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Things Just Seem To Happen…

Three Little Words – Part 2

So today a friend wrote some stuff, and that reminded me that I should update the Three Little Words Project. I thought I’d be bold and take today’s (5/25/10) date – regardless of the results. Based on Google Trends as of this moment, the top searched keywords are;

1. Nate Berkus show.
2. eHarmony.
3. eHarmony login.

Now I know the latter two are essentially the same – but I didn’t make the rules…

..Oh wait. Yes I did.

Anyway, once again – I had to Google Nate Berkus to find out who he/she/it was. Turns out she/it’s a he. And he is the owner of ‘Chicago’s most sought after interior design firm’ (Which is barely a compliment. I would like to know why they’re searching for him?)

Apparently today he left ‘Oprah’ to pursue his own show. It’s called, surprisingly, the Nate Berkus Show, and I can’t find anything online about what it will involve. I’m guessing he will arrive at a couple’s house, tell them how poorly they live, redecorate in a way only a Mother could love – then reveal the change with a swish of flouncy shirt and watch as the couple go through the natural emotions of;

1. Shock.
2. Surprise.
3. Realization it looks like something a freshman Art student would produce.
4. Anger.
5. Suppression as they realize the cameras are rolling.
6. Forced grin, and tears that they tell us are ‘happy tears’. But they’re not.

So good luck Nate. I hope they never catch up with you.

Then I looked up eHarmony news for today.

There was an interview with the CEO of eHarmony which talked about the ‘algorithm’ they use for matching people. The interviewers (Nightline – ABC) were also talking to people who had met through eHarmony and were asking them if they were getting married. Because, of course, that’s the only point at which you really love someone. Until then you’re just a drain on their disposable income. (Not my words – those of Nightline. I would imagine.). I’m also guessing a fair proportion of those couples weren’t terribly impressed with being put on the spot in the middle of a reasonably pleasant dinner. If you’re a guy and someone asks you if you would marry the lady you are dining with – there are only three possible outcomes;

1. You say yes. She thinks you’re too clingy and leaves.
2. You say no. She thinks you’re a dick. And leaves.
3. You break down and cry under the pressure. She leaves – with the cameraman.

I’m fairly sure the algorithm wouldn’t take too much thought to calculate though… Presuming you want to be 10/10 –

If you are over 18 and live in your Mother’s basement : -1
If you sleep in your Mother’s bed : -10
If you lock your Mother in your basement : +/-5 (Depends on the Mother)
If you like Doctor Who : -1
If you dress like Doctor Who : -10
If you think you are Doctor Who : -/+10 (Depending on whether or not you are actually the Doctor).
If you have ever used the phrase ‘bigger on the inside’ as a ‘Doctor Who joke’ : -50
If you like football : +2
If you like playing football : +5
If you like playing football online : -25
If you have ever played a game that only uses dice and no board : -25
If you wore the ‘gauntlet of despair’ while playing : -25
If the gauntlet of despair was actually a mitten : -50
If the gauntlet of despair was, in any way, attached via a piece of string to the other mitten : -100

Essentially, I’m saying that the sum of ‘Proximity to Mother’ + ‘Doctor Who’ + ‘Mittens’ multiplied by ‘Football’ (divided by the number of times that football game has been ‘in the Matrix’) = Loveability.

This is why those internet videos of cats do so well. Cats are usually far away from their Mother when they grow up. They are not, nor have they every been, Doctor Who. They are sometimes called Mittens, but rarely wear them. And if you give them a ball they will do that bat-bat thing with their feet – but they will never bat-bat if you show them a ball on the TV. Cats are therefore extremely loveable. In fact, if you Google ‘loveable cats’ you will get 6,430,000 results. However – if you Google ‘mother Doctor Who mittens’ you will get only 292,000 results.

Clearly this proves my point.

Although to be fair and impartial about my clearly correct point of view – The latter search also introduced me to the Blog ‘bloggingwithmittens.wordpress.com’ (as the first hit). This appears to be a blog where a lady lets us know about her baby, Mittens, and what she gets up to. It’s charming. Just to be clear – this Mittens may undermine my entire formula.

This particular ‘Mittens’ is extremely cute. Now – In a crazy world where ‘Mittens’ can, in fact, be extremely loveable – The potential is there that my entire algorithm could by inverted. In that case, it’s even possible that you could be loved even if you do live in your Mother’s basement.

However, don’t get your hopes up. I’m guessing the love, in this scenario, would come from a still-on-the-run Nate Berkus looking to give your basement a makeover.

…Well, you take what you can get.

Image courtesy of Dog-GoneKnit

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MiPad

Remember when you were a kid, and the amount of interest you had in something was directly proportional to how big and shiny it was?

…Welcome to the iPad.

Let me be clear – I’m a self-professed geek. I love gadgets. I obtained my iPad pretty soon after the day of release. I bought a screen protector because I didn’t want any harm to come to it. All of which should tell you how much I wanted to love it.

However, it is fairly useless.

..And I still love it.

Now calm down – I know some of you could tell me that I can take notes on it – or that I can play board games on it – or that I can use it to make me look far cooler than I actually am. Yes, there are thousands of apps already available for it. But that’s not the point. The point is – it’s pointless.

Look, there are a few products which, over the years, have been released to the general sound of the public being unsure what to do with it. (The sound is ‘uhrm?’ if you’re unsure). But if these products appeal to enough geeks/nerds/fangnuts – you find a whole industry will spring up to fill what must obviously be a gap in the market.

Let me give you an example –Texting.

First we had phones – then carphones – then mobile phones. Then, suddenly, we could text. It was exactly like talking to someone, except misspelled and it gave your thumbs cramp.

…Why would anyone, therefore, bother texting?

– Because it looks cool, that’s why.

And soon enough, phone texting lost the prefix and became known as ‘texting’. And then my kids grew up and decided there were too many vowels in the world, and now it’s ‘txtng’.

Now clearly you can’t reduce that anymore without it becoming a non-word (or ‘Welsh’, as we call it in England).

So txtng needs to find a new direction – but it won’t die because it’s still cool.

