My sister is a Goonie.

My sister is my all time favorite sister.  The Goonies is our all time favorite movie. 

My nose is crooked.

She just had a birthday. 

Lets take this time to illustrate how her life perfectly mirrors the plot of The Goonies.

Setting:

The Goonies: takes place in Astoria, Oregon, 1985.

My sister: Has been to Oregon.  Also, she was 2 in 1985.

My sister is the second of two, just like Mikey.  (I'm Brand, I guess.)  She has terrible asthma, just like Mikey.  She once owned a denim jacket (I'm guessing).  Her father is a museum curly...I mean curator, just like Mikey's.  (Well, he's in law enforcement, but that's pretty close.)

Once, when we were young, a rich snooty country club was buying our land from the bank and we were being forced to move.  Just like in The Goonies!!!  (Not actually true.  BUT!  Once, Becky cut her hair off and threw it behind the hope chest at the end of the hallway.)

Mikey and his friends find a map in the attic ("Chunk!"  "I didn't do it!"  "I know you didn't do it, get over here!")  Once, my sister and I found a TURTLE in the garden of our childhood home.  Eerie, isn't?

Becky is, by all accounts, a beautiful woman.  But that wasn't always the case. Exhibit 1:  Her 2nd grade school picture.  So, I guess she understands Sloth's worldview.

Where was I?  Oh, right.

So, after they find the map, they also find the doubloon.  This leads them to haystack rock, the lighthouse, and the restaurant.  At the restaurant, they meat the Fratelli's, some stuff happens, and they find the shaft under the fireplace.  ("It's the start of a tunnel!")

My sister, after meeting Sandy Kemptner, turned into a total weirdo.  Once they stood at the end of our driveway dressed like idiots and sang patriotic songs to all who dared drive by.

Let's see...Oh.  Becky has a tattoo, just like the Fratelli brothers. 

Also, Becky likes ice cream, just like the dead guy and Chunk. 

Umm...OH!

Remember the scene where Mikey accidentally kisses Andy in the dark, then later Andy tells Brand something is different, then they figure it out, then at the end she tells Mikey he is a great little "kid, errr, person"?  I love that part.  Not sure how that ties it with my sister, though.  Let's be honest.

Becky grew up.  She did smart things, and dumb things.  The scales of justice tilted back and forth on the matter.  I want to say she has a good "heart", or something sappy like that, but she would just gently remind me that theologically, that is a totally inaccurate thing to say about anyone. 

Becky met Chris, and they fell in love.  Just like Chunk and Sloth. 

True story:  At their wedding, they insisted on having all of the music played on an organ made out of human bones.  It was so romantic.

They moved to Jackson Hole, WY, to help start a church. 

I guess, this would be the part where the kids are sliding down the water slides.  I totally skipped:  pinchers of peril, slick shoes, the moss garden wishing well, Troy on the toilet, "men's room, Mikey, men's room", the bats, the blender, and a zillion other tiny details.  You can call me lazy, or we can just agree that this blog isn't going as smoothly as I originally planned.

Mini-side blog:

Rebecca is a very sensitive person.  She feels for others, and likes to help.  She is also the crankiest person in the history of the world right as she is falling asleep, or right as she is waking up.  Chris has to keep his gun locked up for this very reason.

Becky gets funny things, too.  If we are hanging out, we can just start laughing and giving each other knowing looks without saying anything.  How did we BOTH KNOW that we were thinking of the Saved by the Bell quote "I'm covered in oil!" as a punch line to some external observation?  I don't know.  But these things happen to us.

Um...The other thing about her is this:  If her brother tried to write a blog comparing her life to the plotline of The Goonies, and it turned out horribly, with no sense of direction or coherency, she would way rather it end abruptly than to go on awkwardly. 

I can hear her saying:

"It’s okay, you’re a Goonie, and Goonies always make mistakes.  Just. Don't. Make. Anymore."

And that, dear readers, is what makes her the best Goonie of them all. 

...

Is my Mom crazy, or nice? An argument in two parts.

Mom

Is my mom crazy, or nice?  An argument in two parts.

Or:  The lost art of saying “Yes”

My mom celebrates a birthday tomorrow.

My mom is equal parts nice and crazy.

Evidence for my mom being crazy:

1. She is the youngest of 6 children.

2.  She once tricked her best friend into wearing a Santa Clause costume to school.

3. She had a Scottish terrier she named "Please"

4. One time, a crazy man ripped her dress off outside of a coffee shop.

5. Wild animals stalk her.  (This is true.  No one has ever seen a mountain lion where we live...but apparently when my mom goes walking, they stalk her.)

6. Family vacations had a 100% chance of my mom feeding an animal she was not supposed to feed.  Buffalo?  Check.  Bears?  Check.  Terrified children in the back seat of the mini-van?  Check.

7. One time, for NO REASON AT ALL (well, there may have been a reason...) she made me get out of the car and walk 1/2 a mile while on a road trip to Idaho.

8. One time, for NO REASON AT ALL (well...) she left my sister and I at a fruit stand in Fillmore.  (To be fair, she did come back to get us.)

9. She categorically cheers for whatever sports team rivals the family’s favorites.  Dad likes Dallas?  Mom likes Green Bay.  I like Lakers?  Mom likes Celtics.  It's cruel.  It's unusual.

10. She once got pulled over for speeding, then told the officer she was late bringing lunch back to co-workers, so she MADE HIM FOLLOW HER TO THE SCHOOL before she let him give her a ticket.  Terrified, the officer not only agreed, he drove off without writing her a ticket. 

11. She once forced me to watch both Anne of Green Gables AND Ann of Avonlea in one sitting.  I was 12.

12. She coached my junior-high basketball team.  She was ejected from a game.

13. She can no longer go on long walks without a chart of the nearest public restrooms.

14. She once forced me to wear a dress, put flowers in my hair, and took pictures of me.  I was 2.  This is the stuff that turns people into serial killers.  

15.  Once she ran over a squirrel with her bicycle.  That squirrel got caught in the spokes of the bike, and peed all over my mom. 

