The Horror that is Lazy von Jingles

Do you feel it?  That empty place in your soul where trivial, useless musings used to live.  It eats at you day after day, wondering about what's happened to Jack Grubb and his fabulous blog.  Sure, you tried to fill the void with cat videos and whatever links George Takei throws at you on Facebook, but nothing can replace Losing the Internets.  I know; I felt it too.

You can now stop sitting in the back of your closet drinking Mad Dog 20/20 listening to Depress Mode records in the dark.  I'm back, baby, so please stop flooding my inbox with requests...

wait...

Not one...

Screw you, guys!  I could have been lying dead in a ditch for all you care.  I could have been taken hostage by a rogue tribe of donkey-men demanding equal pay and their weight in hay.  Man, this is more depressing than the time when my imaginary friend ran away with my imaginary dog.  Even my Christmas elf ignores me.

That's right, I have a Christmas elf -- not that you care.  He came as a package deal with Daffodil Snowflake, the Princess's elf.  Her elf gives her special surprises, like a tub of cookie dough in the fridge or trips to the zoo.  Daffodil texts the Princess with clever jokes and inspirational quotes.  She loves her elf and draws it pictures depicting the two dancing and enjoying a nice yogurt parfait together.

My elf, Lazy von Jingles, hates me and I hate him.  While Daffodil flitters around the house spreading sunshine and gaiety, Lazy von Jingles just sits on the couch eating pork rinds and scratching himself with our good spatula.  Ask him to bring his plate to the sink or stop watching Pay-Per-View pornography, and he just spits in your eye.  And the mouth on the bastard!  Even Eminem was like, "Dude, you need to tone it down."

I didn't even want to get into the Elf Tradition. (Can you even call something started in 2005 a tradition?)  If you're not familiar with Elf on a Shelf, let me fill you in.  Evidently, Santa could give a crap about privacy rights as he sends his NSA-like elf spies to record your every move.  From Thanksgiving until Christmas, these little a-holes watch to see what "naughty" things your family does on a day-to-day basis.  Then on Christmas Eve, it goes back to Santa with a comprehensive report that makes the Affordable Care Act seem like light reading.  Forget Elf on a Shelf, it should be called NARC in the Dark.

My elf, however, will have none of that.  According to von Jingle, I'm already on the naughty list because "I know what I did."  I can't even protest it to the big guy himself or a "dead hooker may find its way into my trunk."  And forget about the nice gifts or experiences that some elves leave their charge.  Here's what the Princess got from Daffodil Snowflake:

Here's the kind of texts I get:

or

The worst part of Lazy is whenever I ask if he's really leaving on Christmas, he just winks and says "Maybe."  What the hell does that mean?!  And why does he keep slapping me on the butt?  Seriously!

Maybe now you'll feel bad for not caring if I posted another entry on the blog.  It's pretty hard to write while hiding from some maniacal elf who keeps "accidentally" cutting the power lines.  You know a nice note would have given me an emotional boost in this hard time.  But go ahead, enjoy your holiday.  Lazy von Jingles has a butter-sock full of Christmas cheer all ready for me. 

What I learned on Sesame Street

There are three things in this world that I know to be true:

1. Milk and bread only become necessities one day before a major snow storm.
2. Scotch tape always seems in abundant supply, except when you need to wrap a birthday present.
3. When day 17 hits on your child's Christmas break from school you will let her watch 25 hours of television a day.

That's right, Day 17 of Christmas break from school.  From December 21st  to now would be 17 days without any formal educational stimuli.  Starting with the ten day trip to Grandmama and Fafa's house, the Princess has survived on presents, candy, cookies, pie and a unending stream of attention.  Someone may have even slipped her some booze.*  It's hard to tell since every three-year-old slurs words and challenges bigger people to fights, especially those hopped up on high fructose corn syrup.

We arrived home just before New Year's thinking that a few days of Grandparent Detox were in order, and then, just when we couldn't stand the little darling any more, she would go off to school and we could get our lives back in order.  I love the little Princess with all my heart, but I understand that I can no longer keep her interest by myself.  She's seen through my charade of entertainment, and after half a day with me I just become annoying.  By day 15 of break, my role was to open Play-doh cans, unscrew the paint cups and occasionally remind her that the dog does not like to be pounced on.  At least school was scheduled to resume the next day.

