“I have been entrusted with a responsibility,” I thought. “Huggies has made me a Wipes Ambassador.” Ambassadorism is in my blood. My father was an ambassador. OK, so he represented a country with a GDP of $383.3 billion, and I’m reppin’ butt wipes, but still. There’s got to be a spectrum that exists somewhere that we would both fall under.

Because dammit, I’m good at this.

Look at my track record. I tell everyone who will listen that Huggies wipes are the best wipes I have ever used. They are strong. They wipe. What more could you want from a … wipe? Don’t ever underestimate the power of “strong” when it comes to cleaning up in aisle number 2. Ever have toilet paper rip on you? I rest my case. Huggies wipes are also the best “first pass” wipe I’ve used. Poop wiping isn’t like driving a zamboni. Going over the same spot twice doesn’t make it smoother. It just “spreads the peanut butter,” so to speak.

Technically my job here is done. As part of my ambassadorship, I was required to give you about 250 words of my honest opinion. But like I said. This ambassador stuff is in my blood. My dad never punched the clock at 5pm. He represented 24/7. He went above and beyond. And I owe you, and the butt wipe industry, a little more.

So, this campaign I’m involved in is basically a challenge for me to live “Poo Free” this summer. Huggies sent me a ton of wipes to help me achieve that. I determined pretty early on that this was futile. You cannot use wipes to curtail the “mudflap” upspray you get from a gaseous infant and loose diapers. That’s what blowout preventors are for. In theory. You cannot use wipes to curb a baby’s instinct to go free range fertilizer on you in that 5 second window between balling up the old diaper and sliding the new one underneath. In all fairness, living “Poo-mishap-reduced” was still a great improvement on my quality of life. And as every good ambassador should do, I began to think of other arenas in which these wipes might make a positive difference.

I had to start with the greatest need of all. Could I live “Lindsay Lohan free”?

My quality of life index just jumped 5 points.

What about “Animal Poo free”?

I may eat dogfood for your blog entertainment, but even I have a line.

Perhaps “Vegetable Free” because I hate them even though I’m a parent and should set a good example.

Mom will kill me when she sees this. But I have to say, success!

It’s always important to find substitutes for TV, so I owed it to myself to look into living “Television Free”

That’s supposed to be an origami crane. Ok, how about an origami cabbage? Asteroid?

Most of my day is spent at the office, so maybe if I could live “deliverables free” it would make life easier.

If only I had known it was this easy…

I’m trying to be a better eco-citizen. Perhaps if I tried to edge toward “Carbon Footprint free”…

Well, the car didn’t start. But I think that saved a tree.

I couldn’t make it to the Blogher conference this year. So while my blog friends were partying it up in NYC, I was home drinking coffee and writing this blog post. I needed to find a way to live “Not-going-to-blogher-tears free”

Stupid contacts.

Maybe Huggies will fly me to the United Nations someday.

When Fury was born, it meant the revival of two things: Star Wars and remote control cars.

When he was 3, I took Fury to Radio Shack and bought him this beauty:

Of course, he preferred to just push it around the house. Or have me drive it. I was ok with that. And for the next 4 years, as he amassed an impressive collection of RC toys, I’d put them on a shelf in the garage and test drive them every once in a while. For him, of course. I guess Fury never quite appreciated the fact that he could control something from afar. Well, unless you count completing a game level, building a Star Wars Lego set or conjuring up a cold glass of milk with “Daaaaaaad! can you help meeeee?”

Anyway…

Earlier this year, something clicked. He dusted off one of his RC cars, scrounged for some batteries and found himself in toy heaven. Since January, he’s put his roster of vehicles through demolition derbies, all terrain endurance tests, dog attacking missions, snuff films and various forms of “customization.” And I wish I’d bought stock in Duracell.

Did you know that an RC tarantula achieves better aerodynamics with its legs pulled off?

And a dragonfly doesn’t if it has a gaping head wound?

And those helicopters that were so popular this past Christmas season do an excellent job at imitating an injured moth? Skittering across the floor after achieving 2 seconds of flight never looked so natural.

And also, if you and your kid watch a Mad Max marathon on a Saturday morning, your kid will outfit his RC car to withstand roving bandits looking to steal your gasoline.

