Yes this is a bandwagon/everyone is doing it post, but I don’t care. Michael Jackson played a big role in my childhood. Ok, that didn’t sound right. If you grew up in the ’80s you know what I mean.

Here are my top King of Pop memories:

* Checking out the Thriller album from the public library. I played it in to the ground the one precious week I had it.

* Forcing myself to watch the scary parts of the Thriller video. His eyes are going to change…wait for it, wait for it…AHHH!

* Almost peeing my self lauging as some weird guy named Al mimicked the Beat It video shot for shot.

* Worrying if his hair would ever be all right after the Pepsi fire. Thank God for plastic surgery!

* Listening to every song on Bad over and over in my friend Mark’s basement. The album was on a crazy new format called a “compact disc”. I couldn’t believe you could fit a whole song on something that small.

* Successfully beatmixing Billy Jean with Vanilla Ice for the first time. Word to your mother.

* Accidentally playing the Jackson 5 when I meant to play something else. It packed the dance floor.

* Colossally failing to incorporate the Thriller dance in to my show. Props to Jennifer Garner because it’s harder than it looks.

* Listening to my friend Dave hit the “Whooo!” in Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough every time we go to the bar. Garage doors open when he does this.

Thank you for everything Michael.

This has been a pleasantly cool summer. Some have complained it has been too cool, but I have not. There is this thing called sleep. I like to do it every night and even occasional afternoons when my busy schedule allows. Sleep is hard to come by when your room is a sauna. So bring on another Canadian cold front! Sadly this week the weather whiners got their wish:

Technically I have central air, but it hasn’t worked since the day I moved in. A room AC is also out because my windows slide open vertically. I suppose I could turn one sideways, but that’s a $200 experiment I’m not ready for. Instead I went to Ye Old Wallmart to find an alternative. The solution was the Pelonis Evaporative Cooling Fan.

The cats were very helpful with the assembly:

For only $80 this fan delivers the refreshing breeze of a dying air conditioner. On the plus side it is really loud. Now instead of pretending not to hear people in the other room, I can sincerely say, “Sorry, didn’t hear you over the hurricane rush of lukewarm air.”

Is it December yet?

The manly thing to do on Memorial Day is a “project”. My house just so happens to need a gazillion projects, none of which I’m qualified to do. I was feeling manly though, so I decided to fix my gutters. There is a tiny crack which may be resulting in some tiny basement flooding. It gives the walls a nice tropical rainforest look, but I imagine the mold and mildew might become a health hazard.

I went to the hardware store and bought some caulk. I had the utmost confidence in my ability to use it, but when I got home I read the directions, just to be safe. “Step 1: Insert canister in caulk gun.” Caulk gun? What the hell is a caulk gun?? I’m trying to fix a crack, not whack it! I thought you just squeezed the tube like it was tooth paste. I don’t want a gun, I want the Colgate pump.

Man it’s hard to be manly.

While I am very excited to see Star Trek on Imax next week, I have some reservations. JJ Abrams claims he was more of a Star Wars fan than a Star Trek fan growing up. This makes me more than a little nervous. I love Star Wars and I love Star Trek, but mixing them together could have disastrous consequences. A couple years back I drafted a reference guide to keep these beloved franchises separate. Please print it out and keep it with you at all times:

STAR TREK: Hero is Captain Kirk, an Iowa farmboy who wants to have sex with every alien in the galaxy.
STAR WARS: Hero is Luke Skywalker, a Tattoine farmboy who wants to have sex with his sister.

STAR WARS: Chewbacca played by Peter Mayhew, covered with fake hair
STAR TREK: Captain Kirk played by William Shatner, also covered with fake hair.

STAR TREK: Technology can solve any problem from hangnails to ruptures in the space/time continuum.
STAR WARS: Technology no match for a bunch of pissed off fury midgets.

STAR TREK: Android is Mr. Data who can do millions of computations per second but can’t use contractions in a sentence.
STAR WARS: Android is C-3PO who can speak over six million different languages, but can’t straighten his arms.

STAR WARS: Luke uses The Force to save the galaxy.
STAR TREK: Kirk uses Priceline.com to save hundreds on hotels and airfare.

STAR TREK: Kirk gets advice from Spock, a pointy-eared alien who looks like Leonard Nimoy.
STAR WARS: Luke gets advice from Yoda, a pointy-eared alien who looks like Kermit the Frog.

STAR TREK: Villains are the Borg, a race of automatons who aim to assimilate the galaxy.
STAR WARS: Villains are the Stormtroopers, a race of automatons who can’t aim at the broadside of a barn.

STAR WARS: Biggest fans are geeks like me with no social life.
STAR TREK: Ok, no real difference there.

Hopefully that clears things up. May the Force help you live long and prosper.

I have the toenails of a crusty old pirate. Just covered in barnacles. Today after grinding them down with a hacksaw, I decided they needed some freshening up. Girlfriend had mentioned that Vick’s Vapor Rub can help. True you need to do it consistently for 300 days straight, but I figured anything was better than nothing. I smeared some rub on the barnacles then put on my socks.

I was assaulted almost instantly by Biscuit. He nuzzled his way into my foot purring loudly. I may as well have danced in catnip. He started licking my toes happily. It was a weird but not unpleasant sensation. I probably would have let him lick the barnacles clean off, but I suspected vapor rub was not kitty friendly. I banished him from the room and aired out my soggy sock.

