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Hey all,

I've decided to start a new blog for my son.

theleehowlandspinoff.blogspot.com

Basically, if you're looking for updates on parenting and how the baby is doing, go there. It's a much nicer, cuter website with a lot of pictures and all that.

If you want to read what a bastard Lee's dad is, stay here.

Hi There

Sorry the diary didn't work so well. The hospital lied when they said they had internet access which is making this very tough. I wrote a lot and will update when I get the chance but for now:
I'd like to present Lee Simpliciano Howland. He was born at 9:21 PM. He's 6 lbs 11 oz and was 18 inches long. I had a spiel all set up about he was a spawn and evil and all that, but the little booger is just too cute.

Life

As most of you know, and now all of you know since you're reading this, The Wife is quite pregnant. In fact, she is so pregnant.....

(Did anyone think of saying "how pregnant is she?" If so, well done!)

She is so pregnant that tonight at 7:30PM we will be going into the hospital to start an induction. Not much of a punchline, but true nonetheless. Anyways, to keep everyone as updated as possible, I will be keeping a running diary on here. I'll just keep updating the same entry as time passes and interesting things happen. You can expect the first addendum sometime tonight after we check in. Wish us luck as BABY HOWLAND 2007 sweeps the land!

7:30 PM - We arrive at the hospital armed with just about everything Jenny could need to be comfortable. Socks, games, iPods, all the creature comforts are now in this sterile environment. Jenny's doing well. She's nervous and has had a few moments of emotion but is handling it in stride. I, on the other hand, am a wreck. I've thought of nothing else for the last few days but baby and given myself an upset stomach. I'll be doing most of this blogging from the toilet.

7:50 PM - Guess what doesn't work well. The internet, at the hospital of course! Instead of one update every so often, it's going to be a mass of updates every few hours. Sorry about that.

8:10 PM - The nurse comes in and starts going to work on Jenny, giving her IV's and monitors that show the baby's vitals and hers. All is going well until it's time for the cervix check. This is the part of the story where I get to watch the nurse shove her hand up my wife's crotch. Ugh. I'm not really sure if I should file for divorce or tip them both $20.

8:30 PM - All the consent forms are signed, all the tubes and wires are going where they are supposed to. Time for Jenny and I to get some sleep! I'm aided by a couch that has a fold down cushion that was built for someone approximately half my size and half my weight. Jenny is aided by a blood pressure collar on her arm that goes BZZZZZZZZZ every 30 seconds or so. It's going to be a long night.

9:00 PM - It might be a little bit shorter. Apparently, the good doctor saw that we might be a tad uncomfy and took the liberty of writing Jenny a prescription for a mild sleeping pill. Luckily for me, the dosage was a two piller. I'm not saying the wife gave me a prescription sleeping pill. That's against the law. I will say however, that maybe I'll be able to sleep after all.

11 PM - So Tired. The beds couldn’t be more uncomfortable. The drugs I didn’t get are not helping at all. Jenny is actually sleeping ok, right up until that blood pressure collar activates every 30 seconds, waking her up.

1 AM – Fed up with sleeping like crap, I decide to drive home and get a bunch of comfy pillows. At home, I am greeted by two dogs who are in a bit of a panic. They saw us pack up and usually when we pack up we take them over to our friends house. But they were left at home this time. So when they saw me, they flipped out and wouldn’t leave my side. Because of this, I stayed an extra 20 minutes, lavishing the pups with attention. It might be the last time they get that for a while.

2 AM – Armed with a bunch of comfy pillows and a heap of exhaustion, Jenny and I both get some much needed sleep.

8 AM – The nurse arrives to awaken us with a nice fist in Jenny’s crotch. Jenny informs me that this nurse is nowhere near the gentle lover the last nurse was. Eww. More bad news, the drug that was supposed to soften Jenny’s cervix has done nothing of the sort. No progress. We’ve been in this hospital for over 13 hours now and basically we haven’t even left the starting gate. Jenny’s quite bummed but I just explain to her that if I was baby, I wouldn’t want to leave such a great home either. After all, the food is good, it’s nice and warm and the big hairy guy I hear outside scares me. We were supposed to start the contraction drugs at 9 but now it’s uncertain.

9 AM – Jen’s OBGYN is Dr. Miller and she is awesome. She’s funny, very intelligent, and straight forward, which we both love. Our love grew for her even more today when after 2 nurses told us that because the first drug didn’t work Jen would have to start over, Dr. Miller came in and said start the second drug and if that drug didn’t break Jen’s water, she would break Jen’s water herself. AWESOME! We’re back on track.

12PM - Nothing is happening. Bored Bored Bored. We're watching crap on TV we would never otherwise. I'm going to go home and shower up. Who thought labor could be so mind numbingly dull.

1PM - The nurses are starting to get concerned. They keep shoving their fists in my wife's crotch hoping for progress but none comes. Dr. Miller comes in and says it's time to get this party jumping, shoves her hand WAY up the wife's crotch and breaks her water the old fashion way. Jen seems both relieved and repulsed at the ooze leaking out of her. For some reason, I'm ok with it.

3PM - The contractions are escalating! I'm very excited because I, having read all the latest books on childbirth, know this is a step in the right direction. The wife....not so much. In fact, the wife, who is known for her smile, has stopped smiling altogether. She's now pretty much frowning more and more as the minutes tick by. "Any chance you can find out about that epidural?" I rush into the hall and the nurse says she'll call the anesthesiologist.

(On a side note, I spelled anesthesiologist on the first try. No spellcheck needed. That kid is going to have an awesome dad.)

4 PM - In walks the drug man. (Just cause I CAN spell doesn't mean I want to over and over). He tells Jenny to hunch over and gets one mother of a needle ready. The nurse grabs Jenny by the shoulders and pulls her forward. He misses where he should hit and hits her in the spine. Pulls out the needle and tries again. Misses again. Pulls it out again, tries again, and misses again. He tries to twist it in, nope. Now the wife is sobbing with pain. I'm on the couch watching this, trying my hardest not to walk over and kill this man who has now stabbed my wife in the back three times. He pulls it out once more and tells the nurse to really lean my crying wife over more. The discs are not separating. He shoves the needle in again. NOPE! He missed again. I'm about to start begging him to stop torturing my pregnant wife when on the 5th try, he finally got it in. The relief was pretty quick but I think if my wife had the choice of natural childbirth or 5 needles in the back again, her epidural would never have happened. Anyways, the nurse says this should speed things along. For the first time all night, I feel terrible for what the wife is and is going to go through.

6PM - The epidural, which should speed things along, has not. The wife is stopped dilating and the baby isn't dropping into place. The nurses seem concerned but the wife, full of painkilling happy juice is ok with letting it go a bit longer. She's come this far and really doesn't want a c-section. I haven't slept in a long time and am getting pretty damn tired. I'm starting to root for the slice and dice

8PM - Nothing Nothing Nothing. Seriously, why be in labor if nothing progresses. Give me something, an inch, a drop, something. The wife's labor has totally stagnated. The nurses decide to call the doctor and see what she's recommends. The wife is pleading her case for more time, all she needs is a few more days and she's guaranteed to give birth naturally. The nurses leave to call the doctor.

