hi

Land of Candy

I want my money back. You should demand yours, too. That is, until Hasbro admits that the rules and regulations which govern the play of their flagship game, Candyland, are grossly incomplete when it comes to some of the issues which may arise while the game is in play.
It is common knowledge that the average age of a Candyland player is somewhere between two and four years, and a different set of rules needs to stand for this specific demographic.
I have compiled an list of proposed amendments to the rules, which I believe will help to clarify some of the more cryptic aspects of this very complicated game:

1. Contrary to popular belief, there is no actual candy anywhere in the box. The game pieces, cards, and game board should stay out of the mouth.
2. No matter how frustrating it may be, you must never tear up the Plumpy card, even if you draw it after having passed Queen Frostine. This rule applies to grandmothers, too.
3. You must only draw one card and move to the appropriate space according to color. Don't just keep drawing cards and then move your game piece to the end before your daddy even gets a turn.
4. Never place the game pieces between your toes and then flick them toward your little sister.
5. When you finish the game, it is imperative that you assist your father in cleaning up the cards which have miraculously spread themselves helter skelter across the living room floor.
6. Enjoy, my good friends, enjoy.

Lead Singer Wanted

Remember last spring when I told you about my plan to paint the house? Well, that didn't exactly happen on schedule. What I can say, though, is that a considerable amount of prep work was accomplished in the additional year of procrastination thanks to our old pals Mr. Golden Sun and Mrs. Arctic Wind. In fact, the paint of the entire east end of our house peeled away in one giant wall shaped sheet. The layered paint was so thick, I was able to lean it up against the garage and make a twelve foot quarter pipe skateboard ramp out of it. Now all the neighborhood kids have a place to shred without getting hassled by the man.

The thick paint, however useful it may be in creating the next site for the upcoming x-games, does stir up some concerns about the possibility of lead content, and since our home was built in an era when everything, including baby pacifiers, was made from lead, the possibility easily enters the realm of probability. Rats.

Having never scraped and sanded a house before, much less, one coated in a neurotoxin, I am feeling a little bit anxious about working the task with a two year old around. I want, more than anything, for someone to tell me I am being ridiculous about this and that lead paint is not nearly as bad as California seems to think it is.

 

A Breif History of Time Signatures

Do you like music?
Yes? Well that's about to change as soon as I tell you that music is responsible for my lack of writing in the past few months. Welcome, newly converted music haters.
For my birthday, in February, I was given the most wonderful present from my loving parents and wife; Apple Logic music production software. However, with every blessing there is a hidden downside. In my case, the down side is that I find it difficult to allocate time to both music production and writing while in the same sitting. When confronted with the decision between the two, unfortunately, as of late, Apple Logic has remained victorious in the battle for my attention. Which will win over the long term remains to be seen. Perhaps both will remain in equal parity to allow me to become the first to achieve greatness in both hemispheres...well, other than Jim Carroll, of course, if you're into that sort of thing.

Being a philosopher, I am forced (literally) to ponder the significance of music and other art forms, which seemingly have no practical application in the endeavor of humankind survival. In ancient times, music production software would serve only to scare away the woolly mammoths which may have otherwise served as a month worth of meals for the tribe. Canvas paintings would only slow one down in migration from one camp site to another in a quest for the most fertile land. Sculptures would just be a waste of resources which could serve as something useful such as flatware. Not to mention the time it takes to create art, which could have been better spent gathering berries and nuts. It just doesn't make good business sense on paper.
It is important for the artist to remember, though, that art is not the end product of their labors. When you strip these things down to their fundamental construction, the Mona Lisa is nothing but color on a canvas, Beethoven's ninth is but vibrations compressing the air, Michelangelo's David is just intricately carved marble...OK, I admit, that may something in and of itself. However, the true essence of art is not the physical creation, but actually the inspiration it invokes in the beholder. And in the grand scheme, it is something that doesn't just last one generation and fizzle in to obscurity and uselessness. These art symbols are responsible for countless generations of creativity. Whether it be Weiniawski's Violin Concerto No.1 inspiring Stephen Hawking's black hole theories, Wagner inspiring Ludwig II to built the Schloss Neuschwanstein, or Kansas's Carry on My Wayward Son inspiring countless carpenters and roofers not to cut corners, the true value of these compositions can be measured not in what they are, but by what they inspire in others.




Oh yeah, while I was gone, the family de Sr. Steve went to Florida for Elijah's b-day. In six days, we were able to go to Orlando, New Smyrna Beach, Gainesville, Tampa, Epcot, Hollywood Studios, 2 beaches, 2 sets of Great grandparents, grandparents, aunts uncles, and parents of both mine and Nadine's, eat at our favorite sushi restaurant, visit the best man of my wedding, see the new addition to his family, buy Elijah some sunglasses and a new pair of jeans for me.
We could have easily spent two weeks there and still felt a little rushed by our ambitious agenda. All in all it was a great trip and if we didn't get to see you this past visit, I promise we'll see you the next time.

Sharp, 'eh?

Experts tell me that in order to maintain blog readership, I must post new entries on a regular basis, otherwise, people will lose interest and just go back to watching videos of dogs doing handstands. That considered, mine is most likely to receive some type of "worst blog ever" award this year as a result of my lack of contribution to my faithful reading public. My blog has become the proverbial tree falling in the forest with no one around to hear. crash...

