Death of the Opamobile

It was a difficult day for all of us when the Silver Honda Civic pulled out of the adjacent neighborhood without looking at the oncoming traffic. Try as she might, the Opamobile didn't have the strength left inside her to push those antiquated--sorry--anti-lock brakes any more ferociously as the front end slammed into the back of the startled Honda. The look of terror as the driver screamed into her cellphone, realizing the unavoidable carnage that was about to ensue only milliseconds later only heightened the Opamobile's last breath. Alas, she is no more. The blue beast that could only find familiar refuge at retirement homes, bingo parlors, shuffleboard tournaments or shipyards died on that autumn day. The explosion of the airbags ensured that there would be no repairs. Humiliated, tarnished and now banged up beyond its Kelley Blue Book and NADA value, the once proud bluehair--sorry--metallic blue Buick Century was towed to the lot for the last time. Opamobile, we hardly knew ye.

I think that for Kim and the kids, they will miss the scent most of all. Never really sure what smells might emanate from the beast, but assured that it would be unpleasant, created a car that was truly mine and mine alone. I can't recall the last time that Kim actually stepped foot in the Opamobile--"Um. No Honey, let's just take the van." The kids weren't so fortunate, and once the wiring on the Sirius was shot, and there was no Radio Disney to be heard in the confines of the relic, they were forced to endure countless torture as I drove them the 1 1/4 miles back and forth to school, or heaven forbid, all the way to the Athletic Center. It wasn't like they could escape the malfeasance either. Over the years, every window in that '98 standardbearer of American engineering ended up breaking, to the point that Poppy Joe and I just nailed the bastards closed. We could only replace a pulley system 5 or 6 times per window before it got a little silly. The only one that remained working was on the driver's side, because there is nothing more humiliating than trying to go through a drive-thru and needing to open the door to pay for your crappy food. Well, nothing except perhaps going through that exercise in the Opamobile.

But to be fair, the beast served me well. The ladies loved the stylings and especially the little nuances that made the Opamobile especially, dare I say, Sexy. The missing hubcap on the front right tire always made an impression as did the layer of film that made you ask yourself, "Is that car really blue, or maybe grey? Whatever it is, it's dynamite!" At least I was pretty sure that was what they were thinking. Needless to say, I got lots of looks--generally surprised to see someone so youthful driving such a sophisticated automobile. I guess that is just the risk one runs when living in the lap of such luxury.

I think that the neighbors are also somewhat sorry to see it go. Something to do with property value or the like. Alex especially liked riding in the blue beauty to Market Street or to Starbucks because he couldn't roll down the windows to smoke and deep down, I am pretty sure that over the long haul, this will extend his life around six or seven hours--no need to thank me. Anyhow, I don't possess the words to give the Opamobile its proper due. It has served us well and has been extremely affordable (well, except for the exorbitant cost of gas and repairs--since I never actually had the oil changed, I saved a bunch there). The new ride, an '09 Hyundai Sonata is currently clean, efficient and pretty cool with gadgets. It has the XM built in and a port for the I-Pod and a CD player. The Opamobile had a pretty sweet cassette deck. The Sonata has cupholders built right in, where the ingenuity that was the 1998 Buick Century didn't realize that their drivers might enjoy a beverage while operating a motor vehicle--I mean seriously, even in 1998, didn't people enjoy a soda or a bottled water while driving--who the hell desinged this thing? The only real downside I have found in the Hyundai is that there is an interior release handle inside the trunk. Now, what the hell am I going to do with the kids when they piss me off?

Scaaaahbura Paht II

I think that I just posted this thing with nothing other than the title. If you are on my site right now, there is probably a title and nothing else following it. You are probably incredibly confused and frustrated that you did something wrong, when in fact I just hit Enter instead of Tab. If you are reading this, however, you have waited the right amount of time for the full published tally of the continuing excitement that is this year's family jaunt to the coast of Maine. While things are happening at a pace that can only be described as frenetic, I still have to catch things up from my first several days of foolhardy laziness and inefficiency.

I noticed that in the comment section of yesterday's posting, we have far fewer responses than I would expect with such a vivid tapestry of images and characters. Along with the challenge of writing this thing with every possible target of this story stopping what they are doing to read as I am doing my best to get this thing caught up is the fact that most of the characters in this intricate story line are right here reading the thing and they can comment to me directly instead of posting a comment as would usually be their method of communication. Based on the silent stares and hurt looks that I have been receiving all day, I think I have only scratched the surface of my usual attacking method, and the fact that we only covered 6-10 yesterday does not portend well for the potential victims out there. Comments that were received were extremely vanilla, and my belief is that I might have been a little too kind in my observations. My hope is that by the end of this trip, I have been written out of any will that exists, my siblings and significant others no longer return my phone calls and my nieces and nephews discover that all of their existing family photos suddenly have a face cut out as though "good 'ol Uncle Josh" was that x-boyfriend who ruined everybody's ski trip photo. So far, it appears that I have underperformed in this attempt as I still have throngs of these people speaking to me. If I ever want to get some peace and quiet, I probably need to take off the gloves. Unfortunately, it appears that I missed a golden opportunity yesterday, but I will do what I can to provoke whomever I can at this point. So without further ado, we move on to #s 5 to 1 in our countdown of the most significant stories of the first 60 hours of this trip.

Right now, Aaron and Kathy have left to go pick up her nieces and nephew, who will join us for the next couple of days to hopefully provide Hunter with somebody his own age to play with for the first time in the four years we have been taking these trips. Most everybody else is in the room talking about some sort of nonsense--it is only a matter of time before it erupts into a full-fledged argument about tapioca pudding or something at least as significant. One can never be sure what will ignite the battle, but the longer they talk the more assuredly the wick will be lit and the explosion will ensue. Dad is out on the patio, so we might have about 30 minutes until he strolls in and intrudes on whatever conversation doesn't really involve him. If it makes it that long with Shari, Mom and Rebecca sitting in the same room, I will be shocked, but once he enters the fray, you can pretty much count on some sort of pointless and loud screaming match. I promise I will interrupt whatever I am talking about when it happens. Kim is hiding in a book right next to me, pretending not to hear the fun that is about to break loose around her. She knows its coming too, but she just lets it happen. Right now the conversation is about breast feeding--fortunately, nobody in the room is doing that right now, but goodness knows this could be the take off point.

5. Cranky Son Of a Bitch Of the Day(CSOBOD): I would really like to go retro on this category, because in general you never know who is going to be the one who wins this category. Hell, by the time I arrived on Saturday, I was certainly a strong nominee if not the outright winner. But it would be pretty unfair to run this award until we were actually all in the house together. Shockingly, we had a repeat winner for the first two full days of action, so I am able to condense this section into one full bodied attack instead of having a great opportunity to shred two members of the family and thus limit my interaction to 6 other adults instead of the 8 I started with this week. Unfortunately, Grampa G has consistently distanced himself from the competition for the first two days of the trip and thus, I can only alienate him at this time. Congratulations, you are the runaway winner of the prestigious CSOBOD for Sunday July 15th and Monday July 16th. In fact, with your performance, you have actually been nominated by an unnamed member of the family for an entirely different category that I had the chance to write about many, many moons ago when I actually kept up with this blog. Please see Someday I'll be Crotchety Too for those of you who haven't had the chance to read about the contemporaries my father now finds himself amongst.

Sorry to interrupt, but right now Shari and Rebecca are arguing about the time Rebecca lost her virginity and Shari called her a whore--very nice topic. This should be the moment that starts the fireworks--good times, good times all. Back to Dad's prestigious awards.

For whatever reason, Dad has entered this week with the passion to take this honor by storm. Nobody else has come even close. In fact, disappointingly enough for my posting's sake, most everybody has been relatively well behaved. I don't even know what to make of it. I'm not saying that they aren't providing quite a bit of future comedy for all of us to enjoy, but they have all come here with pretty damn good attitudes. Perhaps that is why Dad stands out so much this year. I'm not sure if he forgot his medication or if he forgot that I promised I would end up ripping on anybody who deserved it when I introduced this trip to the world last week, but for whatever reason, he has been a fountain of bitchiness that more than makes up for everybody else who decided to come on this trip. We have had the typical complaints about the food and waste and noise and we have been inundated with the impatience and need to involve himself in everybody's business at all times until it becomes apparent that he would need to inconvenience himself in some way. We have enjoyed the never ending and nonsensical babbling and commentary about everything from how great it is to watch the cousins together (this means Lauren and Leynie) to inquiring about every recipe Dan and I made on Sunday, after he spent 45 minutes bitching about how much money we spent for the food in the first place.

