Musica Für Le Masse: pt I

Well, as you may have already noticed, I have added a new feature to this blog: a music player.

As fate directs me...or, rather, as my meandering predilections guide me...I will feature a different tune every now and then. Currently in the player is one of Jen's favorite songs, Steal My Sunshine, a one-hit-wonder by the Canadian band, Len.

It's a rather infectious ditty, especially since Jen has it as her ringtone. In other words, we hear the opening chords to this song on a near daily basis. But, that's a good thing.

Len, comprised mainly of siblings Marc and Shar Costanzo, are still making music in 2008. However, nothing they've produced has etched itself into our collective consciousnesses quite like Steal My Sunshine.

Enjoy!

Bring Me the Head of Ducky Blue Eyes

Assuming you've been regularly reading this blog, you're fully aware that Madison's birthday party was celebrated this past weekend. Surprisingly, it was incident-free...not a single episode of drama nor commotion erupted throughout the entire affair. It certainly surprised me to no end, considering the raging hormones and emotions that define preteen girls.

Everything went without a hitch, from the water balloon battles to the dancing to the karaoke to the rubber ducky decorating to the balloon-popping to the eating of burgers, hotdogs and cupcakes and, ultimately, to the final goodbyes. All in all, it was a splendid evening bash attended by a handful of her friends, 3 of which stayed on for the sleepover.

In other words, it was a triumphant birthday event. Not too shabby.

Incidentally, the beheaded duck piñata is symbolic of how Jen and I felt as twilight approached. Around midnight, we told the foursome of revelers to retire to either Madison's room or her downstairs playroom. Logically, they hit the playroom.

I haven't a clue when they finally passed out from their collective sugar highs, but Madison surmised that it must have been well after 2am. Foolishly, Jen and I ventured down there at 8am to attempt rousing them from their sleep. Near-comatose would be the most apt description of the response we elicited from the fab four.

We let another hour pass and finally woke them for a morning feast replete with bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, pancakes, fruit, tea and milk. Between breakfast preparation and overall cleanup (including the minor disaster that her room mutated into), Jen and I were ready for another 8 hours of sleep.

Did I mention the party rocked? It was just ducky.

Everything's Ducky

Madison’s birthday party is being celebrated this Saturday, and it is sure to be a swell time. At least, that’s what you’d expect from a Rubber Ducky Rave Party.

Yes, you heard me right. Rubber Ducky Rave Party.

Well, maybe not “rave” in the sense of an all-night, DJ-led, laser-light-accompanied, recreational drug fest the big kids are into nowadays. No, we can’t have that for a 10 year-old’s birthday party. Conversely, it’ll be rather tame, with rubber duckies galore, a mix of Madison’s favorite dance tracks (for dancing, of course), some food, games and finally topped off with a sleepover for those willing to participate.

Yes, I know, this is a mere week from the minor flood event we experienced last Saturday, but fret not: I have towels, carpet cleaners and a watchful eye at the ready.

In any case, it’s not like you need water to enjoy playing with rubber duckies. Oh, wait…what?

Eye of the Tiger Beat

There comes a time in everyone’s life when a turning point is reached. A defining moment is captured in perpetuity. An accomplishment is achieved from arduous labor. A milestone is surpassed, and then suspended in a wistful memory.

My daughter is fast-approaching this epic moment in her life. How do I know this?

Two words: Tiger Beat.

Yes, you heard me correctly…Tiger Beat…that frivolous publication of prepubescent angst and yearning.

I found one in the house yesterday. Apparently, it was purchased upon the behest of the most vertically-challenged biped in our household. And, no, for some of you out there snickering while you read this, I’m not referring to myself.

So, there it was…a gaudy mish-mash of bright colors, screaming fonts and mesmeric pictures of the youthful idols of our modern time…sitting on a counter, mocking every fiber of my being.

The Jonas Brothers, Zac Efron, Miley Cyrus, and God only knows who else graced the cover of this particular issue. I feel so old. And slightly perturbed at the notion that the words contained within the pages of this magazine will soon shape and influence my daughter’s opinion of the world.

Yeah, this can’t be good, can it? I mean, I remember being her age and fawning over the latest issue of Cracked Magazine, which was a subversive imitation of the more popular and edgy Mad Magazine. And comic books. Lots of comic books. So, that would make me old and geeky, I guess.

Well, I should be supportive, though. She’s entitled to enjoying this magazine, and surely is intelligent enough to recognize its sole objective as entertainment for the younger masses.

Tiger Beat. I think I’m having issues with this.

