Friday, July 16, 2004

Birthday entry

I really wasn’t thinking of my blog.  However, seeing as though it’s my birthday, I felt I should write something, even if it’s nothing. Yes. It’s my birthday today, but that only made me realize, not that I’m getting older, but that my kids are. My daughter Mikayla is 7 years old. I apologize in advance for the cliché, but it seems like yesterday that she was a bald baby girl who couldn’t even control her muscles enough to hold her head up. She can do headstands now. I’m a horrible singer, but she used to love it when I sang to her (Jenn wasn’t ever in earshot of that). Earlier this year MikNugget (one of her nicknames) had a solo singing role in a little musical at theatre camp, her voice as sweet as her mother’s. My oldest son once sweet and shy will tell anyone and everyone what is up. "Logan that’s not yours!" I’ll answer him with, "Sloan don’t talk to your brother that way." To which Sloan replies, "No Daddy! Shush! I was talking to Logan!" He asserts himself very well when he feels anyone has done wrong by him. He’s a big Mikayla fan. Everything his big sister does he has to do. In a playground one day, Mikayla saw a 4 year old fall and hurt himself. Mikayla knelt next to this kid, and tried to calm him, asking where his mommy was. Who is right next to her mimicking her every word and movement, but her 2-year old brother Sloan (who, by the way, was half the size of the kid who was hurt). He’s a big boy. Not only does he not wear diapers, but he stands up to pee. Did I mention he was a genius? We call him "Shine". I can remember when his sister had to help him fit the shapes into that hollow cube thing. Now, actually before he was three, he had learned how to do 25-50 piece puzzles by himself. He can be a total jerk to his baby brother, but if anyone else dare be a jerk to Logan, then Sloan is first to his side. Speaking of Logan… What an ox! I dare you to find a tougher 2-year old. You can’t. He has a "my size" lawn chair for toddlers that, for fun, he picks up over his head and throws. He thinks that’s hilarious. He’s completely fearless. He climbs anything, and just to see you sweat, he will jump off. The spooky part is he looks at you to see if you’re terrified before he jumps. If you’re not, then he apparently doesn’t believe he’s high enough. UP HE GOES! He had stitches before he was 2. Five stitches, if I remember correctly. The number he had in his mind must have been ten because he’s only gotten more brazen in his stunts. I’m only 29 and none of my babies are babies anymore. I love them so much. You probably think I’m ridiculous. "Dude, they’re 7,3, and 2! They’re not in college." Well… They’re also not 9lbs anymore. My little girl doesn’t need me to tie her shoes for her. My little boy wants to "do it himself". My daughter reads to me at night. My son tries to write like his sister. My youngest doesn’t want me to hold him like he used to. He doesn’t fall asleep in my arms anymore. What’s the point of this unorganized, non-structured rambling? I don’t know. It’s my birthday, and this is what I was thinking about. That’s it, I guess. How sad I am. How proud I feel. How lucky I am. I love my kids. I love my wife. I love my life. It’s been a great 29 years. Maybe that’s the point… if there is one.  I just thought I should write something… even if it’s nothing.

My Friend's Blog

I've some friends who've recently started their own blogs.  Apparently it's one of those, "Hell if idiot-stick Pasion can do it..."  situations.  One of these beautiful people rode my ass about how tenacious I was in my pursuit of readership.  Not only that, but upon my inquiry as to whether or not she had read my blog she responded with, "NO!  I HAVEN'T READ YOUR STUPID BLOG, AND IT'S BECAUSE YOU KEEP ASKING ME IF I'VE READ IT!!!"  Oh how the mighty have fallen.  She FINALLY read it, and now she realizes my genius.  So much so, that she's trying to emulate me by starting her own blog.  Then she went so far as to ask me to advertise her little corner of the web on my blog.  Who's "tenacious" now, Steph?  Though all of the above is SUPER true, for the most part Stephanie is a smart and funny woman with LOTS of opinions.  Now she also has an outlet.  Click Steph's Blog to become one of her readers (and become a better person by doing so).  Word of caution:  She fancies herself an "educated smart ass", so you apparently need to prepare yourself for some sarcastic wisdom.  Please enjoy her fine work as I do.  PS If anyone else would like me to "advertise" your site/blog, just let me know!