The thing that puts it over the top for Grampa G on the first two days of the trip is his unyielding urge to frustrate everybody at the same time. It is pretty damn impressive to watch a man with such a skill set. He used to be a pretty damn good Doctor, and lord knows he will tell you how great a bridge player he has become in his retirement, but there is no doubt in my mind that as he continues to age, he is entering a world of Crankiness that few have entered and he has a real chance to enter the pantheon of all time pain in the asses. He has always struggled with large gatherings because of his need to be the center of attention and involve himself with everybody and everything. So far, he hasn't been murdered in his sleep, and I base this on incredible restraint by all members of our party. I can completely see a scenario where everybody in the house beats him with a bar of soap wrapped in a towel like they did to Gomer Pyle in Full Metal Jacket if he keeps this up.

In his defense, he has been really well behaved today. Maybe he just needed a couple of days to get over the immense pressures of packing a suitcase and travelling all the way to Maine. I know that they have a couple of days planned in New Hampshire after this trip finishes up to unwind after the exhausting week of napping, reading, walking on the beach and sitting in the Jacuzzi. All I know is that he has made it much more difficult to come up with a winner for today. Dad, I appreciate you making the first two days so simple for all of us and Congratulations on your big win. Crotchety is right around the corner.

4. The Cousins: For the past three years, we have had Hunter, Lauren and Leynie at this gathering. Lauren and Leynie are about a year apart and have become very close on these trips. Hunter, unfortunately, has been significantly older than the others and unless my data is incorrect, he remains just as much older today as he was last year. We were all hoping that they would have started to make up ground on him by this point in time, but alas they have failed miserably. As I stated earlier, we are at least going to have some company this year for Hunter to play with so he isn't stuck in that awkward in between phase for another entire summer vacation. This year, we have also been introduced to our newest niece and nephew, Luke and Emelia. We met Emelia at Thanksgiving when she was like 2 or 3 hours old. My understanding is that Kathy birthed her on the airplane out to Texas sometime just after take off because they refused to miss the annual feast. My memories about this event might be somewhat foggy, but I'm almost positive it was something along these lines. So needless to say, she has grown significantly since November. Luke on the other hand was born in February, so this has been the first time we have met him.

Both babies are really well behaved. Well, to be honest with you, I have no grasp of well behaved when it comes to children, as the crazed freak of a demon spawn that is our Lauren has skewed my perception of what the difference between tolerable behavior and great behavior. We would have taken any child that gave us at least 30 minutes per 24 hours where she wasn't screaming uncontrollably. From what I can tell, these two seem like they are actually happy. I haven't heard either of them produce the screams equal to one hour of our first year with Lauren in the entire time we have been with them, and for Emelia, that includes the five days she was with us in Texas over Thanksgiving. So from my standpoint, they are both really good babies. They smile, they play, they genuinely seem to like other people and I have actually witnessed both of them not being held for more than 20 seconds at any one time. Kim has been really enjoying having babies around, especially the non-psychotic kind. The babies you can give back have always been the best kind, so we are both relishing our roles as Aunt Kim and Uncle Josh.

Hunter seems to like his new niece and nephew as well. He has always been really good with Leynie and he has taken to the little ones very quickly. They both smile and laugh at him whenever he gives them attention, and Hunter eats it up. Leynie and Lauren continue to be into each other, but occasionally need some time apart as neither is used to having to share the stage or fight for attention. Leynie seems to mimic everything that Lauren does at this point, which is understandable because Lauren is a year older, but all in all, they are both very happy to see one another. As the years go by, it is good to see that they continue to look forward to interacting and playing together.

3. Sunday's Dinner: While many of you have been left clutching to the hope that I would actually finish the July 4th week BBQ postings, I hope that I am able to at least temporarily placate your food obsession with a description of our dinner from Sunday night. I am not sure if I have mentioned anything about the dinner deal for this year. As we have evolved this trip each year, there have been changes to how things are simplified. This year, somebody came up with the idea that we should all be responsible for dinner one night, and as such, that family would buy the groceries, put together the menu, make all the food and put everything away and clean up after the fact. Aaron and Kathy volunteered for the first night and they made a delicious pork tenderloin marinated with a teriyaki glaze. It was nice to come in the first night and not have to scramble for dinner and fight with everybody about what we were eating or where we were going, so I am pretty happy with whoever came up with this idea. I am guessing that there will be at least three of my siblings who lay claim to the idea, but I for one am certain it wasn't me.

With Dan coming to town, I decided that we would take care of the Sunday night dinner plans. I had no idea what we were going to make, other than I was insistent we include lobster somewhere in the menu. I wasn't about to travel all the way to Maine and not have lobster on the night I was cooking. I mean when you think of Maine, what pops into your mind? Probably not lighthouses, or really cold, or Shawshank Redemption or Vacationland as the license plate would suggest. When you think of Maine, you think of those majestic 1 1/4 lb red beauties steamed, stuffed or turned into bisque. I wasn't going to miss my opportunity to create a feast that involved the grandest of all crustaceans.

If anybody needs any background regarding Dan and my love of food and wine, suffice it to say that we have destroyed many a budget, overextended many a credit card and beat the crap out of many an expense account in the name of culinary delight. Often times it could be as simple as going out for dinner and buying a couple of dry aged steaks and polishing off a couple of bottles of Mondavi Private Reserve Cabernet or Opus One. But lately, our affinity for fine food has turned into an expression of our culinary talents and the creation of a thoroughly overwhelming gastronomic ensemble. Between the two of us, we put together a skeleton of a menu that is constantly in a state of flux and while we go through a couple of variations, Dan determines the wine pairings for each course. I love wine, but I have one tenth the acumen that Dan possesses in this regard. He has an absolute obsession with the fruit of the vine and relishes any opportunity to introduce others to his passion. So, even though I am confident I can put together wonderful wine selections for each course, I leave that area completely up to Dan.

With the cooking and menu selection, we act as co-chefs. I wouldn't dare call him a sous chef, as depending upon the meal, he may take the lion's share of the tasks and on other occasions, he may be creating one course and I end up taking care of three or four. On this occasion, we divied up the responsibilities pretty evenly. Dan didn't arrive until almost 2:30 on Sunday, so we left almost immediately to go up to Portland to shop. We decided upon the menu as we strolled the aisles of Wild Oats and Hanneford's and decided we would rely on some items that we had prepared in the past as well as create a new main course. The main reason we chose to rehash old menu ideas was really a simple necessity due to the lack of time we left ourselves with because of our late start. Hunter was our assistant shopper and Saucier.

Our menu turned out to be four courses plus a fruit, cheese and meat platter to enjoy while we finished preparing the dinner. We kept the platter as simple as possible and went with a sharp white cheddar, aged brie, garlic boursin, a spicy Hungarian salami, two kind of pears, grapes and crackers. Dan introduced the platter with a buttery Chardonnay that we had been using for a couple of the sauces we had made. While everybody ate this, we put the finishing touches on and sampled our crab cakes. We had prepared the crab cakes before for a dinner with Christine and Alex in Dallas and we served them with a mildly spicy roasted red pepper sauce. This was paired with a light Pinot Gris which allowed the spicy characteristics of the red pepper and cayenne to really open up.

Dan and I were pretty much trapped in the kitchen throughout the meal, as we were trying to get each course completed, plated and out to the main dining room in a well orchestrated and timed manner. This was not the worst fate for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, we were able to sample everything first and get first crack on all the wine. Secondly, we didn't get trapped in a room with Grampa G, who still at this point in the week was raging on about how much we spent on this bleeping meal. Avoiding him was probably a good thing. Thirdly, we got to hang out in by far the coolest room in the house. When they updated the kitchen, they did it right. They installed a Thermador double oven and six burner stove with heat lamps in the hood, a Viking wine cooler and a Sub Zero Refrigerator/Freezer combo. Everything worked great. While we were limited by the amount of silverware, plate ware and glassware (so much so, that we were forced to wash dishes after each course in order to serve the next one), the kitchen more than made up for the shortcomings of the accessories.

Our second course was the salad and again we stole a previously successful salad. Quite honestly, Dan and I had gotten confused between a couple of the salads we had produced for our recent meals, so we ended up with Mesculin salad mix, red onion, and Mandarin oranges tossed in a raspberry lime vinaigrette, and topped with a pecan crusted warm goat cheese medallion. For the wine, Dan paired it with a choice of a slightly more oaky Chardonnay for the white wine lovers and a light Pinot Noir for the red wine enthusiasts. I chose the red, and to be honest, I probably should have gone with the white, because the goat cheese overpowered the soft Pinot. Once I finished the salad, I did enjoy the glass of red.

We cleared the salads and moved to the main course, which was actually two main courses. Aaron and Kathy do not eat beef of any kind. They have been banned from Texas once the authorities got wind of it, but there is just no shaking them of this sickness. Because we didn't want to cause any kind of uproar, we provided them with a Wasabi crusted Tuna steak flash grilled and served with garlic mashed potatoes and sugar snap peas. Our main course, the Piece de Resistance, was a full tenderloin of beef that we stuffed with lobster meat and topped with bacon to infuse the flavor. We topped it with a white wine lobster sauce and also served it with the accompaniments that we provided for the Tuna. We were willing to make an alternative entree, but we drew the line when it came to side items. Dan chose a full bodied Malbec and another Cabernet for the beef and he continued to offer chardonnay to those who were dining on tuna.

