Thursday, December 21, 2006
Hurricane Dantelope, Part II and III
There are wonderful morning sounds that gently ease me from a deep sleep and propose to me a melodious tune of optimism and delight for the coming day.
These are not one of them:
TSO: *slap slap* you're snoring, stop!
So begins Day 2 of the Dantelope Family Vacation... here's a quick rundown of the events so far at the end of Day 3:
First Born vs. 2.5cm-long Man-o-war Jellyfish. Winner: Jellyfish.
Little, blue, different. And painful. FB took the brunt of a massively coordinated attack by the intelligent species and was brutally bitten on his shin. A coast guard in Guatemala heard his screams and alerted authorities. SEALs were deployed to apply Jellyfish ointment to the wounded area. MC Grand was unable to help asking if there were peanut butter fish to go with it. Feel my pain.
Masculinity vs. Grandparents. Winner: Grandparents.
I have now given up the keys to the rental minivan because I can no longer deal with the incessant criticism and snide directional comments of (a) MC Grand, sitting next to me (are you going to turn on your signal? oy, look out! oy, you're in the wrong lane! All this before I've even left the parking lot), (b) TSO from two freakin' rows back, and from (c) The Gila, who provides directions to a destination (let's say, "the beach"), as follows:
Princess Diva vs. Any Obstacle, real or imagined. Winner: obstacle. My daughter is like that can of Diet Coke you dropped on the way in from the grocery store and then forgot you dropped and then decided to open up. Whether the obstacle is.. oh... sand in her shoe... or not getting her shoe on in the first 4.5ms... or the wind blowing in a direction she didn't command. Her explosions are not light, either. Once scream from her siren box can blow out every eardrum in a 10 mile square radius. We've already been warned twice by the Navy that she's interfering with their whale-killing sonic weapons testing.
I should also probably alert you, if I haven't already, that my daughter is a professional klutz. Here is a list - no joke - of the injuries sustained just today:
Me: Uh... why are my shorts all wet?
TSO: Looks like she leaked.
Me: Uh... why is my shirt all wet?
TSO: She really, really leaked.
I had to walk a quarter mile back to the car with people looking at me as if I'd just pissed myself silly (which I was tempted to do because, hey, damage already done why not feel relieved while I'm at it). Gotta love it.
---- Dantelope @ vacation+kids != vacation
These are not one of them:
TSO: *slap slap* you're snoring, stop!
So begins Day 2 of the Dantelope Family Vacation... here's a quick rundown of the events so far at the end of Day 3:
First Born vs. 2.5cm-long Man-o-war Jellyfish. Winner: Jellyfish.
Little, blue, different. And painful. FB took the brunt of a massively coordinated attack by the intelligent species and was brutally bitten on his shin. A coast guard in Guatemala heard his screams and alerted authorities. SEALs were deployed to apply Jellyfish ointment to the wounded area. MC Grand was unable to help asking if there were peanut butter fish to go with it. Feel my pain.
Masculinity vs. Grandparents. Winner: Grandparents.
I have now given up the keys to the rental minivan because I can no longer deal with the incessant criticism and snide directional comments of (a) MC Grand, sitting next to me (are you going to turn on your signal? oy, look out! oy, you're in the wrong lane! All this before I've even left the parking lot), (b) TSO from two freakin' rows back, and from (c) The Gila, who provides directions to a destination (let's say, "the beach"), as follows:
Here's a restaurant that MC Grand and I ate at a few months back on the left, see, right past the wall over there, no, look, with the lights, yeah, right there. Anyway, they had the fish, and, you're going to want to be in the left lane, here. No, the other left lane. I played golf at this place over here on your right. These drivers, oy, I tell you, they're meshugina. Look at this guy, he's crazy. Turn left.... the fish was wonderful, best ever. Did you just miss the turn?When a man gives up the keys to the vehicle, you know he's been beaten down pretty badly. I spend my time brooding in the very back of the minivan now, weaving seaweed I've gathered from the beach into a makeshift noose. I plan to off myself sometime tomorrow afternoon.
Princess Diva vs. Any Obstacle, real or imagined. Winner: obstacle. My daughter is like that can of Diet Coke you dropped on the way in from the grocery store and then forgot you dropped and then decided to open up. Whether the obstacle is.. oh... sand in her shoe... or not getting her shoe on in the first 4.5ms... or the wind blowing in a direction she didn't command. Her explosions are not light, either. Once scream from her siren box can blow out every eardrum in a 10 mile square radius. We've already been warned twice by the Navy that she's interfering with their whale-killing sonic weapons testing.
I should also probably alert you, if I haven't already, that my daughter is a professional klutz. Here is a list - no joke - of the injuries sustained just today:
- Table corner to just under the right eye
- Nine running falls on concrete or other hard surfaces
- Hand caught in heavy closing hotel door
- Foot caught in handbag
Me: Uh... why are my shorts all wet?
