Things I Won't Be Able To Do Forever, Episode 2387

The smaller kid rides on my back as I run through the yard. My oldest kid is hot on our tail. I can still outrun him, but he's gaining on me a little every day, plus I've got this shrieking leprechaun on my back. He chases me around the yard a few times and almost catches me, but I manage to make it back to the deck AKA base where I plunk down on my ass, sucking wind.

Then they switch.

The youngest is not as fast as his older brother, but now I'm carrying the larger of the two kids on my back, and the extra pounds don't go unnoticed. Our yard slopes, and on the way back up I notice a burning sensation in my calves. Really? I think. I'm working that hard?
I make it back to base, still untagged. My eldest hops down and I sit with a heavy thud. Inhale, exhale....

And then they switch.

What I Hear In My Head Every Time I Look At This Picture

We took los boyos to the Sherwood Forest Faire a while back...kind of a Renaissance Fair kind of thing. All I'm saying is, if you ever have the chance to enroll your kids in sword-fighting classes taught by a guy named Oskar Hasselhoff, by all means, sign them up. 

Writing Music

INT. - A STARBUCK’S IN A POSH PART OF TOWN

The joint’s packed with fancy folks. Lots of laptops, lots of bluetooths, lots of plastic surgery. The orders being placed and filled by the chipper baristas behind the counter are marvels of idiosyncratic expression. the music playing over the P.A. is in no danger of harming anyone. Sitting by the window with his tall coffee (“Room for cream?” “Yes, please.”) is The Holmes, typing away at his laptop, his head connected to the device via a pair of headphones. He types, stops, reads, considers, types, etc.

Outside the window by which The Holmes is camped out, we see a large truck, a Ford F-1-Asshole or whatever, shiny and black. It hops the curb into the parking lot, roars across the asphalt, and knocks a taillight out of a Lexus before screeching to a halt outside the coffee shop’s entrance. The driver jumps down and yells something unintelligible as he stomps around to the passenger side.

The Holmes is typing faster now, his body trembling with energy. People continue to walk in and out, the baristas continue their attempts to outdo one another with their displays of extreme courtesy.

Outside, the driver yanks the passenger door of the truck open. There is a struggle before the driver yanks his passenger out of the truck, another dude. They stumble and fall down in the parking lot in a heap, each trying to land blows on the other.

Oh, a Norah Jones/Barbra Streisand duet album! How nice, especially when paired with a triple venti sugar free, non-fat, no foam, extra caramel, with whip caramel macchiato.

Outside, the two dudes are still battling it out. They’re stumbling like they’re drunk, but their blows aren’t missing. One knocks the other to the ground and kicks him in the ribs, the one being kicked manages to catch hold of the other’s leg and knock him off balance to take the advantage. It’s quite a show, but despite his proximity to the window, The Holmes only has eyes for his monitor. He’s pounding on the keyboard now, rocking back and forth in a possessed rhythym. He’s catching a few looks. He pounds his coffee con gusto! and returns to his wordsmithing.

Outside, one dude has the other pinned. He punches him again and again, knocking the back of his head into the concrete. Lovers of fine caffeinated fare step around them as they traipse in and out of the franchise.

The Holmes is head-banging and typing while Coldplay kicks the treble over the P.A.

The dude who is pinned under the other one drives the heel of his free hand up into the bottom of his opponent’s jaw, clamping his teeth together and slicing off the end of his tongue. He screams and stumbles backwards, almost colliding with a mother and her children on their way in for Mommy’s afternoon treat. He slaps his hand over his mouth and blood flows out from between his knuckles. His opponent jumps off the ground and comes after him, punches him once, punches him again, then again. They grapple, fighting not with technique but with drunken fury. One shoves the other hard so that he slams into the window where The Holmes is sitting. The Holmes doesn’t notice, just types frantically as he bangs his head, eyes staring widely at something only he seems to be able to see.

One of the fighters charges the other and together they fly through the window, shattering the glass into thousands of pieces. They slam into The Holmes mid-headbang and knock him to the floor as they fly through a display of travel mugs like a wedding cake on a rainy day. His headphones stay on his head as he falls, the cord pulls free of the jack, and the store is immediately filled with the glorious sound of heavy metal, drowning out the feeble P.A.’s attempts at entertainment. The two fighters, covered in cuts and bruises and smears of blood, both rise to their feet and continue their battling, but before they get very far, one of them slams into a woman fresh from pilates class, causing her to spill her venti, non-fat, no foam, no water, 6 pump, extra hot, chai tea latte. With a curse, she shoves him hard into his friend, and together they fall across a table of what appears to be business associates, all of whom get pissed off and dump the table over.

In a matter of seconds, the entire Starbuck’s descends into moshpit anarchy. As the scene goes dark, The Holmes can be heard laughing.

My kid left a note for the Tooth Fairy...

...and this is what it said:

Spelling translation: "I want to keep my tooth." Not sure what he intends to do with it, but then again, what does the Tooth Fairy do with them? Kind of a gross occupation if you ask me.

Public Transit

This is about as deep as it gets around here until I finish the first draft of my book. Which, ya know, I'm okay with. We have so many Legos floating around this place.

Also, I almost misspelled "Kryptonite." My wife caught the typo for me. "Some nerd you are!" she declared. Some nerd indeed.

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