My Wife is 45% Sane, and You Know What? I Love Her

When I informed Geno (one of my best friends, full-Filipino) of my intentions to marry Lynnette, he said something along the lines of “Congrats, man, that’s awesome. Filipino women, they take care.” Based on my relationship with Lynnette to that point, I felt the same way. But then a funny thing happened after we got married: we fought a lot. Sometimes these arguments were minor, like those skirmishes that break out between boxers during pre-match press conferences. At others, they were knock-down, drag-out (verbal) slugfests that would have made Jim Ross soil himself calling. When this went on for a while, I had a conversation with Geno a few months into wedded bliss and he said, “Yeah, Filipino women, they crazy.” “What?” I said incredulously, “You said they ‘take care’!” “No, they do,” he said. “They’re super loyal. But they’re crazy.” “Why didn’t you tell me this before I got married?” I asked. “That’s kind of a downer,” he said. “I was just trying to be happy for you.

I can’t blame Geno. He has a history of misleading me. To wit: one day during high school he bought the spaghetti plate. I asked him how it was. “It’s pretty good,” he said. I went and bought one, too. I took one bite and said “This is terrible, what are you talking about?” “Yeah,” he said. “But I didn’t want to be the only one.” Once when we were in our early twenties I wanted to bleach my hair. “You go, I go,” he said. So he did me up first. We smoked cigarettes while waiting for the bleach to set in my hair. Something like a half-an-hour later, I rinsed it out. “Aaaaaaahh,” he said. “What?” I asked. I walked to the mirror and my hair was bright-ass, Big Bird yellow. It wasn’t horrible, it just wasn’t what I had expected, I guess. “Alright,” I said. “Nah,” he said. “No more enough bleach left.” He said this despite the fact that there was exactly half of the bleach left in the tray. “What happened to ‘you go, I go’?” I asked. “I cannot,” he said. We left it at that.

What does this have to do with anything? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me fourteen times, shame, shame, shame on me.

I’m sure she actually felt this way at the time, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that she was simply tired of talking and saying stupid things.

*My wife Lynnette (left, striking, I know) is funny. She’s both “haha-funny” and “what the hell?-funny.” As I’ve mentioned on numerous occasions, she’s a very intelligent woman who enjoys holding her two degrees over my head as validation that she is possessed of superior intellect.

That may have been true when we first met, but for a number of reasons, she’s somehow been watered-down. Her first instinct, of course, will be to blame me for “making her dumb.” I grant that this is at entirely possible, at least in part. Yesterday on our way to dinner, though, she and I had an all-time great conversation.

I asked if she find my blog entries entertaining. “Sure,” she said. “I think you don’t find it as interesting because it always sounds like me, and you know me,”  I said. “Yes, I know you, Phil,” she said flatly. “You know how I am and how I think, so I don’t think anything I write in there would surprise you,” I said. “You’ve lost all shock value with me,” she said.

She’s right. I have said and done a great many stupid things during the tenure of our relationship. I do not wish to embarrass Lynnette (or myself), but suffice it to say that I am thirty-two and Lynnette has made (on several occasions) the statement that I am simply a “horny boy.” I can neither confirm nor deny this. Tee-hee.

“Maybe I should have paced myself with all that nonsense,” I said. “Maybe you should have,” she responded.

*As we took the Waikele off-ramp, Lynnette noticed that Madison was sucking her thumb. “No sucking thumb,” she said. Madison ripped her hand away from her face. “If you can’t stop, the dentist is going to have to put a machine in your mouth if you can’t stop,” I said. This is true, technically. “No!” Madison said.

Lynnette has a theory that Madison’s thumb sucking will decline when Mad gives up Honey. She went on to talk about how one of Mad’s classmates used to be a “sumb-thucker.” “Sumb-thucker?” I said. “What? Did I say that?” she asked. “Yes,”I said. “Leave me alone! I’m mentally exhausted!” she shouted. I think you’re just crazy,” I said.

Bill Simmons, an ESPN writer, said that based on his experiences with his own wife, women become 12% less sane with the birth of each child. So, since Lynnette didn’t start at 100% sanity, she’s just insane now. Granted, mathematics and the female psyche are only minor hobbies of mine, I’m going to take a shot at this. Let’s say she was born with 91% of a normal person’s sanity (as per Geno’s ethnic hypothesis). She was probably at about 79% by the time she exited high school, and then ticked down to 66% after 6 years studying in Nebraska. She must have been near 57% when she assented to my marriage proposal. That means by now she’s at least in the neighborhood of 45%.

This might seem cruel – terribly inaccurate at best – but it’s probably correct.

As we passed the Fil-Com Center, I asked her “Hey, would you be interested in going to one of those local wrestling things with me sometime? My friend wrestles-” she cut me off. “Yes! I told you yes before!” she shouted. “But I don’t want Madison to come, though,” I said. “What?!” she shouted. She screamed, actually. “Why? Do you want her to come?” I asked. “No!” she screamed. “Wait, what?” I said. “Shut up, Phil!” she screamed. “Madison, daddy’s making fun of me. Tell daddy to stop making fun of me!” “Stop teasing mom, dad,” Madison said calmly.

She cray.

Madison’s First May Day

I know it’s impossible for me to remain objective about things like this, but I feel like every time Madison walks into a room, someone should start blasting Prince’s “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World.” Because it’s either that or I’m going to sing it myself. For the best interests of everyone involved, I hope someone has the song handy.

My own personal memories of May Day programs are limited to my time in elementary and middle school at Our Lady of Good Counsel. That was a long time ago, but I seem to remember that each teacher was responsible for teaching his or her own class their dance for the program. That’s another reason I could never teach elementary school children. How the hell am I supposed to pick a Hawaiian song and choreograph it? The last one time I did anything of the sort, it was for the Na Kolea Luau during my senior year. The dance involved all the guys fake-canoe paddling. Choreography isn’t my strong suit.

I also distinctly remember there being a May Day Court. There was a king and a queen as well as lesser couples chosen to represent each island. This was the real deal. The faculty picked the members of the court, and I suppose this was the closest thing to “cool kids” litmus test back then. I know this sounds patently ridiculous, but consider the following information: I was on the court during my 8th grade year, my brother Paul was the king during his, and my brother Matty never made it. When Paul and I once used this information to rag on Matty, Matty responded with something completely absurd: “It was a hard year. There were too many good guys.” He made it sound like the All-NBA First Team or something. But he was absolutely right. His class was stacked with good guys. I don’t want to say that Matty not making the court during his 8th grade year at OLGC was like when Pujols was putting up monster numbers during Bonds’ reign, but it might as well have been. Sorry, Matty.

She has really good eye sight.

Anyway, yesterday was Madison’s first May Day program. We hit a snag before the whole thing even started. The school sent home a letter requesting that the girls wear shorts and a white tank top. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, then you know Madison is on this thing where she wants to wear dresses and skirts exclusively. In the past two weeks, she has left the house in something other than a dress or skirt only after having some kind of extenuating circumstance explained to her.

