I figure it’s time to dedicate a post to the most important person in my life. My cutie-baby-sweetie-pie-wifey-pooh, Angela. One of the brilliantly unique things about her is that she’s a singer, actually make that a singer-alonger. She loves it too, and does it all the time, full of emotion, verve, determination, and smiles. And above all, she is unafraid to do so… as long as she’s in the car or the house or any other place where music is playing and no one else is there, well, except maybe me. The important point I need to make here is that she does not care if she knows the song or not. If it fills her with the desire to sing, she sings… words be damned.
It absolutely kills me. Just thinking about it gets my cheeks all dimpled with smiles. And believe me when I tell you she has no need for lyrics. I mean she’ll use them if she knows them, but if she is listening to a song for the very first time, it in no way means she will not be able to sing along. She most definitely will, I guarantee it.
She’s a sing sounder instead of a song singer. Meaning, if she doesn’t know the words, or has simply just forgotten them, without even missing a beat, she’ll start singing sounds in the place of the words. And no, I don’t mean doo-wop, or la-la-la, or a-wop-bop-a-lu-bop, or anything like that. It really is a type of art in its own right. Plus its just so damn funny to watch.
So I’m sure you can all imagine my elation when I came across this YouTube video that not only catches exactly the sing sounder song style that my Angela is so proficient at, but its also… its… I’ll put it like this, I’ve seen it eight times in two days and I’m still laughing though the whole thing. it’s just brilliant. If you have not seen then before, enjoy. And if you have, watch it again, it helps make the world a better place:
Click here if the video does not load.
Ok, so maybe Angela can’t play the ukulele, but that singing style is spot on. Anyway, just a little Angelaism that always puts a smile on my face, and figured it was well worth sharing.
So do any of you have any friends, family, or loved ones with this same inspiring ability? I’d be curious to know.
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: singing in car.
Last night some friends and I gathered at one of our local theaters to spend two hours surrounded by thrills, chills, smirks, and an assortment of laughter simply by watching a collection of short Christmas themed films being made fun of by some of the cast of the cultastic MST3K.
Most of the films came to us from Castle Films vault of misfit films. “Castle Films, pouring boiling oil into the eyes of their viewers for over 30 years.” I believe is how Mike put it at one point. Sadly, he wasn’t far off. Most of the films carried with them the visual equivalent having a bad acid trip being triggered as a result of watching Jack Black attempting to act. That’s the problem with Jack’s acting, even if you’ve never taken any drugs at any time in any of your lives, the second you see him appear on the big screen your skin starts crawling and your brain starts screaming, “TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!” but you can’t because it’s, well, a bloody movie.
Thankfully though, the banter and quips that Mike, Bill and Kevin kept making helped diminished the visual trickle that we had to endure. This is the magic of what MST3K started and that RiffTrax has continued to carry on, the ability to create joy and laughter out of a pain invoking situation, which is exactly what the evening was all about.
The audience’s laugh track was already in full swing as my friends and I walked in to the theater. There were some snickers and even some wide open-mouth bursts as we began watching the preshow screen displaying a slide show of RiffTrax themed and made up movie quotes, trivia, and observations. Say what you will, but the audience is the great adjuster. They can either greatly diminish your watching experience or they can greatly improve it. My audience, the audience I was with, was ready to laugh and knew the evening would not disappoint. The energy was static with smiles standing on end.
And it was their flowing fountain of laughter that I began to pay attention to once I was settled into my seat. Some of the laughs were a bit premature, as if the laugher was so full and ready to giggle that they would start laughing at the expectation of the unknown, thinking the humor was bound to be there. Turned out their timing was a bit off and they started laughing too early. Like at the very beginning of the show when Mike, Bill, and Kevin walked out on stage, there was one chap that started laughing, in a sort of up then down pitch. Starting high where he was unable to hear anything he’s then drop the pitch so that he could hear a few words before laughing high again.
I figured he was expecting the humor to begin with the first syllable, instead of having the show begin with a few announcements from the cast. I believe the chap realized this during his second low pitched laugh. He was able to hear what was being said and stopped shortly after. He did keep “open mouth smiling” though. You know that smile, the one you’re never comfortable looking at, but you always get a picture of in your mind due to the sound of every exhale they make. You can actually hear them smiling.
One of my favorite parts about this power keg of giggles was the humming laughter. It’s kind of like the “open mouth smile” but nothing like it. See, its more of an energetic, or quantum smile, as if all the atoms that make you up are vibrating happily as positive “happy atom aura” charges, which permeate from you, allowing others to feel you smiling without seeing your face or hearing your breath.
As the first short film, or as the profession calls them… “short”, the audience began to chorus in laughter, and it is this laughter that I want to talk about.
- There was the “ha ha that is truly funny” laugh, for the many bits that were in fact very funny.
