CROSS LINES

I just got off the telephone with a nice woman working for Verizon. This morning I have been trying to pay a wireless bill on a phone that is used by one of our contractors.  The internet bill pay is down for some reason, so I called an 800 number off my paper bill. Here's how it went down:

"Welcome to Verizon Wireless. If you're a Verizon Wireless customer, enter the ten digit number you are calling about... Bienvenido a Verizon Radiofónico... Ønskevelkommen til Verizon Wireless..."
*beep-deep-boop-dip-dip-boop...*

"If you would like to pay a bill please press 1."
*dupe*
"If you would like to pay the bill in full, please press 1."
*dupe*
"If you would like to continue the call in Hindi, please press 1.  Otherwise, please stay on the line."

"You have made no selection. Did you not mean to not make any selection at this time? Press 1 for yes."
*dupe*
"Please hold for a Hindi translator, or press 0 for an operator-"
*eep*
*eep*
*eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-eep-eep-eep-eep-eep*
 "I em saying to you, good morning. My name is called Steve and I would be helping you today. Kindly tell me what is your good name, sir?"

*click*

So I called another number and went through no less than four automated transfers on at least six different Cray Supercomputers.  The system asked me if I wanted to continue service by paying the bill now.  There was no choice involved... I was to press 1 or, presumably, sit and listen to the infinite conch shell sound on the other end of the line for all eternity.  I pressed 1.  After the third or fourth time that I was looped through this question it transferred me to the Spanish computer. Fortunately, there was a true choice here as indicated by the words "uno" and "dos."  Unfortunately, the words "uno," "dos," and "cerveza" are the only Spanish words I know.

*click*

I called the sales line thinking sales people are always ready for a call.  Automated system, again.

"Press 1 if you would like to speak to a sales representative about new Verizon Wireless service."
*dupe*

Get this: I pressed 1 for NEW SERVICE and the system then demands that I enter my ten-digit Verizon Wireless number.  Do they only sell new service to pre-existing clients??!!  Do I have to be my own reference to get cellular service now?  How do I GET new service if I don't HAVE new service?  Okay, I'll play the game:

*beep-deep-boop-dip-dip-boop...*
"You have entered BR-549. If this is correct, please press 1."
*dupe*
"Welcome to Verizon Wireless. There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza-"
*CLICK*

I'll spare you the indignities of the next hour and a half, but I eventually got Stephanie on the line.  She helped me with the bill (the process took less time than it takes to boot up my desktop).  At the end of the transaction I gave her a brief synopsis of the problem and told her I would be transferring this cell phone number to another company at the end of the contract specifically because of the automated answering system.  I was polite to Stephanie (please don't yell at phone reps - believe me, they DO NOT create corporate policy or design/purchase automated answering systems) and asked that she pass the complaint up the chain.  She commiserated with me and assured me she would.

I encourage all of you to do the same.  Perhaps if enough of us complain we will no longer have to put up with having to communicate with computers. Had I reached a human in the first place, my work would have been done in minutes and I wouldn't be wasting time writing this blog.  The phone company would have had its bill paid quickly and they would have saved all of that money they spent on the automated answering system - I find that I usually have to reach a human when I call because the computer has already failed to solve my problem online.  And as for you, you'd be reading a humorous article about pre-Thanksgiving Christmas decorations right now.

I know there are some of you out there who are also tempted to put in a complaint about "Steve" from New Dehli.  I discourage you from doing that.

To "Steve" I'd say this: I don't mind that you're in another country... just don't insult me by pretending you live in my neighborhood. I know your name isn't Steve! Use your real name, Rasesh.

To Steve's employer: Possessing technical knowledge is not the whole picture, here. Make sure Steve can communicate in a dialect we can understand.

And to those who don't like talking to "Steve" when you call customer service: Hey, at least he's not a computer. Those jobs are sought after in India, while Americans will hardly stoop that low.  That's why they've all been farmed out overseas.  But fear not, your time is coming. A couple more years of 10% unemployment in this country and someone in India is going to hear:

Howdy, y'all!  Thank's fer callin' the hep line.  M'name's... uh... Ray-sheesh? Wha'cha need?

