Why I Love Japanese RPGs.

That’s Japanese Role Playing Video Games, for those of you not in the Geekknow. They are usually brilliantly imagines, immersive, surprising, but they can be long, slow, tedious and sometimes even boring. And yet, I love the negative stuff about them too. So why?

The first reason is that with two children my video game time has let’s just say, greatly diminished. I can play the Wii or Rock Band with Bella but that’s it. A little Resident Evil time has to wait.

Then I discovered the Persona games. Persona 3 took months and months to play. Even then you’ll miss part of it since there is so much to do and there is a ticking clock, and get this, the Persona games are currently PS2 games. Luckily I have a PS3 that’s backwards compatable, but I know, it feels like you’re playing an Atari 2600 sometimes. It’s soooo 2005…

So what makes it so great? Well, what’s so great about it is how… insane it is. Only Japanese game developers with a few issues about death, sexuality, and high school could come up with this. And I love it.

So the game opens up mysteriously. At midnight, everyone turns into… coffins? OK. Wait, OMFG. I’m a high school kid. I go to class. I go on dates. I can go to the mall. And at night if I so choose I go into a giant dark castle and fight monsters. Oh no, it gets better. I fight monsters by bringing my own moster out of my body. How do I do this? By shooting myself in the head over and over. Fricking twisted genius. Then you think, oh, it can’t get any weirder. But you’d be wrong. Soon a female robot shows up joins your team and then you can date her as well. Finally!

My wife watched me playing one night. She watched me walk around, talk to people and read the poorly translated Japanese dialogue. She then expectantly commented “This is boring.” To which I replied “Exactly!” That’s the point. Sometimes to relax I just go in the game, go to a few classes and then go to the mall to buy new armor and weapons. All malls in Japan seem to have armories, right? Right next to Cinnabon?

Sure, if I want to shoot myself in the head and woop some monster ass I can certainly do that if I wish. But not always.

But the point is, I'm tired. While I love video games, sometimes at the end of a seemingly endless day I may not be looking for the FPS viceral experience. Sometimes, I like to relax virtually as well.

So when I should be doing work late at night, or at least trying to catch up on my sleep sometimes I may not be home at all. I’ll be in Japan, going to school, studying for exams, fighting monsters and solving mysteries. Or I may just walk around and buy new pants that have a protection rating against fire magic. And why the hell not? I’m older now. My priorities have changed. I still want to fight monsters, I just like to wear some nicer things while I’m doing it.

The People vs Chris Mancini

I never thought I’d hear those words. Instead of being intimidated, I have to say it was kinda cool. I felt like a supervillain who had just taken over Australia and then thought about giving it to Lex Luthor in exchange for Superman’s whereabouts.

Sadly, I hadn’t taken over anything. I chose to do an arraignment for traffic court. Of course my first thought was The People vs. Me? Which people and how many? Really, that many people against me? Seriously?

I had gotten a ridiculous, bullshit speeding ticket last year. Here’s the story:

http://www.daddyneedssomealonetime.com/2009/11/pulled-over-going-40-miles-per-hour.html

So instead of shutting up and paying the fine and then paying even more money for traffic school, I did what they don’t want you to do: I went to fight it. AND I didn’t do it through the mail. I wanted the four star treatment. I was going to do the whole show. I was going to schedule an arraignment then I was going to face my accuser in a court of law. Pretty dramatic stuff for going 40 miles an hour in a 45 zone. Yes, that’s right I was going 5 BELOW the speed limit but since it was a school zone, it was 25 since there were some high schoolers milling around. But there was no sign and it’s nonsense. So I ain’t goin’ down without a fight.

I had done this before to please guilty once where I HAD been speeding, trying to get to the Rite-Aid to get my sick daughter medicine. (not kidding, cop didn’t care) It didn’t help that my daughter had, after a morning of loud crying from ear pain, decided to fall into a quiet sound sleep right before I got pulled over.

