Turn down the lights because I have a scary story to tell. Everything you are about to read is completely true.
It started innocently, the way that these things usually do. The Bean was given a toy truck for his birthday. After unwrapping the present, we discovered that the truck went against our usual toy guidelines, which stipulated that toys that with lights and sounds needed to have an off switch (lest the added stimuli drive mommy and daddy to commit a violent act). Making matters worse was that the truck was motion activated. All it took was a slight nudge for it to make a loud engine sound, VROOOM!, followed by a HONK! HONK!
The boy loved this truck from the moment he saw it while I loathed it with the white hot passion that only a fellow parent will understand. But the Bean was crazy about his new toy, so I put up with the noise for his sake. Needless to say that it wasn’t long before the toy drove me completely insane. VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
Time went by and thankfully the toy was forgotten and heaped in the bin to live amongst the Bean’s other forgotten cars and trucks. But this truck, this evil truck, didn’t want to be forgotten. It would make itself known from the bottom of the bin. The kids would wrestle on the floor and we’d hear VROOOM! HONK! HONK! Somebody would walk past, VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
The truck soon began to torment me. There would be times when the toy would go off for no reason. I would be sitting in the other room and hear it. VROOOM! HONK! HONK! It began to happen at night, when the house was dark and I was the only one awake. VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
I finally had my fill of the wretched toy truck, so one day when the kids were out of the house with WonderWife™, I decided to do what I should had done long ago. I was going to end it.
I grabbed a screwdriver and slowly approached the toy bin. The truck seemed to know that I was coming and let out a VROOOM! HONK! HONK! as if to say, “What are you doing, DGB?”
I fished the truck out of the bin, flipped it over and gingerly went to work. But when I removed the battery cover, I was met with a most shocking sight:
It was completely empty! There were no batteries in the toy!
I recoiled and dropped the truck. How could this be? There was only one answer: this vile toy was surely forged out of pure evil from the fiery depths. There was no way I was going to live under the same roof as a possessed toy. I’d seen enough horror movies to know that doing so will always end badly.
I quickly took the demonic truck outside and tossed it in the dumpster. In a few days it would be off of my property and would no longer haunt me.
I imagine that the truck is now resting in some landfill, buried beneath trash and debris still making its ungodly noise. But somehow I don’t think I’ve seen the last of it. Each night when my family is asleep and I make my way through the dark house, locking up for the evening, I can still hear it…VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
Showing posts with label toys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label toys. Show all posts
Monday, April 12, 2010
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Table Scraps Volume #4: Comic Con
I was all set to blog about this year's trip to the San Diego Comic Con in the days that followed the event. But then I got the stomach flu and by the time I recovered, it felt like the time had passed to write about it. But isn't that what the feature known as Table Scraps is all about--me posting half-finished blog pieces about the recent past?
Arriving in San Diego was much easier than it was last year. In the lobby of the hotel, I spied a man in his 60's in a Hawaiian shirt. He had the distinct vibe of somebody who was there for the Con. We made some pleasant chit-chat in the elevator. I said this was my 9th con. He said this was his 40th. And that he was one of the original founders of the show. I shook his hand and told him it was an honor, and he disappeared into a sea of nerds dressed as Stormtroopers.
The first few hours of the first day were strangely quieter than in the past few years. But I knew that was about to change, as nearly 150,000 of my chubby, sweaty brethren all packed into the giant building.
Later that evening, I overheard somebody asking a guy dressed as Batman if the Padres were going to be playing that night. Batman replied, "I have no idea." Dude, what did you think the answer was going to be?
There are no pictures of this year's show. Correction, there are tons of pictures all over the internet, but none have been taken by me. Last year's scant photos were an aberration. I usually forget to bring a camera. But I feel okay about that. Most of the traffic on the convention floor is caused by people stopping to take pictures in the middle of a crowded hallway.
I was walking the floor with a comic book writer, who goes to about 5-6 of these shows a year and has lost all patience for convention floor photos, had a solution to the traffic problem. He would plow his way through the crowd, nearly bowling over anyone who got in his way while bellowing, "Move people! Let's move!" It was both effective and cathartic.
There were a few really cool innovations in the toy booths. But the coolest is the toy you play with your mind. Yes, there is a toy that you can play with your mind! Needless to say, I want one.
On the last day, I pulled out of convention floor traffic and parked myself against a wall in order to check my phone. Somebody came up to me and asked me what I was in line for. Although there were people also standing on either side of me, we were clearly not a line. For a moment, I pondered telling this guy that I was waiting for tickets to an advance screening of Avatar or to shake Stan Lee's hand. But I decided to let him off the hook and tell him that there was no line--just a wall. Someday karma will return the favor.
Arriving in San Diego was much easier than it was last year. In the lobby of the hotel, I spied a man in his 60's in a Hawaiian shirt. He had the distinct vibe of somebody who was there for the Con. We made some pleasant chit-chat in the elevator. I said this was my 9th con. He said this was his 40th. And that he was one of the original founders of the show. I shook his hand and told him it was an honor, and he disappeared into a sea of nerds dressed as Stormtroopers.
