Welcome Little Girl Stella

She's here! Little Baby Stella. The past few days have been nuts, but not without underlying Joy.

Here is Stella. I will try to write more later. Three hours of sleep does not induce chattiness...or clarity..

One small thing though. Yesterday was her first day home. We brought her up the stairs and Aimee prepared to nurse her in the Baby Room. Aimee has a docking station for Ipod and plugged in for background music. Here is what was playing in the background and her first song. Not too mushy. Just sweet-sounding.

Baby Waiting

Looks like Lil' Miss does not want to come out yet. Today is the due date. We are ready though!

Local High School Football

On Friday Night, Aimee and I attended a local football game between last year's Maryland 4A and 3A State Champions. Quince Orchard barreled through Damascus 38-3.

It seems High School Football never changes. There are the parents, younger children not paying attention to the game, giggly girls and high school boys trying to look tough.




Plus, they have Italian Ice....

Hurrican Ike's Strange Effect on Animals

Evidently, a Chicken Mutated into a Super Beast and hitched a ride to a live CNN Shoot:



Next, A bear gets lost and wanders towards the Texas Coast during the hurricane.

The Last Baby Class

Last night, Aimee and I attended our last baby class. I am now certified in the art of wiping someone else's butt.

Little Stella should join us soon...

The Wrong Advice

So I read this article in the Washington Post last weekend:

--Surviving the Storm. Downsizing. Buyouts. Layoffs. In some fields the job market is getting nasty. It's time to adopt a few strategies to avoid getting cut -- or bounce back quickly if you do.-- (if you need a username/pw, go to www.bugmenot.com)

I intentionally refrain from derogatory commentary about anyone and anything on this blog because

a.) It's not good form

b.) Anything you write on the Internets is basically public record. You don't want to write something with emotion only to regret it later.

c.) Judgements/criticism imply weakness. Abraham Lincoln or Winston Churchill didn't become how they are know by saying stuff like "Who he think he is! He ain't all that!"

Anyway, I was surprised to read this article. There was a lot of common sense, I mean good advice, in it but there was one published writer quoted who threw me back a bit.

.....But that's just the beginning of your labors, said Stephen Viscusi, author of the new book, "Bulletproof Your Job: 4 Simple Strategies to Ride Out the Rough Times and Come Out on Top at Work." (Collins Business, $19.95). You need to make sure you are the employee the boss most wants to keep.

In sometimes crude terms, his book spells out the particulars of effective ingratiation. "It's all about creating the illusion of working hard and getting along with your boss, and a little old-fashioned ass-kissing or brown-nosing," he said.

His four-part strategy (be visible, be easy, be useful, be ready) is equal parts mom and Machiavelli. It's not always what you want to hear."

Now, I have no problems with brown-nosing, but "creating the illusion of working hard?" Sorry Mr. Stephen Viscusi, but you are encouraging the slackers. I don't know about you, but most people can spot an "illusionist" a mile away.

I was speaking with my friend Vincent who's sister-in-law lived in Japan. Evidently, it is a source of pride to be the first one into work at like 6:00 a.m. First one in, and last to leave. She also said that these same people open up the newspaper and read it until 8:30 am. When I started working after college, there was a gentleman in my office who 'worked' like 12 hours a day but did maybe three hours of actual work. I think he spent the remaining nine hours telling people how busy he was.

Anyway, enough of the criticism. I wanna know who I think I is.

Buster The Beer Drinking Pig

My brother Tim is on Facebook. I noticed that he previously had as is default profile photo, Buster The Beer Drinking Pig (or one of his descendants). Now, he has graduated to other pigs..



Who is Buster The Beer Drinking Pig you ask? In the middle of the Jungle near Tim's home, St. Croix, there is a bar named The Domino Club. The bar is famous for it's beer drinking pigs. In 1991, I went to visit Tim and saw for myself. You pull up a driveway and you actually feel like you are approaching someone's house (in the jungle) rather than a bar. The bar is tiny and there are dogs and cats wandering about.

The attraction is "Buster the Beer Drinking Pig." You order a beer, then give it to Buster. Buster takes the beer (can) from you, hoists it up, pokes a hole through it with his huge tusk and swigs it down. When I visited Buster, it was two pm in the afternoon. All I saw in the cage was about 200 empty beer cans and a one-thousand pound pig, laying down in the corner, passed out. Stone drunk. Evidently for Buster, every hour was cocktail hour.

Since then, Buster is now downing beers in heaven and his descendants are the star attraction. Since it is no longer politically correct to promote alcoholism in pigs, they are now served non-alcoholic beer (ODouls).

Here's to you Buster!

Baby Room Coming Together

Lookin good!

New Favorite Song

I was cleaning the kitchen this fine evening with the headphones on and surfing the radio when I hit this song. I liked it immediately. Never heard it before. Then I learned it's by Weezer. They are great. If you are a big Weezer fan and know this song and think I'm behind the times, well, you're right. It's new to me though. Don't worry, you're cool and I'm not.

I laughed here:

You wanted arts and crafts?
How's this for arts and crafts?
(guitar solo)
(That's Right!)

And chucked here:

Marryin' a bi-yatch,
Havin' Seven ki-yads,
Givin' up and growin' old,
And hopin' there's a god.

So give it a listen and learn by studying the lessons in your dreams

Ginny on a Friday

A dog's life indeed...our dogs like to relax...

