It’s not a boat, it’s a ship

  • by Drew

Yeah, you’d have to be kind of a fool to believe the hcg diet could help you lose a pound of fat a day, but I recently learned that rookie Navy boys in World War Two came close. At least some of them did. This past weekend we had a Cub Scouts outing, what we affectionately refer to as “camping on the boat.”

In fact, a crusty old WW2 sailor explained that our floating hotel was actually a ship, and he took the distinction between boat and ship very seriously. Since he lived and worked on the ship for its 4 plus years of active service back in the 40s, I really want to show the proper respect. So, forgive me when I slip and say we slept on the boat. I’m only human.

The ship in question was the U.S.S. Massachusetts, nicknamed “Big Mamie.” Decommissioned more than 50 years ago and slated for the scarp heap at some point in the 60s, Big Mamie’s crew was able to save her and get her a permanent dock in Fall River, MA. Now, gazillions of people, many of them scouting groups, visit the ship annually. Some of them even end up spending the night. Who would’ve thunk?

The place is called Battleship Cove, and in addition to Big Mamie, there are some other vessels and exhibits. We checked out a destroyer, a couple PT boats, a submarine, and a Russian vessel comparable to a destroyer. And in the gift shop they make bitchin’ cool custom dog tags.

Speaking of the DMV

  • by Drew

My recent trip to the DMV in Millbrook has reminded me of a number of past experiences. One of my favorites was when I was in line with my Mom, when I was in High School. It was in Peekskill in the 80’s, when impatient douche bags on line would scream “Next! Next! Next!” as soon as a window opened to apparently shave a half second off the time it would take for the next person to move up. It was a hot bed of tension and nastiness and I witness ed a number of verbal battles.

On another occasion, I was actually present when a guy displayed a knife, apparently to cut to the front of the line, and one of the duty cops drew his gun to subdue the imbecile and take him into custody. Fantastic.

This particular occasion, I was behind a real Westchester douche pony with his son. He had a pink tennis Izod shirt with the collar turned up (yes, it was the 80’s)and he was about as condescending as a condescending prick can be. Think of any condescending pick in a John Hughes movie and multiply it by 2.74 and you will be halfway to how obnoxiously condescending this prick was. This guy would totally have benefited from a rapid detox and/or a three course coffee enema.

Anyway, the point of the whole story is that the guy had to take an eye test. I had to do the same the other day, and considering I could read everything down to line 15, the last line, without a problem, and I was only expected to read line 7, the eye test is no big deal. Nevertheless, Super Prick had his teenage son write down the entire eye chart while they waited on the 45 minute line (and yes, 45 minutes on line at the Peekskill DMV in the mid 80’s was nothing).

Then, when he got to a window and the clerk told him what line to read, he waited for her to look down at her form and then read it from his crib sheet. Yes, this middle aged genital wart could not read the eye chart and went so far as to enlist the aid of his teenage son to cheat on the test. I learned a real lesson about road safety from that near-sighted clown that day.

Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of…

blood staining the pavement?

The Big Sigh

  • by Drew

I had to go to the DMV to renew my license today. I’m hoping my new photo will be slightly less thuggy than 3 of my last 4. I did have one for a while when my hair was down to my butt and I had a good 90’s indie rock smile, but otherwise I always look like a thick-necked and bouncer.

I actually could have renewed by mail, but an eye test was required because I am a corrective lens person. This amused the hell out of me because there were half a dozen senior citizens with canes and blue blockers and a renewal form like mine, but none of them had to take the eye test. Seriously, WTF? One of those seniors almost backed into me in the parking lot a few minutes later, so, again, WTF?

The line was interesting. Understand that I have waited in some of the best NY state DMV lines for myself or with friends including Westchester and Manhattan offices. I have seen fist fights, I’ve seen people ejected, I’ve seen cops in the office draw their guns to “keep the peace,” I’ve seen lot. So, Millbrook…really didn’t make much of an impression. It was a 10 minute visit, from back of the line to completed transaction.

The thing that blew my mind, considering my vast experience with the excruciating NY state DMV experience, was the anger of the 15 or so people on line. I saw everything from equestrian apparelto ghetto hoodies with bling sunglasses to Members Only-style jackets, but universally, these peeps were miserable.

The prime sign of misery on line? The massive, dramatic sigh. The sigh that says, “I should be performing open heart surgery on the prime minister of England right now but you little people won’t hustle me through the line.