And… if you get invited to “The Greatest RC Show on Earth” you WILL say “Oh HELLZ YEAH!” even if you have to put up a post the next day to run a contest for your readers.

YES, this is a contest. And I’m giving away 2 tickets to the RC Expo at the Fairplex in Pomona, March 20-21 (this weekend!). This will be an insane show. RC cars, boats, planes and tanks. Yes, tanks. And a rock crawler test “dirtpile.” See below. I can’t wait.

To enter, just leave a comment. I’ll draw a winner at noon on Friday and contact you by email if you’ve won. Oh, also you have to endure this 1-minute video of Fury and me having random fun with RC vehicles. Because I’ve had these clips forever and have never had a reason to post them until now. So you might as well indulge me. Since I might give you tickets.

* * * *

I Guess It IS Genetic

“Is that Captain Underpants?”

“No dad, it’s a Captain Underpantey. It’s a poster for my new movie.”

“Isn’t it called Captain Underpants?”

“Captain Underpants is already trademarked so I can’t use it. So mine is called Capt. Underpantey.”

Just because the boy has never set foot in China doesn’t mean he can’t finesse the fine line of intellectual property law just like his forefathers.

And even kick it up another level:

Why do I hear Biggie Smalls singing “Federal agents mad cuz I’m flagrant” over and over in my head?

* * * *

57 Channels and Nothing On

So Thanksgiving was quite nice. We travelled up north to d Wife’s relatives’ house to spend the holiday, and after a crazy Thanksgiving night that saw no less than 58 relatives descend upon the house, we were all too happy to just chill for most of the next day with the TV providing a soothing backdrop for our activities or lack thereof.

The remote was passed around with no real captain at the helm throughout the day. At times, it stopped on a football game; or perhaps the news. Or a DVD. Or a Mel Gibson flick. And when dinnertime rolled around on Friday, it could have been set on any of those channels, and no one would notice nor care.

As we sat in the dining room, I glanced a few times at the TV in the den. And I didn’t notice nor care that there was a man with a really bad mustache on the screen. And d wife’s cousin probably didn’t notice nor care that there was a really twangy bass soundtrack going on when he glanced over. In fact, nobody noticed a thing until…

OH MY GOD!

It took me a few seconds to register what was going on because dinner with the relatives and a girl-on-girl scene are two things that one’s brain simply has no pre-programmed contingency for. But within 10 seconds or so, d Wife’s uncle was frantically pressing buttons on the remote, her cousin was standing in front of Fury waving her arms to block his line of sight, and the rest of us were shouting “Fury, don’t look at the TV!”

With the TV off and everyone back in their places at the table, we sighed in relief at a crisis averted. And Fury of course did his best to make us all feel better.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t see anything.”

And as we all began to chuckle at this close call, he reassured us again.

“Yeah, I was looking down at my food. I didn’t even notice the naked girls on the TV.”

* * * *

The LA Auto Show – Wanna Go?

When I was 3, my grandfather took me for a walk in Coolidge Corner, where the neighborhood Saab dealer was located. I don’t remember much from when I was 3, but I remember that day. I loved cars (my mom tells me that by 3, I could recognize most car models and makes by their hubcaps) and I remember my grandfather walking me into the dealership and annoucing to all the salesmen that his grandson could identify any car. Of course they all played along and pointed to each car and asked me what kind it was. And of course, the answer was Saab every time. These men were so “impressed” that they gave me this:

It was the scale model display Saab from the dealership. I remember thinking “why are they so impressed?? This is a Saab dealer. Of course all the cars are Saabs!” I don’t know, maybe I was just a jaded, cynical 3 year old, but I loved this model Saab all the same. And it’s the only toy I still have from my childhood.

What does this have to do with the LA Auto Show? Not much, actually. But I’m not the type to just dump info on you without some attempt at a relevant tie-in. I do love cars, though, and so does Fury. And since I moved to California in 1995, I have always wanted to check out the LA Auto Show. And this year we’re going, FINALLY.

The 2009 LA Auto Show runs from Dec. 4-13 and I’m personally there to see concept cars for Volvo (what I drive), Audi (what I’d like to drive next) and the Fisker Karma electric car (what I want Santa to leave under my tree).

And you can too! If you want to win tickets, just leave in the comments that you would like to be in the drawing. I’ll be picking a random winner to recieve an LA Auto Show Gift Pack valued at over $50 (4 general admission passes to the show, 4 shirts, a messenger bag, and other goodies).

