Husband of the Year, Right Here Folks – Fri, 17Apr2015

This week has been fun but loud and water-logged. It turns out that I have more to do than I thought, specifically, watch the new Star Wars trailer. It is awesome. I would love to explore some Star Destroyer wreckage. By the way, when is Chewbacca going to show some gray? All of that hair can’t be natural. I think he must dye it between trips to the tanning salon. Anyway, besides watching that I did some other stuff too.

#4   I’ve gotten pretty good at ‘Sweet Home Chicago Suburbs.’

Which is to say that I’m pretty close, but not quite there. I set my iPhone to repeat the original Robert Johnson recording of ‘Sweet Home Chicago’ and began to pluck out the tune just as I planned. As best as I can tell the song is played in F sharp (or G flat? I’m not a music theorist/musicologist/braniac, more of a guesser/amateur/half-wit), by which I mean I sound more like Johnson when I put the capo on the second fret. I wasn’t sure if this was right until I saw on Wikipedia (yes, I went there) that the famous self-portrait which Johnson took of himself in a photo booth shows him with his guitar with a capo on – you guessed it – the second fret. Cool. So I’m in the ballpark. Now the part I’m having the most difficulty with is the beginning intro, some of the middle, and parts of the end. But other than that, I’m practically a Robert Johnson virtuoso. Now perhaps if I take up filterless cigarettes, start a womanizing habit, and find out if Beelzubub has a guitar tuning app, I’ll have the whole thing licked in a matter of years.

#3   My chicken-based dish turned out to be spaghetti…with meat sauce.

I planned to cook chicken on Monday nite, but it turned out that we didn’t have enough in the house. So I planned to cook chicken on Thursday nite, but I made so much spaghetti on Wednesday nite that we just had leftovers on Thursday. So, I didn’t get to the chicken. But providing supper for four nites of the week earned me husband of the week honors at my house, and I’ll take it. And I washed all the dishes. And I did all the laundry. And I mowed the lawn. And I took the kids to and from school. And I even massaged my wife’s feet with no strings attached. I should at least get a nomination for husband of the month for that one alone. Maybe even husband of the year. If I have to do all this again next week, then there should definitely been some serious consideration from the Academy. I mean, really, what man would do all of this without complaining or stipulation (read: copulation and applause). I have boldly gone where no man has gone before and I think a little credit and admiration is deserved!

Isn’t it just like a man to do some work around the house and expect to get an award for it? I’ll get to the chicken next week….

#2   Loved the R. W. Norton Gallery.

My local art gallery is the R. W. Norton Art Gallery here in my hometown of Shreveport, La. As previously stated, I’ve been there before, but I’ve only been there for special events, never to take in the whole place. That was my goal this time.

First, let’s start with R. W. Norton himself. It turns out that he was an oilman in this area in the early twentieth century. How cool is that? He discovered and made his fortune from the now diminished oil field in Rodessa, La in northern Caddo Parish. I’ve been to Rodessa before, and let me just say, if there was wealth to be earned there, I think he took it all. Not much there anymore. Anyway, apparently his wife and his son turned a lot of said fortune into an art collection, which later became part of a foundation, then the gallery, and the rest is history.

If you absolutely hate art, you should still go in order to tour the grounds. It is absolutely stunning. Norton Art Gallery sits on 40 acres in the heart of Shreveport and is surrounded by suburbs – not near a financial center, not near a city park, but in the midst of the quieter parts of town with homes backed up to it. On the day I went the azaleas were in full bloom and the sun was shining after several days of rain, and I loved it. There are paths which crisscross the gardens and I spent at least an hour traversing those. In one moment you’ll be surrounded by tall pines and the next you’re under the shade of a white oak grove. Imagine an art gallery in the middle of Augusta National and you’ll have a sense of what I’m talking about. Ok, so I’ve never been to Augusta National, mostly because I don’t’ play golf or have any high schools named after me or own a fleet of supertankers, but I bet it’s close to that.

Inside the gallery is where they keep the art because, duh. The theme of the entire gallery is the European settling of the New World with emphasis on Louisiana (because of course there is) and the American West (because, well I don’t know). I don’t know if it was planned this way or just turned out this way, but there you go. When I have been here in the past it has always had the quiet atmosphere you would expect from an art gallery, but on the day I went I think they were hosting students from the Academy of Fireworks and Sonic Death because they were SO LOUD. And not just the students, but also the tour guides who must have been hired away from an ammunition factory and forgot that paint really doesn’t have to be shouted over. It was like going to visit the Battle of Endor Museum (I’m sure such a thing exists) while the battle was still going on.

