mr. big dubya

What's the gift for a Sixth Blogiversary?

2011-05-05T08:00:00.001-04:00

Dude, I'm floored. What's that you say? Oh, well, you see, Sunday marks the sixth anniversary of this here little corner of the blogosphere. Six years. Though, admittedly, it hasn't been a full six years - I ~~was on sabbatical~~ ~~hiatus~~ just couldn't write to save my life for the better part of a year. But, nonetheless, that's like forever in Internet time. In an age when information comes and goes and changes and comes again in 140 characters or facebook updates, taking the time to construct multi-paragraph posts seems, at times, to be a herculean task. So to do so for nigh on six years I think is something of an achievement and, if you don't mind, I will engage is some brief self-congratulation: Yay, me.

(Hey, don't get carried away there.)

Ok, that's enough. I don't know who's still following this blog after all this time. I know there are a few of you still out there, waiting with bated breath (please...please brush your teeth people) for me to type in the Blogger box. I appreciate it, I really do. I was looking at my blogrolll the other day and I think more than half of the bloggers listed there have long since stopped blogging or blog about as frequently as I do as of late. Honestly, it's hard. I admire those out there that blog daily or almost daily - that's a shit-ton of writing right there. But, in the words of our President, let me be clear: I admire the writers who are writing, not shilling this product or that. I don't care if you're giving away the latest Maclaren or 15 metric tons of M&M's, you're not writing, you're a paid shill. This is honest writing and I applaud Ron for putting it out there. Hell, you want honest, incredible writing? Pick any of the writers at (shameless self-promotion coming) DadCentric and you'll find some of the best writers I've ever come across. Bar none. Anyway, it's hard and anyone who says differently doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. And I'm angry that I'm having such a hard time doing it. ::gets off sopabox::

Getting back to our regularly scheduled programming: six years! That means Li'l Dubs is not so little anymore. ::sniff, sniff:: He'll be six. And his younger brother will enter the Terrible Threes (don't let anyone fool you, two is not nearly as bad as three - not even in the same ballpark). And their sister is four. Four?!? Can I get a big WTF?!? Whoop, whoop! When Kara suggested I start blogging (because she was, at the time, reading mr. nice guy who is an amazing and hilarious writer, but no longer blogging there) I thought "Okay, what a great way to come to grips with the enormity of becoming a father - let's just put it all out there for everyone to see. There's nothing anxiety-inducing about that..." So I did. And here I...we...are.

I very rarely go back and read anything I've written. Oh, I go back and look at my Top 100 Albums from time to time (those would be somewhere in 2006 - start looking around August if you're interested) because those are fun to look at. But there's a series of posts I go back and read every year. And every time I read them I say to myself that I don't need to read them anymore, that what's in the past should stay there. I don't need to read them because all is right with that part of the world. But I read them anyway. Remember what I said about the enormity thing? Yeah, seems like I need that reminder (and a good cry) once a year. If you're so inclined you can read Part One and Part Deux. Those posts are why I blog. Those posts exist because I never could have accurately described that time verbally, in a conversation. The amount of non-sequiturs alone would have made people think I was crazy(-ier?).

Well, I think that's it for now. I wanted to talk about how this past weekend was like some Walt Disney/Mario Puzo mash-up with a fairytale wedding opening the weekend and Osama bin Laden (or as I like to call him Osama bin Dusted) sleeping with the fishes a la Luca Brasi closing it out. But, damn that's been done to death (ba-dum-dum). So, as the kids today like to say, L8R.

#9 Dream

2011-03-25T05:59:00.003-04:00

"Holy fuckin' shit, kid," as my brother-in-law might say. Holy fuckin' shit, kid, indeed.

It's been nearly a year since I found myself here, my old stomping grounds. My blog. mr. big dubya: Working Without a Net Since 2005. This home to hundreds of posts - some witty, some profound, some...well...some should have been thrown down the memory hole. Whoa, what the hell was I thinking (or drinking) when I decided that hitting Publish Post was a great idea on that gem? Yikes. Still, it is my little corner of the tubes (corner? tubes? Shut up, he's on a roll.), for better or worse.

What brings me back here after, oh, one week shy of a year from my last post? Karma? Kismet? Fate? Typo? Density? Yeah, all of that. Honestly, I miss it here. There's a lot of history. Hey, five years is definitely a lot of history to some people - Li'l Dubya for example. And Li'l Dubyette and Li'lest Dubya. Hell, they can't even comprehend five years. So, yeah, it's a lot of history.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...rambling. So, pop quiz: what's the worst thing that can happen to a writer? That's right! Browser crash. No, seriously, it's writer's block. And damn if I haven't been afflicted for easily over a year. It's not that I don't have things to say. Look, I'm doing it now. I'm writing. Granted, it's the ravings of a lunatic or the product of a roomful of monkeys sitting at typewriters - you pick. But when it comes to developing posts with a cohesive theme or some nugget of poignancy? Nothin'. I just stare at the cursor as it mocks me; silently tapping its foot impatiently waiting for me to tap-tap-tap at the keys. Then I click the 'X' in the corner of the browser tab and make typepad or blogger go away. Buh-bye.

But, like any good writer, I found inspiration in the bottle. A few days after finding a Magic Hat bottle cap that read: Condoms Prevent Minivans (which is now sitting in my Honda Odyssey - take that!) - I was enjoying another Magic Hat #9 when I noticed the underside. It read: You Need to Write More. I gasped. I dropped the cap, unwilling to believe in this...this...otherworldly suggestion. It was if Calliope was speaking to me personally.

No. I didn't think any of that. I actually giggled a little, said "No shit," put the cap in my pocket and thought, "This will make a decent facebook status update with the condoms and minvans cap." But, I did feel a bit inspired by it nonetheless. Inspired enough to get off my horse (his name is Woeisme, btw) and at least try to write. Then, as luck would have it, Backpacking Dad included me on a list of The Top 25 Sexiest Dad Bloggers (at #9 no less - are you seeing the kismet? Feeling the fate? #9...Magic Hat #9 - c'mon work with me here people). And after tweeting: "wow - I don't know what to say. You like me. You really like me! #toosexyformyshirt The reply I received from Backpacking Dad sealed the deal that I would find my way back to blogging: @mrbigdubya It's really sexy that you last wrote, a year ago, "going to try to post here more than once a quarter..." Keep 'em wanting more!" Oh, snap!

So, here I am, for better or for worse, determined to get my writing on. Sarcasmed into it by a fellow dad blogger and a bottle cap. Yeah, no chance of this going wrong at all. Please bear with me, it may be like Bambi trying to walk on ice or, well, when Bambi met Godzilla. I guess we'll see.

It's a Slow Process - Or So They Tell me

2010-03-30T11:23:00.000-04:00

Hey, anyone here? Hello? I guess it's just me and you then. So, how have you been? Good, good glad to hear it. Me? Oh, I've been fine, yeah. Nothing much really. I thought I'd get back into this blogging thing by now, but I just haven't been feeling it at all lately. I feel like I've been sapped of all my creativity. And that sucks because I really do enjoy it. I've never looked at blogging as a chore in any way, but lately I feel like it's a chore just to come by and brush away the cobwebs from this little corner of the tubes. Honestly, I've kind of let this place go. See those kids up there? I'm pretty sure that picture is three years old. They don't even look like that anymore. And, hell, there's a third who's not there. Big fat F-A-I-L. Note to self: need to change banner. Hell, need to change layout, content, blog lists. Okay, maybe I should just blow it all up and start over. Something to think about.

I have things to talk about too. TV shows - anyone else watch Sons of Anarchy? Thoughts on that season finale? How about Leverage? Sort of A-Team and Players - anyone remember Players with Ice-T? The DVR is also filling up with Justified (brilliant show by the way), Psych and Caprica. Speaking of Caprica, am I alone in my reluctance to fully buy in yet? Anything else out there I should be watching or catching up on? I wanted to start a meme (I know, me, starting a meme) about Top 10 favorite cover songs of the 80s or from 80s bands or '00s covers of 80s bands or even a whole bunch of other categories, but you actually have to blog to get those going so....I'm also so out of touch right now - I have no idea what's worth listening to. An iPhone with Pandora and last.fm during a commute is not a great way to hear new music. Just sayin'. And let's not talk about movies, although I have seen Inglourious Basterds and Zombieland so I guess that's not too bad, right? Right? No I haven't seen James Cameron's vision for a live-action Smurfs movie. I do want to see Hot Tub Time Machine because, well, it's about the 80s, duh - there's a good review over at Culture Brats. Speaking of Culture Brats, it's a new blog started by my friend Chag about pop culture: The Children of the 80s Are Reclaiming Pop Culture. Yes, I did agree to write over there because pop culture is really the one thing I do enjoy writing about. I'll be doing a post with Chicky Chicky Baby: Sixteen Candles vs. Pretty In Pink - should be interesting. I'm also making arrangements to interview the guys at Stuck In The 80s - a great podcast about what else?

I'm currently writing a post for DadCentric about my upcoming 25th reunion. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. Twenty-five years. That's a loooong time. So much has happened in that time. It's surreal on so many levels.

Anyway, I'm offering no promises that I'll be here daily, but I am going to try and get back here more than once a quarter. That's my noncommittal commitment and I'm sticking to it.

Ch-, Ch-, Ch-, Changes and Return of The Mantel™

2009-12-03T10:56:00.003-05:00

You know how you can tell you haven't blogged at a particular place in a long, long while? When you can't type the address. That's how it was just moments ago as I was trying to come here and post. I felt like some octogenarian lost at the mall who can't remember where he's lived the past 60-some-odd years. Granted, I've been here only four-and-a-half, but you get the idea. And I think that fact as helped me make a decision I've been contemplating for a while now.

When I started blogging back in 2005, it was with the idea that I would focus on becoming a father and all that entailed. Little did I know at the time that I would join - nay, be a founding member of - ~~one of~~ the premier dadblog on these tubes. Granted, although a lot of the writing I did here strayed far and wide from the father-focused topics, I still considered mr. big dubya essentially a "dadblog." But that really has changed over the past several months. Yes, I am a dad, but the blog itself has really become a place for me to share with you pieces of who I am in addition to being a father. And I think that's the direction it's going to take from now on. Sure, there may be stories that involve Li'l Dubya, Li'l Dubyette and Li'lest Dubya, but the focus here will no longer be on them. I know, I know, you really want to hear about Li'l Dubs singing Gonna Make You Sweat while he pees (is that dope enough? Indeed.), but I just can't do that. So I will confine most of my fathering stuff to DadCentric where it belongs - I've always been conflicted about what goes there and what stays here anyway, now it's easy.

One thing I will do, however, is a Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ 2009. This will be the 5th and final year of The Mantel™. Just to re-cap:

I will once again be the Internetoweboblogosphere's (aka The Tubes) holiday mantel and post the ubiquitous holiday cards for all to see, admire, laugh at and add thoughtful comments. If you'd like to participate, please send a picture or a scan of your card -- if you send a pic, just let me know what greeting you'd like to include and what nom de plume to use; if you send a scan, let me know if you want me to doctor it to hide your true identity. Depending on how creative I get, I may try something different this year, but knowing how incredibly lazy I can be, I'll probably just end up posting them like I did last year.

So, just send along what you'd like taped to The Mantel™ to mrbigdubya at gmail dot com. I'll start posting them as they arrive (props to those who have already sent one in you eager little beavers you). And, just because I still think this pic is hysterical, I thought I'd share it yet again. Li'l Dubs wants your pictures:

There you have it: a new direction for this blog and the return of and subsequent farewell to The Mantel™. So, send in those pics and let's go out with a bang not a whimper.

October 2: Cure JM Day

2009-10-02T00:01:00.010-04:00

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool and fellow DadCentric homey, has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

*

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

My God, what have I done?

2009-08-05T14:21:00.003-04:00

Yeah, it's been a while since the first installment. Thought this might be a good time to pick it back up again. When we last left our hero, he was leaving home. With that all wrapped up, we now find him at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, Home of the Artillery, King of the Battle. Ooo-sha!

Oh good Lord, the waiting. Tom Petty has no idea how right he was. Every movement in the military is a lesson in extremes. Move as fast as you can to get to a location. Wait an interminable amount of time for something to happen then move post haste to your next point. Then do this for 10 or so days straight. All day. All the while knowing full well you have yet to even start anything.

This is Reception. Or more accurately, Reception Battalion. Here you are introduced to some elements of the military experience. Here you march, albeit out of step and still in civilian clothes. Here you learn to say “Drill Sergeant, yes, Drill Sergeant” but with none of the fear, respect or second nature reflex. In Reception, you get shots, in both arms, from medics with hydraulic nail guns who, on some level it seems, take pleasure in inflicting a small amount of pain in these new ‘cruits. You are Privates or Privates First Class. You are the bottom rung. You are a grabastic piece of amphibian shit. The only thing on your level (at least in the eyes of an NCO) is a Lieutenant, but you’re pulling away.

Some newbies, like me, are pulled out of ranks first thing some morning and escorted to a testing facility where, for the next six hours, we are subjected to made up languages and the dots and dashes of Morse Code ad nauseum. Apparently, we have an aptitude for languages the military wanted to ~~exploit~~ nurture. This only served to extend my stay in the Eighth Circle of Hell known as Reception for another four days, which also intensifies the false sense of security that begins to set in. “Shit, this isn’t so bad.”

Reception is where ‘cruits are herded into a barbershop and shorn like sheep. Each haircut takes approximately 45 seconds – maybe less – as the “barber” ~~of Seville~~ carves out row after row using a 0 blade. Down to the skin. Look! Penises on Parade. In Reception, you learn to spit out the last four numbers of your SSN as easily as saying your name. In Reception, you are issued uniforms, with your name on them, and it’s all made real. But you are, in no way, shape or form prepared for what’s to come. You have been successfully lulled.

***************************************************************************************

The morning of that day of days, the day you finally leave Reception, is really no different than any other. You’re still hurrying up and waiting. You strip the bed you’ve been using; do the duffle bag drag downstairs; and then wait to join whatever group you’ve been assigned to. You move to that group and wait some more. Waiting for what you have no idea. Until, that is, the cattle tucks arrive. Olive drab trucks pulling silver trailers. Each one identical. And each one equally menacing yet somehow benign. Drill Sergeants emerge from the trailers. They are pressed and spit-shined and command a level of respect nary uttering a word. “Grab your bags and get on the truck,” says the large African-American DS with an equally large and booming voice. You think that basso profundo voice might be soothing in a Barry White sorta way. You soon will be disabused of that notion. The other DS, a mustachioed fire hydrant, only glares at the recruits getting on his truck.

Neither DS says a word for most of the ride. There is a stop halfway through where each new soldier has his picture taken in non-descript Class A (dress greens) jackets and caps nicknamed after a derogatory slang term for female nether regions. Yeah, you figure it out; you’re smart like that. “Get off the truck…get on the truck.” All the while, the fire hydrant never says a word. And that makes you nervous. The lull has started to wear off.

You look at other privates standing in the truck, each one a camouflaged straphanger. No one makes eye contact. Eyes are fixed on the floor or at imaginary spots on the truck walls. But each new soldier on this truck is very well aware that things are going to change soon and in a very profound way.

The truck slows down. Railroad tracks. Did it just get dark outside? Was that thunder? This is so not good.

“WELCOME TO THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ TWILIGHT ZONE YOU PUNK MOTHERFUCKERS,” bellows the fire hydrant – why couldn’t it have been basso profundo? “YOU WILL NOT KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS. YOU WILL NOT KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS. YOUR MOTHER IS NOT HERE TO HELP YOU. YOU BELONG TO ME AND THE UNITED STATES ARMY. PICK UP YOUR FUCKIN’ BAGS AND GET READY TO GET OFF MY FUCKIN’ TRUCK.”

You quickly learn that this guy owns everything. The truck. The drill pad. The stairs. Even the air you breathe. You reach down and grab duffle bags, unsure if you’ve even grabbed your own. The truck stops and the rear doors fly open. You’re aware of a lot of yelling. So. Much. Yelling.

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, PRIVATE? GODDAMMIT, I SAID WHAT’S YOUR NAME? GOD YOU ARE ONE STUPID MOTHERFUCKER. GET DOWN AND BEAT YOUR FACE.**”

You hustle your way off the truck, hoping to God and anyone else who will listen that you can get through this with minimal damage. Alas, it’s all in vain. When all is said and done, you have run the gauntlet of six Drill Sergeants and had the misfortune of running up square against basso profundo (who’s not so soothing anymore as his 6’5” frame looms over you) and the fire hydrant – the Senior Drill Sergeant. (This would be funny, an interesting study in contrasts, but you lost your funny two drill sergeants ago.) You have said your name too many times to count. You have done push-ups for not saying “Drill Sergeant, yes, Drill Sergeant” on more than one occasion. You have done them because you have an accent. You have done them because you are from Boston. You have done them because they met someone else from Boston and didn’t particularly like that person fuck you very much. You think your name is Motherfucker or maybe it's Sumbitch or the quite exquisite, Punkassmotherfucker. Kinder, gentler Army my ass. You are long past not being able to feel your arms. This is what running on pure adrenaline is like. And man is it hot – Oklahoma in June – can’t wait to see what July and August bring. Is that a migraine rearing its ugly head? Fan-fuckin-tastic.

“Grab your bags and stand over there. Drink some water too,” says the Senior Drill Sergeant, not yelling, just talking. “You Northern boys...yeah you...you need to drink water. Lots of fuckin' water. I don’t want any fuckin’ heat casualties. Hurry up!” Hurry comes out Her-ry. And you'll hear it a lot. In your sleep even.

The shock-and-awe portion of our program is over for now. What time is it? Oh my God, he was right. I have no concept of time anymore. It’s time for the punks to get settled into the bays. Each bay consists of four rows of ten bunks each, separated by wall lockers, two bays per floor. This particular bay is third platoon, A Battery, 2/30 FA. Third Herd as it would be affectionately known to the 40 men who resided here. And home sweet home for the next eight weeks. Forty men go in, 38 come out.

**Beat your face means get down on the ground and start doing push-ups. The only thing worse to hear is "half-right face...front-leaning-rest position...move...in cadence...exercise" which is the actual command for the push-up while in platoon formation.

Glory Be!

2009-07-31T10:10:00.000-04:00

Well, whaddaya know. I can still find this blog and log-in - woo-hoo! Last time I was here I mentioned I've been in a funk. And brother what a funk it really was, glory be! to paraphrase Paper Lace. Anyway, if you want to know why I've been out of sorts as of late, head on over to DadCentric to read my latest post over there. I think I'm beginning to get my mojo back - or at least I'm hoping that's the case. I do feel as if the creative fires have once again been stoked - the old boiler is back in business (steam drum, dry pipe, superheater, etc.). (random aside: that last bit is something I learned nearly 25 years ago - it's the beginning of the steam cycle and that link will bring you to the ship on which I once sailed a long, long time ago - on its maiden voyage in 1986 - the Cruise to Nowhere as we dubbed it. Strange days, strange days indeed.)

Ok, back to business. Again, in that last post I had a contest for two copies of Ghostbusters: The Video Game for the Wii. I want to thank you for entering, it's an honor just to be nominated. Um...no...sorry, that's a different speech. Hold on flipping index cards ok, there we go. I hope you know that you're all winners to me. Yeah, that's it. Unfortunately, I only have two copies to give away. After careful consideration and the use of the always mysterious random number generator, I have come up with our winners. Please extend heartfelt congratulations to Kemp and sashalyn ~~for the dubious honor of~~ on winning this grueling contest. If the two of you wouldn't mind sending your mailing address to me at mrbigdubya at gmail dot com I will get those out to you post haste, right away and most riki tik.

I have plans to be back here more often, I miss the cozy confines of this blog. Also, I'm out to lobby for a spot on a panel at next year's BlogHer in NYC. Not sure what I have to offer yet, but I am a charter member of DadCentric - that's gotta count for something, right? Yeah, yeah, that and $2.51 will get me a Great One, just cream at Dunkin'. Also, if you aren't reading the goings on over at The Whinery, you should be. Mrs. Big Dubya has added to the staff over there and people are posting some good stuff about wine and beer. Come check out what such luminaries as Pet Cobra, TwoBusy, Clares Dad, Mrs. Chicky, Goon Squad Sarah, Cape Buffalo and yours truly, as well as some newcomers Swheeze, Mrs. Gnu and Wine-O are offering up. And follow The Whinery on twitter at twitter.com/thewhinery or keep up-to-date on Facebook as well - you'll thank me. I'm there too, but I imagine we already reciprocate on the whole following thing, but if not, you can find me at twitter.com/mrbigdubya - surprise, surprise.

Ta, ta for now. If you're looking for me this weekend, I'll be the one hording all the Torpedo I can find - I think, perhaps, I may have told too many people about this wonderful beer.

Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together... mass hysteria!

2009-07-15T09:16:00.000-04:00

I have been in a personal blogging funk lately. I imagine that it's due, in some part, to the situation I found myself in recently, something of which I will go into greater detail later. Just not today and not in this post. No, this is a fun post. A post where I get to give something away. To you, dear reader. Yes, I realize I didn't pluralize "reader" - there can't be anyone still reading. I'm pretty sure my inability to post anything over the past few weeks may have tried the patience of even the most loyal patron. But, I will test that theory.

I have two copies of Ghostbusters: The Video Game for the Wii to give away this week. I haven't yet played it - I haven't played any games in the past few weeks - just not in the mood. That's actually a tad ironic since given my mood as of late (up until the past few days, that is) you would think I would want to blow some shit up, cross streams or think about the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man. But, alas, no.

Anyway, entering this contest is ridiculously easy. There are two ways to do so:

1. Leave a comment - any old comment will do. As many as you want. Talk about the weather; tell me a joke; recommend something I should be watching or listening to; anything. Just say something.

2. Post this contest to Twitter and include @mrbigdubya in your tweet. Then come back and link to that tweet so I know it's up.

It's that easy. Two winners will be chosen at random by some Byzantine formula I have yet to devise. You have until next Wednesday, July 22 at 11:59 p.m.to get your entry in - winners will be announced on Thursday, July 23.

25 From 25 - Part III (and final)

2009-06-25T12:27:00.001-04:00

And, I wrap up the Top 25 of the Past 25 Years and almost four months ahead of schedule. Take that TwoBusy. Come back tomorrow when I announce a contest to win a copy of Ghostbusters: The Video Game for the Wii.

Now, on to the music.

The Smiths - Bigmouth Strikes Again

The Silencers - I See Red

The Cure - Lullaby

U2 - Trip Through Your Wires

Depeche Mode - But Not Tonight

25 from 25 - Part II

2009-06-23T13:07:00.000-04:00

In order to allay TwoBusy's fears that I won't finish this meme, here are #15-#6 in my Top 25 of the last 25 years.

Gene Loves Jezebel - Desire (Come and Get It)

The Cult - Love Removal Machine

Love Spit Love - Am I Wrong

Mighty Mighty Bosstones - Someday I Suppose

Oasis - Supersonic

Paul Weller - Wishing On A Star

The Replacements - Can't Hardly Wait

Cold Water Flat - Magnetic North Pole

Guns N' Roses - Sweet Child O' Mine

Fine Young Cannibals - Johnny Come Home

Stay tuned - I'll wrap this up before October.

