The Tailgating "List"

This last weekend I went to the Redskins/Giants game at FedEx Field. My sister Beth and Brother-in-Law Aaron came up for it....and I went with a bunch of co-workers/friends. Now, if you're a novice to NFL games, you probably think you just go the game. Well, if you're a rookie that's what you do. You see, the real fun is in the tailgating. Especially if you're a Redskins fan... because, let's be honest, if you're paying hundreds of dollars to go watch them lose, you're not getting your money's worth -- you've got to turn it into something worthwhile.

Therefore, whenever I go to a Redskins game, it's an all day affair... complete with the pre-game AND post-game tailgate. It's really pretty simple, all you need to bring is a grill, charcoal, something to grill and copious amounts of beer (not that you'll drink it all... but you'll make lots of friends). Having been going to Redskins games for over a decade now, I have honed the tailgating craft and thought I was a professional.

That is, until this game. You see, this tailgate involved Jim (can't give up the last name... lest he get stuck in google forever). Jim is the Vice President of the company I work for. More importantly he is a lifelong Giants fan who has been tailgating since I've been in diapers. And, well, how can I say this... He has truly honed the craft and I am merely privileged to breathe his charcoal fumes.

Now, to fully understand what I'm about to tell you... you must first understand a bit about Jim. Everything he does is balls out. There is no holding back. If something is worth doing, it's worth making legendary. Take the 4th of July for example. Jim starts preparing for the 4th about 6 months in advance. He orders thousands of dollars worth of (ehem...illegal) fireworks from a catalogue. He's such a big customer that they call him in advance. He is to that fireworks company what a "whale" is to a casino in Vegas.

The explosives he orders have names like "Ultimate Retribution" and "American Vengeance" and they take up an entire closet in his home. And I'm not kidding. It is an arsenal that would make any militia proud. In fact, in the event of attack, I'm making a bee-line for Jim's house. Not necessarily for protection, I just think his fireworks stash can be lit off and will 'razzle-dazzle' the enemy and stall them long enough for me to make my escape.

Anyway... so that is Jim. Nothing is done less than 100%. So, now back to the tailgate. I've already told you my list (grill, charcoal, meat, beer) -- it's brilliant in its simplicity. Jim, on the other hand, has cultivated a fool-proof tailgating checklist that has evolved over the years... and it is 2 pages long!!!! I'll spare you all 2 pages...but here are some of the highlights (my comments in italics):

Scotch
Cuban Cigars
Little Cigars -- I'm assuming the Cuban's must be "big", hence the differentiation
Phone (power) -- power? is there a non-powered phone? hmmm
Flask -- for, you know, chemistry experiments and stuff
Money -- this one cracks me up... wouldn't that be hilarious if he brought all this stuff... 2 pages worth and then got to the game and... crap... no money! And it also implies that he has stacks of it in a closet somewhere. I can just picture him calling out to his wife "honey, can you go into the garage and bring me the grill tools, some lighter fluid and... oh yeah... a stack of $20's."
Codeine -- naturally... no tailgate is complete without a hefty dose of painkillers
Aspirin -- Just in case the codeine doesn't do the trick
Cortisone Ointment -- Man, if I had a nickel for everytime my body broke out in a wicked rash at a tailgate...
Generator -- Yes, we had a generator... How else do you think the TV is going to work?
TV -- see above
Giant sign -- rats...I left my "giant" sign at home
Duct Tape -- duct tape? are we planning on kidnapping someone?
Giants Flag and US Flag -- because, one flag just simply isn't enough
Two "Big Grills" and football grill -- you see, one grill can only hold so much food. You need multiple grills... really
Ray -- Ray is a 'man' that holds grill tools. Crucially important, without "Ray" you might be forced to lay your grill tools elsewhere.
Big Coolers (4) -- yes... 4 big coolers
Black Cooler -- umm...because 4 non-black coolers are just not enough
Name Tags -- I used to get so tired of saying "hi, I'm scott... want a beer" Now, I just say "beer?" and they say, "sure, scott" -- it helps
Coffee Brewer -- at a tailgate? I blame the influence of Starbucks.
Water Cooler -- for those keeping score, that is cooler #6
Chip Bowl -- absolutely essential, eating directly from the bag is just so ghetto
Large Can opener -- the small one just won't cut it apparently
Corn Cob Holders -- Jim told me... in all seriousness... "if I don't bring the corn cob holders... the tailgate will be ruined"
Corn/Broccoli Pot
Water Pot -- obvious that you can't use your water pot as a corn/brocolli pot... isn't it?
Garlic Butter -- that's butter #1
Regular Butter -- butter variety #2
Margarine -- butter #3
Spray Butter -- yes, that's right, 4 different varieties of butter... did we miss any?