Noisy teenagers aside, I really did enjoy the works of the gallery. It’s large enough to make for an interesting morning, yet not so big that you finally leave because you’re bored and have tired feet. All complaining aside, the Norton Art Gallery is a local treasure and I do hope that the kids learned something from it. I will return someday to enjoy it with my own kids right after I stuff socks in their mouths and bribe them with loss of Wii privileges for a week. Actually, one afternoon will probably be enough of a threat.

#1 I think the mole drowned, at least I hope he did.

We have had epic amounts of rain here since Christmas and I think it’s going to continue for the next few days. The weather broke the day I went to the art gallery and one day when I could mow the grass, but the ground was still so water-logged that my lawnmower got stuck. I haven’t seen any signs of the mole since then so I think that he may have drowned. Is that even a thing? What do underground animals do when there is this much rain? One afternoon after a particularly heavy rain my driveway was covered in earthworms who were looking for the Ark. It was an amazing sight – as was the look on my daughter’s terror-stricken face – to see them crawling around for gasping for air. Does this happen to moles as well? And what about all the science fiction authors which imagine humans living in a utopian underground society? What do they think will happen when heavy rains come? Will we be forced back to the surface and exposed to sunlight? Oh, the horror! Perfect underground and pasty humanity ruined by rainwater and sunlight! We may get a tan and fresh fruit! No, stop it! We won’t be able to handle it! The horror! Stupid science fiction. Anyway, I think the thing drowned and we should just colonize space instead.

I limited myself to four topics this week. I think I’ll limit it even further next week.

See you on Monday.

Week of Mon, 13Apr2015

Last week’s theme of boredom relief for the newly underemployed was Spring Break. My kids dominated my list and it turned out to be more of a to-do list than anything else. This week has only one ‘must do’ item around the house. The rest of the list is meant to make me a better person, which is to say the bar is still set pretty low.

#4   Learn to play ‘Sweet Home Chicago,’ again.

If at first you don’t succeed, then wait until the house is empty and try again. I’m really going to succeed this week even if it means working hard and overcoming the odds, which strikes me as the exact opposite attitude of a blues musician. It is very strange to me that this style of music requires more skill and effort than simply crying out loud. Feeling the blues is easy; playing the blues is so hard that it can give you, well, the blues. I really believed that it was three chords and a shuffle, made easier by the fact that there is no bridge and no chorus, but throw in a lot of minor 7ths and some dominant 5ths and so on and so on, and suddenly Mozart himself would be left with a headache. Truthfully, it’s likely not that difficult, I just need to discover the trick.

My plan is to pick up my guitar, set my iPhone on repeat and play the song over and over until I get the sound right. I’m pretty decent at figuring out the key of a song this way, but not much else. If that doesn’t work, then Hello Google! If that doesn’t work, then Hello YouTube! If that doesn’t work, then Hello guitar case! and Hello Pandora!

#3   Cook a chicken-based dish for supper.

I have no problem cooking meals and since I’m more Mr. Mom than Mr. Awesome these days, and I have taken it upon myself to start cooking more meals. The other evening I decided that leftover pizza and bowls of Fruit Loops had run their course, so after a tour through the freezer past the leftover bean soup, a refrozen daiquiri and a WTH was that (?) I found a bag of frozen chicken breasts. I pulled the bag out with full intentions of making a fantastic chicken dish only to realize that I had no idea how. I have grilled hundreds of chicken breasts, but that’s a cooking technique which was perfected by Cro-Magnon cave dwellers around the turn of the last ice age and genetically passed on to every person who can burn carbon, i.e., everyone, ever. So, nothing special there, but no longer! I’m going to get a new recipe from Bobby the Pioneer Southern Woman and throw down some Iron Chef chicken that will knock Paula Dean back into the racist ‘80s. By the time I’m finished I’ll have an entire line of cooking utensils named after me and host my own cooking show called Celebrity Chef who Steals From YouTube! You’ll see!! TOTAL CHICKEN DOMINATION!!! I’LL SHOW ALL OF YOU!!!! HA HA HA HA!!!!! Ok, I definitely need a recipe which has some wine in it.

