Score one for the fifth grader...

I love my job.

Granted, it is most likely aging me more rapidly than I would like but I truly enjoy what I do.

Quick example why.

I was discussing some vocabulary with a reading group today. They are reading their way through the novel The River Between Us by Richard Peck. A wonderful novel that my fifth graders are eating up.

We were discussing words like interlocutor, loblolly, petticoat, and coax. Part of our practice in identifying new vocabulary is to discuss synonyms and antonyms of the words in question.

So we were on the word coax. I asked for an antonym of coax. The group paused in thought for a bit then one of my students, totally dead pan, raises her hand and says...

"Some Pepsi."

The group freezes as they look at me...silence...a tumble weed blows through...then she cracks a smile...and then we all laugh for a good five minutes.

I had to give her props. It is not often that a student gets me to laugh so unexpectedly.

Yeah...I really enjoy my job.

A worm in a previous life?

Thanks for the great worm responses. (Fine example of a sentence I never dreamed I would write)

I was a trifle sad that no one wanted to debate me about Jimmy Rollins but then I realized it is because they know I am right...so that's a good thing.

Gotta agree with Michelle...Brett's worm responses were priceless. A bit creepy...but priceless.

First he explains for us the extremely complicated psyche of the worm...


Well it's a simple case of the way earthworms are wired. All earthworms are hermaphrodites containing both male and female parts. Therefore they are late leaving their homes when it rains because even though their hole is about to be flooded the female part refuses to leave until the hole is very clean because you never know who might show up once the water recedes. Once they are finally out of their homes a sidewalk/roadway is their only choice. Once the rain finishes the male part insists that he does not need directions to find his way back to the hole. Invariably he chooses the way that involves the longest stretch of blacktop and therefore you have shriveled up worms.


The only thing I would add to your analysis Brett is that when the male side of the worm decides he does not need directions, the female side begins to nag him incessantly, thus causing the worm to intentionally throw itself under the foot of the nearest passerby simply to end the cacophony.

Otherwise...spot on.

Then Brett gave us his entry falling under the Twitter like limit of 140 characters...


"How can I possibly be concerned with trivial things like rain when physically I can't distinguish my head from my rear end".


One could argue that any politician in Washington could also make this claim.


Kudos Brett...your prize is in the mail...as is my smack talk for dominating your brackets...


My opinion on the worm phenomena...


Three words..."SLIP AND SLIDE!!!"


Check back with us here at the Hideaway this week as I attempt to Twitter an entire novel using only the wingdings font.

Yes...seriously...

Friday Top Ten...and a much better Weekend Question.

Another week has passed. I am still here and still relatively healthy and free from prison so I can be thankful for that.

Friday Top Ten time...

10. I swore to myself that in writing this week's list that I would not dwell on this point too much. I have asked my wife to grab my eyelid and pull it down to my chin if she walks by and I am still dwelling on number ten...so I will try not to digress. Can someone please explain to me why Davey Johnson started Derek Jeter at shortstop and used Jimmy Rollins as DH in the semi-final game of the World Baseball Classic against Japan? Jeter produces more errors than an old man's colon produces polyps. Rollins is a rock, the best defensive shortstop, and quite possibly the best overall shortstop, in baseball today.

You wanna debate that?

That's what the comments section is for. Bring it.

But you will lose...especially if you try to make me laugh by suggesting Reyes is superior to Rollins...

Jeter hit .276 for the series...Rollins hit .417. Jeter was creating errors like they were concert curtain calls...Rollins was flawless. Jeter created the error that arguably lost them the game and went 1-5...Rollins went 4-4. Why was old man Jeter even IN this game? In fact...

OK...wife walked by...performed requested task...that REALLY hurt...

Moving on...

9. March Madness update. Thanks to the double punch of Missouri and Villanova I moved from the middle of the pack to second place last night. Great news really...until you hear that the wife is in first. Life around the hideaway has been rough. I am watching Arizona and Syracuse getting abused right now like an assistant director walking into Christian Bale's shot. I don't see myself sitting in second place much longer.

8. Ryan Moats needs to sue himself some Dallas police officers. This is simply unbelievable. This cop is either a careless jackass or a prodigious bigot. Either label is not one I would want to be saddled with. I don't see any defense for this "police officer". It is ass clowns like this guy who give decent, hard working police officers a bad name.

7. A Three Stooges movie? Apparently. Jim Carrey as Curly? Uhhh...

6. Fitty-Cent's twitter account is not really him. Dang. The source of my daily inspiration has been nothing more than a 140 character per post lie.

My plans of starting a Clint Howard fake me out Twitter account are now dashed...

5. President Obama had a televised "press conference" Tuesday night. I believe this was his most consistent expression all evening...

Throughout the hour long telecast the president looked like he wanted to leap over the podium and shove the Blackberries of several journalists where the sun don't shine. It's not hard to tell when Obama doesn't like a question.

Gimboid question of the night: Ann Compton's question about race. With her 30 seconds on global television, where she could have asked any thoughtful, insightful question she wanted, Ms. Compton offered up this cheerful hairball of a question...

"Yours is a rather historic presidency, and I’m just wondering whether in any of the policy debates that you’ve had within the White House, the issue of race has come up, or whether it has in the way you feel you’ve been perceived by other leaders or by the American people. Or have the last 64 days been a relatively color- blind time?"

Uhh...WHAT?!? Even if he DID feel he was being treated differently because of his race...what is he supposed to say?

"Well uh Ann, you know, I have been a beaten down black man all my life and these hateful white bigots here in Washington are no different."

The question was about as out of place as a meditation manual at an ADHD convention.

Obama gave the question more of a response than it probably deserved.

4. Seriously...Jeter OVER Rollins? WTH?!? MAYBE the Jeter from seven years ago...MAYBE...but not the current, can't hit the broad side of a barn with his throw, burned out model...

Oh crap...she is coming back...

3. The silly name "Freedom Tower" is being dropped for the new skyscraper they are building at the World Trade Centre site. It will now be referred to as 'One World Trade Center'. That is much more befitting to the memory of the former towers than the moniker "Freedom Tower".

To me, "Freedom Tower" sounds like the place they lock you up when you waste the president's time with silly questions...

2. This isn't really news...I just love it when Met fans trash their sorry excuse for a major league baseball team. Disgruntled dude here.

Ahh...ha ha ha ha ha...

1. Neil Gaiman is going to be spending some quality time about 43 minutes from my house! Neil at the PEN World Voices Festival of International Literature.

I am SO THERE, planning to attend all three sessions with Mr. Gaiman. Will most definitely Twitter and Blog the experience. If you are anywhere near me and want to tag along...let me know.

There is the list for this week. Not a super exciting list. I am hoping for some real debate about Jimmy Rollins in the comment section. Come on Met fans...you know you want to...

