The Tour of Boredom

We went to Missery last week for that Tour of Missouri thing, and to see OurDad. Well we think GreatMom just wanted to see George. The whole thing was boring, and OurDad and GreatMom acted like total idiots. Thank God Lance thought he was too good to show up even though it was his team's last race ever. God, had they actually see Lance they would have wet them selves in public. It was bad enough that we had to go to the race on Friday for the end of stage 4 in Columbia, Missery. They just went ape.

On Saturday it was worse they took pictures and got autographs while they ran around the state like school-girl groupies. First to Jefferson city for the start of stage 5 and then they ran to the car and drove like idiots to get to the KOM, that's King of the Mountain, point of the race 90 miles away. Hello there are no mountains in Missery. As it was the riders just rolled over the whopping 500 feet of elevation at maybe 8% like it was a turd in the road. Then they tried to get to the finish in St. Charles, but they just missed the riders there. They probably cried over that one. They stayed for all the awards, boring. Really all they wanted to see was George, George, George.

Here's a picture GreatMom took of George in the yellow leaders jersey. He and his team the Disco boys grabbed it on the second day of the race. It was a joke. They had no competition at all, and walked away with the overall win for George with little effort. It really was the world class verses the rednecks of cycling. Don't believe it was a redneck event: On stage 2 a rider hit a road kill armadillo. He crashed resulting in a broken collar bone and was forced to abandon the race. That will never ever happen in Europe.

I'm so glad they dumped us off the OurDad's Dad and Mom on Saturday.

First Mountain Biking then Golfing and now Fishing

This could be worse than we thought. Apparently Ludicrous U has a 1000 acer field site and historic pioneer village complete with trails and fishing ponds. Again very suspicions! He stayed out there last weekend, and guess what he did; he went fishing and mountain biking.

Oh sure, he called it field work, but we know what he's up to-- he's OurDad. He was the personal guest of the field site's director. We'll call him Conservation Guru. The Guru lives on site in one of the historic stone pioneer houses with his dog and cat. Apparently the Guru is desperate for company and OurDad was all too willing make the Guru feel at home. Well the Guru was at home, unlike OurDad.

OurDad just raved about the place and said it had all sorts of potential, but he didn't say for what. Hey we are the ones up here in Michigan with the puppy. The whole reason we got the puppy was so OurDad would come back and see us every few weeks.

This Ludicrous U thing better be worth it because we miss OurDad.

Where the Hell has OurDad Been?

After a month at New U we thought OurDad would come crying home to moma, meaning GreatMom, but apparently not. Perhaps all that time being a stay-at-home dad actally taught him to take care of himself. But that still doesn't explain how he's waking up at six each morning and actually being in the classroom and ready to teach, meaning dressed, by 8- am! "I wish I was there to see it", said GreatMom. "He's never been anywhere at 8:00 in the morning if it didn't involve fishing, golfing or mountain biking."

This made us wonder: Just what is dad teaching at New U. We did a little research into New U and it doesn't look good. For one it's not new at all it's more than 100 years old, and for west of the Mississippi that's pretty old. OurDad has said they do things a little differently there, but we thought he was talking about having to teach at 8:00 in the morning. Check this they have a cycling team--very suspicious! A cycling team at a university in America that's strange and maybe unAmerican. They also list flyfishing classes in their catalog, again very suspicious. Sure OurDad says he's teaching biology there, but we think he's trying to weasel his way into teaching things like Sports Nutrition for Cycling Fitness or the Molecular Biology of the Missouri Brown trout Salmo trutta redneckii or Genetic Engineering for Golf Course Sod Management.

Let's face it there's got to be something wrong with any place that'd hire OurDad to be in charge of a group of willful twenty year olds. It's just the place for him-- Ludicrous U.

If the housing market doesn't turn around soon allowing us to move there to be with him, we may never see OurDad again because he sure won't want to leave Ludicrous U for the Old CC or the frozen waste land of Michigan.

What's not in Your Wallet?

OurDad says David Spade must have a new job, because the people at Capital One just told him NO!

OurDad is not happy about the "no hassle" credit card nearly tripling their interest rate! So he called them today to talk about it. After several phone calls to automated systems he finally reached a rebellious soul (who is probably a regular poster at cap1sucks.com) in the applications department. She told him that if he called the customer relations number, which he had done multiple times today, and just let it play out eventually a real person would come on the line.

OurDad tried it, and it worked. He asked about the increase in the rate and if something could be done about it. First and foremost they said NO!

He said he could hear David Spade in the Background.



They told him his only other option would be to decline the changes, but if he did so he would no longer be able to use the card. He told them, "No, I can transfer the balance and you will lose a customer!"

The Corn of Elendil

OurDad started it. He hit me with corn, but I would not give in!

Who'd have thought that fresh unshucked Michigan bicolor could be such a formidable weapon in the hands of OurDad. The first blow struck my shoulder; I ducked the next and ran. But it was no retreat: I headed around and though the living and dining room and back into the kitchen where the last remaining ear of corn lay unprotected.

OurDad had fallen for it and chased me around the house only to find me his armed equal upon his return to the kitchen. He was right on my tail, and when I grabbed the corn I wheeled on him, "Ha!" With a viscous swing I struck at him sure to end the battle with a single shocking blow, but surprise was not enough. He parried, and with two hands upon the corn he struck back. I blocked his counter and ran for the safety of the far side of the kitchen table.

From our separate sides of the table we crossed ears again and again, and then OurDad ran round the table. I fled-- the battle now spilling out of control and with GreatMom sitting peacefully at the computer in the living room the fight raged on around her. "Would you two stop it." "Never!" We both declared. On we fought I did my best to counter his attacks, but I was forced into retreat again and again by his crashing two handed strikes. Around the house we battled sending silk threads flying about the house, and as the ears continued to clash the shucks began to give way and with each new blow the sweet juicy kernels flew like sparks.

I was becoming tired and hungry, but OurDad raged on. GreatMom pleaded, but was helpless to stop us. Once out of earshot I asked "Is this what Mom means when she says, 'Don't Play with your food." OurDad laughed, and the distraction was enough. I saw an opening, and with a mighty blow I struck him square in the chest. Corn silks and juice splattered across his shirt, but it was not enough to deter him. He brought the corn down upon my head. I was showered with squished and soggy kernels. I screamed for him to stop, but drew back and parried and countered now fueled on by raw anger and raw corn. With each new blow the more sparks of kernel, shuck, silk and juice flew from our swords of maize. Until it happened. The glorious blow that should have ended it. His corn cob cracked and half of it flew across the diningroom. Victory should have been mine! But OurDad, who can't accept losing, struck back with renewed vigor, but I thwarted his attack and his corn broke again.

"HA! Surrender for I am the Lord of the Corn!", I declared.

"OK THAT"S IT," roared GreatMom. "I declare the GirlChild victorious, but you still have to help clean up this mess." she said to me, and then to OurDad she said, "And then you have to cook dinner-- including that corn."

And so with the Corn that was Broken a new age dawned an age of victorious women and girls.

Actually we just cleaned up. It was a pretty big mess with corn silks, shucks and kernels on the floor and even on furniture. Then, as commanded by GreatMom, OurDad tossed the corn into the microwave and we ate it. It was really tender. Who knew you could make Michigan's sweet bicolor even better!

It was the most fun we'd had all day-- heck all week.

We are definitely going to the Farmers Market tomorrow.

Tora Tora Tora part 4

OurDad's truck has been recovered from the enemy. Thank god our AAA operatives were able to determine that the employees at "Quality Auto" in Fruitport Michigan were in the employ of the enemy. They were also able to determine that Quality Auto was not even a AAA approved shop.

