After School Special: Booze Lotto Parenting
World’s greatest mom.
Sure, you love kids, so you gleefully punched out one, two or even octo-quantities of them. (Hint: Almost as many as a nine-round ammo clip.) But then, like a baby chick a few days after Easter Sunday, they stick around and are always underfoot, demanding attention and care.
What then?
It’s not like you can make a chicken-and-egg scrambled omelet with them and viola! Problem deliciously solved! (Although an amazing number of parents do find a way to carry out filicide but that’s decidedly outside the scope of this post.)
Like the vast majority of my blog posts, it all started when I decided to set foot out of my house…
Looking for some dinner my wife and I drove into the parking lot of the divey Chinese restaurant. The lot was amazingly full. What gives? The food must be awesome here, eh?
But when we walked into the dining area, only two tables were occupied. Huh?
That’s when I slapped my head and yelled, “D’oh!” I almost forgot I live in Oregon. That’s where they have a state-run lottery and run a continuous stream of commercials urging the citizenry to go out and gamble because doing so accomplishes “good things.” (Like increasing revenue into state coffers.)
Sure, they simultaneously run anti-gambling ads but that’s only because they like a mixed-up, dazed and confused populace. Let’s blast ’em with a hot mix of pro-gambling and anti-gambling messages … at the same time, they seem to be saying whilst rubbing their hands together in glee. That’ll learn ’em a lesson!
Indeed. What’s not good for the individual is apparently good for the state.
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Meaning Of Life Discovery
Dad used to say, “No one ever said life is fair.” I’m pretty sure that’s a lie. Someone, no doubt delusional or hopped up on drugs, must have said it at least once. Duh.
Dad got a lot of shit wrong. Dead wrong. But he was right about this one. And how. Dad wasn’t always a liar. Sometimes he was a master of understatement.
In fact, dad didn’t go far enough. Not by a long shot. Allow me to take a stab at it.
Life is completely unfair. In every possible way. And humans deliberately do what they can to obliterate any residue if it ever accidentally exists. Period. Bar none.
Oh yeah. Dad also like to say “bar none.” A lot. And, for some reason, “burlap,” but that’s another story.
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Scary Tales: Mansion Lensman
A boy and his Lensman.
A now a true story from the guru archives just because I can…
It’s weird how so many of my father’s interests became interests of mine. A lot didn’t, much to his disappointment, I’m sure, but some stuck. Things like wristwatches (he was a Rolex man), scuba diving (I’m a certified open water diver) and photography. My dad loved his 35mm SLR Pentax cameras. And no, the 35mm is not some lens spec. It describes the type of film that went in the camera.
Back then if you wanted a certain ISO, you had to buy that kind of film. It wasn’t just a setting on some fancy digital piece of electronics.
Eventually I’d have a Pentax of my own, which I still have to this day, although it’s been over 10 years since it was last used.
There was this one time we took our family vacation to Southern California. Among other tourist things we did, we visited a little place called Disneyland and that’s where this scary tale begins…
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Requisite Dads and Grads post
This is awkward, but if you really want this job, this is the part where you give me your Facebook password. Then I’ll masturbate while I read your stuff. If that goes well then you’re hired.
Ah, June. Who gives a shit?
Seems like only last month it was all about mom. Now she’s just a memory. See ya in another 11 months. We gotta move these refridgerators. We gotta move these colour TVs.
We always gotta be about whatever is next.
And since this is June, that means “Dads and Grads.” Isn’t the almighty spinning wheel of capitalism so clever and inventive? “Dads and Grads.” I get it! And it even rhymes. Genius.
Whatever. Just as long as there is always another reason looming on the horizon to get out and spend money. Shits has got to be consumed, yo. Let’s celebrate with a $41 ice cream cake from the grocery store.
Please join me in welcoming this year’s crop of grads to a little place I like to call the Real World. Mwuhahahahaha!
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Me make oops
I slipped up
Uh oh. Apparently I went and did something good. Dammit. Even the best of us can still make mistakes.