#2   Kill a mole.

I have a mole in my backyard. I’ve never had a mole in my yard before so I have no idea how to get rid of one. I wouldn’t mind it so much except that my dog is digging holes all over the yard trying to catch it. And I wouldn’t mind that so much if she would, in fact, catch it. Plus, you may recall that I recently planted a garden and I don’t want the unwelcome backyard guest to make itself at home at the Raised Bed Buffet. I asked my dad if he had any ideas and he suggested a trap which he claimed never worked for him. Thanks. I’ve heard of poison gas, but that sounds like less of an extermination method and more of an expect-the-local-hazmat-unit-and-television-news-crew-at-your-house-for-the-rest-of-the-afternoon method. Really, this goal will be more of a research challenge than an extermination challenge because I have no idea what I’m doing, which is becoming a common theme through these challenges (you’ve noticed that already? Ok…).

Don’t get me wrong, if I could catch and release it I would, but have you ever heard of someone catching and releasing a mole? I haven’t. I think extermination is the way to go. I once had an uncle who spent an entire day sitting in his garden with a shotgun at the entrance of a gopher hole waiting for it to come out and sneak a peek at the Grim Reaper in overalls. It was both an awesome and strange sight at the same time. It was awesome because, hey, a guy in a garden with a shotgun beats any scarecrow you’ve ever seen, and strange because he looked like he had seen Children of the Corn one too many times. I’m not sure if that’s the route I want to take, what with thunderstorms in the forecast and all, but I definitely think extermination is the way to go.

#1   Go to an Art Gallery.

If the truth is told, I really like museums and galleries and such. Where else besides a Rolling Stones concert can you find priceless items hundreds of years old available for your viewing pleasure? I am a bit of a museum nerd but galleries are more of a challenge. Whereas museums display a chunk of a trillion-year-old space crystal which was sculpted into a 100-breasted fertility goddess by some guy with mommy issues during the Caesar Augustus administration and requires no greater reaction than, “Wow, cool,’ galleries tend to expect a more thoughtful response. I’ve been to the National Art Gallery in Washington D.C., the Kimball Art Gallery in Fort Worth and the Velvet Elvis/Confederate Flag flea market/sales tent at the abandoned gas station on Highway 1 just outside of Coushatta, Louisiana and I think I am accurate in saying that all of them expect to have their displays oohed and aahed over (Microsoft Word doesn’t think that ‘aahed’ is a word but I’m sticking to my guns).

So my challenge is to go the local art gallery, which I’ve been to before, and find my inner Rembrandt. Or my inner Ansel Adams. Or maybe my inner Michelangelo. Or simply to find a human being who has contributed more to the artistic conscience of the world than some yahoo running a blog based upon his fight against boredom.

Four is enough this week. I can’t solve all of the world’s problems at one time.

See you on Friday.

My Daughter Likes Dragons – Fri, 10Apr2015

This week was consumed with one central theme – Spring Break. Between the chocolate shakes for breakfast and new tracks on Mario Kart – ‘Our Dad is the greatest dad ever!’ – I spent most of my time with my kids, and I loved it. Who needs Disneyworld? We’ve got magic airplanes, dragons, and stainless teeth! Here we go….

#5  Assembled 1261 pieces of a 1297 piece Lego set.

My son and I completed our Lego Cargo Plane and may I say, it is awesome. It has movable wing flaps, elevators, and an electric motor which powers the propellers, retractable landing gear, the cargo bay door in the rear, the cockpit in the front and I think, if you listen close enough, an onboard movie. When I was a kid the coolest thing I ever built with Legos was a wall, and if I was feeling particularly lively that day, a wall with a window. Who came up with all of this? When we bought this set last week I thought that it was way overpriced, but now I’m convinced that it is way underpriced. The level of engineering in this thing is incredible. It has a transmission – a transmission – and yes, we had to assemble it, which was awesome. If Lego ran NASA, we wouldn’t worry about going to Mars (and quite frankly, who cares? Is Obi-Wan Kenobi up there? Will he show us how to make a light saber?), we would just be happy figuring out different ways to take apart and reassemble the Lincoln Memorial. There’s only one problem: we have 36 pieces left. They are small pieces, and I really think they are just spares, but let’s just say I’m glad that I’m not actually flying anywhere on this plane, although, I totally could.

