hopeless cases

Two-in-One

2012-01-19T10:11:00.000-05:00

Little boys can get dirty. Real dirty.So I find myself, very often, telling my sons to wash themselves when they get in the shower.Water alone will not clean you.The other day I walked into the bathroom to make sure he was taking care of business. He wasn't. He had his eyes closed and head under the shower."C'mon and wash up dude," I said."OK dad," he said and then grabbed the shampoo bottle and squirted a heaping dollop into his hands... and began rubbing it all over his belly."What are you doing?" I asked."That's shampoo.""I know," he said. "But it says 'two-in-one'..."

Paging Charles Bronson

2011-11-17T21:31:00.006-05:00

CSI was here today...

And this is my story.

I picked up my youngest son. His mom had his brother at a road trip soccer game almost an hour away. I was looking forward to getting some one-on-one time with him.

He wanted a Monster Burger. I very half-assedly tried to talk him out of ordering it. But then figured being the monster it is we could split it.

We got back to the apartment and I let us in. Immediately something felt off.

I went over to my desk (where I usually place my computer at the end of the day) and quickly noticed my cord was gone. I turned around and saw the PS3 was gone. Nothing but dust in its place under the TV.

He went into the bathroom to take a dump and I went into the bedroom. I saw my nightstand drawer overturned on my bed and the contents of it - some old journals, homemade cards from the boys etc. - sprawled across my bed. I came back out of the bedroom and scanned the room. All kinds of top dollar shit (bike, amp, stereo, TV) still in view. And then I noticed the back of the door.

I yelled out (silently in my head), "I've been fucking robbed!"

I went back over to the desk. Checkbook was still in plain sight. I was confused (and clearly not much of a crook because I couldn't for the life of me understand why who ever broke in chose to leave so many valuables). I would understand much later when the police arrive.

I snapped a few photos with my phone and headed over to the leasing office with my son. He asked questions about the "break in" while this here dad tried not to scream at the top of my lungs or cry in utter frustration on how violated I felt at the moment. I explained the situation and we headed back home trying to figure out what had happened. At first I thought the culprit came in through the window and then "broke" out the front door.

I told you I wasn't much of a criminal.

I dialed 911 and put in my call. An officer arrived a short time later to make a report.

"Looks like he kicked in the front door," he said.

"But there's so much shit he didn't take," I said pointing to my guitar, bass amp, bicycle, TV, stereo. "I don't get it."

"It has to fit in a backpack," he said.

It's was all starting to make sense now.

The officer asked for serial numbers none of which I had readily available. Sure I've got manuals, and hell, even the boxes the digital camera and PS3 came in. But no serial numbers.

"Most people don't have them," he said.

In an odd twist of events, he asked if I still skated as he looked at the skateboards littering the floor and hanging on the walls finishing up with a "street or vert?" question. I'm a musician too he said as he took pen tip to tongue before he asked what else had been stolen.

It was at that moment that I realized my fucking Mac laptop has been pinched. It's impossible to explain the feeling one has at that moment; the moment when you realize that the novel you've worked on for years, that the screenplay your were two thirds of the way through, that the years worth of short stories and poems penned, that the many photos of your children or your awesome iTunes library had just vanished from your world.

Gone.

And most likely forever.

And suddenly you want to cry. But you can't. No not in front of your son and not in front of a cop. You make a mental note to do that much later, like maybe when you are typing out a blog post... sniff.

He broke my concentration when he said, "What an awesome bachelor pad!" beforing turning to explain CSI would arrive soon to dust for prints.

This is my reality TV motherfuckers. Please change the channel.

CSI came in with their cameras and white gloves and explained how "easy" it is to kick in a door... and boy doesn't that just make you feel so much fucking safer?

They took photos, and my fingerprints, before explaining how to clean up the dust or whatever that black powder shit is they use to do their job. And then they were gone.

And that's it.

I'm left to dig through my stuff to see when was the last time I backed up my work on disc but I don't dare do that at the immediate moment for fear of the worst which I am currently unable to face or comprehend.

I'm not into guns and don't really consider myself a violent person. I'm much more pacifist anarchist than ten-knuckled thug but right now vigilante justice sounds downright gratifying.

There's no justice, it's just us.

Family Style

2011-10-24T22:58:00.004-04:00

I have catered on and off for the better part of fifteen years.

Most of the parties are broken down into a service style: heavy hor d'oeuvres, buffet, served and family style.

Family style, for the uninitiated, is when you put just about everything you can on the table: preset as we say in the business.

So the other day I worked a party.

Family style.

Cue No Trend...

Do You Know What This Is?

2011-10-20T20:50:00.008-04:00

It's called a Cootie Catcher.

As a parent, I am continually amazed at what things transcend generations.

Take this little bugger for instance. This origami-like fortune teller is a flashback from my days in elementary school and I was quite surprised when it resurfaced a few months ago through my boys. Hell it probably was more than a year ago but the parental calendar isn't always a Gregorian one knowwhati'msayin'? In this modern age it is good to see them enjoying things from my youth - in those days before cell phones and streaming movies - like rubber band airplanes or skipping stones on the water.

The basic premise of these is that you choose from a word on the side, then the letters are counted out. This exposes the innards of the mechanism which has each open-faced page printed with a number. You choose a number, the child flutters it, then you chose another number and yet another round of fluttering ensues.

Then you peel back the number it landed on and it reveals your fortune.

The words on the outside of this homemade cootie catcher?

Iron Maiden, Chest Pains, Shang-a-Lang and Led Zeppelin.

Nice right?

Now the fortunes:
-Sing any song you like.
-Sing a Led Zeppelin song.
-Sing any song you want.
-Free pass.
-Sing Especially in Michigan.
-Sing a Chest Pains song.
-Sing a Jimi Hendrix song.
-Sing a Black Sabbath song.

Fuckin' priceless ain't it?

Now you know why I'm holding on to this one for the memory books.

Half Full or Half Empty?

2011-08-15T21:36:00.007-04:00

I do not know this man nor claim to know anything about how he got to this point in his life.

I do know that the day I snapped this photo it was grotesquely hot out.

And I also know that he was snoring and that he had a half empty twelve pack rested on the back of his wheelchair.

It got me thinking, "How do you overcome adversity in your life?"

You could be like Lance.

Or you could be like Amy.

You can let life get the best of you or you can get the best of life.

And so this photo will remind me that I need to get the best out of life because I will never know when life may one day get the best of me.

Aw, Snap!

2011-08-13T09:09:00.000-04:00

Friday Foto

2011-03-25T09:13:00.003-04:00

Not much to say about this picture if only because I know nothing about Batillus.

I was walking back to my car after the OFF! show and was encouraged to pop into Reservoir to catch a set from Caltrop.

These guys were on stage. I wish I could explain them. You can toss around words like metal and doom but they were so much more and so much less than those two genres. Prog metal? Who knows.

One thing for sure - the band was tight and the dude could holler.

Dude. Sweet.

2011-01-20T23:30:00.010-05:00

They are brothers.

And they act like such.

Some days they finish each other's sentences.

Other days they mock each other.

Some days it is pure comedy.

My youngest knows the bar scene dance from Pee Wee's Big Adventure - they both know who Booji Boy is - and they have got their own schtick that is so cabaret.

They are precious. Dude. They are sweet.

Friday Foto

2010-12-24T14:36:00.003-05:00

I took my boys ice skating last weekend.

I can't remember the last time I'd been ice skating. I'm going to guess and say it was over 30 years ago in Wheaton, MD.

We all hugged the boards for twenty minutes getting our bearings. My youngest son Cole used a technique that was part Ickey Shuffle, part Pee Wee Herman. His brother looked more like Bambi, flailing being the rule not the exception, with arms pinwheeling and legs a-splitting.

I didn't fall once.

When we left the boys said, "I thought you didn't know how to ice skate?"

Haha.

Veni, vidi, vici...

The Ghost Kitty

2010-12-23T12:43:00.005-05:00

About a month ago I was watching some Animal Planet show about cats with the kids.

One of the cat species profiled on the show looked a lot like our old cat Ginger.

I had never had a cat before her and, quite honestly, don't know if I'll ever have another cat. She was an awesome kitty right up to the end. So when we saw the cat that looked like her on TV we started to talk about all the Gingerisms she had like sleeping in the bathroom sink in the summer to her tendency to paw me in the nose in the morning to wake me up.

It was good times fondly remembering the family cat and shortly after, we all went to bed and drifted off to sleep.

And then it happened: In the middle of the night I swear I felt like she was walking on my bed. You know the sensation if you've ever had a cat or dog. I woke up the next day and thought about how I must have conjured up her spirit; about how talking about her brought a piece of her back into my life. I joked about how I thought her ghost was in my room and the kids and I just shrugged it off.

My son Cole asked if she got lost on the way to the Tropical World.

But since that night, I have had several - maybe a half a dozen - encounters in the middle of the night where I felt like she was walking on my bed. It's a very calming feeling despite the actually creepiness of thinking there's a kitty ghost up in the joint.

This one's for you Ginger...

Friday Foto

2010-12-10T07:59:00.004-05:00

During my recent excursion with my boys to the old neighborhood, I took them to The Cave.

We had gone there before with their cousins and my brother - the place is part of the local lore of the area (at least it was for me and my brother growing up) so when we got to Maryland it is a must-see attraction.

On a cold morning after Thanksgiving, we made are way down the path to where the cave lives, walking briskly to stave of the shivers.

They wanted to climb to the top, like they have done before, so we did.

When we got to the top the place was littered with empty beer cans and bottles. And of course, there was years worth of party phrases carved into the bark of the surrounding trees. I snapped a photo of this gem.

My 10-year-old said, "Does that mean because we are on top of the hill?"

He took a long pause glancing at the ground and then said, "Or does it mean high on alcohol?"

"A little of both," I said.

I guess it is time to have that talk with him.

When did you have that talk with your kids?

A Family Tradition - The Wishbone

2010-12-07T07:46:00.005-05:00

This year me and the kids got to spend Thanksgiving in Maryland with my parents. It's always a good time bringing the kids back to the neighborhood I grew up in because it triggers all kinds of stories to tell them about how I grew up.

Sometimes these stories involve the basement, sometimes these stories involve the woods down the street, but stories are told none the less. In recent years it has occurred to me that I come from a family of storytellers - we often sat around the dinner table as kids and, after a meal was finished, listened to my father tell stories about growing up in Philly.

The story, or the telling of one, has become a tradition. One that I am starting to see passed down to my sons whom I've witnessed telling tales to their friends.

Another family tradition is the breaking of the wishbone at Thanksgiving. And this year my boys got to take part in it. They both grabbed the wishbone with their pinkies, made a wish, pulled and... snap!

And wouldn't you know it? The fucking wishbone split in half evenly. I don't recall ever seeing this happen. What does this mean? Do they both get to cash in on their wishes? Or does a tie cancel out your wish?

DST

2010-11-07T17:35:00.004-05:00

Sounds like some Jersey Shore shit doesn't it?

But seriously I'm talking about Daylight Savings Time.

The older and older I get, the more it fucks with me.

For real.

I get the DST hangover.

Everything seems super off-kilter, the day slogs by, I get a wicked case of man PMS or something, and just have this general feeling of being off.

Of course that feeling seems to be par for the course these days.

Crazy still is as crazy does.

The earth, sun, moon and stars have a huge impact and affect on me.

What's the remedy? I need a remedy.

Friday Foto

2010-10-29T07:37:00.004-04:00

The past two months have been all about soccer. My oldest has played for years but this year his little brother finally decided to get into the act. He had played once, briefly, a few springs back but lost interest and let a few seasons slip by. Now he has finally caught the bug... and he's got a few goals under his belt to prove it.

Perspective

2010-10-07T08:25:00.004-04:00

My youngest son has always had an eye for composition.

When he was 4 and 5, oftentimes I'd catch him wandering around the house with the digital camera taking pictures like this.

It's awesome, and refreshing, to see your child's artistic bent through their creative lens.

So last weekend, when he suggested his brother ollie over him at the skatepark while he filmed it, I said why not.

Spencer was afraid he wasn't going to clear him. So we put a skateboard in as Cole's dummy and shot a segment so Spencer could see just how much room he had.

Anyway, this is just plain fucking cool.

Maniac Magee

2010-10-06T11:58:00.005-04:00

My 10-year-old son is always pestering me to read some of his favorite books. It is one of the downsides to instilling a love for reading to your children.

I got them into it at an early age. As the stay-at-home-parent, I became an avid reader. It's not only good to read books to your children about green eggs and ham or toads and frogs (or about frogs that sing), but it is also good for your children to see you read.

And my kids have seen me reading a lot.

One of the things we have carved out over the years as a father-and-sons tradition is going to the local library book sales. Early on they'd get coffee table-sized sports books on how to pitch a baseball or kick a soccer ball. But by the time they both had entered into elementary school, young adult fiction became all the rage. Of course everybody remembers the Harry Potter craze. But I never had an interest in reading any of those books. I mean there are plenty of books on my must-read list that will get tackled before I ever crack a Potter book. But I admired my son's desire to have me read one of them.

This was followed up by the Percy Jackson series, which seemed slightly more interesting yet still not compelling enough for me to want to pick up.

Then one time at a book sale he got Jerry Spinelli's Maniac Magee.

"This is one of my favorite books," he said.

"You've already read it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "It's awesome."

For weeks after he got the book he would nudge me to read it. Then one day he said, "Just read the first page."

I did.

"Is it good?" he asked.

"My interest is piqued," I said.

And before you knew it, I was knee deep in the book. It is, in my humble opinion, the Catcher in the Rye for middler schoolers. Both share similar themes. Social Misfits. Homelessness. Loneliness. Children living in an adult worlds etc. etc.

I had asked my nephew, now toiling away in his mid-twenties as a frustrated grad student, if he ever read the book.

He texted me back some questions.

"Does he run on the rails of train tracks?"

"Yes."

"Does he sleep in a zoo?"

"Yes"

"Hits a frogball?"

"Yes."

He then confided to me that he is shocked he remembers more about a book he read in middle school some 15 years ago than he does from any textbook from the last five years.

Maniac Magee - a timeless book for all ages that I highly recommend.

But please avoid the movie version at all costs...

Friday Foto

2010-09-24T08:07:00.006-04:00

While I was out in Denver last week for the Great American Beer Festival, I broke off from the usual festival fare and wondered the streets with two cohorts.