25 From 25 - Part I

2009-06-10T13:34:00.000-04:00

Sonofa...Apparently some people have not learned. I got tagged in yet another meme and by some people I thought knew better. Though they seem to know I could not resist this one. And not only did I get tagged on their respective sites, I had my card pulled on twitter as well. What's the matter guys? Couldn't hire a skywriter?

I will use Tony's method of compiling: #25-16, #15-6 and then my top five. And like him, I'm not offering up the why - unlike TwoBusy, who is apparently DadCentric's resident Nick Hornby - I have a real hard time expressing/justifying why it is that I like certain songs since it is such a subjective thing.

Might as well get this beyotch underway, right? Don't want to drag this out to ::cough:: October ::cough::.

Run DMC - Rock Box

Run DMC - Rock Box

Morphine - Super Sex

Morphine - Super Sex

Athlete - Wires

Big Audio Dynamite II - Rush

Love and Rockets - No New Tale to Tell

Martin Gore - In a Matter of Speaking

Martin.L.Gore_-_In_A_Manner_Of_Speaking

The Streets - Could Well Be In

Concrete Blonde - Everybody Knows

Terence Trent D'Arby - Wishing Well

A Tribe Called Quest - Scenario

A TRIBE CALLED QUEST - SCENARIO

One hour down - 2,688 (give or take) to go

2009-06-03T17:07:00.001-04:00

I meant to write about all this earlier, but I was on vacation. Twenty years ago, May 25, 1989, I left the comfortable confines of my parents' house for basic training at Fort Sill in Oklahoma. I sit here flabbergasted at how quickly time goes by and how events eventually unfold. I believe in those "forks in the road" moments - that these decisions I made then ultimately brought me here now. This is a first installment (of not too many) about the 16 or so weeks I spent at Fort Sill - some of it is blurry and I won't/can't include everything, just some of the highlights.

The alarm went off at 3:30 a.m. I had been waiting a while for it to finally sound - maybe an hour or more - and when it did I took it as my cue to finally get out of bed. I mistakenly thought I would be able to sleep that night, but three hours would have to suffice. I wished it were more - it would be a long enough day without the nerves-induced sleep deprivation. I showered, got dressed, grabbed the duffle bag at the end of the bed and went downstairs.

My parents met me in the kitchen shortly thereafter and together we awaited the arrival of SSG Tucker who would take me to the MEPS Station in Boston. There I would receive my orders, plane tickets, sundry other paperwork and be administered an oath of enlistment before winging my way to DFW and, eventually, Lawton, Oklahoma, home to Fort Sill and the Field Artillery Training Center.

My father broke the awkward silence. "Are you okay?" he asked, knowing full well that I was a bundle of nerves - excited and somewhat scared shitless of what I signed on to do. My parents saw the same look on my brother's face when they dropped him off at West Point three years prior. "I'll tell you what I told your brother: keep your sense of humor; laugh inside. It's all a game and you're smart enough to do well. And take advantage of every opportunity that's presented to you."

I nodded and said I would. But what was going to be funny? Having seen Full Metal Jacket several times, Gunnery Sergeant Hartman didin't look like your typical stand-up comedian and Stripes really wasn't a documentary by any stretch - unless your director is Rob Reiner. No, I didn't think basic training was going to be all fun and games. And I didn't believe for one minute that I would come home the same person that was sitting in this kitchen now. At least, I sincerely hoped I wouldn't.

I wrote about my reasons for joining the Army some time ago. I was a mess. In a rut. Going nowhere fast. Choose whatever cliche you have for someone who's pissing his life away, amp it up a bit and that was me. I needed to get out of Weymouth; away from everything I was allowing to hold me back. Enlisting seemed just as good an opportunity to "find myself" and I would get the chance to hike across Europe - only instead of bunking in hostels, I would find comfort in an extreme cold weather sleeping bag on a cot in a GP Small.

SSG Tucker was a little early so he joined us at the kitchen table for a cup of coffee. He asked my parents if they had any questions about what would happen at the MEPS Station or after my arrival at Fort Sill. They asked general questions: How often can they call home? What happens over the next few days? When do things really start? I wasn't really paying much attention to the answers, I was looking at the clock and making sure I had my Walkman and some good tapes to listen to on the plane. Finally, SSG Tucker wrapped things up with a "Well, it's that time."

I won't deny it. There was a part of at that very moment that just wanted to say, "You know, I think I've changed my mind. Sorry to get everyone up so early. My bad. Carry on." But instead, I stood up, shook my dad's hand and then hugged him. Then I hugged my mother and kissed her on the cheek. She wasn't even trying to hide the fact that she was crying. We then made our way to the front door, said more good-byes and some thank you's ("Thanks for the coffee - it was great," said Tucker. "Great?" I said to myself - dude, it was Taster's Choice - army coffee must be piss. Great.). I walked across the yard to ~~Charon's ferry~~ a car that would come across on an APB as a nondescript, dark-colored, sedan - the only outstanding characteristic: its blue and white government plates. I slid into the passenger seat, looked back at the front door and waved to my parents, who, in what might have been a trick of the early morning darkness, looked rather relieved.

It was 4:30 a.m. and I was on my way - one hour into what would turn out to be a very long day.

When Jesus Speaks, People Listen - Maybe Not Right Away Though

2009-05-12T12:34:00.001-04:00

Damn my third grade reading comprehension. Or maybe it's that I have the attention span of a toddler who got into the Easter chocolates. But apparently, I missed a meme. And one from he who shall not be named. Um...no, that's not right. That's some other guy. No, this was one from Black Hockey Jesus. A DadCentric comrade. He who shall not be blamed for tagging the rest of us with a meme. He knows not what he does. Well, maybe he does and he's just some sick, sadistic bastard. Which does make him perfect for DadCentric. In any event, I should probably thank him since he's given me something about which to write. Steel yourself against teh suck.

What are your current obsessions?
Twitter. And, to a lesser extent Facebook. I don't know why, but Twitter has me in its gaping maw of a timesuck. Maybe there's something to that attention span of a toddler I joked about. And now with Tweetdeck I no longer need to hit refresh. The only thing that would make it better would be if it read my tweets to me. So, not only am I distracted by anything remotely shiny, I'm also a lazy sumbitch. C'est la vie. Do you mind finishing this for me? Also, I'm totally hooked on The Orange Box right now. I know I'm behind like ten years in video game years, but I'm really digging it.

Who gave you the best oral sex of your life?
Who are three people who've never been in my kitchen? No, okay moving on then.

What's for dinner?
Beef? No? I have no idea then. It's only 9:30 a.m. Dammit. I just copped Jason's line too. Oh well, imitation is the sincerest form of theft. Or maybe we're just television-obsessed . No, that couldn't be it.

What is your greatest fear at the moment?
I'm afraid of widths. I also fear turning 50. I know it's a ways away, but something about that age just freaks me the hell out. It's like being on a Flexible Flyer with waxed runners hurtling down the K-12 while being chased by a maniacal paperboy. And if something gets in my way I'm not sure I'll be able to turn. But I try not to give it much thought.

What are you listening to right now?
The thumpity-thumpity-thump of my beating heart after that last answer. Well, that and some B-52's who I will see Saturday night at House of Blues.

If you were a God/Goddess, what would you be?
I would be Dionysus-like. Except instead of wine it would be all about the beer. And festivals in my honor would be referred to as dubyanalia and involve keg stands, ice luges and resounding games of quarters.

What are your favorite holiday spots?
The Vineyard. Hands down. I love hob-nobbing with those that "summer" there. That and getting trashed at The Wharf. Heh. Who knew they had a menu? And can someone tell me when seasons became verbs?

What are you reading right now?
How Do Dinosaurs Eat Their Food? and How Do Dinosaurs Go To School? I'm really fascinated with the Jurassic Period lately.

What are four words that describe you?
Thrifty. Brave. Clean. Reverent.

What is your guilty pleasure?
Marshmallow Fluff. Totally devoid of any traditional nutritional value. It even says so on the label: "Provides 0% of RDA of any vitamin or mineral. We're not even sure it qualifies as a food and we make it." But man oh man it is good.

Who or what makes you laugh?
Pauly Shore. The man is genius. On par with Jerry Lewis at the top of his game.

What's your favorite spring thing to do?
Mow the lawn. Hours and hours of yard work. Oh, you said favorite.

Where are you planning to travel next?
Disney. With three kids four and under. Par-tay!

What is the best thing you ate or drank lately?
Despite my rather lukewarm review, Guinness 250th Anniversary Stout is still an exceptional beer.

When is the last time you were tipsy?
Um...see previous post. Those were followed with some Guinness Draught.

What is your favorite movie ever?
Empire Strikes Back. It had the better ending. I mean, Luke gets his hand cut off, finds out Vader's his father, Han gets frozen and taken away by Boba Fett. It ends on such a down note. I mean, that's what life is, a series of down endings. All "Jedi" had was a bunch of Muppets.

What is the biggest life lesson you've learned from your kids?
Milk vomit is particularly nasty.

What song can't you get out of your head?
"What's gonna work? Team-work! What's gonna work? Team-work!"

And...well, this of course.

What book do you know that you should read but refuse to?
To answer this question honestly would take me days. I have sucked out loud as a reader lately.

What is your physical abnormality/abnormal physical ability?
I see dead people.

Why do you think you were called into the realm of the living?
I am the hapless next door neighbor; the foil to the leading father character. I am portrayed as a bit more bumbling; somewhat clueless; and wholly entertaining. I always seem to garner some success despite myself. Sort of like my role at DadCentric.

Hi. How are you? I know...been a long time.

2009-05-06T10:03:00.000-04:00

April 9.

That was the last time I was here. April 9. So much has happened in that time. There was...um...well there was...no, that didn't happen to me. Well, there had to be something that would keep me from blogging, right? I'm not just a lazy sumbitch, am I? No, not me. No, I'm a prolific writer, as long as my writing is kept to 140 characters or fewer. I did post over at The Whinery if that counts. And I have a couple of posts in the hopper over at Uptake, so I'm not entirely slacking.

So, why am I here today? The reasons are two-fold. One, I figured I should probably post near my blogging anniversary. For four years I've been bringing the poignant and teh funny to you all. Okay, okay, maybe not always all that poignant or teh funny (see that? "teh" - isn't that funny? Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?) but at least I can get a C for effort right? C-? Wow, you guys are tough. The second reason I'm here is that I owe some props to the winner of my giveaway. Yeah, the one I promised to announce on April 15th. Didn't you just read about how busy I've been? Okay, moving along now. Well, Kevin did all the dirty work save for one question, it was Sarah-come-lately who mopped it up and provided the final correct answer. I'm not about to print them all here, if you want to know the answers, just look at Kevin's comment and then see Sarah's. What? Wow, I thought I was lazy. Okay, here you go:

502 - in Feet - Longest Measured Home Run inside Fenway Park
47,627 - Largest Crowd at Fenway Park - September 22, 1935
762* - Home Runs Hit by Barry Bonds (like the steriod asterik)
232 - Days the '94 Baseball Strike Lasted
30 - Major League Baseball Teams
20 - Innings in Longest Game Played at Fenway Park
~~33 - Righthanded Starting Pitchers in Hall of Fame~~ 33 Red Sox Players in the Hall of Fame
2,632 - Consecutive Games Played by Cal Ripken, Jr.
5,714 - Most Strike Outs
4,256 - Most Hits (held by Pete Rose)

So, Sarah, you know how to get in touch with me, send your mailing info. And Kevin, I owe you a consolation beer the next time your up my way.

Just so you don't think I'm a total recluse or that nothing ever happens around here, next week, Mrs. Big Dubya and I will be joining one of my oldest friends and his wife - oldest in the length of time I've known him, not old as in age, though he is four days older than I - Happy Birthday (again) A! - for a B-52s show at House of Blues. I'll be breaking out some Day-Glo and Mrs. Big Dubya is readying her bouffant - Quiche La Poodle! And, rumor has it, someone else will be there that night. Dance this mess around!

Backyard Baseball '10 - Review and Giveaway

2009-04-09T14:23:00.000-04:00

So, I think I have a problem. I think I play too many shooters. I got this game, Backyard Baseball 2010, to review and give away. Great, I thought to myself, a new game and, more importantly, a new game for the Wii and one which I can share with readers. Boo-yah. Win-win. I fired up the Wii last night, stretched (dude, I'm nearly 42-years-old - I stretch to brush my teeth) and prepared myself for a little hard ball. I stacked my team with some pros - Big Papi, CC Sabathia, Josh Hamilton, among others - and some kids and prepared to face off against cough the Royals cough. Time for an ass-whuppin'. Little did I know it would be mine.

Just a quick note: I never read the manual for a game. I break that puppy out of its case, put it in the tray and away we go. Not the way to go with this game. RTFM! I was wondering why my curve ball was grooving the center of the plate; why my slider decided to grow the size of a beach ball as it hit the strike zone; and why my change up was the equivalent of hitting it off a tee. Turns out, had I read the manual, I would have learned I can actually change the location with the nunchuck. Heh, go figure. Maybe should have learned that before I was six runs in the hole. Note to self. As competitive as I am, I was little annoyed at getting shelled by the f'in Royals so I wanted to throw inside to little Kenny - a little towheaded left-fielder who had some slugging power - but the controller kept vibrating and getting angrier and angrier that I wanted to throw outside the strike zone - my game has a conscience? Son-of-a....Know what else I learned? Can't charge the mound when a pitcher gets a little close either. My gamer instinct tells me I should be able to beat the pitcher about the head and shoulders with the bat until he's a bloody pulp (Maniac on the Mound Achievement, 20 pts. FTW!), but the Wii is too cute and nice to let that happen. Silly non-violent video games.

Anyway, once I got the feel for the game, it was quite enjoyable to play, I especially liked that I was able to work on some hitting in the Home Run Derby as it does take some time to get the timing down pat. It's also nice to go yard 596 ft. deep too. Some other highlights:

* All 32 MLB teams, logos, uniforms.
* Updated roster with pros from every team including David Ortiz, Ken Griffey Jr., Ichiro, Alex Rodriguez, Vladimir Guerrero, Ryan Howard.
* Season play with stats & standings.
* Tournament & All Star modes.
* Improved game controls for precise & intuitive hitting, pitching, fielding.
* Superior gameplay—more variety, options, rewards.
* New fields, lighting, art, unlockables.
* Custom Players and teams.
* New audio—improved scripting, voice, play-by-play.
* New personalized player announcing (kids can have their own name in the game).
* Hall of Fame Kid teams from previous version of Backyard Baseball.
* Multiple levels of difficulty.

It was a fun game to play - it would be nice if Atari could release some downloadable content, though. Maybe they could introduce a zombie team. And, oh, oh, a team of ninjas. Nijas vs. zombies in Backyard Baseball. How cool is that?

I'm giving away a copy (maybe two) of this newly release title. Here's how you win: remember those number puzzles that got passed around during your early cubicle rat days? (Example: 26 L of the A=26 Letters of the Alphabet) Well, below you'll find a baseball-themed (maybe heavy on the Red Sox, who knows) one for you to try and answer. The winner (or winners - depends how magnanimous I'm feeling on Tax Day) will be the first to answer them all correctly and will be announced Wednesday, April 15. For another chance to win and a completely different contest, go to www.dadcentric.com.

502 - in F - L M H R inside F P
47,627 - L C at F P - September 22, 1935
762* - H R H by B B
232 - D the '94 B S L
30 - M L B T
20 - I in L G P at F P
33 - R S P in H of F
2,632 - C G P by C R, Jr.
5,714 - M S O
4,256 - M H (held by P R)

Worlds Collide

2009-04-06T15:03:00.001-04:00

I have been thinking about this post for awhile, but my friend, Sarah, beat me to it. Actually, and this is really what this post comes down to, she's not really a friend in the conventional sense. We've never met. We've never even spoken on the phone She's someone I've come to know solely because she blogs. But I know a lot about her. I may even know more about her than I do those people with whom I've actually shared a beer or two. The same can be said about Jason, Whit, Matt, Tanis, Chag, Chicky and a whole host of others (lest some think I'm forgetting them, TwoBusy and Tony I've many beers with). I've shared with them their ups and downs; they've offered their congrats on the births of my kids and even had a virtual surprise birthday for me when I turned 40. It's a very odd community, this group of writers who fall into the realm of parent bloggers - however, we prefer just bloggers because we are not defined solely by the fact that we have kids - that is just one facet of who we are.

I started blogging in May 2005 just before Little Dubs was born. It was a way for me to get what was in my head out there and share it with some close friends. But I kept my blogging fairly low-key - at the time my immediate family was not privy to any of it (and most still aren't). What I found as I wrote more and read other blogs was that I wasn't alone - there were a host of fathers and fathers-to-be dealing with the same issues. And we were dealing with it all in the same warped fashion: humor, pop culture references and a general what the fuck? attitude. It was so refreshing to hear down-to-earth, over-a-few-beers conversation rather than the "it's so wonderful and beautiful" claptrap other blogs were pushing. Yes, it is wonderful and great and awe-inspiring but it's also "holy shit" and "I'm not ready for this" and "Whoa this is all happening too damn fast" too. Besides, what I also wanted to hear from these people - these bloggers who were becoming more or less friends - was what they were into as far as music, TV, movies, video games, etc. And since we were passionate about other things besides our kids, we bagan blogging about vacations and sports and wine and books and video games.

Then I joined Facebook. And Twitter. It's really hard to stay off the radar once you've joined these time sucks. But then again, when I joined I think I already subconsciously decided I no longer wanted to remain under the radar. I think, all along, what I really wanted was for as many people as possible to read my writing regardless of what I was writing about. But, because of Facebook, lines blur as Sarah put it. Once there was a time I wanted to remain somewhat anonymous; a time when I could write without worrying about someone's feelings or offending their sensibilities. Now? Meh. Now people I know can go through my archives here or they can hit DadCentric and read posts about racist tastebuds, contemplating a vasectomy or my thoughts on manadatory HPV vaccines. Or they can see the penis slide video I posted. It's all out there now; you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. I'm not sure who's reading but I have seen some upticks on my Statcounter from places like Weymouth and Quincy so, "Hey guys! It's okay, you can comment. Whaddaya think of that penis slide?"

And now for something completely different: I'm having my first giveaway. Yes, after nearly four years of blogging, a PR company has found me worthy enough to give something away. Come back later this week for my review of Backyard Baseball '10 and a chance to win a copy of this newly released (March 31) Wii game. This review will also be cross-posted at DadCentric and we will give away a copy over there, too. Now if I can just get Callaway or Nike to offer me some stuff I'd be golden.

Better You Than Me

2009-03-22T19:52:00.000-04:00

Dear Dad at the other table at Red Robin:

What can I say? I wanted to buy you a drink. I wanted to say it's all gonna be fine. I wanted to come over and give you a reassuring hug. But deep inside, all I could think was, "Better you than me."

There you were sitting next to your wife. Across from you were three beautiful blonde little girls. This is just a guess but I'd say they were 11, 9 and 7. Based on this assumption, I'd also say you have one, maybe two, years left before all hell breaks loose. And I think you know it.

You're living the nightmare, man. You're what other dads see when their subconscious decides to rise to the top for a little mindfuck during those deeper stages of REM sleep. I wake up from these walks through the father's version of the Circles of Hell and take comfort in the fact I have only one daughter bookended by sons. You must wake up in a cold sweat every night. Better yet, do you sleep at all? I'm not sure my overactive mind would allow for sleep.

Just after my daughter was born, I noticed the gray hairs began to spring up in earnest. Thankfully, my hair is light enough that they're not glaringly obvious. But I look at you and damn, someone call Keith Hernandez and Walt Frazier. And you may defend yourself with, "I'm a victim of male-pattern baldness," but we know the truth. That's stress, dude. Stress to the nth degree. Stress only a man in your situation can experience. Bomb squads and minesweepers wonder how you can handle it.

Normally, I don't recommend a fourth, but in your case, you might want to broach the subject with your wife. The desire, nay need, to have a son might be a reason she understands or at least one she can see your point of view. Just an option. Give it some thought. It could provide some peace of mind.

So, while I commiserate, I do not envy. And while you should be congratulated on having three beautiful daughters, I offer my condolences for the number of coronaries and sleepless nights you'll have over the next decade or so.

Better you than me.

Yours truly,
mr. big dubya

Rockin' Recovery

2009-03-01T17:08:00.000-05:00

First thing first: when your wife suggests you might wanna go see the doctor or even just pop-in to the walk-in clinic, your response should not be to chase a handful of Advil with a healthy shot of Jameson and a reply of "I'll just sweat it out." This would be the wrong thing to do and might just land you in the hospital for a few days with a good case of being a smart ass.

Yes, I did end up in the hospital with a raging case of pneumonia and anemia. Apparently, my right lung was filled to the brim with fluid which, in turn, caused a very unpleasant fever - and by unpleasant, I mean I was curled up in the fetal position late Monday night calling for my Mommy while I sweat my ever-lovin' ass off in my hospital bed. The anemia? Yes, a much more difficult nut to crack. Do you want to know how they determine if you're passing microscopic levels of blood? Wanna guess? I'll leave it at "Moon River" and those of you who get it will get it.

I won't bore you with all the minutiae - it's just not all that exciting. Antibiotics fuck with taste buds: everything tasted like maple syrup or some derivative. Potassium IVs will make you pee nuclear yellow and often. Hospital roommates can make for some great blog fodder especially when they live up to and dispel myths all at once. Your internet buddies will taunt you and some will pretend to be Merlin Olson, but won't come through with the flowers: cheap bitches. Staying in the pedi wing can be humbling, especially when your decor is Beatrix Potter and Peter Rabbitt. Having an endoscopy is nothing compared to what I thought it would be - hell, I didn't even know I'd been asleep until they were waking me up. Without the clarifier of "for the next 6-8 weeks" hearing "no alcohol, no caffeine, no chocolate" can be some of the most traumatic words ever uttered in my company. The endoscopy determined that the reason I was anemic was because I have an ulcer the size of Wisconsin and several little ulcerettes surrounding it - kind of like little lakes. The ulcer is now known affectionately as Ulysses Ulcer and I'm sure Cream will reunite to sing its praises.

I am home now trying to catch up on 7,378 tweets, 70+ notifications on Facebook and some blogging. My energy is coming back slowly but surely and I can actually taste food the way it's supposed to taste so progress is being made. And, not to make any of you jealous, but I've lost 20 lbs in a little over a week - not the best way to lose it but I'm still not complaining 20 lbs is 20 lbs.

Ok, I've bored you enough with my tale of woe. Let me wrap with, "Sorry, honey."

To Redneck Mommy

2009-02-13T18:46:00.000-05:00

I'm posting on a Friday night in honor of Tanis, better known as The Redneck Mommy, Grand Dame (Dame, long 'a' - we're not fancy here) of the Great White North. Tanis and her family recently (actually hours ago) welcomed a "soon to be blog dubbed" little boy to their home. So, go here and let everyone know about your inner redneck - you know we're all a little trashy now and then, just admit it.

