It's One Of The Reasons I'm Afraid To Watch King Kong, Actually

Yesterday, as promised, I served as an escort for a field trip to the Toledo Zoo for the day. I am, as usual, glad I did so for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I really don't trust other people, particularly when it comes to taking care of my kids. The bigger reason, though, is that I freaking love going to the zoo.

The first thing I observed is that, like most trips to the zoo, it largely involved watching animals sleeping. Take the lions for example. Everyone always get's excited to see the lions, and when you finally get to them, what you see is a small pile of lions taking a nap on a rock. If you're lucky, one of them might roll over. When looking for entertainment, one should never count on a cat unless you have a way to taunt it. Just one I want to go in there with a little remote controlled car made to look like a rabbit.

Nevertheless, the whole zoo scene never fails to fascinate me. I love to look at the animals that are actually conscious and try to figure out what they're thinking about. As someone who thinks almost entirely in words, it boggles my mind to try and even consider what's going through a monkey's brain as it sits there looking at us. Does it wonder about us? Does it care? Or is it simply sitting there processing it's current systems? (Do I have to go to the bathroom? Nope. Do I feel like eating? Nope. Should I pick this up and fling it at someone? Maybe later.)

Of course there is always the temptation to think of them as deeper than they probably are, particularly the monkeys. I stood there with my little girl, and this monkey sat on his rock looking back, and as it watched us, I wondered what his impression of me and my daughter might be. Then he turned around, dropped a duece, and proceeded to start walking away from it, only to see his little doody out of the corner of his eye and, looking vaguely surprised, turn to inspect it. Three times.

God I love me some monkeys.

Overall the trip was a rousing success. The hippos played and pulled leaves from the trees. The seals did tricks in the water for us. The wolves chased each other around. The lions and tigers...well, they slept, but one of tigers rolled over, which is kind of a win. The kids had a good time. In fact, there was only one thing that really bothered me about the whole trip.

I don't mind that the gorillas insist on touching themselves, but why to they have to look me right in the eye when they're doing it?

The Cop Out

Sorry, kids, but I'm escorting a field trip to the Toledo Zoo today. In place of my usual ramblings, I'm offering an alternative bit of entertainment. I give you Advanced Cat Yodeling:

And By Inactive, We Mean "Oh God...it burns! "

So, I'm going through a particularly pesky allergy season this year. For whatever reason, the case of the sniffles I got cleaning out the garage (just one more case of the dangers of housework) has now become a week and half of...well, let's just say that I'm now fully on board with the whole head irrigation system. Anything to avoid another sinus infection.

I know it's allergies, however, because my eyes are driving me nuts. They're always red, and they itch and hurt all the time. I constantly want to either shut them or claw them out. It's like I'm constantly watching Uwe Boll movies.

Being a strong believer of self medication, I stopped by my local pharmacy and looked over the eye drops in an effort to alleviate this annoyance. I saw the typical array of products, but then at the end I saw something shiny. It was a new eye drop called Rohto. Being a sucker for shiny, I looked them over, picked one, and moved on.

Now, I'm not the best in the world about looking over labels before trying something new. I'm pretty much satisfied that if they say it will fix something, it will. This has led to learning the hard way that, say, taking a Benedryl in the early afternoon will lead to me staring vacantly and perhaps drooling slightly by mid-afternoon (interestedly, also not unlike watching watching Uwe Boll movies). Well, here again I might have taken a moment to notice that what makes Rohto V.Ice icy is that they put ^#%$ing menthol in it. I didn't notice because they list it an an inactive ingredient.

Far from inactive, putting these things in my eyes is...well, it's hard to describe. Icy is probably a fair assessment. It's not unlike having a chilled oil poured onto one's eyes. I'm blinded for a minute or so, during which I can only imagine I'm making a variety of funny faces while trying to determine if it's safe to open my eyes again or if I should be grabbing a tissue to make it stop. After that, however, my eyes actually feel better for an hour or two. Odd.

Nevertheless, I can assure you that if the good people at Rohto decide they want to get into the enema business, I'm going to go ahead and steer clear of that action.