#4  I think my brown-eyed daughter just likes dragons.

So I looked into my daughter’s new ‘boyfriend’ (ugh) and it turns out that this entire episode is so innocent that I may have been a bit over concerned. He’s a nice boy with a crush and she’s a nice girl who likes getting free stuff. It turns out that they both like the movie series How to Eat a Dragon; or maybe it’s How to Feed a Dragon; no, wait, How to Train Your Dragon. Anyway, whatever it is, it was so successful that they made Part 2 because apparently the feeding/training wasn’t complete, sort of like the Free Willy franchise. After the first one, one would think the stupid whale would have learned its lesson, but nooo, it obviously became trapped at least two more times, and if Warner Bros. can wring some more summer movie dollars out of it, I’m sure he’ll caught again. Back to the boyfriend (sorry), he gave her some dragon paraphernalia for Valentine’s Day and she loved it. That’s it. Their ‘relationship’ (ugh) hinges upon Dreamworks’ decision to make more dragon eating movies, which means they’ll be an ‘item’ (ugh) for years to come.

#3  My blue-eyed daughter’s mouth meets foreign substances, and it’s not the braces.

Either my daughter’s threshold of pain is much higher than I suspected or the new braces weren’t as bad as feared. To be fair, she only had the top set put on, so it could have been a lot worse. Her biggest problem is varying her diet. Twix and taffy are out, not-Twix and not-taffy foods are in. This will be an opportunity to open her horizons, because thus far, unless it comes from a box or a drive-thru window, she doesn’t like it. But it’s not like she’s overweight. In fact, she’s about as wide as a coat of paint, but she doesn’t like any home-cooked meals. Of course I’ve appealed to her southern roots and told her that it is her obligation to like greens and iced tea and lard, but she won’t have anything to do with it. At least her teeth will be straight and will match the rest of her.

#2  I’m convinced more than ever that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil.

I tried, I really did.

Robert Johnson’s music was written and recorded in the early twentieth century and sounds like it was recorded on a tin can. So how hard can it be to play? Turns out that it is very hard. I tried to teach myself to play Sweet Home Chicago and the best I could do was decide that it is played in the key of E, or maybe D, or maybe P flat. I’m just not sure. There are chords and sounds in that song which I’m now convinced only a guitar with 17 strings played by someone with 14 fingers could be played. B.B. King once said that the Blues is like southern cooking: it only has three ingredients, but the way you combine those ingredients is what makes the result great. I think Johnson was making Filet Mignon before his time. If he was on my wife’s favorite show Chopped, he could make a five star meal out of Tostitos, coffee grounds and motor oil. I’m going to try again next week when the kids are back in school. My efforts were made a little tougher this week by having Mario Kart constantly playing in the background, and me participating in it (but we we’ll disregard that part).

#1  I can predict who likes the RFRA and who doesn’t. No, really I can.

Ok, the RFRA fervor has died down a bit so maybe now cooler heads can prevail and we can figure this out as best we can. Allow me to take a moment to state that I oppose same-sex marriage but recognize that I’m probably in the minority these days and it’s a reality now for many states with more likely to come.

Let’s frame the discussion. Same-sex marriage has become legal in several states. These couples have apparently been turned away from some businesses who typically service the wedding industry because the business owners have a moral objection to participating in any way to a same-sex union. As a result, couples have claimed discrimination based upon sexual orientation and the businesses have sought legal protection against this claim. Enter the Religious Freedom Restoration Act. Indiana and Arkansas have pursued a path in favor of the business owners, but a loud outcry has caught these lawmakers by surprise and they have since backed down. However, the issue remains unresolved because we are right back where we started: same-sex couples may face discrimination and business owners may be forced to choose between moral convictions or legal concerns.