- There was the “ha-AAA” laugh, where you are laughing in amusement and then something funnier happens and you keep laughing, but all you have breath for one last blast of projecting laugh and then you have to stop laughing so your body can take a breath or you DIE!!! Ok fine, or you’ll pass out! (See not nearly as dramatic.
There was the “wheezing” laugh, where people who are forced to breathe in, because they have laughed all their breather out, do so but have the genetic ability to laugh while breathing in. Unfortunately those laughs sound more like one scared Troy hiding from cultists under the floorboards a garbage house belonging to one Mike Pipper.- There was also the mid range “cackle” laugh, like that of a middle aged to oldish witch about to bake two Swedish children in her oven because it’s fun and funny.
- There was the little girl high pitched “hehehehe” giggling, which all my friends know I am very capable of and proficient at. I’ve been told when I start laughing like that it is a bit infectious. However, I think it’s mostly because men over six feet tall (1.83 meters for my metric friends) with thick facial hair are not suppose to laugh like that. So when I do, the site and sound is so baffling yet comical, giggling along is really the only option that comes to mind.
Then there was the full bodied “ha ha ha” laugh. The type of veteran laugh that men in the 50s would share with other men to identify themselves as manly men who laugh at manly things, or, ohhh I know, like Ed McMahon would use on the Tonight Show back in the day. “Ha Ha, YES!”- There was also the “silent” laughter, which I also took part in. This is the laughing so hard that your voice gives out and you entire body is shaking with laughter, but no noise is coming out. This is usually accompanied by some thrashing about in your seat in a bought of uncontrolled humor trying to escape.
- Don’t get me wrong, there was the occasional “ha, ahh” laugh. The kind, were you start laughing because you expectation is making you laugh, but half way though you realize you expectations were set a little too high and it turns out it really wasn’t that funny. It’s kind of like that one friend that is always telling a funny joke they heard, but isn’t any good at telling jokes, so they laugh though the whole thing and then screw up or have forgotten the punch line and whole prospect of being humorously entertained is sucked away in an uncomfortable silence. At least until someone else shares a joke that brings the laughter back.
I could keep going, but at risk at making a longish post longer I’ll just wrap things up by saying to Mike, Bill and Kevin, “Thank you for a brilliant, festive, and joy filled show.” It’s truly a rare experience when at the end of a show you can get out of your seat, and hear people around you say, “That was sooo bad.” all the while grinning uncontrollably and then adding “I can’t wait to see it again.” Well done men, well done.
Did any of you catch this show? If so, what did you think?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: RiffTrax Christmas Shorts, MST3K Final Sacrifice, Ed and Johnny, audience laughing, and quantum.
This past Sunday was another snowfall day, which some people say is good because we need the moisture… or something. All I can say is at least there wasn’t 14 inches of the stuff, I think it was about 5, but it was that really thick and heavy snow. The kind Buddy would tell you makes the best snowballs. Which is sort of want I want to talk about. I say sort of because I know at some point this tangent is going to get lost in another tangent and then you’ll go off on a tangent wondering what the hell I’m talking about. Then there we’ll all be… three tangents to the wind… whew, I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a drink.
It’s not so much the snowballs I want to talk about, it’s more, it’s… ok so here’s what happened. My cutie-baby-sweetie-pie-wifey-pooh and I were heading to my parents house for dinner. It’s a monthly ritual we do on the second Sunday of each month. As we were heading out of the neighborhood I saw a group of kids with these little plastic devices in their hands. They looked like plastic sticks with a cup at the end. Then I saw the kids sticking the cup end in the snow and then they’d wield the stick as if they were about to throw it at their friends. They would stop at the last second, still holding the stick, but the packed snow in the cup would fly out of it towards on of the other kids.
Yep, it was a damn snowball making and dispensing weapon of mass destruction… or snowballing, and it’s probably only minor snowballing at that. “Those lazy little buggers!” was the first thing out of my mouth. My cutie-baby-sweetie-pie-wifey-pooh looked over to see what I was referring to and laughed.
I mean sure, hooray for progression (insert waving flag here), but, well, I’m not sure if I was bothered by this because those kids were missing out on a key part of the growing up in a snow visited climate experience, which is making snowballs by hand. Then again maybe it was because I never had the option of having one of those while growing up, and the memory of the many evenings of painfully numb fingers being warmed by the fire because of day long snowball fights left me a little bitter. Regardless the reason, it just wasn’t fair… stupid cheap plastic snowball maker things.
This did get me thinking about the whole, “When I was a kid…” train of though. Problem with that train is that eventually you are going to derail and end up taking out a small plastic building in the process, or maybe falling on your keys. Either way there chance you might need a band-aid at the end is pretty high, or at the very least, a nap.
I started thinking about a spoken word piece by Ernie Cline I had heard a few years back that takes on this whole “When I was a kid” topic, but from my generations point of view. I hope you like it… enjoy. 
