The Colonel T Show

Last time on The Colonel T Show, I joined Facebook.

Did you join me there? If so, you’ve enjoyed three solid months of frivolous status updates and photos of many of my children. Tonight, for no reason, I asked myself: “Why did I embrace Facebook and abandon my blog?” I’ve arrived at two possibilities:

1. Facebook friends have no choice but to read my updates. A captive audience in every sense of the word.
2. Posting status updates limited to 200 characters or less is fast and requires virtually no effort. That describes my general approach to life, so it suits me.
3. Picture posting is ridiculously easy.

For a time, I engaged my old pal, fellow blogger and television superstar Scott Sabol, in a friend count battle. That was fun for a few days, but due to his irresistable charm and outstanding grammar, he has now eclipsed me by a factor of 5. Kudos to him. Really. I mean it.

So I’m hooked on Facebook. I’m not ashamed. It’s pretty great. Nevertheless, The Colonel T Show (and Colonel T.com, and Colonel T vs. The World Crime League before it) is my first, best home, and it deserves better than to languish without an update for three months. So I apologize, not only to my readers (who really should be following me on Facebook) but to my dear friend, this website, whom I left all alone for three months on the cold, dark, Internet.

So, to that effect, this week I’m going to tell you about my new podcast, my upcoming children’s album, and the upcoming April 20-ish birth of my son.

In which the author presents grainy, untouched photographs of New York City with uninspired captions.

Click here if you missed Part I.

New York, New York. It isn’t everything they say, but it’s a heck of a lot of fun to explore and photograph. It’s such a different city than Chicago. Where Chicago is flat, New York has hills. Where Chicago dies down after midnight, New York’s just getting started. Where Chicago has an amazing skyline, New York has five amazing skylines.

I’d been there once before, for about 12 hours, and during that first trip I had time to see Times Square, Central Park, the Late Show’s Ed Sullivan Theater, and the Empire State Building. This time, I had three days, time enough to see so much more, and yet still not enough time to see everything. (I’ll hit the baseball stadiums next time around.)

I’d now like to share with you a selection of photographs from my now-not-so-recent trip. These were taken with my BlackBerry Curve (come get me, muggers!), which has a crummy 2.0 megapixel camera. I forgot my 7.0 megapixel camera at home. In the interest of full disclosure, I work in technology, and I have no idea what a megapixel is.

First up, we have an interior shot of the limousine we hired to transport us from LaGuardia to the hotel. Before you get all “Oooh, the Colonel takes limos” wait! Just wait. A moderately reputable-looking guy intercepted us on the way to the cab stand and offered to drive us to the hotel for $70. We “talked him down” to $65. For the next three days, we patted ourselves on the back, applauding our bartering skills.

Our egos came crashing down to earth on the last day, when we took a cab back to the airport…for $26.

(The identity of my traveling companion has been hidden to protect his identity…my fans are rabid and tend to kidnap my friends and family.)

We stayed at the Gild Hall because its website has a theme song. Newly renovated, the Gild Hall features a 36″ HDTV in every room, with a personalized message to make you feel at home:

Is that impressive? Sure. But that’s nothing compared to this free-standing toilet paper dispenser. Technology from the distant future, today!

Could I have spent the entire three days in the hotel room? Sure. It was a wonderland of mystery and imagination. But New York City waits for no man, not even me. So we pulled ourselves away from the Gild Hall and ventured out into The Big Apple. First on our tourist’s to-do list, the prop statue from (spoiler warning!) the climax of the original Planet of the Apes movie. Somehow the city managed to acquire it from Roddy McDowall’s estate, and they erected it on the Isle of Ellis:

Let’s fast forward to our first night in the city. Times Square, AKA Dick Clark Central! At the beginning of May, nearly every surface was covered with ads for the new Indiana Jones picture, which if you haven’t heard, is entitled “Indiana Jones and the Shia Labeouf Swingin’ Monkey Bonanza.”

Times Square boasts the single coolest Toys R Us — really, the coolest toy store period — I’ve ever seen. Part of its appeal are the bleeding edge toy displays. From end to end, the store is packed with product on the pulse of current pop culture. I mean seriously, what is hotter right now than, um, well:

All my other night pictures are blurry and non-descript so let’s move on to the next day, which brought us to Sheen! Douglas! WALL STREET!