We stumbled upon this bar called El Chapultepec.

It looked like our kind of bar: simple, unassuming and far away from the teaming masses of beer festival attendees. Nothing but booths and stools and sign that says "Cash Only. No Credit Cards." The walls were littered with pictures of legendary jazz artists. The bartender ignored us because he was at the other end of the bar doing tequila shots with two girls. Like I said, my kind of bar.

We agreed that we should return on our way back from wherever we were headed at the moment.

When we came back, The Pec (as it is affectionately known) had transformed into an entirely different place. It was now packed with twentysomethings singing along to a band doing a cover of "The Joker" by Steve Miller.

I felt like I was in an episode of Twin Peaks.

Looking Back on 9/11

2010-09-11T16:48:00.000-04:00

Today marks a day that will live in infamy for our country.

I'm not going to bother getting into conspiracy theories, what went wrong with how it was handled after the fact or any other debatable nonsense that will get the blogpshere in an uproar.

I merely want to share my experience.

Before I took up blogging I kept a journal. I used that journal and excerpts from my blog to pursue a book deal on the story of my life as a stay-at-home dad. My bubble was burst when several publishers refused to even publish anything that mentioned the events of September 11th. Other literary agents told me men didn't want to read about parenting so I'd better tailor it to my feminine readership. But I wanted to be a dadvocate, I wanted to write a book for men and for men who might considered being the primary caregiver or for those fathers who wanted some insight into the life of a man raising kids.

Of course, I am stubborn and decided not to take their advice.

So I remain unpublished.

In June of 2001 I unceremoniously lost my job. I spent the summer navigating the nether world that is the Employment Security Commission in this state while coming to terms with what would be my new job: Stay-at-home dad.

What follows in an outtake from my journals at the time...

September 12, 2001: Yesterday two planes flew into the World Trade Center in NYC. By the end of the day both buildings had collapsed to the ground.

Total fucking madness.

I was driving with my son in the car when I heard the first report over the radio and immediately you could sense from the reporter that all hell was breaking loose in New York. So I drove home and turned on the television. I don’t think I left the room for hours. I just sat there and stared at the TV dismayed at what I was seeing. At some point my sister called. She is an attorney who lives in Cleveland. She called me because she knew I’d be home. We were talking on the phone when the first building went down. There was not much to talk about after that so we got off the phone.

After awhile it was just too much for me to take so I went in the other room where I my son was and got down on the floor with him to finished watching the block programming for kids on PBS.

What kind of world am I’m bringing this child into? It was all just too much: a jobless father with a baby in a world going to hell in a hand basket.

Grinding Through Life

2010-09-10T17:38:00.002-04:00

I hope this weekend will be a lot like last weekend.

Friday Foto

2010-08-20T08:20:00.005-04:00

ron, originally uploaded by greg.barbera.

This is a photo taken with my phone and part of my Random Phone Pics set. As you can probably deduct, this was taken at my friend Ron Liberti's place.

Years ago, on the corner of Franklin and Columbia Streets in the heart of Chapel Hill was a copy shop called COPYTRON. It was the place most professors from UNC had their course packs made. It was also the place that hired a lot of local musicians because of the flexible hours and the easy access to copy machines.

I logged some pat-time hours there on-and-off at the beginning of semesters to help with the course pack work load. It was like being in a fishbowl: there were big, windows that looked out on both streets. People watching during downtime was of high regard amongst the full-timers.

Then it happened.

Gentrification came to town, the mom-and-pop stores went away and professors started using web-based applications for their syllabuses. It's currently a Qdoba.

And Ron got the sign.

The Clip Show Of Archivalism

2010-08-17T21:07:00.006-04:00

The clip show is a popular way for television shows to stretch out a season.

The blogger archive recap is a way to add content to your site by trolling your old posts.

I've got five years worth:

BLOG ARCHIVE

► 2010 (27)
► 2009 (10)
► 2008 (166)
► 2007 (130)
► 2006 (68)
► 2005 (125)

Archivalism is in my blood. Just like it is with my friend Mike Daily.

Around this time in 2007, I was writing about my job as a pool boy at the Beverly Hills Hilton.

On 2008, I was talking about losing my lake virginity (I grew up vacationing at the beach), Cloris Leachman and the summer Olympics.

In 2009, I had a total of ten posts in six months for the whole year.

Now, it's 2010, and punk rock still never gets old for me...

Friday Foto

2010-08-13T08:53:00.003-04:00

gettingThegreenLight, originally uploaded by greg.barbera.

If you asked anybody who knows me what my favorite color is they would probably say blue or black.

But green does have a special place in my heart.

Green is the color I see most in nature from grass and trees to those fuzzy halos around street lamps at dusk.

Green also means go.

A green light means to move forward.

What does green mean to you?

It's Perseid Meteor Shower Time Folks

2010-08-11T21:08:00.002-04:00

I love a good meteor shower.

I do.

Two years ago, I pined for a telescope.

I'm still pinin' for one...

Friday Foto

2010-08-06T09:41:00.004-04:00

Some say it is a sign of drugs to see a pair of shoes hanging over power lines. Others say it is a sign of gang activity.

Some say it is a sign that a murder occurred there.

In some countries, it is a sport.

In other countries, it is a male past time.

Shoes hanging on a telephone could mean anything.

I'd like to debunk the first three myths by saying this photo was taken across from the Durham Police Station on Foster Street by the skatepark.

But then again, it is Durham, and anything is possible.

The Yawn Heard 'Round The World

2010-08-03T21:29:00.000-04:00

That Smell

2010-07-29T19:56:00.003-04:00

I don't know about you, but certain smells conjure up specific memories for me.

And if anything conjures up the past and all those things that made me who I am today - bmx, skateboarding, punk rock - it is the smell of a new pair of Vans.

This week, I passed on the smell of new Vans to my oldest son.

At some point in the near future, I'll introduce him to the pungent smell of Rector pads.

Friday Foto

2010-07-23T07:59:00.003-04:00

crashed_car, originally uploaded by greg.barbera.

I took this picture with my phone a few months ago. My boys and I had gone back to one of our favorite spots - Bolin Creek - from when they were in preschool.

We used to hang out at the park there and walk the bike path up to a spot where you could climb down to the creek's bank. We'd often skip rocks here (and keep and eye out for snakes).

The last time we went I saw this faux Hot Wheels car wedge between some rocks, clearly washed up and jammed in there from heavy rains. I wonder what the story is behind this little lost car?

Pantalones!

2010-07-18T20:51:00.006-04:00

I don't know why or how it came to be, but the word pantalones has become a term of exclamation with my kids.

If somebody rides by on a Harley or passes the car in a monster truck, they yell out, "Pantalones!"

I'm still unsure of whether it is a term of endearment or a something you say to jone on somebody.

Either way, it's something that deserves to be exclaimed during momentous moments.

Yes, I just said "momentous moments."

Pantalones!

That Guy

2010-07-17T12:39:00.006-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I picked up a new camera.

I was finding myself in a pinch at work more and more for the need for a simple photo that didn't require paying a professional photographer. I needed a cheap, utilitarian point-and-shoot that I could carry around and put to use when duty called.

And besides, I think I can take a decent photo.

I was surprised to find just what a digital camera can do these days, especially one as affordable as this handy little Sony.

Face Detection? A Smile recognition function? An "easy" mode?

WTF? This thing does everything but wipe my ass... and it comes with a 96-page manual (as a pdf file of course).

I took it out to lunch one day to experiment with the settings and modes and basically just try to familiarize myself with the thing. I snapped a picture of my lunch. My co-worker looked at me as I readied the camera by my plate and said, "You're not going to be that guy."

"What guy?" I said.

"The guy who takes a picture of everything he eats," said my co-worker.

I laughed.

"Oh, that guy," I said.

That guy.

Haha.

Payback

2010-07-16T19:02:00.004-04:00

Two summers ago, against my better judgement, I let my kids entertain themselves with TV programming for the adult set.

Parenting is difficult enough but can be made more difficult when you have friends like this.

So it is with great pleasure that I share this moment of bliss - my boys filming me giving the creator of Wildboyz and director of Jackass 3-D a mamba. A white mamba at that...

I Got Bacon On My Mind

2010-07-07T15:20:00.002-04:00

I Drive In Silence

2010-07-05T17:45:00.009-04:00

I had just bought a new car. Okay, not new, but used, and was on the Interstate. The windows were up and the radio was off.

In the silence I listened for sounds.

The sound of mechanical problems, the sounds of an airplane chasing you, pretty much any sound.

And smells too. Like oil, transmission fluid, all that good stuff.

Buying a ten year old car can be nerve-racking to say the least but making sure it is up to snuff is a must. My brother thinks I'm delusional and paranoid. But I invested in a AAA card none the less. It's been a few weeks now and the Subaru Forester is doing just fine. It survived a five hour trek to Maryland and is slated for another lengthy haul to South Carolina next weekend. On the way to Maryland, the boys watched a DVD for the better part of the drive... so I drove in silence once again.

The return trip had them sleeping for a a better part of it, and again, I drove in silence.

My dad used to drive in silence. And it used to drive me bat shit crazy. "Turn on the radio at least," I'd think to myself. "Talk radio even," I'd think. Just give me some static to counterbalance all the quietness that enveloped the car. These were the days before Walkman and iPod my friends.

I remember feeling liberated when I got my first Walkman because it meant silence-free road trips, even if it was only a radio version and I had to scan for local rock stations in central Pennsylvania or the Jersey Shore when all I really wanted was some Minor Threat.

And yet now I have become one of them now.

One of the silent drivers...

Do The Math

2010-06-13T20:20:00.009-04:00

My day job had me spending the weekend in Richmond, Virginia.

I've driven through Richmond countless times in the last fifteen years; I've stared at the buildings and studied the bridges yet I'd never spent an evening there.

But I confess I've always had an affinity for their anarcho-punk scene, for bands like Avail, Strike Anywhere, Wasted Time, No Way Records and the town's general D.I.Y. ethic that seems to pulse though the blood of anyone I have met from there.

The town reminded me a lot of Baltimore with its row houses, and New Orleans with its sleepy seediness, and Savannah with its Civil War history and cobblestone streets.

It was a town populated by characters and I cursed myself for not having a proper camera to document my experience.

While out running errands for the day job, where we had to go pick up some signage for the beer festival, I spotted this gem on the light post.

Sometimes you just gotta do the math, ya know?

The Rainbow Connection

2010-06-06T14:39:00.004-04:00

It had been one of those weeks. The kind where no mater how much you got done on your To-Do List, be it personal or work-related, you still just feel like someone keeps adding blocks to your Lego tower.

To make matters worse, the photo shoot I had to AD for work ran ridiculously over schedule and I was hungry.

On the way back to the office, I spotted the OnlyBurger truck. I convinced my editor to stop so that I could get myself a burger. I was hoping they'd have Bacon & Blue on the menu but they didn't. While listening to me rant about the burger truck as I waited to place my order, I convinced my editor to try one.

She ordered the same as me and when we got back to the office, we sat outside and chatted, one of us talking while the other chewed and a brief rainstorm came upon us - it was gone as quickly as it came.

But it left this beautiful gem over the Historic Durham Bulls Athletic Park which sits directly across from our office. It is part of baseball lore and movie legend and a spot that has hosted many a blues fest and World Beer Festivals.

Armed with nothing but my cell phone, I snapped a shot and then took a moment to take this natural wonder in. There's that old cliche about how you need to stop and smell the roses from time to time; today it was about gazing at a double rainbow.

No pot of gold was to be found, but I have since been unable to get this song out of my head.

Bang, Bang.

2010-05-23T12:12:00.003-04:00

I've long been fascinated by elevators.

I think this goes back to my days as a bicycle messenger - because I spent a lot of time in those boxes of transportation. There's a weird etiquette to life in the elevator, ya know? Another thing I've always pondered is the use of braille with elevators. And apparently I'm not the only one. Don't get me wrong, I think it is totally awesome that elevators have braille, my question is in the "How do they get to the elevator?" and "What do they do when they get out"? As a seeing-eye person, I've have some truly baffling experiences trying navigate the numbering systems of businesses and hotels so I can only imagine how completely frustrating this must be for a blind person.

Come to think of it, in all my years of riding elevators, I don't think I've ever encountered a blind person on an elevator.

Another thing I tend to look at is the signature from the Commissioner of Labor, who in the state of North Carolina just happens to be a woman by the name of Cherie K. Berry.

And apparently I'm not the only one who has noticed this either. She's even got a song dedicated to her.

But this photo was new to me.

Living in a carry concealed state, I often scan establishments for this sign. But seeing it on the doors of an elevator was a first. I know you can't take them into establishments that serve alcohol and they are not allowed at parades or funeral, but elevators?

Do this seem strange? Looks like it falls under the selling of alcohol rule.

Anyway, you may start seeing these pop up on the doors of hotel elevators nationwide.

But be sure and look at who signed the letter from the Labor department...

Food, Glorious Food

2010-05-16T21:14:00.005-04:00

Panko fried asparagus with sea salt, malt vinegar and lemon.

Oh, and some Brussels sprouts for good measure...

Welcome to My Nightmare

2010-05-11T18:13:00.002-04:00

There's nothing quite like a good nightmare to shake things up.

I had one last night, and as per usual, it involved aliens.

This time there was a big party. A party of epic proportions. Like Burning Man except that, if I recall, family members were involved.

And as my dreams tend to be, it was all over the place.

But the alien invasion did come. They dispersed some sort of spores that were like little nails/tacks/sharp objects which people easily inhaled. People were having trouble breathing and started dropping like flies on the ground as pandemonium ensued.

Then the machines, like metal spheres with octopus tentacle-like legs, began to spread bullet-sized magnets into the air. The magnets would then latch onto the person who had inhaled the "spores" like leeches causing the pointy "spores" to dig into a person's insides in the name of connection.

Then the octopus leg things sucked up the dead like a vacuum.

Yeah, I know right?

WTF.

The Currency of Skittles

2010-05-08T17:20:00.003-04:00

My oldest son is currently obsessed with two things: soccer and skateboarding.

His soccer coach, after every game, hands out Skittles to the kids as a reward. All team members get regular. Captains of the game get wild berry, if you had an assist you get sour and for those who score goals there's tropical.