The core issue here is one’s view of homosexuality. Any person’s view of the RFRA can be accurately predicted based upon one’s understanding of homosexuality. Those who oppose the RFRA do so on the grounds that it is illegal to discriminate against a person for traits that a person is born with. In this view, homosexuality is a human trait similar to race, gender, eye color, etc. On the other hand, those who support the RFRA do so on grounds of objecting to the normalizing of homosexuality. In this view, homosexuality is a lifestyle choice. Some would call it a poor choice, even a sin (Romans 1.26, 27). So, here is the core question before us: Is homosexuality a trait from birth or a lifestyle of choice? If it is from birth then the discrimination question is settled against the RFRA. But if it is a choice issue, then no reasonable person should be forced conduct a privately-owned profitable business which provides services or products against their moral convictions. A Jewish baker should not be expected to provide Nazi-themed cakes for the Arian nation, an African-American clothier should not be required to provide uniforms for the Ku Klux Klan, and physicians are already refusing to provide treatment to children whose parents refuse to vaccinate their children. And if they are required to do so against their moral objections, is this not also discrimination against the business owner?

I believe homosexuality is a lifestyle of choice, thus not subject to the laws of discrimination, but I’m in the minority. Is a compromise possible? Yes, but not at the legal level. Business owners are prohibited from discriminating based upon traits from birth, and rightly so, but they are also prohibited from discriminating based upon other lifestyle choices such as religious views. However, we all appreciate, and even expect, that gun shop owners can restrict sales to an extremist even if religious discrimination is claimed. Private business owners should be allowed to conduct business according to moral convictions and patrons are free to take their business where they please. Honestly, do we expect that a business owner who is forced to provide products against their convictions would provide a good one? The African-American business owner could legally provide uniforms to the klan which are late, or two sizes too small, or sheer (fat white guys, yuck) so long as they entertain the business. Patrons would be better served if they take their business where they will be satisfied with the service and products, private business owners can keep their convictions intact, and no one goes to jail or to a wedding with a terrible cake.

I may have bit off more than I can chew this week. Next week promises to have less kid-centered activities involved.

See you on Monday.

Spring Break – Week of Mon, 06Apr2015

I’m looking straight down the barrel of another slow week (read: 7 days off, again) and thus another week of new and exciting adventures (read: cheap crap to do around the house). Last week brought some interesting prospects and a renewed determination to plant the flag of victory into unchartered territory (read: keep the house from disintegrating while my wife starts her new job.)

#5 – Help my son put together a bazillion piece Lego set.

As I write this I’m attempting to help my son, who is on spring break along with his sisters, put together the most awesome Lego set I have ever had in my house. It’s a motorized cargo plane designed for ages 10-16, but I think between the both of us and a little help from YouTube, a Haynes Manual and the Risen Savior we should have it together by the end of 2017. Before this we put together a 24 piece motorcycle, some helicopter/boat/fruit juicer combo and the Batmobile, but this is by far our biggest challenge. This will be one of those sets which will remain intact once assembled, even if the box claims that it can also be assembled into a super cool hovercraft. That’s crazy. It’s like saying that once I’ve constructed a 787 I can then disassemble it and use the parts to build the USS Superdome. On second thought, that may be kind of cool. We’ll see.

#4 – Investigate my brown-eyed daughter’s new ‘boyfriend.’

My brown-eyed daughter is our second child. She’s the outdoorsy, help-in-the-garden, live-in-the-moment type. The other night at the dinner table, word got out that she has a secret admirer at school who recently made his feelings known with Valentine’s Day gifts just for her. Soon afterwards he asked her to the Spring Dance. This is all innocent enough except for one thing – she’s eleven years old. Yep, ELEVEN…rhymes with heaven…used to be seven…ELEVEN. How old is he? I don’t know…eleven? Twelve? They’re in the same class together. My wife shot down the date idea and it turns out that the boy’s mother did as well. Still, my daughter is keeping the gifts and not denying that she’s ‘involved.’ Ugh. I’m sure that he’s a fine boy and his parents are proud, but I was a boy once and I can confidently predict with 100% of precincts reporting that I’m not going to like this at all. A little investigating is in order.

#3 – Get braces for my blue-eyed girl.

My blue-eyed girl is our firstborn. She’s the indoorsy, girly-girl, filled-with-drama type, and she gets braces this week. Meanwhile my checkbook gets an IV for dehydration. Good grief, braces are expensive. And, as an added bonus, I’ve been told that they’re painful. Honestly, I don’t know what to expect because I never had braces. In fact, except for one cavity, my 41 year old dental record is spotless. I have great teeth, but apparently this is a recessive trait which my wife’s dominant dental trait beat mercilessly while laughing and saying, ‘We’ll have none of that.’ My other two are already on track for braces as well. It makes sense that all three of our children would have dental issues since both of our ancestries trace back to the British Isles where dental care ranks somewhere north of hoping Scotland sticks around to somewhere well south of waiting for the royals to reproduce. What I’m bracing myself for (see what I did there?) is the gratuitous moaning and carrying on that I’m sure she’ll be delivering by the bucket loads. Stay tuned.

