The mad, mad scientist

“Dad!” pounced the kid as I walked in the door for lunch. “Ready to do some science experiments?” Ambushed is more like it. Was it even at the door? Maybe it was out by the front gate. She jumped me from the bushes like some kind of jungle cat. “Come on. Let’s get to work!” I didn’t even have time to put my keys down before I was dragged off. Pop was in town. That’s my dad. He went shopping. “I hope it’s OK,” he said. I came in to find a mad scientist’s den. That’s what the science kit was called. “Extreme Secret Experiments Inside!” the booklet said on the cover. There were little beakers and test tubes with colored liquid in them. White powder in packages. Eye droppers. Funnels. My daughter had a pair of goggles. There was a giant monster with a flat head hooked up to wires on a gurney. OK, maybe not that. My dad smiled. It was the kind of smile that said, “Sorry … but this is really funny as hell!” Funny for YOU! You get to leave. I get to clean the exploding volcano off the ceiling and figure out why the dog is coughing up blue bubbles. “Dad! Dad!” barked my daughter. She sounded like a seal. “Want to make slime? Glowing alien slime! oooOOOooohhh! What color slime do you want to make?” Here’s what lunch is to me: A chance to come home. Unwind. Read The Wall Street Journal. Learn […]

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Welcome back, dreaded Florida heat

Ah, how I missed you, oppressive, swarming, relentless Florida heat. It seems you were on vacation this year. Took some time off. Came back late. But I realized last weekend you’re finally home. You’ve unpacked and you’re ready to torch. I was outside cutting down tree branches. It was Sunday morning. Father’s Day. There are few better ways to celebrate being a father than firing up a chain saw, gnawing through some wood and praying that the teetering branch the length of Texas doesn’t come down on you like a cartoon fly swatter. Why is it we think the laws of gravity don’t apply to giant tree branches? We’re standing below them. Where do we think they’ll go? “I don’t know, Doc. I just thought it would fall up … not on my head.” Anyhoo, I was out dodging the arboreal assault. I ran inside to proclaim that I was alive (save for the giant branch sticking out of my shoulder blade) and hug my daughter. She stopped me with a finger. “Um, no,” she said. “But I’m alive, sweet pea, and it’s Father’s Day!” “That’s great,” she replied. “But you look like you drowned.” I peered down at myself. The 60 percent of my body made up of water had leached onto my shirt. I could feel dehydrated blood cells coursing through my veins like sand. This explained the strange hallucinations. Darth Vader had been using his light saber to help cut up branches. “Oh, yeah,” I thought to […]

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Summer envy

Dear Daughter, I’m not sure they’ve taught you this word yet, but I am envious of you. Do you know what that means? Have you learned it yet in school? It’s when you want what someone else has. When you have this resentful desire to possess it. “Resentful desire,” daughter. It’s jealousy, more or less. Your papa is brimming with it! I’m envious of you for one simple reason: Tomorrow I’ll go to work, but you? Well … SUMMER STARTS FOR YOU!!! No school. You’re done. You can wake up late. Stroll out to breakfast with a big, long, lazy yawn. Hair a mess. Pajamas still on. You don’t have to listen to anyone say, “Kid! … eat, eat, eat! You have 13 seconds to brush your teeth, get that knot the size of a hornet’s nest out of your hair and make it to school.” Your life is gravy now! GRAVY!!! You can play with your cereal until the O’s turn to mush. You can flop on the sofa and drown yourself in TV. You can go outside and wash the car for me. (Thought I would throw that in to see if you would fall for it.) Yet, through all of this — after the yawn, after you pull up to the breakfast table in pajamas, after the O’s turn to mush and you wash the car (still trying!) — do you know what the first words out of your mouth will be? I do — “I’m bored!” […]

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Top things to know about the World Cup

The World Cup is officially underway. Billions across the planet are tuned in, hanging on every pass. Hoping their team will pull off glory. And then there’s you! Wondering what it’s all about. Why it’s so special. Maybe trying to understand soccer so you can be part of this global madness in Brazil. To help, I’ve put together a list of top things you should know about the tournament: • Yes, it is OK if you find yourself staring at a picture of Portuguese star Cristiano Ronaldo and saying, “Dang! That is one pretty dude!” Because while your mama said YOU are the most handsome boy on the planet, she lied. Cristiano Ronaldo is the most handsome boy on the planet. We just need to get over it and marvel at his rockin’ abs. • Brazil is not only the host country, but also the favorite to win it all. Brazil is futbol crazy. So if you find yourself in a bar with a bunch of Brazilians who are singing and samba-ing and playing drums, here are some things to say, and not to say. Appropriate: “Dude, Neymar is so awesome and I think he’s going to win it all.” Inappropriate: “Brazil’s all hype! They’re too inexperienced.” A good way to die: “Pelé was a FRAUD!!! My 6-year-old nephew Norman played better.” • Let your crazy out. Soccer has a way of doing that. For instance, I was at the recent American national team game against Nigeria in Jacksonville. I saw a guy […]

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A Tough Mudder, or how to release your inner stupid

Sometimes you have to let your inner stupid out. Other times you need a good smack to the forehead, lodging him deep, deep inside. That’s what I’m wrestling with as the little voice in my head keeps imploring me to let my inner stupid free. Do I listen? Do I? Ahhh! It’s all thanks to a colleague. He approached me at a work picnic and asked if I wanted to partake in something life changing. Something liberating. Something I would never forget. I thought he was referring to the hand-made potato chips on the buffet line, but apparently I don’t think “big” enough. “A Tough Mudder!” he said. I gasped. And recoiled. “Keep your voice down!” I snapped at him. “My wife might be around. She hears us talking like this and WE’RE mud.” But the inner stupid in me whispered: “Now … keep talking.” A Tough Mudder. Ever heard of it? It’s an endurance race with military-style obstacles. They’ve become popular in recent years because the average IQ is dropping precipitously. I blame reality TV. The organization that puts these events on around the world bills them like this: a “hardcore 10-12 mile obstacle race — mud run events designed by British Special Forces to challenge the toughest of the tough.” Requirements? Inner stupid. I was intrigued. No idea why. Because I’m not tough, and I don’t like mud. Frankly, it sounds like a horrible idea. It has obstacles called “Fire in the Hole” — where you slide through […]

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