boy, 1. mom, 0.

Mom, singing, "What do tigers dream of..."

Matthew, "Mom, who sings that?"

Mom, "Umm...Ed Helms, I th..."

Matthew, "Let's keep it that way."

ZING!

Random musings

The other day, Becca described a guy as "tall and dangly". I assume she meant gangly, but might be wrong.

Christmas decorations left up after New Years are a visual example of how it feels to be clinically depressed.

I realized I root for the movie bad guy more often than not.

Large groups of small children in an enclosed room smell like a herd of goats. And small groups of large kids in an enclosed room smell like Frito chips. It's science. Look it up.

Pop Pop, did your butt itch?

Dan Rather said our grandparents come from the greatest generation. Let us examine, shall we?

Their generation lived to fight through World War II, eat dirt during the Depression, to have some serious sex during the Baby Boom (bowm-chicka-bowm-bowm), and to retire before douchebags like Bernie Madoff snorted their life savings. They only drove cars made in Detroit, and did the jitterbug with absolutely no idea that they looked less like they were dancing and more like their asses really, really itched.

The ladies wore heels to do housework, lipstick to the grocery store, and girdles reinforced by asbestos and industrial grade rubber. The men shaved every day and smoked cigarettes pretty much constantly, in bed, in the shower, in the baby's room, at work.

Dinner was red meat, butter, and something-something starch. Everybody had a vast liquor cabinet and Mom knew just how Dad liked his gimlet. All the dogs were named Rover and kids were named after ancestors, not inanimate objects.

It seems like it was a good time and these were people who knew exactly what was what. Baseball was America's past time and nobody had ever heard of soccer. America was the greatest country on earth and if you disagreed, Senator McCarthy would by-God like to have a word with you.

The facts are pretty clear. That generation kicked so much ass, America had absolutely no choice but to barrel full throttle through the middle of the century, consuming vast quantities of democracy, butter, and fossil fuels...

...and then their kids hit puberty. With the act of such a great group of Americans to follow, their kids didn't stand a chance, so they went ahead and ricocheted off the shining, righteous deeds of their parents and straight on towards free love, hash brownies, and disco.

But despite their hooligan kids, they were almost certainly the greatest generation. And if you doubt that, here's proof.



Check and mate.

Resolutions are for pussies!

You know what they (I) say about resolutions? They (I) say you don't need the beginning of a year to make a resolution. Resolutions get broken. So you promise yourself something and then you let yourself down. I'm too busy letting other people down to let myself down too. There are only so many hours in the day, you know.

But because I am physically incapable of (admitting to) failing, any resolution I might choose to make would go something like this:

I resolve to quit smoking. I go buy my first ever pack of cigarettes. Smoke one. Throw the rest away (after the vomiting stops). Resolution fulfilled. Man, I so rocked that.

I'm going to market it and call it the Kelly No Fail Method of New Year's Resolutions (patent pending). The royalties will make me rich.

This year is going to kick so much ass.