Where does txtng go when it won’t die? Twitter. That’s where.

So now I can Tweet! And Tweeting is insanely cool. Celebrities are doing it – Politicians are doing it – Musicians are doing it. Txting has successfully evolved, and now we’ve got an entirely new type of texting that goes to loads of your friends all at once. In the next couple of generations there will probably be yet another form of texting that goes to everyone and involves no keyboard at all.

…Oh no, wait. That’s shouting.

But Apple has made a living from creating things that there is no purpose for. Then a strange old man tells you that you must have one. And you buy one.

…Hm. Okay – I buy one.

And you know what? You’ll spend around two weeks desperately trying to find the things that will make it ‘click’. That will make it fit that spot in your life in which there wasn’t a gap until you bought the damn thing in the first place.

So let me tell you how well it fits in my gap. (That didn’t sound as dirty before I typed it).

1. If you have a wife who frequently threatens to kill the computer to death because it doesn’t load quickly enough – An iPad ‘just works’ so you will save yourself some frustration.
2. If you enjoy walking around with a clipboard. It’s exactly like that, but shiny.
3. If you like that iPhone app that looks like a glass of beer, and now want to drink a pitcher of beer. It’s good for that.
4. If you like looking at your own fingerprints on glass. – It’s good for that.
5. If you like Flash Video and changing batteries – It’s not very good for that.

Okay, so there are some limitations – and I may be an Apple fanboy but I understand the reasons for ‘no-flash’ and think it’s probably for the best overall.

In reality, I currently carry my iPad with me wherever I go. I’ve loaded a few videos on it so that I can watch something locally if I’m bored. I’ve downloaded a couple of books so that I can read on it if I’m bored. I’ve downloaded an App called Office2 (Squared) that allows me to read and write Word/Excel files (which is usually what makes me bored).

The form factor is perfect. The first two days are spent with your hands desperately trying to figure out how best to hold it. It usually ends in some kind of manic juggling – but presuming the iPad makes it through in once piece, your hands call a truce with it and it ‘just fits’.

I think that sums it up – It ‘fits’. And I’m sure that in about six months someone will release the thing that we don’t yet know should exist. But when it does exist, it will justify all the iPad carrying I am currently doing.

In short – Welcome to the iPad. It’s the most essential non-essential item you are ever likely to look forward to regretting buying.

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Summer of 2010 – Wait – What?!

Soooo…. I haven’t updated this blog in just under twelve months.. ‘Why?’ I pretend to hear you ask. Well, mainly because I lost my mojo. (If you were born after 1974 – look it up…).

I felt like this blog didn’t really have a direction or purpose. It just felt uncomfortably like I had forced my way into your life and was droning on like the most boring guest at a dinner party about my opinions and thoughts without ever having the decency to ask you if you were interested in what I was saying. (And let’s be honest, there’s probably only around three of you who read this regularly – so it wasn’t even a dinner party. I was essentially just ruining a nice game of scrabble).

So I decided to stop. And I wouldn’t start until I came up with a plan.

Last week I had inspiration… After watching Julie & Julia, I realized that a bunch of the more well-known blogs/books have an ‘event’ theme. You know, the kind where (as in the movie) the author cooks a different recipe every day for a year or (as per the book I’m currently reading) the author decides to live literally by the word of the Bible for a year.

The problem is the only thing I’m really interested in doing over the course of a year is paying another 1/30th of my house off. But it’s more than that – these authors are using another source to drive their narrative. And occassionally, that narrative hits a collective nerve and they get more than three people reading their blog. (Don’t misunderstand me – I think you three are wonderful, wonderful people. I just think we should possibly talk about things other than Star Trek and Mathemagic.)

So I started to look at other blog communities to see what there was out there that could inspire me. I started reading about ‘getting hits’ and ‘finding the right tags’ and so on. I was in some seriously geeky internet soup. And then, while reading a posting on a newsgroup, I had a moment of clarity;

dmobile215 said “Well we all that that traffic problem, its your tags, or keywords I should say you got to make it simple. not difficult for people to find your articles there are millions of people surfing everyday and night like myself you just have to make it easy.. reading articles on the best keywords is a good idea.”

…This is precisely why dmobile215 gets invited to a lot of dinner parties (and dmobile’s 1 – 214 just sit at home in their Mother’s basement). Aside from the fact that dmobile215 has clearly never heard of the word ‘grammar’, he/she/it speaks the Truth. People find your site by having it presented in Google when they search certain keywords. So if I find the top 3 words each time I blog – I must be writing about things that people want to hear about, right? Which means I have a permanent source of inspiration – and I drive traffic to my site (hopefully with your help).

This will obviously lead to huge readership (let’s say seven or eight people) – which will clearly lead to a book deal – which should ultimately lead to a movie deal. At this point I will obviously redistribute my vast wealth throughout the three people who were my original readers. (Please note – the last bit is a lie. Not going to happen).

Ladies & Gentleman (And whatever the third one of you is)… I give you ‘Project: Three Little Words‘.

Here are the rules;

1. When I’m terribly bored, I will use the ‘Google Trends‘ tool to find out what people are searching for most on Google.
2. I will use a date sometime between the date I’m writing, and the last update, as my reference point. This allows me to avoid terribly dull or terribly sad subjects.
3. I will pick the top three words for the selected dates (and then probably have to find out exactly what they mean) then write some irrelevant nonsense about them.
4. If the top two words are ever ‘Star Trek’ and ‘Mathemagic’ I will give everyone who reads this blog a brand new car.
5. Rule 4 is also a lie.

So, naturally, the first thing to do with Project: Three Little Words is decide who is going to play me in the movie… I know, I know – this may seem premature, but I hate it when they get someone in a movie that looks nothing like the person they are supposed to be. So, in lieu of auditions at some indeterminate point in the future, I visited MyHeritage.com to use their celebrity look-a-like thingy.

Below are the results…

http://www.myheritage.com/collage

…Yup. The celebrity that looks most like me is K. D. Lang.

Awesome.

