DLOG Presents: Parent Resources For Buying Video Games

Unless your Amish, it's pretty much a given that your children are going to be playing video games, and as a responsible parent you're going to want to make sure you're protecting their fragile little minds from potentially harmful content. Many parents are intimidated by this, what with not knowing much about games and the constant stream of doucheba...concerned individuals touting the dangers of video game playing. Fortunately, there are many fine resources available to you.

First and foremost, we have the Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB) rating system. These simple to use ratings allow a parent to, at a glance, figure out what games are appropriate for their children's age groups. Amazingly, many parents fail to even check the rating. These are the same parents who get all indignant when they discover little Bobby sitting at his Xbox shooting up a city before settling in for some hot, simulated sexiness. The irony here: little Bobby knows exactly how to use the rating system. Why do you think he chose the game in the first place?



Once you have familiarized yourself with the rating system, you may want to know more about these video games. For this, I might suggest turning to online sources such as Kotaku. These sites offer in depth reviews of the games, allowing you to not only judge which games are appropriate, but more importantly, which ones are going to suck. Let's face it, little Bobby, despite being eight now, still hasn't gotten off his lazy ass and gotten a job yet, so it's your hard earned cash he's spending on these games. Make those dollars count.

In addition to the ratings offered on these sites, often you can find articles that explore some of the more...interesting features of upcoming games in depth. Need to know just how graphic it will be when a Predator rips a space Marine's head off? They've got the screen shots. Weren't aware of the glitch in the game that allows the main character to walk around in the nude? Yeah, there's a whole video of that. (NSFW, duh.) That last one is especially useful, as it's not intentionally part of the game, so the ESRB may not have counted it in the rating. Best to watch it three or four times, just to make sure you took it all in.

Finally, if you really want to know what you're kids are playing and how it may affect them, you have to play the games yourself. I know, it's hard, but if you make yourself do it, I think you'll find you're the better parent for it. I myself have committed to buying a DSi XL only because my daughter has a DS, and really it's just irresponsible of me to not verify the content of the games that she might play. It's for that same reason I got the PSP. You never know when she might accidentally stumble across God of War, and I now have the experience necessary to sit down with her and explain that sometimes, it's okay to rip off a harpies wings and beat her to death with them, but it's still wrong to hit other kids on the playground.

Really, don't you wish you could you say the same?

Okay, The Title Needs Work, But You Get The Idea

Well, it's Valentines season, and as anyone with school age-children knows, there is a long-standing policy among schools that a card must be brought in for every other kid in the class, regardless of gender or likability. I was sure that this practice would be put to an end during the conservative majority of the Oughts, what with it clearly indoctrinating schoolchildren with "the gay". Alas, I was wrong, and each child still gets a card, ensuring that no fat kid is left with an empty Valentines bag at the end of the day.*

But people who believe in a solid social hierarchy should fear not, for the card industry has taken you into consideration. See, out of every box of Valentines, there are levels. Most of the cards are smallish, maybe 2x3 inches. These are the ones you give to the people you're forced to give cards to, like that dude who sits in the corner and smells his fingers all day.**

Then there's the second tier card. Typically these are a little bigger, maybe by an inch or so in one of the dimensions. These are set aside for acquaintances - the kids who you liked okay, but wouldn't necessarily invite to your birthday parties if there were a limited number of seats.***

Finally, you have the premium card. It's still got the Jonas Brothers on it (or at least the ones the Princess picked out for the girls do, apparently feeling that their body of work fails to speak to the males of the group), but it's almost twice as big as the smallest ones. You're no longer getting just one Jonas, but the full Jonas trifecta. These you keep for genuine friends, or, in the case of the older kids, someone you like. As in like like. I think you know what I'm saying.****



So there you have it. As always, we find a way to make sure that those individuals who should be marginalized will be, thus maintaining the natural balance of society. The popular kids know they're popular, and the other kids know that the popular kids are popular too.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to work on a childrens book I'm writing, The Firefly That Burned So Brightly That He Ended Up A Fat, Balding, Worn-Out Husk By The Time He Was In His Mid-Twenties.

*To be honest, I preferred the bag that way anyway. It was lighter and easier to carry.

**Seriously, I washed my hands all the time. I was just trying to figure out what that smell was.

***Which I was totally understanding about, although I didn't really think it was necessary to point out that I would be taking up two seats.

****I have no idea what am I saying.

Oh, I'm Sensitive Alright. I'm Sensitive Like a Broad.

