Snarky Son

My oldest son has developed a cutting sense of humor. I'm not sure where he gets it. Probably from school.Sherry was holding up individual housewarming gifts a friend had given her to show me:

Sherry:	“See? I got a some chocolate, a cookbook, a measuring cup, and (showing oddly shaped kitchen shears) scissors for cutting.”
son:	“Really? For cutting”
me:	“He's gotta point.”
Sherry:	“Nice.”

We were shopping at Lowe's. I was busy trying to figure out which plumbing parts I needed for our bathroom renovation. I heard an announcement over the P.A. system about a car in the parking lot. I ignored it.

son:	“Dad, did you hear that?”
me:	“Uh, yeah, but I wasn't listening.”
son:	“They said that there was a red Honda Civic illegally parked in the parking lot and that it was going to be towed.”
me:	“REALLY?!”
son:	“...(rolling his eyes) No dad. And we drove the van.”

Oldest son and I were having a nice conversation about cars. It's a common interest we share, so it makes it easy for us to have father-son-bonding moments. It was going well until he decided to dial-in a little more snark:

me:	“Oh, I had an idea. You know how the stuff always rolls around in the---”
son:	“wait---”
me:	“Hold on, let me finish. The stuff in the trunk is always---”
son:	“Dad, wait!”
me:	“What?!”
son:	“(pausing for dramatic effect; revealing just a hint of a smile)...You have an idea. I just thought you'd want to savor the moment...”
me:	“(struggling to conceal my pride)...Wow...That's harsh!”
son:	“(still maintaining his composure)...Did you to want write this one down? Just to make sure it sounds right, you know, before you embarrass yourself.”

Salad Fingers

My middle son scares me sometimes. For example, he recently introduced me to his favorite interweb video, Salad Fingers, which is an episodic cartoon produced by David Firth. It's dark, disturbing, and not for everyone.

I experienced uneasy pride as I thoroughly enjoyed episode 4. He wanted me to watch this one first, because he thought it would speak to me. He was right. I found it to be creepy yet hilarious. The main character is a green, three-fingered being with bad teeth. He enjoys role playing, rusty metal and blood. Why, it practically writes itself!

Mr Firth is a genius. And for that, I'll gladly purchase some of his apparel.

Conservation of Knowledge

Our oldest son must make a documentary film for a school project. The title of his film? "How Cars Work." No surprise there. Shooting hasn't started yet, but he wrote a draft of the script, which he gave to me to proofread.

son:	“I don't need you to fix any spelling or grammar. I just need to know if it's right on a technical level.”
me (head):	“That's code for -- 'Dad, you're a functional illiterate, but you're the only person in the family who knows more about cars than I do.'”

The script was well written and nicely organized. He covered the major components in a logical succession, starting with the engine and ending with the brakes. That's when I got to this part:

"The brakes are responsible for converting the kinetic energy of the car into heat energy, so they need to be well ventilated."

Wow! He actually listened when I taught him about conservation of energy. Cool.

My chest swelled with geek-pride.

Lego Photography

A few people have asked me how I do the lighting for the photographs of my kids' Lego models.

I found this how-to article on the interweb. It's pretty simple and cheap.

If you don't want to use a tripod, you'll have to flood the scene with a crap-load of light. For my setup, I use two halogen shop lights, totaling 1kw. Needless to say, the working environment gets pretty hot. It's a shame that 90% of that 1kw is converted into heat.

It's not a perfect solution, but I'm happy with the results. I still have to tweak the colors a bit, and the size of the model is limited by the size of the bucket.

Here is the setup:

Geekcon 2006

You may remember that, back in February, my youngest son was awarded the Grand Champion prize for his Science Fair project. It was a proud moment for us.

One of the perks of being Grand Champion is an all expense paid invitation to the PSTA Annual Convention in Hershey, Pennsylvania. My son and I enjoyed the two night say at the Hershey Lodge, free food, and of course an abundance of chocolate. In return, my son had to present his project to convention goers for two hours each day. A small price to pay.

My son was amazed by the exhibit hall. It housed over a hundred companies demonstrating their latest and greatest gadgets science teachers could employ to enrich the educational experience. Ensuring that no child gets left behind. My son stared at me in amazement as the exhibitors gave him all kinds of free stuff. The novelty of being the youngest person there got him more attention than the other convention attendees.

