Scooting with scary music

I've made some decisions

I've decided that the next time somebody presents me with some information and then follows it up by saying that I should or should not take what they have just presented to me as "gospel", my response will be, "Oh, so I should/should not take this information that you've presented to me as if it were a set of documents that each describe slightly different but similar versions of the same event, which were written anywhere from 30 to 90ish years after the events they describe, by authors who were not present at the aforementioned events? You got it."

I've decided that the next time somebody refers to a book or a document or a manual or whatever as a "Bible", my response will be something along the lines of "Oh, so I should take this book or document or manual or whatever here as if it were a compilation of many documents by many different authors that were originally written in ancient languages, but have been translated with varying degrees of competency, accuracy, and objectivity into English, that have compiled into a singular work and chosen for their inclusion in this collection by groups of people who wished to present a particular 'take' on the events described within this book/document/manual/whatever, which are subject to countless different interpretations with varying degrees of literalism and whose meanings have been argued about for centuries? No problem."

And finally, I've decided that the next time I answer the phone and it's a telemarketer, I'm going to go into one of the monologues I had in the last play I was in, which began with the line, "You know the thing that most people don't realize about the human body is that the head is a great place to get hit." I'll have to go back and relearn the rest though.

Boy Scouts

So all in all, my first father's day in the role of father was pretty kickass. Me and the Ash and the Henry went to church that morning, and had a big fat parents and babies dinner with some friends in the evening...but in between all that action, I had lunch with my old friend Kenny and his son Trevor. Kenny and I met back when we were teenagers working on staff at El Rancho Cima, which is a Boy Scout Camp and one of the most gorgeous chunks of acreage in the Texas hill country in an area known as The Devil's Backbone. Kenny and I both came up in scouting, we're both Eagle Scouts, we both spent some of the best summers of our young lives working out there, and now we're both fathers to boys. His son is about ten years older than mine, but whatever. Naturally, our conversation eventually came around to reminiscing about those summers, about all the crazy shit we did, some of which one could argue was not exactly scoutlike, but what do you expect from teenagers in the woods hundreds of miles from their parents? Toss in some scouting skills (you know, firebuilding, knot-tying, road sign theft) and you've got yourself the ingredients for some serious troublemaking.

Scouting's one of those things that I'm sort of torn on, especially now that I'm a father to a boy. I know that anybody who read or saw the really fucking dark play that I wrote about Boy Scouts might think that I've written the entire organization off completely, but that's not the case. I didn't write I Am Alpha as some sort of "Wake up America! This is what Boy Scouts really do!" warning message. I was just an Eagle Scout with some fucked up ideas sitting in a black office with a laptop.

But Scouts, yeah.....on the one hand, I had a great time in my years in scouting. I learned a lot of cool stuff and had a lot of truly amazing experiences that I never would have had if I'd not been involved in scouts. And I'm not just talking about the mischief we got into, I mean the actual B.S.A. sanctioned activities too. And earning Eagle Scout, well hell, I may talk some shit, but it meant a lot to me when I earned it, and it still kind of does. I mean, I still have the medal.

On the other hand though, I take serious issue with some of the stances that the B.S.A. has taken, specifically their stance on gays. In case you don't know, the Boy Scouts exclude homosexuals from their ranks, either as members or leaders, a policy that is based on the idiotic belief that homosexual = child molestor. So I have to ask myself, if I put Henry into the Boy Scouts, am I in some way endorsing this idea? Will he somehow pick up this lesson?

Fortunately, I doubt that's the case. It's certainly not a lesson I ever picked up on, and in fact, some of the best staffers we had working at El Rancho Cima were gay (surprise B.S.A.!). And when it comes down to it, a kid's experience has less to do with policy set in a national office and more to do with parents who want to make something really cool for their kids. And the really nagging question is, should I let my politics get in the way of Henry having the kind of opportunities that kids like me and Kenny had, especially if me and (hopefully) other like-minded parents are around to counter the bullshit?

Father's Day. Parenthood. So many questions. And we've barely even got time to do laundry.

And then Henry ate the camera

Gimmemahfugginkeys

So here's something that I didn't know about babies before I become father to one, perhaps you didn't know it either: babies do not instinctively understand their need for sleep. You always hear the term "sleep like a baby" as if to imply that babies are these master sleepers, able to fall asleep in a single wink and maintain a state of sleepitude through any disturbance. Now while this may hold true for some babies, our Henry isn't quite so. Sure, sometimes he'll drift off to sleep, but other times there's more of a battle involved. He's tired and he's pissed, but he hasn't quite made the connection that if he'd just go to sleep, he'd wake up later feeling much better. So he fights it. It's not unlike dealing with a belligerent drunk. Whereas a belligerent drunk might slur something like this:

"I'm fine you sunuvabish, gimme mah fuggin keys 'fore I kill you. You're not my friend. Who the fug're you? Fug you. Get offa me. Maybe you're the one who needs to chill out, you ever thinka that?"

while a tired and angry baby might scream and cry, as if to say something to the effect of:

"I'm fine, you jackass, I'm just pissed off because you won't stop singing in that obnoxious voice. That's supposed to be soothing? Whatever! Maybe you're the one who needs to take a nap, you ever think of that?"

