Honea Express

Archive for the ‘beer’ Category

As I mentioned before, I have a stack of things to review and frankly, I’m tired of looking at it. In fact, I think I’m done reviewing stuff unless someone sends me more stuff.

In the meantime, humor me as I keep my word while spreading it at the same time. I know, it’s awesome.

STUFF:

Hasbro was kind enough to send me a new spin on the classic game Mouse Trap. It’s part of their U-Build  series where the players actually build and customize the board. Yes, you read me.

The game has a bunch of U-Build bricks which are exactly like, but are not, another popular building brick that the kids love. It also has a Space Boot(!), some small parts and the trap.  Sadly, the mouse is not included and that actually turned out to be the most difficult, yet most rewarding, part of the game. Do you know how hard it is to catch a mouse with a plastic trap and a bunch of building bricks?  Pretty hard. The sense of accomplishment that my children achieved was worth all of the rabies shots in the world.

The U-Build spin on an already fun game pays off. It’s like two games in one: the building game where my kids fight and scream over how the board will look and the Mouse Trap game where my kids fight and scream over the first aid kit.  Of course, neither of those last two sentences are true. However, the part about it being two games in one is an actual fact based on my opinion as well as those of the people at Hasbro, and they’re right.

If U-Build it the fun will come. Also, rodents.

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The Idle Parent by  author Tom Hodgkinson looks like a nice book. It has a reddish-orange cover that I’m tempted to call a burnt sienna, but it could be the light in here — or the 4 months of dust that the book has accumulated. This is not the fault of the book or Mr. Hodgkinson, who also wrote How to Be Idle and The Freedom Manifesto.  No, it is the fault of time and my lack of it.

The book is subtitled, “Why Laid-back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids,” which is a statement I’m inclined to agree with.  The kids on the cover look happy enough and their dad is totally napping on the couch. And he’s wearing Vans.  If that doesn’t scream laid-back then I don’t know what does.

I think the book weighs about a pound and a half. Give or take. It has 251 pages.

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I really dropped the ball on a review that I was supposed to write for All About Beer Magazine and my fellow DadCentricite, Greg, by losing a copy of a book they sent me called Beer Across Texas. Here’s the thing, Texas is huge and the book isn’t, which leads me to believe that the authors only discussed the good beers across Texas and not every crappy can of suds they came upon.  In the industry we call this attention to “quality” and we like it. My most sincere apologies to All About Beer, Greg and the authors of Beer Across Texas. Also, smaller books are apparently easier to lose.

Seriously, I can’t find it anywhere.

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Candlewick Press was kind enough to send a collection of summer reading over for my boys. The titles include:

It’s Vacation Time by Lerryn Korda, which is a really cute book that my 4-year-old loves. It’s about, wait for it, vacation time! The story is big on using your imagination and we’re big on that.

Maisy Goes to the Museum by Lucy Cousins is about Maisy the mouse and frankly, I can’t read it without hearing the narrators voice from the TV show. And what’s up with Charley?
But I digress. This book is for preschool kids and my preschool kid thinks it’s great and he doesn’t care how many times Charley has been dropped on his head.

Flanimals Pop-Up, which was written by Ricky Gervais, yes, that Ricky Gervais, and illustrated by Rob Steen. With a name like Flanimals Pop-Up, it’s exactly what you’d expect, but with a writer like Ricky Gervais it’s like nothing you could ever imagine. Within reason. It’s good fun.

Judy Moody’s Way Wacky Uber Awesome Book of More Fun Stuff to Do, The Oceanology Handbook – A Course For Underwater Explorers and Show Off – How to Do Absolutely Everything are big hits with my 7-year-old for all the reasons clearly stated in each book’s respective title. He likes wacky, uber, awesome, underwater exploring and doing absolutely everything. It’s like they were made for him.

Where’s Waldo? The Ultimate Travel Collection by Martin Handford is billed as the essential travel companion, and after it kept my kids quiet on an airplane for two hours I’m inclined to agree.

I still don’t know where Waldo is, but I think he stole my beer book.

All of the Candlewick Press books listed above have been big hits with my kids and for that I’m thankful. Thanks, Candlewick Press!

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And now for something completely different.

Scholastic sent me two new books, Max Spaniel: Funny Lunch and Firehouse! that my boys love.

They’re both about dogs and they are loads of fun. I’m supposed to write a review on them, but I don’t want to spoil the plot(s). Besides, this post is already longer than both books combined.

