Cars 2 opened today. The reviews have been terrible. The Bean is really excited to see it.
I've been thinking about it a lot.
Click over to the Reeling Blog on Offsprung to see what I have to say about all of it.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Our Bar
I always wanted to be a regular somewhere. Growing up there were a few restaurants where my parents had befriended the owners and we would get special treatment, like the best table in the house or a free appetizer that was off the menu. But I chose to move to Los Angeles, where connections like that are forged out of celebrity or because of the bank account of one. Compounding that challenge is the fact that by nature I struggle to be outgoing. I can be socially awkward when it comes to new people.
Thankfully I was not alone in moving to the City of Angels. A collection of like-minded friends that I amassed at college also migrated to the city. Not the social butterflies either, the guys and I spent the majority of our first few post-college years hanging out in their crappy apartment (I use this term lovingly), drinking and playing video games. But the few times when we did wander out, thankfully there was a dive bar across the street.
15 years later we’re still drinking there.
Like the best dives, the bar itself isn’t memorable. It’s dark and although smoking has long since been banned in public places, the place still reeks a little bit of smoke. The décor hasn’t changed much since the 70’s. Sure modern touches like a flatscreen TV in the corner and an mp3 jukebox now inhabit the space, but the wood panel walls and the out dated pleather chairs remain the same. There’s a pool table in the back shoved in a room that’s too small for it, requiring the cues to be cut in half in order to play. There’s the requisite dart-board and Golden Tee golf game located next to the popcorn machine. The bar doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is—a very comfortable, lived in dive.
Its proprietors are a short, frizzy-haired waitress with a thick Polish accent named Nina, and the surliest bartender in the history of the service industry. He never smiles and spends his time staring at the patrons with a thinly-veiled look of contempt. They are a couple. At least I think they are. Though they rarely speak to each other. They are the consummate good cop/bad cop. While Nina is outgoing and friendly, always greeting us like she’s glad to see us, the bartender (I don’t even know his name) acts pissed off when you have the nerve to order a drink. Forget about the fact that we’ve been patronizing this place for well over a decade, ask the bartender if you can open a tab and he’ll curtly say “no.” Ask Nina and not only will she open the tab, but she’ll pour a double and offer a bowl of snack mix that she consistently refers to as, “keeeebles and bits.”
It’s the kind of place that doesn’t carry imported beer. It’s the kind of place where you will literally get laughed at if you try to order a drink from the bartender without booze—just ask my buddy who once had the audacity to skip a round of drinks because he has the tolerance of a small rodent.
Our lives have changed--girlfriends, marriages, kids, jobs--but the bar remains the same. Except for a brief period of time when the hipsters found it and a line would form outside on Saturday nights. There is something amazingly comforting in that.
They might not know my name there, but they know my face. Our status there doesn't get us much other than a warm greeting. Sometimes Nina will boot people out of the corner tables for us, but that's about it. But my friends and I don't ask for much either. We just like having a low-key place that fits us. And while we don't have the luxury of an abundance of free time that allows us to hang out there as much as we used to, it isn't long before we find ourselves back at our bar for a smile, a drink and a bowl of “keeeebles and bits.”
Thankfully I was not alone in moving to the City of Angels. A collection of like-minded friends that I amassed at college also migrated to the city. Not the social butterflies either, the guys and I spent the majority of our first few post-college years hanging out in their crappy apartment (I use this term lovingly), drinking and playing video games. But the few times when we did wander out, thankfully there was a dive bar across the street.
15 years later we’re still drinking there.
Like the best dives, the bar itself isn’t memorable. It’s dark and although smoking has long since been banned in public places, the place still reeks a little bit of smoke. The décor hasn’t changed much since the 70’s. Sure modern touches like a flatscreen TV in the corner and an mp3 jukebox now inhabit the space, but the wood panel walls and the out dated pleather chairs remain the same. There’s a pool table in the back shoved in a room that’s too small for it, requiring the cues to be cut in half in order to play. There’s the requisite dart-board and Golden Tee golf game located next to the popcorn machine. The bar doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is—a very comfortable, lived in dive.