One exhibitor gave him four large (four inches long) millipedes. Luckily, they weren't the poisonous kind.

Another exhibitor asked him to hang out at their booth because he was drawing a large crowd. I guess 4 foot tall kid with a 6 foot long Boa Constrictor wrapped around his neck is interesting to most people.

But the give away that takes the cake occurred on the last day. One of the guys involved with PSTA asked my son what he was interested in. "Anything about animals!" He took my son to an exhibitor who gave him microscope. We were shocked.

As soon as we got home my son and I started experimenting with the microscope. My son was transfixed as he gazed at various things though 400x magnification. Human hair, dog hair, paper, mold, human saliva, toilet water, aquarium water. The aquarium water yielded the coolest images. He was giddy when he got to see a Euchlanis munching on microscopic plants.

LED Fun

I'm still the favorite parent. This past rainy Sunday I made "Throwies" with the kids. A Throwie is an LED light (is that redundant?) powered by two hearing aid batteries and held together with some electrical tape.

Of course, I had do a mini science lesson about electricity. They seemed to grasp the difference betwixt wiring batteries in parallel and in series. Good times.

The assembly was extremely tedious. I was so frustrated (read: screaming) that the kids felt the need to "give me some space." "You don't need us here watching you...just call us when you're finished," my daughter said, trying to put on a happy face and pretend she wasn't scared of me. After 20 minutes of intense concentration and several f-bombs, I was finished.

My oldest son was very pleased with the LED he chose (clear LED's seem to shine the brightest). So happy, in fact, that he promptly stuck it up his nose. His semi-cross-eyed gaze was a nice, unexpected addition.

Here's younger son desperately trying to spin his Throwie fast enough to create a full circle in the photo. 'C' -- nice job. Better luck next time.

And my daughter, obviously very unhappy with her LED color choice, did nothing special for her photo. Happy happy happy. Joy joy joy.

Unsupervised Halloween

I took the kids out for trick-or-treat last night.

The experience was typical. The community involvement covered the wide spectrum.

1. misanthrope -- no lights on; leave us alone



2. bucket -- a bucket of candy on the porch; this always works because kids will only take one piece of candy



3. heart beat -- real people handing out candy; slightly more involved than a bucket



4. normal -- lots of Halloween decorations and scary music; real people handing out the candy and actually attempting to interact with kids



5. Martha Stewart -- full-on Halloween party including: tent housing two picnic tables and chairs; picnic-type foods: hot-dogs and condiments, chips, and drinks (hot chocolate, juice boxes, water, and soda); music, decorations, and fancy lighting

There was one house that didn't really fit in. A few yoots set up shop in the their parent's garage. Strobe lights and industrial music set the mood. Just as the trick-or-treaters entered the garage, one of the teens would surprise them from behind with a real circular saw. It's unmistakable metallic whine was easy to hear over the blaring music. Yes, it had a blade. I guess they thought that the safety shield would be enough. One of the other yoots demonstrated his pyrotechnic prowess by creating a flamethrower using a lighter and a can of Static Guard.

Scary.

Pink

daughter:	“Dad, I made a PowerPoint presentation today.”
(head):	“fuckin' Microsoft.”
me:	“Wow, that's impressive. Did you have any trouble?”
daughter:	“No, not really. OK, I had little trouble Googling for pink.”
me:	“Why was that hard. Didn't you go to google and type 'pink'?”
daughter:	“Yeah, I did, but it only found things about Pink. You know, the artist?”
(head):	“This conversation is going last much longer than it should.”
me:	“OK”
daughter:	“She sings the song, 'Stupid Girls'”
me:	“Yeah, I know.”
daughter (singing):	“Stupid girl, stupid girls, stupid girls...”
(head):	“OMG.”
me:	“Yes. I know the song.”
daughter:	“I think she was married to that motocross guy.”
(head):	“Faster please.”
me:	“Right. Carey Hart. Got it. Where are you going with this?”
daughter:	“Oh, well I wanted to have pink as my background.”
me:	“So, what was the trouble?”
daughter:	“I told you, I only got things about Pink the artist.”
me:	“Right, we've been through this.”
daughter:	“Well, I wanted pink the color.”
me:	“You're kidding right?”
daughter:	“No, for real, I wanted a pink background but it wouldn't let me pick the color, so I thought I would go get a pink picture from the internet.”
me:	“A picture of the color pink.”
daughter:	“Right, but I couldn't find any.”
(head):	“...don't say anything JC, you'll just hurt her feelings...”
me:	“What else did you do today?”

