Zany Bands

...And the vacation wrap up.

 Another week in August and my LFG holidays for yet another summer will be in the memory bank. As the little princess settles into double-digithood, the giggly moments and fun antics remain abundant but the ten year old is vetting things more thoroughly. That’s code for “we are entering another phase”. It’s all good, don’t get me wrong…but I can see a more discerning little gal evolving. Growing into a young lady who doesn’t necessarily think that everything daddy comes up with antics-wise, is a home damn run. The five consecutive years of that reality were fun to say the least. I bet inflatable hair won’t make the cut next summer and assuredly, the craze will be something other than Zany Bands.

Why can’t I come up with one of these supernova uberfads and then cash out? I remember coming home from business travel, road weary and just plain happy to walk in the door and see my baby girl. She’d be giggling and drooling…happy baby style…blue eyes and no hair…I love bald babies. Hell I love bald women.

But LFG wasn’t giggling at me…she was watching the Wiggles. Your remember the Wiggles? Antipodean boys in pajamas, dancing around singing twee little songs and making millions…millions…millions. Damn. Then of course there was/is Webkinz…another stroke of genius.

 But character shaped rubber bands? They are all the rage and of course, we are fully engaged in the boondoggle. And I’ve got one—surprise I know—on my left wrist that none of you or your kids have. So there.

Next week I’ll be back on the road, blessed to be schlepping through another few airports, preaching to a bunch of sales and marketing folks about competitive positioning and why their “valued partner” strategy ain’t a strategy at all. Blessed, blessed, blessed…Jesus are you reading this?…that’s a hat trick gesture to once again let you know that I’m not complaining. But what I really need to do is invent that next big thing…for next summer. Any suggestions? Jesus?

So just a few more updates on our beach trip. FunLand…for me is the proverbial canary in the coal mine. The Rehoboth Boardwalk reminds me of the quainter beachside hamlets of my South Carolina youth. Before S.C. became known as the ground zero stinkhole of conservative politics. Ahh…but sweet revenge might be in the wings.

I love the fact that Nimrata Randhawa, a daughter of Sikh parents may become the next S.C. governor and good on her for it. She’ll get votes from both sides of the aisle simply in response to what has been some of the basest mudslinging ever. South Carolina, heal thyself…and Nikki Haley might just be a good first step for a state that is usually forty eight in SAT scores and number one in gonorrhea. Yay. 

Oh that’s right, we were talking about FunLand. The canary thing for me is this… I’ve always said that when the family that owns FunLand sells out—like the inevitable paving over of the South Carolina Grand Strand—manifesting in Kmart by the Sea, we’d not go to Rehoboth anymore. But I’ve adjusted the coalmine-canary index. This might have been our last time staying in Rehoboth. Maybe time to return to Bethany Beach.

I wasn’t kidding when I said in a previous post that I give everyone the benefit of the doubt regarding character and value as a child of God and I stand by that assertion now and forever. I also said that I hope that others would give me the same benefit of the doubt. So I don’t think I’m being hypocritical one bit when I say that the FunLand Rehoboth crowd has become trashier than ever. Surely if I got to know some of these people, I’d be pleasantly surprised. Hard working, strong moral construct, raising good young’uns…some of them probably yes. But I don’t know them and won’t be in circumstances that induce acquaintance. There was a time when the FunLand trad-yuppie/white trash ratio was an interesting one. Not no mo.

So until I’m amidst a three day get-acquainted retreat with you people, my conclusion is that you are trashy. That you don’t care to set good examples of basic deportment and fundamental breeding that teaches…shirts and shoes. You don’t have to be a Country Clubber or Mensa member to get that. And I’ve never seen so many bad tattoos in my life. Of all the things not to bargain hunt for is a tattoo parlor that prides itself on being the low cost provider of said service.

You might think it unfair for me to include the fella above in my rant. He’s heavy…there’s no crime in that…I agree. Even though the back of his neck, if he gained ten more pounds, would look like a pack of hotdogs. Shame on you ADG for picking on a heavy guy. I agree. The reason I’m singling this guy out is that while waiting in line ahead of us, his profane spewing ‘caused me to shield LFG’s ears from his “f-word rebukes”…and he was talking to his child. I’m no prude. I’ve long since reconciled with God and others that my lack of writing skill is clearly illuminated by the use of coarse language in my blog. But there’s a time and place for everything…almost.

I do have something in common with this winner. And it ain’t the nipple ring. We are the fathers of daughters and God herself only knows what kind of FunLand memories his little gal’s gonna have.

Hey cat daddy. It’s nighttime. Perhaps you shoulda left your ersatz designer shades in the truck. After all, you’ve got your Hour Eyes reading glasses hanging from your nose so the hat-shades rig is obviously for show. And what you are showing us ain’t pretty. I woulda given you a pass on my scathing sartorial and deportment rant but you too, Mr. Trash Mouth Daddy…used words my daughter shouldn’t have to hear.

Ok, back to the fun stuff….Inflatable Hair. My cousin MegTown gave us the lead on this B52-Baltimore Hon hair back around Christmas time. Only problem was that I’d have to have the hair shipped from the UK. 

No worries, I’d be over for a week pretty soon and I promised LFG that I’d get it for her. No deal—nadda…couldn’t find it. So imagine our surprise when LFG found the dippity-do flip curl air-hair. 

Eleven bucks later and we’re in business.

But wait, our favorite tchotchke shop had a couple of other things worthy of report. On the sartorial front, the Bacon Tuxedo jigsaw puzzle pert near kilt me to forego.

And this is just plain-ass wrong. Trolls…my older sister collected them when we were little and LFG always looks for one to send her…do not have boobs.

There’s one Trad Oasis in the midst of all the beach kitsch and therein, I found two shirt swatches from Individualized…the bespoke maker for J. Press and I think Brooks Brothers too. I’ve always felt that they were excellent shirts for the money and I’ll have a buddy back in S.C. make these up for me. Green awning stripe…button down collar…two button barrel cuffs…no pocket…ADG monogram opposite the 5^th button…in white thread.

Ditto the above configuration. But the oppo 5^th button ADG monogram thread will be green. Shut up.

Love-Structure-Discipline…I believe that this trifecta is the secret sauce to raising kids. And every child needs a different blend of each component, at different moments based on a plethora of reasons. And I’m a stern disciplinarian where LFG is concerned. I sat her down before leaving for the beach and told her in unwavering and no-uncertain terms that we would NOT be getting Hermit Crabs this year.

 Onward. Amidst a post rant endorphin flush.

ADG…with crabs. Hermits.