One Wonders If They Checked On Paul Rueben's Availability

Well, I warned NASA that without another target, they would feel the brunt of the angry legions of Joss Whedon fans. Fox, proving that they can learn from past mistakes, went ahead and renewed Dollhouse, so there was no chance of redirecting their anger in that direction, and I have yet to hear anything about that warp drive, so it was looking pretty bad for NASA. Fortunately, the rumor mill may have saved them.

See, someone has had the bright idea of making a Buffy the Vampire slayer movie. This would be a welcome thing, as those of us who followed the show would joyously cough up ten bucks to see how everyone is doing, and since most of us choose to either ignore or deny the existence of the first movie, it's long overdue. So, there should be much rejoicing, right?

Well, there's only two problems with the pitch as it stands. First, they are supposedly not interested in bringing in the supporting cast. I like Sarah Michelle Gellar and all, but a large part of the show's charm was the interaction between Buffy and her friends and foes. If true, this drains a lot of the excitement from such an announcement. Don't get me wrong - it could still be great, just not as great as it could be. If that was the only issue, there would still be rejoicing. Unfortunately, it isn't.

See, apparently the people who think this is a good idea haven't actually bothered to see if Joss is interested. Now this doesn't mean he's not, but realize the implications of what they are saying. If he's busy, or not interested, or whatever, they will go forward without him.

So there you have it, NASA. You're off the hook. I guarantee that right this moment, the nerd rage is already growing. Fingers are furiously typing tirades against the concept that this will go forth without their Lord Whedon's involvement. Should the brain trust behind this decide that the chance of money is too good, or that Sarah Michelle Gellar is enough of a draw, to proceed, the internet will light up with the vehemence typically reserved for Jar Jar Binks and aliens with crystalline bone structures. Boycotts will be called for. Blogs will fill up with indignant bile aimed at these people. Forums will have whole section dedicated to nothing but disgust with this decision. Me personally, I'm almost hoping they do it, just to watch the fallout, but I felt the show ended just right (also, I'm sort of sick that way).

Now if they lay one finger on Doctor Horrible, their suffering will be legendary, even in Michigan.

Unless You Count That Kathy Bates Thing, Which I Still Haven't Forgiven My Wife For

I am in the interesting position of knowing people who make movies and music. This is perhaps not so unusual, except that I have neither heard the music nor have I seen the movies. See, both operate on a limited venue. The movie was released in local theaters, and the music is obviously performed live. This combined with my hermitic lifestyle means I'm missing out.

Naturally, I've questioned these people on how I can get a hold of their stuff. It never struck me that getting CDs or DVDs made is probably an expensive pain the tuckus. I mean, I'm a programmer. Any hack can put together a piece of software or a website, throw a link up somewhere on the internet, and distribute that content to their heart's content, whether it's worth seeing or not. (You know what, let's not think about that too much.)

Well, it would seem that someone wants to make the same kind of thing available to musicians and filmmakers. Amazon, the place where I choose to do most of my non-food related shopping, now offers on-demand publishing. Seriously, you upload your movie, music - heck, they even do books - and they seem to do the rest. Do a little setup, and then they sell them on demand, only pressing a copy when someone actually orders it. The latest addition, the ability to sell CDs, costs a little over thirty dollars annually. The musician gets 40% of the cash for each sale, meaning if a ten dollar CD nets a four dollar check. Sell nine a year, and you've got profit.

Does this mean the end of the RIAA and MPAA and their evil, lawsuit-happy ways? Of course not. Realistically, their services include promotion and whatnot, which the independent artist would be left to do on their own. What is does end, however, is a little bit of their power. If artists start figuring out how to promote themselves through new channels, they might well make more money on their work that was previously being handed off to others. Plus, it gives artists who may never get the chance of catching a studio's attention a way to get their work out anyway.

So there it is you guys (and you know who you are). Have at it. I want downloadable content. I want to drop ten or twenty bucks to order a copy of your work. I'm guessing I'm probably not the only one. Just please, be responsible about it, okay?

I've managed to remain steadfast in my policy of not witnessing pornographic or near-pornographic content that involves anyone I know (barring lookalikes, thank you very much), and I intend to remain that way.