Warning: the following post is about potentially offensive slurs, and will thus contain language that some might object to. Nothing really bad like %#@$ or "adjustable rate mortgage", but still, you've been warned.

Driving the kids into school, I made some offhand comment that somehow involved midgets, which unfortunately led to my daughter asking me all sorts of midget-based questions. I did my best to answer them, but had to eventually press home the point that I wasn't sure if the term "midget" is considered offensive to...well, midgets. I recommended shying away from it until I could do more research (presumably involving finding one, calling them a midget, and seeing if they proceed to kick my shins).

I'm uncomfortable with situations like this. I'm rarely the most politically correct person in the room, but I try to be somewhat sensitive to the feelings of others. I almost never say things like "Great googly moogly, what's wrong with your face?" anymore. Still, there are cases where I feel that people go out of their way to be offended by something.

I'll give you an example. I'm a programmer. I like monkeys. Also, I like Fritos and Mountain Dew. Guess what the proper term for an individual such as myself is.

Obviously, "code monkey".



I've been told that I should shy away from this term at my workplace though because someone from another country is offended by it. Apparently, wherever they come from, referring to a person as a monkey is incredibly offensive. Well...okay, but we're not there right now and I'm not using it that way, so I'm thinking maybe it's time to let that one go. Frankly, I don't think much of any place that villainizes monkeys, so I get why they left in the first place.

Insensitive of me? Perhaps, but really, if we gather all of the things everyone ever got offended by and decided not to use those words anymore, we'd be left with a language composed of "the" and "rutabaga". Maybe "noodle", but I wouldn't count on it.

Still, I see the other side of it. I've actually had conversations with people online that are completely convinced that it's not considered offensive to call someone "faggot" so long as it's in the context of an online video game. They told me that the word had been adopted by gamers, who had changed the meaning to "not a good player", so there was no reason for gays to be offended by it.



In my head all I could hear were the words of my son: "Yeah, but no". The word was adopted by gamers for the very reason that one would assume, and any supposed change in meaning is rendered moot by the fact that the word is still constantly used, within our society, as an offensive slur. So long as the that douchebag Rev. Phelps and his ilk are on this planet (and remain closeted - wink wink, nudge nudge), the argument is simply unacceptable.

So what do I take from all of this? I guess that offensiveness of a word is a strangely subjective thing, based on current culture as well as context. Also, people are far more likely to consider a word no longer offensive if they were never part of the offended group to begin with. Still, it doesn't do much for the whole "midget" conundrum, so I should probably use a substitute expression for now.

I guess "Shorty McTinybritches" will do for now.

No Need To Get All Snippy Now

Circumcisions are interesting things when you think about it. It has for a long time now been a standard practice in the USA, and yet it doesn't make a ton of sense to me. As far as I can tell, the primary argument in favor of it (outside of religious practices) is that it's more sanitary, as the cut version is supposedly easier to clean that the alternative.



Now, maybe it's me, but I'm reasonably sure that if you were to approach an adult male and offer to cut off a part of his junk so he doesn't have to wash as well, he will politely decline (and by 'politely decline', I mean he will grasp himself protectively and then either flee whimpering or beat you soundly). I mean, we don't do this for other body parts, so why this? Are we that uncomfortable as a society with sitting our sons down and explaining to them the proper application of soap to ones dangly bits?

Maybe we should extend this practice. Perhaps our mistake is not the medically acceptable mutilation of our children, but rather not taking it far enough. I was, for example, occasionally reprimanded for not properly washing behind my ears as a child. You know what would have made that totally easier? Not having ears in the way. I bet you get way less ear infection that way too.

You know what else we could eliminate this way? Underwear streaking. Seriously, you know what the primary issue is with coming clean after making a major transaction in the restroom? No, it's not whether you do your cleanup standing or sitting (another mind-blowing topic altogether). It's your butt cheeks all getting in the way of your business.

Simple solution? Total butt cheek removal. Believe me, I know better than most the usefulness of the human butt cheeks, so I don't make this suggestion lightly. Still, think about how sanitary things would be. Why, we could see the total elimination of hemorrhoids in a single generation.

Now obviously I'm being slightly sarcastic. I would never actually condone the removal of the human butt cheek, if for no other reason than it would create a world where flatulence would lose it's musical qualities and the SBD would become the norm. Rather, I'm trying to point out that maybe it's okay to question some of these things people seem to take for granted, like automatically taking the comb off your son's rooster being a good idea.