My Brother's TV Show

My (Matt) brother has a new TV Show. It's called "Real Interrogations." It is on a new Discovery Channel called "Investigation Discovery."

It basically tells a story of murder while focusing on the Interrogation, using the real footage. Pat (brother) is also the narrator. He e-nun-cee-ates dramatically because you have to do this as a narrator. Aimee and I watched both shows (Tuesdays at 9:00 pm).

It's a good show! I think it's his best one yet. So, if you are flipping the channels on a Tuesday evening at 9 pm and want to see a good show, check it out.

Preggers Pics

Preggers Pics. Taken yesterday. Aimee and I were all dudded up and stopped by for my sister's bday afterwards.







Today, we took a tour of the Maternity Ward. It's getting closer!

Baby Room Shaping Up

Say goodbye to Office and Hello to...Baby Room








By the way..we have a name..

Stella!

Ernie Tee Shirt

This evening, Aimee was watching one of her favorite shows, John and Kate plus eight, a TV show about a married couple with a set of twins and sextuplets. During this episode, the whole family visited Sesame Place, an amusement park in Pennsylvania. Due to the fact I am currently reading a book about a Professor's years of experience studying baboons in the wild of Africa, watching the show (for a moment) brought to mind a childhood experience involving summer camp and an Ernie Tee Shirt.

The book is tiled A Primate's Memoir and documents the author's years in Kenya studying baboons as a graduate student. The chapters alternate between describing observations of a troop of baboons and the wildly different culture in Africa than that of his life in the United States.

How does this all relate?

When I was around six years old, I went to a summer camp. On one fateful day, my mother laid out an Ernie Tee Shirt to wear. To three-year olds at the time, Ernie and Bert were bigger than The Beatles. For a six or seven year old, wearing an Ernie and Bert Tee Shirt was like break dancing at a funeral...a major faux pas. Had I sported a Star Wars or Dukes of Hazard Tee Shirt, I would have been safe. I didn't know any better. All I knew was that I needed to wear a shirt, period. Actually, had my mother not laid out any clothes, I probably would have been fine leaving the house in just socks and sneakers. I would probably have been more comfortable anyway (during that hot summer) with the exception of sitting on the Yellow School Bus seat.

Anyway, I was the lowest baboon on the totem pole that day. I was encircled by mini-baboons (I mean children) and ridiculed without mercy. I actually didn't even know I had a big target (I mean "Ernie") on my chest until I got on the school bus. This lasted the whole day. I found this puzzling, as I never actually paid attention to what other kids wore. I only noticed pretty girls and kids who smelled bad. That day taught me that that you have to pay attention what to the clothes you wear...I finally caught on at some point..I think it was when I reached 30..maybe a few years before . After that day, I bid farewell to my Ernie Tee Shirt. Good-bye, old friend. We had a good Go of it, you and me. No disrespect to you, my brothah. It's just the times, man. You dig? I'll keep rockin if you keep rockin. Good luck, Broseph.

Baby Lil'

Baby Lil' is our little girl's Rap Name. Simple. Descriptive. Telling.

Aimee's Rap Name: Momma Lil'.

We have two dogs, so why not give them Rap Names as well:

Ginny: 4Eva Baby. Because she'll always be our baby. She'll never grow up and go to college or Beauty School or whatever.

Darla: Lil' D. Just sounds good.

Me? Em Ro'. Same configuration as J Lo. Don't be fooled by the rocks I don't got. Used to have a little..now I have a little..so on and so forth..

EMAIL ADJUSTMENTS

If you happen to have an address for me in ANY of your contact lists with my email address minus the 'S', REMOVE THAT ADDRESS. It is going to the incorrect person who does not appreciate receiving my emails.

While I do not misspell my own email address, there are others who do and I'm not getting your emails.

Thanks!

Aimee

Dog Days of Summer

Not much happening, but the following:

- In August, Aimee's friends Julie and Sandy are throwing a baby shower with my Mom. Aimee's Mom is coming in from Texas. We are looking forward to it.

- We think we have decided on a name for our little toots. Naming dogs is easier.

- We saw "Mama Mia" yesterday. Hmm. Not bad...but not great.

- It's too hot outside.

- Since I haven't had time to buy razors, I have a beard. I am thinking of shaving it down to a stache.

- Our friend Vincent stayed with us this past week. He accompanied me on my morning and evening dog walks. I think that deep down, he may just like dogs.

- Lately, I've been reading articles related to the economy.

- I hate going to the grocery store, but have been going a lot lately. Well, not a lot, but for me it is. Aimee is pregs so she gets special treatment. Don't get used to it.

- Lately, I've been looking up cars on the Internet. Good gas mileage is favorable, but not when safetey is an issue.

- I got a hair cut today. The lady who cut it accussed me of self cuttage because it was all kinds of lengths and the back was growing into a mullet. I confessed immediately. I haven't had the time to get it cut. I gave her a good tip. Yes, I sometimes cut my own hair.

- I appreciate air conditioning.

Aimee entertains herself

With the impending arrival of a new family member, we are ever so slowly getting our house in order. On Saturday, we finished our guest room. As a team, Aimee and I installed a new set of blinds. Aimee chose special "block out the sun" blinds to prevent the morning light from awakening a sleeper too early. We both felt very pleased with our efforts: no clutter, new bedding, new mattress pad, new fixtures and the new blinds. Visually, the room is uncluttered and modestly decorated. It's nice. As we walked out of the finished room, I did not know that Aimee was not yet finished.