My contribution to the "you know you're a redneck ~~mommy~~ daddy when...":

Dipping a child's binky in Jack Daniels is considered sterilizing.

Your wheelbarrow doubles as a stroller.

Skoal is just as good as Anbesol.

Your child's car seat has its own gun rack.

You've actually considered just wiping the poop out of a dirty diaper because you had no others.

All the best to Redneck Mommy and her brood.

Because I get paid, that's why

2009-02-04T12:34:00.058-05:00

Back in November, I wrote about getting a paid gig over at UpTake, a travel/vacation site, along with some other bloggers. Well, today marks the official launch of said blog - UpTake's Travel Network Blog - which provides "travelers with the ability to browse and search expert blogs across six key travel categories, including attractions, beaches, hotels, lodging, restaurants and travel industry news. Some of you might know my lead editor who is rumored to have handed Elvis his final peanut butter and banana sandwich on that fateful day in August 1977. Whit leads a collection of ~~miscreants~~ bloggers who provide their insight and expertise (bwahaha - I almost wrote that with a straight face - expertise? I go someplace. I write about it. You read it. I get paid.) into some great vacation spots and destinations you might find interesting and, dare I say, compelling.

So, take some time and head over there today. See who's providing some of the most cutting-edge and entertaining travel information on the web. Expedia? Hacks. Travelocity? Yeah, go ahead, roam with the gnome. UpTake, my friends. UpTake.

You can read about a recent trip to Dinosaur State Park in Rocky Hill, Conn. - or find out why I love Martha's Vineyard in the winter.

Chuck E. Skeez

2009-01-22T10:30:00.000-05:00

Saturday afternoon was my first time at this place "Where a Kid Can Be a Kid." Sure, if your version of a kid is similar to that found on Pleasure Island maybe.

Like I said, this was our first foray. I've been to my share of arcades cum restaurants - GameWork s instantly comes to mind - and enjoyed them. But nothing prepared me for the societal train wreck we found at Chuck E. Cheese. Utter chaos is to be expected, especially in a place that caters to children and harried parents, and I expect soft drink-fueled, token-clutching kids to be less than mannerly and aware of what is happening around them. I do, however, expect some parents to at least be cognizant of where their spawn are or how they might be behaving. I can expect that, right? One doesn't abdicate responsibility in this type of environment, right? Mrs. Big Dubya and I kept a watchful eye on the kids primarily so they wouldn't get trampled or bullied out of the way, but also to make sure neither one of them got a cigar in the eye.

But, enough about the kids. Can we talk about the parents? Back in August of 2007 I wrote about the wildly inappropriately dressed "young women" we encountered at Disneyland. Well, the people we ran into Saturday made most of those look like beaming debutantes with smiling young beaus on their arms. Holy extensions, bad tats and muffin tops, Batman. Case in point and one that is emblazoned in my memory like any other traumatic event: I saw an ample bosomed woman - maybe 30-35, but whose smoking had given her the more wizened look of a 50-55-year-old - wearing a tank tee (mind you, it was cold outside...fuckin' cold) that barely contained those breastesses. On her right breast, Tweety-Bird. On her left...wait for it...Stewie. Stewie! From Family Guy. Only not an entire Stewie, though there was ample canvas. No, just Stewie's head floating on a mound of flesh. And, honestly, I had enough of a look at these tattoos to come to the conclusions that a) they were not very well done at all; b) may have looked better before gravity, but far from showing-off worthy and c) Stewie? I don't think even Seth has him tattooed anywhere, although I could be wrong. The men/dads? Some would have been better off with putting an 'X' (or two) in front of the 'L' on the tags in their shirts or learning how a belt works - plumber's crack is not an accessory it's a faux pas - but all-in-all not too bad.

Now, before some of you slam me as some sort of elitist, let me remind you that we were at a Chuck E. Cheese - a restaurant for all intents and purposes that targets kids - not a dive or club or in someone's double-wide. It's a place loaded with skee-ball lanes, video games and miniature carousels. Not stripper poles, mirror balls and VIP rooms. I don't think it's too much to ask for a modicum of decency, do you?

In the shadows

2009-01-12T09:38:00.001-05:00

I suppose I should register on my own site during Delurking Day. It's been...let's see...three, carry the one, divide by pi...oh, hell, a really long time. Hell, it's been a long time since I blogged anywhere. I've hit a wall. And not one of those walls you can just hurdle when you've put your mind to it. No, it's one of those walls that stand 20 feet tall, stretch for miles in either direction and are topped with razor wire and shards of glass. You know, one you find yourself bashing your head against for hours on end hoping that the constant pounding will eventually open a hole, but only makes the wall more resilient. And gives you a headache.

What sucks is, I have posts, good posts. Well, posts that started good. Posts for here, DadCentric, Uptake. But now they taunt me, half-done. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm only good now in short bursts. Anyway, since it is Delurking Day, if you have been coming here from time to time reading what passes for a post when there is one and you haven't left a comment, please do. I promise I will be here more often. You will be content with the content.

Oooo - I'm starting to see a hole.

Thanks Chris for the image.

Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime

2008-12-24T19:07:00.001-05:00

Wow - this Christmas season has flown by. Honestly, I don't know where the hell the days have gone. Well, here it is Christmas Eve and I'm posting the last of this year's cards. Thanks to everyone who decided to have some fun and send theirs in - it was nice to have some old friends up on the wall and even nicer to welcome some newer faces.

As you enjoy the next couple of days with your friends and family, please do me a favor and take a moment to remember the troops in Iraq, Afghanistan, Western Europe, the Pacific and anywhere else around the world. The holidays can be quite a lonely time for these men and women in uniform; I've had my share of Christmases far from home with nothing but a lot of booze and some Rankin/Bass movies. Sure, it sounds like a good time, but it can be downright depressing. So, just think about them for a moment and if you run into one, offer to buy him or her a drink or just say, "Thanks."

Before I get to the cards, allow me to offer some wishes to the readers - yes, for you long-time readers, this is from an ancient DadCentric post.

To our Spanish speaking friends: Feliz Navidad!
For our visitors in Denmark: Glædelig Jul!
If your spending the holiday in a coffee house in Amsterdam: Vrolijk Kerstfeest en een Gelukkig Nieuwjaar!
Know Esperanto?: Gajan Kristnaskon!
French and French-Canadian: Joyeux Noel!
Celebrating at the Hofbrauhaus in Munich?: Froehliche Weihnachten!
To the lucky bastards on Maui: Mele Kalikimaka!
To Bjork and the other members of the Sugarcubes: Gledileg Jol!
To my wife's peeps on the Emerald Isle: Nollaig Shona Dhuit!
Any Italians in the house?: Buon Natale
For the Classical Studies majors: Natale Hilare
To the Polish who are celebrating St. Patrick’s Day (j/k): Wesolych Swiat Bozego Narodzenia
My friend Adrian is Russian, so to him I say: Srozhdestovm Kristovim!
Any fans of Dylan Thomas?: Nadolig Llawen
How about Pennsylvania Germans? Anyone?: En frehlicher Grischtdaag un en hallich Nei Yaahr! (damn, I’m tired just typing that)
For AdventureDad and his family: God Jul and (Och) Ett Gott Nytt År
MetroDad: Sung Tan Chuk Ha
What would Jesus say?: Edo bri'cho o rish d'shato brich'to!
Finally, Shane McGowan says it best: Happy Christmas your arse

Now for the last of the cards for The Mantel™ 2008. And for the last time, I fire up the ol' Yule Log:

Now, the cards.

Thinking Monkey

Aunt P, Tall Guy & Wonder Mutt

Thanks everyone - have a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy New Year! And thanks, Jason, for paying off your debt - I'm looking forward to hitting the Samichlaus.

OK, I have my "thinking tuque" on

2008-12-21T11:34:00.001-05:00

So the Dubyas had a Kickin' Ass with Rankin/Bass party yesterday. Notable attendees? Clare's Dad, et.al., the mayor, Little Bear and sundry others. Not a bad turnout despite the weather. It is, once again, snowing but we have plenty of food, plenty of beer and football - just what a Sunday should be.

This is a short post - it is Sunday after all and I'm sure most of you have better things to do than read my drivel. But I'm still getting pictures for The Mantel™ so, while I have a moment, I thought I'd get them up. There's still time to get your pics to me - I'll do this until Christmas Eve so send them along to mrbigdubya at gmail dot com.

Ok - like the Ohio Players, I give you Fire:

And now for the cards:

Clare's Dad

DC Urban Dad

Pet Cobra - who's the man for picking Samichlaus as payment on a bet

Ok - that's enough for today - again, still plenty of time to play. What are you waiting for?

I WANNA TRANSFORMER FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!

2008-12-15T09:09:00.001-05:00

Last week I posted about my abnormal obsession with finding the perfect tree. I suppose that's the first step in recovery - admitting that you have a problem. And I do, I really do have a problem. Case in point: Last weekend we were invited to an open house hosted by one of the families at daycare. They're some great people who, I have found, share our sense of humor and way of looking at parenting - in short, they're our kind of people. They host this party every year and as part of the whole shindig - plenty of beer, a roasted pig, lots of laughs - they also invite guests to cut down a tree. They have a pretty extensive tree farm and are happy to have guests leave with one. I was pretty excited about the whole thing. Finding the right tree with the kids, breaking out the saw, cutting it down, dragging it out of the woods; it had a whole Currier & Ives feel to it that I was looking forward to. So Little Dubs and I traipsed into the woods and began inspecting the trees - a forestful of trees. I will say they all were gorgeous - beautiful trees that would get anyone in the Christmas spirit. But they wouldn't do for our house. Well, maybe if we had 12' ceilings or a wide room where nice fat, round tree would look especially nice, but the room where our tree goes? Unfortunately, not so much. So, the following morning, I drove to our local nursery where I have bought a tree for the past five years and inspected each and every one in the racks and finally settled on a 7.5' tree that was too full and fat to fit through the netter. Yes, that's right. I passed on a free tree and instead shelled out some cash for the one currently in our living room.

I know, I know. It's just not right.

Now, why else am I here? Oh, yeah, The Mantel™. I'm hoping some of you are just procrastinating and intend on sending your cards soon. I've got three more for today, but it seems like it's slowed down a bit. It's either that or my mailman has been hitting the nog lately and has been remiss in delivering the mail. I like that latter, I'd hate to think none of you want to participate this year.

Well, keeping the tradition alive, here's the Yule Log in all its fiery glory:

And, now the cards from those bloggers you know and love:

Misfit Hausfrau (I, for one, love this card)

The Holmes

Honea Express (and the ever-present Disney theme - Whit has some sort of Mouse fetish - he's getting help though)

Thanks to the bloggers who have participated so far. There's still time for you to get yours up on The Mantel™ - I'll do this until the last card comes or Christmas Eve - whichever is first. Just send your pic to mrbigdubya at gmail dot com. Don't be a Scrooge - get those cards in.

O, Tannenbaum!

2008-12-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

BUMP: Re-post from December 2005

For the most part, I consider myself a fairly laid-back kind of guy, as I'm sure most of you consider yourselves. I don't get all that fired up about much really. In fact, about the only things that do get my knickers in a twist are 1) you dis my family (especially my wife) or 2) you offer me a beer and hand me a Bud. And this attitude extends to other aspects of my personality as well. When the weekend comes, I don't usually make a "plan" - I just like to see where the days take me. I know I'll get things accomplished, but my week is taken up with meetings and phone calls that others have planned for me, there's no need to do the same thing with Saturday and Sunday. So, you're asking yourself, where are you going with this? Well, there is one thing that brings out the OCD in me; one thing that makes me an absolute lunatic. It rears its ugly head every year at this time.

Buying a Christmas tree.

Yep, that's right, I said buying a Christmas tree. I can spend more time looking for the right tree than I would buying a car for cryin' out loud. A little background. After I was discharged from the Army, I immediately went back to school, initially just nights and weekends for the first two semesters (condition of matriculation - long story, no need to go into it, let's leave it at that). I had a bunch of odd jobs, strictly under the table stuff, that allowed me to enjoy the summer/fall and not worry much about money. A buddy asked me in mid-November of that year if I would be interested in working at a nursery selling trees and other holiday items. It paid $9/hr. cash and a free tree, wreaths and some other stuff. It sounded good to me, so there I was the next day, 6:30am waiting for a delivery with six other guys. Holy shit. An 18-wheeler pulled up loaded to the hilt with trees and we spent the next four hours unloading, cutting open, banging and racking trees - I can't, for the life of me, tell you how many, but I was covered in sap and smelled like a Yankee Candle by lunch. To shorten this up a bit, this is what we did, 12-14 hours a day 7 days a week, rain or shine. No, there weren't deliveries every day, but we moved about five thousand trees or more in six weeks - Douglas, Fraser, Balsam, Blue Spruce - you name it, I loaded one on someone's roof. And this is how my obsession with finding just the right tree blossomed. That year, we would all go through the new trees and the racks, helping one another find the good ones, which would then be put aside for inspection later. Symmetry, needles, fullness and height were all part of the inspection. I'm telling you - 12 or more hours selling trees will make a man go fuckin' crazy. But, I always...always...found the perfect tree. And I have been doing so the past 12 years.

This year...this year...was different though. My obsession kicked up another notch. Sure, I was still out looking for the "right" tree, but this one was for Little Dub's first Christmas, bringing that neurosis to a whole new level. There I was Saturday morning pacing the racks of trees, diligently inspecting each one. I'm sure I looked a little odd to the two young kids working there (two? Just two? When I was selling trees...). Pull a tree, bang it, brush downward to assist with the "fall," place it back in the rack. I did this with every tree...every fuckin' tree...on the lot and even eyed some still wrapped in the netting. But I eventually narrowed my selection down to three...then two...and then finally decided on what looked to me to be a great tree. What was that I said about neurosis? I thought I was fine...that I had been successful. But as I was driving home, a little voice started nagging me: "Dammit, we went to early." "This one's not the right one." "We should have waited." "The third one from the bottom in that pile looked like it had a nice trunk." And, I did feel a touch of buyer's remorse. Maybe I had gone too early. Surely, there was one out there that was better. One that was just that much fuller and more majestic and worthy of the mantle of Little Dub's First Christmas Tree. But, I brought it home - if I looked odd earlier, imagine me trying to return a tree? I carried it into the garage and put in its stand and let nature take its course.

And I was pleasantly surprised - it was quite full and just the right height with branches strong enough for the heaviest of ornaments. Equally promising was the minimal needle loss during the moving and decorating. It certainly looks to be one of my best picks. Mrs. Big Dubya believes that I may have even outdone myself with this one.

I hope so. This one is important.

And I'm chilling and coolin' just like a snowman

2008-12-04T12:13:00.003-05:00

And heeeerrrre we go.

This really is one of my favorite times of year. And since we've had children, it has only been better. Last year, the whole Santa thing started to kick in a bit for Little Dubs - there was some understanding but he hadn't yet developed a full grasp on it. Little Dubyette didn't really have a clue having only turned one a mere six weeks earlier. But, as the holiday approaches, Little Dubs' Santa knowledge has blossomed into a near full-on obsession. He points out items on TV that Santa brings boys and makes sure his sister knows which one the Jolly Ol' Elf brings for girls. I'm not sure if Little Dubyette has the same awareness her big brother has, but at the very least, she plays a good game. Whenever Santa is mentioned, she cocks her head as she is wont to do, quizzically asks, "Santa?" and then screams, "Yeah" and barrels off giggling hysterically. Much like, I believe, an elf who might have been dippin' into Santa's egg nog a bit too much.

With the holiday just three weeks away, it might be a good time to get started on posting cards to Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ 2008. As we have done with every iteration since 2005, I give you the ever-present Yule Log:

Now, digging into the mailbag, I give you the first entries for the year.

TwoBusy

Hygiene Chronicles

ClumberKim

And, last, but most certainly not least, Kara, aka Cape Buffalo:

There you have it ladies and gentlemen (and I use those terms loosely, very, very loosely) the first cards taped up on the mantel. C'mon, you know you want to play, just send in a card to mrbigdubya at gmail dot com.

Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ 2008

2008-12-02T14:18:00.000-05:00

What the hell? Rather than try and come up with some creative way of describing The Mantel™, I figured I would just recycle a post from 2006. Yeah, I'm lazy. What of it?

A couple of weeks back, I mentioned I would once again be the Internetoweboblogosphere's holiday mantel and post the ubiquitous holiday cards for all to see, admire and ~~laugh at~~ add thoughtful comments. If you'd like to participate, please send a picture or a scan of your card -- if you send a pic, just let me know what greeting you'd like to include and what nom de plume to use; if you send a scan, let me know if you want me to doctor it to hide your true identity. Depending on how creative I get, I may try something different this year, but knowing how incredibly lazy I can be, I'll probably just end up posting them like I did last year.

So, just send along what you'd like taped to the mantel to mrbigdubya at gmail dot com. I'll start posting them as they arrive (props to those who have already sent one in you eager little beavers you). And, just because I still think this pic is hysterical, I thought I'd share it yet again. Little Dub wants your pictures:

Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ - Version 3.01.07.11.2 beta (Updated)

2008-11-21T12:07:00.001-05:00

I know Thanksgiving is still a week away, but I have to get myself geared up for the Holidays. So, while I'm thinking about it, I might as well announce the 2008 version of Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™. Wondering what the hell I'm talking about? Look back through my archives for 2005 and 2006 or go here and look at 2007's initial salvo. You know you want to participate so just give in - you will be assimilated.

Update: there have been questions about the rules governing The Mantel™. First rule of The Mantel™ is you do not talk...um...no...sorry, getting my rules confused. First rule of The Mantel™ is there really are no rules. You send me a Chritsmas card or a photo (cute, funny or even horrific) you want displayed on The Mantel™ and I post it under the obligatory puicture of a Yule Log for the blogosphere to see. Think of me as the Internet refrigerator. The Hearth of the Tubes, if you will. Then our ~~imaginary~~ virtual friends get a card just as if you were to send them one and you don't even have to splurge on the postage. See? Simple.

Dirty Sticky Floors

2008-11-18T14:17:00.001-05:00

I don't pimp consumer products on my blog. If I write about something, it's because I marvel at its greatness, its utilitarian nature or just because it's plain old cool (my television comes to mind - dude, 50" of HD glory, need I say more?) and not because I got it free from some PR person - though I would ceratinly do so if I were to ever receive anything of that kind. (cough) Looking at you Xbox, Wii, Apple (cough) I kid (well, not really).

Anyway, I just have to tell you about some products we have at Casa del Dubya that have been absolute Godsends over the past three years. Yes, those that have been paying attention (read: reading this blog) know that three years would, in fact, coincide with the arrival of Little Dubs. Now, we, as parents, know how hard it is to keep anything remotely clean - I've resigned myself to the fact that nothing will ever be pristine ever again - it will only be "new" for as long as it takes one of the kids to walk by it. No, scratch that. Just look at it. There will inevitably be hand prints, milk spills, vomit and diapers that should have been checked before they fell asleep on the couch. But what do you do when these things happen? You can't keep Stanley Steemer on speed dial (because, well, that's just silly and downright expensive), and your cleaning lady was just there the day before. You can bust out the Resolve, a brush and some elbow grease - fine for that spot cleaning - but what about those heavy duty needs? Those times when your sectional is something even a frat boy wouldn't sit on? When you can't even bring yourself to walk barefoot on the carpet?

Ta-da! I give you the Bissell Pro Heat 2X Clean Shot. I know what you're saying. "But, mr. big dubya, I really can just call someone to do this so I don't have to." And, believe me, I wholeheartedly agree. But, now I have to appeal to the men out there; to that primal level where Stanley, Makita and Black and Decker live. Guys, look at this thing. Look at the attachments. It heats the water 25 degrees hotter than the hot water you fill it with. 12 rows of PowerBrushes. POWERBRUSHES! Spraying crevice tool - I don't know what that is exactly and I'm not sure what crevices you're going after (nor do I want to know you sick...) - but it's got it. It Outcleans All Other Brands - or so the fancy little badge on the Web site says. Listen, I took this little baby for a ride the other night and attacked the sectional and half the room and let me tell you: the sectional looks nearly brand new and the carpet has new life. Just don't ask me what was sucked up out of the carpet - it was like one of those shows where they show you the "clean" hotel room and then they go all black light on your ass and it looks like the aftermath of a 70s key party. Needless to say, it did its job and then some - if you're a parent you should have this in your arsenal. If for no other reason than to use the Powered TurboBrush Hand Tool.

For those less-intensive jobs there's the Bissell Spot Lifter 2X that's great for those "infant vomiting after eating carrots" times that take you by surprise and the Little Green for those instances when you need a bit more cleaning capacity and something that will suck up crap deep in the warp and the weft (I knew Weaveworld might come in handy some day).

Trust me. I know how this post might disappoint some of my loyal followers - no drinking, no concerts, no crazy weekends of decadence and debauchery - but some times it's all about the practical aspects of life. But, c'mon - TurboBrush Hand Tool - that's gotta appeal to your inner Beavis.

I'm taken with UpTake

2008-11-04T15:07:00.001-05:00

Apparently, the fact that I never blog any more was reason enough to accept another gig. A paying gig at that. I'll be joining Whit, Darren and several other bloggers over at UpTake, a travel/vacation blog. Along with Darren, I will be covering the New England area and focusing, primarily, on the family-centric stuff, but should the wife and I have the opportunity to get away for some "us" time, I may blog that as well. So, add it to your reader, bookmark it, whatever it is that you kids do today - just be sure to read and read often.

"UpTake.com is a travel search and discovery site - the first step for travelers to decide where to go, where to stay or what to do. We help users make informed decisions about what best fits their travel preferences. We scoured more than 1,000 sites to collect 400,000 places to go, things to do and places to stay in the U.S. Then we analyzed and organized over 20 million travelers' opinions to enable search based on exact travel requirements and preferences."

Can't we all...oh, nevermind

2008-11-03T13:50:00.002-05:00

I just had a very interesting conversation. Wait a minute. Scratch that. It wasn't so much a conversation as much as me causing someone's jaw to hit the floor, stare at me in disbelief and stumble through about six or seven "buts" before finally asking "For real?"

Some background: there's a picture on Mrs. Big Dubya's Facebook page that shows Li'l Dubyette standing next to a campaign sign. This sign is actually in support of my boss who is running for re-election here in NW Connecticut (Darren will know of whom I'm writing). She's a Republican in this decidedly purple corner of the state (it will lean red come tomorrow as it always does). Now when my friend saw the sign she looked at me incredulously and, with shock, said, "You're a Republican?" To which I said, "Of course." And then I said, "Does no one read anything I write?" No, I didn't say that, but I was definitely thinking it. She followed with, "But...but...but...but...you work here...for a nonprofit!" Uh...yeah, I do.

