The Twisted Rantings of the Dantelope

My son, First Born, is already lost to the Webkinz Devil. For those of you that don't know, Webkinz are malicious devices of Satan produced by Ganz. You buy them in "specially damned stores" around the country. The come in hundreds of different styles big and small. Once you've acquired one of the demonic furballs, you use a special code attached to them to sign into a virtual world online. Think Second Life for kids.

You can build rooms in a house complete with furnishings, wallpaper, flooring, electronics, and so on. Notice the very modern pirate theme my son has chosen. Yeah. I don't know whether to be glad or terrified. You can buy food and even gems. The animal plays with your psyche by losing one or more of three indicators - Happiness, Health, or Hunger. Like any parent, your child will freak out when any of these indicators falls below 100 and race to satisfy its every whim. The online world is free for the first year, and then you must re-mortgage your real house to avoid losing your virtual accumulations. Failure to resubscribe results in a visit from two rather large and burly Men In Black whose blank facial expression and selection of torture device leave me to wonder if Ganz is not only in bed with Satan himself but also the subject of a complete mind-meld by alien lifeforms.

We bought a Lil'kinz cocker spaniel for First Born, which he promptly named an inspiring "Puppy". Within days, Puppy had us doing its evil bidding. It also had a profound effect on my son's maturity level, dropping it from 5 1/2 years old to 1 in a matter of minutes. For example, when he finally made enough money to buy a backyard, he neglected to read the instructions and dumped it the first place he could -- a place he did not want it to be. When he discovered that, once placed, land cannot be moved, he had a tantrum-induced, nuclear meltdown. I don't mean that figuratively, either. Ever see Heroes? Yeah... it was like that. Luckily I possess healing powers like Claire and was able to rescue the rest of my family before the house was vaporized.

When First Born went to bed last night, I signed on to his account to confront the Webkinz on their own turf. Big mistake. Now my soul is owned by Ganz, and a little cocker spaniel named Puppy has taken over my brain. I spent almost an hour building up his wealth, filling his fridge with yummy snacks, and ensuring that Puppy's three meters were at 100%.

At night, I hear the raspy panting of the Devil's dog. It says... PWNED!

--- Dantelope @ pwned-by-a-puppy

Webkinz. Evil, evil Webkinz. I know you're looking at me at night. Undressing me with your animal stare. Licking your lips. Wondering... just wondering... how I might taste chewed up and spit back out onto a nice bed of lettuce. Waiting, waiting for your ideal moment to pounce. I'm on to you.

Saturday night. A feel-good moment. At a mall. Unusual for a man, I know, but nonetheless. With my wife. Feeling good. Oh look, a Hallmark! Thinking of Firstborn. What's this? A Webkinz? How nice! How fetching! And only $7? Here, my good man, keep the change.

Sunday. Another feel-good moment. At home, this time. With Firstborn. I have a surprise for you. You do? I do. What is it? Tada! Oh YEAH! A Webkinz! He knows. He's heard from his friends. Names it Puppy. How original. Upstairs before I know what hit me.

Logging in. Typing the secret code. Being drawn in. Look at all the fun things! The games! The clothes! The food! The employment office! It's a lesson. No, it's many lessons. It'll be good for him.

Feeling strange. Sunday night. Someone's watching me, but who? Looking around. Can't shake it. It's everywhere. What's this Webkinz doing here? Thought I left it upstairs. Hmmm. Put it back upstairs. Sleep not so well.

Monday morning. Firstborn playing with Webkinz before school. Woke up early, unusual. Very excited. Perhaps too excited. Absorbed. Almost late for school. Just one more arcade game with Puppy, Dad?

Eating breakfast downstairs. Firstborn at school. Feeling strange again. Look around but see noone. Except. Puppy. Downstairs again. Staring at me. Something dripping from his mouth. Red substance. What is that? Touch it. Smell it. Is this blood? Oh. My. GOD!!!!! RUN!!!!!!!!

--- Dantelope @ nobody-can-hear-you-scream-in-Webkinz

Labels: firstborn, webkinz

A friend of mine recently theorized to me that entertainment as an industry was a giant scheme by The Man to keep the Little People from thinking about religion.

With that, I present... Proof That There (is / is not) a God:

• No God: 24 and Heros on at the same time.
  
• God: ReplayTV, TiVo

• No God: American Idol
• God: American Idol

• God: Prison Break, 24, Heros, and American Idol all new seasons
• No God: 4 hours of my life I'll never get back, every single #&($*#@_$ week

---- Dantelope @ Aaaarrrgggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

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:

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
  

Princess Diva's bladder vs. Daddy. Winner: bladder. While the Gila fished the Atlantic Ocean with First Born off a pier, I tried some cuddly bonding with my daughter. Everything was great until she jumped off to chase a pelican.

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

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.

Labels: family, florida, vacation

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!

Labels: humor, life

I admit to being somewhat of a telvision-aholic. Blame ReplayTV or TiVO or whatever PVR technology you choose. I find my fanny in the leather dimples of our couch more often than I can believe.

In my previous post, I lamented about the fall of heroes. Here, I want to talk about the rise of hereos. But... I mean the show Heroes, which has gotten my attention and kept it since the pilot. For those that aren't familiar, think X-Men but where the affected mutants don't quite understand their own talents and everyone seems to have a predestined purpose.

Now let me start by saying that I love this show. And let me continue by saying I hate this show. The concept is fantastic and the actors are superbly chosen. Each character is being fully developed (well, everyone except the bad guys) and I am captiviated like a small child in a candy store.

Unfortunately, there are some serious flaws to this show. Specifically:

• Adherence to destiny bothers the hell out of me.
  
• Everyone in the damn show seems to have a power.
  
• Mohinder's character is a waste and lately he seems to have the bulk of the focus.

The destiny thing gets old fast. When you know what happens in the end, what's the point of watching? Luckily, the writers seem to have realized this and are starting to put some twists in -- like showing us that someone dies but then .. oh, just kidding, not really. Nice.

Why does everyone have to have a power? With everyone involved in the show suddenly displaying some mutant ability, it's starting to feel like normal people are the minority. And it defeats the shock of the abilities of others. Kind of like when XMen III came out and all it seemed to be was a massive coming together of every power the writers could think of. Boooooring.

And what is with Mohinder? He has no power (or does he?) and he's useless to the plot and he's an idiot to boot. I'm sick to death of him. Did the producers need to capture the Indian TV market or something? Blah. Please. Kill him off and do it soon.

If I were on the show, my power would be that I can make people laugh so hard they pee in their pants. And then I steal their wallets. Also, I would naturally hunt and decimate the mime population. But that would be obvious...

Dantelope @ im-stuck-in-the-matrix-come-save-me

Labels: heroes, tv