An American Lion

This is where Norman Rogers practices the manly art of curation.

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The Frisky Mole Boy of Groton

Norman Rogers recounts the summer he spent hiding from the stern love of his father and living as the world-famous “frisky mole boy” in the Groton, Connecticut sewer system. The Frisky Mole Boy of Groton seduced the women of the town and solved crimes, all while subsisting on a steady diet of depravity and confusion.

Rampage of the Innocents is my unfinished but brilliant Historical Romance Novel (now, with more sex and violence for my teenaged readers)

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    An American Lion

    Entries in Parenting (46)

    Wednesday
    Aug112010

    The Unrelenting Burden of Someone Else's Children

    I laughed out loud at how ridiculous these people are:

    "Erika" and I have been best friends since I was 15. When she was 20, she got pregnant and had a shotgun wedding. She's still married to the guy, and now they have three children. Erika also has a very hectic professional life. They've moved many times, and for years I'd visit on a regular basis. Over time, I began to hate going to her house more and more because her kids are bratty and obnoxious, as is the husband. And the one person that I actually want to speak to (Erika) is too busy breast-feeding or talking to clients on her phone to pay any attention to me. Half the time I end up sitting in the driveway, waiting for her to come home. So I quit making the trips entirely.

    Recently we got in a huge argument. She told me I was weird, secretly hated her, that I don't want to know her children, and that she's done with me. At first, I thought our split might be for the best. But I love and miss her. I sent her a copy of Beaches to try and make her realize that friendships change over time. I also sent a letter saying that I'm willing to put in more effort but that changes need to happen on her end, too. She needs to pick up the phone when I call, and give me at least a little of her time without her family around. Every time we try to make plans, she has 900 things she's juggling. If I enjoyed having kids around, I'd have some myself. Why can't she understand that I want to be herfriend and NOT "Auntie Jeanie"?

    When you refer to someone's husband as "that guy" and write it off as a shotgun wedding, yes, you do secretly hate her. That's how that works. 

    I don't understand how people can openly deride parenthood. And therein lies the problem with this country--a self-centered belief in the importance of "relationships" over the desperate need for people to raise their children properly. We are not properly raising children in this country. As much as I would have liked to have been denied custody of my own children, it was not to be. Once the judge made me take Byron and Miranda (the other two boys were on their own by then), I dedicated myself to being a great father. After five days of trying, I gave up and hired a maid and brought on this fellow named Peej--he's really quite handy.

    As to the overall piece at Slate, you see the fatal flaw here even before the whole thing unravels--I want time for ME and I want THAT PERSON to subject themselves to MY NEEDS and abandon THEIR CHILDREN so that I can get what I WANT and be the CENTER OF ATTENTION.

    What nonsense.

    This is the same sort of person who cries all night because they think the government is reading their E-mail. A woman with three small children has more on her plate than the crass neediness of a self-centered humbug of a friend. Next time, don't show up at her home with a plate full of yourself begging to be adored; show up with some diapers, a pair of rubber gloves, and a working snot rag. Pitch in. Play "throw the doll under the couch." Miranda used to love that game.

    "Throw the doll under the couch" was a game I invented to keep Miranda from bothering me. She would bring me her doll. I would sidearm the thing under one of the couches, but I wouldn't let her see which one because, just before winging it, I would throw a towel over her head. Then, Miranda would fetch a broom and a flashlight and try to find her doll.

    Yes, of course I threw the thing out the window after a few rounds. Who the devil do you think this is?

    Monday
    Aug092010

    Proof That Austerity is Simply Not Popular

    I think this is milk.If you were a British politician, trying to find a way to save money, would you be foolish enough to try to take milk away from little children?

    I arrived back in Britain fully rested and refreshed, and almost the first sound I heard was a whining noise emanating from the Scottish Nationalist administration north of the border. Anne Milton, a U.K. coalition health minister had suggested, in a letter to the Scottish executive, that the scheme which gives children below the age of five who attend nurseries or day care the right to a glass of milk a day might be ended in England. This development was leaked by the SNP administration to a sharp eyed Scottish political hack and dominated the Sunday morning news agenda. With all the pious pomposity that only a Scottish Executive minister can muster when explaining on the airwaves why my countrymen are supposedly intrinsically more compassionate and caring than anyone else, the SNP denounced the proposals as pretty much the end of the world as we know it. (Although I’ll wager most people pretending to be outraged didn’t know that all under fives in nurseries still get free milk from the taxpayer via the government.)

