#259 In which our hero discusses fairies, hard-boiled eggs, big-eyed anime girls and Benito Mussolini.

I love Halloween.

I like dressing up, I like eating candy, and I like seeing all the little spankers in costume. And, since I’ve become a father, I absolutely love dressing up our kids. Last year Lily went as a chicken (her choice, don’t ask me) and Macey went as an egg. It was very cute.

This year, Lily decided she wanted to be a fairy and Macey decided she wanted to be a deviled egg. This was her stated choice… I have no idea where it came from or, more importantly, my youngest would choose such an odd food choice.

So we went to the Halloween store to get Lily a fairy costume. We were looking at the standard: gauzy shirt, butterfly wings and a magic wand. Why do fairies carry magic wands? Aren’t they inherently magic? Anyway, once we started looking around, Lily fell in love with another costume on the rank: Stephanie from Lazy Town. Unless you have kids around the age of four, you’ve probably never heard of Lazy Town. It’s a odd show that stars Magnús Scheving, an Icelandic gymnastics champion as the back-flipping Sportacus, who patrols Lazy Town high above in his tricked out blimp (oh yeah, you read that right).

The show features a mixture of live action actors and dough-faced puppets fighting arch-villain and incompetent Robbie Rotten. It’s truly odd (and strangely watchable). His young sidekick is the pink-haired Stephanie.

So we ended up paying $30 for a pink stripped polyester dress and a pink wing. But, I have to say, she looked good. We also picked up a pair of devil horns for Macey (“deviled” egg, get it?) to go with the rest of the costume we recycled from last year.


And since the girls get to dress up, it’s only fair that The Scientist and I get to have fun, too. We were invited to a Halloween party and were excited about getting a sitter and both of us getting to go for a change.

This particular friend of ours throws a party every year with a theme. Last year it was “Steampunk,” and I had fun dressing up for that (my wife couldn’t go for some reason). This year the theme was “Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny” or “Bad Cosplay.” Hilarious.

The Scientist dug out her old prom dress (which looks more like a wedding dress) and I made her a giant foam sword. The result was both bad cosplay and a new force of good to fight bland food and ne’er-do-wells: Wasabi Bride!


Her eyes were awesome.


She basically closed her eyelids and painted giant anime eyes overtop them. Fantastic effect that really freaked out people at the party.

I managed to find an amazing deal that day on an old military jacket that fit me remarkable well. I went as Mussolini:


The medals I’m wearing? The bars are from high school band, the medal is my 3rd place Voice of Democracy award, and there’s a couple anniversary pins from when I worked at Max & Erma’s.

The party was a blast. And so was trick or treating.

###

#244 In which our hero and his lovely wife do something amazing.

Last Friday The Scientist and I went out! Without children! And met some friends! Out! This is something that we’ve done individually plenty of times, but honestly, I can’t remember the last time we went out together. It was a lot of fun.

My wife orchestrated the affair by calling me on Wednesday and saying, “Hey, do you want to go out Friday? I have a babysitter lined up.” So that was that.

A short time ago I became aware of a restaurant called “Melt Bar & Grilled” which specializes in grilled cheese sandwiches. Being that The Scientist and I both enjoy grilled cheese sandwiches, we wanted to try it out. Actually, when I told her about this place her reaction was, “Holy shit. We HAVE to go there.”

The only hitch was that it was clear across town. Now, Cleveland has this odd east side/west side thing where people don’t like to cross the river. We don’t hold any prejudices against the west side, other than it’s far away. And as soon as we step foot out of the door sans kids, the clock is ticking. In the past we’ve always stayed close to home, just so we could maximize our time. But again, grilled cheese. So we went.

On the way over I called some friends, told them we’d be on their side of the river. They agreed to meet us out and suddenly it was a party!

Melt is a tiny place. And it was already packed when we got there. However, arrived at a good time, around 6pm. Any later and it would have become a big pain in the ass to secure a table for seven. We had a drink at the bar while we waited for everyone else to get there.

Now, Melt also has an extensive beer selection… which would matter if I was a beer drinker. Which I’m not. But, they did have a hard cider on tap, which was nice. The Scientist had her heart set on a Snakebite, which is half cider and half beer (usually Harp--this is very different then the shooter we called Snakebites in college). The bar didn’t have Harp on tap, but they did have it in bottles. The bartender acted like it wasn’t at all a pain in the ass to make this thing with half cider on tap and half bottle beer, which she then stowed in the ice.

A word on this bartender. She was petite and kinda cute, in a heavily tattooed and pierced way. In fact, it seemed like it was mandated to be tattooed and/or pierced to work there, judging by the employees we saw. Our bartender wore the lowest-cut jeans I’ve ever seen in the flesh. She also had some tattoo I couldn’t quite discern on her hip running south. The combination of the two resulted in me starring quite intently at her crotch. Not that I meant to, but my eyes were drawn to it. “What the heck is that tattoo?” I thought. “Also, did I just see labia?” Obviously there was some serious shaving going on, which prompted the same old always-rejected request of my wife. I felt a little dirty about looking, but my wise wife reminded me that it was most likely calculated to generate a bigger tip. Which, now that I think about it, backfired bigger than hell because we transferred our bar tab to the table when we were sat… and unless The Scientist left some money when I wasn’t looking, I don’t think we tipped her at all. Oops. We suck.