So when Lynnette tried to explain to the Goob that she had to wear a non-dress/non-skirt ensemble for Friday, she was met with a “BUT I WANT TO WEAR A DRESS!” Since Lynnette’s a better negotiator than either Kevin Spacey or Samuel L. Jackson, she managed to explain to the child that it was necessary to participate in the Hawaiian Festival. “Don’t you want to dance in the Hawaiian Festival?” Lynnette asked. “Yes,” Madison said. “Well, then,” Lynnette said, holding out a white tank top.

She does love this stuff…

Once Madison found her way on stage, she looked for us on the other side of the room. That’s where we sat during her Christmas program.

Aside: Madison has a really good memory, but her only way to articulate the concept of the past is through the word “yesterday.” If for example, we’re driving past Halawa District Park, she’ll point at it and shout “There’s the park where you played softball yesterday,” even if it’s Thursday and I played there Sunday. Everything – and I mean everything – that happened prior to this moment is filed under “Yesterday.” Just yesterday (real yesterday) she said “I found a roach on the couch yesterday.” This actually happened some time in 2011.

Considering who her parents are, the odds of Madison growing in to an athletic, graceful, coordinated adult are pretty long.

When we learned that our as of yet unborn child was a girl, I was disappointed. Obviously, I had visions of raising a baseball wunderkind, a kind of hardball savant who would post decent grades at school, but would be able to understand advanced baseball metrics by the time he entered kindergarten. This was not to be.

One of the urban legend or superstitions that I heard while Lynnette was pregnant was that certain men had female children as karma for some kind of unkindness directed at a female or females during their single days. This is hogwash, of course, as it completely ignores the mother’s karma. But then when I thought about my past and some of my friends who have daughters, I feared there might be something to it.

I love Madison, but that karma thing keeps on giving. She’s interested in things that I have openly mocked at various points in my life. She looks like she’s going to end up dancing or cheering or both, and that would be something akin to the apocalypse for me. Yesterday she dragged Lynnette and I into that store at Ward Warehouse which features 99.93% Hello Kitty merchandise and told me “It’s only for girls.”

This might sound funny, but I have a feeling that Madison’s interests – which are far removed from my own – are exactly what’s going to keep my life interesting for the foreseeable future. I’m at a point in my life where the coolest “new” experience I get worked up about is eating at a sushi restaurant I’ve never been to. I’m not a jet setter. If there was something that was the complete and polar opposite of a jet setter (and also rhymed), that’s what I would be. My unfamiliarity with Madison and most things girl is what’s going to keep me on my toes for the next 15 years or so, I suppose. It seems like once or twice a month I am introduced to something completely new. Last week it was a tea party, who knows what the month of May has in store for me?

My absolute favorite thing about our relationship with Madison at this point is how much she genuinely loves spending time with us. Sigh.

How the Hell is it May Already?

At this point, I'm just trying to make the routine plays.

*A win this past Sunday put us into the championship bracket of the Okinawan Softball League. The playoffs start this weekend. Nakagusuku, my family’s team, has not won a championship in a few years – none since my grandfather died – and that’s always the goal. Other than those three glorious years in college playing intramural softball at LMU on Team Swank, Nakagusuku is the only team I’ve ever played on that won routinely. I expect us to win every game we play.

That said, the two other teams in the championship bracket are those we’ve already already lost to this season. We’re going to have to play really good softball if we’re going to win. I think those other teams might have better hitters top to bottom than we do. Still… you don’t sign up for “easy.”

Is Madison more agreeable to a sibling now that she's older?

Ona totally related note, I want to have another child. My cousin Corrie brought her daughter Kaiya to the game Sunday and Madison had a little conversation with her. I think it revolved mostly around the words “Hi,” and involved a lot of waving and smiling. When I came over in between innings to say hello, the first thing I noticed were little baby Kaiya’s little baby feet. They’re so cute! For whatever reason, the sight of them made me want to have another child. Invisible girl parts, remember? I don’t know if I can say that my biological clock is ticking, but there is going to be a point – and I have no idea where it is – where I won’t have the energy and/or patience to raise an infant. If this is going to happen, it’s going to have to happen sooner rather than later.

Cheaper than the china and silverware an actual princess would use. Thank. God.

As expected, as soon as the game ended, Madison asked Lynnette and I where we were going and submitted her suggestion to go “somewhere place else.” Lynnette and I had the specter of housework hanging over our heads. We knew that if we didn’t get home soon, we would deem it too late to get started on any of it. We decided to take a trip to Target since it was close to the field.

As Kimberly informed me last week, Target appears to be celebrating Princess Month or Princess Week or something like that. It’s an obvious cash grab but it works in part because as a father of a 4-year old, I am unable to explain to her what a cash grab is and why we should avoid them unless we’re the ones grabbing the cash. The Disney Princess paper plates and napkins were cheap enough. This led directly to a Princess Lunch Party which was catered by Burger King. I know, I couldn’t stop thinking about the irony, either.

My precious.

When Madison first became aware of the Disney Princesses and their overt attempt to take over the world, I incorrectly assumed she would treat them as she had treated everything else in her life: as a momentary fixation. There had already been the Wonder Pets, Elmo, and The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. They had all more or less come and gone. Well, perhaps the variable I hadn’t considered was her on-going maturity. I assumed that her general lack of an attention span would win the day and she’d move on. Well, her interest developed into a hobby (she dressed as Cinderella for Halloween), and since then, her hobby has become a full-blown lifestyle commitment. On the one hand, it’s pretty obvious that Lynnette and I are enabling this princess lifestyle. Look, Lynnette and I still rule over Higa Land, alright? I guess it’s just that Madison’s interest in the princesses and her newfound attachment to dresses and skirts makes me happy.

To this day, my brother Matty and I still utter Andy Garcia’s “I like that you like it” line from Ocean’s 11 whenever we can – even if the context only tangentially fits. I find humor in both the horseshit of the statement’s content and also Garcia’s drab delivery. I think it’s a lame answer to an honest question. But still, I like that Madison likes the princesses and is so caught up in learning everything she can about them.

The Princess and the Queen.

When I was growing up, the two things I was really into were comic books and baseball. That was the complete list. Girls were always on the periphery, but they were hard. Comic books never rejected my feelings and even though I sucked at baseball, I sucked at dealing with girls even more.

That said, my interest in those two areas wasn’t casual. I was borderline-obsessed with both. I devoured as much as I could about each to the point where I could tell you just about every Marvel Super Hero’s first appearance from memory (in high school) and later tell you every starter at every position of each Major League Baseball team (in college) and use that as a personal sobriety test. The Mets are the specific version of my obsession with baseball. This kind of overall fanaticism has only manifested itself twice in my adult life. The first was with my irresponsible collecting of shoes. The second should be pretty obvious.

In the car on our way to Target after the game on Sunday, Lynnette and I daydreamed about the prospect of a second child. I think deep down inside, we both know our finances will always preclude having a second daughter who I would have named Davida Wright Higa or Johanna Santana Higa or something like that. I turned to Madison and said to her “Hey, Mad. I don’t if we’ll get to all the things we want to.” She shot me a curious look. “It might be that I’ll have to put all my metaphorical eggs in your basket. Is that okay?” She nodded. “That’s okay, dad. I’ll hold your eggs.” She has no idea, of course, but I suspect that one day she will.

