Someone finally put my thoughts into words.

It’s a great read. I wanted to respond in the good doctors’ comment section but when I hit 400 words, I decided to trackback instead. The doctors will understand…they always do.

In their post they said (among other things)

“Ask any teacher about the state of child rearing and discipline today. Students assault teachers, each other and rules endorsed by parents, PTA’s and school boards, effectively hamper teachers from keeping control of their classrooms. How has this come to pass, in only one generation? Simply put, we have changed the nature of the relationships we have with our children and with society.

Children today believe they are very important. They are so important, that they have a right, to demand, they be seen or heard at every opportunity, by whomever they deem needs to hear or see them. “

I couldn’t have said it better myself. The post goes on to discuss public schools and the decline of morality among today’s youth as a whole.

In my opinion, values and morals used to be the legacy of a family. We taught our kids what we thought was moral and good. We often based our values on the teachings of our religion but any way you look at it, morality was taught at home. Children mimic their parents…they can’t help it. They do what they see, not what they’re told. I find it unnerving that so many people leave the teaching of values up to the school system or other societal institutions.

I've heard people say, "We MUST put God back in schools".
Um...no we mustn't...I don't think we should teach any particular religion in schools…they would only screw it up. The direction of the class would inevitably lean on the personal beliefs of the teacher. There would be no way to standardize the curriculum and my kids would end up not knowing what they blieved.

However, there's a definite implied standard by the school system today that spirituality of any kind is a bad thing. This is what we're teaching our kids, albeit indirectly, by forbidding the discussion or practice of the things on which we base our spiritual beliefs. How can we teach a kid that Allah, God or Buddha are so great but forbid the mention of their names in school? It’s difficult to raise kids when society contradicts everything you say.

What’s the choice then? Shall we conform to society? All the while teaching our kids to be individuals.
More contradiction.

If a child begins to feel or act in a spiritual way, we steer them toward “creativity” in fear they might start using the name “God” without attaching it to a more acceptable outburst of profanity.

In a nutshell, if kids can't be spiritual, their self-worth must come from their ego. That's what we're ending up with today.

There was a time when we kept a 5-time-a-day masturbation habit a secret and God was talked about openly. Now we celebrate the masturbation as self-expression while God is a shameful vice. Our society lets issues get so far out of hand, that overreaction is our only choice. We can’t EVER seem to find middle ground and end up swinging from one extreme to the other. That’s because we are an all-or-nothing, consumer-minded people that don’t know the meaning of compromise.

The problem of arrogance didn’t start with our children. It started with us or before us. It takes arrogant people to teach arrogance. Did your parents teach humbleness and humility or self worth and integrity? They are all good things to learn but have different motivation and are all too often separated the way I divided them here.

It seems that today we teach honesty and integrity…as long as we’re being treated fairly; otherwise, it’s an eye for an eye (pardon the scripture). We don’t teach that you get out of life what you put into it but that the world owes you for your efforts. There’s a distinct difference.

So is religion the answer?

Religions do their best to explain the difference between right and wrong, but honestly, some religious leaders have a difficult time distinguishing between right and left. I don’t think any religion has cornered the market on values and morality because religions are comprised of human beings and whether or not we want to admit it, we are not as great as we would like to think.

I’m not much of a team player.

That fact alone has made my military career interesting.

I’m not stuck on individualism, I just hate politics and any time enough people gather for a common purpose politics arise because someone has to be in charge. They don’t have to be the most intelligent or the most capable, they just need to be the first one to step up to the plate. The military is a bit odd in that people claw their way to the top in order to attain the position of scapegoat. I don’t see then sense in it.

I would choose unemployment over a commission because I can’t bring myself to “play the game.”

I don’t mind formal occasions but the military takes tradition to new heights. The larger paycheck isn’t worth the uptight pretension I would need to practice in order to get ahead.

I have a friend who is about to take the position of Commander at an Air Force Base here in the States. I attended his son’s graduation party this weekend and a conversation ensued about the Colonel’s new assignment. I learned there are mandatory classes for Commander’s wives.

I thought, “Neat, he gets to send his wife to obedience training.”

Ok, I did more than think it; I actually said it. No one thought me humorous…and this is why I’m better off as an enlisted man.

You would think that since I’m working on my 21st year in the Air Force I would have a tear jerking, heart warming, thought provoking Memorial Day post.

I don’t.

I joined the military because I had no future. I had lost a full ride scholarship and my parents didn’t have the money to keep me in school. I actually had to sign up for selective service (the draft) in order to finish processing my paperwork because up until the time I entered the recruiter’s office, I was so anti military I would have chosen prison over boot camp.

I was a disgrace to anyone who had ever served their country.

Somewhere along the way I gained ideals, patriotism and the values that made our military what it is today. Part of my service included mandatory Professional Military Education (PME) in which I had to study military history. I was riveted by the stories of my country’s Medal of Honor recipients and often wondered if I would have performed in kind if faced with the same situations.

I somehow doubt it.

Sure, I have stories to tell my grandchildren but I’ll have to “dress up” the tales to make them exciting.

I “accidentally” went AWOL in Germany but my grandchildren will learn it as my secret reconnaissance mission in central Europe.

I had the same type of mission in the Middle East when I inadvertently drove a tractor trailer into Iraq from Kuwait during a dust storm shortly after the first Gulf War.

My first combat related injury happened as I rushed in to a Korean bar to save my comrades from the evils of Asia. I hit my head on the door jamb because Koreans don’t build their doors as tall as Americans and I didn’t duck. It took 30 stitches to put me back together. (I turned down the Purple Heart.)

For reasons that I can’t publicly divulge, I knocked a disrespectful troop unconscious with a garden rake. I wasn’t offered a medal but I almost won a vacation to an Army detention camp in Korea.

I’m not sure what I’ll tell my grandchildren about the time I nailed my thumb to a roof but I’m sure I’ll come up with something.