Oh, and apparently I have a touch of Catherine Deneuve about me as well. There is some upside in that Colin Farrell appears as a look-a-like. But you’ll notice there is a 64% match. Essentially, it’s telling me that one of my arms and both of my legs look exactly like Colin Farrell.

Oh, and then there’s Carson Daly. Unfortunately, I already have more people reading this blog than watch his show. (Although think how disappointed he’s going to be when he gets ME as his celebrity look-a-like..)

So that was, unfortunately, not the life-affirming exercise I thought it would be. Let’s move on…

The three ‘hot trends’ in Google for the day I selected (Feb 22nd 2010) are;

1. Lincoln Tunnel.

2. Air Car.

3. Nastia Liukin

Hm.

I’m beginning to think this may not be such a great idea.

…First of all I need to research Nastia Liukin, which I figure is either a disease or a character in the next Harry Potter movie. Apparently she is, in fact, a gymnast. She is also dating Evan Lysacek. (Who is a figure skater). Unfortunately, I’m not a particularly big fan of gymnastics. Any sport where you get points for not falling over doesn’t really appeal to me. Really the whole thing consists of you putting yourself in a situation where you are extremely likely to fall over, and then not doing that. It’s all a bit anticlimactic.

Speaking of anticlimactic – the Lincoln Tunnel is reported by Google because it was ‘partially reopened’ today. I’m not sure how you ‘partially reopen’ a tunnel. Do they only let you in and not back out? Of course that leads me neatly onto the ‘Air Car’.

The Air Car appears to be a revolution in automobile engineering. It seats 3 and you steer it with a joystick. Yes – a joystick. Bear with me for the next bit – I’m not making it up… The driver steps in through the windshield, and the passengers – through the rear window.

No, really.

…And it looks like this;

The Air Car. Awesome.

Really. At every designer’s office there should be someone who is paid to take a step back – look at the final design – and say ‘Have you actually talked to anyone other than your Mother about this?’

So that’s the first round of Project: Three Little Words. And I think I enjoyed it. I guess it felt somewhat like we all learned something. You learned what an Air Car was – and I learned that I mostly look like a Canadian lady who’s nine years older than me.

…I’m so glad I’m back…

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Summer Of ’09

This year we said we’d finally enjoy Summer. Last year we’d just moved to the US and didn’t really have time to think – The year before that, we were thinking about moving to the US so, etc, etc. In fact, the last time we did something ‘summery’ that involved leaving the house – it was probably Longleat.

Ah, okay, so those of you from the US don’t know what I’m talking about. Longleat is a country home in the UK. It’s owned by Lord Longleat and luckily, he’s quite quite insane.

(No, really – check out http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/3299181/Loveless-lord-of-Longleat.html if you don’t believe me. He has one wife and over seventy girlfriends. He also has a park full of wild animals. One way or the other, he’s going to get disemboweled sometime.)

So not only do you have the pleasure of walking around the house of someone much more rich than you (It’s an English thing – we enjoy it). You also have the fun of the fairground rides he has installed, the hedge maze, at one time a rather awesome Doctor Who exhibition – and the safari park. That’s where you drive your own car through the wild animals, with no barriers between you. We used to love getting within three feet of a hippopotamus, or a rhinoceros – and I was looking forward to seeing what kind of equivalent I could find in the US. Unfortunately they aren’t as widespread as I would have imagined. Apparently that’s because of a thing called ‘liability’. Essentially, if someone tells you to drive past animals that could crush you by sitting on you – in England that’s your own dumb fault. Over here – it’s fair to say that someone should have explained to you that the WILD animals may be less than tame.

Instead, we looked around at what was local. (Be aware – local over here is a 2-3 hour drive. In England, if you drive for three hours in a straight line you will almost always end up in the ocean).

First of all, we visited a water-park. Now, they don’t tend to have these in the UK (instead we have waterlogged parks which is a different thing entirely). I remembered visiting one when I was ten, and we’d gone to Florida on vacation – so I wondered if it was still as I expected… (Actually, all I remembered was that it was big, and wet. So it was pretty much exactly what I was expecting).

It was a long drive (2 hours). The nice thing over here is that there are lots of chances to buy food, or make bathroom stops en route. Every exit there’s a sign that says ‘Food’, which usually means there’s a MacDonalds at the next stop. Or there’s a sign that says ‘Food & Gas’, in which case there’s a Taco Bell.

When we got there, we bought our tickets and walked under a huge wooden rollercoaster. I asked the ticket attendant if they’d heard of this thing called ‘metal’ that would probably make it all more stable. Apparently they like the fact that it all looks like it’s out of a Scooby-Doo cartoon, and asked me to shut up, get out of the way, and have a great day – all at the same time.

We tried several things – the go-karts, the bumper boats (I’ve had a phobia of these since a particularly poor experience at an old (now closed) amusement park in England called ‘Tucktonia’. Basically it all comes down to this. I’ve have been driving now for twenty years without a single accident (I’ve had about twenty). But the point is – I know how to drive. And even when I was ten, I could have figured out that turning left makes it go left – turning right makes it go right. But for some reason when they build fairground rides that have a steering wheel – some sadistic **** has decided that if you turn left or right too much you start to go backwards. And left. Or right. This explains why my nose has very little bone left in it, but otherwise makes no sense at all. Why on Earth would you want the thing to feel you turning hard right – and take that to mean you want to reverse into the guy that’s been chasing you for the last twenty minutes? And then they make the track for the things circular. Is the idea that everyone turns left at the same time, and they all start backing up at the same time? Is this just some weird way for cars to go line-dancing?

Anyway – we also went on the tube slides. (Awesome – can’t make any humorous observations about them as I had my eyes shut the whole way down). Although my Son and I did come flying out of the end of the slide and essentially, nearly knocked out the lifeguard waiting at the bottom. She didn’t seem overly bothered though. Or she may have been unconscious. I didn’t wait to find out.

We avoided all the rides that advertised ‘single riders only’ as, obviously, I’m married.