Here’s the fun part, I’m giving away 3 sets of the books! Yes, now you can own your very own copies of these entertaining books and all you have to do to win is leave a comment stating that you would like the books! I’ll send the books to three(3) random entries. The contest is only open to residents of the U.S. and P.O. boxes are not allowed. My apologies to other countries and anyone that rents a mailbox.

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And on that note, my pile of items to review is gone! Literally, I’ve been moving each item out of my office as I go and whoa, carpet!

Please note, I really do appreciate the items sent to me for review (which are all of the items listed in this post) and I wouldn’t include them here if I didn’t think people would enjoy them.  Stuff that sucks doesn’t make the page, man. Honea don’t play that.

Peace out.

I’ve had a song in my head for days. This happens. Sometimes I’m stuck on a Waits tune or I hang my hat on the perfect pitch of Miles ’round midnight. Other times it’s the haunting chords of Jeff Buckley or the lonesome road beneath David Gray. I get lost in both kinds of music, country and western.

And sometimes I’m on a motherfucking boat. Yes, this boat is real.

The boat song, not to be confused with that Banana Boat Song or the theme to Love Boat, was floating on my deck for days. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s docked there now, just off a memory.

I’m riding on a dolphin, doing flips and shit
This dolphin’s splashing, getting everybody all wet

It’s like poetry.

And then I sunk my battleship.

It was gone, out with the tide.

Straight flowing on a boat on the deep blue sea.

That song had sailed.

Hours passed on dry land.

Then an unknown phone in an unknown pocket in an unknown part of town rang, and its melody was like the Siren’s:

I’m on a boat, I’m on a boat
Everybody look at me
‘Cause I’m sailing on a boat
I’m on a boat, I’m on a boat
Take a good hard look
At the motherfucking boat

Seriously? There are kids on this bus, man.

But it was back and there I was, sans flotation device, and I slowly felt myself drown.

I looked at the guy who had unknowingly relaunched the ringing of my soul, and he was all, “What?”

And I was like, “What?”

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him that with one unanswered booty call he had undone minutes of therapy. With one ignored debt collection he had thrown me to the sharks. I wanted him to hold me.

I wanted to cut him with my iPhone app for cutting a bitch.

Instead I just gave him some stink-eye.

“Boat.” I said.

And I meant it.

He backed the fuck up at that point. I let him drift. Bon voyage, motherfucker.

T-Pain carried me home.

My phone rang a few days later. It didn’t play anything by The Lonely Island, but it did play something by Islands, because that’s my ringer, and that was close enough to feel suddenly landlocked. My waters run deep.

It was the wife in another state in our other yard, and parked where it shouldn’t be was an unknown boat. A boat.

“Take a good hard look at the motherfucking boat,” I said.

“The boat is real,” is how she should have replied. She didn’t, but she knew what I was talking about so I forgave her.

“There’s a boat,” she continued, “in our yard.”

“Tow that shit!” I yelled. My neighbors stopped pretending not to listen to me and gave me their full attention.

I put my hand over the phone and whispered into the street, “I’ve got a boat!”

“We’ll get our towels ready!” they screamed as one WITHOUT EVEN MOVING THEIR LIPS!

“I think I’m hearing things,” I said into the phone.

“Are you drunk already?” she asked.

“Already? Woman, it’s Sunday and I’m sans family. There is no already, there’s just is ready. And, still.” I nodded at the neighbors. Someone in the back raised a fist into the sky. There may have been a beer in it.

“Whatever,” she said. “What should I do about the boat?”

I was quiet for a moment. It was too much and my mind was doing a montage. I let it play. I owed it that much. In hindsight, the ascot may have been overkill.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Is T-Pain there?”

“Um, no.”

“Just checking.”

“I think the boat is the neighbors,” she added.

“Bastard.”

I was reaching for my app without even realizing it.

“Did you at least get our water slide?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s in the car,” she replied. And then she said other stuff about something else(s).

I hung up the phone and looked past my sea of neighbors and their constant waves that crash until heeded. They could have been smooth as glass.

I almost had a boat. Then I didn’t. Easy come? Yes. Easy go? Not so much. Still, I do have a water slide- a huge, awesome, double slide with a rock wall, tipping bucket, wadding pool and this thing which tells time. Also, it’s inflatable.

Hey ma, if you could see me now
Arms spread wide on the starboard bow
Gonna fly this boat to the moon somehow
Like Kevin Garnett, anything is possible

Except it’s not really a boat.

The water slide is real. And I’m on it.