We polished off the wine and the entrees and proceeded to the dessert phase of the night. Kim made individual chocolate bundt cakes topped with homemade whipped cream and fresh raspberries. She wanted a raspberry sauce to tie it together, but I completely whiffed on that request when we went to the store. All in all, I think that everybody was pretty happy with how the dinner turned out. Sure we shelled out $2600 of Gramma G's hard earned cash, but I think even she would agree that it was well worth it.

2. Anybody know a good Exorcist?: I've got to tell you, this is not my area of expertise, but more and more I am becoming convinced that the sweet, charming, not quite as clever as some but pretty darn clever in her own right, and beautiful daughter of mine is unequivocally possessed by some sort of demon. I don't know what the true warning signs are, but as the days and weeks and months roll by, the evidence just seems to pile up in ways that are beyond circumstantial. As more signs point to her having some sort of evil being sharing her body, I find myself going back in my mind to the earlier days of her life. Let's face it, something was wrong with that child that goes beyond what doctors called "colic" for a full 16 months. I still don't really know what the hell colic is other than it is what pediatricians come up with when they've got nothing else to offer you when your evil twisted child refuses to stop screaming at the top of her lungs for more than 10 minutes at any one time for a year and a half (including the times she is allegedly sleeping).

I think it is more than a coincidence that strange utterances keep making there way out of her mouth. This week has been no different. It started with Lauren rolling an ottoman around the second level of the house babbling that she was driving her "car" to Murder Road. I don't know where exactly Murder Road is, or more importantly what Murder Road is, but I cannot imagine what would put an idea in her head that this place existed and that it was a place she should find herself visiting. But there she was rolling around the house, happy as a clam, singing about driving to Murder Road. If that was the only episode, I would probably just look the other way and chalk it up to allowing her to stay up with us every night and watch reruns of the Soprano's--she just thinks that Tony is so funny. But it continued on from there.

We were on our way to see some light house and a rocky area up the road a way, and out of the blue, Lauren made a rather unusual comment from the back seat, "Mom, I would rather be burned than die." I thought I must have misunderstood what she said, and Kim didn't hear her the first time, so I asked her to repeat it, and as clear as day she said again, "I would rather be burned than die." We kind of looked at each other and responded with "Um, honey. You don't have to choose one or the other. Why don't you just not get burned or die?" She thought that sounded like a pretty good idea. We drove along and about two minutes later, we drove by a graveyard and she looks at Shari and says, "That's where the dead people are."

To say we were a little creeped out might be an understatement. I mean, the kid is four. I know that kids have an unusual curiousity when it comes to death, and occasionally they will say something that seems strange, but three times in an hour, she makes really strange and morbid statements about death. I've got to tell you, something really wacky is going on here. We are definitely going to limit her to watching only regular CSI and not let her watch CSIMiami or CSINY--at least not reruns.

1. Hunter's First Lobster: The single greatest event of the first couple of days at the beach had to be the monumental accomplishment of Hunter when he took down his first lobster. Over the past year, Hunter has continually pushed the envelope on his dining and we can almost never get him to order off the kids menu anymore. While this is exciting from the standpoint that he is growing up right before our eyes, it is really getting expensive having these kids and we are trying to slow down the process as much as we can. We actually have tried to convince him to order something that we are confident he will hate so that we can later say to him that he can't order off the adult menu the next time we go out because he couldn't finish his dinner.

I should have known how excited he was when we got to the parking lot and he forgot to close the door as he smelled the steaming ocean roaches in the distance and had this faraway look in his eye babbling something about discovering heaven. When Kim asked him to close the door, he just kept his eyes focused on the prize and said, "Heaven doesn't have doors." and kept on walking. Well on Monday evening, our oldest child walked over to the Lobster Shack, convinced Gramma G that they should split the two lobster dinner and between sips of his Mountain Dew and bites of french fries, he dipped claw and tail like a champ and devoured every scrap of that 1 1/2 lb son of a bitch. He sobbed silently when it showed up and immediately took to the task at hand. You could tell he was serious from the outset when he ignored the overflowing basket of french fries and declined the offering of onion rings in order to devote all his attention to that beast. It was a little hot at first for him, and the spiky legs and body made it difficult for him to break the shell and expose the treasure hidden within, but he stayed the course and allowed me to help him get to the goodies. When he found a claw he could crack, he made sure to handle it himself. I split the tail for him and thought back to the hundreds of lobsters I cracked and separated for the clambakes at the Newport Marriott when I was working in catering back in '99. He didn't stop to breathe. He did pause long enough to make dozens of happy sounds. When he finished the tail and the claws, he backtracked every square inch of his prey. He pulled the little side legs off and sucked them like they were straws filled with manna from the gods. I don't know how much meat he could have found for the last 20 minutes that he pilfered that baby, but he sure loved the search. Gramma G made the clean plate club as well, but I am quite certain that we have absolutely no chance of ever getting our oldest son back on the kids menu. Sometimes you just can't stop progress, no matter what the cost.

Scaahhbura Part I

Trying to find some time where I can get away from all the people I intend to prattle on about for an entire thread is extremely difficult when, for all intents and purposes, I am trapped under the same roof with each of these insane individuals. I never really know when somebody is going to be standing directly behind me, with the faintest of hopes that they might catch a mere glimpse, or even a morsel of the shredding that is certain to follow. At this very minute, I can hear the mindless droning of Grampa G on the cell phone to Gramma G who is at the store with Rebecca. He is about to raise his voice in rage and frustration as she doesn't grasp the concept of what kind of mayonnaise she should bring. Probably because there is a better than average chance that there might be a thimble full of leftover condiment upon our departure and the thought of anything food related being left behind and thus wasted for eternity. The idea that we actually might end up not utilizing every last grain of garlic salt is the greatest stress in his life at this point. While that might be a good thing that he has nothing more pressing to deal with, the fact that he would allow such minutia to continue to infiltrate his thought processes on a daily basis cannot be good for anybody's health.

So while I will try to get to as much as I can to catch everybody up, I am somewhat limited in how much time I can utilize to put all the details of the last 60 hours here in beautiful Maine. So without the usual vitriol and foreshadowing that usually accompanies the introductions that so many of you have become accustomed, I will proceed to our main event. In order to make sure I don't miss anything catastrophic that has occurred up to this point, I am going to everybody's favorite format and will only talk about the top ten things that have occurred up to now. As always, these are in ascending order of importance, and are not based on any kind of chronology.

10. Wii: About three months ago, we got a Wii. We were very fortunate that our brother in law in Guam was able to locate one, because the challenges here on the mainland to track one of these computerized Crack machines is immeasurable. Kim had tried her best to find out where a shipment of one of Nintendo's little monsters was going to show up and then camp out for 72 hours in the icy Texas night, just on the off chance that her only son might be able to show his face in public at some point in the future, but it was of no use. Her attempts, though valiant, turned out to be a colossal failure along the lines of The USFL or at least as bad as those freaking stairs for my scale model house at Georgia Tech in January of '88--damn balsa wood. So instead of just crying herself to sleep at night one more evening, Kim decided to call Stevie in Guam and see if he could get in line ahead of those families of 45 from India that seemed to camp themselves out in front of every Toys R Us in the metroplex. It is amazing that they need so many game systems, but every week, they are back to buy up the whole lot--thank goodness they are helping keep Nintendo in business. For some reason, the only game systems we could find here in Texas were on E-Bay and cost at least double the price. I know those poor Indians at Toys r Us are thankful they could all have a dozen to use just in case one of theirs ended up malfunctioning and they needed to ship it back to Seattle for repairs. From what I understand, there are far fewer folks from India hanging out on Air Force Bases in Guam, so we thought we might have a shot at getting one that way.

Turns out that Stevie came through for us big time and shipped one out to us. For those of you who are not savvy enough to understand the Wii and all its glory, let me assure you that it is worth all the hype. Most gaming systems are decidedly geared toward one segment of the populace or another. The Wii is hands down the best unit for family entertainment. As a firmly entrenched member of the family entertainment camp, it is the perfect system for us. It is just as much fun for me as it is for Hunter and Lauren absolutely loves playing the game. What separates the Wii from other systems is that the controls actually mimic your own motions. Instead of pushing buttons and manipulating joysticks or some facsimile thereof, with the Wii what you do standing in front of the TV is what your character does on the TV. In the games that come with the unit, for example, in order to hit the ball with a tennis racket, you swing the remote control with the motion of a tennis racket. If you swing early, you miss, if you swing late, you miss. If you use topspin or backspin or hit it to a certain spot on the court, the ball follows your intent. It is pretty amazing and really fun.

