It’s as if you were there…

The school where Isaac takes his piano lessons had their annual performathon.  It’s always fun, we can sit for however long we want and listen to students of all ages and abilities performing on piano, violin, guitar, voice, etc.  We really enjoy it.  But Jonathan gets restless, so this time Karen handed him her point and shoot digital camera.  I always love seeing Jonny’s photographs; it’s like seeing into his brain and how it works.

So there you have it.  A peek inside Jonathan’s brain.  We hope you enjoyed the show.

One week in

We’ve got some rules in our house that we actually enforce.  One of them is “No video games during the week.”  The boys have come to accept this rule, but it usually means that on Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday they want to do nothing but play video games.  We also have a “no video games before lunch” rule.  So the actual time spent may be relatively small in relation to the week, but the amount of space in their minds occupied by the games is very large.  Time was not kept by the position of the sun in the sky or by the phase of the moon.  Time was kept by marking how many days were left until the three day gaming binge.  Obsession is a dangerous thing, and these kids aren’t even ten yet.  So we decided to prove to them that there are other things to do than sit in front of the TV with a controller.

We designated February as “No Video Games Month.”  When met with the expected protests we explained that at least February is the shortest month of the year.  We could have picked March.  We could have picked JULY, when they’re home from school (we still may do that one).

So here we are, one week into our screen-free month (no TV either) and what’s been happening?  I can tell you one thing that hasn’t been happening.  Much to our surprise we haven’t heard one complaint.  There the game systems sit, in full view of the children (and parents), and I haven’t heard one question about leniency on the rule.  Isaac has, however, delved into Zelda strategy guides as if he’s living vicariously through them.  I’ve hid those now, because I find it a bit creepy.  

Jonathan is summarily unfazed by the whole idea.  While he loves the idea of being free to play video games, in truth he could give or take them.  He often plays for a while then puts the controller down and does something else.  In this case he’s gotten hooked on one of their Christmas presents from my mother, the Smart Globe from the Discovery Store.  

He’s played with it so much that when they ask him to locate countries on the globe he can do it pretty quickly.  He was even helping Isaac do it (and mocking him at the same time).  So far I’d say that this experiment is a success, and it’s one we’ll have to repeat in the future.

How do I cook a cardinal?

Last year I used my cooking to predict the winner of the Super Bowl.  (Click here for the link)  It worked with amazing accuracy, but I had no idea just how much affect my cooking has on the outcome of football games.  Let me explain.

We had a friend over to watch the games this weekend and so we decided to cook as if there was a party.  I made a bunch of food that was heavy on the prep work and light on cooking effort, so we could watch the game relatively undisturbed.  Then the Eagles started to play badly and Arizona took a big lead early in the game.  It was then that I realized something.  Our menu consisted of chili, cornbread, and chips and salsa.  Southwest food!  

Then I realized something else.  Even though Ben was dutifully wearing a Steelers jersey, Karen had dressed Nate in red.

See? Even Nate was shocked that the Cardinals won.  These two minor infractions cost Philadelphia the game, I’m sure of it.  So now I understand that my cooking has some mystical powers to it, giving me the power to change the fates of NFL teams.  I apologize to the city of Philadelphia, but I didn’t discover this power until after halftime.  Perhaps it was the wings I made a little  later that sealed the win for the Steelers, I don’t know.  I took Bobby Flay’s dry jerk rub recipe and made some jerk wings, and these were some birds that really bit you back (just like the Ravens) when you bit into them.

Have no fear, Steelers nation, I won’t be cooking again until I find a recipe for Primanti sandwiches.  And also, does anyone know, are cardinals game birds or something?  Maybe  close to pigeon, I could cook a squab.  

I’m even afraid to heat up the leftovers.

Blog Challenge: Show me your axe

My friend Bennie posted recently about selling his beloved B.C. Rich Mockingbird bass and it inspired me to come up with a blog challenge.  And it’s pretty simple.  Go up to the attic and dust off that old whatever-it-is.  Saxophone, tennis racket, ashtray from metal shop, whatever.  Take some pictures and tell me a story or two.  And when you do, post a link in the comments so everyone can come hear your tales of glory. 

Here’s mine:

When I was nine years old I told my parents that I wanted to be Eddie Van Halen take guitar lessons.  They obliged me, and for six long years I went from teacher to teacher, all of them taking my parents’ money and sucking all of the joy out of playing music.  My mother complained bitterly about how I never practiced and maybe she should sell my guitar.  