Frankly, I'm just glad I'm a man and feel comfortable discussing this with you fine people - women's health issues are not only way more complicated, but I know far fewer euphemisms I can use for female anatomy and still maintian a PG-13 website.

Gah...Okay In Your Case, Science And A Miracle

Yesterday, despite my severe mallstrophobia, I forged into our local mall to take the kids to see Santa, or as the princess referred to him "some guy in a costume" (she humored us for the sake of her little brother). My choice in parking spots left something lacking, not because I feel the need to avoid walking, but because I had to pass directly through the perfume and cosmetics section of a department store to get to where I was going. This is hard for me because I have asthma, and I find that air thick with sixty-three different kinds of perfume makes it kind of hard for me to breathe. Go figure.



Anyway, through eyes blurry with tears cause by the fumes, I noticed my new favorite part of the cosmetics section: the lab coat. I'm not exactly what they're trying to achieve with this, but it seems that certain employees shilling cosmetics have moved beyond mere counter clerks to something more clinical as judged by the long, white coats they wear behind the counter. All I can think of is some mad man telling a lady, "Yes, we can make you look beautiful, but not through normal means. This...this requires SCIENCE!".


The Perils of Modern Science by Travis Pitts

I'm thinking someone might be offended, but hey, it's not my job for a reason, right?

I Know A Certain Little Girl Who's Getting "Baby's First Bagpipes" This Year

Some of you out there will be charged with purchasing toys for children, so I thought I'd pass along a couple of helpful pieces of information. First, when you're shopping for a child who you will be around frequently, like your own, make sure to hunt down an open package for any toy you are seriously considering at the toy store. Once you find the open package, take the smallest piece out of the package, remove your shoe, and put your full weight unto that toy part. If the resulting pain from embedding...oh, I don't know...perhaps Princess Barbie's %#$@ing crown into your foot causes you to do more than slightly wince in pain, perhaps reconsider that particular toy.

My second bit of advice is to check for volume control. Many toys talk, produce sound effects, or play music at incredibly loud volumes. When considering one of these toys, make sure that it has both the ability to be turned down and the ability to be turned off. Failure to do so will result in what will inevitably be your child's favorite toy, which he or she will follow you around the house with, pushing the buttons over and over and over again until the very first electronic notes find you longing for the sweet release that death will bring. If the toy you are considering lacks these controls, it could still be a worthwhile purchase, but only for a niece or nephew, perhaps in retaliation for a certain sibling who insisted on sticking their feet in the popcorn bowl every movie night to ensure that he or she did not have to share.

Not...not that I would do such a thing, but not everyone is as forgiving as myself.

Oh, And The Memories.

Tomorrow, I will be enjoying an obscene amount of food with my family, and I think it's only fitting to take a moment here to list some of the things I am thankful for this Thanksgiving:

• Enjoying an obscene amount of food with my family


• No zombie apocalypse - yet (stay on guard, people)


• I still haven't had a disease named after me


• My entire family remains both healthy and stunningly attractive


• Three kind of pie on one table, or as I like to call it, the pie-fecta


• A promising new Star Trek franchise, which recently came out on Blu-Ray which I'm sure someone will get me for Christmas (subtle, no?)


• Facebook allowing me to keep track of old friends


• Fart jokes (and by association, Wondermark)


• I have a job and it doesn't involve wearing a tie, getting shot at, or handling anyone's bodily fluids


• The weirdness that is Halforums, and our fearless leader Dave


• I've never been the subject of a conversation that started with "Jesus, what's that smell?"


• Sweet, delicious, life-giving coffee remains the universally free beverage


• Tofurkey - no, two Tofurkeys



• Portable electronics that allow me to play video games while I'm waiting to vote


• Monkeys


• An amazing wife who is beautiful, smart, funny, and completely disinterested in the Twilight franchise (And yet can appreciate Buffy the Vampire Slayer - truly, I am blessed)

I'm sure there's lots more, but I've got food to fantasize about. Happy Thanksgiving, folks!

It Felt Like Success, But It's Snot

This morning, I had agreed to go into the Princess's school to discuss her weekly work sheet with her teacher, as not all items had been marked as completed and she had insisted they were done. I went in and discussed it with her teacher, who responded as I had expected - she had been out sick for four days, returning just in time for the Halloween festivities. As such, she was a little discombobulated, and some things had slipped through the cracks. (Side note: I've never considered that, for teachers, being sick means you have some other person working in your space, moving your things about and manhandling your personal effects. I would not abide by this. One more reason the programming gig is a good one.)

