Vacation In a Tiny But Mighty State, Too Much Darn Running, My Aching Back, and The Mats

1. Vacation in a Tiny but Mighty State

We just got back from a vacation with Mrs. Noisewater's family in Rhode Island. Her brother rents out a beach house for us every year for us all to get together and be beach bums for a week. It is good for Baby Noisewater to see his cousin (who is close in age to him) for an extended period of time, since his cousin lives all the way out in New York. All his cousins on my side of the family are fully grown. I must say that after a rocky start of smacking each other in the head any time they wanted each other's toys, they gradually became very close and wanted to play together all the time. 

On the final day when we were packing up the rental car I got a call from the airline who gave me an offer to fly out the following day instead in exchange for 600 dollar vouchers each, plus vouchers for the price of each of our outgoing flights, plus the cost of a hotel and our meals for the last day. Hard to pass that up, and we got to check out Providence, R.I. for the first time, a wonderful little city. And now we have dough stored up and ready to take us on our next vacation. I have already been thinking of friends I haven't seen in forever who I should visit, and it shouldn't have been a matter of money to make me consider it. But I guess that's just how it goes. 

2. Too Much Darn Running

I got in some nice runs during the vacation as part of my marathon training. I had a 16 miler scheduled for last Sunday, but because I ended up flying in Sunday instead of Saturday, I had to get on the lake path during the 90 degree heat rather than in the much cooler morning. I met my friend Night Train for the first part of it (as he was wrapping up 16 miles of his own). We started getting back into running together a few years back, but he is a little younger and just a better athlete in most every way. While our pace used to be about the same, now he crushes marathons with a pace well below 8 minutes. That's like my 5K pace. So his long, slow run pace is like me hauling ass as fast as I possibly can. The four miles I did with him in the heat wiped my ass out so badly that I had to stop at 10 instead of the 16 I had planned on. 

Quitting is not something I do when I run, so this was very disheartening. How I perform this upcoming Sunday for a 15 miler is crucial. I want to eliminate the heat factor by getting out earlier, and eliminate the Night Train pace factor by not running with him (which is a little sad because I like his company). If I quit with those variables controlled for, then it's a matter of I'm behind in my training or I have become a quitter. 

3. My Aching Back

I posted a social media video doing push-ups with Baby Noisewater on my back. I did a couple similar baby workout videos when Erik was a baby, but now he is more of a toddler. Naturally he is now heavier and more active. It is perhaps the strain from the toddler push-ups that paved the way for the injury the following morning at the water park. I slid down a water slide with him for like the 15th time, and while half-submerged in water I tried to hoist him out of the trench which is when the lower-left part of my back clenched up. I tried to walk it off and stretch but the pain wasn't going anywhere. Naturally, he wanted to do that slide another 9 times, despite me guiding him towards other less painful experiences. Little kids have an innate sense of knowing what you don't want them to do, and knowing that must be the cooler and more dangerous thing. I guess that's something they continue to master as they reach their teenage years. I sprung for a massage today. I got a deal with the spa connected to my gym for a two for one, but all they had left for today's massages were dude practitioners. Oh well. I needed it today, so I just went with the man-on-man action. Anyone have a preference with sex of their masseuse or does that totally not matter to you?

4. The 'Mats

I read a ton of rock and roll biographies, and I can say without a doubt that "Trouble Boys" about the Replacements is the best of that genre. I was a casual fan when I started, and now I have slipped into that true fanatic status that so many 'Mats fans lay claim to. As a matter of fact, I didn't feel a right to call them The 'Mats before I read it, but after reading the book, which led to revisiting all the albums, watching tons of interviews, and getting into Westerberg's songs to the point where you feel like he is speaking to you, I'm now an obsessed 'Mats fan. I suggest you give the book a read because they are like no other band. You have Bob Stinson's tragic upbringing that led to his severe mental health problems and eventual dismissal from the band. You have his brother Tommy joining the band at 13-years-old, dropping out of school and being raised by a hard drinking and hard drugging rock and roll band. This is something that would never be allowed for in today's society, and it's fascinating that it ever happened at all. 

Then you have the band's leader, Paul Westerberg, who simultaneously wanted to be have a big hit bunform to anything. He would et didn't want to coither self-sabotage the band or just be met with unfortunate circumstances every step of the way. That and they had a brand of music that doomed them to be cult heroes rather than household names. Or maybe all of this was a master plan to be snubbed and broke during their time, but to hold up better than any other band of the 1980's. Yes, the songs themselves have their hooks in people, but those wild and unpredictable drunken shows where they read an audience and decided to do play the exact opposite of what that audience wanted to hear (an all country show for punk fans, for example), made everyone who attended feel like they were part of a one of a kind show, like they were in on the joke, and like that one show they saw was historic. This also extended their legacy. 

When they reunited in 2013 I had a ticket to see them at Riot Fest, a weekend long rock festival in Chicago. My friend smuggled in a bottle of Jack Daniels, and drinking my way through Suicidal Tendencies and the Pixies, I was so horribly over served and tired that I decided to take myself home before the Replacements even took the stage because I had to work the next day. I looked at the set list and it was just about every song I would have wanted them to play. It will always be one of my all-time rock regrets, but then again, getting too drunk to see The Replacements is kind of the perfect story arc. 

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I got a metal show that I'll be seeing tonight (Spirit Adrift), and I don't work tomorrow. A friend I was going with cancelled last minute. With the back killing and needing sleep more than metal at the moment, I almost decided to skip it. But then when I asked an old friend to go, he said he would. Yeah, missing these guys isn't likely to become anything like missing The Replacements, but I'm not taking my chances. I'm not quitting on stuff anymore, be it with concepts, running, staying in touch with friends, or anything else. Talk to you later, my blog buddies til the end . . .

Case Logic Inspires Logical Music Choices

Get a look at that. Yup. That right there is a book full of CD's that is currently in Latifah (My cars always have Black chick names. No idea how that started). I unpacked them all out of the cases years ago and found the biggest book offered on Amazon to transfer them into to save space. Do you know that I am such a nut about my outdated tangible music format that I took the back covers out to slip into the sleeves so that I wouldn't lose any paperwork? Also, how could I part with some of these discs? You see that album on the left that reads, "Thirteen?" That is an album by a group called Horny Toad with Louichi Mayorga, founding member of Suicidal Tendencies. He came into the record store I worked at to drop off a few copies, but sadly I wasn't working that day. That album is one where if I threw it out I just know that I would never think to look it up down the line. And even if I did, I would never find it. The Horny Toads live on inside Latifah!