THE WEEKEND QUESTION

I promised to stay away from all things privy for this week's question. This question is, I promise, much more intellectual and philosophical.

We have had some very spring like weather here in Delaware today, complete with showers and slowly rising temperatures. Walking into school this morning the sidewalk was sloppy with worms wriggling their way across the concrete. Several lay broken on the ground, crushed by the unforgiving steps of people trying to get inside quickly.

What thoughts enter their tiny worm brains that inspire them to beach themselves on the concrete? Twitter style (140 characters or less) take a stab at what they are thinking that causes them to do this. Contest is open until Sunday @ 5:00PM (EST). Winner will be announced...prize of supreme worth will be issued...come on...think like a worm...post entries in the comments.

I'm gonna go finish watching this Kansas-Michigan State game...(GO SPARTANS)

The Happening...at Walmart

I witnessed the most amazing thing this evening.

The Sprout and I were at our local SUPER WALMART. The wife had yoga (ohmmm) and we had some time to kill. I had not picked up Quantum of Solace yet and the sprout wanted Bolt. So we dropped off mommy with her pea green yoga mat and drove on over.

We left the lotus blossoms at home.

We walked in and the first thing we had to do was pick up some milk. No sooner had I placed the milk container in the cart when an ear piercing squeal shattered my ear drums and cracked the surface of my brain. It repeated in pulses of three, with about a five second pause in between pulses. The Sprout threw her hands over her ears and hit the deck in the cart, the terrified look of a London toddler during a midnight blitzkrieg on her face. Overhead strobes began to pulse in time with the horrid sound.

"Daddy," she squealed, "why is Walmart yelling at us?"

I told her I didn't know as I began pushing the cart through the store.

Everywhere people stopped in their tracks, many with a Walmart consumable in their hands, and looked up. It reminded me of the scene in The Happening when the evolutionally superior, evil, pissed off plants of the world sent their mind altering spores into the wind. The doomed Homo Sapien Apes stood rooted to the spot, looking pensive, like they were trying to decide between paper or plastic at the grocery store, before committing violent acts of suicide using broken glass, lawn mowers, and some achingly wooden acting.

Thankfully no one tried to take their own life with Walmart brand cleaner, but people stood transfixed. Some moved in my direction to the front, but many did not. A few even kept shopping once their senses cleared, eyeing other customers suspiciously lest they make a sudden rush on their cart to loot what had not even purchased yet.

We got to the front and the employees were ushering people back in, even though the doomsday alarm was still blaring. They were telling people it was only a test. Call me crazy...but a warning before the test might have been a nice courtesy, yes?

The "test" was conducted three more times before we were able to snag our purchases and escape to the quiet of the Middletown streets. The Sprout got so frustrated toward the end that she started yelling back, telling Walmart to be quiet and stop trying to trick people into thinking there was a fire.

So...that's just a longwinded way to say there won't be a blog post tonight because I am going to watch Bond...James Bond.

Weekend Question WINNER

Well...six responses to our inaugural question.

Six responses...six readers...the math works!

I had to go with Topher as my first winner. A finer treatise on the art and science of lavatory selection has surely never been penned, in this century or any other. Some may consider it childish or simply plain disgusting. But it is a work of genius that should be published and distributed for the benefit of society, to this generation and all those that follow.

Well done Topher. Your prize is in the mail...


My answer...the Vatican.

I really don't think that choice needs to be explained...a blessed toilet...a mortal male couldn't wish for anything greater...


I promise to make next week's question much less scatologically inspired. Most certainly politics or religion are the safer waters to tread than affairs of the WC.

Surf by the Hideaway this week as we post some more writing, complain a bit about politics, engage in random behavior, and endeavor together to solve life's deepest mysteries.

Any ideas?!?

Friday Top Ten...plus a NEW FEATURE! THE WEEKEND QUESTION!

Friday has once again arrived. The refreshing water poured on the lips of a lonely desert wanderer. It has been quite a week for news. Hard to scale back to only ten things but thankfully all my friends on Twitter have helped me out tremendously. So without any further fanfare or needlessly flowery figurative language, here is what caught my attention this week as it flew in on the Twitter wire like the first red chested Robin of spring...(Yeah I know...I promised to knock it off...)

10. HAPPY BIRTHDAY WORLD WIDE WEB! The proposal for the idea that lead to the fastest way to share pornography or personally attack complete strangers is twenty years old this week. Kudos says I.

9. I am not Jewish, nor do I have friends or family currently living in Israel. But if I did, THIS would make me very, very nervous. I am all for the idea of trying to coexist peacefully. I can applaud the president's desire to open meaningful communication with the leaders of Iran. After so much war and so many Americans killed or wounded (more on that later in the list) peace would be a blessing. But I don't see how you can reasonably expect to seek peace with a "leader" who has openly called Israel a "cancerous tumor". I give President Obama credit for reaching out, 'extending the olive branch' to use the ridiculously overused expression. However I will be watching closely to see exactly what "reaching out" comes to mean.

8. Cole Hamels gave us all a scare this week. The words sore and elbow being used in conjunction about your star pitcher is never a good thing. Phillies fan's collective held breath was let out with a relieved flourish when MRI scans showed no structural damage. I remain nervous. The injury bug historically has shown great hunger for biting World Series Champions with massive chomposity the year following their big win. Perhaps I should Fed-Ex Cole some Raid.

7. In the land of all things 24, Jack Bauer made his best kill of the entire series Monday night. Killing a dude by front loader and screwdriver is a crazy Macgyver-like ninja attack. Jack is still on the run...

6. Could it be true?? A new Muppet movie is in the works?? Yes, and apparently the script is finished. Check out a review here (careful...some spoilers do reside therein). I love the Muppets and agree that they have not been the same since Henson's passing. Hopefully this will deliver.

5. I know President Obama can't bowl. I have seen the video on You Tube. We all know that. But his comment on the Tonight Show was way over the line. Someone pointed out to me earlier that people in this country have skin that is way too thin and that the ability to laugh at ourselves can help us get through tough situations. And I absolutely agree with both points. But if I were a participant or a parent of a participant of the Special Olympics, I would have been justifiably offended by the off hand remark, made for the sake of generating laughter. You don't take a group of people who have most likely been dealing with mockery and put downs their entire lives and exploit them to crack a joke with Jay Leno.

Do I believe that was President Obama's intention at the time? Absolutely not. But it can, and has been, perceived to be hurtful and offensive. I like the fact that he called the chairman of the Special Olympics to apologize. You have to admire a man who can admit when he makes a mistake. But I really hope that he takes it a step further and makes a public apology to these people.

4. March Madness is in full swing. I have cut down the number of brackets I normally complete. I am only competing in six this year instead of my normal ten or more. So far I am in pretty good shape. Memphis and Villanova both almost gave me a heart attack but didn't let me down. I am not doing too terribly horrible...yet...I am confident that will change. I fully expect to be completely out of all six by next week's Friday Top Ten.