8:50 PM - We haven't heard from anyone in almost an hour. I decide to check out for the night and go to bed on the crazy uncomfortable couch. I'm exhausted so I settle in for a good night's sleep.

9 PM - I'm awakened to find Dr. Miller in our room explaining to Jenny that it's time for a c-section. It's been too long, no more options. Jenny reluctantly agrees and asks what surgeon will do it. Dr. Miller informs us that she herself will be doing the surgery. Jenny, who completely trusts her doctor, is immediately on board with the c-section! And away we go! The same nurses who have been shoving their hands in my wife's crotch become obsessed with shaving it, actually shaving it as she's being loaded back into bed. Another doctor comes in a gives Jenny a shot which immediately makes her shiver. They give me some large size scrubs and tell me to put them on. Then they give me some new 3XL scrubs that actually fit and tell me to put them on. And we're off to the OR.

9:10 PM - I'm instructed to wait outside the room while they set up. After what seemed like 2 hours but was probably 3 minutes, they allow me in. Dr. Miller is prepping Jen's tummy and I am escorted to her head area where they have draped a large curtain so we can not see the proceedings. This is a good idea as I have no desire to see my wife get cut open. Stuck five times with a gigantic needle, sure, just not cut. The wife is awake but groggy so I tell her how good she's doing and stroke her hair. A few seconds later at....

9:21 PM - I'm a daddy. I hear the baby crying and tell Jenny she's a mommy. I see the baby whisked over to a baby warmer so the nurses can start to clean him up. This was simultaneously one of the most joyous and agonizing moments of my life. On one hand is my wife, the love of life, helpless and crying. On the other is my child, the new love of my life, a few feet away helpless and crying. I couldn't be with both and I had no idea who I should be with. The wife, sensing my painful confusion, told me to go be with my son. So I left my wife to attend to my new son. As I type this, it still makes me feel awful that I left her, but she was right, I had to. There he was, covered in blood and assorted goo. They asked me if I wanted to cut the cord. I know they ask the dads if they want to cut the cord so they feel like they're a part of it. Let's be honest, daddies don't do squat. If labor was an NFL game, mommies would be the quarterbacks and daddies would be the cheerleaders. I was actually going to decline cutting the cord, but the scissors were in my hand before I knew it and next thing I know, I'm cutting his cord. The nurse asked if we he had a name for him. If you read this blog, you know what we were leaning to. I asked Jenny, if was okay to name him. Jenny asked if he looked like the name we choose and I told her yes, so she said to go ahead and name him. We named him Lee Simpliciano Howland. And he's so beautiful.

9:30 PM - The nurses instruct me to come with them into the nursery so Lee can be processed. I kiss the wife goodbye and tell her I'll see her really soon. Lee and I head into the nursery and start the processing. Weight: 6 lbs 11oz. Length: 18in He gets a few shots and some goop in his eyes. I take a quick cell phone picture and send it out to the family. I call the folks and inform them of their upgrade to grandparents which makes them quite ecstatic. I've heard that the birth of your first child will instantly become the greatest day in your life. I wish I could say that's the case. Don't get me wrong. It's a pretty great day. But I've always been under the impression that the best day in your life doesn't include getting peed on. And Lee made sure that was the case about 10 minutes into his new life. Looked right at me and peed on me. I'm fine with it. I'm not even saying it wasn't cute in a weird way. But it makes it impossible for his birth to be the best day of my life. Oh well.

10:30 PM - Lee and I head back to the wife as she has had the full hour to recover. She's still a little loopy but as soon as she sees Lee she starts crying and wants to hold him. I hand him over and she looks so happy holding our son. Our little family is all together now.
I was wrong. This is the best day of my life. Pee and all.

Uh Oh

Sorry bout the lack of posts lately. It's been nothing but baby prep around here. What with buying all the essentials, to getting a pediatrician, to baby proofing the house, it's been a crazy trimester.

Does anyone else find the term baby proofing funny? If you baby proof your house, babies shouldn't be able to get in your house. I think it would be a much better advertising slogan for condoms. ZEUS CONDOMS! BABY PROOF YOUR WANG! If only someone had put that on a box on condoms nine months ago, I might not be in the predicament I'm in now. Oh well.

On a much more terrifying note, I'd like to welcome the newest reader of this blog, my mother! Somehow, someone told my sister about this and someone told my mother about this and someone was horribly disappointed. The disappointed individual would be my mother after reading all horrific thoughts I have and actions I do. I can understand. If I had a son that did all the things I've written about, I'd probably be embarrassed too. Oh wait, I'm having a son. That won't go well.

I knew the day would come that my mother found about about this. It wasn't a secret but I didn't go out of way to tell her either. Now that she knows, I feel..... You know how you feel when you've drank too much and need to throw up but it's not time yet. And then all of a sudden it's time to vomit! So you run to the bathroom, grateful in the knowledge you're about to chunk it out but still quite nauseous as you haven't yet done so. That's EXACTLY how I feel about my mother knowing about this blog.

I've always had my censor on around my mother. Most of you know me, I'm sort of an dick. But most people think I'm a funny dick. Which somehow allows the dickishness. But my mother and I have always disagreed on what humor is. She has always insisted that most things I find funny are not as such and I've always insisted that my mother has no sense of humor what so ever. So most of the time, around my mother, I've always had my internal censor on. Mainly because the few times I "unleashed the beast" around her, she never really saw the funny, just the dick. (I just realized that if the last two lines of this blog were quoted out of context, it would seem I expose my genitalia to my mother. Nice.)

Last Christmas, we (Jen, Mom, Dad and I) were all sitting around the table enjoying after dinner treats when the subject turned once again to Mom's lack of a sense of humor.

Me: You have no sense of humor, Mom.

Mom: You're wrong. I do.

Me: Okay, then. Give me an example of when a fart is funny.

(Both and Jen and my father know this is going down a bad road and their faces show it)

Mom: Well, I guess if.....hmmm.....Maybe if, Um....

Me: WRONG! Farts are always funny! You have no sense of humor.

My dad, appreciating the funny, busts out laughing at my mother as does the wife. My Mother, aggravated and frustrated, changes the subject, which we all happily do as a scorned Mom is a vengeful Mom and she has access to the knives.

Do not take this at all like I don't love my mother. I love her to death. She is one of the best people I know. She is overly kind, loving and supportive. Want proof? The fact I'm still alive after my teenage years is all the proof you need.

I take most of my values from my Mom. She's a staunch Democrat and environmentalist. She hates guns and was so disappointed when she read I had a gun. I hope she understands that I hate it too. Buying that thing was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I still question it to this day.

There's a reason that the spelling and grammar are quite good in this blog. It's not because of proper schooling.

I always hear about men slapping their women around. I could never do that. Not only because my mother taught me very well that men and women are equal, but because if I ever did hit a woman my mother would be on the next flight out to Vegas with the full intent of killing me. As she should.

Being a staunch Democrat, she's also very anti-censorship. Which is why I've chosen not to censor my thoughts on here just because I know she's reading it. My brain will still spew vulgar stupidity here. I'm sure she won't like it, but that's ok. I'll still turn the censor on when I see her and be as charming as I can without dropping f-bombs and making masturbation comments. But on here, my mother participation will not stop me from telling you all about the time the wife and I totally did it in a handicap bathroom in a Japanese middle school. POW!

