My mom called this morning to inform me that the boy was exposed to some form of a coughing disease a few weekends ago at her house (my young nephew being the little monkey from Outbreak in this scenario). I told my mom that this weekend the boy was exposed to the drunken stupidity of my sixteenth annual fantasy football draft, his dad repeatedly calling the Rockies a "bunch of dirty ball sacks" for getting swept in San Francisco and the assorted programming of the History Channel including Gangland and one very disappointing show about prison tattoos that mostly focused on the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas. She said I should get him get him "checked out" just to be safe.

Labels: disease, drinking, family, pop culture, sg crew, sports, tattoos, the boy

Fatherhood has yet to provide me with any kind of spiritual awakening. After speaking to the other expectant fathers in my various babying classes, I was expecting angels to descend from heaven and play a harp rendition of "MMMBop" while I recognized the kinship of all living things when my son was born. Instead, I was relieved that the boy arrived with no serious health/birth defects and his mother did not go all 19th Century on me and bleed to death during childbirth and leave me and the boy to resent our stations in life and grow bitter over the years while tending to the family farm. It is cool to have an entire life dependent on you. It is also scary as hell. I think the true measure of whether or not I was a successful parent will come when it is time for me to go into a nursing home. If I did well? The boy will come visit me with his family on a semi-regular basis and take me out for a steak on occasion while tolerating my rants at the waitress for being too slow with the side order of gravy. If I did not do well? I will suffer in a multi-level town house in Thornton and eat Alpo out of the can and call my son "a fucking pussy" when he makes his annual call to wish me a happy birthday. Right now the boy is much like a zombie army; singularly focused on food, growing at an exponential rate and adverse to any kind of a rest. I am debating the Boggins Window Crib to make nap time more interesting. Not sure if that will get me the steak dinner or the Alpo. Only time will tell.

Labels: bad parents, family, l-i-v-i-n, music, pop culture, the boy, tomfoolery, wife

• I love my son but I do not love him this much.
• Shipwreck map of Sable Island (a.k.a. the Graveyard of the Atlantic). The island is also famous for its ponies. Good to know.
  
• No matter what former Playboy centerfolds with huge fake cans tell me, I am vaccinating the boy. Much like Roald Dahl, I still take the Measles seriously.
  

Labels: babies, disease, family, history, link goodness, pop culture, random, science, stupidity

My response to the well-compiled Tomato Nation 25 and Over list:

1. Remember to write thank-you notes. The written word is a lost art and most youngsters under age 25 think texting 'THX PLAYA' does the trick. Taking the time to send off a stamped, hand-written note (especially after a job interview) shows that you are considerate and not a serial killer.
2. Do not invite yourself to stay with friends when you travel anymore. Being as I have a deep aversion to inconvenience (both for myself and those around me), this has never been a problem for me. I would much rather crash at a hotel even if family/friends are close by.
3. Do not expect friends to help you move anymore. I only expect my friends to help me move things if they stayed at my house due to a bout of excessive drinking the night before. Asking someone to help you move a roll-top desk with a crippling hangover should not be an issue if said someone yacked in your sink twelve hours earlier.
4. Develop a physical awareness of your surroundings. I pride myself on assessing my surroundings and acting accordingly. Alcohol often kills this one for me.
   
5. Be on time. I generally show up on time to most events. If I am late to anything longer than thirty minutes, I will blame my infant child who cannot speak.
6. Have enough money. Nothing pisses me off more than somebody who never brings money out in card or cash from. You did not leave your wallet at home. You are just a cheap bastard.
   
7. Know how to calculate the tip. It is not difficult to multiply the bill by two to get the 20% tip equivalent. If you do not have the mental capacity to calculate a tip without the aid of a calculator or cell phone, eating out is probably the least of your worries.
8. Do not share the crazy dream you had last night with anyone but your mental wellness professional. Depends on what the dream is about and what your intentions are by sharing said dream. A sex dream with the intention of getting yourself laid? Absolutely. Murdering all you co-workers with a machine gun during a casual Friday with the intention of getting a raise? Probably not.
   
