Juvenile Guy Bonding

July was a cruel month for the Geek Boy family, resulting in me seeing the rest of the brood for literally three hours over the course of three weeks. At the end of it all, WonderWife™ needed some solitude and sanity and I desperately needed to reconnect with the kids. Thus the plans for a road trip were hatched. I loaded the kids into the ol’ Family Truckster* and we headed south to the San Diego Zoo.

It was a great whirlwind of a weekend that involved sightseeing, junk food, laughter, room service, swimming and inexplicably waking Daddy up at 5:45am. It was such a jam-packed outing that it took approximately 10 minutes into the drive home for both kids to pass out in the back seat.

The Bean began to stir 45 minutes later.

I was excited.  "Buddy…Buddy,” I whispered trying to roust him out of his groggy state.

“What?”

“Look.” I pointed to a sight just over the horizon. “Keep watching that as we get closer.”

He leaned forward as much as his seat belt would allow and squinted. In a few minutes he smiled and suppressed a quiet giggle.

“Should we wake Sprout to see?” he asked.

“No. Let her sleep. This one’s just for you.”

This is what he saw**:

*In real life, the Truckster may more closely resemble a well-worn Camry. 

**I am nothing if not predictable.

He Ski

“I want to be there now!” the boy said brimming with excitement. “It’s the afternoon already.”

Actually it was 8:30 in the morning. But since the Bean and I had only been awake for 2 hours and an hour and a half of that was spent in the car, I couldn’t blame him for being somewhat confused. We had gotten an early start on our way to the mountains. Today was the day I was going to introduce the Bean to skiing.

I am a terrible athlete. I can barely throw and I have been literally laughed at by my closest friends while playing basketball. But despite all of this somehow I have emerged a decent skier. (Back before I had kids, when I used to hit the slopes on a regular basis, I was actually a really good skier.) Skiing ranks up there with roller coasters and going to the movies as one of my favorite things to do. Of course like roller coasters and movies, my chosen partner in crime, WonderWife™, has no interest in it. This is why I’ve been not so secretly hatching a plan to get at least one of my kids into ski. And since the Bean is the oldest, he was lucky enough to try first.

In order for this plan to work, I had to be smart and patient. The Bean hasn’t always taken to new things, especially ones that require practice when you’re a noob (just ask WonderWife™ who’s been an unfortunate spectator when the kid first started playing Lego Batman). While some kids start skiing as young as 3 or 4, I knew that I needed to wait a bit longer. I couldn’t just shove him in ski pants, plop him on a mountain and expect him to like it just because I want him to. I’d have to strike at the right time. Thankfully, this past summer the Bean started asking about snow. He wanted to go to the mountains and have a snowball fight. When the weather turned cold, I told the Bean I was going to take him to snow and take him skiing. He was excited and we were off to a good start.

On the way up to the mountain, I reminded the Bean that he was not going to be a very good skier at first. He was going to spend a lot of time falling down. He was okay with this—mostly because when he plays the We Ski video game he loves making his avatar crash into things. I also reminded him that falling in real life may be a bit more painful than when done virtually.

We rented his equipment and I stuffed his feet into his ski boots. I tried not to laugh as he struggled to walk in the clunky gear. He didn’t find it funny. We had an hour before his lesson so I took him to a flat section near the base of the slopes and showed him how to get into his skiis. Pretty much immediately he was on his ass. A lot of frustrated yelling was soon hurled my way and I quickly realized that although I know how to ski myself, I had no idea who to teach somebody to do it. We soon gave up skiing in order to have the snowball fight he so desperately wanted.

I dropped the Bean off with the ski instructor and made my way to the lodge where stood with the beauty of a mirage in the desert a patio that overlooked the bunny slope next to a bar. I ordered a brew and covertly watched my boy learn “pizza.” It wasn’t long before he took a small run, his instructor in tow. Near the end of his lesson, he was turning by himself. I beamed with pride, suppressing the urge to point out my kid to the rest of the bar patrons.

I was standing at the top of the moving carpet lift when the Bean crested the hill. He saw me and through the biggest smile he could muster said, “I love this! I want to do it more!”

It seemed my plan had worked. Sadly, the Bean will have to wait another year to ski again. Jelly legs prevented us from taking any more runs that day and there is a painfully limited window of opportunity to ski in Southern California as the season is so short. But rest assured, as soon as the next snow falls I will be making the trek with my young Padawan to the mountains to continue his training.

Traveling Again

Although the trip had been planned for many months, the kids only found out about it a few days ago. Time moves slowly when you’re a kid and weeks can feel endless. Not telling them was an act of mercy.

