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.

The Two Crazy Guys We Met During Date Night

Mrs. Noisewater and I have a new plan where we go on a date night and then immediately lock in the next one. That way we don't ever let too much time go by between dates. It is kind of like when you get a haircut and then book the following appointment when you pay. We also have a rule where we don't meet up for drinks with anyone else. It's a night just for us. That is, unless we meet some weirdos organically, which often happens when it's a Noisewater date night . . .

Dinner was lovely. The place had a mescal lounge. It was my first experience drinking mezcal, and I enjoyed the smokey tequila flavor. It got a nice fire going in my belly.

After dinner we tried to go to a pop-up bar that was modeled after the TV show "Stranger Things." The line was pretty long, so we decided that paying a babysitter while waiting for anything was not a good use of our money and time. I suggested a rock n' roll bar that I've been meaning to try, and my wife is the coolest so she agreed. There was live music and a cover, and I didn't like what I was seeing and hearing. The singer was a white guy with cornrows, and while they were trying awfully hard, it just sounded pretty shitty. I asked the guy at the door what the band was all about, and he was not even trying to sell them. He said, "I don't know, man. They're trying to be punk, but it's not really punk." As he said this he was lifting his shirt and scratching his big bare belly. We took belly-man at his word and decided not to go in. The problem was there were no bars in the immediate area.

We decided to call an Uber from a nearby Mexican restaurant that smelled like a sewer. Probably not a good idea to eat there, but we did knock back two frothy and refreshing margaritas. With time running out on the babysitter, we decided to ride back to a spot where we could walk home. There we met a hilarious drunk dude. I can't exactly remember how it is that we got talking, but it might have been about the preseason Bears game since that was on. This dude was hammered and sitting at the bar slurring stories to me while his wife was more upbeat and bouncing around the bar from person-to-person telling other stories, and in one case the same story she had just told Mrs. Noisewater.

Drunk dude told me that his wife was crazy and that she held a knife up to his throat the other night. He said he is 59 and his wife is much younger. He called her a grave robber. We got talking about our kids, and he incredulously informed me that his 12-year-old daughter was receiving dick-pics from her classmates. "Do they even have pubes at that age," he asked me, outraged. I told him that I didn't get a thicket down there until a year or two after that, but it's possible. He then told me that the same daughter and her friends drank/ate all of the jello shots at a recent block party. I guess these kids were pretty hammered, and all the parents were pissed, as I'm sure you can imagine. Most of what this dude said had me laughing, but this was the hardest I laughed.

Drunk dude then asked what myself and Mrs. Noisewater were drinking. I started to tell him, but then Mrs. Noisewater suggested we get going. That was a fantastic idea because I would have listened to goofy stories from that guy all night, especially if he was buying, and I felt hungover enough the next day as it was.

So, get out for a date nights with your special someone. And also, talk to some weirdos at bars. Weirdos at bars have the best stories.

Dr. Kenneth Noisewater's Baby Book Review

I thought I would help other parents out there by letting you all know which books have been helpful when putting Baby Erik to sleep and which ones totally suck. Some of the pictures came in sideways, but whatever. My web master is on vacation.

Knitting and listening to ZZ Top

"Goodnight Moon" was written in the 1940's, and it has been used steadily by parents to put kids to sleep all these years for a reason. All babies seem to love it, I am finding in my limited exposure to my baby and a few others. You basically say goodnight to everything in the "great green room," and at one point there is a little old lady whispering "hush." When I say hush and put my finger up in the hush-motion, Erik always looks up to me for that part. It's all about routines for babies when you're putting them down to sleep, but sometimes I mix it up and go with the ZZ Top version and say she's the little old lady just looking for some tush. It's also all about keeping yourself sane.

"Go on! Take everything! Take everything from me!"

This kid in "The Giving Tree" is a real turd, right? Take, take, take. That's all he ever does. The rat bastard robs the tree of everything over the years to the point where the tree is just a stump and the boy sits his now old ass down on the tree when the tree has nothing else left to offer. You could just as easily have called it "The Taking Boy."

You can't tell me that monkey isn't up to something sinister.

Swiper will pay for his crimes against the lemonade stand.

I have two books with Dora the Explorer. They're cute, and I like to expose the young man to a little bit of Spanish. I will say there are a few too many words, which will lead to the baby trying to turn the page or reach for another book. This is when you have to make up a more abbreviated narrative for each page, or if you're a psycho like me, make a sick joke. For example, you'll see the picture of Dora and Boots the monkey having a sleepover, but look at the evil and maybe a little drunk look on that monkey. He's up to something just as the mom is turning out the lights. Sometimes for kicks I'll say, "Mom, don't turn out the lights for a human and monkey sleepover! That's how AIDS got started!" Yeah, I'm nuts. Sorry. Then you will see Dora and her monkey friend picking lemons to make lemonade while the evil little weasel with the lone ranger mask, Swiper, is stealing the lemons. This is when every once in a while I will say, "So for stealing the lemons, boots held him down while Dora beat Swiper about the head shoulders with a bicycle pump. 