Motherfucker.

Seventeen of you lovely people put your name in the proverbial ring for a chance at winning the Didi Pop CD. We have a winner…

But first, I wanted to share my favorite song from the album. There wasn’t a video on Didi’s site for “Dream,” so I made one. Well, I made a slideshow with pictures of my kids sleeping, so what? It still took time.

The winner, picked at random by one snotty, sick little boy is Hetha. Congratulations!

I participated in my first Wordless Wednesday today. It’s a picture taken at The Grove shopping center a few Christmasesesss winters ago. I’ve always liked the photo, even if it was taken on my old phone.

Rich asked about seasonal beers. Here’s what you need to know.

This guy is a friend of House of Prince, and he’s awesome.

Click on this so I can make my traffic bonus!

Did you read about Atticus trying to burn the house down?

ANOTHER CONTEST!

I have four copies of Drew Magary’s very funny book Men with Balls to give away. I had all kinds of funny to do with this, but DC Urban Dad just ran like crazy with his contest and now I feel inadequate (just in the contest area).

“Drew Magary is the co-founder of the website Kissing Suzy Kobler and a columnist for Deadspin” – I stole that shit straight from DC Urban Dad. I didn’t even pretend to change the words around.

The book is funny. Very funny. I was supposed to give away five copies but last night my neighbor yelled over the fence that it was his birthday and invited me over for cake. I threw a bow on my copy of the book and made an insta-gift. Now I wants mine. Yes, I said I wants it. That should show you just how funny it is.

If you want to win a copy leave another word for “balls” in the comments. You can’t use a term if someone else already has. The four funniest/most original will win. Enter often, win once.

MORE GIFT IDEAS!

Remember when I mentioned the Little Tikes Pop Tunes Guitar? Little Tikes was kind enough to send me the rest of the band:

The Pop Tunes Drums and Pop Tunes Keyboard, both work on their own or with preset songs and while Atticus (he’s 5) says they’re too “small” for him that didn’t stop him from playing on the instruments the entire time. Zane (2) thought they were fantastic despite his being sick. They kicked me out of the band during the second encore of Free Bird, which is a bunch of bunk if you ask me.

Now the entire band set is drying in the bathroom due to the dozen coats of Lysol I sprayed on them (Lysol did not provide product). Zane’s germs scare me.

Here’s my disclaimer on product reviews: If someone sends me something to review and I like it then I will gladly write about it. If I don’t like the product I’ll return it, and depending on why we didn’t like it I may or may not write that as well. Basically, if we didn’t like it because it was too advanced or something that isn’t necessarily negative I won’t write it up, but if we didn’t like it because it was made from lead and chopped off the cat’s toe then I’ll tell you all about it. I do it because I care.

That’s it for this edition of cup o’random! And now for the catchphrase:

It put the other random in a cup guys out of business!

Let’s make some noise for Patty and her prowling menagerie. Thanks, Patty!

Now for a quick note: I am going to be on Karl’s show tonight. Yes, I’m on SecondHand Radio. Karl will wish I was in Tijuana when it’s all said and done, but it should be fun nonetheless. The show is live at 7pm (PT) with a chat room (i.e., cyber-sex) and an open line for calls. Stop in, chat it up and give us a ring. It will be Karltastic!

Our next guest is the charming Matthew of Childs Play X 2. He writes about life with twins and says sweet things all the time on his blog, but I’ve had beers with him on numerous occasions (as you’ll soon see) and I can honestly say that his wife is lovely. It’s true.

Please welcome Matthew!

It dawned on me that many of you reading this blog have never actually met the infamous Mr. Honea. You probably click on over here to the Honea Express, have a chuckle or two, maybe impressed by Whit’s clever use of meter as he shows off his education he obtained from THE University of Arizona.

Or maybe you hope he’ll post a photo of his bald head or, even better, his cute kids.

And perhaps you have been mesmerized by his poetry and seduced into thinking what a renaissance man Whit is.

But I know better.

You see, I’ve actually hung out with Whit. I’ve had beers with Whit (although that is NOT a serious distinction as I believe half the civilized – and most of the uncivilized – world has had a drink with Whit). I’ve watched baseball games with Whit. I have watched him charm everyone in the room with fascinating stories about passing gas. Yep. Whit’s a charmer.

So, since many of you don’t know Whit as well as I do, I thought I’d hunt through my photo archive to and literally show you the quintessential Whit.