3. I saw Watchmen this week. Loved it for the most part. It is interesting that my most visited and commented upon post to date is one about a digitalized, visible, blue member (Dr. Manhattan's Phallus). Go figure. Someone sent me a private message thanking me for giving them shudders and nightmares whenever they see the Smurfs now. I would just like to say you are most welcome. I am here to help!

2. AIG, AIG, AIG. DO I really need to say more? I am anxious to see who they send after these millionaires to get the 90% taxes. I hear Bobba Fett is looking for work these days...

1. This story really surprised me. When my mother first told me over Charcoal Pit Burgers and Fries (mmmmmmmmmmmmmm) about Obama's desire to force veterans with war or service related injuries to use their own insurance to pay for treatment, I am sorry to say I dismissed her and pompously informed her she must have heard something wrong. Imagine my surprise when I got home to discover that no, she was not wrong about the story. (PUBLIC APOLOGY...sorry mom...you were right...should I ever dismiss you so again, may my eye lids be slowly pulled off by a porcupine with salty claws)

I do not know what President Obama plans to achieve by flipping the proverbial bird to the military and their families. Can someone please explain it to me?


That's the list for this week. As always I encourage you to comment on any part of my list you wish to. We have had some lively discussions here this week...would love to keep it going. Give me your thoughts...



I am also starting another feature today. Every Friday I am going to post a weekend question. Something deeply spiritual or philosophical for my six devoted readers to ponder. When you have reached an answer please post it in the comments section below. I will eagerly await your replies and on Sunday night declare a winner for the most thoughtful, insightful, life changing answer. Prizes will be awarded!!

So let's get this feature started right...

**WARNING** If bathroom humor or discussions of anything of a scatological nature offends you it would be best to stop reading here and direct your browser elsewhere. The Weekend Question will not ALWAYS be of this nature (really...I promise it won't) but this first incarnation is well within the vicinity of bad taste. Reader be warned!


So, I was sitting in my bathroom this morning dropping off the morning mail.

(See...told ya)

I was doing this in the upstairs bathroom. The upstairs bathroom is in the original part of our house, built circa 1880, so it is rather small. Closet-like is too harsh a description...maybe walk in closet-like. It is not my favorite commode to use. The lavatory in the addition of our house is much more free and open. If our upstairs bathroom is a Miata, the bathroom in the addition is a Tour Bus. It is a room I could really spend some quality time in, as I often do, reading, thinking, blogging...

Not currently.

Really.

I am not blogging these words sitting in my bathroom...do you suppose it would bother you if I was?

Anyway...I was sitting on the porcelain throne when a thought bloomed. Eased into my mind if you will. A question. A question that I now put to those of you who have hung in there with me so far. The question is this...

IF YOU WERE PRESENTED WITH THE OPPORTUNITY TO EVACUATE YOUR BOWELS ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD, WHERE WOULD YOU DO IT?

This question occurred to me and I have spent a great deal of time thinking carefully about it before I came up with my answer.

If you could go anywhere...where would you go?

NOTE TO CLARIFY...I am not talking about doing it in inappropriate places as my wife thought when I first posed the question to her. (She really knows me well) I am not suggesting something crazy like dropping the kids off on Thomas Jefferson's head at Mount Rushmore. I am talking about a real, functional lavatory. If you could use any one in the whole world, no rules, no restrictions, to take care of your business...where would you do it?

I have my answer...and will share it on Sunday night when I announce the contest winner...if, that is, anyone has actually stayed with me this far and wants to participate in my lunacy.

Only time will tell...

I MISS SEINFELD

It's late...I am tired...and I MISS SEINFELD...




Sigh...

I am a big, fat TWITter...you should be one too!

While I have enjoyed talking about large, blue, digitally produced phalluses (phalli?) someone asked an interesting question I felt it would be a good idea to address here.

I sent out a Facebook status a few days ago inquiring if any of my friends were on Twitter that I did not already know about. I got few responses. Then someone asked my why I felt the need to Twitter (Tweet) even though I copiously use Facebook AND a blog to share my brain droppings.

Allow me to explain Twitter for the uninitiated, unwashed masses who are unaware of it.

Twitter is best described as a "micro-blogging" service that was born in 2006. It is called "micro" because no individual posts on Twitter can contain more than 140 characters.

In other words, the two sentences above would have cut off at the second use of the word Twitter.

Twitter users can make as many 140 character maximum posts as they want. You can Tweet (Tweet=to make a post on Twitter) what you wish. Getting ready to watch the new episode of Axmen on History and you want to remind people? Tweet it. Got a cool web site you want others to see? Tweet the link. Read a really good article about politics or the economy or something truly relevant like the Octo-Mom? Tweet the page. (Just kidding...PLEASE DON'T) It is a fast, unique way for sending short thoughts out into the cyberspace.

I know what you are thinking.

Really...I do. I know this sounds like an ADD kid's dream come true. And some Twitter users do treat it as such, sending a digital diarrhea of blurbs about bathroom habits, bedtimes, beer choices, blind dates, or cries for help at an almost frenetic pace. I will be honest and admit that I tend to send these kind of tweets occasionally. Here are a few examples of my own random ADD tweets from the past few days...


Each Tweet begins with my Twitter username (SpinyNorman...naturally) and then shares my thought.

- Ugh...the weather outside is about as pleasant as four week old Filet Mignon...

- is waiting for Watchmen to start...I hate Regal First Look...

- is wondering why my wife is getting phone calls from Hugh Douglas on her cell phone...Hmmmmm...

- heading home...wishing a sniper would take out these damn accident rubber-neckers backing up I-95...

- just overheard someone bragging about being fired from Subway...that's not an accomplishment sewwtheart... (I am thinking sewwheart=sweetheart)

- Would people who burn books also burn Kindles? Or just hit delete...

- doesn't work for the Eagles so I can say how much management SUCKS!!!


I think you get the point. Twitter can be used only as an ADD person's online journal and that is how a lot of people tend to see it. It is "lifecasting", sending out digital blurbs about your day and it can be fun, but there is a much more interesting side to the Twitterverse...mindcasting.

I first read about mindcasting here.

A large number of people on Twitter are beginning to use the service as a sort of large web browser. They find people on Twitter, people they either know from their everyday lives or complete strangers, and they follow them. Then these people they are following bring an almost constant stream of fresh web content for them to read.

Every day...free of charge.

A small example perhaps...