Happy Fun Dad

I went swimming at the public pool the other day with my kids.

Both my son and daughter had pieces of dead skin hanging on the soles of their feet. It's early in the summer, so the skin on their feet isn't tough enough for the rough concrete pool bottom.

My son showed me the bottom of his big toe. He asked me to tear off the small piece skin. Without questioning, I grabbed it with my fingers and yanked. The water-soaked skin tore easily, and he was happy.

My daughter was suffering from the same problem. She saw the quick and easy solution I had provided for her brother, and asked if I could do the same for her. "Sure" I said. I grabbed the skin and yanked. Unfortunately it didn't yield the same result. With a stunned look on her face, she gasped and immediately started crying.

The crying didn't surprise me. She is "injured" by the most benign events: Stepping on a tall blade of grass. Getting poked in the arm with a pencil eraser. Falling down a flight of stairs. This is a trait she inherited from her mother. "Come on. You're fine. Suck it up and walk it off." I said, as I tried not to loose my temper in front of a few dozen judgmental mothers. "I CAN'T WALK! IT HURTS TOO MUCH!" she belted ... even though I was sitting right next to her. "Then go for a swim or something. Just stop crying." I said. "I CAN'T SWIM! I'LL GET BLOOD IN THE POOL!" "There isn't any..." and that's when I notice the pool of blood beneath her toe.

"OK, maybe we should go to the office for a Band-Aid."

Several dozen judgemental mothers watched as I walked and my daughter limped to the office.

The lifeguard in the office was unfazed. I guess she deals with lots of bloody toes.

She cleaned and bandaged my daughter's toe. My daughter was still inconsolable. The lifeguard then turned her attention to me, and prepared to read the standard script.

lifeguard:	“I need to fill out an accident report. So I need you to answer a few questions.”
me:	“OK”
(head):	“Something bad is about to happen. She's not blocking my exit route, so I'm OK for now.”
lifeguard:	“Where did this happen?”
me:	“Over by the side of the pool.”
lifeguard:	“What happened? Did she step on some broken glass?”
me:	“Well...no. She...uh... She asked me too...uh...”
daughter:	“He ripped the skin off of my toe.”
lifeguard:	“Excuse me?”
(head):	“fuck.”
me:	“You see, she had some dead skin on her toe and she asked me to pull it off.”
daughter:	“And he yanked really hard and it hurt a lot and then it started bleeding.”
(head):	“OMG STFU!”
me:	“...She asked me to do it.”
There was an awkward moment that seemed to last an eternity. I'm sure she was contemplating whether or not she should call Child Services. We all exchanged glances.
(head):	“These aren't the droids you're looking for. These aren't the droids you're looking for.”
lifeguard:	“...I'll write down here that she stubbed her toe.”

Another near miss.

The Rockette

I recently had a parent-teacher conference with my oldest son's teacher. This is a great opportunity for me because my son doesn't talk much about what happens at school, and I'm always hungry for information.

teacher:	“Your son is going to love next year. We get to do some very interesting things.”
me:	“Oh really?”
teacher:	“Yes! The trip to New York is very popular with the students.”
me:	“When I was a kid, our family took a tour of Radio City Music Hall. Have you ever taken that tour?”
teacher:	“I know Radio City very well. I used to be a Rockette.”
(head):	“Good GOD! I thought you were one operation shy of being a woman. I think I just threw up a bit in my mouth.”
me:	“Really!?”
teacher:	“Yes, many people don't know this about me.”
(head):	“I wonder why. Maybe it's because it can't possibly to true?”
teacher:	“It was a long time ago. I was just out of high school.”
(head):	“An all boys high school?”
me:	“Interesting. I've never met a Rockette before.”
(head):	“But I have met a lying transsexual.”
teacher:	“We're getting off track. Your son is a delight to have in class.”
(head):	“Start spreading the news...”
me:	“So he's speaks up in class?”
(head):	“I'm leaving today...”
teacher:	“Oh yes. He very engaged in our discussions.”
(head):	“If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere”
me:	“That's good to hear.”
(head):	“... up ... to ... you - New York, New York!”

