50 Days of Summer: Guest Post

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Today I’m posting a very special kind of post. I’m posting a guest post. Except the guest doesn’t even know I’m posting it. But his or her comment deserves to be read by the entire world. Or all forty of you.

Approximately two decades ago on this blog, I was writing about a character from Jurassic Park: The Lost World. This character is named Eddie Carr. I know nothing about Eddie Carr. I know next to nothing about The Lost World. I’ve seen it twice and hated it twice.

Here are the things I know about The Lost World:

1. The family dog dies. Fuck this movie.

2.  There is a character named Eddie Carr in it. I only know this because I have an action figure of this character in my basement. I have two of them, actually.

One time, two or three decades ago, or maybe a million years ago, I wrote a blog post about my bemusement that Eddie Carr action figures exist. At the time I wrote dismissively, “in the film, Eddie Carr is the balding field equipment technician who is unceremoniously killed by a pack of raptors somewhere halfway through the movie. Kids will really want an action figure of this guy.”

Today, someone left this comment on that post. This is your guest post, insane, glorious, Internet-stranger:

“Unceremoniously killed by a pack of raptors”?!?

He died trying to save three people trapped in an RV hanging off a cliff.  He risked his life to get to them, his limbs to rig the winch, and he stayed in the drivers seat of that Mercedes SUV despite not one but TWO T-Rex’s baring down on him. He stayed at his post bravely mashing the gas pedal while in reverse trying to hold the RV from falling giving his friends the precious seconds they needed to secure themselves to the rope that EDDIE had thrown to them.

He also secured the little girl up in the high blind where she would be safe.
The man is a GOD DAMNED HERO. He saved both Vince Vaughn and Jeff Goldblum. His actions are directly responsible for saving the lives of four people.

Even as the T-Rex’s tore apart the vehicle around him he held his post and that gas pedal. He didn’t do that for himself, he did that to save his people because he was a beautiful, caring, selfless man.

I think he deserves a presidential commendation for his bravery and for sacrificing his life to save his comrades. It’s the only scene in a movie where I’ve openly wept for such a great characters death.”

Whoever you are, I would buy your book.

Naptime Chonicles: The Drive Home / Everything Will Be Fine.

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The Baby On Board sign potentially means many things — a yuppie status symbol, an alert sign for first responders in an emergency, a sign that tells other moron drivers to get off your ass because you have precious cargo. But I think the real reason we put it up is that we’re all secretly hoping that it somehow emits a protective forcefield around the car.

I tried to psych myself up, though I was just as likely psyching myself out. It’s just like a video game, I thought to myself as I strapped the baby into the car seat for the first time, getting us ready for the drive home.

I’ve been preparing for this my entire life. Everything I learned from video games was going to be crucial for this drive: laser-sharp focus, quick reaction time, precision-timed jumping. Well, maybe not that.

We walked out of the postnatal ward, venturing towards The World.  Somewhere in the corridor, I’m pretty sure a person either sneezed or coughed or spontaneously bled out of their eyelids, sending an air raid of germs to rain down on my three-day-old son.

I decided I would be totally fine with living in that hospital room the rest of our lives. All three of us, just like that. The baby in his little plastic container bin, the wife on the hospital bed, and me on the pull-out bedchair thing. We’d subsist on the many shades of brown foods from the hospital cafeteria, and in the evenings, we’d play along with Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. It would be okay.

Speaking of that little plastic container bin that baby slept in: yeah, about that. After months of crib research on the internet, I’d come away thinking the only reasonable, safe option was the organic, sustainably-sourced, certified-chemical-free, New Zealand pine crib that cost a million dollars, with a mattress made from handpicked soybeans personally blessed by a priest.

So that’s what I bought.

Rookie mistake. And I realized it once they placed my kid in a plastic tub on a metal push cart that might have been used for room-service food delivery in a previous life. And you know what? My kid was perfectly okay being in that tub. And he would also be perfectly okay one day rolling around on our formaldehyde-emitting laminate floors. Putting the dog toys in his mouth. Licking the restaurant table. Eating microwaved macaroni.

Everything will be fine.

There are so many warning labels affixed to everything your child will remotely come in contact with. Warning labels on the food he eats, chair he sits it, on the back of the pacifiers, on the clothes tags, on the sheets, on the crib, mattress, every single toy — like, EVERYTHING CAN AND WILL HARM YOUR CHILD.

Then there’s the warnings on everything you’re doing wrong, from the way you put the baby to sleep to the way you possibly fucked the car seat up. There’s a million warnings about medical care, the air, the water, the sun. Taking your child outside is DANGEROUS.

EVERYTHING IS BAD. That’s what parenting is like in 2015, navigating a world of everyone telling you everything is bad. I’m personally rejecting and taking a stand against this.

Everything will be fine. It’s a bold new philosophy.

And that’s also how I made it out to the car. The drive was a blur. But everything was fine. Except for the part where a Goomba tried to cross my path, but I did a precision superspeed run/jump/land and took out a Koopa Troopa as well. The kid slept right through it. I’m such a pro.

50 Days of Summer: Ahhhh Jurassic Park Stuff!

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Summer means blockbusters means merchandising frenzies. And I’m loving the dino-crap goodness of it all. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but I’m planning to this week.

About two weeks ago, I went to Toys-R-Us giving myself explicit permission to purchase any Jurassic World item I so desired.

Actually, it was for my kid. He and I collect dinosaurs, y’know. (Insert comment from the wife: “he’s a baby. He doesn’t collect anything.”