Anyway, once everyone was there we ordered and eat an obscene amount of bread and cheese. But good Lord, was it good. At this point I was on my second pint of cider, and The Scientist was on her second Snakebite.

And here’s where I realized that sometimes I’m a bit over-protective of my wife. We hadn’t eaten anything since lunch when we got there, and the first drink was hitting me kind of hard, and I was sure it was affecting my wife ever more. Judging by her rising voice and level of silliness, I can say this with some level of confidence. By the time we had both finished our second (with food this time, thankfully) I figured we should both be done… me because I was driving, and her because… well, because I’ve seen what happens when she partakes too much.

The idea was floated of going out to another bar for more drinks and I, well, I turned into a bit of a dick. I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. “Nah,” I said. “I say we hang out here for another half hour then head home.” Of course, when I went to the bathroom I was overruled in absentia. Apparently, the conversation when something like this:

THE SCIENTIST: Okay, where are we going after this?
OTHER REVELER: Um, I know this nice brew pub close to the highway…
TS: Great! Let’s go there.
OR: Well, I don’t want to upset Craig...
TS: Pfft! He’ll be fine. Let’s go!

But I’m glad we went. It was a nice place, and considerably quieter than Melt. It was nice to sit and talk and laugh too loud and annoy the diners around us. But we didn’t have time for more than a cup of coffee and pie before the clock expired and we had to get back to relieve the babysitter.

We should do stuff like that more often. Even if we have to cross a river to do it.

###

PANTS DANCE

The lovely Miss Kate recently sent me more pictures from the pants party, and I've been meaning to post them.

Yes, your honor, there were minors at my party. Is that a problem?

"Friends" share an embrace. Great kilt, by the way.

Birthday helmet provided by A. & B. Hotness provided by my wife's pants.

OMG! It's a liger!

Not as hot as I'd like to imagine.

Probably most telling is that I have no memory of that last photo being taken. Miss Kate tells me "it was late in the party." Ah, that would explain it.

Thanks again to everyone who came to my suprise birthday/fancy pants party. You're all invited back next year.

###

TROUSER BROWSER

As promised, photographic evidence of the Fancy Pants party.

First up, me, in all my, ahem, glory.

The identities of the other party-goers have been obscured to protect the innocent. Or, mostly innocent.

A co-worker of The Scientist, along with her man. They were good sports, and she won the prize for "pants with the most stuff on them."

The Scientist. I still say those are some sexy pants. As of yet, I have been unable to get her to wear them again.
Friend and former co-worker of my wife's. The shirt really says it all.

"Flasher pants."

Probably the fanciest hand-made pants of the evening. This is M., The Scientist's best friend and winner of pants trivia.


My buddy J., co-conspirator with my wife to hold this surprise party. Winner of "Most Colorful Pants." That's his son in the background (in girl's pants) doing, um, oh, never mind.

Clown pants.


Finally, the winner of "Grand Master of Pants." When in doubt, go lederhosen.

The Scientist and I sucking at Guitar Hero. This is my second pants of the night, after the see-through ones got a little steamy.

And that's all we got! Look for a bigger, better and even fancier Fancy Pants party in 2008!

###

#234 In which our hero unexpectedly attends a party wearing pants of a most unusual nature.

Mom came up to visit last weekend. Since we went to visit the in-laws for Thanksgiving, she asked if she could come up this weekend because it will have been so long since she saw the girls. Being that we had nothing planned, I said sure.

Little did I know that I was walking into a trap.

Mom came up Friday and it was nice. The girls are always insanely happy to see grammy, due in part to the gifts she always brings. Generally speaking, I’m happy to see mom for the same reason. No! I’m kidding. I love my mother. And her gifts.

So Saturday comes and The Scientist has to work, which is a pain in the ass. But I’ve got nothing to do all day, so it’s play with the girls, run to the store for stuff to make dinner, and just hang out. The Scientist comes home, we eat and all is well. Around 6 o’clock The Scientist tells me that her friend is coming over to pick up some food we have stored for her in our chest freezer. But when M. gets here, she has a sheet cake.

ME: Why’s M. have a cake with her?
THE SCIENTIST: Because we’re having a party.
ME: Who’s having a party?
TS: We are.
ME: What, now?
TS: Yes, now. Go upstairs and get changed.

So yeah… my wife, who is a terrible liar and absolutely can’t be trusted to keep a secret from me… threw me a surprise birthday party over the weekend.

My birthday isn’t until next Monday but, wisely, she threw it this past weekend so I wouldn’t expect it. And man, I did not expect it. Frankly, I’ll still a little taken aback that she pulled it off. I mean, my wife is really bad about keeping secrets, and folds like a cheap table when under examination. But she not only arranged food, games and activities, she got my mother into the action, too! Behind my back! And she invited a dozen or so of my friends over! And everybody even played along with the theme.