I’m back to my earlier sentiment. WTF people. WTF. From overheard bitchings I learned that at least half were retired (and didn’t really need to be there in the first place), two were unemployed with nothing else to do and one woman was a stay at home Mom who “runs errands when her kids are in school.” I guess this didn’t count as an errand. There was also a kid just discharged from the Marines. There was actually only one person on line I can say for sure was taking a half hour off from work. That was me.

Peeps, is it really that bad? 10 minutes in line is really that bad? Come on. I waited longer to buy a $5 basketball at Walmart a couple weeks ago, behind a family of trailer folk with a hell of a lot of canned spaghetti and meatballs than I did at the Millbrook DMV.

where’s the love?

  • by Drew

The other day I was in Target with a kid in the cart and exactly two big packages of toilet paper. I know you think I’m a total poop machine, but that’s not it. Well, that’s not totally it. See, they had this deal if you bought two megapacks you’d get a $5 gift card. I mean, even if I’m not a total poop machine I’m going to eventually use the toilet paper (or rather, my family of 5 will share in the joy of using that toilet paper). I figured 5 bucks is 5 bucks, why not take advantage.

Anyway, I was cruising into a pay aisle, and it was Saturday, so the inevitable happened. Before I go on I should mention that I rarely go out in public on Saturday or Sunday after 11 am. The whole consumer thing is just awful, and awkward teenagers make me physically ill. I mean, they made me ill when I was a teenager, so it’s not just my advanced age at play.

Anyway, I had already made the mistake of entering Target on a Saturday afternoon, so I really can’t blame anyone but myself for the pain. But there I was, heading for an aisle with my 4 year old and 48 rolls of TP. And just as I started arcing my cart toward aisle #9 behind the lady with socks and Doritos and the guy who was already paying, this large woman with a family of 7 in tow cut me off.

I probably don’t need to say it, but I will – she was massively overweight, as was her sister and mother. Her children (2 girls and a boy) were only husky at this point, but her husband was registering on the richter scale.

I don’t mention this because she was fat. I mention this because she was a total bitch, and making fun of her absurd weight problem makes me feel a little better about myself. Sorry for being petty.

She had a cart full of bags of orange things and bottles of purple things. I know our Target does not sell produce, but geez, even a carton of milk or a bag of yogurt covered raisins would have made me feel better. And her cart was overloaded. Remember, please, that I had exactly two items.

The cashier looked up over her epson receipt printeras these two parties approached, as the sister of the cart pusher/mom  did a 6 foot sprint (and yes she was winded as a result) to cut in front of me, then saving space for the cart full of heart-lovin’ delights. And then, the whole family gave me dirty looks. Puffy cheeked, squinched fleshy pockets around the eyes, dirty looks.

I did luck out and an aisle to the right opened. I was able to buy my mountain of toilet paper and get my $5 gift card without having to wait for the happy family to buy all 3 tons of Fritos and Fluff.

But here’s the funny part. The woman who cut me off and gave me a dirty look? She had on a Jesus shirt. Yup. A big honkin’ rainbow encrusted Jesus shirt. Is this your version of the Christian ethic? Making the guy with the 4 year old wait to buy his two packs of toilet paper while you load up on wholesome, American junk food?

God and country, baby. God and country.

Circles

  • by Drew

I realize, once again, that the whole point I started off with in the last post, well…it got away from me. Yeah, the denial cum hypocrisy of some parents I’ve known is annoying and worthy of some public mockery, but that wasn’t the original message.

No, I was actually planning to focus on tiredness. Specifically, the tiredness you have when your ten month old will not sleep more than two hours at a stretch and will only do that once or twice before shifting to an “up every 40 minutes” regimen. Yeah, it sucks.

It sucks more for my wife than me, because the baby is nursing, and even if I can comfort her sans magic boob, it only lasts for about 20 minutes. Yeah, I can’t even score the key 40.

So now, as we search for the best eye creams to cover up the dark circles growing beneath our eyes, I wish fervently for the baby to get to her first birthday. After all, both of the boys were a year when they started sleeping through the night. Soon…soon…soon…

And I look at this as paying the price up front, because both boys now give us the whole night. They’re usually in bed before 8, and they sleep until at least 6. Yeah, 6 sounds early, especially considering I used to routinely go to bed around 3 or 4, but at least we get a night out of them. We can actually watch a movie of reasonable length after they go to bed… that’s a good thing.

Yes, I miss rest. And I especially miss a well-rested wife, but we’re going to make it. I know we will!

Baby Love

  • by Drew

When my first son was born, I remember one mother who used to always say things like “Don’t you love every minute of it?”