9. Learn to walk in heels. Only applies to me if I patronize an East German sex club.
10. Have at least one good dress-up outfit. Before the wife cleaned me up, taught me how to dress and expanded my wardrobe, I owned only one suit at the behest of my mother. It was my all-purpose suit that saw many weddings, funerals and job interviews. I could sometimes tell the last time I wore it by reaching in the inner-coat pocket and finding an old event program.
11. Do as invitations ask you. I am usually not formally invited to anything and if I am the wife handles all the RSVP-ing and gifting. It is better this way.
    
12. Know how. Sadly I think most people 25 and under grew up with every convenience afforded to them and would perish in the wilderness after being given a knife and a water source. Problem solving is lost on a generation that did not have to solve any problems because their parents were afraid if they failed it would crush there delicate sensibilities. I like to think I know enough about enough to be dangerous.
    
13. Don't use your friends. This should be on an age 5 and over list. You should never use your friends unless they have an awesome surround-sound system.
    
14. Have something to talk about besides college or your job. As the many people in my life can attest, I have plenty to talk about besides college and my job.
15. Give and receive favors graciously. As my Dad said while scolding me after an excessive sports celebration in my youth, "Act like you have been there before."
16. Drinking until you throw up is no longer properly a point of pride. It depends on how good the scotch is.
17. Have a real trash receptacle, real Kleenex, and, if you smoke, a real ashtray. Toilet paper serves multiple purposes (in my opinion); nose blowing and ass-wiping. If you smoke? You will be dead before me. That and you should properly dispose of your butts. My yard is not that place.
    
18. Universal quiet hours do in fact apply to you. Working from home I keep weird hours and I keep the volume down during the quiet hours without even realizing it.
19. Take care of yourself. Workout a few times. Take a shower every other day. Do not eat Taco Bell three times a week. Repeat.
20. Rudeness is not a signifier of your importance. It is when you are from California.
    

Labels: career, dad, drinking, family, gluttony, sex, stupidity, wife

The first few weeks of parenthood have been rife with happiness, urine, poop and sleep in three hour clips. The boy is still getting the day/night schedule figured out so I am getting used to working at four in the morning while he squirms about and makes cute little noises. The wife has it far worse as she is the food source and usually the one waking up at all hours to nurse. Women really get the shitty end of the deal in nature. Menstruation? Check. Squeezing a living human out of your vagina? Check. On call for the first year (or first six years if you are a perverted fruitcake) to suckle said living human? Check. Then here I am, Sperms McGee. Just the male actor in a straight porn movie. The prop. "Stand over there with your penis and do not say anything stupid. We will call you when we are ready."

Labels: babies, family, l-i-v-i-n, porn, the boy, vajayjay

The wife has successfully gone number three and brought into this world our first offspring (click here for some hot Flickr action). She was in labor for 33 hours and produced our eight pound, twenty-inch boy on April 7, 2009 just after 8:13 PM. I saw many things I can never un-see during the birth of my son. All parts of the female anatomy are now completely demystified for me. While I can still objectify naked woman, I now understand that nature intended for boobs to be suckled by infants and that a vagina was meant for a baby to be pushed out of, not for me to press/push/thrust my penis on/in/around. The boy is experiencing a touch of the Jaundice and is currently laying in a portable baby tanning bed, but other than that, we are all happy, healthy and exhausted.

Labels: babies, boobs, family, l-i-v-i-n, pregnancy, the boy, vajayjay, wife

• Elena Basescu, daughter of Romanian president Traian Basescu, looks like an Eastern-bloc Wynne Cooper, is running for European Parliament and likes to mount fallen horses to pose for pictures.
• The saddest and happiest headstone I have ever seen.
  
• The Sears Tower is getting renamed the Willis Tower. Nice work, Sears. I can just hear my dead grandfather Broz renouncing his brand loyalty to all Craftsmen products on the other side.

