A game of cups and robbers

Last week at DJ's karate class, Sensei Scott made a general announcement. "Okay, this is just for the guys. Starting next week, we won't let you train unless you have a cup." Oh no he didn't. He did not just say what I thought he said. I waited. I thought to myself, "Come on, Sensei Scott. A cup of.......?" But that was it. He was done talking.
I'm a pretty shy person in general. I don't even like to shop for underwear. Suddenly, out of the blue, I'm staring down the barrel of a trip to Big 5 in which I have to buy one of...."those" (shudder). So yesterday I just sucked it up and walked into Big 5 ready to do what must be done and get out. I slunk through the door wanting to grab my jock strap and escape without drawing any attention to myself. The problem is, they weren't out in plain sight. It would be nice if they had a display right by the front door with a big flashing arrow pointing at them next to a cardboard box. Then I could just run up to the display, grab one, chuck ten bucks in the box and run out with my jacket over my head. That would suit me just fine.
Instead, I had to go on an uncomfortable hunt. My shoulders were a little hunched, my hands in my pockets, and I made a point of not making eye contact with any of the staff. "Nobody look at me. Nobody look at me. Nobody look at me." Okay, I had my "don't look at me walk" working. I circled the shop a couple of times, peering into the center now and then hoping to catch a glimpse of the "prize". Now that I think about it, that's probably exactly the way I would walk through Big 5 if I were, oh let's say, a shoplifter.
"Sir!" It was a big booming voice. I turned around (along with every other customer in the store) and there stands the manager. Balding, mustache, slight drawl. I swear, I thought at first it was Dr. Phil. "Sir!" says Dr. Phil, "Can I help you find something, because you are walking ALL AROUND this store." AAAAHHHH!!!!! People are looking! People are looking! At that moment I felt the same terror I would feel if I had turned around and seen a train coming. I thought, "Okay, calm down, let's try to be nonchalant." I blurt out way too fast, "I-need-a-cup-for-a-five-year-old-boy!" Oh yeah baby, now that's smooth. I've just been promoted to creepy shoplifter.
The guy was obviously suspicious but led me to the proper display and stood next to it, staring at me. It was a stare that said, "I dare you to buy one just to prove you're not shoplifting."
I stood there, rummaging through athletic supporters, trying to figure out which size DJ would wear. As I went about my task the manager found an empty box hanging on the display. He held the box up to me and said, "Now, who would steal a jock strap?"
"NOT ME! THAT'S WHO, DR. PHIL!" I grabbed one marked "youth regular" and ran for the register.
Wouldn't you know it, the clerk had to be a woman. It's a good thing they keep the guns locked up behind a counter because I might have just shot myself.
"Hello, sir. How are you today?"
I wanted to yell, "I'm not a creepy shoplifter that takes jock straps that don't belong to him, if that's what you're asking!" Instead I just said, "Fine, thanks." and handed her my credit card. I looked back and the manager was standing where I left him with his arms crossed, staring at me.
I paid. I got the goods. I ran for my life. I guess I showed Dr. Phil a thing or two. I swear, if DJ ever needs one of those things again in the future, he can just wear the one I bought him yesterday. I don't care if it only fits around one leg. That's just the way it's gonna be.

I was taking a break but...

School is a little hectic right now so I had the blog on the back burner. Thing is, I just can't resist hate mail. It's a sickness or something. If you would like to see the original post, click here. If you would like to see "guy grand's" comment,click here.
First off, allow me to offer a sincere apology to the nation of Canada. I never would have written those disparaging and insensitive comments on my blog if I knew a couple of you could read. But, since the ball is rolling, let's see what "guy grand" has to say:
Well I'm Canadian
My condolences
and mildly resent your comments about my home.
Mildly? Let me see if I can do better this time.
There's some stuff in the middle about fat loud mouthed Americans. Blah blah blah. Tell me something about myself I don't know. And then my favorite part:
When your empire crumbles we Canuks shall all dance through your burning oil fields and corpse laiden [sic] Wal-Marts
First of all, you will never...and you listen up good...never dance among corpses in America. Do a little reading, dude. As evil fascists, we eat our dead. If you ever come to visit, I suggest you don't fall asleep at a bus stop. Or, if you absolutely must take a nap in public, wear a T-shirt that says "NEW! Canadian lite! Now, with none of the sugar and half the fat!" We hate that crap. It should buy you some time.
See, I want you alive so that I can cruise up to Canada some day and kick you square in the butt. You know, maybe I won't do that. Nothing thaws out up there and I'd probably bust my toes. Then I'm stuck in Canada with a broken foot. That means I'd have to go see a Canadian "doctor". (Being a product of socialized medicine, they are legally obligated to refer to themselves as "doctor" instead of just doctor.) I'd go to the office and wait nine hours before some drunken Canuk wearing a propeller beanie and pelts tide to his waist pops out from behind a maple tree, takes one look at my foot, and sews my lungs shut. "That oughta fix you up, ay?"
And what's with that "burning oil fields" thing? As though there are whole fields of oil somewhere. Everyone one knows that oil comes from catching giant ferocious ships that live in the wild far far away and milking them.
as we all sing or Doodle Bop war song.
I'm sorry. I would love to mock that statement but I swear I don't know what it means.
I'd like to chat more but I have to get over to Wal-Mart to do a little conspicuous over-consumption.

