New Father Brogging, #026

If I had a dollar for every time my kid shit herself while riding in the car, then I could easily get a Chick Fil-A Spicy Chicken Sandwich meal.  Not the classic #1 combo, the spicy variant, which costs more.  With large fries and a large drink.  And a brownie.

Like at this point, it’s pretty laughable how routine this is becoming.  I/we decide to go run an errand, and bring our child, so that she can see a little bit of the world outside of the safe confines of the house.  When we get to our destination, I remove her from the car seat, and do the courtesy sniff test, to which is naturally like getting fierce punch Tiger Uppercutted by Sagat, and then it takes ten more minutes to actually get started with whatever said errand or destination I/we are doing, because I have to change her diaper in the back seat of my car, and pray to god that nothing leaked out and soiled her active clothing, not that her travel bag doesn’t already have a spare outfit in case of emergency.

It’s just funny how she can go days without pooping sometimes, but the second she’s put in her car seat and taken out on a ride, it’s basically automatic that she’s going to blow up.  It also doesn’t matter if she actually poops at home, and creates a false sense of security that the pipes have been cleared, that when you do go out, because it’s like there’s a separate release chamber strictly meant for while in the car that will be unleashed when taken out of the house. 

At least I know that if I’m ever concerned that my child is facing constipation or any strange digestive ailments that result in some backing up, I’ll know exactly what I have to do to increase my odds of helping alleviate her.

It’s naturally a little gross and off-putting at times, the whole notion of babies and poop, but historically Asian cultures are pretty laissez-faire about pooping in general, often citing good bowel movements as indicative of good health.  And since my child is half Asian, the topic of poop will not be off-limits or very taboo; if anything at all, it’s something of a personal trope that I can laugh about, at its absurd predictability.  And maybe one day when she herself is reading through my brog in the distant future, she’ll cringe and wince at the notion of dad putting this all down in writing.

Quarantine Hair

The last time I got my hair cut was January 10, 2020.  Obviously, I looked up old bank statements to find out precisely when the last transaction was made to my barber, but I knew it was way back a while because I remember the disgusting growth of my hair throughout the weeks into months after my child was born and ‘Murica descended into the endless pit of pandemic.

For obvious distancing reasons, this could not be rectified at all for a period of time, and I genuinely had concerns that my barber, who is a one-person independent operation, might actually be in jeopardy during the initial onset of coronavirus and the sheer nightmare it was wreaking on small businesses across the country.  I entertained the idea of experimenting with my own clippers and perhaps doing something on my own, especially seeing as how I rarely leave the house as it is and nobody would see any abominations that might’ve happened before it could grow back in, but with a kid in tow and life getting turned upside down, my hair was barely a concern.

As some might recall, Georgia was basically the first state to rashly drop most distancing guidelines and our idiot governor was very quick to allow for haircuts to be one of the services to be allowed back, regardless of the endless spike of infection cases throughout the country.  Despite the fact that I had a green light to go get my hair taken care of, there was a large part of me that simply refused to go along with it, because I frankly did not agree with the notion that barbers and salons were “essential;” they were more catering to the vanity of people who feel the need that their fucking hair is worth putting human lives in danger.

So, for months, my hair has been growing and becoming quite unruly throughout the process.  For a while, I was still able to keep somewhat of the spiky faux-hawk look that’s kind of become my general look, but eventually the length began to defy gravity, and it started to become the long wavy mess that it becomes when it gets too long. 

A part of me was tickled at the idea of trying to grow a man-bun since full disclosure, I actually don’t mind the way a lot of them can look.  But that would likely have required longer than a year to really accomplish, and frankly when I get flustered, anxious or stressed, hair getting in my face is one of the easiest triggers of aggravation there could be, which is why I went short every single time I even thought about letting it grow out.  Plus, my hair is really thin to begin with, so even with tied up, it’s a small yield of fluff that doesn’t seem worth it.

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I’m confused

In short: Atlanta suburb dealing with a rash of anti-Semitic vandalism

Let’s focus on the defaced photo of the sign here: Most people who don’t live in Georgia probably don’t know who Karen Handel is, but she did make some national news a few years back when she was in a congressional race for Georgia’s 6th District against Jon Ossoff, which became hot news and drew tons of national attention.  She ultimately defeated Ossoff to retain her congressional seat, but in 2018, was defeated by newcomer Lucy McBath, who played an expert game of politics by appealing to moms and stayed far as fuck away from the T word as humanly possible.

But anyway, like most women named Karen, Karen Handel is not letting it go, and is gunning to get her seat back.  I should also mention that Karen Handel is also a devout Republican, and as long since pledged her allegiance to the baked potato, and it was in fact a little bit of rub from the baked potato which helped her retain her seat back in 2016.