Anyway, I played the role of the good parent as best I can. I was charming and attentive, showing support for my daughter and understanding for the teacher's situation. When I walked back to my car, I was all puffed up, as I often am when I successfully interact with one of my daughter's teachers or friends (or anyone else in real life, for that matter). I got into my car all happy with myself, kicked on the radio, and looked into the rear-view mirror to check for cars and/or short people behind me, which is when I noticed it.

You know, there's nothing that sucks the confidence out of a person like that moment when you have to ask yourself just how long you've had that big, honking booger hanging out of your nose.

DLOG Presents: Halloween Safety Tips

Once again, we come upon the time of year where we all encourage our kids to take candy from strangers, which would be viewed as hypocritical if there weren't potential Reese's peanut butter cups at stake. As the ever dutiful watcher over the denizens of the internet who wander through here, I offer the following helpful hints for keeping your kids safe this Halloween:

• Make sure your kids know that they need to let you inspect their candy before they eat any of it. Follow through on this. Personally, I go so far as to take a small bite of each piece of candy, just to make sure it is safe, but not all parents are as dedicated to safety as I am.


• If you see a zombie, and there isn't a discreet way to check it's pulse, take it out. Better safe than eaten.


• Kids walking streets in the dark make for unsafe conditions. Some suggest having costumes include neon colors or reflective strips. Of course, this will ruin their costumes, and possibly their social lives as well once the other kids see how their costume now sucks. Is one night of safety really worth that risk?


• Some people give out healthy treats on Halloween, like pennies or toothbrushes. Remind your kids to change into darker clothing and avoid roads when they go back to throw eggs and toilet paper at those houses.


• If you see a pet dressed up on Halloween, remind your kids to stay far away. Most pets are just waiting for an excuse to kill you. Putting a Yoda costume on one is like handing Jeffrey Dahmer a blunt object and a bottle of steak sauce.


• Your kids may become frightened by the scary costumes they see, making them prone to running away unsafely. To help alleviate this, find a couple of kids in really scary costumes, and show your children how easy it is to knock them down and take their candy.


• Some people will encourage you to feed your kids a big meal before trick or treating so the kids won't fill up on candy afterward. These people hate children. Besides, what's so healthy about eating a five-month-old Snickers bar that you've been saving since Halloween?


• Remember that kids are impressionable, and some may get into their costume a little too much. Remind them that just because they are dressed as a monster or a superhero, it doesn't mean they have those powers. Use a painful personal memory if possible to bring the story home, like my ill-fated invisible man costume. (In my defense, and this came up at the trial for indecent exposure, a lot of the people in that mall were acting like they couldn't see me at all.)

Have a safe and happy Halloween, Internet!

It Was a Three-Year-Old's "Barbaric Yawp"

Yesterday, the Moose was acting up at the dinner table. As a result, I put him in time out. As he was already in a dinner chair, all I did was pulled the chair away from the table where he couldn't reach anything, so he ended up sitting behind me. As he railed against his being in time out, he showed his dissatisfaction by taking off one of his socks and throwing it at the back of my head.

For me, the hardest part of being a parent is being an authority figure, which means when things like this happen, I have to hide the fact that I'm giggling like an idiot.

In My Mind, Jeff Corwin Was Narrating It. It Was Awesome.

Saturday, I found myself running to my local grocery store. This is not unusual for me, however this particular trip was marked with an unfortunate occurrence. You see, once again a troop of Boy Scouts had set up shop outside of the exit, attempting to accost passer-bys and force unto them overpriced tins of popcorn.

I do not abide by this.

It's not that I begrudge the scouts their mission, whatever that may be. I was a boy scout myself for all of three or four weeks. As I recall, we were given a bag of loose art supplies (an egg carton, pipe cleaners, that sort of thing) and told that we would be competing for best creation. I turned up later with a little puppet guy, not exactly competition for the scale model race car, complete with tailpipes and headlights, that won. I recall how proudly the father looked upon his son's prize, a moment that made a lot more sense when my own father explained that they guy had made the thing himself. As I didn't feel like competing with adults, and my own father lacked the artistic talents to assist me, I called that off toot sweet.