Take it away Ernie… Actually wait a second Ernie. I think I should point out that this piece does contain some NSFW language in it, unless your a sailor. So if you are of the disposition you might want to have your kids, or your grandparents that do not have an appreciation for tourettes language, follow the Storm Troopers example, namely the one in the back. Also, if you have an abrasion to colorful metaphors, you might want to skip it yourself. Ok, so now you can take it away Ernie!
Ahh, bugger, there’s no video of Ernie performing this piece himself, just some poser putz. Ok actually click here to go to his site and listen to an audit recording of this piece. It’s even written out as well so you can follow along, if you want too.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the little snowball maker sticks can fall into obscurity, along with really thick florescent yellow shoe laces, and Bill & Ted’s Excellent Cereal. I don’t care, and it has nothing to do with asking one of the neighbor kids if I could borrow his snowball maker for a minute to try and him saying no… I’m still going to call his mother. No, it was the realization that I was outside in the bloody snow attempting to research the equivalent of a Texas sized ball and cup game without the damn string.
Lesson learned, I hope, because I’m not going out to play in the snow again.
All snow related things put aside, I just wanted to say today is going to be a fabulous day! Sure it sounds a little Doctor Seussian, which only makes today that much better, but I am going to see some RiffTrax tonight, at a theater! I you have the time and are in a location with a theater that this even is being streamed to, go check it out. It should be brilliant. I’ll let you know what I though about it tomorrow.
What are some products out there that you have seen that are making the young people of today more lazy?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: buddy elf, throwing snowballs, hands in snow, hear no evil, and cup ball string.
I know the title can be a little confusing, I mean really who wants to become a fan especially after seeing all of the work Ironman had to go through just to get the hang wearing rocket jets shoes. I will say this though, after watching Ironman I’ll be Inspector Gadget felt completely lame, and deservedly so, except for his dog. Inspector G did have a pretty damn cool dog.
And obviously when I said fan I was not referring to a LASKO 678 Black FlexAir, Lasko 42″ Wind Curve Fresh Air Ionizer with Remote Control, or even the Hunter 90042 AirMax Rockefeller Art Deco Style High Performance Oscillating Fan, although that would be nice. No, I’m referring to the fan in the Trekkie sense of the word, or is it Trekkie in the fan sense of the word. Regardless, dress up if you want, or don’t, you’re all groovy to me either way.
So this weekend I created a fan page for Yours Truly, or is it Me Also… Kringelbert Fishtybuns perhaps? Slut Bunwalla! No, no wait that’s right just me. I think there were already fan sites for those other names, but not all of them writers. I’m not sure why a fan page, I guess I’m hoping that at some point it makes for an interesting conversation, or at the very least, the next time I get in an discussion turned insulting match with my therapist at least I’ll be able to tell him I have more fan on Facebook than he does. I agree that it sounds a bit juvenile, but my therapist chooses to call it progress… the little ass hat.
So here it is my invite to you to go to my fan page and become a fan, if you want to… no pressure, but I called your mom and told her about it, and she really thinks you should do it, oh and she told me to tell you to call once in a while. I mean, come on! It’s the holidays, call your mother!
In short, if you have been enjoying my writing please feel free to fan yourself… fanify yourself… Fan up? Fan-something… feel free to become a fan. I’d appreciate it.
Thanks.
Click here to become a fan. Or you can click on that little Facebook thingy below under the “Become a fan.” bit, and once you get to the fan page click on the Become a Fan button.
Image Credits:
Google Images, key words: vintage fan and mom on phone
One of the things about the weekend, weekends in general I mean, is that you are typically home over longer periods of time than you normally are during the regular week. Meaning, you are much more apt to be at home when the occasional vagabond makes their way into your neighborhood and begins tapping at your front door.
Now when I was little and heard someone knocking at the door I would jump up and make a mad dash to see who it was going to be. The front door was a kind of random surprise and gift dispenser… with a doorknob. The knocking was the signal letting the entire house know that in what was previously an empty location now held the unknown.
It could have been mom with groceries… and cookies… YES! It could have been friends popping by to see if I could play. Maybe it was the pizza guy, or cousins with pizza, or maybe just the grandparents coming over to dinner. Hell, if the season was right I could have even been Santa. The possibilities were endless. Then again, there was always the chance that it was just some bloke wanting to talk to your dad. But you never knew for sure. All you had to do was twist the knob and see what was on the other side.
I’ve noticed something though, as I’ve gotten older a knock at the door, or ringing of the door bell, just doesn’t hold the same urgency it once did. Now days if I’m expecting company I either leave the front door open or I leave the front door unlocked and they know to just walk in. And if I’m not expecting company, let’s just say I no longer run to the front door to see who is there.
At the same time, it almost seems that people expect others to deal with a knocking door with the same fervor as a ringing cell phone. I’ve taken up to a minute to answer my door after an unexpected knock, and by the time I open the door, people are either back in their car and about to drive away, or are just not there. It’s as if they knocked, counted to 3 and assumed no one was home, so they leave. Unless of course it’s Halloween, then the little codgers will stay there and keep knocking for a good minute straight.
