a minor delinquency

I father. I drink beer. I have a 3-year-old. Sometimes I bitch, but mostly I just father. Badly. And drink beer.

[thefuj]

Am I a Beer Snob? (a Flowchart)

[goodbeerhunting]

Despite the summer heat continuing to burn, summer beers are fast disappearing from our shelves. If there were a brewer’s almanac, perhaps we’d still have plenty of stock, but instead, pumpkin ales are already showing up on the backroom shelves of Binny’s and smaller retailers. And some of...

[aminordelinquency]

His posts always make me thirsty...

[cinemagreats]

[matthewallenlane]

Stanley Kubrick

[aminordelinquency]

Love all of these posters. So awesome.

[aminordelinquency]

The Fine Art of Home Brewing

Home brewing has become very popular in my house of late.

I don't brew my own beer. I have lofty thoughts of taking up the hobby one day, but that day is probably very far away. In the meantime, there are plenty of beers accessible to me 24/7. None of which I've had a hand in ruining. The 3-year-old, however, has a different idea.

Cups. Cups that formerly held Playdough, or milk, or dirt, or, in one rare case, a ham sandwich, have become very valued tools for the 3-year-old in his virgin home brewing foray. And every night at bath time, he fills each one with tainted bath water and places them around the perimeter of the tub with some kind of bizarre scientific precision. He claims he is making Zombie Dust, which is just a euphemism for beer, (3 Floyds would love this kid) and I couldn't be a prouder father.

Now, there is no way in hell I would ever want to taste his "Zombie Dust," but I would be open to it if he really wanted my opinion. Funny thing is, his beer is always off limits to me. He makes his special home-brewed Zombie Dust for himself, and some elusive duo named Holly P. and Holly Saunders (I do not know who they are), and he adamantly refuses me even a single drop. This from the kid who is ALWAYS allowed to taste every new beer I drink. What an ungrateful little bugger.

I'm not sure if I will ever get the opportunity to taste the brewed art of my 3-year-old flesh and blood, but to his credit, he has been a very strong advocate for his father's drinking habits. The other day I came into the room and caught him with an open bible. He was running his finger along the pages and reciting this very thoughtful prayer:

"Dear Old God, please bring daddy some more Zombie Dust..."

Amen.

[aminordelinquency]

Beer & Diapers

Everyone keeps asking me how I'm doing. I nod and say "fine, fine" because it's easier to do than engage.

That baby is going on six weeks now and the eternal 3-year-old is not the angel he once was. So what does this mean? On the surface, this might seem like a meaningless statement, but I can assure you that the current situation in my household is borderline untenable.

For one, that baby does certain things in excess. Like cry and shit and eat and piss and act like he's the only one in the whole goddamn house with problems. This is certainly annoying. And the diapers - GOOD LORD, the diapers. My Amazon Moms account has certainly bust wide open. If I ran a daily beer tab even remotely approaching the cost of his diaper habit, I would lose a second wife.

Then there is the 3-year-old, who has never been such a little shit in all of his years. Is it normal for such a precious child to turn all Damien just because he has a little brother now? Is it really necessary to dump the milk out on the couch or write on the walls with sidewalk chalk or take off a loaded pullup to smear the floor with diarrhea? And then the other day, he hit a new low: the 3-year-old pulled that baby right out of his electric swing and dropped him 2 FULL FEET onto a hardwood floor. 

I liked it much better when it was just the 3-year-old and I. He wasn't evil then. And I had a hell of a lot more money.

So, no. No. I'm not really doing fine. So don't ask. I have two kids, alright?

But if I can get at least one of them out of diapers, maybe I'll be able to finally afford beer again. I sure need it. 

[matthewallenlane]

Great new trailer for Paul Thomas Anderson’s “The Master”.

[judgepumpkin-deactivated2016082]

“In the first place, you’re way off when you start railing at things and people instead of at yourself.”

