Other things I have learned recently

1. Salad spinners make excellent centrifugal drying tools for baby bottle parts that aren’t quite dry coming out of the dishwasher.

2. I enjoy spying on my neighbors from E’s bedroom window. It’s a bit of a ‘Rear Window” situation since I spend so much time in there.

3. The less I am able to be online, the more disconnected I feel. Eventually, I may become completely ignorant of the world around me. At least I’ll fit in more that way.

4. As soon as I sit down for a task that takes longer than 5 minutes E starts crying. Case in point. I started this entry 4 minutes ago and he’s freaking the F out. It’s a short one today.

8lbs of poo in a 6lb bag

That’s what this is, sort of. The bag doesn’t have a weight limit, but it does weigh 8lbs, or what baby E weighed when he arrived a little over a month ago. He does this every 5 days or so. It’s been 6 and a half wild weeks since M woke me up at 2:30 and informed me that I I did indeed have time for a shower, but we were probably going to the hospital that Friday morning in May. And here it is, the last day of Spring. So what are my thoughts on this?

It’s mostly better than I expected. I must work with and be related to a bunch of drama queens, because everyone swore a baby birth was a cataclysm on my life from which I would not recover. It hasn’t been that bad so far. Sure I wake up now and then and stare at a howling red faced gas machine, but that’s ok, it’s what I signed up for. I say only mostly better than expected because there are some things I was not informed of that would have been good to know ahead of time.

1. The wild opinions of healthcare professionals. I used to have a high opinion of healthcare professionals. I suppose when it comes to lifesaving measures, I still do have a measure of regard and respect for them. However, when it comes to the mundane and possible nonsensical questions of new parents, the response I have received is less than stellar. Maybe I am no good at the boring parts of my job too? Maybe I am condescending and dismissive of the irritants and ‘this is not a problem’ problems I deal with? Nurses, administrators, physicians – all of them have been found wanting. Just about the only people I’ve had a semi satisfying experience with has been the Insurance company. Welcome to the new bizarre world. Maybe this is part of the cataclysm.

2. Everyone else acting crazy. Some people warned me that my wife and baby momma could potentially lose 15% of her mind in this baby process, and that I would need to make several long-term adjustments to deal with it. This piece of advice has been complete and utter rubbish. M has been, if anything, even better than before. Sure there was some mild crying initially, but things are much, much better now, as I was certain they would be. If anything, I think many other people are treating us differently than before and it’s a little weird.

3. The amount of stuff required to transport an 8lb human. Why does someone who weighs 5% of what I do require 500% more stuff to get around? No one told me I needed a panel truck to take a weekend trip and I am not sure this situation will get any better. I refuse to buy a larger vehicle. Maybe I will start wearing smaller clothing?

Those are my first impressions. It’s nothing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m sure people were curious about how I felt about this sort of thing. Maybe.

I can say unequivocally that I enjoy being a father, possibly more than I thought I would. I was a little worried that I’d start assuming that slope-shouldered, paunchy ‘dad’ stance with some pleated shorts and white sneakers. I’d grow some regrettable facial hair and be only able to talk about what the local sports teams were doing or the weather or my new snow tires. I’d have no idea what the wife did with the kids and step in now and then to be a ‘dad’ when I felt like it. If you see this guy coming, shoot me. Or at least hit me with the nearest heavy object. I can’t really see myself not being dad for a long, long time and I like that idea.

Part of the reason I have been able to get into this so much is that I’ve been spending a lot more time at home. A whole lot more. Like all the time. I haven’t been to work in 2 weeks. And I’m taking yet more time as I type. A could of weeks into this adventure M and I discussed how things were going and it seemed like the status quo wasn’t working, so I took advantage of Bill Clinton’s FMLA (thanks Bubba!) and will be spending lots more time with E and M while she goes back to work a bit early and I don’t. When I do go back, I will try and change my role a bit so I can spend more time with these guys, possibly working from home, and expanding the ol’ horizons. I’ve been doing the same thing more or less for almost 8 years now. Maybe I can do something else?

