Holidays tend to bring out the emotional side of people. I’m no different in that regard. But on an average day, I’m a little more ‘sensitive’ than your average dude, I drift into a mushy ball of tears around Christmas. I think a lot about the years that have past and the years that are ahead of me. The past is littered with the successes and failures of my choices. It’s also marked with the additions and losses in the family.


It’s funny how the additions and subtractions of the past create a new path for the future. The more you think about what the future holds, you begin to realize what will be missing as you move forward. That begins to pain you to the core. Because all you are is where you’ve been, you can’t help but get caught in a cycle of feeling disappointment in the results. Then, you step back, gain composure, and realize that the additions are intricately intertwined to the losses. It’s a universal balance, with subtraction comes addition. And with pain and disappointment comes peace and elation.


If it’s one thing I’ve learned in my limited years on this planet, it’s to innocently accept the fortune and the fate you are dealt. You are never given any more than you should have and you will have no more pain than you can deal with.

How do I segway into the final chapter of this trilogy? Well, it’s about thankfulness and it’s about ears and it’s about my boys. Being able to hear their laughter, complaints, and fighting are just one of the beauties that were born from disappointment and loss only a few years earlier. This final chapter is about being thankful for being able to hear the universe remind me about the balance. That reminder is in the simple form of what emotions ‘sound’ like. Music.


I think about my successes and none are larger than my two boys. And while struggling with the loss of my little brother and listening to one of our favorite groups, a kismet moment occurred. A song. W music, its enjoyment, and interpretation are unique to each listener, the song is a simple message from a parent to a child about moments in time. We take those moments for granted too often. Then they’re gone.

Harlow’s Song:
When you close your eyes and go to sleep tonight, I'll be right outside your door
Dreams will come and they'll take you away, let them bring you back to me

And tomorrow when you wake I'll be next to you, the protection from the day
When the tears fall down your face like morning dew, I'll be there to put a smile on your face

and I'll say;

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you. I can't dream without you.

Let your fire burn bright for the world to see, you are the better part of me
When you hold my hand I swear that I believe, I'm living in my wildest dreams

and I see,

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you.

Flowers for your hair
Rainbows for your eyes to see
Your dreams are everywhere
To carry you away from me
Away from me someday
Away from me someday

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you.

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you.

The song isn’t unique in its context or its message. Parent loves child, parent misses child when grown up. The uniqueness of the music is the moment when it hits you and you actually ‘hear’ it. That’s what happened to me. I was sitting there thinking about my next entry and thinking about the kids. I was down right emotional about the holidays coming up and doing as much as I could for them while still retaining any disciplinarian strength I had left.

Good Charlotte, while being pop-punk, is one of my guilty pleasures when it comes to music. The latest record, “Cardiology,” would’ve been my review for New Music Monday, but I opted to span a trilogy of thankfulness instead. “Cardiology” is the most mature album from Good Charlotte to date. Both in musical experimentation and lyrical content. The lead singer, Joel Madden, is now a married father and the music reflects the growth into adulthood.

“Harlow’s Song” was written about his baby girl. I think all parents can relate to the message at any time in their parenthood. But I think younger parents have a harder time grasping what the future will hold for them as parents of adult children following their dreams. For me, I find a lot of frustration in listening to my children scream and run like headless chickens throughout my house. At times, I can’t wait to put them to bed and having some quiet. As younger parent, you forget that these nights are finite and all too soon they’ll be a fading memory of noise in a quiet house when your two sons are married and out in the world with out you as their security blanket.



So I’m not only thankful for the nights when my children eat their dinner effortlessly, but I’m thankful for the nights when I could rip their arms off and beat them senseless until they submit to my pleas of silence or at least dull the roar. I’m equally thankful for my ears which allow me to hear the entire sound spectrum of them. And then, I’m thankful for what emotions sound like. That is music and being able to hear it at the precise moment in time. The timeline of life is less about the hours and days as they pass through our hands and more about the little moments that span from beginning to end during our existence.

Moving on now to the second part of the thankfulness installment. If you recall from the first entry, I’m thankful for ears. And it’s not that I have model-quality ears or elephant ears for that matter. I’m thankful for the functionality of ears; hearing. Keep in mind that hearing doesn’t equate to listening. My wife will tell you that I hear things fine, but my listening skills may be less than stellar or desirable by her judgment.

Son #2 is an odd duck. Now just cresting two years old, a majority of the spoken words that emanate from his mouth are incomprehensible. It’s amusing to watch people try and talk to him in public and he will spew forth a set of nondescript words that confuse even the most fluent of English speaking folks.


PART II
Son #2, while know significantly fewer words and lacking in the enunciation of spoken word, tends to jaw with his equally unique stories as well. Instead of gracing you the reader with any one of his intelligible diatribes, I thought it would be more useful to provide a translation document for your decrypting needs when communicating with Son #2. Think of this following list as the toddler version of Rosetta Stone for missing consonant sounds and incorrectly emphasized syllables.


Courtesy of yourdictionary.com and my general knowledge of his vocabulary:

mors (more) n. 1. a greater amount or quantity; generally used with candy or fish crackers.

ight (light) n. 1. a source, such as fire, that admits illumination.

moon (moon) n. 1. the celestial body that revolves around the earth in 27 days with reference to the stars and once in 29 days with reference to the sun, and that accompanies the earth in its yearly revolution about the sun OR anything bright in the sky.

fiss (fish) n. 1. the baked cracker goodness from Pepperidge Farms and only satisfactory item for all meals.

huggies (hug) n. 1. the act of embracing a friend or loved one when there is a need to coerce that loved one into giving you what you want.

gall gone (all gone) n. 1. the absence of a wanted object; nothing remaining.

gan gad (grandad) n. 1. the father of one’s father or mother who condones running and shrieking indoors.

ido (I do) n. 1. affirmative answer to all non-go-to-bed related questions.

gammy (grammy) n. 1. the mother of one's father or mother typically trafficking significant amounts of objects of play.

out (out) adv. 1. away from, forth from, or removed from a place, position, or situation.

bruz (brother) n. 1. a boy related to one by having a parent in common and one’s sworn adversary.

mom-mee (mommy) n. 1. the female parent of a plant or animal and source of comfort and punishment.

dad-dee (daddy) n. 1. a person regarded as a male parent seen as a punisher though possessing no real power.