Labels: chicks, family, history, link goodness, politics, pop culture, tomfoolery

The majority of my ancestors settled in Denver in the early 20th Century. My mother's Italian relatives took refuge in the various brownstones of North Denver and my great-grandfather, an illiterate fruit peddler, was one of the founding members of Potenza Hall (an Italian lodge that is still standing today amidst a landscape of Rite Aids and Taco Bells). My father's Slavic ancestors settled in the Globeville area; a hard neighborhood know for its rail yards, smelting and meat packing industries. My dad grew up in this community in a small house amongst Slavic kin who liked to drink, cuss, smoke and hate anyone who was not Slavic (my great uncle is still getting his "Gran Torino" on in a Globeville neighborhood that is now predominately Hispanic). The Western Slavonic Lodge was founded around the same time my great-grandmother arrived in Denver from what is now modern-day Russia. I think these lodges are indicative of the mindset of immigrants at the time. It was a place to gather with fellow countrymen, drink, offer support and learn about the idea known as "America." Being "American" was important to all of my ancestors that settled in Denver. My great-grandfather, for example, when asked by his children to teach them Italian would reply, "We are in America, and in America you speak English." I often ponder what happened to this mindset; where people identified themselves as American first and their ethnic background second. Perhaps it withered away as class systems divided. Or maybe it disappeared with our manufacturing base when we decided culturally that it was better to consume goods rather than produce them. Perhaps it vanished when people accepted that being friendly was merely waving hello to your nameless neighbor at Starbucks. It could be all these things, or it could just be that a fucking McDonalds became more important to us than a community center.

Labels: america, colorado, denver, family, history, nostalgia

This past weekend the wife and I celebrated our final Valentine's Day sans children. Next year, we will be up to our elbows in shitty diapers, crying babies and "dress-up" clothes covered in baby vomit (or so I am told). We were told by many to savor our final Valentine's Day out which we semi-scoffed at because we have never really been "Valentine's Day people." I am of the opinion that greeting card companies have inflated Valentine's Day's importance and think overpriced flowers, chocolates and/or stuffed trinkets sent to a lover are fleeting (if not ridiculous). I tend to buy the wife flowers on a semi-frequent basis and remind her I love her everyday and she, in turn, keeps me happy by accepting whatever career path I may be on that particular week and consistently makes me cookies, banana bread and blueberry muffins. So when Valentine's Day rolls around, we tend to do what we did this past Saturday; grab a steak early in the afternoon with the blue-hairs and catch a matinee at the local movie theater. Nothing says "I love you" like Clint Eastwood slinging some racism ala the late Grandpa Broz.

Labels: babies, family, movies, pop culture, valentines day, wife

Americans all have their own traditions for the Thanksgiving holiday. The wife and I are usually run in the Turkey Trot pre-gluttony, but in lieu of her being with child, we are skipping this year and instead I am skating in an early morning ice hockey game at Denver University. We will then partake in two Thanksgiving meals; one at my parent's house in the afternoon and one at the wife's parents house in the evening. Sarah Palin, on the other hand, will have a quiet holiday at home, cooking a turkey for her husband and her children named after English towns. This will occur, of course, after some guy slaughters a turkey during her interview with a local television network. We are all different, yet we are all the same.

Labels: america, denver, family, health, hockey, politics, thanksgiving, wife

My sister has been working as a county social worker for the past decade. Yesterday she was at the jail administering a training class for fellow county employees. While walking through the intake area, a young woman called out to her from the holding cell. The young woman asked my sister her name, where she went to high school and if I was her brother. After answering yes to all the young woman's queries, she blurts out, "Oh my god! I used to date your brother! Tell him I said hello!" Hello back at you, crazy drugged-up bitch I used to date in high school. Be sure to tell your Mom that she still owes me gas money for driving you to softball practice during the summer of 1994.