Which is why it’s really perplexing to me why someone would bother vandalizing a Karen Handel sign, in the name of the baked potato?  Why would someone tag baked potato messaging onto a sign for a baked potato follower?

Maybe the sign(s) in question are just in very conspicuous locations, and were the only things to deface in order to get the most visibility?  Or maybe the idiot(s) doing the graffiti actually don’t know that Karen Handel is also a Republican, and is actually on the baked potato’s side of, everything?  I mean I’m willing to wager it’s more the latter than the former, but when the day is over, it just makes whomever is doing the tagging look like the biggest dumbass of all.

Not to mention their sheer sloppiness when it comes to tagging; I mean seriously, they have put some of the worst and lowest-effort swastikas I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and the general curliness to their spray pattern suggests some effeminate penmanship.  Honestly, the swastikas are so bad, they barely look like swastikas, but more like some weird pinwheel gang tag that would seem very apropos to the bougie East Cobb Mean Street Posse that’s likely doing this.  

If I had to guess it’s some spineless white teenager(s) who is so hopped up on adrenaline for thinking they’re pulling the coup of the century by tagging fences and public spaces, that they’re rushing so horribly at making rushed and poor quality tags, that it just makes them look stupid on top of all the sad that there already is in this situation.

Everyone on the internet is a Colin Robinson until proven otherwise

Since my daughter’s been born, mythical wife and I haven’t watched a tremendous amount of television. I may have mentioned it before, but ultimately we’re hoping to avoid exposing our child to too much screen time until she’s around two years old, because we’d prefer to be parents who can stimulate their child’s brain without having to resort to plopping them in front of a television and hoping to let digital technology raise her. Needless to say, since having a kid, we’ve watched maybe a handful of things, mostly bullshit like 90 Day Fiancé or My 600 Lb. Life.

In addition to TLC’s greatest hits, one show in particular we’ve actually worked our way through has been FX’s What We Do In the Shadows, which has been great because the episodes are short, and the plot is funny in the mockumentary style of format. The cast is outstanding and the general plot is so ridiculous and quick-paced that it’s an easy show where we can watch one or two episodes, step away from viewing for a few days or a week, and then pick right back up without much difficulty.

After blowing through the two available seasons, I’d have to say that the one character that I enjoyed the most was Colin Robinson, the energy vampire. Mostly treated as a tertiary character, his whole spiel is that he’s not one of the traditional blood-sucking vampires, but rather one who feeds off of the energy of others, including the ability to drain from other vampires. He’s basically the troll among trolls in Nandor’s house, and in my opinion, he’s the funniest character among the entire cast.

There’s one episode in particular where he’s expanding on his powers to drain energy from victims by utilizing the internet, and then it occurred to me that Colin Robinson is basically the living embodiment of every internet troll on the planet. We re-watched the first episode recently, and there’s a line he mentions during the initial character introductions where “you probably know an energy vampire,” and then it hit me like a ton of bricks that he couldn’t be any more accurate that basically we all do.

Every anonymous internet troll, asshole whom you don’t know who chimes in on a social media conversation, is a Colin Robinson. An energy vampire who’s deliberately trying to deliberately trying to get under your skin and get you to tilt, so that they can drain your energy, even from afar. Once this connection is bought in, it’s actually quite amusing to envision the face on the other end of the keyboards in any sort of internet confrontation, probably looking like Colin Robinson, a bald, middle aged Dilbert looking guy. And as much as the Colin Robinsons probably got their rocks off on feeding on your energy, there’s something empowering to know that such a dorky looking dweeb is probably the one on the other end of the interwebs from any sort of online debate.

I don’t care if it’s a work

I mean, there’s a 100% chance that this is a work, because things in the WWE universe don’t happen if they aren’t; but anyway, I just wanted to say that I took tremendous enjoyment out of Adam Cole blasting into Pat McAfee during his shitty radio show, because I fucking can’t stand Pat McAfee, and it’s a pleasure to hear a strong talker like Adam Cole tear into him.

Since I’ve devolved into a way more filthy casual wrestling fan over the years, my only real exposure to the WWE product really is down to NXT re-broadcasts once they’re made available on the Network, and PPV events.  Without cable, I can’t watch RAW, I can’t watch NXT live, and frankly I can never find the time or want to watch Smackdown despite the fact that I can watch FOX on Friday nights.  NXT UK is currently shuttered due to coronavirus, and I don’t even think the WWE personnel even watches Main Event or 205 Live.

So occasionally, I’ll have the wherewithal to tune into a WWE PPV, and over the last few years that I’ve been able to intercept a pre-show, my thoughts have often been, who the fuck is this guy??

