The Bully-enator

Yesterday, my sons talked me into stopping at a McDonald's that has one of those play area things...you know the ones with the tubes and slides and stuff.
Casey came to me at one point and told me that there were mean kids inside. Being a lover, not a fighter, Casey decided to hang out in the lower levels. Marty, however, never came down. Finally, when I called him down to leave he told me that the mean kid that Casey had told me about had said that if Marty didn't tell him something that he would push him down the stairs. I told Marty that he shouldn't worry about it since nothing happened and started to usher him to the door. Marty said, "If I ever see that kid again, I'm going to teach him a lesson...in science."
It hadn't really dawned on me prior to that about the ambiguous nature of that saying. If no one's ever told you what you're supposed to be teaching a lesson about, how do you know?
So, I tried to explain to Marty what the difference was, but he didn't seem to get it. All he said was, "Well, I was just about to tell him that I know stuff about science, but then you said that we had to go."

Twinkie the Kid

Not to get too '80's stand-up (or Seinfeldian) on you, but what's the deal with all the retro packaging on consumer products? Who came up with the idea to just start slapping logos from the 1960's and 70's onto everything in an effort to sucker middle-aged consumers into buying things that they don't need -- in fact, have been ordered not to have by their doctor -- just so that they can recapture a moment of their lost childhood.

Of course, it could be that I'm just upset because I'm one of those suckers. It started innocently enough...I saw the Pepsi with the cool blue and red logo, just like the collector sign that hangs in my kitchen. But then, right next to the Pepsi, was the Mountain Dew made with real sugar. The Mountain Dew with the light green script and the drawing of the old timey hillbilly on it. How could you not buy that?

Then there was the Cap'n Crunch, Peanut Butter Crunch and Crunch Berries cereal boxes featuring the characters from the old Jay Ward directed commercials of my youth. I had to buy those...my sons have never really seen Smedley the elephant or the pirate Jean LaFoote. I wouldn't want them to miss out a cherished part of childhood like that.

I was in a gas station when I came across Doritos in old school packaging. It was the Tacos flavored ones. Not the Tacos at Midnight or the Twilight Tacos or whatever the hell they have now...but the old school Taco Doritos...the ones that are just flavored with the kind of taco seasoning that you find in an Ortega kit. Thankfully, they don't have any of the overpowering flavor of those modern Doritos.

And it just keeps going. The other day I was walking through the snack food isle at the grocery store and who did I happen upon? Twinkie the Kid and Captain Cupcake! Not some bastardized version but the real ones! I went searching frantically for King Ding Dong but couldn't find him...but I'm hoping he's out there. I would even take Chauncey Chocodile.

I'm not sure what's next. Maybe someone will do limited run of Fruit Brute or Freakies. Maybe 7-Up will bring back those inverted Coke glasses. Maybe instead of just an occasional glimpse of Hamburgler and Grimace, McDonald's will roll out a full on campaign with Mayor McCheese and Officer Big Mac. Maybe M&M/Mars will bring back the actual Marathon bar...the one that was like a braided rope of hard caramel.

Whatever it is, no matter what I might say here, I'm sure I'm probably going to be a sucker again. Luckily, most of the stuff doesn't cost very much. If Chrysler somehow brings back the Plymouth Road Runner or Duster I might be in for some financial strife.

Birth Story

As part of his journal at school -- which includes a portion for drawing pictures -- Marty apparently decided to tell the story of his birth...an interesting choice I thought since he doesn't remember it.

The thing is that, while I'm sure that we've told him the story before and he likes to make reference to the fact that he was born in Los Angeles, but we've never dwelt on it. That stands in stark contrast to my own mother who when I was a child repeatedly made sure that I understood that she was in labor for some ungodly amount of time, that the doctors were making jokes about my not wanting to come out due to the current racial unrest (I was born about 3 weeks after Martin Luther King Jr. was killed) and that at some point the doctors talked to my father about the fact that mother and child might not make it.