The worst smartphone in the world is a baby monitor. I know it’s not really a phone, but it’s sort of shaped like one, can be made by a handset maker, conveys basic information at a glance (time, date, temp) and like the worst of all email/texting/phone monsters, squawks uncontrollably at the worst possible times and is entirely un-ignorable. Well, you CAN ignore it at your own peril, but I choose not to as much as possible. And it’s not like an annoying email or even an ‘urgent’ call. Those are usually initiated by an adult, maybe even a semi-educated one. The baby monitor is initiated by well, a baby and rationales for being quiet or going away do not apply.

So that’s about it for now. I have a 6 week old who is going to wake up in 20 minutes and look for some food and maybe new clothes. And I love it.

Finally

My bathroom project is finally (mostly) complete. It started with a sink (these things usually do for some reason). M and I got it in Montreal. It was amusing explaining to the customs agent that we were importing a sink. It was not amusing carrying it around Montreal on a hot summer day. We had the sink and the original bathroom. It started out like this.

The scruffy white areas above the sink and to the right (where the light switches are) were covered in this weak tile. Nothing horrible, but nothing exciting either. The tile looked like this:
We needed a countertop. The wooden vanities in the sink store looked nice, but buying these pre-fabricated was too expensive for my cheap ass, so we found 8 feet of Virgina rock maple butcher block counter top for a decent price. I ordered and waited and waited and waited. Eventually it arrived and I barely fit it in the Subaru. I drove home, trying not to be decapitated by 110 lbs of sliding wood. We got it home and it sat behind the couch for a few months while we decided how to approach it. I did my research, decided I could handle it and went looking for tools. I asked the local tool rental place about what I needed and they told me it would be easier to ask a local woodworker. Great. I liked that idea. I called a few and waited and waited and waited and decided if this joker didn't want my money, hey I have 8 feet of this stuff, why not at least try? So I turned the dining room table into a saw horse, made my cuts and went all-in. It was mostly good going. The wood was intended to be very hard and cut-resistant and was generally slow going. The hardest part was getting everything straight. Some of the cuts came out at funny angles. I borrowed a hand planer flattened those edges amish-tyle, but without the sweet beard or suspenders. M thought we should add a sidesplash to the backsplash, so I ripped a sidesplash out of the backsplash. This was not fun with hand tools. It took the better part of a day but it got done.

Next up was color and sealing. I don't need it to be food-safe, so a more industrial finish was acceptable. The fumes were a concern so I needed a good weather day to do it outside. A couple coats of cherry stain got a nice rich color. Th urethane came next. I read the instructions and started cleaning the countertop with mineral spirits, like the can said. Unfortunately it got all cloudy and started looking bad. If I read the can further along, I would have realized the mineral spirits came before the stain and I had just un-did some of the previous staining I just finished. A third coat was needed. We banged that out, got two coats of urethane on and it looked something like this:

So the wood was done. This weekend was the final assembly. After last weekend's toilet and vulgarity explosion I was not looking forward to another 5 hours on my back with water spraying in my face, but this needs to be done before the Rooster arrives. I jumped in after an enormous brunch and a gallon of coffee. Demolition was relatively fast. Once I fitted everything, I realized this bathroom didn't have 90 degree angles on the corners either. Yippee. The counter and back/side splashes were installed. The faucet was fitted, the sink was adhered and the last step was cutting and installing the wall paneling. we elected to go for a bronzed-looking metallic finish. It sort of matches the faucet. I think this stuff is intended for ceilings, but it can work on the walls. It's not cheap and kind of unpleasant to cut cleanly. Eventually we got it done with minimum destruction. The final product is here. I'm happy.

The hot/cold lines aren't exactly perfect. I bought the wrong sizes and my retrofit of the existing lines didn't really work, so it's one more trip to Lowe's and then we're done. Finally.

New Stuff

I know I’m going to look back at this and think I was delusional, but right now, on March 8^th 2011, I really don’t believe my life has changed all that much since learning I was about to become a father. The circumstances were not accidental, it is something I have thought about for many years, and I feel M and I are fairly well prepared to handle the eventualities of it all. Media portrayals of impending parenthood are usually filled with dread, consternation, anxiety or fill in the blank fear. I think I did have a rough sleep the first few nights, realizing that my life was going to change at some distant point in the future, but these days I sleep fine. I assumed there would be great upheaval or general craziness. I’m not complaining. I know a lot of people have medical situations that are out of their control. I’m referring to the complete lifestyle adjustment that I’ve seen happen when that first positive test result appears. For me, it just hasn’t happened.

