Jeff - Friend of Those Who Spawned

Hold On Loosley?

2009-03-25T22:18:00.001-04:00

Alright already…enough…I get it. I don’t know how to hold a baby. Every time I get together with the other guys and gals on this site, eventually a goo-machine gets passed to me,

“Does Uncle Jeff want to hold you?”

The father/mother outstretches the baby towards me. The baby comes flying in like a drunk octopus, arms and legs moving in all directions. Where do I grab? Support the head right? Don’t smother the face. Do I let my shirt get drenched in the perpetual snot? The shirt is hiking up, the diaper is migrating down. Is my hand suppose to be here?

The baby senses my weakness and decides to save me by crying.

“Whoa, the little guy must not like me, you better take him back.” I extend him out like I am holding a dirty bomb. Everyone laughs and notes what an infant amateur I am.

I use to get together with friends and for spontaneous entertainment we would go to this bar on a snowy night and watch people slip and fall on the ice outside the window. Occasionally we would give the dog a little beer and watch him chase a laser pointer. Now to my friends, I am the joke.

“I’m bored. Let’s hand Jeff a baby and watch how uncomfortable he gets.”

Laugh it up. I am going home and getting 8-10 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Guess Who's Back?

2009-03-10T22:31:00.004-04:00

Being the only guy on the blogsite who does not have kids (yet) allows me to make observations that the others are completely blind to. In my past blogs, I have taken you down the road of the Swaddle and brought you through discussions of Christmas presents with these guys. What I have failed to tell you about them (and their wives) was the period of time from day 1 of pregnancy up until last Saturday night.

At first it was bad. Really bad. For nine months every time we got together with our friends all they would talk about is Baby. When the Baby comes… Are you reading this particular Baby book… I am working on the nursery for Baby with a low volatile paint… And I am sure that it was 20 times worse for my wife as she dealt with morning sickness discussions, bloating, maternity clothes, etc. We love our friends, but there was a time when it was hard to hang out with them because we had nothing in common. We tried to change the topic,

“Have you seen the new Batman movie?” “Yes the baby kicked the whole way through it. I had to adjust the way I was sitting so …..”

“Do you think Palin was a good pick for John McCain?” “Drill Baby Drill...”

You get the point.

Eventually the babies came and things got better. There was a focus in the room besides an over-inflated belly. But nobody could go out later than 6 because the babies are now on schedules and from what we learned you don’t want to F with this. Six-o-clock feed, burp, settle down, rock, put to bed, cry, hold, rock, put to bed, sleep. We could hang with our friends, but it still was not the same as before.

All this changed on Saturday night. In her infinite wisdom, one of the mothers, we’ll call her “Jaunita” planned a night out on the town for all of us. No babies, just bar crawl. Thank you babysitters if you are reading. For the entire night it felt like the old days. We drank, joked around, danced, and made complete fools of ourselves (At one point I was dancing with a purse). When I tried to figure out whose it was, I grabbed the phone out, opened it and saw a picture of a baby. For me this was a refresher that the babies were at home. I am sure the parents were a lot more aware of their little one’s at home than I but they did not show it.

I wrote this for all my tens on fans out there that do not have kids, but have friends who have entered baby madness. Don’t worry they will come back around. You will be holding a purse eventually, dancing with them to Latin music.

Eight is Enough?

2009-02-22T17:18:00.004-05:00

Back from my short recess, I have returned to B.A.D.A.B. completely fresh and ready to entertain them asses. In my absence one of the more notable parental stories that broke was the lady in California who managed to give birth to 8 children. I think the world is clearly awaiting B.A.D.A.B to put in our two cents on this issue, because obviously this is everyone’s business.

I am not going to comment on how irresponsible this act was. I am not going to complain how us taxpayers are going to be the rich uncle that takes care of these kids. I am not even going to make the assumption that the mother was trying to look like Angelina Jolie when she had plastic surgery. All this has already been discussed.

What amazes me in this story is how the media needed to replace “Nadya Suleman, the mother who gave birth to eight children at once” with a tag name that was worthy of boldface and exclamation points on the bottom of the screen. Along came “OCTOMOM!” Just like “Brangelina”, “Unabomber”, “TomKat”, and “Billary”, the media attached a tag name that would easily roll off the tongue Monday morning at the water cooler.

OCTOMOM! (part comic book villain) stuck like fresh dog crap on a pair of soccer cleats. But who came up with this tagline? I bet there was a board meeting where execs put up several names, laughed argued, and eventually settled on this PG-rated name.

What about the obvious “Octopuss”? Nope she had a c-section. How about “OctoCaesarian”

Runners-up for the whole situation include: Octolitter, 2X4Belly, DonorGate, 8 Maids-a-Milkin, Eight-Men-Out, My Zero Dads...I could go on all day.

But really OCTOMOM? Sure she had 8 but she already had 6 prior to this gaggle totaling 14. I guess TETRADECAMOM! just doesn’t roll off the tongue.

Fence Sense

2009-01-19T16:02:00.004-05:00

Not too long ago I was on a flight and ran out of material to read. The Ipod was dead and I wasn’t in the mood to pretend I was talking on my cell phone just to frighten people. I picked up airline magazine “Skymall”. You know this publication well if you travel. This is a magazine where all product ideas go to die. Whether you need a toaster that can cook a hotdog and the bun at the same time (imagine the cleaning), or a Lord of the Rings battle axe this magazine is for you.