I’ll need to be equally creative when relaying the story about the time I joined an elite aggressor team on a training run to attack an Air Force encampment in Virginia. Our “expert” orienteer led us directly to the camp and we began sniping people as they exited the chow hall. Much to our surprise, we had launched an attack on a marine camp…not our own Air Force troops. The outcome is worthy of a post in itself.

So… yeah, I’ve had quite the distinguished military career. I intend to ensure my story is told properly.

This may be the beginning of a new series of posts.

That aside; I would like to extend my most sincere gratitude to those who have served before me and have paid the ultimate price to ensure I have the freedom to screw up however I see fit. I pray for a spirit of peace on the families they've left behind.

I was going to write something brilliant today.

But...

My computer froze and I had to reboot so I forgot the topic. As I waited the 90 seconds for my machine to finish booting I was thinking “Geez, this thing is slow today”.

That got me reminiscing.

My first computer was a TRS80 from Radio Shack. It consisted of a keyboard, monitor (sold separately) and cassette tape recorder (in lieu of a hard drive). The thing was a paper weight unless you knew BASIC. Luckily, I could program a few fun little games but that was about it.

So I ended up comparing my grueling 90 second reboot to the hours I would spend searching through cassette tapes for some stupid program I had written that never really worked correctly to begin with. Then I would have to search through 200 lines of FOR/NEXT loops for a missing period only to receive incessant syntax errors.

During conversations with my friends, I remember saying things like, “Wow, 64 mega bytes! Dude, you’ll never fill that.”

I remember when a floppy disc really was floppy…and 5 ¼”.

I remember when screen savers really did save your screen.

I remember when there was only one kind of RAM and 64k was more than sufficient.

Years later, I remember begging the IT guys at work for a lightning fast 486.

I had Word Perfect and Harvard Graphics on my 386 but acquired a copy of MS Office. I opened Word to type something. I typed one letter and nothing appeared on the screen so I went and got a cup of coffee and returned to a blank screen. I pondered what the problem might be with my new software and as I stared at the screen the letter "a" popped up. It was the letter I had typed 5 minutes earlier. I was so excited I almost sent it to the dot matrix.

Yeah, technology has come a long way and I should be more patient.

…Microsoft still owes me 90 seconds.

Drugs make me stupid.

Any time I’ve had surgery, the doctor has subscribed pain medication that brought my brain to a screeching halt all the while expecting me to follow his directions. I couldn't even remember my own name let alone some stupid list of directions. Besides, pain is nature’s way of telling me to take it easy so when you eliminate the pain, I think I’m fine...and I act accordingly.

For instance; when I was neutered, the doctor gave me some really cool meds that made me see God and I felt great so three hours after surgery I washed and waxed my truck. Later that night, I ended up with an apple hanging from the vine where there should have been a grape. That really freaked me out…I thought I was going to lose one of the boys. Luckily, it was just a case of severe swelling that only required a lecture from the doctor and an extra week of recovery. You would think I might have learned my lesson.

Not me…I’m stupid.

I had back surgery two years ago and again, I was sent home with happy pills. I was up and walking 6 hours out of the recovery room so the doctor released me to go home. Within a week, I was hiking with my parents who came out to visit. I wasn’t walking very fast, but nonetheless I was out and about. My back was sore but it was overshadowed by other “features” left over from the surgery.

I had the procedure done at a University hospital so I was prepped by students while I was unconscious. I’m convinced my catheter had been inserted by a female student who had just broken up with her boyfriend. I won’t go into too much detail but here I am two years later and I still won’t be winning any pissing contests.

But that’s not what I intended to write about.

One morning while my parents were in town I awoke to darkness. The power had gone out and we needed to get ready for a trip to Rocky Mountain National Park so I hobbled about looking for alternate illumination. I lit a large lantern and walked around the house picking up candles and other lanterns until my arms were full. I went into the bedroom to light everything but when I got near the bed I had a muscle spasm in my back. I tried to throw the (unlit) candles on the bed and set the lanterns on the dresser but my body was locked…I couldn’t move. Then another spasm hit and I flinched. The hurricane glass from the lit lantern fell off and landed on my forearm causing my skin to sizzle. I couldn’t throw it on the bed without starting a fire and I couldn’t drop it to the floor because I had bare feet. So I just let it burn into my arm until the spasm stopped. The glass had fused itself to my skin so pulling it off was almost as painful as when it first landed.

That’s what I get for not spending two weeks in bed like the doctor ordered.

I ended up with a huge water blister on my arm that looked like some sort of alien gestation. The blister grew with every passing day...it was mad crazy cool.

One morning we decided to drive up Pike’s Peak (14,200 feet). I thought the most interesting part of the trip would be to see what my blister would do at that altitude. We live at 6000 feet above sea level and it already looked like a tomato worm so I figured it might just explode on the way up the mountain. We drove up to the summit and the stupid blister didn’t change in the least. I was so disappointed. I really hoped I could say my water broke on Pike’s Peak.

Anyway, the drugs had me feeling good causing me to ignore the doctor’s orders once more and I ended up in worse shape than I should have.

I left my physical therapy in the hands of the brilliant Mr. Duckslayer because he theorized that the motion of casting a fishing line into a lake would be very beneficial to the healing process.

He’s a genius.

Despite all the things I had done to lengthen my recovery time, I believe the fishing is what actually expedited my return to normalcy. We fished for eight weeks and by the end of my treatment I was feeling pretty good without the drugs. The therapy wasn’t as good for the fish, however, but their lives were sacrificed for a higher purpose. Mr. Duckslayer has found the secret to healing those who refuse to listen to their physician. I sometimes think the wrong people are carrying the Doctorates.

Where was he when I was growing an apple?

I grew up watching shows like the Brady Bunch and I Love Lucy.

I always saw myself arriving home from a 9 to 5 salaried position at “the office” greeted by children running with opened arms yelling “daddy’s home!”