What has been upended is our house. Sure we’d been a little slow in making changes over the past few years. I don’t think this was due to laziness, but more a sense of contentment with how things were. We had a big rush in the early days, covering up taste specific color choices the previous owners selected. There were some furniture buying expeditions and the semi monthly trips to Homegoods for ‘treasures’. Exotic vacations were the primary source of the various decorative items in the house. Every so often we’d decide something that sat in the corner disused was due for a charity run. Lately though, M (with some help from me) has been on a tear. A new working schedule has allowed copious unstructured time to comb less frequently used areas of the house, uncovering great veins of stuff that we just don’t need.

TV’s ‘American Pickers’ profiles two guys who look for houses with piles of junk in the yards. They pull up in their van, ask if they can look around and start asking what the owner (frequently an elderly man with a ratty hat) will sell his treasure for. Many times, after removing years of weeds or other layers of rusty junk, the pickers will present the old guy with something he hasn’t seen in years. At which point he remembers how much he cherishes that rusty bicycle and refuses to part with it for any price. I am fascinated by this show partly because I see a bit of myself in these old guys. I think it would be great to have a big barn filled with old tractors and jukeboxes. I’d plan on cleaning them up and displaying them or maybe selling one if I felt it was worth something. Realistically, I don’t have the time or inclination to do anything remotely along those lines. What seems quaint and fun when portrayed as old coots with valuable antiques could be presented just as easily as crushing mental disorder if someone decided to call them a hoarder. What’s the difference between an old lady in a house filled with porcelain dolls and some old farmer with a barn full of motorcycle parts? The problem is, I didn’t have any tractors, only boxes of wires, piles of broken picture frames, bags of curtain rod hardware, old magazines, older clothes, mementos from past jobs – nothing I remembered I had or anything remotely valuable. It all had to go. Rooms have been painted, framed art and pictures have been relocated. New art is up. I like the gallery and rotating display aspect of this. Much as I howl and complain during the course of these minor renovations, the results I have to agree with.

My bathroom renovation is also sort of moving along. I have decided to use butcher block for a counter top to go with a sink M and I picked up on our travels. Knowing my potential for destruction, I bought a much larger counter top than I needed and decided to cut it down to fit. In case I ruined one section, I had more than enough to start over. Someone as a local hardware store suggested I turn the job over to a local woodworker. I thought this was a good idea and contacted one. He never returned my call and in the meantime, I started to get creative. I turned the dining room table into a sawhorse, rigged a vacuum cleaner to the saw and started cutting. M was and continues to be skeptical. I have the final counter shape and size finished. I even used some of the scrap to make a backsplash. A sidesplash was also needed, so I hand-sawed 30 inches of 3” thick rock maple into two 1.5” thick pieces. This was not fun. 5% of the way through I had serious doubts. There was no turning back. There are some legendary tales of certain members of my family undertaking borderline foolish tasks when an easier way is available, and I seem to be no exception. It got done. I am proud of it so far. The final piece is to cut the hole for the sink. This could be my Waterloo, Barbarossa, Spanish Armada moment when it all goes down in flames, or sawdust. If this fails I probably won’t detonate completely, but I will definitely seek professional help. For the wood. Not for me. I don’t need that kind of help.

This was a legendary winter for us. I won’t get into tales of woe and shoveling, but I will offer one piece of advice about breaking ice off of your roof. Make sure there’s nothing underneath the icicles when you start swinging away. This includes anything that might be hanging on the side of your house. It seems that, similar to people jumping off buildings and pinwheeling off the sides as they plummet, large icicles do the same thing to houses and combing through snowbanks looking for shattered vent shrouds CSI-style is not very exciting. I’m sure the next home inspector will have something to say about our unusual looking vent shroud when it comes time to sell. I am hopeful, however for our shrubbery. Given that the last few bushes we purchased failed to thrive in the wintertime, I decided to take a more proactive approach to saving them. When the big snows came, I carefully covered the smaller bushes with garbage bags and then dug them out and uncovered them when the sun came out. Eventually this became untenable as the snowstorms piled up and I could no longer locate the bushed to rescue them. Eventually they emerged from the receding piles and for the most part they do not look like they spent the last two months buried in plastic in the dark under feet of snow. The bushes out front I cannot say the same for. They caught the brunt of the snow shoveled off of the walkway and look distinctly like someone dumped 400lbs of snow on them. The branches are mostly intact, but the footprint is more along the lines of flat instead of tree-like.