Later that day, my wife asked my about he conference. She's "hungry for information" too, but not hungry enough to attend the conference (I know -- couch).

Sherry:	“So, how did it go?”
me:	“She's was a Rockette.”
Sherry:	“Shut Up.”
me:	“In New York City.”
Sherry:	“Duh! Isn't she a he?”
me:	“I guess not. Maybe Radio City has spotty background checking.”
Sherry:	“OK, what else.”
me:	“What do you mean?”
Sherry:	“You talked to her for a half an hour and you have nothing else to tell me?”
me:	“What was I supposed to do? She said she was once a Rockette. I can't remember anything after that.”
Sherry:	“You're an idiot. I'm going next year.”
me:	“Ask her about Radio City Music Hall.”

The Favorite Parent

My wife and I took our old son to a school function. We were sitting with our son and some of his friends when my wife said to him:

"How's that rash? Are you still putting the cream on it?"

Wow! She is officially a typical mother.

It doesn't matter how emotionally detached I am, I'm a shoo-in for the favorite parent position.

Worst Dad Ever

We live near a military base (well, the Army War College), which means there is endless stream of temporary residents in our town. Typically, the military families are here 10 to 24 months. This means that our kids have an endless stream of temporary friends.

In first grade our youngest son made the mistake of becoming best friends with a military kid.

me:	“Are you sure you wanna be so close to someone who is leaving forever when school is over?”
son:	“I'm sure. I don't mind.”
(head):	“Right. We'll see how you feel in June.”

The emotional train-wreck started in late May and continued well into the following school year. My favorite part was the externalization of his depression. It seemed like he would pick a family member at random (usually his younger sister), and then focus his anger/sadness onto that person.

son:	“This is the worst school year ever. I have no friends and my only friend doesn't live here anymore.”
(head):	“Duh! I told ya so. Can I do the 'I told ya so' dance now?”
me:	“Sorry, that really sucks.”

For me to be a 'nice person', I usually have to do the opposite of what I'm thinking. That's weird...nary a bother.

OK, I'm sure you know where this is going.

It happened again. My son (now in fourth grade) became best friends with another military kid. Here we go.

me:	“This is bullshit. What a jackass. We even reminded him what happened last time.”
sherry:	“We just have to be there when he falls and help him back up.”
me:	“Sorry. I've got better things to do.”
sherry:	“You're a heartless jackass. Why can't you show some compassion?”
me:	“I did show compassion THE FIRST TIME. Remember? I was there?”

I only have enough emotional scaffolding for one stupid mistake. Of course my wife doesn't see it that way. She is prepared to support (coddle) my son through another multi-month train wreck.

The crying has already started. He must know not to come to me, which is good, because there is no way he's gonna cry on my cold, hard shoulder.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Jackass

I was watching the first X-Men movie with my kids. Just after the scene where Rogue was forced to use Magneto's machine, my daughter asked:

daughter:	“Why does she have a white streak in her hair?”
son:	“Sometimes, when someone experiences something extremely traumatizing, they get spots of gray hair.”
(head):	“Thanks for steppin' on my line.”
daughter:	“Is he right dad?”
me:	“yup.”
As I continued to watch the movie, I could feel her looking at me.
daughter:	“Then what happened to you dad?”

Snarky...just like someone else I know.

The Fast and the Curious

My oldest son and I went to a car show this weekend. The "Custom Import Tuner Show." This car show is very popular with the younger crowd (I think the average age was 18 or 19). I guess that's why my son was so interested in going. I was hoping to see some fast and furious "race babes", like Suki (yup she's the one in the photo). No luck. Nobody even came close to lookin' like her. Maybe the movie industry unrealistically portrays women.

I was surprised to see a high concentration of disabled guys. I'm not sure why.