Evidence for my mom being nice:

1.  One time, after a late night of tee-pee raids, I told 8 friends they could come over and stay the night at my house.  My mom woke up to 8 strangers sleeping on her living room floor.  What did she do?  She made pancakes for everyone.

2. She throws a party (The Pumpkin Party) every other year for about 150 of her closest friends, family, and their children.  She dresses up as Pumpkin Head and lets the kids take pictures with her.  Seriously.  She turns her house into a theme park.

3. She let us build a house next door to her and Dad, knowing full well this would give her permanent baby-sitter status.

4. She will make dinner for a family member even if it is food she hates.

5. She doesn't have the ability to say "no".  (Unless the question is "Do you mind...?")

6. She tolerates my dad.

7. She tolerates me.

8. She tolerates our insane children.

9. My mom is the first person to sign up for bake sale, fundraiser, volunteer, PTA, coaching, costume maker, youth group leader, Awana junior high bus driver, camp counselor, booger wiper, diaper changer, lunch maker, bath giver, house cleaner, and any other horrible thing you can think of.

10. She brings food to an elderly couple that can no longer take care of themselves.

11. She used to make dinners every night for the one legged old man that lived next door.  (But, she made me bring it over.  CREEPY)

12. She goes shopping at Costco, and then gives us part of her loot.  "Do you want some macaroni and cheese?   We'll never eat all of this!"  (Mom, then stop shopping at Costco.  I think you're missing the point)

13. She will give our kids a bath, and then clean the kid’s bathroom at the same time.

14. She has sheds and closets full of "extra" stuff.  You need a dresser?  Here, let me strip, sand, and paint this extra one for you.  Tablecloths?  I only have 15. 

Summary: 

My mom is a "shoot first and ask questions later" kind of gal.  Consequences are something that happen after she has decided, acted, and looked around to see if anyone noticed. 

BUT!

My mom meets people’s physical needs in a way that is uncommon.

 "Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?"

 I think most people think that good advice or a kind word is enough to make a positive impact on others.  But how many of them actually DO ANYTHING to help those around us? 

My mom does.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

My Dad is far from perfect.

My Dad is far from perfect.

Here is what I know about him:

He was born in 1960.  His birth mother raised him until he was 2 years old.  His earliest memory is sitting on the front porch of his grandma's house with his brother, a 2-liter bottle of 7up, (remember how cool the OLD 7 up logo was?) and a note.    They were no longer going to be the responsibility of his birth mother.

His grandma, who lived with her sister and uncle, raised him.  This explains why my dad, who is a relatively young 51, has the values and sensibilities of a 70 year old.

And, really, the hearing as well.

I digress.

He lived with his Grandma Meryl (whom he called Mom), his brother Steve, (whom he called Steve), his uncle Dave, his aunt Bess, his uncle Ron, and his uncle Teeny (I am not making these names up.)  He grew up in Paramount, which is where that movie logo was created.  (That mountain is nowhere in sight, though.)

By all accounts, he was the most normal of the bunch.  Aunt Bess never learned to drive, his uncle Ron looked like he was auditioning for a role in the movie Easy Rider, his brother Steve was a fancy pants who spent a little too much time worrying about his fashion choices, his aunt Bess, mom (now she is mom) Meryl, and uncle Dave owned and operated a wet-suit company, and his uncle Teeny...was...well...his name was Teeny. 

So, by default, Dad was the normal one.  But that doesn't mean he was normal by societies standards. 

Evidence: 

Dad liked gardening.  At a young age.  (I'm not making fun, mind you.  But how many junior high and high school students do you know that own and care for Staghorn Ferns?  [And on a side note, how many 40 something adults do you know that CRIED when that same Staghorn Fern finally died?]) 

Dad did not listen to music.  He grew up in the 60's and 70's, and if you asked him about the Beatles, he would think you are talking about the VW bug. 

Dad once buried his dead pet hamster in a coffee jar, because he heard that if you did that, it would skeletize rather quickly. 

Why that is weird: 

#1.  He wanted a skeleton of his dead pet hamster.

#2.  He either had to go look that information up, or he heard it and filed it away as an important fact to be acted on later.

#3.  He did it

#4.  He forgot to leave the lid OFF the can

#5.  He dug up his dead pet hamster some time later

#6.  If you leave the lid on, it doesn't skeletize, it explodes.

#7.  This is a story he told his kids when they were quite YOUNG

He did do normal things too.  He played football.  He went on backpacking trips with high-school buddies.  He was in the explorer’s academy.  He was mechanical.

Oh, I just remembered another thing.

He was crafty.  He made some sort of homemade craft that included some dried flowers, wooden spoons, and a glue gun.  He sold a boatload.  He called them "Jerry's spoons."  (I just made that name up)

Anyway, blah blah blah, he grows up.  To me it’s like trying to remember every episode of The Wonder Years.  I wasn't there, it was the 60's and 70's, Winnie was there, I think. 

He meets my mom in Explorers.  They go on a date.  My mom drops him like it’s hot. (I'm not sure what that means, but I know it's a saying.)

They get back together.  They get married.  The bridesmaids are wearing ridiculous yellow dresses.  My Dad has the coolest beard ever.  Its 1980.

I'm born 9 months later, exactly.  (Hello, Matterhorn room at the Madonna Inn on their honey-moon.)

My dad works construction. 

True story:  He went to a construction company, they didn't have any work.  He told them that he would work for free for the day, and if the boss liked his work ethic, he could keep him on.  It worked.  My dad is the hardest working person I know.  I'm fairly lazy, by all accounts.  But he makes me look LAZY, all caps.

Blah blah blah, my sister is born.  Two years and some change later.

We're a family.  We go camping a lot.  We live in Norwalk.  My dad has a moustache. 

He becomes a cop.  (I'm convinced the moustache has something to do with this.)

He works nights, crazy hours.  Apparently he sleeps during the day.  But he always spent time with us.  The most impressive thing about this to me: My Mom tells me how crazy Dad's schedule was, working over night, coming home, trying to get sleep during the day, etc.  But my sister and I DON'T REMEMBER ANY OF THAT.  Straight up.  My parents worked so hard to make sure they were there for us. 

