Dear Bean,
It's ironic that your birthday coincides with the end of the year because both are a time of great reflection about the past. We've had some tremendous experiences this year, you and I. So in honor of your 5th birthday, here is a list of just a few of the things that I love about you:
You call fuel trucks “string cheese on wheels”.
You still say “gus” instead of “just” (the last vestige of your toddler-dom).
Your love of physical comedy.
Your amazing mop of thick curly brown hair.
The way you teach your sister the things you know.
Your devotion to all things cars.
Your devotion to all things Cars.
The simple, trusting way in which you see the world.
Your burgeoning love of Legos.
Your initial enthusiasm for Looney Tunes.
Your burgeoning love of roller coasters.
The way you make your mom smile.
Your laugh.
The way you told everybody who would listen that your birthday was New Year's Eve.
Your affection for our cats, specifically the young one.
That you are my only son, my first-born and an exact replica of me.
That at 5 years old you are now a full fledged little kid, no longer a baby.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Wit and Wisdom of the Bean: Holiday Edition
Like everyone else, there’s been a lot of talk about the holidays around my house lately. But seeing as Hanukkah has been done and gone for a few weeks just as things are gearing up for Christmas. Naturally, the Bean has been trying to make sense of all of this…
“Only Hanukkah people can look at Christmas lights. Christmas people aren’t allowed to go see Christmas lights because they have their own.”
"Hanukkah wins the Piston Cup because it has 8 nights and Christmas has 1 and 8 is more than 1."
"It’s better that we have Hanukkah to you don’t have to go to sleep to open presents."
Watching the Grinch for the first time: “I’m really glad he didn’t steal Hanukkah”.
WonderWife™, after her second attempt at homemade egg nog: “It’s just right and filled with noggy goodness.”
The Bean: "Ewww!"
Happy holidays everyone!
“Only Hanukkah people can look at Christmas lights. Christmas people aren’t allowed to go see Christmas lights because they have their own.”
"Hanukkah wins the Piston Cup because it has 8 nights and Christmas has 1 and 8 is more than 1."
"It’s better that we have Hanukkah to you don’t have to go to sleep to open presents."
Watching the Grinch for the first time: “I’m really glad he didn’t steal Hanukkah”.
WonderWife™, after her second attempt at homemade egg nog: “It’s just right and filled with noggy goodness.”
The Bean: "Ewww!"
Happy holidays everyone!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
My Very Own 3D Glasses
As I strode into the movie theater and gave the usher my ticket, I politely refused the 3D glasses he tried to hand me.
“No thanks. I brought my own,” I told him.
The usher looked somewhat confused and I don’t blame him. I very well might have been the only person in the theater wearing my own 3D shades. But if Oakley has their way, everyone will soon be.
Let’s face facts, 3D isn’t going anywhere. It’s quickly migrating from movie screens to our TVs and game consoles so it makes perfect sense that companies are starting to manufacture personal 3D glasses. I had heard that they were coming, but hadn’t really been paying attention. Then a rep from Oakely reached out to me.
Okay, full disclosure time: I was given a pair of 3D glasses from Oakley, but in accepting them I was under no obligation to write about them or pressured to give them a positive review. The products that I write about on this blog are things that interest me (even if they don’t contain bacon). Being the giant movie-geek that I am, how could I not test-drive personal 3D glasses?
You should know that I’m a fan of 3D movies. Well, I’m a fan of movies that make good use of 3D. Flicks like Avatar, How to Train Your Dragon and Despicable Me use 3D in clever ways to enhance the experience. So if a movie is conceived and shot in 3D, I don’t mind paying a bit more for that extra dimension.
The glasses soon arrived with a bunch of literature extolling the virtues of the lenses—premium optics designed to reduce glare and show truer colors, etc. I was excited to see if these claims were true. At the very least, it would be nice to have a pristine pair of glasses that nobody else had worn.
For the test run, I decided to see Tangled because I heard it was a good movie (and I secretly have a hair fetish, shhh). When it came to picking a theater, I encountered the first stumbling block of personalized 3D glasses: not all 3D theaters are created equal. There are two different kinds of 3D—active polarization, which use glasses with an electronically controlled shutter, and passive polarization, which use standard disposable glasses. While the majority of theaters use passive, guess which one my favorite local theater uses? So I had to travel a little bit further to try ‘em out.
In the theater I settled into my seat and strapped on the Oakleys. They were comfortable, feeling good against the bridge of my nose without hurting the tops of my ears like some 3D glasses can. Aside from that it was hard to notice much of a difference. The picture did look a tiny bit sharper, but nothing overtly noticeable. It’s like when I hear an audiophile complain that mp3s don’t sound as good as CDs or records—I really can’t tell.
After watching the movie (it’s very good, by the way) I began weighing the pros and cons of personal 3D glasses. The biggest con is that they aren’t cheap. The Oakleys retail for $150. Considering that theaters aren’t yet dropping the 3D surcharge if you bring your own glasses, these truly feel like a luxury item. While they are super comfortable to wear, and having my own glasses means I won’t be watching through scratched or dirty lenses, it’s unfortunate that they don’t work on every 3D screen (including 3D TV’s, which currently use active polarization).