Here's my concern...I don't think that we've dwelt on it, but to be honest, Marty's birth was probably the most traumatic thing in my life. The labor was bad, there had been worries that he was running out of amniotic fluid, he got stuck, they had to cut my wife...and when he came out he didn't breath right away. Some swat team of doctors came running in to intubate him. That part was actually over in a matter of minutes, but it was the worst minutes of my life.

As it happens, my son's godmother -- and one of my best friends -- showed up at the hospital assuming that the birth had already taken place...only to find herself roped into actively participating in the birthing process. It is also one of the most traumatic experiences of her life.

So, I'm worried that maybe we actually have made a bigger deal out of all of this to Marty. I don't mind him knowing the story...the kid was born at Cedars Sinai in L.A., a hospital that actually gets mentioned with some frequency on T.V., so there are reasons for it to come up from time to time. I also usually tell the story of the following day, which happened to be Halloween, when I walked across the street to get some non-hospital food from Jerry's Famous Deli and in my sleep-deprived state got a little freaked out by the costumes...until the holiday dawned on me. But, I don't want it to seem like any of it was some huge deal (to him, anyway, since I still have nightmares and his godmother refuses to acknowledge that it even took place).

I do wonder what his teacher thought of his depiction, which was for the most part pretty accurate. My favorite part was his drawing of the intubation, which features a caption above the doctor's head that reads, "Jeez-O-Pete," and has horrified expressions on the drawings of me and his aunt.

Of course, his version, complete with a drawing, ends with him sleeping peacefully in a crib in a nursery...which is also how the real story ended. So, I guess all really is well that ends well.

At the Movies

My boys convinced me to take them again to see "Megamind" in the theater again. This is the fifth time that Marty has now seen the movie in the theater, which conversely means that this is the fifth time that I've seen it. Neither of my sons have ever been to a movie without me. The closest its ever come was when their mother was with us and they all went to see "Alvin & The Chipmunks: The Squeakquel" because it features Zachary Levi, who's a friend of a friend. I instead went to the neighboring screen and watched something else. I couldn't even tell you for sure what that was, but I do know that it did not have the word "Squeakquel" in the title.

I've been trying to think when the last time that I saw a film that many times in a theater during its initial release was, and I'm struggling to come up with something since the original "Star Wars." Like many males my age, that movie I saw somewhere in the neighborhood of 25-30 times. In my case that was because "Star Wars" played for 2 years at a movie theater that was about 2 miles from my home. Sometimes I just went to it out of sheer boredom. It got so bad that I remember going to see some documentary on the search for the conspirators behind Abraham Lincoln's assassination that was playing on the only other screen that theater had...and during the 2-3 times that I saw it, I could hear "Star Wars" through the wall and could tell what part it was up to. Then when I went back to watching "Star Wars," while it was still playing I could tell how things were going next door with the manhunt for John Wilkes Booth. So, that was partially just a matter of convenience. I mean, I also saw "Smokey and the Bandit" a good number of times at that same theater.

But, I didn't even see "The Empire Strikes Back" or "Return of the Jedi" five times initially on the big screen (for the record, through various special screenings and rereleases, I have now...the geek in me required that clarification). I know that I saw "Back to The Future" and both "Rocky III" and "IV" at least three times each...but that was because I kept ending up going with different people (ok, and because I truly love "Rocky III"...Amy gets mad at my inability to pass up Clubber Lang if I run across the film on cable). Other than that, I'm not remembering anything, since being a straight male, I only saw "Titanic" once and have only ever seen "Avatar" because it featured another friend of a friend (Joel Moore).

Oddly, I also ended up going with the kids to see "Despicable Me" three times over the summer in the theater...and there would've been more occurrences of that had I allowed it. Apparently the storyline of a bad guy that turns good -- the theme of both "Megamind" and "Despicable Me" -- appeals to my kids. I guess that shouldn't surpise me since I've heard them argue over who will be the better evil scientist when they grow up ("I'm going to take over the world, and you can just work for me!" "No! I'm going to take over the world!").

The positive side, I guess is that Marty now has a clear understanding of who Will Farrell and Steve Carrell are. Of course, he sees "Elf" every year at Christmas, and there was a stretch where he and Casey watched "Evan Almighty" a couple of times a week...but it's only now after his summer at the cinema that he's decided that they're worthy of his attention.