cars (cars) n. 1. any vehicle on wheels

fuck (truck) n. 1. an automotive vehicle for hauling loads along highways, streets, etc.

ining (lightning) n. 1. a flash of light in the sky caused by the discharge of atmospheric electricity from one cloud to another or between a cloud and the earth OR the Disney automotive character one wants from one’s brother.

wardz (water) n. 1. the colorless, transparent liquid occurring on earth as rivers, lakes, oceans, etc., falling from the clouds as rain, and emitted through one’s refrigerator dispenser.

milk (milk) n. 1. a white emulsion secreted by the mammary glands of female mammals for suckling their young.

peetz (pizza) n. 1. a baked pie of Italian origin consisting of a shallow breadlike crust covered with toppings such as seasoned tomato sauce, cheese, or pepperoni.

buss (bus) n. 1. a large, long motor vehicle designed to carry many kids, usually along a regular route.

guy (guy) n. 1. a man or boy; plush stuffed monkey for comfort.

nannas (bananas) n. 1. the long, curved fruit of these plants which usually has a soft, sweet, whitish pulp and a thick, usually yellowish skin.

powerz (powder) n. 1. a dry substance in the form of very fine, dustlike particles, for sprinkling in a diaper.

blow cannles (blow out candles) v. 1. to extinguish any cylindrical mass of wax with a wick through its center by puffing small amounts of air through a thinly opened lips.

peez (please) n. 1. used in polite requests

gen (again) adv. 1. once more

tanks (thanks) n. 1. an expression of gratitude; grateful acknowledgment of something received by or done for one

eat (eat) v. 1. to put (food) in the mouth, chew if necessary, and swallow.

This is only an abbreviated list of the words and phrases that Son #2 tends to mutter. Now armed with these words, you the reader can successfully communicate with Son #2. Granted, your topics will be limited to asking for Pepperidge Farms fish crackers, ordering a mil, and negotiating die cast metal cars away from their oppression.


The great part is hearing him try to work his mumbling and sometimes incomprehensible words into phrases and stories so he can get what he wants. Son #1 and #2 aren’t all that different in that regard. Both want things and both use incredibly long drawn out stories ordering words in odd forms to attempt to get their points across. The difference, Son #1 paints a long drawn out picture with out using punctuation. This ultimately confuses the listener and out of listener fatigue, you submit to his needs. Son #2, with significantly less words but significantly more phonetic complicating sounds, uses burst of phrases emphatically delivered with varying intonation and volume. Again, it wears the listener down to the point of submission and/or insanity.


They must be related based on the above communicative efficiencies. Despite my near unending listener fatigue, I’m very thankful that I can hear Son #2 ramble his nondescript words in his own attempt to deliver value to a conversation.

I typically get caught up in many of the same topics while writing. Maybe it’s because my life is somewhat one dimensional and I can only write about beer, kids, music and skateboards. I don’t profess to be an expert on anything other than applying obnoxious and irreverent updates to my Facebook status. Here today, I’m going to begin a three part stretch in things I’m thankful for. Yes, last month was November, and as most people do and practice, they conjure up some lengthy list of things they are so thankful for and can’t live without. Not me. I’m thankful for one thing only and it’s the topic of my trilogy. Without further adieu; Ears.

So now that there’s a collective let down with all of my readers, hear me out on this one (no pun intended).

And it’s nothing to do with the fact that ears hold up my hat and sunglasses, or that they give my earrings a place to ride when I’m out. It’s about their functional purpose for being; and that’s hearing. Some things I have no choice in hearing. Like when my wife is nagging me about painting a room or remodeling a wing of the house before a Hallmark holiday. But some things I do have a choice in hearing. It’s those things that I don’t want to hear when they first sound. But in retrospect, I can’t imagine not hearing them. That’s why I’m thankful.

PART I
Son #1 has a penchant for dropping incredibly irreverent yet totally appropriate details of an event at the most uninteresting and/or annoying times. The recent winter snow storm brought out not only cold weather and snow flakes but Son #1’s innate ability to verbalize some of the most unique snapshots of his view on life and the world around him.


I was trapped at home due to the nature of the weather-disturbed roadways and the inability of local NW drivers to successfully negotiate the challenging conditions. I opted to stay home in the internal chaos. During my home office ‘break’ time, we opted to gear up and play in the snow covered back yard. Outside, Son #1, using his cunning expert tracking skills, made the obvious observation of the animal tracks left in the virgin snow-covered yard. The tracks vaguely resembled some sort of small mammal such as a raccoon, cat, or other form of varmint puntang.

However, leave it to Son #1 to earnestly describe in colorful accuracy the source of the footprints.

Son #1 had discovered these footprints the day before so he had ample time to formulate his hypothesis on how they originated. Stretched from the front gate to the back corner of the yard, he analyzed the size and shape of the footprints. But it would take two inspections to truly uncover the nature of Son #1’s conclusion on his findings.


First, he discussed his National Geographic findings with his younger brother in an effort for possible conference. “Because the foot prints are small and round, it could not have been a lion or tiger.” Of course, it couldn’t have been a lion or a tiger due to the footprint size. It has nothing to do with the climate why it couldn’t have been a ferocious cat. His logic, I suppose isn’t all that flawed.

In science, to prove your hypothesis you must unsuccessfully attempt to disprove the theory by some sort of substantiation method. Next, we were out in the front of the house shoveling snow out of the driveway for my sensationalist roommates. Wandering through the arctic tundra of the front yard, Son #1 found the entry point where the varmint entered our back yard.


Son #1 correctly ascertained that it scurried below the gate. Once again he reminded me of the size and shape and how it couldn’t have been a predatorial wild cat. I agreed. It’s easier than trying to explain that large cats are not indigenous to Washington and are not fond of sub-freezing temps. Apparently, he has some sort of wildlife tracker in his blood and now he’s convinced that no four legged animal on Earth could’ve made these tracks.

According to Jack Hannah, err..my son, they’re too far apart to be a raccoon or a cat. Therefore, it must’ve been something with “two legs.” Something like a kangaroo he concludes. Yes. Something like a kangaroo. The mysterious, yet elusive, Northwestern gray wallaby of Washington. Who would have known.


