Doing the Twist (and Squirm)

So my daughter is taking a dance class. A combination of tap and ballet. That’s not really pertinent, I just thought it would add a little more description and answer any questions you might have about the career path I’m putting her on. Shame on you.

Anyway, despite it being an innocent tap/ballet class for 3-5 year olds, involving no tawdry moves whatsoever, it’s still awkward. The waiting part, that is. The class is 45 minutes and, for me, finding something to do while she dances is awkward.

The lobby of the dance studio is small, particularly when it fills up with teen and pre-teen girls waiting for another class to start or waiting for rides after a class has ended. When these moments converge, which is every week, I become keenly aware that I’m the only member of the male population in sight. I don’t just stick out like a sore thumb, but more like a hand that is missing its thumb. Or an actual thumb, unattached to anything, lying on the ground. Possibly bloody. Yeah, come to think of it, the dismembered thumb is probably bloody because I really stick out.

Besides that, there aren’t many places to look. All the teenage girls are dressed as if they just finished an outdoor yoga class. As a father, all I can think is they need to have more clothes on (my daughter is covered head-to-toe with only her arms exposed, and I’m not totally cool with that either). I used to wonder if any of them were uncomfortable with me being there while they walked around in little more than beach attire, but based on the amount of giggling, it’s just me. The girls, as if you don’t know already, giggle in quantities that can’t be duplicated without large amounts of pot. “Look at the thumb in the corner,” they must be saying.

Fortunately there is a window in the lobby that looks into my daughter’s dance room, but it’s not very big and the other four parents gather around it to watch as well. During the few times I’ve gone to the class instead of my wife, I have squeezed alongside the other parents, all moms, for a few minutes at a time, but the little ones get distracted from seeing us. Not to mention I get claustrophobic. Not in the “I can’t catch my breath” sort of way, but more in the “Oh, there are other people here?” sort of way.

Since one of the walls of the dance room is a full window looking out into the parking lot, I can always stand outside in the parking lot and look in through the giant window wall. But the problem with that is, standing outside by myself staring into a room full of dancing four-year-old girls, I wouldn’t look so much like a thumb as I would a giant pervert. Particularly since there’s a window inside that I can look through without appearing pervy. The only person who would choose to stand outside and look in is someone who doesn’t have the option of going inside to watch. Someone who is on a list that the police might pass around your neighborhood, for instance.

I’m not sure what my options are at this point, but standing around the lobby full of giggling tweeners is out of the question. I might look through the window wall from the parking lot just for the joy of making other people uncomfortable, but that could lead to phone calls. Plus winter is coming.

(Sigh) Soccer season can’t get here fast enough.

Bending Bad. Or Just a Little to the Left

Given the immense popularity of the show for the last 4 – 5 years this certainly isn’t unexplored territory, but I can’t help but wonder if I have it in me to “break bad.” I came into the show late, so I haven’t seen the progression of the character of Walter White from beginning to end, but I’ve seen enough and heard enough to get a good feel for how far he’s come.

Knowing what I know about me, about my personality, about what I’m capable of, about my feelings toward my family and their well being, and imagining the desperation I would feel given the same circumstances, I can almost assuredly say no, I don’t have it in me.

For one thing, the reason I only recently started watching the show is because it’s on too late. I think that alone says everything I or you need to know when figuring if I’m capable of killing dozens of people (I’ve lost count of the actual number), including a well-respected drug kingpin who’s proven he’s capable of the same, all while running the most successful meth operation in the Southwestern United States.

Even for something I like and am not morally opposed to, like watching the show, I draw the line at staying up until 11 p.m. The only reason I’ve seen the last two seasons is because I now have a DVR. Come to think of it, the fact that I’ve only recently had a DVR is probably enough of an indicator that I couldn’t even stay ahead of the cops as long as Walter has.

I don’t appear to have the resources or the faculties to drain a train of its load of methylamine, even with four buddies helping me out. I’m also fairly confident that I couldn’t convince a room full of Nazis to simultaneously kill ten inmates scattered across three prisons, even if Nazis don’t need a lot of convincing to do that sort of thing. And I seriously doubt I could talk an old man into blowing himself up even if it means the explosion would kill his sworn enemy. I used to be in sales and based on my track record, I wasn’t very good at it.