Later in the day, I took a shower in order to get ready for a dinner in Bethesda with our friend (and my colleague) Vincent, who is currently in town from Paris. He was staying with us for the evening, and his visit gave us more of a reason to finish the room. As I left the bathroom, I noticed Aimee in the hall, standing lopsided, like a drunken homeless man. She stood this way because she was trying to control her laughter. She had a smirk on her face. Did you see the guest room? Go take a look! I added a picture (trying to act non chalant, yet as transparent as glass).

I walked over to the guest bedroom, and took a look. Nothing seemed out of place: a bed, a night stand, a painting on the wall. Then, I looked at the night stand. On the night stand and next to a candle, sat a framed picture. Just one picture in the entire room. The framed photo was a picture of me ..like a head shot. As I shook my head, I envisioned Vincent setting down his bags, taking a look around the room and noticing that the only framed photo in the room was a picture of me smiling.

Aimee walked around the hall for a good minute and giggled while trying to keep herself upright. It's clear that it is much more difficult for a very pregnant woman to remain standing on two feet while laughing. I wasn't sure if I was more amused by the picture or by Aimee's sheer delight in her little project. This wasn't a quick job. She had to think about it, find an appropriate photo, and place it in a nice frame with a goal of completing her task before I walked out of the bathroom.

When Vincent walked in the room, he saw the humor as well. Then he immediately picked up the frame and turned it face down on the end table.

Aimee's Love Notes

Evidently, Aimee has something against coffee grinds in the sink. Nice penmanship!

Aimee also prefers her toothpaste tube to be capped 24 hours a day. Her message is simple: "Toothpaste"

Aimee thought these attached twin cherries looked like a butt, so she took a picture.

Finally, a picture that demonstrates the comfort level of Darla.

Talk about a "Baby Bump"

Lookee here. Someone is growing.



Growing..and kicking! The little bugger kicks pretty much all the time. Not only does she kick, but she responds to voices. I put my hand on Aimee's tummy and say.."Kick!" The little growing person kicks on queue..with force..like Pele.

Are we ready? Of course not. Looking forward to the craziness? Absolutely.

My Dad's Baseball Hats in South America

Well, my brother Tim has begun to carry out his quest described here.

He left for South America with a bunch of my Dad's baseball caps. Now, he has started to give them away as gifts to people he meets along the way. The rule is for each hat he gives away, he takes a picture. Well, here we go!

A picture of a house to give some perspective.

A new UConn Fan. Go Huskies.

I think that is a Holy Cross hat. Not sure.

University of Virginia Cavaliers? Don't even get me started.

As far as this 'inter-cultural sharing of outer wear', Aimee and I experience it in our own front yard. In our little Cul Du Sac, there are quite a few Korean families. These are families are new to the United States and rent in our little hood of townhomes.

Yesterday evening, I was walking the dogs (like I always do) and came up on a Korean neighbor. He was a middle aged man in flip-flops, black socks, and a Tee Shirt that sported a Green Clover which read: "Kiss Me I'm Irish." No joke. If I had a camera on me, I would have asked to take his picture...Priceless! I am also not joking about taking pictures of neighbors. Just ask Aimee.

Progress with a web site

So, I (Matt) am working on a web site. It is hard to describe because it is not yet viewable on the Internet. Well, now it has one page:

http://www.politics.com/

Small steps!

Tim Russert reminds me of someone else

If you have seen any form of media recently, you know that Tim Russert died abruptly of a heart attack. When most public figures die, I must admit that I really don't get broken up about it. I don't feel any personal connection in these instances. With Tim Russert, however, I felt like like I was losing someone close to me. It's not as much sad as it is a testament to this man. He has plenty of media people talking about how he was so significant in peoples' lives so I will leave it to them, The Experts.

As far as the "someone else," I will back up a bit. I was watching the NBC Nightly News tonight with a segment on Mr. Russert. Yes, it was sad, but there was something else. It felt familiar. The way I felt watching this segment reminded me of another public figure in the DC area who wasn't as well known as Tim Russert, but he had the same ability to relate to people: Glen Brenner, a local TV News Sports Anchor Man...the funniest TV News Reporter I ever did see.

When my family moved to the DC area, Glen Brenner became the area's unofficial ambassador. I would seldom miss his reports, because anything could happen during them. He would make fun of his co-anchors or go off on tangents. He would make me laugh. Glen Brenner made watching the News a True Event.

This describes him fairly well:

"The infectious zeal for life that Brenner had could not help but make all those around him more fun. His chemistry with his channel 9 colleagues, especially Gordon Peterson (who is still on local TV), was magical. He was irreverent without being snarky (something ESPN could learn from) and a joy to watch."

Unfortunately, he died of brain tumor. He had been off the air for months following a “vascular event” in his brain that occurred as he finished the 1991 Marine Corps Marathon. He was only 44 years old.

I am sure that if he hadn't died so young, you would know his name too. Just like Tim Russert, he could relate to people. It shows that if you extend yourself a little, you won't be forgotten. I haven't forgotten him.

Here he is...the Funny Man...

