My daughter, the party girl...

...Every morning we go through the same routine at my house.  My wife wakes up much earlier than I and undertakes all the morning "chores" including making coffee, putting the dogs outside and bitching at me about sleeping in past 7.  Then, after I stumble out of bed, spend 10 minutes trying to find where I dropped my glasses, search through the sheets for the alarm going off on the Blackberry that I took to bed with me and try to figure out why my mouth tastes and smells like I ate a plate of wet cigarettes the night before...I head downstairs to wake my oldest two children from THEIR slumber.  On this particular morning I tugged my robe from my wife's closet door. Despite it being my wife's door (or closet), it is usually where MY robe can be found.  In other, more specific words, despite my wife hating it when I dare wear a pair of her booty socks to work out, she readily commandeers my robe.  And sometimes when she's really courteous, she leaves it on the hook without the part that keeps it wrapped around my body...as she did on this day.  This brought to mind two things.  First, it made me wonder what the hell my wife was doing with a wide open robe in front of our bedroom window (where her closet is located).  Second, it made it fairly impossible to use it for it's intended purpose of covering up my unmentionables.  But being in a sleep-drunken, recently-revived state, I didn't really care.  I put it on and went downstairs...banking on the off chance that I might run across the belt part on my way through the house.  Sure enough, I ran across it near the bottom of the stairs near my child's teddy bear.  It's at that point that I remember that he was using it the night before as he was demonstrating to my wife and I about how he planned to go on an expedition to the Theodore Roosevelt National Park where he would "strangle buffalo", which is another blog post entirely.

So I tied my robe at the waist and spared those people who happened to walk past our egress window the shocking, sight-robbing horror show that is my bare chest and legs.  I continued to the room where my kids slept so that I might discontinue their doing so.  They have bunk beds that are located right next to another egress window.  My normal routine is to turn on the light in their room and open the shade on the egress window, taking the room from "slightly dark" to "really freakin' bright" in a matter of seconds.  When I was young, I used to think my mom was an evil despot for doing the same thing to me.  Now, as a father of two children who refuse to listen to anything I say and who have grown quite fond of staying up past their bedtime only to struggle to get up in the morning...I find this particular method GENIUS.  That being said, like so many other mornings, it didn't work.  They stayed in bed for another 10 minutes despite the beaming sunlight, my repeated requests for them to get out of bed and the draft caused by me removing all of the blankets from their beds at minute 7 (request 5 I believe)...also a method my mother used and about which I have gained respect. 

Normally, while I wait for them to de-zombie, I will get their clothes ready for the day.  Understand, at this point I'm still not completely awake most days and sometimes I do a rather crappy job of picking out color-coordinated, season-appropriate outfits.  In fact, on this 85 degree day in particular, I was able to pick out (for my oldest son) a nice long-sleeved polo shirt and two pairs of his brother's shorts.  Needless to say, other than the underwear, we had to find a different ensemble.  However, I picked out a complete outfit for Lucy.  Kept it simple.  Underwear and a dress.  Simple.  Dare I say "fool-proof". 

Of course, after the kids actually got out of their beds and dragged themselves to the living room, it took another 10 minutes and 45 threats of physical harm to get them to get dressed in the outfits that I have picked out.  But I have at least made it commonplace for them to get these clothes on while I am busy taking a shower and getting myself dressed.  Therefore, if all goes to plan, they are fully clothed when I emerge from the bathroom.  I was able to do this by making "getting dressed" into a ridiculous game. Today's game was the same as every  other day...they "race" me to get dressed.  Really, when you think of it, that's totally unfair.  I have to shower, shave (sometimes) and dress and all they have to do is put on shorts and a t-shirt.  A normal person with any motivation whatsoever would be able to kick my ass on every occasion.  But due to Nickelodeon, my children have a tendency to get distracted.  And oddly enough, sometimes they don't complete the steps necessary to "win".  This is why making "winning" a fluid concept is crucial in making sure kids actually continue to play.  You gotta think on your feet.  And there's a lot of sandbagging involved too.  For example, today I came out and my daughter was dressed but my son (who stood, drooling, in front of a Spongebob episode he has undoubtedly seen before) didn't have a shirt on.  He was dissapointed when I told him that he was losing.  Miraculously, he was still able to "win" due to the fact that I suddenly developed a palsy that made it impossible for me to tie my shoes, I kept twitching and falling down...and he bought it.  He took his new-found time and rushed to get his shirt on.  All it took was me being pathetic.  But bluntly...I'm not above looking like an asshole if it means that my kids will try to be even REMOTELY self-sufficient. 

