I told you he wanted to be famous on the internet. Warning, gratuitous use of elementary school bad words:

My five year old son walks up to me and the Mrs. and says he wants to be on youtube. He had a few ideas about what he wanted to do. I looked at the wife and said: He could be famous on the internet, which is kind of like being the one guy at the bar who doesn’t suck at karaoke.

He recorded some stuff featuring his new favorite toy (Trash Packs) and we may put some up tonight.

Teach your kids to fight, it may come in handy: Ga. girl fights off would-be abductor in Walmart. The girl is 7.

I actually talked a little bit about self-defense with my kids and my nephews and nieces. Teaching them useful things like fight in public and never go to a second location. And not to scream help in public since that doesn’t get attention but rather to scream things like You’re not my daddy. I don’t know you. Leave me alone.

A few weeks back, my five year old son informed me and the wife that he wanted a Wii game called Skylanders. Having just given him no less than eleventy billion toys for Christmas, we said no. He, then, informed us that he had his own money and asked if he could buy it with that. Sure. I hop on Amazon and order it. I tell him that it will be here in a couple of days. He looks frustrated because he wants it now. He then turns the laptop around and shows me Target’s webpage and says “Target has them. We can just go there and pick one up.”

A five year old who can’t clean his room, fold his own laundry, or remember to flush the toilet can hop on the internet and tell you that the local Target store has an item in stock. I like living in the future but not that much.

Junior is participating in a science fair. She decided that for the fair, we’d make some rock candy. She set out to make four flavors: vanilla, cinnamon, orange and grape. I suggested that we make some bacon rock candy. She looked at me and the shirt I was wearing and said I know bacon makes it better but we don’t have to put bacon in everything.

Heh.

Heard around the house from Junior to her mom: So, all the men on this channel are bad and all the women are crazy? The wife responded with yes.

They were watching Lifetime while scrap-booking.

So, I went to show my ten year old nephews a youtube video. Sat in front of their computer and hit the mouse. Mmm, a Mac I grumbled disapprovingly. One of my nephews looks at me and says You know what PC stands for? Piece of crap.

I laughed. Internet trolling in real life.

Tam started it but the most played songs on my iPod:

Believe – Trapped Under Ice
God’s Gonna Cut You Down – Johnny Cash
Nothing Compares 2 U – Me First and the Gimme Gimmes*
Turning Point – Superjoint Ritual
Bring the Noise – Anthrax
The Horror and The Gag – Ramallah
Madhouse – Hed P.E.
This Dearkened Heart – All That Remains
Three Little Pigs – Green Jello*
Punk Rock Girl – Dead Milkmen*

The ones with asterisks are there because they’re on the kids play lists and they like those songs. I like them too. The rest seem to be the first song of particular play lists I listen to most.

My five year old son on the show Wipeout:

it’s funny ’cause fat people are falling.

That show, by the way, I think marks the end of western civilization.

For Thanksgiving, my son got to shoot his first gun:

We were shooting at pumpkins and gourds left over from the fall season. Now, he’s five. You can see he’s having some trouble shouldering the suppressed 10/22. Over CTD, they’re discussing guns for the young shooter. And this reminded me that my dad, who was there when my son was shooting, said maybe I should get him a Mare’s Leg in 22LR. He could shoulder that. Something to consider.

The kids were, as they often do, having one of their nonsensical arguments. I forgot what it was about but it probably involved stop touching me, get on your side of the couch or some other thing kids have fought about for just about ever. I tell them to knock it off and then, thinking I thought it, I instead said I can’t believe you guys argue about the dumbest crap. Junior then pipes up: You argue about dumb crap too. Thinking she may have heard about my blog, I say Oh do I?

Her: Yes, you argue about dumb crap too.

Me: No I don’t. And don’t say crap.

Her: Oh, yes, you do.

Me: When have I argued about dumb stuff?

Her: Always.

Me: I do not.

Her: Uh huh.

Me: Oh please.

Her: You’re arguing about dumb stuff right now.

Me: Well played, Sparky.

And I laughed hard. I was both taken aback and proud that I was outsmarted by my 7 year-old daughter. Still brings a smile to my face.

Update: Rage comic by Michael. LOL.