Then we went on the wave machine. Now – I mentioned earlier that I remembered going to a water-park early in my life. But my beautiful wife had never gone to one. Obviously, neither had the kids. Really – I should have realized and mentioned what the wave machine actually was. I think the best way of expressing the moment is to give you a transcript of the conversation;

Mike – Oh, cool. The wave machine. I love these.
Liz – Really? I’ve never been in one. What a beautiful day though.
Mike – Yeah, we certainly got lucky with the weather. I’ve got to say it’s days like these that I just love living here.
Liz – Yeah, it’s awesome.
Montana (my daughter) – Can we go back on the tubes again later?
Mike – Absolutely, we’ll just hang out here for a –
Dylan (my son) – AAAIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! THERE’SAWAVERUNGETOUTOFTHEWAYOFTHEWAVEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA(SPLOOSH)

Dylan heroically jumped into my arms, and to this day I have a son-shaped mark on my chest where he held on tighter than he ever has. I saw Liz & Montana (who had just sat in the water), shoot forward at around the speed of sound and both score a solid strike (if you count old people and kids as pins).

Naturally, they all wanted to go again.

Then last weekend we decided to go to the State Fair. This was another thing you just don’t have in England, but you see all the time in movies. I particularly wanted to find the machine that told my fortune, and made me seven again, while putting my son in my grown-up body. (My only concern would be that people at work would guess what happened when I started acting more mature than usual).

Apparently we didn’t actually go to the State Fair. That’s the Wisconsin State Fair. Instead, we went to the Northern Wisconsin State Fair. I explained to my wife that it can’t be a State fair if it only represents a bit of that State – but she wouldn’t believe me. Regardless, we got there and sure enough – it was in a bit of a state. (Hehehehehehe… Oh, never mind).

When we walked in, we saw all the food on display – and I tried my first funnel cake, along with handmade fudge (obviously I checked the guys hands first). I also saw they were selling ‘Dippin Dots’ which are advertised as ‘The Ice Cream Of The Future’. I’ve always wanted to advertise that and then hand people a cup of milk, two eggs and some sugar.

All joking aside, it was another awesome day. I can thoroughly recommend just taking some time out to spend with the family. We all ate far too much, we all looked at the competition entries, we all watched the livestock auction, and we (nearly) all went on the rides. I’ve got to admit I’ve never understood the attraction of paying to be made to feel ill.

That’s the other reason I avoid Taco Bell.

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Camp Caterpillars

Last week we visited with our friends. While we were there the conversation turned to the fact that I’ve never shot a gun – mainly because it’s difficult to get hold of one in England, but also because they remind me of Simon Cowell. Both are only good for making noise and hurting people. Anyway, they decided to take us out and shoot at beer cans in the woods. We went – (It was awesome – and loud). And now if anyone can-shaped ever attacks me, they’re in for trouble.

…Obviously, as long as I can get to my friend’s house (as he has the guns). And he’s in. And he can load them for me. And remind me where the safety is…

…Just don’t try and rob me if you’re a patient, slow-moving, can.

Anyway – around the same time both my Daughter and my Son started summer camp. This is something I’ve only ever heard about in movies, as we tend not to have summer camp in the UK. The closest we have to it is something called Pontins, and involves your kids being looked after by an adult dressed as an animal of some kind. Now – I mean no disrespect, but I’m not sure the person who had to take a job of being dressed as an owl in August, is probably the best qualified person to look after young children. I would prefer someone who has a few career paths open to them due to their extensive background in education, than someone who has decided to take a gap year – from McDonalds.

When I was young I remember us going away for weeks at a time, which was lovely at first. Then I gradually realized that I was miles from home, and that my parents had left me alone with a bunch of kids I didn’t know. None of them seemed too interested in forming a lasting bond – They seemed more interested in frying bugs and caterpillars. Now – I’m not too keen on frying eggs let alone caterpillars. (I know that seems weird – but if you’ve ever use slightly too much oil, and been cooking in the nude, you’d understand what I mean).

So I tended to spend an awfully long time in the arcade. When I was young that meant Pacman, Pole Position, & Donkey Kong. To my parents, it meant they would never have change in their pockets again. Oh, and that ‘claw’ thing where the claw itself appeared to have all the grip of a pensioner in a coma. Essentially you paid good money to give everything in the cabinet a good stroking.

Occasionally they would have ‘movie nights’ which were always in the afternoon, and they always showed ‘Return to Witch Mountain‘. And other than that the entertainment was musical chairs. Which is basically kids fighting with chairs. If you don’t want kids to fight – give them enough chairs. You can just pick a winner – it’s not about getting the prize. It’s about not being the jerk who didn’t sit down quick enough.

That’s enough about me… So my kids are starting at summer camp. Now, the first thing you should know about my kids is that they’re both awesome. Yes, yes – I know you think your kids are wonderful too – but that’s just you being a parent. I can quite objectively say that my kids are better than any other kids on the face of the planet. So there.

Montana (my daughter) is fifteen and has volunteered to be a ‘leader’ for some of the kids in groups – and Dylan (my son) is seven and was volunteered to be a kid in a group. They were both a bit nervous the first day, as Montana had visions of it all going a bit ‘Lord Of The Flies’, and one of the younger kids getting the Conch and telling everyone else to push the giant to the ground, tie her up then start painting on the walls. Dylan had similar visions but for him they were hopes rather than fears.

So they began, and the first day was a bit rough (for Dylan – Montana soon found out that she could boss kids around like she does our dog. While telling a child to ‘sit’ and ‘be quiet’ is fair enough, we had to stop it when she started throwing them sticks and making them beg for a cookie.). Dylan had been trying to make friends – and the thing is Dylan is a really sweet kid (he gets that from his Mom) – but he doesn’t understand that some other kids are just jerks. (No, no – not yours. Yours are lovely. Wonderful. Yes, very special). So some other kids would rather pull the heads off Barbie dolls than try and make a giant robot. Some kids would rather eat glue than paint pictures. People are just different – which is a wonderful, valuable lesson for any kid to learn. Unless the kid they’re learning it from is a jerk.