Theme, you ask? Oh yeah. Hell, yeah.

A little background first. About a year ago I discovered the music of Jonathan Coulton. He’s a geeky guitar guy, and his songs are really fun dorky stuff. I have three of them on my iPod right now. One of the songs that caught my ear was “Mr. Fancy Pants” (scroll down the list, you can hear the entire song for free).

It’s a funny, catchy little ditty. Sometime after hearing it, I told The Scientist that I thought we should have a fancy pants party. With a trophy for fanciest pants (not unlike the song). This idea percolated in both of minds for awhile, before we both agreed that it just wasn’t going to happen this year. Too much going on before the end of the year. Then it would be too snowy to have a party. So, maybe we could do this in the Spring. We were both onboard for this timeline.

Or so I thought.

Little did I know that shortly after I said something, my wife began planning a surprise fancy pants-themed party for my birthday. And she did it this year (I’m turning 39 next week) because she knew I’m be expecting something for my 40th. Which I totally would be; especially considering how much I bitched and moaned when she planned a surprise party for her friend’s 40th (the same friend who delivered the cake--wearing some seriously fancy pants, I should add) and I had never had a surprise party, even though I’ve always really, really wanted one.

Something else you need to know.

On the way back from Thanksgiving, we again started talking about a fancy pants party (we had eight hours to kill, afterall). I’m all geeked about the idea. I’m thinking about what kind of fancy pants people would wear… what kind of fancy pants I’d wear. I’m thinking it has to be something outrageous, something no-one else would think of. “You know what would be awesome,” I said, off-handedly; “A pair of transparent pants. And I’d wear a thong under them! Ha!”

Lesson #1: be very careful of what you ask for.

So, M., my mom and The Scientist start dashing around the house, getting everything ready for people to arrive in less than an hour. But first, my wife takes me upstairs and says, “Here. Put these on.”

In one hand she has a pair of transparent pants. In the other, a tiger stripped thong.

Holy. Shit.

ME: Where the hell do you even get transparent pants?!
TS: I made them.
ME: You did not.
TS: I did.
ME: What’s this material?
TS: It’s a shower curtain. And let me tell you, my sewing machine did not like it.

Transparent pants. Well, in all honestly, mostly translucent pants. Unless I bent over and really stretched the material. Then there was no hiding nuthin’. I was a little hesitant about the thong--it’s not my normal mode of underwear. Actually, I’m a boxer guy, so even tighty-whities are a little constricting. But, good Lord, she went to all the trouble to make me see-through pants… and I did sort of ask for it. So I put them on.

Me and mom. She's clearly never been more proud of her son. From the front, not so bad, huh?

From the back? Dear God, my eyes! My eyes!

Unfortunately, these are the only photos we took. Because there were some fancy fancy pants at the party. Everyone made an effort, which was very cool. Other people had cameras, so I’m hoping some of those pics come my way. I’ll post them when they do.

After eating, drinking and general mingling, there was pants trivia (written by The Scientist. Again, how cool is my wife?) M. won with a total of 9 out of 11 possible points. Actually, she tied with the lovely Miss Kate. I asked them both to pick a number between one and five for a tie-breaker: M said one, Miss Kate said seven. So, M. won!

By the way, Miss Kate came all the way from the frozen north to attend. She’s also awesome (albeit slightly less so than my wife--sorry Kate). It was fantastic to see her, and a wonderful surprise. Her flight home was cancelled, and she was stuck in Cleveland an extra night, which sucks. I feel responsible. But, she blames it on the general suck-assiness of Chicago, and not me. But she might just be saying that because it’s my birthday.

Thanks again for coming, Kate!

Lesson #2: pants made of shower curtains do not breathe. At all.

Even though I loved my see-through pants, they started to get a little swampy after a couple hours. fortunately, my friend B. brought me an alternative pair of fancy pants. Blue with fur cuffs. And suspenders (and we all remember my unfortunate past flirtation with suspenders).

Then, there were also several categories of pants to judge. I wasn’t expecting to have to judge other people’s pants and, frankly, I was ill-prepared after several piña coladas. But, the winners broke down like this:

• Pants with the most things on them: K., a co-worker of The Scientists for green pants with a bunch of gold buttons sewed on.
• Sexiest pants: L., The Scientist’s horse trainer for her tight leather pants (I actually wanted to pick my wife for the skin-tight plaid bell-buttons she found at Goodwill; but she wouldn’t let me vote for her).
• Most colorful pants: My friend J., for multi-colored clam-diggers (this award probably should have gone to M. for her Napoleon Dynamite-inspired jeans, but she had already won the trivia contest).
• Grand Master of Pants: My friend S., for his authentic lederhosen. It’s just though to beat lederhosen, y’know?

The Grand Master of Pants was awarded a trophy, which was one of The Scientist’s co-workers old softball trophy with the figure sawed off above the waist. I nearly peed myself laughing when I first saw it.