I Swear, It Called To Me

The Moose and I were sent to Lowes last weekend for bug killer and a hose sprayer. Not being familiar with the whereabouts of the Lowes seasonal equipment, I had to wander a bit. As is often the case, my wanderings took me past the shovels, spades, and axes, which I like to peruse and price in an effort to figure out which household implements will best serve me should there be a zombie apocalypse (in all seriousness - I really, really do this). Ordinarily, I end up coming to the usual conclusion - an axe and a heavy-handled shovel are really all one could hope for.

And then I saw it - the Briar Axe Brush Cutter.

I was amazed. It was like the good people at True Temper were sitting around trying to come up with an ideal weapon to fight off the hordes of the undead. In fact, I really couldn't even consider what purpose they were claiming it would fulfill when clearly it was designed for just one thing.

The long, heavy handle, allowing for a more controlled two handed usage (something that keeps me from investing in a machete). The heat-treated steel blade, long enough to remove the moaning head of an undead aggressor, and thoughtfully sharpened on both sides to allow for a back swing to dispatch a second beast. Clearly, this was designed for a purpose, and that purpose did not involve brush. Frankly, unless you're storming the castle holding Sleeping Beauty, I can't imagine the brush you'd be dealing with that would require such a thing.



Unfortunately, the lone review said that the handle was weaker than it seemed, so you'd probably have to replace it with something sturdier. Nonetheless, I was enthralled, and promptly began an inventory of my yard to find some excuse for such a purchase (as discussed previously, not everyone shares my concern when it comes to undead hordes). Unfortunately, my lovely wife tends to keep things pretty neat, so me efforts were in vain. I had to hesitantly put it back on the shelf, vowing that one day, it will hang on my garage wall. For now, I'll just have to rely on dropping hints in the hopes that I get it as a gift.

Hey, isn't Father's Day coming up here pretty soon?

Another Good Reason Not To Shake Hands

Yesterday, I had one of those moments that always throws me for a loop. I'm in the restroom at work, I'm washing my hands, and I hear a flush. (Yes it's another bathroom post. What do you want from me? Nothing interesting happens when I'm sitting at my desk.) Dude walks out of a stall, looks at himself in the mirror, and tips out the door. He didn't so much as run his hands under the water. He just smiled at himself and then bailed.

Now I'm hardly a neat freak. I'm actually one of those people who believe that we over-encourage hand washing to a fault. I prefer that my kids go ahead and get a little dirty and pick up a few bugs, allowing their bodies to build defenses to those bugs. I sometimes fear that all of our antibacterial soap is doing is breaking down these defenses, allowing some new strain of bug to come along and bam, we've got a pandemic. Zombie apocalypses don't start from nothing, you know.

There are exceptions to this, though (the hand washing thing, not the zombies). Getting ready to prepare food? Wash your hands. Thinking about performing surgery? Wash your hands. Thinking about jamming a camera up my hind end to check for God knows what? Wash everything in the room. Twice. Probably give it a good once over afterward as well.

Well if you haven't figured it out yet, another exception is if you've just used the bathroom in any capacity, but especially if you were there to get some reading done. It's hard to express the horror I felt when I realized that the dude was just going to wander off. I had to resist the urge to cry out in alarm. For the life of me, I wanted to step out of the bathroom, point at him, and let fly with one of those screeches from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, alerting everyone before the perpetrator touched a coffee pot or put his filthy hands into our kitchen utensils.



Of course, I could have just politely suggested that he wash his hands, but my way would have had a more long term effect, don't you think?

Oh Sure, I Could Start a Necklace, But It'll Take Years To Finish

Yesterday morning, the Princess came out of the bathroom announcing loudly that her tooth was really loose. As I've been hearing about her tooth being loose for about two months now, I showed polite interest to keep her happy but expected the same, not-moving tooth I'd been looking at so far. The she opened her little mouth and pushed her tooth with her tongue, and sure enough, the tooth gave.

We've already bought into the whole tooth fairy thing (I don't know where she got it, but she believes it), so now I have a conundrum to face, that being the exchange rate on a tooth. When I was a kid, I think I may have pulled down a quarter for each one. She may very well be satisfied with that, but it seems a bit stingy for some reason. Inflation and all.