This 'n That

I've been off the computer the last couple of days because of a terrible infection. Some dunderhead decided to write a program that would worm itself onto my computer at work to pop up warnings that some program was trying to worm itself onto my computer. A horrible mess that is still ongoing. At home, my wife's computer got the same. I have hidden all weekend in the corner of my closet, clutching all my electromedia protectively.

Here's the deal: anyone who writes a virus should be executed. It is a horribly insidious thing to do, not to mention supremely cowardly. I consider it the digital equivalent of torturing neighborhood cats, a great identifier of the sociopath in the making. I say kill the hackers before they start trying to have drifters for dinner.

Over the weekend Barack Obama made new strides in alienating himself from the American public. His proponents bragged that he was finally going to conduct one of those Town Hall Meetings he promised during the campaign. His detractors couldn't resist pointing out that it was being held in China.

But before reaching out to his comrades in the People's Republic of China, he participated in another event of his Worldwide Limbo Contest, this time defeating 5'5" Emporer Akihito of Japan. It should be remembered that the undefeated Obama stooped before the Saudi Crown Prince just last April, showing the world he could bow lower than the 5'6" Abdul-Aziz.

His greatest challenge will be his upcoming bout against North Korea's Kim Jong-il, measuring just 27" at the shoulders.

The wait is nearly over; The Twilight Saga: New Moon opens in theaters everywhere this Friday. Do you remember when you could identify a vampire by his hideous fangs...

... rather than his pouty eyeliner?

HELTHКAЯE ЯEFORM (Part 9)

THE GREATEST OFFER ON EARTH!!!

Don't wait! Sign up NOW!

Announcing the formation of the Home Appliance Cooperative. From this day forward you will never again have to worry about having to wash your dishes by hand, eat your bread untoasted, or heat your dinner on the stove. Sign up now and you will be part of the program. Here's how it works:

Each member will pay into the Home Appliance Cooperative a low monthly fee. This money will be pooled into a central account, so it is important that everyone participate. Anyone in your neighborhood who is not a member will be fined and that money will sift down into the account.

In the event that any member's appliance goes out, the Cooperative will repair or replace said appliance free of charge, immediately. Of course, there may be a little delay due to processing and determining which affected appliances get seen to first, but the Cooperative will have a system in place that will look at keeping the system as efficient as is likely given the complexity of the problem and nature of the issues involved and other things you really probably wouldn't understand and don't really need to know about.

Let it be known that all members of the Cooperative will pay the same monthly fee, regardless of the quality or age of their appliances. Of course, members who earn more than $500,000 per year will be subject to a small surcharge.

No one will be denied membership based upon the condition or age of their appliances, or their personal history of appliance failure.

Pre-existing conditions are not a factor for membership. This means that even if your appliances are very old, have had multiple repairs in the past, or have recently gone completely out, you are free to join the Cooperative at the standard membership fee; we will replace/repair those appliances.

There will be a governing board over all similar cooperatives. You do not have to remain with any particular cooperative for a set amount of time. For instance, if your stove goes kaput and you then join the Home Appliance Cooperative, your stove will then be replaced. You have no obligation to remain with that particular cooperative, even if you have only made one monthly membership fee payment. The membership fees of the other members of that cooperative will cover the cost of your appliance. You are free to go on to the Cooperative of Home Appliances, or any one of the many regulated private cooperatives, or you may choose the public option, GAC, although the membership fees for it are a bit higher.

And don't worry if this sounds more like a pyramid scheme than a cooperative; it's not insurance, either.

PS: My brother-in-law happens to sell home appliances, so all cooperative appliance purchases will be made from Chip's Home Appliances & Charity Bingo Hall. Chip assures me he will offer the best prices and highest quality... trust us.

