Wasps Must Die!

No I’m not talking about all my Baptist neighbors. I’m talking about those flying gangsters of the insect world. They fly around with their little fedoras and their even littler gold chains. “OK pal, we’re gonna take over your deck and in return for you leaving us alone and giving us use of the premises, we won’t sting the ever lovin’ crap out of you. Capisce?” I swear I saw one smoking a tiny cigarette with a wife beater t-shirt on.


Last week a group on of 10 biker wasps ran my wife off the deck and that was it. I channeled my inner Bruce Willis and started to arm myself. I went to Wal-Mart and picked up a set of six guns in the form of Raid Wasp Killer. I put on a poncho and with Sergio Leon music blaring I let them have it. I sprayed under the deck, in the benches and even dropped a couple out of mid air! I was an insecticidal maniac.

The next day it was far from over. They had gotten reinforcements and set up more nests. Back to Wal-Mart armory and back out to the deck. This time I had to tear the boards off to get to their "secret underground lairs" before they could fix tiny "lasers" to their foreheads. I was death from above, and with a lethal “judo chop” I crushed their evil plans baby.

Today, they have returned and I can see that serious carpentry is in order. The built in benches need to be torn out. They were never very comfortable anyway. No more hiding. I’ve posted their little head on toothpicks around the railing as a warning to the others. Steve Luby will not be intimidated by some arthropod sub species! I tried to make a necklace of stingers but my eyes aren’t what they used to be and it would be poky, so for now I’ll stick with the head thing.

It’s far from over, but I’m in this for the long haul. Sure it’s mainly for my family to be able to enjoy our yard in peace and safety. But it’s also for the manly assertion of human dominance over a hostile, savage insect takeover. This isn’t just the American way; it’s for the survival of all humanity! Or maybe I’ve been inhaling waaaay too much bug killer over the last couple of days. Whatever. It’s still on :)

If your kids aren’t doing chores, they’re missing out!

That’s right; you heard right, “They are missing out.” Now I’ll be the first to admit that having 6 kids doing house work (so we don’t have to) is awesome. It’s like finding money in the street. But Steve you have 7 kids, why aren’t they all working? Yes, I have 7 kids, but since our 7th is only 3, he requires different motivation. Being told he’s “not old enough” has caused him to want to help #6 who is coincidently only 6. I’m either a heartless bastard or super genius. Also, to be clear, this is slave labor, no allowance. They all get “three hots and a cot” as my dad would say. If they want spending cash they need to earn it on the side or by doing work over and above their required chores.


Every day, Monday through Thursday after school, they do their homework then a different chore each day. Every child had work that is age appropriate. It includes their rooms and the rest of the house. Now, I’m not talking about just picking up a few cloths. I’m talking about cleaning their bathrooms, vacuuming the house, cleaning the stovetop. There is no pop, TV, video games or frivolity of any kind, until they are done. When I first put this structured list up and told them what was going down, they didn’t think it would last. Four weeks later they understand that this is never going away.

Now not only is my house clean but it’s staying clean longer. Why? Because they know they have to do each chore every week and they want to make sure it’s easy when the time comes. They take pride in good work profusely praised by me and have been policing one another.

Still think I’m a heartless bastard? Let’s get to the title. Why would they be missing out? They are getting a real sense of accomplishment, a solid work ethic and an appreciation for what they have. I am really seeing it in them and I can’t believe how well it works. Many “adults” I know could use some chores. The only regret I have is that I should have done this, years ago. So excuse me if I quote my good friend Wile E. Coyote, “Gad, I’m such a genius!”