It has been a rough couple of days for those of us in the house standing below the three foot height threshold. Niko and Amelia have shared in a little misery between the two of them in two completely unrelated incidents.
Yesterday afternoon was another beautiful one in Ohio, leaving all but the memory of bitter winter behind in a cloud of warm polleny bliss. Since it was such a gorgeous day, I decided I would let Niko hang out on the back porch to catch some rays. He loves to bask in the sun sprawled with his tongue hanging asunder, stirring occasionally only to lap from his giant metal water bowl.
For some reason, though, yesterday he seemed to be fairly restless as he paced the porch and scratched at the gate.
Deciding that he had had quite enough of it, I let him inside and he ran straight to bed.
A few hours went by and it occurred to me that he had not asked to go out in a while, so I decided to wake him up. When I found him, I made a most startling discovery.

Everyone likes spring, am I right? I mean, whats not to love? You got your warm air, your sunshine, beautiful flowers, fresh foliage on the branches, baby ducklings waddling across grassy fields behind mama duck, itty bitty squirrels popping their heads out of dens for the first time, butterflies flitting, birds twittering, and the world in perfect harmony with its dwellers.
Oh yeah, and wasps. A whole bunch of angry, unreasonable, and spiteful wasps.
Evidently, Niko, being the fun loving soul he is, wanted to make friends with a colony of these flying little wolverines setting up shop under our deck rail. They politely declined his offer in the form of a dozen plus stings around his eyes, mouth, and shoulders. No wonder he was in such a rush to get back inside.

By the time I found him, his eyes were swollen almost shut. His mouth was puffy and looked as though it had been stuffed with pom-poms. Poor guy didn't want to go anywhere after that unless I was right next to him.

Fortunately, though, he is looking a lot less like the shar pei of yesterday and more of his boxer collie self today.

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Remember how I told you about Amelia's gymnastics class and the parachute being her absolute favorite thing to do in the world? Well, not much has changed in that department. In fact, it is my opinion that her love of the parachute has actually grown to an almost alarming level.

Most of today's gymnastics class went by unremarkably. Amelia did her usual round of walking across the balance beam, then over to the uneven bars where she hangs and giggles for thirty seconds and then drops to the mat in a full on guffaw.
Everything went fine until the teacher broke out the parachute.
The parents lined up around the edge, heaved the parachute in the air and all the kids ran underneath screaching and waving their arms as if the parachute were Godzilla about to bear down on them. As the parachute drooped Amelia came sprinting out so as to not get trapped underneath, but instead of stopping where I was, she excitedly ran right by me.
I assume it was because she was far too distracted about recently being under a giant sheet of colorful nylon that she didn't notice that her feet had reached the end of the mat. She tumbled off the soft edge and onto the hard linoleum floor. Her screams of joy suddenly gave way to something substantially less joyful.

I quickly got her nose and lip cleaned up in the bathroom and applied direct pressure where applicable. Being the brave one of our family, Amelia stopped crying after a few short minutes but the damage had been done. Her lip was now swollen and looked as though several pom-poms had been stuffed underneath.

Despite her sudden and accidental resemblance to Niko, Amelia is doing just fine. She was back to her laughing self in less than an hour.

Happy first day of spring

It is a little known fact that the word "Spring" is actually short for "springkler".

Twisted Fairy Tale Retelling- 1st grade writing assignment

Big Bad Riding Hood

by Elijah 

LIttle Red Riding Wolf's mom sent Little Red to Grandma's house to bring her a basket of meat. She was sick.

Little Red went into the woods. After she was in the thick part of the woods, Little Red met a woman. 

The woman asked, "Where are you going?"

"To my grandma's house," she replied. 

"Where does she live?" the woman asked.

"Near the bridge," she replied.

Hmmm...the woman thought. I'm kind of hungry, she thought. Then, the woman saw some flowers.

"Surely your Grandma would like some of those flowers," she said.

"Yes," said Little Red.

While Little Red picked Flowers, the woman ran to Grandma's house.

Little Red got back on the path.

Then the woman saw Grandma's house. She ran towards it, and then knocked. A weak voice called out "Who is it?"

Yes, it's the right house, thought the woman.

"It is Little Red Riding Wolf," the woman replied.

"Come in," the Grandma called.

Then the woman ran in and ate the Grandma all up. She jumped into Grandma's clothes and into her bed.

Not long after that, Little Red came. She was surprised to see that the door was open. Then she knocked.

"Who is it?" the woman called in he weakest voice.

"Little Red Riding Wolf," said Little Red.

"Come in," the woman said. 

Little Red went in. Little Red did not recognize her Grandma.

"Grandma, what small eyes you have."

"The cold."

"Grandma, what small ears you have."

"The cold."

Grandma, what small teeth you have."

"To eat you with!"

And she ate her all up.

She was tired.  She went to bed.  A wolf came and heard the weird snoring and he went in. It was a shocking sight! It wasn't Grandma! In fact, it wasn't a wolf! A woman was in Grandma's place!

The wolf bit her open! Out jumped Little Red and Grandma! Little Red gave Grandma the basket. They ate and lived happily ever after.