Improper Car Seat Use is Awesome!

Oh man, after a good 200 trips in the chariot, I had no idea what a thrill it would be to just hang out and chill in the ride. Buckled in is all well and good, but improper is where it’s at.

Check it out man, standing up in the car. Wow and stuff.

You know the drill, I’m sure. Your people carry you out to your car, right? Okay, well at any rate, you go out to your car, you get in, you buckle up, you go. Does that sound about right? I’ve done it so many times myself, so there’s no need to be the slightest bit embarrassed about it.

But here’s the thing, before you get buckled in, try just hanging out a bit first take a look at the sites, the sounds, the people, yeah that’s right, even the world. Now I understand how the Pope feels. It’s no wonder he drives the Pope Mobile, he gets to stand up and see what’s really going on.

Before my ride, they do buckle me down like a mental patient, and I’ve always got the paper to read or perhaps Tigger to chew on. But those precious moments before hand, it’s just golden.

For those of you considering buying a car, my advice would be to look for one that you can stand up in, because that’s really where it’s at. If you can’t find one, at least shoot for one that has windows low enough so you can see out them. How different a ride it would be if passengers could see out the windows. Ah to dream.

Right – Here I’m seen demonstrating the “backwards and upwards” technique.” Below – Never forget to stand up and turn yourself about. That’s what it’s all about!

 

Seafood Still Too Rubbery

Talk about yer gamey seafood. Oh my.

A while back I reviewed seafood, I said it was too rubbery. Having branched out from shark to lobster as well as yellow squishy (like a yellow snapper but with a sqeeker in it’s belly,) I have to say my opinion is unchanged.

I was told that lobster was very crunchy and challenging on the outside, but that within lied something fantastic. Getting past the shell was more work than I had in mind. I tried shaking it, banging it on the table and even chewing on it, after all, I do have a couple impressive chompers in there.

Last time I published a review of seafood it was something of a mockery. After the fact it was pointed out to me that it was a synthetic shark. I didn’t feel it was worth retracting, since I likened it to imitation crab (or Krabb). Though it is a little embarassing to have mistaken a fake shark for a real one. My apologies. But just look at this thing. If it’s not real, it’s quite the fugazi.

So I guess I’m about ready to surrender on these fanciful ideas of getting anything out of seafood. I imagine I’ll still try the sticks (or stix) at some point, but I’m really not looking too forward to it. For now, I use fish to sooth my gums and strengthen my jaw muscles. Hey man, everything’s got a purpose.

Babies-To-Go Franchises Closed by FTC

How peaceful I am in my own box. Really thought the program was going places.

The well thought out business called Babies-To-Go™ was officially closed last Monday. The two tiered business offered both attractive baby rental as well as purchasing programs.

The rental program was really quite ingenious. Parents would bring their children in for daycare at a cost of only $75 per month. Instead of hiring teachers, Babies-To-Go™ would then rent them out for the day to total strangers. The parents were also entitled to 50% of late return fees towards their tuition. Think of it kind of like a Big Brothers or Big Sisters program but often including a lease-purchase option.

The rental program went south when it was discovered that many of the renters would not pay late fees, be mean to the children, or in some cases forget to return them altogether.

The second half and most controversial end of the business was the Babies-To-Go™ direct mail division. Babies were harvested from one of several plants around the country and boxed up neatly for overnight shipping. Apparently that violates federal laws, though details have not yet been made available.

Speaking as a baby who finds solace and even joy in boxes, I think this shutdown is completely unfair to children, as well as a glaring stagnation of toddler industry. How are children supposed to see the world if not by being tucked neatly in a handsome box and shipped hither-tither and yon? Think of the learning that comes from all those truck rides, express tours of handling plants, one or more airplane rides, and most of all, from being in a box in the first place.

Founders are currently held without bail, a swift trial, conviction, and canning are expected shortly.

Shopping w/o Protective Gear A-Okay

As you can see, I was moderately pleased about the experience.

Eightlings around the world each day are learning the joys of grocery shopping like bigger people. Not big people, mind you, they have to push and pay, but like bigger people who get to sit in the cart without a carseat.

About two weeks ago, investigative reporter Me started experiencing this firsthand. It’s amazing what new bedlam one can incur while not consumed with staring at the ceiling. When in the carseat, passengers can only experience promotional balloons, banners, and accoustic tiling.

Without the carseat, riders sit in an upright position where they can see the world and merchandise around them. Those enjoying this freedom, such as myself, are now in a prime position to grab cans, bags, and anything else in the three to four foot window of grab-snatching opportunity.