I tried to get more information, but to no avail. Instead I got a creepy history of the fable's origins. One day I'm going to learn not to look this stuff up. The highlights were the feeding of baby teeth to rats and mice for two reasons - to keep them from witches (obviously) and because the adult teeth would grow in like those of the animal that ate them (I guess they were shooting for yellow and pointy - I would've gone with a shark, but whatever). Anyway, apparently in France they got themselves a tooth mouse, and at some point someone wrote a story about a fairy turned into a mouse that involved teeth somehow and...well, eventually we get a tooth fairy. Once in a while, it boggles my mind that all of this stuff we do mostly stems from weird superstition. At the same time, my mind is boggled by cheese food in a spray can, so maybe that's not saying much.

Either way, I was left without a definitive source as to the proper amount of cash to slip under a pillow. I've always enjoyed the elegance of a coin, so I'm thinking maybe a dollar coin will fit the bill. I'll naturally have to confer with my lovely wife to determine the final course of action (or leave it up to her, thus washing my hands of the responsibility). Of course this does nothing to solve the other problem.

What the &#%$ am I supposed to do with the tooth I'm about to buy?

As Opposed To Jumping or Being On a Cracker

A brief anecdote today, as I am unbearably busy. The Moose is still pronouncing certain things in the toddler way, which results (much to my amusement) with him seeing advertisements for Chuck E. Cheese's and saying, "Daddy, I see Chuck E Jesus." This is gold every time.

Anyway, the other day the Princess is doing a little dance during dinner. I asked if she was feeling funky, and she replied in the affirmative, saying that she was a funky kid. This naturally led to the Moose, who must mimic her whenever possible, to declare, "And I a funky Jesus."

I'm pretty sure not even George Clinton has claimed that.

It'll Make a Great Story For the Trash Collector, Once He Changes His Pants

There comes a time when, as a parent, some particularly noisy toy is going to be given to your child. Often, the noisiest of these will invariably come without benefit of an off switch or volume control. As such, one occasionally has to make the hard decision to jettison these toys without letting the little ones realize that the toy is gone.

Today was such a day.

Now, this requires a certain amount of planning and decision making, starting with how high profile the item is. As an example, my daughter received a saxophone once that makes me near insane, but both her and now her brother love it so that I've actually had to repair it when it broke from typical playtime abuse. There's no way I could safely get rid of this, instead having to be satisfied with the fact that the giver is preparing for their first baby, and Uncle Roger can't wait to start preparing the little lady for a future as a musician. Today, the item was a pair of talking eggs from an Easter basket (sorry, Grandma, but we don't want daddy on top of a tower with a sniper rifle) which, while immediately the favorite of both kids, were easily slipped out of view.

This brings me to part two of the process, which is the testing phase. During the testing phase, you remove the offending item to a secure location to see how badly it's going to be missed. On more that one occasion I've attempted this only to learn quickly that the toy in question was far more dear than I had previously gathered. The testing phase prevents you from having to lie to your kids ("Huh, I guess I accidentally threw it out.") and then buying a replacement, adding insult to injury as you pay to replace this scourge on your peace and quiet.

Once enough time has passed that you are reasonable sure you're in the clear, you can finally make the big move and transport the item to the trash. Do not, I repeat DO NOT put it in the garbage can inside your home. The toy will invariably get bumped at an inopportune moment, thus alerting the kids and once again forcing you to either fib or simply fess up and try to bargain with the child to allow the disposal to go forth (not bloody likely). Instead, transport the toy directly to the bin outside (or your car trunk for those worthy of donation), thus greatly reducing the chance of being busted in this manner.

Follow these rules, and you too can remove those pesky noisemakers from your home without drawing the ire of your offspring. Like me this morning, you can put out your trash bins for pickup secure in the knowledge that no longer will you have to suffer the headaches that come from whatever talking, singing, blaring, honking cacaophany that was created from that small bit of plastic and wires. You can be satisfied that your children will go on unaware of this maneuver, and thus a peace, albeit momentary, may be achieved in your happy household.

Of course in hindsight, I suppose I should have taken the batteries out first, but hey, how much trouble could come from the garbage men picking up the bin and hearing the easter eggs from within it say in a child's voice, "Hello? Can anyone hear me? Let me out. Let me out."?

Of Course, If Wearing a Fez Is Involved, I'm In

Can someone explain to me what the hell goes on in "lodges"? It seems like every town I live in has a couple of these things, and I never know what they're for. I can't recall ever seeing anyone going into or coming out of one, so all I've got to go on is their reader boards boasting some band playing or spaghetti dinner. This is not much to go on.

