Thursday, January 13, 2011
I have 6 tables - kitchen, dining, porch, project (basement - old kitchen from 8 yrs ago), project (garage) and a card table.
Maybe this has something to do with watching fight club last week at 1:00 am when I couldn't sleep, but I was dumbfounded at my consumerism. 6 tables! Even if everyone in my family could claim ownership of one of those tables, there would still be two left over for the dogs.
Also, I realized my new pants were already getting too tight.
I am living the american dream.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Granted, if I had personalities like the following:
- Detailed & humorless electrical engineer
- Rocket riding space cowboy
- Burlesque dancer
...it should be pretty easy to pick the right one. But what if I had the following:
- Detailed & humorless electrical engineer
- Sloppy & funny mechanical engineer
- Living in 1984 former football could-have-been-a-star
- Greedy wall-street tycoon
- Grumpy guy that yells at kids taking a short cut across his lawn on their way home from school.
...how can the doctor say with all integrity that the personality he chooses is 100% the right one? Isn't there a chance that he could be wrong and at the end of treatment, the patient ends up being someone completely different than who they really are?
I imagine the doctor would rely heavily on family and friends to determine who the person was before they split into several. I shudder at the thought of my wife being the main source of who I am.
"Mrs. Geilman, tell me about your husband when you first met," says Dr. Spaceman.
"Well, he was thinner, had more hair on his head and less on his back. His jaw was more defined-"
“No, no Mrs. Geilman, not what he looked like but what he was like – you know his traits and characteristics. Things he would do, etc…”
“Oh, well he always made me laugh, was happy in his work,” Anna would say and as she spoke she would realize the wonderful opportunity that was laid before her, “and he always said I was the most precious thing in all the world and his entire life was devoted to showing me he meant it. He bathed, fed, and dressed the kids every day. Did all the laundry and cooked every meal. He gave me back rubs every night and every other Saturday surprised me with diamonds. On the off Saturdays, he mixed it up with other precious stones. He made his own clothes so that I would have more money to buy things for me and never, ever complained when I asked him to get a second job to cover my newest hobby. He promised to buy me a Mercedes before he turned thirty three next year and was also going to build a closet just for my purses. He loved dusting and cleaning windows, watching everything on TLC and looked forward to watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ with me every afternoon. Oh, and most importantly, he firmly believed that carnal desires were still wrong even in the bonds of marriage and would only act on them for the purpose of procreation and two kids was the perfect number.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Geilman. This will be very helpful,” says Dr. Spacemen as he scribbles furiously on his yellow pad.
“Oh, my pleasure. I just hope you can help him be the man he was again,” Anna says sweetly. “If I think of anything else, can I email you a list?”
“Yes, yes. That would be fine.”
Terrifying, isn’t it? I guess for the sake of saving my real self in case I ever suffer from multiple personality disorder, I should probably start keeping a secret journal. Or maybe a fake secret journal where I detail my exploits as a rocket riding space cowboy.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Thinking this makes me miss Percy, the pet pygmy goat and now I’m thinking about the time he got into the grain (goat crack apparently) barrel and ate until he couldn’t reach any more and then didn’t move for several days. He just climbed into his manger to lie down and moan. No kidding, the goat slept in a manger. Talk about a god complex.
Anyway, lying down and moaning sounds good right now because, my stomach hurts from my expired anti-depressant supplement. But at least I can give myself points for bringing this post full circle. Thank you.
P.S. Trying to lose weight. Today’s reading: 258.4, and yes, I will be measuring in tenths of a pound.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
This post goes out to all the men out there scratching their heads and wondering, “What was she so mad about?” or “What were we fighting about?”
You can stop reading now if any of the following apply:
· You decided to upgrade your T.V. without discussion even though the old one worked fine.
· You came home smelling of smoke and sweat and had subtle hints of glitter on your clothes.
· One of your/her children is missing an appendage that they certainly had before the game started.
· You quit your job to become a full time blog commenter.
If any of these sound like recent events in your life, then you should know why you were fighting. If you don’t see any similarities with the list above, then continue on and enjoy the epiphany that I just had.