So one of these kids responded to Dylan with ‘Who’d want to play with you?’. And this upset Dylan. And his sister (being awesome) came to comfort him. She assured him that the kid was just mean, and had been equally mean to other kids – so Dylan shouldn’t let it bother him.

And here’s why it’s better that he spoke to Montana (sister) instead of Liz (Mom). Montana gave him sage advice that will see him well through the years. Liz would have picked the other kid up by the shirt and thrown him several miles – yet still ensured he landed face-first in something that almost always comes out the other end.

…That’s also why I don’t argue with Liz.

Dylan came home and told us that he had decided he didn’t want to go to summer camp anymore. So we sat down with him and explained that sometimes you are forced to spend time with people you don’t like. (Liz kept staring at me as she was saying that. I’m sure it’s unrelated.). We explained that he should take this as an opportunity to set a good example for the mean kids – and not let them upset him. He listened attentively for the first few words, then decided Lego’s were far more interesting than me. (In fairness, they are – although in my defense little bits of me don’t get lost down the back of the couch).

He went back the next day, and that afternoon I got a call. Now, like I said earlier – my kids are the most awesome kids in the world – but I think every parent is concerned when they get an unexpected phone call from the place responsible for their care. The first reaction is ‘Oh No! Are they okay?’ – The second is ‘Oh No! How much do I owe?’ – and the third is ‘Oh No! Does that wash out?’. In this case, it was none of the above. It was instead one of the Directors of the Summer Camp – and they wanted to let us know how proud they were of Dylan.

I may have mentioned before that my children are the most intelligent, best looking, cleanest, awesomest kids on the face of the planet. And I genuinely believe that – but it still comes as a surprise when someone not blood-related agrees with you…

She told me that apparently Dylan had come across some kids trying to kill a caterpillar.

And he’d told them why it was a bad thing to do.

And he’d told them what breed of caterpillar it was.

And what type of leaves it ate.

And he told them he wouldn’t let them kill it.

…And he stopped them.

See..? …Awesome. Both of them.

So I went to pick them up that night. I saw them walking toward me in the dusk, Dylan slightly behind and to the side of Montana. As they came closer, I realized that I had never been prouder of both our kids than I was at that very moment.

…And then I realised Montana had him walking to heel.

Dammit.

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School Daze

I saw my school had a reunion recently. Unfortunately they’d held it just after I’d left the country – so I couldn’t go. A pity really.. They didn’t have one for years, and then just after I’ve got no chance of going they-

…Hmm
…Oh
..You don’t think they…?
…
Naah…

Anyway – they had a reunion, at the Salmon Leap Pub in Totton. It was one of those places that, at the time, seemed to only turn a profit because it was a hundred yards from the nearest Secondary School. I remember once we’d finished performing our school play for that year and, being on an adrenaline high, the cast decided to head to the pub in the evening. Now – most of them went regularly, but I was slightly more… nerdy. So I decided to tag along and become part of the gang. I think it was there I first heard someone order ‘snakebite and black’ which is essentially lager, cider and blackcurrant.

And they say the English don’t have a palette for fine taste…

I watched everyone order their drinks and hung back until I was sure that no-one I knew was nearby. I leant forward with the most eighteen year old expression a fourteen year old can muster and said – ‘Do you have beer?’. The barman (who was either short-sighted and deaf, or had already drunk all their beer) explained they did. I followed up my slightly immature first statement with ‘Please could I have a glass of beer then?’ Which was nothing if not consistent of me. He asked which one and pointed to a row of taps. It was confusing, as none of them actually said ‘beer’ on them. They either said ‘Lager’ or ‘Ale’ or ‘Stout’ or ‘Brown’. I went for Ale as I’d heard a wizard mention it on a cartoon once. (Nerdy, remember?)

He asked if I wanted a pint and I said no, wondering why he wasn’t just getting my beer. Then he looked at me expectantly. I stared back at him, and (after about five minutes of this) began to worry he was falling in love with me. He asked if I wanted a half instead, and I said, ‘No – beer please’. He shook his head and poured me a half-pint of beer (sorry, ale) anyway. I drank it – and it tasted like sweat. Prior to now, most of the taste in my life had come from my Mum’s home-cooking and fruit chews of some kind or another. As I could think of nothing tastier than strawberry Chewits, I had assumed that everything that people enjoyed would taste roughly the same.

Apparently I was wrong. So I forced it down (Strangely, as I got older I got to first, enjoy the taste of beer, then went through a phase where I believed I must have it to run efficiently. But like any good oil – if you overfill on it, it tends to leak out of places it really shouldn’t. At that point I decided to cut down on my drinking).

So they held the reunion at the same pub. I’d always used to go there with my family at weekends for meals, which was nice. And behind it was a wonderful path that led through the woods, and near the river Test. At least, I thought it was wonderful when I was ten and would go on walks with my Grandparents. It wasn’t quite so nice after the pub kicked out and people were using it to perform one of three different activities (one of which you need a bathroom for, two of which you’d need a bedroom).

…The third thing was sleeping. Your mind is in the gutter.

Anyway. It got me to thinking about the school plays. Particularly those that we’ve seen since our kids have been at school. There was the first Nativity play that my daughter was in when she was five. She was playing the Innkeeper, and I spent most of the week beforehand trying to get her to tell Mary & Joseph they had tons of room at the Inn, and offer them an upgrade to a suite with free cable. It didn’t work – so unfortunately there wasn’t quite the cliffhanger ending I was hoping for.

But the best example of a school play has to be the last one we saw before we left for the USA. My daughter was thirteen at the time, and it was the first Christmas show since we moved just outside London. Prior to that we’d been in Wales, and the school had taken great pride in spending about three months of the year preparing for the Christmas Show. The first year they put on Bugsy Malone – then the next year was Grease. We assumed that going from a small school in Wales, to one just outside London would give us the same results but much – much – bigger.