One other thing that I learned from my sojourn out with the children is that your wife gets mad at you if you allow your 5-year-old to spritz himself with whatever he wants at the Macy's cologne counter. Apparently having your young son smell like a "Kansas City whore" is upsetting to some mothers.

Technology!

I'm neither a technophobe nor a technophile. However, I do find myself frequently getting frustrated with people older than me, or sometimes even my own age, that have trouble dealing with technology.


I try really hard to be patient and understanding. I mean, I understand that not everyone spent 6 hours typing code into a Commodore 64 so that a round "ball" image would bounce across the screen. Not everyone was paying attention when Nintendo came along and totallly blew away Atari (and even fewer held a secret allegiance to Intellivision before that). There were a lot of people that didn't have to learn Windows '97 when it was released and had to learn every stupid revision since...even the ones that made the system more difficult to use. Many people still have never worked on a Mac, let alone remember when the operating system didn't look like a Microsoft knock-off. Sure, I can download an app to my iPhone that I bought on iTunes as my kids watch an episode of iCarly. I'm sure that there are plenty of people that have never bought something on eBay and paid for it using PayPal. And, based on my experiences in the workplace, I'm one of the select group of people that knows how to install a network printer. I have a blog, a Twitter account and a Facebook page, but not everyone does.


The community theater for which I am president of the board fills the other seats on the board with people who's average age is 74, so I'm frequently in a position where I'm reminded of this gap in the use of modern technology. I mean, they still talk about people using checks...whereas I couldn't tell you if we still actually have paper checks attached to our bank account.


Here's the problem though, I'm pretty sure that -- hip as I think I am -- I'm really just the new generations' technology bitch. I say that because I'm pretty sure that my sons already look at me that way.


When either of my boys has a problem with their DS and they bring it to me, it turns out that they really are only looking for my advanced finger dexterity -- sort of like when they want me to write something because I can type faster than them -- but not for anything else. As soon as I move past the point that they were having trouble with, they rip the device out of my hands immediately so that I won't "mess anything up."


They watched a video that I edited on an earlier version of Final Cut and they thought that it was "quaint." They both grab my phone out of my hand because I'm "not going fast enough." They each complain about the speed of our wireless connection and of our now dated iMac (for the record, we were actually thinking of upgrading right up until the unexpected major expenses just prior to Christmas...see the post "My Holiday Luck").



Someday, I'm apparently going to be in the old folks home with my sons becoming angry because I don't understand the latest intuitive software that was just introduced. That's the bitch about getting old...you still think you're cool even when all facts point to the contrary. I guess I should've known that it was coming...I think vampires are stupid, not sexy, and I'm not actually interested in writing anything that has the word "zombie" in the title.

I guess I'll just keep fighting the good fight...reading my Sports Illustrated on my iPad, while listening to a podcast on my smart phone and Tweeting about the whole thing. I'm going to fall behind but it won't be because I'm not trying.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Marty wants to show me how to access classic "Donkey Kong" through the Wii.

Wolf Call

My sons have discovered the "wolf whistle." You know, the traditional construction workers to a pretty secretary cat-call. I'm not exactly sure where they've picked this up, but since they frequently watch old "Tom & Jerry," "Droopy," and "Bugs Bunny" cartoons, all of which feature that on a regular basis.

I first discovered this new entry into their arsenal while they were watching "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" The first appearance by Jessica Rabbit and suddenly I was surrounded by frat boys at a wet T-shirt contest. I thought that it might be an isolated incident, but then I let Marty watch a portion of an episode of "The Big Bang Theory" that featured the characters dressed up like DC Comics' characters. When the Penny character entered dressed as "Wonder Woman," there it was again.

Here's the problem -- more so than my 8- and 5-year-old boys objectifying women -- they don't know how to whistle. So, they just make some noise in their throat that approximates the "wheet-whew" of the whistle. It's annoying. So, now I'm trying to teach them how to actually whistle so that they can do this right. Objectifying women is one thing, but if you're going to do it with an annoying sound...well, that's where I draw the line.