My excitement for Sheen! Douglas! Wall Street! died quickly when I was suddenly confronted with a sobering reality. As we passed the New York Stock Exchange, I saw something terrifying. It was like a sledge hammer to the back of the skull. What could possibly have such an effect on me? In a single moment, I realized that the only thing standing between a functioning economy and the total, utter collapse of the entire American financial system is this guy:

As a celebrity, it worries me that people think I’m not a “regular guy”. I put my shoes on my feet, just like you do. I eat food. I love rainbows. I know I take comfort in seeing celebrities doing “real people” things. For example, I saw Donald Trump having Direct TV installed:

Finally, we have Ground Zero. I wasn’t sure what to expect. For some reason I was anticipating a Vietnam Memorial vibe, something quiet and mournful. In retrospect, that was silly, because it’s the largest construction project in the country. The entire area is blocked off by fences and security guards, and the surrounding streets are crowded with noisy pedestrians. There is nothing respectful or reflective about it. In fact, it’s kind of appalling — there’s a “Ground Zero Tours” shop, where you can purchase guided tours of the site, and purchase Ground Zero swag, like mugs and t-shirts. Sick. Go America!

Here’s one of my body parts, clenched in anger:

…and a shot I managed to sneak of the construction site, after distracting a guard with a candy cane:

My New York City adventures were glorious, but by the end of three days, I was really (REALLY) missing my babies. Back in Chicago, they were chillin’ outside with some cool drinks and nature. Here’s Ms. Madeline Rose:

And Ms. Molly Marie…

And the ladies shopping for blinds or a sink or aluminum siding or something at Lowe’s…

At the end of the day, I love traveling, but I love my ladies infinitely more. Awwwwwwwwwwww. Sickening.

And THAT concludes The New York Trip.

This is Daniel Cook:

He’s the star of a children’s series called, pointedly, “This is Daniel Cook”. Each episode (at seven minutes long they are more like “vignettes”) features Daniel on an exciting adventure, such as learning how paper is made, or having his teeth cleaned. These are gripping, nail-biting affairs. It airs after The Wiggles on the Disney Channel, and our DVR typically only picks up the first 90 seconds. That’s all my daughters have seen of it, and believe me, that’s plenty.

Included in the first 90 seconds are the opening credits, which features li’l Daniel prancing about spastically in various costumes and uniforms. Also, in one shot he fondles a pig. The lyrics to the theme song go like this:

This is Daniel Cook
On a bike, in a plane
On a farm, playing games.
With many places
And friendly faces
We’ll have lots of fuuuuuuun,
With Daniel Cook!

I couldn’t help but teach Maddy and Molly an alternate version, which goes like this:

This is Daniel Cook
He’s a little bit slow
He goes to a special school
Loving, loving,
Caring, loving,
He can’t count to ten,
That Daniel Cook!

I searched for an online video for you to sing along to, and found something even better — the Spanish version! Surely the best part is the text that appears at the end. Spaniards are hilarious, what with their other languages and word choices. Enjoy:

Last month, my daughters Molly and Madeline celebrated their second birthday. Technically they are no longer “babies”. They have evolved into “ladies”…ladies who have become fiercely independent.

For example, last month, Maddy moved out:

Molly put her hand in this car and has refused to remove it for three weeks:

Here’s Maddy calling us from her new condo in Vermont:

Molly charged me $150 to take this picture:

Maddy is dating a soccer ball:

Molly, modeling her new big wheel ($300 for this shot — lady is shrewd):

To wrap up, I’d like to show you the ladies’ birthday cakes. Built from scratch by my mom, these cakes were works of art and delicious. I ate Elmo’s eye! I blinded him! By eating his EYE:

Oh, here’s a leftover Easter shot, featuring the ladies and their Papa Jeffman:

I was going to write a post titled “My Daughters are Impossible to Photograph” but then I managed to shoot these little gems. From our morning play session:

That last picture is my Magna-Doodle rendition of “Elmo” as drawn in my new graphic novel, Sesame Street Neo – Chapter Zero: Prologue Gaiden / Z.