Okay...the list was twice this long... I've only pulled out the highlights.

Bottomline? We had a great tailgate with 15 or so of us, three grills going simultaneously, enough beer to sink a battle ship, and great food.

The irony of it all is that Jim had to borrow buns from me... but at least he didn't have to borrow cortisone ointment (because, as you know, it was on the list).

2 things I've learned in the last couple of weeks

OK.... being a dad has a learning curve... I'm constantly evolving and learning as I go. Here's what I've learned recently:

• While prancing around in your boxers with wedgie might sound like a good idea -- it's not. Please... let me explain. I'm goofing around with Reagan and Luke the other day and, for some reason, they want to play Superman and Wonder woman (or whatever Superhero they were trying to be) in their underwear. Well, it was almost bedtime... "so... sure. No problem kids... play in your underwear" I say. And they are having a great time and want me to play. So... you know... I'm down. So, I'm prancing (and I stress "prancing" ... there is positively no shame in my game when it comes to playing with the kids) around pretending I'm a Superhero and then Reagan says "I've got a wedgie" and pulls it out. OK, I know what you're thinking. Yes. She knows what a wedgie is. I blame Kelly. She must have taught her. Well.. then I think it would be really funny to say "Daddy's got a wedgie" and then run around and be goofy and..well.. you know... the kids will think I'm the greatest Dad ever. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned and/or envisioned. So I hike my boxers up and run around saying "Daddy's got a wedgie! Daddy's got a wedgie!" Well, this sends Reagan into super hyper orbit. She goes crazy! I mean... she was JACKED up. She says "I'll fix it Daddy!" and comes running at me. And I'm not joking. She makes a b-line for me (w/hands extended) likes she's been shot out of a cannon. Before I have time to react, she plows right into me at full speed. Which would have been fine. Only she's about waist high to me. So, regrettably, my man grapes take the blunt of the force. I drop to floor like a sack of potatoes and let out a high pitched "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Reagan just laughs uncontrollably as I lay on the floor... in my boxers... with my self-inflicted wedgie. So, moral of the story.... running around your house with a wedgie isn't all that it's cracked up to be -- no pun intended.
  
• Juvenile t-shirts are not always such a good idea: You've seen the shirts. They're fairly ubiquitous these days. Sold at Target, the Mall, online etc they have goofy sayings like "I do my own stunts" and "Ladies Man" or whatever. Well, anyway... I recently bought one of these juvenile shirts figuring I would just wear it around the house. What did my shirt say, you ask? It said "I love hot moms" -- what can I say? I thought it was funny and, well, my wife is hot...and she's a mom... so, it worked for me. I would have preferred that it say "I love my hot wife" but for $9 it was close enough. I think it's important to note that Kelly was with me when I bought this (admittedly) sophmoric shirt. And, besides... I'm thinking Kelly is the only one that'll see it...so.. you know...no harm, no foul. Well...not exactly. A couple of Saturday's ago, I'm home with the kids by myself while Kelly takes her Dad out to lunch. Everything is going great until about bed time. Disaster strikes. Reagan fell and hit her head on the coffee table and got a pretty big cut that I knew would need stitches (which, on a side note, there is nothing worse than seeing your daughter in real pain... I would have given anything to have me be the one get hurt instead of her). So, I load Reagan and Luke in the Explorer and head to the emergency room. I'm feeling like a big loser and a crappy Dad. I mean, I don't get a ton of alone time with them and then the one time Kelly does leave me alone, we're going to the emergency room. Anyway, I get her to the hospital and I fill out their little form (you know... under the auspices of finding out what's wrong and doing "triage" -- but really making sure that you have insurance and that you'll pay) and I notice the nurse giving me kind of a funny look and focusing on my shirt. I assume it's the blood that got on me as I held Reagan and that she knew I was home alone and failed miserably in my parental duties. Then, it hits me. I look down and realize I'm wearing a shirt that says "I love hot moms"... uggh. So, anyway...just like when your mother tells you to always wear clean underwear in case you have an accident and you have to go to the emergency room... I have created a new axiom -- let's call it "the distributive property of adulthood" which dictates that you not wear juvenile t-shirts because you never know when you're going to have to take your child to the emergency room.