This ginger, jew-fro’d geek with a receding hairline and a voice that makes me think of the scientist guy from The Simpsons, so having said that, I am naturally referring to Sam Roberts.  I had no idea who he was, and why he got to be on the pre-show panel with guys like Booker T and Renee Young, but all I knew was that I thought he was annoying, and I was not a fan.

But then came along this other guy, some douchebag-looking Chad, who exuded a frat-bro personality tantamount to his appearance, and my brow crinkled even more at the notion that the WWE kept opening their doors to these douchey marks to be on their pre-shows.  Well that turned out to be Pat McAfee, and he immediately gave me X-Pac Heat vibes, and I was really tempted to tune out entirely thanks to him, but I wanted to watch the PPV, so I grit my teeth and soldered through.

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Baseball is great, but sometimes I fucking hate MLB

I was reading this article about how David Wright is still going to be making $12 million dollars in 2020, regardless of if any baseball happens or not, and it leaves me with a feeling of disgust for Major League Baseball for allowing shit like this to happen.

In this particular instance, I can’t blame David Wright for anything other than being a leech and not retiring four years ago, because the Mets and MLB allowed this contract to happen, and MLB doesn’t have the balls to reject the Players Association’s demand for guaranteed contracts, falling back on insurance policies to cover up for the sunk costs.  But the reality is that David Wright hasn’t played in a meaningful game since 2016, missed all of 2017, played in two symbolic games in 2018 to signal his retirement, but didn’t actually retire and continued to get paid throughout 2019, and will get paid in 2020, the final year of his contract, in spite of the very good likelihood that there will be no MLB at all this year.

Also mentioned in the article is Prince Fielder, whom like David Wright, called it quits in 2016, but by virtue of not actually retiring on paper, continued to cash in over the last four years by virtue of the remainder of his contract.  In fact, Prince Fielder stands to be the highest paid player in all of MLB in 2020, because unlike all the active players that are sitting home doing diddly squat on prorated per-diems, Fielder’s remaining $24M is 100% guaranteed, and I suppose there’s something in the literature that even protects it from complete work stoppage.

Let that sink in for a second; two guys that haven’t even played baseball in four years, will be making more money for not playing baseball, than guys like Mike Trout and Bryce Harper, who have the highest respective contracts in baseball currently, because even if some hackneyed season does come to fruition, it’s a safe bet that they’ll be on prorated salaries.

Speaking of prorated salaries, let’s talk about about Tampa Bay pitcher Blake Snell, who has boldly stated that he will outright refuse to play in 2020, unless he’s going to be receiving his full prorated pay, because the current proposal dictates that there be a 50/50 split between the owners and player salaries, meaning players would effectively be receiving 50% of their prorated salaries if a season were to occur.

So for example, if MLB gets their shit together and slaps together a season of 81 games, or half of a season, than Blake Snell should be contractually obligated to half of his $7.6M salary, which would be $3.8 million dollars.  But with the 50/50 split coming into play, then that $3.8M is reduced to $1.9M.

$1.9 million dollars.  To play baseball, ultimately a children’s game.

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This car FUCKS

A long time ago, there was a guy my then-group of friends knew that got a Subaru Impreza.  He was one of those guys that at the time, nobody really cared a tremendous amount about, but nobody really had the heart to tell him to fuck off.  Plus, as long as he felt included in the group, he could always be relied upon to bring food and/or snacks to any sort of arranged gatherings.

Anyway, aside from the fact that he bought an automatic transmission, we often passive-aggressively clowned on him for his car, because that’s what a bunch of Initial D-inspired auto enthusiasts did amongst each other.  Other points of ridicule were how he got his car literally months before the WRX was unleashed, how he got a huge speeding ticket in Pennsylvania for driving like a retard, and the time he wrecked because he thought AWD made him invincible.

My favorite method of trolling him was that I often times told him that he made a mistake getting an Impreza, and that the real coup of coolness would’ve been if he had gotten a Forester instead; the Impreza’s dorky but more utilitarian older brother.  Sure, the Forester was definitely more of a family car, but it was always fun to glorify the cargo room and the utility of the Forester over his Impreza.

The best was when we discovered the existence of a Forester STI, that Subaru released overseas, which was a jacked-up high-performance variant of the Forester, which not only retained all the utility of the original Forester, but had all sorts of performance upgrades that made it like two classes above what this guy got in his automatic Impreza.  That’s the car he should’ve gotten instead.

Needless to say, since then, I’ve always carried somewhat of a positive connotation with the Forester, even if it stemmed from ironic, griefing purposes.

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