I started rooting aroung, and their websites aren't adding a lot of information. Apparently, they do things, and they represent other...things. Here, let me give you an example. This is the mission statement from the Fraternal Order of Eagles website (which may have the most Bond-villianesque URL ever):

The Fraternal Order of Eagles, an international non-profit organization, unites fraternally in the spirit of liberty, truth, justice, and equality, to make human life more desirable by lessening its ills, and by promoting peace, prosperity, gladness and hope.

Huh. So they are...fraternal. Oh, and they enjoy truth, justice, liberty, equality, and seem to dislike...ills I guess. Okay. So that means that they...I mean, clearly what they do is...nope, I got nothin'.

So I figure maybe the problem is that I'm looking at the wrong lodge. I mean, sure the Eagles had a hut near my old apartment, but it's not like I've heard any conspiracy theories about them. I decided to set my site on a bigger target and see what I could learn about the Masons.

Having looked up the Grand Lodge of Michigan and found just as mysterious a vision statement (it's like the other one, with a shout out to God), I decided to check them out in WikiPedia. If I'm reading it correctly, it's basically a group of people (menfolk, specifically) who have come together and follow a bunch of rules because...well, they just do. I'm sure there's more to it, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what. It's almost like a bunch of guys were sitting around one day and said, "You know, I enjoy church and all, but there just aren't enough rules for me to follow. I wish I had a place where I could gather with other men and come up with a bunch of policies that others would have to follow if they wanted to join us. We could make them go through an elaborate initiation ceremony and everything. Who's with me?"

Seems like a lot to go through for a little bluegrass and "All-you-can-eat Fish Fry" night, but hey, who am I to judge, right?

Someplace To Sit and Think While Plotting and Laughing Maniacally

We're talking about replacing our patio with something that's less...falling apart I guess. Our current patio is a homebrew not of our making, and while I like the style (big, flat stones), in its current form it's an ususable hazard. As such, we've talked to at least one person about suggestions for replacing it, and he said that what I should do is take out a couple of stones and start digging to see how far down the construction-type filler used to hold the stones in place goes to see if I could just rebuild it correctly. Then my lovely wife pointed out that during a previous discussion with a neighbor, it was revealed that there was once a concrete patio, and that there is a chance that the concrete one is still under there.

Unfortunately, these things got into my brain, as things tend to do, and I started wondering what else I might find as I dig this thing out. I've come up with the following list of things I hope I find when I start digging out my current patio:

• A dinosaur skeleton (those things sell for plenty)


• Aincient ruins (preferrably with a throne room, as I'm having trouble convincing my lovely wife that I need to add one onto the house)


• The Ark of the Covenant (I promise I won't open it)


• A missile silo (hopefully without deep crows)


• A nice underground lair that includes a fully outfitted laboratory (see throne room explanation above)


• A treasure chest full of swag (no swag means no grog, and we're getting...well, you know the rest)

Similarly, I've been forced to consider things I'd rather not find:

• That they only moved the headstones. THEY ONLY MOVED THE HEADSTONES!


• Oil (I don't need anyone invading my yard on a "peace keeping mission", thank you very much)


• Cheese


• That we have a backup septic system


• An underground entrance to anything not mentioned above (I simply don't have time for adventuring right now)


• An actual concrete patio that would have to be destroyed and removed

So there you have it. I know that the most likely scenario is that what I find will lead to the loss of more money, time, and effort on my part, but hey, you can't blame a guy for hoping. Maybe I'll let you know when I'm going to do it so you can combine your powers of hope to help me find what I want.

Come on underground lair!

I Should Really Charge For This Advice

Last weekend we did the long drive to and from the in-laws to celebrate Mother's Day. As my lovely wife has discovered the joy of gaming on the iPhone, a habit I encourage (anything to bring her back into the fold), I had some quiet time to think, which is typically not a good thing in my case as my mind is a dangerous place to wander alone. Anyway, while looking for things to distract me from the quiet and occasional cursing from my wife having issues with grenades or something, I saw one of my favorite logos on the side of a semi-truck, that of the Sherwin Williams people.