The giant book of CD's has been sitting on a shelf for years now, but something made me take them to my car one morning. I have been having a blast spinning some classics (classics to me, that is). The other day I played Jane's Addiction's "Ritual De Lo Habitual" all the way through. If you go through the effort of putting back the last disc, thumbing through for your next one, slipping the new one back into the player, and especially if you are driving during that whole process - then you're going to damn well listen to the whole thing.

This was the beauty of tangible music, and those days are long forgotten by many and never even known by newer generations. But, my god, I forgot how fantastic Jane's Addiction was. As I was playing those songs I got to thinking that girls loved that band too. They had a sexiness about them with the grooves they played, and they were all tattoo'd up rebel surfer types but with a hippy vibe. They had a heavy but funky aspect to their playing, a lot like the Chili Peppers, only Jane's had a good singer.

I'm off to a beach vacation tomorrow with my in-laws for a week, so I wanted to be sure to keep up on blogging weekly. I know I won't get a chance at the beach house. Your Mission, Seven Readers: Find a piece of tangible music and play it. Report back to me with your findings. 

During the summers that I don't have to go to work and am working as a full time father, I take one day out of the week to drop Erik Noisewater off at daycare. This particular
Daycare Day I was surprisingly efficient. 

1. I always go to coffee shops because I know for a fact I won't get anything done at home. I'll just end up watching television, napping, burping the worm, and who knows what other useless things I can do to avoid getting shit done. I find it fun to keep trying out new coffee shops, and yesterday's was an awesome Colombian one where you can pour yourself regular or sparkling water out of taps. Now that is cool because to be honest I only typically sip one coffee all day, and that's enough to keep me going. But I probably have around 5 to 6 waters, and sparkling stuff makes me feel like a big timer. So that's one thing I did. Found a dope coffee shop in my new neighborhood.

I always find a couch because I have shit posture. 

2. I turned submitted all my tests and essays for one online class and signed up for a new one. If I can knock down a couple more I can bump my pay grade up a little to help pay for necessities like diapers, mortgages, and craft beers.

3. Got a haircut. Do any of you have that place Sports Clips where it's a sports themed place in which you can watch ESPN, get a hot towel on your face, they massage your back with a vibrator (not that kind), and the ladies all wear referee outfits? It's probably a little sexist, right? I never really gave it much thought, but it's kind of like, "What do men like? Sports. Women in skimpy outfits. Women pampering them. And watching sports while women don't talk." Anyway, I did talk to my stylist, and she was a very nice young lady with an AD/HD 3-year-old. I was able to give her some advice in exchange for her maybe demeaning herself a little, for whatever that is worth.

I think they actually stopped wearing these, so I don't feel AS douchey going now.

4. After the haircut I stopped into my gym that is across the street. Not to work out. It's an off day with my marathon training. I just wanted a peanut butter, banana, and chocolate shake. Some guy named Jay came up when she swiped my gym pass, and I was like, "That's cool. Put that on Jay's account. Fuck him." The gym gal laughed and upgraded me to a large one for the price of a medium. The large one was way too much shake, as wide of a cup as a gallon of milk, but I still finished that bad boy because it tastes like chocolate, bananas, and peanut butter for God's sakes.

5. Then I thought I should get in a hot yoga class to stretch out my legs that are getting destroyed from all the running. I laid my gym mat on the floor, and then when I flapped the towel out to put on top of the mat, something went flying out that had been stuck to the towel. When I looked more closely tot see what it was, it was lacy. What could it be? Oh shit! Panties! I just shot panties across the room in a yoga studio. Everyone in there is going to think I'm some sort of panty-sniffing yoga pervert when in actuality my wife's panties just clung to the towel from the laundry. But who would believe that?

No, I don't wear those pants. Nor the glasses. And no, I can't do that with my legs. 

And they just had to be lacy, right? If they were her workout bloomers they would look like maybe it was a headband or something. Nope. Unmistakeably panties. I swiftly scooped them up and snuck them in my pocket. Honestly, it was hard to get into my zen mode during some of the more challenging stretches because in the back of my mind I was worried about the damn panties slipping out of my pocket and back onto the studio floor.

6. Aside from the panties thing, the yoga was really great. I left feeling very recharged and at one with where I was in that time and place, if that makes any sense. Hard to explain I suppose unless you do some yoga from time-to-time. I only get around to going to a class every so often, but every time I think to myself that I need to make it a weekly event. A lot like blogging, which I'm sure you can understand. Then as I'm walking to my car I see two meter maid guys looking at my license plate and typing in their computer thingies. Shit! I tried to explain that I had no idea it was a metered lot, which was true. They were having none of it. One guy was training the other guy, and he talked to the trainee like I wasn't even there. He wouldn't even look at me.



Every time I have come out to my car and the person was in the midst of writing a ticket, they have let me go. Isn't that kind of an unspoken rule? Like, "Okay, you win this round. But watch your ass!" Nope. This guy was having none of that. Maybe he had to be tough in front of the trainee, or maybe he was just a dick. I was thinking to myself that if I wanted out of this one I would have to grovel and kiss this guy's ass, and I couldn't bring myself to do that. I hated him, so I would rather just pay the fifty bucks. After getting in my car (because I always think of the right move after it's too late) what I thought I could have done was to throw a yoga towel, or a pair of panties, over the license plate and peel out of that bitch. Next time. All the more reason to keep a pair of panties in your pocket. What in the hell am I talking about?

Until next time, Seven Readers. Get shit done today like a daddy on a damn mission. What do you have cracking this weekend? I intend to go to a Cubs game tomorrow night with my season ticket buddies and it will likely be an evening of straight-up drunken, skin-tight* buffoonery. Talk to you again next week, probably a few brain cells lighter, but I'll still try to be funny as best I can.
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*No, that doesn't make any sense. It's a Guided By Voices lyrics. Few of their lyrics make any kind of sense, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Shit-Canned At the Grocery Store

So far I have made good on updating the old blog once a week again. You know what helped? I have a repeating entry on the calendar in my phone that reads, "Update your blog, you fucking fuck." It helps to capture that anger at myself so that my future self is reminded how mad past self is at himself. And that might be the dumbest most confusing sentence I have ever written on here, but get used to it. Because it will now be weekly again.

The other day I went to the grocery store with Baby Noisewater, and after spending an insane amount of time in traffic, I decided I had earned a drink. We have one of those fancy grocery spots with a bar inside complete with a full band playing. By 5pm it's nearly impossible to get a seat at the bar. So what a lot of customers do is get an adult beverage and sip it whilst they get their shopping done. Since it was a balmy summer evening, I decided a margarita would hit the spot.