So I was at the courthouse early and brought a book. These things take time. The guy next to me didn’t realize that. They called his name, he checked in, and 10 minutes later he muttered “This is bullshit” and then just walked out and left. Now, I’m no legal expert but I’m pretty sure after you check in with the court clerk and announce yourself present that you shouldn’t just kinda getup and leave. I’m just saying.

The clerk/bailiff (he was doing both functions) encouraged people to plead guilty (the judge can reduce your fine!) was the sales pitch. Sorry, jerks. I’m not buying your snake oil. I have rights, and I’m going to use them for as long as I can to cost this court and the cop’s precinct the most money. If you’re going to harass me, I’m going to make it cost you. Even in this minor, small way. Little victories. Count them out.

The judge called my name and mentioned all the people that were against me. The people vs. Damn. That’s a lot of people. The judge looked at looked at me like I was a jerk for saying “not guilty”. He asked me if I understood the charge and that I was eligible for traffic school. Yes and yes, and he was not going to intimidate me into changing my mind. He did do me a favor and waive the “bail” which is the amount of the ticket so I didn’t have to pay anything up front. Another way they try to screw you is they take your money first and then if you win then you get a refund many weeks later.

So I went to the cashier and waited again, which I knew I would. I was not disappointed. After another considerable delay the cashier called my name and I scheduled a court date. This was an early morning cop and while I couldn’t get night court I asked for afternoon so at least they would have to pay him overtime. And I was able to push it to June.

I am going through the whole process for a number of reasons. The first one obviously is that this ticket is bullshit and I am fighting it. But a second one presented itself. I wanted to see how the whole thing plays out if you do the opposite of what they want you to do. I got the ticket in November, and after scheduling the court date I am not even appearing until June, and I haven’t paid a thing. That’s around eight months after I received the ticket.

I have my pictures of the intersection and the road with no school zone sign in sight and it will be interesting to see how this plays out. At worst, I’ll get a few more posts out of it.

One Hand Giveth, The Other Hand Slappeth in the Face

It’s amazing how the universe can screw with your expectations. I mean that in both the good and bad sense. My business partner and I, Graham Elwood, have been working on our company comedyfilmnerds.com for the last three years or so. Or as my wife calls it: a "hobby". Not full time of course, as Graham tours with Doug Benson and I have been working on my book and taking care of our youngest. We’ve slowly been increasing the business. Sales go up and down, but mostly an upward trend and traffic on the site has increased.

Sure, we've had setbacks like the site going down for four months and not being able to pay bills, the site not working, knowing nothing about HTML or online shopping carts, the garage getting to cold to work in, even in Los Angeles, etc. We bought a space heater. Anyhoo, it's been both fun and challenging, and I really enjoy it.

So we started doing live shows in Los Angeles, a cool mix of comedians and filmmakers and screening funny short films like a mini film festival with comics talking about movies. And no one came.

So we rebooted. Hit the internet. Twitter, Facebook, started a Newsletter, etc. OK, maybe the next show would be better.

But then we did something we should have done two years ago. We started a podcast. Out of my garage, where we would meet once a week and schedule it around the baby/wife/neighbor filling in as nanny. Tough, but we did it. We record every other week and in three months we were number 15 in comedy on ITunes and 81 overall of all podcasts. We have thousands of listeners now. You can subscribe here, if you’re so inclined.

http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/comedy-film-nerds/id345412221

So we scheduled our next live show. All those people listening, how could a few of them not come out to see us live?

Then, we get to the show and expect tons of people there. I’m really happy and excited. They are going to have to turn people away! So we waited. And we waited some more. Then some more. The sound guy starts asking us if and when we’re going to start. After counting my wife, my friend, and the four people one of the filmmakers brought, two other people showed up. And two of the four people the filmmaker brought hated the show and didn’t laugh once.

So for about four months in a row the live show not only cost us money but hit us a little in the ego/gut. We had done everything right this time, and still no one came. But then we got home after the show and bitched to each other on the cell phone like whiny babies. But then we checked the internet and realized while no one had come to our live show, over a thousand more people had subscribed to the podcast. And we hadn’t done a thing.

