Roll Call

Okay, let's get after a blog in the moments this kid takes a nap.

So a package arrived recently that was covered in Chinese writing, and the only English on there was my address and my son's name. As I opened the package I noticed that it was expanding. A giant plush stuffed elephant was mashed in there! Erik seemed to really like it, but first I had to spray it down to remove any SARS or bird flu.

There was no note inside, and my attempts to post a picture of it on Facebook did not yield any results as to who sent the unusual gift. I believe there were close to 100 comments and "likes," so that's 100 suspects eliminated. I figure if I ask the countless readers of this blog for some resolution, that's another . . . seven suspects I can cross off the list. I'm faced with the sad realization that the mystery of the adorable stuffed elephant has been moved into the cold case files and may never be solved.

You know those parents that post a million pictures a day of their kid? Well, we post a lot of them, but we are not under the impression that he is the cutest kid of all time in every single picture. Take this one that Mrs. Noisewater took of him at the doctor's office a while back, for example.

This morning we had Baby Erik in bed with us, and Mrs. Noisewater was doing roll calls. Remember that?

Sha-Booya! Sha-Sha-Sha-Booya Roll call!
His name is Erk (Yeah!)
And he's super cute (Yeah!)
Sometimes he fart (Yeah!)
And sometimes he poot (Roll call!)



But then I tried to do one about Mrs. Noiswater bringing back pastries from the bakery when she got back from the gym.

Sha-Booya! Sha-Sha-Sha-Booya Roll call!
Her name is Mommy (Yeah!)
She brings daddy a danish (Yeah!)
She didn't like "The Phantom" (Yeah!)
Said it's too Billy Zane-ish (Roll Call!)

Mrs. Noisewater and I are going out for a "romantical" night at a fancy-pants restaurant and overnight at a hotel downtown. It will be the first night the two of us have been away from our boy overnight. My first drink (and let's be honest, my first time going number 2) without worrying about a baby waking up will be for you, my beloved Seven Readers.

Jibber Jabberer At the Gym and a Totally Unrelated Funny Story

I was at the gym today on the treadmill, and there was a woman next to me talking to someone on the phone while she was working out. Now, this is okay if:

Q: 1. Was it an important call or a business call?

A: Almost certainly not because she was laughing loudly and all the content of the conversation that I overheard was completely meaningless.

Q: Did she at least keep her voice down?

A: Absolutely not. I would have been fine if I had my headphones, but even then the big belly laughs would cut right through the heavy-ass jams I would likely have been playing. Probably something obscure and rocking, like this, a stoner rock band out of Portugal called Sulfer Giant with endless infectious Sabbathesque riffs.



At some point in my frustration at having only the bad gym music and no sports to watch on the television (just the closed captions of guys talking about football) and forced to listen to this lady jabber on, I started getting perhaps a little too critical of her. Now, I really don't like to judge people at the gym for whatever workouts they're doing because who gives a care, right? I know that one time a giant Thor-looking dude, like that blond schmuck from the Packers (sorry, I'm a Bears fan) tapped me on the shoulder (interrupting my beloved rock music for God's sake) to tell me that I was doing an exercise with poor form or something. I know that made me mad, so why am I judging this woman?

(You won't get gains doing it your way, bro. Also, you'll get more volume in your hair if you switch to my dope shampoo. Bro.)

At least she made it into the gym, I tried to tell myself. Perhaps she really hates working out but loves catching up with her homegirl, so she rewards herself with that - and that's what keeps her going to the gym. Maybe that is the case, but couldn't she do that on the ride there or the ride home? And couldn't she at least keep her voice down a little? And here comes me perhaps being a jerk. She was walking the whole time. If you're able to carry friendly banter like that, are you really working hard enough? And keeping her hands on the railing the whole time is really cheating herself.

Well, am I complete gym-bro ass wipe for letting this lady bother me that much?