As I'm midway through finding all the items on my list I suddenly realized that I was quite drunk. On only one drink! To me, this mason jar had to have been 80% tequila, but maybe it was a combination of a very stiff drink and a very weakened tolerance. Dr. Ken before child was going out every Friday and Saturday night. With-child (that sounds pregnant) Dr. Ken really ties one on maybe once a month. The right thing to do would be to set that glass of demon rum on the bar, but the cheap-ass and drunk-ass in me said, "We can't let this bad boy go to waste, now can we?"

I like to let Baby Noisewater pick out his fun grocery cart: Taxi, police car, fire engine, or pink car. If he picks the pink one, totally cool with me, but this time he went with the taxi. He was reaching over his steering wheel that doesn't do shit for my 'Rita and saying, "Juicy!" I tried to explain to him that it was "daddy juice" and that it was "yuck." He wasn't convinced. I was looking for some frozen fruit for smoothies. The prices are a lot better at the local members only bulk store, but I needed some now. I actually said out loud, "These prices stink!" Then Noisewater started shouting, "Prices stink! Prices stink!" He was hollering"stink" about their prices and I was stinking drunk. We were not a desirable customer combo in the fancy grocery store at this point.

Have you ever noticed that when you're drinking you want to talk people more, and if no one is around you end up talking to yourself? Well, as a social drinker that's how I operate, and having a kid in your cart is pretty much free reign to jabber to yourself like a nut. "How about some bananas? Those look a little ripe, and those shits are organic. Fuck that." Nobody bats an eye when they see you have a baby in your cart along for the ride. And forgive me if I've talked about this before, but people give you a lot of breaks when you're a dad. Everyone helps me out when I'm out and about with my kiddo. Holding doors, offering to help me carry my stroller off of the train. Sadly, I don't see this sort of support for our moms out there, and I think it's because it's expected of them to go it alone out there. Fucked up, right?

I'm going to post you a video for you to give you an idea of how goofy Baby Noisewater and I are and how much fun we have together. Just to explain, his grandfather had recently gotten him saying  Geronimo and cowabunga when he pushes him on the swings at the park. Baby Noisewater just knows inherently that cowabunga is funny word. I'm proud of him because he talks a lot for his age, he is polite, he is friendly, and he is loving. All that is great. But the number one thing by far that makes me proud is that he is funny. That's important to me. Tell me he is not funny in this clip? That gag of him biting the book is hilarious and then he says, "eat." He had never done that before. It just came to him. Quite the natural improv. The guy seems to know what gets a laugh out of people, and then he beats it to death like a dead horse, just like his old man. He's a good dude and a solid shopping companion when I'm all burracho'd up on a potent margarita, crossing items off of my grocery list.



It's Friday, my Seven Readers. Tip something back and enjoy it. I booked a sitter and I'm taking the lady out for a nice dinner. What do you have on tap?

This has certainly been the longest period between blog updates. It probably looked like I retired. What's worse, it probably looks like I had an ass surgery (last post) and that made me hang up my blogging shoes. Nope, it is just laziness. I think I have convinced myself that I'm not as funny as I used to be, that I'm not as good of a writer, and I don't get inspiration of interesting ideas coming to me like I used to. These are all probably true, but the trick is just sitting down and typing. Something will come to me that way, and I'll get better in all those areas the more I keep at it.

So what is new? I'm moved into the new condo. We really do like it a lot over here. Erik isn't even two-years-old yet, and when we are in the car and I turn on the block he says, "home-home." It already feels like home to him, and that's really great. The neighbors are all very nice, and Erik even has a friend of his own across the hall named Cole. The block is very quiet and almost suburban, but then you can walk to things easily that feel very much urban. So, it's a best of both worlds. Mrs. Noiswater and I finally feel like grown folks.

As some of you know I have the summertime off every year. I'm keeping busy by taking Erik Noisewater to as many free activities as I can find (I also don't get paid in the summer). I devised a schedule where he has stuff to do every day. A given week will look something like this:

Monday: Drive him out to the suburbs to see his grandparents. I'll usually do a long run on those days because I'm marathon training. It turns out piling miles onto legs that are 7 years older than my last marathon is a lot harder.

Tuesday: Run him with the running stroller over to Wrigley Field for a singing and dancing thing in the little park outside the ballpark. Stay for the water spraying everywhere and let him go nuts. The kid loves water.

Wednesday: Story time at the library. We have a women's bookstore that does one too. I really hope they don't tell me and Erik to take our asses and penises out of there. Just kidding, I'm sure they are very welcoming to all. We live in a heavily gay and lesbian neighborhood. I'm trying to find a local bar that isn't a predominately gay one. I can hang out a gay one, but I think my go to one would be good if it were a straight one, right?. That sounds so shitty to say that, but I think it's hard to explain myself and the more I do the bigger asshole I sound like. Let's move onto Thursday.

Thursday: Take him to the free public zoo so he can look at all kinds of fun animals. But usually he just wants to find the construction trucks and gets pumped about riding the bus. He's a city kid for sure.

Friday: Drop him off at daycare so I can work on my online classes. I'm trying to knock out three classes this summer so I can bump up my pay scale. That's the only reason. Almost none of the stuff will I ever be putting into practice. It is boring as hell so I lock myself in a coffee shop so there are no easy ways to distract myself.

Pretty much I'm just really happy. It turns out having kids and a family is fun as hell. I guess I always thought it would just be so hard and boring. Hardly. There was a time where I wished I was rich and famous, but you know what? It fucking sucks to be famous right now. They are all caught up in some "me too" scandal, or they're in a messy divorce, or they have reporters following them everywhere. Sure, I'm finding free shit all over the city to do because I need to save dough, but I like my life this way. I actually would not trade places with any celebrity.

How are you feeling, readers? About the same or is there a celebrity you secretly wish you could switch places with?

I feel like I can level with you people. Some of you I have known for over ten years. This is why I think I can come clean and let you know that I have been having major league ass problems. It got to the point where I was dreading every time I had to go number two because it was like pooping shards of hot glass, and that's no picnic - let me tell you. Pretty soon it started hurting when I was sitting down. I remember a long conference I had to sit through where I opted to stand up for the majority of it. Many probably speculated I was having back or knee issues. Nope. Try Major. League. Ass. Problems. Then other nights it would hurt when I was lying on my back trying to sleep. That is when I knew this thing was serious and wasn't going away.

Turns out I had what is called an anal fissure, or a small tear in the lining of the anus. You can read all about it this particularly nasty affliction with the link provided if you want, but I think I can best sum it up this way: You don't want it. I got a friend to watch Baby Noisewater while I went to the doctor because at 1 and a half years old, he is getting a little too old to be in the same room seeing a man peering into and probing around his daddy's butthole. I would hate later in his life for someone to ask what his first memory was and that to be his answer.

