Back to Clemson

Of course, just a week into Darth Wiggles arriving at Clemson University it was realized that we hadn't brought everything she needed. More importantly, Wiggles changed her mind and wanted a small refrigerator in her dorm room. So my wife and I ran back up there last weekend to bring her all the items, including her favorite foods from Costco. Thankfully there wasn't a football game last weekend.

My son did a semester at Clemson when he first started college but we never got a chance to walk around the campus. He transferred down to the University of South Carolina to finish he degree. I found the Clemson campus beautiful and wished I could have spent more time just walking around that day.  

Still not very knowledgeable about Clemson, and no, I'm not into college football but this clock tower is apparently famous. 

A bad picture of Wiggles standing next the statue of the guy the university is named after. Yes, we all were wearing masks that day but taking a picture with one on is silly to me.

Just a nice tree.

Late in the afternoon, my wife and I had to head back home. We left Wiggles in her dorm room happily eating Costco chicken dumplings and watching television. This squirrel though saw us off, he was quite upset with all the cars and people walking around his home. When we got back to Columbia I pretty much collapsed on the couch and was still tired the next day. Regular posts will return next Saturday with maybe a quick one in the middle of this week.  

 

 

Darth Wiggles Goes to Clemson

 

Well my wife and I reached another milestone in life last Saturday. Our daughter, Darth Wiggles, is now a full time student at Clemson University and living on campus. You would think being a full time student would naturally mean living on campus, but with the Covid pandemic throwing everything into chaos, she was doing online courses for three weeks here at home before it was her time to move up there.

The actual move to campus wasn't that bad compared to stories I have heard from other people. We did have to drive two cars because of all the stuff my daughter needed, but only barely. And the campus police and other Clemson staff had most everything dealing with the incoming students expertly planned out and carefully managed.

In fact, I only made a fool of myself twice that day, the first was unknowingly driving off the actual street and onto a pedestrian walkway. The second example was somehow getting lost LEAVING the campus. Once my wife and I had Darth Wiggles settled into her dorm room, we said goodbye and drove away in our respective cars. My wife pulled out of the parking lot immediately but I wanted to find an interesting podcast on my phone, so I didn't started driving for about fifteen minutes. Long story short, I missed a turn going out somewhere and was heading towards the South Carolina/Georgia/North Carolina border area for twenty minutes.

Darth Wiggles appears to be settling nicely into her new surroundings while for her parents the house to just too damn quiet. Right now the plan is for her to spend four to five weeks up there before coming home for a visit. No matter how much she was looking forward to getting on campus, there will be a period of homesickness to overcome.

It still sucks though, for my wife and I.

Disney Hilton Head Resort Vacation Time

Been off the grid for the past week for the most part, and it felt good. My wife, daughter, and I did some time down at the Disney Hilton Head Island Resort relaxing at the pool, on the beach, and down in Beaufort. While the Orlando parks and resorts haven't yet opened, both Hilton Head and the Vero Beach Resort went back into operation June 15. It goes without saying getting out of the house and the Columbia area was fantastic.  

The main building of the resort and office. Resort policy had us wearing masks while we were outside on the property. It was a mild pain but we complied since Beaufort County is even now having a spike in Covid cases.

Tuesday morning my daughter and I made it to the beach for sunrise. Always feels good to greet another day.

Went way overboard on the sunrise pictures took about twenty that morning and equal numbers on three other days.

Tried to capture the morning light and the sea oats. Didn't work out all that well.

One lone fishermen on the beach taking advantage of the unseasonably cooler weather Tuesday morning. 

Wednesday we drove down to Beaufort to walk around and stumbled upon this cool book store. NeverMore Books located at 702 Craven Street in Beaufort. It's mainly used books but there were a number of just released novels. Great atmosphere, it sort of has a mysterious vibe inside like you could run into Poe himself or someone from Harry Potter.

Jumping back to Tuesday my wife and I decided to hangout at the pool even though it was quite cold.

Finally, my daughter graduated from high school back in the first week of June. If  Covid allows, she is going to Clemson for the fall semester.

Like Father Like Daughter

 Far more years ago than I really want to remember, there was an incident with my National Guard unit that in a way came back to haunt me this week. Being more specific with the time frame, this all started in the spring of 1999. My son, Darth Spoilboy, was almost five years-old and playing Pee Wee soccer for the first time. In fact, his first game was on a Sunday during one of my National Guard drill weekends and this is where things went south.

