tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198175932024-03-07T19:47:02.608-08:00The GancerRead some of this stuff while you're here.Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.comBlogger1074125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-66912151253881448772023-09-24T15:02:00.003-07:002023-09-24T15:03:14.258-07:00Dried Out Dad His Boy With the Magic Bat<p>Tomorrow I will have been alcohol free for 6 months. It feels pretty okay. The sad realization is that I am learning that I have to quit weed too. I don't sleep well on that stuff, and then I'm tired and emotionally detached for a day or two. So that's not working either. When the weekend hits I'm still in the car or the bike on the way out of work, turning up the music loud and singing like I'm going to go get a bunch of drinks, but I don't. Now on the weekends what I really want to do is go for a long run or a long bike ride. Those sort of things do make me feel good, but then family stuff comes up and it goes down the crapper, doesn't happen. Don't get me wrong, "the family stuff" is what I live for. I love my kids. Overall, it's the right thing to be doing, the whole sobriety thing. It's just boring and hard to admit to myself that I don't really enjoy social situations that much when I'm sober. As it turns out, getting together with friends to watch a ballgame and get some beers was mostly about the beers. I only realize that now because I'm not making plans with any friends to do any sober stuff. </p><p>This is reading like a guy who's going to start drinking again. I'm not. Cutting off the sauce was the smartest thing I've ever done. I'm in really good shape right now, the lightest I can remember being since I was a kid. And I have more energy, I'm more effective at work, it's all good. It's just hard sometimes when you're so used to having a drink when you're mad, sad, frustrated, lonely, just about any old reason, and now you need to find what it is you need to do to get yourself right. Exercise isn't always enough, so I'm adding in therapy, and right now I'm writing. </p><p>My writing is trash since I stopped doing it regularly, but I need to stop worrying about how bad it is and just get some words down.</p><p>Let's get back to what I mostly did on this page and that's funny stories.</p><p>My oldest son, Erik Noisewater, is now seven and playing his second year of little league baseball. Last season he was one of the two best players on his team. Everyone hit off the tee (the little stand the ball sits on and you just whack at it) so no one struck out, and he was one of the only kids paying enough attention to get people out in the field as well. Fast forward to this season and he is a first grader in a league where many of them are second graders, the kids have to hit a pitch thrown by a coach from the rubber, and he is going 0 for 3 with three strikeouts game-after-game. It's god damn disheartening for a young man. Those whiffs bleed into every other aspect of the game. Suddenly he is in the field picking the dandelions and kicking the dirt while the ball is hit to him. He wasn't one of those kids last season! And the poor kid is stomping back to the dugout after a strikeout throwing his helmet and his bat in disgust. </p><p>I was desperate for this kid to get some contact at the plate, so I bought him a bat with a wide-ass barrel thinking it will increase his odds of hitting that ball. After all, most of the time when you hit it you can get on base at this level. The guy at the shop asked what league he plays in and said it technically that bat isn't allowed. To hell with that. Some over zealous umpire or crazed opposing coach is going to have to snatch that bat out of my boy's hands. He's hitting that damn ball. Low and behold he did have a clean whopper single that he drove into the outfield. He was so proud of himself! And he made a putout at shortstop, his favorite position. </p><p>Erik and I got talking about his magic illegal bat, and I said it's probably best he doesn't tell anyone that the bat is too wide and against the rules. He said, "Would if we get caught?" I said "Well son, then you and I grab that bat and we drive for the Mexican border." It was so damn goofy to say something like that, and it's the kind of thing I used to say and jot down for the blog years ago. Thought you may enjoy it. Hope you're finding that magic bat equivalent in your life, whatever it may be, even if it's a placebo. Lord knows I'm searching for one too. </p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-40528276446262783032023-07-06T19:14:00.003-07:002023-07-06T19:14:44.040-07:00<p>Erik's theater camp teachers really seem to be nuts about him. What it does for me is remind me what an amazing little guy he is. What these ladies are teaching me is that I can't see him as just a pain in my butt. If I get stuck in that mode too much, I'll regret it. When they get those small doses of him where he is really showing off for them, they really can see him at his best. I too see his best qualities through out the day, but him not listening to me telling him to put his shoes on, things like that, are peppered in there too, making me lose sight of what an amazing little dude he is.</p><p> Sometimes he will say something or figure something out on his own, and it makes Mrs. Noisewater and myself just think we are not exposing him to enough activities and challenges. Why have we not gotten him a musical instrument and lessons by now? I guess I'm hoping that if he has a calling for something it will just find him. I read a lot of rock star biographies, and those rock stars always had some moments where they decided they needed to play. The problem is that generation all had that awakening when they saw people like Elvis and The Beatles, and I do not know what in the heck is going to be the muse for these kids. </p><p>Baseball he is good at though. Mostly because he is one of the only kids not picking dandelions or digging in the dirt when the ball comes. That's half the battle at this age. We really only have two kids who are watching the batter when the ball is hit, react to the ball to go get it, and know where to throw it. He is one of the two Bluejays can put all that together.</p><p>Desi is the sweetest thing ever. He wants to be independent so he will say "I want to do it myself" and then he will put <i>way</i> too much toothpaste or ketchup on something and make a giant mess. But again, that's the pain in the butt side that I don't want to focus on. Desi is the cuddliest little guy ever. When he wakes up in the morning he will crawl into bed and cuddle. Or if we are watching a movie he will crawl right into your lap. Those are the good moments that I really like to just take in and be present for. </p><p>I'm still off the sauce (alcohol). The summer is going by fast, but I'm making sure I'm exercising, getting things around the house done, and working on my Master's hours every day. Oh, and remembering to pick the kids up. </p><p>Mrs. Noisewater is out with some moms in the neighborhood. I applaud her efforts in making friends. We need some more dang friends sometimes - it feels like it anyway. Going out with some random dads would be a real challenge for me right now, especially without any beers. But I'm finding my way, navigating this world without booze, and learning a lot about myself. I still haven't really put it all into words yet, but I'm not quite ready to do that. </p><p>Thanks for listening.</p><p><br /></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-86284000089868732012023-06-26T18:59:00.004-07:002023-06-26T18:59:57.106-07:00<p> Today the boys summer camps were in full swing. Erik is doing another theater camp, this time a 3-week one, and I'm taking him to and from on the electric every time. It is going to be over 200 miles that I put on the e-bike for those trips alone. That thing will pay itself off at this rate. Our goal is to extend the life of the car so we don't have to buy our next car for another couple years. I think we have around 850 miles on the bike and we only got it last summer.</p><p>Erik is the only boy in his theater camp. He is a little bummed about that, but the truth is that if he had a boy in there he would screw around with that boy and not focus as well. I know this from experience. The play is about Zeus and all the other Greek gods, but they're actually animals in a pet store? I'm sure it will be great.</p><p>Desmond has a camp as well, and he is happy doing just about anything we put him in. He is a good dude.</p><p>Today I got another essay written for my Master's hours. It's boring as hell, but it will make me more money when it's all done. </p><p>Erik's grandparents came out to watch him play in his baseball game on Sunday, and the boy put on a show. He was ripping hits everywhere, and he made a catch of a line drive that made even the other team's cheering section applaud. A caught ball in a T-ball game is rare. Erik even surprised himself. </p><p>I'm still off the sauce. I found myself looking at pictures friends were sending with glasses of whiskey, and while I will admit it looked good, what I'm finding is that it is an urge to dull myself. There is a nervous energy that kicks in like "what should I do with my spare time," and what I'm finding is that uncomfortable feeling is okay. I don't need to throw booze at it. So, here I am blogging again instead of having a couple drinks and looking at my phone. </p><p>If you have ever read my stuff in the past you will notice that I don't write as well as I used to. I'm not going to pretend that isn't the case. But I'll get better if I stay with it. </p><p><br /></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-51680705133653160042023-06-21T19:35:00.003-07:002023-06-21T19:35:30.928-07:00Shimee Shay's Bar & Grill<p>I haven't had a drink almost 3 months now, and I feel pretty great. I'm more present for things going on in my life, more aware, more in the moment. I feel healthier and happier, getting more done, and enjoying my time with my family more.</p><p>So that's that.</p><p>Hey, let me tell you about someone <i>else</i> who was drunk. A friend of mine was in town with his son (he wasn't the drunk one, nor was his offspring), and he was bringing his young boy to his first baseball game at Wrigley Field. This friend has been living in LA for years-and-years now, but he decided he would be <i>damned</i> before he let his son's first game be a Dodgers game. And guess what? His son had the ultimate Wrigley experience and will likely (read hopefully) be a Cub fan for life. He got onto the field before both games and got autographs, the whole 9. </p><p>So onto the funny drunk person story. After I parted ways with my buddy at a rooftop hotel bar overlooking the ballpark (where I drank fake beers, staying the course) an attractive 20-something attractive gal approached me. Did I say attractive twice?</p><p>"Do you know where the karaoke place is over that way," she said, motioning south down Clark Street.</p><p>"Well, Murphy's Bleachers used to have some karaoke" I suggested, not knowing if this was still true all these years having gone by since I painted the town brown in that neighborhood.</p><p>"No, that's not it."</p><p>"Oh, well, you could for sure go to Trader Todd's. That's not far at all, on Belmont and Sheffield. They do karaoke 7 days a week."