We decided that it would be a great idea to bring the Wii this week, because everybody we know who has tried it, has been hooked. The great thing about it is that when you finish playing, you feel like you have gotten a workout--especially with the boxing game or the tennis game. Many a night, Alex and I have worked ourselves into a lather playing a vicious tennis match against one another (he's really freaking good by the way). So far this week, the Wii has been a monumental success. Uncle John and Aunt Shari have been playing for hours on end. We even got Gramma G to give it a try until she got pissed off because she couldn't see the ball. In her defense, the big screen TV we hooked it up to has an absolutely abysmal picture, and it is really hard to see, but come on. She had lasik a couple of years back--I'm pretty sure she can see the ball as well as we can, but once that Gramma G gets something into her head, she is pretty hard to convince otherwise. She'd rather slather on some SPF 400 and hide beneath the brim of her enormous floppy hat--there's just no helping those who won't step outside their comfort zone. Hunter is angry that John is able to beat him in almost every game that he took months honing his skills. He even hit a homerun in baseball out of the stadium (something that we didn't even know was possible). We were all very impressed. For now, I still am able to hold my own, but if John and Rebecca have another all night session, I might have to put in a couple of hours to keep up. Dan just got a Wii of his own three days ago and he and Danielle were both bitching about how sore their arms were from boxing all day. While I would never recommend video games as a great option for family entertainment, especially on vacation, this time I am pretty happy with how well it has turned out. The only thing we need to do for next year is bring more controllers. We have three this year, and there almost always seems to be a wait for a game. At least we have a pool table to kill time while we wait.

Holy Crap--Grampa G is actually down there right now trying the thing for the first time. If we can suck him into a video game, I can only imagine the power of this machine. For those of you out there unaware of his stance on TV, video games and the like, this is huge. This would be like Al Gore getting a Hummer H2 or George Bush looking into Haliburton for possibly questionable business dealings. All I can say is wow (and more importantly, thank God I am not the one having to take him through the intricacies of the Wii and all its splendor--John is taking one for the team, and I just can't wait to watch him later and rollick in the fun).

9. Travel Challenges: Whenever you travel with Shari, you should prepare yourself for the incredible nightmare that ensues. I don't know what she did to the travel gods at some point in her life, but I have had the chance to travel with her on numerous occasions, and inevitably something goes horrifically wrong. You can almost take for granted that you are going to be delayed, that your luggage will be lost and that somebody might end up missing the car rental shuttle. It just happens every time. When she travels alone, it is amplified exponentially. This time, having us on board to ensure she had somebody to share the misery with her somehow mitigates her suffering. I don't really understand how it all shakes down, but if there is anybody out there considering a Trans-Pacific trip that will be on the same plane as Shari, let me point out in no uncertain terms that you have been fairly warned. That being said, we actually planned our trip to Maine (knowing all of this information well in advance) and included Shari as a travelling companion on both legs of the journey. We sometimes aren't really smart.

Fortunately, there were five of us travelling, so her pain could only inflict so much of its venom. Sure we found ourselves on the back two rows of the McDonnell-Douglas S-80 with the ever so gentle whirring of an unabated jet engine being occasionally drowned out by the 400 decibel speaker above our heads. We were treated to some of the finest display of customer service known to mankind by our crack team of flight attendants. It was entirely my mistake to ask her for a place to dispose of our empty cups while she was reading a current copy of US Weekly--it was after all the first issue to cover all the excitement of the Tony Parker/Eva Longoria wedding, and for my money, there just isn't ample time to catch up on all the excitement that comprised that day. We were only about 45 minutes late into Logan International, and our luggage only took about an hour to come off the baggage claim. We actually only had to run across three lanes of oncoming Boston traffic to catch the Avis bus before he unceremoniously pulled away, and we were merely trapped in line at Avis for a scant 20 minutes until we came to the counter and waited an additional 20 minutes for them to track down a booster seat for Lauren. We only got lost one time getting out of Boston on our way up the coast, and it only took three temper tantrums by yours truly to get us back on the right route. All in all, not a bad trip when you consider that we scoffed at the travel gods. The next time I book a flight that includes Shari flying on the same airline that day (or really any of their partner airlines), I have only myself to blame.

It didn't help anything either that Jill (my GPS) has suddenly decided that she really relishes taking the scenic route everywhere. I don't know what setting I put it on, but while she always ends up getting me there, she no longer believes in the highway system of this great land of ours. I probably shouldn't have been playing Rainman in the portable DVD player at the same time I had her hooked up. It wasn't very efficient for Charlie and Ray in that epic, but Jill has got some cockamamie bug up her ass that causes her to send me all over God's green earth on my way to a destination two blocks away. She and I are going to have a long talk before we strap her back up to the cigarette lighter and traverse this great land of ours again. Either way, we made it to our destination in one piece, the kids were extremely well behaved for the entire trip and we didn't have one flat tire. All in all, on a trip with Aunt Shari, nobody here is complaining.

8. Driftwood for Alex: Nothing like a little extra hobby while we are on our vacation. Some of you out there might not be aware of my friend Alex' gig as a proprietor of an upscale flower shop in Frisco. Let me just tell you that he does the most incredible arrangements I have seen, and believe me, I get no kickbacks for driving business his way. He has only been open a few months, but his store Skai Floral--check it out at http://www.skaifloral.com/ -- has the most consistently mind-blowing floral designs of anyone in Texas. Granted, he is a friend of mine, but I wouldn't risk the credibility of this fine publication for a deadbeat florist. If he sucked, believe me, I would tell you. Think about it--have I ever really pulled any punches on this site before? Didn't think so. So for whatever its worth--if anybody out there needs a florist in Dallas for anything, give him a call and trust me when I tell you, you will be thrilled with the results.

Now that the advertorial section of this posting is out of the way, there must be a point to mentioning Alex' flower shop in the middle of a Maine beach rant. Well, we got a call from Christine yesterday, and she mentioned to us that if we happened to come across any great driftwood, Alex would love to use some in his arrangements. New England is notorious for great driftwood washing up on shore, so we told her that we would be thrilled to try and find something he might use in an arrangement sometime.

While I am no expert in driftwood, I am becoming an expert in the best ways to manipulate my son, and that quite simply means anything involving cash for services is suddenly fair game (provided those services do not include anything of a physical nature, interrupt something that is going on while he is immersed in a video game of any kind, or doesn't sound like it is worth his time). Christine has also quickly caught onto this dynamic and she offered Hunter cash for any cool driftwood he brings back from vacation. We have spent the last two days raking the beaches of Maine for the best hunks of wood from what I can only assume are wrecked wooden pirate ships or lost cargo from a freighter carrying lumber. Either way--we only are keeping the really cool wood. I have absolutely no idea how we intend to transport 38 hunks of broken, water-logged and probably ant and termite infested branches, but when it comes to Hunter collecting some cash, I have no doubt we will find a way.

7. Pine Point Beach: I have never been to Scarborough, Maine. The closest I have been is actually not too far away, about 20 minutes south of here in Kennebunkport. Dan got married there last October, but other than that time, I can't recall ever being in Maine. I am sure that we made a trip when I was an infant, but my earliest memories (as well as my most recent unfortunately) have faded. But I am quite certain I haven't been to this beach before. When it comes to beaches in New England, there are a few things that should be abundantly obvious. First and foremost, they are going to be crowded. Much like a golf course in New England, you only have so much of a window as to when you can enjoy the beach up here. My understanding is that Summer lasts about 6 hours in this part of the world, so it seems like everybody and their brother are going to try to capitalize on a nice day when it rears its ugly head. The times I have golfed in this part of the world, the course was packed to the rafters and generally occupied by people who had no business picking up a club unless they were going to bash somebody's skull in. The beaches here have a similar challenge in that the people occupying them should probably not be hanging out with a limited array of clothing--a situation that inevitably does not correspond well with beach going. Extremely pale, overweight and downright unattractive specimens make up a large contingent of the Northeastern part of the country. This is not a shot at anyone in particular, but when you are trapped in your homes for months at a time and the only thing you are trying to protect yourself from is boredom and cold--it probably makes a lot of sense to eat to combat boredom and create a fat layer to inhibit the cold. I get this, but I don't get the need to suddenly show up in public and display this reality. Unfortunately, nobody here got that memo. When the flannel comes off and the thong goes on, we are left to witness something that no human should be exposed to.

The other thing that should be self evident to anybody coming to a beach in New England is that the water has a tendency to be a might bit chilly. I didn't bring a thermometer, and I haven't recently checked the weather channel for water temperature, but having dipped my toes, ankles, shins, knees and accidentally even my thighs in the arctic surf, I can tell you that it is on the wrong side of chilly. I actually made it up to my waist at one point as I felt my manhood go Costanza on me. Sweet mother of pearl, I don't think it is a great idea to spend too much time submerged in the frozen grips of the tide. Hunter went in up to his belly, jumping waves and being a true trooper. Lauren got up to mid-toe I believe and Kim has felt some moisture as she's walked over still not fully dried sand at low tide. I'll probably suck it up and at least fully immerse myself beneath the water once before we depart, but we are not spending the usual requisite time in the water this year.