In the old days, ending around the mid-1990's, the National Guard use to take into consideration things like important family events and “minor” stuff like civilian jobs. Both of those circumstances, along with the birth of a child or the death of a loved one was almost an automatic “get out of jail free card” allowing a soldier to skip drill weekend. The National Guard unit would then work with the soldier allowing them make up the missed time, usually having the individual come during the regular work week and do chores for the full-time Guard staff. The other option was to send the soldier off to drill with a different unit or some sort of special training at yet another location.

For various reasons in the mid-1990's, this easygoing policy went out the door with drill weekends starting to resemble a short term prison sentence. One of the causes of the leadership becoming far more stricter was that, of course, a lot of people abused the relaxed attitude about attendance to the point they had to do something. Another reason was simple bean counting because desk bound bureaucrats were actually closing National Guard units that were understrength. There was a rumor that never quite died that the bean counters, over the course of a number of years, found several units where the attendance roster didn't match up with the people that were suppose to be wearing the uniform in the armory that weekend. The results being that the leadership and full-time guys and gals of those units were relieved of command and had their careers ended.

Such an extreme circumstance caused the people in charge to lose their minds and clamp down like the fate of Western Civilization rested on perfect attendance. This extended to even no-brainer issues like civilian job work conflicts with the unit leadership literally informing the soldier to tell their civilian boss and coworkers to suck it up and deal with it. During the last four to five years before I retired from the Guard, I had to work around this issue many time resulting in severely strained relationships with my boss and coworkers.

All that being said, my issue that Sunday in 1999 didn't amount to the proverbial hill of beans in the greater scheme of things but on a personal level it was monumental. My loving spouse, the great Dragonwife, never agreed with the part of the National Guard spousal support manual that tells the wife or husband of a National Guard soldier your significant other belongs both body and soul to them until they say it doesn't. She wanted me at my son's soccer game and there would be hell to pay if I missed it. Initially, there shouldn't have been a conflict since my son's soccer game was scheduled so late that my unit was usually dismissed before that time.

Not that weekend, just after lunch all the officers and senior NCO's came out of a meeting telling everyone that the unit had a whole shitload of stuff to do and no one should expect to get home until well after 6:00pm. There wasn't any use in calling my wife and trying to explain the situation because I knew she would hit the roof and frankly, I was rather pissed myself. I'm uncertain how many people who have never served in the military have heard the euphemism, “Hurry up and wait”, but after the declaration that every soldier would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off for the rest of the day, somehow no direction or orders as what to do ever appeared. Enlisted soldiers and junior NCO's like myself just clustered together and began waiting for some sort of guidance to manifest itself.

A couple of hours ticked by with me getting increasingly upset. My son had an important event in his life about to occur and I was marooned on the other end of town. That was when I spotted the old fashioned phone booth inside the drill hall. A true relic from a past era, it had a small bench seat and those folding doors that allowed someone to shut themselves off from the rest of the world. As I stared at that early telecommunications wonder a plan quickly formulated in my tiny and inefficient brain.

I immediately called my brother, who lives in the upstate of South Carolina, and told him to phone my unit and say he was in Columbia and had just been involved in a car accident and needed a ride to get back home. We worked a short but important back story with the major point being that he had called my house looking for me but found out from my wife that I was doing my National Guard weekend duty. Another important point was that he had to wait thirty-minutes before calling the unit because several people had seen me in the phone booth and I didn't want the wrong person to connect the sudden emergency with my curious actions.

After that, all I could do was wait while remembering that I had once asked him to drop off some army blankets to my old National Guard unit that he passed within twenty yards (a little over 18 meters) everyday while on the way to work and back home again. I somehow forgot to turn them in during the process of transferring down to the Columbia unit. A couple of months later I'm reviewing my National Guard pay statement and discover my old unit had charged me sixty dollars for those blankets. I learned that my brother had forgotten to drop the blankets off with them ending up covers for the back seats of his van.

He came through this time with some nondescript lieutenant calling me to the office and almost immediately releasing me for the rest of the day. Not before I literally bumped into the first sergeant and having to explain the situation to him. You would have to have served in the military to understand the nature of first sergeants, having worked their way up through the ranks they know every stunt or scam a soldier could possibly pull. He didn't say anything, but just as sure as bears leave steamy piles of poop in the deep dark woods I realized he knew the scam I was attempting. For reasons I never figured out he told me to haul ass but drive safely.

Luckily for me, I got out of there with enough time to make it to my son's soccer game. This is where my daughter's recent scam comes into play.

It was last Wednesday around 10:30am when my ringing cell phone woke me up. “Hey Dad,” my daughter Darth Wiggles said, “I need you to come pick me up from school, the nurse says I have a fever and I feel awful.”

Working third shift is a pain in the backside but I did the required dad stuff and made my way to my daughter's school with every intention of taking her home. When I arrived I found that the two ladies that work at the reception desk in the main office had just stepped out and left the school nurse there to answer the phone and deal with slightly dazed parents like me.