Still, good for the ones that carry on, but they have fallen under the umbrella of fund raisers that, frankly, suck. I'm sure it eats away at them, the way their female counterparts have built a global empire on mediocre cookies that get treated like manna from Heaven because they keep them from us for the better part of a year. (Of course, I make an exception for Carmel Delites, which I'm pretty sure are, if not actually from Heaven, at least from a dimension of delicious, fattening goodness that our puny minds cannot fully comprehend.) While the Girl Scouts are buying private islands and building vast, pony-filled fortresses on their cookie money, these shmoes are trying to convince me that if it's for a good cause, I should be happy to pay $22 for a tin of cheesy popcorn that is undoubtedly no better than the 99 cent bag of the same product I just walked by in the store. Not happenin', junior.

Still, at least these kids have a physical product. The ones that really slay me are the kids who show up at my doorstep with a %#$@ing catalog, hoping that I will leaf through it and place an order. I remember when these things were done right. I was handed a box of chocolates. Given that my parents were not the type to sell them to their office mates, I would sell three or four of them to my neighbors, eat about fifteen of them, and return the rest. Easy peasy. I don't mind picking up a bag of M&Ms for a good cause. I am not, however, going to commit to a set of overpriced cookie cutters, pizza pans, or oven mitts. If I need any of that, I hit up Bed, Bath, and Beyond, as opposed to waiting around for the rocket football fund raiser.

Anyway, I played my exit perfectly, having had much practice at dodging the young salesmen. As I was leaving, I took my place behind an older woman, putting her between me and eager scout that awaited us. As she fell to him, I moved past swiftly, not unlike the antelope leaving the weak and the old behind to be preyed upon.

I feel it was a righteous maneuver.

Parenting: A Haiku

Kids sharing bath time
When my daughter says the words,
"Hey, there's poop in here".

I Actually Envy "That Kid Who Farted Each Day During Story Time"

This morning, I faced one of those delicate parenting situations that I dislike. The Princess, having successfully dressed and brushed her teeth and whatnot, finished her morning by brushing her hair. All good so far. Then she tried to put a braid in her hair that involved the hair wrap she got at Disney (the thing where they wrap string around a small patch of hair, add a few beads, and then charge you the price of a small, foreign car for it), with the end result making her hair bunch and gather and basically look like that of a wild woman.

Now she was pretty proud of herself, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but I could not in good conscience let this go. See, as a youth I was left pretty unaware of anything by way of fashion sense. This is bad, but the fact is that my mother, who was responsible for selecting clothing for me, had some questionable habits, really pushed it into weird territory.

First, my mother had this habit of buying painter pants for me. This alone isn't offensive (although I still think it's odd that I didn't actually own a pair of jeans until late middle school). The issue was that she bought them in colors that do not flatter...well anyone. Serously, I wore plaid pants to my first three years of elementary schools. Multiple kinds of plaid. Plurals of plaid. Years later, when I run into people from that town (it's only that we moved that allowed me to achieve a decent social life), they honestly only remember me as "the kid with the plaid pants". Nice.

Now this alone could be overcome assuming that at some point I took up golf, which is the only socially acceptable excuse for plain pants so far as I can tell, but things got worse. See, she bought most of my clothes from the local Goodwill. I'm not sure why she had an obsession for Goodwill, but she did. As a result, I frequently ended up with an odd assortment of clothes that others had gotten rid of. Oh sure, some of them were disposed of because someone had grown out of them, but some were clearly a decision based on something more fashion oriented. Anyway, it resulted in things like me being the only kid I knew in a used, red Micheal Jackson jacket long after there was even a potential for such a thing to be cool.

So yeah, I feel the need to protect my daughter from this kind of thing. It's not that I want her to think that the way you look is the most important thing in the world. At the same time, it's disingenuous to pretend that you're not going to get judged on it by some people, and just working from my own experience, I can tell you the following is true:



Seriously, it's a wonder I didn't get beat up more often than I did.

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."?

Next Time, I'll Just Go With "It's a Smile On a Dog"

The Princess spent the last few nights at her grandma and grandpa's house, and not surprisingly came back talking religion. See, her grandma, like many Americans, practices some flavor of Christianity. I tend towards the agnostic myself. So once in a while I'll find myself in these talks, which I don't shy away from if she feels like discussing it.