I'm all for tradition, and I understand that after 100 years, it's hard to consider rebranding (the current logo was, according to their site, creating in the late 1800s). Nonetheless, this...this doesn't jive with the current tree hugging, hippy vibe the country, nay the world, is currently embracing. In fact, I think this is possibly the least environmentally friendly marketing I've seen since the ill-fated Hummer campaign last year ("Sure the worlds running out of oil, but by then you'll be dead anyway. %#$@ the future." Wow that a bad idea.)

My complaint isn't even the slogan "Paint the World" (although that could use some work for sure). No, it's this image. I mean, we've all had it drilled into our heads that pollution is bad. A lot of us equate pollution with horrible stories of large corporations dumping chemicals into waterways, leading to frogs with extra limbs or rivers catching afire. Clearly, you guys are aware of these concerns, but I think it's time to finally commit and roll out a new logo. That or go ahead and come up with a slogan that matches the current image.

Might I suggest the one that comes into my head each time I see this: "Sherwin Williams - Buy our paint or we'll drown your world in a crimson bath of despair."?

Why I Forgot Your Birthday

This weekend, I went through something I can only describe as...disturbing. See, I'm the father of a six year old girl. As a result, I am frequently bombarded by a barrage of images arranged by the good people at Disney. Ordinarily, this isn't a big deal, but there is a new show that she's been particularly excited about, as have her little friends at school, so to be a supportive father I've been watching it with her, which led to the aforementioned disturbance.

Saturday night, I had a dream about the Jonas Brothers.

It wasn't anything freaky or dirty (which, for legal reasons, I would claim for two out of three of them whether it were true or not, but realistically, if it were dirty, I assure you I would never speak of it in the first place), they were simply present. I understand, however, the implications of such a thing. When I dream and it's not a nightmare, that means that my brain is organizing things that I see and do in an effort to arrange them for long term storage. That means that the Brothers Joni are potentially now part of my brain in the long term.

Now I don't dislike them or anything. I mean, of the Disney rot that I sit through, they are so far one of the least offensive. They don't include a laugh track, which is a tremendously bold move. They don't seem to take themselves seriously, which is always a plus with me. Most of all, while they are far from actually achieving it, I think they may have the potential to channel the Monkees, which would be a total win for those of us stuck watching it on a Saturday night with our offspring.

This does not give them permission, however, to set up permanent residence in my already cramped cranium. I have potentially just lost one of the few childhood memories I have left, or maybe something really important like my anniversary date (checking...checking...no, that seems intact) for three troubadours. What's really scary is that I will probably never know what tidbit of information my brain felt was expendable to make room for Nick, Joe and Kevin. See! Right there! Why do I know their first names? I don't need to know that. We are not, nor do I believe we ever will be, on a first name basis with each other.

No matter how dreamy they think I am.

Off To The Great Expansion Pack In The Sky

Today, we gather to mourn the passing of a hero. A man who fought tirelessly to rid the world of mad scientists and invading aliens through any means necessary, pausing only to release an infected individual, pass a few dollars to an unfortunate working girl, and maybe wipe his shoe. A man who, despite years of efforts, could not successfully be saved.

Today, we celebrate the life of Duke Nukem.

Duke's rise to fame began in 1991. Back then, Nukem worked with the CIA to stop a robotic army. While he proved to be an efficient asset, he was accused of being a little too serious. There were even those who suggested he was a bit two-dimensional. Still, he served well, saving the world on two separate occasions.



Despite his works, he lived in relative obscurity until 1996, when an alien invasion caused him to take up arms again. This time, his flamboyance, use of unusual technology, misogynistic tendencies and blatant theft of various catchphrases caused knowledge of his works to skyrocket. All over the world, people would sit at their computers watching him fly around with his jet pack, destroying the alien horde (and much of the scenery) in ways that had not been seen before. Unlike so many heroes of the time, he could look to the sky. No seriously - the others couldn't look up.



Left broken after the alien invasion (not to mention several expansion packs), Duke retired. Still, rumors of his return circulated. Near constant reports surface of his being rebuilt, faster, stronger, better. Images would find their way on the internet. Even video footage could be found that suggested that Duke was preparing for a future war of some kind. As years passed, however, many lost hope that Duke would return.



