Lights Out

On the way to gymnastics…

Isabella (she’s 7): Daddy, my teacher is younger than you.

Me: Probably. Ok. And….?

Iz: But she has kids in High School already. But, you don’t. Is she beating you?

Me: Honey, life is not a race. People have kids younger than other people, and some people have kids older that other people. It really doesn’t matter.

Iz: Yeah, but you’re old.

Me (biologically-speaking): Well, Honey… If you were born before you were born, then you’d be a totally different person.

Iz: Could I still use the iPad?

Me: No. Bedtime is always 9:00. For all kids. Everywhere. Lights Out. Good try, though.

500 Uses

Before you judge, you have no idea what the last few weeks have been like for me.

I’m about to open up the dental floss 6-pack that I bought at Costco, when I notice the labeling:

“Over 500 uses.”

500 Uses.  The Swiss Army Knife of dental hygiene.

500 Uses. The Swiss Army Knife of dental hygiene.

I begin muttering to myself. 500 uses? What the hell? How much can you possibly do with floss? Can I start a lawn mower? Can I go fishing? Can I fly a kite?

Lynn (my wonderful wife) is busy doing her own thing and not listening. She offers, “You can cut things with floss. What are you talking about?”

It is at this point that…

Me: Yeah, but can you do 500 things with it?

I then follow the asterisk, “Based on an average of 18 inches per use.”

Um… Oh.

Not MacGyver floss at all. They mean 500 sets of teeth. 3 months. With the popcorn and the lobster and the beef-jerky.

Like, you’ve never done something as stupid. Admit it. Please…..?

Kill da Wabbit

Most frustrating morning commute ever: Bumper to bumper, at 2 mph, stop and go. Then Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” comes on the radio.

Dammit! I have a Valkyrie or two in my backseat trying to get to Valhalla. And, we’re stuck on the 5 transition to the 134. Behind a Honda Accord.

I need to move!

I say to them: Sorry, Valkyries. Welcome to LA. Breathe.

[If you are lost about the Valkyries, I have three words: Kill da Wabbit.]

Sometimes, the stories are just for my musician friends.

General Hospital

Ok, this isn’t so much a Fun Time post as it is a Pay Back post.

Both of my beautiful, smart and talented daughters (whom you have met here) were cast on ABC Television’s General Hospital‘s big Halloween show (which apparently, lasts about 5 days.)

Julianna (she’s 10) appears on the 31st (actual) Halloween show. Blink and you’ll miss her.

Isabella (she’s 7) is featured(!) on Halloween. November 4th or 5th. Because, Hollywood. (Also, don’t blink…)

So, finally, the girls are earning their keep. It’s a start. Any day now, they’ll tell me that THEY are paying the bills. Not kidding.

[And, the crazy thing is, parents drove their kids in from Riverside, Temecula, and San Diego(!) for 5 seconds of air time. We're talking a 2 or 3 hour one-way drive for a 7am start. And, Isabella basically rolled out of bed and into Hair & Makeup. Though she was perfect, naturally.]

Won’t You Take Me To…

One of the perks of making it to 10 is that we are allowing Julianna to sit in the front seat of the car. And, of course she is giddy with wanting to play with the radio.

She is getting tired of my dino rock song stations (so am I, by the way.) She clicks around, landing on the Oldies station.

J: See, Daddy! This is the kind of song that kids like to listen to today. It’s cooool!

Me: Really, Honey. Kids today? This song?

J: This is awesome!

Me: Sweetie, the song is “Funkytown” from about 1980. And, it is regarded as the worst song in the history of pop music.

J: How do you know it’s so bad?

Me: Because I have discerning tastes in music.

J: Yeah, they’re really concerning.

Me: “Discerning.” It’s a different word. Please change the station.

(click) to the Adult Contemporary station.

Me: Oh My God! You must be some kind of Evil Genius! You have just found the SECOND worst song in the history of pop music!

And I ran.
I ran so far away.
I just ran.
I ran all night and day….

J: Well, did you ever like these songs when you were a kid?

Me: Um… Well… Uh…

Maybe the word is “concerning.”

I couldn’t get away.