We grow up, some.  We move from Norwalk to Frazier Park.  Dad is driving 90 miles one way to work.  We still don't feel an impact. 

True story:  Dad was sleeping on the couch.  His mom calls. 

"What are you doing?"  (Mom)

"Oh, just putting up the Christmas tree."  (Sleeping dad)

"Really?  Where are you putting it?"  (Mom)

"We're hanging it from the ceiling."  (Sleeping dad)

It was June. 

Let's see.  He teaches us anything we want to know.  We learn about tools, (did you know that Craftsmen tools have a lifetime warranty?  You can take a 100-year-old Craftsmen screwdriver to Home Depot, and if it’s broke, they will replace it.  For free.)  We learn about gardening.  (Did you know that Squanto taught the settlers to put eggshells and fish in the ground when they were plating corn?  [I actually learned that from a picture in a schoolbook.])  We eat at places like A&W, Fosters Freezes, and Bob's Big Boy, because that is what my dad grew up on, and what he likes.

Right.  Food.  Dad grew up on:  Gravy.  Potatoes.  Vegetables with bacon cooked in.  And some sort of battered and fried meat.  Or possibly a meat loaf.  That's it.  He never tasted rice until he was married to my mom.  How is this even possible?  He was convinced he didn't like cheese until well into his adult life. 

True Story:  Grandma Meryl used to make me the following snack: 

Piece of bread

Buttered

Jammed

Whipped cream all over the top

Anyway.  Back to the story.

My Dad is far from perfect.  He would be the first person to tell you that.  And I can attest. 

BUT.

Here are the facts as I see them:

1.  I don't know a more humble person

2.  He could easily beat me up

3.  Hardest working person I know

4.  Extremely helpful.  He just weedwacked half of my property YESTERDAY!  Why?  It needed to get done, and he ran out of things to do on his own property, I guess.  (Honest answer:  He knew it was stressing me out and I didn't have time to get to it, so he just did it for me.)

5.  Loves talking to people.  Mr. Asks Questions.

6.  He is a father to those that don't have one.  He has always been a magnet to friends and family with less fortunate family situations. 

7.  He always has a cut, bruise, scrape, or worse on his hands. 

(He will use a DRILL to punch through a fingernail, if it’s turning purple underneath.  Horror movie stuff.)

Dang it, I can't leave this out:  He has used a DREMIL TOOL to SELF PERFORM DENTAL WORK.  MORE THAN ONCE.

8.  He can watch someone build, fix, repair, or construct something once, then go and do it himself.

9.  He doesn't see the point in TV when the sun is still up.

10.  He loves the Lord, and knows that he doesn't deserve the love and grace God has given him.

11.  He's a really good dad.

12.  He is the town sheriff.  Literally. 

He gave the eulogy at my father-in-laws funeral.  My father-in-law asked him to.  Because in the few short years they knew each other, my father-in-law saw the kind of person my Dad is, and knew that he was the man he wanted speaking to all of his friends and family after he passed on. 

He is a great Dad to my wife now, too. 

Dad has had his share of humbling experiences.  Where I once saw Superman, I now see Clark Kent.  Its like Superman was the alter ego this whole time, and Clark is the real deal. 

I wouldn't have it any other way.

6-18-11

7:44am

The Art of Tasting Breastmilk

The following events are based on a true story.  The names and locations have been preserved to highlight the shame and embarrassment.

Wednesday, 12:04 pm.  Cell phone rings.  Heather.  Miss the call. Dang.  Not again.  Work gets in the way.  If a guy cant spend two minutes on the phone with a classy dame in the middle of a workday, then the world has already gone to pot.  

Desk phone rings.  Heather again.  Good.  About to head out to lunch, I stand up and flick the speaker button.

"Hey babe"

"Hey"

"What's up"

"Well...remember how you said you once tasted..."

I grab the handset and kill the speaker function just in time.

Quick hands.  I've always had quick hands.

"...my breastmilk?"

"..."

"Babe?"

"Yes..."

"What did it taste like?"

"Umm...watery."

"Oh...Well, I'm pretty sure I figured out why Rose won't take a bottle.  The breast milk I have that was pumped and frozen a few months back tastes SOUR.  I literally almost threw up when I tasted it."

There is no easy way to transition into a conversation like that in the middle of your work day.

Everything you thought was important about life a minute ago takes an immediate backseat to the current topic.

Me:  "Well, to be safe, you should, umm...probably taste some from the source..."

It's cloak and daggers.  Anyone in the office listening to my side of the story is going to have suspicions.   I'm doing my best to sound vague, for their sake if anything.  I've already had a grenade tossed at me over the phone...I don't need to throw a water balloon filled with breast milk at everyone else in the office.  They deserve better.  Heck, I deserve better.

Pleasantries are exchanged.  I say goodbye.

Can I look at myself in the mirror?  Will my wife start seeing me as a different person? 

Once, after the first "taste test", Heather is talking with a close friend of hers.

Close friend:  "Has Brad ever..."

Heather:  "Tasted my breastmilk?  Yes."

I'm not entirely sure what to think about this exchange.  Its like our wives are programmed to know how weird we are.  The personal conversations in a marriage are secret, sacred, precious things that they will share with all of their girlfriends.

I don't want this spread around.  I want to forget it ever happened.  And my wife's cannibalistic adventure, venturing into territory previously saved for voodoo practitioners and the mentally unstable?  I don't even know where to start.

CLOCKS (not the Coldplay Song) Written 4-12-09

I have a weird frame of mind when it comes to clocks.  I use my cell phone, mostly, to see what time it is.  Fine.  I can’t change the time on that, its set to the stars, or whatever.  But my alarm clock, its always set 10 minutes early.  I always calculate in my head every time I look at the clock. 

8:49pm.  That means its only 8:39pm.  That means I have an hour and 21 minutes before I should get to bed.  When it says 9:59pm, I’ll go brush my teeth*(1), whatever.  It’ll only be 9:49pm anyway.

  Also, the clock in my car has always been set five minutes fast.  I know it takes me 30 minutes to get to work from the freeway on-ramp.  If I hit the onramp and my car clock says 7:05am, I know I’m good. 