I thought about this as I spent a good part of today picking up dog crap from the yard. The Brady’s had a dog and I never even saw Alice with a shovel…what’s up with that? I guess I fell into the trap of consumer based television programming of the 60s and 70s. What a lie.

I’m not complaining, mind you, I just want a Jetson style home. Maybe a crapless canine as well. I’ve considered not feeding the dogs but I need to keep them fat in case George Bush really does unleash some apocalyptic antichrist fashioned tribulation-for-oil agenda. While the rest of you are killing each other for food I’ll have three hefty dogs. Yum. The sad part is that I actually like my neighbors so I have to dispose of the “dog flowers” properly. Otherwise, I would hurl them in the yard next door and claim my dogs had learned to shoot poop over the fence.

You’ll never see that episode on the Partridge Family. Heck, none of that ever showed up in my adolescent visions of adulthood.

I used to think that providing for my family was enough to let them know I love them. That’s not true of course. That very subject was brought up during a deep conversation with a couple friends this week and one of the guys mentioned that we can wash the car, mow the lawn, and take out the trash every week but that doesn’t say anything to our family. He said if we interact every day with the heart of the woman with whom we’ve chosen to spend our lives, the chores become meaningless.

I thought “Wow, what a great way to get out of work.”

I’m not an idiot, but my friends are so wise I often feel like one.

So here I sit (in a beanbag chair, eating cheetoes…naked) thinking about the difference between the way my life turned out and the way I thought it would look when I was a teen. What a vast difference. I never imagined it would be like this, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine it any other way.

What kind of Middle School has a graduation without a keg?

Cake...they had cake. I was hoping for pizza and beer but no...

Tonight we sat in a crowded auditorium while a teacher gave a 20 minute speech/sermon on the difficulties of high school as 150 students stared at her with glazed eyes and beads of drool slowly descending from the corners of their mouths.

Then the choir took the stage and sang songs like “Wind Beneath My Wings” while a PowerPoint presentation scrolled through school photos of the graduating 8th graders. I choked back a tear…I think…it could have just been gas from the tuna/egg/pickle sandwich I had for lunch.

The award ceremony was very uplifting for the eight students that swept the event. We can’t all raise over achievers besides, it gave the rest of the parents an opportunity to hone their skills in the art of encouragement by explaining to their kids that they are still worth something even though they didn’t win best in show.

Dramamama viewed the spectacle as an opportunity to socialize but many other girls acted as if they were on their way to university in Paris. They hugged and cried and said their goodbyes then gave each other the European double-cheek kiss and parted ways for the long summer ahead. I almost got choked up again…but it passed with a one cheek sneak.

If anyone had a reason to feel victorious for passing the 8th grade, it’s Dramamama. She struggled with the material all year. Mrs. Muzikdude and I sat up with her until midnight many times as she tried to finish her homework through streams of tears. We’ve watched her work her butt off with a tutor every Thursday evening throughout the school year. She struggles but she overcomes the odds.

Dramamama had meningitis when she was 3. We nearly lost her but the only repercussion of the illness has been a learning disability in the area of reading comprehension. Nonetheless, this disability has been an almost insurmountable hindrance to keeping up with the rest of the class. Since her school is more advanced than a typical public school they don’t offer any special educational programs. Her school is a charter school and a precursor to a college preparatory high school. The curriculum is rigorous. We’ve advised her that she may want to reconsider going to the charter high school but she is bound and determined to pass.

So am I proud that my girl passed the 8th grade?

You have no idea.

Dramamama is graduating today... from the eighth grade.

I don’t understand why 8th graders have a graduation ceremony to commemorate their leaving middle school.

These are 13 and 14 year olds that will be forced to sit in their chairs for over an hour while they listen to a bunch of adults lecture them about the future. Come on. We’re punishing these kids for their accomplishments. The only future they care about is the last day of school. They don’t even plan what they’ll have for dinner. For whom are we really doing this?

I think we do this for the parents, so they can publicly flaunt their child’s success…much like an honor roll student bumper sticker. It’s also for the teachers, so they can show society what a great job they’ve done.

If we truly desired to celebrate our children, we would throw them a party.

I realize of course that there are some young teens out there that would rather attend an uptight ceremony.

I doubt, however, it’s the majority.

We'll sit through this little thing...then we're all going out to have some REAL fun.

To sum up the debate at hand:

Every single comment brought good points. I don't totally disagree with anyone but these are the points as I see them:

1. No law was broken
2. The officer felt there was imminent danger
3. The officer reacted justifiably in drawing his weapon
4. One officer felt a need to handle the situation with force while six others did not.
5. I don not condone my son transporting Airsoft guns in his vehicle, but he's 17 years old and sometimes goes against my wishes because he feels he knows better than me.

You can call me a bad parent for allowing him to own one of these guns but I will not stand by while his character is questioned for leaving them on the front seat. He's a kid...he didn't think.
I guarantee he'll think twice before repeating the mistake.

I don't really care that my son was thrown to the ground. I personally think he deserved it because I told him it would happen. He didn't plan on being pulled over, so I'm sure we can chalk this up to a lesson learned about "it won't happen to me".

Heck, maybe the other officers didn't use enough force. Maybe my daughter should have hit the pavement too. I never said the cop was wrong for what he did.

From what the officer told me, the situation was under control as they removed the kids from the car.

I'm just glad my kids are alive to tell the story. They could have been pulled over by some rookie. This could have been much worse. I don't even like to think about either of my kids with a police officer's gun in their face. I've seen people accidentally discharge a firearm.

I have serious issues with a 20 something guy frisking my 14 year old daughter...but that's because I'm a dad. I intentionally left that item out of the debate.

I appreciate the opinions, whether I agree with them or not.