</p><p>"That's not it either. It's a <i>big</i> name," she said, spanning her arms out like jazz hands in either direction, looking deep into my eyes like I would get it. She might have been on something besides booze, now that I think about it. "The name is like . . . Shimee shay," she said in an epic, important-sounding manner, "Like that's not it, but it's like that."</p><p>"So that's not the name at all because that's nonsense, but that's like the rhythm of the name?"</p><p>"Yeah!" She said, thinking I got her.</p><p>I didn't. "I'm sorry I don't know this gibberish bar. I wish I could be of more help."</p><p>"It's okay," was the last thing she said to me as she joined her friends walking south bound, relaying to them that the guy she talked to didn't know where the bar was. I hope they found it. I walked away not wishing at all that I was drunk like her, but looking back fondly on those drunken adventures. I don't need any more of them, but they're nice to fondly look back on in the rearview.</p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-80100977992982188732022-07-20T12:09:00.001-07:002022-07-20T12:09:07.242-07:00<p>The summer is flying by.</p><p>Erik has had a half-day camps so it doesn't afford me much time to get much done when I drop him off at 12:30 and have to go get him again at 3. Plus I'm dropping off Desi at his daycare at 8 and picking up back up around 2PM. The E-Bike has been helpful in zipping around the city, but I'm getting sun burned a lot out there so much. It can be fun to ride that thing fast, but I only like to really get on it when there are no kid passengers.</p><p>We sail off on our Disney Cruise next week. I'm a little nervous about a couple things. Will Erik be a brat and embarrass me in front of my in-laws? And will Desi attempt death defying acts and try to hurt himself? I guess what I really need to do is just do my best to stop those things, and just try to make sure that they have a good and memorable time. Will I have any fun? That's not really important anymore I'm finding. </p><p>I'm doing my best to get continuing education classes for work done. They take a lot of time, and I'm on daddy duty a lot this summer. I just knocked down another essay for a class at a coffee shop before beginning the pickups of each kiddo. </p><p>What's popping this weekend? Really not a whole lot. On Friday there is a concert in a park near our house where we can let the kids dance around and enjoy a "yuck juice" or two. Mrs. Noisewater was out of town for a long stretch and then went right back to work, so it will be good for the two of us to enjoy some fun time together. </p><p>Okay, I'm hopping on Electro (that's what Erik and I have named the E-Bike) and burning some rubber. Thanks for listening, Beloved Seven Readers. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-65953115215798217462022-07-05T19:32:00.004-07:002022-07-05T19:32:29.846-07:00Sheer Henry: The Bomb Pop UncleI was driving my kids in the car the other day and needed them both to take a nap and found myself giving them captive audience rock music history lessons. A song by Queen was on so I just launched into every bit of information I could think of in a stream of consciousnous until I looked back somewhere in the midst of naming songs off of Sheer Heart attack to find that they were both sound asleep. It totally worked. My dad told me that he you used to recite poetry to my sister and I. He insists that Dylan Thomas did the trick more than the rest of his favorites. Since I don't have "A Child's Christmas In Whales" committed to memory, I just pick a band/artist and rattle off an essay. I'm really not bad at it. The 40 something rock biographies I have read are finally good for something. One time I was telling my boys all about Marvin Gaye and realized it was a horrible idea to tell them that his own father murdered him. I swear I did not mean it as a threat. I just wanted them to sleep. You have to believe me!
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYI8Zyb8QoOJVKSf4lWp8RuwdAXhD7c_Ps1P-zuxeNcEK0VQKUEot_IUpDJK-4tdGluiXiULiXLCp4aJTYS55Rk3UXP7Ppzlh3Hg6x1pLw0gUAPK7zKGALaTYRiKHbV4VVIiUZirFEVLoESjFwLyUWi8x6fd4NbB9RGFlThyfuriX4JWS558/s225/Unknown.jpeg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYI8Zyb8QoOJVKSf4lWp8RuwdAXhD7c_Ps1P-zuxeNcEK0VQKUEot_IUpDJK-4tdGluiXiULiXLCp4aJTYS55Rk3UXP7Ppzlh3Hg6x1pLw0gUAPK7zKGALaTYRiKHbV4VVIiUZirFEVLoESjFwLyUWi8x6fd4NbB9RGFlThyfuriX4JWS558/s320/Unknown.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've always thought this was the best sweaty cuddling album cover.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>
Before I go I just want to tell you a couple things about Erik Noisewater, my now 5-year-old son. He is absolutely incensed that there has never been a woman to walk on the moon. He was asking how many people have walked on the moon and while I was looking it up I happened to mention that all 12 have been men. He was pissed, and I'm proud of him. I think this little dude could write some letters and get some traction going because he is awful cute and convincing, especially when he wants something, like dessert. If I told him he could get a lifetime supply of Bomb Pops if he could get a woman to the moon, he would have it done by the middle of next week. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZuljk6maC0VKEQSRju2zpkygjphDTkVXpkphNO7LBc3pSdRnLGjJENNEinQOQlJkaOxAy-Zkutak5Z34TVKiCugRpT6OYDO1AZqefTSxmz6xzvefVM69CXNcF4SH9_09L4HRKbaPsDA2RabfNzXjOvSME7MLSj6TR3lNIxuEwKNCrC9yD38/s310/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="310" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZuljk6maC0VKEQSRju2zpkygjphDTkVXpkphNO7LBc3pSdRnLGjJENNEinQOQlJkaOxAy-Zkutak5Z34TVKiCugRpT6OYDO1AZqefTSxmz6xzvefVM69CXNcF4SH9_09L4HRKbaPsDA2RabfNzXjOvSME7MLSj6TR3lNIxuEwKNCrC9yD38/s1600/images.jpeg" width="310" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perfect treat on the birthday of our country, even if I'm not nuts about our country lately.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The other thing about our guy Erik is we signed him up for a theater camp because he is expressive, not shy, and he can memorize dialogue and songs inately. The day camp was a week long and at the end of the day Friday they performed <i>The Wizard of Oz</i>. I thought for sure with his charisma he would land a meaty role like that of the Scarecrow, who is loveable and silly, just like our guy Erik. Then when I saw he was the only boy in a cast of all other women I thought for sure he was a lock to be maybe even the great and powerful Wizard himself! When I picked him up on day two one of the teachers said, "Erik, tell you dad what role you have!" He said he forgot and the teacher let me konw that he was Uncle Henry. Uncle Henry?! I faked like I was excited about this news and then walked him to the car muttering to myself, "Who in the hell is Uncle Henry?" I later realized that he is Dorothy's uncle, but I could not even think of one thing he says in the movie.
However, later in the week I got the news that the little girl playing Auntie Em was not going to be able to participate anymore. I let Erik know that Uncle Henry was a poor farmer raising an orphan girl as a single father, and to me, he just got promoted to the biggest hero in the entire story. <br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8N0abtq5Sq80hZef3Uld-HQVqCUVBdcTrQDMPwxDuRI45ibVbCU7-Z2FzncfQ_hCEr-btGV7UA10kU8sTL4gcGS7E5CeVriqxTaNnN8oyzFaH2CXIEoJbdusPOMeusTAqi0mPviSNNpGUEi1uDSi3iIPUAxs1svqJsxQSY0T_tupR94mCMPU/s259/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8N0abtq5Sq80hZef3Uld-HQVqCUVBdcTrQDMPwxDuRI45ibVbCU7-Z2FzncfQ_hCEr-btGV7UA10kU8sTL4gcGS7E5CeVriqxTaNnN8oyzFaH2CXIEoJbdusPOMeusTAqi0mPviSNNpGUEi1uDSi3iIPUAxs1svqJsxQSY0T_tupR94mCMPU/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Put that respect on Uncle Henry's name!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>He was very cute and did great the day of the show, as did all the other young ladies. He is signed up to do the Lion King at the same theater in a month when we get back from our Disney Cruise. Yes, that is another thing I need to talk to you guys about. Talk to you later!</div></div>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-62445475333883277072022-01-29T04:43:00.000-08:002022-01-29T04:43:08.698-08:00What's Your Couch Break Moment?<p> It's 6AM on a Saturday, and I woke up this morning wide awake at 4AM sharp. I blame the canned espresso stuff I keep in my desk drawer for emergencies that I had late into my Friday workday. I try not to ever dip into those unless I'm really tired. When I got home I was still amped up. I asked Mrs. Noisewater if we should invite some neighbor friends over, a friend from Erik Noisewater's school and his family, and she said that was a good idea. So in my caffeinated turbo mode I cleaned the entire house. Both bathrooms spotless, and I suddenly grew very annoyed with clutter I had looked over without thinking twice about for countless days. I was suddenly a 1950's housewife jacked up on diet pills that were actually speed before we knew what speed was.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaI8Xv51Gw87HhCSmwOopqnVAR11EDmLcd5VQkTB33hcB2CVClm0zz4ewSU7kraVFY5ZLm2XfYPa9UEoH8bu8CXKL86LiDdxh-2fBqywXL94H-G83R60tP5BU3wdIrROsexuBtA6WZV8NdHDwkeOcqII1mxFV9dr4xNTQ-ofARFPX3V0rArg0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="186" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaI8Xv51Gw87HhCSmwOopqnVAR11EDmLcd5VQkTB33hcB2CVClm0zz4ewSU7kraVFY5ZLm2XfYPa9UEoH8bu8CXKL86LiDdxh-2fBqywXL94H-G83R60tP5BU3wdIrROsexuBtA6WZV8NdHDwkeOcqII1mxFV9dr4xNTQ-ofARFPX3V0rArg0" width="165" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Check weight, clean entire house again."<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>We ended up going over to the neighbors' house instead, but at least I got a clean house out of the deal. We had a great time. Yeah, I drank 3 beers. A dry January that made it like 25 out of 26 days of the month has now just completely ended short of the full 31. But anyway, the kids got along great because they have kids roughly the same ages (ours are 5 and 2 and theirs are 4 and 2). When we got home Mrs. Noisewater thanked me for taking the initiative to set that up so that we are not hermit crabs (or crabby hermits?) every weekend. I may never have picked up the phone to call the other dad had I not been euphoric from canned evil coffee. I seriously wrote a review on Amazon saying that stuff is way too strong. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgH_-SsMhSL66yoHYwscdVac73w_WJF2AmLDsUDNOvW-3FyilOmoWbLcuFf4cxPTeNfg2kAD3eFQC6n7Cm4vBN7LhMhLU8mdrmi6viYM7SG6u1mf_uGwYXHrhgXFn7zKwU-MMCDVOx6LsL1mEsRlvOWUwoImyOfZMZ1pVfX3EZpXs0wVoMn6_w" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgH_-SsMhSL66yoHYwscdVac73w_WJF2AmLDsUDNOvW-3FyilOmoWbLcuFf4cxPTeNfg2kAD3eFQC6n7Cm4vBN7LhMhLU8mdrmi6viYM7SG6u1mf_uGwYXHrhgXFn7zKwU-MMCDVOx6LsL1mEsRlvOWUwoImyOfZMZ1pVfX3EZpXs0wVoMn6_w" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold. Pure demon pee.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Okay, time for one more thing to write about. Also perhaps because I had the energy of ten men, I decided to get haircuts for myself and both sons after work. This barber is from Eastern Europe, does amazing job on kids' har, he is all business, even does the hot foam on the neck and the straight razor, all for an insanely cheap price. We looked like three damn studs rolling out of there. But here is thing because that sidebar about his professionalism and prices was completely not needed: The story is about this great big fat guy that was in the shop.