Mall Toddler Play Area:Enemy of the Paranoid Father

I have been reluctant to take Grace to the toddler play area at the mall, however, I have recently been outvoted by, well, everyone else who has a vote including the G herself. I was hoping she would, upon being plopped at the entrance, give me a look that said, "Seriously? What is this garbage? Let's get the hell out of here Daddy." Instead, she did what any normal kid would (and should) do-promptly forgot about me and went running.

Why have I been reluctant? Because in this play area there are things she can CRASH into. Things she can FALL off of. Things she can get STUCK in.

Then the germophobe takes the wheel of my brain sending it careening into such negative thoughts like 'I wonder how many kids have already touched that lever today?' or 'How often do you suppose they sanitize this equipment?'. Of course, there's always at least one kid who's hacking more than Val Kilmer in Tombstone. Wonder what ailment he's launching in little spittle bombers waiting to drop their atomic disease all over everyone else?

Also, Grace, as many young learners do, loves to observe and follow the bigger kids. I think it is awesome that she is not intimidated by them and most of the bigger kids have no problem with Grace tagging along. Yet there are often a few that dangerously run and jump with little regard for anyone else. Not coincidentally, these are often the kids with the parents who can't seem to pull their eyes away from their book or texting. I don't want to see these kids accidentally play Scott Stevens making my Grace an unwitting Eric Lindros . But it is fun watching Grace follow the bigger kids, though she is about a half step behind them. By the time she enters the tunnel they are out the other end. By the time she arrives at a piece of equipment they are off to the next. Still, she trudges on, happy to be part of the group. Today, I got a little emotional watching her play, knowing that our baby is long gone; she's now a tiny person ready to engage this world head-on.

While it is true that I exaggerate (sort of) my anxiety levels for laughs, it brought me joy to watch Grace run, climb and play carefree, completely unburdened by fear or worry. It is my great wish for her that this will always be true.

Goin' Back In Time.

If you had tickets for two round trip rides in a time machine, where would you go? For the sake of the experiment, exclude visiting friends or relatives who have passed because I think that would be an obvious choice for most of us. My first stop would be sometime during the Second Continental Congress when breaking free from England was debated and chosen as a course of action. My second choice may be a bit silly and frivolous because I would be blowing an opportunity to see a time/culture vastly different than ours. However, I would love to have attended the Miracle on Ice at Lake Placid in 1980. Where would your time passport be stamped?

Gaffigan Was Right.

Perhaps I was bleary-eyed because I was shopping late at night. Perhaps the Wal-mart freezer door was fogged with condensation. Whatever the case, I recently misread the label on my Lean Pockets box. It doesn't say "Surprisingly Delicious", but in fact reads "Satisfyingly Delicious" which is far less accurate than the former. Despite the fact that I eat Lean Pockets regularly, there really is little delicious about meat type-product blended with cheese-type product stuffed into bread-type product. And the only thing that Lean Pockets satisfy is the FDA's apparently low requirements to be called "food" and be sold in your grocer's freezers.

For a funny take on Hot Pockets check out Jim Gaffigan's stand-up bit about them.

If You Click It More Than Once, You're Playing With It.

I don't make it a habit to know what others are doing in public restrooms; I'm a silently stare at the wall above the urinal kind of guy. Rarer still would be me commenting on what others do in a public restroom, but yesterday I heard something that brought questions to mind. While at the urinal, I heard the distinct click-clacks and beeps of the gentleman in the stall beside me firing off some text messages. I assume he was texting. I suppose he could be some sort of cyborg with a robot appendage that clicked and beeped as he pleasured himself (which, given the volume of unwrapped magazines we find in the bookstore bathroom, appears to be an all too frequent occurrence.) For my sanity's sake I will assume he was merely texting.

So, the question is- Do you multi-task by making and taking calls and/or text messages while in the john? Because if I am forced to use a public restroom for a sit-down, and believe me that occurs only in the most dire circumstance, I can assure you that I'm not lingering to send out some LOLs. The germophobe and technophobe in me can't think of anything that couldn't wait until I was finished. Does this make me an old fuddy-duddy? Has "instant" messaging become so pervasive that there is no sanctuary from communication? Or have I simply missed the boat and not realized he was texting on the newest social networking platform Shitter Twitter?

