And when I do, she’ll be happy to play "Break the Ice" with me, won’t she?

The answer, of course, was "absolutely". We then broke into our own round of games for a half-hour or so before church. The great things about playing the game with her are the interesting house rules and hammer techniques. Does the big block with the bear go in the middle of the field, or more toward one side? Do you carefully tap a block out, smash it with one stroke, or use the hammer in more unconventional ways?

Whatever style of play one might prefer, I think it’s a pretty good quality to look for. And not just because it’s my daughter’s favorite game. I like it too, after all.

Water Fight!

Is it just me, or does everyone experience the hiccup and loss of a few days when first starting out writing a blog? Nothing quite like the guilt of seeing that it’s been three days since the last post. Especially when I’ve been building a battery of topics to write about, so it’s not like I have writer’s block or anything. Just a busy schedule. But I digress…

So, a quick bit of disclosure. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. A Mormon. You may have heard of us. Or you may at least have heard of Glenn Beck, who is also Mormon. Or Mitt Romney. Or yes, even Donnie and Marie. But this isn’t about any of them. This bit of personal information is just to provide some context around talking about the mid-week church youth activities my daughter attends. They have these every week, and typically are broken up by gender and age groups. But once a month, everyone gets together for a large group activity, but boys and girls.

Last night was one of those nights, and it brought back fond memories for me.

The youth were playing some water volleyball and having water relays. The water volleyball was a new concept for me, but looked pretty fun. Water baloons caught and tossed back over the net by teams of two using a bath towel between them. The relay involved sitting in a row and passing a giant, water-logged sponge front to back over each other’s heads and squeezing what was left out into buckets. Good stuff. And though fun, the activities weren’t what the kids were all about. They were, of course, about throwing buckets of water and strafing each other with super soakers. Boys versus girls for the most part, of course. And those are the memories I have.

When I was younger, and part of said youth program at church, water fights between the boys and girls were a summertime ritual. Most of them took place in my parents’ yard, and involved any manner of dousing conceivable. It wouldn’t be terribly unusual for the guys to be outside talking and suddenly see a volley of water balloons arcing over the top of the house. It was even less unusual for the girls to be outside talking and suddenly see a volley of water balloons arcing over the top of the house. All sides enjoyed it, and the combat would last for an hour or more. Balloons, then hoses, then five-gallon buckets, and eventually a few guys grabbing one of the girls in an attempt to hold her directly under the outside faucet.

For us guys, it was a combination of water combat and flirting. We had some attractive girls in our circle of friends. For the girls, it was also a combination of water combat and flirting. The guys weren’t completely unfortunate either. The girls had all apparently read Sun Tsu’s “Art of War” however, and knew that one of the keys to winning was to let your enemy think you are weak. The guys would always think they were getting the better of the girls in the water fight, but the girls were always winning the real war in terms of relationships.

I only realized the full extent of this while watching my daughter and her friends at their youth activity. One of the girls in particular was a perpetual target (though she dished some out too). And she loved it. She was losing the fight, but clearly winning the war. And once I realized that, my immediate next realization was of my daughter was doing the same thing. Which led to my final realization that, with the start to her dating only being two years away, it’s about time for me to choose between aluminum or wood and start practicing at the batting cages.

I believe Sun Tsu also has a thing or two to say about preparation, after all.

Summer drive-ins

This weekend was the last before school gets seriously underway. Officially, my kids started back to school last Wednesday. But those first three days are never anything serious, and Labor Day weekend is when people really consider summer vacation to be officially over. It’s the last hoorah, as it were. This year though, the kids are with their mom for Labor Day. So for us together, this past weekend was it for summer break.

Since my divorce a couple years ago, the kids and I have a standing Friday night tradition over the summers. Every Friday together we head to the drive-in movies, unless there isn’t anything family-appropriate to take them to. Most people when they hear that we’re heading to the drive-in either ask “Where is there a drive-in around here?” or “What the heck is a drive-in movie?” For the unintiated, a drive-in movie is exactly what it sounds like. You load up your car with you and the kids, drive up to the ticket window, pay only for those in the car older than 11, and watch movies on a big screen in the great outdoors. Drive-ins have no fancy sound system (you listen on your car radio or a boombox), no stadium seating, and the restrooms and concession areas look like they were last renovated somewhere around the time I was born.