Only the spring will tell how well they handled the winter. Right about the same time we’re getting the first tips of the lilies we’ll get the Rooster hatching. This I am genuinely excited for, much in the same way a kid gets excited for Christmas or the first day of school. I probably won’t bawl or throw up though. We’ve stocked up on lots of bizarre baby gear with European sounding names. Exotic materials and clever designs all but guarantee a first round draft pick or an Ivy League scholarship, don’t they? I’m already planning adventures and activities for the little achievement machine, dreams that I hope won’t be dashed by temper tantrums or vastly differing interests. If the little man decides he really likes flower arranging I am in big trouble. I have no way of predicting these things. He seems to like kicking and thrashing about a lot. He likes it when M eats, or at least he thrashes more when food is involved. I hope he likes books – M and I have a lot of books. I hope he’s adventurous with food, but I don’t care if he isn’t. It’s easy to boil up some plain pasta if he doesn’t like whatever masterpiece M and I prepare for ourselves. Athleticism isn’t required, but it will help. He’ll probably be taller than both of us. This does worry me. I know how much I ate and still do eat. We spend a lot on food. Our cart of food for two people looks just as full as the cart with three kids hanging off of it. I can only imagine how muc more food we will be buying. I don’t know if M is prepared for it. I have tried to explain how gallons of milk disappear overnight, how cereal is eaten by the box, how I was rarely full and always hungry, but not for lack of food or eating. There was never enough. School will be interesting. I guess what I’m really hoping for is a 6foot plus nerd with a quick first step or decent putting stroke.

Yes I said nerd. I am a nerd. I’ll admit it. Another person came up in conversation and the nerd label was tossed out and I couldn’t stop laughing. Nerd fit them perfectly. Then someone pointed out that I, too, was a nerd. I denied it for a bit, searching for contradictory evidence, but I could find none. I like nerdy things. Maybe not in the comic books and role playing video game sort of way, but I love NOVA, The New Yorker, corny music, quirky movies, interesting cars, sports minutia, bow ties, and financial news. I read geeky blogs, I work in a very nerdy area of the economy, my friends are sort of nerdy, I make nerdy jokes that get lots of laughs. In high school I was in several plays and was on the academic challenge team. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle. Never driven a convertible. Never rocked a mullet. Never beaten a stranger up. I’ve never played a guitar or surfed. I was a terrible skateboarder. I’m no good at basketball. As much as I tried, I couldn’t get the cool clothes I wanted when I was younger, a fact that I somewhat feel good about now. I don’t like underground music or poetry, waxed cotton pants, civil war style beards or other hipster nonsense. I have no tattoos and other than watches, no jewelry. I’ve never worn Drakkar Noir or Cool Water or any other supposed aphrodisiac cologne. I don’t tan. I Can’t sing, can’t dance, can’t even hear the correct lyrics of songs. I like my glasses and I’m not visiting Dr Robert Leonard for that ridiculous teenager hair he touts. I guess Popeye the Sailor had it right all along.