Paging Dr. Kevorkian

I'm not generally in favor of euthanasia, however, I think it is time the Super Bowl Halftime Spectacular be put out of its misery. Like most things surrounding the game, the halftime show has grown bloated and meaningless. Don't get me wrong, I like The Who, but last night's CSI theme song medley was boring and hardly surprising or spectacular. Maybe some Woodstock-era broads enjoyed getting a peek at Pete Townsend's old man paunch every time his shirt flipped up; I can assure you I did not. Like the last five or six performances, last night's was unnecessary, yet hardly the nadir of halftime spectaculars.

Though many would probably point to the Janet Jackson NipSlip as the low point, I think it was actually three years prior. The 2001 "Kings of Rock and Pop" disaster featuring Aerosmith, NSync, Britney Spears, Mary J Blige, Nelly and others was the blunt force trauma that rendered our patient a vegetable. Overdone, overstuffed and poorly lip-synched, this garbage made me want to pluck out my eyeballs and use them as earplugs. Since then there have been a few hand squeezes (U2 after 9/11, Paul McCartney) giving false hope that our halftime show might recover. Mostly, however, we've been subjected to great but safe (old) performers giving lackluster (tired) performances beefed up by too many fireworks and too little freshness. I say unless the Elvis, Michael Jackson, Tupac Reunion Tour is debuting next February at Cowboys Stadium, it is time to pull the plug and let the Super Bowl Halftime Spectacular exhale its last breath.

Don't Judge a Book By It's Cover-or How I Inadvertently Taught My 15-month-old Daughter Where Bacon Comes From

After spending months helping maintain the kid's book department, I should have known better. Maybe, just maybe, it would be best to pre-read the entire book myself before unleashing it on my fifteen-month-old daughter. Sometimes kids books have messages that, while not necessarily objectionable, just aren't lessons I want to teach my girl. Or sometimes the problem is more obvious, like the book about a worm that, unfortunately, looks like a giant penis leaping from every page.

While combing the clearance section (yes, part of the problem is that I'm a cheapskate), I came across Animals on the Farm. Cute animals on the cover, Grace loves animals, let's plunk down two bucks and hit the road. The book went on the shelf at home and wasn't thought of again until Grace picked it out for me to read to her.

I really love story time with Grace, so I'm really getting into it as we comb each page, reading about and looking at pictures of the different topics- "The Animals in Our Lives", "Noisy Birds in the Barnyard", "The Other Birds on the Farm", "Visiting the Rabbits", and "The Peaceful Cow". Then she flips to this page:

Now, I'm no prude and I'm certainly no red-paint-throwing vegan PETA member. In fact, I'm quite delighted to reside at the top of the food chain. However, I'm not ready to explain to Grace that the pork chop she had for dinner last night was, according to the handy diagram above, sliced off the top of a cute little piggy. Especially not with Piglet and her piggy bank staring me down from the dresser top. Obviously, Grace can't yet read and I omitted the crucial info, but I suppose it does beg the more serious question of when to have these types of conversations with your young children. Perhaps I'll tackle that question another time; right now I'm more worried about this how this little misstep is affecting my Father of the Year chances.

"Hump" Day

With the expansion of cable "news" and the explosion of reality TV, it comes as no surprise that there are more humps than ever on TV today. You know, humps, one level worse than a clown, but not quite as bad as the overused term douchebag. You could sub in any number of words- asshat, dick, putz- but I like hump because it sounds like chump only a bit dirtier. Besides douchebag should be reserved for the truly obvious shitheads few people care for like Kanye, Limbaugh, The Situation, Dr. Phil, the cast of CBS's NFL Today and anyone who as ever been annointed a villian on Survivor. See, douchebags are those you would like, if ever granted the opportunity, to punch in the face. Humps are generally those celebs or pseudo-celebs that you wish would simply disappear. However, if their show is strong enough in other aspects, it's sometimes possible for humps to be tolerable despite their humpiness. That's why I've broken my list into two categories-Humps I Wish Would Go Away and Humps I Can Live With. Please feel free to dispute or add to the list as you see fit.