HELTHКAЯE ЯEFORM (Part 8)

Ignoring all pleas and protests to the contrary, the House formally known as 'of Representatives' has passed a 1990-page Healthcare Reform Bill, ready for Senate approval. The final vote was 220-215, with 39 Democrats voting against it, and only one Republican voting for the bill. With numbers like that it is clear Nancy Pelosi is doing everything in her power to make sure the whole of the American public is behind this, and that nothing is ramrodded through Congress against the will of We the People...

I'll cover some of the highlights of the bill over the next few days, but for now, let's try to get a handle on this price tag: $1.2 trillion or, if you're not into the whole brevity thing, $1,200,000,000,000.00.

How much is that, really? What is that number? Well, it's what is going to have to be spent on this health care overhaul. It's the amount that is going to be added to our national debt; therefore, it's what your kids will be repaying. Remember those 7th graders from Part 7? Yeah, they're the ones who will have to pay. Well, just how much is $1,200,000,000,000.00? Good question. Let's put it into perspective.

Imagine that you were to be paid $1.00 for every second of the day. One dollar per second. In one minute you'd have earned $60.00. Pretty sweet, huh? In an hour you'd have earned $3,600.00. Really sweet, right? Let's expand that same rate on out a little further:

Day = $86,400
Week = $604,800
Month = $2,600,640
Year = $31,536,000

Wow! Now I would take that! Who wouldn't? Heck, that's about 1.5 times the $19 million that House Speaker Nancy Pelosi is worth. It's hard to even imagine that much money, but that's what you would have if someone paid you $1.00 for every single second of the year. Enough to buy any car you wanted. A mansion. Jewelry. Servants. A second iPhone. Anything.

And if you paid that much - $1 for every single second of the year - toward that Health Care Bill? Why, you'd have it paid off in just 38,452 years.

38,452 years.

Say that out loud: Thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty two years. Go on, say it again. In fact, say it out loud to your 7th grader: Thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty two years.

I know, that's pretty dramatic. Nobody gets paid a buck a second. Well, that's not completely true. The apolitical Tiger Woods makes a little over $3 dollars a second, and Barack Obama's campaign manager Oprah Winfrey rakes in $8.72 per second. (It would take Oprah a mere 4,364 years to pay off the Health Care Reform Bill.)

Of course, statistics suggest that your little middle-schooler, as talented as he/she is, will not grow up to be either the greatest golfer or the biggest gabber of all time. In fact, statistically speaking, he/she will grow up to make $18.60 per hour, during the work week. That comes out to a yearly salary of $38,390.40. Not bad, but not quite enough to cover the $1.2 trillion tab in one lifetime. In fact, it will take him/her 31-million, 257-thousand, 814 and one-half years to pay off the House's health care reform. Go ahead and say that one out loud:

31,257,814 and 1/2 years.

Before you point out that it's the whole of the population and not just one person that will be paying the tab, consider that at the average salary it will take 400,177 lifetimes to pay it off, if every single cent of salary were put toward it. But given that the average worker doesn't put in a full 78.11 years worth of 40-hour weeks, but more like about 45 years worth, the total comes to around 700,000 lifetimes. Do the math... I've given you the links. Now, who works a lifetime with absolutely no personal gain, all of the fruits of their labor going to someone else? Slaves, that's who. It looks as though this bill will create the equivalent of three-quarters of a million slaves in this country. Which ones will it be? Mostly, the ones not even old enough to vote yet.

There are those who will pooh-pooh this blog, claiming that this country can't afford NOT to pass health care reform legislation. Now, I'm just a regular Joe, working a job and raising a family. My wife is a regular Jane doing the same. With the money from our two jobs we often use the phrase, "How are we going to afford...?" As in:

How are we going to afford Christmas presents for the kids?
How are we going to afford that repair on the truck?
How are we going to afford braces?
How are we going to afford propane for the winter?
How are we going to afford groceries next week?

We use those phrases often, but I can't remember one single time in my LIFE that I've ever used the phrase, "We can't afford NOT to..." I just can't understand that mentality, especially when talking about $1.2 trillion of our children's money.

