But right after that one was this treasure, this Easter egg: Michael declaring his love for his family, in song. With a hint of a vocal run and a hip-hop dance in there too. I’m hoping he develops into a Common rather than a Bieber, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Happy New Year, Raging Readers!

The other day:

Sonny: “Mom, I really need an axe.”

Raging Mom: “Why do you need an axe, Sonny?”

Sonny: “You know. For safety.”

Sonny was making a funny face in the mirror this morning, and all of a sudden I heard music in my head and the pain and sickness all over me like an animal. Then I realized what it was. The music coming up from the floor was our old friend, Ludwig Van, and the dreaded Ninth Symphony.

Of course, I don’t know why I chose the .net in the first place…

But here is the upside! A top-rate fellow who happened across my post a few days ago noticed that the original cybersquatter who grabbed ragingdad.com shortly after I hit the daddy blogger scene had let his registration go. Rather than grab it himself, he sent me a note and here I am now with a shiny new addy, complete with a .com suffix.

Huzzah! Friends, update your links accordingly.

Video of the day: “Back in the Saddle Again,” by Gene Autry

Michael, Raging Coach, Sonny

I am coaching my twin boys in soccer this fall. This is the third season I’ve coached micro soccer, the first two times were with my daughter.

Let’s cut right to the chase: coaching Connie was a blast; coaching the boys may be the death of me.

More specifically: coaching Sonny may be the death of me.

I totally lost my cool today with him, and almost ejected him off the field. I’m not sure any coach has ever done that in micro soccer, let alone his own son.

But the season is young, and I think we’ll find our groove. One thing I’ll say about Sonny: I don’t have to remind him to aggressively go after the ball. He’s like a battle ram, crashing into the swarm of kindergartners who follow the ball around the field.

For those of you keeping track, Sonny and I still do battle more often than any of the other children. I think I’ve come to realize why, however. He and I are terribly alike. When he and I go toe to toe, the forces of our personalities clash with tremendous strength. If we can figure out how to get along better, I think we’ll be best buds. Have to keep working on that…

***

Tonight two titans met on the soccer field; Two coaches, sworn mortal enemies since two seasons ago. I led the Dalmatians onto the field, and he the Chipmunks. Never before were two creatures so destined for combat.

Let’s recap.

Chewbacca On A Squirrel Fighting Nazis, by gamefan84.

Two years ago, this novice soccer coach of the Daffy Ducks went up against a rival I will call The Enemy. This coach was cocky. Trouble was, he had the chops to back it up. I, lacking his confidence, had to pace off the field several times before placing the cones. He had it set up immediately. I began practice clumsily, doing drills taken from a coaching 101 website. He seemed to be running a training camp, his players more like tiny professional players moving in stylized slow motion.

His kids were already doing corner kicks while my kids picked daisies. Man, did I feel over my head. In the end, his team slaughtered mine, and we fell back to gather our thoughts, our fruit rollups and Capri Suns, and hang our heads in shame.

Last year, as coach of the Elks, we met again with the same result. I came to realize and accept that this balding but well-toned dad was simply the better warrior.

Until today. As I walked from my minivan to the field tonight my eyes came to rest on our opponents, and there he stood, the King of the Chipmunks. Would today be our day of victory? Would the Dalmatians feast on the innards of these pesky rodents, and dance with fury in our eyes, howling and barking at the moon with our faces wet with their blood?

No, friends. We were punished. Clobbered. The Chipmunks took the hoses to us and left us to lay like whimpering dogs in the cleat-torn grass.

Again, my enemy has bested me.

Song of the Day: “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt. 1,” by The Flaming Lips.

I had to ask what this was; it wasn't what I thought. Turns out it is the handle to a water blaster, according to my son...

Song of the day: “Love Buzz,” by Shocking Blue.

Pioneer Square filling up.

Last night we took the kids in to downtown Portland to see “The Muppets Take Manhattan,” which was showing on a big screen in Pioneer Courthouse Square. They do a series of free films on Friday nights during the summer called Flicks on the Bricks. I hadn’t gone since I first moved out to Portland by myself back in the summer of 2006.

At that time I was just getting used to what Portland was all about. I hadn’t mastered the transit system yet, and figured that after watching “Jaws” I’d be able to hop the MAX train to Lloyd Center and get on a Line 70-Holgate bus to take me out to near 67th and Harold, where I was staying. Of course, the 70 didn’t run that late, so I was stuck. At that point the only phone number I had in my cell phone was that of my Realtor, and I didn’t think she wanted to hear from me at midnight Saturday morning. So I found myself taking MAX out to 82nd where I transferred to the Line 72 bus, which was my first exposure to the line that reminded me of the Lake Street bus (the notorious 21A) that travels between Minneapolis and St. Paul. Once I got off, the 15 blocks walk to the house was comparatively mellow.

We usually put the kids to bed around 7:30 p.m., so heading in to town to watch a movie that started at dusk was shaping up to be quite an exciting adventure for them. All kids love trains, so the ride in was great. While the bricks were hard on their behinds, the entire experience was delightful. Portlanders are very charming, and the event felt very small town with people greeting each other and chatting with strangers, eating popcorn and thankful that the heat of the day was fading away into a lovely, cool evening.

The train ride back was more quiet, as the kids realized they were more than three hours past their bedtime.

All around, a great evening.

Oh yeah. Next week’s film? Jaws. I guess I’ve come full circle. I think I’ll know how to get home this time.

Michael snoozing on Raging Mom, Sonny gazing out the window.

Connie, lost in thought.