They're also learning other things from those old cartoons -- besides the occasional racist joke and that it's ok for cartoon characters to smoke. For example, Marty has developed a strategy for if he ever finds himself in a bull fight. His idea is to paint the bull red, make him look at himself and, viola, the bull will just attack himself.

(I'm actually impressed that when Marty sees "viola" in print, he pronounces it correctly. For years, he's watched DVDs with the language option set on French. When I pointed out recently that he hasn't done it in a while, he whispered to me conspiratorially that he still does it with games on his Nintendo DS that have French as a language option. A couple of years ago, I asked him if he actually wanted to just learn French and his reply was, "Nah, that's too hard.")

Editors note: The title of this post is actually a reference to a song in my favorite Elvis movie, "Girl Happy." If your reaction to that bit of information is, "Elvis movie? Who has a favorite Elvis movie?," I honestly don't know how to help you.

Lovebug

At my day job, which I differentiate by saying that it's the one that pays me something resembling an actual salary, I'm one of the so-called bosses. I'm part of a management team that oversees the work of a 13 person group. Technically, I'm one of the decision makers...the only problem is that the people that make up the staff that reports to me and the other manager don't really care that much more about what I have to say than my family does.

The generic white collar jobs come with a lot of legal rules about what you can and can't do, and also come with a lot of policies and procedures about how you're supposed to do this or that. I don't know when and where it happened, but sometime along the way, I became a stickler about that kind of stuff. Turns out in the modern workplace, that's not an opinion shared by all...there's a large group of people that believe in the motto about "as long as it gets done, who cares how." Maybe it's all those years working in HR, but I can't bring myself to let those transgressions go.

So, I'm not the most popular manager in the world. While, in my mind, I believe myself to be the main character in my little sitcom, my staff believes me to be Mr. Mooney from the old "The Lucy Show" (or was it, "Here's Lucy" or both...the post-"I Love Lucy" Lucille Ball stuff all kind of runs together for me). I'm the mean boss that always interferes with the harmless shenanigans of the fun-loving workers.

It's a small company, so a short-while ago, my superiors started to try to get me to loosen up and the staff to stop putting up Facebook posts about what an asshole I am. We all grudgingly agreed to give it a shot.

One of my staffers, however, had trouble fighting the urge to call me an asshole and decided to take a unique measure to soften her stance on me. So, she's started ending conversations with me with, "I love you." You know, like, "Here's that file that you made me skip lunch to find, causing me to cancel my plans with my ailing father. Let me know if you'd also like me to work late and skip my daughter's dance recital or if you'd perhaps like to order mandatory overtime this weekend, since this is supposed to be mine and my husband's 'date' weekend. Oh, and, I love you."

At first it was fine that this was her little "He's really not that much of a jackass" mantra and if it helped stop the "My boss is a total dickhead" Tweets, I decided that I could live with it.

That is, until it started being expected that I return the affirmation with the traditional, "I love you, too."

I tried to resist that, but turns out your even more of a jerkwad if you won't return something like that. So, I eventually opted for the path of least resistance and just started saying it back. Then, some of the other staffers decided that they should follow suite and next thing you know, I apparently love everyone in my office.

It's gotten to the point that when I'm any place and I hear someone say, "I love you." I just automatically say, "I love you, too." This has led to some difficulties during visits to my sons' school...although I guess it doesn't hurt to know that I do apparently have some options if things don't work out with my wife.

The declarations of love were good enough for a short period of time, but then I was given a new nickname...Lovebug. Some would say that this is better than the names that they used to use for me, but in all honesty, I'm really not sure about that. See, I actually kind of like being an asshole and frightening people just a little bit. But if this sticks, I'm in trouble because I'm not really physically big enough to pull off having Lovebug come across as something ironic.

Now, not only do I have a staff that doesn't listen to me, they're not even afraid of me. I'm sure that, just like with my 5-year-old, if I actually got mad enough that they might be...but then I'd probably be relieved of my duties and the police given my name as a potential terrorist suspect. Or, worse, someone would try to make me go to counseling. I like to provide for my family, but that would probably be the deal breaker.