Fortunately, both the drunk and the baby pass out not long after these episodes.

Goddamn Memes

ABC Meme

ACCENT: Probably an urban Texas accent of some sort. I can't detect it, but when I've travelled North, I've always been picked out.
BIBLE BOOK THAT I LIKE: Leviticus because I like sensible rules.
CHORE I DON'T CARE FOR: Cleaning the garage, because I know there will just be more stuff to take up the space that I just cleared. Anything bathroom related.
DOG OR CAT: Dog. Cats are cool, but I'm done housing them.
ESSENTIAL ELECTRONICS: My computer so I can write this blog. Not much else.
FAVORITE COLOGNE: None other than my own manly stink.
GOLD OR SILVER: If I have to pick one, silver.
HANDBAG I CARRY MOST OFTEN: Backpack that sticks out like two feet.
INSOMNIA: Not too bad anymore. Was worse when I smoked. Not sure if there's a connection.
JOB TITLE: Business Analyst
KIDS: Henry
LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: South Austin home with Ashley the wife, Henry the baby, and Elliott the dog of blackness
MOST ADMIRABLE TRAIT: Humility. Ha!
NAUGHTIEST CHILDHOOD BEHAVIOR: I once flung mashed potatoes at the curtains at school. Oh, then in high school we ran naked through the hallway this one time, which was the founding of the Naked Pelican Posse. N double P muthafucka!
OVERNIGHT HOSPITAL STAYS: None for myself, but I slept on a little foldout bed in Ashley's hospital room when Henry was born.
PHOBIAS: Werewolves, people crawling on the ceiling, making a joke about something awful happening and then having it happen. Seriously.
QUOTE: "I hate patriotism. Can't stand it. It's a round world last I checked." Bill Hicks
RELIGION: Oh shit, do you really wanna get me rambling here? I've gotten myself on some sort of God journey/vision quest thing as of late. Something's happening, I just don't know what, so I'm just going with it and not fighting it. All I know is 1) I don't know shit about anything, 2) the moment is all we have, 3) everything is connected, and 4) every moment is engorged with meaning. And even all that could turn out to be a crock of shit, and hopefully that's okay. I'll let you know how it turns out.
SIBLINGS: Only child. Thankfully, I've had friends along the way who volunteered to be brother and sister types.
TIME I WAKE UP: 6 or 7.
UNUSUAL TALENT OR SKILL: I can tie lots of knots, and I can splice rope pretty well.
VEGETABLE I REFUSE TO EAT: Oh man, I love vegetables. I can't think of one I refuse to eat.
WORST HABIT: Responding to memes?
X-RAYS: Yeah, so?
YUMMY STUFF I COOK: There's this ginger chicken stir fry thing I make that Ashley seems to like. But it's stir fry, that's kinda cheating.

ZOO ANIMAL I LIKE MOST: Any big cats. Rahr!

Oh it's all little pieces!

On occasion, there occur events in the life of the Holmes and his family where his wife will turn to him and instruct in a most forcible tone that the just-occured event is not to be recorded within the Holmes blog. Such as this thing that happened yesterday at the new HEB that we visited, an event which, although hilarious, I will not be recording here because I like it better when my wife is not enraged with me. It simplifies things.

But then there are events where the Holmes's wife, who is also a Holmes, whose first name is Ashley, encourages the Holmes to record the details within this humble blog. Such as the thing that happened just a few minutes ago where Ashley was about to use the blender, but noticed with her ever so keen superwoman vision, that a mosquito had taken up residence within said kitchen device. This bothered the Holmes just a bit, especially since he'd used that very blender that very morning to enmixen a concoction of dairy, juice, and fruit. Before I could get too bothered though, the Ash clamped the lid down, effectively imprisoning the winged bloodsucker. "I know where this is going," thought I, but no, actually I didn't, not exactly anyway. Because before activating the blender's blending mechanism, before engaging its tiny blades of fury, she lifted the lid ever so slightly and poured a cup of water in with the unfortunate little pest. "Nothing personal," she might have thought, "but your kind carry disease." Or not. "This is definitely something you can put in your blog" she said to me while taking a quick visual to make sure it hadn't escaped. As I walked in here to the computer to jot this bit down, I heard the engine power up. When it turned off, I heard "Where'd it....oh, it's all little pieces!" I hadn't heard so much glee since New Year's.

So that's the thing that happened today. But that thing yesterday, I'm sorry, I can't tell you about that.