Why is that so hard for some people to grasp? Why does the fact that I'm a Republican mean I can't be a compassionate person? Why is it that because I'm a Republican I can't be interested in the "greater good?" I mean, I know all my liberal/Democrat friends are not a bunch of tofu-eating, Godless, Birkenstock-wearing, hacky-sack playing, tree-hugger Deadheads. Ok, ok, one or two aren't but you get my point. Just because I'm a Republican does not mean that I'm out to fleece the poor, step on the downtrodden or kick a puppy or two. And it doesn't mean that I'm really that much different from you.

Some other things that might come as a surprise to some of you:

We like a lot of the same movies.
We like a lot of the same music. (And c'mon, admit it - you really don't like Radiohead either.) ed. I've been asked to add Wilco to this as well
We read a lot of the same books.
We can all agree the Yankees suck.
I think we can agree that George Lucas pissed on our collective childhoods. Aliens in an Indiana Jones movie? Jar-Jar Binks? Need I say more?
John Hughes really did speak to our 80s teen selves.

So, not matter what happens tomorrow, come Wednesday the sun will still rise and set and you and I will still have more in common than we have differences. And the Yankees and George Lucas will still suck.

Hallo-Dean and Gene

2008-10-30T12:57:00.001-04:00

Do you remember when your Halloween costume came in a box? And it cost about $8 - maybe? Inside was a plastic mask with eye cut-outs, two smaller holes so you could breathe and a slit where the mouth was so you could say "Trick or Treat!" although it sounded as if you were saying it with a mouthful of marbles. Also inside the box was a ~~flammable~~ flame-retardant suit sporting the color scheme and logo of whatever show you were proving your allegiance to. Or whatever happened to be left when you and your mother finally made it to Zayre's (yes, I realize there's no "s" in the actual name - just like there's no "s" in Caldor's - doesn't stop this suburban Bostonian from adding it though).

Then there were the times when you and your parents thought making a costume would be fun and - hey! - there's a box. Let's cover it in tinfoil, add some Christmas tree ornaments to it, fashion a tinfoil hat complete with antennae and look! you're a robot or some overly-caffeinated conspiracy theorist living in a box - your choice. Another year and look! another box! Let's cover this in construction paper and draw a Marlboro logo on it, fashion some faux cigarettes out of some rolled up paper and look! a very un-PC pack of smokes. And you can't even say you're going retro. You're just wrong.

Finally, you were old enough that all you needed was some cheap makeup, a black hoodie and a pillow case and you were good to go. What are you? I dunno. A bum? Sugar-craving Goth? But after the candy-getting it was off to partake in some serious mischief. Eggs? Check. Shaving cream? Check. Fire extinguisher (don't ask)? Check. Multiple escape routes for inevitable arrival of police? Check. It was a successful night if you only came home smelling like Barbasol and not like you worked an overnight at the sulfur plant.

Now, those days are long behind you and you prepare to take your kids out for this Samhain celebration. You'll stand at the end of the driveway or on the sidewalk and watch as your kids, dressed in ridiculously overpriced and over-detailed costumes, walk to the door and shout out something vaguely similar to "Crick your Meat!" and then they'll scamper back in wide-eyed wonder that someone just gave them candy for absolutely no reason. And you'll silently inventory what it is ~~you're gonna take~~ they have. Gotta make sure there's nothing dangerous in there.

And, so it goes. You've become your parents even as you struggled mightily not to. But, as you walk to the next house, you just can't help but try to figure out the best way to evade the cops.

Priorities

2008-10-10T23:42:00.000-04:00

I think at this time of year, we allow our passions to get the better of us - I know I have - just read my post over at DadCentric form the other day - it was a fairly positive exercise and reaffirmed the generally good-nature of most people I encounter through this blog and that. But the everyday partisanship, the sniping, the back-and-forth, the us against them mentality takes too much energy, and negative energy at that. I encourage you, nay, implore you to vote, it's a privilege and a responsibility that should not be taken lightly. We (Americans) live in a unique society -- one which is threatened nearly every day and one we should not take for granted. Liberty and freedom have been hard-won - do not allow the sacrifices of so many be for naught.

Put the partisanship aside - at least for a few minutes - because it's not at all important. When it comes right down to it, this is really all that's important.

Mark Twain = 2 Fathoms

2008-09-17T15:35:00.001-04:00

Apparently, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I am alive and well. I just haven't been here. Or here, for that matter. Wow, has it really been a month since I last posted? Holy crap, Batman. I have posts percolating and after much deep and profound brain things inside my head I will get them out there. I'm also working on one for DadCentric that details why I kick puppies, toss penguins, push old ladies into the street and laugh maniacally every time I vote. No, it's not about why I'm a liberal. Oops, sorry, progressive. Nope, it's about why I vote Republican and have for 23 years. But, if we're gonna split hairs here, I am a Conservative first, Republican second. However, this is not the place for me to get into that right now. This is a place devoid of politics and religion and intellectual thought.

Moving along.

In the 29 days (ha - not quite a month - woo-hoo...well, unless you count February in a leap year...) since I last darkened my own door I have been to a Patriots game, a Neil Diamond concert, Disney World, coordinated 100 volunteers during a United Way Day of Caring and run a golf tournament that raised quite a tidy sum of money. That's not too bad. But it wasn't like I was completely out of the loop - I was, of course tweeting every now and then. Damn twitter and its crack-like 140 characters. Anyway, I digress. I know, I know, I always digress - this blog is but one long digression.

So, thanks to the three of you who asked how I was - you know who you are. Nope, not you. And not you either. But you...you...thank you.

Memories Lost

2008-08-19T23:15:00.002-04:00

Beloit College is out with their annual Mindset List for the Class of 2012. Always an interesting read, I imagine it's a bit difficult to pull off year after year. I mean, how much different has life for the Class of 2012 been compared to the Class of 2010? Not much methinks. Oooo - the Class of 2012 has never known anything less than 120 GB hard drive - 2010 had to suffer with only 100 GB. Sheesh, how did they ever cope?

Anyway, I'd like to offer up my own version of the Midset List - an accounting of those things that have been lost; a laundry list of items which can only be appreciated by the graying set.

1. They will never appreciate the safecracking-like quality of tweaking the UHF dial and adjusting rabbit ears to watch Raymond Burr (you know - Perry Mason? Ironsides? Lars Thorwald? Oh, nevermind) in Godzilla, King of the Monsters during a Creature, Creature Double Feature on Saturday afternoon.

2. Bus stops. School buses have always provided door-to-door service. Heaven forbid kids today (get off my lawn!) walk 50 yards and all get on the bus at the same place.

3. They'll never understand the drunk you get from wine coolers. Bartles & Jaymes (Thank you for your support!), Seagrams - nothing else enabled such flourescent vomiting. And they came in convenient 2 liter bottles. Par-tay!

4. They have XM, iPods, streaming, but who can forget the glory days of AM Gold? Terry Jacks, Lobo, Paper Lace, Sweet - news and traffic, commercials and static - tons and tons of static. Technological marvels those were. Honestly, radio's best days are behind it.

5. They'll never understand the hard work that went into getting dressed. Will this collar stay up right? Are these pants peggable? Do I tuck in my Relax! t-shirt? Is wearing a Members Only jacket and parachute pants just too much nylon? Will I swish-swish all night?

6. Kids will never appreciate the musical genius of MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice. To them, these artists (and I use that term in the strictest sense) have always been punchlines and reality TV stars. And, oh yeah, broke.

7. Eddie Murphy was, at one time, a funny motherfucker. Now he's only funny when he's playing an ass.

8. And George Lucas once made movies that spoke to a generation. Now...well...five words: Fuckin' Jar Jar Binks, bitch. Make it eight words and add "and Hayden Christensen."

9. There were never condom ads on television. Condoms were taboo - you hid them among your Twizzlers, Rolling Stone, a birthday card and other sundry items hoping the middle aged woman at the counter didn't notice anything. Condoms in schools? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

10. With Xbox360s, PS3s, PSPs and Wiis, understanding the Zen-like experience of Pong is gone forever. Its simple, yet utilitarian, black and white screen, up-down movement of the paddles has been eclipsed by the fast-paced action of hi-def multi-player games - and we are all the poorer for it.

Ok - that's ten fvrom me - feel free to add your own.

Suds and Semi-Schadenfreude

2008-08-15T14:41:00.003-04:00

Schadenfreude is such a heavy term. Finding enjoyment in the misfortune of someone else can be refreshing, in a delightfully devilish way, don't get me wrong. As Nietzsche once wrote: Humour is just Schadenfreude with a clear conscience. But, I'm looking for something a little less potent. Some word or phrase that conveys the sentiment in Nelson's laugh.

I guess I should explain, right?

So, last weekend I made my way back to the Boston area for some golf - it was a quick hit; a drive-by if you will. Well, as much of a drive-by as a golf tournament can be, which, for those of you who don't know, can be interminably long and drawn-out affairs after the golf is over -- a succession of food, semi-coherent speeches, unending strings of raffle ticket numbers and the hootin' and hollerin; of people who should have said "No" hours ago on the 8th hole. Anyway, I arrived Friday night and about 10 minutes away from my destination thought this might be a good night to meet up with a blogging buddy; a cyber chum. After a few back-and-forth e-mails, some quick hellos and small-talk with the 'rents, I met up with TwoBusy for some Dogfish Head (on tap no less - must make mental note). It was everything I thought it would be. We laughed. We cried. Okay, maybe we didn't laugh. Honestly, it was a good time meeting someone who shares a love of Boston sports, good beer and, well, Boston sports. I also got to learn all about the seal-clubbing business. Apparently, it's quite the buyer's market.

Okay, back to the main point of this feeble attempt at a post.

I knew this golf tournament would essentially be like attending some sort of reunion. Other than the members of my foursome (okay, minds out of the gutter people), I haven't seen most of the other people in 10-15 years - easily. Some maybe even more. Now, a little history: as a freshman in high school I was the small kid (4"11") - hell, I was pretty much the small kid all through high school (5'5" at graduation). I got picked on from time to time, not so much bullied, none of that crap, just picked on. It was a fact of life with which I dealt. Thankfully, payback can be a bitch and come in so many flavors. Fast forward to this past weekend and aren't most of those arses playing in this tournament. Remember that fairly lame snap: I may be fat, but you're ugly and I can lose weight? Well, that instantly sprang to mind. Looking around I see:

Overweight
Bald
Balding
Gray
Graying
Short (yes, some were tall way back when - compared to me of course - not much growing since)
Jean shorts (yeah, I'm just throwing that in there - a fashion faux pas is just as sad)

That time? She sure can be a bitch. It was...satisfying. It was a bunch of guys who, if they could carry a tune, would be singing Glory Days without a hint of irony. I know that at 41 I should be beyond all this petty, high school-like crap. But there is gratification when someone who once picked on you because you were smaller now has to look up to look you in the eye. And all you can see is that ever-increasing bald spot on his pate.

Repeat after me: Ha-ha.

They're here for our amusement, right?

2008-08-05T10:17:00.000-04:00

mr. big dubya: (speaking to Little Dubyette) Honey, say, "Ice."

Little Dubyette: Ice, ice, baby.

Little Dubs: Too cold.

mr. big dubya: Okay, say, "Push it."

Mrs. Big Dubya: (glaring at mr. big dubya) Don't you dare.

mr. big dubya: (looking innocent) What??

Where does Easy Lover rank?

2008-07-29T13:12:00.000-04:00

What happens when you take a few bloggers, throw in ~~some~~ ~~a few~~ many alcoholic beverages and a podcast from the guys at Stuck in the 80s? You get four people, ~~midly~~ intoxicated, debating the merits of a Top 10 list of Phil Collins' solo hits from the Reagan Era around midnight Saturday night. And, although I've now heard the damn podcast twice, I still can't remember what #1 was - only that In the Air Tonight was #3 - and that Sussudio is not on the list, a point to which Christian Bale might object. Yes, I could easily fire up the ol' iPod and find out the entire list, but I am too damn lazy. That's your homework for tonight: find that out and leave a comment. Thanks much.

So, visiting with the Dubyas this weekend were the Buffalo clan as well as Tony and Cheeky. Beers and a few cocktails were drank (Stoudt's American Pale Ale, Big Eye IPA, Red Hook Blonde Ale, Ommegang, Corona Light, Mojitos with uber-fresh mint), plenty of food was eaten (make your own panini - yaaay, more meat!) and much revelry was made. In short, the craic was mighty. I'd offer to post pictures, but all cameras and recording devices were confiscated at the door upon entry - how else are we supposed to talk about you all without fear of retribution? I kid, I kid. We talked about several of you in glowing terms - a radioactive glow - but glowing nonetheless.

What's that? Yes, the kids were there - five of them to be exact. Their ages? 7½, 3, 3, 20 months, 8 weeks. Yes, that can be a handful (and I am king of the understatement). Did you not see the list of beers? Thank God for our 7½-year-old Girl Scout leader as she attempted to herd the ~~cats~~ kids into playing some "structured" games. God bless her, she's quite patient. Duck-duck-goose, theoretically played in a circle, ended up being played in an eliptical orbit similar to that of Mars' around the sun - apparently the rules have changed since I was a kid, but the attempt was made. And, just so we understand each other: running+hot weather+full tummies=exhausted. However, that does not quite equate to sleeping of course, just exhausted...and overstimulated.

How was your weekend? Hang out with any ~~high-profile~~ ~~B-list~~ ~~middling~~ obscure bloggers?

Top Forty(One) Part II

2008-07-08T21:46:00.002-04:00

And, moving right along. No pictures this time - that idea did not pan out well. That's what I get for trying to be different. Where did we leave off? Oh yeah, the year of my first tattoo, Ireland, England and being insanely drunk in Jacksonville - 1986.

1986
Licensed to Ill - Beastie Boys

1987
Substance - New Order
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me - The Cure (I bet you thought it would be The Return of Bruno, didn't you?)

1988
It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back - Public Enemy

1989
101 - Depeche Mode

1990
Violator - Depeche Mode

1991
The Globe - Big Audio Dynamite II

1992
Core - Stone Temple Pilots

1993
Zooropa - U2

1994
Weezer (Blue Album) - Weezer

1995
(What's the Story) Morning Glory - Oasis

1996
Odelay - Beck

1997
Let's Face It - Mighty Mighty Bosstones

1998
You've Come a Long Way, Baby - Fatboy Slim

1999
13 - Blur

2000
Veni Vedi Vicious - The Hives

2001
Sing Loud, Sing Proud - Dropkick Murphys

2002
Original Pirate Material - The Streets

2003
Elephant - The White Stripes

2004
The Futureheads - The Futureheads

2005
Silent Alarm - Bloc Party

2006
Broken Boy Soldiers - The Raconteurs

2007
Sound of Silver - LCD Soundsystem

2008 (thus far)
Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend

Top Forty(-One)

2008-07-07T20:24:00.009-04:00

Since I haven't had an original idea in months, I'm playing along with Jason's post. The premise is simple: pick your favorite album (or what would have been your favorite, had you been of age) from every year of your life. Should be easy enough, right? Yeah, remember how long it took me to do the Top 100 Albums posts? Well, this one will go to 1985 - the year I graduated high school. I'll continue later in the week.

Let George (Thorogood) Do It!

2008-07-03T09:52:00.000-04:00

Lincoln, Lincoln I've been thinkin'
What the hell have you been drinkin'?

Well, if you go here, you might just find out.

What are you waiting for? Go!

Somethin' somethin' a-go-go

2008-06-30T21:12:00.005-04:00

Yeah, yeah. I know. Long time no see. I suck. Blah, blah, blah. I really want to be here more (and probably should) but work has me straight out - the organization I work for started a supporting foundation which yours truly is responsible for to include a case for support, marketing/branding, education of board members, cultivation, estate planning training, etc - quite honestly, it's a shitload of work. Add to that the new baby. Oh, and btw - adding a new baby is not a case of 2+1=3. Think of it more as 2+1=3^nth where n ≥ 1000 give or take one or two. Then I'm writing whenever I have the chance, but not for here or here or here or anywhere else public for that matter. At least not yet. We'll see if that time comes.

So, for a placeholder of sorts, I'm stealing from Whit a meme that's not really a meme, but rather a list of concerts I've attended in my 41 years. It just shows either a) how open-minded I am or b) what a complete dork I was/am. Well, whatever. Here goes.

U2 (9 times Mrs. Bueller), Depeche Mode (6), The Cure (4), The Police (2), Aerosmith, Alice In Chains, The B-52s, Billy Idol, Black 47, Black Grape, Schtum, Ruby, Think Tree, Rise Robot Rise, Goldfinger, Dylan/Dead, Bon Jovi, Boston (3), Eddie Money, Vixen (they opened for Eddie Money and I was really drunk), Alice Cooper, Great White & White Lion (opened for Alice and ditto on the drunk), Bush, David Bowie (3), Candlebox, 24-7 Spyz, Die Toten Hosen, Nitzer Ebb, Inspiral Carpets, The Stone Roses, Huey Lewis, The Thompson Twins, Cypress Hill, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, Green Day, Soundgarden, Dave Matthews, De; Fuegos, Rush, Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, Duran Duran, Eric B & Rakim, EPMD, LL Cool J, Echo & The Bunnymen, Gene Loves Jezebel, Flesh for Lulu, Foreigner, Rod Stewart, Madonna, Joe Walsh, Jeff Buckley, Juliana Hatfield, Live, Red Hot Chili Peppers (2), Hall & Oates, Jimmy Buffett, CS&N, The Police, New Order, Pink Floyd, The Pixies, Public Image Ltd., Sonic Youth, Sinead O'Connor, Hole, Beck, Spin Doctors, Stereo MCs, Urge Overkill, 311, Extreme, Sugar, Violent Femmes, Midnight Oil, Gang Green.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some and I'm also sure there are some I should have.

Not this one though.

Potties, Prima Donnas, Parodies and Going Green

2008-06-09T15:48:00.006-04:00

Thank you all for the well-wishes and congratulations - much appreciated. As you can imagine things are crazy in Casa Dubya. Little Dub turned three last week (yes, I suck for not posting about it, I really should just fire myself); Little Dubyette is trying to adjust to being the middle child; and Littlest Dubya, well, he sleeps and eats and poops and then eats some more - it really is like deja vu all over again.

Anyway, something I haven't talked about in the least is that Little Dubs has been in the process of potty training. These are the times that try men's souls. Oh yes they are. For ~~a lifetime~~ ~~months~~ weeks we have been trying to gently coax him into using the toilet properly. And by coax I mean bribe: chocolate, stickers, toys, a trip to Vegas - whatever would work - anything so that we weren't in a "three in diapers" sort of thing. Then, miraculously, things finally took hold (he says, well aware that he might have pissed off (heh - I'll let you decide if that was intentional) the Potty Karma gods). I did not know this, but, apparently, all it takes is for a switch to be flipped and lo and behold, this whole concept of peeing in the toilet is learned. And it becomes addictive - who knew? Honestly, Little Dubs peed standing up (makes me so proud) at least six times in an hour yesterday morning. I'll have to teach him about breaking the seal. I was almost at the point of asking him if he was drinking Budweiser instead of his juice. So, please say a collective prayer to whatever deity it is that you make those offerings and hope that our long national nightmare is drawing to a close - ok, maybe it's not national, but it's pretty big.

With Littlest Dubya's arrival, Little Dubyette is having her moments while trying to deal with this ~~interloper~~ new family member. Before the little man arrived, she was firmly establishing her dominance in the house, however I think she realizes there has been some shift in the power base and has been reacting to it. Where once we had this darling little girl, Sibyll has appeared bringing with her personalities ranging from my adorable peanut to Regan McNeil, high-maintenance girlfriend and the Fabulous Moolah hellbent on making Little Dub's and our lives miserable. I'd say I hope it's just a phase but as she careens toward age 2 and the terribleness that involves...well...here there be monsters. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Moving away from the family stuff, I was driving home yesterday after picking up dinner. I hit the scan button on the radio to avoid listening to more static or some inane song from some band that will drift into obscurity in three months or so. Well, it stopped in the lower regions of the dial - somewhere in the 88s and 89s - and I heard a voice from my youth. A distinct voice. A voice that any 13-year-old boy in 1980 would have recognized instantly. It was a voice that introduced me to such classics as "Fish Heads," "Shaving Cream," "Yoda,""The Streak," "Pac-Man Fever," and the always wonderful, "Dead Puppies." Yes, for a few minutes yesterday, my inner-13-year-old heard Dr. Demento again. And all was right with the world.

Finally, I have a bet with one of my compadres over at DadCentric. Thankfully, the boys in green have taken a 2-0 series lead over the Lakers as they head to L.A. That's not to say there hasn't been some drama. I don't think you blowing a 24-point lead in the 4th (but ultimately winning) is something that builds momentum going into a hostile arena. And it will be hostile. Those people from L.A. are animals. But I digress. I would just like the Celtics to pull at least one win over these next three games and either shut it down at The Forum or come home only needing to win one. That would be nice. Now, even if you don't care one whit (hey, Whit!) about this series, you should at least read Boston homer, Bill Simmon's column today - for those ex-pats like myself, I found it hard not to wax a little nostalgic for Buzzy's or Sully's Tap - here's a taste:

Look, every fan base has a worst-case scenario stereotype -- for Boston fans, it's someone with a shortened Irish name (Murph, Sully or Fitzy) who looks like a 295-pound Mike O'Malley, only with a shaved head, a comically ridiculous Baaaaa-stan accent, a T-shirt that's two sizes too small and a blood-alcohol level of 0.27 at all times. Few Boston fans are actually like that, just like few Lakers fans resemble the guys sitting next to me Sunday night. I'm just telling you, what would have been the worst collapse in Finals history nearly happened as I sat next to two drunken douchebags in Kobe jerseys, one with a man purse (the exact same color of my mother's Louis Vuitton purse, by the way), the other with a Crockett beard. I feel like you need to know these things.

Read the whole thing, it's worth your time.

That's it for now - later. Go Celts!

Did I Miss Anything?

2008-05-30T22:58:00.005-04:00

Law's yes - M-O-O-N spells today. A tip o' the hat to all my fellow Stand fans.

Littlest Dubya arrived this afternoon at 12:52 and weighed in at a respectable (for a bowling ball) weight of 8lbs., 8oz. and a ready-for-the-NBA length of 21".

Both Mrs. Big Dubya and baby are doing quite well. If I were in a better frame of mind I would have something witty to add here, but I'm tired and I just want to enjoy my Dogfish Head 90-Minute IPA and follow that up with a nice, albeit small, cigar.

Now, on three let's a hear a loud aaaawwwwwww. 1....2....3....aaaawwwwwwww.

And, btw, Happy 39th to my homey and DadCentric brotha, Jason. What is that Jim sang? "This is the end..."

I'm such a tease

2008-05-29T21:58:00.003-04:00

Still no baby, but I have it on good authority that it could be soon. Soon. M-O-O-N that spells soon.

So...how's your weekend look?

We haven't done a bloody thing all day: TwoBusy

2008-05-21T11:29:00.003-04:00

Ok, now that my annual meeting has come and gone and I am less of a basketcase than I was the last few days, I can get back to what I should be doing. Next up (and apparently lastly since...well...never mind), TwoBusy, my compadre in rabid Boston fandom.

