Death of a blog

Here's a quick quiz for you: What do the following things have in common?

* Five kids and a wife
* A full-time job with some measure of responsibility
* Serving on the boards of three nonprofit organizations
* Coaching soccer and helping to run the league
* Trying to maintain a house, three cars and my sanity

If you guessed "reasons why Scott can't maintain this blog any longer," you're a winner!

Seriously, I need to put the wraps on They Still Call Me Daddy. I've really enjoyed doing it, but I honestly don't have the time or energy to keep it at the level I want. So this is the final post. (Yes, I know I hinted at it a few weeks ago, but this time I unfortunately mean it.)

I don't want to sound whiny here but...OK, I sound whiny. But there are only so many hours in the day, I have to prioritize my time, blah blah blah blah. You get my point.

Anyway, thanks to all of the regular readers and those who took time to comment, both here and on Facebook. You really made the whole thing enjoyable. And if you're so inclined, please send me a friend request on Facebook or follow me on Twitter (@Scott_Tennant).

Thanks for reading!

Takin' a blog vacation...

Hey everyone...Just a quick note to let you know the blog will be taking a little summer hiatus of about 10 days duration. We're knee deep in grad party preparations as I type this, followed less than 48 hours after that by our four-day Hocking Hills vacation. Lots and lots to do that doesn't involve a computer keyboard, which is probably a good thing.

Hope everyone is enjoying their summer so far, and I look forward to touching base with you again on Monday, July 2nd. Talk to you soon!

Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time

Next week we're taking a family vacation to Hocking Hills, an area in Southeastern Ohio filled with trees. And caves. And various forms of water.

In other words, it's pretty nature-intensive. This is quite out of character for the Tennants, whose vacations are usually urban-centric affairs packed with pre-planned activities from dawn to dusk.

But this year we've opted for something more idyllic. Which is fine with me. The thought of just relaxing together as a family is strangely exciting. Our life is usually measured in degrees of chaos, so living in a cabin for four days and occasionally indulging in various forms of outdoor activity (ziplining, fishing, hiking, etc.) will be a nice change of pace.

(NOTE: When I say we'll be living in a "cabin," don't get the wrong idea here. This thing is basically a nice hotel suite in the middle of the woods. It has a hot tub that fits six people, and also a TV, so we won't exactly be roughing it. Except if the TV only has basic cable. Then my kids will consider it child abuse.)

Anyway, we're going to spend some time in the wilderness, or at least a reasonable facsimile of the wilderness, assuming the wilderness is characterized by small groups of Midwesterners walking around in shorts in an unsuccessful attempt to enjoy nature and get away from other Midwesterners.

The other night we took a little family trip to our local library, and Terry checked out a book to take with her on vacation. I thought this was an excellent idea. I never get to sit and read and relax, so I got two books of my own.

Both are Kurt Vonnegut books. I love Kurt Vonnegut. I think he was a genius. He was also an atheist, which I suppose just shows that you don't have to agree with someone's personal philosophy to enjoy something they've written to express that philosophy.

I was an English major in college, which meant I spent large amounts of time with pretentious young undergrads who wore berets and sat around discussing existentialism. I never considered myself an especially artsy person, but there are works of art that genuinely move me. Usually it's music, but occasionally I will be touched by writing.

Much of the writing that touches me was penned by Kurt Vonnegut. In so many of his novels and short stories, he manages to tap into a universal feeling of loneliness and maybe even hopelessness with which I can relate, at least somewhat.

The title of this blog post is actually the first line of the second chapter of one my favorite books ever, Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five." If you knew that already, give yourself five English major points and feel free to apply for a job waiting tables, which is where I suppose many of those English majors I knew in college are working now.

Anyway, by this time next week, I will probably have finished "Slaughterhouse Five" for the 10th time or so, and will be well into a separate collection of Vonnegut's short stories. Assuming I don't get eaten by a bear or something. Nature, in case you haven't noticed, can be extremely unforgiving.

Things that happen in movies but never in the world where I live

People end phone conversations abruptly without saying goodbye
In the movies, people will be talking on the phone and say something like, "I'll meet you at 8 at the IHOP," and then they'll hang up the phone without another word. Just like that. Does this happen to you? It never happens to me. If I'm talking to someone on the phone and it's clear the conversation is over, one of us will say something like, "OK, talk to you soon." And the other one will say, "Great. Bye!" And then we'll hang up together in a mutually agreeable way. It could be that this is just too boring and mundane for movie dialogue. But if a movie is supposed to reflect reality in some way (at least to the point that I the viewer can relate to it), I'm willing to invest a few extra seconds if it means that phone conversations will end politely.

Everyone sleeps naked
OK, not everyone in the movies takes their clothes off to sleep. Like, if it's a middle-aged suburban couple or something, the husband will wear a full set of pajamas and the wife will have on a boring nightgown. That's to be expected. But other than kids, everyone else in the movies seems to sleep au naturale. Maybe I'm just not in touch with the average person here, but I do not sleep naked. Ever. Do you? Am I just an old fuddy duddy at the age of 42? I wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed. Not boxer shorts, actual athletic shorts. I am perfectly willing to admit I may be in the minority here, but you'll note that the title of this post is things that happen in movies "but never in the world where I live." (NOTE: If it's true that a higher proportion of movie characters sleep in the nude than in real life, I suspect this is because actors, for the most part, have nicer bodies than you or me. And there's a demand to see them unclothed. Understood and acknowledged. All I'm saying is, what's with all the nekkid people in movie beds?)