Maybe I could understand it if I was worth $19 million.

HAVE YOU BEEN TESTED?

I was sitting in church this morning when it occurred to me that I have never been tested.

When I was nine years old my dog disappeared... just before we moved out of state. A few years later the dog we had was sold while I was at camp. My older brother moved 760 miles away from us when he was 16 and I was just 11. I broke my leg early in my sophomore football season, and my finger on my birthday during the next spring training. A friend died from an automobile accident while I was in high school.

I have never been tested.

I made it through Hell Week at Texas A&M. I made it through three knee surgeries and, eight months later, field training. Around that same time another friend died in an automobile accident. I got married, lost my Air Force contract, and my son almost died when he was born a few months later.

I have never been tested.

I left my job working for my dad's company, scared to death that it would reflect poorly on him. I took a job at one third the pay, my wife left me for God knows what, and I went through a horrible divorce. I lost my retirement and everything else I have ever worked for fighting for my children in court.

Yet, I have never been tested.

All four of my grandparents have died. When she was just nine years old my daughter told her mother she wanted to live with her. A judge ordered my children split apart and sent my daughter to live with her mother in another state. My son misses his sister dearly.

Still, my faith has never been tested.

My parents are still alive, as are both of my brothers. Although my daughter lives in another state, I see her as often as possible. My son is with me, and as a result of my marriage to a wonderful woman, he has two loving step-brothers. I am blessed to be where I am and with whom I spend my days. I thank God for this every day. And no matter what hardships I've endured in the past, I do not deserve to have all that I have and to be where I am in the world.

I have never been tested.

No doctor has informed me that part of my body is trying to kill me and must be removed.

I have never been tested.

My wife Benita is beginning a project to interview and photograph survivors of breast cancer.

They are being tested.

None of them deserves to be where they are in the world. While I find it easy to give thanks to God each and every day for what I have... could I do the same if I had what they have? No, I could not give thanks for it. But could I be sure that God was still there with me? Could I be sure that he still loved me? I've been through so much less in my life and wondered so much more.

Benita hopes that her project might help them, if only to give hope or comfort. I know Benita; her friendship will do that. Her sense of grace will bring warmth to a cold and lonely situation. I hope that her photographs can reveal the beauty that is still there in each of the women she reaches. And perhaps her faith can bring assurance that God is still there.

If you know anyone who might benefit from being a part of this project please contact Benita through her website:
http://www.asweetlifestudio.com/

KEEP AN OPEN MIND...

13 Dead

30 Wounded

Major Nidal Malik Hasan in custody

Over the next few days or weeks you will hear and read much about soldier-on-soldier violence. These events are not so isolated as the American public is led to believe. The stress of redeployments is pushing soldiers over the edge. The strain on members of the military is reaching a critical mass. Just how big a problem is ethnic harrassment in the U.S. military? Yes, all of this and more will be bandied about in the media.

What you are unlikely to hear, at least outside the "right wing nut" arena, is that any and every soldier that is a member of Islam, converted to Islam, or professes to be associated with Islam should be immediately and permanently removed from the ranks of the military. No excuses. No questions asked. No hesitation. Any soldier who suspects another should turn him or her in.

This may very well raise a lump of prejudice and/or injustice in your throat. It's okay. You've been conditioned to react that way. It is time that military leadership, though, cough up those lumps and concentrate on security and warfare. One step that needs to be taken is getting Islam out of our military... the military that is fighting a war against Islam.

Since 9/11 we have all heard officials tell us that this is not a religious war. We all have known that that is bunk. Whether or not this country wants to admit it, Islam is at war with anyone and everyone that does not embrace Islam. Don't just take my word for it: look around at the statements coming from the Muslim community each time something like this happens. They are always generic, generalized, and never quite say, "This Voilent Act was Bad and WE Renounce it in the name of ISLAM." Read them.