They found out three days before the trip was to commence and they immediately started to pack their bags, trying to cram as many of their toys and stuffed animals as their small backpacks would carry. They spent the next few hours debating which items would be the most essential on the long flight.

I sat back and gleefully watched them scurry around, flush with the adrenaline rush that comes with being told you’re about to go to Disney World. Inside I was as excited as they were.

The night before the trip I packed my bag, unable to shake the feeling that I was forgetting something, that my routine had been shaken. I had traveled many, many times during the year and the trips had become rote, carrying the same bags to the same airport and arriving at the same destination. But this trip was different. This trip was a vacation—the only one I was taking all year…to a magical place…with the people that I love.

In a few days I would be riding roller coasters with the Bean and boats with Sprout. We would be shaking hands with over-sized rodents and smiling at princesses. We would be having the time of our lives.

It's Real!

It's been a while since I've written about food on this here blog. While there have been a few new products out there which have gotten my attention, I haven't been compelled to discuss them there. I had heard a rumor about this product, but today it was confirmed so I am compelled to share.

This is soon to be my wife's favorite ice cream:

There are very few things in life that will make WonderWife™ laugh with glee like the infamous "Schweddy Balls" sketch on SNL. It's the perfect storm of juvenile and obscene that delights her to no end. I'm thoroughly tickled with how much she loves it. WonderWife™ and I don't always see eye to eye on pop culture and our senses of humor can be vastly different. So it's a big deal when something strikes both of our funny bones. "Schweddy Balls" does just that.

You can be sure that in the near future we will be buying ourselves a pint or two of Schweddy Balls.  I'll be sure to let you know when we do.  Mmm.  I can't wait to see how those Schweddy Balls taste. 
 
Be sure to check out EW's full story, complete with the video of the sketch.

The Show

As I left for work, the kids were at the end of the driveway digging through their bin of play clothes.

“We’re getting ready for the dress-up show,” the Bean told me. I didn’t think much of it, except that the WonderWife™ was going to have at least 10 minutes of peace that morning.

In the afternoon I called WonderWife™ who immediately directed me to her Facebook page. There she had posted a picture of a flyer the Bean had drawn. In that shaky, block handwriting that all kindergartners possess, he had written his name, our address and 6p. Sho.

“He’s been planning his dress-up show all afternoon,” WW™ told me.

“He’s actually been planning it since this morning,” I replied.

“He’s made 7 flyers and we’ve given them out to our friends in the neighborhood,” WW™ continued. “He’s going to sell cookies and lemonade.”

I was full-on chuckling. “What is he going to do? Is anyone coming?”

“I have no idea but our neighbors said they were coming over.”

I left work early so I could be in the audience. There was no way I was going to miss this.

The Bean was standing in the lawn as I pulled up to the house, dressed in his Robin costume. Sprout was decked out in a firefighters outfit. A blanket had been placed on the lawn; in front of it was the kids play drum set and their bin of clothes. At the front of the lawn sat a small table where a jug of pink lemonade and a plate of what were obviously my wife’s homemade cookies rested.

Our neighbors soon arrived. The audience consisted of: two sweet natured 15 year-old boys who have known my kids all of their lives, their younger sister, her friend, their mom and our elderly next-door neighbor. Everyone took a seat on the blanket. I stood behind them, video camera at the ready. The show was about to begin.

The Bean stood tall in front of the audience…and said nothing. He stood there, looking at us. A small flush began to form on his cheeks. Not quite knowing how to proceed, the Bean pulled at his sister’s sleeve. Sprout was sitting on the grass with her back to us. Never turning around, she handed the Bean his paper guitar and took out her drumsticks. For a moment it looked as if they were going to start singing. But instead, Sprout beat on her drum a few times while the Bean stood there.

Next, the Bean put his face really close to Sprout’s. They stared at each other for a moment.

“You’re interrupting me!” he shouted to her.

“You’re interrupting me!” she shouted back to him.

“You’re interrupting me!” he replied.

This went on for a few minutes before somebody in the crowd wisely asked if it was perhaps time for intermission. The Bean collected 25 cents for every cup of lemonade and every cookie that was handed out.

A big musical number was promised in the second half of the show. But instead the Bean opted to do three somersaults and then help his sister do three things that kind of looked like somersaults. We applauded anyway and both he and Sprout took a bow.

We thanked the audience profusely and they soon dispersed. When all was said and done, the Bean had earned $6. He generously split it with his sister.