If you were to list three statements that you, as a parent, never want to hear, surely two of them would be:

“Your daughter is in Trauma One.”

and

“We need to transfer your daughter to another hospital. She should be in an ICU.”

If I never hear either of those again, it’ll be too soon.

The third statement, for those of you wondering, was uttered by my daughter Molly who, after four days alone with grandparents asked me:

“Molly watch Teletubbies?”

Brutal.

I’d like to thank everyone for your e-mails wishing Madeline a speedy recovery. I read them all to her, and I truly believe they helped in the healing process. The internet is powerful, indeed! In fact, just a few hours after I set up the Twitter site, she asked for apple sauce, the first of many rapid signs of improvement that led to her release just over 24 hours later.

Also, a special thanks to our friends at Evening with Sabs who posted a Maddy tribute.

I’d also like to thank my mom and my mother-in-law, who tirelessly sterilized every surface and object in my house over the course of the four-day hospital stay. I could smell how clean the house was from the outside. It’s so clean, in fact, that Intel is renting out the dining room to manufacture semiconductors.

Finally, no one deserves more props than the mighty ladyfriend herself, Ms. Elizabeth, who didn’t leave Madeline’s side for four days (I actually got to sleep at home one night). The ICU is not designed with adult comfort in mind, and frankly I don’t know how she managed to sleep there every night (the reality is, she may have gotten five hours of sleep the entire time). Maddy needed her mommy, and that’s all that mattered to Elizabeth. Truly she’s a champion and I’m endlessly proud of her.

I think I’ve taken Maddy and Molly’s health for granted — for two years they barely had the sniffles…and then all of a sudden…. Certainly this was the ultimate reality check, although I’m not sure how we could have prevented it. I’ll be implementing a few new policies at the house though, for example, if you’ve ever been sick in your entire life, you are no longer welcome here. We can visit in the driveway if you insist on coming over. Bring a mask.

Some random things from the last week:

–> Certainly the worst part of this experience was watching the nurses try to put an IV into Maddy’s hand. She was so dehydrated that her veins were thin and hard to penetrate. It took about 20 minutes — 20 minutes of watching my daughter effectively be tortured. Take a needle, jam it into the back of your hand, and twist it around for 20 minutes. I’ll never forget the sounds of her screaming. The worst part was during the ambulance ride to the ICU, the transport techs crimped the IV line, so the ICU nurses had to put a new line in — again, 20 more minutes of torture.

–> Maddy was hooked up to a monitor which displayed her heart rate as green number above her oxygen level, which was a blue number. I told Elizabeth “this must be her health and mana levels.” Elizabeth didn’t even bother telling me to shut up.

–> Molly (AKA Miss Molly Marie Burrito Munchkin Girl) spent four days with her grandmother, and really got a kick out of being a only child. Teletubbies aside, she actually did come back with a remarkably improved vocabulary. Off the top of my head, some quick examples:

“Molly fall down!”
“Elmo fall down”
“Molly go boom!”
“Here you go Daddy!”
“Tea party!”
“Daddy help me?”
“Go upstairs/downstairs?”
“Real cool!”
“More juice please?”
“Beard all gone!”
“Pentagon!” (in response to seeing a pentagon shape)
“Stop Sign!” (in response to seeing a stop sign)
“Regis!” (in response to seeing Regis Philbin, and I’m totally not kidding)

And so, life continues, with two healthy, beautiful children asleep upstairs. Tomorrow, I’ll wake them up, and they’ll smile and shout “Hi!” and “Daddy!” and “Waffles!” and I’ll be reassured that all is right with the world. Love you, ladies — good to have all of you back and better than ever.

Maddy in the ICU:

Healthy Maddy Posing:

Molly, Just Being Molly:

Let me be clear: Madeline is going to be just fine.

In the meantime, however…

After two misdiagnoses (a “cold” on Thursday and “bacterial pneumonia” on Saturday), on Sunday a blood test revealed Maddy has contracted RSV, or Respiratory Syncytial Virus. It’s essentially a viral pneumonia, which means there’s no magic pill. Antibiotics are useless against a virus. Only time and professional care will treat this.