The first few hours of the first day were strangely quieter than in the past few years. But I knew that was about to change, as nearly 150,000 of my chubby, sweaty brethren all packed into the giant building.
Later that evening, I overheard somebody asking a guy dressed as Batman if the Padres were going to be playing that night. Batman replied, "I have no idea." Dude, what did you think the answer was going to be?
There are no pictures of this year's show. Correction, there are tons of pictures all over the internet, but none have been taken by me. Last year's scant photos were an aberration. I usually forget to bring a camera. But I feel okay about that. Most of the traffic on the convention floor is caused by people stopping to take pictures in the middle of a crowded hallway.
I was walking the floor with a comic book writer, who goes to about 5-6 of these shows a year and has lost all patience for convention floor photos, had a solution to the traffic problem. He would plow his way through the crowd, nearly bowling over anyone who got in his way while bellowing, "Move people! Let's move!" It was both effective and cathartic.
There were a few really cool innovations in the toy booths. But the coolest is the toy you play with your mind. Yes, there is a toy that you can play with your mind! Needless to say, I want one.
On the last day, I pulled out of convention floor traffic and parked myself against a wall in order to check my phone. Somebody came up to me and asked me what I was in line for. Although there were people also standing on either side of me, we were clearly not a line. For a moment, I pondered telling this guy that I was waiting for tickets to an advance screening of Avatar or to shake Stan Lee's hand. But I decided to let him off the hook and tell him that there was no line--just a wall. Someday karma will return the favor.
Friday, June 12, 2009
View From an Island, Part 3
Day 5: Eight is Enough
Today was the day when we realized that 8 days of vacation might be too much for a pre-schooler and an infant. Cries of, "I want to go home!" filled the air as we pulled back on some of our planned adventures for fear that we over-scheduled our kids.
However, the bittersweet knowledge that we wouldn't be able to do everything we wanted was easier to take by the gorgeous sunset.
Day 6: The Way the Whistle Blew
Because the ticket booth for the Sugar Cane Train was in the back of the gift shop, I had no choice but to buy the Bean a toy train. As the cashier was ringing it up, she said, “It plays music if you press this button.” Damn, I thought. She must not be a parent. She pushed down on the smokestack, but nothing happened. She offered to get me another one, but I quickly said the broken one would be great. She even took a few bucks off the price.
The next day, the Bean pushed the button and the train lit up and began playing highly annoying, tinny music and train sounds. It had miraculously been resurrected, much to the collective chagrin of WW™ and me. The Bean pushed that button over and over and over... Later, when he was out with WonderWife™, I took out the batteries and told him that it was broken again. The people on the plane ride home would've thanked me.
Day 7: “Yes, married.”
Oh yeah, we were there for a wedding. We had all but forgotten as the day approached.
It was held at a stunning oceanside plantation. I snuck off with my bride and we danced next to the waves as the sun was going down. This was by far the best moment of the entire vacation.
Day 8: As Luck Would Have It
Between check out and our flight, we had time to kill. A visit to the sugar museum did away with 20 of those minutes and resulted in the Bean getting a tablespoon worth of sugar in a small ziplock bag. He refused to put it away and carried it around, making it look like he was toting a drug stash. Later on the plane when he said, “I want sugar! I want sugar!” and I poured a little in his hand and he lapped it up, the drug metaphor still seemed apt.
The vacation gods were benevolent on this day as the plane was miraculously only a third full. I cannot remember a recently flight that has not been overstuffed to the gills. We spread our tired selves over six seats and had an uneventful, stress-free flight.
Every time we left the door of our condo in Maui, the Bean would ask, “On ramp?” (The kid loves going up on ramps. Don’t ask me why.) We would tell him that there were no on ramps on the island. In fact, there were no freeways on the island.
When we got in the car and headed for home the Bean told me, “I’m so happy there’s an on ramp.”
Welcome home, family. Welcome home.
Today was the day when we realized that 8 days of vacation might be too much for a pre-schooler and an infant. Cries of, "I want to go home!" filled the air as we pulled back on some of our planned adventures for fear that we over-scheduled our kids.
However, the bittersweet knowledge that we wouldn't be able to do everything we wanted was easier to take by the gorgeous sunset.
Day 6: The Way the Whistle Blew
Because the ticket booth for the Sugar Cane Train was in the back of the gift shop, I had no choice but to buy the Bean a toy train. As the cashier was ringing it up, she said, “It plays music if you press this button.” Damn, I thought. She must not be a parent. She pushed down on the smokestack, but nothing happened. She offered to get me another one, but I quickly said the broken one would be great. She even took a few bucks off the price.
The next day, the Bean pushed the button and the train lit up and began playing highly annoying, tinny music and train sounds. It had miraculously been resurrected, much to the collective chagrin of WW™ and me. The Bean pushed that button over and over and over... Later, when he was out with WonderWife™, I took out the batteries and told him that it was broken again. The people on the plane ride home would've thanked me.