Its proprietors are a short, frizzy-haired waitress with a thick Polish accent named Nina, and the surliest bartender in the history of the service industry. He never smiles and spends his time staring at the patrons with a thinly-veiled look of contempt. They are a couple. At least I think they are. Though they rarely speak to each other. They are the consummate good cop/bad cop. While Nina is outgoing and friendly, always greeting us like she’s glad to see us, the bartender (I don’t even know his name) acts pissed off when you have the nerve to order a drink. Forget about the fact that we’ve been patronizing this place for well over a decade, ask the bartender if you can open a tab and he’ll curtly say “no.” Ask Nina and not only will she open the tab, but she’ll pour a double and offer a bowl of snack mix that she consistently refers to as, “keeeebles and bits.”
It’s the kind of place that doesn’t carry imported beer. It’s the kind of place where you will literally get laughed at if you try to order a drink from the bartender without booze—just ask my buddy who once had the audacity to skip a round of drinks because he has the tolerance of a small rodent.
Our lives have changed--girlfriends, marriages, kids, jobs--but the bar remains the same. Except for a brief period of time when the hipsters found it and a line would form outside on Saturday nights. There is something amazingly comforting in that.
They might not know my name there, but they know my face. Our status there doesn't get us much other than a warm greeting. Sometimes Nina will boot people out of the corner tables for us, but that's about it. But my friends and I don't ask for much either. We just like having a low-key place that fits us. And while we don't have the luxury of an abundance of free time that allows us to hang out there as much as we used to, it isn't long before we find ourselves back at our bar for a smile, a drink and a bowl of “keeeebles and bits.”
____________________________________________________________
The topic of today's blog post was chosen by the awesome readers who like Daddy Geek Boy on Facebook. Links to all of my various postings, here at Culture Brats and the Reeling movie blog are collected there. Stop by and become a fan.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Loose Tooth
The phone in my office rang, as it does many times a day. The caller ID indicated a familiar number.
"The Bean has a loose tooth," WonderWife™ told me when I picked up. This was the Bean's first loose tooth.
"That's awesome!" I said. "Is he excited?" That was a dumb question, since I could hear him yelling in the background.
"He's jumping up and down on the couch."
I could detect a sadness in WonderWife™'s voice. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"I've held it together during all of the milestones he's had. I didn't shed a tear when he graduated from preschool..." She began to sob. "But I...He's...They never look the same once they lose their teeth! They don't look like babies anymore!"
"I hate to break it to you, babydoll," I said. "But the Bean is a full-fledged kid. He has been for some time. He's growing up."
The crying subsided somewhat. "I know," she said through a sniffle. "I know."
"I'm totally charmed by you," I said.
"The Bean has a loose tooth," WonderWife™ told me when I picked up. This was the Bean's first loose tooth.
"That's awesome!" I said. "Is he excited?" That was a dumb question, since I could hear him yelling in the background.
"He's jumping up and down on the couch."
I could detect a sadness in WonderWife™'s voice. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"I've held it together during all of the milestones he's had. I didn't shed a tear when he graduated from preschool..." She began to sob. "But I...He's...They never look the same once they lose their teeth! They don't look like babies anymore!"
"I hate to break it to you, babydoll," I said. "But the Bean is a full-fledged kid. He has been for some time. He's growing up."
The crying subsided somewhat. "I know," she said through a sniffle. "I know."
"I'm totally charmed by you," I said.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Breakthrough
I’ve had some notoriously difficult times with Sprout during her almost three years. For a while, she refused to let me feed her. She refuses to let me read her a bedtime story. And she most certainly never gives me a hug or a kiss before she goes to bed.
One evening I escorted Sprout from the bathroom to her bedroom to help her get into pj’s. Sprout was tired. And when Sprout was tired, she was grumpy, which meant I was the absolute last person she wanted to spend time with.
She glared at me as she slowly got dressed, like the way a feral dog sizes up an opponent before deciding if they need to attack. I was in a good mood and wasn’t about to let her dampen it. Knowing I ran the risk of provoking her further, I told her I was going to tickle her and eat her belly. She grunted at me. I told her I was going to poke her ear and nibble on her toes. She turned her back towards me. I sat down on the floor in front of her when one of our cats walked in the room.
The cat in this scenario, Candy Bar, is so named because the colors of her fur resemble a candy bar that’s been stepped on one too many times. She’s incredibly sweet but incredibly needy. And she’s the loudest cat in the history of all felines. She meows and whimpers when she wants attention. She mews when she’s being pet. In fact the only time this cat doesn’t make noise is when she’s sleeping.