Thursday, July 15, 2004

Movie Recommendation

If it’s your “date night” and you and your significant other can’t think of something to do, I recommend you rent ‘Love Actually’. I know what you’re thinking, “Mikol. Dude, that’s a romantic-comedy. What have you turned into some kind of big girl’s blouse or something?” (the “big girl’s blouse” bit is compliments of Heather “Across-the-Pond” Murphy) Anyway… No. I have not. One of the plot lines (there are, like, 400) is the classic story of father-son bonding. Simplified – Father loses wife, son loses mother (she dies), son falls in love, father helps son through tough time, son gets girl, father gets Claudia Schiffer. I know it sounds far fetched, but they work it out. Totally believably , I might add. There are the two English guys equivalent to the English version of the “Dude, Where’s my Car?” stunt doubles. They attempt a banter that at first is funny, though predictable, then it just turns into the same tired banter with different words. So, I guess, they’re EXACTLY like “Dude, Where’s my Car?” The most important reason to get this DVD… BOOBS!!! They show a fair amount of boobage, and it’s all under the guise of “romantic-comedy”, as to not offend the ladies. BRILLIANT I SAY!!! CHEERS TO THE ENGLISH!!!! Put this movie out without the English accents and wives/girlfriends would ask, “What was up with the boobs just kind of thrown in for no reason?” Add the English accents, and VIOLA, “I love the way they used the nudity to, sort of, enhance the movie artistically.” So… Rent this movie. She’ll love it, and it’s funny enough between the nudity shots so that you won’t fall asleep. WIN-win situation I say (you both can’t have the big WIN). Cheers!

Monday, July 12, 2004

Roast Anyone?: PART II

Since there has been some hesitation on your part as the roaster, I’ll kick us off. Kennedy and Boyd: There’s no doubt that you two will remember this. I believe it was the summer 1994. Our preferred flavor of dance club was FISHDANCE in Lower Greenville. On this particular summer evening, as our group of sex-deprived yet cocky young men approached the entrance of the club, we saw a car full of 5-6 hot young women pull into the parking lot. Of course we performed the oh-so-cool ritual of verbalizing how “on” it was, followed up with the group dap, and concluding, of course, by “punching it”. THAT IS HOW COOL WE WERE!!!!!!!!!!! Now… Fast forward to e’rybody in da club getting’ tipsy. We were feeling the music, not really dancing with anybody so much as dancing with everybody. Our group of young men had somehow dissipated to just me on the dance floor, but what did I care? I was a confident (read “cocky”) young stud. How studly? I was busting out with the latest moves! The threads? The requisite jeans, Docs, and the topper… my sleeveless, hooded shirt from GadZooks. I wasn’t wearing the hood, mind you. I was all, “I’ve got a hood if I want it, but right now there’s no need. By the way, have you checked out my arms because my shirt is sleeveless… AND it has a hood!” I didn’t actually ‘verbalize’ that sentiment, but believe me when I tell you that it was ‘said’. This was obviously too much of a package to resist by anyone. Low and behold who comes over but one of the hotties from the car. “How’s it going?”, she asks. Playing it cool, I didn’t actually look at her but for a glance, “Sup?” was my articulate yet smooth reply. “My friend over there wants to know if you have a girlfriend.” Not knowing exactly which friend she was pointing to, I checked out the group of girls she came with. Not an ugly one in the bunch. SCORE!!!!!!!!!!! “You can either tell her I don’t, or you can tell her to come ask me and I’ll tell her I don’t.” That wasn’t my exact reply, but it was definitely as greasy and stupid as that was. So girl number one goes back to the group. I never saw / spoke to any of those girls the remainder of the night. OR SO I THOUGHT!!!!!!! About 5-10 minutes passed. I was like, “What the ‘F’!?!” Eventually I went back to my group who was at the bar. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?!” , was the collective gasp from the boys as I rejoined the pack. “What? What are talking about?” “Those girls were all up in your jock, and you just walked away!” According to the posse, the girl DID come back along with her friend. Not only did they come back, but according to the guys, I was the proverbial meat in their freak sandwich! I never felt / saw these two obvious class acts apparently dry humping me, but ten years later the guys still swear that this actually happened. Besides my outfit, how f-ing stupid was I?

Sunday, July 11, 2004

Throw the Single Dog a Bone.