I have no idea where he got the idea to do the show. I can’t help but think that it was all a clever ploy to try to earn more money for the Batman submarine he’s been wanting. While the Bean may not have much stage presence, I was genuinely impressed by the thought and effort that went into his first show. I am grateful that I was there to see it.

The Diaper Genie

There is an empty spot in the corner of the house where the Diaper Genie used to be. Walking past this now vacant spot never fails to evoke a small cheer from me. I hated that freaking Diaper Genie.

The Genie may have been designed for ease, but it quickly became a dirty, stinky symbol of one of the worst parts of early parenting. There isn’t a single person alive who likes changing diapers, mother or father. But unlike my own father, who had the great fortune of being a parent in the 70’s where dads were held to a different social standard and therefore has never changed a diaper in his life, my wife and I were equal partners in this parenting thing. Meaning, we both had to deal with a lot of shit.

In addition to diaper changes, it was my job to replace the bag inside the Genie. Somehow, like my kids, it seemed in constant need of changing. I couldn’t take my diaper-fueled aggression out on my children, so I channeled it towards the Genie. Over the years I grew to loathe it. Yet there it sat in the corner of my house, mocking me.

I wanted to destroy it, Office Space style. Or have Andrew W.K. blow it up in some spectacular fashion. But I didn’t have access to explosives and I thought it might have freaked out the kids to see their daddy bashing it in the backyard with a baseball bat. I was close to being rid of the damn thing too. But Sprout, like in every other phase in her life, was steadfast in her stubbornness and refused to poop on the potty.

The day finally arrived not with a bang, but with the polite urging of my wife to finally be rid of it. Even though we had agreed that the Genie’s services were no longer required, there it sat. My wife grew tired of waiting for me to devise a clever plan to demolish the thing and hinted that it might disappear on it’s own. But this was my funeral to give. So I opted for a simple and unceremonial burial in the trash bin. On trash day, I gleefully wheeled it out to the curb and waited for the green truck to arrive.

Usually the kids run to the window to gaze upon the garbage truck as it collects our refuse, like a couple of cats staring down a squirrel on the tree in the yard. However, that day when the truck came to collect I stood along side them, watching and happily waving goodbye to the Genie forever.

Camping

I think it might have been an episode of Curious George that inspired the Bean to talk about camping. Not just talk about it, but ask to go. It wasn’t long before “camping” was added to the ever-growing list of things to do this summer.

Though I am by no means an avid camper, I love it. This, by the way, goes against my upbringing. I was raised by people who have never slept anywhere that didn’t have a mattress a roof and most likely room service. My parents are mystified by how I grew up to love camping (in the same way they are mystified by how I grew up to be a movie nerd). But why not love camping? It’s about slowing down, about teamwork and hanging out with friends, telling stories and drinking beer. Plus there’s the ever-present wood burning smell, which is my favorite aroma in the entire world.

I was extremely excited to take my boy camping. But would he like it?

In a cunningly strategic move I enlisted one of my best friends, who has two boys similar in age to the Bean, to journey with me on this expedition. Our boys get along really well, and as a bonus I’d get some good bonding time with my buddy once the kids went to sleep. Assuming the kids went to sleep.

We arrived at the campsite with a car packed to the gills and three very excited, very loud little boys. The grounds amounted to a dirt field in the middle of nowhere. There was a total of two trees on the campgrounds, and thankfully one of them was on our site. Despite the 100 degree temperature, we had shade and a strong breeze that made pitching the tents challenging, but prevented us all from keeling over before the sun went down.

When evening approached, my buddy and I showed the boys how to build a campfire. My lighter was useless in the wind. Thankfully our neighbor, who was clearly an expert camper based on his gear and palatial tent, had a blowtorch. All of us, young and old, ooh and aah’d over the awesome toy.

The sun went down. Sticks were procured and hot dogs were cooked on said sticks. The boys learned the insane fun of throwing things into the fire to watch them burn. I taught the Bean how to roast a marshmallow. This prompted a lengthy discussion turned debate about the preferred method of roasting the confection. I like when they catch fire, rendering them crusty on the outside and molten on the inside. The Bean came to favor a more refined approach, where the outside was gently toasted to a light brown. That may be one of the only things we differ on.

Ghost stories were told. I showed the boys how to hold their flashlights under their chins when telling their tales for maximum creepy effect. Surprisingly, for a kid who can be afraid of the most unexpected things, the Bean’s stories were the most elaborate of the kids.

At one point I sat by the fire as the boys were running around. The Bean stopped playing and pulled his chair next to mine. Together we sat and talked as the orange flames licked the wood in front of us.