Humps I Wish Would Go Away:

Jay Leno, Talk Show Host/Backstabber- Leno's new show may have been at a new time and in a new studio, but it had the same bright colors and shiny lights designed to distract viewers from noting the same unfunny delivery that sucked at 11:30. Submarining Conan was just the icing on this hump cake.

Al Roker, Weatherman - Mostly humpy with an 80% chance of unfunny.

Chris Berman, ESPN Blowhard - Wish we could go back, back, back, back to a time before he relied solely on his catchphrases and tired schtick.

George Lopez, Comedian?- Como se dice "awful disaster of a late night show"? Makes Magic Johnson look like a talk show savant.

Glenn Beck, The Thomas Paine of Today (serious eye roll) - This Teabagger deserves some credit-he's Pied Pipered his listeners and viewers into purchasing everything he publishes likely making him a wealthy man in the process.

Humps I Can Live With:

Guy Fieri, Food Network Host - From his style (spiky highlights, wristbands, sunglasses on the back of his neck) to his catchphrases (You're the Mayor of Flavortown, off the hook) to the way he pronounces his name (FIERI!) it's a wonder he's not on the other half of the list. But as long as he keeps showing me places I can order bacon-wrapped meatloaf we're gonna be just fine.

Joe Scarborough, MSNBC Host - He's not real polished and enjoys talking over guests and co-hosts alike. He also has what may be the most balanced, intellectually honest cable news program on the air.

Chris Hardwick, Nerdist/TV Host - He's smarmy, sarcastic and funny as hell.

Mike & Mike in the Morning - One is a neurotic, hypochondriac geek. The other is a fat dope. It's like looking in a double mirror every morning. Also like me, neither Mike is nearly as funny as he thinks he is. They do, however, have great sports guests and solid analysis. Beats Sportscenter anyday.

Richard Dawson, Hump I Can Live With Emeritus - Creepy kissing bandit and overtanned symbol of 70's sexist cheese. Survey says: greatest game show host/panelist ever.

Movie Review Haiku: G.I. Joe

Had to see how bad,
Knowing is half the battle,
Won't waste time again.

Genies, Fistfuls of Applesauce and 'O' Captain, My Captain

Diaper Genie I need only one wish granted- Please start working again. Do you have an expiration date I was unaware of? Should I have purchased the extended warranty? Has 15 months of subduing funk finally brought you to your knees? My little Stinkerbell can fill a diaper with a load strong enough to stop a freight train, but usually the Diaper Genie contains it with no problem. Not anymore. The other day, not long after changing Grace, I returned to her bedroom only to be nearly flattened by the stink. I immediately searched the room for the gangrenous, rotten-broccoli-eating ferret that someone had obviously unleashed in our house. My search turned up neither a rotting ferret, nor a year old, sulphur dipped hunk of Gouda so I turned my extra large sniffer towards the next obvious suspect. Mr. Genie you have served us well, however, I feel it is time for an honorable discharge. So, I'm off to rub another lamp, but before I go here are a few other random notes from Grace Land and beyond:

-Most folks use utensils to eat their applesauce. Not my G. Though she's perfectly capable of using a spoon (ok perfectly may be a stretch, but her manual dexterity is pretty good) for other soft foods, applesauce gets the finger treatment. Never mind that from the moment she scoops the applesauce up it is a race to get her fist to her mouth before all the sauce squeezes from between her knuckles.

-I'm finding Grace really is a fan of slapstick comedy. I often let her "knock me down" or bowl me over with the slightest of taps. She loves my exaggerated reaction and runs over to whack me again. Tonight, Amanda accidentally squirted Grace in the face with water from one of her bath toys. Grace laughed heartily and continued to do so every time we squirted her chest, arms and face again. Maybe I'll get her a seltzer bottle for her birthday. Honestly, I think she might howl with laughter if we smacked her in the face with a pie.

- I was happy to see that the Washington Capitals named Alex Ovechkin captain. Ovie is the heart and engine of that team; giving the C to any other player would have seemed disingenuous.

Finally, though I hate all things Redskin, I feel bad for Jim Zorn. He may have been a disaster as head coach, but he was far classier than those around him. Zorn kept his head up and mouth shut while wee little Napoleon Snyder tried to humiliate him out of town. Congrats, Jim. It may not have ended the way you like, but at least you get to walk away with your dignity and several million severance dollars.