My son is more of a granola and yogurt kind of kid; he's the kind of kid that doesn't eat all his Halloween candy in one sitting. I knew he would quickly tire of Skittles, especially since he's usually a captain, almost always has an assist or two and is one of the main goal-scorers on his team.

So by now, with a few weeks left in the season, he's got a bounty of Skittles up in the joint.

Fortunately for him, Skittles are currency in the ol' neighborhood.

He recently scored a used Tony Hawk HuckJam Series deck for 5 bags of Skittles.

And he was stoked because it meant he was moving up from the micro mini he'd been skating for the last few years.

Even better was the father/son moment we had taking his trucks off the old board and putting them on his "new" deck.

A priceless moment indeed.

Now I just need to have him let me cop a few bags of the candy for this...

The Uncle Mike

2010-05-02T13:26:00.007-04:00

My brother Mike, much like myself, is a serious foodie.

A couple of summer ago while at the Jersey Shore, he turned me onto a deli called Blitz's that served their breakfast sandwiches on kaiser rolls. We've had a long-running joke over the years about us one day partnering up to start our own deli, so we always critique the food we eat when we are together (and sometimes over laborious phone conversations). In our clever little fantasy world, we try to think up good menu items for place.

After that trip to the Shore, all breakfast sandwiches made with a kaiser roll from then on have been dubbed, "The Uncle Mike."

So enjoy a shot of today's Uncle Mike, with cheddar, bacon and jalapenos.

Ohh Ahh Ahh Ahh

2010-04-27T09:59:00.003-04:00

WWE wrestling is the new Pokemon with my boys.

There will always be some things that your children will latch on to from your youth that will inspire you and then there are things that they will obsess that can be mortifying.

Case in point: pro wrestling.

I never really got into it as a kid although I do remember the days of Jimmy "Super Fly" Snuka, Haystack Calhoun and Rowdy Roddy Piper.

But it was never something that ever really held my interest.

My kids have been skirting this fascination with pro wrestling for years as their neighbor across the street has had a deep seeded passion for the sport for years now. And in the last six months it has finally gotten a chokehold on my children.

My youngest son likes to now try moves on me and often asks me who my favorite wrestler is... and I always tell him that I don't have a favorite wrestler because I DON'T WATCH WRESTLING!.

His favorite the night of this pic was Umaga, the Samoan cousin of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. I just found out he passed away six months ago.

One day I'll be able to show my boys this movie which spoke to me on many levels.

The Power Of Suggestion

2010-04-20T18:39:00.006-04:00

I was knee deep in work bullshit and my tummy was growling.

I was lurkin' in the murky world of Twitter when I saw a tweet about food: OnlyBurger was going to be at Sam's Quik Shop pushing their special of the day.

The Bacon & Blue with Red Onion Jam.

Doesn't that just sound divine?

Well it did to me.

So I shuffled over to the beer store parking lot then saddled up and placed my order.

And man was it fucking delicious.

Epic even.

I want another...

Five Is The Magic Number

2010-01-28T18:44:00.009-05:00

The news is on.

And the weather folks are all in a twitter about the snowstorm that is about to bear down on us this weekend.

I've seen the panic in the streets here before, and generally, whether (weather!), it is a hurricane or an ice storm or a fucking blizzard, the people in the South lose their shit. But really, in the decade plus that I've lived here only maybe twice has a snowstorm lived up to the hype.

I don't want a foot of snow, but then again, if it is going to snow by god fucking snow!

Anyway, it got me to feel the need to post and in posting I realized that I've had this here little blog for five years now.

And, a lot has gone on since then.

I started it because I was getting a vasectomy and it seemed like a good way to talk to myself about it. I'd been a fan of journals and diaries for a long time; I am a documentarian at heart. I also started one as way to jog as they say. Because as a writer I needed to exercise my words and what better way then to talk about my days. I was, after all, a few years into my stint as a stay-at-home-dad and a few years out of a job as a journalist and felt the need to put my experience down on paper as they say.

Along the way I raised some boys, dealt with a lot of shit, had my car stolen, catered my ass off, told a lot of stories about past jobs and found some new friends who could relate to what I was doing on a daily basis.

As life tends to be, the ride has not been without its bumps, but there it all is for me, you, your mother's best friend, or someone linked in to facebook or some other web 2.0 bullshit to look back on and read.

I was never good at keeping up on the baby book, but damn I think I did a bang up job of blogging about life as a parent.

The Fairness of The Tooth Fairy

2010-01-18T14:49:00.002-05:00

I'm discussing this matter over at Dadcentric, the parenting blog I contribute to just about every Monday.

How much do you pay your children for a lost tooth?

What do you do with the teeth years later?

Make a nice tooth necklace?

Put it in amber and make a paperweight?

Curious minds want to know...

Welcome To Sammytown

2010-01-13T22:09:00.000-05:00

Um Yeah, You Know, I Heart This Band

2010-01-13T21:59:00.000-05:00

Off With Their Heads - Fuck This, I'm Out from Mario Framingheddu on Vimeo.

For Jay Reatard R.I.P.

2010-01-13T19:41:00.002-05:00

Mi Vida Loca

2010-01-12T18:11:00.002-05:00

Yes, life has gotten crazy.

Nuts you might say.

So I hang on and try to stay sane.

I'm told I do my best writing when it is of the deeply personal kind but right now I'm just not up for the task.

My world was never green pastures and purple ponies by no means.

But I do know one thing, I need to write.

About something.

Anything.

Some Robot Has Found My Site

2010-01-12T18:09:00.001-05:00

and now I get endless jim jam comments from the intrasphere...

and most in languages I cannot read.

Hello...

2009-09-13T11:49:00.004-04:00

It's me again.

Summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. Mostly because I was busy as shit at work but also because I've been spending too much time wrapping my head around the world of social networking over at places like facebook and twitter.

Also I've started blogging around at Dadcentric and writing about music again over at Shockhound.

So until I can get back into the routine of some sort of regular posting, let's take a look back on what has happened on or around September 13 the last few years.

In 2005, there was frogs, hub cap sized turtles and my quest to stimulate my stay-at-home-dad mind with books. 2006 I was talking about bodily fluids and in 2007 I had to start putting the sniff test into action. Finally, last year I was giddy over my son playing football.

Just a month later, I would shed my stay-at-home-dad status and rejoin the working world after landing at job at All About Beer Magazine.

They're Back!

2009-06-07T17:55:00.004-04:00

A few years ago we had a couple of Carolina wrens build a nest in our shed. I startled the chicks one day and they all scattered about.

I thought I had chased them away.

But a little research told me that they mate for life and are territorial. So I wasn't that surprised to find another clutch of eggs a few months later.

Last year they got an early start laying eggs in mid-April.

So I was surprised to not see my little wrens around this year. They were noticeably absent year both in song and sight. I had discovered one nest by a bush out our front door but that turned out to be a robin's nest. It turns out that they too are monogamous.

Then I discovered a nest outside my bathroom window but the bird's call was distinctly cardinal.

I couldn't help but wonder what happened to my wrens.

And then today, just a short while ago, my son went to get his bike out of the shed and said a bird darted out at him.

Sure enough, my wrens have returned...

Extreme Parenting

2009-04-19T13:34:00.007-04:00

My foray into extreme parenting began way back when I turned my sons on to DEVO.

And then there was the tattoos.

Add many hours of watching Rocket Power and Disney's Recess surely could earn me a trophy worthy of the mantel for my parenting skills.

Last summer there was those heat wave days we spent getting to know the Wildboyz which some said led to a lapse in judgement on my part.

And of course I can't forget the mad cred I got for having a Chest Pains song used in an episode of Rob & Big.

Now my boys are all about Nitro Circus.

I can't fault them for being fascinated by these daredevils.

I myself grew up on Evel Knievel and his many attempts to jump his motorcycle over things so it wasn't a surprise to walk out back the other day and see my boys launching their bike off of a ramp trying to get their old mini BMX bike to jump the creek in our back yard.

Nope. I wasn't surprised at all.

[Nitro Circus airs Sundays at 10pm on MTV... but they show reruns during the day!]

Who Got Da Funk?

2009-03-29T09:40:00.005-04:00

There are two different bus stops I use to catch the Number 10 DATA bus into work. One just has a bench and it out in the open on the sidewalk, the other is covered and can offer shelter from the wind and rain.

Recently it was pouring out so I got a ride to the stop that was covered.

I was standing there just looking at the sheets of rain coming down, sideways at times, when I looked down and spotted something. Always in the habit of carrying my camera around I snapped a picture of it. I wasn't sure what it was but upon closer inspection I deducted it was exactly what I thought it was: poop.

Clearly, someone had to go so bad that they squatted on the edge of the bench and took a dump. Looks like they use a combo of a stick and sliding off the edge to wipe themselves.

I still had a good ten minutes before the bus came and now all I could smell was the nasty stench of human poo.

Then I looked down behind me and saw some on the sidewalk where I was standing.

"Fuck!" I said and started noticing it everywhere.

I took a quick look at my shoes and was quickly relieved to find that I hadn't stepped in it. The thought of shitting on a bus with poo wafting up my face made me gag.

And cough.

God it stunk.

Then I walked out into the rain and rubbed my shoes in the swollen gutter just in case; I had a vision of sitting at my desk at work smelling nothing but this smell all day.

Ugh.

I was reminded of the time I worked as a bellman at Washington Duke Inn, a hotel right across from Duke's West Campus and just down the road from Duke Hospital. These two facts are important to note because it meant that two kinds of people stayed at the hotel - Duke douchebags and rich people in need of care at the hospital.

One fateful day I was unloading leather bags out of a high-priced sports car when I saw an elderly man approaching me. He sported a grimace on his face as he walked my way. I lifted a bag out of the trunk and turned to put it on the luggage cart.

He walked between me and the car.

I turned around to find a shit patty sitting right in front of me.

"Where'd the fu..?" I was about to drop the F-bomb in front of some guest.

In a matter of seconds you could smell the diarrhea.

"Damn!" I said.

I told the guest to hold on so that I could go get a maintenance man to clear it up.

As I walked toward the double doors to enter the hotel I notice two more poo patties on my way.

"Motherfucker," I said under my breath.

And then I opened the double doors...

And saw one in the doorway and then two more in the lobby. Apparently he got the elevator as well.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day inhaling disinfectant fumes and the unbearable essence of poo.

Back the the bus stop.

So later that day on my walk to the bus stop I got caught in a downpour and had to run the last five minutes to the bus depot arriving soak to the bone. It was as if I just jumped into the shower with all my clothes on and jumped back out.

My shoes squished as I sat down on the bus.

The rain must have unleashed all that lives in my shoes because ever since then all I can smell is the funk.

The shoe funk.

Damn.

Order Here

2009-03-12T19:26:00.003-04:00

It's been one crazy weekend after another up in the joint.

So until I can process the visit by Dan Esptein, my weekend in Northern Virginia on business when I got snowed in and was force to hang with MVS or the 80 degree weekend here in NC and the family's Eno River hike (and now were bracing for 40s and rain again), I offer you up this photo.

[Galaxy Hut in Claredon, Virginia; February 2009]

Off To The Races

2009-02-08T10:45:00.005-05:00

"I'm ready," said Cole.

"He's ready!!" said the neighborhood kids in unison.

My wife came in from outside.

"He's ready Greg!" she said.

"Okay great," I said. "Cole is ready."

"Quick," she said. "Come take off his training wheels... he's ready to ride a two-wheeler!"

I dropped everything and dashed outside.

Tools where handed to me.

"Wrench," I said.

I felt like a hunky doctor on a popular TV show.

I removed the training wheels safely and checked the tires to make sure that they were inflated to the correct pressure.

Cole saddled up as his friends looked on.

But the backyard proved to be too muddy so we moved our bodies to the front yard. The kids cleaned up all the pine cones just in case so Cole wouldn't fall on them. And then mom gave him a push and he was off, turning around half way down the front yard to see if she was still holding on.

He saw that she was not.

"Again, again!" said everyone.

But the front yard was proving to be too small; it didn't offer up the space he needed especially if he wanted to turn around. So we all walked up to the street and BAM! off he went.

I remembered when Spencer got race fever and demanded that his training wheels be removed. Spencer was 4 at the time, Cole is now 5 and a half.

Now Cole is officially part of the crew, the posse, the OBC.

It's moments like this (and this one and that one) that are the true rewards of parenthood and being a dad.

Dear Blog

2009-02-07T11:46:00.004-05:00

I'm sorry I have neglected you over the recent months.

I know you don't like the fact that I have been spending most of my time with that instant gratification whore Facebook.

I apologize for forgetting your birthday a few weeks back. I was reminded of this yesterday when I got into a discussion with a co-worker about her husband's upcoming vasectomy procedure and it occurred to me that I needed to stop in and say hello again.

It's not that there hasn't been plenty to write about, I mean the bus ride is still full of surprises especially when Shoe Shine gets on (because everybody seems to know Shoe Shine), and researching and writing about beer has yet to bore me.

It's just that by the time I get home and do the dinner with family and homework with the kids, I don't have much left in terms of thinking capacity and energy to jump on and crank out blog posts.

But things should start to pick up again as I feel like I have finally gotten past the transition from being a stay-at-home dad to a 9-t0-5 working stiff...

Rock You Like A Hurricane

2009-01-31T12:37:00.004-05:00

A couple of months ago, I spent the day at the the local hockey arena chasing down a story.

Here it is.

The Sound Of Cracking Ice

2009-01-18T11:32:00.003-05:00

What do you do with your kids when it is like 20 degrees arctic out?

Why you go for a walk.

Our outdoor adventure started in the backyard, where the boys marveled at the ice they were finding everywhere. We spent a good portion of our early morning foray into the wonders of a frigid Mother Nature trying to figure out how thick the ice was in the creek in our backyard.

It was thick enough for the boys to stand on but began to crack when I stepped on it.

"Let's go to the lake!" said Spencer.
"And see if it is frozen."

Curious myself, I agreed to take the five minute walk over to Clark Lake but only after we retreated inside for a spell to warm up.

About an hour later, we once again bundled up to make the hike; it wasn't far by any means but shoot if wasn't freakin' cold out.

On the way the boys were thinking about all the things they could do on a frozen lake like ice skate and play hockey. It didn't matter that they didn't have skates or sticks but such is the joy of young minds.

My wife assured us all that it indeed would not be frozen, that the lake was "too deep" to freeze.

She was soon proved wrong when we walked up and saw the entire lake frozen over.