At this point, the "I love you" and Lovebug stuff has been supplemented by hugging. I usually try to avoid touching people that I actually care about, so truly, this is just the icing on the cake.

I'm not sure what comes next and I'm pretty sure that I don't want to know. There used to be a time when I worked for a big corporation and sat at a desk writing boring legal stuff and rifling through various statistics, hardly talking to coworkers sometimes for days at a time. If anyone has a job like that to offer, let me just say that I can be had for a song. I'll even bring along the little "Herbie, the Love Bug" replica that my staff gave me to brighten up the new workspace.

Liar Update

In the post entitled "Liar, Liar," I talked about how Marty wants to meet with the president of Nickelodeon so that he can pitch some movie ideas that he has for the network. I more or less explained to him when he first brought it up how the process actually works, but he doesn't really see why his way wouldn't work just as well.

Here's the problem for him though...while when he was born we lived about 300 yards away from the Nickelodeon studios in Burbank, he now lives in Southwestern Michigan. Sure, his godmother and her husband are out in Los Angeles...but he wouldn't even be able to pull a proper "Sleepless in Seattle" scheme off, since the nearest airport doesn't fly direct to LA. He gets lost going from our living room to the laundry room, so I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to navigate a connecting flight.

But, ever since this originally came up, Marty's been watching a video that I made from when he was a baby of things around Burbank, including the Nickelodeon stuff. I can't prove it, but I think he's trying to find a way to sneak in.

So, just on the off-chance that you hear a news story about a skinny, redheaded wannabe writer/director that was caught in an air duct at Nickelodeon trying to weasel his way into the executive suites...feel free to assume that it was my kid.

Same Old Song

It's a given that getting old sucks. What I hate is being reminded that I'm old...which has become more difficult since Casey learned to talk, since he likes to point out that I'm old (and bald).

For me, it's music that is always the killer. I still remember one of the first times that I really, truly felt old because of music. I was in LA driving along a freeway and left a station on that was playing "Maneater" by Hall & Oates. I don't particularly like "Maneater," but it was probably one of those Totally 80's things and I was holding out hope for something better.

And then the DJ came on and said those magic words..."Number 1 20 years ago this week, 'Maneater'..." It was like being hit in the stomach, because I was fairly aware of how old I was when the song was out, so if that had been 20 years...well, then that sucked. Of course, that story happened like 8 years ago, so now it really, really sucks.

The other night, I had it happen for the latest time. I was covering a high school basketball game and as part of some cheerleader routine they were playing "It's Tricky" by Run-DMC. And, part of me was thinking..."Aw, yeah, that's my jam!" Run, DMC, Jam Master Jay...hell yeah!

Then it hit me. I couldn't pinpoint it, but it dawned on me that "It's Tricky" came out somewhere in the late 80's, making it more than 20 years old. I mean, I've seen "Run's House" on MTV, so I know that he's old, but somehow that usually doesn't translate into me looking in the mirror at myself.

All I know is that it's pretty bad when the hip hop that I used to listen to that made me cool is now so old that the people in their 20's that work for me at my day job have never heard of it...I don't even know what to do with that. It was bad enough the time that a Heavy D & the Boyz song came on at work, and people were talking about remembering the song from when they were little kids.

Next thing you know, my Warren G and Snopp Dogg CD's are going to date me.

Aw, damn it.

What?

My wife apparently sometimes feels overwhelmed from living in a house with all boys. Overwhelmed with perceived stupidity that is. In particular, she seems to have an issue with our hearing.

Now, personally, I think that there’s at least a possibility that women talk in a range that is hard for the males of the species to understand. There have been multiple times that my wife has walked into the room while Casey has been watching TV, Marty has been on the computer and I’ve been on the Blackberry and none of us have heard a single thing until she’s changed octaves and yelled, “Why isn’t anyone listening to me?!”

We usually try to listen for a little while after that, unless what she wants to say takes longer than 30 seconds…in which case, our eyes typically glaze over.

Last night, she became peeved repeatedly because she said that she had to keep repeating herself. That might be true…that might not be true. For all we know the first time that she said any of that stuff was after we said, “What?”