The thing is, he always has some sort of interesting anecdotal comment or story for everything. Like hugging his mom while she is wearing a fluffy bath robe, “I fee like I just at blueberries.” But I am truly thankful that I have ears to hear the strangely creative commentary. Next…Part II.

For this "New Music Monday," let's talk about consistency. In a world where there’s constant motion and nothing is ever the same, it’s nice to have an old predictable standby now and then. The group Bad Religion, despite having a fluid lineup over the years, has been the model of consistency musically for the last 30 years. Formed in 1979, the group has done things their own way and on their own terms.


An independently ran band on a self started label both which have grown in the face of constant worldly change. 15 studio albums and a handful of live records later, the recipe remains the same. Sophisticated, socially responsible lyrics with soaring three part harmonies (oohs and ahhs). While musical ‘staticism’ is dangerous for most acts, Bad Religion has hung its collective hat on a way of writing and playing their music. And it works.

30 years is a long time to do the same thing and not get tired. “The Dissent of Man” is the fifteenth studio album from Bad Religion and coincidentally aligns with their 30th anniversary. And while it isn’t all that much different from stuff produced a decade or two ago, it’s kind of comforting to have a reassurance in something you have always known. Is it their best? I don’t think so but it is a solid addition to any Bad Religion fan’s library.

I’d estimate overall that “The Dissent of Man” has clear evidence of the Bad Religion sound, driving guitars, and pissed off lyrics. But I would say that there are tunes on this record that are clearly filler. Most of the songs are slower than the typical ripping anthems created in the past. That’s not bad or good. Just a little different. I wouldn’t say that there are definitive songs off this album. It’s one of those punk records you just let play because of a mix of standouts and filler. Bad Religion has always addressed the important stuff in their songs, social consciousness, political thoughtfulness, and existence. Greg Gaffin has that distinct voice of punk and has led hi band through the years of change and maturity while maintaining a truthfulness to his objective

Only Rain – Prototypical BR. A ripping beat, ultra fast guitar riff, oohs and ahhs, and metaphoric lyrics about judgment and the end of the world. Listen to this song if you have never heard BR.

Someone to Believe – BR has always run contrary to the grain and questioned beliefs of the masses and the need for people to follow a flock. Musically, it’s a punch in the stomach while the lyrics are about self awareness and confidence found in oneself rather than a pulpit.

Cyanide – Ah the analogy of lost love is like kissing cyanide. We all know the feeling. This is a little folksier, bluesy, BR. The melodic hardcore roots are there but its tempo is slower for the average listener

Bad Religion is one of the all-time great punk bands. They’re one of the premiere melodic hardcore bands, blending hooks and smooth vocals with hardcore music. After 30 years, the band is still touring and releasing new albums. As a matter of fact, Bad Religion appeared at the Showbox in Seattle several nights ago. They’ve always been a politically charged band behind the “oohs and ahhs”, and their new album is no different. If you are a fan of genre defining acts, Bad Religion is just that.

After three decades, the band can still hash out new material. "The Dissent of Man" is not a masterpiece by punk or music standards. However, the handful of distinct Bad Religion-true songs on the record make this album a worthy add to you collection. Furthermore, this is an album that will definitely satisfy BR fans and punk fans alike. To continue forging forward through the winds of change and the fickleness of the music industry is a major accomplishment. Can you do the same thing and remain relevant for 30 years? Not many of us can without reinventing ourselves. The element of punk consistency does not disappoint in "The Dissent of Man."

Moving has its perks and has its drawbacks. One of the perks is having a fresh start and forming new memories. One of the drawbacks is moving to a place which was a foreclosure and inheriting the skeletons in the closet from the previously booted owner. The great thing about foreclosures is that you can literally steal a deal from the asset manager from the bank trying to unload the property. But like I said above, there’s the unknown of what you might find in the closet. A new discovery has prompted today’s entry.

Our new home has been a great change of pace. While it was built in 2004 like our last home in Renton, we aren’t the first to live here. From what I can gather on the overall knowledge of the sale/purchase of this house, it has only been owned by one other family. And, it looks as if the home was purchased on the upswing of the market a few years back. I can only estimate that the value of the home at that time sky rocketed upward. Purchased on the way up, there was no where left to go but down in during the recession.

We experienced this with our previous home. But the difference there was that our home was reasonable in price, and while its value took off only to drop like a set of concrete shoes, we never lost enough value to negate our investment. We were always on the positive side of equity. I can only estimate that the case was the opposite for the last owner here. The value dropped, placing the previous homeowner in jeopardy with negative equity and also not being able to make their mortgage payment.

Research revealed that the previous owner was in the financial services industry as a consultant. I don’t know about you but I doubt I’d take any financial advice from a financial consultant who has lost their home to a foreclosure.

Their loss is our gain. But what we learned through the purchase of this house has been very valuable and not without a set of surprises. When we walked through the house, we really liked the layout. It was similar to what we had in Renton, just a lot bigger and in a better school district. Because the previous homeowner lost the house, it was obvious that they had let maintenance and care for it go. The home needed some serious TLC. However, it had huge upside.

But for all of that good stuff, there was some bad stuff.



The carpet was worn and dirty; walls were painted hideous colors from dissimilar palettes; window treatments were missing, the air conditioning unit was hacked out; the water heater had a blown thermal expansion valve; the furnace had not been serviced since it was installed; the central vacuum system was gone; there were large gaping holes in the drywall; the toilets were filthy and barely attached to the floor; there were bird nests in the external ducts; there was a dead rat in the crawl space vent; the house needed pressure washing; the gutters had small trees growing out of them; mice droppings under the carpet; vehicle tracks in the back yard; and water significant damage to the hardwoods because of a leaking water supply valve for the refrigerator.

We marched through this semi-complete list of shit above to get the house to our requirements for livability.

We are now reaching a plateau of activity with the final few things like window treatments. This week, we’ve been selecting and purchasing the window treatments we want for selected rooms in the house. Coincidently, we received a piece of mail with no return address. My wife and I opened it to find a small note hand written on yellow ruled paper addressed to us as ‘Homeowner.’


As I’m sure you’ve guessed, it was the previous homeowner sending us the note. It goes on to explain that they conveniently ‘took’ the custom window treatments and blinds from the house with the intent on using them again. ‘Custom’ and ‘using them again’ are mutually exclusive in this instance. The previous owner goes on saying that the window treatments are Hunter Douglas and were purchased at Costco for $4,800. Our previous home was brand new when we bought it and required window treatments. My receipts indicate that we spent approximately $1,700 then. Nothing close to the figure listed above. They then go on to say that they were going to sell them on Craigslist. But out of courtesy, they thought they would offer them to us for $1,500. What the hell?

