First Grade, Cincinnati and the Outdoor Fungi

Bear with me, I'll make that title work.

Henry started first grade a few weeks ago.  Rather than show you the obligatory video of the bus coming down the street to pick Henry up and blah-blah-blah (because we've got that video if you want it), I'm just going to simply state that Hank is awesome and could make a wool sweater fit comfortably in August.

He is excited about school this year.

He's a social kid.  He'll be fine as long as he doesn't shove any more legumes up his ear canal.

Our real test comes about this time next year when the Lil' E goes to kindergarten.

Yowch!

We may have to knock her out just to get her on the bus.

Mommy and Henry at the bus stop for the first day.

Last weekend, we joined the Calvin family in Cincinnati, Ohio for some waterparking and a baseball game.

Dave Calvin is my best friend from IU.  He saved my life on Mount Rainier, taught me how to adapt to the unfamiliar and gave me the worst possible advice concerning Milwaukee County Stadium alcohol consumption policies.

In return for all of that, I make him laugh and gave him the nickname "Bundy".

I guess that's worth the equivalency.  I'll be trying to figure out a way to repay him for the rest of my existence.

Anyway, the Cubs-Reds game was the first official MLB for both Caroline and Josephine.

They lasted until the bitter end.

The Cubs won, 3-2. 

Here's the boxscore, Dad. 

Free children's lipstick to the first three Holman children in attendance.

Bundy and Bob.

View from the seats. 
I'm pretty sure whatever he was selling, we bought it.

Caroline thinks Cub fans are wussies.

Henry and the strange scab that joined us on our trip.

Mommy and Joey at the 7th inning stretch

For Those About to Rock (for my Father's Day Present)...

Due to schedule complications with our favorite babysitters and thus an inability to free Erica from the kids for the evening, my long awaited Father's Day gift was shared with Billy Brew.

What, you ask, did I get for Father's Day?

Tickets to see Built to Spill.



You're welcome.

A couple of admissions here.

First, I didn't shoot the video.  I was busy drinking with Bill and watching the show.

Second, Doug Martsch is my hero.  He's the bearded dude making his guitar gently weep for you. 

Third, he bears a striking resemblance to UB. 

That's my uncle in case you don't follow the blog.  He's another of my heroes.

UB drinks beer, too.

Speaking of beer, after Billy and I destroyed an untold number of cold and frosties, I summoned the courage to personally thank Mr. Martsch for the effort after the show.

You can do that at Musica in Akron.

Because he is the most awesome guitar hero on the planet and the most normal looking guitar shredder in history, it shouldn't surprise anyone to know that he calmly shook my hand and thanked me for coming to the show.

Cue the Chris Farley.

"That was awesome!"

Happy Father's Day to me.  Thanks, Erica.

Hilton Head Island, South Carolina: Act III

The final Act of the HHI vacation is Hilton Head Island, SC.

We stayed in Sea Pines this year.  If that means anything to you, I should congratulate you.  All it meant to us what that each time we ventured outside of Sea Pines it took an extra 30 minutes to get back. 

Kind of a pain, really.

The rental was nice.  The aforementioned pool and a convenient little "bait-and-switch" known as an inoperable hot tub.  Fortunately, there was no charge on the latter. 

You know things aren't going well for fixing it when the contractors they hire to repair the thing refuse to acknowledge you and disguise their incompetence in a foreign language.

Don't know what was going to be accomplished in said hot tub with a heat index approaching 110 degrees, but I'm sure it probably would have killed someone.

Anyway, that was not the only flirtation with a form of vacation disaster. 

There were several near misses.

Roughly two hours after acquiring access to the rental, we nearly burned the mother-F-er down.

Yep.  You heard me.

Miami of Ohio Spring Formals have nothing on the Holmans.

All I will say to protect the identity of the perpetrator is to say that you should never, ever "warm" a cardboard pizza box in an unfamiliar oven and you should never, ever leave it unattended.

Sadly, those involved were sober at the time.  Happily, one of them doubles as a pirate and literally pulled the flaming boxes out of the oven with his/her bare hands.