Candy Bar walks into the room and I tell Sprout that she’s come in to say hi. Right on cue, the cat lets loose with a small “meow.” So I meow back at the cat. She answers me. The cat and I continue to have a "conversation" for a minute before she slinks off to go pester another member of the family.
I glance up at Sprout, who is staring at me with big, round eyes like a cartoon character. “I love you!” she says.
“Oh, you didn’t know I could speak to the cat?” I said.
She excitedly shook her head no.
I got a hug and a kiss that night.
One evening I escorted Sprout from the bathroom to her bedroom to help her get into pj’s. Sprout was tired. And when Sprout was tired, she was grumpy, which meant I was the absolute last person she wanted to spend time with.
She glared at me as she slowly got dressed, like the way a feral dog sizes up an opponent before deciding if they need to attack. I was in a good mood and wasn’t about to let her dampen it. Knowing I ran the risk of provoking her further, I told her I was going to tickle her and eat her belly. She grunted at me. I told her I was going to poke her ear and nibble on her toes. She turned her back towards me. I sat down on the floor in front of her when one of our cats walked in the room.
The cat in this scenario, Candy Bar, is so named because the colors of her fur resemble a candy bar that’s been stepped on one too many times. She’s incredibly sweet but incredibly needy. And she’s the loudest cat in the history of all felines. She meows and whimpers when she wants attention. She mews when she’s being pet. In fact the only time this cat doesn’t make noise is when she’s sleeping.
Candy Bar walks into the room and I tell Sprout that she’s come in to say hi. Right on cue, the cat lets loose with a small “meow.” So I meow back at the cat. She answers me. The cat and I continue to have a "conversation" for a minute before she slinks off to go pester another member of the family.
I glance up at Sprout, who is staring at me with big, round eyes like a cartoon character. “I love you!” she says.
“Oh, you didn’t know I could speak to the cat?” I said.
She excitedly shook her head no.
I got a hug and a kiss that night.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
A Plan For the Potty
We are almost done with the potty training of our children. Except one hurdle has yet to be jumped. And the only thing standing in the way of diaper independence is one incredibly stubborn little girl
When asked, Sprout claimed that she would poop in the potty tomorrow. When tomorrow came she said she would do it, "Monday."
For a while Sprout promised to do it, "When I turn 3." However now that Sprout has realized that she is a mere two weeks away from actually being 3, she now says that she when she is 3 she will go outside and poop beneath a tree.
I am not sure if she has a specific tree in mind.
When asked, Sprout claimed that she would poop in the potty tomorrow. When tomorrow came she said she would do it, "Monday."
For a while Sprout promised to do it, "When I turn 3." However now that Sprout has realized that she is a mere two weeks away from actually being 3, she now says that she when she is 3 she will go outside and poop beneath a tree.
I am not sure if she has a specific tree in mind.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Super 8 (a personal, yet spoiler-free review)
I was lucky enough to get to see a sneak peak screening of Super 8. You can read my spoiler-free thoughts of it over at Offsprung.
Monday, June 6, 2011
A Few Things About Star Wars
I was floored when WonderWife™ presented me with tickets to Star Wars in Concert. It was one of the things that under normal circumstances she would mock relentlessly (and often does). But there we were on our first date night in months sitting under the sky at the Hollywood Bowl, waiting for an orchestra to play sections from the movies accompanied by clips on a giant screen. Geek paradise for me, but not so much for her. Yet she was happy to give me a night like this, which is why I love her so much.
As the sun was setting and the show about to commence, sounds began to play through the loudspeakers. They were the iconic sound effects from the films—lightsabers, tie fighters, Chewbacca…
“What was that sound?” WonderWife™ asked me. “Was it a Wookie? An Ewalker? Are those the guys with the long green ears?
My wife knows nothing about Star Wars. Early on in our relationship I screened it for her and we still debate if she made it through the whole thing (she claims she did not). Maybe it was the pre-show cocktails, but I found her utter cluelessness about Star Wars adorable. She was truly adrift in a pop culture sea without any sense of direction. At one point she pointed out, “all of the kids and their light swords.”
So naturally I started to quiz her about Star Wars. “What ship does Han Solo fly?” I asked.
“Um, I don’t know...the Star Wars Express?”
I couldn’t contain my laughter.