I think the only thing we have in common is that I could pull off looking like Walter, at least when he has hair, but even still I couldn’t pull off the Heisenberg hat (and I’m not convinced he can either).

But I’m sure that’s a huge reason why I watch. I’m totally intrigued by everyone on the show because none of them are like me and their lives are nothing like mine. Searching for shows that have no similarities to my own daily routine is probably the same reason I don’t watch Ultimate Fighting competitions, “The Mentalist” or “Honey Boo Boo.”

Even with a full year before the next “Breaking Bad” season starts, I still don’t think I’ll fill the time watching those other options. Or cooking meth.

It’s going to be a long winter.

A NASA Engineer Tests Out New Pick-Up Lines After Curiosity’s Recent Mars Landing

“How would you like to have a potential carbon-based life form named after you?”

“Aren’t you… (comedic pause coupled with single eyebrow raise)… curious to see my moon rock?”

“I can stream the live images of red, swirling dust straight to the PC in my apartment. Pardon? No, they won’t give us Macs.”

“Without the sonic parachutes and reverse jet propulsion to slow your descent, it must have hurt when you fell from Heaven.”

“I don’t know about Mars, but I think I’m looking at the building blocks for life right here.”

“Hi, what’s your name? Well, Red Rover, Red Rover, send Tonya right over! Wait, wait. Don’t you get it? ‘Cause Mars is the red planet. And we have a rover on it. Whatever. Your loss.”

“Ride with me and I can send you on a galactic trip that lasts hundreds of millions of miles. Uh, well, Mars specifically. Yeah, it’s approximately 350 million miles away. Huh? Uh, about eight months, but I can have you make that trip in just one night (winks). No, I guess there’s not really a reason you’d want to visit the actual Mars, but you’re taking that too literally. Nevermind.”

“What do you say we have my valence electrons chemically bond with your valence electrons to create our own molecular life form back at my place?”

“Excuse me, I don’t usually do this, but I saw you sitting here and I was so captivated by your beauty that I wrote you a poem. Would you be so kind as to indulge me? Wonderful. ‘Man is not from Mars, but we are there now/The distances we have traveled surely do wow/Women, though mysterious, aren’t technically from Venus/But how would you like to end up on my…’ (gets drink thrown in face)

“Hi, what’s your name? Gale?! Are you serious?! That’s perfect! Say, Gale, how would you like my rover to explore Gale’s crater? Wait, wait! That’s one of the rover’s main goals – to send back images and samples from the Gale Crater! Damnit! Don’t any of you watch the news?!”

Enter Marsman

A lot of alien talk in the news lately. First it was who would be the better leader if Earth faced an alien invasion, and now we’re the ones doing the invading (again).

NASA, understandably, is fairly excited about successfully landing its rover Curiosity on Mars, but has anyone considered the potential consequences of introducing our technology into a potential lion’s den? We sent the rover to Mars to see if the planet has the basic building blocks for life or if its environment has ever been capable of supporting life. Nothing too threatening.

But what if this thing stumbles across more than just indications of past or current life-forming “blocks” and simple cell amoeba? What if Curiosity rolls right into the Mars’ version of Sturgis, with millions of 10-foot-tall, green, mean-spirited, highly intelligent badasses riding inter-galactic Harleys? What if these badasses, despite their high IQs, have lived a kabillion years without knowing a thing about us, but can’t help notice the robot on wheels taking a bunch of pictures of them? So, they pick up the latest creation sent by NASA, turn it upside down, see that the label says, “Made in China,” then Google the word “China,” learn all about where China is located – Earth – and ride their alien Harleys here to obliterate us and take all of our resources?

Am I the only one worried about this? Does no one else think we’re playing with fire here? You see how upset some celebrities get when the paparazzi take one too many photographs of them. What if angry, destructive aliens do exist on Mars and all they want is to be left alone, but now their privacy has been disturbed, so they’re even angrier and yet, since they are so destructive, they’re also giddy over the thought of kicking some Earth ass? Will we then be giddy about learning that life does in fact exist on Mars? Hmmmm?

Way to go, NASA. Way to go indeed.