Anyways, say hi to my mom in the comments. That way, she'll know you read this too and her tears will multiply.

In fact, now that my Mom knows, maybe I'll let the whole family in on my ramblings. I can feel the family pride growing already!

I love you Mom!

You pain in the ass.

I Had A BLAST!

I've accomplished the two goals I set out to accomplish before the baby is born. One was to break 80 in golf which I have now done twice and the other was to play Pebble Beach which I did last Wednesday. I played like crap but that's ok. The experience was amazing and the ending was perhaps the greatest thing that has ever happened in my life.

Understand that Pebble Beach is a walking course. It's a hilly six mile jaunt through the California coastline with 40 pounds strapped to your back, along which you swing a stick at about 100 mph 90 or so times. For a man of my stature (i.e. fat), this is an ordeal. I made it, but I was pooped.

Pebble Beach is a luxury golf course. They charge a pretty penny to play it but the course and service and second to none. One of the services they provide is when you finish your six mile hike, they ask you to sit on a bench so they can clean out your golf spikes. Nice touch. Instead of brushes, they use compressed air from a hose to clean out your spikes. Once they do so, you start to lower your foot but the attendant then does something unexpected.

He sticks the hose inside your shoe and turns the air on.

I've tried to be honest throughout this blog. Sure, I may have made some exaggerations here and there but most were for the good of the story. But I swear upon the soul of my unborn child that if after playing Pebble Beach, the attendants there offered me the choice of oral pleasure from a still hot 18 year old redheaded Lindsey Lohan, or air in the shoe I would take air in the shoe every single time.

This was by far the greatest thing I have ever felt. It was like angels filled my shoe and were massaging my foot with chilly pillows. I begged the attendant to do it again. He obliged and sent me back to heaven, over and over again for the good part of what seemed like mere seconds to me but my playing partner assures me was the good part of 5 minutes.

After it was over and I had heavily tipped the attendant for introducing me to the nectar that is air in the shoe, I proceeded to regale my partner for hours about my new found love of air in the shoe. He eventually got sick of it and started to try to change the subject. "NO!", I cried. "This entire night will be filled with nothing but my adoration of air in the shoe. Your just going to have to suck it up!"

If you own a air compressor, charge that baby up and go for a long walk. When you get back, stick that hose in your shoe and experience the unbridled ecstasy.

It's better then sex.

It's better then steak.

It's better then playing Pebble Beach.

I don't know if it's better then watching your firstborn child come into the world. I'll know soon. If I was a betting man, the kid would be a long shot at best.

Chocolate Pudding

Sometimes life truly throws you a bone. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones are returning for a 5 day holiday reunion stint in Boston.

When? About 14 days after the birth of my first child.

Am I going? Hells YES I'm going. The only thing I would miss this concert for is the birth of my first child. And he's going to be well over 10 days old at that point.

I found out about the concert this morning on the internet. The first thing I did was walk into the bathroom where my wife had just taken her morning shower.

"Punch me."

"Why?"

"Just punch me!"

The wife delivered a weak right to the gut.

"Harder!"

"Why?"

"JUST DO IT!"

The wife delivers a much more emphatic blow.

"Thanks!"

"Why did I do that?

"Because the news I have is going to piss you off.....big time."

"Oh no! Where are you going?"

At least she knows me and to be honest, she took it pretty well. Realize I say "took it well" because there was no discussion. I'll discuss religion, politics, and how to raise our child, but I'm going to a Bosstones reunion. She knows of my affection for the Bosstones and was actually sad she wouldn't be able to go. I love her so much.

The next thing I did was text Andrew, one of my best and oldest friends who is a bosstones nut himself. I texted him one word, "THROWDOWN!".

He called back within a minute. And he knew exactly what it meant. I love him too.

So I'll be traveling to Boston for about 48 hours to see the Bosstones twice in the dead of winter. I'll be doing my all to get tickets the nice and legal way but if needed, I'll hit up a scalper.

Am I bastard for leaving my child that early in life? Yes. Will it scar him for life? Shit, what I do won't scar him for life. Besides, he'll be all snug and warm with his mommy while I'll be freezing my ass off in Boston. MIGHTY MIGHTY....

Pennywise

I've decided to start writing guide books to help people to try to live more awesome lives like I do. I've posted the first book here for you all to enjoy! True, it's brief, but genius often is.

How to spend $40 correctly.

Step 1 - Go to Disneyland with two degenerate gambling friends.

Step 2 - Get in line for the Matterhorn rollercoaster.

Step 3 - Point out that the ride allows two people to sit "lap" style.

Step 4 - Offer said degenerates twenty dollars each to ride "lap" style. The degenerates will agree but want their money upfront so make sure you actually have the forty dollars handy.

Step 5 - Get into the ride first, behind where the degenerates are riding so they think you can't take a picture of them. Allow them to enter the ride after you.

Step 6 - Using your knowledge of the Disney Guest Service code, ask the ride attendant to take a picture for you. Because of said code, she can't refuse.

Step 7 - Loudly start mocking your friends for being "total homos". Others in line and ride attendants will join in the fun.

Step 8 - When someone from the line shouts at your friend who is wearing a Green Bay Packer Jersey "I guess he really is a packer.", relish the moment. The world will never be funnier then it is right now.

Step 9 - While riding, continue to mock your friends. After all, this is a rough rollercoaster and they're having all kinds of "dick on butt" rubbing occurring during the ride. Point this out several times.

Step 10 - While the ride might be over, the enjoyment certainly is not. For the rest of the day, congratulate them on their new found wealth and ask them if "riding homo on the matterhorn" was worth the cash. They will both heartily concur it was not. Happily, you can disagree. Because you have proof.


The one in the jersey is Jeremy Drier. The one who's getting the lap dance is Joseph Parks. I include their names in the off chance that a bored love one will google their names and find their shame.

Countdown

To all of those who commented I haven't been posting enough, fuck you. Do you have any idea how crazy my life is right now? My free time is being completely consumed by making sure I don't buy the wrong type of bottle nipples and finding out that the stroller I picked out will probably decapitate my child. If any of you reading this decide to be parents someday let me clue you in. According to experts, no matter what you do, some piece of child raising equipment will kill your child UNLESS you buy the most expensive piece of said child raising equipment. And god forbid you buy a stroller before your child is born and a newer model comes out. Congratulations, you just murdered your offspring.

That being said, I have been neglecting this blog. My last few blogs have been short and dumb. Almost like I'm kidding myself thinking "I've posted something. That's gotta count!" I've found the worst thing about having a blog is having a killer idea for a post, getting home, logging in and completely forgetting what it was you were to blog about. This has happened to me more then once. Usually when that happens, I try to come up with something funny that I think would entertain. It's a pretty good bet that when I try to force something, it usually comes out either highly racist or sexist and not at all funny. Let's be honest, if it was racist and funny, you'd be reading it.

Anyways, I had a great conversation with my buddy Jeremy about life's top 20 moments. It was during this conversation that I realized I truly am an idiot. Most of the ones that I listed were pretty normal; wedding, honeymoon, vacations. Some were really unique; teaching an English class in a Japanese high school, standing on the steps of the capitol building in Malta and being a few feet from the prime minister as he entered the building while thinking this would never happen in the USA.