What children’s drawings would look like if it were painted realistically

A nerd website is all butthurt because kids like to play with toys. The FBI agent play set has handcuffs and a baton. I think they’re reading a bit too much into it. Newsflash: kids like toys. They like toy guns, but we don’t hand them real ones to play with without supervision. They like toy cars, and we don’t let them drive. They like battle monster type toys, and we don’t send them to cock fights. Lighten up, Francis.

Discussing kids’ party ideas with the wife last night and she says that it’s kind of sad that most parents have this germophobia thing because it’d be kind of fun to let kids bob for apples. I told her that’s one of the issues facing the nation today. A nation of pansies. The first generation of kids who grew up using hand sanitizer every 30 seconds and everyone gets a trophy is currently Occupying Whatever.

She asks me then Where did that come from?

But, she’s right, parents these days probably wouldn’t let their kids bob for apples.

When I was a kid, my uncle owned a knife shop. While visiting, he said I could have one and let me pick. The Rambo movies were big then so I picked this survival knife:

I immediately opened it, took the contents out of the handle, played with the compass. Sorted out the matches and fishing stuff in the handle. Dad didn’t want me playing with all that stuff and told me to put it away. I didn’t. So, he took the knife from me. This was in 1982.

Monday night, I met dad for the weekly card game. He asked me to get something out of the hallway closet. While doing that, I saw the knife sitting in there. I picked it up and showed it to dad. And I reminded him of taking it from me. He laughed and sad Well, you’re forty now. I guess you can have it.

This past Saturday was my birthday and you didn’t get me anything. I was fine with the fact that I was turning 40. I reasoned that, the day before, I was 39 and nothing was going to happen in a day to make me feel old. It was just a number change, my next doctor visit would result in a prostate exam, I’d start hitting the treadmill more (and by more, I mean again) and I think my car insurance might get a little cheaper. No big deal. My wife arranged for some friends to come over and help me mark the occasion with some good food, good drink, gifts and black balloons. Usual 40 year-old stuff.

Then at about noon, we got a call that a friend of mine’s dad had died.

And, then, about thirty minutes before the festivities were to start, my mom called to say that dad was on his way to the ER. They were driving to my party when dad’s vision got flaky. He’d had a heart attack. He’s fine now and home. Very minor but, still, gets your attention.

Other than that, it was a good birthday. Catching up with old friends, a nice little get together where we all say we should do this more and then we never do. One of my friends, I hadn’t seen since my wedding. It was good to catch up.

And here I was not fretting about being over the hill when life smacked me right up side the head with a dose of mortality.

Tomorrow, I’ll be 40. I’m not going to feel any different than I do now so, no, I’m not all that bummed. Putting numbers on mortality is something we do. Getting older does suck but it beats the alternative. Another day on the right side of the ground is a good day.

Firehouse Subs has this new Freestyle Coke Machine. At your fingertips are no less than eleventy billion flavors of cool liquid refreshment. I recommend the Cherry Coke or the Vanilla Coke. And the limeade is good too. I tried the raspberry, not a fan. Where was I? Oh!

Anyway, it’s a fantastic machine that gives you all the carbonated awesomeness you can stand. However, every time I’m at the sub shop partaking of this phenomenal piece of technology, I manage to get behind an 80 year old woman who is looking at the machine much like I think my 5 year old would look at a quadratic equation. And it takes ten minutes for them to either find Diet Coke or realize the iced tea is still in the machine on the counter.

As the kids are getting older, I’m turning over household chores to them. Teaching responsibility and all. Last night, it was kitty litter.

See, I never wanted cats but Junior did. And the Mrs. caved but I didn’t. I was adverse to keeping a box of turds in the house. And, so, I finally agreed under the arrangement that 1) the litter box would be kept clean and 2) I’d never have to empty it. Like most marital arrangements, that lasted about two days. And I was doing more than my fair share of emptying it since my fair share was zero.

So, being weary of emptying the turd boxes daily, last night I turned it over to Junior. And she fought me every step of the way. The conversation went roughly like this:

Me: It’s time you started emptying the cat litter.

Junior: I don’t want to.

Me: They’re your cats. Time you take some responsibility for them.

Junior: No. I don’t want to.

Me: This is not a negotiation, you do not get a say, and what you want will not change the outcome.

There was a lot of whining and fussing but we made our way to the litter box where I showed her the scoop and the bags. I even held the bag for her. And she thought she was done. When I reminded her that we had another litter box to empty. More whining.

Junior: I already did one. You do the other.

Me: No, Babe, you’re going to be responsible for your pets.