Bitter Irish Rant ;)

Well tomorrow’s St. Patrick’s day and for us Irish it’s a bit of a mixed emotion. It’s a great party that ends up being the “Joes VS. Pros” of drinking. Now, while having hordes of amateur drinkers clad in green Dr. Seuss hats and oversized shamrock sunglasses trying to kiss me simply for my nationality is slightly annoying, the term “Luck of the Irish” bugs me even more. Really? You really want the luck of the Irish? Let’s think about that for a moment. What’s so damn lucky about being enslaved, starved, forced from home and treated like dirt everywhere you land? Lucky isn’t exactly the first adjective that pops to mind. In fact, that phrase was originally used to explain away the accomplishments of successful, business savvy “paddies”. They couldn’t have done it by their hard work or whit, it must have been luck.


Freud said, “The Irish as a race are impervious to psycho analysis.” While it’s true we’re that messed up (though not nearly as messed up as Freud), we are also that grounded in reality. We know there’s nothing to analyze, life sucks. Why do you think we drink so much? So while it may defy logic, the truth is; the balance cold reality with warm drunken blarney just works.

So what did we do as a race to deserve this treatment? Well, we single handedly kept western civilization from doing a complete hard reset and total loss of data. If it weren’t for the Irish “warrior monks” of the middle ages, there would be no monasteries all over Europe, no beer, no good wine and no classical literature of any kind. You would never have heard of Aristotle, Plato or Socrates. You’re welcome.

When Christianity came to Ireland they found the last bastion the wild Celtic civilization that once ruled all of northern Europe from Ireland to Turkey. (Here’s a Snapple fun fact - Paul’s letter to the Galatians is to a group of Turkish Celts who most likely joined up because the whole wine on Sundays beat the crap out of no pork and a veils for the women.) Ireland is the only place that was not Romanized by Christianity. The church didn’t know what to do with things like naked coed horse races on the beach, female chieftains as well as male or a people that could fight as well as they farmed. When you’re used to being attacked by Vikings on a regular basis, the church showing up was more like really entertaining Jehovah’s witnesses.

So who are the Irish today? We Irish prize strong drink and stronger women, working hard and playing harder and most of all; we’re just a bunch of sentimental psychopaths. So before you decide to become Irish for a day, remember to be careful what you wish for.

I’m Not Impervious to Embarrassment.

What does this mean? Well, for those who know me really well, or even kind of well, or even just spent a few minutes with me in the bar, you would know that I’m not exactly the kind of guy who is easily embarrassed. In fact, up until today I wasn’t completely convinced that I was even capable of being embarrassed at all. I’ve become so accustomed to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, acting silly or just being an ass that I really thought that actual “Oh my God, I want to die or disappear” embarrassment was a figment of my adolescence.

I was wrong.

Today started out pretty innocuously. I got up, took the kids to school, got ready for work, sent some emails and worked out. Upon completing my workout I decided to add some levity to my wife’s otherwise stressful week with a series of funny and perhaps ribald texts. And so I did. What follows is a sampling of what I sent:

1. The following texts are for your viewing enjoyment. Do not feel obligated to reply. Just keep working & smiling. The management.

2. Seth has been working hard and busy all morning J -(reference to our son)

3. I’m done working out. Time for a cool down shower. Then I’ll be tired, cold and horny ;)

The next seven texts are not fit for a general admittance Facebook audience. Suffice it to say that they were of a personal nature fit only for a husband and wife. Besides, 3 of my kids are on Facebook and what I wrote just there alone is enough to make them throw up in their mouth.

No big deal right? I finish my shower, get dressed and head down stairs to peals of laughter coming from the nanny. I think we can all see were this is going.

“I’m guessing you didn’t mean these texts for me, right?” says she.

I could feel the deep crimson flush of embarrassment and attempted to simultaneously cover my face and keep myself from emitting expletives in front of my youngest child. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this…” was all I could say. I felt like one of those idiots that get picked for the price is right

“That was for my wife! I am so sorry,” was all I could muster as an explanation. She was still laughing at the whole thing. So I did the only mature thing in this situation. I left. Went straight to the local watering hole and had a club sandwich and a few beers.

So with enough liquid courage, I returned to my home office and locked the door. So here I sit.

Sooner or later I will have to leave my office. It will be like going to the chalk board in middle school with a boner. You don’t want to, but you have to and you know you’re going to be embarrassed.

