Crazy-Pops

In Vegas a week ago, walking down stairs at Caesar's Palace:

"My uncle got his nose bit off by an iguana."

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A conversation between my 3 year old (The G-Man) and me:

Me: "You're precious."

The G-Man: "Of course I am."

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The G-Man having breakfast with his mom:

The G-Man: "Mommy, what's that under your shirt? Is that a bra?"

Mommy: "Yes, it is."

The G-Man: "Can I see it?"

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Putting the G-Man down for a nap:

The G-Man: "Daddy, from now on, my name's Bayster."

Me: "That's an interesting name. Where'd you get that?"

The G-Man: "California."

I'm a registered Democrat and a liberal at heart. And, honestly, when we went into Iraq after 9/11 instead of going after Al Qaeda with all of our resources, it felt like it was a huge mistake from the beginning. The current administration had the entire world behind it on 9/12/2001 and could have done some amazing things with that support. Instead, they screwed it up. It's a screw up and a war that, IMHO, will go down in history as one of the greatest blunders this nation has seen.

If you're a sports fan, you know about Pat Tillman. He was an NFL player with an NFL salary who left it all behind to join the Army with his brother and serve his country in Iraq and Afghanistan and was killed in a friendly fire incident in 2004. ESPN and others have covered his story extensively because, honestly, somebody who leaves behind what he left behind to serve his country is a hero.

Now his brother Kevin chimes in on where we are today. This is a must read. We'll get back to the comedy soon, but I had to share this. It's powerful stuff. And no matter what, please vote on November 7:

After Pat's Birthday.

I was told today, by a client, that I'm being "discourteous." Is that even a word? I mean, I realize you're waiting for something from me and that I've been horrifically slow in getting it to you, but if you're trying to get to me, please use proper English words. Maybe I'm being "disrespectful" or "not at all courteous" or even "the world's biggest jerk who I'm about to fire so I can go hire a decent structural engineer" or even "a dick," but I'm in no freaking way "discourteous." Because there's no such thing. And now? Now, because you are making up ridiculous words to describe my lack of professional care for you, I'm going to make up even MORE excuses as to why I haven't completed your stuff. "Sorry, dude, but my discourteousness has gotten worse and I've had to go see a specialist, who said I'm contagious and can't leave the hospital room. Oh, and since you and I had contact several months ago, when I started your stuff and said I'd have it done in a week, you probably now have discourteousness in your blood as well. The symptoms don't show up for some time. You should really get that checked out."

On second thought, if you want to get to me, go ahead and make up words. Because it obviously worked. Congratulations, you disintelligent dishuman.

Oh, hell, I just looked it up. I take that all back.

Here at Crazy Pops, we give you more value for your entertainment dollar. With that in mind, I'm starting a new weekly feature, called "Overheard," because the things children say and do are much too funny to keep to myself. Here's episode one:

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Overheard this week:

At the elementary school playground:

- 6 year old girl, running at full speed around the playground, saying to nobody in particular, "Who let the dogs out? Who, who who who who?"

- Two boys, swinging on swings. One of them says to the other, "Do you have your bling bling on?"

At my house:

- From the 3 year old, as he's playing cars and building a city. "Look, Daddy, it's a city! No, it's a town! No, it's a universe!"

- From the 3 year old, as I'm trying to convince him to get dressed: "Daddy, I don't love you anymore." (pause) "Okay, maybe I love you just a tiny bit. But I love Mommy more."

- From the 6 year old: "Daddy, Mommy's stronger than you." "No, she's not." "Yes, she is! She can lift up a whole house! But you can only lift up the attic!"

Back to our regularly scheduled comedy:

Like I said on Tuesday, I've been spending a lot of time at the Mixmaster's school. A LOT of time. Because, well, I have an anxious child. And he has trouble in certain situations. And, well, before you get to thinking that the situation is dire and that my kid's never going to make it out of first grade because he can't read or write or add, let me assure you that's not the case. No, my kid is doing fine where it counts: In reading, writing, and adding. Where he's not doing fine? The lunchroom. There, I said it. My kid is the one kid who, as soon as the lunch bell rings, starts crying. Because he's afraid of the lunchroom. He's also got a problem with gym class, but it's not as big a problem, because who the hell actually likes gym class when they're 6 years old, right? I sure didn't. Heck, when I was a kid, I played one season of little league baseball and never swung the bat because I was too afraid. So we know where the Mixmaster gets it from. And honestly, if the two major things that give my kid problems are lunch and PE, I think that's pretty good. It could be a lot worse.