Now we know the truth: any hopes of Duke's return have been laid to rest. And so today we gather to celebrate the life of a man who worked tirelessly to defend the human race, only to disappear into a world of rumor and speculation. Hopefully, we can all learn from his life. Take the lessons that he laid out for us. Don't try to run through a room of aliens after you've been shrunk. Try not to step in alien doo-doo. Using all the good lines from other peoples works is a surprisingly effective way to endear yourself to the public.

But mostly, don't start promising the world a %#$@ing awesome game until you thing that there is a chance in hell that you might actually get around to coding and releasing said awesome game.

Now If You Could Get a Tiny Ascot and Pipe, Well That Would Be Different

Recently, I had occasion to be hanging around the old Babies R Us, which frankly is not my favorite place. I love babies, so that's not the part that bothers me. Rather, it's that when I'm in the place, it's because my lovely wife is looking for something for someone else, so I'm typically pushing the Moose around in a cart trying to keep him entertained. Between this and the fact that, unlike Toys R Us, Babies R Us doesn't really have any toys I want to play with, it gets old quick.

A few years ago, when I was preparing for the coming of the Princess, I noted that some of the baby products were...how do I put this? Silly and extravagant. Let me give you an example. There were wipe warmers. They do exactly what you might think. They warm wipes. I'm not sure how many complaints people were getting from infants, but I felt this was a bit much. Besides, you don't really want to make the whole diaper changing thing too pleasant, lest the little tot decide to continue producing output in this manner instead of learning to use the potty. In fact, I may very well throw our wipes in the fridge when I get home.

Another one that drives me nuts are all the little things people buy because they're cute. Example - the tiny bathrobe. Yes, it's adorable. Yes, you'll probably score one really cute picture of the baby all wrapped up in it. And yes, you're spending twenty dollars on something the kid will grow out of in about four months. Let me tell you, when you get to the hundredth well-baby visit, you're gonna wish you had that twenty bucks back, cute picture or not.

Anyway, I thought those were silly, but what I saw last weekend beat them by a mile. They now have an spa and shower bathtub for infants, complete with whirlpool action. I know that they say that you're supposed to spoil babies, and I agree, but come on people. The baby isn't really going to benefit from a whirlpool. As I recall, baby bath time mostly revolved around quickly washing the little thing up before they could make in the tub. When the baby does add a little something to the water (and they will) I'm thinking I'd prefer not having the "motorized jet" stirring things up.

This is similar to my reasoning behind being a smidge uncomfortable with public hot tubs now that I think about it, but we can talk about that another time.

Taste the Nightlife

As we all know, I have an issue with snack foods. Specifically, Doritos, and their habit of rolling out freaky flavors. My unnatural interest in such things has led to me getting burned before, so I've at least learned to stop trying them (well, usually anyway). Still, their marketing carries on, and their new attempts at catching the eyes of America has my attention: Doritos Late Night.

Currently, the sub-brand sports only two flavors: "Tacos at Midnight" and "Last Call Jalapeno Poppers". At first I wasn't sure what the target demographic is for these things, as people who actually go out late at night have access to real tacos at midnight and jalapeno poppers. I figure, maybe they're trying to lure in the underage crowd with the mystique of late night shenanigans, but as usual they have been far too tame in their endeavors. It is for this reason that I offer the good people at Frito Lay some additional late night flavor suggestions that they should consider adding to their roster:

Warm Beer and Cigarette (speaks to why the experienced drinker either never puts down his bottle or simply drinks from a glass)

Doritos (it's kind of a meta thing - very high concept)

Bourbon and Disappointment

Denny's Breakfast

Regret (I'm thinking this would be a fruity, girl drink flavor, not unlike Quest Doritos, which is the flavor I most associate with regret)

Donut

Bathroom Floor (really a morning after flavor, but it kind of fits the theme)

White Castle Sliders

Six-Dollar Cola (this may also be the first time a snack chip could incorporate glitter into a flavor)

Strange Flesh (oh it's edgy, but make no mistake, this will sell more than any snack product that has come before it)

Yeah, that ought to bring in the kids.

I'd Have Prefferred To Hear About His Truck

As I may have mentioned before, I'm no fan of country music. I can listen to it and recognize the talent of the people involved, it's just not my bag. Like my inability to grasp the idea that anyone would purposely watch people turning left for over three hours straight, the allure of it somehow just escapes me. I can't really explain it better than that.

