Photo by Oleg Volk:

My kids watch this horrible show called Sam and Cat. But it had a good moment that made me kind of smile. Some nanny had banned some sort of soda so the kids started making that soda. Then, some nanny finds them making the soda and says they want it banned because people drink to much of it. And it’s not healthy. And they ask the perfectly reasonable question of whether to ban sandwiches because people eat too many of them. Ban sleeping, roller coasters and hugs! And everything.

Not fair to punish everybody because some people can’t control themselves.

You can watch the exchange here (or scroll to 19:04 below):

Good.

You may have noticed but the Uncle clan adopted a new doggie. She is part politically incorrect dog and something else. We think. We’re not sure. She’s great. Well-behaved, basic obedience down, crate trained, good with kids and good with other non-snappy animals. Also, she stays off furniture. The only con so far is that she’s not been on a leash much and it shows. It was a constant tug fest, until we got a head collar. I’ve always been a choker fan but those seem to not discourage terriers at all. The head collar avoids the anxiety of tugging on a leash and just turns their head sideways. The other slight issue is that she’s not instantly responsive to commands if distracted by a toy.

Anyway, having gotten a new and very well behaved dog, I’ve realized how badly behaved the Boston his. He jumps on people but not me because I raise my knee up and put him on the ground. But no one else does that. He climbs furniture. He constantly stares at the new dog whenever she’s eating. She puts him in his place when he gets out of line so he’s good for her.

But the other thing he does is sad. He’s insanely jealous. If someone in the family pets the other dog, he shows up. If you call her name, he shows up. If you give her any attention at all, he shows up. I swear, he could be in Indochina and once you said “good girl”, he’s in your lap.

This morning, my alarm went off and I hit snooze. About 5 minutes later I am awakened to something gently stroking my face. I look up and it’s the new dog with her front paws barely on the bed licking my face to wake me. I reach over and pet her and say “hey girl” and instantly there’s a Boston terrier butt in my face. And, as instantly, there is a Boston terrier butt swatted out of my face.

But they get along and his constant jealousy seems to only bother me.

Also, they play constantly which is good for both:

Also, that whole thing about being distracted by toys is seen at the end there.

You yankees with your sophisticated snow-removal tools. And your skis and sleds and shovels and things we southern rednecks don’t have. But, hey, we do have a four wheeler and a kayak:

They can’t tell.

Junior: Dad, what’s a synonym for statesman?

Me: Politician, diplomat, what’s wrong with the country, piece of shit.

Remember, size mattress? Or nothing really mattress. Well, we finally got that fixed, now with more mattress and worse pun:

The long game.

Not a typo.

Via Jeff, comes a list. In my younger days, I put quite a few quarters into a Street Fighter 2 game. It was a way for a commuter to kill time between classes. Anyway, the other day, I was looking around and found Street Fighter 4 for my son’s XBox. And we’ve put in a few hours beating each other up.

I come home and my son is wearing a white shirt, a bow tie, and a towel over his arm. He tells me he’s a butler. And we have this conversation:

Me: Do you know how to buttle?

My son: Huh?

Me: Readers read. Builders build. So butlers buttle.

My son: How do you buttle?

Me: Well you’re the butler, tell me.

My son: Butlers don’t buttle.

Me: Sure they do. Planters plant. Gardeners garden. Drivers drive. Fingers fing.

My son: Fingers don’t fing.

Me: Do you know what a fing is?

My son: No.

Me: Then how do you know?

My little girl challenged a kid from the local championship team to a push up contest:

Five minutes before this, she did 50 push ups and 5 one-armed right handed and 5 one-armed left handed. 48-27 if you must know. Junior wouldn’t participate in the tackling contest because she’s smart.

Oh, and, also, you should apparently subscribe to my nephew’s youtube channel because that is important to him.

Walking Dead blogging. Spoilers, yada yada.

A redneck bitching about a 50 yd shot? Yeah, right. Also, the kids stepped up. Using the two finger technique:

Popular among kids, even my own:

The fierce little girl reminds me of Junior. For serious.

Kids dressed him:

Seen on the internet:

My dad on his new hearing aid: “I didn’t realize how much your mother talked. “

My son is taking drum lessons. After the first one, I met the instructor and we had this conversation:

Teacher: So, your son likes R. Kelly?

Me: Good God, I hope not.

Teacher: He said his favorite song is “I Believe I Can Fly”

Me: Oh, let me explain:

Just got off the phone with Oleg and Junior hears the conversation and asks when he’ll be back for a visit. She likes him.

I then walk in and see she’s found my copy of Larry Correia’s book Monster Hunter International. She looks at me and says: This book has an interesting first page.

Me: Oh?

Her: Yeah, in the first page, he shot a werewolf, a Mr. Huffman, someone named Smith and someone named Wesson.

Me: Smith and Wesson is a brand of gun.

Her: Oh, that makes that first page make more sense.

A bit later, she comes running out shouting “OLEG IS IN THIS BOOK!!”

