3 Quick Items . . .

1. Being a Hater: I was out to dinner with my sister and her kids, and would you believe my oldest nephew is going off to college in the fall? I can hardly believe it myself. My sister was saying how he hates random things that no one else hates, like Matt Damon, and he is just like me in that respect. I got to thinking that of all the things I would like to pass onto him or have him emulate, being a hater is not one of them. Then it occurred to me that if I wouldn't want anyone I care about to be a hater, then just why in the heck do I think and act in such a way? It was an eye opener for sure.

2. Ikea: But can I just hate on one more thing? Ikea. Boy do I hate going to that place. It's enormous, and you have to walk through the whole place to find what you want. Then sometimes you're looking for the name of something, and it's in Swedish, you're looking for something called Ummergolongousmnaou with all those little Motley Crue dots over the vowels, and all those crazy long words look the same. Then you make a note of the bin location to find them in the giant warehouse by the check out area. Why don't they just have little computers where you can search for the stuff, put them all in your electronic cart, and then print out a list of all the stuff you want with the corresponding warehouse locations? Well, guess those greedy Swedes want me to find other stuff to buy. Well, I won't! Well, maybe a meatball and a Mountain Dew. But that's it. Then I have to go home and snap together their shoddy particle board crap furniture, and they always give me extra pieces!* God, do I ever hate Ikea!

3. The Demise of the Walk of Shame: Remember when you hooked up with someone, woke up the next morning in a strange house with a strange person, and you had no idea what part of town you were in? So you walked out the door, tried to get your bearings, you looked around for what train or bus to take or where you might catch a cab. Oh, the excitement! But even better, oh the laughs we had spotting someone who clearly had their clothes on from the night before, her high heels and mini skirt at 10AM on a Sunday, and the look of embarrassment on her face. That was fun, right? Well, now with Uber, she orders up her ride from the dude's apartment and steps right into a car. We only have that brief 15 second window of the house door to the car door to spot a modern day walk of shame, and I saw one last Saturday before my buddy and I started our jog. Funny, because we both knew it was a walk of shame and realized we hadn't seen one in a while, and Uber is why.

That's all I got today, friends. Have yourselves a tremendous weekend, and try not to hate, even when it's funny.

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*That was a joke. I know there are only extra pieces because I'm bad at figuring things out, even with instructions.

Top Secret Coaches For the Flying Fire-Breathing Shark Riding Knights

The fantasy football league that I'm in is 10% so that I can get excited about meaningless plays by random players in insignificant games and 90% to stay in touch with high school friends who all have kids and live in the suburbs.  I rarely hear from some of them, if at all, outside of the emails and message board from the league.  So that's why I do it.

Sometimes people get mad when I won't join their leagues, and I have to explain to them that I hate running the one team, so why on earth would I want to run another?  If this were a bunch of guys from the office and not my good buddies from high school, I would have bowed out a long time ago.

But today I had a stroke of genius: I will make my nephews run my team this season!  This makes perfect sense because . . .

A) During football season it's all I hear these two guys talk about, so they obviously enjoy it more than me.

B) It's a good way to text my nephews and stay in touch with them because sometimes two months or more will go by without me hearing from them.  If we win the whole thing, I'll split the money with them.  And win or lose I'll take them out to some cool arcade place out by where they live that they have been asking me to take them to.  

C) I'm 100% sure they will do a better job at it than me.

(It's finally the year for the Flying Fire-Breathing Shark Riding Knights!)

I told the two of them that they have to switch off weeks managing the team, so when Monday comes around the new manager steps in, and the previous manager can't say anything about any moves being made while he is out - he just has to wait to the following week to see what kind of team he has left after trades and add/drops have been made.  I decided this would be better than a simultaneous managing deal because that would undoubtably lead to the two of them calling each other idiots, getting each other in headlocks, and holding each other down and farting on one another.  And if I'm causing more headaches for my sister who is already working full time as a lawyer, raising three boys, and dealing with a shit-heal ex-husband, then the whole project will be a disaster in my eyes.