So, not to long ago, on a Saturday afternoon while I was home alone, there was a knock at the door. I even had pants on, so I was at the door in a reasonable amount of time. As I opened the door the first thing I noticed was a man in a suit. Now, living in Utah has resulted with me opening my door to a number of door to door salesmen, or women, that always travel in pairs. And I’m always willing to debate, hypothesize, philosophize, or banter about the finer points of selling gods and/or defining personal opinion and belief as universal truth.
Yeah, it always ends with people agreeing to disagree, and really does nothing to help evolve anyone opinions on the matter, but at least it’s entertaining, and the salespeople get a chance to get out of the weather and sit down for a while to talk and enjoy a beverage.
So you can imagine my initial joy at the prospect of one of these pointless entertaining conversations when I first opened the door. Turns out this chap had a lady standing next to him, which is nice because it automatically lets you know which Christian club house these people are from. Then, as I began to open my door to invite these people in, I noticed something that stopped me mid swing and made me swallow down the “Won’t you come in.” sentence I was about to say.
It was their kid, a little three or four year old boy standing next to their parents. I pointed at the kid, and almost said, “Hey! That’s cheating.” Instead I paused for a minute, and poorly covered up what I wanted to say with, “Oh, um, well done? I mean congratulations.” The Jehovah’s Witness parents looked at each other and then back at me and the husband offered a half confused thanks.
Damn, nothing but awkward small talk at this point. I was about to say something else, but that little person staring up at me kept throwing off my game. The husband took the lead during this lull in conversation and handed me a flyer, inviting me to an event their church was having next week.
I wanted to tell them to either save it or if they needed to pass all those out before going home they could just put them all in my recycling and go home early and enjoy their afternoon, but again, there was that little kid.
So as a public service announcement, to any door to door sellers, sharers, or preachers everywhere, please do not take your small children with you when you go door to door. It’s playing dirty is what it is. It greatly inhibits the conversation, and profanity professionals, such as myself, are left unable to practice their trade, well, to the full extent of their ability that is.
Have any of you experience this type of situation before? Did you go ahead and continue the conversation or did the little person with them trip you up too?
Image Credits:
Google Images, keywords: red door, Jehovah’s Witness, door to door salesman, little boy in suit, mom with groceries 50s, and debating.
MST is one of those symbols of permeating happiness for me. I can watch episodes by myself or with friends and quote along in giggly goodness, or I can have an episode playing in the background, like right now, while I work on my writing, or even while playing the occasional game.
As background noise, I love it. I don’t have to pay attention at all, but every now and again something will sneak through and I’ll start smiling or laughing. Even if I can barely hear it, I can look up from what I’m doing and if I know the episode really well, I’ll start chucking to myself because I know what riffs are coming up next, and I know they are going to make be laugh. They always do.
One of my favorite things to do is take a nap on the couch with an MST playing on the television. The collection of riff after riff is a lullaby of humor. I fall asleep and wake up smiling, and on more than one occasion I’ve even waken up laughing. It’s the perfect ingredient to the perfect nap.
Which finally brings me to today’s MST feature, Space Mutiny. I believe the cover of the 2008 DVD release describes this film best by stating, “It’s hilarious, but not on purpose.” Which is true, unless you are watching the MST version, then it’s most definitely on purpose. My main reason for highlighting this film is because it has been my giggle to sleep companion the past few times I have taken a nap.
When describing this film, I think it’s important to point out that all of the space scenes are taken from the original TV series of Battlestar Galactica. The only thing I could think of that makes sense for why this was done is that the director won some Battlestar Galactica stock footage in a poker game and decided to make a film around it.
The inconsistencies throughout this film are simply astounding, and is probably the only consistent thing about the film. I think Mike sums it up perfectly during the opening credits. As the Edited By credit appears, three names appear below it, and Mike quips, “Passed from editor to editor in a desperate attempt to save it.” And you know what, each one consistently failed.
One of my favorite moments in the film happens when one of the ships crew members, not wearing red I might add, gets killed by the films evil villain and then in the very next scene the dead crew member is sitting at her work station on the bridge of the ship. They even walk past her a second time letting her fill the foreground of the shot. Apparently it wasn’t enough that she appeared once in the scene so the few people still paying attention while watching the movie might notice, oh no, they just had to show her a second time just so the people that did catch it the first time could prove it to everyone else who missed it. It’s always nice when a movie gives you a freebee like that, so you tell your friends, “See! I told you!”