I was out last night with a few friends, and somehow we brought about the subject of “pick-up lines”. So I asked: What, exactly, is an acceptable line? I got the whole “as long as it’s sincere” answer. I then gave numerous examples of what I believed to be “sincere” approaches. PULL!!!-**BANG-BANG**- Shot down. So what is a single man to do? (SIDENOTE: I already got the hookup, I’m asking for all you single guys who are afraid to ask.) Apparently, anything perceived by men to be a perfectly harmless “ice breaker” is perceived by women to be an insincere “pick-up line”. I even got this answer, “I don’t come to the bar to pick up guys. I come here to have a good time with my friends.” To that I said, “What if you’re having a good time with your friends. I’m here with my friends, but because of some sort of lull in my group, I happen to hear a good time had by all at your table. I’m an assertive guy who likes to have a good time, so I approach your table, not to pick up on anyone (yet), but to share in your good time. I’d probably use the same sort of 'ice-breaker' line in that situation that I would in introducing myself to a woman.” By the way… how sincere can a total stranger be? How would it go over if I was a single man, saw a girl at the bar, and approached her with, “I saw you over here, and I think you’re totally hot. I’d really like to get to know you in hopes that it leads to sex”? That, my friends, would be total sincerity, but I don’t think it would get me much further than that. I could be totally wrong. I don’t know. I’ve been out of the game for almost 8 years now, so what do I know? For all I know “how YOU doin’?” actually works. I just had a 10 minute interruption compliments of my sons. I lost my steam, and totally forgot where I was going with this entry. I guess you can go ahead and tell your stories (anonymously, of course) of the best / worst pick-up lines that you’ve ever given / received. Sure. That sounds like it has the potential for fun.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Roast anyone???

How many of you have performed at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts? Because I have. Sure it was 8-9 years ago, but I have... Did I mention that it was a starring role? Alright, alright… so I was going to use that as an excuse for my behavior in the story I’m about to tell, but truth of the matter is that I’ve always been a bit cocky. I can hear you now, “Not you, dude… You’re so cool.” Yeah I know, but we all have lapses. I was in a show called ‘Stand-Up Tragedy’. ‘Stand-Up’ held the record for most attendance at Quad C Theatre for about 5 years. I didn’t even know that it held such a record until ‘Gypsy’. ‘Gypsy’ is the show that broke our record for attendance. I happened to be in attendance the closing Saturday evening performance that it broke our record… and the Producing Director/Artistic Director for the theatre let everyone know that ‘I was in the house’. Keep in mind this was ‘Gypsy’, a pretty big production. As I recall, there were roughly 60-70 people in the company (including technicians). After the show we’re backstage doing the whole, “Good show”, “Nice job”, “I really enjoyed the show” stuff. NOBODY was interested in what I thought of the show so much as they felt inclined to let me know that they broke the ‘Stand-Up’ record. I DID NOT CARE!!! As an actor in ‘Stand-Up’ I had zero control over how many people came to see my show. I could do my best to attempt a great review, but even then… what the hell do critics know? So REALLY, TRULY, and HONESTLY: I DIDN’T CARE ABOUT THE ATTENDANCE RECORD!!! I was humble, I was gracious in congratulating everyone who “just let me know” that ‘Gypsy’ broke the record. Shaking hands, letting individuals know how much I enjoyed his/her performance. Nobody wanted to hear it. Then there was the straw. You know the one. The one that breaks the camel’s back. He was about the 30th person who felt the need to let me know. This dude places his arm around my shoulders, and says, “So, Mikol… How’s it feel to get toppled?” I looked at his hand on my opposite shoulder with the ‘are you seriously touching me?’ look, turned my head, looked him square in the face, and I go, “Who the f*** are you?” This dude was squirming. He uncomfortably took his hand off my shoulder, took a half-step back, smiled (oh, but how uncomfortably), extended his hand, and says, “We’ve actually met. You were… and I, but maybe you don’t… I was in… It’s cool if you don’t remember me.” The whole time I’m just mad-dogging him, not saying a word, just staring him down, his hand just hovering between us. After about 5 full seconds of complete silence, I gave him the “are you still F-ing in front of me” shrug. With one sentence, a pissed of face, and a shrug I had just kicked the crap out of this dude. He sulked off with his proverbial tail between his legs, head down, probably crying. Then it hit me… I had met this guy. Not only that, but he was pretty cool. I felt like an ass. To top things off, my mother and wife witnessed this episode. They proceeded to let me know how much of an ass I actually was. This is where you come in. I’d like to hear your point-of-view of a time when I embarrassed you or myself. Or when I did something stupid, but was too drunk to remember. I’m throwing myself a “BLOG ROAST” and you’re all invited as guest hosts. Be gentle.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Want Kids? Be Prepared.