Other highlights at this year’s show include 40 new “green vehicles,” the Youthmobile 2030 design challenge and a Kids Fun Zone featuring driving simulators.

I better brush up on my hubcaps.

Damn you, Momo! Always calling me out. Fine. Here’s a post about funny stuff that Fury says:

Whole Grain Cereal is not Ur BFF

 At the breakfast table the other day…

“Hey, dad? I thought this cereal was supposed to be good for me.”

“It is, Fury.”

“It has no trans fat, no saturated fat, but oh my God! Cholesterol!”

“Wha? There’s cholesterol?”

“Yeah, oh my God, cholesterol!”

“Gimme that.”

Can’t argue with that. It’s in writing.

Ok, I admit that was a sub-par coming-out-of-sabbatical post. Definitely not worth a month’s wait. How about I sweeten the pot with a “like father, like son” post?

Look Smart

During college, I wanted to look smart — mainly because a football player muscle-bound physique just wasn’t in the cards for me. I figured the whole nerdy chic thing might be a wee bit more attainable for someone like me (ya think?? Skinny, Asian, Ivy Leaguer). 

But I was missing one essential accessory: glasses. I had perfect vision, and it was cramping my style. That style being specifically that exquisite pair of tortoise shell Armani frames. So I faked it. Zero prescription lenses raise your IQ by 5 points and your GQ by 10.

Fast forward 15 years. Harry Potter has made smart kids with glasses cool again. So at his request (and two straight demerit-free weeks) we went and raised Fury’s IQ and GQ at Target’s optical dept. They’re technically for his Halloween costume, but yeah, he totally wore them to school today.

Obviously, I need to up the ante. Momo, you are ruthless. You’ve left me no choice. I’m busting out the giveaway post.

Relieving Guilt with a Postage Stamp

I like reviewing cool products, and I love giving stuff away. But I don’t enjoy doing straight giveaways or reviews without some sort of relevant context. Now I have a huge pile of random things that I need to write about and give away. I guess that means I’m consistently irrelevant?

No matter, I’m giving stuff away. FREE is relevant in any language. The following cool things have been sitting on my desk, guilt tripping me for almost a year. If you want to enter my drawing to win any one of these, just tell me which in the comments section:

Toon Books: When Fury was 2, I started adding comic books into his bedtime story rotation. He loved them. And let me tell you, when you can start the sentence “ogliotronic fuel cells built upon a…” and your toddler can complete it with “haptic interface,” it’s pretty damn freaking cool. So when these Toon Books people sent me some of their children’s books done up like comic books, Fury ate them up. I actually had some pictures of him running away from taking a shower because he wanted to finish reading first. But I cannot find them in my computer!! So you’ll just have to trust me that 9 out of 10 kids agree that Toon Books are better than a shower.

Poingo: See that pen in the box? That pen has 256 mb of memory and will store 50 books, which you can download from the Poingo website. Sure, it’s no kindle, but can you run your pen along pictures and hear sound effects from Finding Nemo and Cars and Lion King? Can your kindle read to you? I thought not. 9 out of 10 kids agree that Poingo is cooler than Kindle.

Pocket Doodles for Kids: You know when you go on a long car ride and you forget to bring the car charger and then the PSP dies and then you get “but daaaaaad! I told you to bring it for me!” for the remainder of the trip? This little distraction has fewer moving parts and requires better hand-eye coordination. This nifty book of half completed pictures and other doodling games is a simple idea. And totally brilliant. 9 out of 10 kids choose a new PSP over this book, but you’re the parent and know better.

Oh, you are strong. Time to pull out the triple-threat. A post about a blog trip, hanging out with blog peeps and announcing a new project.

Bloggers: the Next Generation

I have to thank Electronic Arts (EA). For totally ruining my kid for every Christmas and birthday to come. They really just could have sent him a few games to review and end it at that. But no, they had to invite him to spend 3 days in San Francisco. Playing video games. NEW ones. That haven’t come out yet. Games like MySims Agents, Nerf II “N-Strike Elite” and SimAnimals Africa. And he got to preview Spore Hero for Wii. He played lots and lots and lots of Spore. And they fed him ice cream sundaes. Bastards. And on top of that? Guess who also came along? Mr Lady and her kids. Which meant Fury, 1 of 3, and 2 of 3 finally got to meet. In REAL LIFE!