But I digress. So while the 200 other 6, 7 and 8 year olds are crowding into the lunch room with all their friends, making all kinds of noise, being boisterous like only little kids can, my kid's freaking out because it's so noisy. He's always been a little sensitive to noise. And so, on his first day back in August, M (I'm getting tired of typing "The Mixmaster") ate his lunch in the school office, by himself. And so, subsequently, ever since then, for the past 6 weeks give or take, I've been walking over to his school with my own sack lunch and eating with him, Monday through Friday. I don't really mind, but it does play havoc with my schedule because I can't take any meetings in the middle of the day anymore. And we have been working on seperating more and more and eventually I'll stop going. And, being the super intelligent father that I am who doesn't have to resort to tricks, as soon as he can eat without me he gets to watch "Star Wars IV" AND he gets some trains. Parenting, my friends, is all about bribery.

But that's not the point of this story. That's just an uber-long setup. And if you're still reading, congratulate yourself for your stamina and resilience. And now, here, in Act III of this blog post, comes the comedy:

One day a week ago, it was going to be quite nice outside, according to the Denver Post. So I awoke, dressed my kids, made their lunch, and sent them off to school. Then, around 11:00, I dressed myself in my green plaid shorts, my yellow t-shirt, and my black sandals. Yes, it's a weird combination, but it looks good (if a 42 year old engineering geek knows what looks good, anyway - hahahaha!) and it's important to the story. So I walk over to see the Mixmaster and we grab our lunches and we sit down to eat. After we're done eating, we walk out to the playground to find a swing for him and a place for me to return phone calls (it's what I do at that time) and one of his friends walks up to us and says, "Hey, you look the same!" I look over at M, and guess what he's wearing? C'mon, guess! Yep - he's wearing green plaid shorts, a yellow t-shirt, and black freaking sandals. It was, in a moment, hilarious and creepy at the same time. Because I really don't pay attention to how I dress the boys, as long as they pseudo-match, and if you know me you know that I typically dress in whatever's clean, so the fact that I came up with same bizarre combination of clothes for me and my son says....um....I'm not sure what it says. But I felt like a dork standing in the hallways of an elementary school dressed the same as my kid. Like we planned it or something. And, really, when can you ever feel like a dork around a bunch of 6 year olds? That's an accomplishment.

I've taken some time off from the blog for other things....which I'll get to tomorrow. But first, I've been spending a lot of time at the Mixmaster's school, for reasons I'll explain later. And with the new round of school shootings that seem to be taking hold of our country lately, I've been watching the kids and thinking about what a cowardly act that is. If you're psycho and you have a gun and you want to end your life, go ahead. Go ahead and do it. Go out to the backyard, stick the barrel of the gun in your mouth, and do it. With nobody around. And if you hold a grudge against somebody in your past and you're psycho and you own a gun, put the gun in the gun closet, lock the gun closet, throw away the key, and go talk to the person from your past. Or, better yet, go buy yourself a pile of new CDs and spend a couple of days with your headphones on, getting over your grudge and realizing that life is worth living and grudges are worth getting over. Or go to Hawaii for a couple of weeks. Or go volunteer at a soup kitchen and see that your life isn't nearly as bad as it could be. Something.

Because if you're the kind of person who's psycho, has a gun and a grudge, walks into a school - which, honestly, should be the safest place in a community, with a church a close second - and starts taking out kids, there's a special place in hell for you. Children are the most innocent creatures in this race we call the human race and they don't have a freaking clue as to why you're mad and they don't really care why you're mad and they certainly don't understand why you're mad. And what the hell kind of point are you trying to make, anyway? "Hey, look at me, I can shoot kids!" Um, yeah, that's a Big Man right there. You've taken your stupid grudge against whatever/whoever out on innocent creatures who don't have anything to do with it and you've ruined countless lives. Imagine - somewhere in America tonight there are at least 6 households who are newly missing a daughter. That's absolutely crushing. To the spirit, to the soul. And there are countless other families who have sons and daughters who are injured, physically or mentally. And there are the rest of us, who are left to try to explain to our kids how such a thing could possibly happen and try to answer to questions like, "Why didn't their daddy save them?" And we go to our public school and we drop our kids off and we look around and if we don't recognize an adult face, we wonder what they're doing at our school. And we go to our public school and the other adults look at us and also wonder what our motives are for being there. And all we're trying to do is drop our kids off at what should be the safest place around.

Thanks, Big Men. Thanks for taking your silly grudges or your anger or whatever and shattering whatever idealistic notions we had about our communities and our schools. Fucking cowards. There's a special place in hell for you, doing unspeakable acts with other unspeakable cowards from history. And if there isn't a special place in hell for you? When I get there (I think I've done enough things in my past to warrant an admittance) I'll make one for you.