Um. No. Hell no. Do I look like a flippin’ masochist?

Don’t get me wrong, no one on this planet could love their kids more than I love mine, but to pretend they don’t drive me nuts sometimes would be…well something between denial and dishonesty.

I used to joke that it is perfectly normal, after a week of sleepless night with a crying, teething baby, while still attempting to maintain your job, marriage, and general physical health, to consider throwing the child out the window. It is the fact that you don’t give in to that perfectly sensible urge that makes you a good parent.

I know different people react to different things in different ways. Some people question their sanity, or at least their ability to make reasonable decisions, when they become parents. Others take it as an opportunity to earn extra income from home, setting up a day care and absorbing the parental misery of the entire neighborhood. And some become little wholesome Martha Stewart pretenders, loving every minute of it like they’ve got a Loverboy Angel on their shoulder.

Maybe I have the Loverboy devil on my shoulder because when I quietly sing “Lovin’ every minute of it” I do so with sarcasm. Biting, bitter, nasty ass sarcasm.

I easily remember that, overall, I love my three monsters so very much. I really do. They are the most magical little baskets of crazy in the world and there is nothing better than being with them. Usually.

And that mother who used to tell me that every single second was perfect…I notice she stopped at the one kid.

Hmmmmm.

as young as you feel

  • by Drew

I’ve been ruminating a bit about bellies and bad diet, and it sets me off on a whole other tangent. While half of America is bloating so fast that Wall-E chic no longer seems particularly fanciful, the other half seems obsessively vain.

Maybe that’s not entirely accurate froma  fractional perspective, but say we’ve got 40% hugeness, 30% vanity and 30% normalcy. Those seem like scientifically accurate estimates, don’t you think?

Seriously, though. Read a youthology review for a glimpse into the seamier underbelly of American vanity. And it doesn’t start in the middle of the heartland at church gatherings. That’s just where it plays out. But the source, like so many other negative influences, the true source of corruption…

Burt Reynolds.

No lie. Have you seen his plastic surgery. My man looks like they stretched a flesh-colored ziploc baggie over his bony ass old man cheeks. Can somebody get him one of those Watchmen Rorschach masks or something?

Please?

Pump You Up

  • by Drew

You know, I wasn’t blowing smoke in my beer belly post. They say that the frontal belly hanging over the belt buckle is a bad sign. And I know that a diet pill is really not the answer. That belly came from somewhere, and the source of the size is the real problem. The belly is just a visual clue.

And I know the way to lose the belly is an investment in fitness equipment or a couple exercise DVDs, but it’s not always that easy. But here’s something to think about – diet. No, I’m not talking about cottage cheese and lettuce and all that. I’m talking about dietary choices.

Hey, even the geniuses at Princeton have figured out what a few of us have known for years – the junk in our food – preservatives, sodium and especially high fructose corn syrup – are killing us slowly. Not with his kiss, but his Twinkies.

Tummy Tuck

  • by Drew

Hey, while we’re stripping oil from the undercarriages of heavy liftters, what about taking a look at some phosphacore reviews. Alright, maybe not the best option, but bellies are an issue. Seriously. To quote my second grader, “I don’t want to sound mean, but…” there’s a lot of big belly-age going on.

Now, I know I’m not one to point the pudgy finger. I’ve got my share of extra pounds after all. But I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in the arena of excess belly fat – in guys who used to be the slim muscular types. It concerns me, seriously. I know a bunch of these guys very well, and I know they get a reasonable amount of natural exercise in their every day work life. No, they’re not jogging or doing pilates, but they’re also not sedentary. Shouldn’t we be concerned that people who have relatively active occupations are displaying that particularly unhealthy frontal beer belly?

Hypertension, here we come.

Lube Job

  • by Drew

This is a simple complaint. Or, well, an observation and a complaint. We’ve had a number of contractors/service people here in the last year, and there is a disturbing trend. Whether it’s a guy in a pickup truck, a fuel oil delivery, the septic pumper, Fed Ex, the sealcoater, or the meter reader, they always leave me with something.

An oil stain on the driveway.

Seriously. It’s getting on my nerves. I have this driveway we spent a mint paving two years ago, and then a couple hundred to get it sealcoated in the Summer. And now I’ve got oil spots all over it. Do you think I should read some accutane reviews and see if I can make a recommendation to these folks?

OK, that’s kind of silly, but I have to wonder why all these guys have leaky trucks. Maybe I could invent some sort of truck diaper. ..Yeah, that works.

© 2026 Drew Bancroft. All rights reserved. Totally.