The hero of the movie, Slab Bulkhead, no wait, it was Fridge Largemeat, no, no, I think it was Punt Speedchunk… bah, I have no idea. Oh wait, that’s right it’s David Ryder. He’s a big beefy guy who screams like a little girl constantly throughout the film. Personally I think this makes him an anti-hero, but considering the lack of hero options, you’re pretty much stuck with him. This brings me to my favorite part of this film… Mike and the bots endless barrage of nicknames they give to our hero throughout the film. Here are a few of my favorites:
- Bolt Vanderhuge
- Thick McRunfast
- Blast Hardcheese
- Crunch Buttsteak
- Slab Squatthrust
- Big McLargehuge
For the complete list, click here.
If you are a fan of the show and have not yet seen this one yet, or if you’ve never watched an MST before, this one is worth the effort. Don’t get me wrong, it is a bad movie, and sometimes its worse than bad, but it is worth it. Here, I’ll even make it easy for you to find:
If the video does not load, click here.
I think one of the best things about watching an MST’d movies is that no matter how bad the movie is, you truly feel a sense of accomplishment at the end. Not only did you make it though a film that even a mime would give the finger to and personally call the director to tell them what a piece of shit it was, while still wearing their mime garb, but you finish the picture smiling, sometimes laughing. There’s also a good chance you will actually tell your friends that the cinematic abomination you just watched really wasn’t that bad… I mean it’s bad, you don’t lose all common sense, it just that it’s not THAT bad. Call it what you want, but be being able to do that to an unwatchable movie is nothing less than miraculous.
What are some of the movies that you think should be made fun of? Do you think we should start a petition to get the MST crew sainted… saintified… sainthooded? That thing that old people in funny hats do to people who do miracles? It’s a thought anyway.
Image credits:
Google Images, keywords: Space Mutiny and watching mst3k.
Damn snow! Yesterday brought our first big snow storm of the year, which resulted in about 12 to 14 inches of crystallized fluff violating everything with miles. For some of you, I’m sure that much snow is the breakfast equivalent of that thin layer of powdered sugar sprinkled over your order of French toast or flap jacks, you know, based on the big picture. But for me, let’s just say that fluffy white stuff just pisses me off.
I’ve always felt it was some sick sadistic cosmic joke that I was born in Wyoming, and have such an utter lack of appreciation for snow. I moved when I got the chance and eventually I got to Utah, and even though they claim, “the greatest snow on earth” it does not mean the most snow on earth. The winters here are a hell of a lot more mild than the ones I had to suffer through in Wyoming. Not to mention, the school system in Wyoming has no concept of “Snow Day.” In 12 years of going to school there, the only time we ever got out of school because of the weather was because it was 45 below and we got to go home half a day early. But the next day it was only 40 below so everyone was required to be back in school.
I’ve had a few of my snow lovin’ freak friends suggest that I try winter activities to help me enjoy the winter more. I usually punch them then they make this suggestion, well at the very least I infer that then they get home I hope their mother crawls out from under their porch and bites them on the leg. Not to mention I have a winter hobby, to stay inside as much as humanly possible.
My problem with winter, and snow, and ice, and all the crap that goes along with it is the cold. If snow wasn’t, well, frozen I think I could actually find myself participating in some of those winter pastimes. Sadly, I have an immense distaste for the cold, actually make that the frozen… whether I mean, cold drinks I’m a big fan of, and were would be if we had not ice cubes for our margaritas on the rocks. I’ll tell you, we’d be drinking something else and there would be a lot more dignity in the world because there would be a lot less stories in the world that begin with, “No margarita for me, I don’t drink tequila any more…” Still, when it comes to a frozen wonderland, seriously Jack Frost, bugger off!
I get that snow is a necessity for this planet. And yes, I will concede that it is pretty, at least it use to be. It use to be that the first snowfall of the year would make me go, “Ohhh, pretty.” Not so much anymore. Not the first snowfall makes me go, “DAMNIT!” and I get all grumpy. Although, I can look at pictures for snow capped mountains or photo’s of winter scenes and agree they are pretty, but I’d never want to go there, at least while the snow was there.
So you can imagine my joy when I open the garage yesterday morning to head to work and saw 14 inches of snow covering my entire driveway. And for the record, this is nothing like putting a bee in ones bonnet, it’s more like putting a popsicles up your… no… sun… place, which I would consider much worse… unless of course you are allergic to bees, in which case, fine you win.
The snow shoveling would not have been that big of a deal if it were not for the fact that we live in a cul-de-sac, meaning the city will not plow there. It only took about 40 minutes to shovel out my driveway, which wasn’t that big of a deal. The problem was the road beyond it. It was just as saturated with snow, except for the area where the cul-de-sac meets the main thru road. The snow plows were kind enough to add an additional 8 to 10 inches of compacted snow right at that T section, helping to block any possible chance my car had of escaping the cul-de-sac so that I could get to work.