The fact that it was taken to an enemy shop by operatives within the AAA in the first place suggests that the enemy has infiltrated into the deepest ranks of the American automotive fortress, a dangerous trend, that if allowed to continue could result in the derailment of one of America's most important industries.

OurDad's truck is now in dry dock safely in the hands of AAA operatives in Grand Haven who come with the highest of AAA security clearance. This time we are confident OurDad's truck will be repaired and returned in time for him to set off on his next mission to New U.

Viva le Tour or We can watch Sponge Bob Again

Viva Le Tour...

The end of it that its! When le Tour (de France that is) rolls into Paris is cause for celebration. The bike race is over and we can watch TV again. OurDad doesn't just watch le Tour-- he lives it. In the morning during what he thinks is the "live" broadcast he sets up his trainer in front of the TV and rides his bike along with the boys in the peleton. So we can't watch Sponge Bob in the morning. Then when that broadcast is over he gets around to getting us something to eat so we can start our day at 11:00. But before we know it it's time for the afternoon broadcast so he makes us play outside!

So you'd think by evening we get a crack at the TV, but noooo. Unbelievably he's got GreatMom hooked on this le Tour thing too. So in the evening it's on again so she can watch it. Thanks Versus. Lucky for us OurDad's not into bull riding or extreme cage fighting.

If you don't know much about le tour then you may not understand our frustration. This bike race lasts three weeks-- all of July year in and year out. Can you imagine our pain: we are forced to play out side for nearly the entire month of July-- in Michigan!

Viva le end of le Tour!

However, le Tour isn't the only tour and now I think I know why OurDad is trying to move us all to Missouri. At first I thought this was some kind of redneck joke but apparently it's billed as the #3 race in the country and the Dico boys will be there!

Actually we still think this "Tour of Missouri" may be the biggest punk in cycling history. I want to see the looks on George and Levi's faces when they see the Missourah bicicle race. I just hope this one's not on Versus.

Tora Tora Tora part 3

OurDad still doesn't have a truck. That means if we want to go somewhere we have to ride our bikes. It's getting old.

Quality Auto told OurDad today that they can't figure out what's wrong with it. They've had it about a month, that should be enough time to find all the coins under the cushions much less figure out why nearly shakes to pieces at 40 mph. Did we tell you that last week they did mention something about a guy at the shop who needs a truck.

Hey Dad do you know what fish smells like?

OurDad told them to put it back together and drive it.

Stay tuned for part 4 tomorrow when OurDad leans if putting a broken truck back together without fixing it makes any difference, and for part 5 when we drive across the state, yet again, to get the truck. What we'll do with it god knows.

I just hope OurDad remembers the pinkslip, because I think he's going to need it.

What? OurDad is Going to St. Louis without Us?

We knew being a professor at New U was important to OurDad and even GreatMom wanted to move back to St. Louis, but if he's going without us that's not exactly moving to St. Louis. On one hand it's great we don't have to leave our friends. But how are we supposed to keep this blog going if we can observe OurDad doing ridiculous things like moving to St. Louis without us!

The excuse we being fed is something about supply and demand and 17 houses for sale, including four foreclosures, in our neighborhood. We didn't want an economics lesson we just wanted to know why OurDad is "going to St. Louis ahead of us."

We are also wondering if this has anything to do with the puppy we were promised when we all got to St. Louis...

The Blackout has been lifted!

Because OurDad is finished reading Harry Potter.

All week last week he kept us underground-- no TV, Internet or newspapers-- just to keep anyone from spoiling it. Now were making him read it out loud to us because he would let us even touch at all over the weekend as he hid in his room only appearing for meals and to go to the bathroom. He doesn't even do this when a new Philip Roth novel comes out.

He's just crazy, Harry Potter Crazy!

Tora Tora Tora part 2

After we watched Mom ride all the roller coasters at Michigan Adventure we headed back to Fruitport to pick up OurDad's truck. The Fruitport Grease monkey at Quality Auto was real nice and said we could leave it there for the day in stead of driving both cars up to Michigan Adventure. That was great except that OurDad didn't drive it at all! Sure Grease Monkey said, "it's fine I drove it around the block."

Well I don't think he drove it over 30 mph, because if he had he might have noticed the whole thing nearly shake apart. So it's 8pm on July 3rd: GreatMom has taken the day off work and drug us three hours across the state to get OurDad's Truck, Quality Auto is closed and will be the next day, July 4th, the truck could be driven home at 30 mph, if you wanted to take six hours to get back to D-town that is if you weren't blown off the road by everyone else that doing 80 mph, we are hungry, GreatMom is doing her best not to offer any unsolicited advice, OurDad is so pissed he's reached some zehn like state in which he has surrendered to the universe which of course means he could snap at any second.

I couldn't believe it OurDad didn't even curse. It's actually really bad when he's too mad to use swear words. We all stayed real quite in the Honda with GreatMom as we followed OurDad back to Quality Auto. We silently helped OurDad empty out the truck in case this next repair bill was a death sentence. We just went on to Grand Haven because we didn't think it'd be safe to sit in the car with him for three hours. We hoped hanging out in Grand Haven, the lake side resort town just down the road would help diffuse him, but by the time we got there all the restaruants were closed. This only made OurDad quieter. The only word he'd utter was, "sure."

It's Cheaper and More Fun than Genetic Paternity Testing

We went to pick up OurDad's Pickup on Tuesday. For those of you following the Tora, Tora, Tora saga Quality Auto of Fruitport, Michigan was able to fix OurDad's truck for just $260! And after we paid for the repairs we went to Michigan Adventure. We were planning on going to the beach, but GreatMom was in a very rare spontaneous mood so went went for it. So what if it's more expensive than the beach, it's a lot less than Cedar Point.

We went to the water park first. The BoyChild and I hung out in the wave pools, but it got cloudy so it was too cold to turn blue and shiver in the lines for the water slides. That's a Michigan summer day, sunny and warm one minute and teeth chattering the next. I swear a Michigan tan comes in various shades of blue. No wonder we had the place nearly to ourselves. Since it was cold we decided to get out of our freezing wet swimsuits and back into our clothes so we could go eat lunch and ride the rides. After lunch, of course, the sun came back out, but GreatMom had packed our suits away in the Honda and was strolling back to the park at a pace we could hardly keep up with. She hadn't joined us in the wave pools claiming it was too cold, but we saw her gazing longingly toward the roller coasters at the other end of the park. There was no getting back into our suits no matter how hot it got.

I said I'd try a small one. I kind of like rides if they aren't too big, but OurDad and the BoyChild refused to ride anything. "Dear, I don't think the sensation of careening of a ledge is entertaining," said OurDad. "I think Dad's right. I don't think car crashes are fun," said the BoyChild trying to make it sound perfectly smart to pay $24 to watch everyone else ride the rides. "Well at least someone is brave enough to go with me," said great Mom as she grabbed my arm and drug me toward the Mad Mouse. At least she didn't try to make me ride the Shivering Timbers. The Mad Mouse was ok, but that only encouraged her, and she made me ride the log thing. At the very top, with the boys safe on the ground, I asked Mom if I could get off and walk down. She laughed at me as we started to fall off the Earth and I screamed. She said, "you and your brother are definitely your father's children."

We didn't have to wait long while we watched GreatMom ride every coaster in the park. Thank God almost no one else in Michigan likes roller coasters either, that's why the park was so empty. But as scary as those rides look she sure seemed happy that afternoon. Our Dad said they could close Guantanamo and send all those terrorists to amusement parks around the country. After a few round trips strapped into some of our nations best roller coasters they'd tell us anything we'd want to hear, some may even be screaming for Jesus.

