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5:54 a.m. - 2006-08-15


You know ... now that I'm not in the habit of updating this thing on a regular basis, I tend to forget about it quite a bit.

I was sitting here, just dum-dee-dee-dum-dumming throught other websites and crap and thought "Sheesh! I haven't updated Uncle Bob in a while! Go do that!"

So ... ummm ... hey.


Today's Andrew's first day at his new school which is technically his first day of real honest-to-God schooling.

Daycare shouldn't ... and for all intents and purposes here ... won't be counted as "schooling".

He's been pretty excited about going to a "big boy" school ... until last night.

I put him to bed and he started crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked with my hand poised to slap the snot outta him for being a crybaby sissy boy.

"I don't wanna go to Big Boy School tomorrow," he sobbed.

Of course, the average parent's knee-jerk reaction to such a declaration is to beat the holy crap out of the kid. After all, it's 8:30 at night, you're tired and your kid wants to lay there and cry about being scared to go to a new place where he'll paint and watch videos and have electric sensors taped to his forehead to measure his brain waves for most of the day.

Meanwhile, you've got better things to do ... like worry that this new school is going to suck your savings account dry.

But ... and I say this with conviction ... I AM NOT YOUR AVERAGE PARENT.

Instead, I sat down on the floor next to his bed and actually tried to defuse the situation by explaining how much fun his new school was going to be.

I rubbed his back while I told him how much I loved him and was proud of him.

(Gawd. Did that sound like it was lifted out of a gay porn novel or what?)

He eventually calmed down and passed out from exhaustion.

Meanwhile, I secretly clicked my heels with glee, glad that Susie's taking him to school today and not me.

I get the feeling THAT ain't gonna be pretty.

I'm doing the largest party that I've ever DJ'ed tonight.

There's a convention in town and I've been told I'd be playing in front of 1,500-2,000 people.

While I'm not exactly nervous about it, I do wish that if I am playing in front of that many people, I could do it in a more structured atmosphere.

I'm thinking ... large room and only one person at a time, coming in, listening to five seconds of a song, then leaving and letting the next person come in and listen to five seconds of a song then leaving, et cetera.

I think that'd work better for me.

Especially if each person thrust their fists in the air and screamed stuff like "You rock!" and "Freebird!" at me.

And I could point, wink , smile and make a clicking sound at them and say things like "Freebird? Coming up next, buddy!"

But then I wouldn't have to play it because their five seconds would be up and they wouldn't know if I played it next or not.

That Stephen Hawking guy needs to bow down before me, because I AM the master of all space, time and stupid blogging.

Since I work a lot of weddings, I have developed a certain affinity for Swedish Meatballs lately.

It seems like every wedding serves them and every bride always comes up and says "Did you get something to eat? Please fix a plate! We've got plenty!" and then I waddle over to the buffet like The Penguin from the original Batman TV series and load up on Swedish Meatballs.

Then I stand behind the DJ table, swallowing them whole.

Anyway, I like 'em.

So I came up with this brilliant idea of making Swedish Meatball Stroganoff last night.

Let's just say ... ummmm ... no.

This morning I feel like I ate a Yugo last night.

Holy crap does my tummy feel heavy.

So if you ever find yourself at a wedding gorging on Swedish Meatballs and thinking "Mmmm...these meatballs would be scrumpdillyumptious over some egg noodles and sprinkled with dillweed on top", think again Einstein.

They won't be.

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