The Sequel

I like tests. Especially ones I’ve studied for. They’re a nice little chance to announce to myself, “Hey, you’re pretty awesome, and this here piece of paper proves it”. And if some slackjaw happens to be eavesdropping on what I got on the test, well, it provides them a little reinforcement for who is awesome and who isn’t. Early test taking ability hasn’t translated into unfathomable wealth and influence. Since I don’t get to take many test any more, I’ve gotten better and predicting the future and I’m pretty sure that isn’t going to happen. My wife however, has been taking a few tests. No, M isn’t going for her MA (Masters of Awesome), but she is going for her NM (New Mom) certification. Back on September 1, M passed the first level and it’s pretty much been a secret since. This has been hard to do. Various family members are eager for new additions. I guess the current members are old, stale, boring, rude and possibly smell bad. I definitely see how adding a newborn and requisite add new smells, spills, noise and chaos makes everything better. It had been hard not to say anything until the ‘right’ time. M is a good soldier, feeling ill and tired and hungry and not complaining very much at all. I think if I were hungover for more than 2 days (my previous unenjoyable record), I would start to get surly. M is a rockstar so far. Chewing on giant vitamins, getting lots of sleep, eating well (sort of), all the good stuff. We started looking at baby strollers a few weeks back. They look different from the stroller I had. I think I had a roller skate with a broom handle and an old handbag for me to rest in. The new ones come with heated cupholders and all wheel drive. I hope I get to make it into a go-kart at some point when it is no longer needed, since it will probably end up costing what a small used car would. But I digress. M and I decided we wanted to know the sex of the little person, and we learned last week that it will be a boy. So we will be having a son first. I was a first born son, my father was and I believe my grandfather was as well. Prior to that it was a law that all men had sons first so we will just believe it goes on until the beginning of time. I have generated my sequel. My hope is that he will be a Godfather II, Beverly Hills Cop 2, or Empire Strikes Back – type sequel. That is, one generally regarded as better than the first and not any of the myriad forgettable, regrettable second takes that we’ve all come to loathe. I have acquired 33 years of big mistakes and I plan on sharing each and every one with the hope that he will avoid these and make even more epic ones on his own, provided he does not end up on the front page of the NYTimes for a billion dollar swindle. The happy first birthday will be on or around May 11, 2012, We don’t have any names yet. Recent rejected nominations are: Rooster, Thump, Tasker and Ace.

In other sequel news Fast and Furious and Pirates of the Carribiean are coming out with new editions (the fifth and fourth, respectively). I have enjoyed both series quite a bit and plan on enjoying these in all their overblown cheesy and bad taste glory.

Happy turkey day

The world waited nervously. A brave band of men who labor underground were trapped with no hope of escape. The tools they used on their daily journeys to the center of the earth were useless to grant them their freedom. They had food and water, but the prognosis for escape was slim, if any. We watched their progress from afar, but there wasn’t much we could do to help them. If they did manage to escape, would the outside still be hospitable to them? Today the last of them died. These were my own Chilean miners, an ant farm given as a gift from M for my birthday. I had an ant farm when I was younger. It was the classic sand variety, with a green plastic farmhouse. The ants were pretty good for a while, but they ran out of food. I didn’t order new food. I thought pouring sugar in there would help. It didn’t. They died quickly without real food. The new and improved farm I received was made of space gel that was antimicrobial, edible and mildly water based. All the ants’ needs were taken care of. All I had to do was order ants (I could have also dug them out of the ground, but passed on Viking-style kidnapping and incarceration). The ants were around $5 for 25, or $6 for 50. If a little is good, more is better, right? They arrived in a few days, all piled up in little vials. The documents said they would last 3 months. I opened the farm, poked holes in the gel to get them started and poured in the miners. At first they seemed disoriented by the gel, maybe they were happy to be released from the vials. They didn’t seem interested in digging. I thought about poking bigger holes in the gel, but there were too many of them. As soon as the lid opened they all tried escaping. I decided to let them go at it unassisted. Soon enough they had constructed a labyrinth of tunnels, creating huge piles of gel pebbles. We could track their progress and watch them connect the tunnels with remarkable accuracy. It was incredibly cool. The documents they came with said to open the lid every few days to give them fresh air. This caused some problems due to the overcrowded conditions. As soon as I opened the lid, the fresh air gave the surface workers a huge rush of energy and they all charged for the exits. There were escapees. Trying to capture one ant was easy enough, but these ants had enormous teeth and bit ferociously. Capturing multiple ants and then getting them back in the farm without getting bitten and allowing more to escape was impossible. Escapes attempts were brutally crushed. Literally. Hammer fists squashed briefly enjoyed freedom. I felt great regret at my oppression, but letting them roam free all over the house was out of the question. What good is a kingdom with no subjects? Waste piles started to build. Ants are clean creatures. The do their business in designated areas. They carry out the dead and bury them in the wastelands. The instructions said to periodically clean out the piles. M suggested slowing them down by refrigerating the farm. Seemed like a good idea, until I forgot about the induced winter and they maybe got a little too cold. Cold ants are much more docile. I was able to clean out the piles with minimal jailbreaks and let summer return. Attrition brought overcrowding to acceptable levels, but I think they became bored with digging. New construction ground to a halt. They were mostly content to walk around, moving the gel pebbles into new piles for fallen comrades and landfill. Every few days I would sneak up on them and blow more air in, causing a great riot, just to make sure they knew who was the boss. The trouble really started when they decided to dig through the roof to freedom. The foam gasket that held the roof on tight became their focus. Piles of foam started to appear and the lid no longer fit as snugly as it once had. I think they started to eat the foam because more of the ants started to die. Today, 3 months after their ordeal began, it has ended. It was pretty close to the 90 day life expectancy the documentation described. It was a fascinating and educational experience and I look forward to another reign sometime in the future.