We’ve Been Super-Busy

We’ve been busy. The past three days might have matched or surpassed the longest stretch of time during which I haven’t written a blog entry. It’s actually a few things converging: the end of the school year, family get-togethers, and I’m pretty tired. I’ll try my best to catch you up on what we’ve been up to. But I bet if you had no idea and you had to guess, the first thing you would have said is “A lot of eating,” and then you would have said something like “There was probably some shopping.” You’d be right on both counts.

Madison discovered the majesty that is Smores.

Thursday: Lynnette’s parents threw one of those Adam Wainwright to Carlos Beltran-type curve balls and picked Gyu Kaku in Kaneohe for lunch. As soon as Lynnette got home the three of us piled into the car and made the trek out to Windward Mall. Madison was thrilled. She hates staying home.

Of course, this kind of thing is always a wrench in my carefully planned sleeping schedule. I figured that I would be in bed a full hour later than usual, which meant that I would fall asleep at least a half-hour later than usual (I need to unwind, it’s just the way I’ve always been). Honestly, though, it’s hard to care about sleeping when there’s so much lightly cooked red meat to be had.

Steak had always been number one in my heart until I discovered the majesty that is sushi. Sometimes, red meat reminds me of what we had. She’s such a temptress!

I tried to explain to Lynnette that my father was unlikely to wear anything from Cinnamon Girl, but she didn't hear me. Or she did and she didn't care.

Friday: We met my brothers at Pearlridge to look for a gift for our father. He turned 52 yesterday. We got there early, ate dinner, and looked around. Madison asked Lynnette a billion questions while we were in Sephora. It’ll be a sad, sad day when I come across Madison wearing make up for the first time.

Even if it’s completely innocuous and she ends up looking like something like this, as opposed to a heavily made-up little girl, it’ll still be another battle lost.

Lynnette was playing around with her eye pencil (is that what it’s called?) and Madison said she wanted to try. Lynnette made a little line on the back of Madison’s hand with the pencil. This seemed to satisfy Madison for the time being, but that’s only because she doesn’t know better. It’s like that time she had my cup over her nose and mouth like an underwater breathing apparatus – once she figures it out, it isn’t going to be pleasant.

Lynnette was pleased as it was impossible to align the furniture into a formation that would allow me to pester her in the darkness.

When we got home from the mall and cleaned up, I suggested that we go camping. Since neither Lynnette nor I are the outdoorsy-types, camping means “sleeping in the living room.” We pulled out Madison’s tent and threw her tiny mattress inside. I dropped my pillow on the couch. Lynnette laid out on the fold-up mattress. Things were going pretty well – until we turned out the lights. Apparently, Abby was upset because all three of us were in the living room and she was sequestered to her cage. She kept barking. Madison was so tired that she fell asleep in the middle of it all.

I had done so much work to get everything into the living room that I told Lynnette she could let Abby out to sleep with us. It would have worked, too, except Abby had no interest in sleeping. She ran around the area, liked Madison while she slept, scratched at one of the blankets, and worst of all, jumped onto my crotch in the darkness, eliciting a swear word at 11:30 at night. Somebody else in the living room giggled. Lynnette put Abby back but she wouldn’t stop barking. We gathered our things and headed back to the room. Abby stopped barking immediately. So much for our camping trip.

Happy birthday, Grandpa!

Saturday: My whole family showed up at my parents’ house to celebrate my dad’s birthday. He’s 52. Yeah, just the twenty years older than I am. I know what you’re thinking because I’m thinking it, too: this is exactly what I’m going to look like in about 8 years. There’s no running from one’s destiny. I’m not the running type, anyway, but that’s more about laziness than courage.

Other than the birthday celebration, my aunt was helping Matty and Tanya with their wedding. Incidentally, it looks like that’s still going to happen and it’s not some elaborate hoax. Also in the planning were numerous attempts to schedule some kind of bridal party and our family’s get-together for Mothers’ Day.The latter was an exercise in futility.

With so many adults with varying responsibilities in our family, it’s nearly impossible to get the stars to align so everyone can show up at the same place at the same time – even when planning a month or two in advance. My mom, aunty Waynette, and Matty kept tossing out dates only to have various members of the family say “Nope, I have _____________ (whatever activity you like) that day.” It was incredible. So apparently, the month of May is a disaster and we’re going to pair Mothers’ Day with Fathers’ Day, which Matty has cleverly dubbed “Mathers’ Day.” This might be his biggest contribution to the family for the calendar year. I’ll keep you posted.

Madison generally doesn't care to be held by my father. But if the only two options are being held by grandpa and getting mauled by Bijou, well, I think you can see her logic.

My uncle Al and Auntie Grace are in from the mainland. There’s no easy way to say it, so I’ll be frank. My grandfather is in a bad way is unlikely to significantly improve. They’ve come to be with him for what might be the last time. On the one hand seeing them is always great, and catching up is always really exciting, but to know why they’re here mitigates that a bit. I’m sure the time will come when I will write about this, but that time is not now. I will try to head over to my parents’ house with Lynnette and the Goob – possibly Thursday night- to hang out with my uncle and aunt before they leave this weekend.

This is something like the 4th and 5th sets of candles that Madison has blown out this month.

My cousin Lindy (left) had her birthday on Friday, so we had two cakes set up with candles on them. My mom – ever the frugal one – used three candles for Lindy’s cake and size for my father. According to her, each candle represented a decade and both cakes featured one “good luck” candle. If you’re squinting your eyes or shaking your head or whispering “What?” right now, don’t worry, you aren’t alone. And she’s my mom.

Anyway, there are few things Madison loves more than a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” and blowing out candles. Because she’s the baby, she was allowed to blow out the candles on both cakes.

It’s awesome. As soon as she hears one of my aunts say “We’re going to sing ‘Happy Birthday!’” Madison runs towards the counter, finds the birthday celebrant and says “I’m going to help you with your cake!” It’s not a question, and it isn’t really an offer, either. It’s mostly an ultimatum. My absolute favorite part is that she sings so loud and shouts the “Whoooo!” Rick Flair-style between the lines of the song while raising her hands like in the picture above.

We ended up getting my dad an “Al Pack.” It was a bunch of his favorite things because the man is impossible to shop for. Paul’s assessment of the dilemma as we were shopping: “He literally doesn’t do anything for fun. He drinks beer while watering the grass. That’s it. Well, the “Al Pack” contained a sleeveless t-shirt (oxymoron alert), beef jerky, peanut M&Ms, the movie Hanna, and a 12-pack of Bud Light Platinum. After he rummaged through it, he thanked us. I said, “I hope you like it, you’re so  hard to shop for.” “Yeah, he said, I just come home, pop open a beer, then water the grass.” He’s a simple guy. I think you can see, though, that he had a pretty great birthday even without breaking into the goodies.

 

Can an Ice Cream Parlor Physically Stalk a Person?