It’s all a test – the crazy fights that leave you wondering how in the world putting the jelly in the fridge door shelf is so much better than on the interior shelf or why the floor has to be moped once a week, even if you were gone on vacation or [insert own example here]. Every fight like that, every single one is a test to see how well you apologize.
Go back to dating land if you’re deep in the trenches of marriage or if you’re dating and having had this experience yet; brace yourselves – its coming.
We all know that the dating period is a tryout, a special time to answer all the questions we have regarding a potential mate (another post is required to cover that topic). And for her, one of the questions is “How well does he apologize?”
Think about it for just a moment. If you are buying a car and know that you are going to be using it repeatedly to make the yellow, you’re going to want to know that it can cover 200 yards in 2 seconds many, many times without issue. For a woman, she knows (whether consciously or sub) that her man will spend at least 5% of his life apologizing for something. (Go ahead, do the math. Average life span of 85 years equals 4.25 years of apologizing. That’s solid.) She needs to know how well you can do it. AND that’s where the crazy fights come from. Blame hormones, blame PMS, blame whatever but I honestly believe that your first WTF? fight comes from her need to know that you could when an Olympic medal in the “I know I didn’t do anything wrong but still can apologize convincingly” category (coming in 2024).
So, if it hasn’t happened yet, start practicing. If it has, I hope that I’ve made some sense of the senseless. And for those of you thinking, “What just a minute, SpandexMonkey? I’ve been with my wife or girlfriend for seventy-five years and we’re still having WTF? fights. If I passed the first one with flying colors, shouldn’t that have ended?” – The answer is NO. These will continue to happen. Just like I got my degree in engineering but have to spend the rest of my life learning and passing tests to get continuing education credits to stay an engineer, you are all screwed too. Even though you nailed it once, you will still be subject to pop quizzes and refresher courses for the rest of your life. It’s just part of it so eat some humble pie, work on your sincere eyes and tell yourself, “This is only a test. If this were a real emergency, she wouldn’t even be talking to me.”
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
“Your nose is full of boogers, Daddy.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll take care of it.”
“You know…you should eat them.”
“No thanks. I’ll just blow my nose later.”
“You should eat them. They’re yummy!”
Jude then demonstrated said recommendation. No more kisses or high fives for him.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The other day, I needed to buy more floss, something I’ve only had to do a half dozen times in my life. On my way home from work, I stopped by the store and picked up three or four spools/boxes/cases/containers/whatever-unit-defines floss and paid a whopping $4.34 for all of it. Now I have a ‘thing’ of floss in my car, at work for after lunch, in my bathroom at home and an extra just in case my two year old gets a hold of any of the other ones and drop them into the toilet and I have to wait for it to dry out.
While I was selecting my floss, I was struck by the thought that I actually care if I waste it. And then I was immediately struck by how strange that is. Each container has 100 yards of floss inside. Each container costs $1 plus tax - $1.08. So each yard of floss costs slightly over $0.01. That’s it. Once cent for three feet of floss. That’s 36 inches. That’s 0.9144 meters for any metric users out there. That is a heck of a bargain. I can’t think of anything else that I get a yard of for a penny. And on top of that, I don’t use a full yard when I floss. I use maybe a foot to a foot and a half so my average floss cost per use is between 1/3 and ½ of an American cent!
This has got to be the cheapest thing in my life!
And yet, whenever I’m preparing to floss, get distracted and tear off a piece too short to wrap around my fingers several times and still have the ideal span for proper cleaning, I suffer through it. I force myself to be uncomfortable with my floss because I can’t waste the piece of waxed string that cost me less than 1/3 of a penny. I have to use it. Something inside tells me that it is a sin to just throw away the too-short piece. I don’t remember ever being taught that floss wasting is defined in Leviticus as one of the big no-no’s but somehow, that belief is just as real as my wife’s belief that trees hibernate for winter.
Why is it that I can’t throw away the short piece and write off the 1/3 cent and yet, I have no problem not reaching the bottom of a $7 tub of popcorn at a movie theater? Or why do I let me car idle for twenty minutes with the heat on high on winter mornings so I don’t have to scrape the ice of the windows, but little Mr. Floss is too precious to just discard?
