Achoo

Curse you airborne allergens!

Father to One. Doofus to Another.

Last night I picked my parents up from the Ferry Terminal. During the drive into town I waxed on about how great a Father's Day I had, what a great father The Boy has, and how I (obviously)
was best damn Dad in the city, maybe even the world.

Then my Mom chimed up, "Did you wish your Dad a happy Father's Day?"

Oops.

Happy Belated Father's Day Dad. I promise I'll make it up to you next year, unless I forget again.

Father's Day

Happy day, Fathers. I hope you enjoyed your backrubs and Champaign breakfasts. Me? I spent Father's Day giving P a belated Mother's Day. She got to spend the day doing whatever she wanted and I took care of The Boy.

I guess on paper that seems unfair, but we had a great day. We hung out at a street festival, met up with friends, played in the park, danced to music, ate ice cream and soaked up the sun. What's there to complain about? Okay, maybe just one thing...

There were four of these street festivals taking place yesterday, part of Car-Free Vancouver. Kids at the Main Street festival had a bouncy castle and a huge robot spider to play with, while over at Commercial Drive -- where The Boy and I were -- hippies and hand-drums. My criteria for next year's Car-Free festival: More bouncing, less twirling.

But a tiny bump in what was a near-perfect Father's Day really. The Boy thoroughly enjoyed himself and so did I. Oh and P... she had a great day too.

The Livin' Is Easy

Summertime!

It's only sunny about 17 days a year in Vancouver, so when Mother Nature decides to shine a little warmth down the pants come off, apparently.

(The Boy's wee-wee has been blurred, so you can stop looking, creep.)







I don't know who taught The Boy to vamp for the camera, but this sort thing is becoming common whenever we shoot his picture.




He's got shorts on here, but they lasted about 30 seconds.

He Shoots. He Scores!

Recently, for reasons I can't explain, the topic of sperm donation has been on my radar. It turns out there are people out there who will pay good money for something most men are happy to supply.

I know there's a rigorous screening process, and the price fluctuates depending on quality, background, esthetics, etc., but I really think I missed my calling.

a) My sperm produced a child. So, you know, they work.

b) Watching porno and unloading into a container... I can think of worse ways to earn a living.

c) I'm healthy, in good shape, and might I say, [ahem] 'fetching'.

d) My teenage years could now be considered "vocational training" instead of "awkward self-discovery".

It's all moot though, I've been snipped. But one can always dream.

Q: Why Does The Courier Guy Smell?

A: Because he doesn't shower before work.

I played hockey this morning. A fast competitive game; lots of skating, lots of shooting.

Afterwards, while the rest of us are taking showers, this one guy climbs into his UPS uniform, packs up his gear and heads off to work.

Yeeeew! Next time I need a package delivered I'm calling FedEx.