I like my butt doctor. I figure you have to be a guy with a good sense of humor, and someone who can  easily put someone at ease because patients coming in there, if they're anything like me, are scared and miserable. He asked me to get in one of those robes and he would be right back. I asked if I could clean house a little back there before he was going to be taking a look, and he said, "Honestly, it's an occupational hazard at this point. You wouldn't clean the trash cans before the garbage man came, would you?" I really do like this fella. If you need a butt guy, I know the guy.

So the procedure he recommended is injecting botox into my anus. That's right, friends. I had botox done. I asked if they could use any remaining botox and squirt a little into my forehead, with a different needle of course. You never go ass to forehead. They couldn't do that for me. But, I will say that when everything starts to get old and wrinkly on me, my anus will remain pulled tight and smooth all around like the highest quality imported, Italian leather.

Believe it or not, one has to be put under for this procedure. I remember being wheeled into the surgery room, and one lady saying,

"Whoah! Almost forgot (insert major important term I've forgotten here). Jeez. Hello! Haha."

And then,

"Okay, Mr. Noisewater. Now count down from 10 . . ."

I remember thinking:

"No! Wait! I don't think this gal is functioning at her Sunday best today if she is forgetting things. And she thinks it's funny? This is my ass we're talking about here! Can I get someone else up in here. I'm so sleepy . . ."

Is this problem I have been dealing with any excuse for taking a month off of blogging? No. Not at all. I could have typed standing up just fine. I'll get back in the game more regularly because this was helpful getting this off my chest and sharing this embarrASSing situation with you fine folks. Gotta run. I'm on a vacation from work, spending time with Baby Noisewater all week, and we have a music class in a minute. I keep him very active and engaged, so I'm grateful to have this rear end issue all straightened out. Take care of your butts, my friends.

Old School Rap For an Old-Ass Dad

While having breakfast with Erik Noisewater this morning, I'm not exactly sure what made me put it on, but I keyed up "Enter the 36 Chambers" by The Wu-Tang Clan on my Sonos. I haven't listened to that one all the way through perhaps since the last millennium. As a matter of fact, this may have been the first time I have heard it in any other form besides cassette. You see, back in the mid 1990's when you bought an album, part of the process of deciding if you wanted the CD or the tape was whether or not you anticipated putting it on in the car or at home. You had to be rich to have a CD player in the car. Rap music to me was just cool as fuck to roll to in the car to like a pimp; leaned way back with one hand on the wall. You know, a white, dorky pimp.

Best pic of a Wu-Tang dad I could find.

There will never be another group like the Wu. A collection of rappers that talented from the same projects, all with something to say, with a sense of humor, with artistry and integrity, and with a brand new gritty style no one had ever heard. Very rarely can I listen to a rap album all the way through, especially as I get older. Even back then, I always thought it a little too bold of an idea when guys were coming out with double disc rap albums. But if there were 36 tracks on the Wu's debut, I gladly would have cruised the mean streets of my boring suburban town listening to every last one. Actually, it is so rare that I will listen to a rap album all the way through. I came up with this analogy, and let me know if it makes any sense to you.

Rappers are like professional wrestlers. So awesome to me back then, but as an adult I can't tell you anything about the modern day ones. 

I could go down the rabbit hole from hell researching 1980's pro wrestlers, and I can still kick some rhymes when I hear those throw-back rap joints.

Behold: Ravishing Rick Rude. The best bad guy wrestler ever with his porno mustache, mullet, and sick abs, about to give some fool the Rude Awakening. 

I have heard Kendrick Lamar is incredible, but I can't say that I have heard one thing by him. Still, I give him credit for going by his given name. Takes balls because those rapper names are so much more fun to think of and easier for fans to remember. Chance the Rapper sounds like just about the greatest guy for my city of Chicago, and I love everything he does for his home town. I just don't know squat about his music. It is like those lyrics just don't enter my brain like they used. They all soaked in there and stayed forever when I was a kid. I would hear a Beastie Boys song and have the whole song memorized after two listens. Now I hear that autotune sound and I just tune out, so to speak. There is no more room in my clogged-up, old balls brain.

Before the Internet there was no way to know for sure what all the lyrics were unless there was a lyric sheet in the album. Rap albums rarely had those. Metal albums almost always did, and they would even tell you which guy played each guitar solo. To figure out the rap lyrics I would put on headphones and write down each line and rewind them. Sometimes I would have to just jot down what it sounded like phonetically.

Even Ja Rule loves puppies.

I'm almost always playing my Sirius radio stations in the car, but on the actual radio there is a station, 104.3, which is all old school hip-hop and R & B. The other day I heard them playing that Ja Rule duet where the girl goes, "Love it when you fuck me, baby." Haaaayoooooo! They forgot to play the edited version. Young Erik Noisewater learned some new fun words in his car seat that morning. Some of the songs I never would have thought of until they popped up in the car 30 years later. For instance, "Freak Like Me" by Adina Howard.



This slice of R & B badd-assery came out a few years before Lil' Kim or Foxxy Brown. No woman back then was announcing that she was "freak," liked to hit it and quit it, and was every bit of a "dog" as the fellas, whilst she stuck her disproportionate derriere into the camera.

Hey, so I have to run. Baby Noisewater has a 1st birthday party for one of his little friends. That's our life now. Right or wrong. Anyone have any thoughts on old school rap, wrestling, song lyrics, or anything at all? Hit me up in 'dem comments!

Senseless Updates About Snow, Property, and Running

Snow Day:

I got a snow day off from work so I spent the day with Baby Noisewater. Chicago got around a foot of snow on Friday, and it's still coming down on Saturday. Not much on the agenda on a snow day other than a snow journey, so I bundled the little guy up and outside we went. It's hard for him to walk in boots, which led to him falling face first into snow. He didn't even cry. His freezing face didn't even effect his mood. In fact, he was greeting strangers on the street by saying, "Hi." and then warning them, "coooooold." That's his version of small-talk banter with the neighbors.

"Hi! Coooold!"

Condo

It looks like the Noisewaters will be closing on a condo very soon and staying in the fine city of Chicago. Not only will I be a homeowner for the first time, but I'm pretty excited about some things that often escape me in shitty apartments such as in an unit washer/dryer, a dishwasher, a spare bedroom, and my very own parking space. I know these amenities come standard to a lot of you, but this is some high class baller-ass shit to a guy like me. Scrubbing dishes all these years has made me very humble, and it's time to finally kick back and relax.