So... that's what I've learned recently. I think I'll send these in to Dr. Dobson so that he can include them in his next book. To my knowledge, he hasn't touched on these subjects yet.

The Circus -- Part 1

This weekend, we took the kids to the circus. They loved it. The elephants, the expert trapezers (if that's what they are called), the hype, the horses... not to mention the popcorn and other junk food. Bla, bla, bla....I know you didn't check the Faircloth Five blog during work hours just to hear about what Dad and Mom did with junior over the weekend. I didn't build up my readership by boring all 7 of you to death. You want the real story. And the observations are so copious, that I had to break this post up. I simply cannot have a post that is 50 pages long (well, I could, but Kelly would get upset with me).

Okay, first, the back story. The circus came rolling into our town this weekend (disclaimer: I'm not going to tell you the name of the circus because I don't want to get sued for libel. Everything I say is merely alleged and not proven). Of course, we decided to take our family. Oh, and we invited the grandparents to join in the fun...because, let's be honest... if the circus bores me... I always have fun analyzing them. I have so many things to talk about, I'm not sure where to start. So, let's just start with the beginning:

The Elephant ride: Upon arrival at the "big top", we are immediatly given all sorts of options of where we can blow our cash. The most compelling among them (not that the inflatable tweedie bird on a stick or the dollar store coloring books weren't tempting) was a ride on the elephant. At $8 a ride, I was game. I mean, how often do you get to sit on top of an elephant? I'll swing the $8 for that. So, I buy 2 tickets. One for Reagan and one for Luke. For some reason, apparently under the hypnotic powers of the "big top", I don't for once say to myself "umm...I'm entrusting the safety of my children to some dude from Omaha that gets his elephant to move by chucking marshmallows in its mouth."

Go figure. I'm usually overly cautious. And I'm still not troubled by this until my in-laws arrive and are worried that I've only gotten 2 tickets and don't plan to ride with them. Now, a word about the in-laws. They are great people. They are kind, generous and wonderful grandparents. However, Safety is definitely not one of their strong suits. They take all kinds of unnecessary risks. They've been skydiving for goodness sakes. I mean, they should be taking strolls along the pond feeding the frickin' ducks or playing shuffle board on the deck of a cruise ship... not jumping out of perfectly good airplanes. So, anyway, when they show concern that I'm entrusting the 2 most important things in my life to a marshmallow eating pachaderm led around by Bubba the circus clown... I get a little worried. Well, anyway, they go pay the extra $8 to ride with them and make sure they are safe. Probably a smart move. Gramps is clearly visible in the picture above. Safety First, my friends.

The Circus Workers: These guys fascinate me. I'm intrigued by them more than carnies who are a tough class to beat. I mean, at this circus, the workers were carnies with "talent." Because the guy that sold the tickets and the guy that showed me my seat and the guy that walked around with the elephant all appeared in the show. I'm not joking. The girl that sold me my tickets was later flying around on the trapeze. The guy that showed me my seats was later wearing a spandex tiger outfit. Or, on second thought, maybe he wasn't part of the show and just enjoyed animal print spandex? Who knows?(I've put in a call to Sen. Craig for clarification.)

Trapezers: Again, I'm not sure what you call multiple people performing a trapeze act. So, I've settled on "trapezers" -- you'll just have to bear with me for now. Most interesting thing about these guys was the dude that "catches" the flying female was overweight. I mean, we've all seen a trapeze act. But you simply haven't seen a trapeze act until you've seen a chunky bald man with his well-furred chest (painfully visible, by the way, via the U-shaped plunge of his "sweet" outfit) dangling upside down in spandex. Seriously. It simply cannot be beat.