Lynnette got home early yesterday and caught me in the computer room tearing up because I was watching video footage of David Wright’s 2-run home run against the Marlins. The two RBI gave Wright the all-time franchise lead in the category, passing Darryl Strawberry. The Mets won. That was nice, too. Congratulations, David. I love you.

Any time Madison rides a wheeled vehicle of any kind, "It Was a Good Day" immediately starts playing in my head. I know I've messed up. What I should have done from the start was record video of Madison in and on all her vehicles, spliced them together with Ice Cube's seminal classic in the background. Then played the video at her high school graduation party. But by then the song will be something like 33 years old. W.T.F.

Sadly, Lynnette wasn’t in the same emotional strata. She had had a difficult day at work and I suppose it was rough because she spared me the details, which leads me to believe she simply didn’t want to rehash any of it. I suggested that we pick up the Goob and go find a nice dinner. Lynnette slouched on the couch and scoured Pinterest on her phone as I watched Robert Irvine go apeshit on an overwhelmed restaurant owner. We decided on Auntie Pasto’s in Kunia.

When we arrive at the playground at Mad’s school, she was tooling around on the John Deere tricycle. This amazes me, of course, because she doesn’t care to ride on the multiple wheeled vehicles she actually owns. Context, I guess. When Mad saw Lynnette and I, she didn’t park the bike. She told us to watch her motor around on the sidewalk bordering the sandbox. After I snapped a few pictures I told her it was time to go. She said she wasn’t ready to go. I told her she could stay. She got off the bike. I’m trying to pad my “psychological win” stats because in a few years, she’s going to go off and decimate me. I am sure of this.

This is Madison's self-portrait. I have thus far avoided asking her to draw me because I have a suspicion that she has a less than flattering view of me. My intuition is fueled primarily by her assertion that I "eat too much McDonald's" and have "a big, big belly."

I have already posted pictures of our dinner on Instagram, and will refrain from doing so here. The highlight of the meal was Madison’s art work. After wolfing down a few pieces of bread minus the crust and some of her pasta, she began working on a self-portrait. Obviously, she’s got the face down pat – including the devious smile and wily eyes. I guess she went with the retro short hair version of herself. Those marks on the side of her head are earrings. that rectangle protruding from her head is her neck. Quite thick, right? She was most concerned with making sure she was wearing a dress. She’s into wearing dresses all the time now. Lynnette and I picked up some dresses from Old Navy for $6 a pop, and Madison insists on wearing them as frequently as possible. Lynnette and I don’t mind at all, it makes it easy for Mad to use the restroom. The most appealing thing about dresses for Madison is being able to twirl and watch the bottom of her dress rise and spin with her. Again, she’s a girl. It’s real. I might as well say something.

The rate at which ice cream melts>the rate at which Madison eats ice cream.

I don’t know if an ice cream store can actually stalk someone, but it sure as hell feels like Baskin Robbins is stalking my family. The three of us walked out of Auntie Pasto’s; Lynnette and I waddled out of the restaurant completely full. There was a random egg – without its shell – sitting on the sidewalk and Madison was fascinated with it. She edged up to it and leaned over, pointing at it. “What happened?” she asked. I was about to make up another one of my legendary fake stories when I looked up and saw the Baskin Robbins storefront. “When did that get here?” I asked Lynnette. “I don’t know,” she said.

It’s probably been there for quite some time, and we just never noticed it.

Anyway, Madison has this thing now about not going home. If we’re out, she wants to stay out. Whenever she gets the feeling our stop – at a restaurant, store, mall, etc. – is winding down, she’ll ask “What are we doing after this?” Before Lynnette and I can answer, she’ll say “I want to go somewhere place else.” Sometimes she offers suggestions as to where this “somewhere place else ” is, but usually she does not.

After losing interest in the naked egg, she looked up at Lynnette and I and uttered her catchphrase. “Where do you want to go?” I asked. She looked around at the rest of the shops in the building. Her eyes found the Baskin Robbins. She smiled. “I think there’s some place ober dere,” she said, pointing – not at the ice cream parlor – but in the general direction of the wing of the building it was situated in. “Oh, is there?” I asked. “We should go look,” she said.

Looking at her face, you might be tempted to read it as a look of "concern." It is not. It is a look that obviously says "hurry up."

For the first time in her life, Madison stated that she preferred her ice cream in a cone. Lynnette and I knew it would not end well and that Madison really just wanted to eat the cone. She tried to eat her kid’s scoop quickly, but she just doesn’t consume ice cream fast enough. It began to melt and drip all over the cone, her hand, and the table. We got a cup and dropped the scoop in there. Madison watched like a me like a starving hawk as I peeled the paper off the cone. You see that right hand? There were a few moments during the unraveling when it tentatively drifted towards my own hands as if to help me. You know, because I wasn’t moving quickly enough. Every time I saw the hand begin to move towards the cone, I said “Ahhhh!” and she would pull her hand back quickly. Patience. Not one of Madison’s inherent traits.

Guess who ended up eating Cotton Candy ice cream?

We should have just spent $.32 on the cone. That’s all she was really interested in. She took a few bites of the ice cream, but she reveled in the waffle cone. I am going to buy a box of Ice Cream Cone brand ice cream cones from Times and serve it to Madison like a snack. We’ll end up saving money that way. You know, unless they decide to build a Baskin Robbins in Mililani Mauka. Which isn’t completely out of the question, mind you. They’re multiplying like rabbits (for you biologist) or wet Mogwai (for you 80′s movies buffs) or like Mets losses (if you’re a Mets fan).

By the way, NFL Draft tonight. Get ‘em Cowboys.

The Problem of Choice

I don't own any of the Star Wars films on DVD or Blu Ray because I don't need to.

*I don’t own any of the Star Wars films on VHS or DVD or Blu Ray in part because I’ve seen them enough times that I don’t imagine the following scenario would ever unfold:

I am at home. Alone. There is no one else to exert their 4-year old dictatorship over the television programing. I am hit with the sudden urge to watch any of the six Star Wars films. 

The other reason I don’t own any of these films is because the television station Spike seems to play both trilogies in their entirety something like every other weekend. The truth is, I am more likely to watch any of the Star Wars films by happening upon them on TV than by conscious choice. Other movies that I will never need to see again, but will assuredly watch if I find them on TV include The Shawshank Redemption and An American President. I suppose I can thank TBS and TNT for that. I don’t want to look through my movie collection. Making choices is hard. If I’m plowing through the TV stations on my TV is precisely because I don’t want to think.

Yes, I realize this is the 783rd time I have referenced this scene in an attempt to apply to real life. Humor me.

*Near the end of Matrix Reloaded, the second of the Matrix films, there is a lengthy, wordy scene between Neo (robotically played by Keanu Reeves) and the “Architect” (played by a sometime Colonel Sanders impersonator). While the conversation is essentially a headache attempting to explain the world of The Matrix, Keanu boils down the conversation and sums up the contention between machines and humans by uttering – in his best monotone – “The problem is choice.” Basically, the programs and machines do what they were built to do and that’s all, while humans are by nature unpredictable because they possess free will. The Architect uses a lot of cool words and intricate sentences to explain that the entire Matrix was built as a way to counter free will, as in to create a scenario where a human (The One) would be put into a position where he would still technically have a choice – but the consequences would be stacked so favorably to one side that there was no logical argument for choosing the other. You know what this makes me think of, right? You guessed it, LeBron James.