But two were really idiotic that they made my top 20.

The first is a joke I told at a party. I was at Mike Burke's apartment for New Year's Eve. It was a lovely party and I had quite a few drinks. Mike's lawyer friend, Rachel, who is quite the feminist, was arguing some point about something. I don't really know what she was saying but I do remember wanting her to use a little less volume. So I approached her and interrupted.

"Hey Rachel, do you know why strippers are hot?

"Why?"

"Cause they don't talk much."

Ba-fucking-zing.

The reason that joke makes the top 20 isn't because of the comedic values of the joke, which even sober I must admit are quite high. It was the reaction. Mike Burke burst out laughing which was nice but that's not the reaction I think about when I aggressively masturbate to this memory. That reaction came from Rachel. Rachel turned a lovely shade of red and stared me down as if her glare could melt my face. She kept opening and closing her mouth but emitted no sound, as if he brain couldn't process the fact that yes, I said that and yes, I am that stupid.

That's right. I shut a lawyer up. Boo-Yah!

The second involves a loaf of bread.

The wife and I were visiting her family in Hawaii and we decided to take a couple days and explore the island of Molokai. Molokai is world famous for being a leper colony. Although leprosy was cured decades ago, that's really all the island is known for. It's not a very exciting island. Only about 7000 people live on the island and most of them are employed by the government. It's got a few condos, one nice golf course and one crappy one, and 4 mediocre restaurants. Once the sun goes down there's not a damn thing to do. Not for a while, that is.

You see, Molokai has a store called Kanemitsu Bakery. And the Kanemitsu Bakery has a bizarre tradition. Every night at midnight, down a darkened alley off the main street, through a small green door, they sell hot bread.

Yippee, you say. Hot bread. I know, that's what I thought too. But everyone we talked to said we gotta get that late night bread!

The wife and I finished dinner at 8 and went back to our condo we were renting. There wasn't a damn person on the road or in sight when we got back to the condo. It was 8PM and the island had already gone to bed. We started to doubt the existence of the bread, like maybe it was a practical joke that locals play on the tourists, which in retrospect, if true would have been awesome!

But alas, we decided to stay up to find out what the bread was all about. Which was really hard to do. Between 8 and midnight on Molokai, you're basically watching network TV and trying to stay awake. We made it to 11:45 and drove back into town, again seeing no one nor signs of any activity. We pulled into town and were happily reassured that something was happening as there were a few cars about and we saw people walking down the alley. We pulled into a spot and started the walk down the alley.

The first thing you notice about the walk is the dark. Molokai is a poorly lit island to begin with and when you walk down what the locals refer to a as a dark alley, it is DARK. However, you do hear some people and see a few lights down the alley so you continue.

The second thing you notice is the smell. A wonderful aroma of baking bread fills the air, intensifying as you walk down the alley. You finally arrive at the small lights marking the entrance to the waiting area and you are greeted by the third thing.

A mass of 50 people, happy out of their minds with the fact they are going to eat bread. You would think only tourists would do this but no, it's a local custom as much as a tourist trap. And they are as deliriously happy as the tourists there. You hear all kinds of great talk.

(FYI, bra is short for bruddah or brother which is what the Hawaiians call everyone. Yes, the Hawaiians are an odd lot)

"Hey bra, Where you from?
"Las Vegas...You?"
"Right there." (as he points at the house up the road)
"Nice. You do this a lot?"
"Every night bra, every night."

"Dude, I'm gonna buy 20 loaves and bring it back to the mainland"
"I'm buying 5 to bring home to Germany."
"No way, bra! They ain't gonna last that long."
"Will they go bad?"
"No bra, you gonna eat em all!"

So you get in line and watch as the next person gets up to the small green door and waits and waits. After a few minutes, the door opens and the bread is served. It arrives in a small pink plastic bag, a fine carrying vessel for the evening's prize. The recipient of the bread walks down the alley past all the people still in line. And everyone is happy and jealous at the same time.

"Bra, you get the bread?"
"Yep" (showing of the bag)
"Nice bra, enjoy that bread!"
"You too!"
"Soon bra, soon!"

It's a surreal experience. You're standing in line, waiting for a loaf of bread with a bunch of happy people. And because they're happy, you're happy. And every time someone gets a loaf, everyone in line is happy for them. And they're happy for you because you're going to get bread soon. After a lot of waiting you finally do get bread, and you're happy, and everyone is happy for you.

It's as pure a happy as I've ever experienced.

How's the bread, you ask?

Bra, dat bread is da kine!

GOODBYE BOSTON!

I was at my sister's wedding and Andrew stated that we should start a wedding band in Vegas. So I'm holding him to it. I need wedding songs, people! Make a list and go nuts. The best suggestions will go into our set and will earn tacos when I see you.

On The Door, Baby!!!

I'm pretty nauseated with myself right now.

I'm a registered Democrat.

I drive a Hybrid Honda Civic.

I'm strongly pro-choice.

I'm pro worker and unions.

I'm all for gay marriage.

Yet, today, sitting on my table in my living room is a brand new gun.

And there is a big part of me that hated myself for it.

I grew up in New York, the child of a staunch democrat (Mom) and a wishy washy republican (Dad). We never had guns in the house. My mother wouldn't allow it. And growing up around her and sharing a lot of her views, I agreed with most of it. I definitely agreed with not having a gun in the house. I can remember saying that I would never own a gun. I hated guns.

Funny thing, I still hate guns. A lot. I think the world would be better of if there were no guns. If, as a society, we could abolish all guns, I honestly think this country would be a much better place to live.

Problem is, that's not the world we live in. We live in a world with guns. The criminals have them and use them on the good citizens of this country. Just last week, not 6 blocks from our house, a woman was taken hostage by 3 armed criminals who were breaking into her house. Luckily for her, her husband was home and owned a gun. She survived, the criminals were shot dead.

So after much consideration, the Wife and I decided to buy a gun. We took some safety classes and got a lot of information online. I could tell you what kind of gun we bought but what's the point. It's a gun. And ever time I look at it, I feel sick.

We're going to go to the desert and learn how to shoot it. Then we're going to load it, put the safeties in place and hopefully never use it. But I'd much rather have it and not need it, then need it and not have it.

I know most of you who read this are leaning liberal. I'm truly asking you to give me a reason not to have a gun. I've been thinking for quite some time and I just can't come up with one. The child is really not a concern as the kind of gun we got is pretty much childproof. So please, give me a reason that hits home and I'll get rid of it happily. Cause I absolutely hate being a gun owner. I'm hoping that the criminals in my neighborhood hate me being a gun owner too.

Sorry about the downer blog this week. But I've had my stomach in knots for awhile and I need some reassurance that I'm not a monster or good reasons to abandon my purchase. Next blog will be a giggle, I promise. Nothing but fart jokes and my stupidity.

First, Last and Always.