Can work be fun? On days when many parents work and their children do not have school, we have children in the office. I heard one theory that this is a plan by parents to have an excuse to leave because children are distracting in the workplace. I don’t have many memories about my own workplace experiences. I know my father worked in a top secret lab (or so it seemed) because we never got past the lobby, and even those experiences were rare. My mother’s office was a little more interactive. We had typewriters to play with and lots of conversation oriented adults who tended to scare the crap out of me. My own workplace is a little different. We have vast bowls of chips, candy and cookies. We have refrigerators stocked with all the juice and soda a kid could want. We have televisions and video games and couches. Today we had two small girls visiting. They found the candy bowl quickly, helping themselves at will. Some people tried teaching them how to play video games, unsuccessfully. We watched the sisters try and play a soccer game, waving the controllers and mashing buttons to no effect. They informed us this was their first time every playing a video game (the parent is clearly a very good parent). I asked the older one if she thought work was fun, since she gets to eat cookies and play video games. She confirmed that work was great. I can only imagine what she will say at school when asked what her father does for a living.

Lastly, a coworker here recently learned that he has squirrels in his attic. His wife heard them at a late hour and in the cold and dark he ventured upstairs with a driveway reflector stick (it’s pointed and weapon-like). He killed no squirrels, but did find s stash of acorns and chewed insulation. We discussed several solutions. He does not know how they are getting in, but he knows if they build a nest, that is a bad thing. A large scale chipper-dipper could work, but the internet explained that dead squirrels stink worse than most, so this is probably a bad idea. We looked at predator urine, but the smell issue is probably worse there. The final solution is to deploy a have-a-heart trap. The recommended bait, strangely enough, is peanut butter and jelly, the universal attractor. The question now is, what else will he catch? Try explaining to the authorities why there is a toddler in a cage in your attic…

daydreaming

I wanna be a billionairrreee.. so freakin bad.. Let me just start out by saying how much I do not like this song. While I admire the young man’s ambition and desire for untold wealth, his plans for the loot I find lacking. He sings about about hanging out with Oprah and the Queen (of England?). Personally, a couple of older ladies are not my choice of company, no matter how much money they have. The cover of Forbes magazine? Who reads Forbes? I don’t think any of those people would be much fun to hang out with. What would I do with B-level wealth? To start, I need a car. For me, any of these would fit my needs: Ascari a10, Mosler mt900, Gumpert Apollo, Koenigsegg ccx, Pagani zonda or the SSC ultimate aero. These are all immensely impractical, exotic and expensive cars. They are deafeningly loud. They should never be driven on the street. But if I am a Billionaire, that’s what I’m doing. I don’t want a copy of another fancy car that any old schlub can pick up on the auto mile. I don’t want a car that anyone normal person would even begin to recognize. There are more famous and expensive cars out there, but I don’t want to drive the same car Simon Cowell drives. If I need 4 seats give me a Morgan EVA GT. It’s not quite a grocery hauler, but it’ll come close enough. I kind of want to fear for my life every time I think about stepping on the gas pedal hard. That’s what my money buys.

What do I wear in my crazy car? I need a mechanical belt buckle to hold up my pants. Check out the offerings by Roland Iten. I think you get two free belts with each purchase. They run about the cost of a new Camry. Why so spendy? It allows the big eaters among us to surreptitiously let out a little slack after a big meal. I’m sure it does some other things, but it’s cool. I need some pants –how about the 1880’s Levi Strauss & Co miner’s jeans? They have this awesome rivet way up high where the legs come together. I bet it gets real hot after a few hours sitting in front of the ol’ campfire. I wonder why they stopped that feature? These run about the cost of a 1^st class airline ticket from Boston to Los Angeles.