I told you all a few posts ago that we have been making an extra effort to save money, and one way we are doing this is to use a Google Docs spreadsheet to log in everything that we spend for a month. I highly recommend trying this out to make yourself more self-conscious of all the junk you buy that you don't need. When you find yourself in the checkout aisle eyeballing that Payday candy bar, you suddenly think, "Do I really want to log that $2.12 into the spreadsheet?" Also, you and your spouse will be keeping each other accountable. It's not uncommon after telling your spouse about an expenditure to hear in return, "Did you put in on the sheet?" It actually works. Try it out for a month and come on back to leave in the comments how it worked out for you.

Marathon:

I also let you guys know a few posts ago that I was signing up for the Chicago Marathon that will take place in October. Actually, it's 238 days, 19 hours, 42 minutes, and 10 seconds away. Well, I got in! No backing out now. This will be my second one, and I'm a hell of a lot older now. I'm sort of training early, helping my buddy Night Train who has his first marathon in the Spring in California. His program calls for a long slow run every Sunday, which is perfect because I'm slower than he is. This Sunday is supposed to be a 12-miler, but with this snow we might go with the treadmills. It's pretty boring on the machines, but you can watch basketball, talk to your partner next to you, and the ones we use have courses with little TV screens showing you running your route in different locations complete with little facts along the way. Last week I chose running up and down the Haleakalā volcano in Hawaii because I sort of did that in Hawaii on my Honeymoon. Some dudes picked us up in a van at like 4AM to drive us up the volcano, we watched the sun come up appearing to be coming up through the mouth of the volcano like it was giving birth to the sun , and then we coasted down on bikes. Then we had the whole day beginning having already done all that awesome shit. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Watching on the little screen at the gym wasn't quite as amazing, but at least it reminded me of a good time.

Hey, that's all I got, friends. Sorry nothing mind-blowing or eye-opening today. Just updates on the little life I lead. Leave a comment if you gave this a read and maybe I'll say something super in return.

Better Work On That /s/ sound

My Day Up Until Now

I used a website called Random Subject Prompts and the one that popped up was: "Write about your day so far." So, let's do that.

5:30AM - I wake up to hear the cutest voice ever saying "dada" in the next room. Sorry to disappoint you, Little Man, but it's Momma's turn; we switch off mornings. I couldn't get back to sleep so I picked up where I left off in my Jim Henson biography. Basically that dude changed the face of children's television and pretty much invented it in terms of the format we still see today. Previous puppet shows on television had a little stage where the puppets moved about, but what he and his female partner did in the 1950's (while he was in college) was look at a little monitor and let that space that the viewers could see be the boundaries of the stage. He was the first to let the puppets themselves be the stars of the show and brought those characters to life.

I was trying to explain to Mrs. Noisewater when we were watching a modern "Sesame Street" that it was no good because the kids in the show were clearly actors. Corny as all hell. Back in the 1970's it was an organic experience of the kids just having conversations with the puppets as if they were real people. The kiddos reacted to what the puppet was saying, and the puppeteer fed off of the spontaneity and whimsy that the children brought to the scene. This scene below is the best example of what I'm talking about. The girl had her little joke and was cracking herself up, so Jim made Kermit pretend to get all frustrated. And then the unexpected pull at the heart strings at the end brings it all home for a truly magic moment.



7:00AM - Fell back asleep eventually and got up feeling like a million bucks. 7AM is really sleeping in during the baby days. I made myself a French press cup of coffee with my birthday gift of a press and a grinder. If you don't have one, I recommend it. I'm amped with fuel for the whole day, and I just kind of love the whole process of brewing it.

Cat mug not included.

9:00AM - Went for a run with my buddy Night Train who lives down the street. He is training for his first marathon in the Spring in Big Sur, California, and I have my 2nd one in September here in Chicago. Topics discussed that I can remember were: Parenting styles, break ups, our upcoming Man Night get together with friends, whether or not Tom Brady is faking an injury to play head games with his opponents, and what makes an ideal roommate. If you're anything like me, you do your best thinking when you run, and it really helps to have someone with you to hash out all of life's problems and reflect on the minutia of all things off of the running path.

10:30AM - Mrs. Noisewater was meeting a friend at the Women's March, and she made this terrific sign. The other side has a clock that says "Time's Up." What is funny is that she showed the boy the typical way of protesting with a sign by shaking it up and down and doing a ra-ra chant, so Baby Noisewater did the same and babbled about what may or may not have been about women's rights but more likely was about Thomas the Train and his rights in the rail yard.



12:10 - We are currently on a major budget restriction, trying to save for a more proper home for the family, somewhere with in-unit washer/dryer, a dishwasher, and a proper bedroom for the Little Man. For this entire month we are tracking everything we spend on a spreadsheet. If either of us buys something, even a can of soda at the gas station, it has to go onto our spreadsheet. Believe it or not, it really does make you more conscious of what you need and don't need to buy. Hence, I opted for a free activity for the baby and took him to the library. Here he is playing with a random girl that was there. He is so social, but mostly with the ladies. It was impressive that he recognized that his partner had more advanced fine motor skills, so he opted to be the guy who fetched the bricks for her to carefully put into place. He has the brute strength and cute strength.

And that about takes us to the current time. Tonight we will stay in and continue to spend zero dollars. There is some movie about a mute gal falling for a merman that is supposed to be quite good, so we may stream that one free and illegally.

I rather liked this writing activity because when you take the time to write about your day, you find yourself a little more convinced that it was all time well spent.

Be well, Blog Buddies.

Two Daddy Things and One Not Daddy Thing

1. I like that thus far Baby Noisewater is not too obsessed with the television. Something will catch his eye, he will point and get excited, and then he moves onto playing with toys or looking at books. When the local news is on it always seems to be about disasters.

Cut to a train that has gone off the rails with numerous casualties and Erik starts stomping his feet, smiling, and saying "Choo! Choo!"

Then in another neighborhood in Chicago we have a bus accident, and Erik looks my way all wide eyed with a big grin saying, "Bus!"

You can't seem to get through a local news broadcast without a fire somewhere, so Baby Noisewater points and whispers to me "hot." It's adorable how he always whispers that one with a cautionary tone. His nanny taught him that word and says it's the most important word to teach a baby.

The point is that it is, of course, tragic what is happening all over our fine city every day, but Erik has no concept of that aspect. It's not like he is hoping for these tragedies to happen, but he is certainly pumped when he sees some of his favorite stuff. All he knows is that he loves trains, buses, and to warn people about hot stuff. The young man has a way of lightening the mood anywhere he goes, and that's one thing we dig about him around here. I'm not saying he should be part of the news team on a little split screen throwing in his two cents on channel seven, but I'm not NOT saying it.

Figured I'd choose a picture with zero chance of anyone saying, "Too soon."