Making fun of a co-anchor's Asian Style Dress:



Making fun of Gordon Peterson:



Laughing at a Bull Rider who gets stomped in The Pills.

Brother Tim in South America

My Brother Tim (not Brother Tim like a monk, but my brother) is in South America..for eight months. He is currently learning Spanish and traveling around Ecuador. He'll visit numerous countries along the way, including my second homeland, Chile.

looks like a valley.

I see this pose in cheesy Prom Photos. I call it "The Thinker."

He is a long way from Maryland..and his home, The Virgin Islands.

There he is again..The Thinker! This time, looking toward the heavens for dramatic effect.

Lucky Guy, traveling the globe and experiencing all kinds of new things! Good for you Tim!

Other ideas for photo poses:

The Hungry Man: http://images.inmagine.com/img/ingram/inggl/1525r80927.jpg
The Graduate: http://www.photoimages.com/portraits/hendlge.jpg
The Happy Distraction: http://bleedingcheese.com/images/family%20portrait%20002.jpg
The White Family on the floor: http://www.bracedoctor.com/Images/Portrait_family_sm.jpg

Oops, Tim has a buddy! http://www.rstolley.com/ReflectivePose.jpg
Maybe it's a secret society: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/157/402682039_4943f70112.jpg?v=0

Ireland 1997: The Curse of Rob

Over ten years ago, I traveled to Ireland with my brother Pat and my childhood friend, Rob. We spent six days, driving around the country, with the primary goal of seeing as many "touristy" places as possible less than a week. We saw a lot: A literary bar crawl in Dublin, a St. Patrick's Day parade in Galway, and a tour of the Cliffs of Moher. The most noteworthy experience relates not to the tourist attractions, but an unfortunate illness which befell my friend Rob and its effect (ie, doodie) on the unlucky town of Ennis.

The story begins with Rob's affinity for Guinness beer. The moment we set foot in the Dublin airport, Rob and I celebrated our arrival by ordering a Guinness. If you are familiar with Guiness, you know it is more like a milkshake than a beer. For this reason, it is very difficult for me to consume one quickly, let alone a second. My friend Rob, on the other hand, could put one down in about two seconds. His ability didn't diminish with a second one..or a third..or a seventh. My brother and I marveled at his peculiarity..or dark gift. Just like any dark gift though, this one had its downside.

After leaving Dublin, we traveled to Galway via rental car. Galway, Ireland, is a sea town on the West Coast, known for the famed Irish Fisherman's sweater. I know it as the place where they serve dirty beer. After walking around Galway on a March afternoon, my brother and I found Rob at a mangy old bar. An empty glass of Guinness sat in front of him. With his back facing us, he chatted with an elderly Irish Gent who looked to be about 107 years old (and who seemed to be sitting in that same chair for around 102 of those years). It seemed that Rob had found a kindred spirit. Their faces were close to each other as they appeared in deep conversation. Maybe they spoke of the old country and times long since passed as the ancient one bestowed his knowledge on young Rob. If so, the old man's advice didn't include a warning to not drink Guinness beer from keg lines that hadn't been cleaned since Darby O'Gill was the same size as The Little People.

The day we left Galway was the day Rob became ill with stomach problems. We could not travel more than an hour without Rob having to stop to visit the facility. When he wasn't at a rest stop, Rob could be seen slumped over in the back seat, eyes closed, in a cold sweat. The illness made poor Rob extremely lethargic. Rob was always two steps behind us, unless he had to go to the bathroom. After each each rest stop visit, he'd lumber into the backseat of the car and fall asleep. If I had been more aware, I would have known that Rob was leaving a path of destruction in our wake. I wouldn't be surprised if the folks in these small villages had to sleep outside for a couple of days, just like other disaster victims who lack faith in the soundness of recently affected structures.

Finally, we arrived in an Irish town named Ennis and stopped at a Bed and Breakfast. At least in 1997, the idea of a B&B basically meant that anyone with extra rooms in their home could hang a shingle outside and call it charming. What this meant for us is that we were basically staying in someone's house. This house, I mean B&B, had one bathroom. In addition to our presence, the 'staff' included a mean-looking Maintenance Man, the owner, who was the spitting image of my deceased grandmother, and a mischievous gnome.

We never saw the gnome. He was like a ghost in a horror movie whom you never can get a good look at..only shadows and glimpses. We knew about the gnome, because each time one of us would walk downstairs (where they lived) to take a shower, we'd see a little shadow followed by a whoosh. Then the bathroom door would slam shut, followed by the sound of the lock turning. Maybe twenty minutes later, we'd hear the lock turn again and the sound of the bathroom door slamming and another whooosh, indicating the gnome's departure from the bathroom and back to his room. I guess he wanted us to know our place in the pecking order. Maybe he enjoyed inflicting frustration on unknowing travelers. Either way, he would pay dearly.

The morning we left the Ennis B&B was 'D Day.' As we began to pack our things and get on the road, Rob excused himself to visit the bathroom. This time, he beat the gnome. About ten minutes later he walked back upstairs. He looked a bit concerned but we didn't take note. For the past two days, Rob had moved sooo slowly. We were used to stopping while walking so he could catch up. On this morning, Rob moved like a seasoned Delta Force Commando with a mission to pack a suitcase and leave a building within 15 seconds. Without giving us time to even think, we heard Rob say "Guys, you look like you'll need some time to get ready. I'm gonna hang out outside. I'll see you in the car." Before we could respond, he was gone. Out of site. Like the gnome.