Many things are discussed when a couple finds out they are having a baby. My wife and I are no different. I'm going to say that a strong 85% of our discussions over the last 4 months have been directly related to the baby. While a good portion of those are not common (putting a crying baby in the closet, if I should buy the baby golf clubs even though he won't use them for a few years, if instead of diapering the baby we could just restrain him into one room and cover the floor of that room with a plastic tarp), most of the conversations I believe are normal parenting conversations. One that comes up more then most is what to name the baby.

As discussed in previous posts, we're having a boy. Which is nice to know when you name your child. It effectively eliminates 50% of the choices. However, the remaining choices are quite vast. Luckily, lots of them are really stupid and horrible names like Sahale and Patwin. Might as well beat your child to death now and save his schoolmates the trouble. Both the wife and I feel like a nice normal name is the way to go when naming a baby.

The wife likes Daniel and Alex. I'm lukewarm on Daniel but I steadfastly refuse to name my child Alex. Mainly because my first crush on a girl was my friends sister who happened to be named Alex. I can only imagine giving my child a bath, calling him Alex, thinking about my first crush and getting a stiffy. Next thing you know, I'm divorced, I can only visit my child when a court appointed counselor is there and I have to register every time I move. So obviously, Alex is out.

I'm in a different and quite surprising boat on what to name my son. I'm pushing hard for his name to be Lee. What's so surprising about that is Lee is my Grandfather's name. Please understand when I say surprising, I mean I'm surprised it means that much to me.

I have never been much of a sentimentalist for names and the such. It always fascinated me how much a name means to people. I know people who wouldn't consider marrying someone unless they took their name. I'm the polar opposite. When the wife and I got married, I told her I couldn't care less about her taking my last name. It didn't mean much to me. She did take it, mainly for ease of use on tax forms and insurance papers, but still goes by her last name professionally. Which is fine by me. In fact, I kind of enjoy being called by her last name when we attend her work functions.

Then I found out the baby's due date was December 12th, the same birthday of my Grandfather. My grandfather has been dead for 17 years. He died when I was a freshman in high school. I hadn't thought about him in a long time.

What's interesting is I never would have thought of my Grandfather if not for a series of coincidences in my family tree. If you were to ask my what my deceased Grandmother's birthday was, I would have no idea. I couldn't even narrow it down to a season let alone a month. I'm really not ashamed of that. I loved my Grandmother but it's been a long long time since I've had to think about her birthday. But my Grandfather's birthday is, without question December 12th. How do I remember that so vividly?

Karen (Sister) - Dec 7th
Ron (Uncle) - Dec 7th
Me (Me) - Dec 9th
Michelle (Cousin) Dec 11th
Lee (Grandpa) Dec 12th

Nice grouping, huh? Apparently, everyone in my family gets horny right around the same time in March. I certainly did and now the wife and I are going to add another early December baby to the family.

Like I said, I hadn't thought of my Grandfather in a long time. But when I did start to think about him, I had nothing but wonderful memories of my childhood come flooding back to me. This was a man who was mayor of his town for years, a faithful member of his community church and am amazing family man. I started to remember how he wouldn't take the garbage out without putting on a tie. How he would take my sister and I sledding all day long in the cold winters of North Syracuse. He never lost patience with us, no matter how crazy we would be. And my sister and I could be crazy. I'm sure after we left he and my Grandmother had to clean for hours, just to have their peaceful home restored.

I also remember that he belonged to the Rotarians. Some of my best memories of my Grandfather were attending his Rotary meetings and admiring how respected he was in his society. When people found out I was Lee Milback's grandson, I was immediately welcomed and made to feel like a member, even though I was 13 at the time. He never talked down to me as a child even though I certainly acted like it. He was an avid golfer and tried to teach me how to play as well, showing infinite patience as I hacked it around his course. Now an adult, I can see how the seeds of my love and respect for golf came from him.

He's also responsible for the greatest show of love I've ever come or hope to come across.

I vividly remember the fear on his face the night of and days after my Grandmother broke her hip, confining her to a bed for the last three years of her life. And yet, for those next three years, he never complained about taking care of Grandma, he just did it out of love. I didn't fully understand it then but what he did for my Grandmother as she was slowly dying was as brave as anything a man can do. The hospital bed was too big for their room so she spent the rest of her days in the living room and he slept in the bedroom alone, which must have been awful lonely for both of them. He was being tortured, slowly watching the love of his life waste away in a hospital bed in the living room.

After years of living in horrible pain (of which she was fully aware due to her perfect mental health which let her enjoy every agonizing day), my Grandmother mercifully passed away at age 78. The whole family and most of the town arrived for the funeral and burial. Through the tears and sadness, my mother and her sisters talked to Lee about the future, maybe getting an apartment in the city or a condo on a golf course. He was also 78 at the time and in great shape for that age. But Lee wasn't interested in that, he just wanted to make sure that Norma, the love of his life for the last 52 years, was put to rest.

Norma Milback was buried on a Saturday. Lee Milback, having done everything he could for his wife and not wanting to continue without her, died Saturday night in his sleep of a broken heart.

The whole town turned out again for his funeral and we, the members of the family, kept hearing the same thing. "How awful for this to happen so quickly, what a tragedy for your family." And yet I didn't feel that way. I don't think the rest of the family did either. Of course, we were terribly sad that we would never see Lee again. But he didn't want to live without Norma. And none of use could see that as anything but a touching love story. My parents have said it and now that I'm married I can honestly say it too, I hope that's exactly how the wife and I go.

The wife and I both agreed to not make a final decision on the name of the child until he's born. However, Lee Simpliciano Howland has a nice ring to it, don't you think.

PS - If you were wondering how the dicsussion about whether I should buy the baby golf clubs went, here's a clue.

Bangin'

A long, long time ago, I was washing dishes. The cupboard where the cups went was over the sink. I opened the door it and put away a freshly washed cup. Obviously, I didn't close it completely because the next time I stood up after being hunched over in the sink I cracked the top of my head right into the corner of the door of the cupboard. It hurt so fucking badly! I was insanely mad at the universe so I punched the cupboard door as hard as I could. The door closed at an amazingly fast rate of speed. Sadly for me, it also bounced off the frame and reopened at the same rate of speed, smacking into the side of my face really, really hard. This point in the story marks the angriest I have ever been. It took me a full 2 hours to calm down. 6 years later I can mostly look back and laugh but there still is a small part of me that gets furious and wants so badly to go back to where I used to live and destroy that cupboard.

Renewable Energy

You know what's fuckin' Metal?

Metal.

If you knew me in my previous life as a high school student, you know that I was quite the Metalhead. (Is Metalhead one word or two? My spellchecker says two but my spellchecker was also programmed by nerds. I'm going one. Ironically, my spellchecker is also saying spellchecker is two words.) As my life progressed, I became broader in my musical tastes, listening more to the stylings of They Might Be Giants and assorted Ska bands. The end of my Metalheading (also a word) days came due to the money grubbing ways of one of my favorite bands of that time, Metallica. Metallica was not being Metal.

Much has been written about the feud between Metallica and their Napster loving fans, of which I was one. I am not one to give you a history lesson or morality lesson about the history of illegal downloads. All I'm going to say is I used to download a bunch of music from Napster and continue to do so through torrents and thepiratebay.org. I also go to a bunch of concerts, buy a bunch of merchandise and have put bands up at my house when they come into town. I guess I'm a modern day Robin Hood. And fuck yeah, I'm wearing tights. Can't get more Metal then that.