“Hi,” I said, “my daughter just called and said she had a fever and needed me to pick her up.”

Since the school nurse has to deal with dozens of children each morning she just asked me for my daughter's name and her homeroom teacher then called that classroom. After hanging up though the nurse suddenly remembered dealing with my daughter.

“Ah Mr. Johnson, I checked your daughter's temperature about an hour ago and she was fine. Not only that, I've been her at the desk or my office the entire time and she hasn't used any of these phones.”

No one will ever make the mistake and think I'm that mentally swift but it was at that moment I realized the number that was displayed on my cell phone screen was the one for my daughter's cell phone. Since she had woke me up, I didn't pay attention to the number and just assumed everything was legit. It was also then the memories of my own phone scam to get out of drill and get to my son's soccer game came flooding back. I also remembered that my daughter had an algebra test that day and that she probably didn't study enough on Tuesday and was looking for a way to get out of it.

Instead of just turning around and leaving I had the nurse call my daughter's classroom and have her report to the office. A couple of minutes later Darth Wiggles walks into the office and sees the nurse and I talking. The “Oh Crap” look on her face was totally priceless. She then immediately turned around and went back to class while I was soon driving home eager to get back to sleep.

I know it was wrong, but I couldn't help but feel a little proud of my daughter. Oh yeah, she passed the algebra test with a B-minus so I let whole incident slide without telling Dragonwife.

News from the Home Front

Last Saturday afternoon the kids and I accompanied, Dragonwife, my lovely spouse, to Columbia International Airport so she could begin what would be a week-long business trip to Geneva, Switzerland. Unlike many airports Columbia's is actually a pleasant place to visit. Skylights in the roof provide a fantastic amount of natural sunlight, there are scores of places to sit including old fashioned wood rocking chairs along with plenty of plants scattered about to add some green to the surroundings. While I was okay with staying longer the kids wanted to go home to their respective activities while Dragonwife was eager to get the TSA security checks done and cross over to the section of the airport only passengers can go.

“You really need to get the kids home,” Dragonwife said absentmindedly while digging through her shoulder bag, “plus, I don't want you paying the short term parking fee.”

“Whatever,” I responded feeling slightly ticked that I was the only one of the four of us feeling any warm fuzzys at her getting ready to travel across a significant portion of the planet. So, with nothing left to say I turned and started heading for the exit hoping my kids, my eighteen-year old son and eleven-year old daughter, who were already way ahead, remembered to look both ways before crossing the street going towards the parking garage.

So with one last glance as my wife was scanned down to her bone marrow and felt up by some unisex TSA official I headed out the door feeling the last four of five months of her scrambling to get ready for this trip had ended rather anticlimactically. All things considered it didn't matter much to me since both simple duty and common sense required that I take a week off from work to watch over my kids. Even though Spoilboy is a semi-responsible kid, I just could not fathom leaving them at the alone house while I go do my usual night shift routine.

During the buildup she and I had debated on which one of us would be pulling the toughest duty. She made her case saying it was a business trip and I responded saying yes, in Geneva, Switzerland. I would then mention my National Guard summer camps that were always business along with being in either an alligator infested swamp or some hot and dry desert. Contrary to the nifty and sleek television commercials depicting awesome adventure training my summer camps in the peacetime National Guard were usually less exciting than watching grass grow or paint drying. Now there were the few exceptions when some anal retentive officer, desperate to gain favor with the active duty types, volunteered us for every crap detail under the sun.

Even if I understood the complicated details of my wife's tax attorney profession I could not reveal anything since in all respects it would certainly mean the forfeiture of vital and sensitive parts of my male anatomy. However, I can write that her previous business trips were always in far nicer locations than I could have dreamed compared to places where I regularly removed engorged ticks or cleaned out coarse desert sand from those same sensitive male areas.

During these last several days I have stopped my son from trying to sneak a girl into his room. Made sure my daughter brought a real lunch to school instead of attempting to stuff a bag of frosted flakes cereal into her backpack. Insured that the dogs and cat had fresh food and clean water everyday despite the fact those duties belong to the kids. This list could go on but lets just say they kept me busy and leave it at that.