Let's say I am an Under Water Basket Weaver. I have been one for many years and I am good at my job. Like all good Under Water Basket Weavers I need to keep current on the state of the field. Under Water Basket Weaving is a tough racket, as we all know, and a Weaver who falls behind stays behind. But Under Water Basket Weaving is a time consuming task, requiring many hard hours on the job. I try to read and search the Internet for the latest Brazilian techniques when I can (Under Water Basket Weaving is HUGE in Brazil) but I am only one, single over worked Basket Weaver in a sea of thousands of viscious competitors all trying to steal my Weaving dollar. Twitter, MINDCASTING on Twitter, can help. I have fifteen friends I have stayed in touch with since our days in the Under Water Basket Weaving program at Harvard (It's my example...suspend disbelief). They are all moderately to tremendously successful Weavers. They are all on Twitter as I am. Whenever one of us comes across some great web sites or articles about our under appreciated industry we can Tweet those locations and all can benefit from the find of one. Instead of just one mind looking for information, together we are SIXTEEN minds, all sharing the same interest. Networking to help each other out builds the noble fraternity of Under Water Basket Weavers everywhere.

Mindcasting doesn't just have to be business related. I myself follow dozens of news agencies, from the NYT, to the WASHINGOTN POST, to USNEWS AND WORLD REPORT. I also follow people who share my pleasure interests, not simply business. Sports too. I follow favorite authors or bloggers. I currently have 139 people I am following. That means I have 139 minds scouring the Internet each day and showing me (not just me, but everyone they follow) what they find that is interesting or helpful. I do the same for the 80 people who follow me (no jokes about my Twitter size...I am still new to this). Twitter is my Drift net for the web, catching me dozens of interesting and insightful fish every day. Can't you feel your mind swell at the possibilities?!?

Another added benefit to being a devoted user of Twitter impacts this very blog. Every time I create a new post of wordy confusion (See here) I send a notice out into Twitter. Since I have begun using Twitter on a regular basis, traffic on my blog has doubled...almost tripled. Maybe Twitter has brought you and I together. A cyber union that almost certainly would never have happened. Did you feel that? The universe just moved...for us...

Uh...sorry...that got kind of creepy there didn't it?

So anyway...TWITTER...not only is it a fun word to say over and over again...it makes you a better, well rounded person.

Try it and find out for yourself. And if you do...follow ME!!!

The digital phallus that destroyed Manhattan...literally...

I should take a second to warn any perspective readers that full frontal male nudity is being discussed in the lines below where your eyes are now resting. There are no pictures, but there may be vocabulary you find offensive. If discussions of male nakedness and use of the terms required therein offend you, perhaps it would be best to sail away right now...rejoin us here at the hideaway tomorrow when we will discuss topics of a much less dangerous nature...like global thermonuclear war...or the Care Bears...

My beautiful wife left me this weekend.

On Saturday she went away for an overnight with some friends. When the cat's away, the mice will play so myself and a few friends decided to relive the college years by going to a movie, grabbing some horrible WaWa food afterward, and playing video games into the wee (Wii) hours of the morning.

The movie we chose to see was Watchmen, a movie I had been looking forward to seeing for several months. I was never a hugely devoted follower of the graphic novel. I was aware of the story but did not pick it up and read it until two months ago in anticipation of the movie. I enjoyed the graphic novel. It is truly deserving of all the accolades that have been showered upon it over the years and quite literally gave me the always enjoyed 'can't put it down' syndrome that all good stories do. So I came at the movie as an admirer of the book, not necessarily a devoted disciple, but an admirer to be sure.

I tremendously enjoyed the movie. I am not a movie reviewer kind of guy (although I will say that my biggest complaint about the movie was the "acting" of Malin Akerman, who looks beautiful both in and out of her costume, but whose acting was about as inspired as a kitchen chair sitting in the middle of an empty room) so I am not going to write a review of the movie. There are thousands of folks currently taking up space on the net doing that. I have read forty or so of these reviews as I prepared to write this post and I know I just scratched the surface of the the Internet love orgy/hate fest that has been born out of seeing and then reviewing this movie.

My fascination is with every one's fascination with Dr. Manhattan's digitally created phallus. FIVE people I have talked to since seeing it have asked me the same question first. "So what was up with the blue guy's unit that I have heard so much about?" Not a question about the plot, the special effects, the violence...

No.

They wanted to know about the digital dong.

And my experience is not unique. Google (you might wanna put safe search on first) the phrase "Dr. Manhattan's __________" (in the blank, place any synonym for the male anatomy that you prefer). You will be directed to hundreds of people (yours truly included in that list too I guess) discussing the merits and size and shape and color of a fictional super hero's 'little hero'.

It flummoxes me, the degree of attention this is getting. As I said earlier, I have read my way through forty or so movie reviews today for Watchmen and found only THREE that make no mention of Dr. Manhattan's lack of clothes. It is a central detail in most of the other reviews. Some are quite colorful and frankly, quite entertaining. Two of my personal favorites refer to it as "Dr. Manhattan's stimulus package" and his "Lower Manhattan".

(Come on...be honest...those made you at least smile...)

What is the big deal? In a movie more soaked in blood than an abattoir floor, steeped in more on screen violence than a Martin Scorsese movie night, and containing a no holds barred sex scene between two superheroes suspended high above the city streets, why is the occasional screen shot of a digitally created man's member the hot topic? It's not like they were showcasing the thing in the movie. To read some of these reviews and discussions you would think the director himself pops into shot, gaping at the appendage, pointing and gesturing to get your attention to make sure you don't miss it. Many shots of Dr. Manhattan are taken from the navel up. In others, such as when he is vaporizing Vietnamese guerrillas with the efficiency of a Hoover Shop-Vac, he has created a sort of Manhattan Speedo that covers the offending body part. On two occasions he even wears a well tailored black suit. But when he is amongst friends, Dr. Manhattan certainly likes to go commando and on many of those occasions the camera takes us north instead of south. There are no close ups, no "unnecessary zooms". Just a super dude with the power to create life...but not nice blue boxers.

Walking around like a pantsed smurf not realizing he has lost his little white pants.

Contextually speaking, Dr. Manhattan's nakedness is just further evidence of his disassociation with his humanity. He only covers up when asked to do so. To him details such as nakedness are as inconsequential as forgetting to provide a way for Laurie to breathe when they arrive on the Martian surface together. It makes sense in the context of the story. It fits. But I have had two people tell me flat out that the full frontal digital male nudity is why they will not go see the movie.

Many people believe, as I do, that our 'naughty bits' are to be reserved for the sole viewing pleasure of our spouses and ourselves. Some take that a step further and say that movies that proudly display people violating that tenet are to be avoided at all cost. I get that and I respect their opinion. I myself won't go see a movie simply because there is nudity but if it occurs, it doesn't shatter my world, so long as it is relevant to the narrative and not nudity for it's own sake.