Strangely, I always trust that my alarm clock is running 10 minutes fast, but I FREQUENTLY double check my clock car against my cell phone.  Probably, 4-5 times a day.

 It says 7:34.  According to that clock, I’m 4 minutes late for work.  BUT, my cell phone says 7:29am.  I’m just on time! 

I always have a personal feeling of satisfaction knowing I’ve successfully*(2) juggled my conflicting clocks. 

Also, I can’t sleep without a visible clock.  If I’m staying somewhere other than home, I go nuts waking up in the middle of the night not knowing what time it is.  Did I just go to bed, like an hour ago?  (1am).  Is it almost time to wake up? (6am)  Do I have several hours of sleep to look forward to? (4am)  When there is a clock, and I can see what time it is, I always count out how many hours I have left to sleep. 

3am.  4,5,6:20.  3 hours and 20 minutes left to sleep. 

Also, if we’re (wife, kids) headed out somewhere, my stress level is highest if we are early.  I LOVE being early to things, but the idea that we may NOT be early adds to my anxiety. 

  If we leave in ten minutes, we’ll be there 30 minutes early.  Can we be ready in ten minutes?

BUT, if we’re already late to something, I’m totally cool.

 We’re already late, just relax, bro!  Lets stop at the market.  Clean the kitchen before we leave.  Check email that one last time. 

My iMac is telling me it’s 9:06pm right now.  That means in my car, it’s already 9:11pm, and in my bedroom, its 9:16pm.  If I stay in the computer room*(3) for a while longer, I guess its like I get ten free minutes!

*1:  I never brush my teeth before bed. 

*2:  It took me 3 tries to spell that right. 

*3:  Its really more of a computer nook.  

Outdoorsman (written April '09)

  I’m not what you would call “outdoorsy”, but I want to be.  I’m an outdoorsman poser. 

I’m in the first half of a vacation, and already I’ve postponed picking up dog poo, making a run to the dump, digging out part of a retaining wall, and having gravel delivered for our driveway.

  I DID level part of an area out under our deck for a concrete patio, but it was hard, and I did not enjoy it.

  We live in the mountains, and our house has amazing views all around.  I wear outdoorsy clothes, and know things about camping, hunting, backpacking, construction, landscaping, building, botany, et al.  I just don’t actually do any of them.

  In about 5 minutes, I’m headed outside to work with my Dad.  He also knows a ton about the above mentioned things.  In fact, he is an expert in most of them.  The difference is:  He is an expert from experience, and I know about them from reading and watching.

  I’m the kind of nerd that spends a few hours on Wikipedia reading about the history of dry-wall.  But actually work with dry-wall?  No, thank you. 

  I play video games.  I read books.  I like to write.  I organize my iTunes.  I really enjoy cleaning the house.  I like to cook.  I do my best to keep up on all DVR’d programs. 

  I do have big plans for outside.  My dad has the inside scoop on a lot of free Boquet Canyon Stone.  We’re gonna make a sweet patio and fire pit.  We have an area for our orchard already mapped out.  And the kids play area?  How about a calisthenics yard, climbing rock, zip line, and whimsical garden?

  Those ideas are all in the planning phase.  By planning phase, I mean:  They can be started and completed whenever I run out of video games, movies, and TV shows. 

  When our house was under construction, we lived in my parents house, next door.  As a cost saving measure, we did a lot of things on our own.  My wife and I painted the whole house.*  I laid the stone for our fire-place.  We tiled the down-stairs bathroom.  We did all of the shopping for hard-ware, fixtures, etc.  We sourced out the granite.  I sealed the deck.  We did all of the construction clean up.  We installed beams. 

  I didn’t do any of that because I wanted to, though.  I would be quite happy to shell out the bucks, and walk into a house made to my specs.  I’ll admit, tiling the downstairs bathroom was kinda fun, but only in hindsight.

  My lack of enjoyment doesn’t stop me from bragging, though.  We cant have houseguests without me showing them all of the things I did personally on the house. 

“Oh, the fireplace?  Yeah, I did that.”

“You like the tile in the bathroom?  Heather and I did it.  It was easy.”

And camping?  Well, I grew up doing that, and I think I’m done, thank you very much.  We have a 3 year old a 3 week old.  Its hard enough going to dinner or running errands.  Packing everything up so we can live outside?  No, thank you.

There is an interesting change on the wind though.  With the new additions to the household, my sanctuary is slowly being taken away from me.  Xbox sessions are now interrupted with

“Daddy.  Daddy.  Daddy.  I want to watch Bolt.  Daddy.  Bolt.  Bolt.  Can I watch Bolt?  Daddy.  Look at me.  This movie.  Can I put it on?  Daddy.  You playing video games?  Daddy.  Bolt.  Look.  He has a lightning bolt.  Can I watch it?  Daddy?”

And even time on the computer is marked with

“Babe!  You almost done?  Liam’s hungry and Amalia took her clothes off and is running laps around the couch.”

I cant even stay up late and have those last few hours to myself any more.  Liam eats around 11:30p, and I’m on Amalia duty first thing in the morning. 

Working outside is starting to sound pretty sweet, actually.  

The Kids

The Kids

I have the cutest, most amazing, most awful children ever. 

My daughter, Amalia, has the most gorgeous, curly hair, with natural blonde hi-lights, oval face, bright blue eyes, and the most annoying habit of correcting adults...And usually being right.

One time, at a kid’s birthday party, another adult said,

"...he reminded me of the penguins in Toy Story 3!"

Amalia immediately chimed in with "Actually, actually, it was Toy Story 2!!"

You know what makes it worse?  She was totally right...

Sometimes, when my wife and I are trying to talk, Amalia will increase her volume, be it in song, play, or chant.  But she doesn't do it dramatically.  Its little by little...Decibel by decibel...Until my wife and I are shouting at each other, just to be heard.  I'm convinced Heather (wife) and I have actually started arguments simply because we ended up having to shout over her.

Amalia plans it.  Or, she has the most keen, predator-like instincts of any animal I've ever known.