Cross Your T's and Dot Your Eyes

I'm still a bit worn out from the weekend's water adventures. However, I felt it was imperative that I include a brief update of the aftermath. Thankfully, there has been no recurrence of moisture along any of the baseboards, so I'm assuming the worst is behind us.

Meanwhile, reconnaissance has revealed that during the coverup, one of the girls decided to come upstairs and retrieve her suitcase (it was supposed to be a sleepover, hence the overnight baggage). Now, one would assume that the logical conclusion as to why she dragged this thing down to the scene of the crime was to utilize it's contents to help absorb the watery quagmire.

But I say, "nay." There was something much more devious afoot with this rapscallion.

Aqua Dots. Flippin' Aqua Dots. That's what her intent was with regards to the suitcase. Apparently, she snuck these things out of her own house and brought them into ours.

This product may sound familiar to some of you: Aqua Dots were recalled by it's manufacturer due to the coating on the beads containing a chemical that would turn toxic when activated by water. Toxic in the sense that GHB is toxic...children who swallow the beads can become comatose, develop respiratory depression, or have seizures.

Nice, huh?

Needless to say, that girl's never being invited back to the house. Especially not for Madison's birthday party next week.

Did I mention that it's a Rubber Ducky themed party? Yeah, that doesn't sound foreboding at all, does it?

We All Live In A Yellow Submarine...

It started off innocently enough on Saturday night. Madison was hosting a sleepover with 2 of her friends. Playing ensued. Pizza was ordered and eaten. A fun time was being had by all.

For the purpose of this woe-begotten tale, I will share that our home is a split level where the bottom floor is actually a finished basement and 2 car garage. Nearly two-thirds of this floor is devoted to Madison as a playroom/disaster area...the choice of description is really determined by one's age.

Anyways, the girls had taken their pizzas downstairs to continue playing unobstructed. Shortly thereafter, they bounded up the steps and announced they were getting their pajamas on. This, I believe, transpired at around 7 in the evening.

5 minutes pass, and Madison marches out of her bedroom informing us that her newest pair of jammies are still a bit too big. After much unsuccessful finagling, she heads back to her room to try on a different ensemble.

30 minutes later, they all emerge from Maddie's bedroom and rush down the steps. At this juncture, my wife and I were blissfully lounging about...her with a book and me with the laptop. In retrospect, this is what I would have to identify as the calm before the proverbial storm.

7 minutes have passed since the girls went downstairs, and now we hear the door creak open and my daughter, in her meekest voice, (which for any parent out there "a meek voice" is a clear sign of impending doom), says, "Daddy? I think we left the sink running downstairs and it's spilled a little water on the floor."

Panic sets in.

Down the stairs I race, assuming that, at worst, the bathroom is flooded. Ha! What a fool I turned out to be! No sooner did I take a step through the door, I was slightly immersed in wet carpet. The flooding encompassed the entire bathroom, as well as parts of 2 rooms, and finally streaming through the garage. To put it into proper context, one-third of the finished basement was under a centimeter of water.

Panic now replaced all general feelings and sensations. Words can't describe what I felt at that very moment. No, wait, scratch that...there were words, but not the kind one can share in a PG-rated blog.

It took 2 carpet cleaners at a combined pace of 2.5 hours to draw a majority of surface moisture out. I then proceeded to take the sink apart in order to dry out the carpet underneath it. Luckily, the basement has a concrete subfloor, so cleanup was not as troublesome as it could have been. We were also in need of a carpet fan, so my wife drove over an hour roundtrip to the closest Home Depot capable of renting us one.

Now, let's take a step back to recant how this all came about, shall we? You see, the sink had been running since just before the girls decided to get their pajamas on. A simple calculation of the time that transpired since then would put the tally at 42 minutes of unobstructed faucet flow.

Why, you may be asking, would they let the water run so long? Well, apparently the plan involved bathing a handful of Littlest Pet Shop toys. Keep in mind that the sink in question is one of those deep utility style behemoths. Given that, one of the girls complained that it was taking too long to fill, so she suggested the excursion up the stairs for pajama-dressing while the faucet lurched on.

It's a proven fact that 9 years olds, while very intelligent, have terrible time-keeping skills when at play. Saturday's events were a clear representation of this fact. It goes without saying that the sleepover was abruptly canceled, and I think I made it to bed around 230am when all was said and done. But, that's close to my usual bedtime, so no big deal.

Well, it's Sunday night now, and the carpet has dried completely. We even put some of the furniture back in place. There is still one small spot in the bathroom that the fan is tirelessly drying, even at this very moment. My wife is returning the rental tomorrow, and I am glad the worst is behind us.

In other words, we are no longer awash in a sea of despair.