There is quite a bit of seaweed of all shapes and color throughout the water and there are acres of area that is filled with something--I don't even know where the hell it comes from, but I swear to you, there are pea sized wood chips everywhere. I have never seen anything like it at a beach before, but you walk out twenty feet into the surf and your feet are covered with little pieces of wood. Very strange. the sand is multi colored--parts of it are silver, or grey and other parts are black. There is very soft white sand as well leading up to the dunes which are covered with wispy sea grass that extends about 150 yards from people's backyards to the shore. There is also a section of the beach which is very reflective and shiny, because of all the granite in the area mixed into the sand.

All in all, it is a very cool beach. At low tide, the shore recedes at least 100 feet and reveals a huge expanse of beach. At high tide, there is barely room for the throngs of beachgoers to set up their umbrellas away from the freezing waves and cascading seaweed and kelp. As you walk down the beach, you are struck by the typical architecture of the area and you absolutely know where you are. There is no place like it on earth--nothing quite as quaint, chaaahming, or real as New England.

6. The House: As I mentioned in #7 above, the location we have this year is absolutely exquisite, and the house is more than ample to handle our needs as a huge family trapped together in perpetuity--sorry I mean as a travelling family tethered together by unfortunate circumstances--no, that's not right either. I mean the house has plenty of space for all of us who are here to enjoy each other's company unconditionally. Are any of you out there as physically ill as I am that I had to produce the last part of that sentence? Thought so--to that end, just take from the above what you need to understand--the house is big enough.

The houses we have enjoyed the past couple of years have been significantly more modern than this year's version, and I am certain that is by design. While we have a recently updated kitchen to enjoy--more on that later when we talk about our dinner from last night--the rest of the house is remarkably unchanged in some time. It seems that most of the houses we rent on these journeys each year are designed specifically for large groups travelling together. There is quite a bit of forethought into what is important, whether it is a business gathering or, more frequently, a family gathering. To that end, there have always been multiple master suites in the houses we end up swarming. In fact, every room is oversized and has a huge bathroom attached. Usually, there are multiple rooms with jacuzzi tubs in the bathrooms and every room has a view of some kind (except for the kids rooms). There is always a media/entertainment room of some sort, and there are multiple areas for gathering inside and out--sweeping verandas, and lots of comfy furniture.

This year, we find ourselves in a somewhat dated and less formally thought out house. There are only two rooms that have their own bathrooms (both of which are located in the basement--and my guess were added after they decided to turn it into a rental property). The rooms are undersized (so much so, that there is not even room for a dresser in our bedroom with a queen sized bed). The house is filled with tile floors, so there is a great deal of echoing and it has been somewhat challenging to allow the kids to get the rest they need. The decor is comfortable, but also very dated and in dire need of a coat of paint. And the kids rooms are completely set up for girls for some reason, a point of contention for poor hunter who had to decide if he wanted his comforter on the pink and green plaid side or the tangerine polka-dot side (which was far and away the most masculine choice he could make).

But somehow it all works. The house is very comfortable and it has everything we need. The area is very convenient to Portland (about 20 minutes north), but Scarborough has everything we need. The house is equipped with every modern convenience, and even though there are at least 35 light switches that are placed in areas that make no sense or don't actually control any light, it is an absolutely beautiful home. I will say, however, that the downstairs bathroom has to have created at least 10-20 lawsuits. The downstairs has a pool table, a big screen TV, a poker table, a dart board and a full bar. They decided to build a bathroom there as well, and to get into it, you have to step up a 14 inch step. While nobody has probably killed themselves yet, I would think that putting a cliff-sized dropoff two feet from the bar may not have been the most prudent idea every put forth off the coast of Maine. Just a hunch.

All right, while I would love to sit here and type for the next four hours to finish this posting, I am going to have to stop it here. I realize that this continues to put me further behind, because the craziness keeps on going with or without my postings being completed. I don't know what is on the agenda for tomorrow, but I will get this posting done provided I haven't been incarcerated, or find myself on the lam. To that end, I would say that there is a 30-40% chance you will see a posting tomorrow. Sorry for the delay, but 5 through 1 are worth coming back for--at least a couple of them ought to be!

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Program

For those of you who were tuning in today to see the next (possibly final) chapter of the BBQ epic, I apologize for my egregious lack of etiquette. Sometimes we are forced to change course midstream in this blogging business and unfortunately this is one of those days. Prior to 9/11, there was a huge uproar regarding a rogue US Rep from California that was inundating our airwaves mercilessly every day. He had some sort of relationship with a missing girl whose name completely escapes me at this point, but up until September 10th, her damn photo started every newscast and his link to her and suspected foul play absolutely overwhelmed our senses to the point it was unavoidable. Not quite the in depth newsworthiness that was the Elian Gonzales or the JonBenet crap, but every freaking day, we had to hear about this now completely forgotten politician and his missing tartlet.

Well, once September 11th happened, they suddenly weren't so important to everybody. Believe me, I am not making light of anything that happened that day or since, but suddenly some California rep and his missing mistress were rendered entirely irrelevant. In fact, they completely faded from the American subconscious overnight. I've completely forgotten both of their names, and if you don't remember either of them, believe me we heard every bleeping detail of both of their convoluted lives for months. It was painful and I am certain that one of the readers out there can educate all of us who these folks were (Aaron, that would be you). Like that day in September when these two moved from the dartboard to the back burner of the American Media, the BBQ story suddenly and unexpectedly has to be put on hold indefinitely. I am hoping to return to the exciting conclusion very soon, but I can no longer hold off on getting to the most exciting blogging story of the year and that is the insanity that is my family rolled around the backdrop our annual beach vacation.

I thought that I could make it to mid week before offering up to the world a preview of our trip, and as such, we would all have the chance to see a tidy bow put on the fascination that is the world of Friscan (that would be Frisco style) BBQ. But as the daily toll of countless e-mails between family members pounds upon my consciousness, I must take a detour from the intended topic and delve into the endless riches of comedy that my family represents to the rest of the world as they prattle about with the nonsensical realm of all they deem integral to existence. To that end, I apologize in advance and will most certainly get to the end of the fascinating BBQ thing. But for right now, BBQ is as important as Chandra Levy and that other guy (thanks Kim--in a second I'll Google that name and figure out what the former politician turned fry cook at In-N-Out Burger's name is).

Many of you out there have not been fully indoctrinated into the fascinating study that is my family. Sure, you have had teasers here and there--an occasional anecdote about Grampa G or Aunt Shari, but until you have experienced the entire clan, up close and personal, all at the same time, you truly haven't lived on the edge. Few have entered into this world and lived to talk about it--the last one to try was Opa, God rest his soul. If you are daring enough to attempt consorting with this band of crazies, and you can maintain the proper perspective, the constant barrage of laughter that one might derive from their antics (unbeknown to them--Bill Simmons of ESPN refers to this as the Unintentional Comedy Scale) is well worth any risk you might encounter along the way. But perspective is difficult to say the least. Not naming any in-laws directly, but there have been many a brother or sister-in-law who thought they could handle the daily grind of voluminous nagging, whining and bitching for a week at a time without feeling the few remaining strands of their dignity (nay their soul) seep away. It isn't so much any one incident, mind you, but rather the constancy of it all. At first, you walk into the beach house and think to yourself, "This isn't so bad--sure they have been arguing unabashedly and unapologetically for 2 1/2 hours about who is getting the King sized bed, and sure three of them have left the room in tears, and sure our kids are going to be spending the majority of their formative years in hard core therapy, but this is a really nice house and it has to settle down some time soon. Nobody can nit-pick and whine incessantly over nothing for a whole evening." Unfortunately, this is only the beginning of the seven days of hell that are waiting for any who dare go this far or dare take a second to step back and actually allow themselves to get sucked into the minutia and insanity of every conversation that will permeate the dwelling for the next 168 hours.

So to say that I expect to have some blogworthy materials to choose from next week might be the understatement of the year. We are heading to a remote beachhead in Maine on Saturday and depending upon whose turn it is on the insan-o-meter, you just never know who is going to be the one who provides the fodder for my daily amusement. I am hoping that it translates appropriately into the written word, and I have every intention of taking some time each day to update a posting about whatever strikes me at that particular moment. Being trapped in a house for seven days with people who are probably going to make a point to read every nugget I write about them should make it even more entertaining. If not, and everybody is walking on eggshells on their best behavior to avoid the biting commentary that reaches nearly libelous proportions when not kept in check, even the better. At least I will have a relaxing week at the beach. Realistically, for you the reader out there, I would put the chances of everybody choosing the same week to behave while stuck in the same house with 13 other members of our family (as well as numerous guest appearances over the seven days) somewhere in the vicinity of winning both Powerball and Publishers Clearing House simultaneously only to be hit by a meteor as Ed McMahon handed you the giant check. So fear not my friends, this week should produce a hearty feast for your viewing pleasure.