Laura made a comment on my post about gun laws that I wanted to address publicly because I feel she misunderstands my stance on the subject. Also, I think Adamant may feel I gave permission to my son to have a toy gun on his front seat and am trying to defend his position.
Laura said:

Constitution or not, I'm left to wonder why a kid needs to carry a gun at all.

me: Did I mention kids having a need to carry guns...or did I just state that Americans have a legal right?

Laura:

Police Brutality? the cop came to your house to talk to the parent. I think he did the right thing.

Me: Let me reiterate; I said I AM NOT crying police brutality. I empathize with the cop.

Laura:

"but considering the law and the officer’s handling of the incident, I’m left wondering how well these cops really know their jobs."

maybe you should consider spending a month on the streets with a cop, John.I'm left shaking my head. There's a common sense issue here, I wonder if anyone else gets it.

Me:
I used to do ride alongs with the cops in Detroit (sometimes in the backseat) when I was a teen. Detroit has laws that would justify a cop throwing someone to the pavement for having a gun on their front seat. Colorado does not. I'm also approaching 21 years in the military so I have a bit of experience with dicey situations involving guns. I've been a military cop augmentee for years and I've had all the training. I know what I'm talking about when it comes to use of force.

Some things Laura said make me think she read the original post about the incident while other things do not.

I've said numerous times that I told my son he was a fool for having those "toys" on the seat. I also mentioned that I warned him what would happen if he were caught with them.
My son cooperated 100% with police and explained (at gunpoint) that the guns were toys as they waited for backup to arrive.

However, the police officer forced him to the pavement as he exited the vehicle without any physical or verbal provocation.

I DO NOT contend that my son was treated unfairly but the cop overreacted. In fact, I said I would have done the same thing. The cop was told the guns were toys and still treated the situation as if he were directly threatened. There were 6 other officers on scene when the kids were taken from the vehicle. My Daughter and my son's friend were not taken to the ground by the other officers. I talked to the cop that took my son down and he told me my son was very respectful and cooperative.

Adamant said:

I care not what the law says, MY kid will not be driving around with any form of gun, real or toy, in the car. The potential for a tragic mistake is huge.

That people in this country have a greater fear of egg yolks than bullets says a great deal to me.

I used to sit around saying what my kid would and would not do. Then they figured out how to do things without my knowledge.

If I had known those guns were in the car I would have made sure they were in the trunk and that my son knew to inform a police officer that they were in there if asked to open it.

I used to think MY daughter would never end up in cuffs at 14 years old. There are just some things we have to accept as a parent and one of those things is a teen's potential to get into trouble.

The thing is, none of these kids broke any law. They made a stupid mistake that elicited an excited reaction from a law enforcement officer. The point is that one acted with force while the other 6 officers did not. Then, the one that overreacted came to talk to me about it and was apologetic.

I wonder why.

I’ve decided to light a fire.

If you're looking for a lighter read today, skip this post and read my Meme

The incident involving my son and his Air Soft guns has raised some interesting conversation amongst friends as well as some thought provoking comments from readers.

My reaction to the ordeal was that my son and his friend were fools for leaving the guns on the front seat. However, legally speaking, they had every right to leave those guns where they were. In fact, they wouldn’t have been breaking any law if the guns were actually real. Furthermore, if the guns were in fact real, they were in the right place. (Not that my son knew that)

The police officer overreacted, but worse yet, he reacted purely from his own fear. That makes him a dangerous cop.

I’m not saying that I think my kids were treated unfairly, because I’ve warned them time and again that those guns would get them into trouble with the law eventually. I’ve told them stories about kids being killed by cops over misunderstandings. So, I maintain that they were fools for not listening to my caveat.

Let’s assume the guns were real:
The kids would have broken a law if they had concealed the guns since they don’t have a concealed weapons permit. They actually have a constitutional right as well as a responsibility to carry a gun openly in the car.
Therefore, whether you agree with the right to bear arms or not, the police officer acted outside the bounds of professionalism.

Colorado law allows a person to carry a handgun in a vehicle, loaded or unloaded, if its use is for hunting or lawful protection of that or another person or a person's property while traveling. It must be carried in open view if the owner is not licensed to carry concealed weapons. It is unlawful to conceal a weapon on or about your person, or within a vehicle in a manner that would be considered concealed. (C.R.S. 18-12-105 (2)(b)). A pistol tucked under the edge of a car seat where it is within easy reach may constitute carrying a concealed weapon. (38 Colo. App. 346, 556 P.2d 491 (1976)).

Carrying a rifle or shotgun with a round in the chamber in a motorized vehicle is illegal under Colorado hunting law; this does not apply to handguns.

Note that Colorado law does not make any distinctions based on the loaded or unloaded nature of a gun, as to carry. Concealed carry of an unloaded firearm is the same as loaded, in terms of its legality or illegality under the law. Note also that the gun need not be on your person to be concealed. It may be hidden within reach, for example under the seat in a car. The issue of concealment is a fact issue for a jury; but there is no trick here. Hidden from view, and still accessible is a good working definition.

Source: http://www.recguns.com/Sources/IIC1e.html
Note: Denver Ordinances prohibit the open carry of weapons in private vehicles with strict exceptions.

See also http://arpc.afrc.af.mil/ja/Gunlaw.htm
This is an Air Reserve Personnel Center/Judge Advocate site. Check the section labeled "Carrying".


I argued with my friends that since the kids were minors, it was illegal for them to have guns, but I was quickly admonished. They all told me that the constitution applies to all Americans whether they are adults or not.

However, it is illegal to sell firearms to minors in the state of Colorado, so I'm sure they would have been outside their legal rights. However, there is no law that states they cannot have toys.

Colorado has extremely lax gun laws so this situation may play out differently where you live and I do understand the jumpy nature of Colorado police since the Columbine incident. I’m speaking with strict objectivity from the standpoint of the law.

On transporting weapons in a vehicle: (Unless you have a concealed weapons permit) I think they should be in the trunk, on the front seat, or on the dashboard. Beyond that, I feel they should be in a holster with a trigger lock during transport, just so police know there is no threat.