The sky was clear and the full moon hung so brightly overhead that we didn’t need our lanterns. Way past their bedtimes, the boys finally settled into their tent. After much talking and giggling, exhaustion overtook them and they fell silent. Asleep. My buddy and I toasted a few beers while the fire consumed the rest of the woodpile. We threw things into the fire and watched them burn.

Sometime during the night, the Bean migrated from his tent to mine and my buddy moved into the tent with his boys. The Bean was wide-awake when daylight broke. His stare shook me awake. The rest of the grounds were silent. I think we might have been the first ones awake in the whole place. Together, my boy and I watched the sun rise.

“Let’s go for a hike,” he said.

The day before I had been unable to convince him to hike with me. Now after I had spent the past 24 hours loading gear, pitching tents and chasing after three young boys who were hopped up on marshmallows and bug juice he wanted to go?

Barely conscious I groaned. “Aw, it’s too early for hiking, buddy,” said the man who was decidedly not a morning person.

“How about breakfast?” he eagerly asked.

That I could do. Thinking about the slab of bacon in the cooler, I sat up put on my sweatshirt and exited the tent.

“Are we going to put a pancake on a stick and cook it over the fire?” The Bean asked.

“Interesting idea. We’ll have to try it next time. You do want to go camping again, right?”

“Oh yeah, Dad. This was the best time ever!”

Our Bar

I always wanted to be a regular somewhere. Growing up there were a few restaurants where my parents had befriended the owners and we would get special treatment, like the best table in the house or a free appetizer that was off the menu. But I chose to move to Los Angeles, where connections like that are forged out of celebrity or because of the bank account of one. Compounding that challenge is the fact that by nature I struggle to be outgoing. I can be socially awkward when it comes to new people.

Thankfully I was not alone in moving to the City of Angels. A collection of like-minded friends that I amassed at college also migrated to the city. Not the social butterflies either, the guys and I spent the majority of our first few post-college years hanging out in their crappy apartment (I use this term lovingly), drinking and playing video games. But the few times when we did wander out, thankfully there was a dive bar across the street.

15 years later we’re still drinking there.

Like the best dives, the bar itself isn’t memorable. It’s dark and although smoking has long since been banned in public places, the place still reeks a little bit of smoke. The décor hasn’t changed much since the 70’s. Sure modern touches like a flatscreen TV in the corner and an mp3 jukebox now inhabit the space, but the wood panel walls and the out dated pleather chairs remain the same. There’s a pool table in the back shoved in a room that’s too small for it, requiring the cues to be cut in half in order to play. There’s the requisite dart-board and Golden Tee golf game located next to the popcorn machine. The bar doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is—a very comfortable, lived in dive.

Its proprietors are a short, frizzy-haired waitress with a thick Polish accent named Nina, and the surliest bartender in the history of the service industry. He never smiles and spends his time staring at the patrons with a thinly-veiled look of contempt. They are a couple. At least I think they are. Though they rarely speak to each other. They are the consummate good cop/bad cop. While Nina is outgoing and friendly, always greeting us like she’s glad to see us, the bartender (I don’t even know his name) acts pissed off when you have the nerve to order a drink. Forget about the fact that we’ve been patronizing this place for well over a decade, ask the bartender if you can open a tab and he’ll curtly say “no.” Ask Nina and not only will she open the tab, but she’ll pour a double and offer a bowl of snack mix that she consistently refers to as, “keeeebles and bits.”

It’s the kind of place that doesn’t carry imported beer. It’s the kind of place where you will literally get laughed at if you try to order a drink from the bartender without booze—just ask my buddy who once had the audacity to skip a round of drinks because he has the tolerance of a small rodent.

Our lives have changed--girlfriends, marriages, kids, jobs--but the bar remains the same.  Except for a brief period of time when the hipsters found it and a line would form outside on Saturday nights. There is something amazingly comforting in that.

They might not know my name there, but they know my face. Our status there doesn't get us much other than a warm greeting.  Sometimes Nina will boot people out of the corner tables for us, but that's about it.  But my friends and I don't ask for much either.  We just like having a low-key place that fits us.  And while we don't have the luxury of an abundance of free time that allows us to hang out there as much as we used to, it isn't long before we find ourselves back at our bar for a smile, a drink and a bowl of “keeeebles and bits.”

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The topic of today's blog post was chosen by the awesome readers who like Daddy Geek Boy on Facebook.  Links to all of my various postings, here at Culture Brats and the Reeling movie blog are collected there.  Stop by and become a fan.