    It fell to David Willetts to defend the coalition’s proposal when he appeared on Marr on Sunday. He had been given a hosopital pass when he was booked for the show. Having defended Milton’s proposals he was then informed on air, mid-interview, that Number 10 had just that minute over-ruled the minister concerned and that free milk for the under fives would remain. Willetts had been hung out to dry on national television. Cue some hilarity.

    Of course, David Cameron was understandably determined not to be presented as the heir to “Maggie Thatcher the Milk Snatcher”. (I liked milk as a child, but like Iain Dale says hated the free stuff at school which usually tasted as though it was almost off, having been left outside in the sun). So, Cameron, or one of his communications team, spotted the danger shortly after breakfast on Sunday and moved fast to squash the Milton plan. End of story.

    The unspoken genius of this is that there were probably the British equivalent of milk-industry lobbyists, ready to raise hell with the members of parliament who refused to shut down this gripping change in public policy. Luckily, this David Cameron fellow can move with some speed to shut down bad political moves.

    I cannot remember ever giving milk to our children. I'm simply not familiar with it. I do know what cream is, and I've had yogurt, but milk is not really in my vocabulary when it comes to things that should be consumed. Should it be consumed? I hear bad things about it all the time. Well, I ignore reports about things that I don't care about--let's be honest.

    I was not part of the beverage serving regimen that required me to participate in their upbringing. I know that, there was one time, my son Byron was eleven and he asked me for a brandy snifter so that he could catch bugs on the windowsill of his room. I declined. I think Miranda asked me for water once when she came home from junior high one hot September afternoon. I declined. I did get Miranda a peach once when she was asking about fruit or something when she was fifteen. I think I may have had Peej hand it to her because I was too busy to walk across the room.

    This is not because I'm a bad parent; I'm a busy parent. There's a diffy.

    Tuesday
    Aug032010

    When Will Bristol Find Love?

    Hayden Panettiere hangs out with Bristol PalinWhich blog do we put this on? I can't figure it out to save my life:

    Teen mom Bristol Palin has broken off her engagement to Levi Johnston for a second time — less than a month after telling the world she planned to marry the father of her young son.

    The 19-year-old daughter of politician Sarah Palin was quoted on Tuesday as telling People magazine "It's over. I broke up with him."

    She said her on-again, off-again relationship with Johnston, 20, soured on July 14 — the day the couple announced in rival celebrity magazine Us Weekly that they had secretly become engaged again and planned to marry soon.

    In an interview with People, Palin said Johnston told her that same evening he might have fathered a baby with another teenage girl. The girl has since denied Johnston is the father.

    Oh well. I thought for sure that Andrew Sullivan's one man vendetta against the Palin family would explode into a nightmarish orgy of speculation and exposition, but I think that theory fell apart faster than the tenuous reconciliation of Bristol and Levi.

    Not to put on Sullivan's hair shirt and act all crazy, but what if this was a contrived effort at getting some good press and maybe making a little money to help take care of the family? Does this mean that US Magazine gets their money back after putting Bristol and Levi on the cover? Not that Bristol Palin would need the money, but it is preferential to have your own money instead of having to rely on money from the people who pay to hear Sarah Palin give public speeches and write books.

    I can think of worse ways to provide for a child but I certainly cannot blame Bristol for trying to find some happiness in this world. I'm sure she would much rather be anonymous, although hanging out with Hayden Panettiere would make me want to go out and get pregnant after my mother lost her chance at being Vice President, too.

    Wait--I think I have the timeline wrong. Hold on while I go back and read some Sullivan so I can get that right.

    Friday
    Jul162010

    Father Used to Own Several DUKW Boats

    A DUKW Boat in action in a museum sitting there, doing nothingIt's time to ban or just get rid of the DUKW (Duck) boat. These things are older than I am, and that's old enough. If I were a Duck boat, i'd be telling you to park me somewhere and leave me alone. They're just not safe.

    Only a week and two days after a Philadelphia Ride the Ducks boat sank in the Delaware, killing two Hungarian tourists, a Boston Duck Tours boat crashed into several cars on a Boston highway Friday.

    Five people are being treated for minor injuries after the amphibious duck boat lost its brakes at Charles Circle and Storrow Drive in downtown Boston and crashed into seven vehicles at about 12:15 p.m.

    All five people who were injured were in the cars that were hit by the duck boat. All of the duck boat passengers were OK, and they were transported into another boat.

    The cause of the crash is still under investigation.