The "Big Top" Beauty: This circus had a ringmaster. But, apparently, the ring master was not enough. They had the "Big Top" Beauty complete with evening gown, high heels and a feather boa. I was completely fascinated with her. She lip synced the national anthem and "Wind Beneath my Wings". Her evening gown collected pine shavings (certainly intended for containing the animal poop) as she sauntered around the ring. Yes, you read that right. There was a routine done to the "Wind Beneath my Wings"... and the best part of the lip syncing was that they didn't even try to get a cover version. It was definitely Bette Midler. Anyway, I suppose the routine was supposed to stir the emotions and empower me to do great things...like fly and stuff. But I couldn't stop watching her lip syncing to get inspired because it was really off... seriously...it was Britney Spears bad. Not that if she had lip synced it flawlessly I would have had any different reaction... but I do think it's noteable.

Anyway, at some point, I lean over to my father-in-law and say something like, "I'm sure she's riddled with STD's". Now, that was NOT a nice thing to say and I probably wouldn't admit that I said that, except I have to tell you I said that because of the response of my father-in-law. So, here's how that conversation went:

ME: "I'm sure she's riddled with STD's"

Father-in-Law: "Ya, it was probably the midgets."

Wait. Hold the phone. The midgets? Are midgets at circuses harbingers of syphilis and other undesireable conditions? If so, this was news to me... but he said it with such conviction that it must be true... right?

Ahh... anyway, I love the circus and could go on and on. But I'll stop there for now.

When Green is Brown and Purple is blue...

OK...so...see the circle above. Do you see a "45"? According to the website I got the picture off of.... you should.

I don't. It's all dots to me. I am colorblind. No problem....it's created some interesting times in my life....such as:

• In 2nd Grade when we studied the Mexicans, I used green crayons to color in their skin on my 'ditto' -- because...duh...mexican's are green...right?
• Grapes are purple....not blue. Found that out about 10 years ago.
• Peanut Butter is brown, not green. Found that out last week.
• I once ordered Peanut Butter chocolate ice cream at Baskin Robbins and pointed at what I thought was the right thing....except it was watermelon (pink & green). Yikes.
• I had trouble programming the garage because I couldn't tell if the "self" learn button was orange or green. Apparently, I chose incorrectly because for 2 weeks anytime our neighbor left for work, our garage door opened (no worries, I fixed it).
• I wore a purple shirt to work for a year or so until someone told me it was purple. No self-respecting man wears a purple dress shirt. I thought it was blue...what can I say?
• I'm amazed when my kids can tell what color something is. To me, it's kind of a guess. But, apparently, colors are like numbers....they just are what they are. Fascinating.
• When I was a kid, we would go to this "laser tag" place. One team was red. One team was green. We could tell each other apart by the lights on our vests and helmets. You got points for shooting the other team and negative points for shooting your own team. I would dominate a round and come out thinking I'd have a bazillion points. Only to check my score and see me dead last with NEGATIVE a bazillion points. Apparently, I kept shooting my own team. No wonder everyone on my team kept yelling at me. Interestingly enough, I still had fun.
• Trying to pick out paint colors is maddening. That's one reason I just let Kelly do all the decorating (Okay, so I don't need a reason to let Kelly do all the decorating).
• Brown could be green. Purple could be blue. Green can sometimes be yellow. Pink could conceivably be purple (depending on the shade). But Black is alway black and white is always white (except a dark blue can look black and a light purple/pink/yellow can look white). Other than that, I see colors perfectly.
• You know how they color coordinate computer cables to the back of your computer. Utterly useless to me. I have...and will continue to...plug the wrong plugs into the wrong slots. Trial and error works best for me usually.
• I cannot even tell you the colors of this blog. I would guess purple and blue. Though it could be dark blue on blue or purple on light purple. I'm pretty sure there's orange in there, but if you told me it was brown...I'd be cool with that.

So, that's it for now. I'm sure Kelly will have about 1,000 other stories. I get by. I think I'm disqualified for employment in the military (see my laser tag experience), FBI, CIA and interior decorating. Thankfully for me, politics does not require proper interpretation of the color spectrum.