1. What do you think of the Celts' chances this postseason?
Well, when you asked me this last Friday, I would have said, I need to see them win on the road before I render judgment. After the 74-69 loss that very same evening, I would have responded: "um...um...gaaaaaahhhhhh." But, here we are, after a Game 7 win against the Cavaliers and a (convincing?) Game 1 win (9-0 at home in the playoffs?) against the reviled Pistons. I like the chances, but I'm cautious. I think they make it to the Finals (this series against the Piss-tons goes six - I have no other reason than "just 'cuz.")

2. When did you last seriously question your sanity?
"Look, honey! The stapler is talking to me." Huh? What was the question?

3. Sprinkles or jimmies? Why?
Jimmies. Jimmies. Jimmies. Because I'm from the Boston area and there is nothing better on this planet than a Brigham's chocolate ice cream with jimmies. Well, that is, after a chocolate chip ice cream at Treadwell's in Peabody. Anyway, sprinkles just sounds like something I don't want on my ice cream.

4. What did you do on your first day out of the service?
I was actually kidnapped and force-fed lots and lots of beer. True story. My best friend - some of you know him as 39 - picked me up at the airport. He proceeded to bring me home, allow me the opportunity to get changed and say a quick hello to my parents and then off we went, stopping first at a favorite watering hole (emphasis on "hole"), The Chowder House. After several dollar drafts (yes, there was a time in my life when I lived by the mantra: beer is beer.) we picked up and continued our bar hopping: Lord Jeff's (where I was shut off apparently - that lasted all of five minutes), Good Co., and other sundry and seedy locations. I think there might have been a breakfast thrown in there as well. I woke up the next afternoon ridonkulously hungover and unemployed and what a wonderful day it was.

5. What’s your favorite memory of elementary school?
I won a school-wide spelling bee in sixth grade and was entered in the town-wide in which I finished fourth: accommodate was my downfall. I also remember the first time I didn't receive an 'N' (needs improvement) for a conduct grade on my last report card of sixth grade - yes, I was a little chatty Cathy back then. Apparently, not much has changed except for the fact I get paid to do it now.

6. How would you describe your perfect dinner -- incl. menu & participants?
Honestly, I am a man of simple pleasures. All I need for a fantastic dinner is the company of my wife, Mrs. Big Dubya. Menu is inconsequential. I like a well-cooked steak (not well-done you heathens) a la The Denver Chop House or what The Hilltop Steakhouse used to be. But a nice quiet evening (quiet evening = sans kiddies) with the wife, some good food and better beer always works for me. Then again, drinking all afternoon at The Wharf Pub in Edgartown is also a good way to go. Not that we've done that. Nope. Not us.

7. Whom would you most like to see imprisoned for steroid possession, contempt of congress and general jackassery?
Um, is this a trick question?

We haven't done a bloody thing all day: SATGS

2008-05-16T21:19:00.003-04:00

One of my long-time blogmigas decides to play along. Here are my answers to Sarah's questions.

1. What do you think of the BCS?
I think it blows. Do you want more? Relying on polls, computer selection models and some Byzantine math formulas to determine who should play in a championship makes about as much sense as just picking their names out of a hat. Actually, that probably makes more sense. And can I just say that there are just too many damn bowl games as it is? Playing in the Dunkin' Donuts Bowl in early November is the equivalent of the "participation" trophy in Little League.

2. When did you last floss?
This morning. I had something caught between my teeth It had a fresh, clean minty flavor to it.

3. Blur or Oasis? Why?
Ah, the question that will plague great thinkers for the next millennium. I was an Oasis fan from the get-go - Definitely Maybe blew me away and closed the door on grunge for me. Supersonic, Live Forever, Cigarettes and Alcohol and Married With Children - 'nuff said. And a guitarist named Bonehead. I think that seals it.

4. What did you do after prom?
Ok - two things about this question. I originally read it as "What did you do after porn?" I thought to myself: "What happened? Did porn die?" Then I re-read it and..well...that made more sense. Second, the way this is written shows a regional difference between Sarah and I. Me, as a Bostonian, would have written: What did you do after the prom? I know, same diff, just interesting. Anyway, I went to The Cape. And drank Screwdrivers made with shitty vodka. I think someone at some point made chicken pot pies though this has never been confirmed.

5. What’s your favorite movie quote?
Wow. How the hell do I answer that? So many to choose from. "Nine times." "Two dollars." "I knew it was you Fredo." "Inconceivable!" "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." "I gave her my heart...she gave me a pen." "It's in the hole!" I'll quit now.

6. How would you explain periods (not the punctuation kind) to two four year olds?
First, why would I have to explain this to four-year-olds? Second, please tell me you mean the punctuation...please. Third, um, go ask your mother.

7. Whom would you most like to fight?
I'm a lover not a fighter. Well, I guess that's true now, maybe not back in the day, but I digress. I'd like to punch any punk-ass bitch that thinks soldiers are some illiterate, uneducated, hillbillies from some podunk or backwater town allowing themselves to be used as cannon-fodder. These men and women have forgotten more about honor and self-sacrifice than most people experience in an entire lifetime. Ok, rant done. I think I need to play Call of Duty 4 now.

We haven't done a bloody thing all day

2008-05-15T15:47:00.002-04:00

Because I am a hack and haven't had an original thought in ~~days~~ ~~weeks~~ ~~month~~s forever, I'm stealing (yes, I said stealing) TwoBusy's meme. Hopefully it will provide some inspiration for a post. At the very least, it will give me another space-filler tomorrow.

Fill in the blanks with whatever comes to ~~your twisted~~ mind and I will provide answers for them...God help me.

1. What do you think of ________?

2. When did you last ________?

3. ________ or ________? Why?

4. What did you ________?

5. What’s your favorite ________?

6. How would you ________?

7. Whom would you most like to ________?

Three Is a Magic Number

2008-05-09T11:12:00.002-04:00

Three years. That's how long I've been posting here. Three years. To the day. I started May 9, 2005, on an original Blogger Rounders template. And, unlike today, no one read me and I didn't receive my first comment until my fourth post and only because she's a friend of mine. Now I have tons of readers if by tons you mean 20.

A lot has changed since those early posts. We had the baby we were eagerly awaiting and, along the way, had a second and crazily opted for a third; somewhere else, strange things happened and I turned 40. I also got caught up in some horrific memes and thought many of you would care about my opinion on the Top 100 discs and the Shittiest Mixtape Challenge. But I am also solely responsible for being the Internetoweblogosphere's refrigerator and mantel come holiday time which has been fun (and will continue).

Blogging has also enabled me to write about any number of things that are important to me or just strike my fancy. Here, at mr. big dubya, my go-to venue, is the place where I get to just do the mind-dump. Anything that's on my mind, what's happening with the kiddies, what fatherhood/parenthood is like for me, it goes right here. Sometimes it's good stuff - other times, feh, not so much. But, this is where I got started. It's where I got to "meet" several other bloggers I consider friends (among so many others - really, the list will just keep going if I don't stop now - I don't mean to slight anyone) - though most of whom I have never met, but not for lack of trying - sidenote: we really do need to work on that "We Need a Better Name Than BlogHim" thing.

Anyway, thanks for coming by, I hope you've enjoyed your stay. I have been neglectful in all my blogging duties as of late, but hopefully that's changing - I am feeling a little more inspired as of late.

Come on back, now. Ya hear?

Atomic Number of Niobium

2008-05-06T14:55:00.002-04:00

Today is International No Diet Day - quite apropos I must say.

Also today:

1861 - American Civil War: Arkansas secedes from the Union. Lincoln is overheard saying "Woo-hoo" in war room. He backtracked by saying, "I kid, I kid. I kid because I love."

1889 - The Eiffel Tower is officially opened to the public at the Universal Exposition in Paris. Rest of world thinks France is compensating for shortcomings or it thinks very highly of itself.

1983 - The Hitler diaries are revealed as a hoax when experts examine the books and conclude that they are fake. Experts were tipped off by entries such as: "Dear Diary - Today I asked Henry (Himmler) to tell Eva I "like her", like her" and "Things to do - Visit Coney Island to try hot dogs".

2004 - Friends ends run on NBC. "The One Where mr. bigdubya Has Nothing to Say Because He Still Misses this Show"

Born today:

1758 - Maximilien Robespierre

1856 - Sigmund Freud

1915 - Orson Welles

1961 - George Clooney (who I've often been mistaken for)

1967 - mr. big dubya

Finally:

41 - It is an Eisenstein prime with no imaginary part and real part of the form

3 n - 1

. 41 is a Proth prime as it is 5 × 2³ + 1.

And, boom goes mr. big dubya's head.

On the road again...

2008-04-29T12:55:00.001-04:00

I've been down this road before - twice actually. You'd think after the first time there would be some familiarity. "I recognize this place. Right over there we...." And to some extent there is. But the second time you travel the road, it's like some of the houses have been painted a different color or there are different cars in the drives or someone has put up a nice white picket fence or they've finally fixed the potholes and paved the damn thing. It's the same road, just with subtle differences and it throws you off a bit. Now, I once again find myself traveling it. And once again, things are different, but the same somehow.

This is the point on this trek where my anxiety gets ratcheted up a notch or two. I think of it as just a natural reaction to our first roadtrip. To quote the inimitable and erudite, Jack Russell, "Once bitten, twice shy." That first time was filled with some serious potholes and some unexpected bumps. Our second trip was relatively uneventful, but I was a little more anxious - and for good reason I think. But, here we are again. I've got a GPS this time, but that's only as good as the updates. I know this part of the trip is supposed to be the most exciting - no more "Are we there yet"s from the back seat. But I can't stop thinking about the possible jackknifed tractor trailer we might encounter. I guess that's just the optimist in me. For now, I'll just keep my hands at 10 & 2 and an eye on the speed limit.

My muse is on a break

2008-04-18T11:22:00.001-04:00

It's not like I don't have things to write about - new baby on the way, how things are at the job, how quickly Little Dub and Little Dubyette are growing up - so much to say, but just wholly unmotivated to write. Just a bit of a funk, nothing more, nothing less. Until I shed this funky coil, I'm just going to throw some random atcha.

**Apparently, we have been watching too much Monsters, Inc. in the Dubya household. While getting Little Dubs into his pj's the other night, he looked at me, smiled and addressed me as "Kitty!" Kitty, as you all know (or should), is Boo's nickname for Sully. Sully, of course, is big, blue and hairy. I am neither blue nor John Goodman. Frankly, I don't see the resemblance, anyway.

**At Dunkin Donuts the other morning, I saw some things that just did not belong: a woman wearing high-heels and sweatpants getting into her H2 and a Volvo station wagon sporting two Confederate flag-style bumper stickers...without a gun rack no less. These Connecticut residents. No sense of style I tell ya. None. Certainly not like their Massachusetts neighbors.

**We've decided to let the Littlest Dubyas name the Dubya-to-be. Li'l Dubyette thinks "der Baby" is a good choice. I told her, though, we would like something with a more Irish flair as I only know a little German and she offered "Shkoudouda-ah." I've been able to come up with conflicting meanings - it's either "Light of Life" or "I'm gassy and may poop." Little Dubs suggested "Dinosaur" or "Dragon" - I think "Dragon" would be a good nickname, particularly for a girl. Thoughts? If we decide to go the "Dinosaur" route - I might have to give Tony props.

Ok, I'll break the funk any time now so just be ready for an onslaught of observational humor. Or, better yet, just some meaningless meanderings meant to muster merriment and mirth. Look, alliteration is always fun.

Mission Completion

2008-04-02T21:15:00.000-04:00

I’m sitting here, eating my lunch and taking a break from the first week deluge of new things to learn. You all know what I mean. It’s that time when you spend most of your day quietly observing your co-workers and colleagues, deciphering personalities (who’s self-destructive, who’s gonna be trouble, who wouldn’t I be afraid to have a beer with) and understanding the whole politics of an organization. So far? Good choice mr. big dubya, good choice. You chose wisely. Yes, it’s day 3 and I know things can change, but it’s a great non-profit and the people here really care about what they do so…bonus. I’ve mentioned many times in the past how much I like what I do, so I won’t bore you yet again, but add that to the fact I just cut my commute by over an hour each day, cut the mileage by more than 50% and don’t feel as compelled to leave the house at the exact same time every morning then I feel like I’ve hit the job jackpot. Job jackpot? God, I suck some times. Fine line between clever and cheesy and I just stepped in Fromage de Meaux.

Let’s see…new job? Check. We can skip the mini-van, right? Right? No, we can’t, can we? You need fodder for comments. Yes, we bought a mini-van. In fact, we bought the Mercedes of min-vans, the Honda Odyssey. And you know what? It’s like Sally Field: I like it, I really like it. Leather, DVD, XM, power sliding doors – it’s like a rolling living room, if your living room had sliding doors that is. And since I had the flames added and applied the faux bullet holes, I don’t feel the least bit emasculated. I’m even thinking of adding a bumper sticker: If the mini-van’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’ (we trying to get the kids to sleep). I’ll put it right next to the fake baseball with the broken glass decal and the “My dog is smarter than your honor roll student” sticker – I’ve always thought those were so clever.

Yes, Little Dubs now swims alone…theoretically, of course. While at swimming lessons recently, he just pushed away from me and went it alone. It was like watching a duck – calm above the water, but all business below as he was essentially sprinting to tread water. It was rather bittersweet for me. I have taken him to lessons for awhile now and it’s always been him and me in the pool. He holds on for dear life and I gently coax and coach him. This past Saturday as we made our way around the water, he looked at me, and with a smile on his face said, “Move, Daddy” and he ranswam his way to the deep end. There he was, in 9 ft. of water cruising around holding a floating barbell while his dad was treading water around him…for 20 minutes. I was Quint in toddler-infested waters. It is apparent that Little Dubs no longer needs me as his personal flotation device. I am now merely a conveyor to the pool. Now, Little Dubyette is another matter. She still needs the human inner tube that is her father.

(Almost)Finally, Disney. We had a great time with my parents. It was such a good time that they provided very little blog fodder. I was sooo disappointed. Don't get me wrong, they did have their moments, of course, but overall, they were just great grandparents. As far as the parks go, if you can avoid it, don't go during any type of "break" week - Easter Break, Spring Break, Beer Break. If you do, be forewarned that you might just feel like an extra in Dream Team and none of the other patrons will be as amusing as Stephen Furst speaking like a baseball announcer.

And, lastly, like some of my friends, I have been added to the great Guy Kawasaki's blog aggregator, Alltop. I guess I have arrived, though I pale in comparison to most of the A-listers included - those who get more comments per post than I get in a month's worth. Ok, enough self-deprecation. Go check it out and add more feeds to your reader - I dare you.

Apologia and The Sappy

2008-03-30T00:13:00.004-04:00

I have to apologize. I left you all with a huge downer of a post, cross-posted it at DadCentric and then went into radio silence for the past two weeks. Not good. I start a new job on Monday, we have a new minivan, we just got back from a trip to the House of Mouse and Little Dub now swims alone (not with the fishes). Oh, and I've been added to the tutti di tutti list of Dad Blogs (thanks Guy!) - great time to go dark, huh? So, there is plenty to talk about, I've just not been motivated to put fingers to keyboard lately. Yes, I do suck, thanks for saying so. Hell, I'm kicking ass in the Parent Bloggers Bracket Challenge (#2 with a bullet thankyouverymuch) and I haven't even bragged about that. What does that tell you?

I promise a comprehensive post that covers all these fine items in great detail. Just don't want to leave the eight of you hanging for too long. I thank you all for your well-wishes after my last post - I appreciate it - I just want you to know it wasn't written as a comment-whore post, it was an honest look at how thankful and lucky I was after the events of that morning. So, I appreciate the comments. I really do. I find it amazing that, for the most part, I know none of you, but yet, there is some tie - you read what I write and, for better or worse, leave your thoughts. That's pretty fuckin' cool.

All right, enough of the sappy. I'll get that post done soon.

Can I get an Amen?

2008-03-14T13:23:00.004-04:00

On Monday, I had every intention to post about some very good news I had to share. I got a new job. Not only did I get a new job, but I got a raise and this new position would cut my commute to just 25 minutes one-way - down from the hour and ten/fifteen I have been doing these last 3+ years. I will continue to do relatively the same thing - fundraising and public relations - and for an organization that provides services to a similar population - mentally retarded/developmentally disabled adolescents and adults. It is very exciting for me/us and I was really looking forward to writing about it and letting the six of you who read regularly know about it.

Well, that was the plan for Monday anyway. Amazing how things do not always go according to plan, isn't it? I seem to recall something about mice and men and the best laid, blah, blah, blah.

Don't worry, I still have the job and will start after our upcoming trip to the House of Mouse (with my parents by the way - should be something to post about after that). The thing is, I never made it into work on Monday. Nope, not at all. In fact, I'm actually very lucky to be even posting about Monday. See, I totaled my car. And before you ask, no I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Stupid? Oh, Lord yes. Dumbest damn thing I have ever done. Actually, I had become a convert after Little Dub was born. This was a very stupid instance that could have cost me my life. I have seen the error of my ways. I have had my "come to Jesus" moment. You will soon see me at your door trying to dispense tracts from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. "May I come in and tell you about the saving power of the seatbelt law? How about the redemptive power of the 3-point shoulder harness?" Yes, I am born again.

I was ten minutes from work when I hit an extensive (150-200 yards) patch of black ice. Never even saw it. Didn't realize I was on it until my ass-end suddenly started to swing around and I was now facing in the opposite direction. And still spinning. The next thing I know, I'm covered in glass, the windshield is smashed and the car is laying on the driver's side in a ditch. I remember saying, "Fuck" once or twice, grabbing my wallet off the floor and turning off the radio because the static was going to drive me insane and I needed to think.

I tried to push open the passenger side door, but to no avail. This was about the time panic decided to rear its ugly head. Thankfully, a nearby resident had heard everything and was now outside my car on his house phone calling 911. I ignored him when he told me to stay put - panic still had hold. I was able to roll down the passenger side window and boost my self out of the car. I heard him say, "Are you okay? Anything hurt? You're damn lucky! You're the third accident in a week." Huh? Great, I'm the topper in a hat trick. Lucky me. Where's Rod Roddy with my gifts?

Another passerby encourages me to get to the other side of the road and off into someone's yard as I am busy inspecting myself. My right hand is bloodied, I have glass and glass fragments in my hair, my left ear is tender and I have a dull pain between my shoulder blades, but am otherwise unscathed. Remarkably so. I hear the sirens from the local fire department, the paramedics and the sheriff. I'm hustled into a pick-up truck, then to a fire truck and ultimately into the paramedic's truck. They look at me. They look at my CR-V. They look back at me incredulously. "Are you sure you're okay?" I am asked repeatedly. Yep, I answer. "Just a little pain here and apparently I have a cut somewhere." In between all this poking and prodding, I have left messages for Mrs. Big Dubya - somewhat frantic ones where I actually forgot to tell her I was okay and the kids were not with me. Ah, panic and shock - wonderful combination when relaying information.

I was in and out of the hospital after getting looked at and receiving 600 mg of Motrin - nothing broken, no internal bleeding, no concussion, just some scratches, some tenderness and some disapproving comments when I give my answer about the seatbelt. My CR-V? Not so lucky. She has been declared a total loss. I have since removed the plates and registration, cleaned it out and bid her a fond farewell as she will be taken away on Monday to points unknown. I am sad to see her go.

But I am more than grateful to be able to write this post and that is all that really matters - I am still here for Mrs. Big Dubya and my children - I could not ask for more. Fortunately, only a few family members read this blog so I won't be answering a ton of questions - we've just bought a new car, no big deal, it was expected with a third bambino on the way, etc. , etc., etc. To Aunt P: Everything's fine - I am fine - let's keep it at that.

In the immortal words of Sir Bob: "I don't like Mondays."

I've got my 12-sided die in hand

2008-03-05T13:20:00.003-05:00

I never played D&D - just not my thing. I had a roommate when I was stationed at Fort Polk, Louisiana, who played nearly every weekend with his friends. They would hole up in our room from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, leaving the table only to use the bathroom. Needless to say, they and the room were F-U-N-K-Y come Sunday. Me? I was busy meeting girls and getting drunk in Alexandria at the Cotton Gin and Late Night. But those are stories for another time.

Anyway, this is for all those who did play and are in mourning after the recent death of uber-Dungeon Master, Gary Gygax. Yeah, Tony, I'm talking to you.

I feel so...dirty

2008-03-04T20:57:00.005-05:00

Wow, time sure does fly. Several weeks ago there was a game. Sorta big, not World Cup big, but big enough. Well, I made a bet with a certain blogging gentleman that some of you might know, maybe even read. Anyway, I thought it was a given - as did most right-thinking people. And, even though many of these people assumed a win was inevitable, they secretly harbored the desire to see this team lose. Negative vibes won out and this team from New York who plays all their games on the road in Jersey of all places won.

Since I lost this bet, I am required to sully myself and don the apparel of the victors. I thought this would be easy this being Connecticut and all. You know, the New York suburb south of Boston? However, something to wear was harder to find than a parenting handbook at the Spears residence. Finally, Mrs. Big Dubya came across a sweatshirt in her travels today. So, keeping my end of the bargain, I give you mr. big dubya wearing the enemies colors.

In the first photo, please notice the rubber gloves I use while handling the offending clothing.

And, finally, a debt paid in full.

If you'll excuse me, I need to go shower a la that scene in the Crying Game or Ace Ventura - whatever works for you.

Pickin' up around the house

2008-02-27T10:12:00.005-05:00

Odds and ends from 12 days of not posting:

**Little Dubs continues to develop into a little boy. Gone is any babiness about him. And while I find that very sad in many ways - what the hell happened? where has the time gone? - I really find this time quite exciting. The other night, in a desperate search for something other than Thomas the Tank Engine or Steve and his incessant feigning of ignorance, I mentioned something to Mrs. Big Dubya about a Cars game demo I had downloaded via Live. Lo and behold, about 15 minutes later, there was Little Dubs, controller in hand trying to get Mater moving to tip some tractors. With some ahem help ahem he was eventually able to tip a tractor or two while avoiding Frank in the pasture. And while he's not quite ready for a CoD4 championship on GamePlay HD it was still enough to warm this former Pong player's heart.

**While we're speaking of Little Dubs, allow me to share something else. The little guy has the most bizarre food habits, at least according to this fine cuisine aficionado. And if by "fine" you mean "fast" and by "cuisine" you mean something edible. Chicken nuggets, cheeseburgers and similar fast foods are verboten. He will not eat them, can not eat them, Sam I am. His finger foods are mac and cheese, pasta and occasionally apple sauce. And he eats enough cheese to bind up an elephant. But what really puzzles me is the way he eats pizza. He doesn't start at the top of the slice like any normal person would. Nor does he start with the crust like those heathens in a Pizza Hut commercial. No, he starts halfway down the slice and chews his way through. Actually, gnaws his way through is more like it.

This led to a brief conversation the other night:

Mrs. Big Dubya: I never saw the movie, but I imagine that this is probably how Nell ate.

Mr. Big Dubya: Tries, in vain, to keep any more soda from coming out his nose.