Let's look at it another way. If a man went into a town square, let's say Mecca, and blew himself and 40 mothers and children to pieces in the name of Christ, would you hesitate to declare it an evil act and that it had nothing to do with you, Christ, or Christianity? I can renounce The Great Crusades at any time and often have. A dark period in our history, but it was not the result of the belief of most Christians and certainly not under the directive of Christ. Islam is a religion of war and killing, a religion in which the only assured salvation is through killing for Muhammad, the warrior-founder who was not sure of his own salvation. As for salvation through Christ: follow Me and love one another.

Is it a war in which we demand Muslims to convert to Christianity? No. We just don't intend to let them kill all of us for not being Muslim. And if we are to fight them successfully, we need to eliminate them from our ranks, just like any other enemy. Would you go to war against Canada with a bunch of Canadians in your army? Of course not!

Don't worry about soldier morale: we do the same thing with spies. Ruskies don't show up in leather trench coats and eye patches. Soldiers have to be weary of them on or off base. Why? Because they are the enemy and will do anything to infiltrate our forces and damage our ability to defeat them. Is it so unreasonable to recognize that Muslims are willing to do the same? The difference is that a Russian spy may decide to defect on political grounds. A jihadist can only defect through religious conversion... without that, he is still a warrior for Muhammad.

One of the primary principles of warfare is to understand your enemy's objectives and motivation. The U.S. has had a poor track record of doing this. We tend to superimpose Western ideals and our own objectives over the tops of those of our enemy's. We did it with the American Natives, but our numbers and technology made up for it. We did it with the North Vietnamese to terrible consequence. Those are just two of many examples. Can we afford to keep adding to the list? We need to eliminate from our ranks those that are sympathetic to, or outright members of, our enemy's cause.

This isn't a matter of individual rights, freedoms, or feelings. Soldiers sacrifice their claims to those when they join the military... any military. It is the nature of the beast. Out of a sense of gratitude, shouldn't we demand policy that helps protect our soldiers from our enemies?

So, keep an open mind, America... but not so open that your brains fall out.

Those Were The Days...

Last weekend the wife and I picked up a new DVD: Looney Tunes - The Spotlight Collection Vol. 1 (Premiere Edition), and we've been happy ever since. Actually, we were happy before, but now we are happy with some great cartoons to watch. This came about because we caught one of those Bugs Bunny Halloween Specials on The Cartoon Network. This was one of those where they took several "spooky" episodes and strung them together. Those are okay but they're no substitute for the real thing, kinda like listening to a greatest hits album after growing up memorizing every sound in the origianl track layout: it just leaves you uneasy and unsatisfied.

Back in the olden times when I was growing up (we're talking the 1970s here) we lived for Saturday morning cartoons. Let me back up a little and set the scene. Back in the 70s there was no such thing as cable television, and satellites were what the Russians used to shoot us full of radiation and Яed propaganda. This meant that there was no programming for pre-teens or teens at all. We went straight from watching Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood to 60 Minutes at the age of seven. That was it. With the exception of Saturday mornings.

In the mid-70s my family had moved into the Villa Glen Apartments in Bessemer, Alabama. [I have to take a little aside here. I have not thought about those apartments in many, many years. Really didn't intend to mention them in the blog, and certainly not by name. I barely had a concept as to where in Bessemer they were located, or if they even still existed. I don't remember how long we lived there, but when we moved in I was on a tricycle and when we moved out I was still using training wheels, so... On a whim I decided to look them up. Sitting here in my bed, within five minutes I not only found the name and address of my former residence, I am taking a virtual tour of them in a Google car. I lived there about the time my profile photo was taken... it would be another two years after that before Mattel Football would be introduced. Ain't technology grand?]

Villa Glen had everything a young boy could ask for back in the 70s. We would jump our bicycles over the speed bumps. We traded Matchbox cars. We destroyed Johnny West action figures. We played in the dumpsters. (Looking at the online photos it doesn't appear that much has changed around the ol' Villa Glen Estates.) I broke my collar bone jumping off our bunk bed there. Oh, and I busted my head on some bookshelves and got stitches during one of my birthday parties. Come to think of it... Villa Glen was a terrible place to live. Why am I even telling you about it? Oh yeah... Saturday mornings.