Amalia has an amazing memory.  It is so heartwarming to hear her recite a bible verse, or recall a favorite song lyric.  She can watch any Pixar movie and let you know the scene that is coming next.  It is so cute. 

But then...the steel trap becomes a curse. 

"Dad!  You said we would go to the park."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, yes.  Two days ago, when we were eating dinner, you said if the weather was nice on Saturday, maybe you would take us to the park!"

Dang it.

She was standing by my side of the bed, waiting until I woke up Saturday morning to spring that on me. 

She stalks.  Then she pounces.

She's five.

One time, I went out on the deck to bring in her for lunch, and she was completely naked.  And there was a large dump on the duck. 

"Amalia!  Did you go potty on the deck?!?!"

"Yeah!"  matter of fact-ly.  "I had to go!"

"Why didn't you go in the bathroom?"

"I dunno."

But, somewhere, in the twisted reality that is her mind, I think she did know.  And I think she planned it out. 

I think one day I will find a little, creepy, pink diary in her room that proves my point:

"April 12th, 2010.  Phase three of plan "deck dump" is in full effect.  I asked Mother for some Raisin Bran before bed, and she obliged.  My stomach is already gurgling with that sweet, sweet cramp of victory!"

Amalia can charm anyone she meets.  She is so verbal, and really enjoys meeting people.  I see right through her charade.  That's how she wins you over.  It’s like the snake that sinks his venom into you, then waits for you to feel a little woozy.  Next? He swallows you whole. 

Amalia has a younger brother, Liam.

Liam is the quintessential boy.  He is adorable.  He wants kisses on his cheeks.  He likes to run, he likes to be held.  He's two. He is also a monster.  Not like Godzilla.  Like Charlize Theron. 

He has this way of coming on slowly, and you don’t realize he's a threat until its too late.

Chase his sister around the living room, making dinosaur noises?  Hilarious!  Everyone, continue enjoying yourselves!

But, after 30 minutes, and his outright determination to actually capture, eviscerate, and consume his sister, we realize only too late that he cannot be stopped.

It’s like being pursued by a bunch of zombies.  They're too slow, you think.  I can easily get away. But their dim-witted refusal to give up will over power you. 

Liam wears you away, like water over stone.  I'm the Grand Canyon to his Colorado River.  I have no defense.  It's only a matter of time. 

He has his moments.  Like, when Mickey Mouse says "Do you want to play with Pluto?" on the TV, and he shakes his shaggy haired, giant melon of head in the affirmative, and says "Pwuto!"

It melts your heart. 

Then, after 4 failed attempts to get him down for a nap, and his unbelievable talent for screaming "Pwuto!" at full blast for 45 minutes, and I really start to wonder if its all just a sick, twisted game to them.

Liam has a younger sister, Rose.

Rose is perfect.  She has the most amazing disposition, she is so calm, and she is way beyond her 3 months in terms of development.  That's what scares me. 

Is she already making her move?  Is there an ulterior motive?  Are they all in cahoots?

Amalia knows something, but she isn't telling.  There is a master plan, and we have let her build an army.

True story:  When my wife was pregnant with Rose, Amalia kept insisting that we were going to have a girl.

"But Amalia, what if it’s a boy?” I would say, trying to prepare her.

"Well, what if it's a girl?"

I couldn't argue with her. 

She even went as far as trying to name her.

"It's gonna be a girl, and we are going to call her Rosy!!"

We would deflect these comments.  "We don’t know if it’s going to be a girl," we would say.  "We aren't going to call her Rosy..."

Then...yep.  It's a girl.

And then, "hey, you know what, Rose is a really nice name..."

It's like she knew all along. 

This terrifies me.

I keep peeking in on them while they sleep, expecting to see glowing, red cyborg eyes staring back at me.  I picture them tapping into the mainframe to recharge every night.  Reboot their systems, get updated programming, and prepare to execute "operation destroy parents spirits" the next day.

Hope is lost for Amalia and Liam.  They have gone over to the dark side.  One the surface, we still have Rose...But my fear is she will soon join the rebellion forces.

help me.

Philly

Philadelphia:

It's not the movie with Tom Hanks.  (Well, it is.  But not only...)

Monday

Monday, 5am:  Been up for a short while. Working on my first cup of coffee....Wait!  wait, wait, wait.  This should start yesterday...

Sunday

12pm:  So, after some discussion, I finally convince my wife that we NEED to buy a laptop. Macbook Air.  Shower, hugs, kisses, packing for the week, and I'm off.  An hour of playing around at Best Buy and sorting through options, and I go for the Macbook Pro instead.  As we live in a fairly rural area, I am already staying the night at my mother-in-laws to make it to the airport at a decent hour.  Now I'm locked and loaded with my new toy.  Not a bad way to start a trip.

Monday

5am:  Here we are.  All, caught up.  Out the door by 5:45, 10 minute drive to pick up a co-worker.  Stop for gas, still making great time.  We aren't quite sure what streets the parking structure is on, but we get lucky and find it first try.  We are already checked in, we aren't checking luggage, so we just need to wait in line for security and we are good to go. 

7:15am:  The line for security is literally a quarter of a mile long.  No joke.  We have an hour and 45 minutes to get through, but it seriously looks like we may not make it.  A text from one of the veeps of the company (yes, I said veeps on purpose) assures us that we will make it through relatively quickly.  Sure enough, that morning at LAX it only took 30 minutes to walk a 1/4 mile through security.  (does it bother you that I wrote 1/4 mile once with a fraction, and once spelled out?) 

8:45am:  Off we go.  Easy flight.  Laptop gets played with. 

5:00pm:  We land in Philly.  No sense of the city yet.  We meet two of the veeps, find out they are in a different hotel, so we grab the shuttle and get to our room.  JJ (co-worker) and I are roomies.  We are waiting for J (another co-worker) to show up, as the rental is in his name.  He had a later flight. 

6:00pm:  We spend about an hour on Yelp.  Straight up.  We're in Philly, and we want to enjoy the food, starting with Monday nights dinner.  We settle on trying to find an authentic, comfortable southern Italian restaurant (A Philly staple, says the internet.)   We narrow it down, find the right one.  Stomachs are so excited we eat the rest of our pre-packaged airline food while we wait for J to arrive.