Doors burst open with the slightest kick
This is an unscientific observation here, insofar as I have never actually attempted to kick down a door. But it seems in the movie world that all door frames are made of balsa wood. You don't have to be particularly big or strong to demolish a door in a movie. Are doors really that fragile? Has any blog reader ever actually kicked down a door? I need a ruling on this. If you have, in fact, pulled a Jean Claude Van Damme on a door, please let us know in the comments below. I would be surprised if it's as easy in real life as it seems to be onscreen.

High schools all look like country clubs
Granted, more often than not, a high school in a movie is set in California, because so many movies are set in California. And growing up in Ohio, one is led to believe that everything in California is nicer than everything in the Midwest. I've been to California several times, though, and I can tell you that while the state has many lovely buildings, not all of them are better than what we have in Ohio. Yet so many high schools in movies look like luxury hotels. And class changes are all done outside, which I get is possible in sunny California versus, say, Cleveland in February. But still, do California kids all attend high-end private high schools? And if so, why didn't my parents move there back in the 80s?

The consequences of having British people live in your home

As I mentioned before, we had three young English soccer coaches living with us last week. They left on Saturday, completing the seventh consecutive year we have housed coaches as part of Wickliffe's annual British Soccer Camp.

We love having the guys stay with us, and this year's crew of Ben D., Ben B. and James were great fun. Nice young lads, as Ben, Ben and James themselves would say.

And that's the thing about providing room and board to a trio of Brits: Every year it changes the way I talk and act, at least for a little while until well after they've left. Here's what I find happening every time we have these Englishmen in our home:

(1) I say "init" a lot
This is a uniquely British word that's actually a contraction of "isn't it." I don't know if all British people use this word, but it seems the coaches who stay with us do...a lot. It will be a particularly warm day and one of them will say, "It's hot out there, init?" Or, "The food here is great, init?" I've started using this word myself and people look at me funny. "Did you just say 'init?'" "Oh, sorry. Yeah, I meant, 'isn't it.'" It gets a bit awkward, like I'm trying to put on one of those little faux British accents of which Madonna has become so fond.

(2) I'm suddenly aware of England a lot more than usual
You know that thing where we as Americans know next to nothing about other countries and are perfectly happy to live in ignorance when, say, there are full-scale wars and revolutions going on overseas? Yeah, I'm pretty guilty of that myself. But when the Brits come, I pay a lot more attention to what's going on in my ancestral home (well, the home of SOME of my ancestors...I've got a lot of German in me, too). It's nice to have some awareness of British current events that don't involve the Royal Family.

(3) I'm also aware of how insanely much we eat
Portions in American restaurants are massive. Not coincidentally, so are many Americans. Of the 15 coaches we've hosted over the years, I believe every single one has mentioned that their food intake goes up dramatically whenever they're in the States. All you need to know about us is the fact that the smallest sizing available for many Starbucks drinks is "tall." That's right, "tall" is actually small. The largest size, "trenta," is an Italian word for "heart disease."

25 words I either like or don't like, for whatever reason

1. Sacroiliac = don't like
2. Concupiscence = like
3. Embowel = don't like
4. Neat/Neatly = undecided, but tending toward don't like
5. Boobs = don't like
6. Fusty = don't like
7. Hegemony = like
8. Avuncular = don't like
9. Dodecahedron = love
10. Perspicacious = like
11. Seminiferous = like for reasons I can't explain
12. Poltroon = don't like
13. Constabulary = like but could live without
14. Smarmy = don't like
15. Dangle = don't like
16. Cacafogo = no choice but to like
17. Catchpenny = like
18. Borborygmi = like
19. Flange = don't like
20. Bilious = don't like
21. Melancholy = have never liked, don't plan to start now
22. Gripple = like
23. Fundament = good Lord, don't like
24. Lollygag = very much like
25. osseocarnisanguineoviscericartilaginonervomedullary = made up by Thomas Love Peacock, but no worse for it...verdict = like

3 reasons why I would never survive a zombie apocalypse

If life was a movie and zombies took over our world, and I was among the few humans who survived the initial wave of zombie-related deaths, there's absolutely no way I would last long. Three good reasons for this:

(1) I don't fit the long-time survivor type: White guys tend to do well in post-apocalyptic movie settings, but only certain types of white guys. Like Bruce Willis. Bruce would go all John McClain on the zombies and would establish himself as a leader of the human resistance movement. Bruce would last the entire movie. I, on the other hand, am more the Jeff Goldblum type: Tolerably likable, a little brainy, and ultimately a sympathetic character, but also someone who dies about an hour into the film. You're shocked by my death for about 10 seconds, but then you move on and forget I even existed. There's no way I last to even the 80-minute mark.

(2) Lack of firearms training: I have fired a gun exactly once in my life. It was a .22 pistol, not something with a heck of a lot of kick to it and certainly not something that's going to wipe out zombies gathered in any significant numbers. Bruce Willis' character would hand me a gun early in the movie and I wouldn't know what to do with it. Or else I would blow my own head off looking down the barrel of the gun just because I'm fascinated by how it works. You have to handle some pretty heavy firepower in a zombie-dominated world, and that just isn't me.

(3) Eventually I would give up: If there's one thing we've learned about zombie fighting tactics, it's that they're willing to sacrifice themselves in favor of unrelenting ground attack. They just keep coming and coming and coming. The adrenaline rush would get me through the first wave or two, but after that I would undoubtedly get discouraged and just let them kill me. Bruce Willis would try to convince me to keep fighting, but in the end I would give up. High school football coaches would show that part of the movie to their players to illustrate why only those with the persistence to keep on fighting even when things seem most bleak (like Bruce) ultimately succeed, while people like me deserve to be eaten by zombies.

I just thought you might want to know all of this in case you get cast in the movie next to me. Do not, under any circumstances, put your hopes in my character, listed in the end credits as "Sad White Guy #4."