J.D. Salinger. (via thegreatwhitesass)

[enjeibee]

[aminordelinquency]

It does indeed.

[aminordelinquency]

That Baby

Well...that baby has finally arrived and, as I predicted, I am still being a selfish asshole. I really don't want to be an asshole, and I am sure that the people around me don't prefer it, but the truth still remains.

Here I had finally reached a point where I could walk down to my local beer bar and spend some needed time away if things reached critical mass. I mean, once the 3-year-old is asleep, he's asleep. Plenty of time to enjoy a Belgian IPA by Green Flash or a Hinterland Coffee Stout or whatever other goodness is on tap. But now THAT baby is here. All the fucking time. And I can't even leave the house anymore. Responsibilities have multiplied and all I can think about is drinking beer and making out with my wife. (I can't do either, by the way) My normal life is essentially over.

Even the 3-year-old is being an asshole about the whole thing. He hasn't even come near the baby (smart kid) and is always saying stuff like "get that baby out of here," or "tell that baby to be quiet," or "i don't like that baby." I know the feeling.

So the 3-year-old and I are officially in the "acting out" stage. He's pissed and so am I, and EVERYONE is gonna know it. If we have to break some house rules that is perfectly fine. I encourage this behavior in him on one condition... that he doesn't give me any shit either. After all, I am a father.

[aminordelinquency]

So if this doesn't warrant a toast, I don't know what does. 

[goodbeerhunting]

Landing in Stockholm, Akkurat was already on my radar thanks to the incredible beer geeks over at the Beer Sweden Forum. They gave me a hell of a punchlist for my visit, and Akkurat was always at the top. But it took me two visits to complete the experience. Because as you’ll see, the...

[aminordelinquency]

A Bad Decision

I've given up beer until this new kid heads out. The little shit was supposed to be here 5 days ago but is still a no-show. Now it's Independence Day and I would really like a drink but I am committed to a beer fast until one second after his delivery. (I really hope they let me drink in the hospital.)

Seriously though, the one time I really should be drinking, I'm not, because of some rash and seemingly nonsensical decision. Even my wife says "drink a beer already," but I just can't. I'm just that principled. You see, I see what a horrible state she is in right now, just living in limbo, waiting with this person inside her. This little person is just hanging there, dragging the floor with his head and making life really suck for his hormone-riddled host. That and it's 100 degrees outside and these 2 air conditioners are for shit. The 3-year-old is not any better. Heat and anxiety and waiting sort of makes everyone an asshole.

Then, I open up my fridge and it's filled with all manner of goodness from Bells, Dogfish Head, Russian River, Green Flash, Greenbush, Half Acre and Sixpoint, and I can't touch it. IPAs, Pale Ales, Belgians, so much deliciousness. What the hell is the 4th of July for anyway if I can't indulge in something refreshing. This is shaping up to be one of the worst holidays of all time.

[aminordelinquency]

Shit My Kid Says

Me: What's the new baby's name gonna be?

Him: God.

Me: God, huh? And what are you gonna do to God?

Him: I'm gonna give him the beatdown.

Me: Give him the beatdown?

Him: Yes, he take the toys. He no taken the toys.

Me: Not all the toys-

Him: He not take it. And the Zombie Dust.

Me: No, he can't have any Zombie Dust.

Him: You have it, daddy? You have the beer?

Me: Yes. I'll keep the beer from God.

Him: I get him. I the Foo Fighter.

Me: So God and the Foo Fighter don't play together?

Him: I do the fightin' on him. [pause] Flaygos daddy. I play Flaygos. Please. Flaygos. You play with me. Please.

Me: Maybe we can do the Legos after dinner buddy.

Him: No after dinner. Do Flaygos now. 

[his very pregnant mother comes in the room and he shoves her belly]

Him: [continued] No mommy! No! You no come in here. You no talk to daddy.

Her: I need to talk to daddy, Aidan.

Him: No.