8:00pm:  So, J arrives.  Via shuttle.  Rental car issues!  The rental was booked at a place that was closed by the time J landed.  Obviously, the most retarded thing that has ever happened.  We try to work magic...nothing.  We discuss taking a cab to the restaurant, but that is cost prohibitive.  Oh joy! There is a Ruby Tuesday's across the street from the hotel.  We are so hungry by this point, we just stumble over. 

8:05pm:  The inside of Ruby Tuesday’s smells like a lake.  The food is nearing horrible, the waiter cannot be bothered to do his job, and we are bummed.  Philly doesn't show us its magic or wonders.  We feel like we are back in Los Angeles, at some crap-hole chain restaurant.  Hoping tomorrow gets off to a better start.

10:00pm:  I beat J in a pushup contest.  We are all just boys after all. 

Tuesday

12:00am:  Still awake.  Time difference and JJ’s work load to blame. I play You Tube DJ as we rock out to early 90's rock.  Tripping Daisies?  Check.  Cranberries?  Check.  Pearl Jam?  Check and mate. Bed time about 1am. 

10:00am:  Rental car never gets sorted out. We get the attention of our companies co-owner and travel partner, Mike, and luckily catch a ride to the conference.  Light Fair.  The super-bowl of Lighting events. So they say. My first time.

10:30am:  We park, walk half a block to the Philadelphia Convention Center, and in that short walk, I am already in love with Philly.  The buildings are old.  OLD.  But so well kept.  The way I picture those parts of the Great Wall of China they usually show in text books and Wikipedia articles.  The smells of a big city, but a DIFFERENT big city.  It is really just a great feeling to soak in a new place.  It's a cliché, but a well worn one. The sights, the smells, the sounds.  Ahh!  Philly!  We take a sharp turn into the convention center, and off we go. 

10:35am:  We walk the convention. It's not anywhere near as boring as it may sound, and if it sounds at all interesting to you, then it totally was.  I enjoy myself, say hello to the few people I already know in the industry, and poke around.

1pm:  LUNCH!  Well, as the angel of Philly would have it, we are caddy corner to a famous market.  It basically feels like a giant indoor swap-meet, where each booth is a permanent fixture, and the wares being hocked are traditional Italian groceries, ice cream, dry goods, burgers, cheese-steaks, etc.  Guess what?  We want cheese-steaks.  It takes us 10 seconds to spot Carmen's.  We know zero percent of nothing about Carmen’s, but the sign says cheese-steaks, and...Well...that’s good enough for us.  Plus, we are starving. 

1:05pm:  As we wait in line, we notice a picture of Obama ordering a cheese-steak sandwich at Carmen’s.  Authenticity!  Assumptions are made, the largest being that if Obama ordered a sandwich here, and someone took a picture, and he was wearing a suit, then it’s probably a legit place.  We get to the front.  There are four of us.  It is cash only.  We have $38 bucks.  Sandwiches are $7.75 each.  Math is in our favor.  We order.  The burly, (surly?  na) boisterous, half biker, half mechanic guy (who, I think, is also the owner.) takes our order.  Want peppers?  Sure. Sweet and hot?  Yes and yes! Lettuce and tomato?  Yeppers!  Onions?  Why, yes please!  So, four orders later, total comes out to $50.  Oh.  Crap.  Those were up-charge questions.  Long line, questionable disposition of the order taker/mob-boss/owner, and four dopey tourists without enough money.  We basically count our money in front of him and let him figure it out.

 "You guys short?  Tell you what, give me what you have, we'll get the food started, and right down there is an ATM.  Just get what you need and come on back." 

Wow!  City of brotherly love!  Our first (and not only) encounter with extremely nice locals.  Not the kind of thing I would be used to experiencing in Los Angeles.  (Hey, I love my city too.  It’s not like its full of rude jerks.  But I don't think that would have happened, at...say, Philippe's...) 

FOOD!  GOOD!  Really, not sure where to go with this.  Imagine the best version ever of meat in bread.  With American cheese.  That is what we're talking here.  So good.  Not what I was expecting...For some reason I thought the authentic Philly-cheese-steak would have been a little more "high-brow", but its more "down and dirty" and "addictive fast food".  Honestly, way better than I thought.

1:30pm: We pay what we are short.  It's $12.  The one of us that pays (J) gives the guy a $20, he keeps all of it.  Our guy assumes that was our balance.  Turns out it wasn't.  We have a discussion on getting our $8 back.  I am on the side of "no".  The guy didn't embarrass us, cooked our food before it was paid for, the food was stupid amounts of awesome.  Don't go back to him at this point and say "excuse me, kind, but large sir:  When we didn't have enough money to pay, we were only short $12.  You somehow thought we were short $20, and kept $8 too much.  Can you stop the flow of your large line of customers to sort this out for us?"  No way.  We don't ask for the money.  Members of our party that wanted to ask for it (J) let is spoil their cheese-steak experience.  I let it enrich mine. 

1:35pm:  Back to the trade show.  Oh joy.  Walk and walk.  Meet up with the rest of the group (8 of us) at about 6pm. 

6:00pm:  Off to the first of three parties.  First one is hosted by one of our largest business partners.  Its in a dance-night-club type of place attached to a restaurant. There are probably 200-250 people crammed in there.  All for the party.  We eat some bar type finger food, mingle for an hour, and leave.  (Oh:  The hot-dogs wrapped in croissant rolls are legit.)

8:30pm:  Off to the second party.  This one is gangsta.  (I never say that.)  Its IN the Philadelphia Museum of Whatever...The one from Rocky.   It's invitation only, we somehow managed to get invitations. We hear later this party is in the neighborhood of $500 a person.  This makes me feel super important as the night wears on.  I kept thinking, "Someone paid $500 of real money for me to be here tonight."  We're in some room of the museum with marble columns, statues, giant tapestries on the walls, two stories, balconies, etc.  It looks like the kind of party Bruce Wayne would throw and Joker would crash.  It’s awesome.  Tri-tip, roasted chicken, asparagus (green AND white), open bars, etc.  Nice ladies walking around with desserts, some better than others.  (The desserts, not the ladies.)  We hob-nob.  We enjoy.  I vow never to take experiences like this for granted.  I am at a party.  In a museum.  There is a statue of frackin' Rocky outside. 

