Noise in the Shape of Writing

Today, I bent the rules of parental truth telling somewhat. I swore up and down to my daughter that Colossus was a small coaster, Roaring Rapids only gets you a tiny bit wet, and that Ninja doesn't slice off your head in the middle of the night using a long, ceremonial blade forged from the steel of the demon-bred craftsmen.

She's a smart cookie, though, and we soon had a deal that I got to take her on a "Daddy ride" if she got to drag me onto Bugs & Daffy's Molasses-tacular Gentle-Motion Apparatus.

Thank goodnes there's no more Spinakin Corners anymore or I'd be knee-deep in birch carvings and personalized tea coseys.

Still, the upshot of the arrangement cost me more than a few dozen disparaging looks as I took my tear-soaked, livid-with-fear child onto three rides that only the day before we, as a family, had agreed to spare the kid from.

That was before I sold my soul for a future trip to Disneyland and an option on some sunburns and kiddie pool downtime at Hurricane Harbor next week. Still, I think the gambit paid off cause with each ride she proclaimed loudly, "That was the best ride I've ever been on!"

Colossus, while no Goliath or X, is still as imposing and big as ever. It can still shake the eye teeth out of a moderately well-put-together 37-year-old. It registered "scarier than Space Mountain," but "not as ping-pongy as 'X'."

Roaring Rapids -- which I flatly billed as "boring for 11 people and hella-fun for one lucky duck" -- proceeded to bear it's prophecy out as my daughter quickly became the beneficiary of some half dozen perfectly-timed liquid incidents. I came in a decent third of frouth in the crew of 12 and was still quite soaked. I am amazed my cellphone survived the trip.

Ninja (the third of the three rides that were part of the bargaining process) was quick to become "the greatest ride of all time." And I can't disagree really (though my heart lies with 'X') given it's compact quarters and series of "Mr. Frog Meets the Forest" close-calls.

In the end I was even able to coax her on to Revolution. After all, if daddy was right three times in a row, then he must be on to something. Sure enough, we rode that thing repeatedly (love those non-existent mid-week lines), and now even the dreaded "loop" is passe for my fearless progeny.

I think if we'd stayed a little longer I could have convinced her to ride "X" again. About a year ago, X became synonymous in our household with, oh, dentist drills and horrible, debilitating accidents. The only way I was able to even mention "Magic Mountain" was by promising no reprisals of "X".

So, all in all, a $23 online ticket is well worth the roving gangsters and stroke-inducing heat of the Valencia desert. Magic Mountain still has the best and most exciting coasters around that I know of. Ninjas everywhere are resting, assured that their name is not sullied.

And $9 hot dogs still taste the same as the $2 ones from the cart outside of Home Depot.

"PLEASE HAVE YOUR CHILD BRING THE FOLLOWING FOOD TO SCHOOL FOR A PARTY: WATERMELON. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO STAY AND JOIN US FOR SOME LUNCH, PLEASE DO"

I give this to you all as a warning. If your child's teacher sends this message home with your kid, just send the damn watermelon. Do not -- I repeat -- DO NOT interpret this as an opportunity to mooch some free cheetos and soda.

For one thing, they don't serve soda... it's all water and fruit drinks. You're lucky if you get a hot dog. Damn government-mandated health guidelines.

Second, only the moms go to these things. You will very likely end up talking about hot flashes and strategies for saving money at Trader Joe's. Not a bad skill to have, I guess. But really, what Joe's strategy can't be boiled down to just trolling the frozen food isle for anything that says GOURMET and costs $2.99 --- the ubiquitous magical TJ price.

If you do go to one of these so-called parties, however, just do whatever you have to to make sure it does not occur on Pinata day. Pinata day (And you know you have a cheapass Blog site when there is no tilde over your "n") apparently consists of 40 small, over-stimulated, popsicle-fed children waving long, serrated, welt-bestowing bamboo sticks at things that are mostly not pinatas.