It’s so much more fun and interesting when you can actually see what’s going on. The people-watching alone is worth the trip. I can’t tell you how many total strangers (fans of the paper, I’m sure) came up to me with kindly greetings and warm smiles. It’s really a delight.

Fortunately for all of us carseat graduates, the hassle of contending with our shopping habits is slightly outweighed by the hassle of bringing in the entire seat.

 

Dr. Trip Not My Idea, I’m Not Tripping

Check out the commemorative surgical glove they give you. Plus complimentary tongue depressors and moist towelletes..

I already told them it was just a cough, next thing I know some lady wants to do what with a thermometer? These people aren’t really doctors, are they?

So I had an ear infection last week. I used my specialized sign language to tell my handlers. You know, I pulled on my ear and yelled? Right, that’s the one. Apparently the doctor told us what to look for that it might be getting worse.

Little congestion in my little chest and three coughs later I’m back in the den of weirdos in lab coats and prison costumes. They checked me out, and like I already said, it was nothing. Stop tripping everybody.

I checked into the cost of putting a staff doctor on the Perplexing Times payroll, full 24-hour service should be sufficient I figured. Apparently it would cost like $20,000 a month. While I can’t actually comprehend numbers like that it does seem a bit out of line. Compared to the current gross revenue of about $30 a month, we could really only hire someone about 14-minutes a month. I think you’d agree that’s simply inadequate.

Until a long term solution can be devised I’m stuck dealing with the two tripping hypochondriacs and a bunch of B-Movie quality rejects from the set of General Hospital wearing faded scrubs. Often matched poorly I should add. Friendly warning, mono a mono, when they pull out their thermometer, claim total recovery and prove it by bolting for the door.

 

Crisis Ensues, (Not ‘Just Tired’!)

So last night I was busy getting on all kinds of floor crawl, when something really awful happened. No, I can’t recall what it was, but that’s not the point, now is it?

I wasn’t hungry of uncomfy, didn’t want to be held or changed, yet something had me in a most irritable mood. Wasn’t something I ate, or just a bad day either. It was a full on crisis, and yet, no one around me could acknowledge it. Why?

My handlers and editorial staff all suggested I was ‘just tired’, but that only made things worse. Come on now, how could that be right? It was about my bedtime and I did have an early nap, but things just didn’t add up to me buying it.

Man, if I could just remember what it was, maybe I could convince them I’m not making this up. Experts* concur it must be amnesia. Possibly I had learned something shocking or suffered some terrible accident leaving me with no lingering side effects except the briefest of memory loss. Memory loss of the trauma itself. In either scenario my case is pretty water-tight.

Though it was an isolated experience, I consulted with my much older brother. He’s four. He told me that I can unfortunately look forward to many more such nights. What a tiral we face as lesser people**.

* Daytime television soap critics.
** By height and weight, anyhow.

Look Who’s Talking Fo’ Real, Lynnwood not Hollywood

Yeah okay, I babble. Yes I make noises. That’s not the point, I’m also talking. Yes, you heard me, talking.

I heard my father on the phone with a dear friend slash state certified counselor about me talking. She said at shy of 9-months it’s not really feasible to mimic yet. Dad told her the proof and she kept doubting… Skeptics, hush your traps.

Here’s the empirical evidence of my chatter.

  1. Mama said “Blah blah blah, Patrick,” and I said Patrick, quite clearly I’d like to add. Dad seemed pretty surprised and asked me, “Blah blah blah Patrick?” So I confirmed it, again I said Patrick.
  2. Same thing happened with the word “yes”. Unprovoked I echoed yes, then did so again.
  3. At the zoo, me and dad took turns saying “dad” for about 20 minutes. I must have said dad 35 times. Not just the endless dadadadada sound either, just “dad”.
  4. When we were leaving I was playing with my sock and dad point it out. I was feeling expensive so I said sock twice. Hey, why not?

These are no small accomplishments considering I’ haven’t even celebrated my 9-month birthday. Come to think of it, they haven’t even mention a party of any sort for my 9-month. Probably going to be a surprise party then, who knows.

More breaking news on this as it develops.

Roll Out WHAT Barrel?

Here I am, asking goofball tunes lady for clarification. No dice, she only spoke in utter nonsense riddles.

So I’m at this party, and we’re all getting ready to have an alleged barrel of fun. Why not, the gang’s all here?

But the problem is this ancient blonde lady squeezing the organ-squishy-whistle-de-do insists that before any of us can do it, we are required to roll out some magical mystery barrel… here I ponder, “huh? A barrel you say?”