**Have these first four Lost episodes been some of the best? I am hooked once again. I was starting to get wary, but I now have renewed faith in Cuse and Lindelhof. And speaking of TV, I finally got around to clearing out some things on the DVR and watched the final season of Life On Mars (it was only two seasons). If you can catch this show in re-runs on BBC America or get the DVDs from Netflix, I really do recommend it. It was brilliantly done and had a very satisfying ending. Thankfully, some of my favorite characters will be back in a sequel entitled, Ashes to Ashes. Anyone watching anything worthwhile? Waiting for something to start? Yes, Tony, Battlestar, I know - I'll get to it.

**Not that you asked, but I didn't watch any of the Oscars the other night. I just can't be bothered. Apparently, I wasn't alone in doing something else. Me? I was reading. Which brings me to...

**There was a time when I read all the time, more so after getting out of school. If I had the time, I had a book in my hand. I worked in bookstores to feed my addiction - reading 4-5 books a week while sitting behind the counter. But then something happened. I got lazy (and a 50" plasma and a 360 and a DVR with 200 hours of recording time) and the books in the "to be read" pile started gathering dust. But, a conversation with Mrs. Big Dubya a couple of weeks or so ago really highlighted how (intellectually) lazy I'd become. So, I have resolved to plow through the pile. I am setting a very ambitious goal but my list currently consists of: the remaining three books (well, 2.1 books as I'm close to finishing The Wolves of Calla) in The Dark Tower series (which I've been reading since 1986); The Quincunx, a novel I've been trying to tackle for nigh on seven years now; and The Pillars of Earth. Because, honestly, there's nothing like having the equivalent of the OED sitting on your nightstand to get you motivated. I think I got a hernia just thinking about that.

**Finally, the Dubyas will be joined by the Buffaloes this weekend for a quick visit. It's been far too long and I'm sure there will be some laughs and some post fodder (and some things about which I will be forbidden to post).

Ok, I feel better now having relieved myself of these weighty topics.

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Now playing: U2 - Out of Control
via FoxyTunes

Hey, you! Yeah...you!

2008-02-15T12:56:00.002-05:00

What are you doing here? I've got nothing for you today. Go show some love and wish Kara a happy birthday. I hear she's turning 29 today. I think that's what her husband told me. At least I hope it was.

Happy Birthday, Kara!

We go out to eat at four all the time now

2008-02-14T09:15:00.003-05:00

Ah, Valentine's Day. Did you know that more than 1 billion (makes Dr. Evil face) valentines are sent each year worldwide making it the second largest card-sending holiday of the year behind Christmas? Did you also know that 8 million people admit sending themselves Valentine's Day gifts (admit being the key word - I'm pretty sure you can jack up that number a bit)? And, finally, did you know that if you were to ask 10 men what they thought about Valentine's Day, nine of them would reply, "Fuckin' Hallmark!"? Ok, ok, I made that last one up, it's actually all ten.

Valentine's Days are really not memorable occasions for most - obviously marriage proposals are the exception - and, just a show of hands, how many of you got engaged on Valentine's Day? Yeah, didn't think so. Anyway, it's not a day that's taking up much space on the ol' gray matter hard drive. However, I do have one and it's only memorable by virtue of its place in mr. big dubya lore.

Six years ago, yours truly and his soon-to-be wife, Mrs. Big Dubya, were frantically wrapping up the last-minute details of our wedding. Picking up programs, assembling favors (we had sweet pint glasses made - we have plenty left over - if you'd like one, send me an e-mail) and all that craptastic mind-numbing stuff that saps all your energy and brain-power leading up to the blessed event. I realized on February 13th that the next day was Valentine's Day and I had done nothing for Mrs. Big Dubya. Zip. Zero. Nada. I called a few restaurants and was told, after the laughter had died down a bit, that I could certainly have a reservation for the 15th. Um, yeah, that's not gonna work. I finally called a little Italian joint near us and he said sure, we have an opening if you don't mind 4:00 p.m. Works for me, I said.

So, there we were, arriving at the restaurant just as they unlocked the doors, two rookies seated among seasoned veterans - Gold and Diamond Alums enjoying their early-bird dinners. This ~~candle-lit dinner~~ sun-lit late lunch is memorable not for the flowery sentiments and protestations of love eternal, but for the opportunity to sit down and enjoy a quiet meal and glasses of wine in relative peace knowing full well the next couple of days would be a whirlwind of handshakes, cheek-kissing, "thanks for comings," "great to see yous," camera flashes and perma-smiles. The proverbial calm before the storm.

And, even though it was more "oh shit" than "look how romantic I am," it's the only Valentine's Day that sticks with me. It was perfect in its simplicity. And, because Mrs. Big Dubya was as casual about it as I, it provided just another reason why I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

Ok, enough sappy. Happy Valentine's Day, babe.

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Now playing: Frank Sinatra - The Way You Look Tonight
via FoxyTunes

Thanskgiving and Embracing the Suck

2008-02-07T09:36:00.000-05:00

Hi. How's things? Anything new? Any big doings the past couple of days? Yes, I have come out of my mourning period. Mrs. Big Dubya was beginning to get uncomfortable with me walking around looking like some Italian grandmother. I think she was particularly bothered by my reaching up my sleeve to pull out a tissue.

Anyway, you're probably wondering about the title of this post. I am thankful for some things over the past few days. What are those things, you ask? Well, let me tell you:

Super Tuesday - nothing will knock Super Bowl coverage off the front page faster than a 20+ state presidential primary.

Bobby Knight - talk about sending sports reporters into a tizzy. Nothing short of John Wooden passing away will get more airtime.

Shaq - a trade to Phoenix. Could this be a swan song of sorts for The Diesel? Is this the year he throws up both middle fingers at the Lakers?

Roger Clemens - did he or did he not? I'm not sure where I stand at the moment. There was a time a few weeks ago I was sure Clemens was a ~~former~~ juicer. Then he put jail on the table the other day. That takes some balls (heh). Now, this? WTF? You've had this stuff seven or eight years? That's just creepy.

Britney - Britney...Brady? Britney...Brady? Britney will always win out - people love watching train wrecks even if they know there's a special place in hell for doing so.

See? Silver lining all around. I could have been in real trouble had this been a slow news week.

BTW - In the haze that was the run-up to the Super Bowl, I made a bet with someone you all might know. He's a blogger, has some readers (I think 4 or 5 more than I) and is a huge Giants fan. Well, during my euphoric state I might have made a bet with him similar to a bet we made during a Sox/Mets series back in '06. That bet I won and I was able to see his adorable daughter dressed in some Red Sox finery. This bet, I did not. Therefore, I will be dressing the Littlest Dubyas in some shudder Giants shudder wear. I wish to state here publicly that I apologize to my son and daughter (and their mother) for putting them in this position. I know no amount of therapy will erase this particular trauma, but I hope they will, one day, be able to forgive me.

What of the rest of the title? Presidential politics my friend. I know that most of you reading here don't agree with me one whit when it comes to politics. And that's fine - welcomed in fact. Disagreement and spirited debate is what makes this country great. If you agreed with everything I said, I'd find some remote location and start a cult. Hey, I can be pretty charismatic. No, not in a Manson-like way. Anyway, I'm a junkie when it comes to this stuff - I've followed closely since I was 12. At age 11 I was holding signs with my father in support of someone running for school committee. It's just in my blood. But, this year, I'm just not all that happy with my choices.

I said to Mrs. Big Dubya Wednesday morning:

"I welcome our liberal overlords. Ring in the end of individualism and incentive. Usher in the entitlement class. It's a new day of open borders and amnesty; restrictions on free speech; and gas taxes to counter global warming. Embrace the suck!"

What I didn't say...what I couldn't say was, "Maybe I'll vote Democrat."

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Now playing: A Tribe Called Quest - I Left My Wallet In El Segundo (Vampire Mix)
via FoxyTunes

One word

2008-02-03T22:06:00.000-05:00

Fuck.

That's all I have. I'm spent.

My eyes...my eyes!

2008-01-30T10:03:00.000-05:00

I know there are some people out there who would prefer that these videos never again saw the light of day, but there once was a time when the Patriots and the word "dynasty" weren't even included in the same book, let alone the same sentence.

Ok - first up, New England's answer to the Super Bowl Shuffle. You might want a tissue for when your ears bleed.

And, if that weren't enough, hair's another for you. Ok, you can insert your own hair metal joke:

Anyone know where Tony Eason is?

Drink a Drink a Drink

2008-01-24T15:50:00.000-05:00

Here comes a shocker. I've been drinking again. Go and read about Abominable Snowman and Man-in-the-Moon.

I'm a little hoarse

2008-01-22T12:24:00.000-05:00

I expected to post by now, but you'll have to excuse me as I lost my voice during the Patriots victory on Sunday.

Ha. Get it? Lost my voice? I can't write...my voice...no? You guys suck.

Anyway, just imagine me screaming 18-0! Bring on the GNATS...I mean GIANTS.

This little piggy...

2008-01-17T16:23:00.000-05:00

You gotta love a sonogram tech with a sense of humor.

Maybe the new baby will be a Daniel Day Lewis fan? Or, better yet, Monty Python.

This is just a tribute

2008-01-16T09:45:00.000-05:00

Where does one begin? I've had this post percolating since Friday night, but haven't had the time to give it the attention it so richly deserves. We found ourselves back home on the South Shore for a show on Friday night. It was, in many ways, eerily similar to our trip for a Murder Mystery show at Aunt P's parish. Entertaining, cringe-inducing, surreal and unintentionally hilarious.

Several months ago my parents called to ask Mrs. Big Dubya and I if we would like to go see a Jimmy Buffett tribute band at a local community theater. I'll wait until you're able to get a hold of yourself. Ok, ok, you can stop laughing now. Quit it. Yes, we have been to Buffett shows, but we're not Parrotheads. To us, seeing Buffett is like seeing this guy, but less raunchy and with more tailgating and people-watching. Anyway, we said sure, why not. But, we promptly forgot about it until a few weeks ago. And then forgot about it again until my mother asked me what time we would be getting into town. Crap. Which, coincidentally, is what Mrs. Big Dubya uttered as well when I reminded her about the date. I'll spare you the logistical part of this venture, those of you with kids know about travel and sitters and the like. Those of you without? One word: Crap!

For the most part, the drive and such was uneventful as was most of the afternoon. We had dinner with my parents and made our way to the theater. First thing I noticed upon entering the lobby? It is quite possible Mrs. Big Dubya was the youngest in the room. Aside from some young children with their parents, there were more gray hairs in this lobby than on the set of Cocoon. Ahhh, popcorn, Aspercreme and Chantilly - smells like a rockin' good time. Woo-hoo.

The stage looked as if an iparty store threw up: inflatable palm trees (natch!), parrots (ditto), surfboards and requisite tiki bar and masks. I must say, I felt warm tropical breezes. (I know I may sound cynical right now, but I went into it with an open mind - I thought it would be fun - and it was - but for reasons not shared by my parents - God love 'em.) As the band took the stage, I was taken with the number of ill-fitting Hawaiian shirts and 70s porn mustaches concentrated in one place. Could Tom Selleck be moonlighting in a tribute band? I thought this was enough fodder for a post: a percussionist wearing batting gloves as he played congos; the Frank Stallone of the Oates brothers playing bass; the roadie who was pulled off the set of the Deliverance re-make; or the arrhythmic twins providing backing vocals (Mrs. Big Dubya had line of the night: "You'd think with all the dancing she does on stage, she'd be thinner."). But when the lead singer showed up on stage...barefoot...like he was walking in The Keys instead of Norwell in January, well, they were ripe for mocking.

I suppose had I been in a different state of mind (read: drinking/drunk) and in a different venue (read: bar, club) this would have been entirely entertaining - they were talented, I will give them that. If I closed my eyes and ignored the beach balls hitting me in the back of the head (elderly + beach balls = nothing good) I would have thought Buffett was on stage, with a bit of a cold and some studio musicians. But with the most ridiculous song intros and segues combined with some outright lies about getting flown in with his family and band (you live in fuckin' Ludlow and your "tour" takes you throughout New England - c'mon, the Elks Lodge in Wakefield?). Dude, the stories about you sunnin' it up and adopting the whole Buffett philosophy (Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes) while still being snowbound in Western Mass. sound a bit...um...desperate.

To make the night just a tad surreal, I ran into one of my high school math teachers. After exchanging pleasantries and a quick catching up, he proceeded to tell me about several teachers I was familiar with ending each one with, "Yeah, he's dead." Excuse me, isn't this supposed to be a party atmosphere? Did I just see Fun make an exit? Then I learn that Mrs. Big Dubya is sitting next to the former custodian, who I also know - it turns out, the woman sitting next to him is the widow of another teacher of mine and the two of them are now married. I wanted to join Fun in his exit.

So many things: there was muffin-top lady dancing by herself and waiting to get lei'd; one of the arrhythmic twins who thought everyone was watching her - I was, I couldn't stop, it was a two-hour long train wreck; $32? I'm sorry, isn't this The Company Theater? This is a tribute band, right? Is 2U coming, too?; beach balls are supposed to be batted up, not thrown like line drives, jackass; just because you're playing "Werewolves of London" doesn't mean you have to make werewolf paws while singing...really.

Damn, I really have become a cynical bastard. Chag, that's not copyrighted, right?

Oh Oh Domino!

2008-01-15T20:48:00.000-05:00

Brilliant!

Guinness: Tipping Point
Uploaded by Razorbuzz

Is it safe?

2008-01-10T14:29:00.000-05:00

I don't have much to say today - I blew my wad over at DadCentric this morning. If you visit now and again and have never made yourself known, leave a comment just saying hi and how much you love what I do. Or just tell me to piss off. Whatever works for you.

New Year Nattering

2008-01-03T10:59:00.000-05:00

Damn, it's colder than a witch's...well, you know. It's days like this I long for white, sandy beaches and fruity cocktails.

I don't have a lengthy post in me at the moment, but I do have some quick hits and musings so please bear with me.

Little Dubya likes to talk during movies. But not to me or to his mother. To the television. Honestly, watching a movie or anything for that matter, is like watching in an inner-city theater or with a bunch of tweeners. Not only does he have all his favorites memorized, but he anticipates scenes and prefaces those particularly harrowing ones with an "Oh, no" or "Uh-oh" all while nonchalantly drinking from his sippy cup. He also has no concept of what a DVR is and believes that his recordings of Thomas the Tank Engine or Mickey Mouse Club are available on-demand...wherever we might be. We really have created a monster.

Speaking of Thomas the Tank Engine, I really do not like this show. Not. At. All. There's something about it, some underlying themes that really grate on me. The characters are often rude, selfish and mean. And they only realize the error of their ways when they derail or cause some wanton destruction. Then they are labeled "not being useful" or not "working hard enough." Or, if they have been particularly good that day, they are "a useful engine" or get some "special special" to shunt somewhere. I half expect the episodes to be updated to feature, instead of Sir Topham Hat, large screens with his image interspersed with slogans of productivity. I know the messages conveyed are far more benign than I hear and are geared to my toddler, but I find myself cringing through nearly every episode. I think this show has also led to an unhealthy obsession with The Polar Express.

Well, here we are in a new year, but instead of our favorite television shows returning for the second half of their seasons, we pretty much enjoyed season finales in December. Other than Lost and Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, there's not much I'm really looking forward to. Thanks writer's strike! But, I'm here to tell you there is still great TV out there. If you're not already, you should be watching Life On Mars and Torchwood on BBC America. Both shows have brilliant plots, richly developed characters and are just great shows to watch - especially for you fans of Lost, X-Files, hell, even CSI. As far as Life On Mars goes, since it wraps up in only two seasons (halfway through season 2 now) you can watch the entire thing in a weekend. And, you can appreciate the original before David E. Kelley's version hits the small screen. I am anxiously awaiting the "sequel" which will premier in the UK next month. Can't wait until it hits BBC America in the summer.

I've always had a pretty good sense of direction. I have a very reliable internal compass that can usually tell very quickly if I've made a wrong turn or gone off in the opposite direction than I need to be going. A GPS was always one of those "it'd be nice to have, but I don't need it." Au contraire, mon frer. I received one as a Christmas gift and my inner geek was doing backflips. Now, I used an early GPS back in the early '90s while on a rotation at the National Training Center. They were green boxes about the size of a router with an attached magnetic antenna a little bigger than a CD but 100 times thicker. It gave directions such as "Right 90°" and gave locations either in longitude/latitude or in grid coordinates on a single line - no maps, no pretty voices, no points of interest. Fast forward 15 years and my new TomTom is loaded up with all locations nationwide of Cold Stone Creamery, Dunkin Donuts, Cheesecake Factory and Dairy Queen in addition to golf courses, ATMs and malls. I think this technology thing just might catch on.

Ah, technology. Specifically, Xbox 360. Holy Hannah this thing is amazing. I thought my first gen Xbox looked great on a hi-def TV, but when I threw in Halo 3 into the 360, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. Then I foolishly loaded Assassin's Creed and found myself staring at the screen for 20 minutes just admiring the rich detail. I'm not sure what they have up their sleeves next, but I have to think that a holodeck isn't that far away. I know of one person who will attest to the 360's greatness. And, to solidify our geekiness, we chatted about video games while playing video games - he in NYC, me in Connecticut. Yeah, you're jealous, I know.

Ok, that's enough.

Wow

2007-12-29T23:06:00.001-05:00

I'm 40-years-old and I've been watching football for a loooooong time.

And I ain't never seen this. And neither have you.

16-0 bitches.

Nollaig shona

2007-12-24T22:01:00.001-05:00

Ok - where were we? Well, I'm finishing a Heavy Seas Winter Storm and that was preceded by an Anchor Brewing Christmas Ale (it's Christmas in a bottle) which was preceded by an Ipswich Winter Ale. Oh yeah, during those beverages, there was some assembly required. The Dubyas have completed all their family obligations and will, for the most part, chill tomorrow. Yours truly has already received some very impressive gifts and I am very grateful for very, very generous family members - now, if Uncle RoRo is willing to take me to the AFC Championship, well, that just might be a great gift too. And, given that I have already received one game and I was the one to stand in line on Black Friday, I'm pretty sure there's an Xbox 360 with my name on it somewhere around this house. If, over the next few days, you're looking for someone on-line late, late at night (I'm talking to you Tony) just look for me.

Well, I should probably close out this year's Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ - 2007 Edition. I want to thank all that have participated in this frivolous exercise - I appreciate you all playing along. So, for the last tine this year, the Good Ol' Yule Log:

I'm hoping Weird Girl doesn't mind me adding this to the Mantel, but I love the pic;

And, since I'm sorry my boys kicked his boys asses, here's Mitch's girls - have you ever seen anything cuter? He'll tell you they take after their mother - or at least he should:

Ok - I have more beers to drink and maybe a cigar to smoke so I'm gonna wrap it up. Merry Christmas bitches!

Noel Nightmares

2007-12-19T11:00:00.000-05:00

I'm stealing a little bit from Mitch today. Actually, I'm borrowing from Mitch in order to make a public service announcement.

These are your kids. These are your kids in 70s clothes. Wrong on so many levels. Yes, my pants are red and my sweater vest is multi-colored. But that pales in comparison to my brother's red-checked pants. They say that everything comes back around: fashion, music, etc. Let me just say that "retro" isn't always cool and some things are better left dead. And, oh yeah, see Santa? Does Santa have that wide-eyed look of someone who was on a coke bender? Just askin'.

Ok, enough with the walk down memory lane. Let's get to a couple of cards. As always, we have our roaring fire. You can just feel the warmth, can't you?

First, we have Ella and Grenna from Misfit Hausfrau:

And, the end result of 110 attempts at getting them together, I give you The Dubyas:

There's still plenty of time to get your card in. And you really should, keeping with the holiday spirit and all. Just sayin'. You can send it over to mr big dubya at gmail dot com.

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Now playing: Booker T & The MG's - Jingle Bells
via FoxyTunes

Mantel and Malts

2007-12-17T13:02:00.002-05:00

There's still plenty of time to get your Christmas/Holiday cards posted and shown to the whole world on Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ - 2007 Edition. Just send along your card to mr big dubya at gmail dot com and I'll get it up there with the others. It's entirely painless and saves you the price of a stamp. And for you hardcore Scrooges out there, just send your family an e-mail with the link and tell them to hit print.

Different note: I posted some more beer reviews at The Whinery. Go and check out what I think of some winter offerings. Feel free to make some suggestions in the comments if you think there's something I desperately need to try.

Let It Snow!

2007-12-14T13:30:00.000-05:00

I have to echo TwoBusy's sentiments about his snowblower. I said to Mrs. Big Dubya this morning that I would marry whomever it was that invented it. It used to be whenever there was a storm of this magnitude (12+ inches) I would have to go out and shovel several times just to stay ahead of it or risk not being able to get out of bed. Last night, however, I donned my snow gear, fired that puppy up and made quick work of the white stuff covering my driveway and walk. I think I actually heard the snowblower chuckle and say, "I'd appreciate a challenge next time." That wish may come true.

On a wholly unrelated note, TwoBusy and I were talking music last week after he completed the iTunes meme. Leading his list alphabetically is A Blues for Buddha by The Silencers. Needless to say I was floored. First, I know only a few people who actually know who The Silencers are. Second, I know even fewer who actually have heard A Blues for Buddha (their brilliant sophomore effort) let alone own it. Then we talked about their debut, A Letter from St. Paul, which we both agree is a great album, but has probably one of the greatest songs no one has heard: Bullets and Blue Eyes. I have included it here. Listen to it and I'm sure you'll agree that it's a brilliant piece of music.

The Silencers - Bullets and Blue Eyes

Ok, time to get back to the cards, which I have been incredibly lax at promoting let alone posting. First up, as is the tradition, the Cool Yule:

And, now the cards:

First up is Chicky Chicky Baby:

Here's our "neighbor," Clare's Dad:

Finally, Hygiene Chronicles:

There you have it, another installment of Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ - 2007 Edition. I know you want to play along so just send your Christmas/Holiday cards to mr big dubya at gmail dot com and I'll make sure you're included. And, if you're interested in more tunes from The Silencers let me know - most of their stuff is now out of print or available at ridiculous prices from rare cd shops.

Make Mine Music

2007-12-07T08:50:00.000-05:00

While I wait for more Christmas/Holiday cards to arrive in my inbox, I thought I'd jump on a meme that I first saw at LA Daddy and later saw at Sarah's place. So, I give you the iTunes meme. Except it's not really iTunes, it's MediaMonkey. But I'm not really using the computer where all the music is stored, so this will be right off the iPod. So it's the iPodMonkey meme. Whatever. It's a music meme and I can always get behind one of those.

How Many Total Songs?
There are 6,976 songs on my iPod. Two videos and 10 photos.