Does anyone else have this problem or a similar ridiculous priority paradigm? Share in comments below. I’d love to know what similar or other kinds of crazy there is out there.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
icanhascheezburger.com (aka lol cats) and totallylookslike.com are my favorites. Check out my recent totallylookslike contribution:
And my favorite posting from lol cats ever:
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Jenny Rae Rappaport
I am about to run out the door to meetings and BEA stuff, but my lovely client, Carol Pinchefsky, has requested that I post this. Carol is one of the contest editors at The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and informs me that you have TWO days left to enter this. Follow the instructions below!
COMPETITION #78: THE SECRET HISTORY OF F&SF Fantasy & Science Fiction magazine, originally titled The Magazine of Fantasy, was founded in 1949 by Anthony Boucher and J. Francis McComas…or was it?
Describe, in 50 words or less, the secret origins of F&SF. Alternate histories, imagined conversations, and science-fictional (or magical) twists on the truth are more than welcome. Another welcomed element: funny.
Example: Shirley Jackson and Theodore Sturgeon leave a little basket on the doorstep of Anthony Boucher with a tear-stained note: “Please take care of our baby. Raise it as if it were your own.”
You have six chances to rewrite history before midnight EST, May 28th. Send your entries to email@example.com. Please remember to include your telephone number and snail-mail address. PRIZES: First prize will receive a sub- scription to F&SF good for the next sixty years along with a copy of The Diamond Jubilee. Second prize will receive advance reading copies of three forthcoming novels. Any runners-up will receive one-year subscriptions to F&SF. Results of Competition 78 will appear in the Oct/Nov. 2009 issue. Judges are the editors of F&SF, and their decision is final. All entries become the property of F&SF.
I thought I’d toss my hat in the ring and quickly realized writing something witty in only fifty words was really hard. It reminded me of ‘A River Runs Through It’ where little Norman is repeatedly sent back to rewrite what he’d written in half the space. After several hours and many revisions, I had my six submissions ready and I fired them off.
A week later, I received the following email:
And the winner is...you.
Mazel tov. You've just won 60 years of Fantasy & Science Fiction magazine.
Thanks for making us laugh.
Sincerely, Carol Pinchefsky
Editor, F&SF magazine
> 3. “The tea on the right enhances your appeal to women. The
> tea on the left will help you create a tome of the science fiction and
> fantasy canon,” the old gypsy cackled before disappearing into the
> Francis turned to Anthony.
> “Was that her right or our right?”
> Daniel Geilman
(My winning submission next to the >s)
What a happy, happy day! I had won something! Not by luck, not by chance, but by the sweat of my creative brow, I had won something. True, it was for a magazine I’d never heard of before entering the contest and with the way print media is heading, when I am 90 the magazine will probably not be around anymore but the fact of the matter is - I had won. This is my leg lamp – all due to my ‘mind power’.
Weeks of dopey smiles and personal pride passed as I waited for the Oct/Nov issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction magazine to arrive so I could show family and friends that I had actually accomplished something with writing. My name would be in print and no matter how small and unread as it might be, I would have something to put on my query letters as a writing credit.
So, the magazine (that is actually more like a paperback book) arrived and I found the page with the winning entries to read to my oblivious children and ‘worshipping’ wife.
I said, reading aloud –
“ ‘Congratulations to Daniel Geilman, who wins 60 years of bragging rights to go with his 60-year subscription.
“The tea on the right enhances your appeal to women. The tea on the left will help you create a tome of the science fiction and fantasy,” the old gypsy cackled before disappearing into the night.
Francis turned to Anthony.
“Was that her right or our right?” ‘
That doesn’t sound right, does it, Anna? What’s wrong with it? Did I leave something out?….NOOOOO! They left out ‘canon’. They left a word out!”
It’s been several weeks now and it still hurts. I have 60 years of a free magazine and 60 years of bragging rights but to anybody taking the time to read page 319 of the Oct/Nov 2009 edition of Fantasy & Science Fiction, I look like an idiot. So, my name is in print and I have something, howbeit small and inconsequential, to put as a writing credit on my query letters to agents but should I use it?
I know mistakes happen and I bear no ill will towards the nice people at Fantasy & Science Fiction but come on!
My leg lamp came with gout and diabetes-blackened toes.