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbWGWOYp8kKvxaglx93WAT7z4ETuwWrDp2xqqPXhIL6vYLs5FSRYo-5CgYiBo0QIg0AKVBLBmsQ0WiBtSG5WDnV974rWm9beDdHwoP3Nme2xOrnV8rxnGXT2iqjHu7iJlA1pk2DINvVkOmbn4k4PjmrhiTCPW1goHFjkDBYX6OiSvkaVV2QPU" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="283" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbWGWOYp8kKvxaglx93WAT7z4ETuwWrDp2xqqPXhIL6vYLs5FSRYo-5CgYiBo0QIg0AKVBLBmsQ0WiBtSG5WDnV974rWm9beDdHwoP3Nme2xOrnV8rxnGXT2iqjHu7iJlA1pk2DINvVkOmbn4k4PjmrhiTCPW1goHFjkDBYX6OiSvkaVV2QPU" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll give him a plug. What the hell. A plug for Seven Readers who don't live in Chicago, but still.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The heavyset man (roughly 375 pounds) was just wrapping up his cut and proceeded to sit in a chair (as the couch had a sign that said not to sit on it), maybe waiting for a ride, casually making small talk to me and the kids. Midway through one of our three haircuts a guy with paint on his pants and a power drill comes to talk to the barber. Then right when the overweight fella leaves, the barber says to me, "Can you believe that guy broke my couch?" How embarrassing. Yet the obese man was all smiles, did not in a hurry to leave, and the guy coming to fix the couch came in while he was there! He did not seem the least bit embarrassed. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTjxf2HasrxzqOCWAsxs1zdgdL0k-iK4Hbty1rQN4ePhdbU6BRPJZO25ozA0a9NmU7nA-fe0nsNIWo1CR0EAkIbqDAhFAP6QFe_hYqez9dAOhv-LNpn2Ibs3cvceetudpGHdVWb2gdeBfq5ivjJjyfbvWjPkm1dRcBNh3EuaYaT0mAF4BCrSA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTjxf2HasrxzqOCWAsxs1zdgdL0k-iK4Hbty1rQN4ePhdbU6BRPJZO25ozA0a9NmU7nA-fe0nsNIWo1CR0EAkIbqDAhFAP6QFe_hYqez9dAOhv-LNpn2Ibs3cvceetudpGHdVWb2gdeBfq5ivjJjyfbvWjPkm1dRcBNh3EuaYaT0mAF4BCrSA" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still the funniest show ever.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />So, Seven Readers. I have come to the end. Maybe breaking a couch was the wake up call that man needed to make a drastic change in his life, like switching to diet soda (which maybe is worse?), and maybe our couch break moment could be something else as a reminder to switch something up. Like maybe I better throw those amphetamines in a can out when I get to work Monday morning. I'll start there.</p><p>So, what's your couch break moment? Let me know in the comments.</p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-86389410675715865582022-01-19T19:42:00.005-08:002022-01-19T19:42:34.752-08:00Wedding Knocks Kenneth Hard Off The Wagon<p> I talked myself into allowing myself to skip one day of the Dry January for a wedding I was attending. I allowed myself to take in input from people, knowing full well no one was going to say, "Stick with it!" No way. Everyone was saying, "Oh you got a babysitter overnight and a hotel? Just drink, man! And they just said what I needed to hear. 15 Miller Lites and a couple edibles later and I was hungover for 2.5 days. </p><p>So, I'm back on that damn Chuck Wagon. 30 out of 31 days of the month still wouldn't be too bad. I intentionally bought and intentionally drank my first six pack of non alcoholic beer tonight. I just wanted to feel like a man with my beer in front of the TV for a must win Bulls game. I opted for Beck's non alcoholic skunktastic crappola slop. Wow. Mrs. Noisewater said to me, "You never go with a green bottle." Dang, she's right. Heineken, Becks, and Rolling Rock are all yucky. They taste green.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYWWPud3IvzwDFC3yoIHTW49QMAJOWRQlsWX8NasYBTnyDSRyqf0nBbTL9-_W98hz_pHF4Q2DBYodtl3ollNlwnd4756MLFbbFOHvXgNqMGLXKU_lwX_luI0Ngx0xzfHE_Ny8Wyg/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="204" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYWWPud3IvzwDFC3yoIHTW49QMAJOWRQlsWX8NasYBTnyDSRyqf0nBbTL9-_W98hz_pHF4Q2DBYodtl3ollNlwnd4756MLFbbFOHvXgNqMGLXKU_lwX_luI0Ngx0xzfHE_Ny8Wyg/" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green Hell</td></tr></tbody></table><br />You know what else? 45-years-old <i>feels</i> old. The other night we were watching that Peacemaker show on HBO and that actor from Terminator 2 was in it, the T1000. Mrs. Noisewater was like, "Wow! He looks old." I told her, "Yeah, he is old. That came out in like 1991, and I was 14. You figure he was was like 30 then. And I'm 45 now, so he's gotta be . . . God damn, I'm 45? The T1000 is old and so am I. He can't run like that anymore and I never could.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZiA7VY4Q5FjgxfthaYb0pTwiZSsLVwAF_mUIwzKh3PTAz7Vf4Ja1JR8jdegASgiR13xvZ0Mn0zzdVwbnxTbVGwjqwwY8_oAqh1SBRYNXUTCyP13w7HloZ3MAP3rQFgV-Lv9jew/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZiA7VY4Q5FjgxfthaYb0pTwiZSsLVwAF_mUIwzKh3PTAz7Vf4Ja1JR8jdegASgiR13xvZ0Mn0zzdVwbnxTbVGwjqwwY8_oAqh1SBRYNXUTCyP13w7HloZ3MAP3rQFgV-Lv9jew/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T1000 vs the T45</td></tr></tbody></table><br />But, I think this not drinking thing is going to be good for my health. There are even abdominal muscles trying to poke through. They're like, "Hey, there's no IPA and greasy hangover fat in here, now's our chance to shine!" Sorry abs, your asses are going right back into hiding in February when I go right back to my horrible patterns. Or will I? I just need to assess at the end of this month.</p><p>The family is good. Desi is a wild man still. We came home the day after that wedding to a freezing home. We went into panic that something was broken, but nope. That little two-year-old impish gremlin turned off the heat switch in the basement. Erik is still hilarious. Tonight when I was tucking him in the top bunk he was in was creaking like crazy. I said, "What is that?" He goes, "That's just my weight. I'm Lord Humongous." I love when my kids say goofy stuff back to me that I don't even realize I say. Lord Humongous is the big bad guy in "Road Warriors" who may or may not have been into some homosexual S&M stuff, but I think he got the name for having bulging muscles all over the place.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhro4RVYC0cdkJOiXKxHc0cmm090EZVIAK5P0m-xzFCJJYGo71U7rOk0qcAs_SBQrspJXEhlIGluOhKyARCp8I8K73mXSqpGFlF1bWgEp7HLHFQnvicPKhNrI-raMkz0isK0pStOg/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="309" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhro4RVYC0cdkJOiXKxHc0cmm090EZVIAK5P0m-xzFCJJYGo71U7rOk0qcAs_SBQrspJXEhlIGluOhKyARCp8I8K73mXSqpGFlF1bWgEp7HLHFQnvicPKhNrI-raMkz0isK0pStOg/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just. Walk. Away. and Just. Go. To. Sleep, Erik Noisewater.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Okay, I'm out of here. Hoping to keep up these basement posts every few nights. I need your support, Seven Readers. Let's keep each other motivated. I'm off to do the rounds on the blog roll. Let me know if there's anyone else I should be reading. I've been out of the game too long and have lost tough. Bye.</p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-53057060117788059602022-01-10T18:25:00.006-08:002022-01-10T18:53:42.943-08:00Dry Stag Party For One<p> I know I've been out of the blogging game for quite some time now, but I know that writing will help me get some thoughts out and feel better. When I go down a mangy rabbit hole of self-loathing, one of my plaguing thoughts that pops up is, "and you never write on your blog anymore, a-hole." So, it's good to get back on here more often.</p><p>I'm down in the basement . . . of our new house! That's right. We saved up and bought a house in Chicago. Certain things are really nice to have, like the unfinished man cave basement I'm typing from. I got a projector so I can watch the Bulls games on the wall, and there is a mini fridge and a bathroom down here. Mostly there are exposed pipes, laundry machines, Hot Wheels and Thomas tracks . . . So, it's a man and kid cave. But after 8pm it's like a stag film man dungeon down here.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaxRRHkwCbU1Pg7Pj27Ne0mY0gq6WIo8iNqC_oKghH7Z9VcTOjkr12451vM2rupaVH_yN2ItgNIlLxz6d-juHmRwM4c6gzTMVlBIJM-rbG0CL4D9X93KdAS_YMpM938PU6Es6g3JG4GwFNNI3LWl-CM3PKTUmuKq1mb6gMp6d4lbCzi_8UlPU=s251" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="201" data-original-width="251" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaxRRHkwCbU1Pg7Pj27Ne0mY0gq6WIo8iNqC_oKghH7Z9VcTOjkr12451vM2rupaVH_yN2ItgNIlLxz6d-juHmRwM4c6gzTMVlBIJM-rbG0CL4D9X93KdAS_YMpM938PU6Es6g3JG4GwFNNI3LWl-CM3PKTUmuKq1mb6gMp6d4lbCzi_8UlPU" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I think that's a booby!"</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We also have a garage, and a lawn, things like that. We aren't talking a big lawn or anything. The people who lived here before gave us a lot of stuff in their garage, like the plug in lawn mower I use to mow the weeds, I mean grass. Mostly weeds. But, it's just nice to have storage to put things. In the condo we were always having a battle of how to pack more stuff in there, and we even had a storage unit at the end.</p><p>COVID is getting old, huh? Jesus. Our older son, Erik, has both his vaccination shots. He's 5-years-old now. Desmond is only 2-years-old, so there are lots of things that we are scared to take him to. This can make it tricky to find things to do for the whole family, especially in the winter where you can't be outdoors as long</p><p>Erik is a really good artist. He will come home from school and go right to an art project, and we have him in an art class on Sundays. He's also really good at math. We don't really teach him much; he just picks stuff up. Desi (that's what we call Desmond) is talking a lot more, which is great because we were worried when he seemed delayed. Being able to express himself better has greatly improved his behavior, but he is still bonkers and full of energy. Beating my old ass is hilarious to him. I turned 45 the other day, by the way. Jesus, how did that happen?</p><p>Sorry it wasn't too funny this day, and I'm not the writer that I used to be. But I need to start somewhere. </p><p>Oh, one more thing I wanted to talk about: Dry January. The first weekend was brutal for me, and I was extremely crabby tonight too. I have a weird relationship with alcohol. I feel so at ease when I have a couple, but then I really don't get a whole lot done. Then the next day I'm hungover, and then Monday I'm tired as hell. I have been walking by various forms of booze in the house and my mind plays tricks on me, just like the little devil on my shoulder in the movies. "Why are you even doing this dry January? What will it prove? You'll feel better if you just have one craft beer." So I eat a lot of junk food and cheese instead. And I knock down sparkling waters like you wouldn't believe. And I'm only 10 days into the month! I will say that I'm working out a lot more, and on Saturday I cleaned the entire house. I have been starting to think to myself if this is super hard for me to do, then maybe I should do a dry every month? I'll see how I'm doing at the end of January. The problem is that there is a wedding to attend next weekend. Those are tough to do sober. You'll be the first to know how that goes, Seven Readers. See you next time. </p><p><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S91FFscVm80" width="320" youtube-src-id="S91FFscVm80"></iframe></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-13327702598645994512021-02-25T20:02:00.001-08:002021-02-25T20:02:22.759-08:00<p> Okay, so not such a great week. </p><p>1. I got word that a former student of mine died. Actually, his whole family died. They were on the side of the road when a car struck them, killing him (16-years-old), his little brother, and his mother. He was a funny kid, had a certain star quality to him. And now him and his whole family are gone.