Go Ask Daddy About Spicy Commercials, Reserved Parking and the Home of the Demon Deacs

I think I remember you from my teenage years …

Long before Kesha and Jennifer Lawrence, way back on the timeline before Ingrid Michaelson and Laura Linney, in a time Hope Solo, Sue Bird and Paula Creamer were just youth-league cuties … there was the MCI girl.

Guys, this is Jean Louisa Kelly.

Her cute but creepy ad for the soon-defunct MCI became all sortsa Dream Weaver for me.  She resurfaced in Mr. Holland’s Opus, as star-dreaming Rowena Morgan in 1995. In 2000, you could see her in Yes, Dear, married to a dude even dweebier than yours truly.

I thought she’d disappeared after that feeble TV show.

Then I watched 1,000 to 1: The Cory Weissman Story. I resisted, invoking my “No Movies That Star Kids From Disney Shows” clause. But … Cory’s mom looked, so sweetly familiar. The curls were now straight; her lipstick less pow than fire-engine red.

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42 People Who Need a Stern Talkin-To (Who Aren’t named Hope Solo)

He gets just enough of the save to keep the match level!

I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.

Well, okay. I’m not happy. I noticed Hopey Solo – I mean, Hope – trending on Twitter the other night. That can’t be good, I thought. And it wasn’t. Turns out, Boo got suspended for six months for mouthing off after a shootout loss to Sweden in the World Cup.

The USWNT also terminated her contract. She called the Swedes “cowards” for their conservative tactics in a tied match against the U.S. I disagree with her. In my eyes, Sweden played legal tactics that give them the best chance at winning.

Hope’s diatribe was only words. No mammals were traumatized. Amphibians either. It might have lacked class, but Hope responded honestly to a question.

Go Ask Daddy About Summer Celebrations, Pretend Grass and ‘Is that !@#$! in English??’

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So one time, I made the principal’s daughter cry.

No, it wasn’t a broken heart, or even a noogie on the playground taken too far. Being the devout patriot she was, she took exception to my project on advertising in our gifted and talented class. See, I made a series of newspaper ads for a car dealership …

My spokesmen: Dead U.S. presidents.

I had Honest Abe, George Washington and others pushing off used cars to the public. I had them jive-talking and contemporary-acting (“No money down?? Say WHAT, GW??” that sort of thing.) and that’s just not dignified for any of our forefathers, not even Lyndon B. Johnson, Chester Arthur or James Polk.

#StreamOfConsciousness Challenge: Book

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Note: I wrote this stream-of-consciousness post given the one-word prompt “book,” on the blog Life in Progress.

I have to finish this book, y’all.

It’s the one I’ve started and gotten further on than anything I tried to jot in a random steno pad. It’s about the NFL in the 1970s. And here’s the thing: I’ve interviewed former players for this. I’m going to tell the story, in their words.

Former Chicago Bears legend Gale Sayers returned my call for an interview, guys.

My Essential Summer list * (*-Excludes NASCAR, sunburn, and lake swimming)

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Things I want to do this summer

Everyone loves summer.

We count down the days ‘til it starts. We long for it in the depths of winter. Give us sun and sand, sleeping in and summer vacation. I’ve never been on board. Cooling autumn winds, short days and chilly nights sustain my soul the way the sun does others’.

Summer’s nearly here, though.

Not a Guest Post, but 11 More Smartphone Pics, V

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Hey guys.

So, this A to Z Challenge really kicked my butt. It happened in the home stretch of soccer season. It fell during a time we stressed over Elise’s college status (she got in!) and lots of work workload. Spring’s a time of renewal, too. Although it’s mostly pollen.

If my guest post list were a troubling of goldfish, they’d mostly be belly up.

As readers might remember, when I have a guest-post Wednesday without any guest posts, I turn to my phone. I pick 11 random pics, and share them here. Let me know what you think. I promise to have something from an awesome guest next week.

Go Ask Daddy About Football, Bad Words and Double Trouble

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Elise has the capacity to annoy.

That’s stellar. She’s best at it when she’s in goalkeeper gloves and a ponytail. It’s a blast to watch. She’s a self-proclaimed midfielder stuck in goalkeeper gear. You wouldn’t guess it when she slides out at girls’ feet and sweeps away their harmful intents.

One day she kept one of the conference’s best teams scoreless with those antics.

In a tight game, little details get magnified. I’ve told the girls that every time you swipe away a scoring opportunity, you tilt the game ever so slightly. Soon enough, you begin to capture bits of their soul. It’s dramatic, for sure. Sports make for compelling theater.

Go Ask Daddy About Runaway Scores, Computer Jargon and Cautionary Tales

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There’s an art to the blowout.

Not of the tire or underwear variety. I’m talking sports. Sometimes you’re the windshield, and sometimes times when you’re the bug. When the score gets away from you and you lose track of how many points have piled up on you.

Or that you’ve racked up against an overmatched foe.

There’s often  no mercy. And I don’t mind that.

Go Ask Daddy About Inflections, Infractions, and the Voice of Garfield

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I’m at that golden age of 42.

It doesn’t feel magic. It doesn’t suck, either. Pretty much, I can handle most of what I could at 32. Only I feel it more at the end of the day. But it’s not what I expected. And I have only two months to figure out the secrets of the galaxy.

Ever read A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? In it, Douglas Adams says 42 was the answer to to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything.

He later said 42 was a joke. I thought I could still find the answer, at age 42. I have just less than two months left to figure it out. All I know now is that I can see better with my new glasses.

Why It’s Never Too Late for Daddy Stories

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It’s a stall tactic, I know.

“Tell me a story, daddy.” Five words. Sometimes worth 45 minutes. It pushes back bedtime, yes, but it’s also engagement with my face, not a screen. Their pop, not an app.

I know this. We don’t always appreciate our dads’ stories, sacred, profane and otherwise. Until that day we can’t hear them anymore.

What we learn from dad stories is profound.