So thinking like a business person and promoter and not a comedian/artist (for once) it made perfect sense to focus all of our energy on what was working and table what isn’t, at least for now. Now we’re looking into selling advertising on the podcast. That’s right, we’re selling out, and we can’t do it quick enough. The podcast numbers and listeners are growing at an amazing rate. We are very thankful, and realize we just may never see any of them in person. We can live with that.

Preschooler Questions You Will Never Get an Honest Answer to

OK, so the toddler was up at 5:00 am, didn’t nap, and our daughter is at dance class with mommy, giving me close to 12 hours of constant childcare. Right now I am either looking for a noose or toddler sized ether.

Also, I did a little spot for ABC News in LA about stay at home parents and a new website called ourmilkmoney.com You can check it our here:

http://abclocal.go.com/kabc/video?id=7256662

Now, I have noticed there are a bunch of questions that you can ask a preschooler and never get an honest answer to. Here are but a few. Feel free to add your own in the comments:

Did you wash your hands?

What did you do to the cat?

Why is your brother crying?

Where did your vegetables go? Did you eat them?

Who do you like better, me or Mommy? (SURELY) this one will always come back a lie.

Are you calling China? Who do you know in China?

Is that your third piece of chocolate?

How do you keep ordering things off Amazon? You don’t even have a computer.

Are you scared of clowns?

Are you going to be good for the entire time we’re at the funeral?

The Most Miserable Place on Earth

OK, I am NOT talking about Disneyland. I love Disneyland, except of course for the massive crowds and the occasional male European tourist who wears shorts that are just a little bit too short. Please sir, I just ate a churro. Have some consideration.

No, I am indeed talking about the most miserable place on earth: Chuck E. Cheese’s. I remember seeing the commercials when I was in high school. I vowed never to set foot in one. I’ve kept that vow until last year, when TWO of Bella’s friends had birthday parties there. The first time was miserable but the second time was even worse and…. I’m out. Never again, even if the kids beg me. Thankfully, we live 40 minutes away from Disneyland so I’m pretty sure it will never happen.

Imagine the Jersey shore except dirtier, louder, and more annoying. You can use the actual Jersey shore or the new MTV show, it doesn’t matter. The comparison still stands. As you walk in you are assaulted with noise, aging, broken machines, outdated animatronics, miserable employees, miserable parents, and a creeping sense of capitulation laced with an odd sense of otherworldy dread.

Now, I know Chuck E Cheese started in the 70’s but I think it’s great that the animatronics are from the 50’s. I especially like the racist Italian drummer, Pasqually E. Pieplate. Look at the whole “band” for a moment. The band is made up of giant animals, and one Italian. Well done.

And Chuck, how can you have pizza that is WORSE than Dominos?! I didn’t think that was even possible. But you did it. And I know you’re supposed to be a mouse but were originally a rat (thanks again, Google), but you still look like a giant rat, Chuck. But I will say, if there really were giant rats after the apocalypse, I think they would eat each other before your pizza.

Then a friend of mine told me that there are a lot of shootings at Chuck E. Cheese’s. WHAT?! Of course, I could see them being suicides, but really?! shootings? So, I Googled shootings at Chuck E Cheese’s. 94,300 results came up. Go ahead, try it. Geez, folks, the tokens aren’t worth it. Just go buy the plastic necklace next time and stop fighting over the skeeball machine. Half of them don’t work anyway.

So did the kids have a good time? Yes, but they didn’t love it. Thank God. Bella was quickly bored with the lame rides and didn’t care about the games, and also thought the one climbing area and slide was insufficient. Score.

Chuck E Cheese was dirty, miserable, and crowded. Twice, in two different locations. We all felt really, really dirty afterwards. Like we had all just watched an episode of Rock of Love. If Purell made buckets we would have bought one. You know, I may be a father, but I’m also an adult. There are certain things I just don’t have to do anymore. I don’t have to ride a schoolbus, eat brussel sprouts, or go swimming if I don’t want to. And from now on, until the apocalypse, I don’t have to put up with any more bullshit from a giant rat.