#2 – Learn to play a Robert Johnson tune.

For those who may not know, Robert Johnson is the greatest blues guitar pioneer in history. Famous blues guitarists such as Muddy Waters, B.B. King, Buddy Guy and Eric Clapton have covered his music and credited him as a major influence of their own. Legend has it that when the young Keith Richards first heard a Robert Johnson song he asked who was playing with him only to be told that Johnson was playing all of it alone. Have you ever heard Clapton play ‘Crossroads?’ That’s not Clapton’s song, its Robert Johnson’s. And now, I’m going to try to learn to play one of this guy’s tunes.

Yes, I have a guitar, and yes, I have a rudimentary understanding of how to play it, and yes, Johnson is the Mozart of blues music, and yes, I’m the Charmin ad lady of blues music: ‘So does your bum feel fresh today? No? Sounds like a bloody hell good blues song. Bugger.’ I have several songs to choose from: Kindhearted Woman Blues, Sweet Home Chicago, Walking Blues, Cross Road Blues, Milkcow’s Blues and on and on. The biggest challenge may be putting myself in a blues state of mind. I’m not particularly depressed and my wife isn’t cheating on me and none of my fourteen kids are in prison, so I may have to dig around the house to find something to be blue about. The ‘Can’t Get my Netflix to Work Today Blues’ just doesn’t sound right. Dig harder. ‘We’re Out of Toothpaste Blues?’ No, dig harder. ‘Balance the Checkbook Blues?’ Yep, that should do it.

#1 – Wrap my head around the Religious Freedom Restoration Act debate.

Full disclosure: despite the fact that I consider myself a devout Christian who attends church regularly and despite the fact that I am a professional in the oil and gas industry (who is currently practicing for retirement), I am a political moderate (note: see title of this blog). Admittedly, I tend to lean to the right, but I am not a member of any political party. To give an example of my thoughts, I don’t think Hillary Clinton is trustworthy yet I also don’t think Ted Cruz appreciates the value of thinking hard. Being a moderate is becoming more and more isolating because the professional political extremists seem to be the only ones gaining ground. Meanwhile pee-ons like me who still see some value in a good compromise are wondering who is going to start yelling next. Yes, I believe in fighting for what you believe in, but I also believe that only fools believe you can get 100% of what you want 100% of the time.

This leads me to the recent debate surrounding the RFRA. Somebody failed to strike a reasonable compromise. Did anyone win? Did anyone lose? Has discrimination been overcome? Has religious conviction been satisfied? Is the debate really over? Is there more under the surface? In response to the last question, I think there is and I intend to look into it during the week. I’m interested in visiting with a homosexual private business owner and finding out if there is a line he/she wouldn’t cross because of moral objections.

In the meantime, I’m interested in attacking breakfast.

See you on Friday.

I Think We’re Raising Sheldon Cooper – Fri, 03Apr2015

Happy Good Friday to all. Strange coincidence that our first week coincides with Holy Week. Jesus’ week started great but ended not so great. Mine? Well, you be the judge.

#5  Made it to Level 169 on Candy Crush Your Manhood into Tiny, Tiny Bits.

I really, really hate this game.

Not only did I NOT quit playing but I also did NOT advance more than two levels. Why do I bother? I may not have stated this before, so I will now: I refuse to purchase any of the in-app power-ups the soul crushing designers of the game have implemented in order to drain your bank account to the point that the World Bank calls emergency meetings to decide whether or not they should provide assistance to your crushed and depleted funds. And I can proudly say that I never have. I once spent a long boring week working offshore in the Gulf of Mexico and I found solace in the open arms of some drag racing harlot game on my iPad (not DRAG, but DRAG RACING; it’s an important distinction). Fifty dollars later my conscience (read: my wife) forced me to vow not to do in-app purchases ever again. A digital golden trophy of an imaginary quarter-mile championship isn’t much of a draw on eBay. Eating fifty dollars’ worth of bowling pins would have been money better spent. I really, really hate this game.