Exceeds the recommended daily allowance of Epic.(See more EA pics on MrLady’s Flickr page )

And 3 of 3 had me at her beck and call for 3 days.

Because I’m a sucker for illegally high doses of cute. And I spent the weekend thinking “I so gotta make me one of these. Or steal this one.”

The boys, however, entertained more constructive thoughts. And took lots and lots of video. And paid very close attention to release dates, product attributes and playability. The boys knew there was a higher purpose to this trip. The boys knew their parents co-write a blog that hasn’t been updated in 6 months. The boys knew that little corner on the internet could be better served “under new management.” The boys are planning on ruling the world. And they’ve got a header made.

Look out, world. It’s happening soon.

I’m about to give up. How about one of those tearjerker video snippets? You know, the kind that makes all guys shed an empathy tear?

Good Ride, Dada Truck, Good Ride

Sadly (but to my great relief), a few weeks after I put the beloved dada truck up on Autotrader, I was able to find it a nice home. Here is our last moment together, saying bye as the new owner drove off into the sunset.

As heartbreaking as it was, I now have one year’s private school tuition in the bank. And Fury, after being dragged out of the house to participate in this video “can now go back to playing Spore.” Kids. Sigh.

What? You can’t be serious. This is like a year’s worth of posts, Momo! You know what? I’m sick of this. I’m going to go write on somebody else’s blog. How’s that? On top of that, I will make it a lighthearted yet useful post about kids and eating. So there.

Going Green: How to get your kid to eat veggies

Ok you leave me no choice. Here:

I was feeling a little bit queasy today. So I went to the drugstore and got me one of these test thingies.

Oh well, probably just some bad fish.

d Wife also felt a bit off. And since I had an extra one, she tried it. Twice. With two different brands. Turns out, that myth about BusyDad taking his blog post titles really seriously?

The kid knows how to work this “mom’s not here for the week” thing really well. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking given the fact that in the past two weeks Fury and I have adopted a huge disgusting bug as a pet, broken all posted boating speed limits, hung out at Hooters, and peed into tupperware, that I would surely let him get away with an infraction as minor as skipping a few summer-brush-up math problems and writing exercises, right?

WRONG.

Well, kinda. Or not technically. Come on, Home Ec totally counted as a class in school, right? At least as important as reading, writing and arithmetic, I would argue. Why am I even trying to justify this? He’s my kid and this is my blog.

We totally skipped the workbook.

But in its place, I told him this: “Fury, I will let you skip the workbook stuff tonight, but you know what I want you to do instead? You are going to cook your own dinner. What do you want to eat?”

“I want a cheeseburger. Do I get a toy?”

“No, but you will have more fun than any Happy Meal toy could provide” (Low bars, I set ‘em).

So off to the supermarket we went to pick up a pound and a half of ground beef.

“What do you want in your cheeseburger?”

“I want sauteed mushrooms.”

And my foodie side shed a little tear of joy. We got some mushrooms.

“And I don’t want a regular bun. I want it on a croissant.”

Done. You rock, son.

And thus began Fury’s first solo dinner.

LESSON 1: Look the part

Speak softly and carry a big cleaver. A step stool and Dad’s chef jacket doesn’t hurt either (I’m not a real chef, but I like to play chef games at home).

LESSON 2: Open a beer first

For your teacher, of course. But oh alright, you can lick the bottlecap. You said please.

LESSON 3: Get your hands dirty

Food is love. You’re not doing it right if you don’t make a mess.

LESSON 4: Out of chaos, comes art

We don’t need no stinkin’ patty press. Like snowflakes, each patty tells a story. And can be rolled into a ball and hucked.

LESSON 5: Butter

Is your friend.

LESSON 6: Butter browns quickly

I know you love pistachios, but if a snack is going to take you away from melting butter for more than 2 minutes, let’s hold off. Or not. It’s pistachios, dammit.

LESSON 7: Pose for every pic like it was going to be the inside cover shot of your first cookbook

You’re a natural. Pass.

LESSON 8: It’s all in the wrist

I know “getting air” is the point of pretty much everything you do, so this is just something I’ll just need to work with you on a little bit. But I’ll admit, that patty did a pretty good back-flip 360, flying hot grease globules notwithstanding.