Breakthrough

I’ve had some notoriously difficult times with Sprout during her almost three years. For a while, she refused to let me feed her. She refuses to let me read her a bedtime story. And she most certainly never gives me a hug or a kiss before she goes to bed.

One evening I escorted Sprout from the bathroom to her bedroom to help her get into pj’s. Sprout was tired. And when Sprout was tired, she was grumpy, which meant I was the absolute last person she wanted to spend time with.

She glared at me as she slowly got dressed, like the way a feral dog sizes up an opponent before deciding if they need to attack. I was in a good mood and wasn’t about to let her dampen it. Knowing I ran the risk of provoking her further, I told her I was going to tickle her and eat her belly. She grunted at me. I told her I was going to poke her ear and nibble on her toes. She turned her back towards me. I sat down on the floor in front of her when one of our cats walked in the room.

The cat in this scenario, Candy Bar, is so named because the colors of her fur resemble a candy bar that’s been stepped on one too many times. She’s incredibly sweet but incredibly needy. And she’s the loudest cat in the history of all felines. She meows and whimpers when she wants attention. She mews when she’s being pet. In fact the only time this cat doesn’t make noise is when she’s sleeping.

Candy Bar walks into the room and I tell Sprout that she’s come in to say hi. Right on cue, the cat lets loose with a small “meow.” So I meow back at the cat. She answers me. The cat and I continue to have a "conversation" for a minute before she slinks off to go pester another member of the family.

I glance up at Sprout, who is staring at me with big, round eyes like a cartoon character. “I love you!” she says.

“Oh, you didn’t know I could speak to the cat?” I said.

She excitedly shook her head no.

I got a hug and a kiss that night.

RIF

Despite my love of pop culture, I am not one of those parents who push it on my kids. Yes, I’ve dipped their toes into the water of super heroes and Star Wars, but it’s nothing like the parents I know who were showing the original trilogy to their toddlers or putting them on a steady diet of cartoons before they turn 5. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to share what I love with my kids—especially the Bean. But he isn’t ready.

The Bean is what I call a young 5. He’s more sensitive and what he loves are shows like Sesame Street, Yo Gabba Gabba and Word World. Word World is a show that teaches reading, where everyone and everything is made of words. And it has captured the attention of my son like the Sirens captivated Odysseus or how a woman in a Snow White costume captivates me (but that’s another story). Right now Word World is just about the only show my kids will watch. As a result, the Bean is becoming obsessed with letters. He wants to learn to sound out words and he’s asking us how things are spelled. The other morning, WonderWife™ told me he actually read a bunch of words. He’s also been typing them out on her computer. I’ve even seen him try to teach his sister to read.

All of this is incredibly exciting as we slowly segue from picture books into chapter books.  It didn't occur to me, but the world of reading is the gateway into cool pop culture. Pretty soon he’ll be into things like the Captain Underpants series. Then I’ll introduce him to the comic book Bone--an excellent all-ages fantasy. There are comics now of Cars and The Incredibles.  And when he’s older, Harry Potter is waiting for him.

I’m okay with not being a guy who’s forcing my TV and movies down my kids’ throats.  My patience with my kids is being rewarded.  Because left to his own devices the Bean is choosing to watch a show like Word World that is stoking the literary fire within him. And although he may not be that interested in pop culture now, I know that he will be once the words start flowing.

The Force May Be Strong With This One

WonderWife™ pulled an unexpectedly cool move today.

As I walked in the door this evening, the kids came running over to me and reached up their hands to show me what was inside. Sprout beamed as she showed off a pair of bunny figurines. In the hand of the Bean, I spotted a R2D2 figure.

“The Candy Fairy came!” he screamed. The Candy Fairy is WW™’s ingenious plan to get rid of the pounds of extra Halloween candy. The CF comes, takes your candy and leaves you a small (read: inexpensive) gift. The Bean had been diligently waiting for the Candy Fairy to arrive all week. He was actually aching to give up his sugary loot for a toy. “Look what she left me, Daddy! Star Wars!”

I looked up quizzically at my wife. She was wearing a sly smile—rather proud of herself.

The Bean immediately started asking questions about R2D2. Where did he live? Could we meet him? He told me that R2 fixes ships. When I asked him how he could have possibly known that, he said he remembered it from our ill fated Star Tours ride last Spring (a move that I feared would turn my kid off Star Wars for a few extra years).

Later on during a quiet moment, I turned to WonderWife™ and asked, “So why’d you do it?”

“I saw it,” she said. “And we didn’t need another car. So I bought this.”

She smiled at me and I smiled back, wondering if she knew that she had purchased the key that would allow me to open the door to Star Wars for my son.