Filled with that, “I’ve got to get to work” feeling I started shoveling the road, hoping that in some small way it would make enough difference so that I could get enough of a running start to push though the fortress of snow blocking my waiting commute. After an additional thirty minutes of shoveling, my lower back was screaming a slew of profanities at me, and I conceded to Mother Nature, that relentless bitch, and called the day what it have finally become… a snow day. But not the kind of snow day that suggests that I would actually be engaging in day of snowish activities, no I mean the type of snow day where you do your very best to avoid touching any more snow than you possibly have to.
Once back into the house, called work. I told them I’d be working from home a much as I could and that I would not be able to make it in. I then downed five ibuprofen, ate a piece of toast, when upstairs, got out of my half frozen clothes and took a very hot bath and let my back soak in some liquid sunshine. Once I was warmed up enough, I took a little nap.
Once I got back up, it was time to work… in my pajamas and slippers! I listened to Frank without wearing any headphones and sang along at the top of my lungs. I ate lunch sitting on my couch, watching a collection of RiffTrax shorts. And I didn’t have to drive on frozen roads in traffic to get home when I was done. Yeah it was one of the best work days I’ve ever had. So, still with in some protest let me say, thanks nature. Your relentless, yet necessary, distribution of frozen water made for a pretty damn cool Tuesday, no pun intended.
What are some of your favorite ‘Snow Day’ experiences? If you got caught in this storm, how did your day go?
Image credits:
Google Images, keywords: snow day, shoveling snow, Jack Frost MST, and working-in-pajamas.
In reading some of my replies, I suppose I should clarify, yes I understand there are always exceptions. What I’m saying is that if the exception becomes the rule then you’re a bad parent. But know I still love you, and people can change.
As promised, in follow-up with yesterdays post, here is a collection of some of my own personally witnessed crap-parenting situations. The first experience that always comes to mind happened a few years ago. I was personally attached to this situation and yeah, let’s just say that looking back, I could have handled the situation a little differently, but that’s hindsight for you, it’s only helpful after the fact, which makes it not very helpful at all.
So my wife and I went to dinner with some old friends. It had been a long time since we had seen them, and I was looking forward to a catching up with them and seeing how life had been treating them. We decided to meet downtown at a local micro brewery/restaurant for dinner. We both arrived around 7 and met up at the front door.
I wasn’t expecting them to bring their four kids, but when I saw them standing next to their parents I actually thought for a second that maybe things will be ok. That thought lasted about 10 more seconds, and then the mom said, “These guys usually eat around 5 and are getting ready for bed by now, and the baby is teething.” My stomach sank and I started clinching my mouth shut, and that’s how I stayed most of the night.
Seriously, who the hell does that? I wanted to give both parents a “stupid slap”. You know the slap. It’s the one you instinctually have to stop yourself from giving someone when they say or so around you that is completely devoid of any rational thought. I imagine this is exactly how McCain felt during his campaign every time Palin began talking to anyone unscripted.
Once seated at our table the mother began verbally expressing that it would be nice if the restaurant had crayons or a kids menu to color or something for her kids to do to keep busy until the food is served. They have brought no snacks for the kids, or anything for them to play with while they waited, and then had the audacity to express that it should be the restaurants responsibility to entertain her children. Talk about deferring you basic parenting responsibilities over to the damn food industry. Personally, I blame Chuck E. Cheese.
My wife was kind enough to get the kids some saltines from a waitress for the kids to eat while we waited for your food. She also got out some pens and paper out of her purse so the kids had something to do. The baby was being held while we waited for food, but once the food arrived, it was placed in a high chair and ignored as we started eating. The baby started to cry at this point.
Everyone around us was starring at our table due to the growing volume of the baby’s cries. The mother just keep talking louder and louder to talk over the crying child. I had had enough. It was re-goddamn-diculous at how consistently awful their parenting had been the entire evening, something needed to be said. So, I opened my mouth and out came, “Can you do something about that?” and pointed at the baby. Everyone at our table stopped talking and just starred at me with half open mouths of half chewed food. I continued, “I mean, can’t you hear that? Why don’t you try holding it or something?”
My wife choked a little on her food, and started squeezing my leg with what I personally thought was excessive force. The mom elbowed her husband who stood up, grabbed the kid and disappeared for the rest of the meal. Was it a bit of an asshole move? Perhaps, but I felt a lot better. Not to mention, it was much quieter, and I think everyone else in the restaurant was grateful as well.
My wife and I now laugh about it, but we never bring it up when we get together with those friends. Was that situation an exception to the rule? I have no idea, but the few times they have brought their kids over to our house… let’s just say not a lot has changed, but I have gotten a little more tactful in how I present things to them.
As for other situations I’ve witnessed, let’s make a list:
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If you show up to an R rated movie at 9 PM or later… actually make that any movie, I don’t care if it’s rated G! If you show up to a movie theatre with an infant at a late showing of a film, not only are you a horrible parent, but you’re also an asshole. (Ok so maybe this is one of my bigger pet peeves.) - If you are of the church going disposition and on some holiday weekend, like Easter for example, you decide to jack your kids up on two pounds of chocolate before church and then get angry when they misbehave. It’s your damn fault! And if you ignore them and let them run all over your place of worship during whatever your preacher person is attempting to convey, you are a crappy parent.