I think I’ve mentioned in the past that I used to be involved in Relay For Life, a fund raising arm of the American Cancer Society. I got into it after my dad died of cancer and I bumped into a friend who was running our local event.
My dad smoked his entire life. So did my mom. Fun childhood for me, yeah! My dad would also “breakfast” by swigging directly out of a bottle of Black Velvet to start the day. Cancer wasn’t exactly the biggest shocker ever in his case.
After his diagnosis my dad approached the American Cancer Society. Apparently whatever happened didn’t go well. My dad specifically told me, “I don’t want anything going to ACS in my memory.”
Still, I did go on to do the Relay For Life thing and my dad was a big part of the reason why. I figured he’ll just have to live with it.
Meanwhile, at work, while being forced to answer phones against my will, I happened to take a customer phone call the other day. This woman was untrusting. “How do I know if I give you my money you’ll send me anything?” LOL! Love it! Bottom line is you don’t. There are no guarantees. But even though this is a shithole the employees still care too damn much and actually do a good job. You are buying a piece of crap but at least you’ll actually receive it. We don’t lie, cheat and steal quite that much.
So in the end I convinced her to make the leap of faith and trust us with her $30 USD. 🙂
During the discussion she mentioned she had cancer. I talked to her about Relay For Life, which she had never heard about. So after I was off the phone, I took a minute to drop her a link to the official RFL web site which includes a function to locate her local event. I told her how RFL is an event where teams commit to walking around a track for 24 hours. The opening lap is for those fighting cancer and those who have survived cancer. It is very moving and I had tears in my eyes at the last one I attended. In the evening there is the Luminaria ceremony where people decorate bags for loved ones with cancer or in memoriam. These bags a lit and placed around the track while the names of everyone being honored are read out loud. My wife made a luminaria bag for my dad with little airplanes (he loved to fly) and it was pretty emotional.
I actually haven’t done RFL for a couple years now due to our local event getting all political and nasty, but that’s another story.
Anyway, so I talked this lady into a sale and thought it would be nice to turn her on to RFL. In my experience some people with cancer won’t go, and I try not to pressure, but I at least wanted her to know.
Here is the email I received in response:
Dear Tom,
When I opened this email it brought tears to my eyes. Above and beyond is all I can say. I’m going to attend the first one that I am able too, and will think of you as I am walking. Not to sound like your mother, but I must say she must be exceptionally proud of you. I know that we have never met, yet I felt a very special warmth in your tone yesterday.
Thank you again for caring.
With much respect,
Amy
Yikes! I hate answering phones and talking to customers. How in the hell did something like this happen? “Warmth” in my “tone?” That’s impossible!!!
We’re supposed to forward all “testimonial” style emails to the boss but I’m not giving this one up. No way no how. I do not want my boss knowing something like this no matter what. This could really damage my career!
Dad is feeling strained
I don’t have so-called “pet peeves.” I have “flocks of peeves.” Or is that a pride? Legion? Coven?
Whatever!
As the resident “dad” in the household, my primary role is enforcer.
Who left this damn light on?
Close these cabinets!
Attention! The garage door is unlocked!
Who ate my damn peeps? (This one mostly happens near Easter.)
Why is this window open? Are we trying to heat the damn world?
Who left the TV on?
What is my underwear doing on the dining room table?
One of the worst, though, has got to be the strainer in the sink. I’ll find it everywhere except the one place where it can do the actual job it was designed to do. I’ll find it in the drain but upside down or at a 45 degree angle. I’ll find it on the kitchen counter. I’ll find it in the other side of the sink where the garbage disposal lives. Anywhere but the one place where it can actually stop shit from going into our drain.
Do you know how much a plumber visit will cost? Do you want to pay for the plumber? Well, do ya, punk?
You’ll often hearing me yelling things like this that echo through the void of nothingness.
So I wrote another little song:
Chorus:
The strainer don’t strain when it ain’t in the drain
The strainer don’t strain when it ain’t in the drain
The strainer don’t strain when it ain’t in the drain
The strainer don’t strain when it ain’t in the drain
Repeat chorus
Don’t make me get The Belt.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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