You might think that the fact that we’re saying “What?” is a giveaway that something was said, but that’s not true. If you’re used to being yelled at for not listening, you just get in the habit of saying “What?” any time that you hear any sound. If the dog picks up a stray Cheetos that the boys dropped on the floor I say, “What?” Sometimes my sons walk in the door from playing outside and just yell, “What?” for good measure. You never know when a woman’s been saying something that they wanted you to listen to, so it’s always better to be safe.

Notice that I left off, “or sorry.” In my experience, the “or sorry” happens regardless of anything else. The only word that my sons and I say more frequently than “What?” is “Sorry.” Sometimes, and this is a specialty of my older son Marty, we just say it all together, like this…”What? Sorry.” Chances are that whatever we weren’t listening to was something that we were supposed to apologize for (“Who left the milk out on the counter?,” “Who left the toilet seat up?,” “Why is the front door open?”) and even if it wasn’t then you can just apologize right off the bat for the (possibly) not listening.

You can say that all of this is kind of cliché…men don’t pay attention and all of that…and that’s probably true. However, there’s got to be more to it when a 5-year-old, an 8-year-old and a 42-year-old all have trouble hearing the same things at the same time. There has to be some scientific explanation for that. And, by God, I will not rest until I find what it is…someday I will find the cure for the ailment that makes me not pay attention to my wife. I will get a government grant and do all sorts of case studies until there is a clear diagnosis. My wife will be listened to someday through the miracles of modern science. The answers are out there. My sons and I will listen…eventually.

What?

Liar, Liar

My 5-year-0ld son Casey is a world-class liar. I don't say that in a derogatory way...he truly is good at it. Once he commits to a lie, then in his mind that's the truth. Doesn't matter how ridiculous it is...doesn't matter if you have a preponderance of evidence to support him being wrong...he will not admit to a lie.
One time, I ended up punishing both Casey and Marty for more than an hour for some minor transgression that I was pretty sure that the little one was responsible for. At the outset, I just wanted to be told what had happened while I was outside...which was something like some stuff had been knocked over in the kitchen. Casey clammed up. No matter what threat was issued, he stuck to his guns that he had no idea what had happened. Despite the fact that every time I left the room, I could hear Marty begging him to just fess up and get them out of the punishment. Eventually, I had to give up because legally you're not allowed to punish kids without proof indefinitely...and Casey never broke. The kid's either going to grow up to be in the CIA or in the mob.
The other night, while the boys were getting ready for bed, Marty started telling me about a movie idea that he has that he plans to make as a teenager. It was called "Kevout" and has to do with a plot to destroy the world using diamonds. The main character (Kevout) has to gather together four diamonds, each with different powers (electricity, ice, fire and wind) that when combined form something that can stop the bad guys. When I asked Casey what he thought of Marty's idea, he calmly said that he had already seen that movie. Now, Marty frequently has trouble controlling his emotions -- a byproduct of his Asperger's -- but this time he almost seemed ready. He responded that he had made it up, so Casey couldn't have seen it.
Casey persisted and added that he had seen a commercial for the movie. Marty, seeing a chink in the armor, responded that if his little brother had seen the commercial than he would have too and wanted to know where he had seen this "commercial."
Casey steadfastly insisted that he had seen it at their after school daycare. When Marty pointed out that he's at the daycare at the same time, Casey told him that the commercial had aired while Marty was at a doctor's appointment.
Finally, Marty said that there was an easy way to settle this...he would just wait until they saw the commercial again.
Now, most people would just give up, but not Casey. He looked earnestly at me and then back to his brother and said, "Well, I think that maybe too many people saw the commercial, so I don't know that they'll show it any more."
For the record, Marty does have a steady stream of ideas...even if they sometimes are a bit derivative. He told me that he wants to visit Nickelodeon to get in to see the president of the network...so that the president can help him get a meeting with iCarly's Miranda Cosgrove. Apparently, he has an idea for a movie about a teen girl rock band called "The Girls" that he wants to pitch to her. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that his pitch skills are probably about as good as mine always were during my Hollywood days...but with luck he can get Casey to go with him.