You don’t pay your mortgage, you lose the house, you steal the blinds, vacuum system, and air conditioning, and then you try to sell the blinds back to me? Moreover, the note has no name, no return address, just a seven-digit phone number with no area code. Call us if you want the blinds. Bull shit. I’ll make you a deal, bring back what you legally lost due to your inability to plan and act responsibly and I won’t beat you senseless.

In any event, the previous owner won’t be getting my hard-earned duckets. I’m a firm believer in people get what they deserve. One more skeleton in the closet; the previous owner’s liberation of the window treatments. We don’t care; we’re doing our own thing anyway. Based on the interior color choices from this previous owner, I can only surmise that the window treatments might be pretty-princess-pink and/or blind-butthead-brown.

Don’t you hate when you get volunteered for something? It usually happens when you don’t even have a clue it’s occurring. For example, not showing up to a work meeting typically gets you nominated for some inexplicable and unrewarding office activity like empty-bottled-water focal. Suck.

Somehow, I was thrust into head coaching my son’s soccer team. Also, I really didn’t think Son #1 was going to play this season. But my wife brainwashed the both of us into the sport again. Last soccer season, I was an assistant coach on his team. It was just the right amount of commitment with not too much responsibility. What parent would want me to be their kid’s coach considering my potty mouth and poor attitude?

So I thought I’d volunteer again this season as an assistant. That didn’t last long as Kent Parks called and inquired whether I’d be the head coach for Son #1’s team. That sounds like a lot of responsibility. My wife felt my impacted schedule could handle one more commitment and spread the word about me coaching. Coerced into it, I called Kent and committed. Looking back, those were a great eight weeks of obligation I never thought I wanted to commit to.

In August, I picked up the coaches packet which had the roster, schedule, rules, head trauma forms, and every other legal and/or informative memo imaginable. This is Kindergarten-1st Grade soccer, right? What’s with all the propaganda? We had a team of 12 kids; 10 boys and two girls. The Angels; it didn’t sound like an entirely threatening name when compared to the Meteors or Mustangs. But no one laughed after we throttled other teams.


When the season started, we had a variety of skills, experience, and interest in the game. Focus at the first two practices was scattered for both the players and me. Numerous searches on the Google for drills for 5 year olds left me with not much. Wouldn’t have mattered, the kids just wanted to play. So I was reserved to doing a few kicking and dribbling drills and then on to scrimmaging to introduce fundamentals in a game scenario. That seemed to work the best.

This league played on a much bigger field than last season. It was eight versus eight players WITH goalies. The great thing was that we never had a shortage of kids wanting to play goalie. Because it was a novelty, every kid jumped at the chance to play in the net. And after the first game of the season, we never gave up more than one goal per game. Stonewallin’ suckas.

Kent likes to promote good sportsmanship religiously. Emails, letters, and other reminders were sent to us coaches to keep our players’ parents off of the refs and to not laugh at kids when they get shelled in the head. Additionally, we weren’t supposed to keep score during the games or our overall record. We’d be idiots to think our kids can’t count and aren’t conscious of how they are playing. During games after we were hammered goals on the opposition, our kids would do victory laps by me for a high five and a reminder that we have ‘x’ goals now coach.

Without keeping score or accounting for our record, we were 6-2 for the season. We were destroyed 5-1 in our first game. After that, no team scored more than one goal against us. As a matter of fact, we played the team from that first game again and shut them out 3-0. It’s our second loss is the game that really resonates with me. If I had to pick, it was my favorite game despite losing 1-0. Even at an offensive disadvantage, we spent the entire game was on the opposition’s side of the field. We just kept pounding them over and over. It wasn’t until late in the game when they finally got past midfield and made a goal.

In this game I saw so much teamwork and togetherness. There was a unity. They were friends having fun and the game was beginning to come naturally to them. They had collectively turned a corner. I was so proud how hard they played leaving everything on the field. We were disappointed in the loss, but the effort and teamwork was epic. In each game, our kids kept progressing. We started with varying degrees of skill in each kid. But by the end, each kid was amazing and we were working as a team. Not to mention that I really saw a competitive fire in the kids burning brighter each week. They wanted to win. It was apparent at practice and during games.

And then the last game. A little bitter sweet as the season was coming to an end. The last game was a massacre of the other team, 7-0. We had four different kids score goals and we dominated defensively. But more importantly, the kids were laughing and smiling the entire game. It was light-hearted, except when I substituted them out for a water break. Chirping in my ear, letting me know they wanted back in. I couldn’t believe the effort of everyone. Stealing the ball and passing through defenders to a teammate for a breakaway. Things just seemed to click.

At the beginning of the season, I had no idea what I was doing, or where we were going as a team. I didn’t want the kids to have a horrible experience nor have the parents pissed at my techniques. And now, I can’t even imagine a week without my team. Thursdays and Saturdays are sure going to be different now. This has been such an empowering experience. Much better than the previous season. It was such an honor sharing time with the kids, teaching them teamwork, and inspiring them to win. I’m glad I could be a positive role model in their lives. More people should aspire to be this to kids. After all, they are the legacy we leave behind. Of course my team leaves a wake of dismantled teams in their path. Don’t hate, my team could beat your team too.

Planning for a trip with Son #2 is always a challenge. It’s more than a trip. It’s a journey. You begin planning by gathering all of the variables of the travel equation. It’s a function of distance, time, and the amount of fish crackers you have within arms reach. A very close cousin, who’s special to me, was having her wedding in Sacramento. How were we going to get there? By air or by road?

It was either 2 hours of screaming with 150 of your closest enemies or 12 hours of screaming with family in a box on wheels. The automobile prevailed in this instance which seems counter-intuitive. But given the price of airfare for an entire family, the courtesy on other passengers’ ears, and the pricetag on my heightened anxiety, the decision was easily made.

The drive there was uneventful which doesn’t lend itself to much content here. But the story here is how Son #2 is unpredictable and at any moment, things change. After several gas and food stops, we had burnt through 13+ hours of driving and checked into our hotel in Roseville, California. We rolled in about 10:30pm to find our room equipped with two beds and a crib. In theory, this should work. Getting the kids ready for bed was easier than getting them to sleep through the night it would turn out.

