Thursday, October 31, 2013

Top 5 1970s Wuss Rock Songs

I haven't done a Top 5 or Top 10 list in a while, but now I think it's about time to do so. I am a fan of music. I can find the good in almost all types of music: from disco to heavy metal; from new age to country; and from rap to grunge, I can find songs that really resonate with me.

Lately, for some reason, I have been hungering for the manliest of manly musical styles, 1970s' Wuss Rock. If you aren't familiar with 70s' Wuss Rock, it was a movement within pop music back in the 70s in which dudes wrote the sappiest guitar ballads they could think of, usually about lost love, a missing pet, or a rainbow or sunset they saw on the way home. If you can imagine a musical genre that contained negative testosterone levels, that would be 70s' Wuss Rock. But, some of the songs are so catchy that they have the ability to dig deep into your cerebral cortex and make a permanent home in your mind's jukebox. At least, that's what happens to me.

So, I have chosen the most addictive songs from the Wuss Rock genre, and have loaded up the links for you to listen to. Maybe you don't agree that these are the Top 5 Wuss Rock songs...Maybe you have others that I missed...Maybe you want to load up all of these songs and set them on fire...I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter. Let me know what you think. Here they are, the Top 5 1970s Wuss Rock songs, in no particular order:



Wednesday, October 30, 2013

The Scourge of Q-Tips

Drugs are bad. You shouldn't do drugs. But there are a lot of other things, legal things, that are also bad for you. And, just because those things are legal doesn't mean they don't have the ability to take over your life and drive you to do things you know you shouldn't do.

Take Q-Tips, for example. Q-Tips are perfectly legal. Any red-blooded American, Mexican, Canadian, and even most French people can go into any corner store and buy as many Q-Tips as they want. I could send my 3-year-old, the Boy, into my local WalMart, and he could buy up as many Q-Tips as he could wrap his grubby little arms around, provided he remembered to bring his wallet with him. And, provided somebody helped him count out his money - he's not real good with numbers yet. But that's beside the point. The point is that it's perfectly legal to own and use Q-Tips.

Let's face it, though. There's only one reason any sane person would use Q-Tips, and that's the one thing that you're not supposed to use them for: cleaning out your ears. On the box it says you can use Q-Tips for such mundane things as applying ointments and creams, cleaning off your computer keyboard, and any household cleaning. With that last one they show a picture of a grimy bathtub. Who is going to use a Q-Tip to scrub a bathtub?!?! Nobody, that's who.

Ever notice how the Q-Tips box is the exact same color as the blue meth in Breaking Bad? Coincidence? I think not...
So, it is a proven fact that the only reason anyone ever uses Q-Tips is to clean out their ears. Personally, I am totally addicted to it. I love to clean out my ears! It feels so good to get in there and scratch my itchy ear canals in an unlawful manner with my beloved Q-Tips. It kind of makes me feel like a rebel, too. Just like James Dean. Oh yeah, I'm bad news. You don't wanna mess with me when I'm on Q-Tips!

Every once in a while I try to quit. It can be rough, though. I usually can only go a few days before the itch in my ears gets so bad, and I can't resist the temptation. If only somebody in the house would use all of our Q-Tips to clean the bathroom, so there wouldn't be any for my ears. But then the Boy would just go back to WalMart to get some more...seems like I'm stuck in an endless cycle of Q-Tips...

Saturday, October 19, 2013

The Trickle-Down Theory of Parenting

A few months ago I wrote a post on facebook about a silly theory I came up with called the "Trickle-Down Theory of Parenting." Back in the 1980s, then-President Ronald Reagan championed his "Trickle-Down Theory of Economics", in which tax breaks for the rich would mean that they (the rich), would spend more money since there wasn't as much tax, thus improving the economy as a whole, and the money in the vibrant economy would eventually trickle down to the poorer people of society. Or something like that. That's the best I can make of the Wikipedia entry on the subject.

My Trickle-Down Theory of Parenting had nothing to do with economics (thankfully!!!). Instead, my theory was that we (the Wife and I) were going to put every ounce of our parenting skills into raising the best first child we could (in our case, that first child is the Girl), and then she, in turn, would teach her younger siblings the ways of the world while her mom and I sit back and relax until the time we retire. Sure, this theory was just another way for me to be silly (mostly), since I didn't actually think that we could ignore our younger children and let their older sister raise them by herself, no matter how enticing that idea may have been.

