THE JACKPACK

Today, I helped Mom make some cookies for Santa Claus. I like helping with the mixer, and as soon as Mom says "mixer," I run and push the dining room chair by the counter.  I know exactly where that sucker operates, on the counter near the garbage can.  Before she can pull that baby out, I'm ready for the project.  I have my own scraper too.  It's just my size.  I especially like when we make cookies because Mom let's me be the taste taster afterwards.  Well, shoot, I get to taste-test the dough too.  I don't let anything go to waste. 

Imagine a cafe downtown just for little kids like me.  Adults, mainly women and effeminate northeastern men, go to Starbucks or some other cafe, order lattes, sit down at a table, and pop open their laptops.  They chit-chat with other folks about the latest and greatest fashions.  Or, they pretend to be intellectual and read newspapers like the New York Times. (next stop....my outhouse) Anyway, finally, the Koreans got something right, besides kimchi and....well, kimchi....a kids' cafe.  Yesterday, I got to bo to Little Bear Cafe with several of my friends.  It was on the second floor of downtown building.  We entered and immediately took off our shoes.  The attendants gave Mom slippers to wear.  As soon as I had my shoes off, I realized we were somewhere fun.  There was an entire room split up into sections of toys.  There were Little Tikes Cozy Coupes/Cozy Trucks and other ride-on vehicles everywhere.  There was a Thomas ...

...the mucilaginous or viscous substance that percolates uncontrollably from the nasal passages or in layman's terms: oozing snot! Yes, that's the experiment that Ludendorff is currently conducting.  He seems to think that he has the perfect specimen: a teething toddler frequently exposed to other toddlers who also happens to live in a subarctic climate. Some of you might say, "Oh, come on, Jack.  It ain't subarctic."  Yeah, well, when it's only nine degrees outside in the morning, I'd say that's pretty darn arctic, especially for someone whose blood runs thick with Texan/southern California genes.  Mind you, those are Bakersfield genes, not coastal, hippy, temperate, tubular genes. You're probably also thinking, "Wow, that's pretty disgusting for Ludendorff to do an experiment with mucus."  And, I have to admit that I told Ludendorff the same thing.  He replied, "Jack, mein Freund, I'm trying to change snot's ne...

I went to  my Christmas party at the beginning of December.  Apparently, to certain countries, Santa takes extra precautions and shows up in a fighter jet.  Apparently, I live in one of those countries.  That's my kind of Santa, the kind of guy nobody messes with -- armed to the teeth.  But, let's just get one thing clear: the dude creeps me out!  In fact, I'd rather not discuss that party.

So, in case you didn't read the comments section of my previous blog entry, I got a reply from Santa Claus.  Well, I got a reply from the half-brained elves working there.  Sheez.  I don't remember the Easter Bunny having been "corporate."  What a load!  P&G must have offered Santa a deal.  Anyway, here's my reply from "Santa Claus." Dear Valued Customer, Due to the heavy volume of mail we receive at this time of year, Santa Claus is unable to respond personally to your letter. Rest assured, however, that your letter will be read in the order received. If you are writing to provide a list of Christmas wishes, consider our online request service at www.santaclause.com/gimmethatgift. If you are writing to request warranty information, please contact the indicated mfg directly. If you are writing to determine what we would prefer you leave on the hearth Christmas Eve, please check with either of your grandmothers, as they handle logistica...

Dear Santa Claus; [If you're an elf pre-reading letters, please pass this one along to your boss upstairs.  I didn't spend hours pouring over the dictionary or doing lessons on "Ten Thumbs Typing" just to get a bulk, impersonal, "Dear Valued Customer" letter.  I would prefer this go directly to Mr. Claus, the real Mcoyster, the fella with the drivers license and passport that make people take a second look, the guy who has the supremo hook-ups with the FAA, the guy who wouldn't fit in a TSA nuclear scanner and who doesn't need to.] It was brought to my attention by someone who will remain anonymous that kids who aren't good throughout the year receive coal, black Play-Doh, leeks, dog poo, and cat hairballs in their stockings.  I'm only slightly concerned that this might be true but concerned enough to write.  If it is true, I'd like to get an official copy of your toddler policy.  You see, I'm nearly seventeen months old, and ac...

So, you will NOT be seeing any photographs of me for a few weeks, at least until my hair can recover from the weed-wacking it got on Friday.  I'm kind of wondering if the barberess at the base barber shop had had a few too many, if you know what I mean.  I'm also wondering where she learned to cut hair.  Maybe she previously worked for a tree trimming/removal company. Mom and Dad agree that I look like this dude, and yeah, I wish I could disagree. Mom tried to save my reputation, and trimmed my hair in the bath, but unfortunately, it barely improved the "do" at all.  So, luckily, it's wintertime, and I can wear a hat.  From now on, I think I'll take my chances with Mom's hair-cutting skills or lack thereof.