Tag Archives: Train

Things I Never Thought I’d Do Or Recognize Being Done: Part 71 Of Well, A Lot

No. 71: My neighbor was washing her toilet in the front yard.

No, the shocking thing wasn’t that she was able to lift her entire toilet out of her home, carry it outside and still have it in good enough shape that she bothered to wash it out with a hose. The shocking thing was that I immediately recognized what she was doing even as I was far away, but walking toward her.

Because it wasn’t a giant, ceramic throne. It was a tiny, red plastic piece that looked just about the right size for a two-year-old butt.

Yeah, that kind of toilet, dudes.

Her youngest, a boy, is about at the end of his potty training and she wanted to make sure the toilet and receptacle inside didn’t come to define the house smell.

I immediately recognized what she was doing because I had done it so many times my self. Normally, you will wash out the training toilet inside.

Normally.

However, there are occasions or young dudes who are a bit more. . . enthusiastic . . . about using the training toilet. And these little dudes tend to leave a more. . . indelible . . . mark once they’ve passed.*

On those occasions, you’re going to need a bit more than a gentle rinse in a, hopefully clean, toilet bowl while wearing disposable rubber gloves. You’re going to need a power washing.

Even from down the street while you’re wrestling with a Buzz, The Garbage Disposal That Walks Like A Dog, it’s impossible to miss that bright-red shape. Once you’ve dealt with it yourself, of course.

Being a stay-at-home dad, I came face to face with that sort of incident much more often than I ever thought I would. The thing that also surprised me was that she was doing said power washing in the front yard. I had thought I was the only one who ever did that.

Buzz, The Garbage Disposal That Walks Like A Dog, and I stopped to chat for a little while. Well, more of a commiseration than a chat, but you get the idea.

Funny thing: While she was embarrassed to be cleaning the training toilet in the front yard, her boy, the proximate cause of said cleaning? He was running around, smiling and happy as can be. He couldn’t wait to show me what he’d done. Or at least describe it in detail.

No. 72: Listen with great interest as a young boy describes a massive poop. And then congratulate him.

Parenthood changes you, dudes. It really does.

Footnotes & Errata

*That wasn’t intended as a punne, or play on words, but come on. That was pretty good, dudes.

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Pacific Rim

Look, dudes. It’s okay to admit it: Giant monsters are cool. Giant robots are cool. Giant monsters fighting giant robots? So far into coolness it’s developing new words for how cool it is.

By which you might expect that I’m a tad bit excited about the debut of Pacific Rim, on July 12 of this year.

What more can I say about Pacific Rim? It’s all about how these giant monsters began appearing in the Pacific Ocean following a rip in the timespace continuum (probably caused by Doc Brown gallivanting around on his time train). As soon as they appeared on this Earth, they began attacking.

Because giant monsters. That’s why.

With humanity pushed to the brink of extinction, our civilization teetering over the abyss of the forever emptiness, we did the only thing we could do. We built humongous battle suits and started fighting back.

Because giant battle suits/robots. That’s why.

It doesn’t need any more justification. It just doesn’t.

Here. Look for yourself. I’ve embedded the latest trailer for Pacific Rim. Go ahead and watch it. Then come back and tell me this does not look like nineteen different kinds of amazing. Really. You just can’t do it. Watch it and be converted.

Enjoy.


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In The Land Of The Armless, The One-Armed Man Is King

by Richard

To quote Mel Brooks, “It’s good to be the king.” Or at least it would be if I really were in the land of the armless. Unfortunately, I’m in the normal land here where most everybody has two arms, two hands and can actually get stuff done.

Yep, you guessed right. It’s time for a whine-fest.

It’s been almost two weeks since I had my shoulder operated on and I’m already getting very, very, very tired of walking around with one arm in a sling, strapped to my body. My right arm is basically useless. I’ve been told I can’t even hold things with my right hand because I don’t want to strain the newly repaired muscles and tendons in my shoulder.

I never realized how much I actually do during the day until I couldn’t do any of those things.

I have to get help from my young dudes to tie my shoes. Zipping up is a monumental task. Putting on deodorant requires a few acts of contortions that would strain the credulity of India rubber men at the freak show. I can’t even wash dishes.

See, the thing is I know I have ADD. I can’t sit and do just one thing. If I’m watching TV, I’ll also need to read a book at the same time because I can’t just watch. During most evenings, I will be doing stuff in the kitchen while also keeping an eye on the TV or something similar. Now I can’t.

TV, by itself, is just so boring.

Sitting at the keyboard to write is a chore now. I have to type so very slowly. By the time my fingers have hunted-and-pecked their way to being even with my brain, my brain has moved on and forgotten what I was writing about in the. . .

Still, I can’t get too annoyed. I know I will get the use of my right arm back. Eventually. I’m a lot luckier than a lot of people who are learning to adjust to life with only one arm.

Still. . .

Still. . .

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