The Bacon Truck

I couldn’t believe it took as long as it did for it to exist. You would have thought it was already here. But it wasn’t. Now with the food truck craze in full swing, some genius finally decided to create a bacon truck.

For the uninitiated let me elaborate, there is a fantastic gourmet food truck revolution currently happening that rivals any kind of movement the Tea Partiers could dream up. These specialized roach coaches (although that moniker really does them a great disservice) drive around cities, serving up high quality food. Many of them are concept driven, which is why in LA we have the Grilled Cheese Truck, the breakfast truck, ice cream sandwich truck, Korean BBQ taco truck, cheesesteaks… You get the idea.

Not only is the food from these trucks really good, but there is an extra element of fun in the experience due to the hunt. These are mobile restaurants, which means you have to work for your grub by catching them. The trucks drive around the city, posting their locations via Twitter. They don’t have a regular schedule, so they could pretty much be anywhere at any time. Since I don’t have the luxury of being able to chase down these trucks, my only bet to eat at them is if they orbit close to my home or office. Like the way that every once in a while you win in Vegas, I’ve been lucky a few times able to unexpectedly score some Korean tacos on my way home from work. 

A few days ago, I heard the most amazing news—a new truck, the bacon truck. It’s a brilliant idea and of course I was automatically intrigued. The truck, calling itself Lardon, hadn’t even officially opened yet. They were in their “soft open” phase and had only been making one stop a day to work out the kinks before their big launch. I decided to make it my mission to eat from the bacon truck.

The gods of pork were smiling on me because two days after hearing about the truck, I learned they would be close to my place of business. I jetted through the office halls and accosted a few colleagues that I knew might be interested in such an adventure. With my car loaded up, we took to the streets. Considering that I had talked others into spending their lunch hour tracking down a truck filled with bacon, I began worrying that it might not be there like some cruel practical joke.  But my fears were rapidly allayed because there was the truck sitting quietly around a corner with no line to stand in the way of us and our bacon. 

As promised, everything on the menu revolves around bacon—from the BLT to the desserts. They also serve breakfast all day. Unfortunately, they were out of the chicken wings coated in bacon hot sauce with a side of bacon bleu cheese dressing, so I settled on a French toast brioche sandwich with bacon crumbles and bourbon bacon syrup. My companions went for their fancy BLT and their simple, but awesome bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. But my favorite thing about their menu has to be the Bacone. It’s a paper cone filled with four strips of various kinds of bacon that change periodically. That day, they were serving peppered bacon, maple bacon and bacon from a wild boar (which was meat, a little gamey and totally delicious). I mentioned dessert right? Try a browning topped with Nutella and bacon. (Salty and sweet was great even before sliced bread.)

My co-workers and I all felt a bit sluggish that afternoon, but we agreed that it was worth it. The bacon truck is not a place you’d want to eat at every day. But I’m glad that the fates brought us together so that I, fan of bacony goodness, could be amongst their first customers. I’m totally going to hunt them down again to get my bac-on.*

*That’s right, I just wrote that. I’m not apologizing for it either.

Scream Machine

Buzzed from the sugar rush of an ice cream cone, the Bean agreed to go on the roller coaster. He had spent most the day refusing to go on some rides, including the car ride—a decision from the car-obsessed kid that frankly left me perplexed. But I saw him eying the roller coaster, a move that despite his timid exterior betrayed the thrill ride enthusiast beneath. I was sure if I could get him on the coaster, he would like it. At least I was kind of sure. He had liked the small, tame kids roller coaster at Disneyland. But he flat out rejected the more frenetic Star Tours ride.

I really wanted him to like roller coasters. When it comes to the things that I love, in my family I’m a man without allies. My enthusiasm for thrill rides is yet another passion in a long list that my wife does not share. I really needed a partner in crime to ride this stuff with me. But I realized that I was walking a fine line between gently nudging the Bean towards a fun new experience and totally freaking his head off.

As the Bean was licking the remaining remnants of ice cream off of his fingers, I leaned over to him. “There’s a ride I’d really like to take you on.” I nodded in the direction of the Dragon, a medium-small roller coaster nestled in the woods in the back of the park.

He said “yes” and a few minutes later, I was in the front seat of a roller coaster with my son.

“When you’re on a roller coaster,” I told him, “It’s okay to scream as loud as you want.”

“Oh, I won’t do that,” he said matter of factly.

We descended the first hill and he began to scream. Then he laughed. Then he screamed again, sounds of pure joy escaping from him as we sped along the track.

When we pulled into the station he said breathlessly, “Let’s do that again!”