I think there will be a market for personalized 3D glasses down the line—perhaps when there’s a more uniform system of exhibition is in place. But considering the love affair I have with my local theater, having my own glasses isn’t enough to lure me away. But I’ll happily wear them if I’m at a theater where the glasses work.
“No thanks. I brought my own,” I told him.
The usher looked somewhat confused and I don’t blame him. I very well might have been the only person in the theater wearing my own 3D shades. But if Oakley has their way, everyone will soon be.
Let’s face facts, 3D isn’t going anywhere. It’s quickly migrating from movie screens to our TVs and game consoles so it makes perfect sense that companies are starting to manufacture personal 3D glasses. I had heard that they were coming, but hadn’t really been paying attention. Then a rep from Oakely reached out to me.
Okay, full disclosure time: I was given a pair of 3D glasses from Oakley, but in accepting them I was under no obligation to write about them or pressured to give them a positive review. The products that I write about on this blog are things that interest me (even if they don’t contain bacon). Being the giant movie-geek that I am, how could I not test-drive personal 3D glasses?
You should know that I’m a fan of 3D movies. Well, I’m a fan of movies that make good use of 3D. Flicks like Avatar, How to Train Your Dragon and Despicable Me use 3D in clever ways to enhance the experience. So if a movie is conceived and shot in 3D, I don’t mind paying a bit more for that extra dimension.
The glasses soon arrived with a bunch of literature extolling the virtues of the lenses—premium optics designed to reduce glare and show truer colors, etc. I was excited to see if these claims were true. At the very least, it would be nice to have a pristine pair of glasses that nobody else had worn.
For the test run, I decided to see Tangled because I heard it was a good movie (and I secretly have a hair fetish, shhh). When it came to picking a theater, I encountered the first stumbling block of personalized 3D glasses: not all 3D theaters are created equal. There are two different kinds of 3D—active polarization, which use glasses with an electronically controlled shutter, and passive polarization, which use standard disposable glasses. While the majority of theaters use passive, guess which one my favorite local theater uses? So I had to travel a little bit further to try ‘em out.
In the theater I settled into my seat and strapped on the Oakleys. They were comfortable, feeling good against the bridge of my nose without hurting the tops of my ears like some 3D glasses can. Aside from that it was hard to notice much of a difference. The picture did look a tiny bit sharper, but nothing overtly noticeable. It’s like when I hear an audiophile complain that mp3s don’t sound as good as CDs or records—I really can’t tell.
After watching the movie (it’s very good, by the way) I began weighing the pros and cons of personal 3D glasses. The biggest con is that they aren’t cheap. The Oakleys retail for $150. Considering that theaters aren’t yet dropping the 3D surcharge if you bring your own glasses, these truly feel like a luxury item. While they are super comfortable to wear, and having my own glasses means I won’t be watching through scratched or dirty lenses, it’s unfortunate that they don’t work on every 3D screen (including 3D TV’s, which currently use active polarization).
I think there will be a market for personalized 3D glasses down the line—perhaps when there’s a more uniform system of exhibition is in place. But considering the love affair I have with my local theater, having my own glasses isn’t enough to lure me away. But I’ll happily wear them if I’m at a theater where the glasses work.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Bookends
In the morning, I heard a thunk as I got into my car. I looked over to see that a young boy in the space next to mine had slammed his car door into the side panel of my car. I sat there, mouth agape, waiting for the mother in the front seat to acknowledge what her offspring had done. When she didn’t respond to what had happened, I thought that maybe he was unaware of what had happened. But seeing as her door was still touching my car when she turned around, I realized that she was simply ignoring the situation
I backed out of my space enough to inspect the damage, while the mom continued to get her kids out of her car. There was a little nick in the paint on my car door where it had been hit, but seeing as it was near a dented fender, the result of a rare bad parking job by yours truly, and adjacent to the place where my car was keyed in the middle of the night by some unknown assailant—and because the caffeine had not yet kicked in—I decided to quietly let this one go.
In the evening, I arrived home to witness my exasperated wife struggling to get the stubborn Sprout to clean up her toys. I told her I’d take over and patted her on the shoulder, tapping in like it was Wrestlemania. She left to do whatever it is that she does with her free time and I was left to perform the bathing ritual. Approximately 3 minutes later, both kids had completely broken down and were screaming, crying and demanding their mother. The hysterics continued while I tried to get them to brush their teeth, bathe and get into their pajamas. By the end of the ordeal, both kids were yelling at me not to talk to them. The Bean had disinvited me to his birthday party and both kids refused to give me a hug or a kiss. Neither would say “goodnight” to me. They were so upset with me, WonderWife™ was forced to return to the scene in order to get them to bed.