TSO: Looks like she leaked.
Me: Uh... why is my shirt all wet?
TSO: She really, really leaked.
I had to walk a quarter mile back to the car with people looking at me as if I'd just pissed myself silly (which I was tempted to do because, hey, damage already done why not feel relieved while I'm at it). Gotta love it.
---- Dantelope @ vacation+kids != vacation
Labels: family, florida, vacation
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Hurricane Dantelope
Today began the annual Let's Go Somewhere This Holiday Season trip. TSO's finely tuned antennae picked up Florida this year as it coincided perfectly with her parents' (lucky you, just in time for the first ever introduction of new characters in the Dantelope's life - The Gila and MC Grand, or "Gila and Grand", for short) decision to check out Boca Raton while Santa's sleigh was killing bats and insomniac pigeons.
Everything was great. The packing, the getting ready, the getting in the car, the leaving for the airport, the arriving at the airport, the expertly executed You Stay Here With The Kids While I Go Park The Car maneuver, everything. Even checkpoint security went fine, although I do need to ask TSA Officer Bob to be a little gentler with his colon-massaging cattle prod next time.
No, the Dantelope Family had no troubles whatsoever getting to Florida. Instead, our troubles began shortly after we arrived.
To be sure, Ft. Lauderdale is an airport like most other airports. It's under construction, maintains a confusing array of twisty turn passages all alike, and supports the Nun Cart movement -- which for years has been allowing small "truck"-like vehicles to transport nuns to various gates while the driver screams out "beep beep beep". In Detroit, our guys actually have an electronic gizmo that makes the sound. Here in Ft. Lauderdale, apparently there's some sort of budget issue, and it's clear they need to train their folks in the art of beeping a little better.
Never mind the long wait at the luggage serpentine. Never mind the incredibly long wait at the Alamo Rental station. No, no. Let's go straight to the rental car selection process!
As a car guy, I can spot the best of the bunch very quickly -- even while I'm carrying 900 pounds of luggage. I quickly zero in on the white minivan. TSO poo-poos this one almost immediately because it has - gasp - Illinois plates on it while we are, in fact, in Florida, and lord knows what people will think of us if we don't don the appropriate vehicular identification. We move to another van and quickly realize it has bench seats in back (why would you want bench seats in a minivan? Is it to transport as many prisoners as possible? What? I give up. I have small children. Bench seats and small children go together like Dr. Phil and pedophiles.
After several more minivan switches, we end up back at my original choice because, despite its Illinois badging, it is the only minivan of the bunch with captain's seats.
Manly instincts: 1.
TSO fear of looking bad on the freeways of Florida: 0.
Next we had a most unfortunate incident in which my brain said "put it in park" and my hand said "put it in reverse". I won't go in to much detail, but suffice it to say the director yelled "Cut! That's a wrap! Print it!" and my stunt double gave me a very pissed off look. I don't mean to take his work away from him, but hey, I'm just gifted like that. Don't hate on natural talent.
Fast forward past the screaming kids, the kicking of the driver's seat, the Do I Need To Pull Over and Sell You to The Cuban Underground!??! and there we are at Cheeburger Cheeburger's for dinner with Gila and Grand...
Picture metal, outdoor furniture in a strip mall. Picture The Princess to my left, tipping her not-meant-to-be-tipped chocolate milk and dragging her elbow through her ketchup. Picture First Born laying on the ground to make letters with his crayons (and I do not mean drawing). Picture Gila leaving his cell phone at an Allstate office, and then 15 minutes later leaving his wallet on the ground. Picture my eyes rolling right out of my head.
First Born also took a classic spill. While he leaned forward on the front legs of his metal outdoor furniture chair, I saw the entire thing take place in slow motion. The legs slipped forward, the metal chair began its Death Spin over his head, coming down hard and smacking him upside his cranium while he lurched forward under the table and came face to face with the concrete floor. I knew it was bad when he didn't say anything for ten seconds. You know that slow, silent but deafening build up of sound a child packs up before exploding into a bloodcurdling scream of imminent death.
Yes, Florida. We're here for the rest of the week. You'll never be the same!
---- Dantelope @ Livin' La Vida Loca
P.S. Average age in Boca Raton so far appears to be 142. I'm not sure what they put in their water, but it has two clear effects: 1) you live forever, and 2) you honk your horn if a leaf crosses your path.
Everything was great. The packing, the getting ready, the getting in the car, the leaving for the airport, the arriving at the airport, the expertly executed You Stay Here With The Kids While I Go Park The Car maneuver, everything. Even checkpoint security went fine, although I do need to ask TSA Officer Bob to be a little gentler with his colon-massaging cattle prod next time.
No, the Dantelope Family had no troubles whatsoever getting to Florida. Instead, our troubles began shortly after we arrived.