Even recreation within the vacation had notable hazards.

Bill and I played the Sea Pines Ocean Course with an early morning tee time.  First tee, second shot.  Bill leaves the golf cart near his ball and a murky, but harmless looking lagoon.  I jump out of the cart and nearly step onto a 15 foot alligator resting nearby. 

Never saw the damn thing. 

Probably should have. 

After all, it's a F-ing ALLIGATOR!

I'm not good at golf, but do you really need a live alligator as a playing hazard?

Luckily, it was Bill who had to swing near the thing.

I needed a change of underwear and had 17 more holes to walk it off.

As an aside, it's too hot to play golf in August in SC.  It's also too hot to drink beers while golfing in SC.  Our other half -- we were joined by a Pittsburgher and the poor bastard who married into a Steeler family on the links -- consumed four beers apiece.  It was in the 90's with a dew point plus 80 degrees.

I marveled at their stupidity ability.

Billy and I managed to choke down a few despite the intolerable conditions. 

We're Holmans. 

Skipping on...

The swimmers, the involuntary divers and the rest.

(Dig Bro-ham's Dog Paddle)

Henry and Caroline at dusk.

Maura and Caroline celebrating the spoils of involuntary promise keeping.

Just the three four of us.

What happens when yentas start snapping pictures.

Maddy gives a thumbs up to phony pink eye outbreaks.

You'd be on your ass too if you were hot, pregnant and miserable!

Joey and Mommy assume the beach position.

Crocs calendar 2011.

Why I locked my door each night.

Did someone say Noodle Rainbow?

Shortly before switching her to the basket.

Billy and the Boogie Boarder.

Okay, so the credits have run on another HHI vacation and you're still here. 

Let's close this thing out with a set of quick hits on HHI - 2010.

1.  Likes:  Mellow Mushroom Pizza, the unburnt version of Giuseppi's Pizza; Grouper - day one and two; Yuengling Beer; 813-402; our new Facebook catchphrase "....I didn't sign up for this one! LOL!;  and air conditioning.

2.  Dislikes:  Grouper - every day thereafter; Bill's leprosy poison ivy issues; damage waivers; jellyfish; zealous garbage collectors; and being stupid.

3.  I've been trying for three years to get the family into the ultimate tourist trap on HHI -- the Salty Dog Cafe. 

This year, we finally made it. 

Guess what?  It sucked.  

Go figure. 

Maybe twenty tables.  A one hour wait for lunch.  Pub grub disguised as haute cuisine?

I had grouper.  Thanks for asking. 

But the tee shirts are cool aren't they?

A webcam can prove our ability to check this one off the list.

That's me at the bar stool and me Bill in my shirt with the red hat on the official Salty Dog Webcam. 

Notice the thermometer reading. 

Great golf weather, eh?

It's not a sunset, it's a sunrise.

See you next year, HHI.

Savannah, Georgia: Act II

Savannah is another cool, old city.

Where else can you get free lap dances and flowers made out of straw?

Why Savannah, Georgia, of course.

This year, we sprinkled a new twist to the Savannah, GA visit by scheduling an afternoon dolphin cruise down the Savannah River and into the Atlantic Ocean.  More on that in a moment.

We start today's installment with an out-of-focus picture of what the locals call "Chatham Artillery Punch". 

Appropriately blurry image of a drink designed to kill you -- slowly.

This year, Bill joined me in partaking the CAP at the Shrimp Factory on River Street. 

I likes me a drink with a little history. 

For those interested, here's the abbreviated Poogie version of the story.

The Chatham Artillery dates back to 1786.  They like shooting cannons to celebrate funerals and George Washington.  Their chicks like to make fruity drinks because it is hotter than Hell in Savannah.  They put out a bowl of oranges and water to drink.  The artillery dudes start laughing at them.  They start pulling out flasks of whisky, rum, brandy, battery acid, Fire Water (that one is for you, bro) and the head of Alfredo Garcia.  They are hot and drunk and start pouring this mixture into the skull of Charles Cornwallis or Stonewall Jackson (I was a little fuzzy on that one).  The dudes then top it off with some champagne to cover their tracks before the chicks find out what they've done to their version of orange-aide.