Also in attendance that night were a beautiful kilt, flasher pants (i.e., pants that only extended from ankle to knee), clown pants, an especially esoteric graffitied pair of jeans (I got most of the jokes, Kate), girl jeans (on a boy) and others I’m forgetting. Like I said, everyone wore something (even L’s husband, who I think really would rather not have bothered) and it was super cool.

I’m lucky to have good friends. And a cool mother who completely went along with the joke. Thanks mom.

But I’m mostly lucky to have a great wife to plan and execute all of this… even though keeping her mouth shut all this time nearly gave her an ulcer. I really appreciate it, sweetheart. You’re the best.

And I’m already planning my pants for next year’s party.

###

#222 In which our hero enjoys the viewing of numerous corpses and parts thereof.

So, while we were in Columbus, We went to the innovatively named Bodies… The Exhibition. As noted in my last post, this is something I wanted to see, but missed when it was in Cleveland. And by “missed,” I mean I said “oh yeah, I should get over to that thing” about once a week but never did until it was too late. So, The Scientist, being super-cool, found out about it and we went.

She told me it was at Easton Market, which confused me. See, Easton is a new suburb of Columbus, very fancy-pants. But Easton Market is a mall, basically. When the BODY WORLDS exhibit was in Cleveland, it was at the Great Lakes Science Center (right? I think?) and I expected the Columbus thing to be at a similar educational facility, like COSI, say. But, not being familiar with Easton Market, I thought maybe they had a science hall or some such.

Not so much.

We got there and it was in a strip of stores. Matter of fact, it was right beside Halloween USA, once of those fly-by-night cheapie costume stores. This should have been my first clue that we were dealing with a strictly for-profit operation.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The exhibit was really cool. It was a large space that was divided up like you’d expect a museum to be… it wasn’t like going into the GAP. And while it wasn’t cheap, it wasn’t the soaking I expected. But I couldn’t help but think that much of the show was designed with entertainment, not strictly education, in mind.

And penises. Lots and lots of penises. More of that in a moment.

So, you know the story, right? That the show is full of real bodies that have been treated with plastic in some fashion so they don’t decay and look, more of less, like real flesh, bone and muscle look. Here’s an article about the process, if you want more info.

The show starts you off slowly. The first hall is full of skeletons, and cross-sections thereof. Everyone has seen skeletons before, so there wasn’t anything shocking. Except… well, I’m not one to buy into conspiracy theories, generally. But I once read an essay on medical skeletons, real ones, not ones made of plastic. The writer was wondering how these skeletons always had perfect teeth. I mean, think about it… these skeletons generally come from Asian or third world counties; these are people from socio-economic situations in which you wouldn’t expect dental health to be the #1 concern. Yet, every skeleton you see has perfect teeth. How can that be? The writer, of course, was implying that people are being raised and harvested strictly for their bones… a viewpoint I don’t share. But still. Perfect teeth. All of them. Odd.

We opted for the audio tour. They give you this device that looks like a 80’s-era cell phone. Each display has a number on it, you key in that number and you get a little info about what you’re seeing. I found this interesting, but The Scientist found it boring.

Which isn’t surprising. In college she had to take a load of anatomy and physiology classes, so she’s seen this stuff before. Actually, she’s seen it up close, not under glass like I was.

After the skeletons (all of whom have PERFECT TEETH) we entered a hall that had parts of bodies on display, highlighting muscle groups. At this point The Scientist became more interested, and regaled me with some great stories about how she had to isolate some muscle or other in anatomy, or how she and her lab partner cut up the wrong thing on their cadaver, and so on. My wife’s a scientist… how cool is that?

One display in particular that stands out in my memory is that of a leg. The muscles were well defined and labeled. You could see everything very well.

Including the penis.

This is the first of several displays in which I thought, why, exactly, am I looking at a penis right now? I mean, strictly speaking, the penis isn’t part of the leg muscle group, and there didn’t seem to be any reason to include it. As a man I know how harsh it sounds to say just chop it off! but it was just distracting. Didn’t add anything to the display.

But, it makes sense if you remember that this exhibit is made to make money. It educates and enlightens while it does that, of course, but it’s really about making money. And people are entertained by sex most of all, if they admit it or not.

The next room was the first to display full bodies. They’re all theatrically posed; this guy is dribbling a basketball, this guy is conducting an orchestra, etc. Now, the penises are in full display on these guys, too; but I expect that, since it’s the entire body.

What struck me the most with the full body displays were the faces. In particular, even though the skin was removed from the entire body, the nose, lips, eye brows and ears were always left on. I thought it was an interesting commentary on what we think of as a face. I wouldn’t have thought that eyebrows were critical in recognizing a face, but I guess they are. I wondered if anyone who knew the person in real life would have been able to identify them, post-dissection.

What also stuck me--and this is a much more telling (and damning) commentary--is just how quickly I stopped thinking of what I was viewing as people, and started thinking of them as “displays” or “exhibits.” Even though the word “Bodies” is front and center in the name of the show, they became something else, something easier to deal with. If you’re in an anatomy class and it’s 32 degrees and you can smell… whatever it smells like, I’m sure it’s a very different experience. But in a well lit, clean, pleasant display hall… well, it’s not so intimidating.