LESSON 9: The Waft

Never stick your nose directly above what you’re cooking. You need to waft the aroma into your nose. And adopting a Franch ac-scont while you’re at it makes it smell better.

LESSON 10: It’s the cheese, it’s gotta be the cheese

Like butter, if you have a single cooking gene in your body, this instinctual tidbit comes standard.

LESSON 11: Use the right tools

If a Padawan is allowed to use a real lightsaber while training to be a Jedi, my 7-yr-old can use a knife with a sharp blade to cut stuff. He’s lucky I didn’t make him wear the blast shield helmet.

LESSON 12: Presentation is key

You look maaavelous.

Absolutely maaaavelous.

LESSON 13: If YOU can’t enjoy it, then there’s no point

While most people prefer their gourmet cheeseburgers hot off the grill, it doesn’t mean that you have to agree. If you like yours quick frozen for a few minutes to make it easier on the tongue, no one has the right to stop you.

LESSON 14: Celebrate a job well done

Proud. Proud. Proud. My little Iron Chef.

Also cool? Today is my 2nd blogiversary. I can’t believe I’ve been at it for 2 years. It’s been fun. Thank you all for encouraging this madness and laughing with me. Or at me. Whatever. As long as you’re laughing.

After lunch, I took Fury with me to the dog park. The dog park in our neighborhood incorporates a huge fenced-in dog area with a playground next to it. Since I can’t see the playground from the dog area, we brought along our walkie talkies so I could check on him every once in a while (an underrated parenting tool – one of my first posts ever was about these) . Once parked, we went our separate ways, me with the dogs and him with his scooter.

Being such a nice day, the dog park was pretty crowded. So I’m sure this brought a few glances my way:

*beep* “There are no survivors. Do you copy? I’ll keep searching. Over.” *beep*

Eh, what the hell, how often in life do you get to play the leader of a ragtag band of humans fighting the tyranny of robots hellbent on exterminating you and yours?

*beep* “Agent Fury, this is John Connor. Continue searching for human survivors and watch out for the T-600′s. There’s a lot of them in your area. Over.” *beep*

*beep* “They’re everywhere! I just killed 20 of them!” *beep*

*beep* “Keep me posted on your location and progress.” *beep*

*beep* “I just found Kyle Reese!” *beep*

*beep* “Bring him back to headquarters! The resistance needs him. Good job Fury. Over and out.” *beep*

For the next ten minutes or so, I chilled with the dogs (and also dropped my phone in Krypto’s poop, which was fun), then decided it was time obtain another status report from the front lines.

*beep* “Agent Fury, what’s the progress of the prisoner extraction. Are the Terminators still in your area? Over.”

*beep* “Dad, I’m just playing right now.” *beep*

*beep* “Oh ok. You’re ok?” *beep*

*beep* “Yeah. Over and out.” *beep*

Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

A few more minutes passed, when I heard the thump-thump-thump of a low flying helicopter approaching. This was a golden moment not to be squandered…

*beep* “Agent Fury. Hunter-Killers on the horizon. They’re headed your way!” *beep*

*beep* “They just tried to kill me! Luckily I wore my armor today!” *beep*

And with that, and a smile on my face, I went to round up the dogs. Once they were leashed and ready to go, I pushed the call button one more time.

*beep* “I’m returning to base, Agent Fury. It’s time to end this mission.” *beep*

No response.

*beep* “Agent Fury, this is John Connor. What’s your 20?” *beep*

Nothing.

I made my way with the dogs toward the playground to pick up my errant soldier. As I got closer, I spied two figures in the distance. One, my boy on his scooter, the other, a little girl on a pink bike. As they came around the bend, I flagged Fury down.

“Time to head home, Fury. Hey, did you lose your walkie?”

“No, it’s here,” Fury said as he lifted his shirt to reveal the device clipped on his waistband.

“But it’s not working… see? [pressing call button] Agent Fury, Agent Fury!”

At that very moment, I realized some things.

That the channel on his walkie had been switched from 1 to 29.

That the girl had stopped a little ways ahead, and was waiting for him.

That John Connor may have saved the human race from annihilation, but right now, he was totally salting Agent Fury’s game.