In the interim, my family has haphazardly provided me with the proper fodder for today's posting in their daily communications about our impending journey. You would think that they wouldn't have to toss up so many softballs for me to take a swing at, but it has been a while since I posted with any regularity, and I understand they are looking to get me started back up with as few excuses as possible. I guess they were feeling like it was time to give me some good material. Enter the pre-trip e-mails to provide today's episode. I guess the e-mails can actually be traced back almost a full year. That was when we started the discussion about where we were going to go this year. Those of you who are unaware of our annual trip up to this point, I probably need to provide some background. About 5 years ago, my Mom (affectionately referred to as Gramma G most the time) decided that she would spend our future inheritance in as frivolous a manner as humanly possible. She was going to go out and create her own boy band with the dough, but after the spectacle that Justin Timberlake made of himself at the superbowl (and the way it nearly destroyed the FCC and cost Uncle Aaron his job), she just couldn't justify that anymore. Her next plan was to create a colony for wayward librarians who were unable to successfully transition from the Dewey Decimal System to the modern conveniences of the Internet. This also ended up being a disappointment to her when she discovered that nobody actually ever understood the Dewey Decimal System in the first place and all of the books she kept asking people to file for the last 40 years of her life had instead been merely color coded. You can imagine her dismay and inability to face the fact that she had wasted the better part of her life learning that 542.223540 was supposed to be reserved for a history of pre-colonial Latvia, and not Little Bear Finds a Stream. Instead of facing the harsh reality that her two lifelong dreams might never be realized and instead of giving up in the face of challenge, she decided that she would find a way to squander what was rightfully mine by forcing all of us to pile into a large seaside house for a week each year.

And the caveat was that we would rotate who chose the destination (actually this part of the equation was added on my suggestion three years ago, so that we wouldn't keep being stuck at Crescent Beach in the condo I broke into dozens of times in my teenage years). This family was responsible for picking the area, finding a house to rent, organizing the details and choosing the week. This year that responsibility fell on Aaron and Kathy who decided that instead of embracing the heat of the Summer, it might be nice to rent a house where the average daytime temperature just a couple of ticks below 130 degrees. To me this seemed completely reasonable. In fact, it seemed downright delightful. We had spent the last three years in Florida, North Carolina and South Carolina beaches respectively. I was thrilled that somebody was going to have the courage to pick something north of the Mason-Dixon line for a getaway, but you would have thought they had decided to park our asses in Uzbekistan for vacation with the turmoil that ensued. First, the thought of Maine was incomprehensible to one of my sisters (I have searched my memory bank to the best of my ability and unfortunately the details are extremely sketchy. Most of my short-term memory gets blended together now, which is why it's so tragic that the BBQ story is on hold now. All I know is that both of my sisters were bitching about something about going to Maine. Who did what bitching and exactly when the bitching took place, that might be anybody's guess. The nice thing is that in about two hours when both of them figure out that I have posted about them, there will be a rebuttal where they unequivocally deny any wrongdoing and blame somebody else--just part of the amusement my friends--stay tuned). When they showed us a picture of this absolutely gorgeous old farmhouse , you can only imagine the hell that broke loose. We were still at the South Carolina house at the time and Kim and I thought it was absolutely amazing. For the sake of the story, I'll take a stab here and say Rebecca was pissed off because there wasn't a pool. Shari was upset because there were too few King sized beds or some other damn reason that this house wouldn't work for either one.

For two weeks after we got back from SC, they e-mailed back and forth about the horrors that awaited us if they chose the farm house. It turned out that the house was on the market and the only rentals available were Monday to Monday, so they ended up ditching that as an option. Shari spent countless hours online finding a better house for them to choose (because Lord only knows they would be able to handle such a thing on their own. Now that I think about it, the house that Kim and I ultimately ended up choosing in The Outer Banks the prior year has been claimed by at least Shari and Gramma G separately as though they were Ponce de Freakin' Leon finding the fountain of nice beachfront houses. Everybody has to butt their ass in and take the credit, regardless of their role). The house she found was too far from the beach for Rebecca, so it just wouldn't work for anybody. To their credit, Aaron and Kathy stayed the course, send obligatory e-mails making sure that everybody had a chance to offer legitimate reservations about this particular house in Scarborough and ultimately picked one on their own. I assure you that when it isn't perfect next week, Shari will pipe up about how if we picked the house she found, none of these problems would exist. The only way that doesn't happen is if she reads this thing and runs to a closet every time she feels the compulsion to tell the world that her house would have been far superior.

Once the house is settled upon, there isn't much interaction regarding the summer rental until Thanksgiving when we rehash everything at some poor sap's house. Other than that, the topic gets dropped until about two weeks prior to the event. (Sorry to interrupt, but if you were going crazy trying to remember that US Rep's name it was Gary Condit--just took a break and Googled that dead Levy chick) One of my biggest issues with the summer trip the past couple of years has been the grocery thing. Nothing should be simpler, but you would think it was the Salt II talks trying to orchestrate food at this week long summit. It seems that every year, we arrive at our destination and there is a huge uproar about who needs to go and get the groceries for the week. In 2005, we were the first to arrive, we were the ones who picked out the house and we were waiting around to check into the house anyway, so we were volunteered to forage for everybody else. It wouldn't have been any kind of issue except for the fact that everybody in my family is a complete pain in the ass (those of you who do not consider yourselves complete pain in the asses, I apologize, but when it comes to the grocery thing and you're a blood relative, you are a complete pain in the ass). We were told (that differs a great deal from asked politely) what to get everybody and there were some extensive lists provided. When we were finally able to check into the house, we weren't greeted by one Thank you for saving them time and energy. Instead we were inundated with a barrage of individuals whining about how we got the wrong kind of breakfast cereal or we didn't get nearly enough bananas for the week or it was supposed to be caffeine free Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper or how could we get ground beef, but no ground turkey. So instead of being thanked for our efforts, we were instead chastised and sent back out to fetch the right items to satisfy their slovenly needs. At that point, I was more than happy to escape for a couple of hours. Somehow, the next year, though we were among the last to arrive, I was again volunteered for the thankless, never-ending food run.

Thankfully, Aaron took the initiative this year to send out an e-mail two weeks ago to try to ascertain everybody's particular needs for the week with regard to food. He volunteered to make a trip to the store before we arrived and eliminate so many of the problems that have cropped up over the last several years. Some of my family members took this gesture as an invitation to provide 60-70 specific items that had a range and scope that some might think to be unfathomable. Where else are you going to find a list that includes 1% Milk, 2% Chocolate Milk, Milk Duds, Milquetoast, a Breast Milk Pump, Spicy Jalapeno Cheez-Its, Boar's Head Rare Roast Beef sliced using the #3 setting on the meat slicer, and designer colostomy bags? You have to be a part of this family to experience such things, and over the next 11 days, you are in for the event of a lifetime. Kim is planning on packing all of our food in our luggage (she has completely turned into Meemaw, by the way--I can't wait to see how the 9 lbs of bacon holds up between my boxer shorts and frozen chicken). This is what my life has become.

The next e-mail fiasco has taken place over the last 24 hours and involves the obligatory photo shoot that we now find ourselves mired in on an annual basis. I don't understand this whole process. While we were growing up, Gramma and Grampa G had one family photo taken--one! I am forever enshrined on the wall in their study sporting a blue collared shirt with all the colors of the gay and lesbian coalition flag striped horizontally across my proud chest, a pair of tan courdoroys and a cheesy grin that hasn't faded in nearly 30 years on their wall. So now, suddenly, we are forced to dress up in the same outfits every freaking summer so we can have the same damn people in the same damn picture with the same damn background for some damn reason. I am yet to figure it out. The 5x7 collectors item I received two years ago still maintains a special place in my heart. Are you kidding me? What is the point? So not only do we have to waste an entire afternoon posing again and again and again, "OK, now let's do one with just the boys. Great. Now let's do one with all the brothers and sisters. Great." Now let's shoot me in the spleen if I have to go through this again.

We have received no less than 10 e-mails today back and forth about the necessity for all of us to wear khaki pants and a white shirt (except for the girls who need to be in white dresses). Rebecca seems to relish her role as official dresser of our family for photo shoot day and is instrumental in choosing outfits for all of us that make us look like the Bobsy Twins in the twisted grips of mesculin binge. What kind of white shirt. . .Can it be a button down. . . can it be a t-shirt. . .can it have writing on it. . .We don't have khaki pants. . . This year, we are going to have our guests who are brave enough to actually show up to our rental next week take the photos for us. Very nice. "Hey thanks for making the 4 hour drive up here. I hope you brought a camera--we'd love for you to take family photos for us until sundown. Thanks so much."