    Was it over thirty years ago when I took the family to America's hellhole--otherwise known as The Wisconsin Dells--and watched in horror as a Duck boat flipped over and dumped a bunch of fat old ladies into the water? I think it was 1978. I believe I was still working for Father at that point. How I wished he could have been one of those old ladies.

    Now, is it wrong of me to wish that my Father was dead? I will answer your question with a question of my own--have you met my Father?

    The Duck boat has outlived its usefulness. It's probably safe, statistically, but who cares? If I wanted to base things on statistics, I'd be a scientist making cheese out of cardboard that never goes bad. I'm an emotional realist who has been inadvertently praised for the wrong thing too many times. I'm a gut shot lover on his knees before the house of love. I'm pawn to your rook, my sweet user of the two-timing verb. I'm eggs to your flour in a bowl full of sugar and cream. I'm a two-fisted deliverer of the truth, sir. My emotions are all that matters. My emotions tell me that a crazy, top-heavy vehicle with big tires and boat-like tendencies is fine and dandy if you're nineteen years old and Sarge is telling you to hit the beach. It's not okay if you're an overfed, overweight, overly-big headed passenger.

    Let's face it--what makes these things more dangerous now than thirty or forty years ago is the fact that Americans are just sloppy, fat shambling piles of decaying meat, covered in bad tattoos and wearing Wal-Mart fleece sweatpants and a T-shirt for last year's losing local team. I want nothing to do with a vehicle that was designed to leave Marines at the edge of a beach raked with machine gun fire. Something about all of that doesn't spell "safe" to me.

    I know of which I speak.

    Father had four or five of these things--gifts from the Emir. Apparently, on a sojourn through the Middle East, he stopped off somewhere and tricked a prince or a king to give him the DUKW boats that he had been given to look the other way while someone took this black liquid from the ground called oil. Have you heard of it? Anyway, Father convinced the emir that he could use the DUKW boats as riot control vehicles, provided they were fitted with better wheel-covering armor and guns that fired potatoes.

    With Father, it all comes back to potatoes, doesn't it? Anyway, my brothers and I each had our own DUKW boat and we drove them all summer one year. I think mine is still at the bottom of Narraganset Bay. I got bored, went swimming, left the thing in gear, and it went in circles until a wave took it to the bottom. Father was still on it, tied up, and screaming for help after the gag fell out of his mouth. I kid, but you just don't know where, do you?

    Wednesday
    Jul142010

    Andrew Sullivan's Head Just Exploded

    US MagazineBwah!

    Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston reveal exclusively in the new Us Weekly that they are getting married.

    And, they tell Us Weekly, former vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin has been kept in the dark about their plans ... until now.

    "We got engaged two weeks ago," Bristol, 19, tells Us Weekly. "It felt right, even though we don’t have the approval of our parents."

    Bristol and Levi, 20 — who famously called off their previous engagement two weeks after welcoming son Tripp in December 2008 — tell Us Weekly they reconnected three months ago while working out a custody plan for their 18-month-old son.

    I love it! American family values (such as they are) triumph again.

    Do you know who cares? Not me. I could care less. Sarah Palin will never be President, and she may run for the Republican nomination but she'll never convince the money people to let her run, unless she has photos of thousands of senior Republican decision makers making love to inanimate objects.

    The only person who really cares is the one person whose entire life revolves around trying to resolve some sort of Oedipus complex that he has built up with the public image of Sarah Palin, and that's Andrew Sullivan. When good things happen to the Palin family, Sullivan screams at his bureau table full of Sarah Palin voodoo dolls. Does it make sense? Of course not. It doesn't have to.

    You see, Sullivan's only hope of getting Sarah Palin out of his brain is to eat Todd Palin's heart, squeeze himself into a bikini made out of cowhide, and make passionate love to Sarah Palin while riding bareback with her straddling him on a winged horse.

    Winged Horse

    Maybe not exactly like this one, but close enough.

    Anyway, kudos to the Palin family. By intermarrying and bringing their peculiar brand of Alaskan nuttiness to the rest of the world, they have inadvertently given people who are smart enough to know better something to worry about.

    Sunday
    Jul042010

    Leave the Sorority Girls Alone

    Swedish Sorority GirlsSome Poindexter is behind this nonsense--I can sense it:

    Sorority spring formals call up visions of young women in colorful dresses dancing the night away — not vomiting on tables, urinating in sinks or having sex in closets.