As we worked our well deeper into the show, the displays became more elaborate. There was a body stripped of it’s skin and posed so that the internal structure was holding hands with its skin. Another body was cut up into dozens of cross sections.

Amid all the penises, there were a couple female displays, too. These were a little disturbing. The breasts were left on (of course) but flayed, so the fatty breast tissue showed. But the nipples were left on. Now, I’m a big fan of boobs, and I find the nipple a very attractive thing… but not when displayed like this. It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to look at something you usually find arousing and feel a little repulsed.

And if the nipples were bad, what was going on below the waist was even more so. While the male genitals were completely devoid of skin, the females’ were... um, boy, not to get too graphic here, but the fleshy parts of the vagina were left alone. So, yeah, not attractive.

I’m skimming over a lot here… the displays of the circulatory system (everything removed expect blood vessels and associated structures--very cool), the digestive system, the brain… lots of fascinating things to see. The Scientist keep saying, wow, this is a really impressive dissection, meaning that it was done with a great amount of care. Isolating a single nerve in a big muscle isn’t easy, apparently.

At the very end of the show there was a station where you could hold some actual body parts. They’d been prepared like all the others, of course. A lung and a liver. They felt much like you’d expect them to… kinda heavy, spongy plastic. Not unpleasant to hold, unless you really started to think about what you were holding.

I’m really glad a got a chance to see this exhibit. I found it fascinating, and I’d recommend it.

But perhaps it was an odd anniversary gift. I gave my wife a box of chocolates. She gave me a tour of dead bodies.

That statement pretty well sums up why we’re so happy together.

###

#221 In which our hero describes his weekend of, um, two weekends ago.

Our sixth wedding anniversary was October 6th. We had made plans with my mother to come up to the house and watch the girls while The Scientist and I went out for a nice dinner, maybe a movie. Honestly, things have been so hectic at work lately that I hadn’t planned it out very well, other than to think up a gift (the traditional 6th wedding anniversary gift is candy--so that was simple. One box of Godiva dark chocolates and I’m a hero).

Mom came up Friday afternoon. The Scientist got off work early and I, for once, seemed like I was going to get out of work on time. We had a pasta dinner planned. Then I got this phone call on my cell.

THE SCIENTIST: Hey!
ME: Hey. Where are you?
TS: I’m in my car… um, driving.
ME: You don’t sound so sure. Are you lost?
TS: No-oo. I don’t think so.
ME: When I say “I don’t think I’m lost” it generally means I’m lost.
TS: No, it’s okay. Oh, here it is!

And then she walked into my office.

Which was a nice surprise, but I’m thinking, “Well, it’s nice that she drove down to Akron to visit… but kinda dumb. Now we both have to drive up to Cleveland, in separate cars.”

I thought this, see, because I am dumb.

As she quickly revealed, my wife had a whole weekend of activities planned. We jumped in my car and drove down to Columbus.

Now, I really like Columbus. I went to The Ohio State University and stayed for 12 years after graduation. I’d be there still, except for the fact that The Scientist lived in Cleveland, and it made a lot of sense for me to move north rather than she south. Moreover, it’s where we met, more or less, and where we started dating, more or less, so it’s a special city for us. It’s where I proposed, and she agreed to be my wife.

We went down to Columbus last year, too. Stayed in a fancy hotel room downtown (and quickly discovered that when it comes to fancy hotel rooms, we need to spend a whole lot more money to notice a difference), ate a fancy meal, went to the Gallery Hop in the Short North and had a great time.

This year we stayed at a fairly crappy hotel, which was free because The Scientist cashed in her credit card points or some such thing. I don’t remember. All I know is that I raised an eyebrow about the whole trip since money is a little tight for us right now… but she assured me that the room was free, as was the babysitting, so we could afford it.

Friday night we went out to The Scientist’s favorite restaurant in Columbus-- wait. No, it’s probably not her favorite, but it is the place that serves curly fries that I find decent, but she believes to be the best in the world. So we go there, only to find that it’s not the “Gibby’s” we’ve always known and loved, but now it’s something else. “Big Moose Lodge” or some shit like that. The Scientist was crest-fallen, but we went it anyway. It appeared that other than the name and décor, nothing else had changed. So she got her curly fries and I got my fish sandwich.

Then we walked over to Stauf’s, the little coffee shop where I proposed. The table we were sitting at when I popped the question was already taken, but the two-seater in the corner where we had our first date was open. This table, and that date, are much more significant in so many ways.

On the way back to the hotel room, I swung by OSU campus and OH-MY-GOD things have changed. I didn’t drive around campus, only down High Street (the main drag where I once drank too many Long Island Ice Teas and heaved into a garbage can on the street--I know, I’m classy) and I was totally blown away by what I saw.

(Aside to Janice--have you been back to campus recently? Mean Mr. Mustards? Gone. Crazy Mama’s? Gone. Magnolia Thunderpussy? Gone.)

