They're BAack..

The villains are back! They were temporarily thwarted by technical difficulties. This time the culprit is a fellow by the name of "Lethargo." He tends to attack immediately after my alarm clock goes off or following a large meal. A successful assault results in drooping eyelids, listless limbs, and an allergic reaction to doing the dishes. Once within his grasp, escape is nigh impossible. This is because he literally melts himself all over you so that you seem to weigh twice as much as usual and feel all...oozy. His powers are heightened by really comfy couches, watching cats fall asleep, and the existence of a "to do" list.

Allies: Turkey, Phillip Glass, High Council Speakers

Counterattack: Hot salsa, P-funk, fire (accidental)

Not About My Kids

This blog is not about my children. Picture me in a chair gripping the armrests trying not blog about every cute, ridiculous or abominable thing they do. Here's the throuble: they are so much more interesting than me. Even as I type I am restraining myself and it's taking all my mental energy. How can I possibly come up with something as compelling as Caleb's sudden pronouncement in the car today: "I'm really into picking my nose!" And when I remind him that it is probably not something he should be "into", he adds under his breath, "Well, I am." How can I compete with that? There, I've done it. I gave into the urge to blog about my kids. At least I've stopped twitching.

The Scrappy Player

I play basketball...barely. I'm that guy, you know, the one that tries really hard, but should probably just give up and go play Dungeons and Dragons. Here are some actual quotes from last night's bruising encounter (I'm not making this up):

• "Did somebody's head just hit my foot?"
• "You're getting some really good looks"
• "Why does your head keep hitting everybody's elbows?"

I do feel that I'm improving, but only on the cardiovascular level. This means I've stopped weezing. I've seriously considered going to the library and checking out a book on basketball. In this way I hope to overcome years of inactivity and poor motor skills and achieve basketball zen. By "zen" I mean not getting picked last. Actually we choose teams by shooting free throws--same diff. This method creates the most balanced teams possible with the short losers on one side and the basketball gods on the other. Inevitably, after trouncing the mediocre, free-throw deficient team, someone from team Gargantua will say, "These teams are pretty fair, let's keep it here." To which I reply, "(groan)" What's a scrappy player to do besides step into the lane in front of Mr. 285 lb ex-high school player and take a charge for the team and a knee to the head? Oh I forgot, offensive fouls don't exist in pick-up ball.

New post

Let the guilt begin. I'm officially blogging for blogging's sake. Not having a new post is starting to stress me out. Also, getting comments is addictive. It's like crack for middle-aged, middle-weight, nearing-mid-life-crisis middletons who are starving for recognition and relevance. (scoff) Glad I'm not one of those guys! (Please leave comment)

Unlimited Potential

Today as we were driving Caleb said, "When I grow up I'm going to step on that tree!...As a transformer car!...And big and green as a green hulk!...Did you know that?"

The Manly Man

Today, I nailed stuff. Even more impressive was the fact that some of the stuff wasn't my thumb. Less impressive was the fact that the other stuff was my thumb. I hit my thumb so hard it started bleeding. This is manly, and I am a manly man who handles the crushing of his own thumb stoically and with dignity. While I was calmly waiting for the pain and bleeding to subside, I reflected on the fact that nails and wood are dumb and that I could not possibly be responsible for the pain I was feeling. I am sure that my technique was impeccable, and my aim was true. Clearly the nails were poorly designed.