This is my philosophy, so I feel my son learned a valuable lesson. I’m not crying “police brutality” even though many of my friends think I should, but considering the law and the officer’s handling of the incident, I’m left wondering how well these cops really know their jobs.

That said: I’m not sure I would have handled it any differently. I respect our police force for putting their lives on the line every day to protect us and if my kids get handcuffed for a lack of common sense…so be it. No one was hurt and they’re already over the “emotional trauma”. In fact, we were laughing about it that very night.

In all honesty, I will read anything you have to say but will probably not reply. I'm on leave and working on my house so I won't have time to debate. Besides, my opinions on this matter have been formed over many years and are highly unlikely to change.

That doesn't mean I'm not interested in hearing your take on this.

Zee tagged me:

01. Total volume of music files on my computer?
Yeah, right. Like I can put music on my computer...good one...it doesn't even have an 8-track slot.

02. The last CD I bought was?
$50,000 at 7% interest from First Interstate Bank before their merger.

03. Song playing right now:
Funkytown - Lipps Inc.

04. Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):

1. Can't Smile Without You - Barry Manilow


2. YMCA - Village people


3. If You've Got The Money, I've Got The Time - Boots Randolph


4. My Sharona - The Knack


5. The Stroke - Billy Squire

05. Which 5 people are you passing this baton to, and why?

I can't pass the baton because everyone I know has either done this already or has quit reading my blog and wouldn't know I passed it to them.



Seriously?

1. Total volume of music files on my computer?
968 actual songs on this one. I have 3 others not including my work computer but there are many duplicate songs and I really don't want to sort it all out.

2. The last CD I bought was?
Nickelback - The Long Road

3. Song playing right now:
Feels Like home - Norah Jones

4. Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):
Nope, can't do it. There are way too many. Let me change this up and list a few of my favorite artists (in no particular order):
Rachmaninov
The Doors
Lucerin Blue
Norah Jones
X-Press 2
Kevin Mahogany (Thanks to Mr. Duckslayer)
Keb' Mo
Mills Brothers
Smokey Robinson
Bill Withers

That's an overview...I could list groups all night.

1. I’ve never picked on anyone my own size (or smaller).


2. I’ve never shoved a straw up my nose without drawing blood.


3. I’ve never put two wires into an aquarium unless they were connected to a Vietnam era field phone generator.


4. I never smoked pot…with my mom.


5. I never put my school up for sale without being suspended.


6. I never got away with turning the school swimming pool into a giant bowl of Kool Aid.


7. I never drank less (or more) than a pint of gasoline.


8. I’ve never had a girlfriend try to kill me for something that was actually my fault.


9. I’ve never put a tack on a teacher’s chair without being ratted out by some goody-two-shoe-moron that felt a need to vindicate something I’d done to his sister.


10. I’ve never danced on a bar fully clothed.

Bonus featurette,

10 things I did not do, know nothing about, or couldn’t have possibly been involved with.

1. I did NOT kill John F. Kennedy


2. I do NOT know where Jimmy Hoffa is.


3. I've never seen an iceberg. Besides,I wasn’t even born when the Titanic sank


4. I don’t even know Charles Manson (or his sister, Marilyn)


5. I have no clue why Mousketeers turn into slutty sex kittens that can’t sing.


6. I don’t know why MTV’s programming format no longer includes music


7. I have no idea whether or not Michael Jackson is still a guy.


8. I wouldn’t know what to do with the city of Atlantis even if I DID have it.


9. I don’t know why dogs can’t just high five instead of sniffing butts.


10. I had nothing to do with your hangover, parking ticket, kids puking or anything else that put a damper on your week.

It was just a matter of time..

My daughter, Dramamama, has fallen into hanging with the wrong crowd.

My dilemma is that I can’t forbid her to spend any more time with these people because the leader of delinquents lives in our house...it's her brother.

Last night I grew weary of waiting for Dr. Smellgood and Dramamama to return home and retired to the comfort of my bed. Shortly after dozing off, I was startled back to consciousness by Dr. Smellgood who entered the room to inform me he was home and to apologize for being so late.

I asked “what took so long to travel across town?

“I was pulled over.”

“for what?”

“I think you need to talk to the cop in our living room”

Now, there’s a conversation that leaves a parent a bit unnerved. I noticed the voice of Dr. Smellgood’s friend (henceforth referred to as “Curly”) as I threw on some clothes. Dr. Smellgood had apparently asked his friend to spend the night. I’m good with him having friends over but tonight involved the law so I had to wonder what role Curly played in all of this.

I entered the living room to find a sheriff standing at my front door. He introduced himself and began to explain the story.

Dr. Smellgood, Curly, and Dramamama, had stopped at a grocery store on their way home (presumably to pick up some Mountain Dew, to which all of them have a bizarre addiction). The parking lot was well lit so Dr. Smellgood forgot to turn on his lights. The police officer noticed this and decided to pull the kids over despite the fact Dr. Smellgood realized his lights weren’t on before pulling out onto the road.

During the “routine traffic stop” the officer noticed 3 handguns on the front seat of Dr. Smellgood’s car. The officer pulled his weapon and aimed it at Dr. Smellgood with an order to show his hands…slowly. He repeated the order to the other two kids. The officer had called for backup and within one minute, 4 other squad cars were on scene.

Once backup had arrived, the kids were taken from the vehicle at gunpoint and handcuffed. Dr. Smellgood, being the driver, had the opportunity to taste some pavement while being cuffed. Dramamama was petrified as I would expect any 14 year old girl would be.

This ordeal had taught the kids a valuable lesson about carrying air soft guns in the vehicle without declaring items of such a nature when dealing with officers of law enforcement.

The cop that relayed the story to me was the same one that had pulled them over and was extremely apologetic about having to put my daughter in cuffs. She was guilty only by association. Two of the guns belonged to Curly while the other, Dr. Smellgood. Dramamama just went along to hang out.