The Bean had successfully rode his first real thrill ride, but my mission was not yet accomplished. His appetite had been whet, but it was time to cement his love. I needed to take him on one more ride.

Test Track was a bigger and faster coaster than the Dragon. I had slipped away earlier in the day to ride it by myself. At this point, I was confident that the Bean could handle it. WonderWife™ was not so sure. She looked at the five story drop and the cars speeding along at 28 mph and shook her head. The Bean was amped from the adrenaline rush of the coaster. I knew this because he couldn’t keep still, was constantly ramming his head into my stomach and he couldn't stop yelling.

There was no hesitation from the Bean when I showed him the second coaster. We ended up riding it four times.

It looks like I’ve got my coaster buddy.

Slipping and Sliding

I always wanted a Slip N Slide, but I never got one. Growing up, summertime consisted of my sister and I spraying each other with the garden hose and running back and forth through the slow moving sprinkler. Sure it was amusing, but I wanted the kind of backyard fun I saw on Saturday morning commercials. The kind only afforded you if you had the right stuff.

For me, Slip N Slide (along with the Water Wiggle) represented the quintessential summertime toy. It’s an ingeniously simple concept. You put a thin sheet of plastic down on your lawn, water it (the slip) and hurl yourself down it (the slide). It’s the stuff of which America’s Funniest Videos are made, which is why I probably never got one.

One of the great things about being a parent is the ability to re-do your childhood through your offspring. The fact that I coveted but didn't get a Slip N Slide meant that it was an unquestionable fact that they would have one.  This was decided about five minutes after I found out that we were pregnant with our first. Since then, I've been biding my time waiting for them to grow up enough to use one. In the meantime, I’d occasionally stroll through the toy aisle. I happily discovered that the once humble sheet of plastic has been upgraded with some fancy new features, like a water filled basin which not only ends the ride with a splash but keeps you from sliding off the mat preventing the ever-painful grass burn. Some of them even attach to a hose which keeps the slide constantly wet.  Technology rules!

Summer finally arrived full blast this weekend as temperatures in the Valley reached 110 (and will stay this way until November). WonderWife™ agreed that our kids were Slip N Slide ready, and because she is brilliant she planned ahead and had already procured one--a fancy one at that!

The kids’ eyes got big as I unfurled the plastic and turned on the water. While it may have been sweltering outside, they didn’t feel it because they had an amazing time staying nice and cool running around and soaking themselves on their new Slip N Slide.

(Oh yeah, and at long last somebody else got to use it too.)

DGB Review

I guess this is the weekend of the Geek Boy* because in addition to Sci Fi Dad's interview with me, Tessa's Dad over at Stay at Home Dad in Lansing just posted this review of this here blog.

SAHD in Lansing is a new(ish) blog, but Chris has really sparked to the dad blog community and in addition to his own blogging, he posts reviews of other dad blogs. You should check him out, not just cause he gave me a glowing review, but because of his writing and his enthusiasm about being a parent.


*My invitation to the party must have gotten lost in the mail.

Smoky Earthy Salty Porky*

A mischievous sparkle was in the eyes of my co-worker as she approached my office door.

“I was out at lunch today and I found you something,” she said with a big grin on her face. Then she reached into her bag and gave me this:

Yes even my colleagues know of my strange fascination with bacon-flavored products. But it's not that surprising in this case.  This friend is a fellow foodie and over the years we have shared many a conversation about the meals we've eaten and the food we've cooked.

Bacon truffle caramel popcorn seemed like a treat that needed to be shared, so after my friend inexplicably declined a taste I somehow managed to muster up enough will power to not open the bag until I could get it in front of WonderWife™.

Unlike some bacon products that revel in shock value rather than flavor, this bacon truffle caramel popcorn seemed well thought out. Each component was designed to work together.

The popcorn was entirely coated in a thick shell of rich, crunchy caramel. Buried beneath the browned sugar was bacon—real pieces of bacon that brought a smoky applewood flavor to the popcorn. (The bottom of the bag revealed a few sugar-coated pieces of bacon, which was a treat in and of itself.) The whole shebang was infused with truffle oil. It must be said that I am usually not a fan of fungus, but the truffles gave the confection an earthiness that cut the sweetness and added an unexpected depth of flavor.

It is not something that I could eat every day, but I would eat bacon truffle caramel popcorn again in a second…as long as I had somebody to share it with.


*This is the genius description of the popcorn found on the bag. 

A Peek at the Future

A few weeks ago, I was amongst the many members of the Mac cult who perked up at the reveal of the iPad, thought about it and collectively said, "meh."  But after watching this, I get it now.  It may not happen right away but I think that based on how Wired magazine is going to be creating for the tablet, it is the thing that just might save publishing.