Along with keeping the two Sith Lords honest I had the normal duties of making sure the house stayed reasonably clean, the refrigerator doors were kept closed, the front door was locked at night, and that a mountain of laundry did not grow so high as to touch the ceiling. In short, while I did not delve deeply into the “honey-do” list left by Dragonwife I stayed consistently busy during her absence, not that I will get any credit for it. Several times during this past week while in the middle of some mundane chore I had a chance to reflect on the irony of the current situation. While I love to leave the house and the curiously inbred little town I find myself marooned by wife is very much the homebody. That she travels quite a lot lately doesn't bother me at all, I'm proud of her intelligence and abilities. But what does bugs the living shit out of me is that every time I plan a short escape something always comes up. It's a small recompense but at least she is suppose to bring me a t-shirt from the famous CERN Large Hadron Collider located in Geneva. What can I say, it appeals to the SheldonCooper/science nerd/total geek side of me. However I am getting a little nervous since what happened yesterday.

While I was getting a jump on the weekend bedsheets and blanket washing Thursday afternoon I heard the obnoxious squealing brakes of the FedEx truck that goes through the neighborhood. At first I figured the delivery dude was just dropping off stuff to the angry troll across the street, he works at home and rarely leaves. But instead delivery dude came to my door carrying two medium-sized packages. Both were sent from Switzerland by my wife with each of the boxes addressed to one of the kids.

When the kids got home from school we opened them and discovered a beautiful coo coo clock for my daughter, Darth Wiggles. My son, Darth Spoilboy, had several things in his box namely a fancy Swiss army knife, a nice leather toiletry bag, and a sweatshirt with some sort of emblem on the front. But no, nothing from CERN for the hardworking dad who did his duty and made sure the house was still standing and the kids stayed out of jail.

An oversight? I surely hope so, or papa is going to be pissed.

Miss Wiggles dancing at the recital

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Saturday was the annual ballet recital for my daughter, Miss Wiggles, and her friends that signifies the start of summer for me in many ways with the biggest being that the school year ends less than a week later. Like every year since my daughter was four years-old it has been my duty on Tuesdays to rush her from daycare to ballet and tap dancing practice. The recitals are always sort of sad for me since they provide a clear marker for how much she was grown over the year.

As far as fatherly duties go, its not that bad as long as I could quickly leave the dance studio after dropping her off. If I have to stay, I will be the only dad in a sea of moms who broadcast uncomfortable vibes at me because of my presence which bounce off the walls like thunderous sound waves.

A few times over the last year, if I didn’t get out fast enough and to the nearby library it was possible for me to overhear some aspect of female conversation that guys just do not ever need to know about. Moreover, if I have to stay for some reason I can tell I stifle the resulting conversation, which was almost as bad resulting in the bad vibes. Anyway, that is thankfully behind me for another year. I would let Dragonwife take her but she prefers to take our son to piano practice which is at the same time.

This year an old college friend of Dragonwife’s and her boyfriend, down for a visit, joined us for the recital and I am thankfully we arrived as early as we did because it was soon standing room only for the first half of the performance. I couldn't imagine forcing Dragonwife's friends to go through the recital having to stand up. They have been together for several years but do not have any kids and I could tell they felt more than a little alien around all the other parents and kids. At least sitting down they seemed a little more comfortable and out of the way.

Before the performances started I saw the usual collection of suburban drones complete with desperate housewives scoping out both what the other women were wearing and any guys that looked single. The gossip among these ladies flew at supersonic speeds with Dragonwife in the middle of some of it. It was also easy to see frustrated dads on various smart phones and blackberries tapping out what must have been important messages. When the curtain finally went up and the lights dimmed a welcomed hush sweep over everyone.

The second half brought the ballet portion of the recital and a little more breathing room in the auditorium since many people hauled ass if their child had no other presentation. Before anyone gets any ideas I realize that my cinematography skills hover somewhere in the negative realm but since I was sitting inside a crowded auditorium using an old digital camera with a rinky-dink video function that in all honesty barely works I feel pretty good with what I recorded. The first little girl you see is not my daughter but since at the start of the routine she is still behind the curtain I focused on who was on the stage. My daughter will be the one in purple outfit trying to keep up with the bigger girls. Miss Wiggles and the other girls had a great time and are looking forward to the start of a new year of dancing in the fall. I am too as long as I can continue to flee the scene after dropping her off.

Call the Bolshoi Ballet

Just because I really have no interest in hearing the assorted suburbanite moms discuss their trials and tribulations while Miss Wiggles and their daughters are practicing ballet I usually haul ass to the nearby library and cool my heels in some way. This time though their practice was open and I remembered to bring my video camera and get some of the action recorded. While this segment is not the best of their performance the instructor this year has done wonders with the girls and I expect they will be awesome for the recital in May.