Here's my solution. How about we skip a year of the exact same family photo (sorry, there are two new kids this year, so the photo would be completely different this time around). Why don't we give them a year of growing and then take the picture every couple of years. We somehow made it through an entire childhood with one family portrait. I am almost positive, we could take one summer off and we would all survive. Oh great, now I'm the bad guy--see how that works. I have been tracking Kim's stress level daily on a scale from 1-10. We call it the Annual Stressed- (Summer House)-Out Level (Or ASSHOL for short). Right now her ASSHOL is a 9 and rising.

All I know is that there are days and days of fun ahead for all of us to enjoy. I am going to do all I can to provide you with an up close and personal look into the beast that is the annual beach house trip. Trust me when I say that it is not going to always be pretty. But I assure you if you take a step back from the natural rage that accompanies every interaction with my family, amusement abounds. You are in for a treat. Hopefully I can sneak in a day to finish the BBQ thing, but it took me 6 years to find out that Chandra Levy was found dead in a park outside of Washington, DC, how long do you think it might take to hear about the White Trash Bacon Wraps on the 4th of July in Frisco, TX?

BBQs Galore--Frisco Style Part II

Sunday Night, July 1st aka Burger Battle

After being the main participant in the creation of hot dog night, we were able to take the night off for the Burger Battle at Alex and Christine's house. One of my favorite parts of being associated with this group of neighbors is that there is no let down from one event to the next. With just as much passion and care that we tried to exhibit with the previous evening, Alex put into his burger entry. We invited Chris next door to participate with his offering as well and we were immediately immersed in the most confounding burger creations that have been exhibited in the state of Texas. First and foremost, here in Big D, we are lovers of beef. There must be 30 prime steak houses and hundreds and hundreds of slab o' beef type places in the metroplex. Just behind steak houses are the burger joints, and there are countless mom and pop places as well as local chains and the larger national places. One thing that they all have in common is that they pay an almost lustful homage to beef. There are probably a couple of those barn looking places that'll let you go and pick your own black angus cow out of the pasture like it was a lobster and they'll butcher it right there for you and slap that Porterhouse right on your platter. (If nobody has come up with that genius idea yet, count me on board for making it happen--how could that possibly go wrong?)

So here in Texas, any burger battle would have to start with the finest cuts of ground beef, nurtured into delicate patties and embraced for all of its bovine goodness--mooooo indeed. If that was what you might be looking for by attending this grand event, unfortunately you would have been sadly disappointed. There were a couple of obligatory beef patties for the kids, but Alex and Chris would have nothing to do with cattle on this day. Prior to the enjoyment of the burgers, however, Alex made sure we were treated to the proper ensemble of pre-burger nutrients. As always, there was an antipasto platter. This time we had a variety of Muenster and Pepperjack cheeses, Hungarian Salami, Italian Prosciutto and crackers. He also put together a grilled tomato appetizer (fresh from his garden) which he stuffed with fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, homemade pesto and a squeeze of lemon. I am not usually a fan of tomatoes, but these were fantastic--a perfect combination of flavors: the sweetness of the tomato, the saltiness of the prosciutto, and the tartness of the lemon all gave way to the rich pesto and creamy mozzarella. As we waited for Chris to arrive, we enjoyed a few of these to say the least.

The main course was obviously the hamburger. In addition to the beef patties for the kids, Alex created a buffalo burger stuffed with Muenster cheese. For some reason, people are intimidated by Buffalo as a protein option, and I truly have no idea why. I can promise you that if you had a Buffalo burger one time and nobody told you that it wasn't beef, you would almost certainly have nary an inkling that it was something other than beef. You probably might think it was just a better grade than what you are used to eating. It is very consistent, extremely lean and incredibly flavorful with absolutely no gaminess. It is better for you than beef (I realize now that living in Texas, this might be the worst thing I could possibly say--I'd better call Oprah and find out how she handled the backlash from the Beef Council--hey, it's still almost always what's for dinner). To me, the Buffalo burgers were perfect. If you aren't willing to take a risk creating food this week for this venue, I don't know what to tell you. While some were gun shy about trying the bison, those who did were treated to an outstanding burger creation.

Chris is a little bit of a perfectionist and his food preparation is a labor of love (his words, not mine). He showed up predictably a bit later than everybody else. A couple of things I have learned to count on with regard to Chris is that he almost never is the first arrival to any event, and that he is always well worth the wait. His contribution on this day was lamb burgers. He used a seasoned ground lamb topped with arugula and a cucumber yogurt. He brushed his hand selected buns with an extra virgin olive oil before lightly toasting them on the grill. I would love to share with you the splendors that I am absolutely unequivocally certain were represented by this Burger creation. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, I did not have the opportunity to taste this marvel.

After two nights of staying up late, Lauren had hit her wall early this evening. Kim decided that she needed to get Lauren home and tucked in because the night was quickly disintegrating. After finishing my Buffalo burger, I went over to the house to check on them and to see if I could bring Kim something to eat or to switch out and let Kim return to Alex and Christine's house. They were laying down in my bed when I got there and she said that they were fine. By the time I got back to the festivities, they were putting all the food away and I had missed my chance to try the lamb burger delight.

I was probably the only person there who missed out on a lamb burger that was actually disappointed that I missed out. Alex and Chris both made sure that they got to enjoy both varieties of the old classic gone wild. As they took turns taking bites and babbling to each other endlessly how incredible it was, I imagined only what could have been. On the other hand, while Kim is truly getting more adventurous in her dining exploits, I still think that she would have passed on a lamb burger drenched in a cucumber yogurt topping no matter what the occasion. I almost definitely could have gotten her to try a Buffalo burger, but there would have been certain trepidation. Brad of the appendicitis fame was back for the burger battle, but his appetite had been greatly reduced and he couldn't find room for a second burger--even though Brad has a somewhat meat and potatoes palate, he does usually try anything one time, so he would have at least ventured into the world of lamb on a bun. Gillian was so enraptured in her Buffalo burger (unbeknownst to her that it was buffalo until she was 3/4 the way done) never even feigned interest in a second burger. Christine also called it quits after the Buffalo Muensterosity. Stacy wanted no part of anything that didn't come from good 'ol US Beef, and when it became apparent that those offerings would only be available to the kids, she went to her freezer and had Alex whip her up a Gardenburger. He begrudgingly grilled it up for her and mumbled and muttered under his breath about "the freaking veggieburger" for at least three days. The thought of her delving into the lamb was almost as realistic as the idea of Kim going on a 3 day bender at a sushi bar. Those who were daring enough to partake of the lamb burgers were no doubt afforded a treat that the rest of us can only imagine. The next time I have the opportunity, I will most certainly not allow it to slip away again. Hopefully I won't have to wait past Labor Day!

Part III tomorrow

BBQs Galore--Frisco Style Part I

Whenever you move into a new neighborhood, there is always that sense of curiosity mixed with anxious energy because you really don't know what you are getting yourselves into. At first glance, you can stroll down the lovely tree-lined streets and see kids riding their training-wheel enriched bikes with Moms and Dads cheering them on. You can listen to the high-pitched whistling of the crap creating flying rats that seem to inundate all towns throughout the world (any Audubon society members out there, please don't take offense, but birds should be entirely outlawed in at least 41 states). The abundant flower beds busting at the seams, silhouetting the elegant brick or stucco homes. It always seems remarkably idyllic, but you never see the dark side teeming beneath the surface of these suburban minefields.

After a few weeks in a new house, the routine of the neighborhood begins to take shape. You know who are the "regular folks" and you also realize whose yard you need to make sure your kids don't accidentally allow their Frisbees to escape in. There are also those houses where you never see anybody except for the obligatory wave as they pull out of the driveway on their way to their anonymous job, just as certainly as you can pretty much guess which house is never going to move that 1974 blue-gray Pinto hatchback from the side of the yard.

Over the years in our ventures, we have encountered a wide variety of neighbor. Sometimes this can be construed as a great thing (our first house in Anthem) and other times it can be precariously uncomfortable (our second house in Anthem). Here in beautiful and soggy North Texas, we have a veritable bouillabaisse of neighbors to choose from, and the incredible combination of all of them makes life extraordinarily interesting. We have the really annoying neighbors on one side, who always feel the need to bitch and moan about their lives without regard to any body's actual interest level. Fortunately, that house is a rental and eventually, their house will be built and they will actually move away, though after six months of promises, I am getting further and further away from believing they will ever freaking leave. We have the downright rude neighbors on the other side who refuse to make eye contact with anybody for fear that they might turn to stone. Lord knows the consequences when their five year old actually smiles and waves at somebody. Their 13 year old daughter dutifully stares straight down at the sidewalk as she passes the houses on her way from the bus stop to the front door. Very pleasant and sociable.

