I've moved!

As much as I love Blogger, I've moved the whole shebang over to a hosted Wordpress server.  Come visit me at :

Colorado Dad to see the latest adventures of the Lone Wolf and his Cub.  Will Colorado dad ever get his iPhone?

What kinds of new trouble has little Cub gotten into lately?  Which new gadget or technology has Colorado Dad dug up from the interwebz?  

Come find out!

Iphone Countdown #2

21 days, 21 days...

I hate waiting.  I have always done it poorly, and while I realize that waiting is supposed to build character, I think I've got plenty already.  Bah.  

So, in the meantime, check this out--

Secret Identities--Asian American comic series!

It's been featured in ABC as well, and they say that we are "The fastest-growing and most dynamic emerging community".   I dunno about all that, but I DO seem to remember looking around in about 1999 or 2000 and thinking to myself..."Where the hell did all these Asian kids come from?"

Growing up here in the 80's there were like 3 Asian kids in all of District 20.  And we all knew each other.

Driving Pet Peeves #2

Hokay, got a new one here, and maybe I'm over-reacting a bit when I say that people who do this should be shot in the FACE.  Or at least made to watch Ishtar over and over again.  I submit to you:

The guy who won't pull UP:

Let's say, for instance, you are moving into the left turn lane, next to a median with a cut-out that will hold 3-4 cars.  The guy in front of you, in the turn lane,  has like 1-1.5 CARLENGTHS of space between him and the car in front of him.  That leaves you, with the ass-end of your car hanging out in the leftmost STRAIGHT lane, and when the turn arrow goes red, the folks on your right, who now have a green light, would love to get moving so they can make it home in a timely fashion.

BUT THEY CAN'T BECAUSE THE ASSHAT IN FRONT OF YOU DOESN'T SCOOT UP ENOUGH FOR YOU TO BE OUT OF THE STRAIGHT LANE!!!

Got news for ya, pal.  There's traffic BEHIND you as well as in front.  It's time you got over your myopic view of what's  going on and realize that driving consideration should extend not only to the folks in front of you, but to those behind too.  Just because you can't see me at the moment, doesn't mean that I don't exist.  It's called object-permanence, and my 10-month old has already picked it up.   Time to step outside that little microcosm you call awareness and join us on this planet.  

I know, I know...driving is haaard...like math.  Math is haaaaard...

Driving pet peeves #1

This is the first installment of a series I will be posting on driving pet peeves.  Haven driven all over the US in most of the 50 States, I firmly believe we have the WORST overall drivers right here in sleepy little Colorado Springs.  The. Absolute.  WORST.  Barring third-world and emerging countries, it is my opinion that the sheer idiocy and inconsiderate-ness (is that even a word?) level here is higher than just about any other city, in any other state.  

The real problem is that, for some reason, the idiots here don't show up statistically on a national level, so, of course, everyone here thinks they are an above-average driver.  Now, I realize that this is probably true for everyone in the world, but, let's face it, it's only true for 10% of the people who think it.

So, without further ado, I present pet peeve series #1:

People who drive their SUV's like sports cars.

Got news for ya, pal.  That thing is so massive it's got its own gravitational field.  See those things floating around your door handles?  Yeah, those are Hondas, and if you look reeeeeley close, you'll see tiny little skeletons with little skulls frozen in a rictus  of horror after being caught in orbit around your planetary bulk.

As a result, it does NOT accelerate, turn or stop like your old Camaro that you drove in high school.  So when you are screeching around a corner at mach 1 sucking down dead dinosaurs like a small country, please realize that it's just not designed for it, and you are endagering the lives of everyone around you, and flinging Hondas all over the place as they break away from your little solar system.  Oh, and that parking spot at the Wal-Mart marked compact?  YOU DON'T FIT ,YOU ASS. So stop trying.

Peace, Love and all that--

So Cute your head will 'splode

If Dad won't give me sashimi, I'll catch my own!

I'm happy because this hat is hiding my World-Champion cowlick!

This is my Bunny.   There are many like it, but this one is mine...

It's not an Iphone, but it'll do...

Comments fixed!

It was brought to my attention that comments were not working!  Ack.  Should be fixed now, and I might actually change templates in order to get a cleaner layout, and enable comments forms to be embedded after each post.  

Been a long time since I futzed around with page code and such, so gimme a break!