I saw a Nissan Skyline for the first (and probably only) time in my life. The Skyline is only available in Japan.

They had a bikini contest. It was too crowded to get close enough to see...or drool. After they (I'm not sure if there were official judges) had chosen the winner, the crowd started chanting "Show your tits. Show your tits." Judging by the crowd's reaction, I don't think any tits were shown...or maybe it was sour grapes.

Just after the bikini competition, they had a burnout competition. Nothing that interesting. Lots of tire smoke. One of the cars had an engine fire. For this event the crowd was even worse, so I wasn't able see any of the action. I held my son up above my head a few times to give him a peek. He didn't seem that impressed.

While the crowd was waiting for the various events to begin, the social order started to break down. A girl in the grandstands would stand up, and the guys would start shouting. They would ready their cameras, camera-phones, or camcorders with one hand and twirl their Mardi Gras beads with their other hand. The shouting would get louder and louder and finally erupt (climax) when the girl flashed her breasts. Then, she would get showered with beads.

Good family fun.

The Little League Season from Hell

This is turning out to be a spectacular Little League season. Here is list of reasons in no particular order:

1. We have a wonderful sponsor...but you know all about them.


2. We have one experienced coach. There are two assistant coaches, me (the village idiot) and another guy.


3. We have one experienced pitcher. This is a problem in Little League because there are all kinds of rules about how much a kid can pitch in one week. The token "stacked" team has eight experienced pitchers.


4. So far there has been a lot of cheating. In the first two games, the stacked team used an illegal bat (a softball bat -- larger sweet spot and larger barrel) and two illegal pitchers (too old). They don't have to cheat against our team to win. They just have show up.


5. We are by far the weakest team in the league. I'll be surprised if we win a single game.


6. The father of one of our players was arrested for downloading child pornography. He's lookin' at 10 years of prison time. The neat part? He's out on bail right now and he likes to show up at the games. That kind of puts a damper our team's cheering section.

Hyperdog

Yesterday I bought a HyperDog. This thing is well worth the money. As the name implies, it's designed to be a dog toy, but I'm not using that way. Are you surprised?Currently, I am the favorite parent. The kids absolutely love this thing. It's capable of launching a tennis ball at an incredible high velocity. Because it doesn't put any spin on the ball, every shot is like a knuckle-ball. As the ball screams along at 600fps, it has a weird random movement. When I first saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes.

My oldest son is delighted. I'm finally able to help him practice his fielding at a level he finds challenging without killing my shoulder. I have to say I was pretty impressed. "Hit me dad" he said as he patted his hand on his chest. "Are you sure?" I said...mostly for liability/insurance reasons. "Yeah. Come on. Hit me." he said as he stood in the ready position. I drew back as far as I could pull and released a line drive to his head. The ball hurled toward him giving him very little time to react. I held my breath, as he unflinchingly gloved the ball threw it back to me. Cool. "Awesome Dad. Hit me again. This time make it a grounder." I could do this all day. "Dad, you could do this all day."

The nice feature: The kids can't use it. Their arms aren't long enough to get any kind of power out of it. Now I don't have to worry that my son will try to hunt his little sister.

Editor's Note: Day four of posting every day. I'm experiencing blurred vision and frequent headaches. Must...keep...going. I can do this.

White Sponsorship : Update

It was field maintenance day for my son's Little League. Lots of the coaches and parents showed up to help get the fields ready for the season. This was the perfect time to investigate further into dealings of the sponsor for my son's team.

I saw two guys having a private discussion. I've seen these guys before. They have been involved with the Little League for at least 7 years. And I was pretty sure they both have lived in this town for their entire lives. Surely they know something.