Want kids? Prepare for stupidity!!! I’m not talking about dealing with ignorant kids either. I’m talking about your stupidity. A typical interaction between me and the McD’s guy before kids went something like, “Can I take your order?” “Yes. I’ll have the Double ¼ pounder w/ cheese meal, no pickles, Sprite to drink please, and I don’t want it super sized.” I knew exactly what I wanted, and I answered any questions he might have about the order before he asked them. Fast forward to three children later, this is a typical interaction between me and the McD’s guy: “Can I take your order?” “Uhm… Hold on a minute… OK, I want a Double ¼ pounder meal, 3 chicken nugget Happy Meals…” “What do you want to drink w/ the double ¼ pounder meal?” “I said with cheese right?” “Oh ok, sir. What to drink with that?” “Sprite for the kids meals… can you read that back?” “I got a Double ¼ pounder meal with cheese, 3 chicken nugget happy meals with sprite to drink for the kids, and what would you like to drink?” “And no pickles on the Quarter pounder, er no, Double.. I said double, right? Double quarter pounder with cheese, but no pickles, and that should be it.” “Yes sir. And what do you want to drink?” “Well I ordered the meal. That comes with a drink, right?” “Yes sir. What KIND of drink would you like, sir?” “Sprite for all of us please.” It’s not like the menu’s changed. It’s not the acne-fied 15 year-old across the counter that’s changed. That leaves me. I’m now dumb (or dumber, depending on whom you ask). The kids are 100% worth it, I’m just letting you know. You’ll get dumber with each kid. As they get older, though, I’m regaining some of my smarts, but losing some of my hair. Once they’re here, everything’s a trade-off. **SIDENOTE: Jennifer, my lovely bride, just read this. She wanted me to mention that the only side-effect she’s “suffered” is the glow of motherhood, which has only served to make her more beautiful. **

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

It's a wonder he ever got his Ph.D...

I mean, when did he have time to study with all the action he was getting? Timothy Perper, Ph.D. has this to say about women, "Women initiate courtship gestures 66% of the time... In a social setting women will approach, talk, turn toward a man, and - most importantly - make physical contact in a subtle manner that goes right over a man's head. A light touch on the hand or elbow can be the female equivalent of a neon sign shouting 'MAKE LOVE TO ME!!' " Real quick, wouldn't it be "neon sign brightly shining/blinking/flashing"? I've not seen or heard many signs "shouting". Back to business... Is he talking about strangers? Friends? Wives/girlfriends? If my wife did this, then yes, she might have had a few too many, and I might be getting some that night. BUT... If I'm at a party (when I was single), and some girl lightly touches my elbow... You see what I'm saying? Or am I the moron who just let the "MAKE LOVE TO ME" neon sign walk away? (BTW Kennedy... That last sentence was a personification of the sign. There are no neon signs that actually walk.) She might be intereted in making out, maybe a li'l sumpin-sumpin, but a light elbow touch does not blow the charge bugle (no pun intended). In fact, the last girl who walked over to me and touched my arm was just trying to stay up, the drunk beyotch!!! Dr Timothy continues, "...if she looks away, if she doesn't lean in - these are sure signs she's not into it. The respectful thing to do is let it go. Ironically, that sign of respect may win you points at a later time." This dude is the most general, non-sex-getting fool in the world and he's trying to tell me how to "become the type of lover women crave"? Are you ready for how much sex he's not getting? Here it is: He finishes his commentary with, "...read this advice and file it in your subconscious, where it will take seed, and later blossom organically as a many-petaled flower of love." WHAT THE F!?!?!? OK ladies... I know I'm asking for it, but... Am I wrong about this, or is Dr. Tim - Love Language Interpreter Extraordinaire - a little rusty? HOLLA!!!