Iphone Countdown

OK, so I've held out for about as long as I can.  Which, considering how much of a gadget-nut I am is incredible in and of itself.  Those of you who know me also know that if there's a gadget I'm interested in,  I research the hell out of it, then do a ton of soul searching about how it will or won't enrich my life.  Then I go back and forth for about a year between a few options, change my mind 5 times a day, and generally bore everyone to tears talking about it.  At this point, I usually decide that I can wait, and there are more important things I can be spending time on.  

And when everyone is breathing thier collective sigh of relief that I'll stop talking about it, I buy the damn thing anyway and bug everyone some more by talking about how cool it is.

You know you love it.  

Anyhow, according to my former employer and wireless carrier, I'm eligeble for an upgrade on May 8th.  Now, I've been a good boy, and have many "insider" connections there, so I figured "Ah no problem, I should be able to slip past the upgrade date and get this thing DONE."

Nope.  

One of my best friends still works there, and I asked him to look at my account.  

"Yea bro, May 8th is your upgrade date."

Scoff!  "May 8th is the date MERE MORTALS would have to stick by.  You can get me into the iphone early though, right?"

"Yeah....no.  Apple nazis will come raid the store if we go there."

"What?  It's like a month!  The evil wireless carrier (who shall henceforth be referred to as "The Death Star") will get all that fat juicy revenue from the data plan for an extra month!"

"They don't give a hoot, bro.  Seriously, I've seen the Apple nazis at work.  It ain't pretty.  May 8th. You'll be fine."

"Gah--doesn't my account have a little box with special instructions in it?"

"I'm not see--oh yeah here it is." Woot! "It says give this dude anything he wants whenever for whatever price.  'Cept the fuggin IPHONE.  End quote."

"Argh.  Guess I'm waiting.  Unless I can bribe you with all the Kal-Bi and soju you can consume?"

"I'll take you up on that, but I gotta go with what the box says man.  Sorry."

So begins my torturous wait for the wonder-device that is the Iphone.  I feel like a kid waiting for Christmas...

No blog is complete without a poop story

...And I'm sure this won't be the last. This is a tale of what parents call (or at least this parent) a "Poo-splosion". Right now my spell-checker is going blinky trying to tell me there is no such word, when in all actuality, it just means that the dictionary was written by someone with no kids.

This certainly isn't the first time, but it's definitely one I'll remember for the rest of my life, I kid you not.  And, when the Bug brings home his first date for me to meet, the first thing I'm going to do is make her read this post.  Sort of a pre-emptive birth control, if you will.

   So, it's a peaceful Saturday, and it's me, Baillee and Holden hanging out, watching Wall-e.  I'm bouncing the kiddo on my knee when I detected a distinct poo smell.  I had just changed him, and it did NOT smell like baby poo, and I was pretty sure I hadn't pooped my own pants, so I looked at the dog.  

"You crap on the floor, Bailee?"  She gives me this sidelong look like "Dad, when was the last time I pooped on the floor, seriously"

"Yeah, guess you're right..."

So, I look down again at the boy's back, and like something out of a B horror flick, I see this brownish-green stain spreading across his shoulder blades. 

"OHGODOHGODOHGOD SHITE!  

Holden looks back at me, like : "Whoa, dad, wassa matter?"

So I pick him up, holding him as far from me as possible, as the Exxon-Valdez eco-hazard continues to migrate up his back and into his hairline.

I gotta tell ya, I froze.  I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, internally Googling "What to do if your child is being eaten by a Poo-Monster".  No results.

I run upstairs, eyes wild with panic as I see greenish poop starting to ooze out TOP of his shirt.  We reach the changing table, and sit him down while he's giving me this look like: "Jesus, dad, you look like you ate the brown acid..."

Now at this point, I'm paralyzed.  I cannot, through any forms of baby-Jenga figure out a way to get him out of his clothes, and into the bathtub without getting poo on every surface of the room.  So we just kinda stare at each other for a bit, while I turn him this way and that to get a good angle on how to get him out of his shirt. I somehow manage in one pull, to get him out of a long sleeved shirt, which goes straight to the trash.  Fuggit, it's a lost cause anyhow, and I don't want any reminders of this.  There's a continuous hump of poop from his little crack all the way up into his hair.  I pick him up slightly, and pull off his lil pants, noting that I need to get his diaper off before putting him into the tub.  

I run to the bathroom to start the water warming up, and I hear a fart behind me that is so loud, I expect to turn around and see a room full of truckers.  Running back to the boy,  I see that he must not have been finished, and more poop is oozing out the top of the diaper.  At this point, I lose track of all logic, and the simple instinct to contain the poop before it devours my child takes over.