The evening that we went, there were about 500 parents herded into the school hall – and the show started… I knew we were off to a poor start when the teacher hosting the event introduced the first band as ‘Tracey, James and William calling themselves ‘Bad Habitz’ – apparently they play ‘garage’ music, so let’s all pay attention and listen to some ‘garage’ music.’ Obviously, if there were an award for the poorest introduction ever – that would probably have won. However, you wouldn’t know as they would have introduced it as ‘…And the winner is – ah, who cares.’. The show went on for about an hour, with a close second place being awarded to – ‘And now our Caribbean band who have been working very hard recently. Of course they only started two weeks ago so don’t be too rough on them.’

…No honestly. She said that. But then came the big finale. When the Principal came out and asked us all to join in a chorus of some hymn or other. Now – as you know, when you’re at school and asked to sing, there are three kinds of people. Those that sing, those that launch into the first verse as though they’ve had slightly too much to drink, and those that (like most of us) mime to what the others are singing.

Apparently every parent in the room was one of the latter.

As the music started, we could clearly hear the principal singing – (he was type 2)  – as around him could be heard only the sound of lips slapping together in mime. Everyone realized at roughly the same time- looked at the person next to them- thought, ‘they’ll have to start start singing now’ and carried on miming. By now we were at the end of the first verse and the Principal put his hand up to stop the music. The band did that ‘slowing down, then stopping’ thing where it slowly descends into chaos (and have you noticed how it’s always the trumpet that finishes last?). Then the Principal glared at us all in silence. He took a deep breath and said – ‘Well… That wasn’t very good was it?’. We all, silently, agreed – but unfortunately we’d all reverted to twelve-year-old’s outside the Headmaster’s office. He continued – ‘We’re going to start again and this time I want everybody to enjoy it. I WILL BE CHECKING.‘. With that he signaled to the band to start up again. He wandered the aisles, staring into the faces of every one of the 500 parents in the room to confirm they had lungs – before moving on.

All in all it was a bit of a poor excuse for a Christmas show. Even my daughter came out afterward and said ‘That was awful, wasn’t it?’. I had to agree that, with the exception of her singing (which was the most awesome thing I’d ever heard), the rest of it had been like watching a Marilyn Manson concert hosted by that drunk Uncle that always shows up at Christmas. Both things are a little creepy – and put together it’s like Peanut Butter and Horseradish. So we left for the evening and I said I’d treat everyone to a meal at the pub on the way home. We stopped at a biker bar that was on the way, and I ordered a strawberry daiquiri.

…And that‘s why we had to leave the country.

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I Can’t Lead A Horse To Water…

Today I was in Walmart, and saw an outdoor fly trap. That’s a battle you’re gonna lose, frankly.

Anyway, We went to visit with friends recently, and went on for a ride on their horses. Now, this may not seem odd to you – but this was my second, no – third horse ride ever. Let’s review what led up to this point…

When I was eleven we had exchange students from America visiting us. They were fourteen and therefore my life was Hell for two weeks, obviously. I remember distinctly them picking on me so badly one night, I ran out of the house crying and ran away from home in an eleven-year old kind of way. (In that I ran from the front of the house to the back – and hid). One of them opened the door and accidentally let our dog out – who, of course, came running to find me. Of course, I say ‘our’ dog – he was, in fact, my Brother’s dog (and called ‘Colonel’ for reasons lost to time). I grabbed him and decided the two to three minutes I’d been hidden was enough time for them to truly understand the error of their ways – and if I returned home now they would undoubtedly apologize and ask what flavor milk they could make me before I went to bed.

Unfortunately I had grossly underestimated their stress-tolerance levels, and one of them grabbed me when he saw me and tried to throw me back in the house. Luckily I was still holding Colonel who was quite fond of me.

So he bit my attacker.

On the nipple.

That’s when I discovered the meaning of the word ‘Awesome’. And I discovered that our guests pain-tolerance was not quite as high as his stress-tolerance. I still never got my milk though.

Anyway – as is the case when you have guests from elsewhere, several ‘days out’ had been planned. Unfortunately, we lived near the New Forest in Southern England – and there’s not a whole lot to do there. There’s ‘orienteering’ which is basically finding your way out of the Forest when you’re lost. And there’s having a picnic – which is finding your way into the Forest, and then getting lost.

However, they had found a ‘Riding School’. They had arranged a day out riding – and I was going with them (whether I liked it or not). Now, I’ve always had a slight fear of horses – of course, I have a slight fear of anything eight times my size with huge teeth and a bad temper. (There are people I could name, but I won’t). So I was a little concerned, but when I explained this to the instructor (okay – when I cried) – she kindly explained to me they would give me the horse that they give the reaaaaaaally bad riders (which just made me think it would be in an even worse mood by now). I got lowered onto the horse, put on my helmet, and we were off.

We started to head out of the front of the riding school, toward the road. I immediately saw the flaw in this plan as, for quite some time, England has also had cars on their roads as well as horses. And I saw a potentially lethal combination of speedy metal things and flighty horse things in my future. I was assured that my horse would just follow whoever was in front of it.

It seems odd now, but they didn’t actually give us any instruction on how to pilot a horse (or whatever you call steering one of them). They just kind of assumed it would all work out. Unfortunately, when we hit the road, my horse stopped. Now, I don’t mean to suggest it stopped before we got onto the road. It did enough to get us onto a bend on the road, then stopped. As I was on the last horse I just watched the others ride off – and mine stared after them. I tried shouting ‘Forward!’ ‘Yeehaa!’ ‘Giddyup!’ and ‘Move you BLOODY HORSE’ but nothing happened. Not even a flinch. Then I detected a slight movement in the muscle underneath me. I was sure that my command over the animal kingdom has encouraged the horse to move forward, respecting me as it’s master for the rest of the ride. But instead it turned right.

It didn’t walk anywhere. It just turned right. And if you’ve been visualizing this so far, (and if you have, I’m better looking than that in real life), you’ll know that I am now sat astride a horse, parked across a road, on a bend, in a Forest. That’s when I heard the car coming. I again begged the horse to move. My equine vocabulary expanded even further (although nothing more than four letters). He still didn’t move. If anything, he moved less. I’m not even sure he was breathing at that moment, he was so keen to make his point. The car noise got louder and louder and I could hear it was coming around the corner I was parked across. The car arrived and slammed on the brakes and, parked less than 3 feet from my (still stationary) horse was my Dad. Clearly he’d noticed my enthusiasm when we got there and decided to keep an eye on me. Or he just didn’t want to have to pay them for a new horse.