So I got them upstairs, got their 11-month-old brother dressed and changed, got them into the car, got them buckled and took them to daycare.  I got them inside, gave them a kiss and hug, waved goodbye and got out of there before my son could crap his pants.  I normally try to hurry in and out of the daycare place.  My wife takes eons when she picks them up.  And for the life of me, I cannot understand what the fuck she talks about in there.  The heartland food program only has about 3 minutes of good conversation material and I can only listen to so many theories on exchange-student Asians shoplifting from Walmart.  I, for one, am not one to linger, because in addition to the aforementioned "wanna get out before my son soils himself again" reason,  I'm also fairly certain she thinks I am the world's WORST parent ever.  After all, I don't always have my daughter's hair tightly harnessed in a pony tail and I don't make my kids wear snowsuits and moon boots when it's 45 degrees outside.  I can tell this by her poorly-veiled comments, not to me, but to my kids.  Such as: "Dad should put boots on you Lucy..." and "Max, tell your dad he's lazy".  That and the silent judging at my infant son's lack of shoes and the fact that I wear jeans to work on Fridays.

So imagine my horror when I received the following phone call from my daycare lady, not 2 minutes after dropping the kids off at her house:

Me:  Hello
Her: Yeah, Jay?  This is _____.  We have a problem.
Me:  Oh God, what did I do?
Her: Nothing, but we just realized that Lucy isn't wearing any underwear.
Me:  Oh man.  Sorry.  I will bring some as soon as I can. 

Jesus.  Tap dancing.  Christ.  There really are very few ways to better start the morning than having to walk into a daycare with the underwear your daughter was supposed to be wearing in public but was not.  And if I was in danger of losing her vote for "North Dakota Parent of the Year - 2010", I sure as shit wasn't going to get it after letting my daughter go commando at her daycare.

So, moral of the story, no matter how ridiculous it sounds...make sure your kids are wearing underwear when they leave the house.  And, unfortunately, do it well before they are promiscuous, hormone-addled teenagers.  

Missing Missy...

...This post over at 27b/6 might be the funniest thing I've read this year.  Man, that's good stuff.  Go there, and read it...or risk dying having not read it only to be ridiculed by everyone in Heaven (or Hell, you immoral heathen) because they DID read it.  God...DON'T BE SO DUMB!!!

My favorite IPA...

...Terminal Gravity.  That is all.

Courtesy of the Google Hamsters.

To be honest, I only posted this so shamelessly secure readers from Facebook fanpage.  I really do love TGIPA.  But posting a picture of it was nothing more than a bribe.  That being said, I'm not sorry.  

Seriously, this is the picture the local paper posted of Anthony Slama...

...I know he hasn't been up with the team for very long, so I'm sure there is a shortage of pictures.  And I know that it IS exponentially harder to find a good picture of ANYONE with a mustache...but seriously?  They couldn't find anything better than this?

Man, that's straight-up creepy uncle territory there.  Combine this pic with some thick-rimmed glasses and some armpit stains and he isn't going anywhere NEAR a school zone.

Kansas City Royal Pain in my ass...

...I always get anxious when we play against the Royals.  I shouldn't.  I mean, they're pretty terrible.  And it seems to me that we've done OK against them as of late.  But they hit really well and they have a couple good hurlers.  I'm always leery of how the lineup is going to stack up against their pitching talent.  Tonight's game isn't any different. The Twins send one of their best starters (Liriano) up against the reigning Cy Young award winner Zach Grienke.  To be honest, he hasn't been very Cy Young-ish so far this season.  But he's got ridiculous stuff and he's been known to stymie the Twins in the past.  But this is why I get worried.  We only HAVE two reliable starters right now and tonight one of them is matched up against a damned pitching Jesus.

