My Man Ricky D

Tonight I had one of those Ricky D moments....

I worked a little late tonight to prepare for my two-week audit trip to Tampa.

Yeah, yeah, Spartacus... Like I'm going to believe that one...

I'll just have to bring my camera and post photographic evidence, won't I?

I digress...

When I walked through the door tonight, this little man was just emerging from his shower in his tighty-whiteys, proud as a fucking peacock to show me the huge raspberry on his shoulder.

Ricky D: Check this out Dad (pointing to his shoulder)! I got it playing football at the youth center.

Me: Really. That looks like it hurts. What happened?

Ricky: I made this amazing catch as I was falling to the ground!

Me: Really? That's awesome.

Ricky: Thanks Dad! You know what the best part is though?

Me: No. What?

Ricky: I didn't cry about it at all. I got up and kept playing.

(Please avert your eyes if you're disinclined to reading mushy parent talk.)

After we talked about his battle scars (he had two more on his knees), he put up his boney arms to show me his muscles. Then he pointed to his abdomen and asked me if I could see the six-pack.

C'mon. Admit it. You took a look at his picture and got a chuckle. It's okay. I did, too. But he was being serious. He was really trying hard to prove to me he's a man, and not a little kid.

I know he's my son and I am biased by my unconditional love for him, but I can't help but root for him. If you met him in person, you would know why. He's always been one of the smallest kids in his class and he is very self-conscious about his small stature. He's easily intimidated and gets bullied sometimes. He has ADHD, so thoughts race in his mind alot faster than his ability to communicate them coherently.

But he has heart. He has that hunger; that indefatigable drive to be good at something.

He's still making movies.



And he plays piano.




And now I know that he's willing to run through his walls and endure the sting of nasty welts to be true to himself and be the man he wants to be.

Tedious Business...

Developing contracts is tedious business. It really is. Regardless of whether they are social or business contracts, moral ones or immoral ones developed for nefarious reasons, it's always a struggle to reach the terms acceptable to all parties. Sometimes they can drag on forever.

I'm sure they will for my fellow Long Islander, Richard Batista (h/t to Pissed in NYC).

He's demanding that his wife give back the kidney he donated to her in 2001, or give him $1.5 million. Apparently, he feels like she violated the terms of their marriage contract, -- specifically, the fidelity part -- and is seeking to gain some compensation for his donation, if not, then a return of the donation itself. Good luck with that.

You can read about it here. The best part is that Dr. Batista has a fine legal team, that reduces drastically his degrees of separation to some other wonderfully dysfunctional characters spawned from the Isle of Long. Do Joey Buttafuoco and Jessica Hahn ring any bells? And so soon after the holidays.

I digress. This post is about contracts and the current, tedious negotiations in which Skippy and I are involved in with....

Ricdiculous!

Or as he now likes to be called, Ricky D Awsome.

This year, Ricky D's been having some school issues. His grades are not where they could be and we've had conferences with his teachers who all say that he has trouble staying actively focused on tasks, and that he is forgetful.

ADD? Perhaps. He'll be tested soon.

In the meantime, Skippy and I have had to implement some changes in his lifestyle that are more conducive to focusing. And, please, give Ricky D props on this one. He's been super-cooperative in our efforts to help him do better.

But he watches way too much TV (The Office is his favorite show) and spends lots of time on the computer, and we felt that curtailing these passive activities was in order.

So, we decided to limit his TV and computer use to one hour a day for each. Further, he is not allowed to watch TV or use the computer unless his homework is finished. Finally, his TV and computer use must be terminated by 9:30PM, when he is to hit the shower. Regardless of whether or not he used up his time, 9:30PM is when his carriage becomes a pumpkin, and he is not allowed to carry unused time into the next day. It's use it or lose it.

But among his many talents, it appears his inner lawyer is beginning to emerge. You see, he pointed out quite correctly, that these rules only apply to weekdays. Skippy and I have not fully worked out how to deal with weekends and, as this past holiday season can attest, school vacations are problematic, too.