It was a real bonding experience being there safe on the ground with OurDad. He said that even though GreatMom was so strange we shouldn't make fun of her for it.

Tora Tora Tora

OurDad and I made it back from the Silversides submarine, but not before his truck was torpedoed!

Our Scout troop went to Muskegon on the other side of the state to camp on the Silversides submarine on Friday. We got to bunk in the sub overnight. It's awesome, but we all agreed just for one night. The Silversides was one of the most decorated subs in WWII history, and maybe the luckiest--they lost only one man throughout the war. Submarine duty was the most deadly in the entire war, and after sleeping on a sub for just one night we wondered if the real danger wasn't from crewmates. Imagine living in a 300 foot long metal tube that's only 20 feet in diameter with 80 men, most of them not showered, for weeks on end, and oh yeah, it's 200 feet under water most of the time.

Ok is wasn't really a torpedo attack, but I think it was sabotage, so it's still a sneak attack of sorts. The truck had been making horrible, thrown bearing, sounds for a couple of weeks. OurDad knew something bad was coming, that's why we think it was an inside job. You want more evidence... OurDad took it to a muffler shop a couple weeks ago. They told him, "it's definitely making a strange sound, but we can't pinpoint it. We think you should drive it until it's clearer what's wrong with it." They didn't say to drive it to Muskegon! Who takes a drive train problem to a muffler shop, unless of course what they want is a new truck.

At least it didn't die on the way to the sub so I got to camp, but getting home... Well we lucked out there. Another scout family, Thank you mister R, Found Off Road Dead ranger and stoped for us. They were headed to their cabin up north so we got to add a bonus day to our trip, but the cost was one truck. OurDad was so disgusted, or perhaps delighted, that we didn't even wait for the tow. The tuck is currently in Fruitland, Michigan at Quality Auto, anyone know where that is? We're awaiting a final diagnosis, but it looked pretty DOA to me.

Decisions decisions, fix it, junk it, haul it to a Ford dealer or trust the small town guy, buy a used car here or wait until we get to StL.... and what about the stuff we left in the truck. Looks to me like he's scammed another trip to Lake Michigan too.

If you have advice for OurDad please leave a comment.

Let Them Eat Cake

Hey now I think I know why they killed that French lady for giving everyone cake, they wanted ice cream!

Sunday was my birthday party, it wasn't actually my birthday, and so OurDad kept calling it my pseudobirthday. Other than that OurDad behaved, he really loves me. He even helped everyone skate since most of my friends can't ice skate. I knew lots of them couldn't skate, but I wanted an ice skating party before I left Michigan for Missouri where there isn't any ice--especially with global warming! Anyway we had pizza and chocolate cake, and there was lot's left over. So that's all we've eaten for a couple days pizza and chocolate cake. Cake, Cake, Cake, Pizza, Pizza, Pizza! I'm sick of it. Yesterday we had pizza for breakfast and lunch and dinner. Today we said, "we weren't eating pizza for breakfast!" So OurDad said we could eat Cake. The BoyChild thought this was great, but I wanted ice cream.

"Dad, what's the difference? Cake and ice cream are really for dessert so if you can eat cake for breakfast why can't you eat ice cream for breakfast?" Usually this type of logic works on OurDad. He thought for a moment and said, "it's too cold. Ice cream is too cold, you just can't eat food that's that cold for breakfast."

"Fine," I said, "then I'll have hot chocolate!" And he actually made me hot chocolate. I was being sarcastic! It's only supposed to reach 92 degrees today. That's why I want ice cream for breakfast!

I'm going back to bed until after breakfast so I can have ice cream.

Environmental Science Proves It or To Pee or not to Pee

Last week OurDad took his Environmental Science class to a waste water treatment facility. That's where all the water in your house or business goes to be cleaned up before it's released back into the environment.

This sounds appropriate for an environmental science class, but not in the hands of OurDad. The first hint of trouble was that he entitled the field trip, "What Happens When You Flush." Gross!

Ok so it is about poo water, and the students were grossed out-- like they don't poo-- but the facility's manager told them it's not just toilet water, "it's dish water, shower water, anything that goes down the drain." At these words OurDad was enraptured by an epiphany: "So it's ok to pee in the shower!" he thought out loud.

Great environmental science makes the planet safe from OurDad's pee. What's next the pool?

Be sure to see OurDad's side of this one in the comments.

Paper or Porcelain

Lately we have been using a lot of paper plates. Ok maybe the dishes aren't really porcelain, but Paper or China didn't have that paper or plastic alliterative ring to it (oh God OurDad is wearing off on us).

But I was wondering since OurDad is teaching Environmental Science this semester at the Old CC which was better for the environment, real dishes or the paper dishes.

"Hey Dad what would the Goracle say about us using all these paper plates?" I knew I was risking an entire environmental science lecture, but since we don't have a power point projector at home I figured it was pretty safe from the worst of it.

"Well son, there's more than just trees to consider. Sure cutting down trees is bad, but necessary in our society and many trees are farmed just for paper, paper can be recycled into make more paper plates or cups for that matter, and if you recycle them they aren't taking up space in a landfill.

The thought of eating off someone else's recycled plate was disgusting. "Dad I don't think yucky paper plates with grease and bits of food all over them can be recycled. They don't recycle pizza boxes. And cutting any amount of trees has a negative impact on global carbon emissions, farmed or not."

"Well it's not just about trees, how about the water we're saving. Not only the water we'd use to clean those plates," he said with a sneer and pointing to the cabinets to indicate the real dishes, "but the water we'd be polluting with all that detergent too."

"So water is more important that trees-- when you have to clean the dishes."

Just don't put it that way to your mother.

OurDad's Father's Day or Perhaps it's Androgyny

We are still getting the house ready for this dismal market here in SE Michigan. It's so bad GreatMom had OurDad working on Father's Day. First he shoveled a truckload of mulch onto all the garden beds in the front yard, then he watered all the flowers and bushes (that global warming thing is acting up here in MI-- it hasn't rained on over a week and it's hot).

Then we took him out, for a break, to Home Depot his favorite store in the world so we could buy him some paint and trim. Then he painted the garage door. Then he installed trim around the entryway into the garage. He even put my bed back together, because they think the bunk bed makes my room look small. Yeah right... I think they just wanted to get rid of more of my stuff as if my whole life in Michigan wasn't enough.

Anyway OurDad was working and GreatMom was lounging around with me. Some days I wonder if our parents have any idea how much they are confusing the GirlChild and me.

Or perhaps GreatMom had this Father's day revenge planned since....

Looking out for OurDad

Were not sure yet how we'll be referring to OurDad's new school on our anonymous blog (so he doesn't get fired), but we have been doing few searches around the web to get the scoop on the school. One thing's for sure it's a jock school. It's not a Div 1 school so we figure (hope) they really are student athletes. I checked to see if they had a skating team, but no such luck. I just hope he doesn't want us to go watch the water polo matches with him.

Speaking of water polo we found these posts the other day at the rate your students blog about administration-sponsored student-faculty get togethers. As of yet we can't verify whether or not either is about OurDad's new school. However, if they are there could be trouble.

We see several problems with these supposed get to know your prof schemes.

When we get to Missouri OurDad will be too busy unpaking our stuff to be helping students move into their dorm rooms. They are big strong kids their parents can carry their stuff up to their rooms.

I'm not too sure GreatMom would like it if OurDad attended the new-student pool party, but I'm sure he'd love it.

Although we're big Harry Potter fans I don't really care if the students think he's more like Professor Snape or Professor Lupin. I happen to know he's a squib.