So – that’s the first time. The second time sounds like a joke – but I swear it’s not.

I first met Liz in my Drama class at School when we were fourteen. She’d just recently moved from the USA to a second-rate secondary school in Totton. She used to sit on my lap and let me look down her top. And today she’s still surprised when I don’t pick up on subtle hints… So it was ultimately eight years later that we got together. One of the first times I went to pick Liz up for a date she was working as a Head Groom at a stables. When I turned up she was going out for a ride and asked me to hop up behind her. Obviously, I was terrified – but I was also a guy. So I didn’t show any fear and vaulted up, missed slightly and slid back to Earth, then used the step like everyone else did.

Liz took me on a ride through beautiful English countryside, we stared as birds flew past, we waved at people in cars. And at one point we headed deeper into the Forest, and she shouted ‘Duck!’. At this point – I kid you not – I looked for the duck.

The low-hanging branch hit me in the throatal area. I hit the Earth in the groundal area. I swear I heard a horsey laugh. Liz was sweet enough to pretend the tears of laughter were tears of concern, and she threw me over the back of the horse again and took us home.

That’s two.

So that brings us to now, and our ride out on the horses recently. I shared the stories above with our friends to give them a chuckle before we left. I finished the story to watch them glancing at each other in a ‘how much does it cost to call the vet out?’ kind of way.. Eventually (after they’d checked their insurance premiums) they let me on. I rode on ‘Rags’. Rags is, essentially, a cuddly ball of fur with four legs, two ears and teeth. He looks not unlike the horse in the ‘Thelwell’ cartoons. And I ride not unlike the.. Oh, you know where I’m going with this..

We headed out of the barn and down to the lake. Taylor was leading us – and eventually we had to cross the lake itself. Well… I say the lake itself, it was more a river. Okay, a stream. Well – maybe a ditch.

Okay. It was about ten inches across. But horses have a great sense of self-preservation – and they can quickly ascertain that they do not have gills. And therefore water constitutes an unreasonable level of risk – and they won’t do it. (Horses make great health & safety auditors for this very reason). Now here I thought I would be lucky as my horse would realise it couldn’t go any further and save either of us any more embarrassment. Unfortunately, this time I had been given the one that just followed the ones in front – so he headed through regardless.

I could tell when we reached the other side because the screaming stopped. I was, after all, worn out. There were a few, more particular, horses that didn’t want to cross though, so Taylor was instructed to find another way home that avoided crossing water again. And he did that very well. Unfortunately, to do so we had to go up and down about four sheer slopes – and then along a cliff edge that was about a foot wide. Again – Rags merrily plodded up and down and up and down with me riding slightly behind my lunch. As we walked along the cliff edge Liz shouted ‘Branch!’ (See – she remembers!) And I ducked, narrowly avoiding the low hanging branch.

We came out into an opening and I was exhilirated! I had ridden a horse – and not fallen off! The horse seemed to have enjoyed it – and was that feeling I could feel the hint of me enjoying it too? I leant forward and hugged Rags, and thanked the Lord for a wonderful day.

Around that time is when the dog jumped out at us.

Sadie (the dog) is awesome. She’s lovely and friendly and very excitable. And, apparently, to horses, she looks like a big ball of teeth with a gun… Because Rags decided to run. I know the word isn’t ‘run’, it’s ‘gallop’. And I know some people have related the graceful movement of the horse to the world of ballet. But let me tell you, if Rags was dancing ballet at that point it time, it was most certainly the Nutcracker. I don’t know how to put this delicately. Pick the most sensitive part of you. Now, if you’re most people you will have picked the second most sensitive part of you because you’re protecting the most sensitive. So think again. Got it? Good. Now imagine someone stood next to you picks up a horse like a baseball bat. And they swing it repeatedly into that particular part of you. And they don’t stop until the horse has had enough.

That’s somewhat what it was like. And we began to run all the way home. Halfway back someone shouted ‘Duck!’ and I, after learning through two previous equine outings, and to avoid any more pain, threw myself wholly off the horse.

…And onto the duck, which bit me.

This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is why people invented the car. And the icepack.

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Start Wreckin’ My Day

Today I went to see Star Trek at the cinema. I liked it. Then I came home and read about it on the internet. Now – given most of what I write ends up on the internet I thought twice about writing this… But I think I’ve officially had enough…

‘Of what?’ I hear you ask. (Although, clearly I don’t hear you – and I’m fairly sure you didn’t say it out loud. If you did – you have larger problems than the point I’m about to make).

Anyway – My beautiful wife & I found ourselves with a joint day off – and no kids. So we decided to go see a good movie. Now, we’ve both been fans of Star Trek in the past (although not Trekkies or Trekkers or Truckers or Trickers or Snickers or whatever they call themselves) – but we had lost our interest in recent years.

(As a side note – I used to sell merchandise at Star Trek conventions. The last one I attended I was confronted by two ‘klingons’ (for ‘klingon’, read people wearing makeup and costumes and then trying to act tough). These ‘klingons’ would only speak Klingon (surprisingly, the language of Klingons. In the same way as people in the USA speak America and I speak England)… And they refused to speak in any Earth-based language even when I was screaming at them that it was all made up and therefore could not be their first language if, indeed, they had managed to master one yet.))

So – we went to see the movie on a Monday morning at 11:30am. I had suspected it would be a quiet screening and we could relax and enjoy the movie. Before we went to the cinema we stopped at Walmart and bought several pants-pocket sized boxes of candy so we could smuggle them in. We actually found ourselves considering what to do if they were searching people for illegal candy purchased outside of their kiosk. Then it occurred to me then that I’m in a country where they would be fine with finding a gun – but illicit candy would get me ejected from the movie…

We used our best ninja/candy smuggling skills and got through security (well, Angela behind the counter), and entered screen 9. There were around 20 people. Sat in the middle of the cinema was what I can only describe as the ultimate Trekster. (Yes, let’s settle on Trekster for now). I mean no disrespect to any Star Trek fan out there (I’m one of them) – but there is a stereotype for a reason. And today I met him. Let me explain why –

He was taking up approximately one butt-cheek per seat.