Monday, September 21, 2009
To illustrate how good ‘Big Bang Theory’ is, consider this: The show is produced by Chuck Lorre. This show almost makes up for the fact that Chuck Lorre is also the producer of ‘Two and a Half Men”. The only fact that keeps it from completely making up for the tragedy of 2.5 men is the fact that ‘Arrested Development’ was cancelled as a result of the popularity of 2.5 men.
Watch ‘The Big Bang Theory’ and DVR each episode. At the end, pause on Chuck Lorre’s vanity screen and read the text. It’s worth your time. I promise.
Also, congratulations to Jim Parsons for his Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series Emmy nomination. It was not a big surprise that he didn’t win given the competition but the fact that he was nominated, I think, was still pretty awesome.
Season premier tonight September 21 at 9:30/8:30 central.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
The other day on AMC, I watched Mel Brooks’ ‘History of the World: Part I’ (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082517/). I laughed, chuckled, guffawed and giggled through the spoof, having a wonderful time and then I became quite sad when the Roman period spoof started and Mel Brooks’ character described himself as a ‘Stand-up Philosopher’ and then performed like a stand-up comedian. This got me thinking about the inverse – Stand-Up Comedians becoming Stand-Up Philosophers.
I love stand-up, absolutely love it. I can distinctly remember two times in my life where I have laughed until it hurt. Once was in California listening to cassettes of Bill Cosby routines and the other was at a comedy club in Utah called Johnny B’s. Several times, on a lazy Friday night, I have watched stand-up for hours on Comedy Central and even though sitting on a couch eating potato chips in the dark doesn’t lend itself to gut busting laughter, I chuckled and enjoyed my evening very much. Currently, my two favorite comedians are Brian Regan (http://www.brianregan.com/) and Jim Gaffigan (http://www.jimgaffigan.com/). Brian Regan is completely clean and what I’ve seen of Jim Gaffigan (King Baby special on Comedy Central) is clean as well. These guys make it hard to eat while watching because chewing and then swallowing does not work cleanly with laughing out loud. These guys are amazing and I hope that they never exceed their current level of fame and notoriety.
You may have read that last sentence and thought to yourself, “Why? Why, Dan, if you like these guys, would you not want them to gain more fans, make more money and generally become more successful? You sound like you’d be a terrible friend. I don’t think I can look at you anymore.”
The reason I don’t want them to become any more famous is purely selfish and based on my personal pleasure only. I don’t want them more famous because I want them to stay funny.
Yep, that’s right. For stand-up comedians fame = not funny. There are exceptions to this rule just like any rule. Some famous comedians stay funny until the day they die. Most don’t. And I’m not writing about the Robin Williams type comedians out there, those that still try to be funny but just aren’t anymore. I’m writing about the ones that just stop trying to be funny and move from ‘Stand-Up Comedian’ to ‘Stand-Up Philosopher’.
“What is the difference?” you may be asking yourself. Here’s a simple checklist below to let you know if your ‘comedian’ has given up funny for poignancy.
1. When watching them, you realize you are not laughing.
2. When watching the audience, you realize they are not laughing either.
3. There are catcalls, whistles and applause but these are not preceded by laughter.
4. You ever find yourself thinking, “That was a good point. Not funny, but a good point.”
Does any of this seem familiar? (I hope so or I’ve just wasted about ten minutes of my life putting together this post.)
Stand-up Comedians are observers that point out the funny. Stand-Up Philosophers are people that believe because fans have listened to them for years and enjoy hearing the funny, said fans must also want their opinions. I don’t. I don’t want opinions. I want funny. I don’t want political views, unless they are funny. I don’t want to be encouraged to vote, unless it is for something funny. Go ahead, make fun of W. That’s funny. But then don’t turn around and explain how awesome Obama is without making fun of his ears or speech patterns (Jamie Foxx’s impression is incredible). Just don’t do it.
I know that it’s incredibly easy to sit back and say, “You there, funny man that I am watching on my television, be more funny or I shall be forced to change the channel.” I know that I am Monday morning quarterbacking stand-up comedy, which is really very sad. All I am asking though is if a ‘Comedian’ decides that their opinion is more important than entertaining, they need to have new business cards made that say ‘Stand-Up Philosopher’ and stop pretending that they bring the funny.
