Is That A Twinkle In Your Eye, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

The first thing people tell me when they meet me for the first time is, "Wow, you really have a sparkle in your eye!" Well, not the first thing. The first thing is usually, "Your fly is down," or "Jeez, Cyrano de Bergerac has nothing on you," or "Is that Eau de vomit you're wearing?" But the sparkle thing usually comes up at some point.

   But it wasn't always that way. It used to be that people would avoid me on account of my cold dead eyes. (And possibly the vomit smell thing.) But then I discovered Super Sparkle Eye Polish, NOW WITH 50% MORE GLITTER. With the advent of this miracle product, the world of sparkling eyes is no longer limited to mythical forest elves, Icelandic rock stars and vacant beauty pageant contestants.

   Now you can have that certain twinkle in your eye. Just apply a small dab of Super Sparkle Eye Polish to the tip of your finger and rub it gently over your eager eyeball. In just a few short days after the burning subsides, you simply re-apply the gel, and after the burning subsides again, you'll notice that you can't see a thing. That should subside... in a few months. Repeat the process several more times and you will possibly notice a marked improvement in the sparkle-ocity of your peepers. The compliments will likely pour in. And you most probably won't be blind for life.

There Is Nothing New Under The Movie Marquee.

Hollywood is turning more and more to tried and true titles and franchises. Batman, Spiderman, and James Bond have all been rebooted. Old Movies and beloved TV shows are getting the modern big screen treatment. DC, Marvel and Hasbro are searching their catalogs for some untapped gold. With that in mind I have several ideas I would like to submit to the Hollywood powers that be.
    Fatal Attraction 2 A fresh and interesting departure from the original. In this movie a married man cheats on his attractive wife with a less attractive crazy woman who isn't happy to be ignored when the affair ends. In the climactic scene the crazy woman kills and boils the family's pet Llama.

  Chess: The Movie! A cerebral, (slow, plodding) black and white, period piece with lots of highfalutin accents, funny hats, and inexplicable idiosyncratic movements. Murray Head performs One Night In Bangkok at least fifteen times.

   Super Strong Lad An obscure superhero from the golden age of comics. Little Percival Campbell is struck by lightning at summer camp and turned into Super Strong Lad, a mighty hero imbued with the uncanny ability to open any lid, no matter how stuck on it is. In the 1950's Super Strong Lad opened bottles for the president, random housewives and in a display of non-PC misogyny, Wonder Woman. In this updated version Super Strong Lad must open a secret alien jar before the world is destroyed by beautiful but devious Femartians. But first he must face his kryptonite, the common tin can.

    Public Defender Squirrel An unpublished John Grisham novel, about the adventures of Samuel, the plucky squirrel from the wrong side of the forest who defends small helpless rodents from the clutches of the villainous Owl and his evil chicken henchmen. Written when John was only twelve. Screenplay by a gangly eight year old David Mamet and polished by an as yet unborn Quentin Tarantino.

   Ninja Knives of Death! A reboot of the classic 1981 infomercial for Ginsu Knives by Ronco. In this version our intrepid protagonist hero, Hiro Protagonist, is attacked by ninja assassins wielding tin cans, tennis shoes, and even tomatoes. All that stands between Hiro and certain grisly death, is the best set of never dull, made in America, stainless steel, machine forged, Ninja killin' knives that can be purchased for only two easy payments of $19.99.

   The Scrabble Players Dictionary This bestseller gets the full Michael Bay/3-D/IMAX/Disney Digital/ILM/Pixar/explosions galore/Joss Whedon/Comic Con/special effect driven/action adventure rom-com buddy pic/big budget work-up that is has always deserved. Starring Helen Mirren, Dame Judy Dench, Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, and Bowser from Sha Na Na.

Punch Buggy, No Punch Backs.

So my kids are getting to that fun age when they are really starting to interact. They don't just eat, poop, and cry all the time, they actually communicate. They are 9 and 11, respectively. And they are really into this newfangled game called Punch Buggy. How the game works is: if you see a Volkswagen Beetle, you say the color of the car and the word buggy and then punch the nearest person in the arm, and then you quantify it by saying, "no punch-backs", thereby prohibiting your opponent from retaliating. I don't like it. I'm terribly unobservant and I am always the one getting punched. So I have invented several other games that I might actually, occasionally, win.

   Hansel and Gretel: This game isn't at all like it sounds. First I take the kids miles from home and then I abandon them. See? Not at all what you expected.

   Here's Johnny!: In our family's version, we act out our favorite scenes from Stephen King's, The Shining. Specifically the 1980 movie version starring Jack Nicholson. The family especially likes it when I spend the afternoon getting bombed and then grab the ax. Oh you, silly.

   Low Hanging Fruit: This game mainly involves me holding food over my head and telling my kids they can eat, if they can take it out of my hands. This game was pretty one-sided until they started  punching me in the crotch and forcing me to drop said food. Evil little cheaters.

   The Quiet Game: Sometimes when you have kids and you are driving around town, the noise is almost too much to bear. I have found that the best way to control the volume is to play the game where you look menacingly into the rear-view mirror and then run full speed into a wall. The ensuing few precious moments of post accident quiet are worth the cost of sky-high insurance premiums.