Because things were wrapping up, my father and I headed down to the hotel bar. Unbeknownst to us, hotel bars in the Marriott in Roseville close at 10:00pm. Bad business if you asked me. Back to the room. Son #2 was not cool with sleeping on the first night. Constant crying. As we’ve learned the hard way in the last 23 months, he’s not cool with a break in routine of his life.


As I mentioned earlier, the purpose for the California trip was to attend and enjoy my cousin’s wedding. I was excited to be there for her. The catch is that both of our boys were ‘ring security’ in the wedding. In a strange coincidence, I was a ring bearer in her mother’s wedding 30 years earlier. I wasn’t sure if any good could come from this. With Son #1, give him responsibility, he rises to the occasion to please. However, with Son #2, let him off the leash and there’s bound to be a train wreck.


Rehearsal went well and the boys hammed it up. But the true test was when the rubber met the road for the actual ceremony. After getting all did up and waiting for the ceremony to begin, my wife and I agreed that I’d strategically place myself up front so that if Son #2 got unruly or nomadic, I could intervene. This would be conducive to keeping all children herded together.


If my cousin and soon-to-be husband, ceremony, location, and weather weren’t as perfect as they were, I’d say the ring bearers would’ve stole the show. Son #1 and two of his little cousins walked hand in hand as they entered the ceremony and approached the alter and groomsmen. Son #2 took his own sweet time and marched to his own drum down the aisle bringing up a distant rear. He walked up, stopped at his brother, did a lap around the officiant, and then walked back down the aisle the other way. Eventually, I caught up with him and held him removing escape as a possibility. The wedding was amazing and we all were very proud to see my cousin come so far to find happiness and wed the man of her dreams.

Reception involved Son #1 and #2 not liking the dinner and making a special request for crispy chicken and French fries, and what can only be describes as a strange yet intriguing style of interpretive dancing.


When the boys reached critical mass, we headed back to the hotel to plop them down for bed. Out of ingenuity and the courtesy of AT&T, we crafted make-shift baby monitors more commonly known as mobile phones. With free minutes to other AT&T phones, my wife called me, we put both our phones on speaker, left one with the boys in the room, kept the other, and headed to the bar for a beer. We could easily hear them out in the bar. Yup, on record as a bad parent. In actuality, our room was no more than 50 feet from the bar and we could see the door.

The next day we took off for home. Son #1 had school and I had to work. Obligations to the establishment for both of us.


The drive through Shasta was epic with the fall colors, curvature of the road, and lack of traffic. And did I mention there was a lack of screaming? If entire drive could have been like this, I would’ve drove for years. Too bad because things changed as we exited Oregon. Son #2 lost it and was inconsolable. Looking back, we can only guess the kid who needs structure and routine in his life was fed up of the weekend of hustling and 1500 miles of driving. We stopped at a truck stop and took him out of car seat and buckled him in with wife. He was so upset; we had very little choice in the cold and dark. He eventually calmed down and fell asleep on her while buckled in. Yup one more illegality for the trip. First baby monitors, now this. Because I’m writing this entry in the comfort of my own home, you can reasonably assume that we made it. Immediately, we put the kids to bed and the trip was complete.


To round it out, I got sick and missed the next few days of work. But that is such a small sacrifice to have had the opportunity for all of us to road trip together. It was a great journey that I can look back at fondly. Even though during it I was irritable at times. But more importantly, it was amazing to be in attendance at my cousin’s wedding. I’m so proud of her and how she has grown into an amazing woman even though at times she was a rotten little kid. Love you cuz and thank you greatly for letting us share your very special wedding. Everything was amazing and the boys behaved great and lived up to their ‘ring security’ title.

Once again, I’m late on my monthly review of a new piece of audio entertainment. It’s been one thing after another and excuse on top of excuse. While I was commuting home on the train today, I was listening to the subject album for the review and penning my thoughts down. Late again. Writing about what you like should not be this hard though. But it’s after a tough day of work where you are in meetings with the man, interrupted by needy co-workers, and had an overall bad day.

I hopped off the train and marched over to my ride in a hurry to get home and grab my bike in order to get a little riding in before the autumn monsoon hits the Seattle area for the next six months. I’ve been thinking about canceling my satellite radio account. I don’t spend enough time in the car to warrant the ridiculous amount of scrilla I pay for this service. However, on the drive home…..it hit me.

Glad I didn’t cancel it yet because I heard a song that changed it all for me. From beaten and bewildered to hopeful, optimistic and realistic.

It got me thinking and reflecting about a couple nights ago where I was short with the kids. I bring this baggage home from work and sometimes count the minutes until the loudness created by my offspring finally goes to bed. I don’t want to be that dad. I want to be the dad clutching every moment to that very last second and enjoying it until it’s gone. Eagerly awaiting that next moment with them. I am that dad.

It’s a feeling I felt brewing inside me. Value things more. But not just that, show that things are of value to you. A bad day, a bad week, a bad month doesn’t diminish the value of those things in your life. An epiphany of sorts, if you will.

I’m going to hold Son #2 just a little tighter and a little longer at bedtime. I’m going to make sure he’s at peace by rubbing his back to relax him. Then make sure when I lay him down in his bed he knows that his dad loves him.


I’m going to build that train set with Son #1 all over our bonus room, off the table, onto the windowsill, under the foosball table, and around the couch. Oh yeah, and we will play Lego Batman until his mother unplugs the Wii. He needs to know that he is the best.


And the running, jumping, sliding, and stomping on our refinished hardwoods? Well, maybe I can loosen up a bit and enjoy that those moments of destroying my house are finite. One day in the very near future, I’ll be boxing those kids up and helping them move in to their own houses. And believe me, I’ll be running and sliding on their hardwoods. You only live once.

The simplicity of holding my wife’s hand, a tender kiss, and a well timed honest compliment are the intricate fibers the weave a tight relationship that weathers those bad days. It’s not weak to be in love especially when her heart is shelter.


Everyday can’t be the best day but you got to let it go. I’m going to make a better effort to drop those bags of the day at the door. The kids are tough and push my buttons on routine frequency. But those moments of soulful bliss with them are worth it.