Well, here’s to being human. ;)

Carrying a 2 Year Old on Your Shoulders is Always a Risky Proposition.

So my wife is out of town for a week and Dad is doing it all. “Organization is the key.” I tell her. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Date: 8/25/2010
Time: 8:13AM Eastern Standard Time
Ego Level: High

I just dropped off 5 kids at 3 different schools and delivered all packages on time and on line. Now it’s off to the pediatrician to fill out paper work to get their medical records switched from Omaha to Greenville. My companion: Jude Luby, Age: 2, AKA: Judo Chop. My side kick, perched on my shoulders, kicking his bare feet, is putting out an aura of cute that could drop a charging rhino at 50 feet. We enter the facility.

Time: 8:20AM EST
Ego Level: Extremely High

As nurses and other women pass me they sigh and give us a look that says, “What an awesome daddy and cute little boy.” I can hear their votes for father of the year in every “Good Morning” and “Awwwwe”. The S on my chest is now becoming visible and if you listen carefully you can hear theme music being played as we stride down the corridor.

Time: 8:31AM EST
Ego Level: Super Hero Status

I approach the desk and request the forms to have my children’s records bounced off a satellite and delivered here in seconds. The woman in the waiting room practically swoons when she sees me. “I’ll just have to.... What? Fax number no I don’t.... Hmmm? Social Security numbers? Well I have their insurance cards... No? OK well I’ll take these home and bring them back this afternoon.” The woman in the waiting room is now reading a magazine deliberately.

Time: 8:35AM EST
Ego Level: Slightly Below Average Dad Status

“OK Jude, up we go. Daddy has to go back home to fill these out.” The woman is now giving me a disinterested, “go figures” look. I lift my little buddy up and put him on my shoulders. The pressure acts as a sort of urine juicer and the now full diaper starts to drain its contents down my neck and shoulders. “Really?”

Time: 8:37AM EST
Ego Level: Low (like white trash low)

Now as I’m exiting the building the looks I get now are a mix of disgust and scorn. Looks that say, “That’s what you get for knocking someone up, pal.” Or “I sure hope you’re the bungling uncle for that child’s sake” And “For God’s sake, get some shoes on that baby.” We finally get to the van and of course there aren’t any diapers there. I put him in his seat and he pulls out his pacifier and says, “It’s not our fault dad.”

In that instance, my little Buddha with a gee-gee, made everything all right.

Time: 8:40AM EST
Ego Level: Not bad at all.

What I Learned on the Plane.

Like Ferris Bueller said, "Life goes by quickly, if you don't stop to look around you might miss it." That almost happened to me yesterday on the plane alone, coming home from house hunting in South Carolina with Amy.

I was sitting by an elderly couple who were playing gin rummy when some younger man came up and talked to them. He obviously knew them but how I did not know as I was wearing head phones. He ended up giving the husband on the isle the last inch or two of a chocolate bar and went back to his seat.

He (the husband) unwrapped the candy and looked at it. It was dark, delicious, high end chocolate. He handed the entire thing to his wife. She accepted it with raised eyebrows. He simply smiled at her.

She tilted the bar once to examine it and broke it in half handing a portion to him with a newlywed smile that he immediately returned. They both ate the chocolate and went back to enjoying their card game.

This entire interaction took no less than 3 or 4 seconds, but the significance of it was not lost on me.

What is there that is worth writing about anymore?

I've been contemplating this for the last couple of days, as I wanted to try and start a blog. What is worthy of discussion though?

Politics is a circus currently. Sports are inane. Entertainment is soulless and vapid. Discussion of religion eventually leads to one kind of war or another. Personally I think the “pithy observations of everyday life” thing is horribly overdone. The sitcom about nothing has also already broken that ground. So where does that leave me?

It leaves me, unfortunately, with all of the above.
I cannot promise to always be witty, relevant or even interesting. I can promise, however, to always be honest.