This is really cool stuff right here.

I'm a Top Dad!

You may have noticed a shiny new banner in the right hand column of the blog. AlmightyDad put together a list of the top dad bloggers and I'm proud to say that I made the list--in the top half, even (#52)! A huge jump over last year where I was ranked #98 (though I didn't even know I was on this list last year).

It's also great to see my other blog home Hot Dads on the list as well (#45).

So thanks to Keith at Almighty Dad for assembling what I'm sure was a crack team devoting countless man-hours to this research. I'm very happy to be a Top Dad.

The Inevitable Avatar Post, Part 2: The Review (spoiler free)

Let’s just say this right up front: Avatar will not meet the extraordinarily lofty expectations that have been placed on it. I don’t think that any movie truly could. But it comes close. Avatar is a beautiful, groundbreaking spectacle that instantly sets a new bar for computer animation.

It's clear that James Cameron’s main goal with Avatar is to transport the viewer into a new world. He does this through jaw-droppingly real looking computer animation. In the movie, we swoop over vibrant landscapes, crawl through jungles and soar around mountains. Cameron shows off the rich world of Pandora like a new parent would their baby.

I loved being in Pandora and basking in its phosphorescent glow. The animation is stunning and as the movie unfolds it keeps revealing surprise after dazzling surprise. There were many times I had to remind myself that what I was seeing was created by a computer.

To heighten the experience Cameron uses 3D very effectively to draw the viewer into the movie. If your only 3D experience has been at a theme park, you are in for a surprise. The 3D in Avatar is never used as a gimmick where objects are purposely aimed at the audience. Instead, 3D is used to make you feel as if you a part of this world. In 3D the movie envelops you. The scenery has depth. Objects like leaves, bugs, smoke or debris sometimes obscure your view. It’s a cool a subtle way to make the viewer feel like they are directly in the scene.

I’m not sure if the movie would be as effective in 2D. The visuals would still be eye-catching, but I’m not sure if it would pull audiences in the same way. If possible, I strongly suggest seeing the movie in a gigantic sized Imax theater, where this world projected onto a 30-foot screen is an incredible sensory event.

For all of its beauty, the film does come up short in the story department. The plot has a simple narrative that lacks surprises. It’s really only there to provide a clothesline over which shot after shot of gorgeous scenery can be draped. The story doesn’t ask a lot from the audience while making obvious statements about human greed, evil corporations and war-mongering military operations. Yes, war is bad and saving the planet is good. These are hardly controversial political stances. It’s great that the movie has a message, but it’s all just to service a standard good vs. evil plot where the bad guys are humans and the altruistic good guys come in the form of blue-skinned cat-like creatures, called the Na’vi.

The film’s biggest feat is how it brings the Na’vi to life. Cameron and company have created a detailed language, philosophy and culture for the Na’vi that is a mix of Creole, African, Native American and Wiccan. Though totally rendered in CG the nuances of the actor’s performances show through, making the Na’vi fully realized and sympathetic characters.

With a running time of 2 hours, 40 minutes it’s a long movie, but it moved along swiftly. The first half is definitely stronger, featuring most of the spectacular views of Pandora. The movie turns darker and suffers from a few cheesy moments in the second hour. But hang in there, because it finishes with an explosive action-packed climax that makes up for any indiscretions that may have come before it.

Speaking of action, the action scenes in the film are breathtaking. Cameron is a confident filmmaker who thankfully doesn’t need to hide behind quick edits or shaky camerawork. He uses wide shots and even slow motion to highlight the action and provide a sense of geography even in the most chaotic of fight scenes.

At the end of the day, Avatar is not a perfect movie but it is a landmark film that is going to revolutionize the way movies are made. It will give filmmakers more freedom to create exotic worlds and immerse audiences in them. For that alone James Cameron should be applauded.

As for me, my jaw was on the floor during most of the movie. Yes it has its faults but Avatar is way more good than bad. I totally dug my trip to Pandora and can't wait to travel there again.

Saab: Fail

I'm usually not one to root for people to fail, but hearing about this article made me smile. I spent a few tumultuous years as a Saab owner and never has a product and the service around a product filled me with such contempt for a company.

It tickles me that every month a few people find their way to my blog using the keywords "Saabs suck". I feel bad that others are having their own car troubles, but I'm glad to know that I'm not alone.

So farewell Saab! I'm sorry for the people who are losing their jobs as a result of your failure, but I'm not sorry to see you go.