me:	“So, what's deal with the White C****e club.”
Mr. Defensive:	“What do you mean?”
me:	“I just wanna know more about them. No one seems to know very much.”
Mr. Defensive:	“They're a great sponsor. That's all you need to know. They've been sponsoring local sports programs for like 50 years.”
me:	“Great. So their money is green. What color is their membership?”
me (in my head):	“Nice and subtle. Good job.”
Mr. Scary:	“You wanna know if they're a white supremacy group?”
me (in my head):	“Wow...I wasn't ready to get to the point that quickly.”
me:	“uh...yeah.”
Mr. Defensive:	“Look. It isn't like they are going around lynching people. They may have started that way, but that's not what they are about.”
me:	“OK. I called the borough office and asked about them.”
they both laughed briefly
Mr. Scary:	“What did they say?”
me:	“Hardly anything. Just that they're a men's club. And that they haven't caused any trouble.”
Mr. Defensive:	“See? They are just a men's club.”
me:	“Yes. But I...”
Mr. Scary:	“Look. Let me give you some advice.”
me (in my head):	“Oh great. I love unsolicited advice.”
Mr. Scary:	“If you are ever invited to the White C****e Club, they'll offer you two ashtrays, a white one and a black one. Take the white ashtray.”
me (in my head):	“Cool. I'll just asked one of my racist friends for an invite.”
me:	“...But I don't smoke.”
Mr. Defensive:	“Just take the white ashtray.”
me (in my head):	“Don't say anything. Don't say anything.”
me:	“We couldn't have asked for more beautiful weather today.”

Christmas at the Schumachers

On Sunday morning my son and I were watching the first Formula 1 race of the season. I had missed the first part of the race and when I started watching I was surprised to see Michael Schumacher¹ in second place. I wondered out loud where Ralph Schumacher² was.

son:	“...ummmm...he's in 13th place.”
me:	“...ok...”
son:	“...I wonder which one their dad favors...”

Ignoring the subconscious sibling rivalry occurring at my house, my son and I started acting out (that's what we do at the Mann household) the various awkward Schumacher family gatherings. This is what we came up with:

mom:	“Oh Michael! Merry Christmas! You're early. We weren't expecting you for another 30 minutes.”
Michael:	“Well, I can't help it.”
dad:	“That's my boy. Where is Ralph?”
Michael:	“Oh, he called me and said that he was running a little late. Flat tire.”
dad:	“Figures. That's what you get when you let the French make your tires.”
mom:	“Honey, don't be so hard on him.”
(the gift exchange)
Michael:	“Dinner was excellent mom. Here, this is for you and dad. Merry Christmas.”
mom:	“Oh my goodness. Our own Italian villa on a private island?! Michael, you shouldn't have.”
Michael:	“It's the least I could do.”
mom:	“How could you possibly afford this?”
Michael:	“Mom, remember, I'm the highest paid athlete in the world.”
dad:	“Thanks son. Fantastic.”
Ralph:	“I got you a little something too.”
dad:	“A gift certificate to have our driveway sealed?”
Ralph:	“Yeah, that company is great. They did my driveway. They wash...”
dad:	“Michael, does our new villa have a driveway?”
Michael:	“No, its only accessible by boat or helicopter.”
Ralph:	“Well, you can seal the helipad...”
dad:	“Is the helipad made of asphalt?”
Michael:	“Concrete.”
dad:	“The helipad is made of concrete Ralph. What the hell were you thinking?”
Ralph:	“Well, I didn't know that Michael was gonna...”
dad:	“No you didn't, because you never talk to your brother do you? Maybe if you spoke to him from time to time, you'd learn a few things.”
Ralph:	“But, I...”
dad:	“Shut up Ralph.”
Michael:	“Your new neighbor, George Clooney, is looking forward to meeting you. He's a great guy, you'll love him.”

¹ Michael the six-time world champion. Last year was a bad year for him. I thought he lost his edge...so this year...you can just imagine my surprise.

² Ralph is the brother of the six-time world champion. I don't remember Ralph ever winning a race. But he tries. God bless him, he tries.

A Visit To My Parents

This past weekend I took my kids to see their grandparents. Visiting my parents house is usually a blog-post rich environment. Here is the only blog worthy highlight.

My daughter was squeezing her finger to make it turn purple.

daughter:	"Hey look Grammy. I can make my finger turn purple."
Grammy:	"Be careful. There was a little boy that did that. He put a rubberband around his penis and it fell off."
...awkward silence...
daughter:	"Luckily I don't have a penis."

You go girl!

Science Fair Winner

My son won the Grand Champion Award for our local Science Fair. I'm pretty proud of him.If you are interested...