The funny part about my aversion to staying at the dance studio has to do with the time Wiggles and I arrived extra early and while I was around the corner of the hallway waiting for her to finish changing into her outfit. During that brief time two moms came in, not seeing me, and continued with their discussion comparing the sexual performance and habits of their husbands. It was far more information than I ever wanted to know and I yelled loudly to Wiggles in the restroom to hurry up even though I was right outside the door. It should be easy to guess I increased the volume in my voice strictly to alert the two ladies of my presence and that I was hearing their conversation. Since I am now somewhat uncomfortable around the waiting moms I quickly turned Wiggles over to the instructor and got the Hell out of Dodge. Which is a real bummer since the deli next door has an awesome WiFi bandwidth which can be picked up inside the dance studio waiting area while the library blocks most videos feeds.

High Impact Wiggles

My daughter, Miss Wiggles, is to say the least a tough little girl. I have seen her get in the middle of my son and his friends wrestling on the floor and come away laughing. Our trips to the beach no matter how overall relaxing always has moments of sheer terror. I have caught my daughter trying to wandering into rough surf alone believing she can handle it; running up to strange dogs constantly thinking they will want to play with her as much as she wants to play them; and the real terror episode was when she was desperate to swim next to a jellyfish going about its merry and oblivious way. Many times only divine protection and sheer luck has prevented disaster.

My daughter dynamism does spill over back home and in school resulting in many notes from her teachers sometimes writing of something akin to a tiny revolutionary out to squash the established order. At daycare one time I came to pick her up after work only to have a talk with a very tired and frustrated college girl majoring in education about how upset Wiggles got when she found out that vanilla pudding was going to be served for the afternoon snack instead of chocolate. If the description of the events described by the young lady were true my daughter staged something close to a strike getting other children to refuse to accept what she called that nasty stuff. Still though, she does have moments where the little girl stands out and not some extra concentrated package of "blood and guts" out to conquer the world.

When I picked her up Wednesday she had the usual look of having done something that would result in a talking to back home. Examining her daily papers back at the house my wife and I did find a note from her teacher stating that she had kicked a little boy in the nuts that day. Wiggles was not at all responsive about why she had done such a thing, refusing to talk about it at all. After dinner though when she was tired and sleepy she did open up about what had happened.

The troubles started at recess-don't they always-when the little boy in question for some reason came up and hit her. Wiggles started crying when she said that the teacher didn't really listen to her when she went to go tell and when the boy came back before he could get at her again she kicked him, apparently making the little shit run off to the teachers screaming foul.

While it might be naive I believed my daughter and wrote a "nice" note back to the teacher explaining Wiggles side and how when she went to tell a teacher they didn't listen to her. I also dropped a line or two wondering how this happened and how it might be better if they spend a little more time getting the whole story.

Thursday afternoon we found a note from Wiggles' teacher apologizing for not finding out the whole story and that the little boy in question had gotten a note sent home for his actions and was forced to apologize to my daughter. Now this story should end here but like so many things in life nothing ever really ends. Late Friday afternoon we decided to grab a quick dinner at the fast food chicken sandwich place then hit a movie. My wife and I were at the table watching Wiggles play with a little boy in the enclosed playground and after refusing several times to come eat her food I was forced to go inside and physically bring her to the table. Much to my surprise she was followed by her playmate and when I started to talk with him I was very surprised to learn that her playmate was none other than the little boy that had hit her and that she had kicked in the nuts. The two continued to talk while she ate and upon Dragonwife and I briefly exchanged greeting with the boys parents.

Walking out the door the boy yelled out, "I'm sorry I hit you the other day." Clearly heard by everyone in the place.

With my daughter yelling back even louder, "I'm sorry I kicked you in the nuts." The place fell silent as we left with me wishing that things could be this easy for grownups.

Things we did this weekend

The overt consumer materialism thing ain't for me however several months ago our main television started showing strong signs that it was approaching a terminal end of useful life, so we thought it best to get a new one before it blew up.
When after everything else has been eliminated and the television picture goes to static on the screen and a weird smell starts drifting through the house its best to get a new television.

Our purchase of a 40" LCD screen television went extremely easy with the giant retail corporation more than happy to sell us one using the credit card we had with them without coughing up one of the kids as collateral. It was quickly setup back at the house with a minimum of fuss even with the usual snarky comments from my wife. That television gave excellent service until an unfortunate even that happened just last Friday night.

Darth Spoilboy came into my room sometime late Friday evening while I was trying to sleep to tell me that he had inadvertently "hit" the television while entertaining several of his friends playing X-Box360. Puzzled and with more than a few cob webs running through my brain I went to inspect the damage but did not realize how bad it was even with Dragonwife busting a couple of gaskets upstairs.