Those of you reading this entry and relating to the challenges of your day, you’re not alone. Listen to the song here on this blog’s playlist, take the lyrics to heart and hug those kids of yours, don’t let the mundane job make you light your break room on fire, forget that fifth period teacher sweating you for your homework or who you will take to the Homecoming dance, don’t worry about mowing the lawn today your grass is brown, so what if you’re car is broke down or needs service because it’s a piece of junk anyway, do what you can right now and don’t hesitate to make the day better.

Sometimes one small thing like a song can reboot your soul. Turn it up.

Anyone that knows me knows that I take my automotive obsessions quite seriously. Meticulous cleaning, detailing, and customization. I also have two young children who suffer from the inability to successfully navigate processed food products in to their mouths while partaking in vehicular transport. With the context laid, it’s no surprise that I wrestle with the awareness of one of our cars, which is the predominant mode of transportation for the kids, resembling a mobile processed food delivery device.

To be fair, the kids need to eat and more often than not you’re in motion to and from some nondescript retail or grocery store or soccer practice. Therefore, it’s easy to stop at the nearest cholesterol castle surrounded by a moat of saturated fat for a quick heartache happymeal. In a recent turn of events, Son #2 has been vehemently resisting crispy chicken in lieu of French fries. He’ll sort through the chicken and toss the undesirable fried poultry bits to the floor in a quest to uncover the golden potato treasures like a desperate archaeologist.

But Son #2 isn’t alone in his automotive inconsideration. Son #1, while he loves chicken with the crust and tots, he has a severe disregard for accuracy in consumption and even less for food stowage. And this entry is about him.


As with many things in life, you learn to fight the winnable battles unless you have a sadistic desire to constantly beat your skull against a brick wall. I’m learning that no matter how much I ‘suggest’ the need for cleanliness of the vehicle and the lack of the fried mystery meat product aroma and caffeinated brew stains, my meager voice goes unheard. As a matter of fact, my requests are creatively twisted into song or elaborate story by Son #1.

The other night after soccer practice, we needed to provide sustenance to the youth of the family and stopped at a ubiquitous comfort food capital for deep fried goodness. And as predictable as rain in Seattle, Son #2 removed the poultry products from his tray, tossed them to the floor, and went about ingesting his French fries. Likewise, Son #1, because he must dance while he eats, performed his best imitation of what a small tornado would look like inside of Carl’s Jr. if both were trapped in my wife’s backseat.

Knowing my aversion to food ‘tossage’ on floor mats, you can imagine my dismay in what was next. Eloquently and calmly, I explain to Son #1 that French fries do not belong on the floor of the car. In an equally eloquent and oh-so sincere response, I’m told that there are ‘only’ 30,000 French fries on the floor. And in fact, food objects such as French fries will make cars jump better. Son #1 continues to explain that the 30,000 fries will make my wife’s car jump 30,000 feet. A pretty bold claim, if you ask me. For the mathematically inclined, it seems there’s a linear relationship between the quantity of French fries residing on one’s floormats and the distance which that vehicle can be propelled through the air.

Son #1’s concept is fatally flawed in several areas. Let’s do some simple math here to dispel this claim:

One order of medium French fries at a leading fast food establishment is approximately 40 fries.

Therefore, 30,000 fries would equal 750 orders of fries (30,000/40 = 750).

Statistically, the average French fry is 4-inches in length. If we assume that each fry is on average 1/4-inches x 1/4-inches square, we find that the average volume of a single French fry is 1/4 cubic-inch 1/4*1/4*4 = 1/4).

So, the total volume of 750 orders of French fries with 40 fries per order is 7,500 cubic-inches (750*1/4*40 = 7,500).

This is 4.34 cubic-feet of French fries.

The average mid-sized sedan has approximately 100 cubic-feet of interior volume which is roughly a 60/40 split between front and rear areas. That means 40 cubic-feet of interior space is in the backseat.

Densely packed, the total quantity of fries would take up over 10% of the backseat volume. It’s safe to say that none of us would pack efficiently when it came to French fries. Therefore, we can safely say that this would be a loosely packed volume of 20%. No room for much else.

Despite being moderately intriguing to fill a mid sized car with fries, I find that this increased volume usage has nothing to do with the ability of a vehicle to propel itself into the air.

Let’s talk additional weight instead.

One medium order of fries weighs approximately 5.5 ounces. Taking our earlier calculation of 750 orders, we find that the total quantity of fried goodness weighs 4,125-oz which is about 258-lbs (750*5.5 = 4,125).

Automotive performance can be measure by many metrics. But when it comes to jumping a vehicle into the air, I can’t imagine one more important than the power-to-weight ratio.

The typical mid-sized sedan doesn’t possess a jaw-dropping power-to-weight ratio. I don’t think I can jump over Long Beach harbor in a Honda Accord. Already being at a power-to-weight disadvantage, adding an additional 258 pounds will only erode any slight performance the automobile had to begin with.

Let’s assume the average mid-sized car weighs 3,200-lbs. and has 250HP. That means the average mid-sized car has a power-to-weight ration of 0.08HP/lbs. (250/3,200 = 0.08). Not great.

Add 258-lbs. to that which is approximately 8% weight growth and you get a P/W ratio of 0.07HP/lbs. (250/(3200+258) = 0.07).

The lower the P/W ratio, the worse the performance. No mid-sized car is jumping farther with 8% weigh growth.

What about that distance of 30,000-feet?

30,000-feet is approximately 5.68-miles and I’m fairly certain that the record for jumping a car with even one fry is significantly shorter than this distance. In fact, Travis Pastrana set a world a year ago for jumping his Subaru 274-feet. Do I really need to do the math here?

I will. 30,000-feet is a 10,850% increase over a documented world record automobile jump.

While my theorems and attack at Son #1’s stunt credibility may not be thorough enough to win Nobel Prize for scientific discovery, I’m fairly certain based on applied mathematics here that 30,000 fried potato products would severely limit the airborne capabilities of a mid-sized passenger vehicle and it couldn’t jump 30,000-feet.

Deep-fried performance improvements: none. Stories: large. Fries: many. Got to love Son #1 for trying!

