Read My Words. I Am Important. What I Say Matters Most. My Points Are More Valid Than Your Points. I Am More Intelligent Than You.

All apologies for not blogging more regularly - as I said last time, life's just not all that exciting right now. In the next month or so I'll have a new kid, rugby starts up again, and...who knows, maybe the "band" that a coworker and I are starting will have experienced a meteoric rise to fame of unparalleled heights and ensuing plummet back to earth - via drug addiction, inner-band conflict, and a sleazy agent named Morty. Thanks for the kind words and kudos post promotion to the two of you that piped up - yes, it can be stressful to have people depending on my "skills," such as they may be. Most of the time, however, everyday is the same and I'm actually sitting around hoping something will break or get screwed up just to add a little flavor to the proceedings. Still, always nice to get a leg up, have some coworker recognition, etc. Although, the title I asked for was "Galactic Overlord" and not, in fact "Manager, FACS Facilities." Oh well.

Here are the much sought after (by parents and grandparents, anyway - mom, be sure to show grandma all the pictures of her bouncing great grandchildren) pictures, complete with my continuing frustration at Blogger's formatting retardation. Guess I should spellcheck now, so at least half of the crap I right doesn't look like it was puked onto the keyboard by an illiterate six year old.

I am 100%, full-on, dead-on, unequivocally sure that I will pick the wrong pictures of very preggo wife to slap up here, but my ma was curious as to how big the baby belly's gotten, so here you are. Notice elf in the corner - he wants you to.

Here's something creepy - We Flickred these pictures, and I got an e-mail from some guy telling me my wife looked lovely (I already knew that) and that he wanted to be internet buddies or whatever. Out of curiosity (the whole internet buddy thing has never really sat well with me) I clicked on his Flickr profile to see who the hell he was. My reward? Naked pictures of his nasty old wife. It's a good thing I've got squirt bottles full of bleach in the lab, because my eyes definitely needed cleaning and sanitizing, right down to the optic nerve, after that. Now please, don't hunt me down and skin me alive so you can wear my face as a mask while you do your little pooky dance, internet guy.


Something tells me that this picture is less about Ethan being a good, piggy-back-ride giving older brother than it is about Connor being a rambunctious, beat-the-hell-out-of-my-older-sibling little brother.


I am told that this picture looks a lot like me at a young age.


Obligatory fat dad, young son, shot.


For some reason, little Master C likes to lay back in the tub with his face completely surrounded by bubbles...


...Then, when I approach with camera in hand, I'm forced to take a picture of his foot - really, the word foot was said about 20 times before I reluctantly snapped a picture.


Finally, for future gift-giving opportunities (everyone always asks what to get the kid/s) GeoTracks is the word - even just the packs that have pieces of rail or road in them so we can have a less maddening time making a complete closed circuit for the train to travel around on. Also, these things have far fewer small parts than most other toys, which is a major bonus since the living room has become the play/lets-booby-trap-with-toys-so-dad-can-have-a-puncture-wound-in-his-foot room.

Now, go read about one of the best ideas ever, have a nice day, and thank you, come again.

I Got Nothing

Yer damn right it's been a month since I've posted. I'm in the middle of the late February, early March doldrums, which in a bad year can actually last longer than those two months combined, depending on the weather. The days start to get longer, but the weather - no matter what part of the country you live in, really - hasn't gotten to a point where you can get out and do much. Okay, I could do more if I owned cross country skis or snow shoes, or had a penchant for ice fishing - instead I have nothing to do but stay indoors and pout. The long and short of it is that since I haven't been up to much, I haven't had much to blog about.

I have seen a few movies - Why doesn't anyone like "Idiocracy" - it had some solid laughs? Also, "The Illusionest" is good - it's trite, and has a "surprise" ending you'll see from a mile off, but how they get there is kind of a "fun" ride. And if you like horror/comedy movies, then go rent "Slither," you won't be dissapointed.

So here's some answers to your pleasantly inoffensive questions.

• Who would win in a fight between Han Solo and Indiana Jones? (And no, they are not the same person.)

Han Solo. Did you really need to ask? Hello! Frickin' laser beams!

• Why are farts funny? And for that matter, how come seeing a shot to the pills causes laughter instead of a sense of remorse?

Farts in and of themselves are not funny. It is knowing what the witnesses to the fart are sure to endure that is funny. The only time a fart is funny on its own is when it's either used to cap off a statement (best if it's a small squeaker in this case) or, if the person doing it has absolutely no control - like the old creepy guy I tried to buy a chainsaw off of a year or so ago that honest to god broke wind about every three seconds and, unlike the rest of us, there would be no pause in his speaking when he would do so. It was a true TL moment. Seeing someone take a shot to the junk is one of those weird metaphysical things where it's not really funny in the slightest - barring unusual circumstances - but knowing it's not yourself getting racked down there will always elicit a laugh.

• Meat. It's not just a meal, it's a spiritual experience.

Check. What did you want me to say about this, exactly? The only thing that makes meat better is knowing that you somehow contributed to it's awesomeness - either by killing it or preparing it in ways other than just exposing it to heat. Guess that might be why I like cavemen so much.

• The mystical power of the moustache. Case Study: Chuck Norris.

You don't get to comment on the awesomeness of moustaches, you've never worn one. The only excuse is if you can't actually grow one - then you can appreciate the glory form afar. And you have my prayers.

• - the only time he's ever gotten his ass kicked was when he was clean shaven. And he was fighting Bruce Lee, which I mean, c'mon. (Game of Death)

Yeah, but after he grew out more facial hair, he created "Walker: Texas Ranger," so there's that...

• You have been fooled by breakfast cereal lobbyists. Or; Why do most breakfast cereal's need to be combined with juice, toast, eggs, and bacon to be considered a part of a "nutritious breakfast". Can't they stand on their own merit?

Breakfast cereals DON'T need your help. And frankly, they don't even need you. I envision a future where all food - barring meat - comes in cereal food. And the cereal has it's own intelligence, and is self producing. And sometimes eats people. In milk.

• Isn't the fact that Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, etc. are all friends akin to having a Starbucks across the street from a Starbucks? I mean isn't one enough?

I'm pretty sure that the NIH has something to do with that - something about keeping all the Herpes, Chlamydia, Syphilis, Crabs, Bedsores, Gingivitis, HPV, Gonorrhea, Diarrhea, Bottle Flu, Nose Bleeds, Goiters, Gout, and rare tropical STD's all contained in one black Lincoln Navigator/Hyde nightclub (Oh God, someone shoot me for knowing the name of that place!) for the good of mankind.