</p><p>2. Then a friend of mine went missing. I guess he was at his girlfriend's place in the suburbs, came home, and then they had plans to go out to lunch near where he lives in Chicago later that day. Apparently he left his apartment and never came back. It is said that he liked to walk on the lake front, but it was freezing that day, like 17 degrees. </p><p>As the days go by things look more and more grim. When he didn't show up to work on Monday morning I knew it was bad. I was holding out hope that he just turned his phone off and got the F' out of Dodge for the weekend, planning to return to work. Then with each day it's really looking more and more hopeless. I'm searching for scenarios where he is still alive. Maybe he dropped everything and became a Buddhist in a temple somewhere? Or maybe he just assumed a new identify in another country, but would he really just never talk to his father, sister, or girlfriend ever again? And wouldn't he have packed some things, and wouldn't there be records of travel or spending?</p><p>The other possibilities are just too sad to think about. It could have been foul play, like maybe a robbery went wrong. And sadly, it could be that he took his own life. But in either case, how has his body not been found?</p><p>I saw my good friend who is pretty much best friends with the missing guy on the local news, and my heart just sunk. It's just so real to me after seeing that. When you have stuff like that going on, you still go into work, come home and take care of your family, and life just goes on. But then seeing that it's on the news, my friend is pleading for someone to come forward with information, his sister is talking about how it just doesn't make sense, how they knew something was wrong when he missed his weekly phone call with his father, it's all just so damn sad and such a mystery. </p><p>Everybody get out and live your life. You never know when your number is going to come up or you'll be a part of a real life damn "Unsolved Mystery." This thing is nuts, you guys. Thanks for listening. </p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-61506427456851299122021-02-22T19:12:00.003-08:002021-02-22T19:12:44.717-08:00<p>Yesterday I was driving Erik Noisewater (age 4) to school and telling him about the dream I had. I said my recently departed Aunt Linda was in the dream, and she was young and beautiful. And I was so happy she was alive somehow. Then, of course, by the end of the dream I learned that she was dead after all. I told Erik that I was crying but couldn't remember if I was crying in the dream or while I was awake after it was over. He said, "But parents don't cry." I told him parents cry too. I said I hardly ever cry, and when I do I almost never do it in front of anyone - so he just hasn't seen me cry is all. Then I reminded him that he has seen his mother cry. To which he said, "Yeah she cries and you just go, 'I know! I know!'" </p><p>Wow, the way he said that, the way he imitated my response to his mom crying - it was bad hearing that. There was an incident the other night and I was not exactly the most empathetic husband of all time. I don't want to make it seem like this is dinner every night at the Noisewater dining room table, but it happened. I think everyone is breaking down in these damn COVID times. It's tough. It's wearing on everyone. </p><p>"I know! I know!"</p><p>What an asshole.</p><p>I'm going to be better. </p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-803649952459448512021-02-20T19:48:00.006-08:002021-02-20T19:48:50.595-08:00<p> I'm watching all the Star Wars movies with my eldest of two sons, Erik. I was going to wait until he was a little older to delve into the films because of some of the violence, like Obi Wan lopping that pig faced dude's arm clean off in <i>A New Hope</i> with blood everywhere<i>, </i>but the night of the Capitol insurrection I had a few to many coping drinks in me and just said to him, "You want to watch Star Wars instead of all this news?" He has a few Star Wars books and knows that we have not watched the films due to the violence so he capitalized on my moment of weakness and gave me an emphatic yes! </p><p>Here are a couple of interesting thoughts Erik had about the movies:</p><p>1. "Fin and Rey. Those are both ocean names."</p><p>2. "Chebacca's hugs are soft.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMXmWkFPIu-FtrQSvLQwOADu5NAXz_PmXMEpCQ1wetKsc-nvvR8Gl6pVlj6N7pVs4p3RpDf6y5cTq-3joT72MnU-ib6tqLmsCaq9sUMCplF60f35zs9yTf6zeAZXWHk4NGLnJ0g/s275/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMXmWkFPIu-FtrQSvLQwOADu5NAXz_PmXMEpCQ1wetKsc-nvvR8Gl6pVlj6N7pVs4p3RpDf6y5cTq-3joT72MnU-ib6tqLmsCaq9sUMCplF60f35zs9yTf6zeAZXWHk4NGLnJ0g/s0/images.jpeg" /></a></div><p>3. When Erik gets pissed off and snaps and throws stuff and hits his little brother, I remind him that Kilo Ren does that sort of thing when he gives into the Dark Side and his fits of rage. He also ends up killing his own father, which I'm totally not cool with and make a point of drilling that into Erik as being a not-so-good thing to do.</p><p>So the other day when we are getting into the car in the morning, while Erik is crabby about God know what, I'm reminding him how he needs to take deep breaths so that he doesn't give into his anger like Kilo Ren, Erik says, "But Darth Vader uses the Dark Side, and he takes deep breaths." Damn it. He's got me. I tried to explain that Darth's sounds of deep breaths are the machines keeping him alive due to his injuries in the molten hot lava and not at all a coping skill to avoid angry outbursts, but I was tired in the morning, he had me, so I just said "Yeah. You got me there. Let's go to school,"</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-68403182212581903282020-12-21T18:22:00.007-08:002020-12-21T18:22:56.549-08:00Noisewater Family Updates<p>So what's new over at the Noisewater place?</p><p>Well, the wife and I are employed, working from home during the pandemic. The kids are in school and daycare, respectively, so we are able to actually get some work done around here. One of us was working in the baby's room, which is a pretty good office, and the other one was working in the common area. It's a pretty small condo that we stay in. What we noticed was that we kept derailing productivity when one of us would go into the common area for a snack or a workout or to switch laundry. I think we just talk to each other to kill time and get ourselves off track. So, what we discovered works better is making the toddler's bedroom into another office by putting one of those fold out desks into the wall. Is it weird when I'm on a work call and my clients see bunk beds and toys in the background? No really, when you're a teacher and your "clients" have bunk beds in the toys in their background as well.</p><p>It's tough to get kids to show up to class. Sometimes they show up for attendance and then think they can be slick and sneak off for a nap or to play video games or something. So when you suspect that you just call on them to see if they are really there. The other day I got tired of Sydney (not even close to his real name) pulling that move day after day, so I was like "Sydney, just checking in if you're interested. We are giving away $500 and a Playstation 5 . . ." No response. It got a big laugh, which is really what I'm going for as much as anything else these days.</p><p>I got two weeks off of work right now, and I thought I would have to keep the kids out of their mom's hair while they tried to work, but it turns out the baby's daycare lady will take the toddler too! Which means, Winter of Kenneth has begun! Only 3 days of no kid time, but I'll take it. Today what did I do? Dropped off the kids, did an online training for work, went to Costco for shopping, vacuumed and mopped, and did a workout with some muscular butt ladies on the TV. That's not too bad, right?</p><p><b>How about you guys? Got any time off and how are you using it?</b></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-43788457178182193982020-12-12T12:08:00.001-08:002020-12-12T12:17:11.957-08:00Sword Fight!!!<p>Fellas, do you guys remember when you were a little kid and you said you had to pee and your brother or a friend said, "I gotta go too," and then one of you said, "Sword fight!" So you ran into the John together, dropped trow, and peed simultaneously into the same bowl, moving your stream back-and-forth across the other guy's spray, likely hitting the seat and the floor in the process. You have all had a sword fight or two in your day. Stop lying.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEcqWwDZht3EsSajDXx9i-ewDrLBpnokfec8TlawgD3G3C1ekiLYScJxb0BJhpacGyve2XEkmRbtDvgSBbK9zttvJiX2NP7HBqkc1pLgwOdH1XjDPp1r0QR7Y6-16-uk_Z03twA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="151" data-original-width="334" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEcqWwDZht3EsSajDXx9i-ewDrLBpnokfec8TlawgD3G3C1ekiLYScJxb0BJhpacGyve2XEkmRbtDvgSBbK9zttvJiX2NP7HBqkc1pLgwOdH1XjDPp1r0QR7Y6-16-uk_Z03twA/" width="320" /></a></div><br />Would if I said that my 4-year-old son and I have done this a few times? I'm thinking that you would say I'm the most immature and inappropriate father you have ever come across, and that really wouldn't be too far from the truth. I know it is stupid to do, but every once in a while we will have to both take a leak before leaving the house and it just kind of goes down that way. <p></p><p>What usually happens is we unholster our weapons at about the same time, but he starts firing away much quicker. Sometimes he is done before I can even get started because I have an old as hell engorged prostate the size of a 16-inch softball softball. Sometimes I'll say to him, "You win again, buddy. You got the quickest weenie in The West. My old wiener just can't hold a candle to yours.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJBisPagpHWAichePnjjYCWSeeNgf5taQ5gdkQLS0mcGeTkGrFhrkSccQBjynb206Kfnk48qWMCHn2UdXSZeHe54UkB1piKOuPytFRe0wHLF8wjooo8UYsKmouRIpdG-SHbEyyg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="310" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJBisPagpHWAichePnjjYCWSeeNgf5taQ5gdkQLS0mcGeTkGrFhrkSccQBjynb206Kfnk48qWMCHn2UdXSZeHe54UkB1piKOuPytFRe0wHLF8wjooo8UYsKmouRIpdG-SHbEyyg/w320-h166/softball.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYZlF3Zilnh20lTMKe0XssDjrsTPz0oPZ5Yk3uX8h4EwAnbRmpQJDCZeOkKEXivsN-Kb4R5oDtmiIG_Md6UaMGA0wEmJfEvdm7lUWA8x6UWatdIJmlFU-jp1o4sdQBe5RbbCsTA/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><p></p><p>So, the other day he beats me to the punch again and goes, "I win again, daddy. You got the oldest, slowest, yuckiest wiener in the world." Now, wait just a minute. I may have said old and slow in my analysis during previous competitions, but "yuckiest" was entirely his own editorializing. Uncalled for if you ask me.