Not for him. Our enterprising boy focused himself long enough to draw up a contract detailing his TV and computer use.

Here's page 1 of the contract. Notice how he tried to sneak in some provisions that essentially invalidate the contract. It's enough to make Henry Paulson cry tears of joy!

In this draft, Skippy and I are not allowed to raise or lower the amount of (TV or computer) time unless we both explicitly agree. Also, if Skippy or I violate the agreement that allows him one hour of TV and computer time, the contract becomes null and void for one day.

Nice try, Ricky D! Congress may have abdicated it's fiduciary responsibility to oversee how taxpayer dollars are spent, but, we, the benevolent dictators of Casa de Spartacus will have none of that. We reserve the right to dictate terms, the only caveat being force majeure.

My apologies for this long, drawn out post. And, let it be known that Skippy and I are more benevolent than dictatorial. Let the contract negotiations resume; tedious though they may be.

He's 12 Today? That's Just Rickdiculus

Yep. It's true. It's true.

The sun has set on another September 17. Another halfway to St. Patrick's Day has come and gone. And our Rick has turned 12.

Rick, it's hard to believe you've turned 12. Where has the time gone? It seems like only yesterday me and Skippy were in our old Toyota Corolla driving through a deluge to bring you into the world. Your Mom reminded me today of our discussion on what to name you as we drove to the hospital.

Skippy: Terrence.

Me: Jackson

Skippy: Douglas

Me: Jackson

Skippy: Rick!

Me: Oh, alright already!

And on it went. Of course, you could have been Kathleen Maria. But we won't speculate on that alternate universe. We love you just the way you are.




And, there's so much to love. For one, you're a character. From the moment you could walk and talk, you had this innate ability to entertain anyone within five feet of you. A born showman, you are. You haven't changed a bit. Even now as you continue to hone your movie making skills with you pal, Timmy, your sense for the moment is impeccable. We love your stories, even if alot of them just aren't true.










But there's another side to you that I've written about quite a bit here in this space. You have the heart of a champion. When you set your mind to doing something, you go all out. Whether you're playing football, baseball, or getting twisted like a pretzel on some sweat-soaked wrestling mat. There's only one speed for you: full.









What's more is the special gift you have to lift up the spirits of those around you. I try not to wonder how I would have made it though this day had you not been there for me. I suspect in the coming years that you will probably be there again for me and for lots of other people you love. That's just the kind of guy you are.







I know, too, that sometimes you get down on yourself because of your height, or because Zeb or some of your friends pick on you for being so enthusiastic and good-natured. Don't let them get to you. It's hard to ignore, especially being the sensitive kid you are. The fruit never falls far from the tree. I know exactly how you feel. But if there's one bit of advice I can leave you with on this day, Rick, it's this: don't let your short stature limit your possibilities. There's so much you have to offer this world, that to put limits on yourself for whatever reason would be to rob us all of your Rickdiculusness.

Happy Birthday Rick. Hope you had a nice one!

Mark My Words...

These kids are going to be huge...

I know this is a shameless promotion of Rickdiculus and his best friend Tim, who, together, make up the video production team of Supercoolmanman. But it's not everyday that the good people at YouTube nominate a video as worst ever, let alone two years straight. Be ready to cringe. This is bad....

Puppet Adventures


In one sense, you can see Rick and Tim as two kids with a digital video camera, a computer with Internet access, and lots of time on their hands with nothing better to do.

On the other hand....

You can see in their work the kernels of brilliance. I've seen first hand how they agonize over scripts, shoot locations, and editing choices. Like anyone who's passionate about their art, for these two boys, video production is a labor of love.

Here's an example of what I mean.

This video about our town's Youth Center is called The Health Inspector. They don't miss much.



Is it time to ask Michael Moore to step aside? Well...maybe Hollywood won't knocking on their doors anytime soon. But who am I to stomp on their vision? Put another way, how else are Skippy and I supposed to live comfortably in retirement?