The tear jerker.

Let's move onto a serious note. This is the book that you will read to your kid, and you will cry. Every single time. The worst of these times for me was when Mrs. Noisewater was getting her appendix out right around Christmas time only a few months after Baby Erik was born. My family was nice enough to hold off on the Christmas activities until she was out of the hospital and feeling better. So, one night Erik and I had just left the hospital to go home, go to bed, and come in the next morning. When I read this line to him I cried like no other:

"And if someday you're lonely,
or someday you're sad
or you strike out at baseball
or think you've been bad . . .

just lift up your face, feel the wind in your hair.
That's me, my sweet baby, my love is right there."

I since have bought this book for two other new parent friends of mine, and they loved it too. I highly recommend this one.

Star Wars: A Daddy's Perspective

A good friend of mine got Erik this Star Wars book with original artist renderings of what they envisioned the movie would look like. I spoke earlier about having to make up quick things to say when there are too many words, and here is another great example. There's almost more space for words than pictures. So, for example, in the picture above I will say, "And then the ungrateful Luke Skywalker so hastily attacks his father who had just so generously offered to rule the galaxy side-by-side with his only son." I like to give the story that daddy perspective.

Alexander came to wish you an unhappy birthday. In Australia. 

Here is a classic that I also read as a little kid. I think it's cute that Alexander is obsessed with Australia. But I will say, he seems like somewhat of the brooding emo pessimist type. I would wager he listened to The Smiths in his teenage years. He's a good kid. 

"Try it and you will see!"

Here is the takeaway from "Green Eggs and Ham": Sam-I-Am is the best salesman ever. He approaches a customer with a product that the customer completely hates and tries every angle to find a way to make it work for the customer, be it eating those eggs on a plane, on a boat, or (my favorite), with a goat. Cracks me up every time. What would a goat bring to the table aside from spitting, howling, and smelling bad? Yet he tries that angle anyway to exhaust all the possibilities. Without a doubt the salesman of the year over there and Green Eggs and Ham, INC.

Dinosaurs actually became extinct at the hands of giant babies.

Kids go bananas over pop-up books, but that is also the problem. In their excitement they will beat the shit out of pop-up books. Just look at that once mighty dinosaur. No match for Erik's fat finger beat-down. 

Where the jerks are

Here is another classic, "Where the Wild Things Are." And here is another pretty awful little kid, chasing the dog around the house with a God damned fork, and hammering nails in the wall. So, his mother sends him off to bed with no supper, which is when he envisions going off to an imaginary land with monsters. There he becomes their king and sends them off to bed without their supper. Jeez. Rather spiteful, right? 

My kind of town

We have many friends who got us Chicago related books, and those are a lot of fun for a baby growing up in the Windy City. The Cubs one is especially fun, and that "C Is For Chicago" one has amazing drawings. I only read the Cubs one after a win. S is for "sore loser." 

I'm sure many of you remember "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." I had not seen it in a number of years and got to the end to find the last page was the one on the right. So, that's it? The caterpillar ate too damn much and got fat? That's the lesson for the youngsters out there? Don't eat like a pig or you'll be a fat-assed caterpillar of a kid? No, that's not how it ends. The final page where he becomes a butterfly was ripped out by my nephew. It's a darker and more cautionary tale without that last part. 

And here you see Erik at his office carefully helping his dad write this blog during his lunch break. It was no-pants Friday at his work. They have fun days like that over there. Hope you enjoyed the book reviews and it can be helpful to some of you with kiddos of your own.

Any other children's books recommendations that you care to leave in the comments?

Ivanna

I had a bachelor party at a beach house in Hermosa Beach, California for a good friend of mine named King of the Beach (not his real name), and we met someone named Ivanna (also not her name).

We spent a lot of the week playing volleyball on the gorgeous beaches, bumming around the beach house, going to bars, and going to other bars with naked people, as is customary for the occasion. One night we are at a rooftop bar, and when we looked over towards the bar, one of the more mild-mannered gentlemen in our group was talking to a fetching leggy woman at the bar. He introduced Ivanna to us, and the first thing we noticed is that she is 5'11" and taller than me in heals. And she was absolutely loaded on the Bolivian marching powder.