The police officer said he would leave the situation in my hands to handle as I saw fit. As he walked past the living room window, I’m sure the last thing he heard was me telling the boys they’re a couple of idiots.

This really took me back to the days of my own youth. I reminisced about all the times I had watched cops pour my beer in the street or put my marijuana in their pocket (for evidence, of course).

The funny thing is; I wasn’t surprised by this event. I knew that having a driver’s licensed coupled with the interests of Dr. Smellgood would attract the attention of the judicial system at one level or another. He’s recently taken an interest in "freerunning" also known as "le Parkour" (The art of movement) or "PK". I’m relatively sure that I’ll one day receive a visit from another police officer carrying a lecture about criminal trespass.

Dr. Smellgood doesn’t set out to do anything illegal but he’s one of those people that finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. He also has a knack for breaking obscure laws that only remain on the books because everyone is too lazy to have them removed. He would surely get arrested in Atlantic city for kicking a snake in the head. The only thing that saves him is his obvious respect for authority. Lucky for him his mother raised him well.

Yeah, so there’s never a dull moment in the Muzidude household.

I had every intention of posted “the 10 things I haven’t done” but I got on a roll about other things. I just wrote whatever popped into my head. I formatted this post in such a way that you should be able to follow my thought process. This is my inner dialogue:




I am not metrosexual.

Yet one of my readers insists on playing out some fantasy that would imply I spend protracted amounts of my leisure time lavishing myself with floral scented lotions and pedicures.

I blog.

Therefore, I don’t have enough time left over for pampering myself with mud packs or those torture devices women use to curl their eyelashes. Neither do I have the time to pluck rogue hairs from places others deem to be inappropriate or unappealing. Not that my friends have any room to talk.

My friends are hairy.

Mr. Duckslayer and Fat Pastor (he isn’t fat…mostly) have more hair on their backs than I have on my head…or my entire body for that matter. Mr. Duckslayer is perpetually engaged in a search for some brave soul to shave his back so he can make a door mat. He even mentioned a desire to have his back waxed once.

Who’s metro now?

Mr. Duckslayer gets massages on a regular basis and rumor has it he takes bubble baths. I’m not one to notice another man’s feet but I would wager his nails are impeccable.

He’s no girl though.

Mr. Duckslayer packs heat. He has a concealed weapons permit for no apparent reason and takes a gun everywhere he goes. He has a family membership at the local gun club and carries a family club card for a local liquor chain”. He sounds like a metrosexual redneck.

He’s a mountain man.

Mr. Duckslayer grew up in “da hood” around one of Los Angeles’ more seedy areas. He’s a Mexican Irishman, (oh, the amount of fodder in that fact alone…) so I would venture to say he is far from fitting the stereotypical mold of a redneck. I would also hold that he doesn’t fit any stereotypical mold at all. He may be metro, but he aint no redneck. I’ve recently begun to think that Mr. Duckslayer is a poser. He moved to the mountains a little while ago and took up residence in a cabin. I guess all that city living finally took its toll.

It’s a Green Acres rerun…or The Beverly Hillbillies in reverse.

Let’s pause for a moment.
What kind of liquor chain offers a “Family Club Card”?
To what kind of family would one need to belong in order for this club to seem like a good idea?
Do the kids get a card?

Dr. Smellgood has an uncanny sense of direction.

His isn’t as well developed as his father’s but it’s coming right along. My sense of direction is extraordinary in that you could put me into a manure sack and spin me over your head while driving across the country on a Harley and I could still find my way home.

That is not to say I wouldn’t throw up in the first 30 seconds and finding my way home would have to wait until I was done kicking your butt. I am, however, confident you get the point.

I know my way around.

Back to Dr. Smellgood...he actually made it to the end of the street today before having to stop and call me for directions. I was so proud. He’s like one of those mules at the Grand Canyon; he knows how to get to the places he goes every day, like school and his friends’ houses but don’t ask him to go anywhere else.

It’s my fault.

For years I had never noticed that Dr. Smellgood was lost no matter where we took him and he was perfectly content not knowing where he was. He didn’t care about street names or geographical locations. The only thing that mattered to him was the destination. I guess we could call him goal oriented.

However, now that he has a license and a car, he needs to learn how to set those goals and how to make plans to achieve them…even if he IS only going the 7 Eleven a mile away.

Baby steps.

He finds his car every morning…that’s good, and he finds his school. Unfortunately, the school doesn’t offer classes in orienteering so finding a job will have to wait. He was actually told he’s been hired for the summer with a cleaning company but he would have to actually find his way to his new place of employment.

…but he tries.

The problem is the amount of fuel he uses looking for something that’s on the south side of town while driving around on the north end. Once he does in fact find something, he takes the same route every time. It doesn’t matter if he has to drive in a spiral to get there, he will not vary the path he knows to be correct.

Didn’t we do the Boy Scout thing?

Yeah, we missed that merit badge. I should have worked harder with him, I just figured all males of the species knew by default which way was north.

I’m a pig.

Women have senses like cats, they know which way is north as well as those other three directions but they would never tell a man about it. Guys, this is the one thing they let us have that keeps us feeling like we’re needed.

Think about it. Any time you travel somewhere, the first conversation to break out is between the men. They discuss, in great detail, the route taken and invariably argue what they feel to be the best course even if they've only gone next door for a cookout. Meanwhile, the women sit in another room chuckling amongst themselves because they know that none of the men have a clue that they are all wrong. The women know the shortest, fastest, and most scenic route but they wouldn’t dare deflate the egos in the next room.

So even though Dr. Smellgood may be compass challenged, I know all he needs is a woman who is willing to break the code of silence to let him know she can lead him home.

I’ve been asked what kind of dogs I have.

I used to like large dogs, possibly for compensatory reasons, but I found that bigger dogs are bigger idiots.

So now I have two German Poodles (a.k.a. miniature Schnauzers) and one Mexican Poodle (a.k.a. Chihuahua).