I found a crack in the screen very similar to one you might find in a car windshield after it had been impacted with a small rock. It took the shape of a star but the resulting damage had never the less royally screwed the picture as you can see. Now I must admit I was a little upset but I hadn't quite gone into orbit like Dragonwife who had the poor kid close to being drawn and quartered in front of his friends. I am a little puzzled still, a few days later, about his explanation over how he hit the screen but its all water under the bridge now. Sunday afternoon Spoilboy and I took the television back to the place we bought it with the copy of the extended warranty we bought and were promptly told we were shit out of luck. The expensive extended warranty not only doesn't cover accidental damage but it would cost just about the same amount to buy a new one as have our not yet six month old television repaired. Of course this was something we found out Sunday afternoon but a more pertinent question is what do the next day after having an expensive and not yet paid for television ruined?


You go to the Carolina Renaissance Festival up near Charlotte, North Carolina. After a frustrated Dragonwife almost canceled the trip a near mutiny that resulted changed her mind and we all piled into the car and made our way up.

On a side note it must be stated that I almost had a mutiny on my hands with the selection of music I brought along. Naturally, Buffett was my choice but neither my wife, son, or his girlfriend, Darth Shopalot, thought much of my musical tastes. Even Miss Wiggles, who normally would have agreed with me, went to the other side forcing me to surrender and listen what they liked on the radio. The picture here is of the two traitorous Sith Lords, Shopalot on the left and my son, Spoilboy on the right.





Trying to be a good husband I pointed out to my wife the wide selection of brooms she could purchase at the festival to get her around town. My sense of humor, as with my music on the ride up, was unappreciated to the extreme. Even after I pondered out loud that she at least could purchase her mother one, as long as it the broom stick was extra strong. Much to my surprise that comment didn't go over any better.
















No one call Child Protective Services, that's just my son holding my beer. The drunk look on his face is just an act, I promise.















The festival hosts many performers with a very wide spectrum of acts. This guy is doing his impersonation of a statue. While I kept Miss Wiggles on a metaphorically short leash around this guy doing his thing another, younger child, tried to make off with the small box, that is slightly out of this picture, that he was using to collect money for his "performance".











This is Don Juan of "Don Juan and Miguel"an act that showed their talents with whips, comedy, and some less than spectacular sword fighting although I wouldn't tell them that. They were hilarious and if you get the chance to visit a nearby renaissance festival see if they are performing.















This troop of performers are called "Barely Balanced" and did some great tricks doing some serious acrobatics, juggling, fire breathing, and comedy.

I had to really admire all these performers who did some very difficult acts out in the open were the weather can at a minimum cause you to make a fool of yourself to a crowd that might not be very forgiving. At worse, given some of what these guys were doing, a mistake could kill you.








As the day was drawing to a close we stumbled upon Ms. Sarah Marie Mullen as she was playing her harp. Miss Wiggles was in awe of what she was doing and after a set Ms. Mullen gave my daughter a short lesson in playing the harp. I did record it and if adding the video hadn't thrown my computer into spasms I would have included it. I may try again on a separate post although the video is short.

As much as my wife might disagree lust played no part in my demanding we purchase several of her CD's.









The kids on our way out after the purchase of several expensive hats. I tried to get Dragonwife in the picture but upon threat of severe pain I was reminded of our agreement about her showing up on my humble blog,

















I don't know why I included this picture in the post. It may be because it was the only one where my stomach didn't make me look pregnant. Or it may be because the skeleton is a good analogy of my dead sex life. Either way we had a good time and if I wasn't so tired and wanted to bore the living daylight out of y'all even more I would have included more pictures.

More Pawelys Island and I do have a Southern accent

Far too many spoke far too soon about my missing Southern accent from my previous post. The next day on our recent beach trip it was a gray, rainy day with the wind a steady gale, and the surf was a angry white froth. Before anyone wonders if Miss Wiggles and I hung around in such conditions all I can write is Hell yes! Pawleys Island in that weather was totally awesome and walking in that wind and rain was about the most exhilarating thing I had done in a good while. Feeling those forces swirl around me it was easy to understand how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Some might not like their tiny position in the universe being so explicitly pointed out but it made me feel like part of something far grander than the trivial and exaggerated activities of naked primates who far too often believe they are the centers of creation.

I started recording hoping I would not sound as stupid in my first experiment my daughter up and starts running for the the inlet at the very end of the island where the much calmer creek meets ocean. In good weather the inlet is about as dangerous as it comes with chaotic currents libel to carry a person out to sea or drag them under. So while looking through the viewfinder seeing my daughter suddenly running to the very edge about freaked me the crap out. I have listened to my words several times and not only did I hear my Southern accent bubble up I again felt the swift terror rip through my guts knowing that had my daughter literally made just a few more steps backward she would fallen into much deeper water. While the camera drifted off the place where my daughter sat in the sand my eyes were totally on her. Had she moved the camera would have been ruined with me dropping it in the sand going after her. Still, I was uncomfortable where she was at but I did not want to startle her and cause the very incident that did not happen.