First off, as I mentioned above, the man loves beer. It might be coincidence but I don’t remember too many times while hanging out with Whit when he wasn’t holding a beer bottle. Some famous people are associated with certain iconic symbols. The Fonz and his leather jacket. Michael Jackson and his glove. MC Hammer and his parachute pants. And Whit with his bottle of beer.

Furthermore, I have noticed that any photo that Whit posts of himself really doesn’t show just how scrawny the guy is. For someone who sits on his ass all day, eating fried food while scouring the internet for gossip about Miley Cyrus, Whit’s a pretty skinny guy. How skinny? Well, let’s just say he’s dwarfed by the average guy (my apologies to LA Daddy).

And I know that Whit has mentioned his dogs here on his blog, but don’t let that make you think he’s some kind of animal lover. Nothing could be further from the truth. If something pushes him over the edge, he’ll snap. I’ve seen him rip heads off of monkeys. It’s not a pretty sight.

And did you know that Whit freaks kids out? It’s true. Even his own son screams as he is forced into his father’s arms. It’s sad really. (Also notice how even as his son screams, someone is determined to hand Whit his beer.)

Finally, you might be wondering what kind of guy writes for three four five six a ton of blogs. I’ll tell you what kind of guy. A guy who felt the lure of Hollywood only to be banished to the outer fringes, forced to write about the very stars he so desperately wants to be. No one is really sure what it is about Whit that Hollywood didn’t like. He’s got charm. He’s even occasionally funny. And it most certainly couldn’t be his looks. Could it? Could it?!

Nah. Must be something else.

Hey, who’s been in my closet? SciFi Dad, my skeletons are dry clean only.

Next up is the mysterious New Age Bitch. What do we know about her? Well, going by her handle she obviously loves Yanni and she has some attitude. You don’t want to mess with that.

Please wave your crystals in the air for New Age Bitch!

Okay, so once upon a time there was this guy named Whit. He lived in…oh, that doesn’t really matter, does it? Somewhere. He lived somewhere. California? Arizona? Fuck, now I’m going to be thinking about that like ALL.DAY. Where the FUCK does Whit live. Because it’s not like we’ve ever met in real life or anything, NO. You can go whole lifetimes interacting with people and NEVER ACTUALLY MEET THEM.

What a concept.

Because you can just stay naked all day, or in Whit’s case, in your underwear.

Hmm. Boxers or briefs? I’m thinking those nice clingy boxer-briefs.

Yeah. Shake it off, NAB. Back to Whit. Okay. So, you all know that he’s been having guest posting here for a bit, right? But…has anyone mentioned WHY? I thought not. It’s my duty to tell you.

Was carried off by elves.

I am so not shitting you!!

Yeah. Elves. Wearing lots and lots of leather.

Okay, before you go all anal-probe on me, just picture this: There’s Whit, sitting there in his boxer-briefs front of his Macbook Pro and his fourth sweating beer, idly sipping at it while he’s waiting for the porn to download. There’s a scuffle at the cat door. Some strange noises. Heaving a big sigh, Whit scrapes back his chair and gets up, scratching his belly a little and stretching. The porn’s still downloading (fuck you, BitTorrent!) so he figures he’d better see what’s on the other side of the cat door. Might as well.

He opens the door and peers out into the darkness, blinking a little. He’s sort of drunk and was REALLY looking forward to the porn. His eyes adjust to the sudden change from Macbook-light to outside-dark. There are six weird little short dudes with pointy ears* standing there, holding up what Whit thinks was the neighbor’s cat** by its hind legs.

“Fuck you,” says the front short dude to Whit in a weird high voice. Like metal scraping on metal. Ow. Whit held his ears. They seemed to be expecting him. “You were supposed to increase the herd. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Herd?” Whit stares uncomprehendingly at the cat. Has its tail been shaved? He’s never seen a naked cat tail before. Weird. Fuck.

“You’re going to have to explain this. Come on,” the short dude says, grabbing Whit by his closest appendage, which happens to be inside his boxer-briefs.

“HEY—“

There’s a huge flash of green light and a big pop. Whit blacked out a little there, and swears he doesn’t remember anything after that. But I got this strange email from someone saying they were Whit not long after that and of course I hastened to explain his absence to his adoring audience.

Whit’ll be back eventually, but I’m pretty sure he’ll never be quite the same again. So if I were you I wouldn’t mention anything about fisting to him. He’s still sort of sensitive about that, if you know what I mean.

*Management regrets the perpetuation of stereotypes in this reenactment.

**No actual cats were harmed in the making of this post.