Aliens vs. Presidents

A recent poll of Americans found that 65% of those surveyed believe President Barak Obama would better handle an alien invasion than presidential-hopeful Mitt Romney. In an odd turn of events, alien life forms known as the Roarnacks heard this and abducted the two men to see what, if any, dangers might exist should they decide to invade Earth. Below is what transpired.

Alien Leader (AL): “Greetings gentlemen, welcome aboard.”

Obama: “You speak English. That’s impressive.”

AL: “We speak over 300 languages, and we have nearly all the accents down. Even German. But we prefer to leave out the shouting. So much shouting with the Germans.”

Romney: “Well that’s great,” he says with a big smile. “I love aliens. You know, my dad was born in Mexico. Maybe we should all sing the Mexican national anthem?”

Neither Obama nor the alien leader look interested in singing.

Romney: “Maybe later. Say, where are you from?”

AL: “I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

Romney: “Oh I’ve been all over this great universe of ours, my friend. The family and I came up here once for our summer vacation. Brought the dog along too, but he didn’t quite make it back through re-entry. But hey, at least we don’t eat them like this guy here.” (points his thumb at Obama)

AL: (rolls his eyes and sighs) “We’re two galaxies over. We like to tell people we’re from Xenoremslad, but technically it’s a suburb of Xenoremslad.”

Romeny: “Ah yes, it’s beautiful there this time of year,” Romney says unjokingly.

AL: “It’s been burning for 500 years.”

Obama: “Ha! Nice try, Mitt.”

AL: “Gentlemen, I must say, it was surprisingly easy to get by the security for both of you and bring you aboard our ship.”

Romney: “Well I’m not surprised that the President’s Secret Service detail couldn’t stop you. I’m sure they were entertaining some Brazilian prostitutes at the time.”

AL: “Brazilian what?”

Romney: “Prostitutes. They’re women you pay for sex. Well, technically they can be men too, but usually they’re women. Although, the president’s all for gay marriage now, so I’m sure his attitude has helped broaden the extracurricular activities of his staff members. If you catch my drift.”

AL: “Wait, wait, wait. You have to pay women to reproduce with you?”

Romney: “Not all the time, no. You’re actually not allowed to by law, but I’m sure if Obama is re-elected, he’ll legalize that too.”

Obama: “Mitt, these guys can’t vote, so why don’t you give it a rest.”

AL: “That’s true, we can’t vote in your elections, but we do appreciate being extended healthcare coverage from your country’s government.”

Obama: “I beg your pardon?”

AL: “Your new healthcare act. The Roarnacks stand to benefit a great deal.”

Romney: (throws his hands up) “Well that’s just great.”

Obama: (chuckles) “I don’t think you’re mentioned in the healthcare act.”

AL: (pulls out a very large stack of papers) “Indeed. Right here on page 1218, paragraph six, provision 10C. (points to the page) See?”

Romney: “Unbelievable.”

Obama, confused, just stares at the alien with his mouth open.

AL: “Well don’t feel bad. Your plan doesn’t extend us nearly as many benefits as this guy’s plan did when he was governor of Massachusetts.”

Romney: “That’s a lie! My healthcare plan didn’t look anything like his.”

AL: “Miiiiiiitt. Come on. I helped you write it.”

Romney: (gritting his teeth) “Will you shut up?!”

Obama: “You know, if you’re interested, I’m sure Bain Capital has some jobs they’d love to outsource to you guys.”

AL: “That won’t be necessary. We have our sights on more than just Bain Capital. By the looks of things, a complete takeover of your country, even your planet, should be pretty simple no matter which of you is in charge.”

Obama: “Now don’t get ahead of yourself. You may not know this, but I gave the green light for our Navy SEALS to kill the most wanted man on our planet.”

AL: “Ah yes, we heard about that. The helicopter those SEALS used is very cool. I got my son one of those for his birthday and he loves it.”

Obama: “That would explain why we’re missing one.”

AL: “Oh you’re missing more than one, believe me. We’ve pretty well mastered your planet’s most sophisticated fighting machines. To be honest, from the intelligence we’ve gathered about Earth and its inhabitants, we have little reason to be worried about your resistance.”

Romney: “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

AL: “Yes.”

Romney: “I bet you don’t know if a full house beats four of a kind.”

AL: “It doesn’t.”