A night in the pediatrics ward of one Chicago hospital resulted in no positive progress, and the following morning our doctor recommended we transfer to the Intensive Care Unit of another hospital, where the three of us have been living since Monday morning. Maddy’s twin sister Molly is staying with grandparents, and thankfully, shows no signs of the illness.

Maddy’s on oxygen (two little tubes just inside her nostrils), an IV, and has been receiving nebulizer treatments. She’s having a little trouble breathing, specifically processing pure oxygen. Getting her off the oxygen tubes is the first step in getting her out of the ICU.

She showed some progress today — for the first time she asked for food (apple sauce) and she laughed at some of my hilarious comedy. She’s got a long way to go (recovery from RSV can take as long as two weeks) but seeing her smile again has brought us new energy.

I’ve set up a Twitter site if you’re interested in following her recovery. Her mother and I are updating it regularly. I won’t be updating this site for a while (surprised?) so make sure you bookmark that one.

Thanks for all of your thoughts, prayer, cards, and letters.

Maddy’s Twitter Site: http://twitter.com/maddyrose

Information about RSV: http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/dvrd/revb/respiratory/rsvfeat.htm

Visit my Flickr site, and enjoy three months worth of baby pictures. You’ll experience their first birthday, their second Easter, and all-around general cuteness.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/colonelt/

…You can breathe for the first time. How’s it feel?

Some quick hits on what’s been happening the last few months:

• David Hasselhoff, shirtless and drunk, ate a hamburger off the floor. A heartbreaking sight, to be certain, but what struck me most was this: Is that not the least appetizing hamburger you’ve ever seen? Is that what Wendy’s is trying to pass off as a burger these days? It’s all floppy and moist-looking. Dave Thomas died and the whole company went to pieces. You’d have to be drunk to stomach one of those things.

• Hey America, thanks a lot for ruining David Hasselhoff jokes. For years –YEARS — Hasselhoff mockery was my dominion solely. Now, even toddlers are all “The Hoff” this and “The Hoff” that. He belongs to mainstream pop culture now, and that’s no fun for me. Sure, I can craft a great Dirk Benedict barb, but it’s nowhere near as effective.

• Bob Barker ended his 35-year run as host of The Price is Right. I had the special opportunity to watch his last show with my mom, who introduced me to the show as a baby causing my first words to be “Bob Barker”. Bob gave a classy sendoff, offering a regular show with only some brief farewell remarks at the end. I was disappointed at the pricing game selection, however; indeed one of them amounted to “Guess Which of These Two Prices Is Correct.” Lame! Bob’s last show, and they pick that over “Cliff Hangers” or “Clock Game” or — for heaven’s sake — “Hole in One (or Two)”?

• As of April 1st, we are officially homeowners. Our neighbors are, on one side, two ex-Navy officers, and on the other side, a family where the husband is restoring a car in his garage. Bam, right there, I’m the least manly guy by about 800%. (Not helping matters was the electric lawnmower we bought just after moving in. We used it twice and I returned it; doesn’t that count for something? Good lord, have I taken flack for that purchase.)

  The car restorer is a very friendly guy, and I met him the day after we moved in. I could tell he very badly wanted me to be a car guy, and I hated to disappoint him. Within minutes he was talking about the Corvette (or Camaro? Dunno.) he’s working on. The conversation went something like this:

  NEIGHBOR: So weekends you’ll probably see me working on my baby — That’s a ‘72 Corvette in the garage. Right now I’m getting the torque ratios tweaked; you know the ’72’s engine block was a different form factor than the ‘73 — you wouldn’t think it’d affect the axle differential, but geez, it’s a real bear.

  ME (pointing at the Corvette): Red car.

  NEIGHBOR: Huh? Yeah, she’s a beaut. Not the original paint, obviously. ‘Bout a year ago I applied a clearcoat to replace that orange peel effect. A lot a people think that only happened to the early nineties models, but I’ll tell you, I had to do a full sanding, compounding, and polishing to get her looking the way she does now. Still not quite done, but we’ll get her there.