In other news, Twins put Orlando Hudson on the DL...again...with a pulled muscle in his side.  And because his replacement is Alexi Casilla, this certainly is a double whammy of suck.  Nick Blackburn pitched last night, handlebar mustache and all, in mop-up duty.  He got rocked for like 54 hits in a couple innings.  Must be "mechanics" or "overthrowing" again.  It most certainly is NOT because he's just crappy right now.  Joe Mauer continues to struggle but remains in the 3-hole of the lineup.  Justin Morneau may be nearing the end of his DL stint, having practiced and gotten in a good, dizziness-free, workout.  And in what can only be attributed to sheer luck, it's been an eon since Scotty Ullger has sent a runner to his death at the plate. 

MADS - Delmon.  It's just freakin' ridiculous.  He's playing out of his mind right now at the plate.  However, I still think that watching him take routes to balls in the outfield would be better if accompanied by a dated rendition of "Flight of the Bumblebees" blared through the PA.  But that would only make him COOLER.  We can't handle that.

CSMA -  Oooh.  I'd have to go with Blackburn.  Overthrew his way out of the lineup and into scrub duty in a game where the team was up by 9...and then he gave up 3 in two innings.  He's a ground-ball pitcher who's sinker ain't sinkin'.  Silva v2.0.  I heard Seattle likes pitchers with that resume.
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Ok, fine. so my trepidation was a bit misplaced.  But only a little...

Photo courtesy of MLB.

Because why WOULD the Twins want to salvage one game against the division's worst team?

...the Star Tribune article this morning:

"Twins look to avoid a sweep without Mauer, Gardenhire"

This is getting ridiculous.  I understand that catching is a very demanding position and that the team's most valuable player needs an occasional rest from the daily grind at said position...however...why does the team's manager ALWAYS feel the need to sit him in games to avoid sweeps?  Even with all this apologetic nonsense concerning his position, a dude making 24 mil a year and batting 3rd in the lineup doesn't need to sit every third game.  That's freakin' ridiculous. Besides, with a sub .300 BA (.297) and an OBP (.367) a couple ticks above league average (.340), it's not like the old boy's been running the bases too much.

Although, to be fair, I suppose it is possible that they're keeping him on the bench if it becomes necessary to have someone sacrifice drag bunt with two on and one out.
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Update:  Of course, after writing this, the Twins go buck wild in the get-away-game.  I know nothing.

Twins gain 2 games on the White Sox....

...and I love it.  I hate the White Sox and their stupid announcer and his "he gone" garbage and AJ being a big poophead and Paul Konerko and his vagina-face goatee.  I just don't like 'em...no I don't. 

So it was a great series for the Twins.  They took 3 of the 4 games from the division-leaders.  This was totally rad and all, but there was a much more interesting development with the Twins over the weekend.  You see, it appears that certain members of the team have decided to grow various modes of mustache.  Of course, Carl Pavano was the first of the Twins to sport that most macho of facial follicular adornments.  A couple days ago, more mustaches began appearing.  Nick Punto showed up on first base with the beginnings of a Snidely Whiplash.  Nick Blackburn went whole-hog in homage to both Pavano and Mauer by shaving in some handlebars and scary-pointy sideburns.  And one could also see the unmistakable shadow of stubble through the mask of Brian Butera behind the plate.  They've formed their own little hairy uncle club.  It's so cute.

Personally, I hope more people take the cue and show their team solidarity with a mustache of their own.  I know Joe Mauer won't do it.  He's already got the sideburns and his "people" want the public to concentrate on them.  They certainly don't want some dirty rapist mustache detracting from the wonderousness of his burns...because let's be honest...they rock.  Justin Morneau probably won't do it either because he's really superstitious.  Everyone's heard the one about walking under a ladder causing bad luck, right?  Well, a lesser-known adage is that mustaches can cause hitting slumps (notice that of the four people with 'staches so far, two are pitchers and two are normally at or below the Mendoza line).  So he's out. But everyone else should be fine with it.  They can make it into a rallying cray.  "'Member the Mustache" or something. 

Let's do this fellas. 

Not your Grampa's 4th of July...