Horton Has A Glazed Look In His Eyes

Last Saturday, I let Madison decide where to go for dinner. Her friends had been raving about the Who-Cakes at IHOP, so we trudged on over to investigate.

As you can tell from the picture, it's almost as if the circus exploded on a stack of flapjacks. The mere sight of it sent shivers down my spine, as the brightly colored boysenberry and blueberry glaze taunted me with a menacing glow. I won't even go into my feelings about the pink lollipop and rainbow chocolate sprinkles.

After much deliberation, Madison took the plunge and ordered this sugary concoction. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed. It didn't help matters that the restaurant was out of the aforementioned sprinkles. The glaze tasted nothing like boysenberry nor blueberry, and even less so than the cotton candy flavor her friends professed it to be. She insisted I try it out, and being the devoted father that I am, I took a bite.

Oh.My.God.

The closest comparison I can make is that it tasted like an amplified, liquified and putrified mutation of Fruity Pebbles cereal. And, given the fact that I love Fruity Pebbles cereal, this flavor experiment gone awry was a major letdown.

Like a brain surgeon making precise incisions along the scalp line, Madison removed the top layer and proceeded to carve her way through what little virgin pancake there was. This was no easy task, but I have to hand it to her...she ate more than I could bear to even look at.

Yeah, I guess we won't be ordering this thing again. Nor recommending it to anyone we care to remain friends with. I guess I should've known that any meal that would suggest a lemon-lime soda with cubes of floating Cherry and Berry Blue Jell-O in it as the appropriate thirst quencher would inevitably result in massive failure.

Gasteroids

That’s it, I’ve learned my lesson. We have 2 dogs, Eliza and Mulder, the latter of which suffers from a having a sensitive stomach. As a result, we’ve had him on a special diet for several years now.

Given that they occasionally go after each other’s meals, it was determined that Eliza would eat the same food. So, in an effort to economize, I decided to switch them from NATURAL CHOICE® Chicken, Rice & Oatmeal Adult Dog Food to IAMS® Lamb Meal & Rice Formula Dog Food.

BIG mistake.

Lounging around our living room with these 2 has become akin to being backstage at a marathon three-bean-chili eating contest. The scents, the sounds…it’s not coming up roses. Unless, of course, the roses have just recently been fertilized in the most natural way conceivable.

What the heck do the IAMS® people put into this dry kibble, anyhow? Rotted corpse? Burned hair? A square of Vieux Boulogne cheese? Cabbage smothered in curry spice?

I mean, there you are, just sitting on the couch, watching television…just minding your own business…when “BAM!!” it hits you. Your olfactory receptors are assaulted by an odor so pungent, so repulsive, so putrid...you wonder what horrific act you committed in your sordid past that would result in such vile punishment.

And, for the record, I’m not exaggerating. The dogs literally change the color of the carpet every time they commit these heinous air assaults. If you need proof, I’ll gladly provide pictures. They’re only $10 apiece and I accept PayPal.

2 Weedings and a Funeral

Spring is here, which translates into vegetative growth approaching inordinate proportions. Yesterday, I mowed the lawn and I swear the clover weeds were trying to trip me. It’s like they have a mind of their own. Seriously. I felt like Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors when Audrey II started eating everything in sight.

Just last weekend, armed with a spray bottle of grass & weed killer, I traipsed around the yard saturating the mulchy groundcover surrounding our plants and trees. This was followed by dropping pellet fertilizer weed & feed on the lawn.

I have to chuckle at “dropping pellet fertilizer” since it sounds like something a small, furry woodland creature would do. I am woodchuck, hear me roar…or chuck-chuck, which apparently is the sound they make…and, yes, I researched it online.

Anyways, the spray works pretty quickly. Weeds were yellowing already and no new growth was sprouting up. Absolutely no one is mourning their passing. However, funeral services for the weeds will be held this Sunday at 3pm, immediately followed by burial. They are begrudgingly survived by the trees and shrubbery that dot our landscape.

Conversely, the lawn patiently waits for the slow, painful, choking death of its own noxious intruders. The weed & feed takes a bit more time to get the job done, but the lawn is okay with that. It realizes it has nothing better to do but while away the time pining for a weed-free existence.

In any event, the lawn has heard there’s a soirée worth crashing this Sunday that is being attended by its woody neighbors. ;)

Mad Art Series 2: Donkey Kingdom

I’ve gone with option #2 again. I think I’m becoming predictable.

2. Accept the fact that I have a terrible memory, thus forgetting the main details of her version of the story, and just make up my own interpretation of the picture’s meaning.

Enjoy…


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Madison drew this one for her mom, Jennifer, who has a disturbing fascination with donkeys…she erupts into uncontrollable fits of laughter at the mere sight of them.