My older borther and I would get up around 5:00 AM and begin our day. There was no television that early, only test signals. I don't think those exist anymore, kids, so just imagine your Playstation booting up for an hour and a half. To pass the time we'd go into the kitchen and fix a bowl of cereal. Honeycomb was our favorite. Now, I'm not talking about those little crumblets from the 80s, no bigger than a Fruit Loop. I'm talking about the old Honeycombs from the Honeycomb Hideout with Big Betty. Remember those? Big enough to choke a horse!



We had one of those ubiquitous round dining room tables, the ones that split in the middle to accept a leaf for Thanksgiving, and had that hollow "barrel" between the top and the base. Our army men would fall off the top of that barrel (we spent a lot of time playing army men under tables and Hot Wheels on the backs of couches back then) and disappear into the void inside. We'd all be waiting around like vultures when family came to visit, ready to retrieve our soldiers when the table was pulled apart to install the center leaf.

My brother and I would sit at this table every Saturday morning eating bowl after bowl of Honeycomb and draw. Yep, that's it. Just draw. A spiral notebook or two, some pencils, crayons or colored pencils (depending upon our current grade in school), and our imaginations. We had to use those way back then before Nickelodeon and The Disney Channel came about. The sugar from the cereal may have had an impact on my artwork, but my older brother was definitely the one that got me started down the road of art appreciation. My mother saved some of our stuff from those days and passed it on to me. (Thanks, mom. And I am doing the same for my kids.)

This was probably one of my brother's drawings, although I'm not quite sure. The one below is definitely mine. They are probably from the early Billy Carter Era. I think you can tell that thanks to the influence of great movies like Convoy and Corvette Summer, sidepipes and CB radios were integral parts of our visions of the world.

Here's another Saturday morning creation that was in the stack. I'll go ahead and take full credit for this one, although Sheb Wooley probably deserves a tip of the hat. I have no idea how old I was when I drew this. I sure wish I had documented it in some way:

I think the scene may have been playing out on Mars, but who can be sure?

After we got finished drawing it was time for about two hours of Saturday morning cartoons, with The Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Hour being the central hit. My brother would also watch Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, but I was too young for it to hold my interest. Everything worked out, though: my brother had reciprocal feelings about Sigmund and the Sea Monsters.

They just don't make shows like that anymore... hopefully.

THE DADDY DIARIES

Several of my friends and family have had babies of late, and they've all been scrambling for information... or at least confirmation that their child is normal and their parenting skills are adequate. Women have a slew of resources out there, from new mommy books to old mommies themselves. But guys? Not so many sources. You can seek parenting advice from your friends, but that's probably not a very good idea.

You can turn to a family member, like an uncle... but again, that's probably not a very good idea.

In recent years a new alternative has popped up: Daddy Boot Camps. In these "boot camps" coaches and/or experienced dads teach daddies-to-be the finer points of being a dad, like how to swaddle, how to change diapers, how to burp, and how to bathe infants. I'm against these. Not because they don't provide good advice - I wouldn't know; I did it the hard way - but because I'm cheap. Why pay good money for someone to teach what comes somewhat naturally to most folks?

Still, there are questions, but fear not... I have answers.

THE DADDY DIARIES

As a guy who's been there and done that... twice, I want to pass on to my fellow man-dads out there the knowledge I gained going through it all. Most of the information here is nothing more than you will observe on your own, but perhaps it will give you confidence in those moments you find yourself wondering just what the hell is going on and what in the hell you did to get yourself where you are.

Childbirth is usually not that difficult for the dad-in-waiting, so I really just have one piece of advice. If you are in the delivery room (which I recommend), when you hear the word 'episiotomy' (which you will), turn the other way (which I highly recommend).