But to refuse to see a movie because of full frontal male nudity, and be OK with the full frontal female nudity smacks of hypocrisy. Or maybe it is a fear of catching 'gayness' through a movie screen, like some viral plague. I am not sure what it is and I don't understand the double standard. Where are the jokes about the Silk Specter's anatomy? The embarrassed giggles and averted eyes? I will save you the time...there aren't any. Why not?

I find it utterly fascinating.

I would be interested to know what you think. Please feel free to comment here on the blog, toss in your two cents. Just click on the word comment below. I would love to get a lively discussion going here about this.

My Friday Top Ten Thoughts

Wanna begin a new feature here in the Hideaway. Random ten thoughts from the past week...


1. I am so sick and tired of hearing about the frigging "OCTO-MOM". What is the county's fascination with this head case?

2. Sixers closed out the Spectrum tonight. My favorite Spectrum memory? A Billy Joel concert in 1993. The Phils were in the series and Joel came out in a Phillies hat and screamed "F*** the Jays!" Place went bananas...

3. State testing sucks. Nuff said.

4. I am trying to get swept up in the World Baseball Classic...I really am...it's just not working. I do like the Team USA hat though...maybe in the later rounds...I think I am struggling with staring at Jeter's face for so long during the games and the retching feeling that accompanies it.

5. President Obama getting failing grades on MSNBC...wow...who da thunkit? Seems the Messiah is falible after all...Check the damage. Don't blame me...I voted for McCain.

6. Rumor has it that the Cards are looking to trade Anquan Boldin...I bet the Eagles will make a heavy push for him...and then I am going to sprout wings and fly to the moon...and for the record...I am STILL pissed about the Dawkins deal...spent the week pricing #20 Denver jerseys.

7. Onion article of the week...Obamas First 100 Days...it updates every day so keep checking back.

8. Bill Buchanan went out in a blaze of glory...RIP Bill...hated to see it happen but it was a good exit for the character.

9. Joe Biden stays relevant...ahem...uhh...yeah right...moving on...

10. Pat Burrell is a classy guy. I won't miss his legs (rotting corpses decay faster than he runs) but he gave his all in his nine years as a Philly. Thanks for the note Pat, and the memories.


Got any thoughts from the week or comments on mine? Please share in the comments section.

New York Mets Trying to Sell Tickets to Citi Field...The PHILLIES never had to bribe perspective ticket holders...

With a month to go before the first regular-season game at Citi Field, the Mets are trying to sign up season-ticket holders, including offering prospective customers tours of the stadium.

It's kind of sad really, the Mets are "TRYING" to sign up season ticket holders. I would consider buying a set. It must be a real treat to support the team that has folded easier than pressed tissue paper two years in a row.

If the free tour strategy doesn't work they can always offer free vomit bags for every home game beginning in August. Free "We suck but THANK GOD we aren't the Yankees" t-shirts might also nab a season ticket holder or two.

A story I will continue to follow...

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Future on a Park Bench

I am amazed and gratified to have gotten so many positive comments on my Headstone story. I have been stupified by the number of people who have asked if I have written other stories. I have some that are OK..some so terrible they are locked in a lead lined box I have buried in my basement to prevent their massive suckage from ever polluting the world. This is a short story I wrote two years ago. I think some have read it...hard to remember who. I hope you enjoy it (all 6 of you). As always...comments or suggestions are ALWAYS welcome!

Future on a Park Bench

Last night I had a dream.

At least, I think it was a dream. It had a solid sort of quality, a firm feeling of reality to it that makes me reluctant to dismiss it as dream, yet leaves me uncertain about how to qualify it. If it wasn’t a dream, I’m not sure what it could have been. A vision? Time travel? ESP? No prior context in my life outside of science fiction/fantasy is any help. All I know for sure is something happened, something that has changed me as surely as the rising sun transforms the night sky.

I went to bed with no expectation other than to have a restful night’s sleep. It had been a long and difficult day in the classroom. The kids were off, academically as well as behaviorally and that one, two combination never makes for an easy day. My head hit the pillow and I closed my eyes in the hope that sleep would come quickly.

As is the way with dreams, the next thing I knew I suddenly found myself sitting on a park bench. I looked around with great surprise. Instead of lying in my bed enjoying a good night’s rest, I was fully clothed and sitting in a park in the middle of an incredibly beautiful day. I looked up into a flawless spring sky. Not a cloud in sight, the sky a shade of striking blue that only photographers for postcards seem to be able to capture. The temperature was perfect, the kind of warmth that cries out for shorts and t-shirt but doesn’t smother you with oppressive heat. A gentle breeze was blowing and I gratefully closed my eyes and turned my face into its caress, smiling as it tossed the hair on my forehead the way a lover in a playful mood would do.

I opened my eyes and looked around at my new surroundings. It was not a park I recognized. Rolling grassy hills dotted with couples sitting on blankets. Children chasing after each other in play. Dogs bounding after them, in constant danger of being stepped on, yet somehow always avoiding it. The paths that moved around these hills like concrete snakes were likewise occupied by people doing the types of activities that were made for days like this. Walking, running, rollerblading, dog walking. Every face a portrait of mid spring contentment. Enjoying the light breeze I sat back with a contented sigh to people watch. I took in the peacefulness of the scene before me like a blind man seeing a work of fine art for the first time. I felt like I could stay on this wooden park bench forever without complaint.

My reverie was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

I turned to the voice’s owner. A beautiful young woman stood at my bench. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Long brown hair, the color of an ancient cedar chest, fell to her shoulders in beautiful waves. Mischievous hazel eyes regarded me inquisitively, awaiting a response to their question. She wore a beautiful yellow sundress, no sleeves, allowing her delicate freckled shoulders to take full advantage of the ample sunlight supplied by the day. She was fairly tall. My eyes squinted from the sun as I glanced up at her. I was struck with the thought that I knew this girl, yet from where or when I had no idea.

“My bench is your bench,” I replied with what I thought was a safe and welcoming smile.

“Gracias,” she replied.

She sat beside me and tilted her face to the breeze, closing her eyes just as I myself had done just five minutes before. A smattering of freckles danced across her cheeks and nose like the seeds of a dandelion blown by a small child. She let out a contented sigh, again one very much like my own. My mind was spinning as I fought to figure out why she seemed so familiar to me. High school? College? Work? None of these places triggered a memory of this beautiful face. It did not seem a face I would be likely to forget.

She opened her eyes and looked at me.

“Can you believe this weather,” she asked.

“No, it’s really amazing,” I replied. And still my mind worked to place the face. It seemed ridiculous really. My mind was fully conscious of the fact that my body should be safely tucked in my bed, sleeping off a difficult day. My mind knew that the farthest place I should be was this wonderful park, sitting on a bench, talking to a beautiful woman. Yet still...here I was. The nagging persistence that I knew her would not go away.

She smiled. It was a beautiful smile, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. There was kindness in that smile but also laughter, as if she could read my mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me,” I replied.