Anyways, I ran across the picture you see here for a driveway fence to protect your kid from going into the street. I also see it prevents bikes and soccer balls from escaping the front yard. Who would have known it was so easy to prevent Junior from running out into traffic. This product looks so effective I am willing to bet you could take a weekend vacation and leave the kids safely in the front yard. Heck, this fence would even protect the kids from pedophiles and stray wolves.

I am baffled why this product has been demoted to the Skymall magazine. I even think if people would just open their minds, we could use this type of gate in other areas of our society. Imagine how much you could save in the construction of maximum security prisons. Forget the four-wall idea; you just need a strong concrete fence, maybe a little barbed wire at the driveway leading into the prison.

And what about our border security / illegal immigration problem? I think all we would have to do I put up a couple of these orange fences across key roads and bridges. Sure we may have to increase the grade of plastic and overall height, but at the end of the day our country would be safe. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

The Ups and the Downs

2009-01-05T22:05:00.005-05:00

Recently while on vacation I passed by the street sign similar to the one in this picture. I know I have seen this sign in the past, but this time I actually gave it some thought. Clearly the department of transportation wants motorist to be cautious of children playing on teeter totters in the road. My eyes were peeled. I never did see the foreshadowed teeter totter, but I did smash my car into monkey bars and a tornado slide.

What ever happened to the good old teeter totter? Sure you can still find them in chosen playgrounds, but they are all new-fangled with plastic seats, protective tires, sand, and woodchips. “Hey Johnny, don’t forget to wear your teeter totter helmet.” I’m talking about the old teeter totters that lawsuits were made of. They were basically half a railroad tie attached to a hefty sewer pipe. The ends were splintered from constant ground hits, and God help you if your mom dressed you in short shorts before sending you out to the playground (again see splinters).

There are times in you life when you inadvertently make embarrassing measurements. For example you go to the sports store and all the size “large” cups are sold out. You settle for “medium” and realize it is rather spacious. The teeter totter offered an environment for similar awkward situations. As a young child this was the first time you realized, “My friend A on that side of the teeter totter weighs as much as friends X, Y, Z, and LMNOP on that side. It was basically a giant scale. Big fat kid = 4 skinny nerds.

Au contraire fat kid. Don’t act like you hated the teeter totter. This was one time in life where you held all the power. You would encourage everyone to pile up on one side against you. With all your heft, you would heist them skyward until you bottomed out (literally). They would all be screaming, trying to magically increase their weight by bouncing up and down, but you would hold fast. Slowly you would start lifting a leg, hinting at an early exit that would send them plummeting. The higher you lifted, the more they would plead you to stop. Eventually, your balance would falter, and you would roll off the board. The pain of the board scraping your butt-cheek as it rocketed skyward was a small price to pay as you watched all those skinny kids plummet into the abyss.

Where oh where have you gone classic teeter totter? You offered children the perfect balance between weight, extortion, muscle, pleas, and supremacy.

Toys for Tots

2008-12-21T23:33:00.010-05:00

Recently I went to Toys-R-Us shopping for a Christmas toy for my three-year-old nephew. It only took minutes to find the perfect gift for him, but I found myself walking up and down every isle amazed with the toys that are available for children. Soon I was thinking of some of my favorites as a child as I was seeing the 2008 equivalents. Some classics have defied the test of time Etch-and-Sketch, Lincoln Logs, Tinker Tots etc. And then others were nowhere to be found. As I started thinking about it, I realized that technology has knocked out some classics. Read on.

When I was young my parents would talk into this device on the wall. It had a cord that was at least 50 feet long and always required them to be tethered to the wall unit. Every once in a while I could say hello to my grandparents through this device. When we traveled and one of my parents needed to use this device they would have to find a gas station with one of these contraptions tethered to a metal pole. I remember having a toy version of this device that I could use to talk to Mickey Mouse.

As a youngster my parents would play their favorite Beach Boys, Ann Murray, and Bee Gees records on this appliance that took up a quarter of our living room. The giant machine could hold a number of records, play other types of tapes (8-tracks and eventually cassettes), and was hooked through our entire house with speakers. Once again there was a toy that let me listen to some of my favorite classics like Twinkle Twinkle.

When I got a little bit older I started learning this thing called the English Language. There were a number of work books, charts, and teachers who were there to help me conquer this mammoth task. Texas Instruments, in all its brilliance, developed a toy that would eventually help me and countless others learn about speaking and spelling.

Today, you can find toys similar to the ones mentioned above. However, parents today are not tethered to walls when talking on the phone and do not have vinyl record collections that play on monstrous entertainment centers. When it comes to spelling words correctly, do they grab a dictionary? Most of the time computer programs alert them that they have spelled something incorrectly or changes it for them automatically.

Over the years, technology has helped us shrink down devices in all these areas. Maybe it is unfortunate that some of the toys associated with the older technology are no longer available; heck would a kid know what a record player was? But you can still find all the above devices in what most likely is the most popular toy for children of all ages...

On the 1st Day of Xmas My Parents Gave to Me...Zippy

2008-12-16T07:00:00.002-05:00

Last weekend the whole group of us got together at Anthony’s for a night of catching up, to have a few laughs and drinks, and for one quick second, remember what it was like before the Great Baby-Tsunami of 08. Luckily I only had to show up with a case of beer and a tub of cookies. Not Eric and Mark though…they each came in with babies, strollers, baskets, over the shoulder bags, blankets, clothes… With the addition of dusted bowler hats and Irish accents I would have sworn I was at Ellis Island.