Decisions, decisions.

*A plethora of options can be liberating, but it can also be paralyzing. That’s why it’s impossible to find anything to watch on TV even though we’ve got something like 2,000 channels at this point. It’s why a song you like randomly played on a radio station or in a grocery store seems super cool, even though you have that same song on your phone and could listen to it whenever you want to, but never do.  Like Keanu said, the problem is choice, and that’s been the by-product of the Lebron/DWade union.

Anyone who has ever stood in a long line for several hours in the hopes of acquiring an iPad, Jordans, or a ride at the Punahou Carnival will understand this concept. It’s always easier to deal with something if we perceive that there is no other viable option. Standing in those serpentine lines outside of a Best Buy or Foot Locker sucks by nature, but for non-connected people like myself, it’s the only way we’re going to get ours.

Like Neo, I technically have a choice in my employment. I suppose I could leave the teaching profession and never look at a student essay again, but I perceive that I need to pay bills and well, this is the best gig going for my particular set of skills. I have a choice, but those other options are pretty shitty.

Not so for the Miami Heat. The problem caused by the Wade/James pairing is that it creates a situation which did not exist for either player before they joined forces: they’ve got options. When Lebron played in Cleveland, he was unquestionably “the man” because it was obvious no one else on the team was. He was the best player on those teams, and that made him the go-to option by default. He didn’t have to think about it. Same for Wade. There was no problem of choice. You don’t have to think about something that’s automatic like blinking and breathing and answering “Yes,” when the disembodied voice over the McDonald’s intercom asks if you want to make your meal “Large.”

By most accounts, the Heat still look unsettled at the end of close games. I’m arguing that Wade and James haven’t quite figured out how to handle these crunch-time situations because instead of living and dying with one of them, they’re busy trying to figure out the best way to live and die with both without hurting each other’s feelings in the process. LeBron isn’t the man in Miami because he doesn’t have to be. He can choose something else, anoter way.

Humans like simplicity. The easiest response is “Pick one.” But how do you choose?  They can’t do that because it runs counter to the reason the two joined forces in the first place: to give the team options and create impossible mismatches. Sure it makes it easier for the other team if they (and everyone else in the building) knows exactly where the ball is going in the final seconds of the game. But doesn’t that make it easier on that guy, too?

Quality Time with the Wife to End the Four-Day Weekend

Starbucks ought to ripoff the air travel industry and establish express counters, but something tells me those lines might be longer than non-card carrying members of the Starbucks family.

*Lynnette and I dropped Madison off at school and got an early start to our Monday. As it was the end of our long weekend of birthday and other fun, we thought we’d go low-key. I wanted to check out Ala Moana primarily because I was sick of Pearlridge, and also the weather didn’t look good for outdoorsy-type activities. Yes, this is another weekend during which we’ve been prevented from going to the beach for some reason or another. Anyway, we got to Ala Moana early enough that Starbucks was the only place open. Predictably, there was a fairly long line for Lynnette to wait in when we got there. In case you’re wondering, this is the back of Lynnette’s head as opposed to the head of a random woman in line. This only makes me lame rather than creepy. Good job by you, Phil.

We're pretty good at waiting in line.

*Surprisingly, we didn’t purchase anything for ourselves. We did however, take advantage of some deals on toddler clothing. Madison grows so quickly and unpredictably that it’s only that she outgrows her clothes, but that they become ill-fitting. She has, for example, several pairs of shorts that still fit well around the waist, but appear to be too short in terms of length. Whenever Lynnette dresses her in these pairs, I make a face which is accompanied by a hesitant noise which is followed by Lynnette saying “Relax, it’s fine, she’s four.” For now, Lynnette. But soon, the time for Madison in shorts-shorts will end; Elrond understood this and sent all of the Elves to the west when they abandoned Rivendell.

It's so big that even in a two-dimensional picture, it looks 3D.

*I have a really huge and sore pimple on my forehead. I can’t go near extremely religious people because they believe it is a horn growing in and thusly that I am likely the Anti-Christ, and a demon-spawn at least. It’s in a location on my head that makes facial expressions uncomfortable. I can smile with no problem, but when, for example, I raise my eyebrows as an autonomic response to some ridiculousness Lynnette has just uttered, or I furrow my brow while I pretend to listen to Lynnette, there is discomfort. Obviously, Lynnette fights my plight hilarious. She did a remarkable job in this picture of not only using her finger to mimic the size of my pimple, but also to point directly at it. But, in a short while, a small shipment of karma would make its way near Lynnette’s lap. The universe has a sense of humor, and I could classify it as “wry.”

Crab is always good.

My pimple was pretty hungry at this point.

*My aunt gave me a gift certificate for Sam Choy’s Breakfast, Lunch, and Crab restaurant, and I wasted no time using it. Thanks, Aunty Way! I don’t frequent this place very often, but it never changes. Lynnette used the word “rustic” to describe the decor, I would have gone with “maybe they need to tidy the place up a little.”

Lynnette ordered the crab sandwich and I went with the fried rice/fried poke wrap. We traded halfsies as soon as we got our meals, though, so as to have the best of both worlds. I ended up coming out on top because Lynnette couldn’t eat as much as I could (I think she was giving me chance), so I got a little more than an even share. That’s a good day, right there.

Both dishes were delicious, and Lynnette and I were happy with our choices. Look, I love Madison, but she complicates everything, not the least of which is trying to enjoy a meal in a restaurant. It was nice for Lynnette and I to be able to eat our meals, have a conversation, and enjoy each other’s company without being interrupted by “I’m done, mom.” or “I want a snack, dad.” or “Can I go outside ober dere?” I won’t lie – sometimes Lynnette irks the hell out of me. But then I remember that I teach teenagers all day and then I’m trying to raise a little Princess. Lynnette’s the only adult voice in my life right now, unless you count the one coming from my forehead, right above my right eyebrow that screams “Feed me, Philp.” I love Lynnette, but I think she hurt my pimple’s feelings.

Karma showed up in the form of a roach.

My pimple laughed its ass off.

*Lynnette drove home from lunch. As we were moving slowly along Nimitz Highway, I noticed a roach cruising atop the folded visor above Lynnette. I calmly fished a napkin out of the glove box. Only half the roach was exposed, so I figured I’d try to nail it with one hit, so that Lynnette wouldn’t freak out while driving. Well, the best laid plans and all that.