Day 7: “Yes, married.”
Oh yeah, we were there for a wedding. We had all but forgotten as the day approached.
It was held at a stunning oceanside plantation. I snuck off with my bride and we danced next to the waves as the sun was going down. This was by far the best moment of the entire vacation.
Day 8: As Luck Would Have It
Between check out and our flight, we had time to kill. A visit to the sugar museum did away with 20 of those minutes and resulted in the Bean getting a tablespoon worth of sugar in a small ziplock bag. He refused to put it away and carried it around, making it look like he was toting a drug stash. Later on the plane when he said, “I want sugar! I want sugar!” and I poured a little in his hand and he lapped it up, the drug metaphor still seemed apt.
The vacation gods were benevolent on this day as the plane was miraculously only a third full. I cannot remember a recently flight that has not been overstuffed to the gills. We spread our tired selves over six seats and had an uneventful, stress-free flight.
Every time we left the door of our condo in Maui, the Bean would ask, “On ramp?” (The kid loves going up on ramps. Don’t ask me why.) We would tell him that there were no on ramps on the island. In fact, there were no freeways on the island.
When we got in the car and headed for home the Bean told me, “I’m so happy there’s an on ramp.”
Welcome home, family. Welcome home.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Table Scraps Volume #2: Galoshes, Doh and Marbles
Most of the things I write wind up as full posts on this here blog. But every so often I'm find myself with bits and pieces of ideas that aren't enough of a meal to be served on their own. Here are a few more:
Since we’re at the beginning of what passes for winter here in Southern California, which is marginally chilly weather and about 4 inches of rain spread out over five and a half months, the Bean has had occasion to wear his new galoshes. They each have a dragon’s face covering the toes. Now he wants to wear them wherever he goes…raining or not.
The boots are big enough that he can put them on himself and he has the uncanny ability to put them on the wrong feet every single time and stubbornly refuses to switch them. He marches out the front door (into public mind you) with the boots pushing up his jeans, making them look like puffy director pants, and boots on the wrong feet, which cause him to walk with a wobbly gait. He looks like a demented soldier.
Who is the bigger kid: the Bean, who loves to play with Play Doh and his marble run, or me, who loves to play with Play Doh and the marble run?
The Bean got some awesome gifts for his birthday. A Play Doh sized tub filled with an insane amount of accessories (I’m serious…more than I ever had as a kid combined). There is something insanely satisfying about playing with Play Doh. It smells amazing. Plus, I get to show the Bean how to make “hair” by squishing it through some of the molds that came in the tub. And did you know that if you mix every color of Play Doh together, you get sort of a dark bruise-like color?
The marble run was given to the Bean by the sons of one of my best friends. But when my buddy gave me a wink as his boys handed over he present, I knew that it was really a gift from him to me.
Since we’re at the beginning of what passes for winter here in Southern California, which is marginally chilly weather and about 4 inches of rain spread out over five and a half months, the Bean has had occasion to wear his new galoshes. They each have a dragon’s face covering the toes. Now he wants to wear them wherever he goes…raining or not.
The boots are big enough that he can put them on himself and he has the uncanny ability to put them on the wrong feet every single time and stubbornly refuses to switch them. He marches out the front door (into public mind you) with the boots pushing up his jeans, making them look like puffy director pants, and boots on the wrong feet, which cause him to walk with a wobbly gait. He looks like a demented soldier.
____________________
Who is the bigger kid: the Bean, who loves to play with Play Doh and his marble run, or me, who loves to play with Play Doh and the marble run?
The Bean got some awesome gifts for his birthday. A Play Doh sized tub filled with an insane amount of accessories (I’m serious…more than I ever had as a kid combined). There is something insanely satisfying about playing with Play Doh. It smells amazing. Plus, I get to show the Bean how to make “hair” by squishing it through some of the molds that came in the tub. And did you know that if you mix every color of Play Doh together, you get sort of a dark bruise-like color?
The marble run was given to the Bean by the sons of one of my best friends. But when my buddy gave me a wink as his boys handed over he present, I knew that it was really a gift from him to me.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Frustration-Free
Last year, around the Bean’s birthday, I made the rookie parenting mistake of not pre-opening and pre-assembling his gifts. He impatiently stood over me desperate to play with his new toy, watching as I pathetically struggled with the myriad amount of cardboard, plastic and cords that secured his prize inside the box. A toy hadn’t made my blood pressure go up this much since Perfection.
But help is on the way.
I’ve grumbled more than a few times about the packaging from Amazon. Often, a single paperback is shipped in a box four times its size, filled with more material than the book itself. But after this brilliant move, I am man enough to say that I was wrong about you, Amazon. Nicely done!
But help is on the way.
I’ve grumbled more than a few times about the packaging from Amazon. Often, a single paperback is shipped in a box four times its size, filled with more material than the book itself. But after this brilliant move, I am man enough to say that I was wrong about you, Amazon. Nicely done!
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