So, all of my efforts to brand RagingDad DOT net have been flushed by my failure to renew my registration. It turns out is wasn’t because someone saw my admission of lazy bloggery on Avitable’s post. In fact, this creep registered my URL on the very day it expired in late June.

How do they know about this? Does someone publish a daily list of vulnerable URLs? What shit. And why doesn’t WordPress automatically renew, or at least contact a blogger more than once to advise that renewal is necessary?

Enough of blaming others. Those asshats can have the URL. Good luck selling penis enlargement products and weight loss supplements. The joke is kind of on them anyway, since it is a dot net address.

Have at it, you opportunist prick.

Moments after commenting, some cyber-asshat must have seen that I was vulnerable to being a lazy idiot and went and purchased my blog URL  (ragingdad DOT net) out from under me. I guess it expired last week, and I hadn’t renewed it yet. What a shit head.

Of course, they posted spam crap on the new site, and it seems to have also tapped into my Feedburner, so any subscriber received spam posts from me in their inbox today. My apologies. I blame the fascist cyber-asshat. You should too.

For the time being, please visit this blog from its longer, less cool URL http://ragingdad.wordpress.com.

Michael, a la the Blues Brothers.

Sonny, stylized.

Connie, seven going on 14.

Song of the day: “Black and White Unite,” by Belle & Sebastian.

Raging Mom and I both got Droids last week, and now we are obsessed with new photo programs with nifty filters and effects. The photo above is either one of those effects, or it is the clearest piece of evidence that Sonny is the evil twin in our pair. I forget which it is.

Connie recently got her ninth Webkinz. Or is the singular a Webkin? Whatever. Meet Mr. Quackers.

Ah well.

So what the hell has Raging Dad been up to? Allow me to summarize with one word:

A Kala mango 'ukulele.

The ‘ukulele.

I told you I never took a math class in college right?

Anyway. If you are not playing the ‘ukulele then you are missing out on some serious fun.

Now I know what you’re thinking. “Why the hell is he spelling ‘ukulele with an apostrophe?”

And I answer, “Because I’ve been shamed to do so.” Yeah, here’s the deal. While most people say yoo-koo-lay-lee, it is actually pronounced oo-koo-leh-leh. The apostrophe thing isn’t really an apostrophe, but some Hawaiian accent. I forget what it’s called, so Google it yourself, alright?

Among the cool uke players, you need to pronounce it oo-koo-leh-leh. Amongst the unenlightened, well. If they haven’t laughed at you for playing a “toy guitar,” then they’ll surely make fun of you for pronouncing it like a Silly Man.

I’m not sure why I honor the pronunciation, since I have long argued against snooty pronunciations. Like, for instance, I don’t say that I would like to visit “Pair-ee” to visit the Eiffel Tower. [Side note: anyone who says "an historic event" who isn't British is an asshole.]

Semantics aside, the uke is a wonderful little instrument. It is simple enough that someone who is not musically inclined can pick it up rather quickly. It is a joy to play, and seems like less of a project than playing the guitar. Finally, it is such a non-pretentious instrument. It’s like an underdog: no one expects you to be a master when playing a uke, so expectations are low and easy to exceed. Finally, the perfect instrument for me!

Here’s a little ditty my kids and I did for a contest. The rules stated we must sing about ‘ukuleles and ice cream. So we did.

Enjoy!

.

Yikes.

Earlier this summer, I was proclaiming my blogging mojo to be lost.

I’m pretty sure this is now beyond that. Has my blogging mojo been castrated?

I was thinking the other day, how on earth did I muster up the focus and energy to be in graduate school for the last two years? I can’t even finish a comic book without having to take a break these days.

Is it Twitter’s fault?

I wonder. I find that I don’t have the patience for Facebook anymore. Soon 140 characters will even be too long. Once my patience for Twitter is gone, then what?

Maybe we’ll have to find a shorter, simpler way of communicating that doesn’t require the attention span that Twitter does.

I think I’ll start working on creating that next big thing. Later. Right now I’m off to do something else for a few minutes. And then I’ll go to bed. If I don’t get distracted before that.

I will leave you with a great song and a video by the Minnesota band Low. It’s a bit melancholy, which seems appropriate right now. And, anybody who can rock a single-note guitar solo and make it work is a fucking badass in my book.

To those of you who still come around here: thanks. I’ll keep looking for my mojo.

.

Sonny and Michael chasing each other in the hay maze.

Connie watching the craziness of her brothers.

Brilliant.

When I got home from work yesterday, Raging Mom had taught Sonny to say this:

Which is, of course, based on Deniro’s amazing improvised bit from “Taxi Driver”:

I can’t even tell you how hard I laughed. At least I’m not the only one in this house who gets a kick out of this. Right after “There Will Be Blood” came out, she had Sonny calling out, “I abandoned my boy!” which was really funny, unless you hadn’t seen the movie. Then it was just weird.

Sonny is always more easily used for this kind of twisted humor than either Michael or Connie. Once I almost had Michael rapping “I’m ma-lell-o like ja-lell-o!” in his best Adrock voice, but he just wouldn’t go for it. I guess he’s no high plains drifter.

As soon as my boys were old enough to fit their fingers together, as in the heavy metal devil horns, I’ve been trying to get them do it regularly whenever they hear rock and roll music. This has caught on with Michael, but Sonny thinks it looks more like Spidey shooting out webs than throwing up metal. Ah well.

How’s this for the best statement ever: “You know what I love the most about Daddy? He loves the rock and roll.”

That’s what Michael said to Raging Mom last night. I guess I haven’t totally freaked them out with my strangeness.

For my next trick, thinking we’ll teach them the “Did you fuck my wife?” exchange from “Raging Bull.”

Great idea, right?!