Labels: a-town, colorado, crime, drugs, family

As a youngster I would go for dinner at my grandparents house at least once a week. My Italian grandmother was an amazing cook and made some of the most glorious feasts (her lentil soup and pot roast can never be duplicated). After dinner we would retire to the family room to watch some Golden Girls. I recall my grandmother laughing hysterically at Sophia on a regular basis. Maybe it was because they had similar personalities. Or that they were both Italian. Or they were both five feet tall, one hundred pounds and intimidating as hell. Whatever it was, Estelle Getty will always hold a special place in my heart for being able to continually crack my grandmother's iron resolve.

Labels: death, family, nostalgia, pop culture

Friday. The wife and I attend a homemade rib bonanza at Team Muff's house where we drain shitty Mexican beer and play a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit 90s Edition. Proof that we have all turned into our parents: we began questioning the "correctness" of card answers and commenting on how staying up until 11:30 seemed "late."

Saturday. The wife and I attend a barbecue at DJs which we learn upon walking into his house is actually his birthday party. The wife gets angry at me for not knowing it was his birthday (even though it was on the Evite) and I explain to her that knowing when your guy friends birthday is is totally gay, and if I bought a gift for him we would have to move in together and begin re-decorating his house in the finest tapestries and velvets. I down a homemade chili beer that I regret four hours later, eat some swine and watch some UFC fighting. The wife and I decided to duck out early to get some sleep. When we arrive back at home, Team Hofkamp stops over with a twelve pack of shitty Mexican beer and cigarettes. We hang out in our backyard for an hour until my neighbor invites us over the fence to share in his raging backyard chimenea fire and more shitty Mexican beers and cigarettes. Four hours and eight beers later, we go to bed.

Sunday. The wife and I walk over to the movie multiplex to catch the new Indiana Jones joint. On the way, we stop to view the recently dedicated (but unfinished) Armed Forces Tribute Garden. We grab a burger and some Lumpy Dogs at the Rock Bottom Brewery before watching yet another abortion written by George Lucas. Why do you hate me George Lucas? Aliens and UFOs? Shia LaBeouf as some sort of 1950s hood with a Pompadour and switchblade swinging on vines with monkeys? Next thing you know, you will be telling me that the force is some kind of blood disorder. Oh. Right.

Monday. The wife, myself and 52,000 other people run the Bolder Boulder under the cover of cool mist and fog. My back (almost fully healed from the bulged disc) feels great and I finish in just over an hour. We retire to the homestead for a much needed shower and nap. Later we attend two more Memorial Day barbecues that feel like autumn barbecues due to the inclement weather. I play ping pong. I play foosball. I play 3-square with a beer in my hand. I go to sleep wishing I celebrated three day weekends more often.

Labels: chili dog, dj, drinking, family, food, gluttony, health, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, movies, pop culture, the greens, weekend that was, wife

Highlights from the Eugene/Coastal Oregon family vacation (click here for some hot Flickr action):

• Number of relatives houses we crashed at that had wireless internet but not cable television: 1.
• A movie that is not fun for the entire family: I Am Legend.
• A movie that is not good in any way, shape or form: The Man From Earth.
• Times the phrase "I slept like the baby Jesus" was uttered: 4.
• How many trips were made to Autzen Stadium to procure gifts: 4.
• How many trips made to Autzen Stadium were to take back items bought by hasty husbands who purchased items with no thought of sizes/people in mind: 2.
• Times the assumed identity "Grayson Buttdorf" was used to sign into the Oregon Coastal Parks and Recreation gray whale watching sheet: 1.
• How many variations of the assumed identity "Grayson Buttdorf" were mulled over numerous Alaskan Ales and one annoyed 18 year-old misquoted cousin: 5.
• Beer, in ounces, that was consumed on the front deck of a the Heceta Head Lighthouse bed and breakfast in one evening: 184.
• A roaring ocean, a good buzz, a comfortable bed and a warm room gave me the best night of sleep in recent memory.
• A short, slanted ceiling, high-backed bathtub and hand-held shower head gave me the most uncomfortable bathing experience in recent memory.
• How many gravely-voiced suspected serial killers ate with us during our "seven-course breakfast": 1.
• Lastly, props to my brother-in-law drove who our rented mini-van like Al Cowlings across Northwest Oregon in order to get us to our flight at PDX with minutes to spare.