  ME: Uh. Say, are those the original headlights?

  And it went downhill from there. Sure, I could have told the guy the extent of my car biography; that I named my Mustang after a game show host and that I actually think it’s alive, but it was only my second day in the neighborhood — why set myself up as the “weird guy” so soon? Plenty of time for that.

• PantsQuest! ended. Since a PantsQuest! article was at the top of this page for three months, I suppose I should tell you the results. Elizabeth did indeed donate my special khaki pants to Goodwill, which completely shattered my inspiration, sending me on three-month diet of cupcakes and saki. HOWEVER, when we did the final weigh-out last month, my weight dropped from 227 to 219, a loss of eight pounds. Not sure how that happened, given I don’t look any thinner, and my pants don’t fit any better — if anything they fit worse.

• Sabs, of Evening with Sabs, is having another baby. This one will be a girl. Congratulations to him, his wife, and their son Nathan, who I had the pleasure of finally meeting when I was in Ohio last month. Nathan and either Madeline or Molly kissed goodbye at the end of that meeting, and it freaked me out a little bit. I’m sure Sabs was all “Oh, yeah, Nathan!” but just you wait until you have a girl, mister. Overprotection ahoy! (PS – I predict the genders of Sabs’ next three children will be “Boy, Girl, Boy” in that order.)

• I still love tequila and tequila-based drinks. No change there, for those of you concerned.

• Summer Movie Roundup. Spider-Man 3: Horrible. Transformers: Awesome. Still haven’t seen Fantastic Four 2: Return of Fantastic Four.

• If you actually still check this blog periodically, I thank you.

In which this blogger spews words and ideas onto the computer screen with casual abandon and minimal editing.

Where Have I Been for the Last Month? Super Target.

The Big News: The deal is basically locked down at this point, so I don’t think I’ll be jinxing anything…Elizabeth and I bought a house in St. Charles, IL. We close on March 23rd. I’m hoping to find out what “closing” means prior to that. Our realtor implied we will sit around a table with the current owners, our realtors, and our lawyers and do…something. Play a board game, maybe? Winner takes the house? I really don’t know. If we do play a board game, I hope it’s Sorry.

The purchase of a home completes our year-long “adulthood initiative,” which kicked off last April with the birth of our daughters. Elizabeth and I have been married for over nine years. We spent the first eight years goofing off and being irresponsible in every conceivable way. But now, I think we’ve caught up with the rest of our peer group and we’re ready for the long, slow decline into old age and death.

Too morbid? Well, what else is there to do? More wives? More kids? More investing? More homes? It’s all more of the same. We’ve checked off all the boxes on the adulthood checklist. Short of a hairpiece fitting and a colonoscopy, I’m pretty much done.

Babies Have Wicked Skills: On Wednesday, Molly and Maddy will turn 11 months old. They’ve become fascinating. Molly finally started crawling last week after months of relying on a military gait. Personally I think she’s been able to crawl for a while now and finally started feeling sorry for us. Our looks of pity must have affected her.

Now that they both can crawl, the house is a deathtrap. We’re trying to avoid baby-proofing since we’re moving next month, so parenting has become a perpetual suicide watch. I miss the days when we could throw them on the giant ottoman and just leave them there.

This past weekend Elizabeth taught Madeline how to throw her arms up into the air and yell “ta-da” — although Madeline usually just gets out “aaaaaah”. Regardless, it’s very cute. Molly is working on the refrain of “Old McDonald;” her “e-i-e-i-o” is coming along nicely.

Both girls are pulling themselves into a standing position. It’s the first thing they do when we put them in their cribs, at which point they…interact…and I’m sorry I can’t be more specific than “interact” but we’re not entirely sure what it is that they are doing. Sometimes they giggle, sometimes they babble, sometimes they stare. Frankly, it’s making me paranoid.

On Saturday, we took the girls to a free 45-minute Gymboree class. Gymboree is essentially a heavily padded facility filled with things to climb in, bounce on, crawl over, and fall off. We wanted to expose the girls to other babies and introduce them to the worlds of social interaction and communicable diseases.