   Harry Potter: This is the one where we brew up some homemade butter beer, put on our wizarding robes, get out our favorite Harry Potter DVD and then lock the children in the closet under the stairs, just like Harry.

   Because I'm Bigger Than You, That's Why: And lastly but not leastly, everyones favorite game. I punch my kids at random and then add; "no punch-backs. If you know what's good for you." I have had people suggest that this might be child abuse, but I explain to them it is only a game... and then kneecap them with a tire iron. Mind your own business, meddling jerk! If my children grow to be larger than me, this game will be phased out in favor of Because I'm older than you, that's why.

   So, Hopefully this has given you some good ideas for fun activities with your family. Or your friends. Or your coworkers. Or that crazy guy under the bridge near your work. And by work, I mean the bar you hang out at. And by friends, I mean your court mandated psychologist and parole officer. And by crazy guy under the bridge, I mean Sam the Mouthfoamer, that crazy guy under the bridge. Duh.

*The quiet game is attributed to a comment by Birga Alden.

...And I Vote.

I'm not sure I understand what politicians really do. Judging by the bumperstickers I have been seeing lately, politicians spend a good amount of time reading bumperstickers and base policy on what is written thereon. Otherwise, why would people be so eager to declare they participate in some activity, or truly, truly believe in some philosophy, ...and they vote. 

   People own horses ...and they vote, People own guns ...and they vote, people don't like big oil ...and they vote.  (which in itself is an ironic thing to have on a non-electric car), people are for, or against, same sex marriages ...and they vote.

   Well I vote. And I have some things to say that my duly elected officials need to know. So here are the bumperstickers I have on my car. You'd better be paying attention. 

Those damn things just think they're so frickin' cute. Well, I'll show them.

Where else are you going to pick your nose? In private?!
How about we make a law where it's illegal to stare at me.
It's my constitutional right, I'm pretty sure.

It constantly surprises me that the world hasn't accepted me as their rightful leader.
I am possibly probably definitely the most brilliant mind the world has ever seen.
If you don't think the same things that I think, you are obviously a mental midget.

'Nough said.

How Are These Mid-Life Crisis Thingies Supposed To Work?

I am feeling the pressure of decades of unrelenting responsibility and the crush of daily minutiae. (Minutiae always crushes, right?) I think I am going to have a mid-life crisis. I'm just not sure how it goes, I've never done this before. What do other people do?

   OK, first I need to buy a little red sports car. Hmmh. I can't really get all my crap into a sports car, there just isn't enough room in those things. Where are the kids and the coolers and the toys and the luggage and all my miscellany, supposed to go? And the guys driving those cars always look slightly desperate, like people that laugh a little too long and maniacally at a moderately funny joke. I'll just stick with my good old dependable mini-van.

   I'm supposed to get a twenty-something girlfriend. Seriously? I have nothing in common with those girls. I loathe all things LOL an OMG. (Gag me with a spoon.) I love my wife, and she loves me. What's more, I LIKE my wife. She puts up with my foibles, neurosis and outright character flaws. Our relationship has never been better. (Wink, wink, nudge nudge.) Besides, I've got almost teen kids, I have a feeling I'll get my fill of teen culture in the coming years. I'm not leaving my wife for some vacant young thing.

   Get stylish clothes, haircut and/or combover/toupee. I look ridiculous in baggy jeans. I look terrible in skinny jeans. Laughable in skinny jeans worn under my buttcheeks. Don't get me started on how heinous I look in expensive jeans with appliques on 'em. Or dragons. Plus I'm a good decade or so past getting frosted tips in my hair. (Hair. I remember hair.) And nobody really looks good in toupees or comb overs. To tell you the truth I kinda dig my Rasputin, channeling Don Quixote look. Nah, I'm not gonna try and be stylish.

   Quit my job and pursue my lifelong passion, that I just recently discovered I've always had. I kinda like my stuff. I like my house. And my car. And computers, TV's, books Nooks and Kindles, I like my big comfy bed, and my garage full of tools. I like being warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I like my microwave oven and my big maintenance intensive backyard. The time to be a starving artist has passed by a good two decades. When I retire maybe I'll start "doing" art fulltime, but for now I'll just show up to work.

   In order to fight off feelings of my impending mortality, I'll become a gym rat. Hmmmh. Nah. I'm in decent enough shape. I can keep up with my kids, and I am reasonably active. I weigh the same as I did 15 years ago; isn't that why people work out in the first place? I quit smoking years ago, but I like my beer.  I think I'll just watch some sports, I'll be athlete through osmosis.

   So, in conclusion: I'm keeping my wife, car, job, and appearance. If I have to change something, I'll change the amount of beer I drink. Phew, crisis averted. My life is much better already. Although that could just be my four beer buzz talking.

    

Maybe I'm Not A Idiot. Maybe Society Is To Blame.