The Hollywood Kindergarten Shuffle

Our daughter Bella is going to be five this year, and now the scramble for kindergarten begins. Of course we live in LA and let’s just say schools aren’t always so great. There are great schools near us, just not the one we’re zoned for.

So now we have to look into things like charter schools and magnet schools. Until now I thought they meant a school on a boat and a school that you can’t bring any metal to. Then if we can’t get into one of those, we have to look at neighboring schools, sign up for what’s called “open enrollment” and hope a slot opens up somewhere. Of course there’s always private school, but let’s not go there. We’d like to pay down our debt sometime before the first one starts college.

Basically schools in Los Angeles are a fucking maze. Unless you’re zoned for a good one, you have a lot of work ahead of you. Unless you want to pony up for private but even then you have to do your research. But with some effort and some insider info (thankfully, our neighbor is a teacher and has been helping us) you start to see a method to the educational madness. Actually, no. There’s no method. Just madness. So we joined the LA School System Tea Party and we were off.

So everything is like a lottery and you just apply and hope you get in somewhere. Magnet schools you can acquire points every time you apply like you’re saving up for a bigger prize at the boardwalk or something. So the more times you don’t get in the greater your chances.
So a friend suggested a charter school. OK, what the hell? Got nothing to lose. And I can at least get out of the house for an hour or two. So I applied online and went to the prospective parent “orientation” on Sunday afternoon.

The first thing I learned was that a “charter” school doesn’t really have any rules. It’s tuition-free, and publicly funded (YEAH) but operates like a private school (OH…). This can be a double edged sword, I believe. The good thing is they can hire who they want and set their own curriculum. The bad thing is that they can hire who they want and set their own curriculum. So if it’s high standards, great. But there are definitely some quirks.

So I went to the orientation with an open mind. Keep in mind, though, every school tells you how great it is. No school Principal gets up and goes “Frankly, we have no idea what we’re doing. I’m surprised anyone even graduates from here with a rudimentary grasp of math and English.” But if they did, wouldn’t that be refreshing?

Now, this school in particular had uniforms. Not real keep on the whole conformity thing, but OK I was still listening.

Next tidbit: “We don’t have “Ds”. Huh? Turns out they don’t use D as a grade. If you didn’t get a C, you failed. “Just passing isn’t good enough” OK, strict and with mandatory summer for a failing grade school but I was still on board. Fine.

Then the kicker: “We are primarily a business and entrepreneurial school” Ok-- wait, what?! I thought I was looking for a kindergarten. I didn’t hear incorrectly. That was what she said. “We teach the students to run their own businesses and to earn a salary starting in kindergarten” Warning bells. Seriously?! The last thing I want is to have a six year old ask for a raise in her allowance to adjust for inflation.

OK, not for me. Our daughter loves to sing, dance and play. You know, like most five year olds. Now I’m going to turn her into a business asshole at age five?! I don’t think so.

I don’t think I could have been more against the whole philosophy of indoctrinating children into an early cult of money love. Take a moment and think about this: When you look back on your life, when were your most creative times? Usually, with the exception of the few of us who can’t let it go, they were when you were young. That’s the time to be creative. When your mind and your world are just opening up. When you made a diorama, was it of a bank? An accounting office? A retirement home? No?

Being creative when you’re young is a glorious, open, freeing feeling and the last think I want for my child in GRADE SCHOOL is to worry about making money and having that the focal point of her education. I think it makes perfect sense to have a business program in high school but frankly, in grade school it’s a little ridiculous.

I’m not knocking business or an understanding of money, those are great skills to have and frankly, I wish I had them. But I don’t and by now let’s just say that ship has sailed. But for now let kids be kids. She can make her first million at 16, not 6. For now we’re going to watch Dragon Tales, draw, color and put together puzzles. And if she mentions inflation she better be talking about a balloon.

Boardwalks, Meltdowns, and Diabolical Baby Formula

This one was over at honestbaby.com a few months ago but I am all about recycling. Enjoy.