Then in the ninth grade I bought a cheap little bass guitar and a tiny practice amp and got myself a teacher who was a full-time musician in Pittsburgh.  This cat and his brothers had toured as the opening act for Van Halen.  It was 1988 and he had jet black hair halfway down his back and earrings.  To put it mildly, I was inspired.  My mother’s comments changed to “You know, musicians can’t afford to feed their kids.”  Like I cared.  It wasn’t long before I was playing in a basement garage band with some friends.  I was also playing in church and in school; apparently bass players are always in demand.  It also wasn’t long before I decided I needed something a little more awesome, and my teacher knew a guy.

The guy had bought a custom made bass from a guitar maker in the Pittsburgh area.  It was a six-string bass, but the strings were spaced closer together than on a normal bass.  Too close, it seems; his large fingers couldn’t play the thing so he was selling it for a song.  I just happened to have a song, so I got it.  And it worked out well, because this is probably the only six string bass in the world that my tiny little fingers can play.  

People who saw me play always asked me if my name was Dino.  My skills were probably so killer that they thought I must have my own signature bass.  

I don’t think Dino makes custom guitars any more.  Now he makes BSX electric upright basses. 

My red beauty has served me well through high school, college, and beyond.  I’ve played mostly in churches through the years, so I’m not exactly a rock star.  But I still love playing, and whenever I get a chance to play I do.  I have recorded with my Dino bass, and the recording engineer (a fellow bass player) commented on how great its tone is  (and he, being an expert in the field, would know).  So that’s my baby, and if I’m ever inclined to go smashing my guitar London Calling style, it won’t be with this one.

See? They’re still alive.

Monday was Karen’s first day back at work, and my first day home with the (rug) rat pack.  When she came home she announced with relief “You didn’t choke the older two and you didn’t starve the younger two!”

That’s my girl.  Always feeding my ego.  

Photo credit: Jonathan.

Mark Ruins Football

Football is here again, and I am rejoicing along with all those who will revel in NOT hearing those words “World Champion Patriots” all year long.  But we probably will next year, since they got the NFL’s easiest schedule this season.

Last year I made a simple suggestion to NFL commissioner Roger Goodell that would improve my enjoyment of watching football.  He ignored it.  Since I’m used to being ignored (I have four kids you know) I decided to add another suggestion at the beginning of this football season.  So here it is:

End Zone Celebrations

The NFL is often called the “No Fun League” since they don’t allow elaborate touchdown celebrations.  I’m not sure why, maybe it cuts into time better spent on a commercial break.  But these celebrations are enjoyed by fans, players, and members of the media alike.  The only people who seem to dislike them are the owners.

My solution: I propose a new rule.  As long as it’s not taunting, any touchdown celebration goes.  Anything. (Remember when T.O. did the Ray Lewis dance in front of Ray Lewis?  Guts, my friend.)   You want to bring the whole team out and do the Hustle in the end zone, go for it (but practice, please).  So long as it’s tasteful and you keep your clothes on, it’s fair game.  You’ve got 45 seconds until the PAT attempt, it’s all yours, take the stage.  

BUT…….  

For any other play celebrations are banned.  With a 15 yard penalty. Heck, I’ll make it easier.  Any scoring play is allowed a celebration.  I loved watching those kickers hurt themselves celebrating a 15 yard field goal.  That’s good television.  But other than that, get back in the huddle or back on the sideline.

It’s really annoying to see players who are supposed to be professionals celebrating after mundane plays. This is much worse than any touchdown celebration.  Remember the NY Giants’ defense a couple years ago with that silly “jump shot” celebration after every tackle they made?  On Monday Night Football, no less.  That made the game almost unwatchable.  Even Al Micheals commented that “This has to stop.”  

So that’s the rule: You wanna celebrate, you gotta score.

The above comments were not intended to be inflammatory and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Mark Ruins Dinner.  If you are a member of the 2006 NY Giants’ defense and would like to come and beat me to a bloody pulp my name is Neil O’Donnell. 

Mark for President

In the US Constitution it stipulates that to be President all you need is to be a natural born citizen and be 35 years old or older. Click here to learn all about the Presidency.   Being that today is my 35th birthday, I decided to celebrate by announcing my candidacy for President of the United States.  My campaign slogan will be “Because I’m old enough!”  As a VP running mate I choose my sister, since she’s much older more qualified than me.

Why should I run for President, you ask?  It came to me as I remembered civics class and the minimum age requirement.  I realized that in this and all future Presidential elections I must ask myself “Is this person more qualified than me?”  So I did some research about the two candidates we have to choose from I came to an important decision.  I’m running for President.  