Friday, August 28, 2009
My wife is a saint. I say this not because of her unending patience or her ability to find lost things like good ol’ Anthony of Padua. I say this because she puts up with me and my hobby.
My wife does not enjoy sci-fi. Consequently, she encourages me to write things other than science fiction. She is loving and supportive of my writing and wants me to do well but honestly, would be much happier reading my work if it focused around widower or middle-aged-never-been-married pastors that live in New England with eccentric parishioners and women that awaken a longing for a ‘complete’ life. That’s what she would enjoy and if that’s what makes her happy, then I hope the Mitford series continues indefinitely and that Gilmore Girls will be resurrected. Unfortunately, that’s not me. I don’t think about quaint towns where everyone knows everyone’s business and there are no grocery stores because every morning there is a farmer’s market with everything from fresh cream to haggis.
She asks me why I don’t write sweet things. (Asks, not nags. She never nags, just to be clear.) She tells me I’m funny and I should focus on that. Everybody likes funny, she says. I nod my head and agree with her because it’s true. I am funny. At least, all signs point to me being funny. I know it’s not my asymmetrically retreating hairline and overripe pumpkin figure that keeps her with me. I know it’s my ability to make her laugh.
I tell her it’s because when I think about quaint towns, I picture destroyed buildings, no farmer’s market because there are no farms and then I begin to wonder what happened. Then I think about comets and asteroids and what would happen if we tried to blow one up and the physics required for the comet to break into a million pieces that strike the earth over a period of twenty-four hours and what if each piece of comet has a hyper-magnetic core that survives the intense heat of atmospheric penetration and is so strongly polarized that they are pulled toward industrial centers and cities because of the high concentration of metal and how strong of a magnetic force would there have to be for the comet fragments to be diverted from their gravitational descent and…now I’m writing a new book.
Before I know it, it's three in the morning and I have fifty pages of hand written notes and questions to find answers for and the poor widowed pastor that my wife would like to read about finding love and a renewed sense of life is trapped in a box canyon with mutated survivors trying to preach the gospel to those that have seen the wrath of heaven.
That’s why I write sci-fi. It’s because I think sci-fi. Blame reading it when I was a kid. Blame the physics, mathematics, chemistry and engineering courses I had to take to get my degree. Blame whatever you want but at the end of the day, when I’m thinking about whatever I want to think about, it’s science based and it’s not happy. Maybe some dialog might be funny, maybe a character or two might reflect a hilarious friend or I might throw in story of an old rooster named Earl that was too slow to catch the hens so he settled for a fat white duck named Spike. Who knows, any of that could happen. But at the end of the day, when I take the time to collect all of my errant thoughts and imaginings, two things are constant.
One – I scare myself sometimes.
And two – I think sci-fi, therefore I am sci-fi.
I know, I know, not really that exciting but it is a feature I enjoy on the blogs I frequent because it saves me the heart ache of actually taking the time to open my favorites menu, click on their link and then see they haven’t updated in over two days. I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about. But now, you don’t have to worry about that. Just put in your email address and bam! – every time I post something new it will be sent directly to your email, which if you’re anything like me, gets checked anywhere from 5-50 times a day depending on how many Nigerian politicians need help to transferring their fortunes to America.
So, there you go. Quick and easy blog posts to your email. I’m making the world a better place by eliminating one mouse click at a time.
P.S. If you have a blog and have not set up this particular feature yet, here’s a link with instructions for how to. Realistically, it’s not very hard but considering how easy Google usually makes things for all of us, it might take a little time. http://www.eblogtemplates.com/how-to-setup-feedburner-on-blogger/
P.P.S. Please remember to comment if you read something you like and feel free (really, really, really free) to email around any blog posts to friends, family or enemies. Or even better, sign up your entire address book for subscription. People love unexpected emails, right?
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Basic Story – Twin heirs to the throne, imprisonment of the ‘nice’ one by the evil one including an iron mask so nobody will know there is a ‘nice’ twin, but the musketeers find out and plan to supplant evil Di Caprio with the nice DiCaprio since France is on the edge of revolution & a nice king could fix it all. Eventually, after all the hassle, the evil DiCaprio with his almost feminine beauty, decides it would actually be easier to kill his brother than keep him alive in an iron mask. Seems to me, if he was really pure evil, this would have been the first move but hey, I’m an engineer so I look for efficiency. Anyway, after a surprise paternity confession and miracle survival of an onslaught of musket fire, the nice DiCaprio becomes king, the evil one wears the mask and France never goes through a bloody revolution. This movie almost has a sci-fi twist already with an alternate history.