My and the boys started throwing rocks on the ice and the sound of the rocks hitting the frozen water made this odd reverberation noise.

We all just looked at each other with open eyes - it was a sound they had never heard before and one I hadn't heard in many, many years myself.

It was all we could do to get them to not run out there on the ice.

So I set out to prove a point.

I walked over to the edge of the lake and grabbed the branch of a tree and put the weight of one foot on the ice.

Nothing.

I put two feet on there and stomped with one... and the sound of ice cracking began to bellow out through the air. There's really no other word to chose and that one is poor at best.

Once my foot broke through the ice to make a hole to the water, the acoustics changed and from underneath the ice came an even eerie, inexplicable sound.

At that moment we saw a blue heron fly over the lake.

Awesome.

On the walk back we saw couple of blue birds.

"Freaky," said Cole.
"They are like brown but then when they fly away blue," he said.
"That's weird Dad!"

We went back again today, but the weather had warmed enough that the lake wasn't totally frozen.

We still threw rocks on to the frozen section and listened for that odd sound.

Like a long, steel coil unraveling is the best I can come up with to describe it.

Today was a good day.

Yum, Yum, Yum

2009-01-05T19:32:00.005-05:00

I'm no chef but I like to cook.

This Christmas I got a Thai cookbook, but not just any Thai cookbook - I got the quick & easy thai.

So Sunday night I dove in and made yellow curry chicken with potatoes.

Awesome.

Total ingredients? 8

Coconut milk, yellow curry paste, chicken, chicken broth, potatoes, onion, fish sauce and brown sugar.

Doubly awesome.

Leftovers anyone?

[9 if you include the basil...]

Classic, Just Classic

2008-12-28T16:21:00.005-05:00

So Christmas Day we were sitting out back on our deck playing this game called Catch Phrase.

My tweener niece had asked for it.

Apparently it makes for a good drinking game but you'll have to test that theory for yourself and get back to me on it.

Basically, the holder of the game gets a topic or phrase (like "egg on your face") and has to try and get the group to guess what the phrase is by dishing out clues.

My niece had the game at one point and was all, "ooohh, oooh, like, um, er, like ooohhh, ooohhh this is like, um, um, like something you do at a sleepover!"

Without a beat, my nephew, her teenager brother said,"Get head lice?"

Laughter ensued.

Hardy laughter.

"What? What? For real," he said.
"It's happened twice."

[I have no idea what that is a picture of by the way. Bring on the captions. Photo by Greg Barbera December 2008]

Recycling Bin Of A Beer Magazine Editor

2008-12-28T16:20:00.003-05:00

Unfortunately, no Duff Beer in there.

Spot any of your favorites?

Weird Science

2008-12-21T13:03:00.005-05:00

I spent the last few weekends laying down a new floor in my house with the help of my brother-in-law.

Most of my Thanksgiving holidays were spent on my hands and knees prepping the floor for the installation. I tend to get lost in thought during mindless chores like this (my latent ADHD rearing its ugly head), and pulling staples out of my floor was no different.

I recalled a time when I spent the day (or two or three) as a production assistant on a television commercial for some Japanese company during my early years in Los Angeles.

I had gotten the call because the production of the commercial had lagged past its pre-production schedule creeping into the Christmas holidays. As an East Coast'er living on the West, I didn't have the money to fly home for Christmas. So when half the production manager's staff flew the coupe for the holidays, I got the last minute call for work.

At the time, a day rate of $125 seemed like good money but I would soon find out that day rates suck if two thirds of the crew are unionized.

I was told to pick up a box truck from a rental company in Hollywood and then drive it out to Agoura Hills to some newly built subdivision where the shooting would take place. Call time was at some ungodly hour like 6am so when I rode my bike to the rental company in the bowels of Hollywood the sun had yet to rise.

When I arrived on set and met my contact I was informed that the shoot shouldn't take more than half a day. The previous week had been spent shooting establishing shots and now all that was done was to wait for the talent to show up and shoot the damn commercial.

Talent was a guy by the name of Charlie Sheen.

They had been waiting on him for a week.

So while the director, lighting grips and a gaggle of Japanese business men waited for talent, I was assigned to help the art department. The art department in this case was two guys - one a surfer dude from San Diego and the other a stout Jewish guy from Long Island. Our job for the day was to strip up the floor of the kitchen in one of the house they shot at earlier in the week. Removing the floor meant a lot of time spent on your hands and knees with a putty knife.

And some chemicals.

These guys did nothing but huff (unintentionally) said chemicals and laugh at themselves as they barked out lines from Weird Science.

I had entered the Sci-Fi Zone.

And it wasn't pretty.

Around 3pm we had finished our job of floor removal and walked down the empty subdivision cul de sac to the house where all the production trucks were. But nothing was going on. Charlie was still MIA.

So the douchebag director was trying to get the grip guys to try different lighting scenarios in case Sheen showed up after dark but all they did was sit and smoked cigarettes and talk to each other as if nobody was around.

"What are those guys doing?" I asked my trusty art dept. cohorts.
"They're union," said Surfer Dude.
"So," I said.
"They are killing time," said Long Island boy.
"Why?" I asked.
"In two hours they will be at time and a half," explained Long Island boy.

And sure enough, when the mental money bell rang in these guys' heads, they snuffed out their smokes, crushed their cans of soda and suddenly began to "hear" the director. I think I got home around 11pm that night.

Since Charlie didn't show, everybody trekked it back out to Agoura Hills the next day. And again I spent the day as clean-up errand boy doing the most useless tasks to kill time until something might happened when they might need me to actually do something.

Charlie showed up at dusk the second day.

In a limo.

Stocked with booze.

His driver said he had been on a bender and that you'd better hurry because you probably got about two hours before he turns to shit.

Charlie dressed up in some super hero robot kind of costume and held some ray gun. Apparently, from what I gathered, he was knocking stains out of clothes with his ray gun. But that would all come later in post production.

It was a wrap before Charlie turned to shit.

I had the pleasure of returning the box truck to the rental company in Hollywood. But first I needed to take the art dept. guys to the studio so we could unload it, then give Long Island boy a ride home to his crib in the Valley before I could finish my day.

It was well after midnight by the time I got to the rental company and despite the many reassurances of my production coordinator, I was fully convinced it would not be open. When I got to the office in the dark of night, there was an employee of unknown origins sleeping on the floor with a machete. I startled him awake banging on the door, gave him the keys and signed off on the rental sheet.

"Charlie fucking Sheen," I thought.

I caught the glint of light off the blade of the machete and mumbled to myself "Charlie don't surf" as I walked away.

[Lenny Kersey ponders a pattern for the floor; December 2008.]

That Busy Time Of Year

2008-12-14T09:21:00.005-05:00

Life has gotten so busy.

Crazy busy.

A few months ago I landed a full-time job at a magazine. While I love my new job - I couldn't have asked for a better way to transition from being a stay-at-home dad - the transition has now come without its own growing pains.

I don't have the time on my hands like I used to mull over things to write about like punk rock dad sitcoms and my parenting memoir.

Working in the beverage industry isn't a 9-to-5 job. Sure I pretty much go to the office during that time but brewers keep hours like musicians so a fair amount of my evenings at home are spent following-up with beer blokes on the west coast or in other parts of the world. Toss in the holidays and vacations and suddenly I have to scramble to keep the production of the magazine on schedule.

The good news is that I've got half a year's worth of upcoming issues assigned so the future looks less hectic, but making it through to the next issue to going to be maddening as people disappear into the fog of family obligations, holiday parties and other such seasonal nonsense.

We did managed to score a Christmas tree yesterday. Looking back on my blog archives, I had to chuckle at how we have gotten our tree pretty much the same weekend the last few years.

The holidays always bring up a plethora of emotions for folks - some good, some bad - so I hope everybody out there has fun this holiday season and makes it through unscathed.

Last year I wasn't so lucky.

I've got my fingers crossed that from this date on things will only look up.

Where The Huskies Go

2008-12-01T21:24:00.002-05:00

Gratuitous beer and music post.

Do the math.

This Is A Post About Bacon

2008-12-01T21:23:00.003-05:00

As if I didn't eat enough food the past few days, I had to finish off the weekend with this shrimp dish:

Fry up some bacon.

Take some of the grease
and cook the shrimp in it,
salt and peppered.

Remove shrimp to paper towel'ed plate.
Add more grease to the pan
and toss in a bag of cabbage and

Splash it
with
red vinegar.

Stir cabbage in pan until
almost wilted,
but still crisp.

Now toss back
in the shrimp
with the cabbage.

Serve
and garnish
with bacon bits.

Double Vision

2008-11-28T08:55:00.002-05:00

Over the last few weeks I have started to question my eyesight.

I'm not sure if the need to squint is a sign of age or the fact that I know have a full-time job that requires gratuitous amounts of computer time.

Mostly, these blurred encounters happen in the early morning or late at night, especially during sports when I sometimes have trouble reading the scoreboard from my armchair. But then again, I don't really watch sports that much because my Redskins rarely get the TV time around here. But Heels basketball has started up and I am eager to see if the team can pull off the almost impossible task of an undefeated season.

I probably will make an appointment to get the eyes check once my health insurance kicks in but that won't be until after January so for the moment I just get to hypothesize on the subject and squint a lot.

Yesterday I spent a nice, quiet Thanksgiving with the family.

While I am usually a big fan of the massive get-together it was nice just to enjoy the company of my family this year.

We got up early, put on some Loretta Lynn and started making pie. Loretta segued into side one of The Outlaws, that became Mars Hotel which then led to a big, long Neil Young jag. I could see this was going to be a day where the vinyl was going to stack up at an alarming rate and that's exactly what it did.

After the morning was lost to food prep, we ducked out of the house and took a walk around the neighborhood. Upon returning we noshed a bit and then retreated to the back yard to toss the football around. I came inside to watch the Lions/Titans game (squinting) but that was a total blowout and not the slightest bit entertaining so I channel surfed on over to VH1 Classic only to find a Pink Floyd marathon going on.

I stumbled for a moment trying to find a connection between Pink Floyd and Thanksgiving and then a light bulb went off in my head: tryptophan.

Pleasantly bored, we made another trek around the neighborhood only this time we decided to explore some of the woods nearby as well as crossing over the street to the lake to skip some stones.

Words like bucolic and idyllic came to mind.

Back home we readied for the feast and destroyed the table full of goods in less time that it took to pronounce the day's name.

Stuffed, we al showered and then sat down to watch a post-dinner family movie... Journey to the Center of The Earth.

In 3D.

It pretty much sucked.

The kids loved it of course.

So after 90 minutes wearing those glassed my eyes were toast. After we put the kids to bed and tucked them in, we did the same of ourselves. I turned the Tv on more as a source of light; it is easier to use the remote to turn off the TV than it is to reach over and hit the switch on the light.

I fluffed my pillows and then heard a familiar sound,"So ya thought ya might like ta go to the show...

Nothing like ending your day with tryptophan, Floyd and technicolored dreams seen through your third eye.

Do Work

2008-11-26T15:04:00.002-05:00

My 8-year-old asked me if there was any work to be done around the house.

He's got a book fair at his school coming up and is looking for ways to earn some dough.

I told him that we needed to rake the leaves in the backyard and he agreed to do it for a fee: six dollars and hour.

So after sleeping in, watching TV and then playing some video games, the boys got dressed.

Without me telling them to.

I knew something was up.

I heard the back door slam shut and then creak back open again.

"What time is it dad?" he asked.

"Quarter to twelve," I said.

"I'm gonna earn some money!" he said.

My younger son heard all the commotion and asked what was going and within moments was hooded and hatted and out the back door himself.

I sat there and watched in delight at the thought of these boys getting old enough to do the shit I always do like rake, mow the lawn or shovel snow. Before I could finish my daydream the rakes had been dropped... and I noticed the slide of the treehouse was now covered in leaves and pines needles.

You want to teach your kids the value of money and the hard work it takes to get it but then again you also want your kids not to have to grow up too fast, you want your kids to have kid fun. So I raked around the yard while they entertained themselves.

"What time is it?" my 8-year-old asked.

"Has it been an hour?"

"Probably," I said.

"But you don't get six bucks because you stopped working," I explained.

"Aw man," he groaned.

"I'll give you two bucks, a dollar for each pile you raked."

He seemed content at that.

I raked about a half dozen piles of leaves but left the biggest for last. As I dragged the tarp over to scoop up the pile they both screamed.

"Wait! Wait! Not yet..." said my 8-year-old.

So I sat and watched these two brothers run football plays with their K2, each one ending in a dive into the pile of leaves.

The 8-year-old was trying to finish off the game with a Hail Mary pass to his little brother. He kept razzing his little brother about not catching the ball until I pointed out the quarterback was throwing weak passes to him.

"Don't you be talking about my quarterback!" said my 5-year-old as he ran towards me holding the ball up above his head like he was going to throw it at me.

One more pass turned into two. Then three. And four. Five. Six. Seven...

Then my 5-year-old caught the ball as he fell into the pile. They both screamed as the quarterback came running over and picked him up then dumped the two of them into the leaves.

By the time I raked the mess back up into a managable pile, they were already inside.

Then I heard the door open.

"Dad, how about three dollars?" said my 8-year-old.
"For teamwork, because we worked like a team."

"Okay," I said. "Three dollars."

Rob and Big - MTV Shows

Shoe Shine Man And Other Stories

2008-11-18T21:22:00.002-05:00

I knew there was a full moon coming just by the bus.

Three weeks into commuting and not much had happened.

Sure there was your average bus fare: a drunk guy here, a homeless woman there, wayward teens whittling away their time as best they know how. And there was the simple fact that I was the lone white guy ninety nine percent of the time.

I'm sure some of them think I'm a narc.

But for the most part, it was basically about people getting on, and people getting on the bus with as little interaction as possible.

A few days ago that all changed.

I had caught the 5:30 downtown and boarded the bus to go home. I noticed two white guys in suits and recognized them as the Mormons I saw a few days earlier when it occurred to me after I saw them that I don't see white people riding the bus.

The bus seemed unusually crowded with a handful of folks grabbing the overhead.

And that's when I heard someone yelling out from the back.

"ShhhhuuuuShhhhinnnnnee!" he said. It almost sounded like a yodel.

Just then an older man, one with grey hair and cane, took off his hat and squinted his eyes toward the back of the bus.

""ShhhhuuuuShhhhinnnnnee!" said someone again from the back.