Another rule is they can't read the message boards with my friends in the league saying disgusting things.  Okay, so they will end up reading once I've told them not to because they will know some profane stuff will be on there, but they can't under any circumstances tell their mother about any of the jokes they've read.

Keeping it a secret is another trick all together.  There is only one person I can think of who might still check in on this blog on occasion who might come in contact with people in the league, so James Douglas Morrison (JDM), if you're reading this, please keep my Boy Genius plot top secret.

I contacted the two boys this afternoon via text, and the 16-year-old said yes right away.  The seventh grader sent a text back saying, "Sure.  Sounds fun."  Then another text moments later saying "Wait, who is this?"  It's all the more encouraging that he likes this fantasy crap so much that he agreed to do it without even knowing who it is!

This is going to be a fantastic season.  While I'm drinking a cold one on a Sunday game day, I'll be able to text the boys about our players that are kicking butt - and never sending negative stuff because as the prudent team owner, I know that would be bad for my coaches' morale.

Also, for no good tricking reason, here's a picture of Alien playing Predator in a friendly game of pool.

(Pretty sure Alien is drunk because he is drooling.  And the drool is probably acid.  Which will burn its way into the apartment below the bar.)

So my nephews are crazy . . .

. . . And I think I encourage them because I'm an overgrown doofus.  2 of the goofier ones were pulling their eyes down with their fingers and looking down with their eyeballs so that their eyes were completely white.  The youngest one said, "I can see my guts," as if he can look down into his own body and see his internal organs.  That's how goofy the little son of a gun is.  Those are terrific kids right there.
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I just edited this from when I called him a son of a bitch, which would be calling my sister a bitch.  Son of a gun is way better in this sense . . . 

My Nephew Is Gifted . . .

. . . at Battleship.

He's a first grader and he was playing the seventh grade nephew in the classic naval battle game. It was clear that the little guy wasn't fully understanding how the game worked, so Uncle Ken was helping him along.

He got hits in like 3 out of his first 4 guesses, and each time I'd try to explain that he should keep guessing near those hit to sink them. He proved me wrong by finding new boats, which really is better - if you're gifted at Battleship.

When the older one would guess somewhere, the little guy would say it was a hit when it was really a miss, and I'd say, "You hit water," so then we were all saying it and laughing. I recommend saying that next time you play, with a pause: "You hit! . . . water."

The older one said that there is a black Battleship that has sound effects, and I let him know that they had that thing in the 80's, and I wanted it every Christmas, circling it in the Sears Catalog but never finding it under the old tree.

Later, while playing at the park, the 4th grader (there are three - he wasn't playing the Battleship) said out of nowhere, "butt licorice." I asked him just what in the hell that means, I think in those exact words (I swear a lot around them, but I'm working on it), and he said, "I just made it up." I think he's also gifted. At saying awesome stuff because that's pretty amazing. I think it could be an Urban Dictionary term for when you have that awful black poops or maybe even a band's record title. Better yet, a backup bands' name like Dr. Kenneth Noisewater and the Butt Licorice Experience.

Is any of this at all interesting or funny?

Is this thing on?

I was at my sister's place today because she was helping me with my taxes, and at one point I was looking at my 3rd grade nephew's class picture (his name isn't really Colin).

Uncle Ken: This is a good pic of you, bud. And this is your teacher?

Colin: No, the blond one's my teacher. That's my principal.

Uncle Ken: She's your principal?! She's so young, and I don't want to weird you out, but she's kinda fine.

Colin: Okay . . .

Uncle Ken: Maybe you can get her number for me, yeah?

Colin: I don't think . . .

Uncle Ken: Here's what you do: first thing in the morning tomorrow, get in trouble, something bad enough to get sent to the principal. Then you tell her that you're sorry, but your uncle is a counselor, and he's been helping you with your behavior - and that's when you give her my number.

Colin: Okay, I'll get in trouble right away. I'll walk over to the teacher's desk and rub my butt on it (now squatting) and fart and say, "suck on that!"

Mom: Hey, stop saying that!

Colin and Uncle Ken: Sorry . . .