It wasn’t long before we got into a conversation about the various Christmas presents each couple was going to get for there babies. However, an unnamed mother and father informed us all that they were not going to get their little booger-face any Christmas presents. At first I thought this was very odd and considered donating a toy to them. But they told us how they have spent 8.6 million dollars on this baby since it has been born, and it was soon going to be flooded by gifts from relatives. As I started thinking about it, it started to make more sense. They told us that their baby would never know the difference.

When I was a couple months old at my first Christmas, I remember the ambiance of my family, the smooth tunes of the new Talking Heads album playing softly in the background. A slight smell of clover lofted through the air. My family gathered round me and draped me in fine linens as the night sky twinkled crisply out the stained-glass window of our great room. After my father opened his new beta-player I was handed my first Christmas gift. Oh, how I longed for this gift. What could it be? An Atari 2600? Maybe a signed poster of Mr. October?

I don’t remember.

How could I? What about my second Christmas? Nope. Third? Nope. My earliest memories in life roughly occurred at the age of 4 and they were from traumatic falls and being sick with the flu. Perhaps I would have remembered my gifts had they been the rotavirus.

Bravo and Brilliant to my friends who have decided not to buy their child a gift this Christmas. I suggest waiting until they can communicate in sentences, throw up, and fall off their trike.

Stats Amazing!

2008-12-11T20:13:00.007-05:00

A few posts ago I asked my faithful readers to respond to a survey declaring the age when they left the V-Club, entered the M-Club, and fell victim to the B-Club. I had theorized a correlation between age exiting the V-Club and entering the M-club. After careful analysis of my 10 data points, Barack Obama will win the election by 30 billion votes. Actually there was not any pattern to be found. The flushing sound you hear is my theory exiting the building.

In attempt to dazzle the 10s that read this blog with statistics, I have put together two graphs that I would like to share that show similarities between babies, college students, and the elderly. The following are general life patterns and are fully endorsed by beingadadaintbad.com.

GRAPH 1 – In this graph you will see the likelihood of a person taking a nap during the work week. In early life a baby will take a nap almost every day. Once school rolls around the naps are over with (with slight exceptions for study hall). However, the all-nighters, drunken binges, and afternoon class start times make college the fertile environment for the reemergence of the nap. This is where many hone the art of the powernap. Then from age 22 to roughly 28 people enter the real world. The naps again will have to wait. Eventually retirement rolls around. A combination of old age and Judge Judy have a stronger narcoleptic effect than the combination of Thanksgiving dinner and the Detroit Lions offense.

GRAPH 2 – This graph illustrates the likelihood of a person crapping their pants. Notice the similarities to GRAPH 1. The only real difference is the sharp peak hovering at the age of 21.

Holli-Daze

2008-11-30T20:21:00.014-05:00

Well it is officially here. The time of the year when you are eating the remainder of your Thanksgiving leftovers and telling yourself this will be the last bad thing you eat until Christmas. Then will come the New Year’s resolution to workout. Everyday.

Once again, Black Friday has lived up to its usual pandemonium. I understand retailers making this one day the “Biggest Shopping Day of the Year!” I understand the hype they create by offering bargain basement prices on DVD players and toasters. I understand people camping out the night before to get those DVD players and toasters. What I don’t understand is that store owners don’t realize or don’t care that humans trying to save a dollar will literally stampede over anyone who gets in their way. This year there was only one death, about par for Black Friday.

So what does this have to do about babies or being a new dad? Keep reading the article; Yes a woman who was eight months pregnant thought that this would be a great Thanksgiving tradition to introduce her soon-to-be born baby to. “Surely people would treat me gently and kindly let me get that super-sale flat screen.” Wrong. Lady, this was a bad decision. Would you try your luck in a rodeo? How about some mixed-martial-arts cage fighting? Yes I am judging you.

In lighter news, honey bunches and I decided to go out yesterday and brave the mall, seeing as we have yet to check one person off our Christmas list. Going to a mall this time of year for a guy, can be daunting. Everyone is in controlled panic shopping mode, knowing they have limited time to buy the perfect gift. Being a guy, you feel like a fart in a whirl-wind. However, the following are a couple of things you can do to help pass the time and keep you entertained in the process:

- Dumbass Chicken – while you are walking on the right side of the mall (just like driving you have the right-of-way) pick out a dumbass who is walking against traffic. Make sure you make eye contact and start walking at them. They should start to move one direction. Use your herding skills and try and make them reverse their decision. Repeat. You get a point every time they change their direction.

- Buy one of those giant cookie pies. Rip about half of the cookie off and save it for later. As you walk through the mall, constantly nibble on the remainder. Make sure people can see the entire cookie. Shout “What?!” with your mouthful whenever someone stares at you.

- Go into the candle shops and ask the lady behind the counter what the most popular candles are. After smelling them ask her they have any candles that smell like mustard, pickled herring, or copy machines. Before you exit, insist that she should conduct more customer research.

- Sit down next to the guy on the bench outside Victoria’s Secret. Ask him, “So do you have a favorite mannequin too?”

- Make a wish list of popular toys. Find the line for Santa Clause. Go up to the front and ask one of the helper elves for a job application. After getting denied, say very loudly “No, I don’t have marijuana!” When security arrives ask “Is this even the real Santa?” Start to cry, rip you list in half, drop it and flee.