- If you go to a funeral, wedding, or any type of ceremony involving reverence and quiet, and you think for a second that your high strung kid(s) will behave and sit quietly anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour without making a sound, so you decide to bring them along expecting things to be just fine, you are a daft parent.
- And if, after you bring your kid(s) to one of these ceremonies and you realize that the kid is not going to sit still and you just let the little monster run around without any supervision, and ignore that they are disrupting the ceremony, you are not only a worthless parent, but you should have your baby producing organs surgically impeded so that the world never has to suffer from another one of your accidental pregnancies.
- And finally, if you take your kid(s) to a restaurant, for the love of The Flying Spaghetti Monster (feel free to replace that with your deity of choice), do not let them wander around alone, walking up to random tables, and staring at strangers. It makes everyone at those tables very uncomfortable and they will hate you and your child. Please, let’s stop all the negative waves! Keep your kid where it belongs, in your supervision at your table!
Damn! I sure get pissy when I talk about this stuff… still, I’ve said it. I feel better. Thanks.
What about you? What lands on your list of bad parenting? Leave a comment and let me know.
It’s Saturday, well it was when I started writing this. It’s supposed to be my relaxed and groovy day. You know, it’s the type of day that doesn’t require you to put on any pants until at least noon. So, I rolled out of bed around 9:30 with exceptional bed head I might add. And I don’t mean the “I’m ready to go clubbing” bed head, oh no, I’m talking about the traditional “Einstein’s my bitch” style of bed head. If fact, my hair was so unmatched that I was contemplating doing a round of two of physics this morning, simply because it just felt right.
Turns out it was the hair talking, because I don’t do physics, ever… well almost ever. The only exception is when my friend Clayton is over, and happens to be mildly to highly intoxicated. I met him years ago while he was working on his PHD in physics and let’s just say that once that boy gets lit, drinking and deriving is one of his highly endearing qualities.
I keep telling him he should go back to teaching and hold his classes in a local pub, speakeasy, bar, or any place close to campus that serves alcohol, except maybe frat houses. I think he would have the best attended class on campus. Hell, I’d even consider going back to school just to take his class. Although I’m not really sure how well anyone would do during finals. Still, I can’t imagine anyone would complain about having to take the class again.
So, anyway, back to my Saturday morning. I had just finished cooking up an omelet and was heading downstairs to enjoy a little MST’d Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, because it is that time of year. As I was humming the “Let’s have a Patrick Swayze Christmas” song to myself, and my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie’s phone rings. After the call she tells me that some people are coming over to get a little marketing assistance from her and there is a good change that they are going to bring their kids. Oh and they were going to be there in about twenty minutes.
The first thing I though was “sonofabitch” because this meant I was going to have to put on some pants. My second thought was. “Oh god, kids!” Look its not that I hate kids, some are very tasty with a side of hollandaise sauce. Its just that I, well, based on my experience, there are a lot more horrible children being produced than good children and based on the law of averages, our house was going to be invaded by the result of someone’s demonic seed.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a strong supporter of the equation, horrible children = horrible parents, but I think it is important to point out that being a horrible parent does not mean you are a horrible person. You just really should have used protection, got fixed, or put the little creatures up for adoption.
Also, I’m not referring to all parents here. My parents, for two, kicked ass. I have friends who have done a remarkable job raising their kids. They are well behaved, polite, know how to actually say please and thank you without being told to do so, and in my opinion deserve everything they asked Santa to give them this holiday.
What I am referring to are the parents that have predominantly checked out when it comes to their children, or the ones that adhere to the “reprimand with love” form of child rearing. They are easy to spot too, go to any Wal-Mart and you’ll see them everywhere. I’m not sure why but Wal-Mart wildlife reserve for awful children and their parents. The child (or children) is easy to spot, it’s crying loudly while their parent(s) just walks along completely detached and ignoring the fountain of tears, snot, screams, and spit.
Now sure, some people might say that because I don’t have any children, I have no right telling others how to raise theirs. My response to this is a resounding, “RUBBISH!” Hell, states have entire taskforces designed to tell parents how to raise their kids. Based on that fact alone I feel more than qualified giving my opinions on the topic. Not to mention, having been a child at some point in my life, I feel perfectly justified talking about the raising of them.
First and foremost, stop rewarding your kids for bad behavior. I see it all time. Some whiney little kid asks for a new toy. They are told no, so they start crying, and crying, and screaming and the parent either gets embarrassed, or simply gives up and rewards the tantrum with exactly what the child wanted. Well done. You just confirmed to your child that bad behavior is the best way for them to get what they want. Congratulations, you are well on your way to raising a little bastard.