My arm is not a pinata. My other arm is not a pinata. Lauren, the frail girl wearing glasses is not a pinata. These are subtelties completely lost on a child hell bent for Laffy Taffy.

Oh. And did I mention the best part? I got to be the pinata rope guy.

The pinata rope guy gets to stand in the sun, pull a pinata up and down, and avoid a knee-high bat. All this while half-a-dozen little punks prove how funny it is to hang on your rope.

The only fun part is when you get to yank that little Sponge Bob effigy up just as the kid at bat goes for it.

Swing and a miss!

Only, I was lucky enough to have "Kinder Gentler Kenny" (as I shall call him), who stood next to me with his baleful eyes and rebuked me repeatedly for teasing his classmates with my pinata dodge and feint tactics.

He could have used a swing or two from me.

The women, by the way, got to sit in the shade and then dash out to help their little Joeys and Justins get more than their fair share of ill-gotten sweets.

But, hey... at least I got a hot dog. It could have been chicken nubbins day.

Tomorrow, in honor of Fathers Day*, I am going to hit a small lump of leather as far into the teachers parking lot as I possibly can. I do this to make my daughter proud.

"That's braggin when you say you can hit the softball further than the other dads."

I cannot deny her logic. After all, she is not allowed to say "My Kirby flame-breathed your Mario off the Pokemon Cloud! I rock! I rock!"

But then that's mostly cause I am a poor sport. She really does kick my ass most of the time. Using Kirby, anyway.

The little pink puffball will not be my menace tomorrow, however. Instead, it is the diamond. I get a chance to swing a baseball bat about once a year, usually. And this year since I missed Aaron's anual birthday softball game, this is my "one." I aim to hit that sucker as far as I can.

But, with "as far as I can" meaning for all intents and purposes "well off of school grounds," I have myself a dilemna. Any yes, this is a small school yard. I'm no Babe Ruth.

Add to this the fact that there is a school bully who is making my daughter's life hell right now and whose father is probably boing to be in on that diamond in pinstripes with a cap.

Is it wrong to want to target someone? Who's the player who would point his bat towards the leftfield wall and wail away? Hey, honey, is that the boy who you want me to teach the ever lovin meaning of "always wear a cup?" Why are we being sent home early today? Because it's a father/daughter special dispensation.

Who says the sporting spirit is gone.

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*BTW, thanks a lot, Greg, for making me doubt whether Fathers Day has an apostrophe... razzafrackin plural possessive proper words... makes me wanna take a jump off of Lover's Leap.

I opened my house up to hundreds of friends and friends of friends and people who have X-Boxes surgically attached to their hands who pretend to be friends of friends but who are in actuality friends of friends of friends and just want to play Halo for 8 hours.

And, yup. I love them all.

They did not break things. They did not move things around (much). And many of them actually cleaned up their messes. But good lord, man! Who brought wine?

I have nothing against wine, I just try not to drink it. And when I do I feel mostly like washing it down with beer.

Luckily there was more than enough (read: freaky gobstopping amounts) of beer. And it all got drunk (except for the mini keg, which is now MINE ALL MINE, BWAHAHAHAH!).

The house doesn't even smell like gamers, so most of you must have showered.

I learned of many games that I want to buy now. And I learned where to buy them online. And it is sad because I wish people still went to brick and mortar game stores. But if Wizards of the Coast can't keep customers coming to mall stores, then what hope is there for the next Gamesmanship (to name a kick ass store that didn't make it) or Games of Westwood (to name a store with a great following that still succumbed to the reality of retail).

If I had a game store, it would be the greatest one ever. You would all come from miles and miles and ask me "what's cool these days" and I would hopefully not say "PokeYugiSchmoo-the Collectible Card Game". But if I did then it would only be cause it was making me fists full of money.

And I would gladly sell pack after pack to friends of friends of friends of friends...

Pat.