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFWPp2KsGecBiDUiFM2S5nOIKY0aeNPVtGjfOawCpxPcQXO_KkO33E-b9egtKQ9UMtDgP-gW80ayuNQCLAzAstrQc-LAs4tIPhMmjf5MqWYqOV46m43qwqU7kAFIIvV2JLdiX1A/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="199" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFWPp2KsGecBiDUiFM2S5nOIKY0aeNPVtGjfOawCpxPcQXO_KkO33E-b9egtKQ9UMtDgP-gW80ayuNQCLAzAstrQc-LAs4tIPhMmjf5MqWYqOV46m43qwqU7kAFIIvV2JLdiX1A/" width="189" /></a></p><p>Okay, just a quick blog post I have been kicking around in my head. Hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season despite the current pandemic situation. And I hope none of you call up the Special Victims Unit for the slightly inappropriate father son activity you just read about. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinn06nztd6PBdEubjn5MxHIOvBoqqqnLMvi7qNWjzR3BnmGBbB1PxsW_bXnMWQ3il68-eh3AaQ7iriVrjYjtuAp1YcPEABv_Xim4hyphenhyphen_khP7CtcvzBh2W0PPBj_ONCkAlGpXTjbuQ/s318/icet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinn06nztd6PBdEubjn5MxHIOvBoqqqnLMvi7qNWjzR3BnmGBbB1PxsW_bXnMWQ3il68-eh3AaQ7iriVrjYjtuAp1YcPEABv_Xim4hyphenhyphen_khP7CtcvzBh2W0PPBj_ONCkAlGpXTjbuQ/s16000/icet.jpg" title="I needed an image of Ice, and the one with bagels was the funniest. I guess it's because he's never tried bagels or coffee. Fascinating." /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I needed a pic of Ice, and the one with bagels was obviously the funniest. Apparently it's because he has never tried bagels or coffee? Fascinating.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-55183721813065154442020-10-26T19:55:00.002-07:002020-10-27T20:31:50.524-07:00You always hear about when people run into celebrities and it's always one thing or the other:<div><br /></div><div>1. He was such a cool guy.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. The guy was a total dick</div><div><br /></div><div>I used to like to fantasize about my mythical celebrity life, and every time I was just the most gracious and nice guy you could ever know. But as years go by, I get why stars get a bad reputation and a slanderous story for someone else to tell. I think I would be the "total dick" in 9 out of 10 encounters with fans. Now that I have a family too I completely see it. The guy telling the story would be like "I saw Kenneth Noisewater when he walked up to the fountain drinks to refill his Mountain Dew at Taco Bell, and he totally blew me off when I brought up the third movie I liked him in." Yeah, I got my family in the booth and I don't want to talk to a some deranged fan all night - one who might start to think he's my friend and stab me some day if I don't brush him off now and not later when he is too intertwined into every aspect of my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>In my celebrity fantasies I’m very much about the people and still dine at places like Taco Bell.</div><div><br /></div><div>So now I'm thinking back to two my celebrity encounters.</div><div><br /></div><div>1. The time I met Pau Gasol who was playing for the Chicago Bulls at the time. Believe it or not it was the night I proposed to Mrs. Noisewater. I had to say something on my way out to him because his table was positioned on our way out the room. So I did a drive by. I never stopped my momentum, just swept by and said, "Go Bulls! Keep it up!" In a whisper, so no attention was drawn to him. The Bulls were riding a little win streak at the time.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTDl74DVmHF6Zi9dQKG7o39_E0x-ncFs7fG5EMzu_L8KNOhXZ1nK7au4xvkK7-2CeTuJkR4QU76XRuJ2fS1X61kwpDXhsseLK9CLgIwn-iImUZWM2_Yb7o7HdLWCcNgaouvDcmsg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="184" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTDl74DVmHF6Zi9dQKG7o39_E0x-ncFs7fG5EMzu_L8KNOhXZ1nK7au4xvkK7-2CeTuJkR4QU76XRuJ2fS1X61kwpDXhsseLK9CLgIwn-iImUZWM2_Yb7o7HdLWCcNgaouvDcmsg/" width="161" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Very smooth and unobtrusive, right? Well, let's look at one from a few years before that.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Then there was the time maybe 10 years prior when I "met" Dee Snyder. I was going into the House of Blues in Chicago, and the one and only Dee Snyder was coming out. We were in a revolving door at the exact same time, and I'm a mere inches away from his face with just that glass between us going full Chris Farley on him, "Yeah! Fucking Dee Snyder! You fucking rock, bro!" There is no way in hell he didn't see or hear me, but he still managed to completely ignore me. He looked pissed about something. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGly9ZkY5xKiwLgtjekI9XTrCMuUKzWlNvjvmCg1xBqrmJfhJ2eM0C2FYEdUy75L6LZLNxdgJE-ykrle3n4Ngo0ywJ4poMkGwUeVEZ6glvvzlZJgrIz-k-Rcpb8sEEh6J5BhevUw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGly9ZkY5xKiwLgtjekI9XTrCMuUKzWlNvjvmCg1xBqrmJfhJ2eM0C2FYEdUy75L6LZLNxdgJE-ykrle3n4Ngo0ywJ4poMkGwUeVEZ6glvvzlZJgrIz-k-Rcpb8sEEh6J5BhevUw/" width="320" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>I used to get mad when I would think back to my moment with Mr. Snyder. And if his name came up I might have been inclined to say that Dee was less than welcoming to me in our encounter. However, now I'm like, hey, Dee might have been having a bad day. And I had a few beers in me and was probably annoying. I don't hold it against him in the slightest.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dee, if you're reading this, you know longer have to worry about that time you mistreated a fan. There. I've absolved you of your sins. Now go forth and rock with a clear conscious. </div>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-46727651225947011362020-10-19T19:46:00.001-07:002020-10-19T19:46:12.082-07:00<p> So tonight my sons are getting a little rowdy and the 4-year-old throws a playful punch in the direction of his 1-year-old brother. I was mad at him so I said, "Hey! You don't hit your brother!" He looks me dead in the face and says, "Yeah, and you don't hit your wife." I just laughed and agreed with him. Damn it. He made me laugh with that one and made me break character.</p><p>Then he has this habit of whispering way too close in your ear so it tickles like crazy, so he leans in and goes, "And you don't punch Mary."</p><p>I said, "You mean like Mother Mary? No. You don't punch her either." He goes to a Catholic pre school even though we aren't religious - so he learns a bible thing or two up there.</p><p>Then he goes in for another whisper sesh and lets me know "And you don't punch Jesus." I told him, "Nope. Not him either."</p><p>Then this is when I lost it because he softly whispers, "And you don't punch the angels."</p><p>Oh man, just imagine running through those clouds socking all the angels you could right in their jaws, their halos flying off. It's hilarious. I wish I could make a video game like that. I would play it all day until I got the all time high score. </p><p>Good night, folks. Try not to throw any right crosses at any of your biblical figures.</p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-66681163764165098082020-10-17T19:17:00.005-07:002020-10-17T19:17:56.478-07:00Okay, The Last of the Aunt Linda Chronicles<p> We had my Aunt Linda's ashes in the rental car for a few days coming along with us, and it felt kind of weird. It was good feeling waking up that final day in town knowing we were sending them to their final resting place. Aunt Linda lived a good amount of her life in a house she designed with her late husband high up in the mountains of Colorado. My mom got in contact with the people who currently owned that house as well as her neighbor and longtime friend who would be our guide to the stream where the ashes would go. This neighbor's name was Joe, and he gave us the much needed detailed directions, as GPS would wave bye bye as we ascented into the mountains. </p><p>The higher we climbed into the mountains we saw why Aunt Linda loved living up there. Sure, UPS and the US Postal Service wouldn't deliver to you. Sure, any time you wanted to buy something you would have wind your way up and down a half hour trip each way, but wow, if you saw this place you would know what they mean when people say the live in God's country. Her husband, Jim, died and for around nine years she lived by herself up there chopping wood and maintaining the place as best she could until the bats took over. The place we ended up cleaning out was the one looking up into the mountains with the strict homeowners association, the one where her heart was never in it, where her gutters grew trees and her grass grew like Vietnam. Her heart was never in it and she was too old to care. It made me understand that where her ashes would be spread by her former property, where she spread her late husband's ashes, that's where she would want to be. </p><p>Joe said we would see his white pickup truck, and sure enough there he was. He stepped out smiling, and he looked to be in his 80's. The first thing we noticed is that he had a Norway shirt, and he told us that Linda bought him that shirt when she went on her trip to see her relatives. This broke us all up. Joe led the way in his truck, and our rental car probably didn't have the right all wheel drive setting because we were slipping all over the place. Eventually we got up to Linda's property, and wow. I got it now. All those Christmas cards she sent with photos she took, they were all from that property. It's as gorgeous as you could ever imagine. Joe led us on foot downhill to the stream, and he was slipping and making me nervous because he was so old. I told him that I could go in front and he could just fall into me if need be, and he seemed to take a bit of offense saying something to the effect of, "I've lived here all my life."</p><p>We finally got to the stream and Joe gave us a little space to do our ritual. I had the ashes in my hands, so I took the lead with the pouring of the ashes and the speech. My sister filmed, and my mom cried for one of the only 5 times in my life I have seen. There is video of this, and maybe I'll put it up some day - but I'm yet to watch it. I'm not ready.</p><p>I only took a few things from her house, but one of them was an envelope of all her Christmas cards over the years labeled "KEEP!" I noticed one of them was a shot of what looked to be that very stream where we dumped the ashes from 2007. I texted my mom that picture and asked what year Jim died and she said "2007" and a sad face emoji. Fuck. I lost it. </p><p>Seeing those ashes flow into the river, becoming part of it, to be forever lost in it, the final resting place just absorbing into that stream, it's so permanent. Brutal. We only have so much time on this earth. Shit. I don't have anything else to say, guys. </p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-28150146469149104112020-10-10T12:52:00.008-07:002020-10-10T12:52:40.035-07:00The Second To Last of The Aunt Linda Posts<p>Day after day we pulled the rental car up to Aunt Linda's house, with her car parked in the driveway, and went in there to clean up, throw things away, and decide what was worth the sentimental value for the family or of value to anyone else. By the third day in a row driving up there I must admit it felt like punching into a job that I hated. The work was hard physically as well as emotionally. We finished the days drained with our feet aching like we were waiting tables on a double shift, our knees and backs hurting from being on the floor in funny positions going through endless stuff, looking for her will, finding what would need to be shredded, and what would go into the endless trash bags. </p><p>The kind of things aunt Linda kept were the kind of things that didn’t make it easy to just throw things away. You had to sort through all of it and then you had to pull out all her little sticky notes that she had in her books because you couldn’t give them away to someone else with your aunt's crazy notes inside. She had so many notes written down on envelopes and kept them long-term. Why?