Now, it turns out that my theory may not have been as far-fetched as we originally thought. The Girl is now 4-and-a-half, her brother, the Boy, is a little over 3, and her sister, the Baby, is 18 months. As I look back on things, the Girl didn't do a very good job of teaching the Boy anything, other than how to steal other kids' toys and how to throw a really good tantrum when things don't go his way. She seems to have taught the Baby those things, too, but the Baby seems to have learned some good things, as well.

Just the other day, the Baby watched her older siblings use the potty, and she demanded to get up on the potty, too, even though we haven't begun to start to try to potty train her. She sat there for several minutes without actually going potty, but that's beside the point. She only could have learned about it by having this know-how "trickle down" from her older siblings.
This is the third time I have used this photo on my blog. I have a really cute photo of the Baby sitting on the potty, but I want her to not hate me when she's a teenager, so I decided not to use it.
The Baby got her first toothbrush yesterday, and in her first brushing session last night, she brushed and brushed and brushed, and then "spit" into the sink, just like the Girl does. (I put "spit" in quotation marks because she had actually swallowed all the toothpaste, so nothing came out when she spat.) We haven't tried to teach her anything about spitting, or brushing, so it's obvious those skills must have "trickled down" to her.

Maybe this crazy theory of mine isn't so crazy after all...I think I will go with a "hands-off" approach with the Baby from now on, and see what else gets trickled down to her. She's already been the most difficult baby in the History of Mankind up until now. It's not like she could get any worse. Could she?

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Dogs Are the Worst!

Everyone has left me. I am all alone in the world. Life is sad...OK, just until Sunday. But, even in just a few short days I have the innate ability to get lonely and depressed when my wife and kids go on a trip without me. I went to a seminar last night after work, and when I got home I fully expected that our two annoying and yippy dogs would greet me and love me and keep me company, but instead they saw that I was the only one coming home, and they left me and went to wait at the door for someone better to arrive. I think they would have been happier to see a burglar walk in. Dogs are the worst! The above drawing is of my view from my sad and lonely chair. Maybe they'll come hang out with me when they run out of food and water. If they're lucky maybe I'll decide to fill their bowls.....

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Mirror, Mirror...

I have developed a love/hate relationship with mirrors lately. Well, not just mirrors. Light bulbs too. Mirrors and light bulbs. Yup, they are the worst. Except for some of them, which aren't too bad. I suppose I should probably explain myself, huh?

Let's take a look at a couple of cases in point, shall we? At my house, which I share with my beautiful wife, three adorable-yet-exasperating children, two annoying dogs, and a seemingly endless plethora of mice, I almost always use the small, leaning-towards-miniscule, master bathroom which adjoins our bedroom. It is tucked away in the bowels of our house, so the kids, dogs, and mice hardly ever come in and bother me there. I consider it a small, crazy-free utopia within the confines of our own insane asylum. I do all of the usual bathroom business in this utopia, you know, like going to the potty, showering, and hiding from the craziness for hours on end. I also shave and trim my beard in this bathroom, two jobs that require me to look in the mirror in order to accomplish them. I can look in that mirror, in that fairly well-lit little bathroom, for hours on end, staring at my facial hair, and only count about 6 or 8 white whiskers in my beard. Now that's a mirror I like!

Another mirror that I am forced to look in quite a bit is the one in the bathroom at work. I don't know if it's the mirror, or the fact that there is only one small light bulb in the entire room, or what, but I don't like that mirror one bit. All I can see, when I can muster up the courage to look in it, is a sea of salt and pepper whiskers from one jowl to the other. It's like half of my facial hair is still sexy and black, and the other half is as white as white can be. There must be a billion of the stupid little albino buggers in there. What is it about that mirror or that light bulb that makes them show up so much? I don't get it. All that I know for sure is that I hate that mirror with a passion. And that light bulb. They are the worst.
This is essentially what I see when I look in the mirror at work. Despite the fact that it makes me hungry for delicious chicken, I don't like it.