Because the roach was only half-exposed, the best I could do was knock it from the ceiling. It fell in Lynnette’s line of sight. Somehow, she raised both hands off the wheel and into the air, screamed at the top of her lungs, slowly applied the brakes, and scooted her ass three inches to the left simultaneously. The dazed roach (we never asked the roach if I had dazed it, or if it was loopy because of Lynnette’s scream) fell onto the edge of Lynnette’s seat where I quickly corralled it in the napkin. “Did you get it?” Lynnette screamed. “Yeah,” I said. “YOU SUCK AT CATCHING ROACHES!” she said. I could only laugh. And also dangle the napkin in her direction. Maybe she’s right, but I would like to personally thank the universe for making its sense of humor known to us this afternoon.

Nice view, right?

We found it. After a long walk, getting our shoes dirty, and mosquito bites.

*I have only a slender grasp of what I will write about next, so forgive me if I am wrong (this statement applies almost exclusively to Lynnette).

Lynette’s new hobby is something called Geocaching. The basic premise is that a network of people have created little caches and hidden them in public areas for other members of the network to hunt down. Inside of these caches are logs to write your name down, and little items to swap out to leave for those who will come after you. These caches are registered on a website using GPS locations. Apparently, this is a global thing. For example, people will do this when they travel or go on vacation.

You can understand the appeal from Lynnette’s point of view. She was raised on The Goonies and read The Da Vinci Code with the same intensity I displayed when I read the articles in Hustler. Basically, Geocaching is exactly like National Treasure, except there’s no Nic Cage, no treasure, and most importantly, no hot blond woman. But I do have to admit, it’s pretty cool.

The only drawback that we’ve encountered so far is that since these things are hidden in public places, there lies the possibility that they will be removed without notice. We were only 1/3 today, as the other two caches we visited appeared to have gone missing. This is exactly like Knights of the Old Republic when you find all those goodies hidden behind booby traps. I assume we’ll become more involved with this geocaching and have more to report later.

Back to the grind tomorrow. Farewell, 4-day weekend. It was beautiful while it lasted.

 

Madison’s Photo Gallery, 3/27/2012

It’s recently become one of Madison’s hobbies to highjack my phone or Lynnette’s. She’ll play all kinds of games and whatnot (she’s run Lynnette’s fake money down to $0 twice playing Underwater Slots) and the best part is, she doesn’t tell us about it. Lynnette had random people listed in her contacts like “RF9D” last year. In the past week or so, though, she’s been particularly interested in taking pictures, then looking at them, then saying “Oh, dat’s a nice one,” or things along those lines. I assume it’s because Lynnette and I are always talking pictures – 5% of them for the memories and the balance for potential blog fodder. The following are some of Madison’s shots from yesterday. Listed first will be how she described them, followed by my commentary. Enjoy.

"Oops." Yeah, I can't tell if those are fingers or toes, either. They're kind of bendy so I assume toes, but at gunpoint, I wouldn't be able to say for sure. That's one of the things I absolutely love about my daughter: the way she looks at the world. I see the same blah-monotony everywhere I look, but to her, everything is a chance for something spectacular, or at least interesting. Yesterday Lynnette sent me a photo message of half of Madison's foot that she found while going through her phone. It's amazing, though. You know how if you're watching a TV series on DVD, but then take a couple of days off from it and you can't quite remember where you are? You go to a point and you know you're past it so you skip to the next chapter but then know you're too far, so you end up having to fast-forward/rewind at double-speed to find that exact spot. Most times you kind of just settle because you know you'll never know exactly where it is. Well, finding random pictures that you know don't remember taking is just like that - only if the photographer is a three-year old, then the frustration is trying to figure out what the hell all those blurry images are.

"Dis my kitty sticker on my fligilator." Abby and Madison share a food cabinet. The upper shelf has a bunch of Madison's snacks in it and the lower shelf has all of Abby's food resting there. Madison has been calling this cabinet her "fligilator" since she could form polysyllabic words. I think it's because Lynnette and I always say that the food or drinks are in the refrigerator. Madison must assumed that that's where the adult food is and her "fligilator" is where the non-adult snacks are held. It's ironic I suppose, because this is the only cabinet door in our house that's child-proof. Madison was never one of those babies that tried to sneak in a few swigs of household cleaner or insect poison. No, she always knew where the goods were. Anyway, there are numerous stickers affixed to various surfaces around our house. I remember back when I was a kid, my bedroom door was covered with those puffy plastic stickers and a bunch of scratch-and-sniff badboys. It was so ugly. Since my mom was always more a museum curator than a cleaner, I wondered how she ever allowed that. Now I know. Having a child increases you tolerance for nonsense a billionfold. In my single, non--parental life, I would never even consider having stickers of Mickey Mouse and his pals on the backs of our dining room chairs, but now? I don't even see it. I do not care. I have bigger fish to fry than three imperfectly aligned decals whose colors clash with the dining set.

"I wanna take a picture of you, daddy. Here, hold dis ball." I think we're all lucky that this shot came in out of focus. I tried as best I could to hide my girth with the beach ball; any other ball in the house and I don't think it quite gets it done. I'd like to thank the favorable lighting conditions which made it appear as though I have some kind of definition in the chest area when we all know I have the chest of a 12-year old. It's not that I don't work out, it's that... yeah, I don't work out. Note to self: please get some sun as it is surprisingly difficult to ascertain where your body ends and the wall begins.

"Here's the flower in the wall." We rock those Wallflowers hard in our house to counteract the smells of dog, human, and fried bacon which have ingrained themselves into the very fabric of our walls. I kind of hate them because I always graze my leg against them in the hallway areas. Has anyone else noticed that they're like the only thing in the world that you have to turn left to tighten and right to loosen? Other than death and taxes, the only other thing I was sure of was "lefty-loosey, righty-tighty." The Bath and Body Works Wall Flower system completely destroys all of that. It's like the designers said "We will make any room in your house smell wonderful, but it will come at a price. You will be made to feel stupid every time you change out the fragrance." Before I realized that they were all designed this way, I couldn't even get the cap off of the refills. I'd go at it the way I assume some diligent wild animal digs or burrows, but to no avail. I screamed and grunted inarticulate noises appropriately. I'd finally give up by shouting "Fuck, I give up!" and then Lynnette would calmly disappear and a few minutes later, that thing would be in the wall smelling all kinds of nice. Later when I realized the backwards engineering, I pointed it out to Lynnette who said "Oh, yeah, that's how they are." Thank you, Bath and Body Works, for giving my wife tangible evidence that she is smarter than I am. Much mahalos.

"I'm gonna take a pictures of my fish!" I have to admit, it's kind of impressive that she managed to get all three of the barbs in the shot. Never mind if it's out of focus or not. I've tried to take pictures of these misanthropes before and it isn't easy to snag them in a group shot. They're like teenagers: they always hang around together so they aren't alone, and then the minute you associate them with each other, they're all like "Nah, duu, nah, we not frenz, doh." I always feel like we should get a couple more fish, but these assholes are like a gang. They straight up killed the algae-eater last year, and I'm afraid they'll just destroy any other fish we bring in. It's like prison. Or at least the way I think prison works based on my extensive experience with it via movies and television and Wentworth Miller.