</p><p>Prior to living in the house we were cleaning out, her and her husband Jim lived up the the mountaisn of Colorado in a house they planned entirely. But for some reason they had extra everything such as wall outlets and electrical sockets. After her husband died she got to old to maintain the mountain house, she couldn't chop all the wood anymore at her age, and bats of all things took over inside. When she moved out of that place to a nice Colorado community back in civilization, she took all of the extra stuff from when they built the mountain house, all the door hinges, electrical outlets, and everything else to the point it was like an aisle at Home Depot if you wanted one of some shade one just every single type. So someone who wants stuff for their garage to have everything would be nuts about that but if the niche person doesn’t come to an auction then it's all going into a landfill.</p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-size-adjust: auto;">My mom said it was definitely a stressful way to spend her birthday but it was an enjoyable day because she spent it with her kids and she has great kids. We for sure had some nice times at night reminiscing. I tried to explain to my sister and my mom what was so sad about my days working in Aunt Linda's home. Her </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-size-adjust: auto;">having such a cluttered house forced me to have to sift through her whole world, all her areas of expertise, photography, sewing, alternative medicine, architecture, birds, and motorcycles to name a few. As a result I learned more about who she really was for really the first time, and she was already dead. I was too late. But the process forced me to properly mourn her.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-size-adjust: auto;"> Of course I didn't get through trying to explain all this without crying, and I had a hell of a time stopping. I can't remember the last time I did that in front of anyone. You ever notice when people start crying when they hadn't planned on it, it's often when they try to explain why someone or something was so important to them? It's something about that explaining process where you're trying to get it out and just lose it. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Oh, and then on the plane ride home we had one of those giant planes with the rows of two on the sides and a big row of four in the middle - and it was totally full. Very scary thinking about catching Covid on that thing. Then this Asian guy in tinted blue glasses hops on board the plane without a mask. The woman next to him said something about being scared of getting sick, and this asshole says, "We're all going to die some time. We can't live in fear. Then he launches into something about how he has guns and how he pets his gun like an animal, and how he will shoot anyone on his property. He says he lives in California and the governor there is a communist. He's saying this all loudly to make sure people around him hear his nonsense. My sister says to me just as loudly, "This would be a great time to put on some headphones!" I said back even more loudly, "Yes, some loud music. The louder the better!" And then my sister tipped off the flight attendant that this guy wasn't masked up. He put it on, but then since he was in front of me diagonally, I could see that he would let it dangle off his ear for long stretches of the flight. I double masked it. What a festering pile of bat guano this dude was. Like the bat guano that took over my aunt's house so long ago.</p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Okay, that's all I got. Take care, everyone. And reach out to those relatives you don't talk to enough. If you don't have kids of your own, reach out to those nieces and nephews. Or just make sure you keep a nice circle of friends as you get older. I would hate for any of you to let your circle shrink and shrink to the point where you're just pounding vodka all day and letting all your hobbies and interests sit in tons of Tupperware tubs for your relatives to have to sort through in an emotional weekend like the one I had. </p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-33577436439919989942020-10-02T03:52:00.001-07:002020-10-02T03:52:13.053-07:00Aspen Trip For My Departed Aunt Linda<p> Day one of the trip with my mom and my sister to clean and sort through my Aunt Linda’s belongings is done. But I’m up at 4AM, which is due to equal parts too much coffee, too much emotion, and just being used to waking up every night from my kids even when I’m not with them I did a 3AM workout in the hotel fitness center and even that didn’t knock me out. So I figured I would be productive and post a blog on the phone </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The day before I left I told my son, Erik, I was a little sad to go on the trip it will be not fun and because I will miss my family and he says “Yeah but when you don’t want to go somewhere and you have to go, you just have to go.” This kid just turned 4 last month, by the way. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The airplane was the smallest one I’ve ever been on. I hit my head on the roof of the airplane because I kept forgetting how low the ceiling was. Then I’m reading the </span>Bill Wymann biography on my Kindle and just after Brian Jones died the book abruptly ended. What?! He still played and toured off of some of the greatest albums ever through out the entire 1970’s but none of that he wanted to cover? I was only like 20 minutes into the flight and now had nothing to read because you can’t download new books without WiFi. Thanks a lot, Bill. Now I’m reading a cooking magazine, and I hate cooking. My sisters was the across the aisle, tapped me on the shoulder, and while silently laughing impersonated my angry flipping through the pages of complex recipes with a million recipes and procedures that I would never dream of attempting. </p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;">My mom’s birthday is tomorrow so will do a nice dinner out. But yeah, we will be sorting through her good friend’s junk during the day on her birthday. Don’t die if you’re reading this. And getting old, losing your loved ones, it’s all hard, but when no one is around to keep you in check, don’t randomly turn to alcohol in you 70’s when you were never a drinker. It’s just been emotionally draining sorting through all this stuff, seeing the places on the floor where she fell and laid there for long stretch of time before getting help, and then the other spot where she had the fall that took her for her final hospital stay. <span class="s1"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;">I saw a box labeled “camping” and I could tell she knew what she was doing because I camp a little. I never knew she camped. So I took a little knife that goes in a sheath that I can put in my camping tub to take with me, and I can think fondly of Linda when I unsheathe it. </p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Hey this is random, but I heard “Valarie” by Jerry Garcia, and I caught one of those types of lyrics that I love, the ones that are so simple yet so incredibly impactful. “Valarie, what’s your complaint? I try to be everything I ain’t.” I think we all try to do that sometimes. Me, I try to cook. And I hate it. But I try. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Good night, blog friends. I think I can finally get some rest. The workout, burping the worm, the shower - none of that worked. This worked. Thanks. </span></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-35900837940058654772020-09-25T20:49:00.002-07:002020-09-25T21:01:39.170-07:00<p>I lost my aunt Linda recently. And that's a wrap on my extended family. I have a small family. My mother was an only child and my father had one sister - Linda. All my grandparents are dead, so I'm fresh out of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. And what's killing me is she was the extent of my extended family for 30 years and I never bothered to pick up a phone. I'm not saying I could have saved her from drinking herself to death, but I could have called her on her birthday at least.</p><p>My mom is the best person and someone who I love talking to, but she never just calls out of the blue. I was on my way to play volleyball with some friends I hadn't seen in a long time when I saw her call. Even though my Aunt Linda, while not in great shape, was not in any immediate known health risk, I knew it was the call saying that my aunt Linda had died. And I ignored it. Instead, I pulled into a liquor store to buy a six pack to drink on the volleyball courts. I grabbed a retro pack of Miller Lites and got in line behind a hardcore alcoholic who was getting a lecture from the man working the register. "Have you eaten anything today, Cleave? You need to eat, man." But he still sold it to him. I found it weird that Cleave should wander into that store with my aunt having just died of late onset alcoholism, and people close to her said she had similar patterns of drinking heavily and hardly eating.</p><p>I listened to the voicemail confirming what I already knew and got to the forest preserve where my friends were set up with tents, BBQ, coolers full of beer, and a volleyball net set up in a beautiful clearing of land. My volleyball friends gave me shit for never playing anymore because none of them have kids. They don't get it, but I don't get mad at them for it. They'll see. There's no time once you got kids. Through the course of the day I drained the whole sixer. I sucked for the first few games because I was tight, but believe it or not I got okay as the day went on - and I started hammering spikes. The piss I took in the woods led to those prickly things sticking to my gym shorts, and believe it or not they stuck to the shorts after a wash. What are those damn things?</p><p>Now, I may be a shit nephew, but my dad is a terrible brother. He has only been out to Colorado once to see her. My mom was actually friends with Aunt Linda before my dad met my mom - it was a set up. Isn't that nice? My mom is the one that went out to Colorado a couple years ago to help Linda clean out her apartment and try to get her back on her feat. My dad doesn't like traveling, so he didn't go. His wife went out there to help <i>his </i>sister out. My mom met one of Linda's friends out there who was trying to help, but Linda was pushing her away - likely due to the alcoholism. This friend was trying to give Linda some tough love, and I think the demons of alcoholism get threatened by that and push folks like that away aggressively. But the shock of the booze problem was news to my mom and all of us.