My brother and I looked at each other like "What the heck just happened? What's his problem?" Keep in mind we were still waking up and not yet fully conscious. We proceeded to pack our bags. Then, ever so slowly, a MERCILESS ODOR quickly wafted into the room. We looked at each other again. This time, our expressions expressed panic. We've been set up by ROB. Rob had known what happened in that bathroom and only knew one Law of Impending Disaster: Every man for himself. Run. Flee. Save yourself, Man. Get out of there.

As my brother and I stood in fear and bewilderment (and disgust), we heard the whooosh of the gnome. The gnome was racing towards the bathroom. The next few moments went as followed:

9:30 am and 19 seconds: whooosh
9:30 am and 22 seconds: slam! (door to bathroom)
9:30 am and 25 seconds: sound of the lock turning.

Count off slowly.....One, Two, Three.....

9:30 am and 29 seconds: sound of the lock frantically turning the other way...Slam!.....Whoooosh!

The gnome had just walked into a cocoon of horror and got out of that bathroom as fast as he could. Though we didn't have the seemingly miraculous, cat-like reflexes of a reborn Rob, we knew we must get out of the building as quickly and silently as possible to avoid detection. Maybe they'd blame it on the gnome. My brother Pat went first and I followed behind. With our bags in hand, we exited the room, and proceeded to walk down the stairs.

It was early still, so we thought perhaps we could leave unnoticed. We still had the audacity of hope. As we walked down the stairs, we could see the corner that led to the front door, the door to freedom. Our chances improved with each step down. The morning sun peered through the windows of the first floor. But this is no After School Special and there's no happy ending. Every tale of woe has its victim and in this case it was my brother Pat.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to the bathroom was right in front of us. Suddenly, a second door to the right, furiously swung open. It was the angry-looking maintenance man, looking especially sour. Since Pat was in front of me, he bared the full fury of the maintenance man. Both of his hands were occupied. In case Pat needed help understanding the situation, the maintenance man held his hands up in dramatic fashion. In one, he held a match box and the other...a nice, long match. His face contorted into a frightening configuration and he opened his mouth, as if to speak. Only he didn't. He was an animal now.

GRRRRRRR!!!!!!

He actually growled at my brother.

We didn't stick around to initiate diplomatic dialogue. The maintenance man reached his goal: to identify and shame the violator. In this case, the true violator was sitting in the car..probably checking out his hair in the rear view mirror or simply enjoying the Irish morning sun.

Epilogue: To this day, all three of us still recall the incident. Rob particularly enjoys the story. He has made me retell it numerous times, like the day after his wedding, in front of his extended family, including numerous 80-year old ladies. No matter who or how many people there are in the room at the time, Rob is always the one who laughs the loudest.

Laugh for Tuesday

The part where I started laughing began with the statue and its need little trick.

Leon Harris Rogers

So, Aimee and I have been going back and forth with names for our little girl, coming soon. She'll say something like "What about XXXXX?" I'll say no, that reminds me of Tim Conway.

I'll say "What about XXXX?" She will respond that no, that name reminds her of the Borden Dairy Products Cow.

So tonight, during a TV News break (middle of "Lost"), she looks at the Anchor for WJLA DC Channel Seven, and says "What about Leon Harris?" (Leon is an Excellent News Anchor) Keep in mind, this is a girl we are talking about. I say "Leon Harris Rogers?" That sounds great.

So, until we come up with a real name, we'll say her name will be "Leon Harris Rogers."

Movie Review

Aimee and I saw the latest Indiana Jones movie this past weekend. I was unimpressed. Yes, Harrison Ford can still pull it off, but I didn't enjoy it. Since I would prefer not to dissect the movie to support negativity, I have a better idea. Why not choose a random movie that I DID enjoy and recommend it. That way, someone may benefit.

I can't pick a well-known movie, because you'll say to yourself "Yeh, I saw it. Big Whoop." What about a movie that you wouldn't imagine you'd enjoy? How about if the protagonist doesn't have a real job and earns money in an unsavory way? What if he's a Ghetto-dwelling, ne'er-do-well, straight up Card Carrying P-I-M-P pimp? What if he's a pimp AND a drug dealer?

The movie in question is called "Hustle & Flow." The story concerns subjects that I really don't care about nor think it is entertaining to glorify (this movie does not): pimps, prostitutes, drugs, hip-hop music, dirty houses, and baby mama drama. Though this is true, I found myself rooting for the protagonist and caring about his outcome. So, if you want to chance a movie you wouldn't normally watch, choose this one. If you don't like it, recommend a movie you did like to someone who may not be inclined to see it.

Laughing at the TV

This morning The Today Show was on television. A famous young lady singer named "Fergie" was performing. During the performance, both Aimee and I began to laugh unusually hard at the same time.

The Today Show is not necessarily a "family program", though doesn't tend to get extremely out of hand. During Fergie's song this morning, I believe the situation reached DEFCON five. It was the perfect storm, consisting of the following conditions: 1.) the time of day(8:30 am on a Tuesday) 2.) painted on leather pants 3.) over-the-top provocative dancing and 4.) and seven year old children in the FRONT row.

The moment when we started laughing was when she began gyrating on stage, in front of children, like a Giant Ant Eater in Heat.