...There is no County Fair here in Stark County, North Dakota.  This, in and of itself, is especially queer to me considering the local culture.  It would seem as though Stark County would lend itself to a "fair" atmosphere very amicably.  We've got a bevy of farm animals and people who are oddly willing to doll them up and parade them around.  We've got rodeos on an uncomfortably regular basis.  We've got weekly stock car races.  We are MORE than willing to look past the numerous shortcomings of the traveling "carnival" and its less-than-charming brand of "employee" so that we can relive our childhoods by making ourselves throw up.  We've all been born with highly-evolved livers which come in rather handy because we pride ourselves on our ability to arrange an impromptu beer garden in under 5 minutes.  We LOVE parlor games.  And, frankly, we'd eat cat turds if someone deep-fried them or wrapped them in bacon.  There simply isn't anything that this area lacks that would damn the possibility of a County Fair.  But, you see, we have "Roughrider Days".

For those not familiar with this area; "Roughrider Days" (hereinafter RRD) is a yearly tradition that so closely resembles a fair that perhaps the residents of Dickinson feel that an ACTUAL fair would be repetitive.  That spending the money on that type of County conglomeration would be silly considering the effectiveness of the system currently in place.  After all, RRD has the creepy animal beauty pageants.  RRD has the rodeos and week-long smell of animal poop.  RRD has a parade.  RRD has booze.  RRD has weird (yet frighteningly normal) food like fleischkuekle and the always-popular "taco in a bag".  RRD has fireworks...in both safely done group settings and backyard bomb-making parties where people lose eyesight and fingers.  RRD has a propensity for uncontrolled jingoism and boisterous Nationalism.  RRD has loud race cars that don't look like they would go any faster than a lawnmower but, from what I hear, actually move fairly quickly.  RRD has the Orwellian "Art in the Park" which is actually a lot less "art" and a lot more "solar lamp birdhouse welcome sign" or "rosemaled gun rack".  RRD has "Party on the Pavement" beer garden, which is essentially an orgy of halter tops and booze...a bar fight encased in cattle guards.  And, of course, RRD has a Demolition Derby.  For those who do not know, this is like a Thunderdome for cars.  A "30 cars enter...one car leaves" extravaganza filled with twisted metal, sleeveless denim and banquet beer.  And it lasts FOR-FUCKING-EVER.  Seriously, I crashed my fairly new car in the UND parking lot and I couldn't drive it two feet to the parking spot before the tow truck came.  Somehow, these people speed around in shitheap rustboxes, smashing into each other repeatedly, and it takes 6 HOURS to determine a winner.  Fascinating.

So there is quite a bit to take in during the week.  Our weekend started with the parade.  I actually had to participate in the parade this year, having volunteered to walk alongside North Dakota's lone member of the US House of Representatives, Earl Pomeroy.  It's an election year and it was a favor for cousins Geoff and John who work for the ND Democratic Party.  And besides that, although I'm not a member of the party, my parents have known Earl for decades and although I disagree with his stance on the climate bill, (I get it, he's from a fossil fuel state) I'll most certainly support him over any Republican candidate they trot out.  My kids took up residence in the same spot as years past and they were able to  1) see me in my Earl Pomeroy T-shirt; 2) see their grandfather on the Dickinson High School 40th reunion float; 3) see their great uncle shooting a black powder rifle and donning a skunk hat; and 4) collect a trash bag full of candy.  By the time I met up with them after the parade, they had ingested so much sugar that they were literally vibrating and I think my son was speaking in a different language. 

We then headed up the street to the aforementioned "art in the park" to check out the wares...fully expecting to be disappointed...but actually came away with a couple purchases.  Shanna found a jewelry and handbag maker from the Pacific Northwest that she really liked and I made my routine purchase of what can only be described as a kettle corn feedbag.  And since the line for Indian tacos (don't ask) was too damned long, I also treated myself to a foot long chili dog...which may have looked like someone had crapped on a bun, but tasted like heaven.

After the kettle corn, junk food, sun and candy...our children were in need of a nap.  Of course, they didn't agree with us.  But Shanna and I have become quite adept at sensing when naps are necessary to prevent our children from transforming into screeching, brain-eating demons.  This was one of those days.  Later that night we had a campfire, ate smores and...after the children went to bed...drank some beer.  I accompanied my friend Bob to the first night of "Party on the Pavement".  It's always an interesting scene. I saw people that I hadn't seen for a while and, like always, engaged in those same awkward conversations where I did my best to listen intently and to not use cuss words when I spoke.  I imbibed.  I did not dance...at all.  That was all normal.  Now, I did see some stuff that WASN'T normal.  I saw a burly, long-haired biker dude talking to a black man, who apparently didn't see the Nazi swastika tattooed on his left arm.  I saw a girl with an eye patch.  And not a cool "I'm a pirate" type eye patch.  It was more of an "I just had surgery", eye patch with sterile tape and gauze.  Personally, I would've stayed home.  But it demonstrates the kind of draw that this event has become.   Not even people with serious ophthalmic issues would dare miss it.  And I saw clients....oh man did I see clients.  I started walking home when I heard whistles.