Thumbs down.

#4  Marveled at How Few Indians There are in My World.

I didn’t meet anyone this week with an Indian name (remember, I’m looking for Punjab, not Breaking Wind). Anyway, not only did I not meet one, I didn’t even SEE one. Apparently, I’m currently living in a world so bright and white that Clorox is calling and asking me for helpful hints. Well, that’s not entirely true. My neighbor is Asian-American (don’t ask for his name, Idk), and my children attend public schools alongside African-Americans (Idk their names nor their parents’ names), and I’ve spent many a day working in Texas with many Latino-Americans (Gonzalez or Rodriguez, I think). This is quite embarrassing. Now that I think about it, I could have at least called one of ten thousand different technology help lines and met someone from India. Of course, he would probably have told me, with a thick Indian accent, that his name is Kevin.

This is deeply embarrassing. Two thumbs down, without prejudice. Literally.

#3  Planted a Garden

Success! My second daughter and I plunged into the compost with both feet. The lumber for the box cost $43, the compost/topsoil/tear-inducing manure mix cost $57, and the plants cost $40. I’m all in for about $140. We planted cucumbers, squash, tomatoes, okra, bell peppers, banana peppers, a dead body (more compost), carrots, cantaloupe and strawberries. So far, everything is very happy and we feel like genuine farmers. She particularly loved it. She kept feeling sorry for everyone else still in the house either taking a nap or playing Wii or searching the app store for a gardening game. I learned something about her that day – she is happiest when she is dirty, and I love that. I shoveled compost, she rolled in it. I planted a garden, she talked to it. I drank iced tea, and she did too. We both check it every day, either together or separately. Love, love, love.

Four green thumbs up.

#2  Taught My Kindergarten Son How to Divide. Next, He Will Teach Quantum Physics to Me.

My son is so bored with addition that he has consumed himself with figuring how many minutes and seconds are in any given period of time. He now knows that there are seven hours, or 420 minutes or 25,200 seconds in a school day and announces from bed every morning that he emphatically does not want to go to school for 25,200 seconds. I couldn’t handle him constantly asking me multiplication questions anymore, so I taught him how to multiply. Four x three is the same as adding four together three times. Two x five is the same as adding two together five times, etc. When he realized this, his eyes lit up and instantly all pencil and paper in our house became his tools to unlocking the universe’s secrets. Having mastered 9 x 6 = 54, he then deduced that these mathematical functions can go in reverse. So, in the same day, I taught him division. He’s in kindergarten. I remember having his enthusiasm for learning when I was a kid. If there was some knowledge in the world that existed but I didn’t have, I remember how exciting it was to finally be clued in. He is the same way. Instead of dreading math problems, he gets downright giddy at learning them and even more so when he solves them. More love, love, love.

2 x 2 thumbs up.

#1  Started a New Blog.

This one has kicked off OK and needs no expounding, so I’ll leave you with this story.

My two youngest were playing Mario Cart the other day and yelling incessantly at the screen for reasons that are important only to kids and absolutely no one else in the history of the world, ever. I tried to block it out until I heard one of them yell something I never thought I would hear in the history of the world, ever – ‘Get Honkey Dong!’

Huh?!

It turns out that they had renamed all of the characters in the game, and they decided that the name Donkey Kong isn’t suitable for our household. Honkey Dong, on the other hand, is far more acceptable.

O.M.G.

While some of the other names may have been worthy of the gaming hall of fame, my memory of them was drowned in the shock of hearing my kids yell, ‘Catch Honkey Dong!’ ‘Honkey Dong is chasing me!’ ‘You be Honkey Dong this time!’ There are moments in parenthood when you reflect upon the paths that were taken which led to this point and sometimes you can pinpoint events which may have led up to this moment. This was not one of them. Did they accidentally create these words from midair? Have they heard them somewhere else and if so, do they have any clue what they mean? I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure, but for now we’re content to let the innocence of childhood remain so, even if it means pouring concrete in the neighbors ears whenever the Wii is turned on.

One limp thumb.

Happy Easter. See you on Monday.

Hello world!

My name is Champ Cox. Yes, that is my given birth name. No, I am not a porn star.

