Run For Your Lives - It's Baby Photo Time!

Now, before you think that I’m going to become one of THOSE grandparents who insists on forcing photos of their grandchildren in your face at every opportunity, I assure you that the thought never crossed my mind.

Except maybe this once. Ain’t she cuuuuuuute?

Holy Crap - I'm a Grandfather!

Emaline, meet the world.
World, meet Emaline.
Ain't she an angel?

She was born this morning, May 28, at 7:55. 6 pounds, one ounce. 19 1/2 inches tall. Mother & baby are doing well, as are the Lovely Mrs. G. and I.

So here I am - the guy who proudly proclaims that he'll never grow up - now someone's Poppy.

Oh well - at least now I have someone to relive my youth with once again.

And lest you think that there's a chance in Heaven that this precious little girl won't be spoiled rotten, I say ha! Ha to you! I'm well on my way to becoming the World's Biggest Pushover When It Comes To His Granddaughter.

Yeah - it's great. I'm very happy today.

Slobs of the World...UNITE!

Shhh... Don't tell my daughter about this. She might try it if she knew...

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Girl Calls For Police Help Over Messy Room

BERLIN (Reuters) - A nine-year-old German girl was so upset about having to tidy her room she put up a sign in her window urging passers-by to call police for help. Pedestrians in the central city of Braunschweig saw the girl crying in the window, holding up a sign up saying "Help! Please call the police!" Next to her sat a small boy.

Quickly alerted, officers rushed to the scene to discover the girl had rowed with her mother about tidying her room and enlisted her two-year-old brother's aid to attract attention.

"The room looked like a battlefield," said a spokesman for local police on Monday. "Officers told the girl to tidy her room. When they came back two hours later to check, it was all cleaned up. And the mother and daughter had made up too."

Fame is Fleeting

There’s a lot of things in this world that I am. But there’s one thing that I am not. Or at least I am no longer.

I am no longer a rock star.

Here’s why. My employer has four reserved (non-handicapped) parking spots up near the front door. Us working grunts refer to these spaces as “rock star parking”, where the rich and famous are allowed to leave their Ferraris, Mercedes, and the occasional Chrysler for the day, without having to hike the usual mile from the regular parking lot.

Well, for the past 3 months I’ve had exclusive use to one of these excellent rock star parking spots. These spots are awarded as “prizes” to employees who have money taken out of their paychecks for the United Way. They randomly pull four names out of the hopper, and those lucky so-and-sos get the Golden Ticket that lets them park nearest to the door.

So how did I get so lucky? I didn’t.

Someone else won it, but didn’t want it. (He parks back by the IT door, nowhere near these spots.) So he gave it to one of my co-workers to use. Only she has a handicap tag, and already gets primo parking year round.

So she gave it to me. Hey, share and share alike!

Anyway, for the past 90 days I’ve been honored (read: lazy) enough to park right up front, just like I own the place. And trust me when I tell you that it was mighty nice to have last February, when it was 20 below.

But my magical parking pass turns back into a pumpkin tonight at midnight, and I’ll have to start parking out in the boondocks with the commoners again. No more luxury. No more prestige. Just the usual 20 mile hike to the front door.

Oh, well – at least it’s not snowing any longer.

Yeah, I Know the Feeling....

Doh! Simpson College Wants Me!

I have just 94 days to go until I graduate from college with my AA in Business Administration. Hooray! 24 years after I started the damn thing, I’ll finally be done. Who says that procrastination lasts forever???

Anyway, one of the perks of being an upcoming college grad with a significantly high GPA (4.0, boys and girls!) is that every other college around wants you to come there to continue your education. I mean, what’s the fun of having only ONE set of student loans when you can have TWO, right?

Practically daily I receive an e-mail, snail mail, or the occasional phone call from a 20-something college recruiter, trying to talk me into coming to their outstanding institute of higher learning.

Most of the schools that have contacted me have been here in Iowa, but a few have been out of state – South Dakota, Colorado, Illinois, and even Tulane University in New Orleans. In fact, the nice people at Tulane have written to me more than all of the other colleges combined. Gee, do you suppose they’re desperate for some enrollment down there?

Most of the correspondence has been very professional, but it’s this one school that just doesn’t seem to focus their marketing to age demographics very well. Take a look at this latest e-mail as an example.

That’s Simpson College – they’re just too tempting, you know? Look what they have to offer someone like me. Oooh, exciting campus life! Awesome residence halls! Neato Greek houses! (Haven’t you always wanted to be a drunken Frat boy? I know that I haven’t.) Swinging internships! Yes, you too can WORK FOR FREE! Whoopie! Doesn’t that sound cool-rad-gnarly-phat-bitchen-whatever-today’s-terminology-is???

The last Simpson College letter I received at home invited me to bring my PARENTS to an upcoming open house for a tour. My Dad died 10 years ago, my Mom is 83 years old, and I haven’t lived at home since the Reagan administration, which is ironic, since that’s probably when most of these “advisors” were born.

I mock because it’s funny. I’m not an 18 year old kid - I’m an (almost) 42 year old husband/father with 20 years of work experience, a mortgage, a car payment, a head full of gray hair, and no real desire to live in a dorm. (I really don’t want to spend my weekends being nagged to buy beer for my floormates, and I don’t need some sloshed freshman younger than my daughter telling me that I’m “hot”, right before she pukes on my shoes.)

I guess that I’m just not cut out for full time campus life any longer. College football holds no real interest to me, and I’m not about to be one of those idiots who paints his body blue and then runs around shirtless when it’s 10 below, all in the name of “school spirit”. I don’t play hacky-sack, I couldn’t begin to name more than one pop musician that I can actually stand, and I’m afraid that my deep rooted cynicism for the apathy of today’s youth would stand out like a cold sore on Paris Hilton’s lip.

So I think that if I do decide to go back to college again for even more smarts-to-go, I’ll remain as an outside non-traditional student. That way I can live at home (with my lovely wife and cranky old cats, and not my parents), drink my own legally-purchased adult beverages, and watch professional sports at my own leisure, from the warmth and comfort of my sofa.

That I paid for.
In cash.
From my real job.

Rah! Rah! Rah!