Despite the near disaster we did stay several more hours talking with a few other brave souls who were enjoying the atypical beachcombing weather. When Miss Wiggles and I did leave our next destination was the beautiful city of Charleston, South Carolina. While I did take a bunch of pictures of that visit I will spare everyone from seeing most of them.. However, since I'm sure no one will want to see anymore of my Spielberg-like endeavors I did not record any video. My next post will be more along my usual fare.

Daddy is a bad influeance

Before anyone freaks out I will freely admit I am more than likely a bad influence on my daughter. Some might be chagrined at the seemly religious altar dedicated to Jimmy Buffett behind my daughter but I assure everyone that I am not indoctrinating her in the partying tenets espoused by the Church of Buffett, orthodox.


This picture was taken at the Charleston Margaritaville where I wasted, as my wife would say, good hard earned money on Jimmy Buffett hats and t-shirts. Someday I hope to bring the rest of my family into the one true faith, freeing them of the drivel and mind-numbingly boring aspects associated with modern suburban life. But seriously back to the main point of this tiny, desperate post, ain't my little pirate cool?

Modern American Dad

.....and major league screw-up.



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No one will ever accuse me of being like the fathers from the 1950’s family sitcoms. In most of those shows the dads floated on the outer edge of the family seemly god-like in their wisdom and aloofness. I do not even fit the bill in appearance with those fictional fathers, their wardrobe more often than not being a suit and tie and never getting more casual than a white dress shirt, open at the neck, and dress pants, and dress shoes. The only time I wear a suit is for funerals and weddings, my normal attire around the house is usually t-shirt, and cargo shorts.

Watching the various dads from “Father knows best”, “Leave it to Beaver”, or “Ozzy and Harriet” I was always puzzled how they seemed to be either at work or lounging in their private den smoking a seriously dignified pipe while reading the afternoon paper. Any appearance by the father in other parts of the house for interaction with his wife were short which I generally attributed to the inability of the story writers of finding a way of getting the mother out of the kitchen where she was always cooking or cleaning. However, the overriding assumption in those sitcoms was that no matter what the father’s wisdom was never to be questioned, his actions were never mistaken, and his decisions never wrong. Only the ridiculously foolish saw any reality in those early televisions shows but never the less I regularly find out how much I can fail in the true wisdom, correct decisions, and appropriate actions department in real life.

Yesterday was Miss Wiggles’, my daughter, spring ballet and tap recital culminating the nine months of practices she had attended with me waiting in the cramped and uncomfortable parent waiting area. During those practices I heard her and her classmates laugh and giggle as a twenty-something instructor did her best to herd the small group of kittens into some order. During those times, I usually read a book or steal Wi-Fi from neighboring deli and surfed the internet. Centered on the main wall in the waiting area was a rather large white board that the owner of the dance studio wrote down important updates or bulletins that the parents needed to know about. I was responsible enough to take notice of anything written on that white board before I started pursuing my own interests but, much to my chagrin, the notes posted beside the large board could and did slip my attention at times. Moreover, it was yesterday that such a slip jumped up and bit me in the ass.

As Saturdays go yesterday was, as usual, busy right from the start. With the big recital early that afternoon the normal weekend house cleaning was pressed into overdrive. Especially since the in-laws were driving down to see my daughter dance and one of Dragonwife’s, my wife, greatest fears is to hear her mother complain about how dirty our bathrooms look. Bathroom inspections is something my mother-in-law takes a huge enjoyment in with her giving unsolicited and very detailed reports of the restrooms in any public place we might accompany her and my father-in-law. Thankfully my in-laws stay home a lot.

While my wife, son, and daughter were busy cleaning I had to zip up to the local mega-hardware store to try and buy a new lifting spring for one of the garage doors that a few nights before had suddenly popped sounding like a blast form a large caliber handgun. Replacing the spring is easy but the issue is when I have to get everything back into place and tighten back down so nothing tangles and, heaven forbid, really tear something up once the garage door is back in service. Surprisingly this time everything fell right back into place and I was done so quick that Dragonwife did not have the chance to stick her head outside to offer up some snarky comments like the other times.

Returning to help inside I found the house without conflict and everyone working to clean the house up. The change to the usual chaos was because of my son’s girlfriend, who had arrived at the house earlier and was going with us to the recital. She was helping with the cleaning of Miss Wiggles' room who was quite happy to have something akin to a big sister that morning. Dragonwife was in a strangely good mood, maybe because I had finished my first task under her unspoken time limit. I did not argue, while she was not sleeping and not laying down I saw no need to do anything to disrupt her placid state. Yes, read what you want in that vague sentence.