Happy Shopping!

V to the M to the B? M to the V to the B?...

2008-11-20T22:56:00.008-05:00

Did you hear so and so is pregnant?

This seems like a phrase that I hear almost every day. Almost every person that I went to high school with has a picture on their Facebook with at least 3 kids. Every person I went to college with has a profile with ~2 kids. Nearly all of my friends in DC have or are about to have number 1. When I mention this to people I always get the same phrase:

“There must be something in the water”

Now I am not an expert on the birds and the bees but I am pretty sure it has nothing to do with the water (unless it is from the mop bucket at a peepshow). I guess this is just the prime age when everyone starts having kids. Am I late to the party? No, I will get there in due time.

In college my friends and I frequently talked about the V-club. It was a club reserved for virgins. We had a theory that the longer you waited to leave the V-club, the sooner you would get married afterwards (thus joining the M-club). It was rather eerie when you looked back at the general trend. For those entering the M-club early, the B-club was not that far behind (and no the “B” does not stand for bitching, it’s for baby, stupid).

Please leave your 3 ages in the comment section below and I will crunch the data to see if there really is a trend. (e.g. V 20, M 25, B 28). You can respond anonymously under comments. The results will be published soon!

This is a scientific study. Beingadadaintbad.com is currently looking for funding.

Chucky's Back!

2008-11-12T22:47:00.013-05:00

A few posts ago I wrote about my journey to the child mecca / parent armpit that is known as Chuck E. Cheese. Since then I have received a lot of feedback about this establishment from various friends and relatives. Words like “boogers” and “stale farts” were thrown around more than Roy Horn in the third act. Let’s just say Chuck E. Cheese will not be endorsing this blog anytime soon. As an encore, I thought I would pull a chapter out of Anthony’s book and compare CEC to a casino. (And yes CEC is Chuck E. Cheese’s stock quote – down 27% in the last 6 months – sell, sell, sell)

Casino = entices patrons with the use of free rolls of quarters
CEC = entices kids with free tokens when entering

Casino = will soon own all those free quarters
CEC = will soon own all those free tokens except one swallowed by junior

Casino = pit boss ensures no one steals from the casino
CEC = 16 year old hyena ensures no one steals kids from CEC

Casino = every other person has grey hair
CEC = every other slice of pizza come with free hair

Casino = showgirls keep dads happy
CEC = MILFs keep dads happy

Casino = free drinks from filthy 60-year-old waitresses
CEC = free refills from filthy 60-year-old soda fountain

Casino = coin in: lemon, lemon, plum, you lose
CEC = token in: blip, blink, donk, you lose

Casino = live music played by puppets that were popular 20 years ago
CEC = live music played by puppets that were popular 20 years ago

Casino = hitting the Jackpot means winning a bunch of coins and breaking even
CEC = hitting the Jackpot means winning a bunch of tickets and not getting e. coli

Casino = getting Craps is lucky
CEC = getting Craps is common

Feel free to add your own comparisons in the comments section.

Happy HandoutWeen

2008-11-03T21:51:00.002-05:00

Alright it is Monday and it is time to have my post-Halloween rant. If you read Mark’s blog, he covers the main offenses. Yes, we had the kids who try and reach in the candy bowl and take as much as their little hands can hold. Yes, we had the “I don’t want the Kit Kat, I want the Twix”. Yes, we had the teenagers who could have used a Bic razor more than the Reese's peanut butter cups. Yes, we had the kid who wears a backwards hat as a costume. But the greatest Halloween offense of all was the mother who was trick-or-treating.

The door bell rang. I grabbed the bowl-of-goodness and went to the door. Oh-another family of 9 to 11 kids. Half the kids have masks, the other half have wigs. Our steps are narrow so the kids have to line up and come up one at a time. After the 6th or 7th kid I was pretty sure that they were just getting back in line and making round two. Eventually I worked my way through the gaggle and the very last beggar was Mother Goose herself. No, she was not collecting for a little kid who was shy, nor did she even bother to use a baby as a decoy. She got the memo about bringing a bag, but didn’t get the memo about wearing a costume. She came up the steps and opened her bag. I gave her the “are you kidding” look. Then I realized that she was giving me the “I don’t speak your language” look. You get a Kit Kat.

Did she really not understand that trick-or-treating is for kids and bearded teenagers? Did she see all the generosity of her neighbors and decide to get in on the action? Back in the day my Dad would at least wait till we got back to the car before taking his “Dad Tax” out of our bags. If he would have only known he could have come up to the door and scored his own bag.

So what’s next? Is this lady going to come to our house when she loses a tooth and expect a quarter? Will my future children have to fight this lady for candy at the local 4th of July parade? Maybe this year I will give scented candles and Mom Jeans to Toys-For-Tots.

Happy Belated Halloween.

The Nut Flush

2008-10-28T23:58:00.012-04:00

Being the only guy without a kid who writes on this site, I feel it is my duty to inform other spawnless guys about circumstances and situations they will encounter as their buddies all become fathers.

Last week my wife and I got the Evite. It sounded promising: Watch football, eat junk food, drink some beer, and maybe play some poker. Sounded like my favorite four food group vices, so we cordially responded with the witty “yes”. The Sunday was set. But little did I know there was some fine print. Once I read the word poker, I skimmed over the remainder of the Evite, missed the part about bringing your little one and instructions for mandatory baby Halloween costumes.