2. My wife pointed out that this rag I call my blog is steadily becoming a dad blog, and in a lot of ways she is right. But before I move onto something else, one more thing about a children's book I have been reading a million-gizzilion times, "Green Eggs and Ham." And incidentally, a good parenting tip is to learn to paraphrase books after a while. You can really just point out one quick thing on each page and move on if that bed time is quickly approaching or if you're just plain sick of reading the same book for the umpteenth time. After a while I'm like the magician in one of my favorite Patton Oswald bits.



I got thinking about old Sam-I-Am in "Green Eggs and Ham," and that dude really should get some sort of lifetime achievement award in the area of sales. You take a customer who absolutely hates green eggs and ham, and this persistent little fellow tries every angle under the sun to see if there is a scenario where his customer will like his product, be it in a plane, a train, in a tree, or with a goat. The goat always gets me. How is eating something I hate with a stinky-ass goat sweetening the deal? It just goes to show you that to make a tough sale you got to try every angle. That's what made him the G.O.A.T. salesman. Get it?

3. Mrs. Noisewater and I were watching "Love Actually" around Christmas time, and I thought of a terrific porno version. Are you ready for it? I mean, it's a little gross, but it's funnier than hell. I couldn't share it on social media because people are so damned easily offended these days, but I'll share it with you fine folks because you're my kind of people. "Love Anally, Starring Colin Girth."

Here's a dashing shot of Colin Firth. Wonder what his  thoughts would be on my new spin on his old film?

And I leave you with that. Two potentially boring daddy things if you're not into that and one porno thing. Can't please everyone. Have a fine day, my friends.

Not too long ago I was finishing up getting changed back into my clothes after swimming laps at the YMCA when I heard rambunctious kids coming into the locker room and the voice of a timid man saying, "Okay, guys. Now you have to get changed faster. Not like last time. And I'm going to be timing you."

One of the boys responded with, "Okay. Ching Chong banana."

And when the swim coach came into view I saw that he was Asian. I didn't care for this, partly because my wife is Asian and my son is Asian. But also, I just thought it so disrespectful that a little kid would be mouthing off and using stereotypical race related name-calling towards a grown man who was trying to teach these kids how to swim.

It's a good thing they didn't step in a few minutes earlier when I was naked because that would be the worst time to yell at kids, but because I was fully dressed I said, "Which one of you said that to your coach. That wasn't nice."

When one kid said, "Nobody said anything," I was almost positive it was him. What the hell do you mean no one said anything because all four of you kids were shouting as you came in? He doth protested too much, the little punk.

I let the him know that they shouldn't be talking to their coach like that and maybe the coach should be calling their parents to talk about how they have been addressing the guy they have been paying to teach their children. The kid looked pretty scared but moments later they were all four singing the "Power Rangers" theme and none of them were taking any steps towards getting undressed to put on their swimsuits. This coach had zero control over these kids, and it greatly upset me. I hated seeing him getting run on like that by these ungrateful little brats, and I had already ascertained that the kid I got into it with was the ringleader. Without him I'm pretty sure the other three wouldn't be acting nearly as shitty. He is the one that needed to be straightened out, but the coach did nothing. He just let them sing their songs at him and call him names.

Let me tell you, blog friends. We live in a time now where I'm not all that proud to say I'm an American since our president has shined a light on how many folks out here would love to go back to the days of 1950's Mississippi. Mr. Trump is an awful president, but his policies, administration, and behavior brings about opportunities for open conversations with our kids about matters such as race, sexual harassment, and just being civil and having some class. I like to think that my son will show a little more respect, and if I ever catch him acting in a racially insensitive and asshole-ish manner towards an adult like those boys I met the other day, then I have truly failed him as a father.

Sorry if this came off heavy handed today, friends. I'm usually a much more light hearted blogger, as most of you know. I'll get back to fart and dick jokes next time I grab the laptop to do an update.

Have a happy holiday, everyone. Peace on earth and good will to ALL. 

Senseless Updates

1. So this morning Mrs. Noisewater wanted to get some things done in the house, and it's hard when she has Baby Noisewater following her around like a puppy dog. So, she convinced me to take him out of the house and out of her hair. On the way to the park we found $30 on the ground! Score! If she hadn't talked us into going out, I would have laid around in my pajamas watching The Punisher and scratching my daddy parts. And while I'm excellent at that, I would have made $0 doing that. I thought about putting that into Baby Noisewater's savings account, and then I got thinking that I could put a little money every paycheck into that account so that he can go to college, or clown school, or male exotic dancer school, or whatever his dream may be. I figure that's going to cost a little more than I can afford from scavenging for cash on the sidewalk. 

Blood sucking scum bag leech televangelists like Joel make Baby Noisewater cry.  He's trying to change the channel or fling poo at him.

2. Speaking of money, we are saving to buy a place to live in this Summer. I'm 40-years-old, going on 41, and I've been renting my whole life. That's pretty bad, right? I need to grow up at some point and stop handing all my money to landlords. Right when I'm really doing good at packing some dough away and just paid off my car, I get hit with an insane dental bill. I don't know if you know this about me, but I grind the holy hell out of my teeth every night. My store bought mouth guards that I pop in after brushing my teeth at night are no match for the psychopathic, destructive, and costly gnashing my powerful jaw engages in each and every evening. Turns out I have taken away all the enamel on two of my molars. The dentist was putting pictures up on the monitor, and there are just giant yellow craters where that white enamel is supposed to be. Hard to look at. I actually had to say, "Doc, if you think showing me this is for my benefit, I'll just take a pass. I trust your judgement that my teeth are totally fucked. I can't look at this anymore." 

I sometimes think of Balsac "The Jaws of Death" from Gwar when I imagine the grinding.

Putting crowns on these suckers is expensive as hell, and dental insurance, while good for everyday cleanings, really doesn't do a whole lot for you with big jobs like this one. Doesn't it always seem the way that right when you're thinking to yourself that your finances are getting in order, that's when you get hit with some crappola like this? I'm going to avoid driving Latifah (that's my car's pet name) because I just know she's due for a major procedure of her own that will bury me further.

3. In these times of someone new being outed every week as a sexual harasser or sexual predator, it has us all wondering who will be next. I was watching Sesame Street with Baby Noisewater the other day, and during Elmo's World I got thinking how the original voice of Elmo got busted having inappropriate relations with young boys. However, Mr. Noodle seemed to be in the clear in all of this. I texted out to a couple friends that a funny headline for an article in The Onion would be:

"America is shocked that Mr. Noodle still hasn't diddled any kids."