The Schnauzers are loaded with personality and don’t shed. We have a female (Lana) and a male (Porter). They are loyal and loving, but very loud when strangers come within striking distance of the front door so they are an effective deterrent for potential wrongdoers. The thing I like about our Schnauzers is that they have relaxation down to a science without losing the art of the act. They are my mentors in that respect. Even now, as they lay on their big puffy dog beds they each open one eye every time I move. Not because they are interested in anything I’m doing but because they want me to know that I disturbed their sleep.

However, lethargy is not the only mode they have. Just ask the squirrel that gives Porter his daily workout in the back yard by running back and forth along the power line. I'm waiting for the day that squirrel loses footing and had to face Porter on his own turf.

The dogs also play a game of I-wanna-be-a-Pitbull every night and every morning. The game is simple; chew on one another’s face while making intimidating growling sounds.

The Chihuahua (Belle) is typical of what happens when you get a member of a street gang alone…she’s a wuss.

Chihuahuas hunt in packs; like land piranha so she occasionally tries to weasel her way into the pitbull games. She generally takes the side of the winner and attacks with a hit-and-run strategy. It’s almost embarrassing.

She’s a very loving dog but her tolerance for pain is zero and she’s quite vocal about it. I find yelping to be extremely annoying but she’s too small to eat so I let her live. Besides, she belongs to Dramamama.

Yeah, Belle may be a wimp but she can take a hit.

She got loose one day and ran across the street. Mrs. Muzikdude called for her to come back and as she ran out into the street a car ran over her. She bounced and rolled under the car but made it back to our side of the road. She didn’t look very good. She had a broken hip and a bunch of bumps and cuts. I thought the event might have toughened her up a bit but it only made her wary of the street. She’s fine now.

I tease Mrs. Muzikdude about waiting until there was a car coming before calling Belle out into the street.

She doesn’t think I’m funny.

Some people are surprised by the type of dogs I own. They don’t think we match because many people claim that a person’s pets reflect their personality. I don’t agree. I think an ant farm best reflects who I am in that they’re fun and interesting but way too creepy to keep in the house.

Poodles annoy me.

They think they’re better than everyone else and they think they’re beautiful when all they are is an animated topiary. Poodles are like the popular girls in high school in that they look as ridiculous as they act.

Some poodles, however, break the stereotype.

Friends of ours had a military assignment to the Middle East for a year and couldn’t take their toy poodle. We agreed to watch their dog for the 12 months.

This isn’t the typical poodle because she doesn’t have the typical haircut. In fact, while we had her, we didn’t cut her hair at all. It was funny…she looked more like this than this.

I also learned new and exciting facts about poodles during that year.

The night before Thanksgiving, we treated the dogs to a bit of turkey grease on their food. They all loved it but the poodle’s delicate little system backed up. She became constipated. She was in pain and her incessant whimpering and whining kept me up all night. In fact, she was so blocked; I had to take her to the vet…on Thanksgiving morning.

Veterinarians charge more to see animals on a holiday so I had the privilege of paying twice as much to have a guy in a white coat tell me my dog can’t crap. After examining the dog, the doctor said I would have to leave her overnight for observation.

Observation? What would they watch? I can take the dog home and watch her not crap as well as they could at the animal hospital. I was beginning to feel ripped off.

I asked how much this was going to cost me and the doctor asked me to wait while he wrote up an estimate.

Estimate? I can’t afford anything that requires an estimate. I provide estimates to people for building a deck on their house or finishing their basement. My estimates generally ring in at thousands of dollars. The way I see it, this poodle is really small. How much money can a repair cost?

$650.

I choked. This isn’t even my dog.

I’m not proud of my reaction, but the first question I asked was how much it would cost to have her put to sleep.

$150.

NOW we’re talking. I figured I could have her put to sleep then take her home, lay her in the street and run over her a few times. Then I could tell her family she was hit by a car.

I told the doctor to give her the lethal injection.

I wish I had a camera because the doc’s expression was priceless. He said he could just prescribe some medicine and I could take her home for the cost of the office visit and prescription.

I weighed my options.

Taking the animal home was $10 cheaper than taking out a hit on her so she survived to see another Thanksgiving.

This is why I don’t babysit.

The Duckslayer family is a good looking bunch of hombre.

There’s no other way to say it. They are photogenic…every one of them…and oh, so easy on the eye.

The Duckslayer daughter came to town for the wedding and brought her beauty with her. No, I’m not referring to her husband although he is nearly as pretty as her in so many ways.

Alas, I find difficulty in describing her splendor for the English vernacular lacks the granularity necessary to capture her essence properly and conclusively.

Let me put it this way: Next to this woman, Aphrodite is a hag.

That said: we were at the wedding reception and I walked past the Duckslayer’s daughter who was seated on a sofa, in mid-yawn.

I froze in my tracks.

The scene was hideous. It was as if the abyss that separates heaven from hell had swallowed her face. As much as I wanted to turn away in disgust, I had to keep looking if only for the sake of science. I felt I may have made an astronomical discovery and I needed to memorize all the details I could.

This yawn lasted a long time. It went on…and on…






…and on.

She had taken my breath away…literally, because at 11,000 feet in altitude, oxygen is at a premium and she had displaced all that remained in the county. Birds fell from trees, deer ran disoriented to their death on the highway, and confused rabbits flocked to Mrs. Bunnybasher.

The Duckslayer’s daughter (henceforth referred to as “The Chasm”) has a huge mouth. I think she is capable of unlatching her jaw like a snake consuming prey that is larger than its own head. Her yawn was an event for which I was unprepared. The size of her mouth added another 30 cubic feet to the capacity of the room (in my estimation) changing the acoustics and dropping air pressure. Every paper in the area whirled around her head and was only released from their frenzied orbit by a few peripheral whirlwinds much like tornados spawned from a hurricane. Every napkin and every cup had become a satellite imprisoned in the gravity of the giant cavern of doom.

