I'm stealing this idea from a fraternity brother. He didn't teach me about it during the neo-psychedelic 80s. He sends out emails like this. I figure, good enough for Geoff and Faulker, good enough for me. Of course, if I were (subjunctive) Faulkner, I wouldn't be me, and then I wouldn't be blogging. I'd be drinking in Oxford or trying to hack out some scripts for cash in Hollywood. For some reason, I'm really looking forward to Hollywood's summer movie season. Maybe it's because my older children are getting mature enough to enjoy the movies with me. Maybe it's because another Batman movie is coming out. I'm not sure I've ever seen a Batman TV show or movie I didn't like. As a kid, I watched that two-hour Batman pilot with Adam West whenever I could. If we had DVDs back then, I would've watched it a hundred times, even that part where Batman doesn't throw a ticking bomb into the lake because it would've killed some ducks. I had to duck once last night. I'm the first base coach for my youngest son's team, which means balls are occasionally hit toward me, and last night one came sufficiently close (within twenty feet) to make me duck a little bit. I like being the first base coach (beats yelling at kids in the dugout), but the thought of a foul ball hitting my scrotum makes me uncomfortable. Even if it didn't hurt that much, the laughter from the stands would suck. But it would hurt. I know because I've been in a sort of genital clamp all month, which is my way of referring to a situation in life that doesn't let you move except where events dictate. I touched on it (the situation, not the genitals) yesterday. Tonight is my first free night since I was twelve. Of course, I'll probably have to work until 8:00 in order to get caught up. And if not, there's probably some event I just haven't heard about yet: band concert, piano recital, spring play, scrotum kicking contest. I often think, "If most parents had seven children, there'd be far fewer events. People wouldn't be looking for ways to fill their time with children events." Maybe not, but I did watch some of American Idol last night while I ate my late dinner. Simon pretty much told America to vote for Archuletta, whom I suspect is a phony vote grubber. Really bums me out. First Hurricane Katrina, now Archuletta winning American Idol. And it means I don't win $5 in my family AI pool. Which is just as well. My son Michael will win the $5, and he's a nice kid, and he needs something good to happen. He struck out four times in coach-pitch baseball last night, and he's been in the league three years. Pretty humiliating, for him, but also for me, when I acted like I didn't know him and another parent noticed and told everyone he's my kid. I've hired a local high school baseball stud (a Division I baseball prospect) to give him lessons. Maybe I'll make Michael use his AI pool winnings to offset some of the cost. I'm hungry. Haven't had breakfast yet.