I'm quite sure GreatMom would not be happy to learn that we had moved to Missouri so that OurDad could host a faculty cast for a sex ed rendition of the Hollywood Stars. I'm not sure if they'd give him a script, but I'm sure he'd rely on all those sick Philip Roth books like The Breast, or The Professor of Desire for material.

I have no idea what he's gotten himself into, but please please God whatever don't let it make him even crazier.

Books Have Gone to his Head or This Move is Driving him Crazy

In addition to all the things OurDad is trying to get done around the house so we can sell it and move OurDad has been trying to prepare the BoyChlid and me for life in Missouri. And it's working. We like Tom Sawyer. OurDad said Mark Twain wrote another book about Tom Sawyer and we'd get to read it some day. Instantly Missouri sounded like a better place.

"Dad, when's the next Tom Sawyer book come out?" I thought Missouri had it's own redneck Harry Potter and JK Rowling!

OurDad said, "I'm sorry sweety, but he stopped writing books about Tom and his friends along time ago."

"Deary Mark Train lived about a hundred years ago. He's not going to be writing anymore books," GreatMom tried to clarify. I didn't think that could be true; Tom wasn't a caveman, but if mom says so. Then OurDad corrected her. "What are you talking about that old Tralfamadorian has lots of books left in him. "

"Tralfa what--"

"They are an alien race of time travelers." Now the BoyChild was interested, and before he realized his mistake he had asked. "What's Tralfa whaters got to do with Mark Twain?" I hit him. Now we were in for some crazy lecture about literature, but this time with extraterrestrials. It went something like this.

Mark Twain is just a fake author name, a nomdeplume, for Samuel Longhorne Clemens which is probably not his real name either. OurDad claims he's the same person who writes under the name Kurt Vonnegut Jr.--the junior part being a nice touch to throw people off-- and Kilgore Trout. Vonnegut, or whoever he is, in his 1969 book Slaughterhouse-Five described his race, the Tralfamadorians. Thus, according to OurDad, exposing just how the same man could write two collections of books with a span of one hundred years separating them. OurDad says the evidence is in the writing and subject matter: both writers have novels that depend heavily on a very similar use of the first person narrative, and both authors rage against technology and man's inhumanity to man. They both rely in one liners and were essayists at heart. And they both were fascinated with time travel, Twain's Connecticut Yankee and Vonnegut's Timequake and Slaughterhouse-Five. What's known of both men's personalities fits the hypothesis too, both were bipolar subject to massive bouts of depression. Probably because they knew humanities rotten future. But most of all look at them!



Finally GreatMom had had enough, "so basically you're saying that Kurt Twain, or is it Mark Vonnegut, is proof of extraterrestrial intelligence."

"Yeah, pretty much. It's not as exciting as Star Wars, but humans can't write like that guy."

At times I think we're headed to Misery not Missouri.

OurDad's not that Bad or Freak Show at the WoundTight Township Library

Recently someone suggested that we are a bit hard on OurDad. It's true, at times we see parenting that's beyond even OurDad, in fact beyond explanation. Here's an example of what we won't be missing about Michigan's WoundTight Township. Thanks JS. However, these "parents" just give OurDad ideas.

Recently we were forced to go to the WoundTight Township Public Library to do our homework-- where it was figured we would stop whining and complaining about doing said homework being that the public library is a public place. It was pretty horrible to sit in the library and do homework-- no computer time and certainly no Star Wars books (see Four Legs Good, Star Wars Baaaad). OurDad was being so grumpy about "homework" that I don't think even George Orwell would have cheered him up.

Anyway there we were doing our homework, at the library, and soon we realized we were not alone and that it could have been much much worse.

This WoundTight mom wore an angry scowl and black unitard to showoff her surgically exaggerated bubble butt and boobjob. I first I didn't realize it was her costume as she played the part of super villainess in a public plot of pathetic pomposity. She had marched her son to the public library to finish his Science Fair project, but clearly she was there more for the public part than the library part.

The GirlChild and I were there because it is all to well understood that making a spectacle of ourselves in public is VERBOTEN, and carries serious consequences, the likes of which have only been vaguely explained.

However this kid and Villainess mom were all about the spectacle. The first hint was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume?!?! Why in the hell was that kid wearing a costume at the library? But it didn't stop there. There was whining, shouting and as the villainess became ever more enraged she'd loose her grasp of English slipping back into her native tongue to berate the ninja turtle son in one of the many foreign dialects you're likely to hear here in the ethnically diverse WoundTight Township. God knows what wretched foreign curses we heard that day. All for the purpose of gaining the sympathy of the WoundTight Public Library staff. What a dedicated mother she was and what a brat he was, and what attention they got. We couldn't take our eyes off them-- no one could. Staff members were consulted as to how one could finish a project with such a brat.

Finally GreatMom, unbewitched by the spectacle, reminded us it's not polite to stare at people with disabilities. We left gladly so we could finish our homework at home.

Whatever the deal with the costumes was it's now been added to OurDad's repertoire as the all time most frightening homework threat. "If you don't want to do your homework here, I'll just hurry upstairs and get your costumes and we can go to the library."

Thanks a lot, you freak WoundTight family as if OurDad didn't have enough ways to annoy, embarrass and harass us.

Please note that the clientele of the WoundTight Township Public Library is not a reflection on the staff or quality of the Woundtight Township Public Library. It's one of the nations top 100 public libraries, and we shall miss it dearly.

OurDad's Biking Clinic or Skidmarks for Boy Scouts

OurDad a has out done himself this time--he nearly got us kicked out of the BSA.

My Boy Scout Troop is planning a cycling trip up the west coast of Michigan. It'll be a great trip-- too bad we won't have time to go. Anyway, they know OurDad's like Mr. Mountain biker so they asked him to put on a biking clinic. It was great-- at first.

All the guys brought their bikes up to the school where we meet, and OurDad fixed practically all of them. Then he had to take it a bit further and talk about equipment. He brought this old helmet to show everyone how a helmet really can prevent head injuries. His is covered with cracks and scratches from landing on his head after bike wrecks, and he's "no worse for the wear." I for one am not too convinced. He talked about nutrition and hydration, and showed everyone his Camelbak. And then he brought out the bike shorts-- the girly racer boy kind that look like they'd fit the GirlChild. Oh, I can't tell you how bad that was, but it got worse, he showed everyone the chamois. That's that padding in the bike shorts for your butt, but no one was listening at this point because they were all to grossed-out by the skidmarks! But then it got even worse-- he explained that everyone has skidmarks in their bike shorts because you're not supposed to wear underwear under your bike shorts.

We were informed that in the BSA the boys and the adults are to wear underwear at all times.

I don't think we'll be invited on any more cycling outings with the scouts.

Perhaps OurDad was thinking if we got kicked out of the Boy Scouts it would make leaving Michigan easier. Wrong!

It works for removing paint too -- OurDads Mother's Day

Maybe OurDad has got this WWTSD thing down. That's, What Would Tom Sawyer Do?

Yesterday was Mother's Day and all great Mom wanted was to see us work. Ok it was her special day, and it was only one day.

She wanted me to finish my Picasso reproduction, which was late. In fact, OurDad said if I didn't finish it I'd be placed in a third grade art class when I started fourth grade at my new school in St. Louis. She wanted the BoyChild to clean his room-- no small feat considering the four thousand Lego pieces he uses for carpet. And all she wanted OurDad to do was power wash the deck. She swore, no chocolates or flowers. I made a card for her at school, and I let the BoyChild and OurDad glom on to it. Hey at least they did the work GreatMom wanted-- sort of.