2. Science Fiction Movie – Iron Man
Basic Story – Tony Stark is Robert Downey Jr., a genius engineer who makes billions of dollars and bags big-toothed blond reporters (because engineers get all the hot blonds) while being nagged by Gwyneth Paltrow. Skip to the end of terrorist captivity and Tony has built a weaponized suit of armor and becomes Iron Man. There is corporate betrayals, new found love and appreciate for life and really cool special effects. In short, Iron Man = goooooood times.
2. New Movie – Iron Man in the Iron Mask
Keep the original Man in the Iron Mask story since it in itself is actually very good. (I know, who would’ve thought a man named Dumas could have produced something intelligent and enduring.) BUT, replace DiCaprio with Downey Jr. for less whining and more funny snarkiness and then when the good Downey Jr. is imprisoned, instead of just taking it, he creates the rest of an Iron Man suit, returns to Paris, throws his evil twin brother to the revolting peasants where he is torn to pieces. Then, Iron Man in the Iron Mask puts the fear into the whiny peasants before and the revolution is averted, thus bringing about the alternate timeline as in the original movie. Starts and ends the same but the middle two hours would be a lot more fun to watch.
Everything is better with Sci-Fi.
And for the four and a half people I know are reading this blog, I would just like to point out that this is my second submission for the movie mash-up vs the collective score of ZERO for all of you. I am disappointed.
Bring your game and your entry will become a blog post as long as the rules are observed. Submit entries to firstname.lastname@example.org.
· Brand on ‘Goonies’ = Josh Brolin
· ‘Encino Man’ came out in 1992! That movie is seventeen years old! That makes me hurt.
· Freaky puppeteer dead girl from ‘Sixth Sense’ = Mischa Barton
Time for cookies.
Friday, August 21, 2009
What I am writing about are the surprise movies, the ones you don’t expect to think about your kids, the ones that are supposed to take you out of this world and entertain you with fantastic settings, epic battles, or speculative ideas of how the world might be if ‘xyz’ happened.
The other night, I was watching just such a film – ‘Reign of Fire’ – an oft forgotten movie from 2002 starring: Christian (I’m Batman and I need a lozenge to soothe my scratchy throat) Bale, Matthew (Shaved Head, Tattooed Arms, Sleeveless Bomber Jacket & Cigars = BadAs-) McConaughey, and Gerard (When I’m not making terrible RomComs, I live in SPARTAAAAAAA!) Butler as the survivors and enders of a contemporary dragon apocalypse. That’s right – a modern dragon apocalypse so hard core that it even includes a slo-mo scene of Matty M. jumping off the top of a smoke stack towards the alpha-male dragon with only a gothic battle axe. Oh yeah, this is a manly movie and yes, I was watching it by myself because my wife had something ‘better’ to do.
So I’m watching this movie, wondering if I could take any of the male leads in a fight and then there’s a scene where Christian Bale is explaining to Izabella (former Bond girl) Scorupco, how he became the guardian of one of the children living in his ‘fortress’. This is somewhat paraphrased but just imagine Bale’s accent (for those of you who don’t know, he’s not American – he’s from Wales):
“He was three years old. I found him trying to wake up his mother. She’d been dead for days…”
Son of a motherless goat!
The last time I’d watched this movie was when it came out, 2 years before my daughter was born. What I remembered of it was the above listed hard-core guy entertainment and the scene where Mr. Bale and Mr. Butler act out the ‘I am your father’ scene from Empire and tell the awe struck kids that they wrote it. I did not remember this part but now, I will never forget it because as the words were said in the dingy, survivalist basement of Mr. Bale’s fortress, I got choked up and had to fight back tears.
That’s right. Me, Dan the Spandex Monkey, all 6 ft 250 lbs of manly man was trying not to cry watching a movie about a dragon apocalypse.
Kids ruin everything.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009