The next day we headed out to the grocery store to get some stuff for grilling and then we did what used to be a July 4th family tradition growing up...we went explosives shopping.  When I was younger, we bought everything.  Black Cats, smoke bombs, bottle rockets, roman candles, tanks, spinners, fountains, cones, artillery shells, snakes, sparklers, jumping jacks, Saturn missiles, Chinese Pagodas, Howlers, snaps...you name it and it was fair game.  There weren't really any rules governing their use either.  As long as there was a parent outside (sober or otherwise) within earshot of us, we had free reign to blow shit up at will.  Nowadays bottle rockets aren't even SOLD in North Dakota.  But when I was younger, my cousin's dad made us a bottle rocket gun out of PVC pipe and we actually shot them at each other.  We once took my cousin to the hospital after having a bottle rocket blow up on the side of his face.  My wife, however, was not privy to this particular way of celebrating our independence from Great Britain.  She did not spend any time honing her pyrotechnic skills on an asphalt driveway.  Her hands are free from the scars of second-degree burns.  So it should not surprise anyone that my expectations were not fulfilled with the purchases we made at the fireworks stand.  Nothing we bought exploded.  NOTHING.  Most of the items we got did their business on the ground.  And the things that produced any type of sparks or showers did so below eye level.  The only things that was propelled into the air were the parachutes that I had to lobby for in the check-out line.  It was kind of bunk.  Now, my wife's argument, of course, was that "the kids loved it".  Well no shit they loved it.  They saw sparks and stuff made noise.  But they don't have any idea what COULD have been presented to them.  Its like having an opportunity to bring a starving man to Ruth Chris Steakhouse, but instead opting for McDonald's.  Undoubtedly, the dude is going to say that he enjoyed the garbage that he ate at McD's.  But that's only because he wasn't able to experience the other options.  Give him a medium rare New York Strip from Ruth Chris and see if he thinks the 10 piece nuggets is an option.  Not gonna happen.  But whatever.  Sooner or later my children will break free from their oppressive mother and spend the day like any self-respecting US child should... teetering on the edge of combustion and risking one's digits for the joy of seeing a pop can explode.  It's gonna be special.  God.  Bless.  America.

We had a great weekend.  And we hope you did too.

Please God say this isn't true...

...Aaron Gleeman has linked to a report from Hardball Talk that touts a Cliff Lee to Minnesota for Wilson Ramos and Aaron Hicks trade.  And like the esteemed Mr. Gleeman, I certainly hope that this is a blatant exaggeration.  I would love to see Cliff Lee on the Twins roster.  I wouldn't mind giving up Wilson Ramos for him either.  But Hicks AND Ramos for a dude that will most certainly wear pinstripes next season is WAY too much.  Like one astute commenter pointed out in the article...Cuddy ain't going to be a spring chicken forever and Hicks should mature right about the time Cuddy or Kubel take a dump production-wise.  So while Mauer makes parting with Ramos doable, there is no one on the Twins outfield roster that makes trading Hicks for a rental reasonable in any way.  Now, if that were a sign and trade (which it most certainly would not be)...then perhaps.

I'm always bitching about Bill Smith not making moves at the deadline...but let's not get nuts here.

UPDATE:  Ken Rosenthal from Fox Sports is saying now that the Mariners weren't satisfied with the Twins ridiculous offer above, and have asked for MORE than what was proposed.  Am I missing something here?  Why is it that the Mariners seem to be holding all the cards?  After all, if they don't make a trade before the end of July, they essentially get NOTHING guaranteed.  Cliff Lee leaves for compensatory picks and the Mariners are stuck with rookie ball prospects that are 4 years from playing in the bigs.  I don't get it.