Labels: bro-in-law, family, movies, travels, wife

My Dad is a difficult man to buy presents for. When prodding him for gift ideas he usually mumbles, "I could use some golf balls" and than quickly changes the subject. Last year my Mom suggested we get him some new basketball gear for Christmas as Dad still rocks the Larry Bird Scrotum Fliers on the court. He kept the Dri-Fit shirts we bought and took back the baggy shorts. I am happy to report he is now tucking his Dri-Fit shirts into his High Thighs. I fired off on email to Mom this morning asking her what the old man could use and she replied with this gem:

The Greatest Hits of Air Supply and a small AM/FM radio for his office.

My Dad is a cyborg from the future sent back through time with only one mission: to keep the 1980s alive.

Labels: dad, family, xmas

Yesterday the wife and I took in a Father's Day barbecue and a 100-degree scorcher at my sister's house out on the plains. I stayed inside with the air conditioning most of the day and had a glorious nap as the final round of the US Open played out before me. The male contingent of the barbecue were emotionally invested in the tournament, getting excited at good shots, sizing up the leader board and making the standard comments that professional golf fans make ("He can hit a (insert club here) that far?" or "They all make it look so effortless.") Although I play golf a handful of times each year, I have no desire to watch it played professionally nor do I care if a nobody from Argentina wins the thing. I did discover that professional golf woos me to sleep as if I were an infant wrapped tightly to her warm, bare bosom. Sit me in your rocking chair and sing me a lullaby, professional golf. Your sweet baby boy has a stomach full of bratwurst and needs the sleepy.

Labels: family, sleep, sports, wife

The wife and I spent the weekend gallivanting around Boise, Idaho and visiting with family. Some highlights:

• Taking your intermediate level skiing wife down a run called Widowmaker first thing in the morning does not help her psychologically for the rest of the day. It just scares the bejesus out of her.
• My wife's grandfather, aged 97, to me regarding the Boise State Fiesta Bowl victory: "It was the best thing to ever happen to this town."
• A hotel room sink packed with ice can hold a twelve pack of Alaskan Amber nicely.
• My wife's grandfather, aged 97, to the jabbering ladies on stage during Robbie Burns Night: "Get on with it!"
• Haggis and Scottish shortbread cookies make for a fine meal.
• If the United Nations would only listen to heavily intoxicated, foul-mouthed artists and German citizens working towards Ph.D.'s in brain cancer research than this world would be a much better place.
• I was recognized as "That guy from the parade" twice in the same night. Once next to the urinal in the men's bathroom at the Bittercreek Alehouse and once outside the Bittercreek Alehouse by a throng of intoxicated college girls.

Labels: boise, drinking, family, idaho, l-i-v-i-n, sports, travels, wife

My immediate family is now 28% unemployed. My sister was laid off from her job yesterday as nothing says Happy Holidays like a pink slip and a lackluster severance package. While my career is artistic triviality at best, hers is choked full of sexual deviants, pedophiles, predators and substance abusers. No, she is not a politician, she is (was) a caseworker for Colorado Social Services. I am hopeful she will land on her feet in a job with better pay and something easier on her psyche. As for my employment situation: 88 resumes sent, 7 interviews and a lone job offer from the place creative people go to die.