Ivanna is a former model and singer (of sorts) born in Russia or some place similar and raised in Australia. And she absolutely loved us. All 10 of us men. Sure, it could be the endorphins in her brain triggered by the piles of cocaine she was doing in the bathroom, but we took it as just being great dudes and her good "mates." She said mates a lot. Here's the thing: She managed to be kind of charming even though she was talking loudly and a mile a minute.

The poor gal had just wrapped up a bad first date with a guy who only wanted to talk about how much money he made all through out their dinner. She wanted to go up to the bar for a drink, and he didn't want to go. At least I think that was her story. They got into some sort of argument, but most of us were guessing that she was way, way too high and the dude split as a result.

Ivanna told us that she used to date a guitar player who played in a high profile 1980's musician's band. She met a lot of famous musicians and other celebrities during that time. Sadly, guitar player boyfriend died. She brought her deceased ex a number of times, and I was getting the feeling that she was nowhere near over this event - and it seemed to be a trigger for her to want to drink and do more drugs. Oh, also she told us she was 42-years-old but looked and acted 22. I actually felt bad for her at times, but mostly I was laughing and having a good time at the outrageous things she would say - and I don't want to say I was laughing at her all the time, because that wouldn't be true. She was funny intentionally too.

But her singing was absolutely horrible. I think she said she used to be a back up singer, but I'm guessing they just had her look good in tight outfits, swaying back and forth with a tambourine and her microphone off. It wasn't all that loud at the bar, but she felt a need to lean in and sing loudly into everyone's ear. She had an affinity for the 1980's, so we instantly became good buddies. I remember her trying to sing lots of Foreigner and Hall and Oates jams, and when she found out my one friend was a singer, she tried to impress him even more. And the harder she tried, the worse she got.

She told me that she thought I was attractive and then motioned towards our respective genitals and pointed back in forth and said that down there it was going "woo! woo!" Like our genitals were carrying on some sort of intense conversation down there. I laughed and said that I was flattered but that I have a wife and a kid at home. Ivanna was very flirty. She told one guy in the group that he had "bedroom eyes," and he was eating that up. We called him Ol' Bedroom Eyes all weekend, of course. So, truthfully I was not all that flattered because she loved all of us. She kept saying how we were such great guys with good energy, but I think she just needed a friend badly - someone with whom she can overshare and sing songs to.

Ivanna told me that this wasn't her worst first date. She went on another one where the guy told her at the dinner table that he would like it if she stuck things into his rectum later that evening. She was offended and didn't see him again, but she admitted that until that point he had been pretty charming She may have indulged him had he been a little more patient. She said she does piles and piles of cocaine (duh) and she can get into just about anything in the bedroom with the right amount of chemical assistance. Let that be a lesson, gentlemen. Don't overplay your hand. You may get all the wonderful things into your butt that you want if you just exercise a little forbearance with your freaky-deaky requests.

We also had a random business man from France come into our crew and another blond woman from I-don't-know-where. Ivanna was the perfect scientifically proven element for repelling the stuffy tight-asses away with her loud shitty singing and drawing in the right types of people who like to have fun. We had to get to the next stop on our itinerary, and it seemed as if Ivanna was going to continue on with French man and blondy. However, after yet another trip to powder her nose, the two of them had opted to part ways with their third six foot third wheel* and sneak out while she was gone. Dejected but likely determined to find more friends willing to stay up until 7AM, Ivanna went out into the night. Alone.

Ivanna brought us a boost of energy and left a lasting impression upon us, as we were still discussing some of her awesome antics when we had a break the next morning in between volleyball serves. God love you, Ivanna. May you find the man who will help to get you at peace after losing your fallen love, and wherever you go, let it snow down coke in a good times establishment full of bedroom-eyed folks ready and willing to sing loudly and poorly right along with you. My first beer at today's Cubs game is for you, Ivanna.

-------------------------------------------------
*Six Foot Third Wheel is the best band name I have thought of in a long, long time.

He's a Good Dude

First off, sorry about not posting for over a month. That's messed up. Having this kiddo is not an excuse to drop blogging all together. I'm going to make a better effort. I have him in daycare every Wednesday this summer, so I'll try to make that my automatic posting day.

Today at the gym two goofy things happened. The first one was when I looked up at a guy who was hollering at me from his treadmill. I was blaring an album by stoner rock legends Sleep at that moment so I couldn't hear what he was saying. When I took out my ear buds I ascertained that he was hollering at someone on his headphones phone device. But why look right at me when you're berating someone else? I was scared for a second there because I don't know how to fight and the dude was big.

The other odd duck was a middle aged man who stopped a young Asian woman to ask if she was using a machine. That is normal gym behavior. Then he said, "Can I work in with you?" That is also an okay request, I think. But then he asked, "Do you have a sister?" I'm not sure about that last one.