Think about it.  This has got to be the easiest job interview in the world.  Even Wal-Mart asked me on its employment application what was the date of my last employment.  They offered me a lower wage because I hadn’t “worked” in six years.  But if you want to be President there are only three questions.  1. Were you born here?  2. Are you at least 35 years old?   3. Do you have enough signatures?   Hmmm…. I’ve got the first two.  What about the signatures?  Maybe if I do another giveaway…

Cleats

I really mean well. Really I do, but here we have another example of what I thought was a great idea turning on me.

Your kid signs up for soccer. You think two things, right? Shin guards and cleats. That’s what he needs. Isaac has had cleats since he was five playing U6 soccer for the AYSO. So when Jonathan was getting ready for his first soccer practice I went out and got him shin guards and cleats, and his very own blue soccer ball. They make soccer shoes very narrow for some reason, and Jonathan has wide feet. That plus that equals we had to buy cleats for him that were a half size too long. That’s okay, they look great.

Then he gets out to the soccer field. Wouldn’t you know it, his uniform is black and red, just like his new cleats. Way cool, Daddy’s the hero! Celebrate!

But there’s just one problem. Jonathan is four years old. The cleats are a half size too big. They play on grass in a very uneven field. Figured it out yet? Well, let’s just say that sometimes he has trouble lifting those cleats out of the grass, with the result being he falls over.

At least there aren’t any rocks in the field.

Mark ruins August

Benchmarks are always good. It’s good to know “Ick, I ruined dinner, but it wasn’t as bad as last week’s Jerk chicken.” or “This pizza isn’t very good but it’s not the shape of Wisconsin.” Our family (and by that I mean Mark) has a new benchmark for success, or more specifically, failure.

In life we all make mistakes. We all make bad decisions, errors in judgment. And in these mistakes there are varying degrees of disaster associated with them. And in our house we now know that there are bad ideas, horrible ideas, and then there’s Wal-Mart.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. If I’m still home to watch the boys during the day I can work two or three nights a week third shift, right? Right? Perhaps not. Had I been working just weekends I still would have failed, but it certainly didn’t help that I was on four nights a week – in a row. By the morning following night #4, the boys were on their own, playing video games all day in their pajamas and eating candy for lunch. And it would take three days off for me to start feeling normal again. Well, as normal as I can be.

I’d been working nights for two weeks when I gave my notice. I told them I’d work the existing schedule and then be done. Problem was, there was three weeks of schedule already done, and two of them were jammed together – four days on, one day off, four days on. Ugh.

It’s amazing just how neurotic you become with sleep deprivation. Do you know how confusing it is to start your shift on Monday and finish it Tuesday? Halfway through the night today turns into yesterday and tomorrow turns into today. And somewhere along the line (I’m not sure the exact time) tonight turns into this morning. People start talking about “tonight” and they really mean “tomorrow.” Then I get to go home and sleep all day watch the kids. Is it any wonder that my love affair with coffee became an addiction? After working those eight nights during a nine day period I actually said to the boys “If you don’t eat your dinner tonight I’m selling the Wii on ebay!”

I once had a college professor who told me “You can’t fail if you never try.” This is something you never want to hear from a college professor. He was trying to make me feel better, knowing that at least I’d had the courage to pluck up and do something stupid. And I suppose it’s true. Adding something to the list of my stupid ideas is better than sitting around wondering what would’ve happened if I’d tried this or that. And boy, I set my sights really high on this one, didn’t I?

Oh, and a guy made a pass at me while working the cheese wall at 2:00am on a Saturday night. Or was it a Sunday morning?

Glutton for punishment

I’m running behind on the dining room project. Topping that, there’s something else I need to do by April 28. It’s just a painting project, so hopefully it won’t take very long. I promise, there’s no wallpaper to remove. Actually, there was some patching of the wall needed, but I’ve done that already.

This entry / stairwell is actually the first thing you see upon entering our house. Come in the front door (That’s it on the left, below), and you are greeted by another door and a flight of stairs (don’t ask). Choose wisely.

Go up the stairs and you’ll see a big ugly wall that probably hasn’t been painted since 1957. The walls and the ceiling are the same color since it’s very hard to reach up 20 feet to the ceiling. I’m going to try. I bought ceiling paint and everything. Here’s hoping it doesn’t look like a three year old painted it when I’m done.

Can you believe we’ve been living here for three years and we haven’t done anything to this hallway yet? Can you see why we’ve been putting it off? Hey, another thing. One room, three different wall materials, maybe more. Going up the steps, wall to the right is plaster, wall in front is drywall, and wall to the left is plywood.

I love old houses.