Labels: family, l-i-v-i-n, unemployment

Five years ago I was merging onto the Boulder turnpike on my way into work when a news report came over the radio that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. The previous day, I was a pallbearer at my grandfather's funeral. By the time I walked into the office, both towers were toppled, the Pentagon was hit and "heroes" had taken over a flight bound for the White House and crashed it into rural Pennsylvania (another likely scenario is the plane was shot down by F-16s with cruise missiles and the hero story was disseminated to various media outlets to cover the Air Force's collective asses). My employer sent us all home shortly thereafter, as the tragedy became too overwhelming for anyone to focus on work. My parents called to check on my mental well-being and maybe just to hear a familiar voice. I spent the rest of the day as I imagine most other Americans did; dumbfounded, sad, angry, confused, emotionally drained and awash in bourbon. The months that followed the tragedy were a sickening whirlwind of paranoia, conspiracy and jingoism. The dust settled from the towers and the Bush Administration subverted democracy (or the illusion of democracy) for American's "safety." Left wing patriotic zealots clashed with right wing patriotic zealots and the brief moment of "togetherness" Americans felt was dashed away. Hatred and intolerance for Muslims boiled over. A military campaign to capture Osama Bin Laden was sent into Afghanistan and as of yet has not been successful. A war in Iraq was started under false pretenses. Those opposed to government policy were labeled "un-patriotic." Americans remain dependent on oil and the hard-line theocratic regimes that export oil. American soldiers are dying for an administration that does not seem care about them. What have Americans learned from the September 11 attacks? Difficult times reveal a leader's character or expose their character flaws? A selfish culture focused on money, possession and triviality is understandably not accepted and even hated by some? The September 11 attacks were a horrific tragedy, and no matter how many memorials we construct, how many we kill in the name of retribution and how many laws are passed "ensuring" our safety, it seems evident to me that we have not learned a goddamn thing.

Labels: 9/11, america, colorado, family, history, politics, war

The California Supreme Court has rejected Tookie Willams, co-founder of the Crips, appeal for a stay of execution. The killing is set to take place tomorrow unless granted clemency Governor Schwarzenegger (insert bad "You're fired" True Lies line here). Tookie maintains his innocence from the murder charges to this day. He also had a thing for the close contact shotgun action:

According to the forensic pathologist, Yen-I Yang suffered two shotgun wounds. One shotgun wound was to his left arm and abdomen. This wound shredded Yen-I's left arm, fractured his ribs, and shattered his spleen, right kidney, bowel and large vessels. The other shotgun wound was to the lower left chest. This wound also fractured ribs and shattered the spleen, right kidney, bowel and large vessels. Moreover, a plastic shotgun shot container and associated wadding were recovered from the base of Yen-I's liver. The pathologist further explained that both of the Yen-I Yang's wounds were inflicted when the end of the muzzle was only feet from Yen-I's body. Yee-Chen Lin was shot once in the upper left face area at a distance of a few feet. She was transported from the scene by paramedics to Centinela Hospital where she died at 7:36 am.

On a lighter note: Congratulations to my sister (and her husband) who successfully delivered a bouncing baby boy early Saturday morning. Tale of the tape: Caleb John; 7 pounds 13 ounces and 20 inches long. I cannot wait to give that kid scotch whiskey, dirty magazines and smokes for his sixth birthday. Maybe even a shotgun.

Labels: crime, death, family, murder, pop culture

Today marks the 63rd anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. My great uncle Al was in the harbor during the attack and survived. Most of his shipmates and friends died that day. He went on to serve on another battleship (the name of which escapes me but he eloquently called it "A goddamn tin can"), fought at Guadalcanal and witnessed the famous/bogus flag raising at Iwo Jima. Uncle Al never gave me lectures on freedom nor filled my head with idealistic notions of patriotism. The only advice he ever offered me was to appreciate every day and maintain a good sense of humor. Sound advice from a man with a half-naked hula girl tattooed on his forearm.

Labels: family, history, war

My Thanksgiving holiday was pleasant, fattening and free of stabbings. My lady and I ran the Turkey Trot in the morning and then spent the rest of the day being gluttonous hogs. Big comedy was delivered via the grandmothers as we kept vigil over the basted fowl:

Grandma #1: (describing her recent cataract surgery) It was like a psychedelic nightmare.
Grandma #2: I do not like anybody who takes drugs when they do not need them.