Truth be told, these are the exception to our neighborhood, not the rule. Aside from those two miscreant households, we have an incredible wealth of fantastic neighbors to choose from. It has been a while since I posted anything, and I am pretty sure I introduced the world to some of these people at some point, but we have three sets of truly amazing friends across the street from us in the forms of Brad and Stacy, Alex and Christine, and Chris and Gillian. Pretty much every night after the kids have been put to bed, any combination of them comes over to sit on our front porch, sip a glass or two of wine (better yet, a couple of glasses of scotch), and recount the highlights of the day. No matter how challenging the day might have been, I can almost always count on finishing on a high note and fighting the urge to stay up another hour chatting with our friends. I wouldn't trade this part of my day for anything, and it doesn't matter if it is all eight of us sitting out there (or up to ten of us when Shari or Meemaw and Poppy Joe come to town) or just three of us, I know that my day ends on a high note. I guess at some point in our lives, the simplest things have the broadest appeal to us, and sipping scotch with friends on my front porch is among my favorite things these days.

Last Thursday, as we were sitting there, somebody came up with an idea that we really go and blow the doors off this 4th of July thing and expand upon the greatness that is the Granddaddy of all patriotic holidays. Instead of cramming a BBQ into one afternoon, why couldn't we break it up a little bit and have multiple dinners throughout the weekend and into the holiday on the 4th? I mean, if one day of cooking out with the family is pretty good, wouldn't five days of a culinary extravaganza with all the neighbors be absolutely incredible? We batted around a few ideas, and eventually came up with the following itinerary for Independence Week 2007:

Friday Night--Pizza night location TBD (Brad & Stacy weren't there for the conversation, but were insistent that they would take care of the Pizza Night)

Saturday Night--Hot Dog Blowout at our house

Sunday--Burger Battle at Alex and Christine's house

Monday--Nothing

Tuesday--Italian Festival at Chris and Gillian's house

Wednesday--BBQ Royale in the street (eventually relocated to another neighbor Bill's house)

We prattled on about who was going to be responsible for what meals, what each of us could bring, what time we would be undertaking each of these events and had a pretty good skeleton for the week. Kim, Christine and Gillian sat there and smiled and nodded without offering much to the conversation. Chris, Alex and I on the other hand kept trying to one-up one another and before we went to bed on Thursday, we were geared up for an onslaught of neighborly dining. This certainly wasn't the first time that we had enjoyed having everybody come over for dinner. In reality, we probably have a get together once every couple of weeks at somebody's house, but we had never gone to this length in such a short time period. I was pretty pumped up about it. Kim--not so much. We came in from outside and in my scotch-soaked thought process, I couldn't have been more excited.

"This is going to be awesome, don't you think?"
"Awesome?"
"We are going to have so much fun. We've got the whole week planned!"
"That's an awful lot of neighbors."
"What do you mean. I thought you liked everybody."
"I do. I love every one of them, but that is a lot of time to spend with anybody."

She gave me that look that makes me realize I am a complete idiot. I thought about it for a second and she was almost certainly right. Maybe everybody else would come to the same conclusion and we would end up paring it down to maybe pizza night on Friday and a BBQ on the 4th. That would be plenty of time with the neighbors and we wouldn't end up killing each other's children by the end of the week--not exactly the way you want to remember Independence Day. . .
"Hunter what are you doing for the 4th this year?"

"Oh, I dunno. Probably the same as every year, going to go and visit Mom and Dad in the Klink. What about you guys?"

I figured on Friday morning, everybody's wife would have talked some sense into them and we would end up simplifying the week's agenda signifiantly. At work the next day, however, I checked my hotmail account and saw about 20 messages back and forth from all of the concerned parties about how much they were looking forward to all these meals this week. Stacy and Brad had volunteered to handle the Pizza that night and all of the chatter looked like everybody was pretty damn excited. Before anything could be remedied, we were being swept up in a wave of enthusiasm that would not be contained. The week's festivities were on.

Friday Night, June 29th aka Pizza Night

While we were thrilled that Brad and Stacy had volunteered to host Friday's prelude to the week that lay ahead, it was far and away the simplest of any of the evenings. Brad picked up three pizzas from Market Street (very good pizza for a grocery store by the way) and we had a few beers, ate some pizza and relaxed. It couldn't have been any easier. We often get together on Friday night for pizza as a group, so this really wasn't anything different. After dinner, the guys went upstairs to Brad's media room and watched Borat and laughed hysterically. The ladies walked across the street to our house to do lord knows what and the kids ran around in every direction like recently uncaged monkeys. Things were moving along swimmingly until we got through about half of Borat and Brad suddenly started complaining about stomach pain. He had just eaten a bunch of pizza and had jalapenos with his lunch, so we didn't really think too much of it. We were wrapped up in our movie and didn't even notice he had left the room and was lying downstairs on the couch for the last 45 minutes.
We ended up taking off and told Stacy that he seemed to be in a lot of pain on the couch. Gillian and Chris brought over some high powered gas relief. Kim mentioned that she thought it might be his appendix because the pain was about six inches above his bellybutton. Alex and I poured ourselves a 12 year old Balvenie Doublewood and relaxed in our patio chairs as the circus of activity regarding Brad's stomach went on around us. The kids went to bed and Stacy never returned as she nursed Brad back to health with his upset tummy--wimp.
We retired for the evening at about 11:30 and I quickly fell asleep until we were awoken at 1:45 with the phone ringing. It was Stacy and she was bringing Brad to the hospital. Kim made her way across the street to watch the boys and sleep on their couch. I went back to sleep and woke up the next morning taking care of the four hulking labs that we suddenly found ourselves parenting (if that sounds like two more than you remembered from the last time I wrote, don't worry, we'll get to that story line another time--too much ground to cover right now). By 9:00, we had heard from Stacy again. Brad indeed had appendicitis and they were getting set to remove the little bastard from his belly. All right, so maybe it wasn't the jalapenos, but he is still a wimp. Tyler and Connor woke up on Saturday morning to find Kim on their couch and wanted to know where their parents were. When they were told, Connor was pissed off because he was supposed to get a hermit crab that morning and now he might have to wait a whole day. Tyler was less put out by these developments, but every bit as concerned about Brad's health. He was more like "Oh. . . Can we go play at your house now Mrs. Kim?"
The level of compassion for the Dads out there is always immense. Stacy came home from the hospital around 3:00 and the only thing she mentioned was that she was so upset she would be missing hot dog night. Pathetic!

Saturday Night, June 30 aka Hot Dog Blowout

I wasn't about to let our night to shine slip away without giving forth full effort. While I realize that hot dog night might not sound like much on the surface, I was determined to create the finest evening of frankfurter delight that the world has ever known. I put some thoughts together about what would comprise a perfect hot dog for me, and then thought of all the ingredients that might be viable accompaniments to others' enjoyment of the All-American favorite.

We weren't going to grab a couple of Ball Park Franks off the rack at Kroger, throw some yellow mustard and ketchup out there and let people fend for themselves on stale hot dog buns. That is not what the 2007 Hot Dog Blowout was about, at least not in my mind. We had to provide more--we had to draw a line in the sand and create a standard, nay a benchmark from which all Hot Dog Blowouts that might follow by future generations would dream of achieving. But how? How indeed.

The vitality of each component could not be understated. We needed to provide variety that might appeal to a broad range. The goal was to create a sense that all guests would want to try several varieties and combinations. Variety couldn't just be about the dog itself--it had to be about the buns, the condiments, the preparation of the condiments, the accouterments, etc. We (and when I say we, I do so because Kim was involved in the shopping trip, but stayed as far away from me as humanly possible because she was confident that I was completely insane throughout the process. I take full responsibility for any insane idea, premise and outcome) picked up the groceries from Market Street and went home to start preparations for what would ultimately become a legendary night of hot dog nirvana.

As I am starting to become increasingly aware, this like so many postings in the past is starting to become somewhat lengthy. Though I am certain that each of you reading this are overwrought with anticipation of knowing the details of this meal, I might need to skip to the chase and just describe the finished product.

We ended up with grilled Johnsonville Brauts, Hebrew National and Boars Head hot dogs, three kinds of toasted buns, homemade chili, sauerkraut, grilled onions, grilled red peppers, diced onions, sweet relish, homemade dill relish, pickles, yellow mustard, dijon mustard, spicy mustard, horseradish cream, mayonnaise (don't know why, but some freak might have wanted it), ketchup, BBQ sauce, sliced jalapenos, and grated cheese. We also had baked potato salad, bbq baked beans, cole slaw, and 4 varieties of chips. Our counter could barely contain the bounty. I watched as one neighbor after another sauntered up to the counter to take another stab at the perfect creation. Alex and Chris continued to amaze me with their creativity and appetite. Alex ended up with a bowl of chili for an appetizer, a braut, and two absolutely over the top creations with at least 8 ingredients on each one. It was magical, and it was only later in the festivities that I realized I could have done the entire event without any brauts--the hotdogs were being gobbled up at an 8 to 1 ratio.
As far as my creation went, I had a Boars Head frank with chili, mustard, ketchup, diced onion, grilled onion, homemade dill relish and diced cheddar/jack cheese. It may have been the most magical hot dog of my life. I actually wept.

Part II tomorrow