ViperSnake

Today Clara asked if, when you become a big kid and go to pre-school, you could choose your own name and have your old one just be your baby name.

"What name would you choose for yourself, Clara" I asked?

"Umm, Elizabeth? Or Olivia?" she replied.

Dash chimes in, "I would pick ViperSnake!"

Man Talk

Upon asking a small child three times to repeat himself it is simply your job as the adult to figure it out. Zephyrous was over for a playdate with Dash and had emerged from happy occupation in the playroom to seek me out and ask me a question. Zeph is an abstract/utilitarian boy born of delightfully abstract/utilitarian parents (his father, Calico, currently sports purple hair, both parents are in the 'artistically employed' sub-group, and their home is a wonderful playground of creative semi-squalor that makes me want to go crazy with a ball of twine and a glue-gun and model a Tessaract on the spot), overall the kind of people who are a delight to me and sure to figure strongly in Dash's future friend choices.

So I figure I'm having a Moment of Importance as my eyes glaze and I feverishly review the string of syllables Zeph has thrice repeated, desperately decoding for english phenomes. Zeph, with his blonde hair, big eyes and highwater jeans with the knees completely ripped out revealing some equally tattered red jammy pants underneath, simply stares at me in my mute bafflement, sure that I am simply being an abstract parent who does not always respond directly to clear inputs. I know from observation that Zeph's speech often requires de-coding, not just to understand the words, but to unearth the meaning and intent behind it. I fear that if I find him completely incomprehensible in this moment it will be a significant step on the path of his deciding that 'other people' are just no fun to talk to because they 'just don't get me.' I see a lifetime of unexpressed thoughts stretching out before him.

Unfortunately, I am still at a complete loss as to what on earth he may have just said, so I fall back on the in-utterably lame but statistically probable guesses of "Are you hungry? Do you need to go to the bathroom?" I have a fraction of a second to note that my responses, while obviously completely wrong, are so far off from his train of thought that he has barely understood me in return and his face has therefore not fallen into that sad depressive state of self-acknowledged outsidership I feared, before Dash saves the day by clearly shouting from the other room, "He wants you to open the Treasure Chest!"

This brings a happy conclusion to the event as it gives birth to a manly display of hand-strength and 'technology' usage on my part to open the plastic Treasure Chest and give access to the desired pirate crew within. I emerge as a useful Dad, and the playdate continues on without psychological damage. As men we have both failed and triumphed as communicators and can only be glad that there were no women around to make fun of us.

Why Sons are the Best: Part I

1. Five year olds are just the right height to play Yoda to my Dooku in Rocky Horror Picture Show-esque simultaneous movie-viewing/live re-enactments of epic lightsaber duels.

2. They see a pile of unstacked firewood and are inspired to build a robot, complete with instruction booklet, out of wood scaps.

3. The educational opportunities of watching Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher" video together.

4. The other morning when the three of us (Clara, Dash and I) were having a quiet breakfast together when all of the sudden, out of nowhere, Dash says, "It's weird . . . It's weird . . . It's weird . . . It's weird . . . It's weird . . ."

"Dash!" I interject, "Finish the sentence!"

"It's weird," he concludes "that in Star Wars they don't go potty."

5. On the beach in Tahoe I was putting sunscreen on him when I noticed he had put his swimsuit on over his boxer briefs. I kind of laughed at him to myself and loved him for being an absent-minded rational and then stripped him down right there on the beach so we could keep his underpants dry. Later, as I waded in to go swimming myself, I noticed that my own swimsuit felt funny. Sure enough, a quick inspection revealed that I too had slipped my swim trunks on over my boxer briefs. I considered dropping trou right there on the beach too, as a punishment for my own hubris in mocking Dash (even in my mind) but was too cowardly and instead discreetly handled it in the bathroom.

Uncleman

(sung to the tune of Ironman)

I am Uncleman!
I will make you children run and scream if I can.

Take you for a day,
we won't do a thing but play, play, play.

Won't make such a fuss
If you slip and start to cuss.

Still a kid like you,
I'll think it's funny if you say poo.

Planning for nothing,
flies by the seat of his pants.
Never be worried,
your nothing but safe in his hands.

Check that chamber, my boy,
An AK-47 is no man's toy.

Careful how you cut that fuse,
half a stick of dynamite can be bad news.

Yes, I know Kung Fu,
Give me half an hour and you will too!

I am Uncleman!
Hell yes, let's go to Uzbekistan!

Never called boring,
ready to break any rule.
Forget Auntiewoman,
shopping at malls isn't cool.

Ride that wave, my girl
All the boys are jealous you can rip that curl.

Beat them at their own game,
Who the heck cares for their immortal shame?

Can you ride that Bull?
Only Auntiewoman would say no.

Climb up and hold on tight,
Uncleman'll catch you if you take flight.

I am Uncleman!
Don't even think that I have a plan!

Go ahead, try to fly to Mars.
Glory never dies and Chicks dig scars!

I am Uncleman!
Hell yes let's go to Uzbekistan.

Hell yes let's go to Uz-bek-i-stan!

Bob Log Rocked my Face Off!!

"This next song is about how goddamn good I sound." - Bob Log III

I had about the funnest New Years ever in Tucson tonight. Once again my ability to pick random shows out of a newspaper pays off and I saw the best show of the trip tonight, in fact, the best show I've seen this year! It was at a cool bar called 'Plush' in Tucson and had three great bands: "The Holy Rolling Empire", "Mostly Bears", and "Bob Log III".
I didn't realize it before going, but I've heard Mostly Bears on KEXP before which always makes me happy. They were a pretty trippy band, covered in glow in the dark finger paint with black lights on the mic stands. Good sound, good look.

Bob Log III, however, completely stole the show. If you can't tell from the top photo, he is a one man band: plays guitar, bass drum, and cymbals all by himself. He was dressed in a solid gold body suit ("In case you haven't noticed, I am dressed as a golden award - which will be given to the girl who dances her ass off most to this next song."), and a golden motorcycle helmet with the fogged up mask down over his face the whole time. Oh, and he has cut a hole in the face plate and stuck the mouthpiece of an old telephone handset in the hole to use as his microphone. Hmmmmm, and he had balloons in the shape of champagne bottles attached to his guitar. (If you've got a second, check out www.boblog111.com, the 'Clap your Tits' video is particularly memorable . . . hmmm, but the 'Boob Scotch' video is just shameful and now I regret mentioning it, better to leave well enough alone.)

Bob Log may be weird, as you have probably assumed already, but the man rocks like no other. He was so high energy, and so much fun, he must be seen at all costs if the opportunity arrives. He also had the best intro's to his songs:

"I just want you all to know that this next song is for no goddamn reason."

"The name of this next song is 'My shit is perfect.'"

"This next song is about how goddamn good I sound."

"The only thing better than playing the crap out of this guitar and kicking shit, (his drum and cymbal) is playing the crap out this guitar and kicking shit while two beautiful ladies sit on my lap."
This tactic actually worked!! Note the girl on the right is wearing a "Save the Tatas" shirt. I secretly nominated her to be one of Aimees friends for both her fashion choice and willingness to hop up on stage and get a knee ride.
The girl on the right is the generous soul who grabbed me and kissed me at midnight. She then got up on stage, tried to give Bob a lapdance, and then made out with this other girl. I secretly nominated her to be one of Claire's friends. :)

All in all, it was an excellent night. I am clearly a bizarre social outcast. You don't have to understand it, but I had a shit-ton of fun completely surrounded by strangers! I guess I just like the adventure of it.