I got one of those kid parties I didn't know I had to go to until a few hours ago, and Mrs. and Baby Noisewater will both be up from their nap soon. So, I'm going to cut this blog update off now before it gets any crazier. Hope everyone is doing super. And don't forget to stop and smell the roses and look on the ground for dropped cash. 

I'm sure he's a very nice man . . . 

The Crying In Room 304

Many of you don't know what it is I do for work (and when I say "many of you" I mean 6 out of the around 7 people or so who read this page), but I'm a school social worker for the Chicago Public Schools. I realize this is maybe the last thing you would guess that I do given my warped sense of humor, but I swear it's true.

So at the end of the day on Thursday, which was like a Friday because the next day was a teacher's institute day, I get the call from the principal to go into room 304. As I'm making my way to this assignment, I'm wondering what sort of class-wide problem I would be dealing with. This was not going to be an individual student's problem. Something went down for this whole class, so even if I was tired and not feeling up to this at all, I started to psych myself up so that I could step in there as Dr. Noisewater cranked to eleven and ready to command that room.

Even before I opened the door, I could hear the sobs of 30 (our school is overcrowded) fourth graders. The class rotates between two teachers, one teaching math and science, and the other teaching reading and writing. So who does social studies? I have no idea, but that's not important. What happened was this teacher's partner (their other teacher) across the hall announced that it was her last day, and she announced this by crying like crazy in front of children. Now this other poor teacher was stuck with hysterical kids picking up on that emotion and carrying on all afternoon, which must be why she called for backup.

So I did the type of crap they taught me to do in graduate school, but more accurately it's just instincts and common sense. First I validated their feelings, so I let them know it is okay to feel the way they were and that showed what a nice group of kiddos they were to care so much about their teacher. Then I asked them to tell me more about their teacher so that I could know too how special she was. They all had a lot of nice things to say. All I know about her is she taught at the school for one quarter and then took a maternity leave gig closer to her house. This is a move that I get so that she can cut her commute down and be with her family more, but there usually is no guarantee of a full time position when you fill a maternity leave position. So it seems risky, but maybe her spouse makes a lot of dough? I didn't get into that with the kids; It's just what was running through my head. Also I was thinking, if they think they are miserable now, just wait until they have some crummy permanent sub every day for 3/4 of the school year and everything will be chaos. That I didn't share either.

So then I started asking some ideas of what they could do to show how much they care for her. This is when hands started going up, and as their brains started firing with ideas, the crying slowly stopped. These youngsters had some awesome ideas too. I seriously should have been putting a few on Pinterest. I remember one very bright young lady saying they could have a giant poster board where everyone pasted little mini books on there where you could turn a few pages of each with little stories about what they will remember about her. That was the winner. That was a dope idea.

One student asked why she was leaving them. I let the students know that it is important not to see it as her leaving them, but her taking an opportunity. As hard a decision as it was for her, she had to do what was best for her family. This is when I related a personal situation to help them better understand. I said, "How many of you had Mr. Gung Ho for gym class?" A lot of hands went up and many of them smiled and wanted to tell stories about how funny he was. This was not a shy class - and everyone wanted to talk. I said, "Yeah, he was a very good teacher and a very good friend of mine. I miss him all the time. Was I sad when I heard he was taking a different job? You bet. But I was happy for him. He too took a job nearby his house so that he could be with his family more and not in his car two hours every day. So we should be happy for miss what's-her-name too. What is her name, anyway? Crying lady." I'm just kidding. I knew her name. But honestly I just learned her name that day because she was only with us for one quarter.

Anyway, it's true what I said about Gung Ho, and I didn't know how true until I found myself telling those kids about it. I really do miss him. Sometimes we would both be busy, and it's such a big school that we would only cross paths once in a given week - but that was enough if one of us got off a one-liner and had each other laughing our way all the way down the hall. You need that person at your place of business who shares your sense of humor and keeps you from getting too serious and crabby.

How about you, Seven Readers? Who is your Gung Ho around the office, and what's something funny the two of you crack jokes about?

Me Too Dave

Mrs. Noisewater and I just got back from a trip to Ireland for a wedding. Her parents came all the way out from California to stay at our place in Chicago with Baby Noisewater while we were gone. We are so lucky to have family to do things like that for us, but truth be told, they cannot get enough of the little guy and were sad to go back. He is a charmer.

Baby Noisewater Cheerios Head

The 500th book Baby Noiseater made grandpa read to him.

We learned something right away on our travels, and that is this: Traveling without a kid is really damn easy. All we had to do was get ourselves on the plane on time. No strollers, no putting all kinds of baby stuff through security, no security opening our bags because formula looks like coke, and no chasing crawling baby around while waiting for the flight. We even had a few drinks. Why in the hell did I bitch about traveling back when I had no kids? Also, what in the hell did I do with all that free time before we made a baby? If you said blog a heck of a lot more, you wouldn't be wrong. I'm doing the best I can, my friends.

So it rains a lot in Ireland. Did you know that? I have been there twice now, and I think that I enjoyed about 30 minutes of sunshine. Total. I ran twice while out there this time, and I did document some beautiful blue skies while they came out so briefly, plus a fantastic rainbow. I don't think the photo truly does it justice. That was the happiest I was. Except for when I was laughing about the guy I would meet later that day . . .

And if you said I should have kept running towards it to find a pot of gold, you're not the only one.

Mrs. Noisewater, her friend McDonald, and myself went to The Little Museum of Dublin, which we thought was a bunch of miniatures on display. In reality, it is a small building with tiny rooms with various exhibits of human-sized items. Very quaint. On our way out a local told us that we should go around the corner to see the smallest bar in Ireland (and some claim the world's smallest bar). They aren't lying - It is a cramped, little bar, and there is no way it is a approved by any fire marshal worth his salt. You go down a narrow staircase into a shoebox of a tavern with extremely low ceilings. And with what can only be a cruel joke, a 6 foot 4 man tends bar, literally ducking his head under beams to pour the drinks. He had to have banged his noggin a few dozen times before conditioning himself to bow under each time he steps forward.

The moment we set foot in there, four men in ties swarmed Mrs. Noisewater. I asked one of them to take our picture, and the man who called himself Dave put his arm around her and said, "sure" . . . waiting for me to take a picture. He knew damn well that I didn't want a picture with his stupid ass in it.

I said, "No, sir. I mean can you take a picture of me, my wife, and my friend?"

"Oh this is your wife?" He replied. "Sure, all take your picture." But then as he was taking the shot, one of his other pervert friends jumped in front to photo bomb and flicked the bird.

Running along this bridge on either side was good fun. I should have took a picture of the bridge going across that looked like a giant harp.