"I hear you but I can't see you!" said Shoe Shine Man.

I caught a reflection in the window behind me of the Caller and the person next to him in conversation but it was inaudible.

The Mormons began to chant a psalm or hum of hymn or whatever reading from prayer books in sing songy unison is called these days. Maybe I have finally put my ingrained Catholicism aside by now because I can't remember.

Shoe Shine looked at them and said something to the Caller; his mouth was nothing but gums.

The Caller called back, "They on a mission ShuShine!"

"So am I!" said Shoe Shine punctuating it with a "ha ha."

"To find the Holy Ghost!" he said

"Yeah, Holy Ghost..." said the Caller.

"Or maybe some wine," said Shoe Shine with a laugh.

That was weird I thought.

And then I recalled how when I was waiting for the bus at the depot I could see in the outside window of the information center.

I saw a woman looking at lingerie on her computer.

***

The other day a fight broke out at the depot. It started off like most altercations with people calling each other names in an increasingly louder cadence until it was clear there was going to be some "commotion." I came to the assumption that two teenage [??] boys had tried to lift something out of another guy's backpack and he called them out on it. Then the threesome sat in the middle of the road mouthing off to each other but it seemed like things we far from getting heated. I wasn't close enough to hear nor did I want to be.

A cluster of two others joined me as spectators.

The older guy said he'd kicked both their asses but one at a time, that two on one is cowardly. Then he came at them hard in the middle of the street, stomping and puffed up like a peacock: " You niggers are a bunch of bitches!!"

Then he said something about guns not making you a man and how fucked up the kids today are because they can't even step up and fight.

The kids then back off and walk away.

"He's ri-aight, tho he's ri-aight," said a fellow standing next to me.

"Dressin' like a gang banger don't make you a gang banger," he explained.

Reading Versus Writing

2008-11-10T19:26:00.007-05:00

I'm been spending entirely too much time reading over at places like Beerinator and Facebook, the latter a modern day version of crack.

My fascination with Facebook is the sheer fact that almost everybody in the world has a profile - from the kids in my neighborhood to kids from my old neighborhood. You type in a name of someone you know and chances are they are going to have a Facebook page. Unlike MySpace where my band has had a page for years and seems to be the domain of musicians, Facebook seems to be all about personal social networking unlike LinkedIn which seems to be for the most part about business.

I digress.

What this post really is about is the simple fact of how one can go forward yet look back at the same time.

One month into working a full-time job again after seven years and I feel I can finally start to digest those years; the waves no longer crash on my mental shores everyday.

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day which means there is no school. Normally this would just been another blip on my radar screen noticed only by a closed bank here or a trip to the doctor's office there. But now there's the scramble to see who will watch the kids, the drawing of straws between my wife and I over who is going to take off work.

I remember the many trips to the doctor's office - there's nothing like going when your kids have tattooed themselves.

Two years ago this November, I went to an At-Home Dad Convention which was one of the most eye-opening and spiritually uplifting things I have done in my life. To meet guys who shared my way of life, who had been through the trauma and the trite stares; endured the bullshit and the banal existence that can come when your life swings completely in the opposite direction was good for the soul. I may have moved on but I have not and will not forget my brothers who still walk the walk and talk the talk in the fight for gender equality when it comes to raising children.

Whether you are forced into it or chose to do it, never let anybody make you feel like you can't or shouldn't be raising your own children.

It wasn't until I embraced the fact that I was a stay-at-home-dad that I was fully able to relish the role. It was shortly after the convention that I started to put being a dad, and an involved one at that, first and foremost. Although I had kept a blog for a year leading up to it, it wasn't until after going to Kansas City that I actually "came out" as a dad blogger to my friends and family. It 2005, it was weird just to say you were a blogger much less a dad blogger.

I'll admit it, sometimes being the parent at home was hell.

But sometimes, Hell ain't a bad place to be...

The Best Day Ever

2008-11-06T21:11:00.005-05:00

I finally wised up the other day.

For the past week, I kept telling myself that I needed to grab one of my kids' mp3 players before I left for work. It would give me something to do while I stood there waiting for the No. 10 bus and drowned out some of the chatter I overhear during my commute.

The sound of cars and squawking birds gave way to the Cars, Cheap Trick, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Ramones.

A little back story is in store here: The only reason we bought some cheap ass mp3 player for our 5-year-old son was because we had gotten an mp3 player for his older brother when he turned seven and that became an obsession for him in so much that he carried it everywhere (so we went with the placating bribe with my younger son to avoid them fighting over it).

I downloaded about 60 songs on it for him.

Then I figured out I could download a shitload of songs (some not age appropriate) and put them in another folder slash playlist. But this summer when we took the great family road trip we ran into a problem where his player would only play my songs but this wasn't discovered until well into the trip.

So there I was trying to remedy the problem while driving through some tunnel on the verge of getting light-headed and ill so that my two kids could listen to their own music in the back seat even though several of their musical choices were housed in the family car's multi-disc changer.

Suddenly the sound of rubber tires on asphalt didn't sound so bad.

Fast forward to the other day: I'm standing at the bus top and groovin' to some tunes. About four stops later on the inbound bus, I deduct that the contraption is running through the playlist in alphabetical order.

Soundgarden came on and I had an epiphany about Kim Thayil and how despite that rhythm section and Cornell's yelp, the band would have been nothing without Thayil's guitar.

I guess that Powerbar I ate ahd kicked in.

The song ended and suddenly Spongebob came on.

I fumbled through my jacket to find the player to try and make sense of the settings but once again looking at it made me light-headed; I'm not one who can read in the car obviously.

The next day I switched out players.

Avail came on at the bus stop.

I mouthed the words to two songs as I watched my shadow bounced in front of me.

The bus came and I climbed on.

Song crazy song that reminded me of the label came on but I for the life of me had no idea who it was; once again I was forced to dig into my jacket to see who the artist was only to be shut out as the player listed song titles only.

I forwarded to the next song.

As I suspected this too was going through the playlist in alphabetical order.

Must have been Clockcleaner I thought.

Next song was some dub reggae.

I tried to check the title, got light-headed and decided to turn the mp3 player off.

So now it's back to car horns, bus stop alerts and random chatter.

But that beats feeling light-headed...

Election 2008 - Obama vs. McCain

2008-11-04T09:05:00.003-05:00

It's election day 2008 folks.

I'll spare you any political rants because you will get enough of them throughout the day.

But also because I need not reveal what a nut job I am when it comes to my political beliefs.

What I will give you is a little dose of punk rock courtesy of my band the Chest Pains.

Right around the time of the last election, I got into a debate about the value of your vote and weather or not John Kerry had the heart.

We all know how that all turned out.

Anyway, I penned this ditty during the weeks approaching the election in 2004, inspired by large doses of D.O.A. and the Dead Kennedys.

And because you may not be able to understand a word I'm saying in the following clip, I've included the lyrics.

Kerry The Torch

Kerry... the torch?
I think not
With idle [idol?] minds
We sit and watch our country rot

Sticks and Stones
Skull & Bones
Stick and Stones
Same face, different name

So you're feeling Bush-whacked
and spiritless
The politik of our country
Is a fucking mess

Four more years?
Four more years?
Four more years!
God No...

Four more years?
Four more years!
Four more years!
Fuck you!!

Jump ship and move away
Amsterdam sounds good today
Maybe I'll move to Mexico?
C'mon everybody! Vamos a playo!!

Is That Like Being Recruited?

2008-11-02T08:45:00.004-05:00

Although the 7/8 Chapel Hill Titans lost their game to defending champs Bethesda over the weekend, my son had two touchdowns.

The first one his team was backed inside their own 20 yard line and on fourth and long he broke around the corner on a sweep and ran 80 plus yards for a touchdown with opponents nipping at his heels the entire time.

After half time, I had to retreat to the hill above the stands to get a better look and to get away from the home team fans - we all shared the small section of bleachers at the field. This game was played at an elementary school unlike the other games which were played on high school football fields and as such had proper bleachers for the home and away teams.

The Titans had started to drive so I moved up to the fence by other parents cheering for Chapel Hill.

There was a bunch-up at the line of scrimmage and then a little head popped up on the far sidelines and started a bee line down the field.

"Is that your son?" said one dad.

"I think so," I said, unable to see the number on the jersey.

After he past midfield I could tell by the cleats and the gallop of his stride that it was my son.

"Go Spence! Go!" I hollered with all of my dad pride.

At about the 20 yard line he turned and looked back, saw they we closing in and kicked into another gear, pulling away towards the end zone for another score.

After the game I was talking to his coach when a father from the other team came over and asked who was the kid that scored the touchdowns.

"He's right here," said his coach as he pointed to my son.

"What's your name son?" asked the dad as he reached out to shake his hand.

"Spencer," he said as they shook hands.

"Nice job boy," he said. "I hope you keep at it. You are the future of Carolina football."

Then he said he'd keep an eye out for his name because he knew he was going to hear more of it in the future.

As we left the field, Spencer turned to me and said, "Was that sorta like being recruited?"

[Photo: Spencer in foreground with little bro Cole in background]

Mr. Jack O. Lantern

2008-11-02T08:32:00.001-05:00

Goblins And Ghouls

2008-11-02T08:31:00.001-05:00

Somebody asked me what me kids were for Halloween on Saturday during one of their football games.

"I don't know," I said.

"You don't know what your kid was for Halloween?" one mom chimed in incredulously.

I laughed.

"They had masks and capes on, but what they called themselves I do not know..."

So how would you describe the boys in this picture?

The Hellacopters Final Curtain Call

2008-10-26T13:22:00.007-04:00

The Hellacopters are throwing in the towel.

While the band has been fairly dormant since 2007, a recent MySpace post announced they would be playing their last shows ever this weekend.

Back in the late-'90s, when I was in the throes of being a music journalist, I was a serious Hellacopters fans. I spent many a year on a garage rock jag, diggin' most of the stuff that came out on labels like Crypt, Man's Ruin, and Estrus. I could get enough of bands like The Quadrajets, Fireballs Of Freedom, The New Bomb Turks and The Dwarves.

When I got my hands on Super Shitty To The Max I played the hell out of it.

At some point, the band embarked on a US tour with The Quadrajets and The Nomads (another great Swedish band) and I set up an interview with Nick Royale, singer and guitarist for The Hellacopters and wrote a preview piece for the local weekly to promote the show. I sort of hit it off with Nick and before the interview was over I had invited the band over to my place for a pre-show cookout but that was weeks away.

Fast forward to the day of the show.

I get a call from the club owner asking for directions to my house, that The Hellacopters wanted to take me up on my offer. I few minutes later a white van showed up driven by Dave Curran, the bassist from Unsane who was functioning as their tour manager. Beers were consumed, burgers eaten and cultural conversations ensued.

Hellacopters bassist Kenny Hakansson excused himself to use the bathroom.

When he came back he said something to Nick in Swedish then turned to me and asked about the room across from the bathroom that had a drum set and amps in it.

"Can we jam?" he asked.

"Sure," I said and went on to explain that's what the room was for but the concept of house party shows was foreign to them.

So Nick, lead guitarist Robert Fahlquist and drummer Robert Eriksson made their way to the room and rocked the fuck out. Nick, a left hander, played my bass upside down while the two Bobs went ape shit on their respective instruments.

My shitty Kramer guitar and Peavey amp never sounded so good; it's not the equipment folks, it's the musician that can turn lemons into lemonade.

The above picture is from that fateful day.

The Hellacopters would go on to be rock stars of the highest order in their country, put out several albums through Sub Pop and then Liquor & Poker before fading from my horizon. I had kids, lost my job and pretty much stopped writing about music for a half dozen years but I'd still break out The Hellacopters when occasion called for it.

I can't remember how or when it came up but at some point my oldest son asked me what was in his room before it became his room. I explained that we had called it the "rock room" because it stored the stereo, copious amounts of CDs and vinyl LPs and a selection of musical instruments.

And it was left at that for another 18 months until he started to show interest in music (Thin Lizzy and DEVO) and shortly thereafter began to pilfer records from my collection so he could establish his own music library. I brought up The Hellacopters story again only this time I dug through my photo archives and found some slides and a few color prints made from them.

Not having a fucking clue who The Hellacopters were, he was still impressed that a rock band had been in his room, so he took the photo and stuck it up on his wall.

And then The Hellacopters faded into the horizon once again.

Until last Christmas when we got PS2 from my sister-in-law.

And then he one day while playing a video game he heard a Hellacopters song on it and yelled for me.

"Dad! Dad! Listen, it's The Hellacopters!" he said excitedly.

Sure enough, "Bring It On Home" was blaring out of the television.

Oh, and he also eventually would unlock a Hellacopters song playing Guitar Hero.

So today, I raise a toast to a band who has made a lasting impact not just on me but also on my son, a generational double shot of rock 'n' roll.

Okay, Here It Is...

2008-10-25T08:28:00.004-04:00

The job post.

Or posts.

It's been two weeks since I got a job and returned to the 9-to-5 world after seven years of parenting during the day and catering on the weekends.

Yes, I have officially "retired" from catering.

But I still have this urge to clean up people's plates after they have finished eating.

It may take awhile to break that habit.

My typical day now starts out around 6:45am.

I get up and make the boys their breakfast and lunch then see to it that they get dressed and pack their book bags for school. Around 7:45am I hop on my bike and ride for about 15 to 20 minutes to the bus stop which is in front of the local Kroger grocery store. I lock up my bike and then head into Kroger for a snack (Clif Bar) and a drink (bottled water) then go to the bus stop and wait for the Number 10 to arrive.

I get on the bus around 8:15am and it winds it's way through Durham finally arriving at the Downtown Depot at 9am.

I get off and walk down Morris until it changes into Washington Street, about 5 minutes until I reach the office. Once through the front door I turn left into my office and open the blinds to see the old Durham Bulls Ballpark right across the street from me. I fire up the Mac lap top I have been provided and go through emails, read beer blog posts and then ask if any one is going on a coffee run.

Coffee.

Once a necessity to jump start my day, coffee is now more a habit; a reminder that the work day has begun. But the bike ride and walk, as it turns out, are a great way to get the head cleared for the day.

Like any job, there's meetings and phone calls and research and all those laborious tasks that come with being an editor. Only the subject matter is beer.