Romney: (turns to Obama) “Is that right?”

Obama: “Yes.”

Romney: (dejected) “Oh boy.”

AL: “Before we strike, I thought it would be a good idea to study the two of you more closely, especially since your people seem to be on to our plan. But I don’t know what they see in either one of you that makes them think you could adequately protect them.”

Obama sits down and buries his head in his hands.

Obama: (mumbling) “It’s an election year. People look for all sorts of stupid things to say about the candidates. (looks up) Is there anything we can say to convince you to spare our planet?”

AL: “Hmmm… I’ll tell you what. Give us Dick Cheney back and we’ll leave you alone. We’ve been trying to get him to come home for years.”

Obama: “Deal!”

Romney: “Wait a second. We can’t give them Cheney. They’ll be 10 times more powerful than they are now.”

Obama: “You’re right. Sorry, we can’t give you Cheney.”

Romney: “How about that guy that texted all those pictures of his junk last year. (turns to Obama) The Democrats don’t care about him anymore, right?”

Obama: “Sure don’t. These guys can have him.”

AL: “Absolutely not. We’re not taking the junk guy.”

Obama: “What about Michele Bachmann? She’s gotta be one of you.”

AL: “You wish. I’m growing tired of this. There’s only one other Earthling we’ll accept: Martin Scorsese.”

Romney: “What?”

Obama: “You’re kidding! He’s one of America’s most cherished directors. What do you want with him?”

AL: “Same thing you do. He did Goodfellas for crying out loud. The man’s a genius.”

Romney: “Can’t you take Lucas instead? He seems to know your kind pretty well.”

AL: “Uggghh. Do not get me started on George. It’s Scorsese or the complete obliteration of your planet.”

Romney: “I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

Obama: “Guess not. Alright, he’s yours. Will you consider taking Lucas too?”

AL: “I guess we can. But he doesn’t come alone.”

Obama: “Fine. You got a deal.”

AL: “Great. Ok, we’ll drop you both off near the D.C. limits, but you’ll have to get home from there.”

Romney: “But I don’t live in Washington. Not yet anyway,” he winks.

The alien leader just stares at Romney.

Romney: “The D.C. limits sound great.”

AL: “Good luck to both of you in November. We’ll be in touch. Oh, and tell Biden we said ‘Hello’!”

Only If There's a 20 In It

Is it just me or do greeting cards suck these days? No matter what the occasion, you cannot find a good one. It’s getting to the point where nearly all of them fall into just three categories – cards for kids play music, cards for adults are long, drawn out diatribes about how the giver of the card has a hard time expressing his/her feelings so the stream-of-consciousness epic does it for them, and the last kind is a recent development where readers send in family photos with funny captions and the greeting companies turn those into cards in lieu of creating cards themselves. Outsourcing, basically.

These categories – music, diatribes, outsourcing – are all terrible and the individual results of these categories are terrible. Even the few remaining cards that don’t fit one of these descriptions are lousy. You just can’t find quality cards anymore.

The rambling feelings-dump cards, which also happen to be filled with bad metaphors, are my least favorite. When you open them, they usually sound something like this:

To my wonderful wife on our anniversary…

We’ve sailed some rocky waters together over the years, but I love the course our relationship has steered us on. I can always count on you to be there and I hope you feel the same way about me. I don’t always know the right words to say, but you always seem to know exactly how I feel, which makes it weird that I was compelled to buy a card filled with a frank discussion of my feelings written by someone else.

The last 10 years with you have been the best of my life and I can’t wait to see the adventures we take over the next 10. Perhaps we’ll scale the peaks of all of our hopes and dreams, but even if we slip along the way, I know we’ll be there for each other to properly secure the ropes of our love to the mountain of life.

Before you, I felt lost and unsatisfied (and I don’t mean that in a sexual way, but I guess I kind of do to some degree). Thank you for finding me and giving my soul life, love and happiness. As long as your brother doesn’t try to borrow thousands of dollars from us again, I know we’ll be sharing our golden years together.

And that’s just the left side.