On a side note my cousin, who is five years younger than I, and spawnless came to the party with his new girlfriend, most likely lured by the promise of beer and flops.

I walked into the party. For a second I thought I may have just entered a daycare. Wait, it’s Sunday, this has to be a Sunday school class? I counted baby, baby, baby, baby, slightly older baby, baby (twins), and even older just learning to talk and sing baby. I saw my cousin hunched in the corner with his eyes wide open, sculpting his empty Coors can into a shank which he was just about to put through his head. My timing may have saved him, or maybe it was the football pool.

Soon I realized that when you get this many babies in one room, just by shear numbers there will always be one baby crying because they are hungry, one goo-ing because they are happy, one desorbing because they have just made a brownie, and one sleeping because they know they will need to cry, goo, and desorb once the other babies rotate their duties. Did I mention that football was on? I think? A stuffed testicle-looking puppet cranking out Twinkle Twinkle was limiting my attention span.

Soon the game was wrapping up and there seemed to be some organized commotion. Finally, the girls are clearing off a spot in the living room for the poker table to be set up. Wait…no…the babies are all being placed into their Halloween costumes for “picture time”! Soon the couch was cleared for two insects, a rodent, a vegetable (I think) and surrounded by parental paparazzi that TMZ would envy.

Not long after this my wife and I decided it was time to go as we both had very little sleep the night before and we barely staying awake (high five!). I paid up my debt on the football pool and said my good-byes.

Now I don’t want my friends to take this blog the wrong way, as I would have shown up even if you told me I had to sit through a reading of War and Peace read by Rosie Perez. But, I do want to give guys out there a descriptive preparation for the new type of football Sunday that they may encounter if babies are on the menu.

Did I get to play poker? In a way I would say yes. I got dealt suited connectors. My friends “checked” thus setting a trap. I “matched the pot” thinking that I had a good thing going. They “raised” putting me all in. The flop came out, baby, baby, baby. The turn was a toddler, and the river was the costumes. In the end I lost my money to their full house.

The Worst Seat in the House

2008-10-17T00:04:00.009-04:00

In my last blog I stated how I longed to be a child again running around Chuck E. Cheese. However, every now and then I run into some new kid product that makes me so thankful I do not have to relive the younger years of my life. Case in point: folding child seats in bathroom stalls.

The evolution of items found in public bathroom stalls goes something like this:
- Board + hole + pit + leaves
- Toilet seat + pit + leaves
- Toilet seat + bucket + scratchy paper
- Toilet seat + flushable bucket (modern toilet)
- Toilet + softer paper + coat hook
- Toilet + multiple paper rolls + coat hook + handicap rails
- Toilet + multiple rolls + coat hook + handi rails + toilet seat covers (ass gaskets)
- Toilet + giant roll + coat hook + handi rail + ass gaskets + shelf
- Toilet + econo-mega-roll + double coat hook + handi rails + ass gaskets + shelf + FOLDING CHILD SEAT!

Are you kidding me? We have now entered the era of having multiple people in the crapper with you?

Actually, it is sad that we have reached this point, because back in the day you could leave the kid outside the door as you did your biz-ness. But now, thanks to low-lives, parents are afraid to let their kids out of there sight. These poor tykes now have to be brought into ground zero. But hey, at least we have a seat for them. You can fold this seat down, buckle them in and let them enjoy the show. Since I do not have kids I can only imagine a day in my future, when my child is staring at me face to face as if we were engaged in a chess match, while I unleash the D-train. If this does not give the kid an excuse for therapy, nothing will.

Shaking my head, I wonder what is next for the stall? I assume we will want something to distract the kid. Maybe some Crayolas and an activity book for those long ordeals. Perhaps a deck of cards and some poker chips? Or how about a Wii? No, let’s not get carried away.

What the Chuck?

2008-10-11T23:30:00.015-04:00

When I think of the name Chucky, half of me longs for the one time in my childhood running around Chuck E. Cheese with a handful of tokens and an even bigger handful of prize tickets. The other half of me shivers with terror thinking of the low rate horror franchise “Chucky”. Last weekend I got the honor of visiting a Chuck E. Cheese and now cannot figure out which Chucky I am more terrified of.

When I was a tyke, Chuck E. Cheese was this legendary Mecca that I would only visit once. I remember my mother saying afterwards that she saw an employee come out of the crapper and exit the bathroom without washing their hands. That was the last time I would ever see the big animatronic band in my adolescence. So last weekend when I was visiting my friends and their 4-year old, the suggestion of taking their child to Chuck E. Cheese sparked my interest. It could not be as bad as my mother made it out to be. It’s not 1982 anymore, the world knows about cleanliness, disease, and microbes. Surely this was the grand place I remembered (amusing stuffed characters, endless video games, delicious pizza).

No.

Let me repeat…No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no…………….no.

So the Dad, the kid, and I walk into Chuck E. Cheese. I think the building was from a gutted out Radio Shack. The kid and dad get matching UV stamps on their hands. I reach out for mine and don’t get one. Soon I realize the front door is really a manned gate, to ensure kids leave with matching parents. And by manned, I mean a 16-year old who has had way too many Mountain Dew’s for breakfast. Not bad I think, this is a smart way to prevent kidnapping, but what if the dad and I were a couple? Oh wait, this is not Connecticut, I don’t get the rights to remove a child from this place.