The other thing is that I have a pretty awesome kid. We are all a little biased, right? But from where I'm standing, he's a good dude. Erik is 10 months now, and he likes to do little tricks all the time. He waves, points, sniffs, does mouth popping noises, flaps his arms, and shakes his head. Those are the ones I can think of right now. I'll ask him to do "sniffies," for example, and without seeing me for a cue, he starts sniffing away. And the sniff face is mean-looking so it looks like he is mean-mugging people and everyone has a good laugh. He will do one or more of these things and then look at you to see your reaction, and when you do it back to him, he thinks it's hilarious. This kid is going to be funny. His mom and dad are funny too, so I think there are going to be a lot of good times ahead.

Erik also smiles at everyone, which makes everyone he meets feel special. "He smiled at me!" I don't tell them that he does that for everybody because why spoil their moment? He also likes to share, he likes to laugh, and he can dunk a basketball. Sort of. And in that video he hadn't quite learned how to crawl, so he was doing the worm. So break dancing is something I can add to his list of tricks. Talking? Not really. Just "Mama" and "Dada" thus far and not always in context. But I got this little man doing tricks like a dog. His mom gets mad at me because he will growl/grunt and I'll do it back to him, and we will be on the floor together grunting like a couple of cavemen. Mom thinks that I should be saying more words to him instead, and while she is probably right, the growling is a blast. It's a good life.

How about you, readers? What makes you proud of your kids? And if you don't have kids, who are you proud of? Or if you aren't proud of anyone at all, have you seen any weirdos at the gym or elsewhere lately?

The Captain Costco Kid

While I'm pushing Baby Erik in a shopping cart into my local Costco today I see a family of four coming in as well. They consisted of a father, a mother, a son dressed in every day little kid clothes . . . and then another boy in a full God damned Captain America costume. I'm not saying that he had a t-shirt with the emblem on it because that would be completely acceptable.

(That one hand in the pocket with the thumb out always lets the ladies know you're a man about town and a little dangerous. In fact, the thumb of this Captain America points right to his very own "captain" if you look closely.)

No, I'm talking head-to-toe tights with built in fake muscles and a mask. A mask! Your kid isn't Zoro, The Lone Ranger, or any other masked avenger. He is a scrawny little son of urban yuppies, and you're allowing him to make a decision to break all social norms for no better reason than he thinks he's special. Well, he's not. Let's put it this way: Do you want him doing his grocery shopping in an outfit like that when he is 30? No, because then he would likely be insane or some sort of village idiot.

This wasn't exactly the costume, but it was the closest I could find. The kid had no shield, but if he did I would have thrown some cheese at him to test his blocking skills.

Here are the scenarios I came up with that could explain why a family would allow their son to run around thinking he is a pint-sized crime fighter on an otherwise typical Saturday morning in Chicago.

1. It's his birthday.
At first I thought maybe it's cool to let the young man wear the get-up of his favorite comic book hero once a year, but then it occurred to me that there already is a day that the little rascal can do that; It's called Hallo-Fricking-Ween. One day is enough, kid. Don't push it. Halloween is the day where tons of kids, and even adults, are out in costume. So on that day you look perfectly normal dressed like that. But on days that don't fall on October 31st you look like a little dork. I'm sorry, but it's true.

2. Maybe the kid has severe behavior problems and wouldn't leave the house unless he got to dress as Captain America.
Well, if this is what is going on, mommy and daddy might as well piss on the fire and call in the dogs because this young man is running that household. Why can't they just say no to his outfit choice for the day? Are they scared he will throw his plastic shield at them? He's 7 for Christ's sakes. Just because he dresses like one does not mean he is that captain of that family.

3. He wants to have big muscles.
You're just going to have to put in the time at the gym like the rest of us, little fella. We all can't just slip on a muscle suit. What kind of message does it send to him if he thinks he can skip all those sit-ups for those wash board abs and just key up and rush deliver a muscle suit on Amazon? I read once where Sylvester Stallone commented on when action movies took a turn for the worse: "It was the first Batman movie. The action movies changed radically when it became possible to Velcro your muscles on. I wish I had thought of Velcro muscles myself. I didn't have to go to the gym for all those years." So, you want to know why you suck, kid? Just ask Sly.

So what to you think, friends? Would you allow this sort of clothing choice for your kid? Also, what are you up to this weekend, oh captain my captains? . . .

So here is a picture from today of Erik (on the right) and his homeboy Diego (on the left).  Earlier, Erik saw the Captain America Kid. Hardly a good excuse to post a baby photo, but they're cute, huh?