First of all I want to state that I did finish my Picasso, and that he was crazy, just crazy. Look at this. Very inappropriate. The BoyChild he cleaned more than half his room, which was actually more than expected. So basically we did our part for Mother's Day. And that deck is totally cleaned and ready for a new coat of stain, but OurDad didn't do all the work.

GreatMom had borrowed a huge gas-powered power washer so OurDad could help get the house ready to sell. It just blasts the stain right off the deck with a jet of water like some military issue squirt gun. It looked really cool, and OurDad made using it look like so much fun GreatMom had to try it, and he let her finish off the deck.

It was Mother's Day and OurDad had her outside power washing the deck. Tom Sawyer's got nothing on OurDad!

WWTSD

What Would Tom Sawyer Do? Well it sure wouldn't be asking OurDad to fix the school teacher.

It's no sooner after OurDad decides to move us all to Missouri, or Missoura, than he's cramming Mark Twain down our throats. What's next: biographies of Harry Truman or the memoirs of Laura Engles?

Anyway, with just a few weeks of school left you'd think he realize I can sweat it out, but noooo, he's got to try and make it easier for me just because he's feeling guilty about becoming our personal Harry Truman by dropping the big one on our family. He's gone and complained about my ultra hard teacher, Dr. Barbarian, to the principal. This is only going to make school worse, if that's possible.

It's not like Dr. B. suddenly started throwing around C's and D's to kids, including me, in the Woundtight School district's Magnet program. It's all stick and no carrot from that lady, at least my other teachers are really cool. What a reward for doing more than our peers around the district. Did I mention that my report card, which would be straight A's at any other school in the district says nothing about Magnet or Advanced, so when I move to Missouri I guess I'll be placed in the remedial courses with kids that say Missoura.

OurDad to the rescue. Yesterday he spent an hour and a half busting the principals balls just for me. Please with all this Mark Twain stuff he's talking up, you'd think OurDad would have come up with something a little more clever and anonymous. Now I gotta watch my back because Dr. Barbarian is gonna be gunning for me.

Any ideas? What would Tom Sawyer Do? Please note hooky too obvious to be an option.

OurDad actually got a Job-- a real Job!

In St. Louis! We're moving.

He actually called our bluff. We never expected he'd actually get a job. You may have seen my comments on his work habits entitled They Pay him for this?

Somehow, someway, he's convinced Unnamed U that his minimalist teaching philosophy is the new thing in education-- let the students do the work. Whoever heard of such a thing-- students working?! The teacher is supposed to teach the students. He thinks they should teach themselves.

I think I know why he wants to be a "college" teacher... But did he ask us? Noooooo. He just did it all on his own.

St. Louis? I should have known. He could never give up that Cardinals hat and cheer for the Lions, Tigers, Pistons or Wings.

St. Louis? Do you know how hot it gets in St. Louis? He goes on and on about global warming and he wants to move south? I just don't understand OurDad.

St. Louis? I'm not sure they even have the internet there.

St. Louis? Has OurDad thought this out? No. Do we know where we're going to live? No. Do we know where we are going to school? No. Does GreatMom have a job there? No. Are we going to be able to sell our Michigan home before he starts work in the Fall? Not in this market. Can we afford two mortgages? No. Is there a scout troop? Is there a skating rink? Are there soccer teams? Are there kids that like Legos? Will we rent? House or apartment? Will we live with grandma and grandpa, and if so which ones? But OurDad has a job.

I'm expecting to see a Mission Accomplished banner on the house any day now.

Why didn't the Old CC hire him before this disaster?

Belated Earth Day

You may not know this, but OurDad has been known to teach Environmental Science at the Old CC. He's very concerned about the environment we live in. In fact he's so into it he celebrated Earth Day this year by waiting until after Earth Day to spread fertilizer with herbicide all over the lawn we play on!

To OurDad's credit he usually forgoes the herbicides and pesticides and just over loads the lawn with nitrogen based fertilizer, but with the big move he seems to be fixing things around the house, throwing out anything he thinks can fit into the local landfill and trying to make the lawn look extra good with no regard to the environment. Good luck being a stand in for Al Gore now. All so someone else can enjoy our Michigan home.

Who cares about the environment when there's a house to be sold.

OurDad's not exactly this guy, but I could see him singing this way if the mood stuck. I happen to like toilet paper so I'm hoping not.

Not sure what's up

Finally we get to use the computer. Sorry we havn't posted in a couple days. I'm not sure what's going on, but OurDad and GreatMom have both been hogging the computer. I'm not sure what they are up too. Even poetry seems to have taken a back seat this week. And just when I was starting to get into this Poetry Month thing.

Last Friday OurDad took us to a poetry contest he helped judge. The BoyChild played his Gameboy, and tried to pretend he was not paying attention. I sat right up front with OurDad. Some of them were good, and OurDad didn't even act goofy. He was all serious Judging poetry. It was strange.

I even started a poem about OurDad's pancakes. OurDad makes the best pancakes in the whole world.

Anyway The BoyChild and I are on spring break this week, and OurDad and GreatMom just decided we'd run to St. Louis for a couple days to see Grandma and Grandma and Grandpa and Grandpa.

Easter = Sex?

Will someone please tell OurDad Easter is not about sex-- so we can start our Easter Egg Hunt.

We got up nice and early for our Egg Hunt and OurDad got all mad. "So if I put a few hard boiled eggs on the bus you'd never be late for school again, right?"

We tried bargaining for the plastic ones with chocolates inside when OurDad asked, "What do eggs have have to do with Jesus anyway?"

We didn't know. We just wanted to start our Egg Hunt, but he wouldn't get out of bed, and we can't start with out him.

"If you can tell me what eggs have to do with Jesus, I'll get up." We didn't know, and he knew we didn't know. We'd been set up again-trapped, and if we wanted an Egg Hunt we'd have to endure another of OurDad's lectures. There was no point delaying the inevitable so we asked, "Gee dad what do eggs have to do with Jesus?"

"I'm so glad you asked," he said, and we braced for the worst. "Nothing! What is an egg?"

The GirlGhild answered, "A baby chicken."

"Right, if it's a chicken's egg," he corrected. "So an egg, a baby bird, is a fertility symbol."

I was happy to leave it at that and start our Egg Hunt, but the GirlChild had to ask, "What's fertility?" Now I was ready to go back to bed. I almost hit her, and I should have.

"Fertility, it's about making babies so Easter is about sex," he said.

"No it's not," we said in unison as my stomach began to churn. Making babies eeew gross.

Oh you don't think so eeh? So what's a bunny got to do with Jesus?" He'd done it again.

"We don't care! Can't we just find the eggs?" we begged.

It's another fertility symbol--bunnies make lots of babies that means they have lots of sex." Gross making babies and sex, eeeew. I started to break out into a sweat. I couldn't make him stop. I was getting sick even before I got to gorge on chocolates. He was ruining Easter, just so he could stay in bed.

Of course it was 6 am.

That's Our Dad...

More like Jack Frost

OurDad told us about his favorite spring poem the other day. I think I'm starting to get this poetry stuff now. This is just so fitting for our current freezing Easter weather.


Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

 -- Robert Frost

No kidding-- nothing gold can stay-- not when it's frozen! I think OurDad's got the poet's first name wrong. This must be the Jack Frost anthem! Crazy!

Probably not the place to start.

Ok even OurDad says this one's a bit too much. I think you'd need two Ph D's to understand T.S Eliot's The Waste Land. Really OurDad's got one and he doesn't get this poem either.