</p><p>And it's weird because I never knew my dad to drink to excess until his 70's either. He started getting worried about his heart, got worried about a heart surgery, and starting hitting the sauce harder than ever. I had seen my dad drunk zero times in the 80's, 90's, and 2000's, and then late in the 2010's he was passing out, trying to order dessert after we just did, and my nephews were laughing at him as he was lying on the floor blind drunk. I can't help but think there was some unresolved stuff in my dad and Linda's upbringing, but who knows.</p><p>My mom and sister flew out a couple of weeks ago to clean out Linda's house and figure out what to do with her estate, and it's a total mess. The house is all over the place. She lost faith in U.S. banks and had money in all kinds of European spots, and there is no clear cut will of any kind. I have to go out there now in a couple of weeks and sort through all of the stuff. They need my manpower now to move all the junk around, but I really should have volunteered before they had to ask me to do it. In a lot of ways I'm a lot like my dad. Just trying to avoid problems.</p><p>My sister is a little older than me and remembers Linda in her glory days a little better than me. I guess my sister went to Linda's house and spent the night there. It was the first time my sister listened to records with headphones and it sounded amazing. Aunt Linda gave me a bunch of records, and that might be one of the last times I saw her. I catalog all my records in a spreadsheet and put in where I got them. Aunt Linda's records bequeathed (I know she was alive so not the right word- but such a fun word) to me are all in pristine condition, and I still think of her every single time I pull one out. Lots of Willie Nelson. Apparently she was quite an athlete in her day. My dad still boasts about the time the two of them beat me and my neighbor friend in 2-on-2 basketball on the driveway.</p><p>So off to Colorado I go. My sister came back a little depressed for a while, thinking about how sad it was for someone to die all alone like that. Her husband died around a dozen years ago or so, and that's when she slowly drifted off into alcoholism. Around a year or so before she died she had an incident where she fell and couldn't get up and was there on the floor for a day or two before getting any help. Jesus, I get sick just thinking about that. Imagine that. When my mom and sister were going through receipts they found that she had bought hundreds of dollars worth of vodka and then would find another receipt for just as much vodka few days later. My two sons are amazing for a lot of reasons, but one really good reason is someone will hopefully give a shit about me when I reach that age and not let me slip into that state. I mean, daughters would be better in that capacity, but I like to think I'm charming enough to keep it going into my twilight years.</p><p>To Aunt Linda. </p><p>I always enjoyed the cards you would send with your own photography. I have no idea why you wanted to live in the middle of the mountains where you had to have a gun with you at all times in case of bears, but I have to admire the badassery involved with that decision. Jesus, the mailman wouldn't even go up to where you lived. We had to send stuff to a P.O. Box. Anyway, I'm sorry I was a shit nephew and didn't pick up the phone to give you a call. You were probably lonely but too proud to reach out yourself. </p><p>Love,</p><p>Kenneth</p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-11633652332885029252020-09-16T19:32:00.002-07:002020-09-16T19:32:48.510-07:00<p>So my kids go to two different locations every morning. The 4-year-old (Erik) is going to a Catholic preschool for in-person masked-up learning, and the 1-year-old (Desi) is goes to his nanny. More often than not I have been picking them up with the bicycle and the little chariot thing that they ride in. Sometimes it's the only time I get outside, and I figure life is going really, really suck when it starts getting cold out soon. Also, there are times where it's my only exercise for the day. It's about 8 miles there and back, and that's no easy task when you're pulling all that weight. </p><p>I got some of it down to a science. One thing that has been working out great is using one of those exercise belt/fanny pack deals with the water bottle holsters. I found one that will fit my mammoth phone, my Costanza wallet, my janitor style keys, and a Covid mask or two. I never feel good about stuff in my pockets when I'm biking. And then one trick I figured out is I could get a wire from my phone to a speaker tucked into one of the water bottle holsters, with that water bottle at home. Voila! Except when the 4-year-old wants to tell me about random things along the way so I have to pause the jams - such as jeeps and muscle cars that he has spotted on the road. </p><p>There are those days where Erik starts screaming because Desi is pinching him, but then there are other days where they're nice and quiet, I look back there, and Erik is holding Desi's hand. And that's just the best. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-27081915485190819842020-09-02T19:06:00.010-07:002020-09-02T19:06:59.443-07:00Random, Random, Random Updates<p>1. So we were thinking of being the X-Men for Halloween as a family. I'm going as Gambit because I think he is just such a cool character who was never represented well in the films. The wife is going to be Storm. She and I are just going to piece together our outfits with thrift store stuff. Erik (who will be 4-years-old next month) is going to be Wolverine - probably will have to spring for a costume. And do you know what Erik said? "Do you know what would be funny? Desi (our 1-year-old) can be Professor X!" It's actually a great idea. We can push him in the stroller when we trick-or-treat and make the stroller look like a wheelchair with big X's for wheels, put him in a suit, and he's already pretty much bald. It's going to be great. If there is trick-or-Covid-treat. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_p13JoidoDMlGOOgz8P7zfQoN4M6ztuia9-DAwMqn10qgsfundq8hPxkM5k5_5KAlODf-w-m1Vwgwkj8m4oFW3fhg90-OplrQVtAaqgMSUOu3Sw70E9V_ZsCCUujNWPZe8TyJLA/s282/xmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_p13JoidoDMlGOOgz8P7zfQoN4M6ztuia9-DAwMqn10qgsfundq8hPxkM5k5_5KAlODf-w-m1Vwgwkj8m4oFW3fhg90-OplrQVtAaqgMSUOu3Sw70E9V_ZsCCUujNWPZe8TyJLA/s0/xmen.jpg" /></a></div><p>2. This upcoming weekend we are going to stay at a hotel with a swimming pool for a little "staycation." We got two adjoining rooms so that hopefully we can put the kids to bed and enjoy a little alone time. That's wishful thinking, so we will see. </p><p>3. I finally got my used mountain bike working and will test it out on some trails this weekend with my good friends Choo Choo Train and Night Train.</p><p>4. Today I took Erik to school with the jogging stroller for about a 1.2 mile run, and then did another 3 or so miles or so, pushing an empty stroller for a grand total of 4.38 miles. But then I was able to push it around the grocery store and carry groceries in it, so it felt worth having it. When I went to pick him up I walked the jogging stroller up there with his scooter and helmet in it, and we walked all the way to the library and back home, logging in another 3.72 mile walk for me. My feet are killing me now, so no running tomorrow. </p><p>5. One of my fantasy football leagues has a professional wrestling theme this season. This is a dream come true for me, but I'm a little disappointed in myself for not coming up with a good team name. So far my finalists are The Diamond Dallas Cowboys or The Dog Faced Gremlins. I'm not in love with either. Help me out if you can!</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCDuky1Ta8HAqysKVZMBoXAhzsmoQT9mA2NCgXR9QhZmy4HtkKPMkHhYoNXf9JObRxSOdGZSnmHY8Lv0htlX8VwdR83xiG1pJAs67sPfvhPVCWBBCiaN2ATDl6HddiN_L9_AXlg/s251/DDP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCDuky1Ta8HAqysKVZMBoXAhzsmoQT9mA2NCgXR9QhZmy4HtkKPMkHhYoNXf9JObRxSOdGZSnmHY8Lv0htlX8VwdR83xiG1pJAs67sPfvhPVCWBBCiaN2ATDl6HddiN_L9_AXlg/s0/DDP.jpg" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNlr5gveKgKX-fCggz2np3dlZPzzdtTZl8Drab2SWwB4QetYJmgwOXgqXF00wVsv2KWLhzCvNEY5y47mJ6BP-JOi8dca-3rOOtgOu5mspv9bWGehsSPizUz5uKwD-XoKUjmO8W1A/s0/Steiner.jpg" /></p><p><b>That's all I got, friends. Hope all is well with all of you. Hit me with a random, random, random update in the comments. </b></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-4775718699434671882020-08-28T19:57:00.007-07:002020-08-28T19:57:49.582-07:00Nothing!! I have nothing to share!!!!<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p-K8fyAmhKE" width="320" youtube-src-id="p-K8fyAmhKE"></iframe></div><p>I feel like the guy at the end of this clip going, "Nothing. I have nothing to sell." I actually have nothing to say here, but I'm doing it anyway. One of the ways I stopped blogging was by saying I had nothing to write about. I'm just going to start typing and see what shakes loose.</p><p>So I have a friend who got a mountain bike recently, and he started getting up early and going for a long ride before work. My thought was I would buy my own and then join him some morning. I don't know if you know this, but bicycles are one of those COVID items that are really tough to come by. I'm 6'2", so I can't buy just any old bike. What I was looking for is around a size 21" frame, but some people selling the bikes have no idea what the frame size is. I took shared bikes all the way into the city late last night to try out someone's bike, and I looked like Debo from Friday trying to ride that tiny thing. I was like the bear on the unicycle at the circus. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9L36llKOo2ekoLIvSSk8wtPdQqJOSJw8WraDLVuONwLCdwJ7en6JBC7bOMjAmneNQTiJMiUYAWoXOAMYr75zxYnpn9gimAZFNOwoJdUGXPzveOCk8Cc1FoCeJDTSHYYbvEO40g/s295/debo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="171" data-original-width="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9L36llKOo2ekoLIvSSk8wtPdQqJOSJw8WraDLVuONwLCdwJ7en6JBC7bOMjAmneNQTiJMiUYAWoXOAMYr75zxYnpn9gimAZFNOwoJdUGXPzveOCk8Cc1FoCeJDTSHYYbvEO40g/s0/debo.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was me. Only with a lot less upper body strength. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Then today I found one that was "vintage" but finally the size I needed. I got to the guy's house, and it appeared to be an aged 50 plus man living with his mother. The gear shifters were something I had never come across, and this is because the bike was from the late 80's or early 90's by a brand I had never heard of. It looked like an Ocean Pacific t-shirt. Ultimately I was desperate to get on those mountain bike trails, so I bought it. Him and his mom said that if I had any trouble with it to come on back. </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPn0JWwXJ6ELgkDgbhNx_Ld7sELA4agAq_HvmJz5yqrETB2LVTQDrjYeYGrxYr279P0D2zC7cb4ZmW0qDsw37QGNwv_KJumsoVHD5mb0DqOs7nlC8ALVZJolrIQfScMuThc7-tCA/s243/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="208" data-original-width="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPn0JWwXJ6ELgkDgbhNx_Ld7sELA4agAq_HvmJz5yqrETB2LVTQDrjYeYGrxYr279P0D2zC7cb4ZmW0qDsw37QGNwv_KJumsoVHD5mb0DqOs7nlC8ALVZJolrIQfScMuThc7-tCA/s0/download.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(The font and colors are actually a lot like this. And the internet says this shirt is from 1991, which is about when the bike is from. I'll show you the bike if it comes out of the shop and if the guy in the shop says it's worth fixing/keeping.)