But back to the car thing. Where can I really drive my new cart? If I’m near New York, I’m going to the Monticello Motor Club. For those really rich guys who hate golf for some reason, this is the place. They take care of your cars, offer instruction and even have five star dining. If I’m in Spain, I’m going to the Ascari Race Resort. Wait – Ascari – Isn’t that the name of one of the loony cars above? Yes it is. Turns out Ascari was started by a super rich guy who wanted his own car and a special place to drive it. Now we have both. Excellent. I am sure there are some other fun places like this, but I am not rich enough to know about them yet. If I am not feeling exclusive, I will drive on the Nurburgring’s Nordschleife. It’s very German and even *gasp* socialist, allowing anyone (!) to use it. 22 euros per lap and you’re off an running. Good times. Keep in mind that crashing your car will incur charges and if a timing device is found in your smoldering remains, your insurance company will most likely not pay. Something about discouraging people from timing themselves or something. Damn European socialists don’t want me attempting to time myself at dangerous speeds in a one ton carbon fiber missile filled with flammable liquid.

Now the only question is – where will get my billions? I recently brewed up a batch of homemade old timey gingerale. It was yeasty and spicy and super carbonated and mostly better than I anticipated. I expected there to be exploded 1liter soda bottles all over the kitchen, but explosions were nonexistent. I also feared some sort of mold or biological disaster and ensuing gastrointestinal distress. Thankfully this was also avoided. Now I was the only one to taste the brew – M wanted no part – so I cannot say if it’s worth a billion bucks or even if it’s worth the $.80 in materials to make, but one can always hope.

Maybe I can write a book? I’ve whined about my literary ambitions before. I’ve read some good ones lately – ‘Heat’ about a magazine editor who goes to work for Mario Batali. Let’s just say my suspicions about Mr. Batali and restaurant kitchens in general were confirmed. An excellent read. ‘A son of the circus’ not at all what I expected from John Irving, one of my favorite authors. Not bad, a little slow to get in to but worth reading. I have recently realized that some of my favorite sports bloggers are not actually good at writing, and therefore since I am not a trained writer either, I should stay far away. I will keep that in mind.

Why on earth would you leave your toothbrush on a public bathroom counter while you did your business? I understand mid-day brushing is important. But why the need to do all things at once. I usually bring my toothbrush in for a dedicated brush run and then leave. I don’t want any flying particulates on that sucker. I work with more than one person who likes to do a few tasks on each trip and there for get a mouthful of whatever is in the air tonight when they scrub the choppers.

The last thing I can’t get out of my head is how much Miami Vice influenced my life. We recently started streaming Netflix on our television and I found all the seasons of Crockett and Tubbs are available. I’ve seen a few current TV stars (Ed O’Neill - with hair, Jimmy Smits) with bit parts in the first few episodes that I’ve watched. This was appointment viewing for me when I was younger. I understand why my parents were not fans of this show – several people die violently in every episode. There’s drugs, sexy women, flashy jewelry, guns, smoking, explosions, childish temper tantrums and just about everything else a 7-12 year old boy could have wanted. Miami is full of wild accents and racing cars and over the top characters every week. I’m pretty sure it spawned a successful video game (GTA vice city) and launched the career of one of my favorite directors – Michael Mann. It even made the Colin Farrell/Jamie Foxx movie remake watchable, even enjoyable for me when almost everyone else hated it with a passion. Jan Hammer’s soundtrack always puts me in by vintage Ferrari and linen suit, running red lights and firing down lucky strikes with a .45 in my shoulder holster. If only none of those things led to an early painful death. I still have great respect for Don Johnson, even though people seem to regard him as a relic of the 80s. I love how Ferrari got mad that the Daytona used in the first season was a replica and gave the show a real Testarossa to be used, but only after the fake was ceremoniously blown up on screen. Despite all this, I always had a nagging problem with the fact that here’s this supposedly undercover cop, driving all over town in this crazy car, living on a boat with an alligator and every time he does a deal with someone they end in dead or in jail. He makes no effort to disguise himself when he goes in or out of the police station and yet not one of these criminals ever spreads the word about him. Despite all that I think the show holds up. And if I ever do get to be a billionaire, I may just skip all the racy cars and get a big ol 42’ powerboat and just roar around making big waves and rocking a ridiculous tan and giant gold watch. I know it doesn’t get any cheesier than that but come on, you know it looks fun.