In the age of dying newspaper subscriptions and 140-character tweets, it seems counterintuitive that cards like this not only exist, but are practically the only ones you can find anymore. The card industry has to be hurting. I mean, does anybody buy cards anymore? The post office is nearly extinct and no one under the age of 45 communicates by any means other than texting and tweeting, right? Hallmark can’t employ a lot of writers given what I mentioned earlier about card companies relying on the general public to create the few remaining adult cards that don’t double as novels (unfortunately I’m not talking about “adult” cards, which we need way more of, by the way).

Since people are buying greeting cards at the same rate they’re buying VCRs, you’ve probably never even seen these publicly-produced cards unless you’ve sent one into Hallmark and they used it. But trust me, as someone who still buys cards, they’re out there.

Fortunately there are some different genres of cards that you can find for the proper birthday celebrations. Like a half-naked chick or dude on the front of a card, always looking oiled and bronzed, with a message that says something like, “She/He really, really wants you…” and the inside says, “… to have a great birthday!” And of course there’s no shortage of old people talking about their latest body part that aches, sags or fails to hold in gas. These started popping up around the time that we became interested in oily, naked members of the opposite sex and farts. I believe this time period is called ‘The Dawn of Man’.

Come to think of it, I guess I should stop complaining about a lack of quality cards. Flatulent old ladies, half naked dudes… those are sure to brighten anyone’s day.

He Drinks "Five Year Energy"

I’ve written a lot about my kids lately, particularly my five-year-old son. I try not to do that too much because I don’t want this to morph into a “mommy blog,” especially since I’m a dad. But I can’t help it this time because I’m jealous of something. My son has something I want. As a parent, I shouldn’t pine for something that one of my kids has, particularly when he’s this young and virtually everything he has is dictated by what I or my wife give him. But this is different. Nobody gave him the thing I want, he just has it.

It’s his energy level.

And I’m not the only one who wants it. You want it too. We all do. That’s why, as I wrote a few years ago, energy drinks are so popular. That’s why Starbucks charges $4 for a small cup of coffee. That’s why we get addicted to soda and mayors feel the need to outlaw the sale of soda containers that could double as lawn mower attachments. That’s why meth fans are willing to forgo their teeth in exchange for it.

But none of that can match the potency of simply being five. He doesn’t need sugar, caffeine, naps or meth in order to go full throttle for 14 hours. The only way to get my son to sit still and be quiet for more than three minutes is to play that game where you see who can be quiet the longest. Luckily his competitiveness is the one thing that exceeds his energy level. Most kids, however, couldn’t care less about exceeding at that game because the sacrifice (being quiet) isn’t worth it.

To be fair, there are quiet times that don’t involve him trying to win a contest. But the energy is always there, bubbling under the surface, just waiting for the right time to erupt. The other night he sat quietly through dinner, ate his entire meal and then, like a perfect gentleman, very politely said, “I’m finished. May I please be excused?” My wife granted his request and then he slid out of his chair and immediately started playing air guitar. Put on a show right there at the kitchen table. Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer,” I think.

Other times when he’s not bouncing off the walls are the few seconds it takes to move his peg around the Trouble board. However, during the few seconds it takes me to move my peg, he usually sways back and forth, shakes his arms in the air and sings only half of the lyrics to a song correctly. Lately it’s been “Living on a Prayer.” We all went through a Bon Jovi phase. Don’t judge.

If I did the same thing, I would never get through the game. I would absolutely pass out from exhaustion a quarter of the way through. For my son, though, conserving his energy while it’s my turn never crosses his mind because he’s not in his mid-thirties and he doesn’t need energy reserves to play a board game. He doesn’t need energy reserves to do anything.

And for all the things that are wasted on kids (food that hits the floor, clothes that are stained after one wear, education), energy is never one of them. The excess energy that isn’t used while eating or pushing the Trouble button is simply exerted later on top of other energy that's already being exerted. For instance, running up and down the soccer field doesn’t adequately squelch all the energy, so a lot of times you’ll see kids running up and down the soccer field AND playing air guitar at the same time. You’ll rarely see professional athletes do this because they’re limited by their age and pathetically low endurance levels. But you’ll see kids do it.

What my son doesn’t understand is that the energy will run out. Not today, but years down the road. I’m not sure if holding onto some of the energy will ensure that he can summon it again 30 years from now, but one thing I do know – all the Starbucks in the world won’t bring it back.