Chatham Artillery Punch is born.

Don't believe me?  Sure, I have been infected with the stuff, but my version is pretty close.  See below.  Enlarge it for the full effect.

 

Did you read those ingredients?  Yikes.

Here's what it looks like in today's terms.

$250 bucks for a buzz?

Anyway, Bill and I powered through CAP after the dolphin cruise.  Although, it is possible that we were never on the cruise at all.  The CAP shaved a month off my life. 

There's an alleged one drink limit, but we got the glass for posterity's sake.  I am toying with the idea of brewing the CAP for the pig roast.

Any takers?

Any-who.  Here are the rest of the pictures.

Finding shade while waiting for Justin Bieber to load us onto the dolphin cruise.

Joey wonders why the Earth is melting.

Downtown Savannah, GA from the back of the Dolphin Magic.

A glistening Mommy feigning a smile as we hurtle down the river at 25 knots.

The dolphin cruise was a good break from downtown Savannah. 

Yes, we saw dolphins, but unfortunately, my camera succumbed to the heat and humidity and stopped working.  I know Bill captured some dolphins jumping in the wake of the boat. 

I was kind of expecting the dolphins to jump into the boat since that's what it looks like on the Dolphin Magic website.

Check it out below.

....unless you subsequently drink the CAP.

Amazing how you can photoshop your way into the "experience you'll never forget."

Reality is so yesterday.

Charleston, South Carolina: Act I

The Poogsters were joined by Holmans-South (Bill's family) on this year's version of our HHI vacation.  Due to an overabundance of photos, videos, pictograms, etch-a-sketch renderings and cave drawings from this year's vacation, I will try -- again -- to be brief.

There were lots of visuals to choose from, so I'm going to break this up into three daily blogs.  Act I is the Charleston, SC portion of the trip.  Act II is the Savannah, GA portion of the trip.  Act III is the HHI portion of the trip.

For those of you who appreciate good humor and a second version -- or often times better version -- of the same story, try my brother's blog. 

He was there.  He took more pictures.  He also does landscaping.

For those of you who are still here, let's dispense with the typical BS questions one usually asks to another when asking about a vacation. 

I have no time for subtleties.

First, it was fun.  Beach, pool, dinner.  Repeat five times.  I wore wife beater tee shirts for five straight days and flashed a daily dose of milky white moobs for all of the vacationing upper-crusters on the island.

I could sense their fear.

Second, it was hot.  After all, it's August in South Carolina.  Heat indexes each day topped 105 degrees. 

No rain, except for that unholy event in Charleston, SC on the way in. 

More on that in a moment.

Third, the kids were great.  Considering we encountered ear infections, an outbreak of pink eye, daily sniffles and coughs, a curious potty regression of pooped-in underwear (hey dude, you asked for it and you are going to get it) and the normal daily dose of whining and complaining, the kids took everything in stride and had a blast.

So, you want your Poogie vignette?

Let us commence.

This is Kevin.  Kevin is a big, overworked, lazy, loose-boweled draft horse. 

If Kevin could talk, he would tell you to go F yourself.

Kevin took us on a horse-drawn carriage ride around Charleston, South Carolina for the first part of our three-legged vacation. 

It was hotter than nuclear fission on our trip around Charleston.  Rather than melt on a boat trip to Fort Sumter, we let Kevin -- yes, that was his name -- take us around town. 

Kevin is wonderful in the downtown Charleston traffic.  In fact, if he does not like the way you approach a right hand turn, he will stop in front of your white minivan and work out a fresh batch of "avenue biscuit" in your presence.

Kevin is one of my new heroes. 

What about the kids?

Well, the kids did wonderful considering the 90 minute ride and the 90 degree temps.

I took pictures to prove it.   