Anyways, because of Metallica basically saying I wasn't a good little fanboy, I stopped listening to their music and pretty much all Metal. Which was fine with me. I sold all my Metal CD's and got rid of all my Metal memorabilia. I certainly didn't miss it. I'd hear it every once in a while and enjoy the occasional tune but if anyone asked about my musical tastes, I would tell them about Reel Big Fish and Suburban Legends, not mentioning my head-banging (you're goddamn right I hyphenated that shit!) past. Not at all Metal.

It was only a matter of time before the dark side took me back. With a recent combination of becoming friends with a renewed metalhead, watching a little too much VH1 classic and becoming obsessed with Guitar Hero (the greatest game of the last 8 years), I am officially back on the Crazy Train. I've been scouring the web, looking for Metal and nearly jizzed (how in the hell is this not a correctly spelled word?) myself with delight when I found a Iron Maiden Anthology torrent. Since downloading that a nearly a week ago, I have listened to nothing else. In fact, as I'm typing this, "Can I Play with Madness?" is thrashing throughout my eardrums, reminding me of simpler times. So very Metal.

I'm still a bit mad at Metallica for all the years I've wasted not being Metal, but let's be honest. In the free music war, they lost, BIG time. I haven't paid for music in a long time, which is totally Metal.

So to those of you who once were like me, I'm calling you back. Pull the black leather out of the closet, loosen up your neck and throw your pointer and pinky high in the air, lightly gripping the remaining fingers against your palm with your thumb. Why? Because Satan is coming for you. And he's breakin' the law while he's running to the hill. And what is that in his hand? Why it's the Ace of Spades. When he gets there, you should probably shout at him.

Metal.

Nobody puts Baby in a Corner.

It turns out I'm going to be really bad at being a Dad. I certainly had my suspicions, being an idiot and all, but my fears of doing a horrible job raising my offspring were confirmed tonight.

Jenny and I were out with our friends having a nice dinner at a Japanese steakhouse. I was having the steak, shrimp and lobster combo because that's what you get when you go to a Japanese steakhouse. Our friend ordered the chicken so I mocked her for a while. It's a "steak"house. Gotta get the steak. And if they want to combo that up with assorted shellfish, who am I to complain?

Anyways, we're having a nice dinner and between bites we were talking about the forthcoming baby and its impending nighttime crying schedule. Our friends, having experience with their own children, informed Jen and I that the first few months would be quite non conducive to sleep what with the baby crying all throughout the night. We were talking about what would make a baby cry and what should be done. Our friends informed us it could be a assortment of ailments but sometimes a baby will just cry through the night for no apparent reason. I said "Well, if the baby just wants to cry, I'll just put it in the closet for a while."

This was the wrong thing to say.

Not only did our friends immediately stop eating and talking to stare me down, not only did Jen stop eating and talking to stare me down, but the Chef who had just finished cooking our meal and was cleaning the table stopped what he was doing to join the stare that the others at the table were now partaking of.

"What?", I said.

"You can't put the baby in a closet! What kind of monster are you?" said one of my friends.

"Why not?" I said. "It's a very nice closet."

"It doesn't matter if it's nice. You can't put your baby in the closet! That's child abuse!"

"How is that child abuse? It's a walk in closet with lights and a vent and carpeting."

At this point Jen chimes in, "You an idiot. The baby doesn't go in the closet."

If you know me, you know I love to argue. I'll even argue stupid ridiculous points just for the fun of arguing. But I really thought I was right on this one. I pointed out how I didn't want to put the baby in another room's closet or even another room! This closet isn't 5 feet from our bed. We would have easy access to the baby at all times, there would just be a sound blocking door between us. Besides, it's not like I want to put the baby in there all the time, just when it's crying and Jen and I need some sleep. And like I said, it's a very nice closet.

At this point the Chef shook his head and left, probably to go tell his buddies in the back about the idiot who's going to put his baby in a closet.

My wife and our friends honestly couldn't believe that I was arguing this. At one point Jen told our friends that I was joking and I do these kind of things to get a rise out of people. I told them all that while it is true I like to get a rise out of people, I was 100% serious that I thought and continue to think this is a good idea.

Turns out I'm a child abusing monster.

The next day, I asked a lot of different people at work what they thought of my idea. To a person, I got the same response from my co-workers that I got from my wife and friends. The one that really hurt was when I asked this guy Thomas who I consider to be quite the douchebag when it comes to his kids and even he agreed with the masses. I'm a horrible person, I'm going to be a horrible parent and I should probably do the kid a favor and die now.

I still can't understand what is wrong with putting a crying baby in a well ventilated, carpeted, lighted closet?! I'm asking you, as my blog readers, is there anyone out there who thinks this is ok? Or am I doomed to destroy my baby's life? Let me know.

PS - For some reason, everyone I talked to had no problem with me sleeping in the closet. Just not the baby.

PPS - I really don't care what anyone tells me. It's my baby and that crying little shit is going in the closet.

CLAP YOUR HANDS!!!

I am not a perfect man. I know, I know. How can I, a man so fucking awesome, have that kind of humility? Well, good readers, I am a mortal who can recognize my flaws. And one of those flaws is not being able to forgive general stupidity. What stupidity is suffering my wrath this time?

"Give yourselves a round of applause."

Dear GOD, that phrase gives me a fucking migraine. I'm sick of giving my money to these performers so I can suffer through that god-awful phrase at least once a show. "Give yourselves a round of applause." Fuck you. Why on earth would I want to give myself or any of the usual moronic douche bags standing around me at a concert a round of applause? What did we do to deserve a round of applause? Ignore the fact that we're an hour and a half into the concert and you still haven't played the one hit song we came to hear you play?

It's the same as when the band performing says the name of the city they happen to be in and the crowd goes nuts. It proves that the crowd is just as retarded as the performer. Why on earth do we as audience members applaud when someone on stage says the name of the town we're in? Certainly doesn't happen in other situations. Imagine:

You: So where are you from.

Hot Chick or Dude You Are on a Date With: Well, I'm originally from Kentucky but I've live in Las Vegas now.

You: WWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Hot Chick or Dude You Are on a Date With: What? Why did you yell?

You: You said "Las Vegas". I live in Las Vegas or am currently visiting Las Vegas so I said whoo.

Hot Chick or Dude You Are on a Date With: I see. I'm going to leave now. Ass.

And yet all someone on stage has to do is say the town's name and everyone in the audience goes nuts.

But you know who I almost feel sorry for? Opening bands that aren't well received. I always picture this thought process when an opening band is crapping the stage with melodic diarrhea.

Lead Singer (to himself): Gosh, these people don't seem to like us very much. I hardly see any hands being thrown in the air and virtually no one is singin' along. What could I possible do so these people start to understand how much we totally rule?

Lead Singer (to the crowd): GIVE IT UP FOR THE HEADLINER!!

Audience: WHOO!

Lead Singer (to himself): Ahhhhhhh, the sweet sound of applause. I knew this crowd loved us. We totally rule.

And the worst part is EVERY SINGLE BAND I'VE SEEN DOES ALL OF THE ABOVE! They're all simple minded sycophants looking for a cheap pop. Fuck em all.