The kids are taking music lessons. My son is learning to play the drums and Junior is learning piano. I honestly figured they’d go the other way. Oh well. Anyway, my little girl is learning various tunes from her teacher and also from the internet. And sure, she can impress me playing Für Elise. But I sit down at the keys and I crank out Baby Got Back and she somehow thinks that is more impressive than what she’s doing. Go figure.

One of the things my close friends will tell you is that my life often enough has a very surreal quality to it. Weird shit just happens to me. I can’t explain it. This is one such tale.

Last weekend, me and the family went for a walk in the neighborhood with the dog. A whole other surreal story aside, they went one way and me and the dog went another. Walking up the street and I hear one of the house’s fire alarms going off. Doing the right thing, I walk up to the house and ring the bell. No answer. Bang on the door. No answer. Look around and see several neighbors outside and none of them are acting remotely alarmed. I realize it’s probably nothing but I’d hate to be that guy who just walked by and a family of four burned to death. So, I dial 911. The dispatcher answers and we have this conversation:

Dispatcher: 911, what’s your emergency?

Me: Probably nothing. But one of the houses in my neighborhood’s fire alarm is going off.

Dispatcher: Fire or burglar?

Me: Sounds like my fire alarm. Going with fire.

Dispatcher: What’s your location?

Me: I’m at 2112 ABC street.

Dispatcher: Sir, we show you at XYZ street.

Me: Could be. I always get these two street names confused.

It then occurred to me that they can either track my location or, based on my mention of the address, deduced which street I meant. We continue

Dispatcher: Sir, we’re sending a unit your way. Do you mind staying put to show the officer where to go?

Me: Not at all. Will do.

Dispatcher: Thank you, sir.

At this point, me and the family have plans for a 5 o’clock movie and time is getting close. I call the Mrs. to tell her what just happened and that I would be a while. She asks me if I want her to come get the dog since him and staying in place is painful for all around. I say yes.

So, I wait.

And wait.

I start pacing the street.

And wait.

Suddenly, I see Junior whiz by the other street on her electric scooter. I assume she’s coming to get the dog but she just zipped by. I whistled loudly and she didn’t hear. I step up to the street she was going down to see her pulled over by one of The City (My The City)’s* finest. I watch. He pulls away and he’s the unit coming to the house that may or may not be on fire. I wave him down and point to the house. He pulls up, gets out of the car and we have this conversation.

Officer friendly: Are you the one who called 911?

Me: Yes, sir.

Officer friendly: And this is the house?

Me: Yes.

*he walks toward the house, gets his light out and knocks on the door. And starts looking in the windows.

Me: So, did you give my daughter a ticket?

Officer friendly: That was your daughter?

Me: Yes.

Officer friendly: We’ll talk about that later.

Me: Well, I probably called for no reason but I’d hate to have been wrong.

Officer friendly: Sir, did you look in the windows?

Me: No. I’m wearing a black hoodie and I figure me looking in windows would not be looked upon positively. As I said, it’s probably nothing

Officer friendly: Sir, there’s a body on the couch.

Me: The fuck?

Officer friendly: *gets police talky on his walky talky* I did hear him say he thought there was a body in the house.

Me: Be over here if you need me.

Officer friendly: *bangs on doors, rings bell, bangs on windows, and generally makes a lot of noise and his backup shows up*

Turns out, the alarm was going off for no discernible reason and the 90 year old women who lived there fell asleep on the couch and was also mostly deaf. She turned her hearing aid off and didn’t hear the alarm.

Officer friendly: *explains to me what happened and that all is OK* Then says: So, that was your daughter?

Me: Yes.

Officer friendly: Well, she needs to be 16 and have a license to have a scooter on the street.

Me: Really?

Officer friendly: Yes, sir. She’s not licensed and, more importantly, a driver in a car might not see her and hurt her.

Me: Well, OK. Fair enough.

Officer friendly: Thanks for calling in, sir. We appreciate that.

And he drives off.

So, I’m sitting here realizing I called the cops on my daughter and doubting the illegality of her scooter on the street. And she got her first warning from the police (a family tradition, btw). Go home and talk to Junior who tells me he made her walk the scooter home and to stay off the street.

The next day, my wife is upset about the whole thing and calls her friend in the local police department. Turns out, that license thing only applies to gas operated vehicles. Told Junior to go ride her scooter all she wanted.

What weird day.

* Never used that in the possessive, so I’m going with that.

A while back, I posted this:

Today, all that has changed is the no feet technique:

Took the family to the local corn maze. It’s run by Oake’s Farm and is generally a good time. We saw the awesomeness that is the pumpkin pounder:

My kids asked me what it is and I told them. It’s a large air canister that they load with a pumpkin. Then, they shoot it. Like a potato gun. So, now the kids want me to make them potato guns so if you’ve got any particularly awesome plans for one, let me know.

Anyway, they shoot it. At a van. And it does a lot of damage to the van:

Here’s video of it in action:

I think our potato guns will be slightly disappointing.