What I am is overeducated and underemployed. I have a Master’s Degree plus thirty hours, but Master of Divinty degrees don’t pay what they used too (unless your belief system includes a god who can be strong-armed into giving you a private jet if you claim it hard enough – I’m looking at you Joel Creflo Copeland). So awhile back I returned to the life that I knew before seminary – the oil and gas industry. All has been well until recently. The industry is in a bit of a downturn nowadays. This is great for everyone who buys gasoline, but not so much for everyone who makes a living getting it out of the ground.

All of that leads to this: I have a lot of new spare time on my hands. While this may sound good at first, the problem is that I don’t have a real hobby. Years of being gone for days on end dissuades one from participating in homebound fun that others take for granted. Plus, watching loads of TV and catching up on ‘private moments’ with the wife eventually reach a saturation point (The TV for me, the ‘other’ for her). Combining the two only makes it worse. No, really.

Anyway, I need some things to do, specifically cheap things. This list will be a weekly post of things I intend to do during the following week. At the end of the week I will post again to update my efforts. Ready? Ok, here goes.

#5 – Stop playing Candy Crush.

Remember what I said about watching loads of TV (and the ‘other’). Well, both of these pale in comparison next to the amount of time I spend playing Candy Crush. It is the stupidest game in the history of portable electronic devices, right up there with Toilet Time (yes, it’s real and on the app store) and spelling dirty words on a calculator. It should be renamed ‘Soul Crush’ or ‘Crush Your Ability to Get Off the Couch and Live a Productive Life,’ or my new personal motto, ‘Candy for the Crushed and Lifeless Loser.’ Unfortunately, it redeems itself by being a fantastic way to kill time. Although this may seem like a new hobby to embrace, I spend far too much time trying to get three, maybe FOUR, blue candies in a row (GET OUT OF MY WAY YELLOW!). And I really hate Odus. What’s wrong with that idiot? Find a more stable loft to set your lazy, soul-crushing rump on, or expect me to hire Wreck-It Ralph to kick your nocturnal a**! I hate this game. I’m on level 167.

#4 – Meet someone with an Indian name.

Allow me to clarify – I mean Indian as in from India, not American Indian. Taj Mahal, not the Warrior Chief Hotel and Casino.

I live in Louisiana. Do you know how many people from India live here? Me neither. I only know of one man of Indian ancestry in the entire state, and I think he’s trying to move to Washington D.C. ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to run for president on a conservative platform.’ Anyway, there may be loads of them, but I don’t know any personally. We don’t have to become best friends, I just want to meet him/her/it and shake his/her/it’s hand. The only problem I foresee with this challenge is that I may have to go to a hospital to accomplish it. I don’t hate hospitals, but I think they frown upon unsolicited people wandering through the halls looking for the chief of medicine without an appointment. This may be harder than I anticipated.

#3 – Plant a garden.

This is one I have wanted to do for some time, but again, lengthy periods of time far away from home (then catching up on the ‘other’ – Yes, sex! I’m talking about sex!), as well as lack of remote gardening technology (remardenology?) have put this one on the back burner for quite a while. I have read that the newest thing in gardening is raised bed gardens. Since gardening is as old as humankind and the last improvement was opposable thumbs, any new advances in gardening technology strike me as a once in a lifetime event, thus worth looking into. The idea is that you can build a box yourself, fill it with dirt and plants, and voila! – a new garden which is closer to your knees than your ankles. As with any new and exciting technology, you can spend as much money as you want, from the customized insert-tab-A-into-slot-B cedar box kits to homemade steal-some-used-lumber-from-the-trash-pile-of-the-new-construction-down-the-street kit. In my current circumstance, cheaper is better, so cedar trees rejoice!

#2 – Teach my kindergarten son how to multiply.

This isn’t a noble ambition, rather an effort to get him to stop asking me the same question over and over ALL THE TIME. He has discovered that one minute equals 60 seconds. So now, half of our day is spent answering, ‘How many seconds is ten minutes?’, or “How many seconds is 60 minutes?’, or my personal favorite ‘How many seconds before I die?’ Wait, what? Is anyone else’s kindergartner fascinated with the time of his death? No? Just me? Ok. I don’t know if multiplication will help that, but he’s not quite ready for seminary-prepared answers, so for now it’s just the multiplication. After that maybe I’ll teach him how to spell bad words on a calculator.

#1 – Start a new blog

So far, so good.

See you on Friday.