If you ask me it's all wrong from the start. April is the cruelest month? I thought maybe this Eliot guy was from the southern hemisphere where the seasons are all reversed, but OurDad told us that he's from our old home town, St. Louis, but that he moved to England. What a turncoat! The snow is gone, Easter is coming, it's warm again, and most important the Cardinals are back for opening day in April. What kind of St. Louisan doesn't like April and the return of our beloved Cardinal baseball.

OurDad tried to explain something about irony, but I think the guy's off his rocker.

The poem's about a thousand lines long, but you can see where it's going right away so I just copied the first few lines. Oh and I took out all the crazy Latin and Greek at the beginning too. Crazy, just crazy.

The Waste Land APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering	5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

What Kind of Sick Joke is This?!

OurDad just told us it's National Poetry Month! Even in Canada!

A whole month?!

Do you know how long a month is? Can you even remember what you were doing 4 weeks ago? I'll bet it wasn't poetry.

April is the cruelest month...

In an Ideal World They'd Pay Us for This

Yesterday OurDad was trying to tell us about this Philip Roth book he's reading. Usually we just remind him were ten and eight, and some times he stops, but something in yesterday's trip to lit land with OurDad caught my attention---Money.

So this book is set in Prague, Czechoslovakia during some war that was only fought during the winter. It's a totalitarian state where half the country is paid the spy on the other half. Next thing we know OurDad is off on some rant about the President and phone records and the FBI and the Attorney General and 1984 bla, bla, bla... The book is called The Prague Orgy and he thinks the President's domestic spying is obscene. I was giving him a couple minutes to get it out of his system when it dawned on me that maybe this spying thing could work here in the good old US of A.

This meant I'd have to ask OurDad about the book to learn just how this getting paid to spy on people worked, thus risking an hour long dissertation. If I could just make it sound like I was interested in Prague and this totalitarian stuff and not current events it might not be so bad.

"So dad how could people get paid to spy on each other--in the book?", I asked. It worked he was so happy that I'd actually asked a question about literature that he forgot all about Present Bush.

My ears are still a bit sore, but I think it was worth it. It boiled down to this. There were two writer friends. One was a good writer and the other "couldn't describe a shoelace." Well the state government was interested in what the good writer was doing, because people listen to good writers. So the government asked the bad writer to file reports on the good writer, but it was a disaster. The state couldn't make sense of the bad writer's reports. Worse yet the state thought he was faking it to protect his friend. The bad writer went to his friend for help, and the good writer agreed to write the reports on himself! Everyone was happy; the friends split the money and the government got excellent reports, but this too was a problem when the state wanted to promote the bad writer to spy on more important people and to train new recruits because his reports were so fantastic.

This spying bit basically ends with the good writer having to teach the bad writer how to write to keep the government from discovering the whole scam. Eventually the good writer broke off the whole thing by telling the bad writer, "How can you ever become a great writer if you are such a bad spy?"

Hey I think this Philip Roth guy is comparing writers to spies-- More like peeping Toms knowing the books he writes.

Anyway this whole spying thing sounds better than groveling for an allowance.

The GirlChild and I do hereby pledge to provide any and all information on OurDad to the satisfaction any state government willing to pay us the sum of one million dollars.

President Bush if you are reading this we'll be expecting a wire transfer soon.

A Swiss bank account and I'll never have to clean my room again.

OurDad was right the Vice President is Evil-- Thanks YouTube

Tomorrow is my last day as a Cub Scout. No I'm not quitting. I'm crossing over to Boy Scouts and I'll be awarded the highest Cub Scout honor, the Arrow of Light. OurDad will be crossing over too. He's been the Den Leader for five years now, and I think he's more excited about Boy Scouts than I am. He's always said this is his chance to finish being a Scout too.

Anyway I'm not sure OurDad has been the typical Den leader. case in point: our Citizen badge. We had to learn all about our great country including who the important leaders were. We all knew who the President was, George Bush, and our Governor here in Michigan, Jennifer Granholm. OurDad says she's the sexiest Governor in America.

Well, that was about all we knew. So when OurDad asked the Den who the Vice President was I thought I'd be funny and yelled out, "Doctor Evil."

OurDad looked stunned for a second, I thought I might be in trouble, and then he beamed at me with pride. Not just any pride mind you, his eyes sparkled and he got that teary-eyed faraway look reserved for the fathers of Super Bowl Champions. I thought he was going to hug me in front of the other boys--thank God he didn't. I could even hear theme music coming from somewhere. I still can figure out that one. And then he said, "YOU'RE RIGHT!"

Every one was laughing at what each of us had said. In that moment we were transformed into some great Father-Son tag-team comedy act. It was great. We had bonded like few fathers and sons throughout history. Then I noticed he wasn't laughing, and then he said, "No really you're right. The Vice President really is Doctor Evil." Then every one stopped laughing, and I was no longer the envy of all the other boys. No longer was I a kid lucky enough to have a cool dad, a dad with true comic timing. A dad so funny that no one would even dare look at a milk carton in his presence. It was all an accident. He was just... well, him, OurDad again.

Eventually we got him to admit that a man named Dick Cheney was the Vice President, and he kept insisting that he was like Doctor Evil, but no body bought it.

Anyway it turns out OurDad and I were right, well almost right. Look what I found on YouTube!

It was so funny, and for that one moment we were both so proud of each other.
I just hope he's as proud tomorrow as I become a Boy Scout.

Bloody Knuckles

No OurDad didn't get into a fight. GreatMom would have done more than bloody his knuckles anyway. He fixed a flat tire. Nothing extraordinary there., but then there is the matter of how the tire got flat in the first place.

You've seen those big rocks placed at the corners of parking lot islands just in case the curb isn't deterrent enough... Thats right he cut one a bit short--way short. That's one more dent in the Ranger's collection, and then there was of the flat tire-- torn out side wall. No plugging that one. $85 bucks for a new tire and to hear OurDad tell it, a pound of flesh to put on the spare.

Ok maybe scraped up knuckles aren't exactly a pound of flesh, but OurDad made it sound like switching out the flat for the spare was a Herculean feat since all the bolts were rusted-- hence the bloody knuckles. I'll bet he looked pretty funny swearing away from beneath the Ranger in the fitness center parking lot. 175K miles on salty MI roads breeds a lot of rust, but that Ranger is still going strong, for now...

Our Dad doesn't seem to mind all the dents, but after yesterdays driving we're beginning to wonder if these aren't self inflicted wounds. Is OurDad trying to tell us something?

It's Genetic!!! That's OurDad's Dad

Grandpa got the Girl Scout cookies I sent him last week, and the Valentines I sent too.

GreatMom found this great Valentine's craft. You get a cookie sheet with heart shape molds and you fill the molds with broken crayons and bake them at 250 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes and then you let them cool. And you have these great heart shaped crayons. They work and everything.

Popping them out of the molds is a little tricky, but OurDad figured out that a couple minutes in the freezer solves that problem. He is kind of smart about that science stuff-- something about things contracting when their cold... bla, bla , bla...

They are so cool. GreatMom and I made batches five batches of them in one day! Then we started running out of the valentine's colors, but it was too much fun just to stop so we kept making more with greens, and browns, and tans and blue crayons. They came out kind of ugly compared to the pretty pink and red and white swirly ones.

Anyway I had all these really cool gifts to give out with my Valentine's day cards this year at school. We had lots left over, and OurDad said GrandMa would get a kick out of them so we sent her all the ones we had left. It just happened to be GS cookie time so we sent them with our cookies.

