Art of Fatherhood

I just had the single most over-productive weekend of my entire life.  Built a sandbox, put together a patio set, got new tires on the car, went to the fair and saw the enduro race (demolition derby in lap form), cooked lots of meals, went on a huge grocery shopping trip, had a wine date with Anna on the new patio furniture, Anna had some family stop by yesterday, got too much sun...

I'm back at work and inspired to continue my journey to pursue my ultimate professional goal...mail box money.

Ever since I became a Dad, I've wanted to find a way to work at home.  My first check came in from Lyon books from sales of my book of poetry, "Vowed."  It felt amazing but I am a long way from meeting my business man salary that supports my entire family.  But, in this glistening bloody land of opportunity, anything is possible for those willing to scratch their way to the surface.  And, if anything, I am a scratcher.  Bury me alive, and I'll get out.

 Drop an atom bomb, I'll be the guy digging for dead roots under the top soil to boil in acrid water and eat with a side of cockroach. 

Speaking of atom bombs, North Korea figured out how to make a 10 kiloton plutonium weapon that they then detonated underground.  That was followed by five ballistic missle tests.  I'm wondering why the news agencies don't talk about if the missles were any good or not.  Are they accurate?  Do they look cool?  Are they actually dangerous or likely to fall into the ocean 50 miles away from their targets? 

Either way, I feel sorry for Barack Obama.  I want to know how many times a day he regrets being President.  He has this great wife and a beautiful family, something I can relate too, and all I want to do is be home with them and make art.  How bad does he want to crawl in a hole sometimes?  Poor bastard.  I wonder about people that even want that job.