Feb
14
We ditched our craptastic Comcastic DVR in favor of a TiVo a while back and I’m sorry to report that the current TiVo system allows a person to record many, many, many shows. I would normally think of this as a beneficial feature rather than a colossal error on TiVo’s part, but apparently TiVo did not consider the effects an enormous amount of television storage space would have on the average American male, and the suffering his spouse would endure as a result.
If you were to turn on my television and browse the options available to you, you would find an astounding selection of shows that cater to the penis. They are targeted for the penis, with names like WEAPONOLOGY and SMASH LAB and DIRTY JOBS. I’m not saying some of them don’t offer appeal to both genders (Mike Rowe, after all, isn’t entirely difficult to watch, especially if you imagine him disrobing after one of his DIRTY JOBS to wash off all that dirtiness) but overall our DVR is dripping with testosterone. If a show has the term NAVY SEALS in it, we’ve recorded it. If it references MYTHS or SURVIVAL or MEGA FACTORIES or NINJAS or BIG HAIRY SWEATSACKS, we’ve recorded it.
If the Discovery Channel would just make a show about factories that manufacture giant guns that smash into each other and blow up before transforming into throwing stars whose top speed must be proven by nerdy velocity experts, JB could condense his viewing preferences to one big annoying series and I could avoid being exposed to this crap on a nightly basis. But NO. Instead, every time I turn on the TV there are more of these shows, and now JB is getting hooked by Flip This House too and OH MY GOD.
Luckily, we both agree that American Idol is some top quality programming. Well, not really — I mean, it’s total junk, the entertainment equivalent of eating a bag of Doritos (with some COCA COLA of course, perhaps consumed while driving a FORD vehicle of some kind) — but we can’t resist. Year after year we start watching the auditions in order to mock the untalented/clueless/batshit-fucking-crazy people, and then suddenly, somehow, like being pulled into a giant undertow made from Simon Cowell’s inexplicable scrub-brush hairstyle and turtlelike facial expressions, it’s too late, we’re sucked in for the entire season.
I would like to point out for the record that JB thinks this girl is going to win. Why? If you ask me, it’s because JB thinks she’s dreeeeaaamy, but he claims it’s because she’s got ‘country appeal’. Hmmm. Sadly, there’s not one cute guy contestant at this point, since they booted the young dimpled cowboy whose innocence I could easily imagine besmirching, possibly while wearing chaps. Ahem.
Why are we watching so much TV these days, you ask? Surely there are children to be attended to? Well, once 9 PM rolls around and one kid is ensconced in bed and the other is collapsed on one of our torsos, watching bad television while eating unhealthy snacks feels like pretty much the height of decadence. It’s the married-with-kids version of a rockstar lifestyle — just, you know, instead of hookers and blow, it’s Les Stroud and Breyer’s French Vanilla.
Lastly:
Is it just me, or have I given birth to a child whose feet are half the length of his body? This kid is going to LOVE the Discovery Channel someday.
Feb
12
Okay, I don’t want to gross anyone out too much, but I just want to say this for the record: although I do not know what it feels like to push a baby from my own body, I DO know what it feels like to go big Rudy lay some Alaska pipe drop the kids off at the pool stack some logs pinch a loaf go Number Two after the effects of hydromorphone hydrochloride have wreaked their internal havoc, and if childbirth is any worse than that, well thank the 8 lb, 6 oz baby jesus for the miracle of surgery because OH MY GOD THE PAIN THE PAIN KILL ME NOW.
Ahem. Onward, to the less unsavory blog content:
Dude, Cat is twice the size of the baby. That’s just wrong. Also note how she’s getting as much hair as possible on his pacifier. We’ll probably blow that off or wipe it on our shirts or something before cramming it back in his fuss-hole, we’re not unsanitary.
Riley would like everyone to know that he is still v. cute and charming, even though he suddenly seems about the size of a T-Rex.
SPEAKING OF CUTE. Hello, big brother kissing on the baby, could you DIE.
This last one is just in case you haven’t had your RDA of sucrose. I believe this child may be formed entirely of creme brulée. I mean, when he’s all angelic and sleeping like that, not so much when he’s making weird elephant trumpeting sounds from both ends at 3 AM.
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