In short, they’re fantastic.

Seriously, going to the drive-in is a much more family experience. Things feel more personal and connected somehow. You may read my blog, but are we really connected? Nah. I’m too chicken to put my personal info out there to be phished. So unless you start leaving me comments and I get to know you better, you’ll know lots about my life but never know me. At the drive-in you wind up having conversations with strangers that offer to share popcorn and blankets if it gets too chilly by the time the second show starts (yes, drive-ins give you two movies back-to-back). Your kids run out into the open area in front of the screen to play with other kids that they don’t know, and have a blast doing it. Up until last year, one of the drive-ins we frequent even had a swing set.

Yes, I said “one of the drive-ins”. There are three that we haunt depending on what’s playing where.

If you’ve read my sister’s blog at “Looking for George” you may be already familiar with the fact that we grew up in a town coloquially referred to as “Cooterville”. It can be a bit hick (like San Francisco can be a bit liberal), but that also means that time has stood still in some respects for our hometown. I’m a well-educated, technolgically progressive guy, but it’s nice to be able to step back in time. So having a hometown that lets me do that can be nice. Part of that is having two drive-in theatres within five minutes of my parents’ house, and another within thirty minutes. And the one within thirty minutes has two screens showing different movies. So technically we have a choice of four places to watch movies on Fridays. The state in which we live actually has the largest number of operating drive-in theatres left in the country. And I hope that never changes.

So this past weekend the movie selection was a little thin. One of the theates had already closed for the season. Two of the other three screens were showing the same movies or movies we had already seen a couple times (Harry Potter is one that just continues to make money it seems). And there was no way I was taking the kids to see “Superbad”. I won’t even take me to see it. So the question I posed to the kids was “Do we want to go see these two movies at the drive-in, or just stay home and do something else instead?” There was no question as far as the kids were concerned: the drive-in had to be done, especially since it was their last chance for the year.

I’m really glad the my kids and I have something special like that. Something that we know is “our thing” to do as a family. Now I just have to find something we can do during the school months as “our thing” while the drive-in is closed. Summer, you weren’t long enough this year.

Unexpected first entry topic

So with all the prodding I’ve been toying with the whole blog idea and the possibilities of its anonymous exhibitionism and decided to give it a go. Of course to do so means needing a starter topic, which is the thing that keeps many people from starting writing in the first place. Again, enter my pointy-blog-sticked sister with a phone call only ninety minutes or so ago to inform me of some goings-on involving my youngest daughter who is spending a couple days visiting with her cousin.

“I’m really sorry. My youngest daughter and your youngest daughter were playing a round of ‘let’s jump off tall things that we ought not’ and I think her wrist is broken. Mom and I are taking her to the hospital.”

Hey hey…a blog topic if ever one was made.

My sister feels awful as though she were some neglectful ne’er-do-well. I say things just happen with kids sometimes. My son had a compound break from a trampoline accident a few years ago. Which I never fully saw because he snapped his arm back in place on his own before coming inside (GAH!). The fact that nothing like this has happened to any of my sister’s kids yet I just chalk up to beating the odds. Seriously, check her site (http://lookingforgeorge.spaces.live.com) and just look for the doll. And then keep an eye on the evening news. Or watch “Chucky” movies. Whatever works for you.

So now I sit and wait for a call from relatives two hours away to let me know that everything has gone fine with setting bones and putting on a cast. My daughter is a very sweet, mild-mannered but fun-loving girl and I hate to think of her being in pain and doped up on morphine. Not that I would want to think of other people in that predicament, save for possibly one or two, or maybe a half-dozen. Again, another set of stories for another time.

More than anything I wish I was right there to give her a hug and help carry her out and drive her home when it’s all over. None of which she’d remember later of course, due to being anesthetized from having her bones set. But it’s the being there that would count, as much for me as for her I suppose. But with other kids needing packed off to school in the morning I have to wait a couple more days to give her a hug.

And to see her cool cast. I hear she has chosen pink, which comes as absolutely no surprise.