_____________________________________________________________
“Your son has been asking to see Star Wars,” WonderWife™ told me.
Normally this is a phrase that geeky parents like myself anxiously wait to hear. But knowing the Bean like I do, I strongly question if he’s ready for Star Wars. He’s got a bit of anxiety when it comes to the movies. I thought back to a fateful ride on Star Tours at Disneyland two years ago where he less than enjoyed the experience—to put it mildly. I was afraid that one ride alone might have put him off Star Wars for a few extra years.
Knowing that I only have once chance to have Star Wars make a good impression, I decided to press him for details as to his sudden interest.
“Mom has told me you’ve been asking about Star Wars,” I said to the Bean one night while tucking him in.
“Yeah, I want to see it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have your friends seen it?”
He paused for a moment. “Well…one day at school when Tony’s mom picked him up, she told him when he got home he could watch Star Wars. And that’s when I wanted to see it.”
So there it is.
I really want to show the Bean Star Wars (I bought the original versions of the trilogy on DVD when he was in utero to get ready). But I don’t think that peer pressure is the right reason. I’m afraid I’m going to have to wait a little bit longer.
As the sun was setting and the show about to commence, sounds began to play through the loudspeakers. They were the iconic sound effects from the films—lightsabers, tie fighters, Chewbacca…
“What was that sound?” WonderWife™ asked me. “Was it a Wookie? An Ewalker? Are those the guys with the long green ears?
My wife knows nothing about Star Wars. Early on in our relationship I screened it for her and we still debate if she made it through the whole thing (she claims she did not). Maybe it was the pre-show cocktails, but I found her utter cluelessness about Star Wars adorable. She was truly adrift in a pop culture sea without any sense of direction. At one point she pointed out, “all of the kids and their light swords.”
So naturally I started to quiz her about Star Wars. “What ship does Han Solo fly?” I asked.
“Um, I don’t know...the Star Wars Express?”
I couldn’t contain my laughter.
_____________________________________________________________
“Your son has been asking to see Star Wars,” WonderWife™ told me.
Normally this is a phrase that geeky parents like myself anxiously wait to hear. But knowing the Bean like I do, I strongly question if he’s ready for Star Wars. He’s got a bit of anxiety when it comes to the movies. I thought back to a fateful ride on Star Tours at Disneyland two years ago where he less than enjoyed the experience—to put it mildly. I was afraid that one ride alone might have put him off Star Wars for a few extra years.
Knowing that I only have once chance to have Star Wars make a good impression, I decided to press him for details as to his sudden interest.
“Mom has told me you’ve been asking about Star Wars,” I said to the Bean one night while tucking him in.
“Yeah, I want to see it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have your friends seen it?”
He paused for a moment. “Well…one day at school when Tony’s mom picked him up, she told him when he got home he could watch Star Wars. And that’s when I wanted to see it.”
So there it is.
I really want to show the Bean Star Wars (I bought the original versions of the trilogy on DVD when he was in utero to get ready). But I don’t think that peer pressure is the right reason. I’m afraid I’m going to have to wait a little bit longer.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Lost In Something
It was a long day filled with meetings and stress. He was halfway through another business trip that had come on the heels of the one before. After spending time alone in a hotel room, he began to feel isolated, like something out of Lost In Translation, except without the company of Scarlett Johanssen.
In the evening, he excused himself from the room and found a quiet place to call home. His wife sounded frazzled and tired. No different than any other night. Yet he couldn't help but feel guilt that his extended absence was to blame. His daughter refused to get on the phone, which was disappointing yet not entirely unexpected. His son, on the other hand, wanted to chat. When he told the boy that he was sorry but he didn't have very much time to be on the phone, the boy sulked and told his father that he wanted more time to talk. He apologized before saying goodnight and hanging up the phone. His heart breaking a little bit as he made his way back into the room.
In the evening, he excused himself from the room and found a quiet place to call home. His wife sounded frazzled and tired. No different than any other night. Yet he couldn't help but feel guilt that his extended absence was to blame. His daughter refused to get on the phone, which was disappointing yet not entirely unexpected. His son, on the other hand, wanted to chat. When he told the boy that he was sorry but he didn't have very much time to be on the phone, the boy sulked and told his father that he wanted more time to talk. He apologized before saying goodnight and hanging up the phone. His heart breaking a little bit as he made his way back into the room.
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