People call me stupid. And dumb. And feeble minded. And borderline retarded. And... well the list just goes on and on. But I think that maybe it's not me. Maybe society is the stupid one, it can't even make it's own mind up. Just the other day I took my family to the local swimming pool, and the problem with inconsistent and hard to follow rules, reared it's ugly head.

   First my toddler son, who is very conscientious about using the bathroom, felt the need to empty his bladder. He got out of the pool and ran to a bush and emptied his wee little bladder. Everybody laughed and said how cute it was. But when I did the same thing minutes later I was a "freak" and a "perv" and a "frickin' moron". What?! Is it cute or not?
   My family calmed down the lifeguards somehow. (I think I heard that sounded something like "fleas a flocking Dumas, eat want happy a can.") The head lifeguard came up to me and let me know that I could stay, but the next time I would be banned for life. He also told me in a low whisper that next time I should just pee in the pool, like everybody else.
   LIAR! Several hours later I found myself in handcuffs being led away. When I tried to explain to the cops that the lifeguard had told me to pee in the pool, that everybody else did it, he didn't believe me.
The lifeguard told you to pee in the pool?
Yes.
Then why did he call us?
I don't know. Maybe he hates me?
Do you think that maybe he didn't mean for you to pee INTO the pool?
He didn't say NOT to pee into the pool.
From the high dive?
Are they so different?
Well, one goes unnoticed and one gets you arrested.

   So you see, I don't think it's me thats stupid. It's society. And they're arbitrary rules.

I Hate Future Me, That Smug Bastard.

The other day I had my eighteenth birthday party and invited several future Me's. I sat around and got sideways with my twenty-five and thirty-five year old self. We told stories of the parties we went to and all the wild things we had done. Or at least me and the twenty something year old me did. The thirty year old me mostly just talked about his job and his wife and his stupid kids. He barely ever did anything fun. Jeez, when did I get to be such a stick in the mud? Forty year old me didn't even swing by, he had some big project at work. Fifty-five  year old me was there but, g'ah. What a douche. He was totally wearing dork-ass preppie clothes. He was like, successful, and had money and crap. He didn't want to hang out and drink with us, and he didn't know any cool bands. He was just so damn smug. He was like "one day you'll grow up". He even played golf. Golf. Can you believe that?! Frickin' sell out.

   So after every body else left, twenty-five year old me and I were still hanging out and he was bitching about how hard he had to work and how he never has time to play video games or drink or start that band that we always intended to start. Manic Polyester was going to be huge! He was also wishing that he would've gotten a tattoo or piercing before he got out of college, but it was probably good because the advertising firm he worked for had a dress policy. And then we shotgunned a beer and he had to go home because he had an early morning (noon) meeting with a client and he still had to finish the corporate image package.

   Then I was all alone with my thoughts and my Natty Lite. Man, where did I go wrong? I wasn't extreme at all. I was a square. And I was happy about it. Apparently I liked my little slice of suburbia and Americana apple pie. Manic Polyester never materialized and I was in a committed monogamous relationship. There were no groupies in my future. What a waste. I had to do something. I had to save myself from a life of Rockwellian normalcy. And bring that old smug bastard me down a couple of notches.

   What had twenty year old me said about tattoo's and piercings? That was it. I could get some extreme ink and get some holes poked in myself. That'll teach retired me to be so smug and successful and whatnot. I hate that guy. When I woke up the next morning I took all of my birthday cash and went down to Neuronic Heart Tattoo Shop and got a sweet tattoo on my neck. And then I started to gauge my ears out. I already felt more like a rock star. I am gonna be awesome for life. There is no way I will ever get tired of being X-treme!

   The next couple of years were epic. College was incredible. I loved it. All six, (or was it seven?) years of it. By the time college was out I had as many tattoos as credits. And my earlobes could hold a pack of smokes. Unfortunately Manic Polyester never materialized, turns out I didn't have a musical bone in my body. And practice is hard. But I dated some pretty fun chicks who were all were into tats and piercings like I was, but nothing serious or long-term. When college was finally over I had a degree in fine art appreciation and renaissance poetry and I needed a job.

   I went to the marketing firm future me had worked at but they had some lame dress code and fed me some crap about not hiring people with facial tattoos. Like, I'd want to work there anyway. I got a job at Neuronic Heart doing tattoos and piercings. The pay isn't great, and there isn't any room for promotion, but at least I'm not some corporate shill. I hang out at the local bar and listen to indie music and drink lots and lots of beer. Life is perfect.
   I just had my twenty-fifth birthday! It was kick ass! All of Me's showed up. And we all still liked to party. And there was none of this talk about not having enough time to do fun stuff anymore. Forty year old me was a little sketchy, he's living with kind of a rough looking woman and her kids, but they all like to party too!

   But the biggest change was Old Me. Haha. I totally knocked that guy off of his high horse. He wasn't playing golf anymore, I'll tell you that. Or giving out any sage advice. He was alone and kinda seemed sad, and all my tattoos looked pretty silly on him quite frankly. But I still liked him better than that other fancy pants old guy. I showed him a picture of him from my last party to show him what I saved him from becoming. He just stared at me and shook his head. Whatever. I'm non-conformist for life, and if future me doesn't like it, well he can just suck it.