I backed out of my space enough to inspect the damage, while the mom continued to get her kids out of her car. There was a little nick in the paint on my car door where it had been hit, but seeing as it was near a dented fender, the result of a rare bad parking job by yours truly, and adjacent to the place where my car was keyed in the middle of the night by some unknown assailant—and because the caffeine had not yet kicked in—I decided to quietly let this one go.
In the evening, I arrived home to witness my exasperated wife struggling to get the stubborn Sprout to clean up her toys. I told her I’d take over and patted her on the shoulder, tapping in like it was Wrestlemania. She left to do whatever it is that she does with her free time and I was left to perform the bathing ritual. Approximately 3 minutes later, both kids had completely broken down and were screaming, crying and demanding their mother. The hysterics continued while I tried to get them to brush their teeth, bathe and get into their pajamas. By the end of the ordeal, both kids were yelling at me not to talk to them. The Bean had disinvited me to his birthday party and both kids refused to give me a hug or a kiss. Neither would say “goodnight” to me. They were so upset with me, WonderWife™ was forced to return to the scene in order to get them to bed.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Nails
The nails on one hand were pink. The nails on the other were blue. The Bean proudly showed them off as soon as they were dry.
That night he told me, "Michael said that nail polish is for girls."
"What did you say back?"
"No it isn't. And I like it."
"I'm very proud of you for saying that."
That night he told me, "Michael said that nail polish is for girls."
"What did you say back?"
"No it isn't. And I like it."
"I'm very proud of you for saying that."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Fathers and Sons and Pop Culture
I was watching Tom & Jerry with my son for the first time when my dad, who had been quietly sitting next to us, completely absorbed in trying to work his new Droid phone, glanced up at the TV and said, “Oh, I love these guys.”
“You what?” I said incredulously.
“I love these guys," he said matter-of-factly. "Used to watch them all the time. They played them in front of the movies. Popeye too.”
Later that night over a bottle of wine, I told my sister the story. She turned to our father. "You like cartoons? You?”
My dad confirmed that he did.
As far as I had known, my dad had never watched a cartoon in his life. The fact that I grew up worshiping at the altar of Bugs Bunny seemed to be lost on my dad. When I was watching TV, he would often swoop in the room, wrest control of the remote and turn on sports or news or something boring like that.
“Dad, do you realize I’m almost 38 years old and this is the first I’m hearing of this?” I said to him.
I was stunned and I was also a little ticked off. All of the times my dad tried to get me interested in sports and all of the time I spent fighting it, we could have been watching cartoons instead?
WonderWife™ had given the Bean a figure of Spider-Man riding a motorcycle. Despite my umbrage at the fact that Spider-Man does not ride a motorcycle (a fact I made well known to my nonchalant wife) the toy piqued the Bean’s interest in the web-crawler. During a long car trip, the Bean started asking a few questions and WonderWife™ attempted to answer. It was a valiant effort, but I needed to jump in and correct her on a few important details—namely that Spider-Man does in fact wear a costume.
“So Dad,” the Bean asked me the next morning, “Who is the person under Spider-Man’s costume?”
“That’s a really good question. I’m glad you asked. His name is Peter Parker…”
I laid it all out for him—the radioactive spider, the wall crawling, the web-slinging, the crime fighting. I taught him, “with great power comes great responsibility.”
As he absorbed all of this, his eyes got really big. More questions soon followed.
“You what?” I said incredulously.
“I love these guys," he said matter-of-factly. "Used to watch them all the time. They played them in front of the movies. Popeye too.”
Later that night over a bottle of wine, I told my sister the story. She turned to our father. "You like cartoons? You?”
My dad confirmed that he did.
As far as I had known, my dad had never watched a cartoon in his life. The fact that I grew up worshiping at the altar of Bugs Bunny seemed to be lost on my dad. When I was watching TV, he would often swoop in the room, wrest control of the remote and turn on sports or news or something boring like that.
“Dad, do you realize I’m almost 38 years old and this is the first I’m hearing of this?” I said to him.
I was stunned and I was also a little ticked off. All of the times my dad tried to get me interested in sports and all of the time I spent fighting it, we could have been watching cartoons instead?
_______________________________
WonderWife™ had given the Bean a figure of Spider-Man riding a motorcycle. Despite my umbrage at the fact that Spider-Man does not ride a motorcycle (a fact I made well known to my nonchalant wife) the toy piqued the Bean’s interest in the web-crawler. During a long car trip, the Bean started asking a few questions and WonderWife™ attempted to answer. It was a valiant effort, but I needed to jump in and correct her on a few important details—namely that Spider-Man does in fact wear a costume.
“So Dad,” the Bean asked me the next morning, “Who is the person under Spider-Man’s costume?”
“That’s a really good question. I’m glad you asked. His name is Peter Parker…”
I laid it all out for him—the radioactive spider, the wall crawling, the web-slinging, the crime fighting. I taught him, “with great power comes great responsibility.”
As he absorbed all of this, his eyes got really big. More questions soon followed.
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