Also, if your kid is misbehaving, slap it on the butt. It lets the kid know that their behavior is unacceptable. Think about it, if you cater to the “reprimand with love” mentality you are training your child to act horribly when they want you to hug and kiss them and show them positive affection. This is a horrible parenting philosophy.
I’m not saying you should beat your child. There is a huge difference between a smack on the butt and punching a kid in the face for behaving badly. That is the type of behavior that gets that taskforce called on you that I mentioned earlier, and deservedly so.
The concept is easy… reinforce positive behavior with positive interaction, and negative behavior with negative interaction. Here, I’ll even give you the formula:
- Good behavior + hug and kisses from you = a well behaved kid
- Bad behavior + you spanking the kid = a well behaved kid… eventually
It is that simple? I think so… mostly anyway. Dr. Spock might disagree, but what does he know. Being one that has never read his book, I’m pretty sure he made most of it up.
I was going to go through a number of examples of crappy parenting I’ve personally witnessed, but this post is already at risk of turning epic, so I’ll throw those examples in tomorrows post and call it part two.
So until then, to all you good parents, thank you. I really do notice and truly appreciate it. And to all you crap parents, knock it off! You know who you are.
It time again for a great American past time, although it might be a past time in other places as well, sadly I have not spend the holidays in another country… yet. The past time is of course the frenzy of holiday home decorating. This tradition usually begins the day after Thanksgiving, unless you are a department store… then you usually start holiday decorating the week before Halloween.
But when it comes to decorating the house, Black Friday is usually the day. Maybe that is why all those crazy ass sales happen so early in the morning. That way people can get their shopping done early, then go home and take a nap before putting up the tree up in the house and putting lights up the outside the house. It’s a good theory anyway.
This may come as a bit of a shocker, but I am not of the decorating disposition. Some may say this is because I’m a man. Others might suggest that it’s because I have no children. Then there are a few that might hint that I am a nihilist, which if that were the case, would mean that I’d be too exhausted to put up lights in the first place. And then there is this one guy that would probably tell you I am a bit of a humbug and wouldn’t know quality jewelry even if it fell off a truck and was sold to me at a discounted price, which is probably true, the quality bit not the humbug bit.
In my defense, that guy is a jerk and you shouldn’t believe a word he says. He is always trying to sell me cheap imitation jewelry on a street corner downtown. Every time I tell him no and question the quality of his product, he makes snide exclamations about my character and suggests to anyone else standing around that my parents were never married… which they were… eventually… ok fine, they’ve always been married.
Truth is I just don’t care… ok so maybe the nihilist thing is a little accurate. But the main thing is that out of all of the activities that I could do around the holiday season, or any season for that matter, putting up a bunch of lights on the outside of my house, when I don’t even have a ladder, is one that doesn’t even make it on my list of things to do. And yes, even if I had a ladder I’d choose to do something else anyway.
I mean sure, putting up decorations in the house does add some warmth and festiveness to ones home, unless it’s Halloween, then it just adds a spooky “bugger off” feel. I mean I do have fond childhood memories of the scent of evergreens filling my house after we put up a real tree. And I do like the idea of have living vegetation in the home, even if I’m not very consistent with watering them.
Also, if you have a cat, putting up a tree is always worthwhile, mainly because of the “ahh” sounds you’ll make when you find it asleep under the tree nestled in with the presents, and maybe sometimes resting on the lower branches. But, ultimately I’m talking about the hours of entertainment you’ll get from watching the little fur ball attack the hanging ornaments and watching your mom trying to attack the cat while it attacks the tree.
I do appreciate it when others take the time to put up something worthwhile to share with their neighbors. Some neighbors make the lighting of the house a staple for community holiday spirit, where people from all over town will go for the sole purpose of driving around that neighborhood to look at all the lights.
I’ll admit though, that one of the first things I think of when I see a ridiculous amount of lights up is what a waste of energy. I want to tell the owners to skip putting up any lights at all and use the money they’d save to feed the homeless or something like that. But… after years of griping about them I think I am starting to get it. Holiday lights on houses are not about wasting energy, or increasing ones carbon foot print. I think it’s about the feelings they inspire.
Yes there are people, like me, that may grumble about them. Then there are people that will be downright angry and militant about them, but most people are going to receive joy from them. When we look at something the makes us happy, it warms us up from the inside. The huge tree placed in Times Square brings joy to millions of people every year when it lights up, and honestly, I really don’t see that as a waste.
Besides, regardless of your feeling about holiday lights, every once in a while you’ll find yourself a witness to a home, scattered with a collection of holiday lights that is going to make you smile. My pumpkin picture friend sent me this picture the other day and I feel it captures exactly what I’m talking about… the caption read:
“Once again, I was disqualified from my neighborhoods “Best Decorated House” contest due to my bad attitude!”
Try as I might, it is impossible for me to look at this and not feel anything but happiness.