    The drunken shenanigans of three sororities at Miami University in southwest Ohio sound like something out of "Animal House" and were especially startling for a school that frequently makes the top 50 in a U.S News & World Report academic ranking but never makes lists of big-time party schools.

    The school suspended two of the sororities and put the third on probation. A task force is reviewing discipline and education policies on student behavior and alcohol, and the campus group governing sororities says it will begin teaching new members to speak out when they witness bad behavior.

    There is little evidence excessive alcohol consumption is any worse at Miami than other colleges, but students are worried the antics will damage the school's reputation.

    "It's embarrassing," said Christina Zielke, 21, a senior from Cleveland, who doesn't belong to a sorority. "This kind of thing gives a bad name not just to the Greek system but to the university and students like me who aren't in the system."

    Whatever, grandma.

    The economy is to blame for all of this. The schools are full of young women (because of the young men had to either join the military or go to work full time in the mine) and they're bored. They're partying because they know that there aren't any jobs for graduates of state schools out there. Where a Yale or Harvard or Brown grad might be able to find a position with a reputable company, a graduate of Miami of Ohio is going to have to work retail until things sort themselves out. A lot of them are going to have to become strippers if they want to pay off their student loan debts (strippers never have money and never pay their bills, but they always have fifty pairs of thong underwear that they don't like anymore).

    If I was attending a state school, I'd get drunk to relieve the stress of knowing there aren't any jobs, too. I'd love to see these girls party. I'll bet they do things that would make a sex tourist who frequents Thailand blush.

    Friday
    Jun252010

    It Wasn't Me With the Axe

    The Vuvuzela in German ColorsI'll give you some insight here in a moment, but first, this message:

    An American got so fed up with the constant mosquito-like droning from his neighbors' vuvuzela plastic horn that he threatened to kill them with an ax, German police in the Bavarian city of Weiden said Friday.

    The 45-year-old American man confronted his neighbors during Thursday's Netherlands-Cameroon World Cup game wielding the ax.

    The neighbors said he was so sick of the constant buzzing and honking from the vuvuzelas since the tournament began that he screamed: "I will kill you," and then returned home.

    Weiden is up near the border with what used to be or could still be the Czech Republic, I think, and that's about two and a half hours from here (I drive slow in these parts, pardner). There are U.S. Army personnel up there in a place that could be called Grafenwohr? I have no idea how that is spelled.

    There will be, no doubt, inquiries as to whether or not this was me. No, sorry. This man is over twenty years younger and used an axe. I would use a pitchfork to scare children. It's time to cut and bale hay in this part of Germany, and kids run when you chase them with a pitchfork while wearing a hockey mask. Yes. It's true.

    That being said, the vuvuzelas are huge in Baden-Wurttemberg, which is where I'm now temporarily located, and the children blow them constantly. It's an atonal buzzing sound when someone goes full throat with one. Mostly, the kids just honk and bark with them. It's an accent sort of sound. If you've ever been in a political convention, down on the floor at least, the air horns are annoying enough but the vuvuzela is ten times worse.

    When Peej and I take the dogs and walk near one of the kinderspielplatzes, the kinder blow the vuvuzelas and throw animal feces at us, but that's only because we called the polizei on them when they tapped a beer keg and started serving nine year olds.

    This part of Germany is badass, my friends. Badass.

    Friday
    Jun252010

    No Thugs in This Kindergarten

    I can't remember the last time I had a brawl in public with a group of people at a kindergarten graduation.

    I've had several brawls, and more than my fair share of shoving matches and full-throated screaming matches, but they may have taken place at Miranda's third grade sock hop or Byron's fifth grade zoo trip or something like that. You know the kind of brawl I'm talking about. The kind where someone pulls a suit coat over the head of someone else and kicks them in the ribs when they're laying on the ground covering their head. The kind where someone throws alcohol or fruit punch around like they're trying to douse a small fire. The kind where a perfectly reasonable, grown adult turns into a shrieking, quivering, sweating mass of terrified human flesh, desperately clawing at their eyeballs after biting off the ear of another human being. The kind where someone punches their spouse in the crotch, often on purpose.

    I have reached out to the children to find out if they remember watching daddy roll on the ground with a howling, crazed mother at a kindergarten graduation, but no one has gotten back to me yet.

    I think this points to more serious issues, however:

    Two women have been arrested following a parents' brawl that interrupted a Southern California kindergarten graduation ceremony, authorities said.

    School officials placed Puesta del Sol Elementary in the desert town of Victorville on lockdown Wednesday morning after a fight broke out among a group of parents.