Hey, here is something totally unrelated. My buddy, Night Train, and I were at a bar the other night, and we ran into one of his old roommates, this great-looking super buff gay guy. We got talking about how this guy dogged out fellas like a lot of men do with women. He would have all different types of guys that he would take home, and more than once he would have a fella come over when he was gone and they would just hang out with us and wait for Buff Roommate to come home. Night Train said one morning he saw one of the hottest women he had ever seen in his life come out of Buff Roommate's bedroom. He told Nigh Train that he mixes up once or twice a year and throws a woman into the mix. Night Train said to me, "God damn this guy! I'm in a slump right now, and he can easily pull the hottest girl out of the bar whenever he wants, and he is gay!?" Oh my God did we ever have a laugh at that one.

Hey, I got to run. Mrs. Noisewater has my 40th birthday celebration planned for me that I have to get ready for, and I have no idea what activities we are doing. Perhaps it will be a blog worthy tale I can share soon. Be well, friends.

Dr. Ken Turns 40

Well, it's my 40th birthday today, so I figured I might as well do a blog post. I have the day off of work, and I'm spending it with my 4-month-old little buddy, Erik. The only thing I had to get done today was drive out to Toys R Us and Carter's to return some of Baby Erik's Christmas stuff. I don't know a lot about parenting, but here is a good tip: Don't buy anything for babies that has buttons all the way up and down. The very idea that people are still making, buying, and selling button-up and snap-up baby clothes when the zipper is 10 times faster is astounding.

Speed is of the utmost importance when you're changing 30 diapers a day. Snapping one-by-one with a baby crying and squirming all over the place . . . Why would you put yourself through that? So, yeah, the button-up jammies had to be returned. Instead I got him some of those sweet sweatpants that look like jeans. Mrs. Noisewater was saying she is okay with all of his sweatpants, but daddy insisted that the boy have some jeans when he is out in public (or at least give the outward appearance of jeans). My boy is no everyday sweatpants fella, and I intend on being sure of it. I dig those jeans/sweats so much that I spent the extra 8 bucks to get one that is one size bigger that he can wear when he outgrow the first pair. I considered buying a pair for myself because I like comfort as much as the next guy.

Okay, as it turns out you all haven't been missing much by me not blogging anymore as evidenced by these topics. But I have decided that I need to try to write more. My good friend's father just died, and every time I think about my own mortality I immediately think that one of my biggest regrets would be not writing more. Weird, right? Well, have no fear. When I'm dead and gone there will be brilliant pieces of work out here on the inter-webs about my son's magical jeans that have the comfort of sweatpants.

I know it's wrong, but I watch some television with my infant. What? The horror! Well, when you have kids, you tell me if you can do doctor recommended play crap all day long. Believe me, it's nice when daddy wants to watch the Bulls and he will sit next to me with that beautiful blank stare of his into the glowing beautiful light. So the other day Erik and I were watching Robotech. Anyone ever watch that as a kid? I know a couple of you are right around my age, but to be honest, a lot of friends who I talk to don't remember it. It's a Japanimation cartoon from the 80's about a time in the future where an alien spaceship crashes into earth, and humans use the technology to develop their own weapons (such as jets that transform into robots), and then years later the aliens come down to earth to retrieve the spaceship and kick ass and stuff. There are some love stories going on and some major characters dying, which was really heavy when you were a kid. Here's a clip of Robotech below.



Another thing going on is that my mother-in-law is flying in from the San Francisco area to stay with us for 3 months to help watch Baby Erik while Mrs. Noisewater and I are at work. It's a small apartment for the four of us, but it will be really great to have her here. She grew up in Japan. I wonder if she will watch Robotech with me . . .

Tonight Mrs. Noisewater and I are making pizzas and maybe having a beer or two for my birthday evening. We don't go out as much anymore, but we really don't miss it that much. It's a more simple life, and our little guy brings us a lot of joy. Like the other day my son is on the couch with me and I got a hold of his ankles, making his feet clap like a pair of hands, doing stuff that dads do when they run out of shit to do. I thought I smelled some poop, and just as I move my nose right up to his little butt, he cuts loose with a whopper fart. Expert timing. I laughed my ass off. He just kept farting.

See you next time, friends.