Her: I need to talk to daddy about the new baby.

Him: No. The new baby is a Foo Fighter.

Her: The baby is a Foo Fighter too.

Him: You a Foo Fighter. Daddy a Foo Fighter.

Her: What about you?

Him: God a Foo Fighter too.

Dave Grohl would be so proud. 

[parks-and-rex]

Last week’s LATimes article ran in Chicago Tribune today. SHORTCUTS! The message I am getting from this is that living my whole life as a writer, writing for years and years meant nothing. Growing up as the annoying kid on the street who wrote plays and tried to force peers to perform...

[aminordelinquency]

Limbo

We've been waiting forever for this new kid. At least it seems like forever. I was telling someone how uncomfortable the whole process was, then I realized what a dick I was. Uncomfortable? For me? I swear I just can't seem to get away from my own inconveniences.

So, of course I'm thinking about how the new kid will affect my life. It took me a year and a half before I could even look at the 3-year-old and say I'm in love. (I know, I'm a real shit, right?) And now that I am in a semi-groove with the 3-year-old, the new kid prepares to head out and fuck up everything. Just so you don't think I'm a completely selfish bastard, let me just say that I welcome the new kid. I do. I am sure I will adore him. It's just...well...the whole starting again thing...I'm not a big fan. Who is? I really don't think he will actually fuck everything up. The melodrama comes out of the not knowing. And the uncomfortable waiting. See, there I go again.

One of the good things that will certainly come from all of this is an excuse to pick out a new, aged or special (read pricey) beer to commemorate the occasion. I mean really... how often do you have a new kid come into your life. It's an event that most certainly should be celebrated with beer. Even the 3-year-old would agree. But I don't feel bad in the least when I say, "let's get this show on the road."

[aminordelinquency]

Happy F-Day

It's Father's Day. The 3rd most depressing holiday, after Labor Day and Memorial Day. (That's another story.) I guess I shouldn't wallow in it. My best friend doesn't even have his father around anymore. Others got the shit beat out of them on a regular basis, care of dear old dad. Me - my dad loved me. Gave me all I needed. Just couldn't express it. Which is fine. It's cool. Might mean I'm a little fucked up as a result, but that's not really why F-day is the 3rd most depressing holiday.

I lost my daughter when she was one. Well, not lost her, but, you know, lost her. Now she's 16. Well-adjusted. Responsible. Talented and full of spark and vision. But 15 years of her great and promising life were not great and promising because of me. Weekend phone calls and 2-day flights are what she's received from me. And residuals from a monthly check.

I should really stop feeling sorry for myself. I've got a great 3-year-old boy so there's another chance there. Plus, some new guy will be here any day now. That's officially a second chance. So, until I get the opportunity to redeem the 3rd most depressing holiday, my toddler matey and I will hit up the local watering hole for some pirate beers. Cheers.

[aminordelinquency]

A Pot to Piss in

Potty training a 3-year-old should be easy, right? He's had a bit of time to acclimate himself to how things are done in the adult world so his shit should be straight. This is my reasoning.

I guess I shouldn't expect such things since there has been little "training" on my part. Unless you consider ordering a Prince Lionheart self-standing training toilet off Amazon and plopping it down in the middle of the living room floor. Poor guy was probably traumatized when I ripped off his diaper and said "here you go; now try not to get anything on the floor." I really am a shit dad.

Not once have I stood in the bathroom and demonstrated just how it's done. One time, when I was forced to take him into the library bathroom with me, he caught a glimpse and asked "you peeing out you hand?" "No, buddy. I'm not peeing out of my hand." And that was that.

So now, after one instance of whizzing into a clothes basket full of whites, he's taken to just dribbling his business willy-nilly all over the floor, couch, bed, etc. The kid hasn't even had his first beer yet. Well, not a whole one at least. Shit. Guess I'm gonna have to sit down and show him how to do this potty business like a real man. Whatever the hell that is.