There is, however one exception and that would be The Ramones. For those of you who never saw a Ramones show let me tell how it would go. The lights would go down, the Ramones would take the stage, and Joey Ramone say "Hey, we're the Ramones. This one's called Rockaway Beach." Then Dee Dee would say "1-2-3-4". And rockin would commence. 2 minutes later when the song was over. Joey Ramone would come up to the mic and say "This one's called Rock and Roll High School." and Dee Dee would say "1-2-3-4". And rockin would commence. This pattern would continue for about 2 hours until Joey would come to the mic and change it up a bit. "Thanks for coming out. This one's called Pinhead." And Dee Dee would say "1-2-3-4". And rocking would commence. When the last song was over, Joey would go up to the microphone and say "Goodnight!" And they would walk off stage....to the loudest applause I've ever heard.

A Sadder World

I just realized that when my unborn child is finally old enough to be able to fake an illness and stay home from school, he will no longer be able to watch Bob Barker on The Price is Right. Being a master of the fake illness, Bob was a big part of my childhood. The first thing I did when I got a dog was had him spayed or neutered. While my child might have a more technologically advanced childhood, he won't have Bob and that makes me a little sad. Fare thee well, Mr. Barker. May you never overbid your showcase showdown.

Pan's Labyrinth is Totally Balls

I finally got around to seeing this movie on DVD. I had to wait to see it on DVD because I no longer go to the movies. Why? Well that's a whole other blog. Wait a sec, no it's not. I don't go to the movies anymore because society in general has seemed to lost the ability to shut the fuck up in a movie theater. That and I have a 68 inch DLP TV at home with surround sound and leather recliners. Whole other blog indeed.

So I'm told by pretty much everyone that I've got to see Pan's Labyrinth. "It's the greatest movie of all time!" is what I'm told by all my artsy fartsy friends. (If you are reading this, you are regarded by me as Artsy Fartsy. My non-artsy fartsy friends probably wouldn't know how to turn on a computer, just punch it until it submitted.) So I watched it. And it S-U-C-K-E-D.

I'm not saying it wasn't a very pretty movie to look at. I can understand why the director of cinematography would get a hummer from the Academy. I get that. But whoever wrote that movie had no respect for you or I.

If you haven't seen this movie yet and don't want parts of it ruined, it's time to go away.

SPOILER ALERT

I had two major problems with this movie. The first major problem I had was with the second task the girl was assigned. The Pan comes into her room and tells her she needs to draw a door in the wall which will open a portal into another room. A room inhabited by a monster. Get the knife in the room and get out. You only have a certain amount of time before the door stops working so be quick. Oh yeah, and in the monster's room is a super nice spread full of delicious food. Don't eat any of it or you'll probably die a horrible death. And just to keep you on your task, I'll give you three fairies to guide you on your way.

So the girl draws the imaginary door, opens it, and turns over the timer showing her how much time she has left. Then what does she do?

She dilly dallies. And not just your average dilly dallying. World Class dilly dallying. The kind of dilly dallying that made her walk down a hall of paintings of the monster horribly killing other children, but instead of going "Oh Shit, that could be me!" and hauling ass, choosing to more closely examine the brushwork used in the painting.

Finally, after what seemed like a goddamn eternity, she gets to the end of the room with the monster in some state of suspended animation, and proceeds to get the knife from its hiding spot. While on her way out, she looks again at the buffet on the monster's table and decides to have a bite to eat. The fairies that were sent by the Pan to help out start waving her off the food, reminding her not to eat the food. Of course, she ignores the fairies, eats a couple of grapes and wakes up the horrible child killing monster.

Here's the recap so far:

Pan: Get the knife as quick as you can and don't eat anything on the way or you'll die.

Little Girl: Fuck you Pan, I'm gonna take my sweet ass time and eat whatever I want.

The horrible child eating monster wakes up and gets ready to eat the little girl. The fairies, in a selfless act, distract the monster so the little girl can get away. The monster eats the fairies, distracting him from the little girl so she can get way. Notice how I ended the last two sentences with "so she can get away."? But does she get away?? FUCK NO! I guess she was so entranced by the pictures of the monster doing horrible things she wanted to catch the live show. Of course, once the fairies were good and eaten and the horrible child killing monster focused on her, she finally decided to haul ass down the hall and get out.

I really hate movies that make kids to be that stupid. The camera and special effects, as pretty as they were could not distract me from the fact that the lead character in the movie was so fucking stupid that she didn't deserve to live. From this point on, I was openly rooting for her death.

The second problem I had with this movie was the key to the pantry lock scene. Earlier in the movie, they make a big deal of showing the Captain locking the pantry shut and asking the maid if he now had the only key. She said yes, but was lying as she snuck a key to her brother in the forest who, in a twist that every single person knew right away, was the leader of the terrorists, who turned out to be the good guys after all. WHAT A TWIST!

Anyways, later in the movie, the terrorist group whoop and holler into town setting off grenades all over the place and shooting as many soldiers as they can before they use the second key to get into the pantry and rob it. The Captain then uses his brilliant mind to deduce that his maid is the spy in the house because the lock wasn't blown off with grenades. She snuck the key to them.

So why didn't the terrorist group just blow the lock up with grenades in the first place instead of putting the spy at risk. Because that makes sense. And whoever wrote this movie decided that instead of writing a movie that made sense, he'd rather advance the plot with crappy devices. Or they could have just taken the lock with them after they robbed the pantry! But no, it's much easier to write a movie when the people in it act like retards like leaving the opened lock on the door.

This was a crappy lazy movie that fooled a bunch of people because it was in Spanish and had cool costumes and EFX.

The next time someone raves about this movie to me, I'm going to tell them that my piss is poison and will kill them if it hits them in the face. Then I'm going to try to piss in their face. If they let me, it will explain why they like Pan's Labyrinth.

Freedom o' Speechifying

Every time I was getting a comment on this retardation I have been typing, the person who wrote the comment would have to wait for my approval. This is no longer the case! All of your opinions on what I write are now valid without my approval. Well Done!

Salty

I used to think my wedding day would be the happiest day of my life forever. After what happened last night, that can longer be said.

I went to a japanese cafe with Kevin and Jenn. While there, the discussion of truth or dare came up. Kevin, in the past, played truth or dare with some friends like a 12 year old. I told him that's not the way adults play that game. Adults just play dare. And it usually involves money. So I gave him an example. I told him I would give him $20 if he drank a quarter cup of soy sauce. He would also have to not drink or eat anything else for thirty seconds after. He told me "What if I dare you to do something stupid for $20." I asked him what he wanted me to do. He said for $20 I had to run out to spring mountain road, drop my pants and fondle my happy pills for 5 seconds. I sprang to my feet and ran out of the cafe with Kevin right behind me. I ran across the parking lot, got to the sidewalk, and dropped my pants. Sometimes, fate just smiles and smiles at you. There was not a car in sight. Not until I got to the 3rd second of self gratification did we even see headlights which were about a half mile off. It was like drawing to the miracle straight flush when you're beaten by a full house. And please realize, I didn't wait for there to be no traffic. As I ran across the parking lot, I resigned myself to showing people in passing cars my balls. I just have the incredible luck that when Kevin and I arrived at the street there was not a car in sight.