“Try me.”

“OK,” I sighed, “here we go. This is going to sound like the world’s oldest pickup line but…”

I stopped because she began to giggle as well as smile. There was a light dancing in her eyes. She was playing with me on some level I couldn’t yet understand. And her eyes said she was enjoying the game.

“This is not a pickup line, but I can’t get the idea out of my head that I know you from somewhere. Do I? Or has this amazing weather simply made my mind go soft?”

Her giggles, the beauty of the day put into sound, continued.

“Yes, you do know me,” she said. “But you will never guess in a million years where you know me from.”

More giggling. Giggles threatening with each second to turn into out right laughter.

“OK,” I said. “Are you going to give me any help or is this going to turn into the world’s longest guessing game?”

She made a forcible effort to contain the giggles, packing them away the way one might try to shove too much clothing into a small suitcase. After a moment or two she took a deep breath and responded. “First let me introduce myself, as polite and civilized people often do when meeting. My name is Caroline.”

I smiled. “Caroline. That’s funny, I have a daughter named Car….”

I stopped in mid-sentence because the most absurd idea in the world crashed into my mind like a runaway train. It managed to feel completely insane and completely true at the same time. This young woman I was sharing a park bench with. This was no stranger. This was a person dearer to my heart than any other. My joy.

My eyes must have widened betraying the thought in my mind because she smiled again and nodded. “Yes daddy. It’s me.”

Words left, ran out with the speed of a thousand waterfalls. Thoughts swirled in my mind with the force of a thousand tornadoes. Caroline? My little Caroline? Impossible. Caroline is three years old. She still needs to step on a stool to reach the sink when she brushes her teeth! I knew this had to be a joke. Some crazy prank. Or perhaps, my mind tossed in, it is really just a dream. How did you come to be in this mystery park with its to perfect weather anyway? A dream; has to be. I seized on this idea, had to seize on it, for nothing else made sense.

As these thoughts raced through my mind the young woman continued to regard me with that same bemused, laughing smile. “I know what you are thinking daddy, but it really is me.”

“No,” I replied. “That’s impossible. I don’t know who you are or how you know I have a daughter named Caroline but you aren’t her, CAN’T be her. I just put her to bed myself an hour ago after her bath.”

“I know,” she replied, still smiling. “I remember.”

“This is ludicrous!” I whispered. But somewhere in my mind I knew that, as hard as it was to believe, this young woman was my daughter. I knew it the way I know I love my wife, my family. The way I know some things are wrong and some things are right, without question. There was no grey area, no ambiguity. Some things you just can’t explain. Some things don’t HAVE to be explained. To even attempt would be the equivalent of attempting to count the stars and record their numbers.

“Is it really you Caroline,” I gasped. “How can I be sure?”

“What does your heart tell you daddy?”

“My heart? My heart tells me it is you, some how, some way grown. But my head refuses to believe it. I...I'm sorry.”

At this she began to laugh again. “That’s my dad,” she says. “Always needing proof of what is as clear as day right in front of his face.”

My face reddened but I shrugged. She had me there.

“It’s ok,” she giggled. “I love you anyway. Go ahead. This will be fun. Ask me a question that only your daughter would know.”

I thought for a moment. Then I realized there was no need. I was looking at my darling Caroline, somehow grown, somehow here with me in the present.

“I don’t need a question,” I told her. “A hug will do.”

Still smiling, now with eyes that swam with tears, we embraced there on that magic park bench. As soon as her arms surrounded me and mine her, the last little shred of doubt was erased. I was hugging my little girl.

I couldn’t tell you how long we hugged one another, no words exchanged. Eventually she pulled back and I was relieved to see I was not the only one with tear tracks on the cheeks.

“But how?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really know dad. I was just taking a walk out on this gorgeous day and when I saw you on the bench, I just knew. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. Does the reason really matter?”

I smiled. “Of course not. God, you look just like your mother. How old are you?”

That mischievous light returned to her eyes. “Part of me wants to make you guess. But, I guess you have had enough of a shock. I am 30 years old this month.”

Thirty. My god. I realized I was sitting next to my daughter twenty-seven years after I had put her to bed. My mind reeled like a ship in the midst of a hurricane’s strongest winds trying to make sense of this. Caroline’s smile began to falter, as she once again seemed to read my mind.

“It’s ok dad.”

“I know it is,” I told her. “I know. It’s just such a shock. I mean think about it. The last time I saw you, you were wearing Dora pajamas and we were saying prayers at the foot of a toddler bed!”

The smile returned. “I know. Try seeing things from my point of view. Here I am, just out taking a walk, enjoying the weather, when I see a much younger version of my own father sitting on a bench as if he had every right to be there.”

I smiled. “Hadn’t thought of that. Good point. So…….tell me about yourself! Are you married? Any kids? What do you do? I have about a thousand questions!”

Another smile. Confused this time. “Dad, I don’t think that’s why we're here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I am going on instinct alone here, but something is telling me those questions are the wrong ones. Future events that you will find out about on your own. Answering them right now seems wrong.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“NO, NO, don’t be.” I took her hands in mine (noticing a wedding ring on the left hand as I did) and looked into her eyes. “I have no more idea what this is all about then you do. If you feel you shouldn’t answer, then don’t! I’m not angry or disappointed.” I thought for a second. “In fact,” I began “I don’t want to know. It would be like reading the end of a great book when you are still in the first couple of chapters. Don’t tell me. I was stupid to have asked.”

She squeezed my hands in hers. Hands that I had last seen much smaller and diligently clasped in prayer (Now I lay me down to sleep). Hands that were now fully grown.

“But Caroline,” I continued. “If I am not here to learn about your future, then why am I here? This isn’t exactly a normal occurrence if you know what I mean.”

“I know dad. And I feel that our time is very short. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do. I think we are here so I can tell you something. But first I need to ask you a question.”

I shrugged. “Fire away sweetheart.”

She sighed. “This isn’t an easy question to ask, but I feel like I am supposed to ask it. Dad, recently, have you been having doubts about your abilities as a father?”

Her question hit me with all the force of an oncoming car. How could she know? How could ANYONE know? My eyes began to well up again, not in joy this time, but shame.

“How much do you know?” I asked in no more than a whisper.

Her own eyes began to water again as well. “Nothing specific. Like I said, just that weird feeling, a tickle in the back of my mind. I am sorry if I hurt you dad.” She let go of my hands end pulled me into another embrace. I allowed myself of moment of comfort then, putting my hands on her arms, I sat back.

“The answer to your question is yes. Doubts. Fears. You name it.”

She seemed genuinely shocked to hear this. “About what?”

