Randoms from the Month of. . . (I Forget Which Roman God 'February' Stands for)

Hi America.  How we feelin' this evening?

Time once again for your monthly installment of all things Random, the February Edition.

Enjoy, folks.

Kris gets crafty with the Cannonball, whose 1st grade class was creating t-shirts in preparation for their 100th day of school.  They had to create a t-shirt with 100 things on it, so her teacher suggested to her classmates that they draw 100 individual things on their shirts.  This, to Kris, was blasphemy. . . especially when there was the chance to Bedazzle.

In addition to the 100-random-crap shirt, kids were also encouraged to dress up like an old person. . . 'cause, you know. . . sometimes old people live to 100.  Probably not me, though.  Here, Alayna demonstrates how to operate a 'walker' (converted from the frame of one of Abby's baby doll swings.)

Getting ready for school.

Abby demanded her picture taken as well.  As usual.

See the old timer on the left?  According to multiple six-year-old sources, that guy is Alayna's big love interest.

Getting schooled.

(Old ladies carry umbrellas, too. . . right?)

February 2015 could very well be remembered as being the month that both of my kids became obsessed with Star Wars.  As you'll be so good as to recall, I successfully introduced them to the greatest cinematic franchise on Earth using the Machete Order, and they've watched a lot of the movies ever since.  However, it wasn't until I allowed them to play with my old action figures that they really grew fanatical about it (you have NO idea how hard it was letting them touch my sacred toys, too - they were under intense supervision, and they weren't allowed to play with any of the weapons, as I didn't want them to get lost.)

Shit like this started appearing on their homework.  Here, Abby shows us Things That Begin with the Letter 'Y.'

After a few days of allowing them to carefully play with my old Kenner toys from the '80s, I decided that they should really just own Star Wars toys of their own (more or less 'cause I didn't want my vintage ones messed up, but let's just pretend that I'm a good parent and wanted them to have nicer, up-to-date toys instead.)  Alayna picked out an Anakin Skywalker toy from Target one day while we were out and about, which I'm not 100% cool with (seeing how the Prequels are horrendous at best), but at least its Episode III Anakin and not the retarded kid from Episode I.

Seeing how individual action figures run around $6 - $10, I realized the financial implications of getting my kids in Star Wars toys.  Eventually, after spending waaaay too many hours in front of my computer researching Star Wars action figures, I came across three sets of figures available on Amazon.  What was cool about these sets - which I got for about $15 apiece - was that you got six free-standing figures (each came with a base, so young kids can play with them easily) from each of the movies.  They're more mini-statues, too; there's no moving limbs and no removable weapons/accessories, so the likelihood of breakage - a major selling point for me - is considerably diminished.  Long story short, for $45, my kids now have a wide variety of sturdy, high-quality figures from the original Star Wars trilogy.  Bad-ass fatherhood defined, Internet. 

Speaking of bad-ass fatherhood - the other day Alayna came up to me and asked to watch Episode I.  I never told her about this cinematic abortion, but I guess she figured it out that there had to be a first movie seeing how I refer to the Prequels as Episode II and Episode III.  I tried dissuading her, describing its utter terribleness, but she said she just wanted to 'watch it and get it out of the way.'  Ten minutes in, she wanted to turn it off, but I refused - she was going to watch the whole damn thing.  Just like back in the day when parents used to sit their kid down and make them smoke a whole pack of cigarettes if they were caught smoking one, my kid watched the entirety of Episode I.  And hated it.  I'll be expecting a medal in the mail.

Yeah, we own this.  It's not nearly as fun as you remember.  For out of shape parents, it's pretty brutal.

Divvying up plunder.

Alayna's new musical obsession?  The Who.  She likes their weirder tracks, obviously - 'Cobwebs and Strange,' 'Boris the Spider,' ' Heinz Baked Beans,' etc. - but she also likes some of the tracks off Tommy, which is awesome.

(They're watching a kids' yoga DVD.)

Found this on one of the white boards in my Studio at work.  Pretty much sums Mr. Hough up.

We grew some tangerines this year.  Sort of.

Showing Alayana how to draw maps for a school project.  I wish she had more homework like this and less 'write the definition of this word three times'. . . Common Core is straight up destroying the fun in school for this generation.

(Not sure what's in her hand, but she wanted a picture with it.)

Having a Manhattan for dinner?  Must be a Friday.

Getting ready to walk Watson around the subdivision. . .

Alayna usually spends her weekends playing with two of the neighbor kids (and sometimes their younger and older siblings -   Three houses down on the left and the house immediately on our right, respectively.)  So there's always tons of toys littered around the front of our house.

The Cannonball, really getting into piano practice.

Abby, posing with a new outfit she picked out.

Bunny ears are hilarious.

Alayna had to write a page using ten of her Spelling Words for the week (words with the 'oi'/'oy' sound, as you can see.)  Remember the grandpa-looking kid from earlier (see above)?  Apparently our first grade sources were on to something. . .