I never knew this.

It's taken me this long to make a discovery that I should have made years ago. It was a happy accident. I was listening to Bad Company on my way to school this morning. (Because I am old) See, I gotta say that because people from school read this and I'll hear it from them anyway. (You know who you are. Just remember. I know where you keep your Rhizoc and you know I got Pythium) So I'm listening to Bad Company and as I reached for the AC controls, I accidently whacked the ashtray. It has a small stash of change in it. I hit the thing right on the beat and it was like magic. Everyone knows that your steering wheel doubles as a stripped down drum-kit. But, did you know that an ashtray with coins in it doubles as a passable hi-hat? It does!!!
I even experimented a little with opening and closing it with one hand while smacking it with the other to get that pedal effect. I almost hit a cement truck. I don't do that anymore.
Use it wisely, my friends. Use it wisley.

What kind of an idiot.....

I saw a bumper sticker yesterday. "Abandoned Mine Shafts -- Stay Out! Stay Alive!". Okay, in case you missed it, we're talking about abandoned mine shafts. This is getting out of control. Who in the world can't see the inherent danger in, let me say that again, abandoned mine shafts? What kind of a buffoon needs to read this on a bumper sticker?!?
Hold on a minute.
When I was a kid I loved camping at Calico. That's a ghost town about an hour or so deep into the Mojave desert. An old mining town to be exact. It's all refurbished and touristy but the things that really kept me begging my parents to take me back were not the animatronic bartender and "Whacky-Shack". My favorite part was (sigh) playing in the abandoned mine shafts. Holy crap. I am that idiot.
I'm guessing that's because I hadn't read the sticker yet. To what extent do I owe my life to those stupid warnings that no one should have to read? I'm scared to death of what I might do to myself. What if I open a bottle of vitamins and I get one of those little packs of poison (or glass, or poisonous glass, or whatever that stuff is) that somehow slipped through the process without being printed "do not eat"? Am I gonna eat it? Am I gonna die the next time I pull out of a parking lot because I put up my sunshade warning-side out? Oh, sweet mercy. What if I kill myself by running head first into a full length mirror 18 times in a row like a parakeet because there's no "this is a mirror" sticker.
I'd like to think I'm smarter than that but last time I thought I was smart, I tried to clear a stopped up bathtub with a plunger. I tried to snake if first and forgot to replace the cover at the top of the drain pipe and ended up with a face full of day old tub water (and, incidentely, Top Ramen. Thanks kids!). I didn't figure out what was happening until after the second thrust. I just stood ankle deep in the tub yelling, "Oh, a wise guy! Nyuk nyuk nyuk!" Sploosh!
It's a wonder I dont swallow my own tongue. That ain't something you learn in school ya know, so I guess I'm at least that smart.
So, the way things are looking after my new revelation, pretty much any post could be my last. I better start reading more labels. However, that won't ensure my complete safety. I'll be damned if I ever read the instructions. A guy's gotta have a little pride.

A reply from the editor

The staff and I (the staff being 4 marshmallow "Peeps" older than my daughter) here at FlippinJason have received some feedback on the Doodlebops article and there is one message in particular that we feel warrants a response.
Anonymous has some concerns regarding my views on this horrendous thing that has come to be. If you like, you can check the full text in the comments here. I would like to address some of those concerns at this time. I have chosen this public forum for that purpose due to my brazen arrogance.

Anonymous (if that is your real name) writes,
"they aren't so bad if they are making your kids happy".
Okay, wrong. The show is a blight on my favorite household appliance. My daughter likes to eat French fries out of the trash. That's bad, whether it makes her happy or not.
"leave canada out of it, it was disney that put it on, its [sic] not as if canada forced it on us"
Canada deserves everything it gets. The only two good things to come out of Canada were back bacon and John Candy. Even in that case, the back bacon killed John Candy. For this I will never forgive that frozen land or its delicious salted meats.
"I'm sure two year olds aren't going to be to [sic] affected by it because they won't even now [sic] what stigmata means."
Well, duh. They won't know unless you tell them. Give it a shot. I think they'll get a chuckle out of it.
"it takes a sick mind like yours to think that crap up. "
Point taken.
"and who asked you anyway?"
[Cue the waving American flag behind me and Battle Hymn of the Republic playing softly yet passionately in the background (That's the one that goes, "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord...." for you Canadians.)]
As a citizen of The United States of America (rather than some socialist icebox of a moose preserve like, oh, let's say Canada) I have ideas as expansive as the Montana sky. I have a mouth as big as an apple pie. I have the right, nay the obligation, to create a blog and shoot off at that mouth whether I've thought things through or not. (Ever notice how similar thought and through are?) Do you hear that incessant flapping of gums from Plymouth Rock to the La Brea Tar Pits? That, my friend, is the sound of freedom! I am an American, dang it! An American with a keyboard and a moderate case of attention deficit disorder. Therefore, as long as I have my freedom, and as long as Old Glory flies over D.C., and as long as I can pay my DSL bill, I will run off at the mouth in an uneducated manner to the shock and horror of my wife, parents, and eventually I'm sure, my children! I. AM. A. BLOGGER!!!!!
(Raucous applause)
Oh, you're too kind.
I'd love to put you all in my pocket and take you home with me.
Thank you, thank you.