Two of my co-workers are serious jazz heads so one of the local college radio stations that specializes in jazz is pumped out over speakers throughout the day. The work environment is casual to say the least and while every job has its stressful moments, we here at the magazine can remind ourselves this: it's about beer.

Phew.

Stress gone.

Then it's lunch, where I have been sampling menus at places like Piedmont, Toast and Guajillos and I have a hunch you will start to see an upturn in food-related posts in the next few weeks.

After lunch I consult with my editor who is currently trying to put the finishing touches on an issue. I check with circulation and production people and update them on the status of copy, files and artwork. The last few days I have been calling breweries to track down bottle labels to run with reviews much like you would scan CD artwork for a music review.

Since yesterday was Friday, that means somewhere between 3:30-4:30pm an anouncement will come: Beer Thirty.

When Beer Thirty is anounced, the office shuts down and everybody relocates over to Tyler's Taproom. The talk doesn't change much from the office, and I'm still with pen and paper jotting down ideas and suggestions from the staff. After a few rounds of beers, everybody goes their separate ways to enjoy their weekends.

Then Monday comes and we all start the process all over again.

Have Mercy!*

2008-10-25T08:08:00.001-04:00

Downtown Durham bus depot.

*Yes, that's a ZZ Top reference.

Carne Asada

2008-10-25T08:06:00.001-04:00

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that I love street vendor Mexican food.

As a former resident of Los Angeles, in recent years I would complain about the lack of access to real, quality Mexican food, specifically the carne asada here in the Triangle.

It would take visits back out to Los Angeles to satiate my palate for this gloriously simple fare.

These days, with the Latino population on the ever increase in North Carolina, my options have improved.

And then this week I hit jackpot.

I had spent the better part of the morning doing what most editors do at magazines, newspapers and websites and that is meeting with fellow editors on topics for possible features as well as speaking to/emailing with the magazine's crop of writers to see what they have on their plates.

Suddenly it was past 1 o'clock and I needed to put something in my gut, so I slipped on my jacket (it's been brisk here) and walked out the front door of the office.

Right across the street is the old Durham Bulls Ballpark which is currently under renovation.

I spotted a couple of construction workers sitting with their backs up against the fence eating, a card table set up in front of them with napkins and condiments on it.

And right next to it was a big, white, nondescript truck.

Hallelujah!

They were low on asada so I got one carnitas with my two-taco order.

For $3.

There is a food god.

Now I wish that truck would come back...

All About Beer

2008-10-25T07:55:00.002-04:00

Years ago, when I was a music editor at the local weekly newspaper, everyday the postman would drop off a US Mail tub in my office overflowing with CDs.

My co-workers would drool at the endless supply that would arrive. I would assure them, that while yes it was cool to receive unlimited numbers of promotional CDs, the simple fact was that most of them just wouldn't be that good.

Times have changed.

I work at a beer magazine now.

The mailman stills comes everyday with packages.

Only now they contain craft beers to be sampled for our review section.

Something tells me the ratio of good versus bad in this scenario is going to fall more on the side of good.

I'm just sayin'...

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

2008-10-25T07:48:00.001-04:00

Or something like that.

Home is just moments away...

Kids

2008-10-23T20:14:00.000-04:00

Fucking kids.

This is what happens when your two boys grow up, get educated and learn to spell.

Keep On Moving

2008-10-16T20:44:00.004-04:00

A couple of months ago I wrote about my hitchhiking escapades.

I ended up hitchhiking a few more times after that fateful trip, again mostly out of necessity, but none quite as eventful.

A year later I had transferred to a different college (ironically in Baltimore County) and wound up taking a theater class for shits & giggles.

As a class requirement for Intro to Theater, we had to read Waiting For Godot and Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead.

I got inspired and wrote a play that semester.

I was like 21 when I wrote this.

KEEP ON MOVING

A ONE ACT PLAY

by Greg Barbera

The Players:
Joseph
Man driving car

SCENE I - THE ROAD

The play consists of Joseph standing on stage. He is holding a duffle bag and wearing jeans and a jacket.

The Man in The Car is projected on a screen. The entire conversation takes place in this "space" so that it appears that both players are not really talking to anyone but themselves.

(As the play begins, Joseph is standing on the side of the interstate. There are a few hedges scattered along the roadside behind him. Across the interstate are rows and rows of corn, which is all that can be viewed in either direction.)

JOSEPH: (speaking toward the screen. He is young, about 22.)
Damn, it's hot out. No wonder the crops are damaged. It's a shame they are brown and not that luscious green.

(He looks down and huffs with a slight tone of dejection and kicks the ground.)

At least they have some sort of fate — a destiny. I mean what is my fate? And where am I going? I mean I'm on a road and this road leads to somewhere but is that where I'm going to stop or will I keep on moving? But the roads are so plenty (pauses) does that mean that I'll never stop? (He whispers to himself) Never really get... anywhere?

(He looks up at the sun. It's high noon and the sun is beating down on the earth relentlessly. He turns his eyes away from the bright light and looks at the ground. He begins to walk, looking at his feet with an occasional glance up at the road/screen.)

JOSEPH: Well, if I stop then it is done. I mean my fate will be sealed. I'll be here and here is where I will remain... (muttering the last word under his breath) forever. Forever seems like a mighty long time. Especially here. Here's definitely not where I want to stay. But where am I going? I mean I know I'm on this road and this road leads to somewhere but is somewhere where I want to be? Is somewhere the end? And how will I know if that is the end? (whispers to himself again) Does it ever end?

(He bows his head in contemplation, then squats on his duffle bag and assumes the form of "The Thinker")

Think about it for a second. Nothing and I mean nothing ever ends. Does it? You read a book and there's this plot about a guy who kills his best friend. On the last page of the book it reads "The End". But then you think about it. How could anyone kill their best friend? And years later you're sitting in a cafe somewhere and two guys walk in, they appear as if to be best friends, and then Bam! You think about that story you read years ago and say to yourself "How could anyone kill their best friend?" And then you think about murder and how could any-body really take the life of another and all this because you read a book?! You begin to curse the author for invading your world and putting ideas in your head that can never be erased. 'The End'. What a joke.

(Joseph hears the sound of a car coming behind him. He gets up off his bag and turns around, glances down the road and sees a car in the distance. Once again we are seeing his point of view on screen as his head turns on stage. He then puts his thumb out in traditional hitchhiking manner. He begins to squint to try and get a look of the person inside the car. The car comes closer and drives by as the Doppler Effect takes over. Joseph turns back around and resumes walking.)

JOSEPH: I wonder where he's going? She's going? or if he/she is even trying to get somewhere. Could be one of those types who just floats around from here to there. A gypsy. A nomad. But that's not me. Nope. (shakes his head) I'm going somewhere. I'm going to do something with my life. (He says real emphatically, then trails off to lower tone of voice) But where am I going and when will I get there? Will it be days, months, and years? Well, as long as I'm moving I guess I'm getting closer to there, where ever it may be. I hope I like it when I get there. I kinda like it here. It's quiet and peaceful. But I'm sure this isn't there, I mean, here isn't where I want to go. At least I don't think so. It just doesn't feel right. I mean I just want it to feel right. That unexplainable voice inside that tells you "This is it. This feels right."

(Joseph stops again. This time to tie his shoe. As he bends over to tie his shoe, he sees another car coming down the road. It is just a speck on the horizon. After he ties his shoe he stands once again with his thumb out.)

JOSEPH: (whispering to himself) I hope this car is going where I want to go. Or at least in that direction. (dumbfounded) But what direction am I going in anyway? If they do stop to give me a ride, where will I tell them I'm going?
(the car slows down as it passes Joseph. It pulls over to the side of the road. The driver opens the passenger door. The MAN IN CAR is older, probably in his thirties with a beard and beer belly a.k.a a plumber.)

EXIT

SCENE II-THE CAR

(the following conversation takes place on screen)

MAN: Where you headed?
JOSEPH: huh?
MAN: Where ya going?
JOSEPH: (mumbles) The eternal question.
MAN: What!
JOSEPH: uhhh, just down the road a ways (he pauses) And yourself?
MAN: To the next town.
JOSEPH: What's there?
MAN: Work I hope. I'm flat broke and need a job.
JOSEPH: What if there isn't any work? Where to then?
MAN: I dunno. I'll take it one step at a time. (he pauses) So are you also going to the next town?
JOSEPH: I suppose, but I 'm not really sure. I mean I'm going somewhere and its not here so that means that I'm headed in some sort of direction but if that is where I'm going to stay (pauses) well, I just can't say. What direction are you headed in?
MAN: (a little irritated) To the next town, but I already told you that.
JOSEPH: Right, right (nods his head and pauses) but I mean, you know, where is your fate headed? Where are you going? Where will you be when you stop going?
MAN: (more perplexed than irritated) When I stop, I'll be in the next town. That's about all I can tell ya.
JOSEPH: (smiling) Ahhh, nearsightedness. I suppose it is some sort of virtue, but I don't seem to possess it. I mean I want to know my destiny. You know, like where I'm gonna be when I stop. When it all ends.
MAN: (in a matter of fact tone) Well, pal, for me its gonna end when I die. (speaks in a tone of self revelation and shakes his head up and down) Yea! When I die is when it will all end for me.
JOSEPH: (agreeing) That's what I mean. Where will you be when you die?
MAN: In the ground.
JOSEPH: (chuckles) Yea, I see. But you've missed the point. In that instant before you die where will you be?
MAN: Probably in pain. That's where I'll be.
JOSEPH: Pain, hmm, but is that a place you can go to?
MAN: Hey man, I don't know about you, but I've been in pain before.
JOSEPH: How did you get there?
MAN: In pain?
JOSEPH: Yeah.
MAN: (speaks loudly and quite animated) I hit my thumb with a hammer, that's how I got there!
JOSEPH: So you did that just to get to pain?
MAN: No idiot! It was an accident.
JOSEPH: So you didn't subconsciously do this to "get" to pain?
MAN: (vehemently) No! Pain isn't a place, it's a feeling.
JOSEPH: So you think that if I feel like getting some where then Iwill be there?
MAN: All I'm saying is that if you hit your hand with a hammer, it hurts.
JOSEPH: So if I think I am in this car then I am in this car?
MAN: Well. it sure looks to me like you are in a car. My car. For the time being, anyway.
JOSEPH: I see. So if I "feel" pain then I'm at "pain" and if I "feel" that I'm in a "car", then I am at that place, "car".
MAN: Whatever you say man.
JOSEPH: I guess I just don't know where I "feel" like going and that's why I can't get there. Because I just don't know. I just don't "feel" anything.
MAN: I bet you I could make you feel. (he leans over and thunks Joseph on the head with his finger.)
JOSEPH: Ouch! What are you doing?
MAN: Taking you to that place "pain". Did you "feel" it?
JOSEPH: I felt something.
MAN: That's pain. Although not much of it.
JOSEPH: There's more of it?
MAN: Sure! A lot more from where that came from.
JOSEPH: So you're admitting that it came from somewhere.
MAN: Hey pal, if you want to feel pain I can make you feel pain.
JOSEPH: I'm not that into pain but I would like to "feel" like I am going somewhere.
MAN: I feel like I'm going somewhere. I'm in my car and my car's moving...to the side of the fucking road to boot your sorry ass out.
JOSEPH: But where is your car going to stop?
MAN: In the next town, but you only asked me if I felt like I was moving, going somewhere.
JOSEPH: Of course your car could run out of gas and then it would stop and we would be out here in the middle of nowhere. And do we really know if we have moved? I mean the scenery hasn't changed.
MAN: But my odometer has.
JOSEPH: I don't "feel" like we are moving.
MAN: Are you still where you were when I picked you up?
JOSEPH: Um, I don't think so.
MAN: Then you've moved because you're no longer where you once were. Even if you haven't moved you're still no longer where you once were because you can't remember where you were before can you?
JOSEPH: Before what?
MAN: Before me.
JOSEPH: I was on the side of the road.
MAN: And before that?
JOSEPH: (He looks down and puts his head in his hand) Hhhhmmm, where was I before that?
MAN: What have you done?
JOSEPH: A little of this, a little of that. Nothing special.
MAN: So why now? Why the desire to "do" something. To go somewhere when you don't know where you've been?
JOSEPH: Because I feel it.
MAN: So you do "feel" !
JOSEPH: Somethings.
MAN: Like what?
JOSEPH: I feel like I should be going somewhere to do something to get to that "place" so it all can end.
MAN: That's quite a task you've taken on my friend.
JOSEPH: So we're friends now? I've never had a friend.
MAN: Its just a phrase. You're not my friend.
JJOSEPH: I'm not?
MAN: (shakes his head) Afraid not.
JOSEPH: Then what am I?
MAN: A freak.

(There is a long moment of silence as the two stare at each other.)

MAN: (with a nervous chuckle) But that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
JOSEPH: Sure sounded like it.
MAN: Can't believe everything you hear.
JOSEPH: What can you believe in?
MAN: Nuthin'. there's just life...and death.'Course them Christians believe in life after death. Me, I'm like an elephant. I've moved around all my life, from small towns to big cities just trying to put food in my belly and find a warm place to sleep. Then when I'm all done and ready to leave this world, I'll just walk to that final resting place and close my tired eyes one last time.
JOSEPH: Just keep on moving.
MAN: And never stop.
JOSEPH: Never.
MAN: But there are people who try to stop you. And try to keep you down.
JOSEPH: Why?
MAN: To keep themselves ahead I guess. I mean if everyone keeps on moving, someone's got to fall behind.
JOSEPH: How do they keep you down? What do they do to stop you?
MAN: Anything they can. Anyway they can. Anyhow.
JOSEPH: That's harsh.
MAN: It sucks.
JOSEPH: So what do you do? I mean how do you deal?
MAN: Well, kid there's only one person in control of what goes on and that's yourself. You gotta make it happen, whatever it is.
JOSEPH: (shaking his head in heavy disbelief) Man.
MAN: Hate to burst your bubble kid, but it is time to "feel" the real world. The world where people kill people and fuck each other just to get to the top. It's a jungle and no one gets out alive. You got to kick and claw and scratch to get what you want and never turn your back on anyone because once they see that vulnerable spot, they chomp at it like a pack of wolves.
JOSEPH: The hunter and the hunted.
MAN: That's right kid. You're learning.
JOSEPH: "Speak softly and carry a big stick."
MAN:Yep, biggest one you got. And don't be afraid to swing that thing. Do what you got to do. Give yourself some room if you know what I mean.
JOSEPH: I think I get your drift.
MAN: Good! And don't forget it.
JOSEPH: "Only the strong survive."
MAN: The strongest.
JOSEPH: One life to live.
MAN: One and only one. Then you meet your maker.
JOSEPH: Who's he? Who's your maker?
MAN: God, boy! And it's a pretty safe bet that He's your maker too.
JOSEPH: You sure?
MAN: Positive.
JOSEPH: I don't like to gamble.
MAN: Especially when the stakes are high. But you've got no choice.
JOSEPH: But I don't know about God.
MAN: Well, whether you know about Him or not boy, you can't argue with God.
JOSEPH: You can't?
MAN: No man.
JOSEPH: So you believe in God then?
MAN: Sorta.
JOSEPH: What do you mean sorta?
MAN: I have my doubts.
JOSEPH: So God only exists when you "feel" him to exist?
MAN: Uh, He's there when I need Him.
JOSEPH: So when you don't think about Him then He's not there.
MAN: That sounds about right.
JOSEPH: So if you don't think about me then I won't be here?
MAN: But if I stop thinking about you you'll still be here... (he points to the seat in his car) in my car.
JOSEPH: Try it.
MAN: What?
JOSEPH: Stop thinking.
MAN: (quizzical) Stop thinking?
JOSEPH: About me.