“Welcome to Chuck E. Cheese” the manic kid shrieks as his voice breaks as he hands us some free tokens. We scope out a table and set up base camp. Soon the child is worked into a frenzy running from ride to game spending more cash than AIG executives buying pumpkin facials (hey oh –timely humor). We order the pizza; I will get back to this.

The games at Chuck E. Cheese were some of the lamest crap I have ever seen. Was it this bad when I was a kid? Half of the games did not work. You put your token in, the games starts, and oh, what? the balls have been removed from the game. Some lights blink, a bell sounds and it kicks out three prize tickets. What the F? And the kid wants to play it again. We move on.

The rides were not any better than the games. You had to get by the all the random brown stains on the seats and handles and convince yourself the paint peeling off the ride was not from China. Basically if you want to make your own ride at home, put your kid on the couch, give them a fake steering wheel, and run back and forth moving the ends of the couch 3 inches while yelling “ding”.

Chucky E's band kicks in. Nice I love live music. The stuffed creatures come to life on their instruments. What the hell? This is the year 2008, and these stuffed robots have not improved in 25 years? They barely move their arms, one has a broken eye that has stuck shut. and all look like Grandma’s shag carpet that has never be replaced. If a guy on YouTube can synchronize his Christmas lights to music, why can’t they even get this gang of asshat stuffed animals in rhythm? (Note: half the kids are in ecstatic, half are under the tables)

While going game to game I notice a half eaten piece of pizza on the floor. Anyone gonna get that? Finally our pizza comes. Oh, did I say pizza? I meant salt lick topped with pepperonis and sausage. It came out pretty quick, as if the Chuck E. chefs knew we were going to order it and had pre-made it two days earlier. I did manage to get a couple slices down, despite thinking about what my mother told me. I have to admit the leftovers did cure a mean hangover the next morning. Actually the heartburn overshadowed the headache.

Seriously, I think Chuck E. Cheese is the place where black belt health inspectors hone their skills. They slowly walk through the place like Hogan’s alley. Up pops undercooked food (violation), rotavirus on skeet balls (violation), body odor on Chucky E's costume (not a violation), slice of pizza resembling Chia Pet in ball pit (violation).

Soon after the pizza we checked the kid out through the manned gate (the dad did not I). They patted me down to make sure I was not sneaking a kid out as I was the lone adult male in Chuck E. Cheese. The kid fell asleep on the ride home, as visions of filthy rides danced in his head. We knew that this chore of getting the kid out of Mom’s hair for the morning earned us the right to hit the bars that night.

So has Chuck E. Cheese even changed since I was a kid? I think not. As I looked around the non-traveling circus that is Chuck E. Cheese, I saw kids in a bliss of rides, games, food, and tokens. The nap on the ride home was basically their “hangover”. My mother was disgusted after leaving the place in 1980’s and I was feeling a bit of this as I left too. But at the end of the day, who gives? The kid was happy, tired, and most likely had a stronger immunity from visiting that giant Petri dish. Dad was the hero. Good work Dad.

However, Dad’s friend was lone adult male in Chuck E. Cheese and now most likely on some watch list.

Some Times You Feel Like a Nut, Some Times You Swell Up

2008-09-30T22:19:00.000-04:00

I travel frequently. Last week I ran across a situation in an airplane that got-me-a-wonderin’. Right before we took off the captain gets on the horn and tells us about our special little passenger on board who had a peanut allergy. Because of this we were not to eat any peanut products and we were not going to get our choice of peanuts on the plane. I guess we get our other choice then…fillet mignon? This peanut allergy kid was somewhere near the rear of the plane, but the captain reminded twice more about not eating the nut. Part of me wanted to crack open a jar of JIF and watch all the people gasp around me.

When did all these kids get peanut allergies? I have no idea what the statistics are for this, but it seems like you run across it often. Many food items include warnings “Contains peanut products or made on machines that process peanuts”. I never remember this being such an epidemic growing up. Actually almost everyday from kindergarten through 6th grade we had peanut butter sandwiches brought to our classroom as an afternoon snack. I don’t remember kids holding their throats rolling on the floor (except for the stinky kid during fluoride treatment). And what about those crappy chewy peanut candies at Halloween wrapped in orange and black wrappers? Was everyone in my neighborhood trying to knock off the peanut allergy kid?

Is this the new scare? In the 70’s it was the coming ice age, 80’s acid rain, 90’s water shortage, 00’s global warming, 10’s Mr. Peanut? Nope, I checked it out on good old Wikipedia and it seems to be real. Symptoms include: vomiting, diarrhea, hives, swelling of face and throat, stomach pain, asthma, shock, and oh yeah, death. I recently had these symptoms but soon realized I was watching The View.

So what as a country can we do to stop this? I think we should enact a ban on peanuts. Scientist will soon show that proper crop destruction, border screening, and use of non-peanut fuels will turn this outbreak around. In 10 years if we are lucky Al Gore will be getting the Nobel prize for his work to take down Big Peanut. Hollywood stars will be coming out of the woodwork mocking our peanut oil French-fry bags from Five Guys, stating that they have switched to frying with recently hugged tree oil. Who knows, maybe the government will even suggest a $700 billion dollar bailout (fine I will leave politics out of this post).