In caring for infants there are really only two things a father needs to know: if it's a boy, wipe up; if it's a girl, wipe down. That's pretty much it. For all other needs just listen to the kid's mother. Mothers can tell the difference between a 'hungry cry' and a 'pain cry' - or so they claim. It's neither here nor there. As long as you do what the mother says you likely won't get blamed if the baby becomes gangrenous or emaciated. And in the end that's all we can hope for: not that our child will turn out normal (which it won't), but that we won't get blamed if it turns out weird (which it will).

Once you get your newborn home you will notice that it seemingly has no control over its head or limbs, doesn't react to the sound of your voice, and takes absolutely no interest in your existence. Don't be alarmed... this is perfectly normal. This stage of development will end when your child is about 1 month old... then start again at the age of 13 years.

Be gentle with your newborn, but not obsessively so. It is a well-known fact that babies are made of rubber. That being said, they don't make very good basketballs. Try not to drop them too often.

When food is consumed by an adult there are two ways it can come back out of the body, and 99.99% of the time you know which way that will be. Be warned that that rule is suspended for babies: there are no less than six different ways, including the tear ducts, that food - at any stage of digestion - can come back out of a baby. This can happen at any time and without warning. Usually, though, there will be a lag time after each occurrence, so the best time to hold your new child is immediately after it pukes on your sister.

Babies ooze. Even when they aren't spitting up or pooping their diapers, an endless supply of unidentifiable goo leaks out of every baby orifice. This is another good reason not to be in the presence of a baby without its mother. Let her clean it... she is equipped to handle the situation. Be forewarned, though: close your eyes! This woman - the one who turned out the lights and placed a box of Wet Wipes next to the bed when the two of you were making said baby - this woman will reach over with her bare hand and scoop viscous liquids off your baby's nostril without so much of a pause. If you want to look into her eyes and feel the desire to hold her close, close your eyes when the baby starts oozing.

Babies sleep, you don't. It kills me when I see brand new parents get googly eyed over how cute their sleeping baby is. Give it a few weeks. That's no sleeping baby... it's a stick of dynamite. When you coax the little buggar off to neverland, all you are doing is lighting the fuse. You lie down in bed and try to count sheep, but the whole time you're thinking:

How long will it be? Will I get to sleep an hour? Four hours? Dare I dream! No! Two hours. Yes, two hours will do. Please, Lord, put the baby in a coma... for two hours. That's it. I just need a little rest. I can't feel my feet and the backs of my ears are burning. What was that? Oh, God, is that the baby??!! No, just the wind. Please, Lord, don't let it wake up. Why did we have to have a baby? What were we thinking!! No, no, I love the baby. She's so sweet. Please, Lord, make it sleep...

You're going to be overwhelmed with the desire to take pictures of your baby from the second it leaves the hospital. That is okay. You may take all of the photos that were taken of you when you were a child. Being held. Sleeping. Rocking. Bathing. Spread-eagled on the changing table (thanks, daddy). Click until your heart's content. Then stop. After about three months you need to put the camera away. Everyone else will have lost interest in even seeing your baby, so you should've lost interest in taking photographs of it by then. If you don't believe me look back at your baby photos. Go on, look. There isn't a single one from after those first hairs popped out on your head until those first teeth started falling out of your mouth, is there? That's the way it is supposed to be, so put away the iPhone and stop updating junior's Facebook page.

You will notice, sooner rather than later, that you will begin to hate your baby. Do not be alarmed. This is again perfectly normal. Men in general do not mix well with babies. We envision teaching a child to track, shoot, and kill. We dream of being the mentor who shows the tyke how to change out a carburetor on a '69 Camaro. How to use a bow and arrow, make a pair of stilts, and go ice fishing (even if it's a girl). Babies can't do any of that, so don't feel bad about not liking it. All they can do is wobble around like a rag doll, which is exactly what your wife wanted when she decided to have a baby. She will care for it, feed it, and make sure it doesn't poke itself in the face with a lawnmower. In a few years that baby will be old enough for you to begin teaching it all those things you wanted to pass on... which is about the time your wife will have lost interest in it altogether. Ah, the circle of life is a beautiful thing.