Josie wonders why her skin is melting in the heat and why her left eye is beginning to itch.

BTW, Erica is freaking awesome.  Need a distraction for 90 minutes?  No problem, she pulls out lollipops or flavored water or a Roman Candle.  The woman is amazing. 

She saved the kids' day in Charleston.

Anyway, here are more photos from the trip. 

Random old Charleston building photographed to make me look like I was writing a book on architecture.

If I had been alive in 1861 AND in Charleston, I would have hidden in this alley.

Sugar makes kids think less about heat stroke -- until they collapse from heat stroke.

Hey, this would be a great house for my fake book on Southern architecture.

BAR-B-Q!!!!

My quick hits on Charleston, SC:

1.  Charleston is a cool old city, but a tad too close to the commercialization level of a hip lifestyle center. For example, being able to buy Abercrombie & Fitch on the same street -- and possibly from the same building -- where they used to sell human beings is a little weird to me.

Perhaps a little more history and a little less consumption would be a better homage to the city.

I'm just sayin'.

BTW, why does Abercrombie & Fitch smell like a French whorehouse?  And what is that God-awful stench that emanates from every store?  Are they brainwashing us with their cheap cologne? 

It reminds me of what the cool kids used to bathe themselves in before Honey Creek Junior High mixers. 

I used to bathe myself in dork sweat. 

2.  Bessinger's Barbecue.  Solid food.  We were lucky to be staying down the street from Bessinger's in Charleston.  Instead of staying downtown after the carriage ride, we humped it back to Bessinger's.  Smart move.  The Hickory smoke led me like a cartoon character into the dining room.  Good eats!

3.  Slander.  This one goes out to you Lindsey (our tour guide).  When you stop next to a run down old Southern mansion and a tour participant asks you why the house is run down, here are the answers you should choose from in the future:

a) I don't know.
b) The economy has been tough on everyone.
c) I'm sorry.  I can't understand you when you mumble.  Speak louder next time.
d) Another person's trash is another person's treasure.

Never, ever answer the question this way:

"The owner is crazy.  Yeah, she's a little wacky.  You know, a couple cards short in the deck."

You see, your answer is -- or borders on -- what we like to call slander.  Instead of fixing her home up to the standards of the tour participant, that allegedly "crazy" person is going to become an owner of your carriage company when she sues you for slandering her in public.

Again, I'm just sayin'.
 
 

Party Like It's 1995?

Last weekend, we made our way back to Terre Haute for Erica's 15-year high school reunion.

(Needle scratch)

"You did what?"

Yes, I attended a high school reunion in Terre Haute, Indiana.

Didn't see that one coming, did you? 

But before you break out the hypocrite blasts and call me out, the catch is that I went to Erica's reunion, not mine.

Settle down, I'm not crazy.

[Yes, that back-handed slap was directed at you, Class of 1993.  You know who you are.]

Anyway, for those who give a crap -- and why would you -- there was nothing redeeming about my high school experience prior to September 5, 1992.  Like you, I remember awkwardness.  I remember chicks with big hair.  I remember pegged jeans.  I remember cans of Lite Beer and overplayed Steve Miller music.  I remember failing at being cool and being cool with the idea of failure.  The typical four years of being hopped up on hormones and the sad realization that nothing was going to be amazing like I imagined as a kid and we were all going to meet in the proverbial "middle" at some point.

On my way to high school melancholy, I met an energetic lifesaver who threw my whole experience upside down.


(wait for it)


Chris Hoffman, you complete me. 

Nah.  Just kidding.


(C'mon, you're not reading this to be mushy and nostalgic, are you?)


Anyway, Erica's reunion was a good time. 

Watching Erica with her friends from high school brought back good memories for both of us.  Of course, by the sixth beer -- only four of which I paid for -- the memories were beginning to merge with my blurring sense of balance.

Oh, and by the way, Eric Tracy?  I think the bartender charged a few of my beers on your tab.  Sorry, bro.  I'll get you back at the 20th.