"Let me see your ring!" Thankfully, Madison hasn't yet developed an irrational love of shiny baubles like rings, bracelets (she calls them "brace-a-lets," it's the cutest thing, take my word for it), and earrings. She likes the idea of wearing watches, but quickly abandons them as they slide off her wrist too easily. She has a few pairs of earrings she always wears, and one special set that resembles Abby. Whenever I take my ring off and Madison finds it, she tries it on all of her fingers to see it if it'll fit. When it inevitably falls off her fingers, she holds it to her face, goes cross-eyed looking at it, and makes a face which I associate with Gollum because Madison is impish and also she's holding a ring. Let's be fair, though, Madison is my precious.

The thing I look forward to the most is reviewing these photos with Madison. Trying to follow her logic is at times the most intellectually challenging part of my day. At times her logic is completely inaccurate, but the beauty of it is seeing how a three-year old with a limited understanding of the workings of the world might arrive at that particular conclusion.

I recently ran into an old friend and her husband. They recently had twins. Madison and I looked upon these infants with wonder. Madison has always loved children; she would immediately stop whatever she was doing when she heard another child crying and ask what was wrong. It’s different for me, though. My friend asked me if I missed Madison being so tiny, so new. “I do,” I said. “But not what it takes.”

According to WordPress.com, my blog has been viewed over 60,000 times since I started writing it. I know I write a lot, but somehow that number seems impossible. I attribute that number to a lot of people simply Google-searching phrases like “I love Blake Lively” or “I want to oof the New York Mets.” Still, I know there are a handful of you who do take out time to read the things I enter here, and I am grateful for that. If anything within entertains you, informs you, or makes you think, then I am glad. For you long-time readers, thank you for sticking with me through what -by now – must seem like frequently redundant thoughts, activities, and the like.

Writing, like watching Madison grow up, is still fun. And despite the novelty having worn off right about the time she started scolding me for my language, I’m going to keep on writing because she, Lynnette and I still have a whole bunch of firsts we’ve yet to get to.

Thanks for reading.

Avengers Analysis!

I get that they need to show the actors' faces, but c'mon, do it right, damn it.

Obviously, I’m excited about the Avengers moving coming out in early May. I haven’t been this thrilled about an upcoming release since the first live-action Transformers movie a few years ago. Hopefully, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes won’t let me down the same way that the Autobots and Decepticons did. That would suck. I try very hard to temper my expectations, but something as huge as this makes it very difficult for me. It’s like my whole Greek tragedy of a relationship with the Mets. I try so very hard to emotionally distance myself from them over the winter. i know the upcoming season is going to be a rough one. I haven’t felt this depressed about their chances since the early part of last decade. I have tried to avoid thinking about them. By the time actual Spring Training games roll around, I’ll be trying to fight off Mets fever. By the start of the regular season, I’ll be all in again. Same with this stuff. I want the movie to be great, but I expect that it won’t be. But my desire for greatness it overwhelming. It has to be great. It must. Anyway, another trailer for the Avengers movie dropped yesterday, and it is glorious (Multiple Dorkgasm Alert!):

I figured I’d take break this down English major/comic book geek style.

0:03-0:07 – Slow motion shots of people running. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this…

0:09-:011 – Things on fire falling from the sky. This reeks of Michael Bay.

0:13 – “War has started. And we are hopelessly outgunned.” Great halftime speech, Sam. Real inspiring stuff. What’s the lesson from the Transformers movies, and now the Avengers film? If any other intelligent life attacks Earth, there won’t be shit humans can about it but nothing and like it. Okay, maybe we can shoot a whole lot of guns.

0:23-0:25 – Why the hell would Captain America spend his time in a gym? He’s got the ultimate PED coursing through his veins. He doesn’t need to work out. He’s missed seven decades trapped in a block of ice. Give him some Knicks tickets so he can watch an Asian guy pass the rock to an African American guy who will then dish it to a European guy for a three. Cap’s mind would be blown! He’d have so many questions. “So Asians aren’t the enemy anymore?” “What do you mean it’s a three-point line?” “Since when did it become acceptable to shout obscenities in public?”

0:33-0:38 – Why is Dr. Banner wearing a suit when he lives in such a shithole? Who cares what a recluse wears? Is it for himself? To give himself a little refinement? Now that I think about it, there’s no way any clothing ever stayed on when he transformed into the Hulk. It’s physically impossible. Jacob Black has a better chance of keeping his underwear on over his wolf bits. Banner knew Mr. Fantastic. He could have made Banner a three-piece suit out of the same stuff that allowed Mr. Fantastic to stretch without tearing his outfit. I know those Fantastic Four costumes are garish, but if Banner made the specs himself, no more tattered purple pants.

0:40-0:43 – Shouldn’t he be more concerned with meeting up with Natalie Portman? I would be.

0:54-0:58 – You forgot “alcoholic,” Tony.

1:23: Loki’s attempts at updating his own wardrobe appear to be an unmitigated disaster. The coat and tie says “urbane and professional,” the gold/green shirt says “I’m still the Norse god of Mischief.” The combination of the two says “I have no sense of personal style, and also no stylist. I killed him for insubordination. He suggested a plain white shirt with a subdued green/gold vest to mute the tone, but tie in my origins as an interloper who can’t stay out of anyone else’s business because I simply like to fuck with people for the hell of it.”

1:24 – Tebowing!

1:28 – “We’re not a team, we’re a time bomb.” This reminds me of the line-up scene from The Usual Suspects. Later Dean Keaton (Gabriel Byrne) would go on to say “There’s no way they’d line up five felons in the same room.” I suspect that Dr. Banner is probably right. You put that many unstable people in a room and things can only go badly. I am not a historian, but this is probably how the whole “separate-the-bride-and-groom-before-the-wedding-ceremony” tradition started. It just makes sense.

1:29-1:34: Great action shots, guys. I still have no idea what this movie is about or what the threat is. Nice air-punch, Hulk.

1:35 – More popular archer this summer? Katniss Everdeen or Clint Barton?

1:48 – Nice catch, Hulk. At this point, I am most impressed with the Hulk’s athleticism. He’s a solid prospect, if a little volatile. Don’t know about the make up. Seems to rise to the occasion, shows up in the clutch. Too bad he missed the combine. The Colts would have had to rethink their entire draft strategy, likely costing Andrew Luck millions of dollars.

1:50-1:52 – I told you. Regular humans are useless. Oh, wow. A bow and arrows. A handgun. Against what appears to be multi-dimensional space craft with advanced, sophisticated weaponry. Way to set the odds and the Avengers as the obvious underdogs.

1:55-2:00 – The group shot! Tight circle, backs to each other, eyes outward. Shows unity, conveys vigilance. I suppose it’s more effective than the slow motion Reservoir Dogs intro shot. But the dork in me wishes they would have filmed the team getting into six separate Quinjets, leaving Avengers headquarters, flying them in a convoy, then arriving at a fight together – all in slow motion. Kind of like this:

That would be the money.

On Modern Toys

I know we just went to Toys R’ Us last weekend. But like Jack, Kate, Hurley, Sun, Sayid, and John Locke’s corpse, we had to go back. WE HAD TO GO BACK! Madison and Lynnette will be attending a birthday party this weekend so we needed to pick up a gift. Lynnette took her time looking for a gift, Madison had to use the bathroom; I had plenty of free time to roam the non-toddler, non-girl aisles of the store. I took pictures of anything that struck me.