Side note:  We walk the only exhibit that is open for us that night.  A history of women’s fashion dresses.  I'm not even sure what to say about it at this point without sounding like some ignorant jerk.  But, man.  It was dresses. 

10:30pm?:  Off to the third and last party.  This one is in the lobby of a hotel.  The most casual of the bunch.  The perfect place to end a long night.  People have been enjoying the bar...  We watch people flirt.  We take mental notes to tease people about stuff the next morning, but totally forget to.  We leave around 11. 

Wednesday

1am:  Finally off to sleep.

7am:  Up.  Getting ready.  JJ and I are off today, the rest of the team is going to Light-Fair.  This is our day to explore Philly and take in the sights.  On 5 hours of sleep after a long day.  I honestly consider spending all day in bed.  10 seconds later I tell myself to stop being so dumb.  We pack up, head over the Light-Fair, say goodbye to the troops and start exploring.

9am:  Lucky for us, (and we knew this ahead of time), almost everything we wanted to see was within walking distance of the convention center.  We start off going to City Hall.  There is a statue of Andrew Jackson[1] (I think it's him...) on top of this building.  It is the tallest building in the (country?  world?) that doesn't use steel straps for support.[2] It’s stone.  Freemason’s, and all that.  The building is breathtaking.  The buildings adjacent to it are breathtaking.  I want to sit outside this building with a coffee or snack and just soak it in for an hour or so.  It’s the man-made equivalent of wanting to soak in the view of the Grand Canyon, or Yosemite, or a perfect beach on a perfect day.  

We find a visitors center, and discover that we can take an elevator to the tippy tip top of the building, then go INSIDE the 35 foot[3] tall statue on top.  We buy tickets, and head in. 

The building is basically the size of a city block.  It is a square with an open courtyard in the center.  From the courtyard, there are archways, or tunnels, that let you out in any of the four directions.  It’s a giant, stone building.  It looks like a castle.  It needs a moat.  Or Gargoyles, or something.  Freemasons are legit.  (and secretive.) 

We follow directions, take this elevator to that floor, to this elevator to that escalator, and are finally on the 9th floor.  A nice old man sees our tickets and starts fussing and apologizing.  Apparently, there are some peregrine falcons that live in or around the statue, and once a year the commissioner of animals, or park superintendent, or mayor, or whoever it is goes up there to tag the falcon and do research.

guess what?  That day is today!  We can't go up.  The guy feels horrible.  He radio's down to the ladies selling the tickets and lets them know.  He tells us we can explore the building, and even lets us know there is a great room on the 4th floor to check out.  The Caucus room. 

10am:  We commence project  “Explore City Hall”.  We poke around the 7th floor, the first floor on our way down that has anything worth seeing. 

This building is OLD!  Did I say that?  We find a corridor that looks like that scene in every horror movie that takes place is some creepy, old hospital.  Have you seen The Frighteners?  It feels like the hospital scenes at the end of that movie.  I find a restroom.  I took a pee in the first toilet that ever flushed.[4]

We head down to the 4th floor.  We see a sign that says "art tour on the 2nd and 4th floors."  Good enough for us.  We find out by observation that this building is a fully functional government entity, as well as a crazy old, creepy building.  I love that it's both.  There are lawyers and judges milling about, cops, etc.  It's like going to the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland and finding out it still has rooms for rent.  It's odd.  And super cool. 

We get stopped at the 4th floor by a cop and an older black gentleman.  They are sitting at a table, sort of checking people in and out.  We look at them out of the corner of our eyes, and start passing them. 

"Can I help you?  Where you guys going?"  says copper.

"Uhh...art tour? "  I mumble.

"Oh, you guys just looking around?   Enjoy!" 

This sparks a 30 minute conversation and is my second experience with people just being way nicer than you would ever expect.  This cop and other dude (like, some civil volunteer, or something) tell us all about the building...Ask us where we are from...tell us to walk around.  The cop literally tells us to try doors, and if they are open, to go in and look.  "Yeah, I left them unlocked for you."  He really made me believe he left these doors unlocked for us. 

Building trivia:  It took 30 years to build.[5]  It was first open in 1900 (1906?)[6]   For nearly a decade, there was a law that no building in the city could be taller than the top of the statue on this building. [7] This helped preserve all of the old buildings in the city and is one of the things that gives Philly its unique, historic feel.  There used to be a huge pigeon problem in and around City Hall, but that problem mysteriously disappeared after the Peregrine Falcons moved in. :-)

Go poke around?  Yes please!  After getting two copies of a "civil rights" inspired newspaper that the other guy writes a column for, we say "please and thank you", and head off. 

10:30am:  We find the caucus room.  It’s amazing.  There is a giant, circular table with about 15 chairs.  There is a chandelier with over 100 lamps, paintings and portraits, gorgeous architectural features.  It looks like a room that belongs in the white house.  No one is in there, so we go in, snap some pictures, and soak it in. 

The rest of our City Hall experience pretty much goes the same way.  We poke around, find awesome, old rooms, take some pictures, chat. etc. 

(Side note:  My travel partner, JJ, was about as perfect of a companion as you can find.  Complementary personality, just as nerdy as me, just as appreciative of the small things, in it for the experience, etc.)

11:15am:  Not quite hungry for lunch, we grab a snack at a liquor store. I grab my wife birthday cards. (It's tomorrow, on this timeline.)  JJ needs to hit the Verizon store for some emergency blackberry service.  We mellow out for a bit. 

11:45am:  We walk the 5 (or ten?) blocks down to the Constitution Center area.  Tons of school kids.  Field trips.  We basically land right at the liberty bell.  There is a large, open park that spans 4 blocks or so.  At one end is the Constitution Museum, at the other end is Independence Hall.  In the middle is a large visitors center, and the Liberty Bell Museum.