Her risque seizures seemed without end. After giving lap dances to third graders, she ran back towards the band and began doing some type of newfangled power gymnast flippy whirls WHILE singing.



But no, she was not finished. Her final salacious gesture was to shake her butt, leather pants and all, for what seemed like 27 minutes. She shook it in such an out of contol manner, that it seemed like someone laced her undies with Ben Gay ointment that started to kick in right at that moment.



I have one word that describes the moment: In-A-Pro-Priate! I guess it is not her fault.

If you do not believe this story. Click on the following link and access the second video down the page. Just make sure there are no children nearby. I wont be responsible. I warned you.


http://popsugar.com/1645578

Baseball Caps across the Americas

My Dad has a baseball hat collection that numbers in the hundreds. For as long as I can remember, each closet in my parents house is stuffed with hats. You'll find a hat for every trip he's taken and about five variations for each sports team he likes. Every ten years or so, he'll clean out his collection. It doesn't matter though. It seems like the next week, there are 300 new hats stuffed in each closet. With our family all together today (a rarity), he asked my brother Tim to bring down the collection. Various family member sifted through the collection, selecting which ones to take. The remainder of the collection is destined for placement on heads in faraway South American places.

On Tuesday, my brother Tim begins another epic journey. He's traveled all around South East Asia, India, Australia, and Europe. This time, he travels to South America. He'll depart on Tuesday for the first leg of his journey: Ecuador. He will travel to multiple countries, learning Spanish, until December. Along with him, he'll bring my father's hats. He intends to give the hats to people he meets along the way, as gifts. When I heard this, I thought it was a great idea and added another. I told Tim that he needs to document this. Each time he presents a hat as a gift, he must take a picture. He seemed to think it was a good idea, so hopefully he will follow through on it. If he does, I'll do my best to post them here. Imagine if you are traveling to the deepest, darkest regions of the Amazon and meet a tribal elder, only to see him festooned with a Johns Hopkins Lacrosse Final Four Champions 2002 baseball cap. We shall see.

We learned the sex ...

of our future little family member, due to meet the world in mid-September.

A girl!

Interesting?

You be the judge:



He also gives career advice:

Boy or Girl?

In less than a week, we should find out if we are having a boy or a girl. As far as a preference, I think Aimee prefers a girl, though she is not counting on it. As for me, I really do not care...as long as the kid is not dumb and will be ready to start learning about housework at an early age (four? five?).

What are Gators?

I have no idea what "gators" are or why they attract dogs.



This guy will slap you across the face with a $100 bill.

"Okay..Here..it goes."

For Earth Day: A simple question in Fifth Grade Science

I (Matt) was listening to a story on the radio about an organization called Teach America. This organization recruits the highest achieving college graduates to teach in the most "in need" or lowest-performing school districts throughout the country. Think of it as a Peace Corps for the United States. The organization's success is a result of psychology. In order to recruit candidates, the requirements are extremely rigid. By making it extremely difficult to be accepted into the program, it establishes a need on behalf of Ivy League graduates:

"At Yale, no fewer than 12 percent of the graduating seniors--nearly 1 out of every 8--applied..... Altogether, over 17,000 seniors applied for 2,100 openings."

So, why do I write about this organization? I mention it because the radio piece reminded me of a funny (now it is) experience I had while in elementary school. I have no idea why it popped in my head today but it did. It was the first day of school during my fifth grade Science Class. The teacher, Mr. Doherty, sought to establish rapport with the students. After learning student names, he introduced fifth grade Science by asking questions. His first question seemed quite simple. Well, at least to me:

Can anybody tell me what the Earth is made of?

In a millisecond, my mind darted to my own 10-year old boy resume. I had much experience with the Earth. I dug it. No really, I mean I actually dug holes in the ground all the time. I dug them in the woods, next to streams, in the garden...everywhere. For whatever reason, this kid job gave me pleasure. After I dug a hole, I would always fill it back up again. Filling up a hole you just dug was just part of the kid handbook..instinctual. It's like a dog covering up a freshly made turd.

I was the first in the class to raise a hand. Not the smart kid or the smart-assed kid, but me.

Yes, Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of?

I felt elated with my hand up. It was a sign of victory. The benevolent gesture of a fatherly dictator or the risen hand on a statue of a venerated military General from long ago.

Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of????

I almost yelled out the answer:

DIRT! IT'S MADE of DIRT!

During the next few moments, time slowed down. The class roared with deafening laughter. It was like a movie where they play human voices in slow motion which lowers them ten octaves and each utterance is exponentially longer. I was puzzled by this. Even through the laughter I could not understand how or why this would seem like a dumb answer. I knew dirt. I knew the Earth.

Mr. Doherty obviously saw the confusion in my face and made an attempt to relieve me by saying that yes, dirt is part of what makes the earth, in addition to elements or magma or some other ridiculousness. Though stunned, some part of me refused to concede. I think this was the last time I was ever the first kid in class to raise a hand.

As I now look at the world through the eyes of an adult, things are much more simple. This is so because the majority of what people say is bulls**t. It's like a different language where most words mean nothing. Since there is so much of this, a truthful response is rare. I don't say this with cynicism or bitterness or frustration. In fact, I am now pleased with my fifth grade self. Why? Because the Earth is made of glorious DIRT.

Australians

Zany Australians!

I laughed at this.