The room darkened. I could only surmise that since light can’t escape a black hole the room would continue to darken as the last rays were depleted.

I rushed to call 911 but The Chasm’s family assured me this was normal and advised me to grab onto something heavy. I was sickened by the revolting display. Her beauty had become a horror show and I had a front row seat.

The Chasm ended her spectacle with a tiny squeal of delight as shredded pieces of paper fluttered to the floor and guests stood staring with jaws gaping wide.

A woman frantically searched for her child.

The only sound was that of weeping, sniffles, and sobs. The Chasm looked around the room and said, “What? Hasn’t anyone ever seen a yawn?”

Now that I’ve seen the hell that is The Chasm’s mouth, I know why The Chasm’s laugh is so deep. Placed on an island, she can keep ships from running ashore in the fog.

The amount of space available in her head for resonance has given her a guffaw that rivals Santa Clause…or Jabba The Hut. I used to make fun of her laugh but now that I’ve witnessed the danger she carries, I intend to be nice…always nice.

I have a new respect for a side of nature I've never before seen.

My friends rock.

I just finished with a day-long wedding extravaganza for the daughter of the Bunnybashers and it was remarkable. The Bunnybashers and Duckslayers have been like one family for many years and I feel fortunate to be included in their social circle. Although my family doesn’t have as much history with them as they have with each other, we feel just as much like members of the family.

Today, I really realized how much I love their kids…all of them.

The wedding was held at a small church in the mountains just west of Colorado Springs so the ambiance was already as romantic as any school girl could dream and dreams are what the Bunnybasher’s daughter is all about.

I should note that I see weddings all the time because I stand in as sound technician on occasion for ceremonies at my church. They all seem to be basically the same but this one was different. As insensitive as I am, I was truly moved.

I sat in my seat with nary an above average emotion anticipated when the groom entered with Mr. Duckslayer and took his place at the altar. I turned and looked to the back of the church in anticipation of the bride’s entrance and saw her father, the Skunk Whisperer, extending his hand to someone just out of view.

Then she entered the room.

She was stunning. Not just beautiful but angelic. I expected to see a typical bride make a typical walk down a typical aisle but was taken aback by the extraordinary honesty of what I was witnessing.

From that moment on, there were only two people in the building; the bride and groom. They maintained eye contact from the moment she took her father’s arm until her hand was placed in that of her groom. She cried tears of joy the entire way down the aisle and I pictured my own daughter, just as beautiful, making that same walk someday. I was overwhelmed with emotion.

Mr. Duckslayer stood at the front with a microphone and spoke to the bride and her father. He made a heartfelt speech that put raising a daughter into a new perspective for every father in the room. He mentioned all the things a father feels for a daughter; the responsibilities, the worries, the joys, and heartache. He illustrated, with great eloquence, the way a wedding altar acts as a crossroad, where the raising of a little girl comes to an end and the adulthood of a grown woman begins. After his speech, he asked who would give this woman to be married. Then her father gave her hand to the groom. The finality of that moment was punctuated by the truth of the speech still ringing in my memory.

I couldn’t have done it.
I couldn’t have released her hand despite the fact her groom is a spectacular person that couldn’t be more perfect for her. Instead of loosening my grip, I would want to throw my arms around her and ask her to stay with dad just awhile longer.

Later, at dinner, I mentioned to Mr. Duckslayer that his speech really hit home with me and he told me that when he reached the altar with his own daughter, his thought was, “this is it. 20 years comes to an end right here”. He made his speech because no one ever seems to address that particular subject at weddings.

God, now I KNOW I can’t do this.

I didn’t let him finish what he was saying because it was too difficult to hear. I’m pathetic.

The wedding was more than an exchange of vows. This wedding took everything that one would expect to see and hear and tossed it out the window. This ceremony focused on the true meaning of marriage and it progressed with a poetic fluidity that left everyone in the room waiting for the next stanza rather than looking at their watches.

---

In 10 weeks, the Duckslayers will see their son married to a wonderful woman. I’m sure that wedding will be just as tough for me. I’ve known her since she was a freshman in high school and I’ve known him since…well, I can’t remember, but it’s been a long time. I’ll wait to write any more about this one until after it happens.

The Duckslayers also have a daughter that is already married. She is worthy of her very own post. Coming soon to this blog.

Anyway, I’ve realized today that as much as I love my kids, I won’t be able to attend their weddings. How can I, if I can’t hold myself together for the ceremonies of my friends’ kids?

I've learned a lot from Mr. Duckslayer when it comes to parenting. He doesn't realize it but I watch him closely when he's with his kids and even now, as his kids are adults, he is completely selfless toward them. He views sacrifice as part of parenting and he gives of himself gladly and he did it without neglecting dicipline. At first, Mr. Duckslayer's relationship with his kids made me feel like my kids got the short end of the stick having me as a father but I also learned that it's never to late to improve a relationship. I can't say enough about the job that both the Duckslayers and bunnybashers have done. I can only pray I do as well.

You hate spam.

Everyone does. But that’s because they haven’t had really GOOD spam.

How would you like to be the meat in my spam sammich? People are always telling me to bite them so here’s their chance to let me do it. I’ve decided to put a subscription form on my sidebar but this isn’t your typical subscription.

Subscribing to Muzikdude.com doesn’t mean you’ll get an email every time I make a post. No siree bob! I believe in QUALITY spam. If I’m going to annoy you, I’m going to do it with style and not on a regular basis. I’ll be inconsistent and unpredictable, just like my blog. I won’t flood your inbox with nonsense because I plan to pack more nonsense into fewer mailings.

I won’t sell you Viagra or Rolexes (unless you’re buying). I won’t send you naked pictures of anyone or anything (unless you send them first). I won’t send you useless information about me or anyone I know (you can get that here). I’m not even sure you’ll receive anything…ever…becaus