Sort by song title - First and Last
#34 - Dave Matthews Band - Under the Table and Dreaming
Zooropa - U2 - Zooropa

Sort by Time - Shortest and Longest
Dante's Lament - 0:04 - Clerks Soundtrack
Better Man - 38:02 - Oasis - Heathen Chemistry - the whole hidden song deal

Sort by Album - First and Last
#1 Record/Radio City - Big Star
Zooropa - U2

Sort by Artist - First and Last
First - !!!
Last - ZZ Top

Top Five Most Played Songs
Ok, this includes what I play for Little Dub and what I play for myself
You've Got a Friend in Me - Robert Goulet (RIP) - Toy Story 2 Soundtrack - 130
I Will Go Sailing No More - Randy Newman - Toy Story Soundtrack - 125
Strange Things - Randy Newman - Toy Story Soundtrack - 122
Real Gone - Sheryl Crow - Cars Soundtrack - 98
Sh-Boom - The Chords - Cars Soundtrack - 95

Intimate Secretary - The Raconteurs - Broken Boy Soldiers - 27
I Confess - The English Beat - What Is Beat? - 22
Cobrastyle - Teddy Bears - Soft Machine - 22
Storm Coming - Gnarls Barkley - St. Elsewhere - 21
An Cat Dubh - The Bravery - Fearless - 19

Find the following words. How many songs show up?
Sex: 96; Death: 29; Love: 197; You: 925 (includes the use of 'U' - oh, that Prince...); Boy: 189; Girl: 128

First five songs that come up on Party Shuffle
The City Is Here for You to Use - The Futureheads
Lie to Me - Depeche Mode
Come On Home - Franz Ferdinand
Bicycle Race - Queen
Fairytale of New York - The Pogues

Fairytale of New York - The Pogues - Merry Christmas you scumbag, you maggot

There you have it - play along should you feel so inclined.

Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ - 2007

2007-12-06T10:30:00.000-05:00

Well, here we go. It's that time of year again. Holiday office parties, Rockwellesque pictures with Santa, the perfect tree, thoughtful gifts, snowmen and visits from Ol' Saint Nick.

And, of course, the greatest of traditions, Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ . Oh yes, after two years it becomes a tradition and no longer just a passing fad. Some day I will pass on this great undertaking to Little Dub who will diligently gather cards and pictures from other on-line ~~strangers~~ friends and post them for the world to see. No, no, it's true. It will become such a tradition, TheMonk or Swee'Pea will discuss it in their Family Traditions segments carrying on the good work of their dad. Speaking of TheMonk and Swee'Pea, might as well get to the cards, right? Right.

As is the tradition, I give you the Captain Obvious Yule Log:

And, of course, the first salvo of cards:

Child's Play x2:

Honea Express:

Disney themed from Whit. Go figure.

fear and loathing in suburbia (aka Cape Buffalo):

Three Dogs and a Baby:

There you have it. The first group of pics of Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ 2007 Edition. If you want to be included (and I know you do - why wouldn't you?) just send along your pic or finished card to mr big dubya at gmail dot com and I'll be sure to include it.

Would a Paul Anka clue have been too easy?

2007-11-30T09:24:00.000-05:00

Apparently, I'm not all that clever. Many of you blew off my trivia and went straight for the answer. Kemp was actually first (his was the deleted comment) with the title decipher and no one but Darren mustered any effort to try and provide the links between the six items listed. For the record they are:

1. Trademark for Babycham, a popular alcopop in the UK which is currently experiencing a revival.
2. Hanging Gardens of Babylon
3. Founder of Babylon, New York
4. Antichrist and founder of New Babylon in the Left Behind series (FYI - never read them, just needed a "new baby" clue)
5. Ooo, baby, baby, b-b-b-baby
6. Achtung, Baby (#62 on the Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums of All Time)

So, there you have it. We are indeed having another baby.

SD'FD NZRKYB ZYLGNDF TZTH

2007-11-29T10:45:00.000-05:00

Some of you know I love trivia. (And since I've added this link I might as well say I never did get the call, but I will try again.) I love trivia and puzzles and crosswords. I hate logic puzzles, but I love cryptoquotes. I do crossword puzzles on-line and I have copies of Games strewn throughout the house. I blame my father for this affliction.

Anyway, that's sort of a roundabout way of saying I have a puzzle for you all. It's a heavy dose of trivia and not for the faint-of-heart. A mix CD of what I'm listening to lately goes to the first reader that figures it all out and has all the correct answers. So, fire up the Google and start figurin'.

What do the items following have in common? You'll have to think it through and you may have to make one or two moves from the main answer to get the overall theme - kind of a "six degrees" sort of thing. Have fun!

1. Leaping fawn
2. One of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World
3. Nathaniel Conklin
4. Nicolae Carpathia
5. "Push It"
6. "So Cruel" and the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time

BONUS: Can you decipher the title?

Ok - have at it!

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Now playing: The Futureheads - Hounds of Love [Mystery Jet's Pirate Invasion]
via FoxyTunes

Thanks, Danke, Gracias, Go raibh maith 'ad

2007-11-26T12:00:00.000-05:00

I feel like a bit of a schlub - everyone and their brother did a Thanksgiving post acknowledging what they're thankful for: family, friends, health, YouTube, blah, blah, blah. I'm not discounting any of these posts - no, not at all - they were all heartfelt and poignant. Honestly, I'm thankful for all these and more. How can you not be? Well, unless, of course, your surname is Manson and one of your "relatives" is named Squeaky, I guess you could be a tad less thankful. That would be understandable. But, for the most part, we are all grateful we have been blessed. That being said, I'd like to share with you some of the unorthodox things for which I am thankful:

3M, Bissell, Procter & Gamble and Reckitt Benckiser: Little Dub decided to explore the Geometric Abstraction movement by channeling Piet Mondrian using our new sectional and a dresser as his canvas and a red Sharpie for his limited palette. But, thanks to the prescient decision to have the couch treated and a significant amount of elbow grease, the furniture bares no traces of his creative expression. Friday and Friday night found the littlest Dubyas projectile vomiting with such volume it would have made Regan MacNeil look like a piker. I honestly believe that there is nothing more disgusting than milk vomit - and I have seen some truly disgusting things in my life. I'll just leave it there.

Rankin/Bass: I am always thankful for their stop-motion animated holiday classics (Nestor, Kara? Really?). I also am thankful for their unintentionally hilarious lines like: "Riding a Vixen the wrong way down a one way street."

Lemmings: Like millions of others across the country, I found myself standing in a line at Best Buy at o'dark early Friday morning. Yes, I am thankful I'm not/was not alone. I'd love to say I did it for the kids, but that would be misleading. I did it for my wife. Well, my wife, her sister and their brother. And, well, in the interest of full disclosure, I might have picked up something for myself, but that was totally secondary. An afterthought as it were. Honestly.

The Cobra Kai Yankees, World Series and the Return of the Leprechaun: Thankful doesn't do it justice. Brady, Moss, Welker, Stallworth, Bruschi, Thomas, Vrabel - the list goes on. Papi, Lowell, Rodriguez, Papelbon, Pedroia, Beckett - I thought once in a lifetime was sufficient. KG, Ray Allen, Pierce, Rondo - my faith in this storied franchise has been restored - somewhere, Red is smiling.

Finally, please consider participating in Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ (see the archives for December 2005 and 2006). I will gladly display your Christmas/Holiday cards for all the world to see during the next several weeks. One of my long-time friends/readers has already sent in his card - I won't embarrass him by telling you all who he is, but this Early Eddie sent a card featuring his adorable ~~twins~~ children who just happen to be close in age to Little Dubs - so I'll be posting that as soon as we find ourselves in December. I hope you'll send one in to play along.

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Now playing: Sly & the Family Stone - Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)
via FoxyTunes

Tempus Fugit: Little Dubyette Edition

2007-11-19T11:00:00.000-05:00

Wow. I swear, since turning 35 lo these many moons ago (that would be 66 moons for those of you keeping count), I feel as if time is perpetually in fast motion - like everyday is a Buster Keaton or Keystone Kops movie (or, maybe a Benny Hill chase scene is a better reference for the more refined members of my audience). I say all this because on Saturday Little Dubyette reached the one-year mark. Could someone, anyone, please tell me where the ever-lovin' time goes? It seems like only yesterday that we welcomed her into this world and now she's opening gifts, eating cake and asking for the keys to the car. I'm too old for time to be going by so quickly. Happy Birthday, sweetie!

The other one? He's a holy terror. I love it. Anyway, Mrs. Big Dubya just received a call from daycare, never something you want in the middle of the day. "Hi, Mrs. Big Dubya? Yeah, this is Ms. Yourchilds Caregiver at Generic Daycare calling..." Apparently, Little Dubs took a bit of a digger...from the top step of the slide...right on his noggin. Looks like it's time for lessons in falling and the advantages of skinning your palms as opposed to bouncing your skull off the ground. This isn't the first time he's gone ass over tea kettle, nor will it be the last, I'm sure. There are ramps to build, trees to climb and hills to conquer. Stock tip for today: buy shares in Johnson & Johnson. Trust me.

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Now playing: Peter Murphy - Roll Call
via FoxyTunes

Consigliere for Cialis?

2007-11-09T21:10:00.000-05:00

I was excited this afternoon when I checked my Gmail. I got an e-mail from Robert Duvall today. However, I was both honored and a tad weirded out. It was a rather odd missive and particularly personal, especially from someone with whom I've had no other dealings other than seeing him on the big screen. He wanted to know if I wanted to add inches and satisfy many womens; make them tremble with ardor. What would make Tom Hagen think I need some enhancement?

On a different note, that time of year is quickly approaching. What time of year you ask? Mr. Big Dubya's Bloggers' Mantel™ time of year, of course (see December 2006 archives). I will, once again, dust off the mantel and post any and all Christmas/Holiday cards for all to see. C'mon, make Little Dub happy and send in those pics:

This picture still cracks me up two years later.

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Now playing: The Hold Steady - Chillout Tent via FoxyTunes

No Dignity

2007-10-31T22:20:00.000-04:00

I have no limits on what I'll do for my children. I have no dignity either.

Happy Halloween

2007-10-31T12:59:00.001-04:00

Yep - milking this World Series thing for all it's worth. In the words of my homey: "That's the way it's done, bitches!"

From Home Run Derby

Come back later tonight and you will that there is no limit on what I will do for Little Dubs and Dubyette. Shame and dignity are antiquated concepts once you become a parent.

Things We're Not Supposed to Talk About

2007-10-30T15:00:00.000-04:00

During the week, I'm in my car approximately 2 hours and twenty minutes each and every day. Unlike when we lived in the Boston area, I don't get many radio stations during my trip and what I do get is so distorted with static it's enough to drive a man crazy. I've mentioned my love for XM, but what XM lacks is that truly local phenomenon - sports talk radio. Sure, I have ESPN Radio, ESPN News, Fox Sports, XM Sports Nation, PGA Tour Network (yes, I am such a golf addict I will listen to it on the radio - I know, I have a problem), MLB Home Plate and so on. I listen to Mike and Mike in the Morning, The Herd, SportsNation or The Drive on Fox, but they're national, they lack that regional flair. There are times when I don't...scratch that...I never want Steve from Santa Fe's opinion on whether or not Bill Belichick ran up the score on the Redskins. No, I want to hear Chahlie from Reveah tell Glenn he wishes bleep'in Belichick put up more points - "He's gotta go fah the jugulah every freakin' time, Glenn!" Or Sal from the Cape stating his case that Josh Beckett is the Son of God or, at the very least, the second coming of Cy Young himself. Hell, if it weren't such a weak signal, I'd slum it and listen to Mike and the Mad Dog on The Fan, but lately they don't have much to talk about other than the Giants - and aren't they really a Jersey team for all intents and purposes? Anyway, there are times when I miss my local sports talk - it really is what it must sound like inside the head of a sociopath.

So, my double-secret probation prediction actually came true Sunday night. Yes, I thought they would sweep although I said publicly it would be in five. See, as a Boston fan, you can't actually come out and say a sweep lest your friends and family hear you. Should something happen, you end up being vilified like Buckner or you're the new Bambino. Some things you just don't do. You don't mess around with Jim.

Speaking of the Pats and their current dismantling of teams, what would you have done given their situation on Sunday? Which is worse: Continuing to play the game like you're supposed to, thus continuing to score OR start taking a knee (symbolically) halfway through the third quarter? Please, look at it and answer objectively. Not as a Patriots hater or fanboy. Look at it from a competitive standpoint. Personally, I have no problems with what they did. Yes, I am a Patriots fan, but that has nothing to do with it. I have been on both the receiving and giving end of this scenario - as have the Pats: 1986 Super Bowl ring a bell with anyone? Bueller? Bueller? You play to win...always. There is no greater, single motivating factor in sports than to be dealt an ass-whupping at the hands of your opponents. I have said and heard many times in a locker room, "Never again" when that score has gotten out of hand and you've felt like you were standing still as a team scores at will. If I'm wrong, convince me otherwise.

The Three S's

2007-10-24T11:58:00.000-04:00

These are grand times to be a Boston sports fan. Grand times, indeed. And, apparently, when the teams you have been rooting for since birth finally start to realize success (exception: Celtics - re-realizing who they once were), ~~people envy you~~ you become reviled. Can I get a woo-hoo for being an insufferable a-hole? Throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care. 'Cuz I don't. You do know why, don't you? It's because for years, I used to think the same about Yankees fans, Bulls fans, Dallas fans - you name it. Those winning teams had insufferable a-holes for fans. But now? Life is far better on this side of the fence. Everything tastes a little bit better, looks a little bit better, feels a little bit better. I can get used to this. Now, I don't think of the draft as something to save the team - I look at it as something that makes the team even better. I don't say to myself (or out loud), "It's okay, we're in a re-building year" to ~~justify~~ spin a 2-20 start. And that's just fine with me.

On a different note, we experienced a bit of a milestone in the Dubya household yesterday. We had a proper and productive use of the potty at daycare. Yep, Little Dubs dropped the kids off at the pool. (I have many of these euphemisms, but I know some of you out there might begin to shake your head, so I will cease.) I know for you veterans out there this may seem like a ho-hum moment, but it excites me nonetheless. Yes, it is a smile I have on my face not a...well....

Yesterday, Metro took on one of the parent blogsphere's favorite hot topics - public v. private education. I don't have a dog in this fight yet, he's chillin', but I know which way I'm leaning. I won't speak for Mrs. Big Dubya, but I imagine we're in the same camp. I, for one, will probably opt for the private route and Catholic to boot. In eight years of public school, I don't recall being sufficiently challenged - I recall being bored. And that's not because of the teachers per se, it's because, more often than not, teaching is/was done to the lowest common denominator. When I was growing up, I was with the same group of 20 or so kids all day in elementary school - for math, reading, social studies, English - it's impossible for one teacher to individually teach 20 or so students of varying intellect and ability, so common denominator it is. It's a double-edged sword and teachers find themselves in a very tough spot. In junior high, it changed and I found myself in all honors classes - I was challenged, but it was still Fast Times without the surfing.

My father, a 40+ year veteran of the Boston schools, encouraged us (my brothers and I) to attend one the several Catholic schools in our area. I say encouraged because that was what it was - it was firm, however, but we always had the option to bail anytime we wanted. I took the test (a significant difference from some private schools) and eventually found myself at my first choice. It was there that I was (finally) challenged - Jesuits have a way of doing that.

Metro wrote "that the single most important contribution to a child's education is the role that each parent plays in fostering that education." I believe that wholeheartedly. But, if you're in a school with sub-par teachers, a sub-par curriculum and sub-par facilities, there's only so much a parent can do at that point. Who, at that point, is doing the teaching? You can lobby the school board until you're blue in the face, but until there's an effective way to judge performance or make significant changes that have a positive impact, you will be stuck. I don't plan on being stuck.

Game 5 Live Blogging

2007-10-18T20:18:00.000-04:00

I'm no Bill Simmons, but I think I'll give this a go for a bit.

8:25 pm: Ready to start and chatting with Kara. If I start to seem down, someone call 911 - I might be watching Grey's Anatomy or something.

8:28 pm: One out. I'll be watching My Name Is Earl.

8:30 pm: Ok - Yooooooouuuuuuuukkkkkkk!!!!!

8:31 pm: Wow - those are some insightful "Keys to the Game" - Red Sox: Win or we'll see you in Ft. Meyers. So, so deep.

8:34 pm: Manny, Manny, Manny. A speed demon you are not. End of the top half on the first and my boys strike first. 1-0. See you in Boston.

8:36 pm: Who thought having players read the line-up would add something to these broadcasts? I've seen more enthusiasm in a roomful of people on ludes.

8:40 pm: BTW - people on ludes should not drive. I could use a lude about now.

8:45 pm: You all know that "see you in Boston" was a joke, right? I was kidding. Hello, karma, I'm speaking to you. 1-1.

8:46 pm: Please, no more pitch-by-pitch stats - I've never seen so many inane pieces of information. Fuck, I haaate this Taco Bell commercial now - funny first time. Not so much the 2,854th.

8:52 pm: I promise no comments about Tim McCarver tonight unless he really says something off-the-wall. Paul Byrd of the Indians reminds me of Eddie Harris in Major League. Am I alone?

8:55 pm: Coco Crisp and Julio Lugo. The power part of the line-up. Speaking of Julio Lugo, part of me wishes we were playing the Yankees if only so I could use the Pirate Canoe line again. Linger longer people!

9:05 pm: Is that George Clooney doing a Bud commercial. Wow, how the mighty have fallen. Heh. Please, for the love of all that is holy, please end the damn Dane Cook commercials. We get it - there's only one October. If he sold his soul, he should get a partial refund for the movies he's been involved with - Employee of the Month? People are gonna start mentioning your name in the same sentence as Rob Schneider.

9:10 pm: Ok, I know what I said, but, thanks Tim, up around the head is out of the strike zone. Go figure. Oh, Lord, it's only the 2nd inning.

9:15 pm: Almost an hour - I was wondering how long it would take them to start talking about Joe Torre. I'm impressed they lasted until the 3rd. BTW - Joe Torre got hosed by the Yankees - he deserved far better treatment than he got. He's a great manager.

9:32 pm: I know people don't particularly like Manny - we in Red Sox Nation understand that. It's Manny Being Manny. We've come to tolerate it. You put up his numbers, you could show up to practice wearing a mini-skirt and fuck-me-pumps. I couldn't care less. But the distaste "impartial" commentators show toward him just amazes me. I know you get paid to be a talking head, but show some restraint every now and then. Oh, yeah - 2-1 Being and the boys.

9:40 pm: 96 mph pitches are wicked fuckin' fast.

9:55 pm: Had to tend to Little Dub. He wanted a pitch-by-pitch breakdown of the first four innings, a score update and some milk.

10:02 pm: 9:40 pm was my Tim McCarver moment. Thank you all for not pointing that out.

10:06 pm: Bobby Kielty vs. CC Sabathia with the bases loaded. If I were Kielty, I'm pretty sure all that would be running through my head would be "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit."

10:15 pm: Is it considered baseball sacrilege to say that I don't particularly like Kenny Lofton?

10:20 pm: Casey Blake looks like he should be in a Just For Men commercial with Keith Hernandez and Walt Frazier.

10:27 pm: Sometimes baseball can just be incredibly boring. I find this particularly so when Coco Crisp and Julio Lugo are batting.

10:40 pm If you're watching this game: is it just me or does the home plate ump sound a bit like James Brown? I'm just waiting for the "Jump back, kiss myself" after a called third strike.

10:45 pm: I would personally like to request, should Manny hit any dingers this evening, that Joe Buck not use his most recent attempt at soundbite glory (a la John Sterling) - Man-Ram is something no man should ever say, not even in sports.

10:48 pm: CC Sabathia has been pulled - Sox up 3-1. Youk on third, Big Papi coming to the plate.

10:50 pm: Does anyone actually drink Miller High Life - the Champagne of Beers? Anyone? 4-1

11:04 pm There's a part of me - the tired part - that really wants to go to bed, but I have come this far and will see it to the end.

11:15 pm: Is it just me or does it seem that with the Sox up 4-1 going into the 8th, Joe and Tim are less upbeat and chatty? Or have I just reached Nirvana and been able to tune them out?

11:25 pm: Nirvana has been lost, I can hear them again. Just shut up. Please, for the love of everything holy, shut up.

Wow - was that a bunt? Holy shit. Lugo remembered how to bunt.

11:30 pm: Just talking to my boy TwoBusy during which time he said: "I'd give one of my twins to see Tito order a squeeze-triple-steal by Pedroia."

Mastny just walked in a run - I'm not thinking that's what he wanted with Papi coming to the plate with one out. That's just a guess though - he might have a plan.

11:37 pm: Has Eric Wedge called for Jobu yet?

11:45 pm: They're up six runs in the bottom of the eighth and I am unsure about whether to go to bed right now. If you think I'm crazy, you have no idea what it is to be a Sox fan.

11:55 pm: Ok, live blogging will now end. It's 7-1 and I have bottles and sippy cups to wash. I will keep my happiness in check, I will not celebrate, I will just nod my head and say, Uh-huh. JD Drew? A hit? Sorry, I got distracted. I'm tired. Three and a half hours of blogging is enough for me.

It's all about the children

2007-10-18T09:13:00.000-04:00

Little Dubyette is teething. Up a storm. If it's within reach, it's in her mouth. Sneakers, flip-flops, chair legs, my thigh - nothing escapes the grip of the four top and two bottom teeth. She works her way around the sectional like she's practicing for a career with Cirque du Soleil. I'm not sure what I like more: spontaneous vomiting, explosive poops or having my leg used as a chew toy. Ah, I'll miss these days...some day. There is a bonus to it all though: she has moved beyond the "everything pureed and liquefied" stage to the "dammit, Dad (actually it's da-da-da-da-da-da-da-eeee), I am quite capable of shoving these nine pieces of cheese into my own mouth and kindly drop the crackers and step away from the high chair" stage.

Oh yeah, she'll also be a year old in a month. Anyone mind telling me where the hell 2007 up and went to? Just asking. I feel somehow, along the way, I was cheated out of a month or two, maybe more. Can I get a rain check? Is there a rebate I can send for? Maybe a gift card I can use later? Sigh.

Well, if I talk about Little Dubyette and her penchant for gnawing on anything and everything, it's only fair that I update you - my five readers (I have been terrible about blogging hence my readership is now half of what it was at its peak) - on what the little man has been up to. He counts to 10+, sings his alphabet up to 'G', has been busy with his crayons and watching Ifford (of the big red dog variety) and Kebbibles (Mr., Elastigirl, Dash, et. al.) on the e-v (TV to you and I). It really is quite amusing (and somewhat frightening) while watching a movie he will anticipate lines and say them aloud. It is true that the apple does not fall far from the tree. I blame his mother for this.