I logged into hotmail today

And I saw something familiar with the landing page, after you type in your user name and password.



Or is it a hybrid of James Garner and a Back Street Boy?

Sports

When I (Matt) was younger, I played Sports. Baseball, Lacrosse, Hockey, and Football. The Sport I was best at was Hockey though I never had intentions of hoisting up a Stanley Cup. I favored Hockey because when you were not practicing or playing a game, there were never expectations to be serious unless it was five minutes before the game began or you were in a timeout. Essentially, you could spend your off time making fun of your teammates.

On a road trip for my College Hockey Team, I drove down to Blacksburg Virginia with the Team Captain. I had to pee REAL bad while we rolled down the highway. The Captain refused to stop, handed me a bottle, and told me I would have to do my business in mid-drive. After I realized there would be no way that he'd stop, I reluctantly took the bottle, put my knees on the passenger seat (facing the wrong way), propped myself up so high in the car that my head was bent under the car ceiling, and began to try to..relax..to do my business. I quickly understood why this guy refused to stop at a highway rest stop. Every time I began, he would slow down the car so it was parallel to the closest car in the next lane. Imagine you are driving down the highway, a car pulls up next to you, and you see a kid with an embarrassed expression, propped up in the car, facing the wrong way, trying to pee in a bottle. This went on for about ten minutes. Though I was frustrated and embarrassed, I could not help but laugh at his creativity. This was Hockey.

Football, on the other hand, was serious. Before a high school football game, you'd have to arrive at least two hours before it began. Would you spend most of this time discussing plays? No. You had to sit in a corner and think about the game. For an hour and a half at least you would have sit in complete silence. While the most intense players would sit in a corner staring at the wall, I would try to stare at the wall. Instead of visualizing the big block or touchdown, I visualized--a wall. After about 30 seconds I would become bored. About a minute later, I would become very bored. I then began to fill this time by being a goof ball. I would talk like an old lady or, with a straight face, begin to put on my football pants as if they were a football jersey. Needless to say, I wasn't the Captain of the Football team, nor the most popular.

The reason I recall sports today is because of the video below, which my brother sent me. If you care to watch this high school football coach, you'll see the coach is half crazy. The video gets nuttier as it progresses. It speaks for itself. I don't believe it is bad or good. It is what it is. I could describe my high school football coach, but I don't really like to be negative (at least here). He was probably a good coach. The problem was that I just didn't belong in football.

So, do I have a point? Yes. I could never take Sport too seriously because it was not real. Did I want to win? Did I try to win? Of course, but there was always something in the back of my mind that pestered me..it's a game. A diversion. Life, on the other hand, is different. Life is serious (as opposed to football), especially when you get older. I can spend two hours in serious thought, staring at the wall, thinking about mundane and unexciting tasks. I spend about 99% of my day being serious. With this understanding, I do not hesitate spending the remaining one percent doing things like answering telemarketing calls in ridiculous voices or sing loudly in the middle of a grocery store with whatever song is blaring on the speakers at the time. I don't believe this to be good or bad. Like an angry football coach, it is what it is.

Here's the crazy coach.

Good Things

I've been arguing with Aimee on how to share good news. Neither of us is the type of person who likes to share something good unless it is with someone who we feel will sincerely appreciate it. We don't want to be that person who rambles on while not noticing the news recipient's eyes to glaze over. It happens. You know what I mean.

So anyway, Aimee is preggers. Knocked up. With child. As far as our ongoing argument, I told Aimee that if we don't announce it soon, the kid's gonna be taking his/her driving test before anyone learns she's pregnant. So, there you have it. More to come.

On a light note, I've been bothering Aimee recently, by yelling out "Wwwwwizard!" as seen in the TV commercial below. She always tells me to stop, but at least I enjoy it. I think our dogs enjoy it too.

Okay, yes. We're in Miami

South Beach to be exact. Alas, not on vacation. We've been working the whole week. I wish it were a vacation:)

Where am I

Can you tell by this picture?

Secret Location 1st clue

Here's the first clue. Established: we know there's vegetation.

Secret Location

I (Matt) am in a secret location. I will post images for you to guess (not people who know where I am). First correct gets a pat on the back. More to come later today.

Aimee's Big Adventure

Aimee, tonight, was attempting to initiate conversation. She said:

"Why don't you tell me about your big butt?"

Then she laughed.

Evidently, she has Rain Man recolection of Pee Wee's Big Adventure (movie).

See the last line uttered of this quick video.

House of Pain Part Deux

In a previous post, I informed the reader about my cousin George. The Gist of the post is that the Rap Group, House of Pain, is making a come back (I called it a come back, so don't say don't). They are now known as La Coka Nostra. Well, they have a video out.

I found it on youtube. I won't post it here due to the graphic lyrics, because I try to keep it clean while I keep it real.

That's not to say that I don't think it's wiggity wack like the bozak (I like it). It's neat. Especially since I was a HUGE fan of House of Pain back in the day.

Which actually brings up a small story. Long ago, there were always a lot of street vendors in downtown DC. They would sell everything: wallets, clothing, hats, tee shirts, etc. My Dad used to buy ties and hats on the street all the time. This would be his indulgence. He has a baseball cap collection that numbers over 500..at least. If aliens ever study our species thousands of years from now and use my Dad as an example, they will most surely come to the conclusion that humans were not able to sustain themselves unless they covered the top of their heads with an cloth piece with a U Shaped cylinder sticking out.