Labels: family, gluttony, health, l-i-v-i-n, thanksgiving, wife

I lived next door to some shady neighbors growing up. My parents are clean and meticulous people, so the house to the west of us was an eyesore, the proverbial yin to our yang. The neighbors were a poster family for dysfunction; drug abuse, domestic violence, unsupervised children, cross-dressing (yes, you read that correctly) and lacking in diligence for basic lawn care, car detailing and home improvement (crimes which in my father's mind should be punishable by death). Sometimes the dysfunction spilled over into our driveway, as the unsupervised neighbor kids would hang out with us while we washed our cars or played basketball. We did not mind much; they were nice kids and could not help that their father was inside shooting smack and wearing their mother's nightgowns. Still, you knew it was just a matter of time before the girl became a sexually promiscuous drug addict and the boy started hanging out with juvenile delinquents and stealing car stereos. My neighbors were a sad but necessary lesson to learn about life; no matter how safe you think you are, you are always close to danger.

Be careful working for Dick Cheney, Inc, cousin Mark. Kuwait City might be safe, but do not trust the neighborhood. Once I get your address a crate of contraband smut and whiskey will be imminent.

Labels: a-town, family

My 29th year on earth began with a five-pound weight gain and the arrests of Carol Seaver, John Conner and Kevin McCallister. Saturday night, my lady's parents treated me to a steak dinner during which I consumed a slab of beef bigger than my head. Last night my mom had me over for ravioli and a peanut butter ice cream cake that was richer than an oil sheikh.

Labels: birthday, family, gluttony, wife

My lady and I spent most our Fourth of July holiday in Steamboat Springs. It was the first time I had seen Steamboat Springs in the summer time and sober (the last time I was there it was 14 degrees, I was blasted out of my skull and cruising down Howelsen Hill on a crude sledding device at obscene speeds). We also engaged in water park revelries with family members, ate some barbecue and threw some 'shoes. It was a relaxing way to celebrate the signing of the Declaration Independence. Added bonus: watching some skinny Asian freak inhale four times his body weight in hot dogs.

Labels: drinking, family, l-i-v-i-n, nels, wife

This ukulele rendition of the Super Mario Brothers theme song just made pine for some old school NES action. In junior high I bought a used Nintendo from my friend with the money I saved from my summer job at the swimming pool. It was a great investment. Many Super Mario Brothers battles ensued with my sister(s) that followed this basic formula:

Turn on the NES game console and select a two-player game. Sister(s) achieves first player status due to birth rite (this procedure was established years previous with Pac-Man on the Atari). Sister(s) starts turn, runs full speed into the first enemy on the board and dies. I assume control, proceed to play my turn for the next two hours whereby sister(s) has lost interest and found something else to do allowing me to play sister(s) when I finally die.

It was a glorious time.

Labels: family, geekery, music, pop culture

One of the greatest summers of my young life was when Mom bought us a Slip 'N Slide. My sisters and I were happier than a naked priest at a Boy Scout jamboree. For those of you unfamiliar with the amazing goodness that is the Wham-O Slip N' Slide, here is a brief explanation: A giant yellow plastic sheet is placed on the ground. A hose is turned on plastic sheet to lubricate the surface. A slider takes a running start (preferably from three blocks away). Slider dives head first down slide. Sliders ride is over as they reach the end of the slide and get raspberries on their stomach from skidding across the grass at ridiculous speeds. Slider giggles like a middle school girl at a slumber party and repeats the process.

My childhood Slip N' Slide experience ended when my sisters and I attempted to rig it to the top of the fence, climb to the top and slide down (Needless to say, the Slip N' Slide ruptured under our weight but produced one hell of a ride). I am kicking myself for never Slip N' Sliding with Wesson oil.

Labels: childhood, family, tomfoolery

Weddings are usually a source of happiness as two people commit and celebrate their love in a timeless ceremony amongst family and friends. They are also a great place to get rip-roaring drunk and fuck some shit up. While I never bit a man's finger off or smeared cake on a child, I do recall (vaguely) one wedding I attended six years back:

• The ceremony is in North Denver and I ride shotgun to it with my cousin, Monica. Both of our mothers asked us to show up early and help set up chairs. We arrive 20 minutes late because we had to stop for cigarettes.
  