    The San Bernardino County sheriff's department says witnesses told deputies several mothers were involved in an argument and it got physical in a field near the ceremony. Several men then jumped into the fray and the incident turned into a brawl.

    A deputy later arrested two people on suspicion of being a disruptive presence at a school. Witnesses said they were the main instigators. In all, 20 adults were identified in the brawl. A school district official said there could be more arrests.

    San Bernardino County? Check, please.

    This probably didn't have anything to do with slutty behavior or a debt gone bad. It probably has something to do with trash talking or an inadvertent shove down a flight of stairs. I do remember how ridiculous it was to go to a kindergarten class and have to sit there while the kids would drone on and on in their little lisp--you know, that baby-tawk lisp that I cannot stand. We never talked babytalk with the children, at least, not that I can recall. When I think back to how my second, third and fourth wives raised the children, I seem to recall nannies, tough love, and awkward silences punctuated by cold-blooded stares and finding things slashed to pieces in the middle of the night. Standard family fare, of course.

    Miranda never talked like a baby. She came out fully formed and had a wonderful vocabulary by the time she was in first grade. That was the first time she lectured me about ethics and ethical behavior. Coming from an over-serious child dressed almost entirely in black it was like one of those comedy bits on one of those shows I don't watch.

    Saturday
    Jun192010

    Cheapening the Legacy of Ronald Reagan

    President Ronald Reagan on horsebackOh, what a bunch of piffle:

    When I was 9, I gave my father soap-on-a-rope for Father’s Day. I’d found it in the closet where my mother stored gifts that she didn’t want and intended to pass on to someone else. I made him a card with a drawing of a horse on it, since he had been helping me with my artwork. Father’s Day, like his birthday, was a puzzling experience. I never knew what to give my father. He had dozens of neckties, drawers full of sweaters, and I certainly couldn’t afford any kind of equestrian gear on my allowance. He did hang the soap-on-a-rope in his shower, though; I checked.

    Ten years later, I mailed him a Father’s Day card from England, where I had gone for part of the summer with some friends from college. I addressed it to Gov. Ronald Reagan and sent it to Sacramento.

    A decade after that, I addressed a card to President Reaganand sent it to the White House with a special number in the upper corner of the envelope so it would be separated from all the other mail. I called the White House switchboard on Father’s Day and asked to speak to him.

    Through the years, I relinquished my father in stages. To ever-swelling crowds, to supporters who wore his name and photograph on buttons pinned to their shirts, to millions of voters who elected him by wide margins, and ultimately to an entire country. Whoever is president has been elected to parent America. It’s a role of father figure, disciplinarian, comforter in times of tragedy, coach in times of need, and professor when explanations are necessary.

    Patti Davis knows that there's money to be made now that her father is gone, and the only way to sop up that money is to pretend to have changed her mind about him and about his place in American history. I can forgive someone for acting up; I can't forgive an adult who made it her business to profit from acting up. I can't forgive someone who didn't just act out in a fit of disagreement or out of a sense of hurt or abandonment--she acted out purely because her father's enemies were willing to give accolades and money that she never would have earned on her own.

    Her contempt for her father is well documented:

    "He has the ability to make statements that are so far outside the parameters of logic that they leave you speechless"
    --Patti Davis (formerly Patricia Ann Reagan) talking about her father, 
    The Way I See It

    And we're supposed to believe she has changed? That what she said in her book is all water under the bridge now that there are countless Americans with nostalgic hearts who want to hear nothing but fuzzy, warm stories based on things that Davis conveniently ignored when there was a bigger buck to make over twenty years ago?

    The funny thing is, Reagan himself was so understanding and caring that the failings of his own children were probably quickly forgotten. How ironic is that? It sort of makes the time Davis spent making a fool out of herself at the expense of her father look rather trite, doesn't it?

    The President is not the "daddy" of America. Americans don't need a daddy; they need a leader. Wrench a few dollars out of some other sentimental fool with that nonsense.

    Tuesday
    Jun152010

    Other Than the Brutal Murders, He's a Sweet Guy

    This is what passes for common sense? This young man doesn't have an ounce of it, and even Nancy Grace can't believe what a dork he is.

    Joran Van Der Sloot needs to ride the lightning somewhere, but that's going to have to be up to the legal system in Peru. How many other "groupies" does he leave out there in the cold, stumbling around half-empty Caribbean casinos? If your teenaged or young son is clubbing and gambling on a regular basis at this age, you can forget about gainful employment any time soon. The world doesn't really work that way anymore.