To be sure, Ft. Lauderdale is an airport like most other airports. It's under construction, maintains a confusing array of twisty turn passages all alike, and supports the Nun Cart movement -- which for years has been allowing small "truck"-like vehicles to transport nuns to various gates while the driver screams out "beep beep beep". In Detroit, our guys actually have an electronic gizmo that makes the sound. Here in Ft. Lauderdale, apparently there's some sort of budget issue, and it's clear they need to train their folks in the art of beeping a little better.
Never mind the long wait at the luggage serpentine. Never mind the incredibly long wait at the Alamo Rental station. No, no. Let's go straight to the rental car selection process!
As a car guy, I can spot the best of the bunch very quickly -- even while I'm carrying 900 pounds of luggage. I quickly zero in on the white minivan. TSO poo-poos this one almost immediately because it has - gasp - Illinois plates on it while we are, in fact, in Florida, and lord knows what people will think of us if we don't don the appropriate vehicular identification. We move to another van and quickly realize it has bench seats in back (why would you want bench seats in a minivan? Is it to transport as many prisoners as possible? What? I give up. I have small children. Bench seats and small children go together like Dr. Phil and pedophiles.
After several more minivan switches, we end up back at my original choice because, despite its Illinois badging, it is the only minivan of the bunch with captain's seats.
Manly instincts: 1.
TSO fear of looking bad on the freeways of Florida: 0.
Next we had a most unfortunate incident in which my brain said "put it in park" and my hand said "put it in reverse". I won't go in to much detail, but suffice it to say the director yelled "Cut! That's a wrap! Print it!" and my stunt double gave me a very pissed off look. I don't mean to take his work away from him, but hey, I'm just gifted like that. Don't hate on natural talent.
Fast forward past the screaming kids, the kicking of the driver's seat, the Do I Need To Pull Over and Sell You to The Cuban Underground!??! and there we are at Cheeburger Cheeburger's for dinner with Gila and Grand...
Picture metal, outdoor furniture in a strip mall. Picture The Princess to my left, tipping her not-meant-to-be-tipped chocolate milk and dragging her elbow through her ketchup. Picture First Born laying on the ground to make letters with his crayons (and I do not mean drawing). Picture Gila leaving his cell phone at an Allstate office, and then 15 minutes later leaving his wallet on the ground. Picture my eyes rolling right out of my head.
First Born also took a classic spill. While he leaned forward on the front legs of his metal outdoor furniture chair, I saw the entire thing take place in slow motion. The legs slipped forward, the metal chair began its Death Spin over his head, coming down hard and smacking him upside his cranium while he lurched forward under the table and came face to face with the concrete floor. I knew it was bad when he didn't say anything for ten seconds. You know that slow, silent but deafening build up of sound a child packs up before exploding into a bloodcurdling scream of imminent death.
Yes, Florida. We're here for the rest of the week. You'll never be the same!
---- Dantelope @ Livin' La Vida Loca
P.S. Average age in Boca Raton so far appears to be 142. I'm not sure what they put in their water, but it has two clear effects: 1) you live forever, and 2) you honk your horn if a leaf crosses your path.
Labels: family, florida, vacation
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Pin Head's Packaging from Hell
I am not one who likes to admit failure. Sure, there have been times in my life where things haven't gone the way I planned... like the time I was captured behind enemy lines in Plano, TX and threatened with exposure to pickup truck exhaust unless I told them the secret recipe for ice... but I mean few things have really challenged my outlook on life.
And then I met that most impenetrable of packaging, the dreaded Sealed Plastic with Toy Enclosed (SPiTE, if you will).
You see, such packaging is designed with only one purpose. Destroy mankind. I'm fairly certain that, left alone, this type of packaging would send out a beacon for its own kind and unite an army of plastic ogres so tough that no material known to man could defeat it. It's like the orcs in Lord of the Rings, only instead of them being killed by my wicked sword, my blade is broken into millions of little shards and the orcs laugh and laugh and laugh and then they lash out and kill me in one sweet stroke of antagonistic loathing.
I've tried everything -- scissors, knives (Exacto and the other kind), daggers, knives, guns (rifles and small arms), mortars, tanks, and even a dirty bomb I landed my hands on during a nice stroll through the neighborhood park (who left this here?!?!?!). Nothing works.
Even if I were capable of defeating SPiTE's brutal exterior, inside lurks its evil minions, The Gray Twisty Ties of Death. These thin bastions of the Dark Lord slice and dice fingers and hands like Richard Simmons with a salad shooter. Proof positive that Satan is rising from the depths of Hell and gearing up for all out war.
I long for The Simpler Life. Where toys came in simple packaging you simply ripped up and threw in the garbage. Where the toys themselves were the dangerous items, painted with lead and containing small plutonium cores that cause odd growths on your undercarriage. Where getting hurt while opening up your present was not a humiliating act that destroys you mentally and physically.
Sigh.
--- Dantelope @ ouch-ouch-OUCH!