Sugar, without any of that bothersome 'food' to go along with it.  Abby's ultimate snack.

Make-up time in a tent.  Yes, we set up a tent on our back patio.  And it has been up for a couple months now.

She wanted a picture of this.  'Cause this is really important.

Showing off some new winter coats.

- Brian

An Afternoon with Uncle Chris

Uncle Chris, meet Baby Commonia. . .

I think, in the eight years we've been down here in America's Wang, I could count on one hand the amount of times we've had family visit us that wasn't a grandparent.  It's probably happened four or five times, seriously.

Well, the fifth or sixth time was this afternoon, for a couple hours.  My younger brother Chris was in Orlando for his buddy's wedding (which he was standing in), and was able to swing out to our house for a few hours between the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner.  Kris was still at work, so it was up to me and the girls to show him a good time.

Here's what happened. . .

First thing's first - all family members that visit our house, evidently, must have their hair groomed by these two annoying children.

Watson can sense 'dog people,' and consequently spent much of Chris' visit trying to get up in my brother's lap. . .

See the chaos unfolding in this picture?  Note the abandoned infant off to the right.  The half-deflated Valentine's Day helium balloons.  The once-refrigerated  carton of soy milk.  The piles of plastic dishes and fake food.  The blue blanket "for Uncle Chris" that Uncle Chris certainly didn't need or ask for.  The board-game wielding minors running amok.  This patio was spotless not fifteen minutes before this picture was taken.  I'm completely serious. 

Broke this limited release out (from Great Divide, one of my favorite microbreweries), seeing how it was an official Borther visit and all. . .

After a couple beers, Uncle Chris was ready to play his nieces in a knuckle-whitening bout of Chutes and Ladders. . .

Master spinner (Alayna insisted she could have Sprite, since Chris and I were drinking craft beer coffee. . .

Borthers, sharing the same square.

Uncle Chris makes his move.  Much to their disappointment, he'd end up winning this hours-long tour-de-crap.

- Brian

Let Them Eat Thin Mints

Hawkin' the wares. . .

You wanna know what I hate?  Talking to strangers.

I hate small talk with a passion, and I also hate having to go out of my way in dealing with people, because - as I'm sure you're probably already aware - most people are idiots.

Prove me wrong.

Taking this into consideration, it was clear that I was bound to loath chaperoning my kid's girl scout cookie-selling booth this weekend.

The Cannonball tries her hand at Graphic Design

We were only there two hours, but it was a looooooong two hours.  Surprisingly enough, most people that passed by the table - set up right outside the exit doors of the Publix supermarket in Hunters Creek - stopped and bought something.  I figured we'd sell two boxes and be ignored by 95% of the shoppers that walked by us, but I guess most people in Hunters Creek aren't the asshole Yours Truly apparently is.


Anyway, here's a handful of pics from two hours of pure weirdness. . .

As it turns out, most of the people that stopped by and bought cookies from us were female (I guess chick's have more of a sweet tooth.)  We probably could have snagged more dudes if the Girl Scouts of America pushed  beer as well. . .

Busy workin'  the crowds

Smoke 'em if ya got 'em.

Photo courtesy of the Cannonball

- Brian

Return to Hoth, or The Air Hurts My F***ing Face, Pt. II

Good ol' Sanford Lake.  Now with Sign.

Welcome back.

So when I last left off I was at Mom's house in Midland.  Allow me pick up where I left off. . .

Saturday morning - Valentine's Day, if you'll remember (not that anyone in my family celebrates that retarded Hallmark holiday, mind you) - I woke up around 6am and began my usual routine of downing a pot of coffee.  After showering, gathering my things, and saying my goodbyes, I hopped back into my much-nicer-than-my-car-back-home Maxima and got back on ol' US-10 to head to my hometown, Clare.

Winter is coming.

What I had expected to be a nostalgic cakewalk of a drive ended up being the most stressful of my entire trip, though.  Not necessary on account of the roads, per se, but the weather in general; some nasty winds were blowing sideways across the highway, dragging snow drifts across the asphalt.  Probably nothing a seasoned Michigander would raise an eyebrow to, but my years in the sub-tropics have ruined my winter driving skills - I'll definitely have to work on building those back up.

Approaching the most treacherous of curves. . .

I rolled into Dad's house around 9:30/10am, just in time to catch him shoveling off the front steps of the house. . .

Some more gratuitous shots of my rental. . . just 'cause.

Frozen ponds.

Dad wrangles a Muppet.

Bailey

My old bedroom. . . now referred to as the Gold Room.  You can still spot the incense burns in the carpet underneath the nightstand - a subtle testimony to my tenure in this room.

He looks massive, but 95% of his mass is fur.  I think he weighs 7 lbs.

Later on in the morning, once my brother Chris finally got over to Dad's, we accompanied Dad over to Granny Hough's so we could pay her a visit.  Her live-in boyfriend, Norm, was nowhere to be found (she had no idea where he had run off to, either), so it was just the four of us hanging out. 

