As we watched the start of the biathlon, my sleepy wife innocently inquired, “What do they shoot at?”

Without missing a beat, my mind switched to wise guy mode.  In a truthful voice, I answered, “Rabbits.”

Letting a few seconds pass, my words were absorbed by my tired wife’s relaxing mind.  In a delayed, but still firm confidence, she replied, “They do not.”

This “Lame Olympic Conversation” has been brought to you by American Express, proud sponsor of lame conversations everywhere.  “Don’t leave home without it.”

[Cue the ‘Olympic Theme Song,’ you know the one.  “Da, da, dada, da, da, da…”]

While watching my son’s Quiz Bowl match (okay, it’s not exactly Quiz Bowl, but you get the idea), they decided to engage the parents with a few questions.

I leaned forward in my elementary school gym metal folding chair.  I was ready to strike.  You see, I was never quick enough at information recall to make my school’s Quiz Bowl team.  Looking around the room, I could tell that the other parents were unprepared.  This was my chance at redemption.

“Who is the current Secretary of State?” I answered eagerly, “Rex Tillerson.” The moms glanced at me with admiration.  Not only is that dad moderately dad-level handsome, but he is also up on world affairs.  Dad-level sexy.  I shrugged with smug self assurance.  Ladies, did I mention that I contribute to NPR?  Just listen to the room swoon.

Next question, “What prominent feature of the White House lawn was removed in 2017 and what President was it associated with?” Another softball!  “A tree.  Jackson.” Dumbfounded, the room stared at me in wonder.  I was a geek on fire.  Thanks again, NPR.

Next question, “What 1950s Ray Bradbury novel tackled issues of censorship?” I got this!  Quiz Bowl glory at last!  “Fahrenheit 45…” I stumbled.  At what temperature does paper burn?  Damn you, faulty recall. I guessed “7.” Wrong!  The answer was Fahrenheit 451.  I missed by 6 lousy degrees.  Even worse, I actually read that book in High School, as opposed to the others that I pretended to read and wrote about anyway.

Kids, just goes to show.  NPR might make you “dad-level sexy smart” later in life, but nothing can ever replace paying attention in school.

 

Late last night, something big happened to a little corner of the internet.  A little corner known as www.CookiesbyDave.com.

Late last night, we had a visitor.  Not just any visitor, this was visit number 50,000!

50,000 visits who have made www.CookiesbyDave.com part of their day.  50,000 visits who have daily made my day.

As a thank you, I first pledge to make sure and finally mail out any prizes that are outstanding.  I also pledge to give my Office of Prize Redemption a quality “what for” talking.  Oh and I’m sorry that I’m so slow.

There, now with a partially clear conscience, I would like to announce the BIG prize give away for the BIG 50,000th visit.

Here, on this very post, sign your name and leave the comment, “I was #50k!” At random, I will award one comment as being the 50,000th visit and you’ll get an incredible prize worthy of the honor.

So comment and you too could be a winner!  A winner who this time won’t have to wait too long for their prize.

CONTEST UPDATE

Congrats to Nathan, Kathy, Chris, and Nancy!  You’re number 50k!  Plus, you are the big winners.  As soon as your prize is ready, I will be in contact with details for delivery (I promise, but I’m slow, so it’s advised not to hold your breath).

 

Oh my dear boy, your tummy had pain.

Oh my dear boy, post-dinner from barfing you could not refrain.

Oh my dear boy, the next morn’ you looked well.

Oh my dear boy, a story at school you had to tell.

Oh my dear boy, to home you were told to return.

Oh my dear boy, the price of lost flex time your story did earn.

I found myself waiting.  Waiting by the phone.  Staring at the clock.

One kid would soon call to be picked up from church.  Another kid would need to be picked up from basketball.  Only one of me.

Tick-tock.

From the house, 10 minutes to church.  Then 20 minutes from church to basketball.  7:30 was the event horizon.  After that point, there would be no way to get to church, then to basketball without me being late.

Tick-tock.

7:30.  Decision time.  No possible win.  The Kobayashi Maru of Parenting.  I would have to select from a set of bad options.

Tick-tock.

I took flight.  Worst case, I could wait outside basketball and retrieve that kid early and only be slightly late picking up the kid at church.

Tick-tock.

7:40.  Driving.  Text received.  Red light.  Glance at phone.  Kid at church ready.  Light green.  Proceed toward basketball.  Flurry of texts.  Another light.  Seems as if people are concerned about my whereabouts.  Inform kid at church that I am headed to basketball to pick up that kid.  Light green.  Another flurry of texts.  Behind a slow car that of course has the ironic license plate number “474 RUN.”

Tick-tock.

7:50.  Pull into school parking lot for basketball pick up.  Look at phone.  Everyone seems concerned that I cannot pull this off.  Inform everyone that I have it under control.  Slight exaggeration, but all will be fine.

Tick-tock.

Take basketball kid out of practice early.  Apologize a lot.  Text that I am now headed to church.

Tick-tock.