Junior: Fine!

Me: Doesn’t having cats suck?

Junior: No! You suck!

At that point, I was rolling on the ground laughing that she said that. Probably shouldn’t have encouraged her but the tone in her voice just floored me. I’m still laughing about it. Any way, we both laughed as she emptied the other turd box.

I thought I had this but it turns out I had children. I kid.

I’ve actually explained this to my wife before but there are certain sounds that drive me insane, make me uncomfortable or really piss me off. A continuous rap on a hard surface and I have to leave the room. The sound of babies crying, who are not my own, I cannot listen to. Or whining dogs.

Why your teenager can’t use a hammer.

When Junior was just shy of four, she watched intently as I used a cordless drill to tighten some screws. She asked about it. I sat her down in the work area of my basement and gave her a couple of old boards, a handful of screws, and the drill. I showed her how the drill worked, how to hold it, and how to change it from tighten to loosen. She sat there for about 45 minutes putting screws in the boards, taking them out, and bolting them together. After, she tried the hammer too. At three years old.

One of the openers was Rage Against The Machine, who I had never heard. After the show, I bought their CD. On the second stage, there was a band no one ever heard of. They put on a helluva show and drew a large crowd from the main stage. There was moshing, dancing, screaming, drinking and all manner of fun. I watched in amazement. One hell of a set. That band was Tool. Later, I saw Alice in Chains put on one of the worst live shows I’ve ever seen. The sound was terrible. But that was followed by Primus putting on one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. Layne Staley bummed a smoke from me.

That was 19 years ago at the Starwood Amphitheater.

Lollapalooza turns 20 this year. And MTV turns 30.

How did that happen?

Are ultra-safe playgrounds making kids neurotic?

Children who are not exposed to risks can’t learn to cope with them. The world is not coated in Nerf and bubblewrap. And kids should know that.

Son: Mommy, I thought you said kindergarten would be fun.

Mom: It wasn’t fun?

Son: We sat there and the lady talked to us the whole time.

Upon hearing of the conversation, I say to him Well, get used to that. You’re going to spend a lot of time doing that.

Today, my son started kindergarten. Well, not really kindergarten but kindergarten camp. The school has a couple of weeks in the summer where the kids get acquainted with school rules and teachers and stuff. So, it’s like kindergarten without the school work.

Regardless, he’s old enough to start school.

When did that happen?

On a recent vacation, our room contained this toilet:

Now, I understand the reasoning here. The conservation minded would like you to use one button for number one and the other for number two, thereby saving some water and utility bills and stuff.

But here’s how it actually worked. The kids saw the two buttons and I explained to them how it worked. They each then proceeded to hit each button about six times so they could verify that, yes, one button did actually use less water.

My son completely lacks an appropriate sense of urgency. It doesn’t matter if he dropped a Cheeto and the dog ate it or if he’s on fire and in a pit of cobras. The reaction is the same. Emit blood curdling scream that pierces the skulls of those around him. Everything is a crisis. Obviously, the number of times he’s dropped a Cheeto or can’t find the toy he’s looking for occur slightly more often than catching fire and falling in a pit of cobras (I really should move that thing). So the result is that I don’t really go rushing when he howls like a banshee any more. This annoys the wife a little. Not his screaming but that I don’t go rushing to see what is wrong. Because it’s always nothing. We’re working on appropriate reactions, which will probably be met with about as much success as working on our ‘inside’ voices.

Junior is sort of obsessed with zombies. Not a full on obsession just in that they’re fun to play and make believe about. Last night, she was playing Plants v. Zombies and she says to me: Daddy, If there were real zombies, what would you do?

Me: I’d go south.

Her: Why?

Me: Because the only thing that sucks more than fighting zombies is fighting zombies in the cold.

Her: So, we can fight zombies on the beach?

Me: Yes.

Her: Awesome!

And just prior to that, she asks her mom: Why would someone make up the word vampire when vampires are not even real?

I chime in with: Same reason someone would make up iCarly. Entertainment.

Her: Shut up, Dad.

The Mrs. took the kids to Build a Bear yesterday. Whenever the kids go, the both always build dogs and not bears. Junior built herself a dachshund that had rollerskates. And she named it Weiner.

I wonder if she’s been watching the news?

My son is a huge fan of the movie Cars. Cars 2 is coming out soon. I guess I’ll have to see it since it has a tribute to John Moses Browning:

From Kids