Here's a snapshot of what else made me chuckle:

1.  Upon arriving at the reunion, I blasted, head first, into one of the poles at Stables Restaurant.  Never saw the damn thing.  I don't think anyone saw me, but I'm sure it was hilarious if you did.

2.  The awkwardness.  I was -- and still am -- a douche bag.  Therefore, having awkward silences with people who know me only as "Erica's boyfriend/husband from high school" doesn't give me much material to work with. 

My apologies to all of you who realize that I have no interesting segues.

3.  That said, my favorite segue of the night came from Lindsay's husband who had to stop me in mid-boring anecdote to rush to the bathroom to avoid pissing himself.

Yes, I was that boring.  Sorry, Trevor.  It made me laugh, though.

4.   The DJ.  Scruffy dude, sleeve-less Harley Davidson shirt AND a fan of Black Eyed Peas?  I did not see that one coming.  I even liked the scratch version he played of a few BEP songs.   Edgy, man.  Although, I don't remember that music from 1995 - not that things have improved much in that department.

5.  Erica's propensity to take picture after picture with the same quasi-vacant cheerleader smile.  I have been trying to figure out how she does that.  Amazing.  Did your cheerleading coach teach that to you or something?

6.  The fertility of the class of 1995.  Everyone had a minimum of 6 kids.  What's with you people?  I was worried that Erica might get pregnant just attending the event and standing next to you guys. 

I was glad I beat your horn-dog class to that one. 

Alright.  Enough talky-talky.  Here's the only picture I managed not to take:    

We should have put a name tag on Erica's bump.

Traverse City: Cherries and Waterslides

A recent health scare in Poogieville has brought the blog updates to a standstill.  With a reasonably strong sense that things are returning to normal, we resume in earnest.

At the beginning of July -- yes, it's been that long -- we made a trip to Traverse City, Michigan for the 2010 National Cherry Festival.

Due to the passage of time, I will keep my reviews brief.

Likes:

• Traverse City, Michigan is Bloomington, Indiana without the college campus.  Thus, I had no trouble falling in love with the place.
• 77 degrees in July for highs, no humidity - perfect.
• Cherry Lemonade at the Cherry Republic - flipping awesome!
• Mackinaw Brewing Company - good eats, good drinks.
• Caroline tackling the biggest waterslide at the GWL without knowing how to swim.  Probably doing things backwards, but the kid has got some chutzpah!
• Joey-sized life jackets.  Seeing half-pint in a swim vest was hilarious.
• Henry as a water bug.
• Mommy texting me through Facebook while sitting in the bed right next to me.  Classic abuse of modern technology.

Dislikes:

• GWL's food prices are ridiculous.  PBR on the menu, but no PBR in the joint.  Black mark for you, Great Wolf.  No one puts a blue jewel in the corner, no one.
• The kid (or adult) who shut down half the waterpark by pooping under the GWL waterfall play area.  Apparently, when 1,000 gallons of water come splashing down every five minutes, it occasionally scares the crap out of people.  The best part was the poor schlep who had to use the rubber gloves and the red hazmat bag to clean the poop from the water drain.  Stay classy, Michigan.
• LeBron James.  Thankfully, the citizens of TC could care less about "The Decision."  It wasn't on the TV when we went out for dinner.  Hopefully, in a few years, either will Mr. James.
• Armband barbed wire tattoos.   Sorry folks, if you have them, I have to wonder about you.
• The dude who plays the old wizard in the Magi Quest game at GWL.  Pretty sure he has to report himself to his neighbors when he moves.
• The Diabolical India Pale Ale from North Peak Brewery - pretty sure it caused a permanent facial tick (see below).

The rest in pictures...   

The Holman kids love Great Wolf Lodge.

The girls on the carny carousel

Henry and Caroline at the Sleeping Bear Dunes

Josie and Caroline put their toes into Lake Michigan -  lake temperature, 65 chilly degrees.

$75 bucks worth of Magis

Dad and the kids rediscover hydro-engineering at the Children's Musuem

The tired parents.

Our wolfpack.