“Everything. About messing up. About not being strong enough. About not being smart enough, the list goes on and on. Caroline, when you came into my life three years ago everything changed. In a good way. In the most amazingly, marvelous way. The love I feel in my heart for you transcends simple words.” As I talked, I forgot I was addressing my daughter at age thirty, instead falling into my very real fears for her at age three. “I love you more than my own life. I want nothing but the best for you. I want to be the perfect father, wanting you to want for nothing. But how can I do that when I can’t even get out of my own way most of the time? How can I possibly expect to be able to do it for you? I am afraid to fail. I am afraid to wake up one day and realize you have grown and moved away and I did not help prepare you for what life has to offer. I don’t think I am up for this job. I know so many other guys who could do so much better than I...” By this point I was crying, tears sliding unheeded down my cheeks. Caroline was crying as well, though she was also smiling.

She took my hands in hers once again. Looked deep into my eyes with her own.
“Listen dad,” she said. “Listen well, because our time here is almost up. You are an amazing father. The most amazing father any girl was ever fortunate enough to call daddy. You did everything right!”

I looked at her, wanting to believe it, wanting to know it was true. “But how?” I pleaded. “How will I know what to do?”

She glanced down to her hands held in mine. Her next words will remain with me until my dying breath.

“Dad, you know how to do this. It is there inside you. I am living proof of that. But the absurdity of this situation may make that hard for you to accept. For you I have aged 27 years in 1 hour. Not exactly stone cold reality is it?”

“No,” I replied. “Reality it ain’t.”

“Reality or not, it doesn’t negate the truth of what I am about to tell you. You asked me how you will know what to do. Let me fall back on the answer for that by looking at what you have done for me. Let me use that to give you the answer you are looking for.”

“Should I write this down,” I joked.

“No,” she replied in all seriousness. “No need. I’m not really telling you anything you don’t already know deep down in your heart. You will remember.”

She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. I was struck again how much she resembled her mother.

“I know you love me dad. I have known it my whole life. Do you know why? Because you have told me everyday of my life that it is so. Sometimes more than once a day. A child needs to hear that from her parents. Needs to know that it is an unshakable, immutable truth. Needs to know that no matter what happens, what goes wrong or right, that she will always have the unconditional love of her father. You make sure she knows this by making it verbal. Every single day.”

“Your little girl also needs to hear from you how beautiful she is. Beautiful and strong. Feed her confidence by allowing her to make her own choices about things as she gets older. Be there to congratulate her when she makes good choices and gently guide, comfort, and be there to confide in when she makes bad ones. Trust me dad, she will make plenty of both.”

A smile here and a rueful laugh. I joined in the laughter, albeit nervously.

“Let her know you are strong for her. But also let her see you are human. Don’t be afraid to let her see you mess up. The best way for her to learn to deal with her own mistakes in life will be to watch how you deal with yours. Let her know you have weaknesses and fears. Let her know that it is ok. Making mistakes is not bad as long as you learn from them in order to avoid them in the future. Equip her for that lesson by letting her see it in you. Let her use this to discover the own strength she carries inside. Strength to be and do whatever she wants in life.”

“Trust her dad. Let her know you trust her. Help her believe in herself by seeing how much you believe in her. You have the awesome power to build her up or tear her down with simple words or glances. When you are proud of her, tell her so. But don’t just tell her you are proud of her, tell her why. Let her know exactly what she has done to make you, the most important man in her life for many years, so proud.”

She stopped and placed her left hand on my cheek.

“Don’t be afraid to hug her too much. There is no such possibility. She will crave your touch, the feeling of your strong arms around her, the silent promise that those arms will always keep her safe. The silent affirmation that you love her and that love will grow and grow over the course of time. Don’t be afraid to talk to her either. Especially when she gets older and the choices she will struggle with take on greater weight. Talk, every morning, every night. Some of my most favorite memories from my teenage years are the conversations we had sitting in those old white rocking chairs out on the old front porch.”

“I love that porch,” I told her.

“I know you do. You still use it to this day. We still have our conversations and they mean as much to me now as then. More even.”

She hugged me then, hugged me tight.

“Don’t be afraid to fail dad,” she whispered in my ear. “Your daughter doesn’t need you to be perfect. She just needs you to be there, with the good and the bad. You do that and she, I, will turn out just fine. Trust me.”

I clutched her tight as she clutched me in return.

“I love you so much sweetheart. And I am so proud of you. I don’t know if I am dreaming or not, but I want you to know that I am proud of you every day. You are so smart, so beautiful, so funny. I don’t know how I got to be so lucky.”

She pulled back, tears once again in free fall.

“I love you so much daddy. I am proud of you. Proud of you for being the amazing father you are, for the even more amazing father you will become. There is no grand secret here. Just be yourself. You have more than enough strength to do it. And you should never hesitate to go to your knees when you feel you don't."

She looked at her watch with a start.

“Oh wow, I gotta be movin on out of here. It’s late!”

She got up to go. I got up with her.

“I don’t know how I came to be here,” I began. “I don’t even know if this is just an exceptionally vivid dream or something else. Whatever it is, I am grateful for the opportunity to have had this talk with you. Do you think it will ever happen again?”

“Under these circumstances? Who knows,” she mused. “But I know you will see me again, in about 27 years.”

“One question I have to know sweetheart,” I begged.

“What is it?”

I licked my lips. “Will I still have my hair in 28 years?”

She laughed at that, the same combined snort-squeal kind of laugh her mother has. “Oh dad! Some things are better left to be discovered!”

She gave me a hug then.

“Time for you to be going. There is a little girl in a Dora bed that will be waking up soon wanting to see her daddy. Do you want to know why?”

“Why,” I asked.

“Because she loves him with all her tiny little heart. And she knows he loves her just the same. There is no better way to grow up. Goodbye daddy.”

“Goodbye Caroline. I am looking forward to those conversations on the porch.”

She laughed as she turned to walk back the way she had come. “I am sure you are.”

I watched her go, a light spring in her step, the setting sun catching her hair and setting it aglow with life. Just before she got to the crest of the hill she turned and waved. I waved back, my heart so full of love for her that it felt ready to explode. I sat back on my bench as two little girls walked by. They looked to be about 6 or 7 years old, walking hand in hand, singing some song as they walked the path together. I laid my head back, listening to their voices.

The next thing I knew my alarm was going off and I heard Caroline calling for me from her room. I dashed out of bed, leaving my wife bleary eyed and startled in the spot next to me. I ran down the hall and burst into Caroline’s room.

“Daddddyyy!!” The voice of my three year old angel pierced my heart.

“Caroline!!!” I sing-songed in return. She rolled out of her bed and ran over to me. I swept her up in my arms, laughing with her as she squeezed my neck. I kissed her on the cheek and told her how much I loved her.

“I love you to daddy,” she said. “I had a dream daddy!”

“Really,” I asked her. “You had a dream? What did you dream about?”

She leaned back in my arms and looked me straight in the eye.