• Monica and I sit in the back of the church during the ceremony. We make crass comments about a family member's hairpiece that gives him the appearance of a young Ringo Starr. Joking in a British accent I say things like, "Hey Paul, it's time to get married." Monica giggles like a dirty schoolgirl.
  
• The ceremony ends and Monica and I realize the reception is at the Boettcher Mansion (near Golden, Colorado) nearly an hour away. We stop off at a local liquor where nobody speaks English before we begin the trek.
• In the car we consume alcohol as quickly as possible. We smoke many cigarettes.
• We arrive at the reception hall drunk. I sign the guestbook "Matt." I have neither a gift nor a card for the couple. Nels and my sisters have saved us seats at a table. We proceed to the bar.
• The greatest combination of words in the English language: open bar.
• After dinner, our table is trashed and loud. Family and friends shush us. Nels and I decide to get a round of anisette shots for the table for the toast. We drink all the shots on the way back to the table and wind up going back for more.
• The anisette shots are downed at the table before the toast even begins. Then we remember they bring around champagne for the toast. Instead of waiting for the caterers to pour us the bubbly, Monica acquires a bottle for our table and after taking the first pull proclaims, "No more for me. I have to drive home."
• The garter belt ceremony begins. Nels, my sister's date Mike and I stand in the pit of bachelors. The garter is flung and gets caught in the chandelier. Nels and I decide to hoist Mike up to the chandelier to grab the garter. Our sense of balance is skewed thanks to the alcohol we have consumed and Mike nearly falls on his face as we lift him. Mike braces himself against the chandelier, grabs the garter and jumps down. The chandelier swings wildly for about five minutes. My grandmother looks scared.
• I see a hot girl and ask my Mom if I am related to her. She says no. I ask hot girl to dance. At this point I have spilled liquor all over the front of my shirt and smell like a brewery but she says yes anyway. As we dance I sing the song being played loudly in her ear. When the dance is over she informs me she is leaving and gives me her phone number. As she walks away I blurt out, "You look hot, and I am not just saying because I am drunk." (Days after the wedding I forget the number is in my pants pocket and it gets ruined in the wash).
• Reception ends late. Nels and I talk the bartender in giving us some beers for the road. We smuggle them out in our dress pant pockets.
• Monica ends up chauffeuring most of our drunken table home. We get stopped at a sobriety checkpoint. Luckily, Monica is now sober and passes with flying colors. I sit in the backseat staring blankly at her walking a straight line with an open beer in my hand and the remnants of a twelve pack at my feet. Much later I realize that if I were asked out of the backseat we would have all spent the night in county lock-up.

Labels: colorado, denver, drinking, family, mons, nels, tomfoolery, wedding

For the Easter holiday my family convened at my aunt and uncles to dine on some cooked pig, play board games where the end result is global domination and hear my dad tell my brother-in-law to bite his ball sack at the dinner table. Speaking of pigs, my coworker is giving me a few pounds of fresh Polish sausage that her parents are sending her from Chicago. Her and her husband do not dig on the swine so they are giving it to me. I may boil that shit up and slap it on a bun with some sauerkraut and mustard. I may cut it up and throw it in with my scrambled eggs. I may even attempt to flatten it out into strips and fry it. Mmmmmm. Bacon Polish sausage.

Labels: bacon, bro-in-law, dad, data slaughterhouse, easter, family

Last night I purchased my new oven-range combo. My mom and dad floated me the cash for an "early" Xmas present and I blew it all at Sears. I would have rather spent the Xmas cash on lap dances and whiskey but I am grateful nonetheless. I am taking off work next Monday because Sears will deliver said appliances between 10am and 4pm (thanks for nailing down a time, jerks). When everything is installed and ready for use, I am going nuts right out of the shoot. I intend to simultaneously fry bacon, cook a pot of chili and make some scrambled eggs on the burners, throw a twenty five pound turkey and a Totino's Party Pizza in the five cubic foot oven and make an industrial size batch of Top Ramen in the microwave.

Labels: family, food, gluttony, l-i-v-i-n, technology, the fairways, xmas