Smooth Operator

2008-09-18T22:58:00.000-04:00

There is an unofficial rule in advertising: If you want your ad to be noticed, use a baby to help sell your product. Thanks to that damn E-Trade baby millions of Americans have gone from “Oh Lawrence get in here! That funny talking baby from the Super Bowl not only rented a clown but now is talking to girlfriend on a cell phone! Maybe we should try day-trading, hell yeah, this will be easy!” to “So the banks went bankrupt, and we are lending them money? Where did all our money in the account go? I wonder how that baby is doing with the downturn?” Somewhere an advertising agent is laughing.

This brings me to my main and more disturbing point. Recently our household, we were having a “code brown” [running low on toilet paper]. Now there is a fine line between getting good and getting cheap toilet paper. You don’t want the stuff that has quilted flowers and is four-ply. Despite its quality, you will have a low DR ratio [dumps to roll]. On the other extreme you have to stay away from the nine-mile roll of carefully arranged dust particles. Somewhere in-between is the sweet spot. For me it is that brand with a cute baby on it.

Why do I like this brand? I identify the baby on the packaging. I think to myself “Look, this toilet paper is so exquisite that a mother has let junior play in a cottony, cushiony heap of this stuff.” It’s draped over his head, he’s smiling, and all is good. But as I think about it, what other advertising ploys do you spot on toilet paper? I headed down to the store and found many cute puppies, a cartoon teddy bear, and other baby faces. Are we drawn to brands with because of the “cute” characters, or sub-consciously are we drawn to brands because of “soft” characters? Put is this way; would you buy toilet paper that had a picture of a hedgehog on it? It’s cute right?

I will stop right there as you know where I am going with this. I just think the idea of using babies for advertising is very effective for most products, but takes a disturbing twist when you get into the realm of the nether regions [butt].

Don't Get Fresh With Me

2008-09-10T22:43:00.000-04:00

Part of my duties, as an outsider, in writing this blog is to share with you concepts and phrases that may confuse you pertaining to a baby. We were at our friends’ house recently and my wife was holding one of the new born babies. She states,

"Oh she still has that new baby smell!" Liquid shit, I assumed? No, as she tipped the baby's head to my nose,

"Do you smell it?" All I thought I could smell was most likely some BBQ sauce, most likely on my face, and most likely from the lunch I had three hours earlier.

This smell was not as obvious to me as it was to her. So what is this "new baby smell"? And why can't I detect it? First off I think this is an odor that only mothers, wannabe mothers, and maybe fathers can smell. My wife spoke of this aroma as if it were the lure of Auntie Anne’s Pretzels after a long day of shopping at the mall. Do you ever notice that the pretzels are never as good as they smell? First she smells this delicious delicacy, then she thinks "no not now, I am not ready for a pretzel in my life yet...oh but it would be so fulfilling.." She passes on this day but each trip to the mall brings her closer to actually getting one of those tasty, twisted, salted, baked treats.

The baby smell is clearly detected mothers. It has something to do with nature. Take the whitetail deer for example; the mother drops the fawn on the ground and immediately has to lick it clean and eat the placenta. Why? Because if she doesn't, the big bad wolves will get a whiff of the birth and come charging in like Rosie at Haagen-Dazs. Thank God that we are near the top of the food chain and do not have to take these defensive measures.

I also think new fathers have the nose for this as well. Most likely this is to protect their young from being eaten by themselves. Take alligators for example; it is not rare to see male alligators feasting on their young. Other male animal species may "select" their offspring to live over rival's offspring. So clearly sometime in history the advantage of knowing your kids and not eating them helped species evolve. Perhaps the "new baby smell" had something to do with it.

For now the "new baby smell" remains a mystery. When does the baby eventually get rid of it? Most likely when the other baby smells trump the "new" smell. Will there be a day when mothers can buy "new baby smell" like "new car smell" and extend it a little longer? When you go down to BabyMax to adopt a baby, will they try and sell the "new baby smell" to you?

I am pretty sure my friends are not going to let me anywhere near their new babies after reading this. Correction: their delicious new babies.

Thanks For the Mammaries

2008-09-03T17:59:00.001-04:00

I am a believer in evolution. Without getting into a heated debate about creationism the scientist in me finds it hard to believe that when God said “Let there be Light!” he intended on making huge burning balls of flaming gas. As time passed, little did he know that the sixth day creation of humans would eventually make our own light in the form of dollar store Jesus nightlights, but I digress.

My belief in evolution has led me to a constant search for proof of it in everyday life. This evolution business is suppose to occur over thousands of years, but I believe thanks to the correct mix of circumstances it has occurred much faster. In recent history Mother Nature for some reason has decided to play a cruel joke on the males on our planet. In her infinite wisdom, she has decided to steer the evolution bus in the direction of giving us men “Man Boobs”.

Every one of us knows a guy who has set of Man Boobs that would cause Larry Flynt to do a double take. What has led these men to develop such large humpty dumplings? Many would say an unhealthy diet of Crunchwrap Supremes and Second Life. I on the other hand, believe that we are witnessing evolution in progress and there is nothing we can do about it. For some reason history has left with nipples and until recently they have been as useless as a third-string quarterback. Now Mother Nature is yelling, “Hey buddy, it’s time to get into the game!”

At one time on this planet, cavemen would trudge home to their berry-picking wife and new baby after a long hard day of wrestling saber-tooth tigers and mammoths. The baby was ignored as dad gnawed on meat-lathened femurs. Dad would get his rocks off (pun intended) and it was off to bed.