One entire side of the street had been razed and replaced with a four story parking garage and fancy shops. Caribou Coffee. Borders. A tanning place. It was all very up-scale and slick… lots of glass, bright lighting, opening spaces with nice landscaping. While it was very impressive I also found it a little depressing. I mean, a big part of my college experience was the grimy floors and rundown walls of the bars and record shops that used to live in that space. They had a lot of character. Now it’s all very commercial and corporate. And yeah, if you never knew the OSU I did you wouldn’t miss it, I guess.

But, all was not lost. A quick drive further down the street revealed that The Newport was still there, and still looking as crappy as ever. The marquee listed off six bands I had never heard of. And SBX, my favorite textbook store, was still there, looking much the same. (One thing that was gone? The Ohio Union right across the street. Right now it’s a huge fenced-off hole in the ground. Presumable, a newer, bigger and better Union will be built there. This is also sad for me, since I spent a lot of time studying in the lounge, and eating crappy pizza-by-the-slice in the basement.)

The next day we slept in, drove to an all-you-can-stuff-in-your-piehole breakfast buffet, then started the day’s activities. The Scientist had this planned out, as well.

Couple of years ago the BODY WORLDS exhibition came through Cleveland. It sounded fascinating, and I’ve been bummed every since that I missed it.

But, as it turns out, there was a very similar exhibition called, cleverly enough, “Bodies… The Exhibition” going on in Columbus while we were there. I found it utterly fascinating. So much so that I’ll write a separate entry about it.

After the body show we went back to the hotel for a nap. I’ve always been a big napper, and I’ve turned The Scientist into one, too. Cool, dark room, middle of the day? Perfect.

That evening we went to our traditional anniversary restaurant, Hyde Park Grill, and had a wonderful meal. Then we walked around the Gallery Hop for a bit, delighting in some great art and the freaks that came out to witness it.

The Short North, the home of the Gallery Hop, has really changed since I went to school, too. At that time it was mostly run down store fronts, bars, a coffee shop or two, and a strip joint. There were a few honest to God art galleries, but mostly it was other businesses that would push their M-F stuff up against the back wall, hang some art, put out some cheese and wine and call themselves a gallery for the evening. I was very charming to have to walk around big envelope-your-head hair dryers in a beauty salon cum gallery to look at the art.

Now, it’s cleaned up considerably… the really run-down bars and shops gone and replaced with fancy shops (like a Segway store) and loads of real galleries. Again, it’s all very nice, but I find myself a little nostalgic for the way things used to be.

But it was a great time, all in all, and we returned early Sunday morning to the gleeful shouts of our children.

Six years seems like such a small amount of time. But in those six years, The Scientist and I have had so many laughs (and a few tears), and have managed to create two little people who have their mama’s red hair and their daddy’s attitude and are just about the greatest things on earth.

I love you, honey. Thanks for saying yes between bites of cheesecake those six years ago and allowing me to be your husband.

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VACATION RUINATION

Hey Internet, wot uppa?

For reasons of national security I couldn’t revel this before, but now I can tell you that last week I was on vacation. The Scientist’s parents came up and watched the girls and we went camping (and to those of you who know us in real life, that would be “camping”) in western Pennsylvania.

So how was it? Perhaps it’s best to express my feelings in song:

Got home from camping last spring.
Saw people, places and things.
We barely had arrived
Friends asked us to describe
The people, places and every last thing.
So we unpacked our adjectives.

I unpacked "frustrating" first.
Reached in and found the word "worst".

Then I picked "soggy" and

Next I picked "foggy" and

Then I was ready to tell them my tale.
'Cause I'd unpacked my adjectives.

So yeah, it rained. And then rained some more. It’s been hot and dry all summer, and then last week--the only week-long vacation I have planned all year--was the wettest of the season. When it wasn’t torrential downpours, it was hot and humid.

But, we were still surrounded by friends, and we didn’t let the weather interfere with our drinking, so it was still a good time. Except for Thursday, which was my low point. After four days straight of being wet, I was extremely grouchy. So much so, that we did something we never do: laundry. The Scientist packed up my wet crap and went into town with a friend to wash and (more importantly) dry my stuff. It really made a difference in my mood. That, and all the booze I drank while she was in town.

Thank you, honey; I really appreciated it.

But now that I’m back I’m rushing around like crazy trying to get back into the groove, especially at work. Busy, busy. And I still have to set up my tent to dry properly (I can almost hear Jeff right now screaming, “What? You haven’t dried out your tent? Good night!”) and I need to hump all the camping crap back into the basement.

It is good to be back at home, to see those girls. Who, incidentally, were great for Nana and Pop-pop. But, as it turns out, Lily didn’t manage to stay dry the entire week, either.

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#198 In which our hero witnesses a rather foul-mouthed filmmaker speak, and enjoys nearly every minute of it; save the self-fellatio.

The Scientist and I went to see Kevin Smith speak last night. He was appearing at the University of Akron, which happens to be a five minute walk from where I work. Tickets were only $8, so it was hard to pass by.

The plan was that I would leave work early, go get us a decent place in line (it was general seating) and The Scientist would pick up a couple of friends and meet me in Akron.