It started when I grabbed a couple of the Easter eggs she had colored at their house to throw into my lunch, and she asked me if she had remembered to leave the "church egg". I asked what made an egg a church egg, and she explained that one of the eggs had been decorated with a cross and maybe some other stuff. Then she started talking about how her aunt had been explaining about how Jesus was crucified, and how she listened but knew that "we don't believe in that".

The conversation veered wildly from there on out, her asking questions or making observations, and me explaining things the best I could. I explained that I do believe in part of it, as part of it is historical. Jesus was a dude who showed up, inspired some people, irritated some others, and eventually got executed for making the people in power angry. After a long side discussion on how people back then were a lot more brutal, thus the whole crucifixion thing, we got into identifying where the story of Jesus starts moving between history and (for those who are not religious) mythology.

I explained that, since there isn't anything like evidence of the miracles described, and since nothing like that happens now, I personally have to view those parts with scientific skepticism. She countered with the fact that paintings were done in lieu of photos because they didn't have cameras back then, and that there were paintings of those things - a fine point. I explained that those paintings are mostly interpretations, typically based on the stories in the Bible. This was easy, as she told me about the picture she saw of God and Adam ("Not, like, my uncle Adam. This was another guy." Heh.), and I pointed out that the story is that Adam was the first person ever, and the picture depicts God giving him life, which couldn't have been painted at the time because there was no one else around to paint it.



The conversation wandered to art (I correctly attributed the painting being discussed to Michelangelo and being part of the Sistine Chapel, which given my lousy knowledge of both art and history I'm quite proud of), the nature of artistic license, more about skepticism, discussion of the different religions and how they all have their own mythologies, and finally back to finishing her breakfast so we wouldn't be late. A lot to cover before getting out of our pajamas, really, but I love these conversations, not because I get to indoctrinate my kid with my weird ideas, but because I love to hear what questions she has. I continue to encourage her to find out all she can and think about these things for herself, and she seems to be doing a pretty good job for a six year old.

Besides, it gets me warmed up for the coming weekend and having to explain how we celebrate Spring with the story of the Easter bunny rising from the dead after three days, coming out of his cave, seeing his shadow and then hiding eggs and candy to let us know how many more weeks of winter we'll have. Man, religion is really confusing sometimes.

My New Workout, or Why the Polka Could Be The New Tai Bo

Last night was a rousing success. Well, it was as much of a success as one can hope for anyway. The kids had fun, and that's all I was shooting for.

We arrived at music night, where the Princess took the stage and I perused the playlist, a habit hard learned from years of attending the hometown talent shows (if you do a quick count, you know how many more acts you have to live through, thus helping resist the urge to throw yourself on your sword when there are only two more squarely mediocre singing and dancing acts to go, and yes, if you're prepared then you brought your sword). I saw about six songs, figured I could keep the Moose still for that long. I began to assess how many other parents were alone and having to deal with a toddler-type sibling, hoping to maybe get an idea of how I would play it.

Just me, huh? Very well then.

We listened to three classes of first graders sing a callback type song, suprisingly on key, and then we sang back. I overcame my normal discomfort at singing in public and belted the tune back so my little girl would hear me, no small task for one as self-conscious as myself (I honestly don't sing for anyone but the Moose, and only do that because I know he won't judge me, or at least lacks the articulation to do so verbally). Then they announced the rest of the night would be the kids teaching us dances, I looked at the Moose, barely sitting still on my lap, and I knew what I had to do.

The only problem was that yesterday I made a normally good decision that turned out to be a bad decision. I decided that I would workout despite really not wanting to. At lunch, I went down to our little gym at work, and I lifted weights. At no point during that process did I stop to think to myself, "Hey, I wonder if during the Princess's music night I'm going to end up carrying a thirty pound toddler in one arm while prancing about an elementary school cafeteria".

Sometimes, I forget the most obvious questions to ask.

I knew that my little girl's happiness was at stake, and so I forced myself, through shaking arms and at times excruciating pain, to smile and sing and dance about. The Moose acted like the whole thing was for him, so he enjoyed it as well. In the end, I came away with two happy kids. Well, two happy kids, the inability to raise my arms above my waist, and a stitch in my left side that won't seem to go away.

Overall, I would call that a profitable exchange.

To Think I Used To Listen To the Radio

Like most mornings, I dropped the boy off and the Princess and I were wending our way to the elementary school where she hangs out with other first graders. Typically, I use this time to chat with her, remind her of our current goals, quiz her on spelling words...that sort of thing. Today, after a really rotten night of sleep, I found that I had zoned out without speaking for a mile or two, when my lovely daughter of six presented me with the following statement.