</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>A mile or two down the rode, after stopping at a stoplight, I put my foot on the pedal and heard a snap. I figured the chain had just come loose. Nope. The chain had snapped in two. I googled the nearest bike shop and walked it quite a ways only to find the guy who works there outside talking to two different customers, saying they would have to leave their bikes and he would likely get to them early next week. What could I do? I wasn't going to walk it to another shop miles from there. I know the dude and his mom said to bring it by if I had issues, but that's crazy. If they sold me a lemon, well, they got me. </p><p>Not only that but during the brief time that the bike was working I stopped to buy a new $60 lock for it only to find out that Mrs. Noisewater had a spare one at home that she said I could use. </p><p>Being out in the heat all day with stuff going wrong had me frustrated and tired, but making homemade pizzas with the family and pouring a tall vodka and ginger ale certainly helped. </p><p><b>How you doing, Seven Readers? Have you been trying to get something for yourself during quarantine? </b></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-25279147195478340652020-08-25T18:42:00.004-07:002020-08-25T18:42:59.986-07:00<p> Well, Erik had his first day of school today. We got him in a school that is doing in-person learning during the pandemic, so it's a little scary. But there are tons of policies in place where we feel pretty good about it. Erik wasn't the least bit nervous. His mom took him, and she said he pretty much just said bye and ran inside. After that I took him to pick out a new backpack and got him an ice cream for no reason.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rgH-8g4Xko95J8gVbHTLxqAViefEGnc9wpi-uL3zu4kIMhPdV_XCBKfTrlPSPMlW1qq1dEIzXGE53Shpe6ES7Z0DYKaiRWklRjDTyIhZjhPY30MAyaAcTaLIc6-rK8kn_ww3gw/s373/117717143_318440585934228_3607750319601451696_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="280" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rgH-8g4Xko95J8gVbHTLxqAViefEGnc9wpi-uL3zu4kIMhPdV_XCBKfTrlPSPMlW1qq1dEIzXGE53Shpe6ES7Z0DYKaiRWklRjDTyIhZjhPY30MAyaAcTaLIc6-rK8kn_ww3gw/w143-h190/117717143_318440585934228_3607750319601451696_n.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0Arq3rT7Aiig0IubDBmCQ_pMd5D3sMf9nmLoR-4cOLUTG5wVGgOrymdUnCL0iubAsXAJCG24Bgfy9uenn_PNp9KJCbk7E3uvXpclzaIQBhNMbqGGMGRb4Ez23EyLLORYttP4GQ/s373/117949728_307946333958819_1786296795000605658_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="280" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0Arq3rT7Aiig0IubDBmCQ_pMd5D3sMf9nmLoR-4cOLUTG5wVGgOrymdUnCL0iubAsXAJCG24Bgfy9uenn_PNp9KJCbk7E3uvXpclzaIQBhNMbqGGMGRb4Ez23EyLLORYttP4GQ/w143-h190/117949728_307946333958819_1786296795000605658_n.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSRVauHCBdqh5tIGamrkhL0mDHQcyYOlMnffqC-xs2diLJUkAkDzgiuHkButIXf1fe8PwhqjkzJ-p0Hoi5g90tRvYYQNN7NAbo7mv2GZVaLd_hbOEImg1Kjw0j-XfAwju5_zE_w/s373/117958532_310382906704533_2676334534188588439_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="280" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSRVauHCBdqh5tIGamrkhL0mDHQcyYOlMnffqC-xs2diLJUkAkDzgiuHkButIXf1fe8PwhqjkzJ-p0Hoi5g90tRvYYQNN7NAbo7mv2GZVaLd_hbOEImg1Kjw0j-XfAwju5_zE_w/w143-h190/117958532_310382906704533_2676334534188588439_n.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CgUVtWEjWT7pZr89Jt5lksGyO3f26hzU1J97D-2euEVLzygbASFj4x364x08OBjzFPtB4kAlfAm9Ln7K23PZGksQ7OyRcOiR2sCCVJN3UHWL_4Hq0WDKMpZOMIqpHhrtdoxFNA/s373/118270672_595988314641825_3682978435190558833_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="280" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CgUVtWEjWT7pZr89Jt5lksGyO3f26hzU1J97D-2euEVLzygbASFj4x364x08OBjzFPtB4kAlfAm9Ln7K23PZGksQ7OyRcOiR2sCCVJN3UHWL_4Hq0WDKMpZOMIqpHhrtdoxFNA/w143-h190/118270672_595988314641825_3682978435190558833_n.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7J_ACb9qF8xnVHsVim1JCDi9f2H6KKPq963Ej_ulwWNmdp960GWPd0U-zV6wTg-trfnHVH3tuEJbnKD7mMVDTKpgl_ABbrD9XS1Y9lf4YPF0LJLuYHf6xhXXcQRBRVWDZAkYAQ/s362/118275889_304367217529911_2337471668742371260_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="280" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7J_ACb9qF8xnVHsVim1JCDi9f2H6KKPq963Ej_ulwWNmdp960GWPd0U-zV6wTg-trfnHVH3tuEJbnKD7mMVDTKpgl_ABbrD9XS1Y9lf4YPF0LJLuYHf6xhXXcQRBRVWDZAkYAQ/w143-h186/118275889_304367217529911_2337471668742371260_n.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><p>Last night there was a small gathering of friends going on, so I rode my bike over there for a bit. I had a beer or two and said I would try to get back later after putting the kids to bed. My time away from the party could not have been more than about 2 or 3 hours, but people had gotten themselves into a completely different state in that short time. There was an unopened cake in a box, and one gal said, "I so want to just dip my hand in there and take a bite. F' it. I'm going to do it." She just waltzed over there and dug out a huge fist full that amounted to more than half of the cake and just bit and licked it off her hands as we all laughed our asses off. It was a lot like how Desmond ate his birthday cake at his first birthday party on Sunday.</p><p><b>How about you, Seven Readers? You got a bucket list weird thing you have always wanted to do at a party?</b> <b>Or just anything else you want to comment upon?</b></p>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19817593.post-6972611013218883852020-08-21T12:20:00.004-07:002020-08-21T12:20:25.119-07:00Our family camping trip last weekend was a lot of fun. It's the second time we have gone to this place. We like it because it's well maintained, quiet, and you can walk to the beach. Aside from the mosquitoes biting us at the campsite and the horse flies biting us at the beach, I would say everything went without a hitch. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9vbZAOmTnE1iIQd0U1p8wPC3cXWLL8W3hN5pSOLitXSPcVkiccjp4Fu16kQcKLU9UJX_XdEkxV3ruHs0zU81HsVX-EkgDjv-9EZpQQc0D31-uRgN6nunctSBsP562CO1tcnAlA/s2048/picboys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9vbZAOmTnE1iIQd0U1p8wPC3cXWLL8W3hN5pSOLitXSPcVkiccjp4Fu16kQcKLU9UJX_XdEkxV3ruHs0zU81HsVX-EkgDjv-9EZpQQc0D31-uRgN6nunctSBsP562CO1tcnAlA/w410-h307/picboys.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCOpIAREdit4BkZml9f3xXfdWtOOuDut01vaht-JI82yExHSy10Bhxu1RdN24xeyrafqexhpA_fxbl4kywgiQNNcZ5UTfe29z862IrluvbozoWyjKD-0-YT4tsYRzrL0SYV7wNCw/s2048/desibeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCOpIAREdit4BkZml9f3xXfdWtOOuDut01vaht-JI82yExHSy10Bhxu1RdN24xeyrafqexhpA_fxbl4kywgiQNNcZ5UTfe29z862IrluvbozoWyjKD-0-YT4tsYRzrL0SYV7wNCw/w410-h307/desibeach.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6rrA2hvnAclbCNAX_nwB2fbhNN0r5hTLEgmxzHbIQq28AcUdMe077sVF3QW_hByswqYR0Tm4Yp9P4YliAxnmhB60Jwzg8zJo56ccBuWfWZNj7hlvil8IuicNOGQQUYuTQKtY5A/s2048/picdesitent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6rrA2hvnAclbCNAX_nwB2fbhNN0r5hTLEgmxzHbIQq28AcUdMe077sVF3QW_hByswqYR0Tm4Yp9P4YliAxnmhB60Jwzg8zJo56ccBuWfWZNj7hlvil8IuicNOGQQUYuTQKtY5A/w410-h307/picdesitent.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Erik always wants to stay up late enough to see all the stars. He always makes it late enough to see about half of them, and then a mere minutes after he falls asleep there are double. He did his darndest this time with a bunch of glow items to play with, but eventually he said, "I'm so tired. I'm sorry I couldn't stay up late enough." I reassured him that I was proud of him for listening to his body, and he was under no obligation to stay up any later than he wanted or needed to. He's an awesome kid.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_2zlIN2I1BA1rB9y5yCDmcCVeFge6bqCifM2pNsxm9x_-_taucTMEBaYe9MW8Je-t0XQCqVDzqoN28rxGBHTLrnqjJlwOUyCfPBe3aBgsIvgOkYZXsLT6fM_tyQ50IiIpzdVnA/s2048/picglowballs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_2zlIN2I1BA1rB9y5yCDmcCVeFge6bqCifM2pNsxm9x_-_taucTMEBaYe9MW8Je-t0XQCqVDzqoN28rxGBHTLrnqjJlwOUyCfPBe3aBgsIvgOkYZXsLT6fM_tyQ50IiIpzdVnA/s640/picglowballs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The other day I played a bunch of tennis for probably the first time in at least 15 years. I met up with a couple of friends that I was playing online team trivia with. One guy I know pretty well, but for the other guy it was the first time I met him in person. He is really cool and gave me two really good tips that I'm going to use.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>1. He had tires on his bike that don't require any air in them. To me it would be worth it to put those on to never have to worry about a flat or puncture, and to never have to go through the time of checking the PSI and pumping up before a ride. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. He also shared with me that he is coming up on one year sober. He said that he has had trouble supplementing one addiction for another, and his nicotine consumption went way up, sometimes in the form of Snus nicotine pouches. So, he found tea bags that you put under your lip, and the only drug in there is caffeine. I must admit that I throw a snus in from time to time, and I know it's a horrible habit. I'll be at a baseball game, for instance, and then decide at a certain inning that I'll just snus up for the remainder of the game to cut off the booze intake. But that strategy would turn out to be a terrible one if I ended up getting mouth, throat, or any other kind of cancer as a result. So, I ordered up a four pack of tea packets to try out. </div><div><br /></div><div>The tennis itself was mostly pretty terrible, but we had some pretty solid volleys from time-to-time, had a lot of fun, and got some good outdoor exercise. The courts have some cracks and weeds growing out of the ground, but courts few people know about that are right on the lake with this view are an amazing find.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvby8DbsBVClOCC3iPQsq86c6tBK2tHmK1CllQX7qvwFstE7KDHXGpI2MpTrBMKA1gvhO1qcj1d-9Dxs7RXeGWdx3p69rOOhqAye0K_VbUckYPCNjENXCd_sheCfQRUPmPENPHEQ/s2048/pictennis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvby8DbsBVClOCC3iPQsq86c6tBK2tHmK1CllQX7qvwFstE7KDHXGpI2MpTrBMKA1gvhO1qcj1d-9Dxs7RXeGWdx3p69rOOhqAye0K_VbUckYPCNjENXCd_sheCfQRUPmPENPHEQ/s640/pictennis.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What is really funny is how there are apartment buildings just beyond the fence on the other side, so if you accidentally launch a homerun (something you don't want) over the fence, you can land your ball right on someone's balcony or porch. Those folks probably never have to buy their own tennis balls. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow night I'll be heading out for a "guy's night" over by Choo Choo Train's place. It will be the first time all of us guys have been in the same place together since the Covid hit. I have Desi's first birthday party the next morning, so I plan on implementing the tea pouch technique at a certain hour so that I'm not a hungover sack of doo-doo at my own kid's party. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fare thee well, Seven Readers. </div></div>Dr. Kenneth Noisewaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06293248808640989299noreply@blogger.com5