I expected the worst. Kevin Smith’s engagements are always sold out (as was this one) and it was on a college campus in Akron (not to bash Akron, but really, is there a ton of other stuff to do on a Friday night in the winter?). I strolled over there around 4pm (show started at 6pm) and expected to find a mob already queued up.

Instead, what I found was 12 people.

I had to ask if these people were indeed there to see Kevin Smith and if so, where the hell was everyone else? Other people seemed as surprised as I was. I called The Scientist and she was thrilled at the notion that we’d have great seats.

A few more people started to arrive, but nowhere near as many as I expected. With a bunch of free time on my hands, I listened to my iPod (which I always screw up and call my “Walkman” because, why yes, I can 50 years old) and took out a tablet and worked on this co-promotion that’s been vexing me at work. I also took the time to people-watch the few brave souls who arrived before me.

All college kids, far as I could tell. When I look at college kids I’m always filled with a bittersweet nostalgia. I looked at the cute couple sitting on the steps playing Uno and Mad Libs, him with ripped Chucks and her with magenta hair, sharing a pack of Camels, and envied them a bit. The biggest worry they had was passing a class and making sure they had enough condoms on hand. They were a decade away from a mortgage and fretting about how they could pay to get their kids into a good private school and speculating how if the company lost this big account their jobs would be on the chopping block… now that I think about it, I don’t think I miss the things I did (or didn’t do) in college, but rather I miss the freedom of not having to give a shit. Of just coasting, knowing that I would make enough in tips from bussing on Friday to pay for cover and drinks on Saturday.

I suppose I should feel old in situations like this, but I don’t. Sure, I have a wife and two kids and a mortgage and a real job and all that crap… but I still enjoy fart jokes and SpongeBob and read comic books and do other things that don’t exactly scream “grown up!” I guess when I was 20 I thought 38-year-old-Craig would be a hell of a lot more grown up than I am.

At one point while I was sitting there, tablet it hand, sketching out promotional concepts, I overheard one of these college kids say “Look, that guy’s doing his homework.” And I thought “Homework? Kid, I’m working on ideas for a joint promotion between one of the nation’s largest home DIY centers and one of the world’s largest fast food chains and if they like our pitch they’re each going to invest hundreds of thousands of dollars into media and my idea will be plastered all over their stores and it will generate some serious money for the agency so it’s not exactly ‘home work,’ it’s a little, ahem, bigger than that and Jesus Christ do you even hear yourself talking you old, old man.” But, I redeemed myself a little bit later when this same kid bumped into me as he bounced around like a spaz and he said, “Sorry, I’m just really excited to be here!” and I replied, “Well, it hardly shows” which made all his buddies laugh. So maybe I’m not so old.

Anyway, it started to get a little more crowded, and at 5:30 The Scientist called me to say that there were stopping to pick up fast food and what did I want? Want I wanted, frankly, was for them to get there already because I was starting to worry that they wouldn’t get there before the doors opened and then I’d have to fight off a bunch of punks as I saved three extra seats in the front row. Of course, when they did get there my wife prompted informed me that the show started at 7:30, not 6, so what exactly was my problem? I guess that explained why there weren’t more people lined up at 4.

Finally they open the doors and I’m ready to sprint to the front row if need be. However, turns out the University screwed us… it was general seating, but the first 20 rows were reserved for season ticket holders. We did manage to get in the 21st row, dead center and I was pretty damn happy with our seats.

Then the University tried to screw us again.

An usher came over and told us that we were actually in a reserved row, and that the general seating started in the row behind us. Of course, by the time she informed us of this, the rest of the place was packed. The venue had two balconies, and there were already people in both of them. If we had to move now, we weren’t going to be able to see shit.

I started formulating my plan of attack as soon as I saw what was going on… see, it’s not like we tried to jump into the forbidden zone, we just went where the ushers told us we could. And if their dumbass 80-year-old volunteer couldn’t get her rows right, well, that wasn’t our fault, now was it?

But we weren’t the old ones in this row, and this one guy was also formulating a plan, but his plan, as articulated to the usher, was “Fuck that! I’m not moving!” and he was clearly ready to come to blows over the issue if need be. So I figured I’d like him take the brunt of any fallout, then try to plead my case like a, well, like a grown up.

As it turned out, it didn’t matter. Only a fraction of the season ticket holders showed up, and 15 minutes before the curtain they opened up all the rows. We managed to climb down another eight rows or so, leaving us about 10 rows from the stage. Really, really good seats.

A word about the season ticket holders.

Kevin Smith was appearing at the E.J. Thomas Hall on the University of Akron campus. This is a multi-function venue. The Akron Symphony Orchestra plays there. It features Broadway shows. You can see world-renown jazz performers. It hosts a variety of lectures from famous authors and playwrights. They put on ballets.

In other words, these people had no idea what they were getting in to.

The Scientist and I exchanged glances as we saw the gray-haired women in neat pantsuits arrive with their gray-haired husbands in sport coats. Unless I was really, really off the mark, these nice folks had never seen a Kevin Smith movie, and they certainly had never heard him speak before.