Anyway OurDad's Dad got the Cookies and the chocolate hearts today, or what he thought were chocolate hearts. Below is a excerpt form today's email from OurDad's Dad.

the cookies arrived today and they are great, however there was a sandwich bag with some heart shaped candy and I thought how nice, the kids made candy hearts and sent them to us. So I ate one and had to spit it out and get an tooth pick to clean the wax from my teeth. I showed them to your mother and she looked at them carefully and said they are crayons. I knew the taste and smell were familiar.

Now life makes so much more sense.

That's OurDad's Dad...

We're taking OurDad's Side on this One--Place mats

What is the point of a place mat? Great Mom says they're to catch crumbs, they help keep the table clean. OurDad thinks this is great-- as long as said place mats aren't adorned with idyllic settings for fluffy pink kittens-- you don't have to wipe the table.

However, GreatMom disagrees. Of course you have to wipe the table, and the place mats. This is where the GirlChild and I agree with OurDad. If the place mats are for protecting the table from sloppy eaters, like OurDad, fine then there a are just place mats and not the whole table to clean. This makes sense. But GreatMom insists that the table still needs to be wiped after dinner in addition to cleaning the place mats.

So what are the place mats for?!

We need a answer to this one before were expected to do our share of housework here.

He knows they should be studying

I'm not sure why OurDad did this today, but he told his students he'd give any of them that found this blog an A. They aren't going to find it, and he's not going to give any of them who do find it an A, but clearly some of them took it on as a challenge I'll bet they are combing wordpress and blogger sites right now when they should be studying for the pop quiz he's writing up for tomorrow!

Why does OurDad have talk to everybody at the library?

A trip to the library with OurDad can be a real problem. If we're staying a while it's not so bad; I just find some books and DVD's and the BoyChild and I play some computer games while OurDad is off doing god-knows-what amongst the stacks of books, and he doesn't bother us. But if it's a quick run... Well there is no quick run to the library with OurDad. He has to talk to all the librarians, bla bla bla. I'm not knocking our WoundTight Township Library, it's one of the top 100 public libraries in the country, but please WTT librarians could you stop talking to OurDad, you're only encouraging him. We have a life outside of books!

It's only the library you say? Judge for yourself: The other day OurDad I was walking into the WTT library with OurDad and he said, "I love the library; it's just an orgy of books."

Whatever that is I know it's something disgusting...

Much Ado About Something

The other night Great Mom and OurDad rented the DVD of Shakespear's Much Ado About Nothing the Kenneth Branagh film version to show us where they got the name Beatrice.

It's a great comedy about denial and love or denial of love. I could tell form the opening scenes that Great Mom and OurDad got it right: Beatrice, the character, was a sassy barker that had to let everyone know her opinion. That's just like our Bea-- some one would start an argument, and she'd try to finish it. And boy was that woman in denial. It's sooo funny kind of like how a certain dog lived in denial of actually being a dog.

Where have we been?

Dear Readers,

Some of you have expressed concern for our absence here in the blogisphere. It's true we didn't felt like blogging when our Beatrice left us, but we have been feeling better for the past week or two.

So why so quiet. It's OurDad's fault of course!

OurDad has some new LitLand project, and it's for the internet. He never gets off the computer now! Really it's worse than usual. GreatMom had to threaten him so she could get on the computer to figure out how much money we owe this extortionist nicknamed Uncle Sam.

We aren't allowed to tell anyone about the project yet, but OurDad says it will be on the internet by April 1.

We're not sure, but we suspect it's some kind of joke.

School's out for Summer, or till Summer

Yes it appears school has been canceled in southeast Michigan until the weather improves. I could really care less, I'm off school, but OurDad is raising a stink and threatening to write letters to the Woundtight Schools superintendent and the local paper. Granted were not off school because of snow or ice. It's just too cold, fine with the GirlChild and me, but you should hear OurDad.

"It's going to be this cold all week. This is still Michigan isn't it. People know how to dress for this: coat, scarf, mittens, snow pants, hat, long socks and boots. It's that simple simple. It's not like you have to walk two miles to the bus stop."

I admit there is something fishy going on since yesterday it was colder than today, and we had school. Some schools were closed yesterday because they couldn't start the buses, but that was not the problem in the WoundTight District. So I can only guess that the WoundTight kids complained so much about having school when most of the metro area got to stay home that they convinced their parents to call the superintendent and demand a day off too. "It's only fair, and it's too cold."

I'll take it, really what did OurDad have to do today anyway...

Our Poor Bea

OurDad says Beatrice was named for a character from Shakespeare's comedy Much Ado About Nothing. GreatMom and OurDad say she's always played the part being so bossy and barky, but now our comedy has turned into a tragedy by way of cancer. We're gonna loose her soon.

Last night we all slept in the family room with her, and we will for as long as we can.

He send's me to my room for this?

Life with OurDad is just ridiculous!

Did he send me to my room for
A) Forgetting to clean my room.
B) Hitting the GirlChild when she messes up our PS2 Lego Star Wars games.
C) Tormenting the GirlChild in general.
D) Singing, just plain old singing.

And it wasn't even copyright protected, totally public domain lyrics. It's got a nice ring to it.

I don't believe in hum hums... I don't believe in hum hums...

Oh sure the GirlChild had to get OurDad into it. "Dad the BoyChild won't stop killing fairies." "Dad make him stop," she cried. I mean it she cried, she's such a girl some times.

Ok so maybe I was pestering my sister a bit, but was OurDad upset about that? NNNOOOOooooooo. We have been through this before see I Don’t Believe in... or It’s Just a Story

"Get to your room! We do not speak like that in this house, young man!" I could parade around the house shouting F this and F that; he'd be been so proud, but question the existence of fairies, and it's the old heave hoe.

Of course while in solitary I built three Lego star ships. Oh the horrors!

Nikolai Gogol and the Superheros of Literature

You guessed it form the title: OurDad has a new book, and so it's off to Lit Land again as he tries to explain his latest find at the used book store.

"This guy created the anti-hero. His stuff is both sad and hilarious at the same time. He captured the absurdity of real life 100 years before Kafka."

Now there's trouble. Once he mentions Kafka I know the full-on lecture is coming, complete with another reading about that bug again. I had to think fast.

"A hundred years before the communists made Russia really absurd, and 100 years before Orwell, " OurDad continued.

Now Orwell and that Farm book. I was in real trouble, and GreatMom wasn't home to save us with orders to go clean our rooms. I had to get him off track and I thought of just the thing.

"So dad is he a hero or an anti-hero? Is he like say Superman or Lex Luthor?" Misdirection it never fails.

"Son it's not that simple. First off William Shakespeare is the Superman of literature, and Lex Luthor of literature-- that would be L. Ron Hubbard. Gogol would be one of those obscure nearly forgotten heroes maybe one of those mixed up anti-heroes, not all bad but good in a bad way. Actually Gogol might be the Northstar of literature. He was the first superhero to come out the the closet, but really it's only speculation the Gogol was a homosexual." I realized this was backfiring terribly, and it could only get worse if I didn't work fast to control the conversation.

So if this Shakespeare person is Superman, who's Batman, or Spiderman? Who are the other super villains of literature? OurDad thought for a minute and I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Batman-- a heavy hitter, very popular, a dark side, but with no real super powers-- maybe Steven King. Spiderman-- that's got to be some satirist, very popular-- Of course that's Sam Clemens, better know by his secret identities Mark Twain and Kurt Vonnegut.

"So who's Wonder Woman dad?" That stumped him and thank God I could get back to my homework.

That's our dad...

On Time?

Getting OurDad to do something on time is impossible and he is always blaming us. I wonder what he tells his students about deadlines?

Well a deadline caught up with him this time. He submitted one of his weird stories to a blog that hosts writing contests-- 250 words with this picture as the prompt. Well he was too late, but here's the story.