(The screen goes black. Joseph is standing on stage.
There is one bright light on him. His duffle bag is by
his feet. His thumb is sticking out. The stage is black)

EXIT

The End Of An Era

2008-10-13T17:41:00.003-04:00

So tomorrow I start a new job.

I always knew that I would one day return to work after the kids had grown, I just can't believe that time has come.

Along the way I made friends with some other at-home dads, pissed off a few moms, had a health care scare, started a band, got a vasectomy, catered my ass off, appeared on NPR and on the front page of the local daily.

I'm changed shit tons of diapers and potty trained two boys. I've had to confront the existence of the tooth fairy, resurrect Rudolph, defend Santa and generally try to keep keep my wits amongst utter chaos.

It's by far been the toughest yet most rewarding job I have ever had. And it's not like my job as dad and parent has gone out to pasture, it's just that the boys are older now and don't need me as they did when they were infants and toddler so I'm rollin' back to the 9-to-5.

I've got endless stories to share especially ones from the early years before I started blogging that I have been working on under the guise of "memoir" that I'll most likely share because as a literary agent once told me, "Men don't read parenting books."

Oh, but they read blogs...

Flashbacks!

2008-10-10T14:55:00.003-04:00

This time last year I was talking about speeding tickets and religion.

In 2006, I was giddy over scoring this charcoal grill for free.

And in 2005 I just couldn't get this song out of my head.

Big changes loom on the horizon... stay tuned.

Crossed Up And Kicked Out

2008-10-01T13:25:00.005-04:00

I rode my bike a lot with the kids in the neighborhood this summer.

It’s kinda weird because it made me feel like I was ten again.

Some of the kids were into trying do to some tricks with the plastic launch ramp we found at the dump awhile back. They all had one goal in mind: to jump off the launch ramp.

I felt obligated to chaperone these types of shindigs for two reason: because my 5-yr-old still hasn’t shed his training wheels and thinks its cool to do bar stands on the top of his frame and because two kids in the ‘hood don’t have helmets.

I was trying to give them some pointers on getting off the jump when the peanut gallery chimed in and demanded that I show them “since I know so much.”

One of the things I’ve tried to instill in my sons is that you need to master the basics of a sport before you can excel at it. Last summer I spent many days trying to teach my oldest how to ollie, fakie and kickturn on a skateboard.

So now I’m trying to apply the same basic elements to bmx: if you can do a wheelie, bunny hop and endo then you can safely say they’ll be able to handle anything above and beyond that.

Of course they wanted me to show them how to do a wheelie so I pedaled around in circles a few times, readied my footing, pointed my bike uphill and went at it. I knocked off one – a huge one – about 30 yards (passed two driveways) and as soon as my front wheel hit the ground, howls of joy and excitement erupted from the gang.

I then made a bet with them: that I would try and make it to the top of the hill by the end of the summer. I figured that way I’d have something to do while I was out there “supervising” the kids. But after a few days it became more like a circus act with other kids coming over and asking to see me “pull a wheelie.”

One day an elderly neighbor- while on his daily walk through the neighborhood -saw me in the midst of one of my many wheelie attempts up the hill.

“I’ve never seen any thing like that,” he said.
“Darndest thing I’ve ever seen… really” he paused then said, “Ya ought to charge for that”

When I came back down the hill the kids asked me what he said and I told them he told me I should charge for it.

“Yeah!” said one kid. “Like 50 cents!”
“No, no… two dollars!” said another kid.

All this talk about being the wheelie king of the ‘hood got me thinking about my own bike gang growing up and Rockville BMX .

I worked briefly at Rockville BMX. I would put spokes in rims and then hand them over to Tiger who would tighten and true them. There was a whole cast of characters at that place starting with the owner Jay and his sister (?) Root Girl and right on through to every nicknamed employee.

It was there that I met two of my best friends Scooby and Nubby. The guys I had met at the Alligator Pit jumps - Jeff, Andy and Joey – were regulars there as well. Rockville BMX wasn’t just a store, it was a place to hang out and Jay was the ringleader. He had a soda machine that had a mystery button on it: you could get a V8 or you could get a beer.

The place was also a stop on the bmx trick team circuit and every summer a team of riders would come out and do demos. The bible of bmx, Freestylin’ magazine, would run photos of these contest and suddenly The East Coast had reared its head as a viable spot for bmx, it didn’t just belong in SoCal anymore.

Even Pennsylvania got in on the act, with York being ground zero for the Plywood Hoods. Plywood Hood alum Mike Daily went on to be the editor of GO:The Rider’s Manual, which was the publication Freestylin’ had morphed into. “Martin’s BBQ Waffle Potato chips, Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets and peanut butter Kandy Kakes with Turkey Hill iced tea was all we ever needed,” said Daily in a recent e-mail.

Times were simpler then.

This summer, a coffee-table book retrospective was released. Freestylin’: Generation F chronicles those simpler times when bmx wasn’t an actions sport sponsored by the Dew. The book had a limited run but you can go here and peep it.

Eventually, part of my crew would be absorbed into this traveling circus. Scooby and Nubby would leave and return from tour with a bunch of swag, an assload of stickers and mighty tall tales from the road. “I use to take care of shit,” said Scooby during a phone conversation I recently had with him after I tracked him down in Colorado. “The East Coast invasion changed bmx,” said Scooby, again without explanation.

One kid, the runt of the bunch that was probably 60 pounds soaking wet, named Spoke left and soon migrated to California for greener BMX pastures. Somewhere along the way, Spoke became Spike.

Yeah, that Spike.

I’m not sure why Scooby and Nubby never made the move out west. I know both of them had very close-knit families and I guess that is what kept them coming back to Maryland.

Years later, after bmx faded, Scooby and I took up mountain biking often riding to work together to our job at Topel Blueprinting. And much like the days of Rockville BMX, Topel became the place to work. And again another colorful, motley crew came together called the Dickie Boys but that’s a whole ‘nother post right there…

Pictured: Brian Blyther, summer 1987, Rockville BMX

On Assignment

2008-09-30T14:02:00.003-04:00

I landed a job covering the Carolina Hurricanes for the local daily...

Okay, so I didn't but after today, where I spent the majority of the morning watching an open practice at the RBC center in Raleigh, I'm thinking that would be a cool job.

It was a surreal experience: I got to walk into the locker room with some other guys from the local media and ask several players a few questions about an upcoming article that I pitched to the local weekly. I've been a hockey fan since I was a kid, caught up in the hype of the 1980 Olympics team and the wonderkid Wayne Gretzky. So it was strange to find myself in the locker room of a professional hockey team.

Even stranger was how young they all looked.

And how tall Eric Staal was.

Pictured: Right winger, number 44, Patrick Eaves.

Tales From The Catering Tent

2008-09-29T16:55:00.003-04:00

It is the busy season for catering.

September is not only a popular time for people to get married (I work a lot of weddings) but it is also the time for the local universities to stroke their employees and for people to party in the name of Devils and Heels.

This weekend I worked a rehearsal dinner in the Pope Box at Kenan Stadium on the campus of UNC.

"This is a nice place for a party," said one guest as he approached the bar.
"Yeah, especially if you're a Tar Heel fan," I said.
He grimaced and said, "that's the thing, most of us here are Wake Forest fans."

Oh the irony.

Because you know how Wake fans can be.

I also worked two school functions recently. One was a party for new students at UNC's graduate program for pathology.

A lively bunch indeed.

Another was at the Hart House - the home for Duke's president - which was a reacharound, er, cocktail hour for tenured professors.

Then there was a series of wedding receptions, one where a drunken guy danced to the music with his toddler backpack'ed to himself. This same fellow, after his son fell asleep, took him off and laid him on a blanket under the magnolia tree behind my bar.

"Looks like yer also gonna be doing some babysitting," he said to me as he laid his kid down on the ground.

They almost left without him.

Some people shouldn't be allowed to have kids.

At another wedding, some guy showed up in a kilt and asked where he could park. My Egyptian co-worker confessed he had never seen anything like it. I told him he was probably going to play the bagpipes during the ceremony. Then the wedding party showed up and all the groomsmen wore kilts.

I told him I had never seen anything like it.

Just the other night, while moving some rental equipment (china, flatware), a few of us spotted this gigantic spider.

"Be careful," said one of my co-workers. "It could be a brown recluse". I told her I thought it was far too big to be a brown recluse. See came over to look at it as another girl took a picture of it with her phone.

"Yeah, brown recluses don't have all that fuzzy stuff on their backs," she said agreeing with me.

I moved the container that the spider had set up shop in over to some bushes and attempted to tip it so that the spider could go back to nature but the spider fell to the ground and when it hit the cement an explosion of tiny dots radiated out from the arachnoid.

"Oh my," said the girl with the phone.

"Guess she was a mama."

I immediately thought of Charlotte's Web.

Breakfast

2008-09-22T13:57:00.002-04:00

I always think of these great posts I want to write about food but then I forget to snap a picture or get caught up in the daily grind and never managed to make the meal I had planned. So here's a wrap up of what's recently been going into my mouth.

Last week the wife and I made the mistake of not filling up on breakfast before we headed out to the boys' first football games and we paid handsomely for it.

This week we were slightly more prepared: we made it to the stadium early enough that I was able to duck out and head down the street to Bagels On The Hill for some breakfast bagels.

It's hard to get real, fresh bagels in the area, not like the bagels my Jewish mother-in-law gets that's for sure.

But these bagels came close and my breakfast was cooked to order because this ain't a fast food chain folks.

This bugger was tasty although nothing at the moment can hold a flame to Blitz's Market morning eats down at the shore...

Lunch

2008-09-22T13:49:00.001-04:00

I have picked up many a good recipes over the years working for local catering companies and this is one of them.

It's a refreshing salad that's quick to make and features a cavalcade of flavors.

Basically, it's spinach, thinly sliced red onion, sliced pear, goat cheese, pine nuts and a raspberry poppyseed vinaigrette.

Yeah, yeah with salt and ground pepper because you should (kosher) salt and (ground) pepper everything.

And Dinner

2008-09-22T13:35:00.001-04:00

Made this last week for dinner because it is quick and easy.

It's the infamous chick can recipe and it's always an easy way to cook a bird.

This version was an olive oil, cilantro, lime and salt and pepper rub with the cavity stuffed with garlic, red onion, orange/red peppers, zuccinni and halved limes.

I then poured out half a can of beer and shoved it into the cavity and placed the chicken on a pie backing dish for the greasy cast off.

Cooked it at about 325 degrees for about two hours (or until the drumstick easily tears off) and then served it with rice.

Haikus

2008-09-17T09:07:00.003-04:00

I'm writing haikus over at Whit's place today.

Dream Song 14

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no
Inner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.

Random Musical Interlude

2008-09-16T12:15:00.001-04:00

Parent Pride

2008-09-16T10:38:00.006-04:00

Both my sons played their first games of football last weekend.

My 5-year-old played a game of flag football and it was as expected - like herding sheep. Kids ran in all directions and general confusion ensued for the first half of the game. By the second half most of the kids had started to grasp the "don't move until the ball is hiked" concept.

This game was followed by his older brother's, who just happens to be playing tackle football.

And he couldn't be more excited about the prospect of game days in full pads.

Much like the opening game, there was plenty of confusion at the start. They don't have enough players on their team to actually scrimmage each other. It appeared early on that the concept of facing opponents, some decidedly bigger than them, was daunting.

My son, who plays running back, got the ball a few times. He also made a few nice tackles. I was glad to see that he wasn't afraid to stick his nose in there and get dirty.

Then it happened: on a broken play up the middle, he scampered outside and made it to the sidelines, then turned and headed up field, a chase of about five players behind him.

He crossed midfield and the parents in the bleachers started to scream.

I'm sure my friends in California could have heard me yelling, "Run! Run! Run!"

One of the larger kids was on his tail and began to gain on him.

They crossed the 20 yard line and one of the opposing team's coaches yelled, "Dive!"

The team that was set to play next now had lined up on the sidelines and were cheering him on.

The kid dove...

And missed!

And a roar came up from the bleachers and the sidelines and pandemonium broke loose among his teammates as they ran to congratulate him in the end zone.

I don't think I've ever felt that kind of pure joy in my life.

My son had just scored his first touchdown in his first football game on a 60 yard, knuckle-biting broken play.

I wanted to cry.

Parents came up to me and asked me, "Is that your son?" with gleaming eyes.

"Yes, that's my boy," I said proudly pondering how they would view me next week if I just fell down and cried tears of joy.

Then he had to kick off.

And play safety on defense.

He got juked bad and the kid scored.

He came out for a rest and some water but while he was out their quarterback got the wind knocked out of him. So he went back in as quarterback. He later told me he was scared because their quarterback kept getting sacked. But after getting sacked twice himself because the textbook hand-offs he was attempting were left with confused running backs going in opposite directions, he just kept it on third down and bootlegged his way around the corner for a decent gain.

Then the first string kid came back in and he went back to running back.

They may have lost the game but boy howdy did seeing my son score a touchdown tickle my spine in a new and unfound way.