Anyway, there are rare occasions where I will allow it to continue, one of those occasions being when the music is part of A Prairie Home Companion, the radio show that I listen to when I can on the weekends. For some reason, if it's good enough for Garrison Keiller, I'll tolerate it long enough to get to the news from Lake Wobegon or the adventures of Guy Noir. It was such an occasion this weekend, as I drove alone to return my daughter's overdue library book.

Now before I continue, you have to understand my state of mind at that moment. See, I've been sick (again), and between the latest antibiotic and Sudafed, I had basically not slept nearly enough in about a week. So I was exhausted, and as such perhaps a smidgen overemotional.

So Garrison introduces this Brad Paisley guy, and not being part of the country scene, I don't really know what to expect. The guy breaks into a tune about how he's having a baby boy, and all the things that are going to happen if the kid is like him. I think I may have made it up to the point where the kid gives his mom a hug and shakes his dad's hand as he's leaving home before I was fully blubbering like an idiot. To make matters worse, I was driving through our little town on a Saturday night, so there were throngs of people along the streets. Okay, maybe like half a throng (it's a pretty small town), but you get the idea.

This is not the first time I've fallen for this. One thing I will say about the small amount of country music that I've listened to is that the subject matter is very...human. It's not all love songs, or music raging against the machine. It's just about people being people. Maybe that's one of the reasons I don't listen to it. I get plenty of people being people in real life.

When I'm looking for entertainment, I want songs about people being evil geniuses.

Of Course, Things Would Be Different If Lincoln Had Ever Fought Wolverine

Today, the Wolverine movie is released. I would love to see it, as for some reason I seem to be capable of suspending my disbelief and enjoying the Marvel movies in ways that no longer seem to apply to standard action movies (I think I may have a crush on Hugh Jackman, but in a manly way). I probably won't for a while, but I would like to.

What has surprised me most about the new movie is that, while I'm familiar with the topic of nerd rage, this movie has really brought out the beast in some people over a character that, quite frankly, I had never heard of before. See, the movie brings in one of my favorites, Ryan Reynolds as an early incarnation of a character called Deadpool. Not being a big comic book guy, I hit the WikiPedia entry (which, as a testament to the combined power of the internet and geeks is nearly as long as the one for Abraham Lincoln) to read his origin story, which is apparently altered in the new film, much to the chagrin of Deadpool fans. I like the idea of a character that's a little crazy, and exhibits his insanity by occasionally being aware of the fact that he's in a comic. It's a risible construct, and I'm sure if I was a regular comic reader, this is the sort of thing that would hook me.

Anyway, I read his origin story as part of the entry, and I realized something that can be difficult for those who become fans of such things (myself included). See, we get into a story, involve ourselves with a character, and then just flow through the rest. Sometimes, I think this leaves us a little blind to certain things. His story (which you can go read if your really interested) is very involved and detailed, would take a ton of time to cover in any other format, and...well, I'm not sure how to say this.

It's a little silly.

Now I realize that I've opened myself up for fanboy attack, and if I could get a set of trade paperbacks and actually read the story in its original form I probably would feel differently. The thing people have to realize is that when these big, sweeping comic arcs are condensed down into a couple of paragraphs on the internet (or a couple of hours on screen), they lose a lot of what made them great in the first place. It's like me trying to explain Buffy the Vampire Slayer to someone - without the wit, characters, or dialog, it just kind of sounds silly. So when someone comes along and desecrates your memories in the name of a film, it's not necessarily disrespect to the character. It's just that when moving to a new medium, some of the details have to change to make it accessible to those who would not otherwise get into it. On the bright side, maybe some of those people, like myself, will take enough interest to start looking up who these characters are, and eventually share the pleasure that you yourself took in the original work.

If it makes any of you feel better, given the way my time works I'm way more likely to read said paperbacks than I am to get to a movie any time soon. As such, I will actually be in your shoes, viewing the movie through the eyes of someone who has read the source material. If, at that time, I find myself in your place, disgusted at the treatment of the character, I will embrace my inner nerd, and together we will rage. I promise to write up a post chastising everything that anyone involved with the movie has done before or since.

Well, all except for Jackman, who simultaneously seems really nice while being able to kick my ass all over the place. I think we'll leave him out of it.