My Dad came home one day and showed me his latest treasure find:

Dad: Hey, look at this fine Irish Baseball Cap I bought on the street!

Me: uh, Dad, do you know that your hat is not Irish, but represents a white rap group?

He chose to believe what the hat meant to him. Little did he know he was probably the only House of Pain fan over the age of 60.

Anyway, if you want to see the video, you can go on youtube and search:

La Coka Nostra - "That's Coke"

My favorite part is George's reference to "Paris, Nicole, Lindsay and Britney."

Warning: The lyrics are very blue. Don't say I didn't warn you. George is Rapper NUMBER two in the video. Oh, I mean Slaine, not George.

Family Ties

I just learned that Aimee is a very far removed descendant of General Robert E. Lee on her Mom's side of the family. Her relation is to his cousin, Samantha Jane something or other. Interesting.

She asked me today, who I am related to, insinuating no one. I said 'Darby O'Gill.' In truth, I am a descendant of John Rogers, who was a Union Soldier in the Civil War and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, which is Robert E. Lee's House. I am always surprised to learn that most people don't know that Arlington Cemetery is is really his house. Or was his house.

Another factoid is Aimee's Dad's side of the family, who is related to the Dalton Gang.

History is interesting. Anyway, I was looking for a specific scene from Darby O'Gill (dance song scene to post here) where they are seen break dancing...or that's how I saw it when I was a kid.

I couldn't find it but I did find the following intense Boston Irish Anthem. Ya know, history and all.

Today is the first day of Spring. Enjoy it.

Happy St. Patrick

If you drink and drive today, then may the Luck of the Irish be as far away from you as possible. Oh Begora Yes.

On another note, here is the new home of our friends Vincent and Anne-Laure, who just move to Paris, France. Bien Travail, les habitantes!

Lastly, if the invention below goes to Market, I am getting it.

Governer of New York's Alias

If you read the news, you know the Governor of New York just got busted for soliciting prostitution. The name he chose as an alias was George Fox. I am not schooled on the process of hiring prostitutes, but I guess it's common to use an alias. George Fox is the name of my oldest brother's high school friend. I just thought I'd clear the air with you on this. My brother's high school friend did not solicit a prostitute, AKA a "ho."

Actually, he runs a watch company. I have one of his (George Fox) watches. It is great. I chose the "Blok" watch (tan band). Check it out. I wore it a lot..until Aimee got me a watch for my B-Day (I'm old). It's a titanium Swiss Army watch...nice.

Anyway, I am disappointed by the Governor. I thought he was doing a great job. Though Wall Street Crooks are clinging glasses right now, I still think that what the Gov. did was not as nearly as bad as inside trading. Thieves.

Like Superheroes only Different

Last Year, I wrote about one of my parents three dogs named CHICO. The post is basically how Chico, a dog, is the Child Who Would Be President that my parents never had. It's a marvelous tale about a dog outshining human siblings..and two other dog siblings.

Well low and behold, if that little Chico hasn't lived up to his billing. He's special. He and my Mom are written up in a local newspaper. It's really a great story. Not only does it detail their efforts in helping children read, it also provides a brief history of the Rogers family in Maryland. Unfortunately, it's not all ice cream and bubble gum. But then again, neither is life. But then again..again...life is good. Very good.

Click Here to read the story. It is on page 14. Good Job Chico and Mom. We are very proud of you.

Nikolai Lives

About a month ago, I posted about Nikolai Volkoff. If you want some background, click here.

This morning, I arrived in Timonium, Maryland, for one of my visits. About fifteen minutes into the day, I see the woman who owns the gym above the office where I often visit. I didn't think too much of it, so I basically ignored her since I do not work there every day. I would let someone else handle her question. Then I heard it:

Nikolai is here.

Nikolai Freaking Volkoff. To most, this means nothing. To me, this means a lot. I watched this guy EVERY Saturday morning when I was a kid.

At first, it seemed that the guys at the office were a little shy. No one was making his way across the long office. I immediately thought that an awkward moment was about to present itself. The gym owner had said she'd bring Nikolai down when he returned from Iraq (visiting the troops). Now the time had come. He was in the office and no one moved. I jumped from my chair and walked quickly across the room.

"Hi, I am Matt. It is very nice to meet you. I watched you all the time when I was younger (I didn't say 'when I was a kid' cause I didn't want him to feel old). Thanks for coming down to see us. I am a very big fan of yours."

Twenty seconds later, he was surrounded by everyone in the office. He had a couple of jokes which landed and happily answered questions from the fellas. Any hint of awkwardness was out the door.

He looked old, but still strong. Sixty years old and can probably throw me across the room with one arm.

He took pictures with all of us. The gym owner had a camera. I didn't trust that I'd actually get the photo, so I had my friend Mike take a one with my crappy cell phone.


Within an hour, she sent us her photos.

If you know who Rick Astley is..

Rick Astley sounds like a neighborhood kid who is good at wiffleball.

In reality, he is a singer from the 80's/90's. If you have never heard of him, stop here. If you HAVE heard of him, check out the following nifty Pie Chart for all the things Rick Astley would never do to you.

If you know who Right Said Fred is, then you know the "I'm Too Sexy" song. They made a Pie Chart for them too.