Dad Lore- Number 3

These are all "weird flex" tales- moments of pride or an oddly presented compliment that were in anomalous situations, or unlikely manners.

All three happened after I had moved into my condo and was still young, but established at work.

The title comes from Anabelle referring to anything from my past she hasn't heard about as "Dad Lore."

Click here for the first

Click here for the second

Here's the third

Dad Lore- Number 2

 

These are all "weird flex" tales- moments of pride or an oddly presented compliment that were in anomalous situations, or unlikely manners.

All three happened after I had moved into my condo and was still young, but established at work.

The title comes from Anabelle referring to anything from my past she hasn't heard about as "Dad Lore."

Click here for the first

Here's the second.

Dad Lore- Number 1

These are all "weird flex" tales- moments of pride or an oddly presented compliment that were in anomalous situations, or unlikely manners.

All three happened after I had moved into my condo and was still young, but established at work.

The title comes from Anabelle referring to anything from my past she hasn't heard about as 

"Dad Lore."

Here's the first

Bayonned Beyond Belief

No, there are no reviews again this week. (Though I will say that Jodie Whittaker is KiILLING IT!!! Love the authoritative flourish she wields the Sonic with.)  Instead is a special - off schedule-  George Award for myself due to shattering a previous record.

Warning

This post contains bad, foul, filthy and unacceptable language - the words that “will curve your spine, grow hair on your hands and maybe, even bring us, God help us, peace without honor.”

This is not a post for children.  Kids, take a hike.

This is also not a post for those adults who are offended by this type of language.  Do yourself a favor, and go read some of my cute stuff before moral outrage can kick in.

Just about everything else on this blog is clean…Stupid sometimes, but clean.

End of Warning.

Facebook Film Foolishness Part 2

Click here for the explanation and the beginning of the list leading into…

Parenting Defined

In the back of a church that had no crying room, the zone defense a bunch of us Dads were employing to corral our children completely collapsed. We switched back to man to man coverage, and I had an epiphany while following my daughter, who had just learned to walk.

She toddled aimlessly along, drunken baboon like, appearing for all the world that she was about to pitch onto her face at any moment. For a large majority of the time, she managed to right herself at the last minute and charge ahead.

I walked cautiously behind her trying to maintain the proper balance between:

A) Being far enough back that I wouldn’t interfere with her progress and learning.

And

B) Being close enough that I could catch her if she fell.

As I tried to locate the impossible perfect point between the two I realized,
“I’m going to experience this sensation about her for the rest of my life.”

Jeff's Tattoo Rules: #6-#10

Click here for Rules#1-#5

Returning to the topics of pain, and learning from my errors:

I thought it would be “cute” to wait a week after the tiger until Thanksgiving for the big reveal and show everyone at once.  I kept my shirt sleeves rolled down whenever people were around. (This, in all honestly should have tipped off anyone who knows me that something was going on.)

I made the mistake of plopping down next to my Mother during a Duke Basketball game the night the secret art was applied. Sitting in this location is a mistake in general, remembering that she carries those “tough old broad from the Bronx” genes.  However, for me, it was excruciating.

Jeff's Tattoo Rules: #1-#5

Earlier this month was the eighteenth birthday of my first tattoo.

I don’t think it can vote now, but I’ll use this opportunity to create some legislation. 

I didn’t call it my “First Tattoo” at the time.

I called it “my tattoo,” as in, “my only tattoo.”  However, in the case of anyone who had the slightest clue about skin art:

Friends and family who had tattoos,

The artist,

Randomly inked passersby,

They all called it my “First Tattoo.” 

And they were right.

Fencing Mends OR Curses Foiled Again

One of the reasons I was looking forward to high school from my sword and sorcery focused youth was that they had a fencing team.  Late in middle school when I expressed my desire, my Dad replied with:

“You’ll be a heck of a big target.”

And that ended my teenaged enthusiasm for fencing. 

Although to be completely truthful, the requirement of the fencing team to spend every day after classes performing distance runs through the school hallways probably had a greater effect on the decision made by this then sedentary individual than my father’s witty observation.

However, many years later when I was an independently living (and far more physically active) adult, I heard the call yet again.  While signing up for a writing course that was part of a local high school’s adult education, I found a listing for a foil fencing beginners’ class. Deciding that it would be a great way to expand my human interactions and connections I signed up.

Out of the Loop in the Loop

This is yet another reason why I was single for ages, but ended up with a near endless supply of comedy material.

    

Normally, I avoided any and all locations of the bar and club scene.  Whenever I visited one of these places, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I had landed on a completely different planet, where I had no experience with the traditions and customs, and only minimal book knowledge of the language.

However, I violated my usual rule one night to go see a friend's band play in a cool club in Passaic.

Hey... Easter Weekend!

For the first time in years, this weekend I attended the Easter Vigil service, known to experienced church goers as the Extended Dance Mix of Masses.  I had to sit behind a woman who used a chemical safety shower to apply her perfume, and the candles supplied were so exceedingly cheap and thin that the heat of my hand bent and formed it into a Belgian fencing grip.

Compared to Easter Masses of years past, this was a veritable cake walk.

A Perfect 10

Transcontinental Love Story

Or

How Do I Get Here from There?

Not only did she pick the ice sculpture, she picked me back when I looked like this. Am I lucky or what?

What’s the Worst that Could Happen?

When it comes to getting enough nerve to ask someone out, the clueless will often impart this question and answer phrased advice:

“Go ahead and ask her, what’s the worst that could happen? 

She says ‘No.’”

People who say this have little understanding of psychology in general and geek psychology in particular.

“No” is not always the worst thing.

“No” does not require alteration to the current lifestyle.

Studies have shown that any change, good or bad, causes stress.  Rejection is easy, there’s no change, you just continue on with life as it was before:  go to the arcade, read some comic books, play a war game, whatever.

“Yes” is where the trouble starts.

“Yes” leads to “Holy crap! What do I do now?”

Here’s an extended account of “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Oddly, not the most dangerous thing in the place.

Dazed with the Doves - or - Let That Be Your Last Birdlefield

After an extensive, yet incredibly dull voting process, the development containing my first solo home was renamed to “Woodland Hills”, but in all honestly, who cares?

The important follow up to my pointless rant about name choices was that the complaints I made about “Pigeon Hollow” back then apparently offended some omniscient pagan pigeon protecting god. The result of infuriating this deity was that I had a gang of invading pigeons move onto my deck shortly thereafter. My initial thoughts about them being the equivalent of non maintenance pets vanished as I quickly discovered how deserving they are of the nickname “feathered rats”.

The invading forces.

What's in a Name?


When I moved into my Lincoln Park condo in the beginning of the summer of 1997, I was a little puzzled buy the name of the development: "Society Hill II". This puzzlement stemmed from the lack of any sign of a “Society Hill I”.  Besides, I often joked (I thought), once I show up and start juggling axes, they'll be sure to change the "hoity toity" name to something with a little more pizzazz. Well, be careful what you wish for, folks.  A letter came with a quarterly maintenance bill a couple of years later asking for suggestions for a new name, as “Society Hill I” next door had been changed to “Deer Run” a while ago. ("Aha!" I said. (Not out loud though, I only talk to myself in writing, in case it comes up later in court.))  Finally feeling some control over my own domicile’s destiny I quickly whipped off a list of ten suggestions, filled with powerful names from Norse mythology, the tales of Conan, and Arthurian legend.  I was convinced that I now had a chance to live somewhere whose name would boldly leap off the map, declaring a true sense of power and history.

In the immortal words of Sir Winston Churchill..."no."