I have to go Christmas shopping tomorrow. Alone. It seems like this is always the way I end up doing it, wandering through a mall with no idea what the hell I should get anyone. I usually pull it off pretty well, and I typically get one of those awesome mall pretzels. By the end of the day, I have consolidated all the gifts into two big heavy bags, and then I'm paying those two bags off until mid April.

After that, I drive out to my parents' place, wrap up all the gifts, usually doing a pretty half-assed job at it, since it's only going to get torn up anyway, and then I spend the night by my sister's place with her and the nephews. Only one and a half of the three still believe in Santa Claus, but that's enough to make it a lot of fun when they come down the stairs in their jammies and see what St. Nick brought them.

I really do love my family, and this is the time of year I really appreciate them. And those mall pretzels.

How are you doing with your shopping, and how are you spending your holiday, Seven Readers?

The day I got the bad news, I wasn't in the mood to do anything. You ever feel like that? Doing anything sounds awful and doing nothing sounds worse, so you just sit there trying to figure out what to do with yourself. TV sucks, all songs suck, work sucks, writing sucks, obviously, right?

Still, my sister was able to convince me to make good on going to see Rodrigo Y Gabriella at Ravinia with her and her three boys as planned. Last time I was this miserable, somehow being around the kids made it worse. I was so irritable that I couldn't take it, and they never annoy me. This time, they were just so great, and they helped me without even knowing they were helping. I envisioned them getting bored and being loud, but all three of them were perfect gentlemen.



Here are some highlights:

- The littlest one says some words funny, but some of them are too cute to correct, such as jumpoline (trampoline) and Scooby Diver (SCUBA diver).

- The middle one said that one of the policies there was "crud," and I fell out laughing because nobody says that word. People always default to crap, but crud is hilarious. You certainly never hear anyone say, "Excuse me. Where can a guy take a crud around here?" Tremendous word.

- The band was incredible. It's just two people, a guy and a girl, and they play incredibly intricate instrumentals, banging on the guitars for all the percussion, and it sounds like there is a 5 piece band up there - at least. I was thrilled that they played Orion by Metallica, which is always awesome to hear.

- I convinced the littlest one that the music was being played by Diego from "Dora the Explorer," and the older ones got on board with messing with him too. I just thought it so cute that he's still little enough to think a cartoon character could be playing flamenco guitar for us.

- After the show, Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP) and I met up at a karaoke party, and the two of us ripped through song after song and beer after beer until I was good and shnockered and not thinking about how miserable I was every other second, just around every five minutes or so, which was great.

- Now I'm back to the every other second variety.

As always with posts involving audio, be sure to hit pause on the music player on the left hand panel a ways down.

Recently my 4-year-old nephew walked in on my sister (his mom) while she was going to the bathroom. Then the following exchange occurred:

A: You pee out your butt?
Mom: No.
A: Your weiner?
Mom: No, mommies don’t have wieners.
A: (Pause) Whachyou got then?
Mom: (Longer pause) A vagina.
A: ‘Gina? I don’t know no ‘gina.

Hey, I'm sorry if I'm adding yet another cutesy kid story to the heap of others in the blogosphere, but I'll be damned if that conversation and the little wheels turning in his little head didn't bring a smile to my face, and I hope your's.


*"A" is the sleeping kid on the right wearing the incredibles jammies.

Ninja Blankie!

I don't want to be one of those dorks that talks about his kids on his blog, but I can't help my self this time. This isn't even my kid, but I promise, it's funny. Keep reading, fuck-face! During preschool, my 3-year-old nephew was asked what he wanted to be when he grows up, to which he responded "a ninja." How cool is that? He later changed his answer to a knight, because they have a "double ax." He's not sure what kind of badass he is going to be, which century or continent the ass kicking will be on, but he is certain that he is going to reap havoc and utilize some weaponry.
The next day he had to bring something in to show and tell, and he may have tarnished his badass reputation by bringing in his "blankie." I'm sure lots of tough as nails ninjas have security blankets of some kind . . . Well, Aidan, I still think you're a badass. No matter what.

* Aidan is the kid in the front giving you the finger.