The class began by having all the parents and babies sit in a circle, introduce themselves, and share their baby’s most recent accomplishments. As I tend to do in these situations, I fumbled the introduction and immediately alienated myself from the group. Of course I couldn’t just say “Hi, I’m Tim, and this is Molly, and she just started crawling.” but instead I had to incorporate bad comedy and a pretentious vocabulary. I always know when I’ve screwed up because Elizabeth overcompensates with a fake laugh to let everyone know I was only kidding and should not be taken seriously. Story of my life.

Putting all that aside, what did we learn from the Gymboree class? Our instincts were correct; Molly and Maddy were, at first, completely freaked out by all the other people. They were very reluctant to do ANYTHING or stray far from us. However, at about 10 minutes remaining in the class, perhaps loosened up by the “let’s all get under a parachute” exercise, Madeline made a beeline toward a kid named Jack, ripped his pacifier from his mouth, and put it in her mouth. Molly, feeling similarly brave, pried a plastic ball out of a baby girl’s hands, prompting this little girl to break down into hysterics.

What can we learn from this? My daughters are thieves. That, and we’ve always suspected that Molly and Maddy view the other as an extension of themselves. What belongs to one belongs to the other, without boundaries or limitations. They will grab each other’s pacifiers without even thinking about it, and it doesn’t phase them in the slightest. Once the shock of the Gymboree setting wore off, they naturally extended that behavior to ALL babies, and so now we need to introduce them to the concept of “personal space.”

After all, they have spent maybe a total of eight hours apart since they were born. You can’t blame ‘em.

Speaking of Babies, A Couple Pictures:

Maddy

Molly

Everything You Need to Know About the Wii: Elizabeth’s family invaded visited over President’s Day weekend and I lost the use of my bed. So I had the rare and pleasant opportunity to spend a three-day weekend with my parents. Of course, I brought the Wii, and something extraordinary happened.

For the first time in my entire life, I played a video game with my Mom.

The game was Wii Bowling, and there are absolutely no words to describe how our game ended. Instead, I’ll let this picture tell the story:

Yes, you’re seeing that correctly.

My Mom Beat Me At Nintendo.

I’m almost certain I’ve never seen her 1) So insanely competitive and 2) So deliriously happy. I couldn’t believe it.

So, say whatever you will about Nintendo’s strategy this console generation. In my book, they’ve won a decisive victory.

By the way, I should point out that we did have a rematch, and while my Mom added 20 points to her score, I defeated her handily in the second game. And we both obliterated my dad, who can’t seem to break 100. He claims it’s because he’s too seasoned at REAL bowling, but I know it’s just because he was intimidated by my mother’s MAD NINTENDO SKILLZ.

Way to go, mum.

In-Depth Oscars Analysis: I saw one nominated movie this year, and that was Superman Returns, which doesn’t count, because it was awful.

Obesity, You’re In My Crosshairs: Yet another pair of pants is going in the “too tight to wear” pile. This time it’s my green Dockers with the Queer Eye-approved flat front. How many pants must die before I get back in shape?

Television, How I (Mostly) Hate You: Some quick thoughts on the following seasons in progress:

Lost:

An entire episode devoted to Jack’s tattoo? Really? This show is horrible.

Battlestar Galactica:

When Battlestar is firing on all thrusters, it’s unquestionably the best show on television. There’s no arguing this point. This season’s Exodus, Part II lands in the top ten episodes of any show I’ve ever watched. Unfortunately, of late the show has been mired in some awful dreck — the Cylon stuff in particular was terribly disappointing. Battlestar always seems to rebound toward the end of a season, so I’m hoping the Trial of Gaius Baltar will bring redemption.

Heroes:

I skipped this show when it first premiered and only recently caught up thanks to the magic of the iPod. Heroes succeeds everywhere Lost fails — it tells interesting stories about interesting people while at the same time moves the plot along and answers questions about its mythology. Sure, the “Hiro in Vegas” arc was staggeringly dull and pointless, but it’s one bruise on a banana that’s mostly ripe, firm, and delicious.

A Banana Metaphor? Time to End the Post, Dude. Agreed. Thanks for reading everyone! More, um, later.