Attack of the hoards

And then the conversation turns towards a new disease. It's called "Animal Hoarding" or "AH". I always thought it was called "The lady down the street who can only find 14 of her 19 cats because they hide amongst the teetering stacks of newspapers in her living room", but no. It's a syndrome. The root of the problem is complicated in both epidemiology and pathology. However my colleague, Dr. Huston, succinctly describes the phenomena in the following passage: "It's called 'stupid' ". Due to this tangled matrix of cause and effect which is responsible for AH, it is not limited to house pets and is a most difficult condition to control. Just look at all those guys out in Norco. They're up to their armpits in cows. Poor sick bastards.
That gives me an idea. I think I'm gonna get in on this whole animal hoarding thing. It would rock six ways to Sunday. I'm gonna stuff my backyard with strays and call it a ranch. Then I could tie a cat to my left foot, a dog to my right foot, and then spin around in circles all day and nobody can say squat because it's my job! That's been a dream of mine for some time. Also, I can call in sick to work with AH. "Sorry boss, can't come in. I got a fever and the only prescription is a big bag of cats."
But back to the disease and those who suffer. I did a little research (don't check google yourself because I found it on the 'secret' google and you don't know how to get to it and this is all true anyway so stop looking at me like that) and I discovered that there is a whole under-ground AH culture thriving amongst us. They have club meetings and conventions. I have a convention itinerary right here:
6:00 pm- The Evening Address
Gladys smith
7:30 pm- Dinner
On the menu: Cat food and imaginary salad.
8:30 pm- Workshop:
Blanch Johnson
Purses, blouses, couch covers. Who knew what hairballs could do?
9:00 pm- Lecture:
Harriet Brown
Dogs make fine children.
9:45 pm- 2 Workshops (choose either):
Bertha Jones
*72 hour psych. evaluations. What to expect.
Ethel Franks
*Keep those damn kids off your lawn...for good!
10:00 pm- Closing ceremonies (cat lady pledge and anthem)

So who are we to say? Sufferers of a loathsome syndrome or thriving micro-community?
I don't know and I haven't got time to figure it out. I've got strays to wrangle.

Open hand. Insert comedy.

So we got DJ into a karate class that the city offers for cheap. Because, you know, there's nothing cuter than five year olds kicking eachother in the face. Actually, they just started. I'm not sure when the face kicking really gears up.
The instructor is about 17 years old and I'm pretty sure he's there as a guest from the Barney Fife school of marshal arts. Sensei Scott didn't mention it, but he tipped his hand by following most statements with "I am the weapon.", "My whole body is a weapon.", or some variation on that theme. His class starts like this:
"Karate is Japanese for 'open hand'. We call it that because we use no weapons. I am the weapon. I know that if I'm walking down the street and I should need to defend myself, I do not need a weapon. My whole body is a weapon."
To which DJ responds, "What if you get hit by a car. Then you're weak. You're hopeless." Yes, that is an exact quote. I love that kid so much.
Sensei Scott was a bit flustered but continued to work, undaunted, to impress the group of five year olds.
He explained the "lunge" in a menacing tone. "I step first with my front foot and JUMP with the hind foot. I am now a weapon. Instead of walking, I LUNGE at my attacker." To which another kid named Shane points out, "Isn't that like skipping?". I love Shane so much.
Sensei Scott cleared it up thusly, "We don't 'skip' in karate. We lunge. We're weapons after all."
Becoming visibly shaken, Sensei Scott moves on to punches and blocks. After getting in a few practice moves he very carefuly points out that he is a weapon. Then he Asks, "Okay, we've used our punches and we've used our blocks. Is there anything we haven't used?" Cue Shane: "The radio?". Damn skippy Shane! You nailed it! That kid is so awesome.
Sensei Scott explained that he was refering to kicks. He demonstrated one and I must admit, he looked like a weapon. I have never been so scared of toes in my life. He even threw in one of those karate screams that sound like he just saw a spider. You know, I think that's half of karate right there. You just yell. Then the other guy gets all freaked out and while he's looking for the spider, you kick his ass.
Anyway, I hope to get some pictures next week. It's actually pretty cute to see them all in a line doing their little practice moves. I'll get some shots of Sensei Scott too. He's a weapon you know.

Some pictures

I put up some bug pictures! Woo! If you cared about these I'd worry about you. I was just a little excited to see that I could take pictures through the microscope. They look like crap but I put them up, so now you have to hear about it.
Also, just a couple pictures of the kids at the beach. You will see my kids and some strangers. My kids just kind of collect people wherever they go. No fear whatsoever. I wish a had a picture from this same day, of Daisy walking about 75 yards to bum Pringles off another family. I swear, if you ever go hiking in the woods, take along a can of Pringles. If you get lost we'll just put Daisy in a plane and fly her around. She'll spot the Pringles.