Granny's living room (you can see where I get my penchant for all things 'old' and 'knick-knacky.'

Yes.  She collects antique phones.

. . . and apparently dusty, old magazines.

Our family matriarch.  Her health is stable (despite the impression the oxygen tank might give you), but he short-term memory is just about shot.  In a thirty-minute time span, she repeated the same conversation with myself, Chris, and Dad at least three times.  EACH.

Granny's a big fan of cluttered wall space.  Again - you see where I get it from.

A staple in Granny's house since I can remember.

After about an hour of sharing the same conversation with Granny a half-dozen times, we said our goodbyes and headed back over to Dad and Cindy's. . .

See the red house over yonder?  That's where my mom used to stay. . . (though Hendrix lyrics aside, yes, my mom actually rented that house for six months or so back when I was in fifth grade.  Super creepy/possibly Purple Gang-related tunnel basement in that house, by the way.)

Having a very appropriate beer back at Dad's. . .

By the time we got back to the house, Cindy, Blake, and Jax (pictured here) were there.  This was the first time I had seen Scarlet or Jax, which seemed to blow peoples' minds for some reason (I guess the Florida branch of the family is overlooked a lot or something, I don't know.)

After lunch, Jeff and Annie and Scarlet drove home to Dad's  as well, which provided the living room floor with plenty of walking hazards for the next four hours or so. . .

Dad shows Jax how to operate the Most Annoying Toy Ever Created. . . 

Heaven in a bottle.

BLOCKS

Making a mess.

At some point in the afternoon, everyone kinda migrated upstairs into the play room (which used to be the guest room off the end of what used to be Chris' room above the garage, which is now a guest room.)  There, a few people had a hard time cracking into a twenty-year-old Fisher Price safe, which, apparently, used to belong to Chris.  This was proven when Chris non-chalantly picked up the safe, entered the DT combination (which, I guess, stands for 'Dinosaur Tyrannosaurus') and promptly opened the safe.  Remembering a combination to a little-used safe twenty years later?  Nothing weird about that at all. . .

That's my old Detroit Renaissance Faire staff I bought when I was 14. . . never got around to bringing it down to Florida, but I'll have to rest it against a fireplace or something when we get a place up in Michigan.  You never know when you need to lead a collection of hobbits and dwarves into far-off realms in order to destroy jewelry and the like, you know?

Cheyenne the Wonder Horse, still taking abuse thirty years later. . . 

See Figment stuffed animal there, off to the left?  That was also Chris'.  That dude grew obsessed with the weirdest shit. . .

Nana and Scarlet

Jax moves in on Snack Time, Scarlet gives him the 'Don't f***ing try me' stare.

The Third Wave of Grandkids

Borthers

. . . and with Dad.

Buccelli's - the Greatest Pizza on Earth.  If you disagree with me, I will punch you in the junk (and yes, I texted this picture promptly to Kris, who was back in Florida, not eating Buccelli's pizza.)

Gorging

Rare leftovers. . .

The Family Room - my favorite room at Dad's

Old Reliable - the piano I grew up with, and the one I learned on

Everything goes better with whiskey.

Jeff and Annie left shortly after dinner, but the Whites stuck around for a couple more hours.  When they left, Dad, Cindy, Chris and I watched a few home videos, finished off the whiskey and a few beers from the downstairs fridge, and called it a night around 11pm.

I woke up wide awake around 3:50am. . . despite the fact that my alarm was set for 5am.  Cindy had been good enough to prep the hot tub for me the day before (which had been a pain in the ass), so I decied to just get up instead of trying to go back to sleep - I wanted to make good use of her efforts.  Unfortunately the hot tub is located directly under Dad and Cindy's bedroom, so I didn't turn on the jets, but it was awesome all the same, and much appreciated. . .

I had to leave Clare by 5:30am in order to get back down to the Detroit airport and the Alamo rental place with enough time to spare to make my flight, which was scheduled to depart at 10am.  Besides being -20 degrees (seriously, Michigan. . .), the drive back down state was nowhere near as crazy as the drive up had been.  I didn't get lost, I made good time, and was able to drop off the rental (topped off, of course) and hit the airport by 8:30am.  Security, once again, was a joke, and I got to my gate with twenty minutes to kill before loading began.

BAM.

Alas, poor Kris wouldn't get her Vernor's like I had initially promised her.  Try as I might to bring her back this glorious Nectar of the Gods, the Detroit Metro Airport evidently has a pact with the Devil (Pepsi) and I couldn't find a single store that sold Vernor's after clearing the TSA ('cause, as you know, you can't bring pop or anything like that prior to going through security.)

I guess she'll have to wait 'til June, when we return to the Mitten for good.

And with that, I'll wrap this up.  I'm back in Orlando and I have to work tomorrow.

Hooray for work.

- Brian