Cross Words

He folded the gray paper in half and then in half again, took out a pencil and scanned the clues.

“Are you going to do that now?” she asked. He shrugged his shoulders at her, looked back at the puzzle and gave his mechanical pencil a pair of clicks.

“Hey, I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Uhhm,” he replied around the pencil in his mouth. Then he removed it and asked, “What’s a four letter word for barrier?”

“I don’t know, wall? I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I know, I’m listening.”

“No you’re not. You’re doing the crossword puzzle,” She looked at the paper, and added, “yesterdays.”

“Yeah, that’s so I have the answers if I get stuck.” He pointed to indicate today’s paper on a pile under the table.

“Two across is waver,” she said. He gave her a quick glare, and she folded her arms as he penciled in the letters and continued reading the clues.

“How about a five letter word for gray?”

“Does dingy fit?”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied as if he’d known that himself.

“Seven letters for electrified,” he thought out loud.

“Charged?” she said, again he glared, but wrote the letters.

“Blank dreams,” thinking out loud again.

“Four letters? Pipe?”

“Why don’t you do this yourself,” he said holding out the pencil to her.

“No, I’m going to sleep,” and she walked down the hallway.

He nodded and looked back at the puzzle and thought one down and filled in the letters s-l-e-e-p.

Weird... Anyway, I wonder what would happen if he was on time once in a while.

You can see the winning stories, by writers that kept to the deadline.

OurDad and the Copycat Germs

Friday OurDad elevated the Microbial Alert to condition Scarlet. This means active infections and it takes us from the eradication plan to antibiotics. Both the BoyChild and I have step throat. Streptococcal pharyngitis caused by Streptococcus pyogenes says OurDad (and yes he made me type that in italics).

Now at this point I should let you know aside from being a germ freak and a microbiologist OurDad is an microbial geneticist. Which basically means he knows who they evolve. Anyway he loves to preach doom and gloom about the antibiotic era comming to an end. He goes into this whole Darwinian diatribe about the evolution of bacterial resistance to antibiotics... Click the link if you want, but I'll spare you.

Anyway with us at condition scarlet he's worse than ever, "Damn the Lysol." Ok it was our pediatrician that prescribed the BoyChild and I antibiotics, but then OurDad calls his internist, "My kids have strep and I've kind of got a sore throat." What a copycat.

Give me a break he just wanted the drugs, and you know what they gave them to him, sight unseen. That's some doctor that can diagnose strep over the phone. So now everyone but GreatMom is on antibiotics.

So dad what was all that contempt for the prophylactic use of antibiotics. Prudent use, in theory only.

Just Say Hi

Hey it's National De-lurk Week.

So at least say Hi to OurDad. He's really the one putting all these words in our mouths anyway, but they do approximate what goes on around here.

Another Roman Parallel

"George Bush is the new Pontius Pilate!" says OurDad. I know the hanging of Saddam may be old news, but around OurDad the anti-Bush rant is non stop and since Wednesdays presidential address it's been elevated to indoctrination.

"Handing Saddam Hussein over to the Shia's was just like Pilate washing his hands of the death of Jesus . I tell you this country is going the way of ancient Rome and this is just one more example." Then list of parallels ensued: devalued currency, brazen military challenges, moral decay, failing democracy. Great Mom tried to stop him, and this usually works, but not this time, only got worse. He started in on the dollars flowing into the pockets of his Bush/Cheney friends in the oil industry and military industrial complex.

But my quick thinking stopped him. "So dad does this make Saddam the new Jesus?"

He didn't have a answer for that one.

I wanna be just like...

OurDad because he's still got his tonsils, and great Mom has had hers removed. I really don't want to go to the doctor tomorrow.

I told Ourdad that my throat still hurt today. OurDad said my tonsils look even more swollen. "What?!" Boy you should have seen him back pedal.

There is a bonus to getting sick. Were on page 527 of Order of the Phoenix now.

Diary of the germs of a sick girl part 2

Just because I was sick over the weekend doesn't mean I can't get sick again. I told OurDad I had a soar throat this morning. He gave me some Tylenol sent me to school. An hour later I called from school and told him again that my throat hurt. He said I didn't have permission to be sick, and that I should call him back after lunch. I knew I shouldn't call GreatMom at work to ask to come take me home when OurDad was already at home. So I suffered till lunch, and tried to eat some grapes, it hurt. So I called OurDad again... at least I didn't need to call him three times.

Of course when we got home he went all epidemiological on me, shining a flash light down my throat. "No, I can't get my tongue out of the way." Then he tells me my tonsils look swollen. I told him he was not a real doctor and then asked him for more Tylenol.

He did spend the afternoon reading me Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. We're on page 438.

Diary of the Germs from a Sick Girl

OurDad is a Microbiologist, and a bit of a germ freak. Think Howard Hughes without the money, pilot's license or starlets. He had the BoyChild spraying the whole house with Lysol this weekend, and he wouldn't come near me. What does the word "quarintine" mean?

GreatMom took care of me, that is if starving me on a strictly pediapops diet, and persistently asking me, "Which end?" denotes care. "Which end," I'd rather not say.

Whenever anyone gets sick at our house OurDad activates the Family Emergency Action Plan section 5 and elevates the Microbial Alert to condition Red. A condition red automatically activates the Microbial Eradication plan. This basically means three cans of Lysol are used to fumigate the house and another is sprayed onto every possible surface. I don't think it worked this time. OurDad wasn't looking so good this morning. Perhaps he was dreading another semester at the old cc as he trudged out the door to his first day of classes, but I'm think his antiseptic aptitude failed him and he caught my germs. Sorry Dad. I hope he can look at this not as a failure of his microbial expertise, but as a measure of his dedication to students.

I wonder if he had an in-class gastrointestinal demonstration.

Fresh Fish Tonight

He may not bring home the bacon, but today there were two new gold fish and an algae eater friend for Algi, our only remaining fish. Our goldfish, Rock and Speed died over the summer. I was... was... was.....

WHY did they have to die...


Sorry about that. The BoyChild took the death of our fish pretty hard. We all did. I just told him I would finish this post so he could go visit Rock and Speed's marker stone in our garden cemetery. It was a bad day when OurDad woke the us with a gasp of, "Oh No." And there they were Rock floating and Speed sucking his last watery breaths over his pale little gills. He struggled to survive, but by the end of the day Algi was our only fish.

Rock and Speed had first stayed with us over the summers after the BoyChild, and myself two years later, were in Mrs. D's first grade class. When they retired from their several dedicated years of service to the WoundTight School District they came to live out there remaining years with us.

But that's behind us now. OurDad brought home a friend for Algi and Rock and Speed Jr. They are smaller than Rock and Speed were, but were gonna feed them up. New Fish! Three new fish for Algi top play with. He even cleaned up the tank and bought a water thermometer, water conditioner and very thing.

Not sure what made him do it, maybe we could start calling him GreatDad.

Maybe He's Just Recharging Over The Holidays

It's not that OurDad hasn't done anything worth writing about, we're sure he did, but we didn't notice. Santa dumped a PS2 and a computer on us. We figured we'd have plenty to write about when Grandma and Grandpa, GreatMom's parents, stayed with us for a few days over New Year's. They aren't Great Grandma, and Great Grandpa, because they aren't; they're mom's mom not moms' mom's mom. Got it.

Anyway, if something happened we didn't notice. Our grand parents brought great stuff with them too including our cousins. We had a great time with extra kids in the house. Maybe OurDad was just hiding the whole week. It was kind of noisy. We really didn't notice him until he woke us up for school yesterday. Ahhhhhhhhhh!