As it happens, we were playing a racing game called Gran Turismo and I had just won a race using my son’s favorite car, called a "Tickford."  Now, I sometimes keep a car for sentimental reasons, such as, I always wanted to have that car in real life, but for the most part – in game – I select my favorites based on how well they will compete in races.  He, on the other hand, selects his favorites based on how cool they are, i.e., "that green one has a cool orange stripe!"

The prize for this particular victory was a car we absolutely needed to compete in a model-specific race; and a promising one, if tuned correctly.  But – you guessed it: he didn’t like the car’s appearance.  After some convincing, he decided to try the car out on a test track…

It was horrible, the car slid off practically every turn!  It had lousy acceleration, practically no brakes and just, generally, didn’t respond well.  I suggested that maybe he wasn’t being fair with his criticisms and he retorted that I should "try it yourself!"  And so I did…

I found the car to be acceptable, and said so.  I even noticed a certain familiarity about it’s responsiveness.  I said, "it doesn’t seem to be any different than your Tickford" (the favorite).  This was obviously not an acceptable viewpoint, based on his sarcastic reply.

Still trying to placate him – because we really DID need the car – I suggested that he let me tune it and then test the car again, to which he reluctantly agreed.

When I got to the "Tune Up" area of the game, I found that all the tuning had already been done – exactly to the set-up we usually build.  Then it dawned on me: we never got in the new car.  We had been testing the Tickford!

Note: he has caught me in similar "Eat Crow" situations, but those stories aren’t nearly as amusing!

I went to the Science Center with my son’s second grade class today as a chaperon. I found out I had chaperon duties when I arrived at the school in the morning in response to the invitation: “would you like to go on the field trip with us?” But I don’t mind wrangling a few brats for a half day – I wrangle 150 soldiers all weekend and it’s about the same job description…

Of all the great story opportunities from this little junket – I only lost one brat, and even then for only a couple of minutes – my favorite was the “ABC game” I played with my boy on the bus ride home. We were the last ones on the bus for the return trip due to the fact that the experts at the center lost my backpack, which they insisted I leave with them after lunch. (See Detroit Science Center Intelligence Story.)

So, now in the front of the bus, alone – or so I thought – with my boy,

he asked if we could play the “ABC game”, which we play by taking turns naming off a word that starts with successive letters of the alphabet. He says “A is for apple” and I respond with the most ridiculous word I can think of for “B”, like, “B is for botulism.” It makes him laugh, and occasionally, he learns a new word.

We easily got through the first time, but as you know if you’ve played this a few times, it can be difficult to get through the “X’s” multiple times in a row without repetition. So on the second run through, I broke one of my own rules and used “Xanadu.” (We don’t usually allow proper nouns.) He responded with “Y is for yankee” and I took a few moments to try to find a real whopper for “Z”.

The nice lady next to me (also a hijacked chaperon) noticed my struggle and offered up: “You could use Z is for Xylophone!”

I thanked her and switched games.

So, did I say this job was going to take one day? I’m almost halfway done now at the end of day two. The laminate is well designed. You just “snap” it together. and then you have to “tap” the pieces laterally down to join up with the previously installed board in the same row. I pried on one so hard that the wall shifted: it didn’t budge. Some work well, others fight to the bitter end. I think I’ll be finished by tomorrow night. If not, I’m just going to move out. My hands are bleeding from multiple cuts and bruises and I think I’ve contracted carpel tunnel. (In both wrists.)