Stream of Consciousness

When I was younger, my sister and I used to play a game I liked to call the association game. We would start with a random object and then time ourselves about a minute while we allowed our thoughts to wander. After time was up we would tell each other where we ended up and how we got there. As an example, we might start with a penguin, and while I ended up at a car, she would be thinking of Des Moines, Iowa. I always thought it was a good mental exercise, but now I see that I was an incredibly bored child.
I have recently discovered a very similar phenomenon with my 5 year old daughter. Today I taught her about krill. To those without young children, it might seem a random subject, but allow me to follow the path of our conversation.
“Daddy, I’m cold. I’m going to turn into an ice cube!”
“No you’re not. If you did maybe I should use you to cool down my drink”
“I wouldn’t fit into a cup though!”
“There are cups that are big enough.”
“No there aren’t!”
At this point, we proceed to the internet, where I find this photo:



“Wow! But there’s not a straw big enough for that cup.” (The internet fails me here, as I am unable to locate a picture of a giant straw.)
“How do they make things that big?”
Here is where I delve into a brief introduction to the Guiness Book of World Records, and a 10 minute journey on the computer where we find the world’s biggest pizza, chair, sandwich, truck, tires, and hamburger. On a side note, my daughter now thinks giants might very well be real. We eventually get to this point:
“Find the world’s biggest banana.”
“Well, bananas are grown, Ryley, so it’s not going to be gigantic. The really big things are things people make.”
“What about the biggest animal?”
So now we’re looking at pictures of the blue whale, and a comparison drawing that shows that it is more than twice the length of a city bus.
“Do those whales eat people?”
That’s how we got to krill, the ½ inch shrimp-like creatures that blue whales eat. And that is a snapshot of life as a daddy to an inquisitive 5 year old girl.

Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Scooter

Last month, I was transferred from a Panera with this:

to a Panera with this:

So, to avoid paying $1 an hour parking charges, and the wrath of the union of angry parking lot attendants (UAPLA), I've been looking into alternatives. My first thought was, of course, a motorcyle. Let's be honest, if you knew me, this would make perfect sense. Nothing would be a better match for my overwhelming studliness and masculinity. A cloud of testosterone follows me wherever I go. I was thinking something slightly more cost effective than a Harley, but still a good match for my awesomeness, like this:

But in reality, I can neither afford the bike, nor the subsequent insurance, registration, or hospital bills after I fall off at my first right turn. Instead I have fallen in love with the idea of a scooter. In Colorado, they only need a $5 registration for three years, max out at 35-40 mph, can be parked on sidewalks, and they can get 100 mpg. Guess which one of those features is my favorite? Here, I'll bold it for you; they can get 100 mpg.

My one problem? They look like something your gay uncle Seth would drive in the annual parade:

What all of this has taught me about myself is that while my masculinity might be threatened by the effiminate nature of the scooter, my inherent cheapness is now the stronger force in my life. I am now officially in my 30's. Cool doesn't matter anymore. White shorts paired with black socks and sandals are just around the corner. And I don't really care.

If you need me, I'll be clipping coupons from the paper.

Etch a Sketch

No matter how much of an artist you fancy yourself to be, spend more than ten minutes with an Etch-a-Sketch and you will have a new appreciation for the beauty of the straight line.
This is what I discovered today as I sat in a large play area watching my daughter race around on a scooter. Mind you, this was in hour four of our time at Mr. Biggs, the 144,000 square foot extravaganza of kid awesomeness in Littleton.
Other things I learned:
1. Mr. Biggs serves alchohol. Any connection to the brain-frothing techno music and constant kid screams? Probably just a coincidence.
2. Super-goth, meta-pierced weird chicks can still have cute little girls that love dressing up as princesses. I wonder if this disappoints them, as I might be if Ryley ever asked to dye her hair black and stop going out in the daylight.
3. I thought that working in a restaurant (my occupation) was the most thankless job on the planet. Thanks to seeing the girl cleaning up the play area, over and over again, followed immediately by screaming whirlwinds of destruction, I stand corrected.

I met my dad and his wife there to have lunch after church. Their suggestion. My dad is always on the lookout for new awesomeness to which he can introduce his granddaughter, and boy, did he deliver this time.
Being a single dad for the weekend, and feeling guilty about all the time I've been spending at work lately, I promised my daughter that for once we would stay until she was ready to go. Big mistake. I finally told her we had to leave at the five hour mark, with her insisting that she wanted to play just a little longer right up until she was passed out in the van, about 5 minutes after I pulled out of the parking lot.
Oh, to be a kid again. I wanted nothing more than to crawl in the back and close my eyes as well, but the laws of good parenting stated I shouldn't do that while driving down the highway. I can't wait to pick up my beautiful wife at the airport tomorrow, so I can take a nap.

Something at the Beginning

Everything has a start.
This is my blog's start.