We were visiting family in Ocean City NJ. So that’s myself, my wife, and our four year old daughter and one year old son. And when you’re in Ocean City, NJ there are only two things to do. Go to the beach, and then go to the boardwalk. I don’t like the beach. It’s hot, sunny and sandy. What can I say, I’m an indoor cat. But I survived a few trips to the beach. (One dude generously let me borrow his shovel so I could actually secure the beach umbrella in 75 mph wind.) Hot yet windy. Even better.

But after the beach, there was the boardwalk. Man, it was packed. All the traditions are still there. Carney games, rides, and frozen custard where every stand is run by the same company. No one’s breaking up that monopoly anytime soon. But there’s never any actual Carnies at the carnie games. Just bored teenagers. But I digress.

So we went on a bunch of rides. Our four year old LOVES rides. She wants to go on the bigger ones but is too short and now gets bored on slow ones. At Disneyland she went on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad four times in a row and I finally had to slip the guy twenty bucks to tell her it was broken or I would have thrown up all over the animatronic goat. She was having a blast going on tilt-a-whirls, ferris wheels and giant swings and our one year old enjoyed just looking around and going on a few really slow rides like the kiddie train.

But when you have small children, there is always a timer. And occasionally you forget this, and you pay for it 15 minutes later. We were going to leave, and decided to stay for a half an hour longer. Tick…tick tick… boom!

Our one year old lost it. He was tired and hungry and the cry bomb had gone off. I mean, it really went off. Like trying to break glass screaming and crying. There we were on the Ocean City boardwalk with a one year old having an absolute meltdown. We pushed it by about 14.2 minutes and now we were paying for it.

My wife quickly tried to feed him. That’s when it got… insane. Instead of pulling out a bottle of formula, she pulls out a large tube of powder. What?! It was like some kind of giant baby pixie stick.

“I’m sorry, are you going to give our child astronaut food?” I asked as our baby continued to scream.
“It’s powdered formula. It’s easier for traveling,” She explained.
“Are you sure?!”

Now instead of actually feeding out child, we had to engage in a chemistry experiment on the boardwalk, quickly being able to stir together water and powder once released from its hermetically sealed container.

You know what the best thing is about canned formula? It’s formula, in a can! That’s right! You open it up and put it in your baby. That’s it. Done! Maybe you need to pour it into the bottle, but that’s OK. That’s only one extra step.

So the baby is screaming his head off, and guess what? No water, and we can’t get the infernal baby formula tube open. So we split up. Audge takes the kids to get water from a water fountain. I go into the nearest store.

It’s a lame touristy boutique with T-shirts and salt water taffy. Surprise! Neither of those things have ever interested me, and they certainly don’t now. I look at the guy behind the counter. He looks at me. I ask if I can borrow a scissors. He looks at me and shakes his head. I repeat the question. Same response. It then occurs to me that he can’t speak English. Fantastic. I can hear Griffin screaming from all the way in the store.

I take a deep breath. With one hand, I hold up the evil, evil tube of powdered formula. With the other hand, I calmly held up two fingers. I was tempted to only hold up one, knowing that would hurtle the language barrier quite nicely, but I held back. Instead I held up my two fingers and mimed a cutting motion, the universal sign for scissors. A light went off in the head of my foreign friend.

THAT he understood. The universal cutting motion. He got a scissors and cut open the petulant powder tube and I thanked him. He smiled, not quite understanding what I said or even what just happened, but knowing he helped open a tube of something. Possibly cocaine.

So I got back to my wife and she had found water and the alchemy began. Mix, shake, serve. Griffin calmed down instantly and inhaled the witch’s brew. We started walking off the boardwalk and back to the car.

“We pushed it, didn’t we?”
“Yes” my wife said.
“I’m going out to buy cans of formula tomorrow, aren’t I?”
“Yes. Maybe even tonight.”

Fair enough. Those evil tubes should come with a warning: “Not for use when you actually need it.” It’s hard enough to stock a diaper bag with everything you need but now you need to stock it judiciously. Now the items need to be packed according to weight, size, and now varying degrees of usage difficulty. At this point, if we travel again with two small children I’m hiring a Sherpa.