Donkey Kingdom


It’s a fine, sunny day in Donkey Kingdom. Reginald the donkey is cheerfully trotting around the perimeter of his vast castle grounds. He’s the royal ruler of this magical land of big-eared, hee-hawing, slow moving, but sure-footed beasts of burden.

Curiously adorned in a purple dress, there’s little doubt that Reginald is a free spirit. I’m not really going to get into the particulars as to why Madison decided to put him in a dress, nor his motivations for wanting to be drawn in a dress…let’s just say he’s a determined fashionista and leave it at that.

Reginald definitely has a penchant for sweets, and green apples are without a doubt his favorite. This undeniable affection for the fruit has led him to a life-long obsession of ensuring all of Donkey Kingdom has the image of green apples plastered everywhere. So much so, that he sometimes gets the inclination to gnaw on the flags that dot the landscape. At least he’s getting some fiber in his diet. Fiber is good for you, or so I have heard.

But I digress…my favorite part of this picture is the recurring theme reminiscent from Madison’s Monkey Kingdom: a castle, a hillside, villages and a train. One has to wonder, does the train connect the 2 kingdoms? And, if so, do the donkeys and monkeys visit one another? Is there another species altogether that is responsible for the operation and upkeep of the train? What other marvelous kingdoms serve as stops along these tracks? Will I ever cease with the inane questions?

Oh, well, just sit back, enjoy the picture and have an apple. You can even wear a dress, if that’s your sort of thing.

Lice To Meet You

There's been a lice outbreak in Maddie's classroom recently. Calamity has ensued. Well, maybe not calamity, since it's just one kid that's been identified with it. Given that there are about 25 students in this class, the odds are well in favor of the majority not requiring delousing of any sort.

Still, there isn't much comfort in the notion that these parasites may have transferred to another host without being properly detected by the school nurse. So, here we are, carefully following the detailed instructions provided by our mavens of public academia, combing through Madison's scalp for any evidence of intruder presence.

Did I mention this whole sordid ritual has become a family affair? Oh, yes. Madison's tresses aren't the only ones subjected to frequent inspection, as both Jen and I have been sucked into the incessant void of lice detection. It's quite a sight to behold...a return to our primitive roots in a Neanderthal display of hair picking. A virtual follicle scavenger hunt, if you will.

I guess we've got a few weeks of this to deal with, unless another child is discovered with an outbreak...then we're doomed to a vicious cycle of parasitic disturbance. That would be terrible. The mere thought of all those creepy-crawlies burrowing their way through scalp and mane gives me the willies.

My head feels itchy just typing this. Does your head feel itchy?

*scratch scratch scratch*

Ugh.

Mad Art Series 1: Monkey Kingdom

In an effort to share some of Madison’s artwork, I’ve started a series of blog entries where her art will be accompanied by my verbal ramblings.

For continuity’s sake, I will do one of 3 things for each blog entry:

1. Recant the story Madison gave when she presented this picture to us, possibly embellishing here and there just because I like being wordy.

2. Accept the fact that I have a terrible memory, thus forgetting the main details of her version of the story, and just make up my own interpretation of it.

3. Ramble on about something completely unrelated to the picture or it’s intended story, because I have failed in all aspects of memory, interpretation and general functionality.


Enjoy…

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This is definitely a favorite of mine. Madison drew this one for me as a gift. I love her use of color and most especially monkeys. I’m a big fan of monkeys. Incidentally, I have chosen option 2 with this one (click the pic for a bigger view)...





Monkey Kingdom


For your viewing pleasure, we have the noble chimpanzee, Marty, benevolent ruler of Monkey Kingdom. Everyone loves Marty…he’s a real chimp’s chimp: Sharing bananas, bounding from tree limb to tree limb and picking bugs out of his neighbor’s scalps.

They even find his eccentric tastes endearing. Unlike other chimps, Marty likes to dress himself in a suit of armor. He does this because he likes shiny things.

In fact, he likes the shiny so much, he has a royal troupe of 8 chimps who individually rotate 3 hour shifts with the sole purpose of polishing his armor upon his every whim. Eccentric, indeed. Don’t even get me started on how he bathes in this contraption.

In this rendering, Marty is marching in front of his towering castle. Bananas are obviously his royal crest, as evidenced by their appearance on the castle facade, as well as on the flags. Off in the distance, we see the modest homes of Monkey Kingdom, and, of course, the train that leads to this fantastic burg.

Of particular note, the castle is adorned with windows, which is totally cool. Especially when you're a monkey and you like to jump out of things. Like windows.