"You know dad, life never stops."

Needless to say, she had my attention. When pressed for details, she explained that babies are born, and if they are girl babies, they grow up, and then they have babies of their own. That happens "over and over and over and over". That's why life never stops.

As usual, I was stunned by her ability to think about things. I was also a bit relieved that we were speaking biologically, what with the original statement lending itself to a more philosophical interpretation that would have required more intellectual processing than my feeble brain can manage on less than a pot of coffee on days such as today. My relief was short lived, however, as she proceeded to smack me upside the noggin with the follow up postulation.

"Life never stops, and that's why life is true."

Had you been in the car with us, you might very well have heard the buzzing sound as my brain short circuited right there. You might even have caught the faint aroma of smoke. I asked her to repeat the thought, and instead she pushed me further. She said, "Life is true because...", and then she looked at me in the rear-view mirror, eyebrows raised, waiting patiently.

I responded, somewhat feebly, "Because...life never stops?"

She nodded. "Right. And?"

Well, I was spent. I told her I didn't know. I put it back on her, but she wouldn't elaborate any further. I was told that I was supposed to guess the answer, and that she wouldn't tell it to me. So when I left her, I had learned that life is true because it never stops, and that there was more to it, but it was up to me to find out what it is. Wow. I expected to occasionally learn things from my kids, but I didn't realize that they would be so deep. Frankly, I kind of miss her old, more literal style of declarations.

After all, not a lot of interpretation is necessary when presented with something like "Never lick the table".

By the Prickling of My Thumbs

This morning the Princess requested a Halloween hair pretty for her pony tail. I pointed out that Halloween isn't for over a month still, but she didn't care. "It's close enough."

Heh. That's my girl.

My favorite season is Fall for a lot of reasons. I like the weather. I like the trees changing color. I like apple cider and dougnuts. In fact, it's the best time to be here in Michigan, because I feel like it's the season where we really shine.

Most of all, I love Halloween.

Apparently most people don't realize it (I hide myself better than I know I guess), but I have this weird obsession with what I would consider 'spooks'. It's kind of funny, because I don't actually believe in any of that stuff, but given the chance I would foolishly squander my time sitting in front of the television absorbing mass quantities of horror movies.

Not just horror movies though. It has to be otherworldly. I have no interest in slasher films for example. I don't want to watch some guy in a mask hunting down teenagers with questionable morals. Not interested.

You throw in a ghost, a demon, an alien, a chupacabra...anything in the spook family, and I can't look away. It doesn't even have to be good. Lord, I don't even like to think about how many times I watched Killer Klowns from Outer Space when I was in school, and Evil Dead 2 still stands as a cinematic masterpiece as far as I'm concerned.

The fact that I'm a computer geek has done nothing but feed this. I'm a huge fan of survival horror games. As previously mentioned, at home I have a copy of Fatal Frame 2: Crimson Butterfly waiting to be fired up. I played about ten minutes before. I didn't even get to a save point, but it scared the bejeesus out of me. For reasons I don't understand, I can't wait to get back to it. If I don't have time for that, I can always find mini-fixes online, little terrors that creep around on the internet in the guise of adventure games. I don't recommend following any of those links at work, or at home in the dark. Maybe not in the light either. If that's not enough to ruin your sleep, throw a search for ghost into YouTube.

It's even manifested itself in my music selection. This time last year, I ordered myself a couple of CDs, something I haven't done in years. When the Princess asked me what they were, I told her they were Halloween music for grownups. It was true. It's good music that will sit well in the background when handing candy out, or even on the soundtrack of a scary movie. I'm currently eyeballing a Jill Tracy album that I can download from Amazon. It's even RIAA free. (I like spooks and all, but those guys are monsters.)

So as my summer burnout wanes, as the cool winds blow a restorative breath into my being, I find myself getting ready for the coming month. I get to carve pumpkins, and I have a porch to put them on. I get to hang spider webs. We get to hand out candy, and instead of being in an apartment building where we'll get ten or fifteen kids wandering by, we live in one of those neighborhoods that kids live for on these nights, the very neighborhood where my own tots had to declare defeat after only a couple of blocks last year, each carrying enough candy to kill a goat.

The only question is how the Princess will feel about me using her Barbie hair styling head as a prop in the upstairs window. That thing scares the Hell out of me. Why not use it to scare the Hell out of everyone else?