Lesser flurry of texts.  Red light.  Seems as if people are settling down.  Get behind a different slow car that is driving 5 MPH under the speed limit, of course.

Tick-tock.

8:15.  Pull into church parking lot.  Second kid enters car.  He was obviously the last kid picked up.  I ask when the second-to-the-last kid was picked up.  He responds, “Twenty minutes ago.”  I look sad and a little in shock.  He continues with a grin, “Just kidding.  They were picked up about two minutes ago.”

Ah,  a mere two minutes from mission success.  In this case, success would have been either one kid picked up early or one kid picked up late.  Instead, the final score was one picked up early and one picked up late.  A mere 120 seconds.  The difference between accepting the limits of space and time and accomplishing something truly amazing.

Being a dad ain’t easy, especially when the clock is against you.

Tick-tock.

 

HOANG’S GINGER COOKIES

“My friend Hoang brought some homemade candied ginger into the office.  Besides making for a tasty snack, this little concoction also serves as a perfect ingredient.  Ginger flavor tucked within a thin molasses cookie.  I’d say it was a match made in Cookie Heaven.  Enjoy!”

3/4 cup Butter

1 cup Brown Sugar

1 Egg

1/4 cup Molasses

1 3/4 cups Flour

2 teaspoons Baking Soda

1 teaspoon Cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon Cloves

1 1/2 teaspoons Ground Ginger

1/2 teaspoon Salt

1/2 cup Homemade Candied Ginger (if you are not as lucky as me and do not have a personal source, feel free to substitute chopped Crystallized Ginger)

Extra sugar for coating

 

Cream the butter and brown sugar.

Mix in the egg.

Mix in the molasses.

Mix in the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and salt.  Set aside.

Chop the candied ginger and coat with sugar.

Mix the chopped candied ginger into the cookie dough.

Refrigerate the dough for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Roll Tablespoon sized balls of dough in sugar and place on a parchment paper lined baking sheet.

Bake for 8 minutes or until the bottoms have begun to brown.

Note – these cookies will be flat, so no need to be concerned.  Think of them as an exotic gingersnap.

Place the baking sheets on wire cooling racks and allow to cool completely.

 

Makes about 36 cookies.

Revised Source:  “Swedish Ginger Cookies with Crystallized Ginger” recipe on geniuskitchen.com.

 

There I was, minding my own business, when my primary care physician up and retires.  Last Summer.  Ugh.  How dare he?  Especially without consulting me first.  Makes me sick.

So I called for a new doctor, who required me to fill out forms, because that’s just what they do.  Going through the questions, I ran across the prescriptions section.  Well, there is that cream I apply. (and all the people say, “Dave, stop it right there!  Too much information!” to which I respond, “Grow up and knock it off.  Hang in there and I promise to behave” to which all of the people respond, “Okay, but you are on a short leash, Paulsen…)

So any who, the cream part of the form.

Question – Name of Medicine.  I got this.  Jot down the name.  Easy.  Next.

Question – Quantity.  Hum, never considered that.  A dab? Perhaps.  A dollop? Probably, too much.  A slather? Disgusting.  Alright, a dab it is.

Dave Paulsen – apparently a pain in the butt patient.

Dave Paulsen – just might be what is wrong with healthcare.

 

Want some real Super Bowl Halftime excitement?  Well, here’s a Special Edition of Dave’s Bad Poetry…  a Super Bad Special Edition.  Enjoy!

“CANDY”

Blackout lifts

Nothing I see

But regret and wrappers

All around me

 

Driving to work, I noticed something.  Something off.  Everyone else.  Seemingly everyone else was driving like crap.  No really.  Full moon or something?

First came the turning, school bus.  When I backed up to make room, did the guy behind me really need to beep his horn?  Then on the highway, why was that guy way too close to my lane?  Then on the bridge, what was up with the spacing of the cars?  Really made it impractical for me to zoom in and out of lanes.  Then the car at the four-way stop, who did not seem to want to commit.  Really?  Why so hesitant?

What?  What’s that?  A question?  “What was the common denominator?”

Oh, um, well that would be me.  Are you insinuating that I may have been the problem?  Well, interesting hypothesis, but I’m still going with the “It was nearly a full moon” theory.  That somehow seems more likely.  Also, next time you go on the road, steer clear of me, just in case your theory holds.

 

Looking back through some old phone photos for blog inspiration, I ran across this gem.

“What’s that?,” you say.  Well, my friend, that’s the school planner for my Third Grade son.

“So what?,” you say.  Another good question.  Look closer.

Yep, the daily parental initials.  Proof that I know what my son has been up to.  Knowledge of any behavioral issues.

“What type of issues?,” you ask.  Well, how about forgery.  (Audible “gasp!”)

“What? Your dear boy, Ben?,” you say in shock.  Yes, my friend, the bottom “DP” is not mine.

Nice try, boy, but this gateway to a life of counterfeit crime is about to be nipped in the bud.  Crime doesn’t pay and you also need to do some more work for a convincing “DP.”