Anyway, speaking (in a round-about way) of Pixar, I was cleaning up my hard drives and doing some back-ups of pictures and music over the weekend. I also cleaned up my iPod and in doing so checked out what songs are getting the most play. I wasn't surprised, but it is certainly a reflection of where we are in life. Tony once admonished me for my Depeche Mode to AC/DC ratio in my listening habits. I will not deny that I am a fan and they do get some play, however not as much as back in the day. But, back to the point. I ~~thought~~ hoped I would see bands like Cold War Kids or Bloc Party or Amy Winehouse or, hell, even see Depeche Mode crack the top 10. If only this were the case. No, the songs racking up the most play time were all Pixar-related (but you saw that coming didn't you?). Yes, I am in an endless loop of Rascal Flatts and Robert Goulet. What am I to do? Little Dub hears them and then politely asks, "Again, please" while signing "more." How the hell am I supposed to say, "No, it's time for Daddy to hear some Dropkick Murphys or the new Dave (Dave??) Gahan." I can't. I just suck it up for the 10-15 minute drive to daycare. I suppose I should count my blessings that it's not Wheels on the Bus or Itsy Bitsy Spider. But still....If anyone sees the rockin' version of mr. big dubya, could you please point him in the right direction and send him home? He is sorely missed.

MLB Musings

2007-10-15T20:15:00.000-04:00

Some thoughts on the ALCS thus far as I watch Game 3:

1. If I hear Cleveland Rocks one more goddamn time, I might just choke Tim McCarver. Do people in Cleveland even like this song?

2. Did you know that Eric Wedge was once with the Red Sox? Yeah, for all about 10 minutes back in something like 1990. I know, I know, it's so ironic.

3. Yeah, I'm just gonna choke Tim McCarver anyway.

4. Kenny Lofton has played for 11 teams in his 30+ years in the bigs - that includes 3 times with the Indians. Three times!?! Shouldn't he and the Indians front office be in counseling by now? At the very least he should have a restraining order against them. Break up already.

5. (H)Asdrubal is the name of Hannibal's brother. Yep, that's why I tune into Fox for my baseball. Useless information provided by equally useless commentators.

6. Dear Cleveland fans: waving white t-shirts looks remarkably like something else. I'm not sure that's your intention.

7. Player Profiles? Really? This is baseball, people. I don't care if Dustin Pedroia's favorite book is Chicken Soup for the Soul or if Grady Sizemore likes long walks on the beach. Base-Ball.

8. Please, Sox, hit another fuckin' ground ball tonight. 13 as of right now.

9. Oh yeah, Trot Nixon played for the Sox too. Isn't the irony just killing you?

10. I love it when Tim McCarver second-guesses coaches. It's nice that he gets paid to coach. Oh. Wait. Why haven't I choked him yet?

Posted Without Comment

2007-10-08T07:11:00.000-04:00

Boston Red Sox's David Ortiz is sprayed in the locker room after Boston's 9-1 win over the Los Angeles Angels in Game 3 of an American League baseball division playoff series in Anaheim, Calif., Sunday, Oct. 7, 2007. (AP Photo/Chris Carlson)

I need a title - is there a copy editor around?

2007-09-27T12:31:00.000-04:00

I love the Internets. Have I said that before? Well, if not, let me say it now. I love Al Gore's Internets (or Sen. Stevens' Tubes - She's a Beauty). You're probably asking why the hell I'm bringing this up now and if you'll just be patient one damn minute I'll tell you. Besides introducing me to all you lovely souls who blog regularly about their children and poop and their children's poop, the conglomeration of servers and networks and zombie computers has made this small world even smaller. Just last week I received e-mails from two people - one from the West Coast and one from ~~West~~ Germany - two people I haven't heard from in 15-16 years. We were able to catch up rather quickly - just the basic stuff, not a recounting of the last fifteen or so years, basically, "Oh good, you're still alive. Great!"

Another reason for the internet web-thing? StatCounter and visitor logs. Yes, I ~~am frightened by~~ like the search terms that get people here and I also like finding out how people came to my small corner of this ethereal world. But I'm really intrigued by where people are. For example, I've had a visitor from my hometown - not odd you say, but, no one there knows I blog and I haven't lived there for over five years, but they come back every so often. I also have a visitor from Louisiana who is about 10 miles or so from Ft. Polk and I wonder if I know this person by any chance. I'm well aware that none of this is earth-shattering, but I'm fascinated nonetheless. While I'm at it - a big shout out to my readership in the Great White North, eh, and my blokes down under - good on ya mates!

I know it's early and all, but I find some of the new shows on television rather promising. But then again, I liked Surface, Invasion, Vanished - well, you get the picture. So far though, I'm liking Chuck, Reaper, Pushing Daisies (yes, I have seen it already, shhhhhhh), Journeyman, and Dirty Sexy Money. Also high on the priority list on the DVR are Heroes (natch), How I Met Your Mother (Mandy Moore saying "huge vagina" - that makes me laugh), The Unit and The Office. Anything else I should check out? Please, no reality shows. Please.

On another TV note, I was surfing between commercials and saw The Pickup Artist on VH-1. I said to myself, "Cool, Robert Downey, Jr. and Molly Ringwald, I can take that for a few minutes." Um, yeah, not so much. What the fuck is this show? I only watched for a total of five minutes, but there's three guys dressed like pimps critiquing the pick-up techniques of their pimp progenies - both of whom were dressed just as ludicrously - you really should stay out of Antonio Fargas' closet. I did find it funny that the host's name is Mystery - not that that's his name, but how a show like this ever finds backers.

To those who care - and you know who you are: Up 3, 4 to go - magic number is dos!

Back in the saddle

2007-09-19T13:00:00.000-04:00

Did you hear that? It may have sounded like the special effects soundtrack to a very bad movie. In reality, it was the huge sigh of relief I breathed Friday night around 9:35 p.m. I mentioned a long while back I was busy planning an anniversary celebration. Well, said celebration took place Friday night in front of nearly 160 people - not too bad a turn out considering the audience. And, thankfully, it went off with nary a hitch. Other than a minor glitch with a projector and an audio cable (where's the damn A/V club when you need them?) it all went swimmingly. Those who do this type of thing for a living can sympathize with how I was feeling about two weeks out, but I gots me some skills. This was not my first rodeo. I can do events. By the way, I'm also available for weddings. Anyway, with this out of the way, I can get back to important things like blogging and, oh yeah, paying attention to my wife and kids.

I think it's been a long time since I've given a Little Dubyette update. She's doing well. Just started second grade. Nah, I'm kidding. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. She's crawling - forward now, rather than just backward - "don't need to know where I'm going, just need to know where I've been." She's also cutting a mouthful of teeth all at once - hence, she's gnawing on everything in sight - her own hand, her paci, her brother's sippy cups, her rocker, table legs. If she can get her mouth around it, it will be chewed. Oh yeah, note to self: When a child becomes mobile, you must remember you can not take an eye off them. You'd figure this would be a given when it's your second. Not always the case. Hence the pit in your stomach when you see them falling off the bed. In slow motion. And your feet are two cement blocks. The inevitable thud, the look of surprise and then the tears. Good times, good times.

Went to the Sox/Yankees game Sunday night. Despite the loss, it was a good time with 39 and The Buffaloes. It's been a long time since I've sat in the $12 bleacher seats. A gathering of the unruly, unwashed and unabashedly drunk. We were entertained by a small group of 20-something girls who drove up from RI stopping at every available watering hole along the way. A little inside...um...baseball for you on how trashed they were: they started a chant for Julio Lugo(?), eagerly anticipated "the wave," and referred to the Yankees second baseman as Pirate Cano, followed quickly with an "arrrrrrr." Someone said something to her and she replied, "Yeah, I know it's Robinson Crusoe but this is funnier." I admit, it was funnier but not for the reasons she thought. It also was the first game I've been to that a fan made his way on to the field. This eager young gentleman made it out to short where he absconded with Jeter's hat (that was funny). He then made a break for it toward the Green Monster, but was interrupted in his quest to try out his Spidey abilities when he was open-field tackled. Honestly, where did he think he was going to go running full-tilt at a 37-foot wall? Dumb ass.

Apparently, this study is getting some play in the press. Honestly, the results don't surprise me - they really don't. I am far removed from my collegiate curriculum and doubly so from my high school's, but I know that there isn't as much emphasis placed on this particular area anymore. You know I'm right. Anyway, if you're feeling Schoolhouse Rockish and want to test yourself, feel free. I don't expect anyone to post their score or anything. Just remember that the John Locke they ask about was an English philosopher whose influence can be seen in the Declaration of Independence and in the writings of Voltaire and Rousseau. They are not asking about Terry O'Quinn's character on Lost.

btw - I missed 9 for an 85 and I'm okay with that.

Make Mine Music

2007-08-31T19:00:00.000-04:00

Yes, I still owe him another meme that I ~~have been working~~ completely abandoned, but TwoBusy (by way of Chag) has another meme up that I can whip out rather quickly.

What's your ringtone?
Unlike those I'm following, I have one. However, it's not musical mind you. It is actually the sound of the phones ringing on 24. I like to answer my phone with a gravelly voice while I imagine myself holding a McGyver rucksack filled with all I need to thwart a terrorist plot to detonate nuclear weapons all over California. But, I may eventually end up stealing Chris' or using the intro from Hell's Bells.

What's the most incongruous song on your MP3 player?
Donna Fargo's The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA. Don't ask. Please.

What is the one genre of music you cannot stand?
I would have echoed Chag with Gregorian chants, but then I say, hmmmm, I really did like Sadeness (Part I) back in the early 90s. But, I think I'll go with New Age. (Funny I say that given my earlier statement in this very same category.) To me, it's just tolerated elevator music.

What's your desert island disc?
I never really like these questions -- I'm too wishy-washy and noncommittal. Depeche Mode's Violator is my numero uno disc -- I can, and have, listened to it over and over again. Can I just burn my top 10 to a DVD and consider that my desert island disc?

What's your musical weakness?
Duran Duran. There, I've said it. I know their good looks made teenage girls scream unlike any other time since The Beatles arrived and they constantly adorned the covers of teen magazines like Tiger Beat and the like, but they still put out good, catchy music. They were cheeky, but I'm okay with that.

Do you play a music instrument?
Not anymore. But I have played clarinet, sousaphone and contrabass and dabbled at ~~tickling~~ annoying the ivories. If/when I get a 360, I may try my hand at Guitar Hero. Does that count?

Best makeout song ever
I'd have to go back to those junior high school dances when the DJ would close out the night with Turn the Page, Dream On, Free Bird and Stairway to Heaven. A 30-minute slow dance montage which any 14-year-old boy would describe as heaven on earth.

Best driving song
My friend and I used to tool around in his 280Z listening to Wang Chung's To Live and Die in LA soundtrack -- it was the 80s after all. I think it's still pretty good.

One song that you think everyone should read the lyrics of
Louie Louie. Make up your own mind.

Is downloading music for free a sin?
A sin? I don't think so. I think we're at the advent of this conversation finally being put to rest. Music stores releasing music sans DRM? That sounds like a death knell to me.

Do you karaoke?
I have been known, in the past, to provide the bass line of The Spaniels Goodnight Sweetheart a la Bowzer.

One musician you would happily whore yourself to
Well, I'm gonna ignore the "one" aspect of this - Kay Hanley, Julianna Hatfield or Tanya Donnelly.

First album you ever bought
Album? As in vinyl? Let It Be was the first vinyl disc I purchased. But I also had the Red Album on 8-track as well as The Kids Are Alright soundtrack. And there might have been a Bay City Rollers 8-track in there as well but that can neither be confirmed nor denied.

Most recent album you bought
Cold War Kids' Robbers and Cowards

Favorite Beatles song
Didn't I already say I was noncommittal? George Harrison's I Want to Tell You off Revolver.

One song that represents your teenage years
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now by The Smiths. It wasn't until years later I realized that's what led to certain events and, eventually, an enlistment in the army.

One song that represents your 20s
Black Velvet Band, Dropkick Murphys version. I'm pretty sure that I spent more time in the Tin Whistle than anywhere else during my 20s. Pseudo-Irish pub, Irish folk songs and Guinness - I think that 14-year-old kid at the dance would later consider this to be another case of heaven on earth.

One song that represents where you are right now
We Are Family, Sister Sledge. How about We Used to Vacation by Cold War Kids.

One song that represents your blog
I Wanna Be Adored by The Stone Roses. Second most obvious answer.

----------------
Now playing: New Order - Love Vigilantes
via FoxyTunes

Hookers, homeless and happiness

2007-08-29T22:30:00.000-04:00

I haven't been in the posting mood since returning from the West Coast. Mrs. Big Dubya, however, has been a posting machine all over the damn place. If it's not one thing, it's another. I have a lot to write about regarding our trip, but haven't been able to get them to coalesce into a coherent post - maybe I should write these things down. I am, after all, a writer. Add to that the biggest damn distraction in the world and you can see how hard it might be to find pleasure in posting. So, I've decided to sort of do things in snippets and get it all out there eventually.

I realize it's Fantasyland, but...
I'm no fashion maven nor a clothes horse for that matter. Just give me a pair of shorts, a t-shirt or polo and I'll be on my way. At Disney, I think we just might have been in the minority or just waaaay over-dressed. In short, unless your theme park has a section dedicated to the Red Light District or they're constantly pumping in 2Live Crew's Me So Horny, please, do us all a favor and stop dressing like a hooker. Honestly, it's fuckin' DisneyLand for crissakes. I don't know about you but I haven't seen Goofy running around dressed like The Gimp. Have you?

The beach probably isn't a bad place to be
Homeless. I've been to NYC. I've worked in Boston. I've had my share of residence-challenged individuals hector me for money. Some have been creative. Some have been quite direct. Some are more passive. But the ones I saw in Santa Monica? Not even making an effort. Happy to just set up camp in the middle of the sidewalk, remove their shoes and massage their feet. Except for one - he sat on a bench next to a rod and reel wedged into the slats that made up the seat. At the end of the line was a tin cup with a sign attached that read: "Fishin' for change." Yeah, I fish for compliments. Looks like we're both going away empty-handed.

Almost like Christmas
As Little Dub gets older, his awareness becomes more acute. This past Christmas, there was a sense that this whole shindig was good and all for him and he should be excited, but there wasn't a full on embrace. In May, we visited Disney World, and this sense of wonder was starting, however he was still very wary and unsure. Well, what a difference three months makes. He was like a kid in a...well...nevermind. He was in DisneyLand with all his friends: Buzz Lightyear and Woody, Mike and Sully, Lightning McQueen and Mater - for him, all that is good and great in the world was there in front of him, within reach. I wish I could bottle that sense of wonder and sell it to jaded adults. Imagine the difference it could make. It's gonna be so cool when Little Dubyette joins us in that excitement. I will be as happy as a little girl. C'mon. After getting sappy with the bottling of wonderment, I think I'm entitled to a Sprockets reference at the very least. It was pretty cool to see him so happy though.

Ok - more later.

----------------
Now playing: Smoking Popes - Need You Around
via FoxyTunes

Tip your waitress and try the veal

2007-08-17T11:26:00.001-04:00

Hello from Santa Monica.

Just checking in from the West Coast. We made it safe and sound and without incident. I thought I might be writing a post of apology to all those people my children drove to drink on our flight, but I don't have to - not at all. In fact, I might write a letter requesting they all pay me instead:

Dear Fellow Passenger of Delta flight to LA from Hartford...I request that you send me $15. I figure that is an acceptable sum for a cover charge. I know you were entertained by my daughter - how could you not be? Given this fact, I feel it appropriate that you pay her for that service. She was certainly more entertaining than that movie you were watching. I accept all major credit cards and remittances via PayPal.

Sincerely,
Mr. Big Dubya and Little Dubyette

Think they'll go for it?

Without comment....Well, maybe just one

2007-08-15T14:21:00.001-04:00

From the "You Just Can't Make This Shit Up" file.

Apparently, he also provided the North Carolina State Bar with an excuse note signed, Epstein's Mother. When you look at this picture, marvel at all that was great in the 70s - the hair, the shirt, the exposed chest, the cheesy chain, the oh-so risque game show - all that's missing is a Pet Rock and a soundtrack from K-Tel.

I misplaced my muse

2007-08-14T10:49:00.000-04:00

Wow. I just suck. I haven't been here in ages. Eons, efen.

I must say, though, I have been busy. Uninspired, yes. But definitely busy. We have a trip to the West Coast coming up on Thursday, I've been planning my country's 500th anniversary and desperately trying to figure out where the hell the month of July got to. August 14th? Really?

Speaking of the West Coast, I might actually get together with some of the DadCentric crew. We're gonna have an East-West summit and try and work out some of the bad blood. You know, the typical stuff that comes up in these gang wars/rivalries things: co-sleeping, Baby Einstein videos, Higglytown Heroes vs. The Backyardigans. I know, I know, it's risky for me to submit to talking things out on their turf, but ya gotta do whatcha gotta do. It's just like Def Jam sitting down with Death Row - I'll be Russell Simmons to Whit's Suge Knight and Jason's Dre - who, as we all know, was the brains behind the success. Hopefully, it will be a nice night - I'd hate to have to pull a Michael and go on the lam.

For my Boston homies and Sox fans: How funny is that ad on NESN with Big Papi and Mayor Mumbles Menino? I don't know what strikes me as funny more: the fact that I have no idea what the ad is about or that Papi is easier to understand than the Mayor of Boston.

I just learned that Phil Rizzuto passed away. Being a Boston fan and resident, we didn't have much exposure to Rizzuto, but in the early cable years when we had WOR (Channel 9), I would see Phil doing Money Store commercials ("Holy cow, it's the Money Store!"). Some of you might also know that it's Rizzuto who provides the play-by-play in Meat Loaf's Paradise by the Dashboard Lights: "Here he comes, squeeze play/It's gonna be close/Here's the throw, here's the play at the plate/Holy cow, I think he's gonna make it". I went to school with his nephew way back in my freshman year of college. He was known by his nickname which was....wait for it...Scooter. I know, pretty freakin' original that one, huh?

And, because I haven't brought the cute in a while:

Yes, they're annoyed I haven't blogged in a while too.

The Police and Bloggers**

2007-07-31T14:45:00.000-04:00

For a couple of hours Sunday night, I was 17 once again and listening to the reggae-infused, new wave stylings of The Police - Message In a Bottle, Walking on the Moon, Invisible Sun, So Lonely, Roxanne, et. al. - and all was right with the world. Familiar scents drifted through the air adding to the wave of nostalgia that had washed over me. Sting, Andy and Stewart there, on stage, performing the soundtrack of my youth. My wife standing next to me and the $30 Heineken draft in my hand my only tethers to the present day.

What a weekend. I mentioned the mini-confab scheduled for Saturday where the Buffalo roam. I went solo as Mrs. Big Dubya went to a christening with her mother and the little ones. Well, I met CroutonBoy's much better half, Oodgie, as well as Spicy Elf and her husband. Tony had me and Mr. Cape Buffalo in tears (literally) as he described playing Guitar Hero II. There is no way I can repeat the line, but there was a reference to the awesomeness that is Warrant and Cherry Pie. There was some discussion about Rush and the rabid devotion of Rush fans; The Empire Strikes Back (natch); some talk about Rob Lowe, Aaron Sorkin and the acting chops of Kevin Costner; and, of course, blogging and other bloggers - Tony swears MetroDad exists although I've never seen him and mr. nice guy is not, in real life, a chain-smoking, obese hausfrau surrounded by cats. The night finished with a party round of Scene It in which Oodgie outshined her husband and put the rest of us to shame. Apparently, my Rain Man-like knowledge of Better Off Dead is too high-brow for this game.

Mrs. Big Dubya arrived Sunday morning -- she was a tad frazzled after spending a night at her aunt's, a night at home and then 2.5 hours on the road back to Boston. Note to parents and parents-to-be: This may come as a "no shit Sherlock," but taking a 2-year-old out of his routine, especially out of his home, will result in one sleep-deprived, screaming China Syndrome - months of work can be undone just like that. Anyway, our ride arrived at 4:30. Our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lax decided that it would be much safer and more convenient to just go to the concert in comfort. And, go figure, it was. We met up, once again, with Kara, Tony and the rest for a little pre-game festivity. Beers, pizza and beers, oh my. The limo dropped us off at Fenway right at the gate we needed to enter - very, very cool. Our seats were great for a concert (sucky for a game) and were to the right of Pesky's Pole and several rows up. Fiction Plane were wrapping their set. I have this to say: Joe Sumner. You may sound like your dad. You may even look like him. But, you sure don't write like him.

The show was fantastic. I only wished they had played Bring on the Night and Murder By Numbers, but was perfectly content with the rest of the set list, which hit most of their better-known material. And, because we found it necessary, we stopped for drinks on the way home. Note to self: after beers and Morgan's and Cokes, it might not be a good idea to have two Glenlivets as your nightcap. Just sayin'.

**I hope Junior forgives me.

Throw-Away Post

2007-07-26T12:53:00.000-04:00

Ok, while I still work on a meme I lifted from TwoBusy, allow me to just throw some other stuff out there. Yeah, I'm lazy.

****Way back in the dark ages when I was a child (that's the 70s for you young whippersnappers), parents were fond of using the "children are starving in China" in order to get kids to eat whatever tasteless morsel was on their plate - yeah, I'm looking at you Brussels sprouts. And many of us will also remember being told that we had it so much easier than our parents - "When I was a kid, we used to walk 10 miles to school, one-way, uphill in blizzards...barefoot even!"

Well, let's change that to "You think you have it hard? Those starving kids in China are rappelling and using zip-lines to get to school."

****This weekend there's some confab in Chicago that is apparently the place to see and be seen. But, also this weekend will be a mini confab of bloggers in Boston as we will see fear and loathing, croutonboy and oodgie, spicy elf, Mrs. Big Dubya and moi in the same room. I guess there's a concert Sunday at Fenway that we all are attending. I imagine one of us (all of us?) will have pics up Monday. I also think I can predict with some certainty that there will be some adult beverages consumed and I will probably say something wildly inappropriate. I also will probably blame Kara for opening the door for said inappropriate comment. Just sayin'.

****Way back when I asked you all what you thought might be the first movie I watch in HD/surround sound goodness. There were some great choices - LOTR Trilogy, The Matrix, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and a perennial favorite, The Princess Bride. Well, I'm happy to say...you're all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It was, of course, The Empire Strikes Back. Because, as Dante so eloquently tells us:

"Empire" had the better ending. I mean, Luke gets his hand cut off, finds out Vader's his father, Han gets frozen and taken away by Boba Fett. It ends on such a down note. I mean, that's what life is, a series of down endings. All "Jedi" had was a bunch of Muppets."

****If you haven't been, you should really be checking out The Whinery from time to time. Some good bloggers (no, not me, though I do post over there) have been knocking back some bottles and relaying their opinions. From local vineyards to Argentine Malbecs to South African Pinotages to something called CaberKnuckle, these intrepid souls are wading in, getting liquored up and telling it like it is. As far as I can tell, there's not a connosewer in the bunch so you get their thoughts unfettered by terms like nose, legs or spritzy. All wines are relatively cheap - no, not MD 20/20 cheap - so none will break the bank. I'll be posting a review of a Bleur du Blah Blah (yes, that was a slight Joey reference) tonight or tomorrow.

Finally....

****A little music anyone? Leave me a comment listing the five newest songs on your iPod or other mp3 player or on your computer. Additionally, leave the five most cringe-inducing, guilty pleasures you have on there as well. And don't try and be all hip saying you have no guilty pleasures - everyone has a Dancing Queen, I'm Too Sexy... or Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go) somewhere in there. I know it's not just me. So, have at it.