To preface it only so slightly, it was a great party on the verge of getting better. Why you ask? (You’re smart if you do.) Because the wacky music lady said it was time to roll out the barrel. Therein lies the fabled barrel of fun. Sounds good to me, let’s make this happen.

So there lies my conundrum. I’m pretty little still, don’t know if it shows, I’m told a web presence adds 15 pounds, but I am still only 18 pounds 1 ounce… That’s pretty little, who’s with me? How on earth am I going to roll out any barrel, let alone one worthy of the so called ‘fun’.

So I’m looking for a barrel, after all, who doesn’t wish to have an extra dose of fun, but it’s simply nowhere to be found. I looked on the grass, by the table and even under no less than three of the chairs. Barrel? Nowhere to be found. A genuine shame because rumor has it, whomever possesses the barrel has the blues on the run.

Then this kooky musical lady actually says “Zing Boom Tarrarel, ring out a song of good cheer.” Okay, come on, how many songs of good cheer do I know? I don’t even know the alphabet song, and that probably still wouldn’t qualify. Am I maliciously being precluded from the after party? Zing boom tararrel? What could that possibly even mean? I’ve never even heard the word ‘Tarrarel’, and I question if it’s even real.

Needless to babble, I soon fell asleep. When I awoke, I was at home again. Here I am, left pondering, does the barrel exist? Was a barrel of fun had during my slumber? Does any of what I’m (badly) typing make any sense at all? For now, I’m committed to having my own darn barrel of fun. Every day is an adventure and I welcome it with little bitty open arms… shouldn’t you?

 

Newest Facial Treatment, Carrot Cake

You’ve heard me say before that skin lotion is a total scam, and by my experience, I stand by it. That doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to try something new.

Oh man, what a joyous event to use, not use, but EXPERIENCE the carrot cake.

With all the rage(s) in skin products, there must be something that really works. My search, it seems, is over.

Carrot cake, the product I tried most recently, is a marvellous alternative.

  • Instead of up to $30 per treatment, this can be had for mere nickels per use.
  • Availability is stellar, find it at most any supermarket or make it yourself. No need to drive to any uppity malls.
  • It has a cool, refrigerator-like temperature that really closes the pores down in a hurry.
  • The texture is varied, smooth for theapeutic help, with crunchy bits for exfoliation (defoliation? Can’t remember.) Plus there are chewy bits that hold it all together.
  • Carrot, a primary ingredient, is high in beta-carotine… I’m not sure what that means, but it really sounds bang-up good, doesn’t it?
  • The best part though, is that it’s non-toxic. You can even eat it without getting sick. Kind of tastes good too. Very few skin products can boast that, and this is the only one on record that tastes like, how can I describe it, like a cake made of carrot.

It’s rare that I endorse a product for fear of accusations of being a corporate sell-out. But I assure you neither the Carrot Cakers Association, nor any specific carrot cake conglomorate has paid for this endorsement. No cash, no candy, no juice was paid for my heartfelt endorsement.

I implore you to try it yourself, and write me with your own results. I’m curious to hear your experience.

I Fear I’m Becoming a Pirate

As we get older, we all experience change. Some subtle, others monumental. Yeah, I’m bigger. Yep, stronger too… But now my hair is turning red?

Look at me in the glory of my impending piracy. ARGH!

Red I say! (Well red-ISH anyhow.) This can’t be right. How did this happen? It was dark brown, then normal brown, now turning to red? This leads me to one of very few conclusions. Let’s break them on down.

  • I am a leprachaun. This is fairly likely, since I am Irish and I may have a pot of gold around here somewhere. This can’t be ruled out.
  • I am becoming a pirate. This is also pretty likely. I’ve been known to proclaim “ARGH”, walk with a funky gait, not unlike a peg-legged bandit of the high seas, and I’m sure I’d get along swimmingly with a parrot.
  • I will soon be an Irish Setter. Not quite as likely, but again, let’s come to terms with the Irish part of it. I have the correct number of limbs to be a dog. I guess I’ll just stay on the lookout for snout and/or tail growth. That was easy enough.
  • I am running a Looney Toons style fever, which is admittedly unlikely, but I have to think of all the possibilities. I don’t feel hot enough for this, so I’m okay with letting this one go.
  • I am turning into a cherry popsicle… okay, let’s not worry about this one. Too many problems with it, but it is red. Not the same red, mind you, but they are related phoenetically.

If you have any feedback to hasten my curious journey, it would be much appreciated. For now, should you see me on the street, you’d best surrender your gems and valuables. As for me, I have to go figure out how to shiver me timbers.