Keeping Your Kids Safe Online

As a parent, and as an experienced Web Addict, I know how dangerous the Internet can be. And I worry about how it will impact my kids. There are products that try to serve as watchdogs, but they tend to inform parents after an event has taken place, and that's sort of like closing the barn door after the horses have gotten out. The only product I've found that ensures my kids are only interacting with other confirmed children, as opposed to a 40 year old truck driver named Chuck pretending to be a ten year old girl, is Dolphin Secure and its fingerprint technology. That's why I help them sell their product. I believe in it, and I use it.

If you're interested in the product, feel free to contact me directly, or join the Dolphin Secure Virginia facebook page.

Yard Nazis

I tend to be naive about a lot of things. I'm not racist, so I assume no one around me is. I'm not judgemental, so I assume no one else is. I'm not a fracking loon, so I assume no one else is.

Boy, was I wrong.

I live in one of those neighborhoods with an Association. We pay a yearly fee, and in return someone cuts the grass. It also seems they go around and evaluate lawns. My lawn sucks. I'm not deluded in any way about that. I have young kids, limited time, two dogs, and I suck at yard work and household maintenence. My yard has weeds, the edges get a little uneven, I don't have a blower to blow my clippings into the phantom zone, and I can barely keep the lawn mower running.

But then again, other people have crappy lawns, too. I've checked. I'm not alone in that. At least my yard is green. Sure, it's mostly because the weeds have won out over the grass, but it's green, and it's relatively short.

Not sufficient, say the yard nazis.

These are the guys who spend half their salaries and all of their time working on their yards. It's ok with the kids don't get braces or attention, as long as they have a lush, green yard. Drought? Can't stop watering the yard on a daily basis.

And if that's what they like, then fine. I try not to judge. But come on...

I have a next door neighbor who believes the weeds in the community are being spawned solely in my yard, so he built a three foot fence to stop them. Built it himself over severalw eeks in the hot summer sun. Crazy as a hatter. It would only stop the weeds with eyes. The rest of them would either be airborne or travel under the ground. He spends an incredible amount of time on the yard. Currently it's all dead. I guess my weeds stole the rain.

When I suggested to our Association that maybe we should use our dues to repair the playground and avoid some crushed skulls, I was told that I was a jerk for suggesting the whole neighborhood rep[air something only the familys with young kids use, and by the way, you're a lazy slob who intentionally keeps his yard ugly to piss off the neighbors.

WTF?

I must admit it came as a bit of a shock to find out that anyone thought I had an ugly yard ON PURPOSE. Who does THAT? If I was doing it intentionally (like I don't cut the three inches of grass along that three foot fence. It's on my side, but it's not in my yard), I would do it up proper. Put a rusted out Chevy in front. Add some pink flamingos. Pee dirty words into the grass.

I think that the inherant flaw with volunteer Homeowners Associations is that the only people who have time to be on them are people who really shouldn't be on them. People who go to their yard with hair trimmers to ensure proper length of grass.

I think it's time to go pee in my yard...

Disney Ownz Joo!

My family and I visited that Mecca of fun, Walt Disney World. After spending a week that can only be described as "an horrific abomination," I once again marvel at Disney's ability to do two things:

1. Suck every last dollar from a person
2. Make you glad they did

Think of it this way. If we had been brutalized anywhere else, squeezed amongst millions of swine-flu infested rabble, starved, burned, frozen, and robbed, we would have returned home and said, "We are never going to the state fair again!"

But when practically the same thing happened at Walt Disney World? As soon as we returned home we said, "We've got to go back and do it right the next time!"

And you know what? Damn our souls, we will.

Father of the Year

Well. I'd like to start off by saying everyone came out of this little clusterf**k alive. That said, we'll get to it.

My wife thought it would be great to try out a golf and sports park out on Route 1. She noticed that my son would probably enjoy the batting cages. I, having no experience with batting cages whatsoever, agreed.

So we went, played some mini golf with the kids (my daughter is four and my son is six). Then we went over to the batting cages. We had only purchased one token, and I had to have the bald lady behind the counter explain to me what we got for a token. My daughter, being the only smart one in the family, didn't like the looks of the cages, and decided she would just watch. My son grabbed a helmet and bat, and strolled into the cage. The speed was labeled as "medium." It went from "slow" to "very fast," so I assumed "medium" wouldn't be too bad.

Let's keep in mind two things. 1: The word "medium" doesn't tell you very much if you have no frame of reference. 2: I'm an idiot.

My son put the token in the machine and I turned to read the instructions. I saw some buttons and a lever thing, and wanted to find out which setting was good for six year olds. The first line of the instructsions said: "Users assume all responsibilities for injuries." The second line said, "The machine will start automatically ten seconds after depositing the token."

Uh oh.

I turn to see my son standing right on the white line that shows the pitching path. I managed to call his name and take a step forward when something invisible went "THWACK" and the little fellow dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I said a word that rhymes with a type of waterfowl and ran the rest of the way. He was just standing up when I got to him and had blood coming out of his mouth. He was most upset, as he had just been hit in the face by a baseball moving at something like 75 mph. I put myself between him and any other balls without thinking, then when the second ball hit me in the ribs I vaguely thought, "Who the hell is kicking me while I'm helping my son?"

As we were leaving the cage, and my wife was asking what the problem was, we passed a dad who looked like he was about to throw up. After all, there was this huge guy getting pummeled by baseballs while escorting a bleeding six year old out.

Ok, I admit it was all my fault. I never should have let him into that cage without at least trying it first, or seeing what it looked like, or something. He had no idea what he was walking into. Neither did I, which is the point. In 39 years I've never used a batting machine. Baseball was never my thing, and when I was growing up batting machines were a little rare. But I have to wonder if maybe it all wouldn't have been avoided by putting a sign out that suggested an age limit. After all, with the strike zone set for his head, there really wasn't any way he could have hit anything, even if we knew what we were doing.

Any thoughts from the peanut gallery?