"DAMNDAMNDAMNDAMN"

I grab the kid under his armpits, and, holding him out in front of me, he looks me in the eye, grunts, and sends another trucker-fart out the top of his diaper, grinning.  A glob of poo chooses this moment to dislodge itself and fall, cooling, onto my bare foot.  

"NOOOOOO!!!"

So I depostit the kid in the tub, and reach for the wipes in order to get the offending substance offa my foot when Holden starts making little uncomfortable grunty noises.  I look over, and to my horror, I realize I forgot to take his diaper off!  It's soaking up the bathwater at an alarming rate, and has expanded to about four times its original size, squeezing my son in its grip like a small white python.  

"AH GODIT'S GONNA BLOW!!!"  I bellow.

I reach over, get the tabs undone, and the diaper unfolds, releasing its prey as well as it's eco-hazard cargo.

OK.  I'm rinsing him off the best I can, and after a good upper body and hair washing, it's time to get the lower half.  Now, usually when I wash his southern hemisphere, I can get him to balance a bit, standing with my left hand holding him up under his armpit and the other wielding the washcloth.  This time, due to the extreme levels of soap I had going, he cannot get any traction, so his feet keep sliding apart, slowly doing the splits, and all I can see is the top of his head as he looks down to figure out what's going on.  I get my right hand back up under him, lift him back up, wait for him to get some traction, and bam, as soon as I take my hand back to wash his lil crack, he begins his slow descent into the splits.  He looks at me with the most puzzled and alarmed look on his face like:

"Daddy, whats happenin with my FEETZ?"

Lord help me, I start laughing hysterically.  Here I am, kneeling by the tub, half covered in poop, holding my little nekkid baby up, while he stares at his feet trying to figure out what they are doing, and I'm laughing my fool head off.  Tears are streaming down my face as the Bug looks at me with a grin.  The dog comes to the base of the stairs to check out what all the hillarity is about, and I finally just hugged him to me and finished cleaning him while he chewed on my shoulder.

And that, my friends, is how you know you're a dad.  When the situation is hopeless, you're outta options and covered in poop and you can still laugh.

Do you actually LIKE your neighbors?

  I can't stand mine.  Well, more accurately, I don't know them, and I don't really care to know them.  It's not that they are bad people, but every interaction I have had with them just left me with a kind of a "meh" feeling, and not enough motivation to pursue it any further.  

  Sometimes, we'll be warming up our cars at the same time, or checking the mail, and it's absolutely CRUCIFYING for me.  I smile, do the "neighbor wave", say "How ya doin" and go about my business, rushing to get back inside.  Now, I know that we are really only speaking to each other because we're supposed to--because it's "neighborly".  

  I'm of two minds when it comes to this type of arrangement.  Back in the old days, it seems that community was as big a part of life as family.  Everyone kinda knew everyone else and people were very much a part of each other's lives.   When my folks told me stories of what it was like in Hawaii during the 50's, I get a little nostalgic about it, and start to feel like I'm missing out on a quality of life that seems to be diminishing in today's world.

  The other part of me is very happy with not knowing or being social with my neighbors.  I've always been pretty fiercely independent, and I value my privacy very highly.  Over the last few years, my social network has shrunk down a bit, mostly to my closest and oldest of friends.  Right now, I really don't feel  like adding to that network.  I'm happy with the people in my life, and unless Kate Beckinsdale decides she'd like to hang out with a slobbered-on Asian-trail-mix-single-dad-type who is short of sleep and desperately in need of a haircut, I'll take what I've got, thanks.

  So should I feel guilty for not giving a damn about my neighbors?  Maybe.  Maybe I'm falling into the trap that the media has set for us.  Maybe I'm focussing more on how we are all different rather than how we are alike.  Maybe we as a whole are all guilty of this to some extent.  We interact with the world through the TV and of course the internet.   Face to face communication is starting to feel less natural to us, as we retreat to our little ivory towers and send out digital signals into the ether looking to replace something we feel is missing in our lives.  We text when we have time to call.  More business is being done by email than by phone. And we read and blog when our folks would have been talking to our neighbors.

  Then again, we are the first generations to be faced with something as paradigm shifting as the internetz.  A whole new type of global community that mankind has never had access to, and we're still figuring out how to balance the digital community with the physical one.  So, in light of that, welcome neighbor...and if you need anything, let me know.