Fathers became better with history. King Henry I had more than 25 children. I am willing to bet that he played Chutes and Ladders with a least half of them. The invention of hydraulics, dynamite, and canned beer soon meant that fathers did not have to work all day and could spend quality time with their children.

Fathers today can be found at birthing classes, hauling babies in harnesses attached around their stomachs, and arranging play dates for their toddlers. They have clearly taken on a larger “motherly” role than their cavemen forefathers. In turn, Mother Nature has decided that she would outfit fathers with feeding mechanisms for the baby. This process has not occurred overnight, but soon will be coming to a buddy near you. I was shocked and appalled to find out some men out there have already conquered the lactating step. This event was probably on the scale of the first monkey that picked up a sharp stick and threw it through the head of another monkey. It is only a matter of time before some knucklehead erases 50,000 years of male history, and propels this evolutionary embarrassment.

Mother Nature, if you are reading this, I want to say “Thanks a lot. First you took our tails away and now have given us boobs. Wait till Father Time gets home and hears about this.”

Swaddle Me This and Swaddle Me That

2008-08-26T22:32:00.001-04:00

Let me tell you about my friend Anthony. Besides his schoolgirl-like crush on anyone who has “Jedi Master” on their résumé, he is pretty much a man’s man. He drives a pickup truck, can be found wearing a construction helmet at work (white, not yellow mind you), and without hesitation can school you on the load-strength of concrete.

So imagine my surprise when I go to the hospital and witness him wrap up his new daughter in a tiny blanket with the skill of a black belt Japanese origami artist. If I were told to wrap up a new baby, I would simply lay out the blanket, land the baby at one end, and roll her up as if I were rolling a sleeping bag. Basically the same way I would wrap a pencil with two feet of gift wrap (roll it, pull it tight, maybe use a piece of tape to secure it, and Voilá!). What? The baby needs to get out? Grab the corner of the blanket, clear the runway, tug and let that baby unwrap!

WRONG!

Fathers today are taught the art of correctly wrapping a baby and yes, there is a correct technique called the “Swaddle”. I have no idea where this word comes from. Half waddle and half Swayze? Who knows? The concept of the Swaddle, so I have been told, comforts the baby by tightly wrapping it and making it believe it is still in the womb. Never mind the lights and giant humanoids with flash cameras; I am sure they were all present in the womb too. I have a feeling the other guys on this site can explain the theory of the Swaddle better and point you towards research studies to prove it. Check out last month’s Journal of Baby Wrapping page 237:

“The Swaddle vs. the Joint Roll: The Heated Debate”

So how do you properly Swaddle a baby? I am really not sure as I have only seen it performed twice. I would need slow motion footage from at least two angles to properly break it down. The best way to explain it is to use the analogy of eating at Chipotle. Have you ever been enjoying a burrito and are amazed at how you can eat the whole damn thing without spilling a single refried bean? You are so impressed that eventually at home you try to have taco night, get the soft-shell wraps and try to master the perfect wrap technique. The next thing you know the bottom blows open, everything leaks out, and you are left eating a soggy tortilla. The best advice I can give you is to take your next Chipotle burrito, slowly unwrap it (taking notes as you are unfolding it). Now reverse these notes and YAHTZEE!

The art of the Swaddle has its origins from the epic tortilla wrappers of Chipotle. An A+ wrap will allow a person to eat a burrito on a unicycle without dropping a morsel. In the Dark Ages, the masters shared their art of confining squishy goodness in a flexible wrapper with new parents. The rest is history.

Gentlemen, despite its complexity I am positive with proper training any man can learn this technique. From what I can tell, there is no use of tape, scissors, or construction adhesive. With a little practice you will be folding babies like paper cranes in no time.

Ladies, if you are looking for a man, I suggest strolling into Chipotle and getting to know you local Tamer of the Tortilla...

Folder of the Flauta? Never mind.

I'm Spawnless?

2008-08-22T00:27:00.001-04:00

I am the friend of the “spawned”, referring to the other guys who write for this site. I myself am not a dad, but know the inevitable will approach in the next few years with my wife. I plan to cover the angle of a guy who has watched his great friends turn into new fathers.

I believe these guys are the new generation of fathers. Fathers faced with challenges our ancestors could not imagine. They can change a diaper between online races with 12-year-old Japanese kids on MarioKart. They can rock their baby at the exact same time they want to launch a baby-sized item into the TV after watching Kyle Busch cheat his way to victory lane. Foremost, they can share the humor of raising a new baby with others like me who is trying to figure out “Am I ready for a baby?” Will this perpetual pooping machine with a crusted nose end my life of cheap beer, fantasy football, and tee times with other Tiger wannabees? Heck, three years ago I got a puppy and it cried the entire first week. It went to the bathroom everywhere when left alone. I was positive my social life had disappeared quicker than Enrique’s mole. Unfortunately I cannot train the baby with newspapers on the floor and dog biscuits (or can I?)

I am sure these guys will continue to share the ups and downs of this new experience letting the rest of us know that things will be alright. If this blog suddenly disappears, most likely they have failed in fatherhood and are off to a third-world country.

On a side note: The word "spawn" is an interesting description as it reminds me of an overweight fish. The female walleyes of the Midwest slumber into the shallows to lay eggs. Eventually the males brush their fish “junk” on the rocks, get all horned up, and fertilize the eggs. I imagine this is how my three friends all impregnated their wives minus the fins.