So we walk back into the cafe and I tell Kevin to pay up. He says he's not going to have to, he's going to drink the soy sauce. I offer the advice that it will probably be better if he just chugs it down. Kevin replies that no, he's going to drink it in small batches. Miracles happen everyday.

Kevin slowly brings the cup of soy sauce up to his nose and takes a big sniff. Why, I have no idea. If I was going to drink something nasty for money, I would just man up and chug that fucker. I guess Kevin wanted to savor his unhappiness. Needless to say, the whiff of soy sauce sends Kevin straight to regret land. I ask if he's going to back out. Without saying a word, he puts the cup up to his lips and drinks the first swallow.

There was a small part of mind that was nervous that it wouldn't be so bad. That Kevin would just find it midly unpleasent but not by any means, a big deal. Again, fate smiled upon me. Kevin fucking HATED it! He startes gagging, sniffiling, turning white and his eyes start watering. Jenn and I were in comedy heaven. And the best part is, he didn't even drink half of it on the first swallow!

He puts the cup back up to his lips and takes another swig of misery. Even better then the first, because he starts to show the anguish on his face. He's clearly in some sort of hell and I'm the cause of it. At this point, he starts to burp really loudly. I can only imagine what pure soy sauce burps taste like. Kevin now has first hand knowledge. And because I must have done something right in my life and God himself was rewarding me at this moment. Kevin still had one more swallow to go.

With much struggle, he finally finishes the last of the soy sauce, reaching the hardest part of the deal, the 30 seconds. It's funny the role perception plays in life. I'm sure if asked Kevin about the 30 seconds, he would tell you it was long, painful and felt like several minutes. For myself, it felt like a flash. But what a flash! Kevin, now an ashen white, was gagging, burping, head bobbing, crying, and hating every moment of it. Sadly, the 30 seconds ended and Kevin was allowed to drink and eat again.

He compared it to taking a huge batch of seaweed and shoving it in the back of your throat for awhile.

After a few minutes, I started to reflect on what a momentous occasion this was. This was the comedy pinnacle for me. Now matter how funny or brilliant a sketch or improv show can be, it will never top Kevin drinking soy sauce. But I'm ok with that, because nothing ever should top Kevin drinking soy sauce. I can now die with peace in my heart with the knowledge that I have seen the funniest thing in the world. I'm going to get a t-shirt made that just says "Kevin drank the Soy Sauce". I should probably get a few as I can see myself wearing that article of clothing out rather quickly. I love you all and I hope only one day you too can experience a sliver of the magic that I did last night. Take care of yourself and God Bless America.


KEVIN DRANK THE SOY SAUCE

Eggs Why

The wife, if you haven't heard already is pregnant. Just passed the first trimester, in fact. We were together at the ultrasound doing a genetic mutation test when the doctor asked us if we wanted her to take a stab at the baby's sex.

We'd decided as soon as we found out about the pregnancy that we would find out the sex of the baby pre-delivery. We'd rather be prepared then surprised. Besides, all that really matters is that the baby has ten fingers and ten toes, right?

Every time I bring up pregnancy to anyone, that statement comes up. "Ten fingers and Ten toes!" Honestly, who cares. If I found out the baby was only going to have 9 toes, I'm pretty sure I could handle it. I'm much more worried about the important stuff. You know, kidneys, heart, lungs. Missing a lower intestine is probably a bigger deal then missing a digit.

Luckily for us, all the important stuff is there. Heart is beating away, spine is coming in nicely. When the doctor first put the ultrasound on the wife's tummy, we saw the baby dancing away, turning, flailing about. Very cool stuff. However, when it came time to measure the all important neck flap, (apparently, you measure the neck flap for pre-natal diseases, who knew?) the baby decided to lie perfectly flat on it's back. All the poking and prodding wasn't encouraging the baby to turn on its side so we could view the neck flap. It was being stubborn. I started to get a funny feeling.

You have to understand, in the Howland family, all the men turn into self destructive idiots from about age 15 till 22. It's in our genes. I went nuts from 15 till 22, my father did, as did his. John Howland, one of the original pilgrims, was saved after he went overboard on the Mayflower on the voyage over. He was 20 at the time. John Howland was the only person that went overboard on the voyage. Coincidence, I think not. Just the male Howland gene doin' its thang.

So when I found out we were having a baby, I was leaning towards girl. Not because I wanted or preferred a girl. I just know what male Howlands are like. I figured a girl at least has a shot of coming out normal and well adjusted. My sister is a wonderful person!

To a person, I was vigorously disagreed with. Everyone thinks we're having a boy. My father especially was rooting for a boy. He called it payback.

Back in the Ultrasound room, the baby, after much pleading and prodding turned on its side. (I may have yelled at Jen's uterus at one point, I figured the baby might as well get used to it.) Luckily, the neck flap was fine and all signs point to a very healthy, happy baby.

A healthy baby Boy, that is. My father wins again. Jen and I are doomed. I wish my unborn child well. He has about 15 years and 6 months till it all goes to hell.

I'm blaming Jenny. Yeah, I know its the individual sperm that determines sex. I figured Jen's egg would have been smart enough to move out of the way when a male was coming down the chute.

Proper Manners Go A Long Way

I was at my friend's apartment the other evening for a lovely night of watching the Mets-Yankees contest and some fine cuisine. He currently resides with his lovely girlfriend whose company I enjoy as much as his. Which is a substantial amount. I like them both a lot is the point I'm trying to make. Now that I have made that point, I'm going to voice a complaint about them.

You see, they've been together for sometime now and yet, every time I'm around them, they feel the need to kiss and grope, oh, about every 25 seconds. And I'm not going to lie to you fine people, I don't feel all that comfortable around it. So this time I did what any rational person would do. I threatened to drop my pants an inch every time they smooched. They clearly thought I was bluffing but stopped kissing after my pants lowered about 4 inches and there was a possible "pube patch" sighting.

That being said, I really have no problem with kissing. I'm not a huge fan of PDAs but it is a free country and to each his own. Not only that, but they were making out in their own place of residence which would really qualify as a private display of affection but still a PDA by rationale of initials. After leaving them for the evening and thinking it over, I finally realized what bothered me so much about what had transpired.

I've always been a hospitable person. If you're a guest in my house, and I'm in the mood for a cold beverage, you can be sure you also will be offered a cold beverage. I'm such a good host that I would usually offer you any beverage of your choosing. If I knew in advance that you were coming, I would even go so far as to purchase what I thought was your favorite beverage in advance, just to be as hospitable as possible.

I guess what I'm saying is if you're a guest in my house, then my house is your house. I would expect the same from my friends. So if you know I'm coming over and you're going to be kissing all night, at least have someone there I can kiss all night. Or offer me the opportunity to make out with you or whomever you are making out with. I'm not even saying I would make out with either of you or the person(s) you had selected in advance for me. I'm just saying the offer would be nice.

Remember people, share the love.

P.S. - The man in question is Michael Burke. His girlfriend is Colleen whose last name I don't know but I assume will be Burke soon if Michael ever stops being such a total pussy and makes an honest woman out of her. I would totally make out with both of them.