Yesterday, we were having some friends over for college football and some smoking hot butt and awesomesauce. My wife gets out of the shower and she’s doing that thing she always does wherein she’s got a towel on her head, in her underwear and looking at all of her clothes. Shaking her head, then pacing. Then looking at her clothes. Shaking her head, then pacing. This goes on for a while, as it usually does. I’m watching. She says “I hate that all of my friends wear dresses”. I say “just put on that pair of jeans and wear a UT T-shirt”. It’s what I’d rather see her in. But she finally decided on a dress. Go figure. She’s a woman and she dresses for other women. Not me. She also doesn’t pick her hairstyle for me, I’m sure. But for other women. And if your wife hits the gym every day, she’s probably also not doing that for you either.

Style, body type, clothing choices, shoes and other things are chosen for other women. These things also tend to determine beauty. So, I don’t necessarily think that It Is Men Who Determine What Is Beautiful in Women. After all, women have a lot of input with other women on what they do in the name of beauty. And, what I find beautiful in a woman may not be what you find beautiful. Eye of the beholder and all. So, women of all different shapes and sizes are beautiful. I don’t, for instance, find all the women on those posters she listed beautiful. For instance, in the second pic, we’ll go left to right and top to bottom and give them a number. I think the hot ones are 1, 3, 4, and 8. Just my preference. You may differ. And they have different body types. And are dressing for women. Or fashion designers.

So, bottom line, I decide what I think is beautiful. And you do too.

Also, Tam wins the internet.

Doing spelling words with my son.

Me: Garlic

My son: *spells garlic*

Me: Segment

My son: *spells segment*

Me: chlamydia

My son: That’s not one of my words.

My wife: Really, that’s what you came up with?

Me: It’s a hard word. The one time I had to spell it, I had to look it up.

My wife: *Rolls eyes* (probably because you can’t put hyperlinks into conversation)

Me: Segment.

My son: *spells segment*

Me: didgeridoo

My son: That’s not even a word.

Me: Yeah, it is. It’s a wind instrument that Australian aborigines came up with.

My son: It’s not one of my spelling words.

Me: Oh, yeah. Misplace

My son: *spells misplace*

Me: Antidisestablishmentarianism

My son: *blinks*

Me: It’s a word.

My son: But I don’t have to spell it.

My wife has a friend who, every few months or so, gives her issues of her already read celebrity gossip magazines. The magazines consist of Star, People and one that starts with IN and ends in CH but I can’t tell the name of the magazine because there’s always some person who I presume is famous covering the font. I’m glad to say I’ve never seen my wife actually read one of these rags.

Anyhoo, just now, I picked one up and looked at the cover. Picked up a second and looked at the cover. I did this a total of seven times. On the 7th, I actually saw someone whose name I knew in a little blurb at the bottom. It was Jennifer Aniston. So, there were lots of presumably famous people on the cover of each one. And I only knew one.

I’m getting old. Or smart.

My dad has said that to me since I was a teen. As a kid, I gather he was in trouble a bunch. He saw that in me and cracked down on me hard when I was young. He was a drill sergeant. Made me do my homework. Made me take college prep courses and forbade me from taking shop classes. Made me get a job. Made me do chores.

If he hadn’t, I’d probably have never finished school and would either be dead now or in prison by now. I realize that today. Not then. Now, I have a couple of degrees and am doing OK.

I see a lot of me (and, I suppose, him) in my son. Same mannerisms. Same thousand yard stare. Same “don’t give a fuck” attitude. Same “I will challenge you” demeanor. I worry about that. This is why I am hard on my son. Harder than I am on my daughter. I see it in him. He’s me. He’s what I was. I’m what he will be.

My wife asked me why I’m so hard on him. I owe it to him, I replied. My dad did it for me.

Thanks, Dad!

The other night, on the bookface, I made a comment about Obama’s administration reversing restrictions on the NSA snooping through your emails and phone calls. And in response to that, I quipped that all I had to say was “allahu akhbar pressure cooker tea party airplane”, riffing on something once said here by NK. My wife saw the post and asked me if I was worried the government would show up at my house over things like that. I said I was not. Then, she reminded they already did that once.

Oh, yeah.

I should probably do a post about that some day.

In the South, people decorate their yards in the fall by putting out pumpkins and gourds and other Autumn type stuff. And, every Thanksgiving weekend at Casa de Uncle, the kids have over their cousins and we get rid of the soon to be discarded fruits by shooting them with suppressed 22LRs. It’s great fun and the kids learn gun safety.

Well, this year, I noticed an odd plant growing and spreading in the area of the yard where we usually have the shoot. I presumed the cucumbers from the garden had managed to spread somehow and the leaves looked enough alike. And then, we found it. A gourd. And more gourds. So, this year, a few new additions to the annual Pumpkin and Gourd Slaughter, first being a lot more gourds. And the next, being a suppressed M&P22:

A gourd and it’s natural enemy. Should be fun.

Been a while, but the last time I saw the numbers it was something like 92% of all computers out there were Windows, 2% other, and 6% were Apple. I think that’s going to change drastically in the next 10 plus years. See, my kids are into iPhones, iPads and other iThings. My daughter saved up her money for an iPad and she got an iPhone. All of my kids’ friends have iGizmos. And their friends have a Mac-books too.

I think we’ll see a majority Apple things in the next decade or so.