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. I think John Lennon said that. Succinct and straight forward in its synopsis of our adult lives. Lately, I’ve felt like I can’t keep up with life’s speed. I’m busy scribbling down my ‘to-dos’ on a Post-It note so that when I get home I can knock them out one by one and feel some sense of accomplishment when two or three more things to consider pop up before I can even get to my first item. The list constantly gets longer and time constantly gets shorter.

For the last 30 to 45 days, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of that time trying to craft some vague representation of a list of ‘must-dos’ before we moved in to our new house. I ran out of time, the month was ending, and we had to be out of our rented ghetto-cage known as an apartment. I think we all suffer from some form or degree of procrastination. So that being said, it’s a good thing that we all run short on time and are forced to make decisions and execute on our plans before time runs out. If not for time being in short supply, we’d all sit on our couches with our Starbuck’s lattes, make our lists of things we need to do before we get older, and never get to what we had laid out to accomplish. I hate Starbuck’s and its laziness fostering brewed products.

So if life is what happens while you’re busy making plans, then parents are the dam that slows the flowing waters of life letting you catch your breath. There’s no way that any of our plans could have been successfully executed in the last month if it weren’t for my parents. Through every bend, around every corner, and next to every speed bump, they’ve been there to support me and my wife in our decisions. I’m so thankful, grateful, and appreciative of everything my mom and dad have done to support this difficult decision of starting new our next chapter.

That being said, I’m not always the most vocal about my appreciation and blessings. I’m more apt to externalize how much I’m annoyed by an individual’s behavior, profess my philosophical ramblings, or pontificate the inabilities of Washington drivers to operate their automobiles on paved or unpaved roadways in rain or shine than I am to issue a thanks. Now this isn’t because I don’t care or a result of being unappreciative. It’s just that I’m inherently negative. Smile? Why? Just try to not piss me off, please.

Moving on. I really do appreciate the support of my friends and family I’ve received over the years. Friends came out of the woodwork to be there for me when I lost my brother. It’s funny, I felt back then like that was the worst possible place to be in my life. Emotionally, it probably was. However, from the logistical nightmare of being the head of a household yet inherently hobbled by your immaturity, planning to sell a home, move a family, live in temporary housing, find a new location to begin our next chapter, and settle in to our new home was a daunting activity to go through. Painstakingly making your best educated decision on relocation while trying to mitigate financial damage and emotional distress of your little boys and wife all while starting a new job stretch you to your personal limits. Because of that, you need help. You need others. You need family and friends. I’m very lucky to have unconditional support from my mom and dad during this rough phase of stress and starting again.

It’s been much harder than healing from grief. Maybe that’s an unfair comparison but cerebrally now I find the stakes of life being much higher. But the rewards are that much more gratifying as well. But in both cases, the real key in successfully righting the ship and navigating those unstable waters of emotion and ambiguity is having a lighthouse to guide your way home. My mom and dad have always been this. But it has been much more distinct these last few months.

Unconditional. An overused word used too frequently to describe relationships. But I couldn’t find any more appropriate word to succinctly to summarize it all. A natural born writer, I’m not. An emotional rat’s nest of incongruent thoughts, I do represent that. My parents have really come through recently supporting all of this.

Support of moving, taking care of the dogs while they routinely escaped the yard, missing car shows and swapmeets, painting dining room walls, installing overhead storage, pressure washing walls, babysitting, sweeping floors, taking our shit to the dump, smashing cardboard, remodeling and destroying a well, providing meals and a place to sleep when our apt was less than desirable or when we need to be at the new house early the next day, co-piloting during the actual move, and providing hope that this decision will work out.

And that’s the short list of contributions in an effort to keep my words per entry down. I’m lucky. Feel like I’ve had some bad luck and made some questionable decisions at times over the years, but their guidance and values have always allowed me to sail away from the wake of devastation. That’s the value of having a bright lighthouse.

I inadvertently missed last month’s ‘New Music Monday.’ Well sort of. I went on vacation, came back, closed on a new house, and become a soccer coach. So an entry about music was a distant thought in my clouded mind. I thought I could sneak an entry in but decided that entries about Son #1 and the house were more important.

September has been pretty busy with work around the house. It has successfully distracted me from a plethora of things. But music happens to not be one of those things. This month was a busy month; I picked up five new albums both legally and somewhat more liberally. But of all of the records, all of the music, and all of the emotion, there’s one album that stands out prominently. This is no short order considering I just attended a show of the Gaslight Anthem and knowing that Authority Zero is playing this weekend.

I’ve been listening to Linkin Park for going on a decade now. In the beginning, their albums fit a recipe and were predictable and that’s exactly what I needed. A Nu-Metal Rap-Rock genre. Mashing up rap and metal was perfect for a misunderstood young adult like I was back then. But as I’ve grown, so have these musicians. And I like the fact that they’ve used their creativity and staying power to redefine themselves.


“A Thousand Suns” came out on September 14. It’s a vast departure from the previous album, “Minutes to Midnight.” I always thought the previous album was a little too emo mixed with political motivations. These are two characteristics that Linkin Park has never been known for. Then, they went in trying to make a different record. The band succeeded but I think it was a more self indulgent action. This time around, redefining was the concept again. Rules on what Linkin Park ‘sounds like’ were cast aside in the name of creativity and exploration. What transpired during the creation of this album was something so different yet so distinct that it can not be confused for anything other than Linkin Park.

It’s sonically saturating in its existence. There’s quite a bit of stuff going on in every song. Conceptually in both music and lyrics, Linkin Park is more exploratory than they’ve ever been before. This can be good or bad depending on the band and your fan base. Typically, most die hard fans will like whatever the band puts out. However, the naysayers will question the intent of the record. Likewise, critically established bands are much more likely to be accepted for making such bold moves musically. Lesser established bands do not get the creative freedom nor are willing to potentially alienate a fan base and critics.

For a long time, Linkin Park was musically predictable until they released “Minutes to Midnight.” Trying to be politically charged is not their forte. However, the exploration of musical compilation and the cross pollination of sounds and genres charting new creative directions is right in their wheel house. “A Thousand Suns” is a concept album which explores a theme (love, life, and death brought to us by the hands of humanity and science) in continuum throughout the record. From first track to last, this is apparent. The songs tie together musically and conceptually to create a non-stop sonic experience. It’s not a rock opera like the Who or Green Day. It’s not a message like The Wall. It’s a journey through existence told by sound and music like nothing you have ever heard before.