Except when inches of snow drop and it's -26°.  Evidently these weather conditions make attending an educational institution an impossibility.  It's also the weather conditions that make a parent give up and let Netflix babysit.  "At least I'll get her to watch something educational while I sit in the corner and weep," I say to convince myself this is a responsible idea.  How about some Blue's Clues or Sesame Street?  That's like a school that comes in delightful hour long segments.

To my surprise, she did choose Sesame Street, a show she didn't want to watch after her third birthday because it was "only for babies."  And watching it with extremely tired eyes, I started noticing things I didn't before.  Things like:

• Ernie and Bert can afford to live in a downtown New York apartment even though they have no jobs, a kindergarten level education and an unhealthy attachment to bottle caps and rubber ducks.  Either they are living on government assistance or they are heir to the FEO Schwartz fortune.
• Cookie Monster probably has Type 2 diabetes.
• The older I get, the more I relate to Oscar the Grouch's way of thinking.
• Telly Monster sounds like he's 45 and works in a New York butcher shop.  What's he doing hanging around a bunch of kids?
• It's kinda mean the way Elmo keeps pestering Mr. Noodle in his Elmo's World spot.  Just let the homeless man outside your window sleep.
• Elmo's World, itself, needs an update.  Today's episode talked about developing film for cameras.  Unless Elmo is a hipster art geek, he probably should go digital.  Or just do a show about iPhones and take a countless number of pictures of food.
• I miss Kermit the Frog and spent the rest of the day showing the Princess his on-the-spot reporting segments.  On the plus side, I love Murray, the new "host" of Sesame Street.
• The Street still rocks and made a 37 year old man laugh.

At least if I have another few days of no school, I can spend it watching an old favorite with my daughter.  I hear that the temperature sky rockets to the 20's later this week, and school should be back on.  Maybe we have time to squeeze in one or two more episodes.

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*Editors' note:  Dear Child Protective Services,  Under no circumstances did anyone give our child any alcohol.  That would be wrong.  She didn't even eat that much sugar.  And we had no prior knowledge that chloroform was doused on that rag.  She was just smelling things, and well...let's have my friend Mr. Franklin explain it to you.

My Mix Tape

The hardest emotion for two people to display to one another is love.  Sure they can write poems, or send flowers, or cook a favorite meal, or kiss, or canoodle, or go on romantic vacation cruise through upper Mongolia, or even say "I love you," ... but do any of those things really say love?  What's needed is a method of communication that can woo the heart and rock out the soul.  What's needed is a mix tape.

A mix tape conveys what you could have said if you kept practicing the guitar and didn't scare young children when you sing.  It's the first step of a real relationship and takes you from the "like" stage to the "like-like" stage.  For a teenager or hipster, a mix tape become the unspoken statement or, "I really think you're swell.  Now here are some songs that should help me get to second base."  You could use it to try and round third and slide into home, but that's some pretty tricky mixing.  Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On may work, but don't oversell your position with a song like George Michael's I Want Your Sex.  There's a fine line between romantic gesture and restraining order.

In the heyday of mixes--after 8 Tracks and before MP3s--you had to have a physical copy of the song before you could transfer it to a cassette or CD.  This usually meant that aside from borrowing your sister's Bryan Adams and Eric Clapton: Unplugged CD's, you had to rely on whatever music you owned.  If you were a music aficionado, you were OK.  But if you were like me and all your tapes could fit inside a shoebox, then you were in trouble.  One of my best friends tried to make a mix for a girl during his sophomore year in high school and he only owned three Guns and Roses tapes and one Pearl Jam CD.  When he got to track four and had to resort to Welcome to the Jungle, we both knew that he should look elsewhere for dates.

The key to a mix tape (or playlist for the iTunes generations) lies in mixing up the themes and genres.  Love songs hit a nice chord, but after five or six in a row, they all sound the same:

I love you like [insert metaphor] 
and more than [insert another metaphor]
Why don't we [sexual innuendo]

Throw in a power anthem to shake it up a little.  It will show that you have some depth and can find interest in a variety of topics.  Besides, 20 love songs in a row becomes pretty creepy.  Stalkers fill a playlist with 20 love songs.

For an added degree of difficulty, try to select different genres and eras.  Like theme choice, this shows that your personality has many sides to it.  You like Rock AND Country!?  Frank Sinatra and Jay Z?!  Why, you are complex and interesting and need some lovin'.  Selecting a smattering of lesser known bands also helps your "interesting" level, but do so sparingly.  Filling the entire mix with "indie" artists makes you a condescending douchebag.