On clearance because who wants to buy the toy of the guy who died 2.021 seconds into the fight with Palpatine?

Saesee Tiin Star Wars Action Figure (Now with Jedi Locker!): Since Lucas is re-releasing Episode I in 5D IMAX Terror Squad Nuclear theaters soon, that means he’s also rolling out the massive merchandise collections to accompany it. Honestly, I don’t even know how Star Wars toy collectors manage to keep all the different collections in order. The toy is a part of the “Legacy Collection.” What does that mean? Is it a collection of all the characters that died over the course of the six films? That would be a badass collection actually. I’d like to personally nominate Obi Wan (with removable robe so the Darth Vader figure from the collection could kick it as it sits on the ground), Darth Vader (with Emperor-tossing motion), Greedo (with pre-recorded “How could I miss from that range?” sound box – in his native tongue, of course), Darth Maul (two pieces held together at waist by magnets), and a special hard-to-find Princess Amidala (in lingerie as the chase figure) for the Series 1.

You thought the same thing I did. Don't judge me.

Green Lantern extendable fist thing: I am a horrible human being and as such, the first time I saw this, my thoughts were rather impure. Forgive me. Anyway, my actual problem isn’t with the obvious seedy connotations this toy carries, but rather with the lack of creativity it ultimately illustrates.

Believe me, if I’m ever selected as member of the Green Lantern Corps, I won’t use the ring on my fist to create a bigger first to punch people with. When I saw that in the trailer for the movie, it pissed me off. You can do anything you can imagine and will into existence with those rings. I’d like to think I’m more creative than that. I’d dream up a TPX C405 Plus (it’s already black and green!) to beat the holy hell out of super villains with. For starters. I’m pretty stupid. I’m talking about willing the ring to create a fake Robotech Robot so I could pilot it just to say that I piloted a Robotech Robot. This of course, is why I will never be chosen to possess a ring. Also, none of it is real.

Maybe if my dad bought me these toys instead of Transformers, I'd be handier. Probably not, but maybe.

Home Depot Fake Tool Work Station: If Madison owned anything resembling these tools and workstation, she’d instantly be more handy with tools than I am. I don’t know why I am so bad with tools and things of that nature.

Hypothetical Situation: Someone has kidnapped me. I have a burlap bag over my head. I don’t know where we are going, only that we’ve been on the road for a long time. The vehicle comes to a stop. I am told to get out. I am led indoors. I make two right turns. I hear a door open. I take 5 steps into the room and am shoved down into the seat. Someone rips the bag of my head. It’s bright. I squint. There’s a long table in front of me with a black sheet thrown over a few items. I turn to look at my captor, but the side of my head hits the barrel of a gun before I get a look.”I am going to kill you,” the voice behind me says. “You have a single chance to to survive.” Another man removes the sheet from the table. On the table rest a large tool box and a hardbound book whose title I cannot make out. “Here is your choice,” says the man. “Inside of the tool box are 14 tools. The book is 500 pages long. Should you choose the tool box, you will have 3 minutes to correctly identify all 14 tools. If you do not, I will kill you. Should you choose the book, you will have 24 hours to read it. At the end of those 24 hours, you must take a test of the content of the book that you will have one hour to complete.” “What kind of test?” I say. “I will not tell you,” the man says.

You better believe I take the book.

"City Hunter?" I thought we all agreed Predator 2 never happened.

Predator Two-Pack: I love the Predator. I love the idea of them, of what they represent. They’ve got as much personality as someone can have without having an actual personality. But that’s okay because they aren’t supposed to.

I know they’re supposed to be an alien race hell bent on the ultimate hunt, but in recent films, they’ve become something else. There’s been a noticeable shift in the way the Predators’ costumes are designed. None of them talk (a language readily accessible to humans) or have names; the figures in this set are defined by what they do. But excepting that, it appears as though their outfits are supposed to distinguish them. That’s great and all, but that’s also the problem. They’re coming to resemble humans. What made the first Predator and first predator amazing was that it was a single , mysterious one killing everybody. In my opinion, it’s what made him a badass. He was a rogue. Yes, he was defeated, but Arnold never lost in the 80′s. I am saddened that they’ve watered Preds down so significantly.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if the Mayans are correct.

“Jersey Shore” Trivia Game: I find that if there is some kind of phenomena sweeping through popular culture (recently, like Jeremy Lin), I will do some work to figuring out what it is. “Jersey Shore” remains one of the few exceptions. Everything I know about the show itself I have heard at least second-hand (students) or through the media (Bill Simmons’ podcast). In fact, looking at this picture, I am thrilled to say that I can only name one of these people with any level of certainty. I know Snooki because I’ve seen Bobby Moynihan play her on SNL.

It’s probably the literature dork in me that still prefers scripted show to reality television. There’s also a part of me that can’t stand the exploitation of stupidity for profit. But maybe I’m the stupid one, because I’m pretty sure any one of these people drives a car bigger and more expensive than my house.

Why the Asian baby gotta be shorter than the Caucasian baby?

Baby Dolls that I never bothered to get the name of, my bad: Lynnette saw these first and said “Ohhhh, look the Asian Baby! That’s you, Madison!”
“Das not, me, mom!” Madison said. She sounded legitimately pissed off. I don’t blame my wife or my daughter, though. Lynnette and I both like seeing things which are made for and/or accurately reflect Asian-Americans. Madison, though, probably thought the hair was all wrong. Most importantly, though, the teddy bear simply won’t cut it. No glow worm, no dice.

Aside: Long before Lynnette and I ever got together, she knew I preferred Asian women. My entire dating history suggested as much. So did my penchant for saying things like “Where all the hot Asians at?” Well, when we did get together, it didn’t help that I also admitted to Lynnette “I always thought I’d be with someone who was something Asian, not Filipino.” “Filipinos are Asian,” she said. “Not to me they aren’t,” I said. “What? Well what do you consider Asian?” she asked. I think I said something stupid like “Japanese and Chinese and maybe Korean.” I didn’t mean it literally, what I was trying to articulate were my own personal preferences. “Asian” was a blanket misnomer. I liked to say things that sounded stupid to get a rise out of  Lynnette. I still do to this day. Why am I telling you this? Because Lynnette has never forgotten. She has never let it go. She scoffed. My ex-girlfriend is Chinese. Whenever the word “Chinese” comes up in casual conversation, Lynnette immediately says “Because that’s the kind you like, yeah?” It’s a running joke with us. For example, “Do you want to go to Poke Stop for dinner or do you want Chinese?” she’ll ask. “Eh, Chinese,” I’ll say. “Because that’s the kind you like, yeah?” she’ll say. She’s joking, but she’s also not. The lesson? Marrying someone, owning a house with them, having a child together, and letting yourself go physically will never, ever erase the pain and/or ease the fear caused by denying someone their own ethnicity and saying you generally don’t prefer that person’s ethnicity. Just trust me on this one.