“I dreamed bout you!”

“About me? What was I doing?”

“Sitting on a chair in a park. I was there too and you and me we talked and talked...we talked a long time.”

Goosebumps erupted from shoulder to wrist.

“Really? What...what did we talk about?” I managed to get out.

“I don't remember. I hugged you a lot. I saw a doggy playing too. Please put me down...I wanna play with my animals.”

Moving in slow motion, like I was encased in a crate of molasses, I let Caroline get down. She ran over and began rooting around in her toy box for her stuffed animals to play with. I sat down next to her, eyes wide, wondering exactly what it was that transpired between us overnight. Simple, yet coincidental dream? Time travel? Something else? Who knows? I don’t really care. It is an experience that has changed me, real or not, and it is an experience I will cherish for the rest of my life.

As bald or as full of hair as it may or may not be.

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Rest In Peace Bill Buchanan

Damn the silent clock. We lost a good man last night. Even though we suspected it was coming...it doesn't make the bitter pill any easier to swallow.

Rest in peace Bill. I know that life went down hill after Michelle stopped seeing you...but now maybe you can reconnect with her and leave Tony out of the loop once again. Even more reason for Tony to mope and talk in his raspy Evil Tony voice, god help us all.

You went out in style, taking several camo clad baddies with you into the great beyond. You saved dozens of civilian lives, not to mention the lives of President Taylor, Aaron Pierce, and of course, Mr. Bauer. You are a true hero sir, and will always be remembered as such.

I look forward to the day when Jack gets his hands on Jon Voight and exacts his pound of flesh for your noble sacrifice. I don't need to tell you that Jack will be thorough...and slow.

Thank you for your life, your service, your devotion.

So again, rest in peace. Who needs hundreds of virgins in the afterlife when you have Michelle Dressler?

Pics borrowed from

Daylight Savings Time...with bibles...

Journeying on the 40 minute commute this morning, the wife and I were having a discussion concerning daylight savings time. It went something like this...

Wife: <yawn> I am really super tired this morning.

Me: Hrmm. (While driving and Twittering on the phone at the same time...an activity I don't recommend)

Wife: I said I am really super tired this morning.

Me: (Putting the phone down and concentrating on the road before I plunge the three of us into a fiery death) Why is that?

Wife: Well the clock says that it is 7:00, but the internal clock in my body is telling me it is really 6:00.

Me: (Pausing to digest the comment) That's crazy.

Wife: No its not actually. It takes the body several days to adjust to the change of time when daylight savings time occurs. I saw it on Oprah once.

The phone beeps. I pick it up, new Twitters coming in. Swerve to miss the car in front of me that was driving too slow. Heart rate increases. Put the phone back down, resolving not to pick it up again while behind the wheel.

Me: (slightly out of breath from my racing heart) That's silly. The clock said 10:00 when you fell asleep (You read correctly...10:00...I know, right?) and 5:30 when you woke up...as always.

Wife: Yeah but that was really going to sleep at 9:00 and getting up at 4:30.

Me: (Pausing once again while i try to get my head around this thought) But...it's still the same amount of time.

Wife: No...its not...its an hour earlier.

Me: But...its still the same amount of time.

At this point Caroline, sitting in the booster seat in the back, breaks out in a rousing chorus of Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. I can't make this stuff up. Not sure if it borders on broadening my daughter's horizons or bad parenting...but it is the truth.

Me: Sweety, please sing a song that is not about mind altering drugs...we will be at preschool soon. (REALLY don't want that call)

Caroline ignores me and continues her Beatles tribute. I guess there are worse things...

Wife: It is not the same because my body...Caroline sweety...it's diamonds, not bibles...because my body is used to the time the way it was, not the way it now is.

Me: (At this point feeling like I have taken LSD myself) WHAT? Whatever time the clock tells you, that is what time it IS. I went to sleep at 12:18...got up at 6:05...that six hours felt like the six hours all the weeks before it. I don't understand this metaphysical trickery you are talking about.

Caroline: Mommy...why does Lucy like diamonds? Are they like the diamonds you have on your ring?

Wife: Yes sweety...Lucy just likes expensive jewlery. Brian, I really think more people would agree with me on this than they would with you.

Me: No way...maybe it is a male/female thing. Most guys I know don't walk around whining about their "internal clocks" being messed up because of daylight savings time.

Wife: That's because most men aren't smart enough to read their internal clocks. Trust me...all normal people struggle with this when the time changes.

Caroline: Lucy in the sky with bibles...Lucy in the sky with bibles...

As you can see...our morning commutes are quite interesting.

I would like to pose our morning's debate question to my 6 blog readers out there. Which side of the fence do you live on?

Are you in my camp where the clock says what it says and you don't need to rely on tricky, mind/time bending excuses for why your body feels off?

Or are you in my wife's camp, where your "internal clock" takes days or weeks to reset because it is now confused. (No wonder women can't program VCRs)

If you feel so inclined...drop me your opinion (along with any other comments or backyard BBQ recipes) in the comments section here.

And, if you feel further inclined, subscribe to the feed here at the Hideaway. I LOVE my 6 readers...but there is always room for more!

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Peter Griffin on The Godfather

What really bothers me about this clip is how close to the truth it MAY be...but I still love The Godfather...

Embedded Video

Which begs the question...which is the greater cinematic masterpiece? The Godfather or The Money Pit?

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Look what I found MA!

So yesterday I decided the clutter in the back seat of the car had grown to such a depth that it needed to be cleaned out. It was deep enough to completely hide small animals in and the weight pressing on the back of my seat whenever I made a stop was becoming unbearable. When I got home from work I grabbed a trash bag and got busy, making short work of all the straw wrappers, candy wrappers, empty water bottles, and tiny, fossilized french fries I found. Underneath a McDonald's bag of undeterminate age I found my blog.

I picked it up off of the floor of the car and brought it squinting out into the sunlight. It grunted at me like a surly teenager awoken before noon. I dusted it off, checked the date. I was a bit shocked to realize that I had left the poor thing abandoned since the end of OCTOBER! Flush with the heady excitement of the Phillies World Series victory, I had set it aside then promptly forgot about it.

Is there a division of DFS that persecutes neglectful bloggers for abandonment? Because if there IS, I would beg and plead with you not to report me...all 4 of you who read this whenever something new pops up. I am sure there is little jail time involved but I fear the fines would kill me.

All this to say that I have missed this blog and look forward to filling it's digitalized pages with the random chunks of thought that my brain cuts off when it feels the whim.

Unfortunately that is not right now. Currently the only thing my brain is focusing on is the desire to leave work as quickly as possible so we can get back home to the Wii. We got it a week ago and have already logged more than 29 hours time spent spinning, shaking, throwing, and twisting those tiny white controllers. I think I have a sickness. Where can I get some help?