He had a garbage can full of popcorn to his right.

He had a propane tank of coke in front of him.

And he had his imaginary girlfriend to the left.

He smelt like lonely.

I smiled at him as we sat down and he gave me a look that said, ‘You are clearly attempting to illicit an emotional response from me in order to connect in a, frankly, shallow and meaningless fashion. I find that action illogical and – while not attempting to emulate my hero, Spock – I find myself in the unique situation of being able to register a level of disdain by raising my eyebrow in the fashion that he would employ in any of the previous movies or TV shows in which Mr. Nimoy has played the character most excellently’.

…Although I may be overthinking it. It may also be that, for him, raising one eyebrow is considered a morning workout.

So – the movie started. Awesome. Really enjoyed it. Go see it if you can. If you don’t like it – we must like different things. Sorry about that.

But if you don’t like it – do me a favor. Don’t go on the internet and write a ‘review’ that essentially tells other people they are wrong for not agreeing with you. Don’t tell me I’m an idiot for enjoying a movie. Don’t tell me it was badly written and that I’m not capable of understanding higher concepts.

Here’s the thing – I’m not stupid. My daughter is in Mensa. (Yeah, I agree, that would have been more effective if I could have said I’m in Mensa – but unfortunately I came up one point too short. Possibly the worst parenting I’ve ever been responsible for was when I was told that she had got in, and I had missed out – and I asked them to recheck the results as I was sure they should mean the other way around. Possibly if I was one point more intelligent I wouldn’t have asked them. And if I was two points more intelligent I wouldn’t have written that in a blog my daughter will no doubt read).

(Montana – If you do read this – the above was a joke, or it wasn’t and your Mom was the one who asked to recheck. Pick which one is more believable and go with that. Please let me know to avoid any more embarrassing incidents like this…)

So – movie good – Dad dumb. But not that dumb. I went to school, and college, and I’ve read books. Proper books. With no pictures. And chapters. And I can’t believe how irritating some of the people who write internet reviews/comments are.

First of all, any review that starts with you generally not liking a movie because it hasn’t got the actors you wanted in it are kind of missing an obvious point. Much as I love them – the surviving original guys are really old. No-one wants to watch a movie about old people unless it stars either Paul Newman or Meryl Streep. Particularly a sci-fi movie. People tend to want to watch fast shooty things that go ‘phwee!’ when they watch sci-fi.

(Oh, and don’t get me started on people that don’t like it being called ‘sci-fi’ – ‘because it’s actually science fiction’. And then they tell you it’s not science fiction at all because it involves things that aren’t scientifically proven and therefore should be ‘fantasy’. Here’s the deal – you are wrong. We call a door a door because most people agree it’s a door. Therefore if most people think a science fiction (or sci-fi, which – whether you like it or not – is actually short for science fiction) movie has spaceships and things that light up and time travel… Then IT IS.)

Now – knowing you people (no, not you – I mean the guy that doesn’t like it being called ‘sci-fi’.) as I do, you are probably saying something about that being very populist and that gradually we’ll all disappear down a drain of lowest common denominator. Here’s the interesting thing about that. You’re wrong again. Wow – for someone so smart you are certainly Mr. Ron Wrongster from Wrongtown today, aren’t you?

Defining something by the populist definition doesn’t mean things get dumber. Everyone being happy and content with the simplest of things also doesn’t mean things get dumber. Generally speaking, people who don’t listen to others and don’t consider their opinions, and don’t learn from them… They get dumber. (And yes, I’m conscious I’m doing the exact same thing to you – but in fairness, I’m trying to make reasoned arguments why I believe you are wrong – and also, I’m fairly dumb, and I accept that).

If I find the smell of a flower the most amazing thing in the world, and I need no more stimulation. That doesn’t make me dumb. If I enjoy Shakespeare and find his words the only ones that speak to me – that doesn’t make me more clever than the next guy. (Although it does make me about 400 years old).

So don’t even begin to tell me that just because I enjoy a movie – I’m dumb. And don’t tell me ‘Spock wouldn’t do that’ or ‘Kirk wouldn’t do that’ because;

a. They’re not real, and
b. You don’t know them (primarily because of point ‘a’ – but also because, even if they did exist – they wouldn’t hang around with you.)

Regardless of how vivid your imagination is, you didn’t meet them, have drinks with them, or become friends with them – and no person’s viewpoint is less valid than your own. (Except, possibly, your imaginary girlfriend).

And talking of the audience. Don’t speak for them. Don’t tell me they were all really disappointed unless you spoke to each of them invidually and got a viewpoint. And don’t tell me you did – because you didn’t. They had all got out of the screening by the time you’d leveraged your left buttock out.

I just read a note from someone who commented on the low intelligence of people who clap at the end of the movie. You see, he’d heard four or five people clap at the end – and asked why they would bother doing that when there was no-one to hear it. Ergo – they’re stupid. Then he went home and posted this on the internet. To be clear – he made a lot of noise when there was no-one else nearby. He didn’t ask for feedback, or comment, or discourse. But of course, he’s so intelligent he didn’t see the parallel. Somehow he thought his voice was more valid or important than the people in the cinema. (Note – I bet the people who clapped were there with their friends. See a pattern yet?)

Oh, and don’t even get me started on the people who discuss their disappointment with the fact that the physics of a black hole aren’t accurately represented in a movie with time travel and aliens. While I’m open to the idea that aliens exist. I’m fairly sure Vulcans don’t. And if they do – one called Spock doesn’t. And if he does, he’s gonna come over here and kick your butt for pretending to be his friend.

In short – if you have to insult other people, just tell your friends when they’re in the same room as you. If you can’t get any friends to be in the same room with you… Consider the reason, before you go find somewhere else to vent.

…Phew. Now that’s out of the way.. I liked the movie. It was shiny and had big explosions. Mmmm… Shiny….

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