February 11, 2008
In my local paper, I spotted an ad for an ADHD study conducted by a local research consortium. And just what, exactly, might indicate ADHD in your 6-12 year old?
- Has difficulty paying attention at home or in school.
- I say, who doesn’t? I had teachers who could make sex ed boring.
- Can’t sit still and is easily distracted, can’t play quietly.
- I say, kids who play quietly belong in horror films.
- Does not seem to listen, loses things, interrupts others.
- I say, this describes most women, not children (just kidding, ladies).
- Has trouble taking turns, cannot stay seated, fidgety.
- I say, this sounds like the complaining of a Dickens villain.
I would be worried if my children didn’t show such symptoms, which are nothing more than symptoms of childhood. Indeed, if your child showed the exact opposite of the above “symptoms,” they’d call your child in for an autism study. You can’t win.
I quote no less an expert than George Carlin: “You wanna help your kids? Leave them the f*ck alone!!!“
June 18, 2006
- I was in the checkout lane at the grocery store earlier today, and the young lady behind the counter wished me a “Happy Father’s Day.” Reflexively, I said, “You, too!” Then I had to explain that I didn’t mean to imply that she was somebody’s father.
- I was in another checkout lane today, and when the checker was done scanning my items, she pointed to the items belonging to the lady behind me and asked if we were together. I said no, then turned to the lady and said “we must make a convincing couple.” She gasped, laughed, harrumphed, hiccuped, wheezed and said “I’m much too old for you.” Boy, that was much more fun than I had anticipated.
- Speaking of music: I heard “Wild, Wild West” on the radio today, and took note of the lyric “heading for the 90s, living in the wild, wild west.” Crickey, remember when we were “heading for the 90s”? The End of the Innocence.
- I heard Jewel’s “You Were Meant for Me” in the grocery store, and she must have re-recorded the song. She sounded like she was drunk, stoned and crying at the same time. It was very, very bad.
- I’ve decided that “Won’t Get Fooled Again” is the most perfect rock song ever. The evidence: Rebellious lyrics (“the hypnotized never lie”), thundering bass line, the primal scream, meaty guitar riffs, Keith Moon drum solo. I rest my case.
- A lesbian artist in Ontario is serving up breast milk cocktails. No, really. She will interview all donors to decide the right type of glass to use to highlight the uniqueness of each woman’s milk. Make mine a pina colada.
- I saw a plump girl in the store today wearing a (too small) shirt that read “Husky Cheerleader.” Honey, I’d change mascots if I were you.
- Well, here I am. A dad. Only creatures as proud and tough as us could survive repeated (accidental) blows to the testicles. Here’s to the dads.
Well, I’m off to watch a Disney movie with my family. Life is good. Have a great weekend.
May 31, 2006
In the mid-90’s, two friends and I were on our way home from a Dwight Yoakam concert in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. We crested a hill, and drove head-on into a Black Angus bull loitering in the middle of the highway. My seat belt held me tight, or I would have flown deep into the night. We made it to the side of the road. None of us had ever been in an accident where air bags were deployed, so we mistook the floating powder for smoke and piled out of the car. As we stood on the highway, gathering our wits, we noticed that the bull we’d struck at 65 mph had gotten up and walked off, no doubt with a terrible sideache.
I tell you that little anecdote to assure you that I am a dyed-in-the-wool believer in seatbelt use. However, I do not agree with mandatory seatbelt laws. Seatbelt usage is a personal choice, and the decision not to use one is (or should be) a personal choice. You risk only your own life if you choose not to buckle up. I’m tired of these busybodies who think they need to force laws that require the police to save me from myself. I’m sick to hell of reading accident reports that make a point of noting that the dead at an accident scene weren’t buckled up, as if they deserved to die.
I say, if we’re going to turn the state into everyone’s mommy and daddy, let’s go the whole route. In addition to seatbelt check points, how about cholesterol check points? I want these overweight seat belt advocates to have their cholesterol checked by police. After all, someone with heart disease careening across six lanes of traffic during a heart attack is a far greater threat to public health than one individual being thrown from his vehicle. Wouldn’t you agree? How about home inspections to make sure we aren’t consuming too much alcohol? How about regulating tobacco use? How about mandatory exercise times, supervised by the police? Don’t think there aren’t people who would advocate all of the above. Some people love to tell others how to live.
What prompted this little rant was a news item I read before the holiday weekend. In Omaha, women and children are being abducted, murdered and fished out of the river with alarming frequency lately, so imagine my rage at learning that the Omaha Police were devoting five police officers and a police sergeant . . . to seatbelt enforcement.
Glad we got our fuckin’ priorities straight.
April 17, 2006
As you can see by looking around you, Spring has sprung, and one of my favorite parts of Spring’s return is that it’s time for the ladies to break out the tank-tops, shorts and sandals. Unfortunately, it also means that tank-tops, shorts and sandals are back for the men.
About the sandals, fellas. Unless you’re going to the beach or working in your yard (and I say “you” because I take care of my feet), you have no business wearing sandals. Women’s feet are lovely, polished and pampered. Most men’s feet look like they stomp shit barefoot for a living. Trust me, Bruno, no one wants to see your cracked, gnarled, dirt-encrusted, fungus-ridden dogs at anytime. If you want to improve, I can assure you that there is no law—state for federal—that forbids you from touching your feet with a bar of soap.
Please keep ’em covered. Please.
March 29, 2006
Saw that on a bumpersticker.
- I watched that “Funniest Home Videos” show Sunday. If I see one more video of a dog (or something else) terrifying a little kid who runs around screaming while the dad laughs and videotapes it, I’m gonna fucking kill someone. That shit ain’t funny.
- In my Film Studies class, and I noticed that nearly everyone, during down time before class, is on a cell phone, laptop, iPod, you name it. There I am with a book of poetry, feeling like an old fart.
- Saw a kid wearing a red (how apt) ski cap with Che Guevara on it. Putting aside the fact that Che was a mass murderer, he also hated capitalism. I thought about asking the kid if he thought Che would approve of having his image marketed on hats, T-shirts and thongs. It reminded me of the time I saw a death penalty protester on TV wearing a Che shirt. Brother, that’s irony.
- My writing teacher told me that the new (or forthcoming) Chuck Palahniuk book is about men who dress in drag, go to clubs and sing Carol Channing songs, and charge the patrons $10 a pop to punch them in the face; they keep doing it until they can’t take any more punches. Supposedly, it’s based on real people. If that didn’t make you laugh your ass off, you need to get the hell out of here.