The Frog Who Wanted To Be A Singer

2008-09-09T10:02:00.011-04:00

Since my early days as a dad blogger, I have been singing the praises of local library book sales.

Well a few weekends ago, just as summer was coming to a close, my oldest son and I went to the Chapel Hill Public Library for one of their book sales. My youngest didn't want to come but he did request that we get him a book on "skateboarding, snowboarding or dinosaurs."

When we got there the stock was pretty much picked over and we weren't having much luck with our searches.

I did managed to get another Ross Macdonald book as well as replacing my copy of Ray because a few years back I passed on my precious, tattered and worn copy to one of my nimrod friends.

We didn't find any action sports or dinosaur books for my youngest but I knew we needed to come home with something. He's got a mild obsession with aliens but the alien books I saw would surely have crept him out more than entertain him.

I rummaged through a bunch of kids' books boxes and finally just grab bagged a book from the depths.

It was called The Frog Who Wanted To Be A Singer. It's a book about a frog who wants to be a singer but is told that frogs don't sing. Against every one's better judgement, the frog labor's on in the face of adversity and finally manages to pull off singing his song in front of an audience.

And it becomes a huge hit.

I have read my fair share of kids' books, most drive you bat shit insane with their quaint rhyme schemes and second-rate graphics, but this sucker fucking delivered!

It reminded me of the time I tried to tackle writing a story for kids. A friend of mine was part of this "write a book in a month" web site and convinced me I should sign up. Now I have enough unfinished writing that nags at me that it seemed like a silly thing to do.

And quite honestly, a waste of time.

But as a writer I'm always looking for a good way to exercise my chops without the frustration of having to rewrite a chapter or fine tune a character that has been in my head for years. So I signed up and said I would try and tackle a children's book.

As you can see from the excerpt below, I derailed from my original plan quite quickly...

Willie The Worm

“My name is Willie,” he said.

“Hello Willie!” said the crowd, some seated on fold-out chairs, others standing by the walls of the activity room of the local Unitarian Church.

“And I am a worm,” he said.

“Let’s welcome Willie with open arms and hearts,” said a whisker-scratching Harold, who was clearly the moderator here tonight.

“What if you don’t have arms?” chimed out that old crow Terence from the back.

“You know what I mean Terrance,” said Harold.
“Must you do that every meeting?”

Then Harold turned back to Willie.
“You may continue,” he said.

It all started when Willie began hanging out with the moles. They would go and dine on freshly-fertilized soil and then sit back and wait for their buzz kick in. The moles would tunnel endlessly and let the kaleidoscope of colors exploding in their heads guide their way.

At first it was fun for Willie. He’s slither behind his mole buddies riding their newly dug tunnels like a water slide at a theme park.

It was a blast.

The one day Marty didn’t show up for the party. They sent out a search party to find him. But the search party returned with bad news.

Marty had passed away.

“One too many trips to the DDT cabbage patch,” said a snarky Steve.

They memorialized him by doing what they do best: getting wasted.

A few weeks later, Willie had his own close call when he nearly drowned in a mud puddle because he was too far gone to get his butt out of it. So he stayed above ground for a few weeks, living under rocks and inside leaf piles until he could get his head straight. One thing he knew for sure: no more tripping with the moles.

It was his good friend Gary, a bulbous grub, who told him about the meetings at the church.

“But the church is a people place,” said Willie.

“Peoples can be cool,” said Gary who was cool like a jazz musician.

So Willie took his advice and now he found himself staring at a crowd of strange faces all wanting to hear his story.

“Wow, that was some story,” said Carrie the cow from the back of the room.
“Makes kicking my salt lick habit seem like a game of Chutes & Ladders.”

“Willie,” said Harold.
“Listen to me: When your friends start dying, it’s time to change your lifestyle,” he said.
“Do you hear me?”

“I do Harold,” said Willie.
“I guess that’s why I’m here… to, to, to get help,” he said with a hard swallow.

“Rehab! Rehab!” squawked Terence.

“I think you’re right on this one Terence,” said Harold as he took his back paw to his ear for a scratch.

“The boy needs to dry out and sober up,” he said.

The pastor – a tall, slender man with graying temples – rolled out a wheelbarrow. With shovel in hand he scooped up the poop left behind from the meeting and cleaned up the batch of compost he’d left as a snack for the rodents. He then genuflected at the front of the altar and made the sign of the cross. He said a short prayer in silence for God’s troubled creatures who had just left the building and then went out back and dumped the contents of the wheelbarrow into the church’s community garden.

Willie didn’t like rehab because he never slept. And when he did sleep he had the most horrific nightmares. His dreams were an amalgamation of memories and hallucinations.
One dream his had over and over again was the dad he watched his father die. It was a memory he could never shake and one night as he lay awake trying not to return to the horrid memory he can to the conclusion that he got loaded to erase the past.

So Willie surmised that if he could confront the one reoccurring bad dream, then it was be one giant step toward facing life sober. But then he drifted off back to sleep…

“Willie, c’mon!” he dad yelled. “Hurry up goddamn it,” he said angrily.
“You’re putting our lives on the line!”

Willie and his father we making a calculated risk trying to get from one side of the creek bed to the other in search of a food source and possibly a better home. Exposing themselves was a great risk and one his father ingrained into him over and over again.

“I know Dad, I know!” said Willie. And as he said this he went over the litany of dangers in his head. They were birds of every variety to fear: crows, owls, eagles, finches, woodpeckers… you name it. Not only that, but there was fowl and snakes and mice and all kinds of dangers out there. But one was the most dangerous of all: the fisherman. And it was at that moment, when Willie thought it, that the fisherman appeared behind a thicket of holly bushes. His boot barely missed squishing him. Just as he was catching his breath the fisherman’s dog came sniffing around, licked up Willie only to spit him back out on the ground.

“Hold up!” said the fisherman. “What do we have here?” he said.

Willie can’t remember much after that, or rather he tries not to but suffice it to say he had to watch his father be turned into bait.

Seeing you’re fathered skewered on a fisherman’s hook is not something you easily forget and suddenly Willie stirred from his dream and awoke.

He wanted to get wasted.

Backyard Skimboarding

2008-09-07T14:25:00.008-04:00

Peeking out at our flooded backyard with my kidz, we hatched an idea to do some backyard skimboarding.

The wife quickly put the kibosh on it with her talk of snakes, sticks and snapping turtles.

But it seemed like such a good idea.

I mean, when you can't be at the beach, you bring the beach to you right?

Rise & Shine

2008-09-07T13:47:00.010-04:00

Tropical Storm Hannah arrived in the late afternoon on Friday. The hype was in full force yet my 8-year-old still managed to have football practice in the rain. The brunt of the storm wasn't due to hit the area until the middle of the night, so practice was held in what could be referred to as a Seattle sprinkle. Kudos for the coaches who stood out there for two hours and taught the game to fledging Mosses, Mannings and Manns'.

I got several WTF? phone calls from my wife during my two hour stint sitting under an oak tree watching practice. But honestly, at no point did the weather seem life threatening. There was no thunder and no lightening... just a steady, fine mist of a rain.

It wasn't until much later that the ass whoopin' came and still it was mild in comparison to other storms I have encounter here in North Carolina.

We didn't get the word that my boys' football games would be cancelled until about 7:30am on Saturday.

Once we got the news, my wife and I laid in our bed with the window open and just listened to the rain; about every twenty minutes it would surge hard then cut back to a trickle.

Seeing an opening in unscheduled time (a rare site these days with school, football and work), I convinced the boys to make us a pot of coffee which they did and then brought us our cups in bed (how sweet is that?). Feeling the need to satiate my inner gourmand, I headed to the kitchen and whipped up some huevos rancheros for the wife and I while some Cornell Campbell wafted through the house.

Feeling Like One Of Those Army Commercials Today

2008-09-05T11:20:00.005-04:00

You know, the one from a few years back about how they do more by 6AM than most people do all day...

I got up at 7:30am and made sure the kids had breakfast. It wasn't a breakfast of champions as the cupboards were bare so they turned to Kix cereal with soy milk and a strawberry pop tart each. Then I corralled them into brushing their teeth and getting dressed while I made them lunch.

As I was making lunch, I threw in a load of laundry - I had it in the dryer by the time we left for school. Oh, and I changed the kitty litter because today is trash day so it just made sense.

I had a pang in my heart for my youngest; he's going through growing pains and is now realizing that school happens everyday all day and he's not happy about that. Plus it appears he has inherited the seasonal allergies that wreak havoc on his older brother and me so the little fella was a wee bit tired - from school and from a stuffy nose that kept him from a good night's sleep.

After I dropped the boys off I came home and took a shower because I stunk like an ashtray from the show my band played last night in Raleigh. I didn't get home until close to 1am because the city had all these streets closed off for today's celebration of the new convention center. With the street closings and all the construction that the city has seen, I got all turned around and lost my bearings. By the time I readied my ship and got to I40 to head home, I was greeted by the cops who had closed off the west bound ramp. So I got on the east bound ramp and figured I'd just go down one exit and turnaround. But as soon as I got on the interstate I was greeted by more orange cones than I could count and an assload of blinking lights.

Guess the city decided to re-stripe that part of the interstate and I have a hunch it was on account of the previously mentioned celebration because once I got past the city it was nothing but open road.

I also needed to go to the grocery store but to do that I had to manhandle my bass cabinet out of the wagon.

The grocery store was mobbed.

Of course because there's a hurricane headed our way and people like to clog the grocery stores in the name of preparation. I can't blame then, the hype is heavy on Hanna even though the poor bitch has been downgraded to a tropical storm. I have been on the receiving end of poor hurricane preparation and it wasn't pleasant and that was before I had kids.

And then I had the good fortune to have one of those baggers who likes to put like three items in a bag. I should have done it myself like I usually do but the bagger was already halfway into it by the time I finished unloading my cart. Suddenly I felt bad about how environmentally unfriendly my trip to the store had become... then again we do have a rain barrel and we still do use the bucket in the shower.

It's not even noon yet.

I'm not even halfway done with what I need to do today.

And I can't get this song out of my head...

ESL, Ike And The Like

2008-09-03T09:40:00.004-04:00

Hurricane season is shaping up to one real mother what with Gustav just landing and Hanna, Ike and Josephine lined up like a string of pearls off the coast.

North Carolina has a long history with hurricanes and since I moved to the Tar Hell state in '95, we've had 8 notable ones that have made landfall, ones with names like Fran, Bertha, Bonnie and Floyd.

I'm about 160 miles from Wilmington which isn't that far by weather standards but I had to find that out the hard way. When Fran came through in the summer of '96, some friends and I decided we would stay up and watch the doppler radar on the Weather Channel.

The rains came heavy but soon it got late and we all retired to bed.

"Hurricanes are nothing," I thought.

I had lived through the Northridge earthquake just a couple of years earlier - I felt I knew what total destruction was and what it could look like.

At some point in the middle of the night I woke up to what I thought was someone knocking at my door.

Nobody was knocking at my door.

No, but my little mill house was getting pelted with trees branches and other debris.

The next day we woke up to one of the most gorgeous days ever only to be greeted by power outages and fallen trees. Suddenly you realize how dependent you are on electricity: for money, for food, for communication.

Fran left her mark alright, plowing through beaches towns and straight up I40 through Raleigh and on to Durham, Chapel Hill and Carrboro. Some people I knew didn't have power for weeks.

Weeks.

Crazy shit.

And that's why sometimes things can get tricky when you try to explain these things to kids. You don't want to scare them so that every time they hear the word "hurricane" in passing they'll start to freak out. Yet at the same time you want to instill in them the importance of being informed and prepared.

And to respect the power of Mother Nature.

That said, I'll take a hurricane over an earthquake any day... at least you can see it coming.

Life Ain't Nuthin' But A Funny Funny Riddle

2008-08-28T22:38:00.008-04:00

I stumbled upon an old high school classmate because I was stumblin' around and, as is the case around here, found a great bit of joy in blogging just for the sake of blogging.

Cheers to the new revolution, er, resolution.

Learn your skill sets folks, because soon you will need them.

Insert random punk rock YouTube clip here:

Have Mercy

2008-08-27T23:38:00.004-04:00

I had to wait for the bus again today.

In the pouring rain.

Fay came... although a few days ago they said she wouldn't.

And she was about as exciting as a Larry Brown novel.

My sons came off the bus and started to run for the cover of my umbrella.

"Where's your raincoats?" I hollered to them as they were in mid-stride.

"Cole left his at school," said my 8-year-old third grader with a flash drive.

"And he left his lunch box too," he said.

"Wh-wh-what?" I gasped.

"Go easy on him dad," he said,
"It was his FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!"

And how was his first day of school?

"Great," said Cole.

School Daze

2008-08-27T10:19:00.004-04:00

School started this week and with it came a whole lot of drama.

The school has swelled past its student limit in recent years and now the campus is littered with trailers which, as it turns out, still isn't enough so they have decided to do some construction.

However, due to the construction of the new wing, the school has changed the procedure for drop-off and pick-ups: you can no longer park your car and walk your kid into school or park your car and pick your kid up from school.

Anybody who has ever spent any time in long car lines knows that having the option to park and avoid the shenanigans is key.

I really only need to endure it in the mornings as both kids will be taking the bus home (although the first two days the bus was 45 minutes late. WTF?).

When you go to your kids' school's open house, they give you a list of things your kid will need to bring in for the following year. Usually this involves things like rulers, wipes, notebooks and your basic scholastic swag. But this year my 3rd grader needs to bring in a flash drive.

I shit you not.

A sign of the times indeed.

School starting is a mixed blessing; I'm excited my youngest is going to school but it seems like only yesterday he was being born. It's hard to make the transition even though I have been looking forward to it for so long. Not only is my youngest officially out of the nest, but it also signifies that my job as a stay-at-home-dad is drawing to a close. Not that I couldn't find a job - like freelance writing - where I work from home, but rather the day in/day out sheep herding of infants and toddlers has come and gone.

I'm happy and sad at the same time.

I guess that's why I had that dream where all my teeth fall out the other night.

School starting also means summer is over. I had an insane summer last year with a bachelor party in Hollywood, hernia surgery,tick bites and a CD release show.

There was going to be no way that this summer could trump that...

But it did.

It wasn't all bad.

There was the beach trip to the Jersey Shore to see family and I lost my lake virginity.

But now it is fall, the boys have started football (flag for the youngest, tackle for his older brother) and the future most certainly must be brighter than the recent past.