A few hours later, after the arrival of the in-laws, we loaded up and made the short trip to the school auditorium in which the recital was being held. When we arrived I was quite surprised that the general good mood of everyone was still holding tight. My wife was agreeable and seemly unstressed. My daughter was holding the hand of Spoilboy’s girlfriend talking to her about something girlie. My son, Darth Spoilboy, had quickly drifted off to talk with a couple of friends in the auditorium there to see younger siblings perform in the recital themselves. And thankfully the in-laws had not spoiled the mood and started mouthing off about politics and their hero Sean Hannity as I talked with them in the hallway waiting for the doors to the auditorium to open.

When the doors did open Dragonwife and Miss Wiggles left to join the other little girls and mothers in the dressing room. The rest of us took seats inside and began enjoying the many performances. I did not know it but the brief era of good feelings had just ended and the fault rested squarely on me.

Miss Wiggles’ first performance was a tap number with her and the other little girls dancing to the tune of “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch”. Wiggles’ and her fellow performers pranced around the stage in a fairly organized manner and clearly enjoying being the center of attention for the moment. As soon as it ended and the doors to the auditorium were reopened to allow people to enter and leave briefly before the next act. During that time Dragonwife came storming back in clearly in a very bad mood. While Wiggles’ had been performing I had been taking pictures on the far side of the auditorium away from most people and it was clear that I was the destination and target of my wife’s irritation. With her mouth pressed together in a very thin line and her eyes wide, her mean face, I knew from past experience I had really stepped in the poop.

“You did sign Wiggles’ up for her three year trophy?” She asked, and with her being a lawyer I knew full well she already knew the answer to that question.

“What three year trophy?” I asked back. I quickly ran through the past few weeks trying to remember if anything was said to me about a trophy. Truth be told nothing had, and that was the problem I was about to learn.

“At the dance studio was a sign-up sheet for trophies to be given out after the recital. Wiggle’s was due her three year trophy.” My wife said to me.

“Where was the sign-up sheet?” I asked again knowing now that I had screwed up someplace along the line, I just needed my wife to confirm it.

She told me that the instructor had hung it next to the large white board used to relay messages to parents in the waiting area of the studio. Now this is where I could claim some extenuating circumstances but I knew right then it would not help. Not only was my wife not in the mood to hear any excuses, I could not deny that I had simply screwed up.

The dance studio my daughter attends is not a full-time job to the owner. Not only is it a part-time job for her but also for the young instructors she employs. So while they do have the white board in the studio to relay messages they do not make use of a website or email to pass along messages that might not be written on the board by hurried part-time instructors eager to finish up herding their class of kittens and get home. Let us not forget about dumbass dads that might not have enough sense to look closely at the various pieces of paper taped alongside it. There is no telling how long that sign-up sheet might have hung next the white board with me not noticing it among the other pieces of paper. The fact that during those times I was either reading or surfing the internet, failing to do my fatherly duty, pretty much ruined the rest of the day for me with Dragonwife never failing to mention my inattention to my her parents, the dance studio staff, and any passerby unlucky enough to come within her reach.

My father-in-law saw fit to grab me by the shoulder and quickly say not to worry too much about it. “Shit happens”, he said as we walked to pick up Wiggles’ at the end of the recital after her classmates walked up on stage to receive their trophies, except her.

My daughter came running up to me with a few lingering tears on her face. I did not need to ask what was wrong, that thousand-pound weight was resting squarely on my shoulders. “Daddy, I didn’t get a trophy”, was all she could say as we walked out. My wife and mother-in-law were up ahead whispering something to each other and clearly mad, my father-in-law seemed preoccupied wanting to be someplace else, and my son and his girlfriend had long since skipped out before the end of the recital.

Hours later most of my sins had either been forgiven of at least filed away for future blackmail in the case of my daughter or emotional torture by Dragonwife. However, the kicker was that as I was surfing the satellite channels trying to forget my mistakes, I stumbled upon one of the channels that plays old 1950’s sitcoms. “Leave it to Beaver” just happen to be playing and for reasons I do not know I sat and watched the rest of that episode.

The Beaver’s dad, Old Ward Cleaver, did not show up until the last five minutes of the episode solving whatever problem the Beaver had gotten himself into. Of course the Beaver had to exclaim his undying love and gratitude saying he had the perfect dad with his older brother and mother, June Cleaver, looking on happily smiling. This is completely stupid but I swear right then I hated that bastard Ward Cleaver.