Let me know if you have any toenail care tips that are cat compliant.

Back at Casa del Bro, we discussed the challenges of raising a 2.9 year old. Bro told us that no matter what game, book, video or bribe they used, Phew #1 refused to use the toilet. Bro told him that was fine for now, but when he turned 3 he had to use the toilet because “those are the rules.” My brother stressed that he doesn’t make the rules. “Sorry buddy, it’s not up to me. Rules are rules.” Phew #1 has been 3 for a few days now and I am sure he abiding the rules. What choice does he have really?

My mom took this opportunity to share a not at all embarrassing story about my toilet training. She said it took forever and I fought her tooth and nail. She spent an entire day pleading with me to use the potty. Finally I went and when I finished I exclaimed “That’s incredible!” Mom had no idea where her three year old learned that phrase, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say it was from the show That’s Incredible. I spent a great deal of time watching TV while I peed my diapers.

Bro then told us about his latest case of sleep deprivation. A couple nights back Phew #1 woke him up at 2AM crying about a nightmare. It took two hours before he finally went back to sleep. The next night he refused to go to bed because of “the monster”. Bro and my sister-in-law (sister-in-law is way too long so from here on out she will be referred to as “Slaw”) asked him to describe the monster. Phew said the monster crawled on to his bed, eating potatoes, and wanted to eat Phew’s finger.

Bro suspected there had been some kind of misunderstanding. Slaw suggested a phone call to the monster would clear things up. Bro picked up the phone and dialed the monster’s number. “Hi monster, how you doing?…We’re doing good too, thanks. Hey, I need to talk to about something. Did you come over here the other night?” Bro continued to hash things out with the monster and was able to reach an agreement.

When he hung up, Phew looked up with wide eyes and asked “What did he say?” Bro told him that the monster was just playing a practical joke. He was really really sorry and promised never to come over again. Overwhelmed with relief, Phew went to bed and slept peacefully, knowing that his finger was now safe. Bro shook his head, “Can’t believe the bull we have to feed our kids.”

The Family was in town for Phew #1’s big birthday bash. A few highlights:

Nitro Nooker

(that’s a pacifier if you’re anti-baby)

We did dinner at a restaurant the night before the party.  My brother left to use the bathroom and my sister suggested Dad look after Phew #2 in his absence.  Phew #2 dropped his nooker  on the floor.  Dad picked it up, but being a responsible grandparent, he wasn’t about to give a baby a dirty nooker.  Instead he rinsed the nooker off in my brother’s glass of Mountain Dew.  Phew #2 liked it so much, when he was finished sucking up every drop, he took his nooker out and handed back to Dad for a refill.

When my brother returned he immediately suspected foul play, as we were all on the floor laughing.  He asked Dad “What did you do?”  Dad replied “Nothing!”  Even when we told on him, Dad continued to deny everything.  My brother shook his head and grumbled, forced to finish dinner with a wired baby and a dirty Dew.

I never watched football until the ‘85 Bears came along. I owened the 45 single of the Super Bowl Shuffle as well as the extended single “Chillin with the Fridge” starring the Fat Boys and William Refrigerator Perry (get well soon Fridge, we’re all pulling for you!). I danced happily as the Bears stomped all over the Patriots in the Super Bowl. Watching football is fun! I figured I would be a Bears fan for life.

The next year the Bears tanked and I lost interest in football. Until one fateful day when Jeff LaPorte told me about a new guy with the Detroit Lions named Barry Sanders. He was supposed to be pretty good. Intrigued, I started watching and Barry started running. I was dazzled by a highlight reel of runs that will never be seen again in the NFL. Then other Lions began to emerge. Herman Moore made leaping catches at the back of the end zone. Chris Spielman laid the smack down on any running back who dared come up the middle. They were a team to be reckoned with.

The Lions courted greatness for the next few years, stopping just one game shy of the Super Bowl. It never got any better than that though, and they slid into mediocrity. I tried to stop caring and was horrified to find that I couldn’t. I was now a member of the most tortured souls on the planet: Detroit Lions Fans.

We thought we had it bad until Matt Millen showed up and plunged the Lions to the deepest depths of Hell. It finally ended last year with the impossible perfect season, 0-16. It was truly a privilege to watch. Now Millen is gone, and the Lions have been rewarded for ineptitude with the first pick in the NFL draft. Fate has given them a chance to undo the damage. They can make up for all the nightmare picks of Charles Rogers, Mike Williams, and Joey Harrington, a rookie quarterback unfairly asked to fix a broken team with his strong arm.

Last year the Lions ranked last almost every defensive category. At the mini-camp journalists reported “a glaring hole at middle linebacker.” Drafting Aaron Curry will fix that and upgrade the linebacker core to elite status. Yet for some reason the genius analysts at ESPN believe the solution to Detroit’s problems is the strong arm of quarterback Matt Stafford.

Thank god Matt Millen is not here to buy in to such insanity. New GM Martin Mayhew will see through the glamor and recognize that Stafford couldn’t win big games in college. Even if he could, the Lions have no offensive line to protect him. Only Matt Millen would make Stafford the highest paid rookie in history, dooming the franchise for years to come. Right? Right???

Matt Stafford is going to look awesome holding up his Lions jersey today. Too bad it’s going to be covered in grass stains next season.