Because here’s the thing: I’m a big fan of Kevin Smith. I enjoy his movies a lot; I think Chasing Amy if one of the sweetest, most heart-breaking movies I’ve ever seen. I just think he’s a really talented screenwriter and filmmaker. However, there’s no way in hell I’d EVER take my mother to see him speak.

Kevin Smith has been doing these lecture things for a while now. Matter of fact, he has two DVDs out, An Evening with Kevin Smith (which I’ve seen) and the sequel, “An Evening with Kevin Smith -- Evening Harder” (which I haven’t seen).

The deal is that he just takes questions from the audience. That’s it. But the guy can tell a good story. And even though the guy has only been in the business for about 15 years, he has a lot to say. And a lot of what he has to say is surrounded by the words “fuck” and “pussy.” He’s a crude guy and certainly not for everyone, but The Scientist and I think he’s hilarious.

(One story from the first DVD about when he was commissioned by Warner Bros. to write a script for a new Superman movie is especially funny--and insightful about how things really get done in Hollywood. That link goes to a YouTube video that’s almost 20 minutes long, but it’s totally worth it if you haven’t already seen it.)


Kevin Smith finally takes the stage. I’ve read that at previous shows the guy stays up on stage until people run out of questions… sometimes stretching out a two hour show to five or six hours. Which is fine by me. But, one of the first things he tells us is that the people in charge have made it clear that everyone has to be out by 10:30. So that sucks.

He warms up the audience by hacking on Akron for 10 minutes… which is fine (I don’t live in Akron, I could care less) but not what I came to see. He’s not a comedian (a fact he makes clear when someone asks him if he’s ever considered getting into stand-up) and I just want to get to the Q&A. Which, thankfully, starts shortly thereafter.

So the questions start coming. One of his rules is that he doesn’t talk about anything that’s already been covered in Evening With or Evening Harder… so no “tell us the Superman giant spider story again!” All new content. Dig it.

One thing I realize immediately: editing is your friend. His DVDs cut between venues and obviously cherry-pick the best questions. But when you see him live? People ask stupid questions. I mean, really, really stupid questions.

The second question of the night goes something like this: “Hi Kevin! My friends and I have been having a heated debate, and we want your opinion. Say a necrophiliac is fucking a corpse, but then she suddenly is reanimated in the middle of the act. Does he finish, and if so, does he take her out for dinner afterwards?”

I give Smith credit for being game for any question--because this won’t be the most stupid of the evening. He answers this idiot, saying, “Does he finish? Sure, he’s a guy, of course he finishes.” But the questioner isn’t happy with that, she keeps asking, “Yeah, okay, but does he take her out of dinner after? Huh?” He keeps at it long after I would have said “Look asshole, I didn’t fly in to freakin’ Akron to answer dumb shit like this.”

But, y’know what? He has. Clearly Kevin Smith is enjoying himself, and why not? He is getting paid to stand up and tell funny stories for a couple hours. Not a bad gig.

While this is going on, I’m looking at the gray-hairs around me. There’s a nice old lady directly next to me, and I keep sneaking glances at her. She has a slight smile plastered to her face throughout, and I’m not sure if maybe she’s actually enjoying the show, or if she’s just keeping a stiff upper lip.

It’s not more than 20 minutes before some of the gray-hairs start filing out. To her credit, the lady next to me lasted an entire hour and a half before bailing.

It’s a thoroughly enjoyable time. Not a lot of the stories stick with me, but I know I enjoyed them at the time. That is, except one.

Kinda out of the blue, Smith tells us that as a younger man he was able to suck his own dick. Which is disturbing in and of itself, but the story seemed much more prepared than Smith’s other stories. At first I think he’s just kidding, but he’s adamant about it. And detailed. “It was after I blew a load in my own mouth that I knew I could never be gay,” he says. I’m thinking, “Dude, no-one was even asking about your dick.”

I don’t know, maybe if you come to the realization that you’re going to tell a room full of hundreds of strangers that you’re tasted your own dick before (“right to the balls”) you need to get the details straight in your head. You practice what you’re going to say in front of the mirror. Or maybe he tells this story every single show, and the editors of the DVDs wisely cut out that part.

Things I learned from Kevin Smith:

• Vin Diesel may or may not be gay and enjoy sitting under a glass table watching people shit on him
  
• Smith is currently writing a horror movie
  
• Jennifer Garner is a bit of a cold fish
  
• Steven Spielberg and George Lucas have nothing better to do than surf fan-sites of their own movies
  
• It was Smith’s wife, not him, who wanted to name their daughter “Harley Quinn”
  
• George Clooney “loves pussy”
  
• For Clerks II, Harvey Weinstein had to be talked out of actually showing "Pillow Pants”
  
• David Duchovny begged to be in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. As Cock-Knocker. It was only a scheduling conflict that kept him out of the flick
  

…and many other things. Some involving his wife’s ass. Which isn’t nearly as sexy as it might sound.

All in all, a great time. Head over to YouTube to see some footage from the show. Last night a search for “Kevin Smith Akron” gave me seven videos. There’s probably more now.

Just steer clear of any tagged with “suck” “own” and “dick.”

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