[Editor's note: There are lots of worst songs in history. What's yours?]

Frozen Out

Julianna (she’s 10): Daddy, do you know what is annoying?

Me: What, Honey?

J: Isabella (she’s the 7-year-old) sang the songs from Frozen so much that I don’t even want to see the movie anymore.

Me: Well, she really likes the songs. We couldn’t really stop her. (Though, we SO tried.)

J: Yeah, I guess sometimes little kids can be really annoying.

Me: Yes. Kids can really be annoying.

J: Wait… You mean just Isabella, right?

(silence)

J: Dad. Daddy…. Dad!

Moving on. Kinda

Friends, after surviving in the music business for over 20 years, I am embarking on a new career path.

I am going into being Independently Wealthy. It’s the Perfect job for me! You will agree: I would look fetching in a Top Hat. Also, a cane. (Gotta have a cane.)

I’m still working on the logistics, and haven’t quite told my current boss, yet. (I’m sure he’ll understand.)

Fingers crossed! Wish me luck. Look for me on Kickstarter.

One Direction

On the Eastbound 134 in LA, the traffic sign flashes “Heavy Traffic Ahead. One Direction. Use Alt Route through Pasadena.”

This puzzles me. I’m going in One Direction like everyone else, eastbound. Through Pasadena. Is there an Alternate Route?

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, it dons on me… “One Direction” is a Band! (Or at least a bunch of good-looking singer boy-types playing at the Rose Bowl. In Pasadena.)

Pre-teeeeeeeens!!!

I m stuck in “One Direction” traffic.

Crap.

I worm my may over to the next-over lane and make an exit onto the Last Ditch Road to Get Over Before Being Crushed Against the Side-Rail Forever.

I’m Calm. I make my way to the Glendale Avenue.

Me: Girls, this trip was Horrific! Do you even like One Direction?

Julianna (she’s 10): Um… Like… No…. Like, YesterYear…

Iz: One What?

J: No one likes One Direction anymore. You’re so old.

Me: You don’t care about how much I struggled to get here.

J: No.. Because you don’t care about your anytime hours.

Playlists

My poor Prius. I crank the factory-installed radio more than it should be pushed.

But, don’t judge me. After dropping off the girls at school, here’s my back-to-back-to-back playlist:

Born to Run.
Stayin’ Alive. (Oh, yes! Falsetto and all. That’s how I roll.)
We Got the Beat.
19th Nervous Breakdown.
Hound Dog.
Roar.

Now, tell me… Who wants to go on a road trip with me to Vegas? (Though, you may have to hear me sing…) I dare you.

Front Seat Driver

After months and months of pleading to ride in the front seat of the car, Julianna has worn us down. She’s 10. And, I remember standing (asleep) in the wheel well of a VW Bug at 3. So, who am I to point fingers? (Except, you know, the Highway Transportation Safety Board.)

So finally…

Me: Julianna (again, she’s 10), I need you to go with me to get Isabella from Gymnastics so I can use the carpool lane.

Julianna: I don’t want to! (a defense also known as: What’s in it for me?)

Mommy and Daddy share a look.

Mommy: You can ride in the front seat.

I Googled the law. She’s 10. Tall enough. Heavy enough. Shit.

Me: Ok.

She climbs into the front seat even before I’ve put on my pants. (Editor’s note: My “lounging at home” pants are different from my “seeing other gymnastics parents” pants.)

Julianna, in the front seat for the first time. On the highway!

J: Daddy! This is Awesome!

She can’t stop giggling.

J: Everything is closer! Everything moves faster!

Me: Well, no, not really, Honey…

J: Whoa! Our car just went past that tree! Superfast! And we can see soooo much farther. To the Horizon!

Me: Like we always do.

J: Yeah, but, Daddy. It’s different for those of us in the back.

(I can’t tell you how much I appreciate her grammatically put-down of me.)

J: But, there’s the radio and the mirror and and the sun blocker thingy!

Me: Yes.

J: And, the Best Part of All?

Me: What, Honey?

J: We’ll get there BEFORE the back seat!

Me: Technically yeah, but… Never mind… YAY! Before the Back Seat! LOSERS!