Honestly, I was a little disappointed in the line of Jurassic World toys. The basic dino figures are drab and modern-plasticky-looking. Toys in the 80s and 90s had that certain sheen about them, but they must have removed some cancer-causing-chemical, because now all toys have a dullness in their colors. There were also some kind of Transformers/dinosaur/rock’em sock’em hybrid toys that just looked stupid as hell.

When I walked down the Hot Wheels aisle, it was then that I finally found some worthy Jurassic World toys. I came home with this. For my son.

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I also found out that Wal-Mart has an exclusive mystery bag of mixed miniature dinosaur figures. It’s waaaaay overpriced at $15, but I shelled out. Again, for my son.

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I do realize that die-cast metal cars and choking-hazard dinosaurs are not appropriate for an 11-month old, so I’ll just have to keep them for myself until then.

Of course, the Jurassic World item I was most excited for was the Peeps Dinosaur Eggs. Because look at it:

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Now I’m going to disappoint you. They’re disgusting. They’re “blue raspberry”-flavored, which is a really unfortunate dental-fluoride-like flavor. Added bonus: my mouth broke out in canker sores within a few minutes of eating it. Added added bonus: each egg is 110 calories. That’s like 20 minutes of jogging. I hate myself.

Other potentially cool JW items that I might have to pick up for my son:

This Mosasaurus Plush:

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This Lunchbox Which is Kind of Amazing:

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This Book Because It’s Called Danger: Dinosaurs and That’s a Life Lesson He’ll Need

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This Shirt:

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Although I think we all kind of wish that kid in the picture didn’t survive.

50 Days of Summer: Ice Cream Review

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Dude. I’m totally using my 50 Days theme as a justification for trying a billion ice creams this summer. The first thing to catch my eye was Airheads Extremes Ditz Ice Cream. That’s way way too many titles. So let’s just call it what it really is: Dippin’ Dots.

And because The Surfing Pizza is known for its comprehensive journalism, let’s take a quick detour through the history and science of Dippin’ Dots.

1987: Microbiologist Curt Jones begins research to cryogenically freeze ice cream into small beads.

– The first flavor is vanilla.

– The most popular flavor is Cookies & Cream.

– The least popular flavor is Lamb Shanks & Gravy

– I made that up. If it exists, the least popular is Rum Raisin or Butter Pecan or some other old person flavor.

1992: Dippin’ Dots acquired a patent on its ice cream and, in 1996, sued its main competitor, Mini Melts.

2009: The Dippin’ Dots At-Home Maker is unleashed. It sucks and crushes the will of children everywhere. I will quote three Amazon reviews to give you the gist:

– “Basically, what you’re getting is a very over-engineered ice cube tray.”

– “There seems to be no point to the steps you go through to produce the final product here.”

– “I was expecting something that makes dippin dots like the dippin dots you buy in the stores. However, it just makes tiny round ice cubes basically from whatever drink you choose. Also, the frozen dots all stick together in chunks. I do not recommend this.”

2011: Dippin’ Dots files for bankruptcy. Of course, the entire future of ice cream hinges on this. Thankfully, John Connor sends a Terminator back in time to prevent Judgement Day.

2013: Local DC bartender invents Drinkin’ Dots, combining alcohol and the nitrogen-enhanced ice cream. Dippin’ Dots threatens litigation. They are renamed “Cryo-Spheres.”

2015: Airheads gets into the nitrogen ice cream game with Ditz.

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One word review: Yes.

One-hundred-word review: It’s like if Fruity Pebbles and Dippin’ Dots had a baby. Yes, it’s really that good. These are amazing.  I am amazed. They are so cold they burn my mouth a little but I don’t even care. I got the Fruitiest Fruit flavor,  which claims to be comprised of “Blue Raspberry,” “Green Apple,” and “Orange.” But it doesn’t taste like that. It just tastes like Fruity Pebbles. It’s not sherbert-y; it’s a definite ice-cream experience. The other flavor is a Mixed Berry one. I am definitely adding those to my shopping list.

Review written in a language so that extra-terrestrial aliens can read it: Zxxc–%#%ytyp!&

50 Days of Summer: Jaws Shirt Giveaway!

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This week is the 40th anniversary of the film Jaws. To celebrate, I’ve teamed up with TV Store Online to give away a Jaws t-shirt.

Jaws has been traumatizing kids since June 1975, and I’m pretty sure it’s the reason that I don’t like to swim in the ocean. Although it’s probably really jellyfish. I still don’t understand how anyone can truly enjoy themselves in the water knowing that there are bloodless, heartless brainless blobs WITH TENTACLES that STING PEOPLE.

Seriously people, they don’t have ORGANS. THEY ARE NIGHTMARES. Sharks are adorable compared to jellyfish.

Okay, I’m now going to present you with five incredibly true and interesting loosely-related SHARK FACTS:

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Okay now for GIVEAWAY TIME.

HOW DO I WIN A SHIRT

WHAT SHIRT DO I WIN

1. Leave a comment. About sharks, duh. Or the beach. Or jellyfish. Or just go rogue and tell me what you’re having for lunch later.

2. You have until Friday morning. I’m picking the winner promptly on Friday morning and emailing them with the best news of the summer. YOU WON A JAWS T-SHIRT! Comment before Friday morning!

3. Pick a shirt! You can pick any shirt you want. When I email you, the winner, just let me know which one and which size you want: Jaws Shirts!!!!!!!

4. Okay. Go!