12:30pm:  The Liberty Bell:  Simple, elegant building, with a few small displays, then the Liberty Bell at the end.  Very cool to see.  The Liberty Bell is placed in front of a large glass wall that looks out over Independence Hall.  This is as "National Treasure" as we got, and it was great.  The original wooden mounting is still attached the the bell. 

1pm:  We head over to Independence Hall.  The large tower is being worked on, so it is covered in scaffolding, which seriously impacts the view.  Oh well.  Even worse:  You need tickets for the tour (free), and they are timed.  We head back to the Visitors Center, and find that the only tickets available are too late for us.  Crap.  Off to the Constitution Center!

1:30pm:  So...turns out the Constitution Center doesn't actually have The Constitution.  Weak.  We see one of the first public printings, watch a video (type thing), get creeped out by life sized statues of every person that signed the Declaration, get roped into a 15 minute conversation with an employee who reminded me of Fred Arminson playing that blind governor[8] on SNL, see an exhibit on traitors, spies, terrorists, and all of the dark things in US history (it's creepy), and head out.

2pm:  It's raining!  We haul butt about 5 or so blocks back, get SOAKED.  Laptop!  In my backpack!  Free civil rights newspapers!  Quick!  Wrap the laptop in the newspapers!  JJ!  Help!  is it wet?!  Oh crap!  Rain!  WHY?!?!?

2:15pm:  Crisis averted.  We go into a K-Mart, I get some towels to wrap my lap-top in.  Ladies at the checkout are super nice, let me unpack my bag, tend to my laptop, etc right on their checkout stands. 

We find ourselves in a large, indoor mall, and make our way to the food court. 

2:20pm:  Cheesesteaks?  Yes please!  We figure we are at a food court in the mall, and these are not going to be as good as yesterdays.  Correct.  But still easily the second best cheesesteak I have ever eaten.  JJ and I make an observation about what makes the locals so nice.  They are almost aloof, and can’t be bothered.  But then you realize they are just super playful and fun.  The gal[9] working the register is smiling and teasing us as we order, all the while telling the cooks next to her that if they don't stop teasing her, she is going to lay them flat out. We enjoy the local color. 

This really happened to JJ while waiting for our sandwiches:

"Where you from?"

"Los Angeles"

"You should have brought some of that sunshine with you!"

"Actually, it’s raining back home right now, too."

"Well, why don't you leave some sunshine in our tip jar and leave with some sunshine of your own!"

He obliges, the cooks act super surprised, and give him huge, beaming smiles. 

I go back for some ketchup (catsup?)[10], and one of the employee's is taking to a friend over the counter.

"Excuse me, is this ketchup?"

"Yeah, and mustard and hot sauce all mixed up."

I shrug, and go for it.  Sounds good to me.  

It’s just ketchup.  He smiles at me.

"Just kiddin'."  -says worker guy

"I thought it sounded good."  -me

"That’s how you make wing sauce"  -worker guy

"Say it true, say it true"  -worker guys friend.

"I ain't lyin'.  I just gave you my secret recipe!"  -Worker guy.

I record all of this somewhere in my brain and swear never to forget it. 

3pm:  J calls us, he is free of Light-Fair.  We meet him up.  With about an hour and a half before we have to head to the airport, he has little time, but wants to see something cool.  Its close, and it was the coolest thing, so we head back to City Hall.  J gets to see the Caucus room, super nice guy cop (George) is gone, but we tell J the story.[11] 

City Hall enjoyed. 

4:30pm:  Cab hailed.  Back to the hotel, which is a free shuttle ride away from the airport, and where our luggage is waiting.  JJ chats up the cabbie, who is from Haiti.  He stops himself just short of asking if the cabbie had any family affected in the earthquake, but I could HEAR him almost ask.  He confirms this later.  Good catch, JJ. 

5:00pm:  Luggage grabbed.  We get the shuttle.  J is on a different flight, so we get dropped off at two different gates.  We say goodbye to J.  Moments after we print out boarding passes, JJ realizes he left his cell phone on the shuttle.  We are SUPER early for our flight (J's flight was an hour plus earlier that ours, but we wanted to share cab fare), so we aren't too worried.  JJ calls the hotel, and the shuttle driver brings his phone back.  City of Brotherly Love!  Again!  No one even acts annoyed by us.  How wonderful. 

8:45pm:  After 2 hours plus of lounging around the airport, we are locked and loaded, ready to fly home.  (side note, the flight attendants were not nice at all.  A woman said she was not comfortable sitting in the emergency isle, and they basically treated her like garbage.  No way were they from Philly.) 

?:??pm:  Somewhere, some time zone, over some state--JJ and I attempt to watch Top Secret[12] on my laptop.  We do not stay awake. 

11:45pm:  LAX!  After shuttle, car, drive back, etc, I am snug in bed by 1:30am, Thursday. (my wife's birthday!)   

Thursday

9:00am:  Back to work!!!!

-Philly, May 16-18, 2011.

---

[1] Fact check-It’s William Penn.  I was wrong.

[2] I cant prove this, but I swear I heard it from someone. 

[3] 37 feet, actually.  But I was close. 

[4] I made that up, but it COULD be true.  Even the bathrooms feel ancient.

[5] This is true. 

[6] 1901

[7] Okay.  It was a “gentleman’s agreement”, and wasn’t broken until 1987.

[8] David Alexander Paterson

[9] She pretty much reminded me of Rosie Perez in appearance, accent, and attitude.  In a good way?

[10] Ketchup is the dominant term in American English and Canadian English; tomato sauce is not a synonym for ketchup in either, where it refers to pasta sauce. Commonwealth English (e.g., in Australia, India, New Zealand, and South Africa) largely favors the term tomato sauce instead of ketchup. Other terms include tomato ketchup, catsup, and red sauce.

[11] (Oh, forgot to mention.  This is how nice George was:  He told us, "next time you guys are in Philly, come up to the 4th floor, ask for George, and I'll make sure you get up to the statue"...Who says this to strangers you met 30 minutes ago?)

[12] Confirmed from another travel partner:  Top Secret has not stood the test of time.  UHF, on the other hand, totally has.