“Burning the Skies” – Beginning so mellow and innocent, this track morphs into a driven, almost marching tempo accompanied by an electronic warfare of sounds and impeccably poetic lyrics.

“When They Come for Me” – In one word. Tribal. The rhythm is intense and hails a subcontinent type of urgency. This is LP type rap-rock synergy. However, the intense lyrics lead into something a little different. Chester Bennington singing hymn-like into a crescendo leading back into that intense tribal drumming with Hindi chanting for effect.

“Iridescent” – As this song begins, you get the sense of feeling alone and solemn. But the music and the lyrics begin to lift the soul. It’s a song about recovery and rebuilding after an apocalyptic letdown. During one section, you are treated to a harmony of voices telling you to let go of the loneliness and desperation.

It’s difficult to draw a summary from three songs on the record. Everything is so tied together that listening to the entire body of work is the key, including the creepy yet evocative intros.

This record seems so familiar in format. But listening, I couldn’t place it. I was just stoked to listen. It’s not Nu-Metal like years and albums past. It’s a reinvention along the lines of Crystal Castles meets Prodigy meets Shiny Toy Guns. There’s a similarity to “Reanimation” which came out years ago and was an ‘electronified’ remix album. And then it occurred to me…Information Society. An electronic saturation of sound in a very 1992 format without being ‘retro’ or ‘old school.’ I love Information Society so it’s no wonder that I’m drawn to “A Thousand Suns,” its music and its message. Again. This is an album like you have never heard before. It’s genre creating and is due a complete listen rather than spotty track selection out of our short-attention span existence. Beautiful and epic in its entirety. Treat yourself to the beautifully intense and destructive music of this record.

On the eve of a big day in your life, you’re usually overcome with anxiety and fear. Fortunately for me, I’ve been overcome with the stress of mismanaged resource at work and the confliction of new home ownership so I‘ve avoided thinking about tomorrow..

Tomorrow, Son #1 enters the ranks of public school as a kindergartener. And while it is a fairly insignificant occurrence in the greater space-time continuum relationship between stars and planets, it’s a mammoth milestone in the journey of our family unit down the crooked uncharted path of life.

It was almost exactly five and a half years ago to the day. I got up early, washed my car, packed up my pregnant wife into the car, and motored south along the Valley freeway to the hospital. It occurred to me on that drive that in a grossly understated thought, our lives were never going to be the same. Hours later, I was holding Son #1 in my arms, changing my first diaper, and making telephone calls to friends and family that I was now a proud father.

Fast forward through the birth of Son #2, soccer and T-ball, preschool, and millions of random acts of craziness and imaginative stories, and here we are tonight; waiting to get up tomorrow morning and take Son #1 to his new school in our new town. Are we ready? Literally, yes. Figuratively, no. His backpack is packed with his school supplies and his school clothes are laid out for him to easily get dressed. That’s the easy part.


The emotionally challenging task is knowing that he’s growing up. He HAS grown up. He’s going to school without us. Preschool was easy. It was craft time, bible time, and play time at a church. He’s now moving on into an education system which marks a milestone of life of growing older and less dependent on our provisions. He will always be our little boy but in some alternate reality, he has become light years older just in one small moment. Tomorrow he walks into a new challenging and stimulating environment by himself. Tomorrow, we let go and have faith in his heart that he will always be strong enough to combat the fears and challenges of being himself.

I’m very scared that while this is just a first day of school, just kindergarten, little by little, the fears and challenges of the world I could once protect him from are slowly being taken from me and revealed to him. It’s a tragic yet surreal theatrical production where the curtain of the real world is opened on his first act and our production is starting to come to its end. Ever so slowly from this night on, he takes a new step to being a big kid.


Some night like this in the not-so-distant future, I’ll be waking up and he will be a grown man. I’m not rushing him to that. Just the levity of the night is a friendly reminder how quickly life occurs while you are preoccupied managing your day. When I pick this laptop up tomorrow night to finish this entry, my perspective altered permanently much like that drive to the hospital when Son #1 was born. He is only my little boy for such a small moment.

Today, it was painfully obvious by the tears streaming from both my own and my wife’s eyes that Son #1 was handling the first day of school much better than we were. We managed to get out of the car, walk across the street to the locally historic brick elementary school. Son #1 stood there stoically wrapped one arm around my leg and one arm around his mother’s leg. For a moment, it felt like we were going to need to pry him off. But he was much more confident in his surroundings than we gave credit.


I leaned down several times to see how he was doing and with very few words he concluded that he was fine and more importantly, not scared. In a strange dichotomy of life, I was more scared for me than he was for himself. One more milepost of life was past this morning. It marked growth for him and age for me. I don’t think my wife was emotionally prepared for the morning to play out either. I think she may have gone through the hypothetical day in her head multiple times. But when the rubber met the road, her eyes were leaking like an old faucet and her voice cracked like a pubescent challenged 13 year old. But it’s hard to prepare yourself for an event like this in your life. It should be easy.

He was in preschool only months ago. The activity of taking him to school and coming back later to pick him up is not new. But this is his formal foray into the public school system. But even more than that, this was the reality check that he is no longer the little baby we brought home in 2005. It’s only kindergarten. There will be tons of firsts like this in the years to come.


But I think what makes this emotionally complicated is that he was born into a troubled time in our lives. He was our security blanket. The little bit of hope in a desolate stage of life. Just six years ago I was in counseling letting professionals convince me not to end it. And here we are now. My wife and I have battled down this path and come out happy on the other side. If I had to draw any conclusions here, I’d have to say that it was less about us being his security and more about us losing our security in his childhood. He was an emotional crutch for us at times. He was unaware that he was an angel that saved us.

He was leaving us for a few hours a day to emotionally remind us about having some inner resolve. Just like him, lining up at a new school, with no friends, and marching into that classroom. He wasn’t afraid and we shouldn’t be afraid of this next stage. Our security blanket is slowly teaching us the example of resolve.


He did great on his first day of school. Before, during and after. He was filled with stories of the day. Granted, he was more apt to tell the comprehensive version to his grandmother rather than his parents. Tomorrow, another big day. He wants to ride the bus with the other kids. Another step along the journey for me and my wife to let go of the blanket and watch the example he sets for inner resolve, a lack of fear in the unknown, and the innocence of life before it gets complicated.