If Mrs. Noiswater was at all flattered by the attention these business men were showing her, that quickly faded when she would see those boys stand at the bottom of the staircase pouncing on every female who set foot in there. These lads certainly fished with a big net. We sat and laughed with our pints as we watched Dave crash and burn with two lovely ladies. When they walked away to sit at a table, undeterred, he followed them there and joined them. They pretty much politely told him that they would rather he go away so that they could talk to one another about something, but he did not abandon ship just yet. Dave sat and waited for a moment to interject something and get back into the conversation, and when one of them talked about someone they know, perhaps one of their boyfriends, Dave blurted out loudly, "He sounds like a dick!" I laughed so hard that I nearly spit  Guiness all over that little place.

As funny as it was to watch, it also grew a little uncomfortable to watch these guys harass lady after lady. So we decided to leave. Later, McDonald and I were saying how anyone who came in contact with Dave and his merry band of perverts would instantly have one of those "#me too" stories that have been going around the internet. For this reason, we dubbed the man Me Too Dave, or #MeTooDave, if you prefer. Now, I don't at all intend to make light of anyone who has experienced harassment of any kind. It's truly an awful thing. But what we saw Dave doing was more along the lines of hitting on everything that moves and not taking no for an answer . . . Okay, fine. It was straight up harassment and pretty much wrong. But it was hard not to keep laughing any time one of us, during a quiet moment, would say Me Too Dave.

And with this last picture of an Irish sunrise, I wish you good day or goodnight.  

Beer For the Runners

First let me get this out of the way. My son was eating chili with his hands and got it all over his sweatpants. I thought Chili Sweatpants might be a good band name, or perhaps a good album title. Mrs. Noisewater thought that should go on the blog, so there it is. Chili Sweatpants on that ass.

In other news . . .

I got an email about volunteering for the Chicago Marathon, and I saw it as a sign because I always told myself I needed to do that some day. When I ran my one and only full marathon years ago I had no one supporting me. I was so thankful for all the volunteers and random people along the way cheering my name (I had my name written on my chest, which I highly recommend for this reason). I saw this email as a good opportunity to make good on my promise to give back.

After registering online the confirmation email gave me my assignment: It said I would be giving out the free beer to the runners. Oh hell yes. I was made for this job.

When I got there the row of taps on the sunny side were all taken, and very few of the early finishing runners were coming to the dark side. Zero of the wheelchair participants (who have the early start time) came our way, and the few really competitive guys, mostly Kenyans, that came through didn't want the beer anyway. Here is a rough estimate of beer consumption based on levels of performance.

2 hour finishers: 1 out of 10 drink the beer. They all look like their entire body has gone into shock, and some are close to throwing up. One guy was wretching, and while I felt odd offering a gagging person a beer, I felt it my duty to put it out there to everyone. To be honest, some of them were so out of it after what they put their bodies through that they didn't even notice there was free beer to be had. I haven't reached the level of exhaustion where I don't notice free beer, but maybe I'm just not working hard enough. Or maybe I'm just a drunk.

3 hour finishers: 3 out of 10 drink the beer. There are fewer Kenyans now, and a few more beer swillers.

4 hour finishers: 6 out of 10 drink the beer. Now we're having some fun. I basically never have to stop pouring by this time. It's a waterfall.

5 hour finishers: Somewhere between 8 and 9 out of 10 drink the beer. And every 10 minutes someone asks if it's okay to drink two. I usually would say, "No, sir. We are not allowed to do that," as I winked at him and handed him his second. Other times I would say, "Sure, to hell with it. What are they going to do, fire me? I'm a volunteer! Drink up!" Like I said, I was made for this job.

I noticed that the maintenance guys going around to check on the kegs, replace them, and pour more ice were drinking the whole time. I didn't believe in drinking on the job myself, especially during the morning. However, we reached a point where my shift was officially over and there were still runners coming through. I couldn't just pack it in and leave after all these hard-working, albeit slower, marathoners were still trickling through the finish and every bit in need of beer as their speedier cohorts. There was no way I was leaving my post. However, since my shift time was officially over and since it was beyond noon, I figured now was an excellent time to drink on the job.

It got a lot more fun at this point. One for you, one for me. I remember one guy saying, "Can I get one more beer for my wife?" I said to him, "You don't need a story, sir. I remember on Halloween asking for one more Snickers for my little brother. I didn't have a little brother. Still don't. Here's your second beer, sir. For your knees."

I was getting a bit of a buzz on and no longer had to be jealous of them getting to drink while I had to "work," but here's the thing: I had to admit that I was a little jealous of them running the race. That feeling started for me on the train ride downtown. I was thinking back to the nerves I had the morning of the race and the fantastic playlists I made to push me through.

So I decided to sign up for next year's Chicago Marathon. I think my plan will be to run it every other year with the alternating years tapping those kegs of Goose Island 312 wheat beer and handing cups of it out to the athletes with a smile on my face all day long. It will be a fine pattern for me every fall.

1. So the other day I'm taking care of Baby Erik Noisewater all day, and I get a text from his mom saying that he has the best daddy ever. I appreciated the compliment, but I had to tell her that moments before I received that text I was taking a pee with the door open. Erik wandered in and stuck his hand right into my pee-pee stream. Now, I don't know who the best dad ever really is, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't piss on his son.

2. I'm going to the Cubs games today and tomorrow with two of my good friends who live in L.A. One doing really well directed television shows, and the other is a singer and the guy from the Ivanka post. It's the singer's 40th birthday, so we are all getting together at Wrigley Field for Cubs games today and tomorrow. Our Cubbies are already in the playoffs, so the game is just a chance to catch up and drink too many eleven dollar watery domestics. Many of the guys I'm going to this game with were friends I have known since grade school, and we have been going to games since we were kids. A few of us were fascinated that there a seats that dwindle down to rows of three, two, and then ONE! In either corner of the park there is a row that is just one seat, so one game when we were in high school, in a mostly empty rain delayed game when the Cubs stunk, we waved to each other from the one-seat rows. This is a little before we discovered booze and women.

3. Sometimes people ask if Erik Noisewater is a momma's boy or a daddy's boy, and I put it like this. He loves his daddy. His daddy makes him laugh like crazy. But he needs his mommy. When he starts getting cranky and his mom isn't around he just says "momma" over-and-over, and then when he sees her, he will snuggle up to her in a way he and I just don't. But, I can make that little rascal laugh until he damn near hyperventilates, so we both have our roles. But rarely will he say "dada." He does sometimes, but he likes to point at me and say "ma!" He smirks at me too, and I'm positive he is trying to be funny - and succeeding. He also does all kinds of funny tricks to keep people laughing. The kid is funny and blond, both like daddy.