Every year since 2007 I've actually created a mix for the Queen for one of her Christmas presents.  I find that it keeps the marriage interesting, especially during a stressful time of the year.  Now that the Princess is around and cognizant, all music must carry the all-important Princess Seal of Approval.  And although its kinda testosterone-heavy at the end, I think we did alright this year.

Here's the list:

1. Princess intro (a days of the week song recorded by the Princess herself)
2. Princess Cupcake -- Marion Call
3. Roar -- Katie Perry
4. Home -- Jack Johnson
5. Calico Skies -- Paul McCartney
6. The Luckiest -- Ben Folds
7. Free to Be Me -- Francesca Battistelli
8. Carry On (iTunes Session) -- Fun.
9. Head over Feet -- Alanis Morissette
10. I Don't Know a Thing -- Lucy Schwartz
11. I Will Wait -- Mumford & Sons
12. That's When I Love You -- Mark Aaron James
13. Odds Are -- Barenaked Ladies
14. What Would I Do Without You -- Drew Holcomb & the Neighbors
15. Superman -- Lazio Bane
16. Marry You -- Bruno Mars
17. Turn Up the Music -- Lemonade Head
18. Rhythm of Love -- Plain White T's
19. OK, It's Alright With Me -- Eric Hutchinson
20. Gone, Gone, Gone -- Phillip Phillips
21. Close your Eyes -- Michael Buble
22. Monday -- ALO
23. Cherry Bomb -- John Mellencamp
24. Waiting On the World to Change -- John Mayer
25. This Song Would Be Better -- Mark Aaron James
26. A Pirate Looks at Forty -- Jimmy Buffett
27. Brave -- Sara Bareilles
28. Flowers in Your Hair -- The Lumineers
29. Save the Last Dance For Me -- Michael Buble
30. Merry Christmas, Mommy/You Are My Sunshine -- The Princess

Long, but needs to last an exhausting car trip to whatever parents house we visit for Christmas.  I think its one of the better one's I've made, although last year I did get to slip in "Dumb Ways to Die" by Tangerine Kitty (which is really an Australian train safety PSA).  At least it should help me get to "Like-like" stage, and perhaps we could even hold hands at the malt shop.

When haircuts ruled the world

For my whole life, I had horrible hair.  My 217 cowlicks and penchant to produce roughly 2.1 liters of hair grease a day had previously led the EPA to declare my head a public disaster area.  My right side always stood straight up as if a ghost constantly hid behind every door frame just to jump out and shout "Boo!"  My left side of my head declared war on the right side, and while the right side was clearly distracted, it launched a sneak attack with a sweep and started to take over.

Frankly, I given up.  I decided that the only way to tame the mane was to let it take over my entire body.  I let the back grow into my shirt collar.  My bangs overtook my eyebrows, making all looks of astonishment obsolete.  My ears also disappeared underneath the sideburns from hell, which accounts for all times I could not hear important chore lists from the Queen.  At the same time, I decided not to trim my beard so it would not conflict with the homeless motif I had going on.

By the time the Queen had enough and ordered my haircut, I approximately looked like this:

Very distinguished, but I had the nagging suspicion that soon I would get fleas

I was skeptical at first.  No one ever cut my Cthulhu-like hair without going a bit insane.  Could I ruin another person's life like that?  Perhaps I could if they were a horrible person, like one that goes out after work and sells crack cocaine to baby seals.  But never someone normal with a family and dreams.  That would be barbaric! (Get it?  Barbaric...barber.  I'm hilarious!)

I relented because I subscribe to the mantra, "Happy wife, happy life."  On Saturday, we bundled up the Princess and braved the elements to Platinum Black and happened to run into a miracle worker.  Lizzie took one look at the hot mess in front of her, rolled up her sleeves, and gave a viking yawp that would please the gods.  I admit it, I blacked out a bit and don't know exactly what happened, but I heard from others in the shop that it was like watching Da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa.

When I came to, Lizzie talked about my hair as "hip" and "stylish."  I'm not too sure how "hip" a work-at-home dad who has seen all three seasons of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic can be, but for one shining moment, I'll take it.  So how do I look?  Pretty damn good!

Picture under protest because of background issues. The Queen just wanted you to know.

I may even amount to a "Hey, Bud" guy.  You know when you meet someone who has it so together that when they shake your hand for the first time, they also give you a arm slap and say, "Hey, Bud," like you have known them for years.  The guy who always wears his jacket at a party because he's "only staying for one drink."  With this new do and some new clothes, I could attain that unreachable milestone.

Or I could become a model.  A husky model with awesome hair.