Author: dannyhong

Home Groanership

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

Good news/bad news: the bad news is that pretty much my #1 worst nightmare involving my property happened; a tree fell over during a seemingly spontaneous storm with very forceful rain and wind for like an hour.

The good news is that it was not one of the trees in the back of my property that I always fear will fall onto one of my girls’ bedrooms and hurt them.  It was a tree in my front yard, and it fell in a pretty precise manner in which nobody was hurt, it did not hit my home, and it did not hit my neighbor’s home either.

The point remains however, a tree fell down on my property, and I didn’t really know what the fuck to do.  It’s not exactly something that I ever anticipated would happen, but then again I did have suspicions that this particular tree wasn’t optimally healthy based on the fact that mushrooms were growing out of one side of it.  But it was still sprouting leaves and growing branches, so I didn’t suspect that it was really dying beyond survival through a storm.

I did remain calm and rational and figured out what my next steps would be, but I also went ahead and threw out a query to my community’s Facebook page to see if anyone could recommend a tree removal service that didn’t have a completely booty experience.  One of my neighbors chimed in and stated that because the tree had already fallen, it shouldn’t be difficult for him to break it down, and he volunteered to assist.  And seeing as how raising children stretches my finances into frequent discomfort, this type of assistance was extremely welcome.

My priority was that I wanted to clear as much of the tree off of my neighbor’s property as soon as possible.  I know that legally, even though the tree originated on my property, most states’ laws say that the owner of the property where it lands is still the one liable for it’s removal.  Sure, it would be easy to shirk the responsibility but such truths don’t sit well with me, and the last thing I ever want would be to have beef with my next door neighbor, with whom we have a normal, neighborly, friendly relationship with.

But after putting the girls down for the night, I could already hear that work had already begun on the tree, and by the time I came outside to get to work myself, several of my neighbors were already hard at work, and moving branches and cutting down the trunk, and nearly halfway through with breaking it down.  Needless to say, I was quite floored by the immense generosity of time, labor and camaraderie spared by my neighbors, and it’s hard to put in words just how grateful I am for the help.

I’d say it took maybe another 90 minutes before we wrapped up, with not a single scrap of fallen tree left where it had dropped in sight, with only a smattering of wood chips and a jagged stump to indicate that the tree was even there in the first place.

I really need to make sure to compensate my neighbors with some form of food, treats or drinks, because I can’t even fathom just how incredible they were in assisting getting this tree off the property.  I’ve lived in so many places where everyone is just so insulated and keeps to themselves that I’ve practically forgotten what it’s like to have neighbors who care and are willing to help out and it makes me want to be a better neighbor and pay forward the generosity of effort to those whom might need it in the future.

However, as positive as the tree issue is, it’s unfortunately not the only thing to have happened, to warrant the snarky post title of home groanership.

Apparently, I’m having some plumbing issues in my home, to the effect of realizing that there’s a leak in one of the ceilings of my lower level.  It doesn’t take a physics genius to realize the correlation between when the dripping began with the bathroom right above it, and what we’ve got is a scenario of a mystery leak that’s most likely hidden behind the walls and will require some cutting into drywall to identify.

Continue reading “Home Groanership” →

Dad Brog (#115): Father’s Day 2023

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

As many should know about me, when I say I’m going to do something, it’s a safe bet that I’m probably going to stick with it.  I’m not bragging about it, it’s just who I am.  I don’t commit to a lot of things in the first place, so when I do commit to something, it should be expected that I will follow through with it.

That being said, last year was year one of my Father’s Day gift to myself, which is truly the only thing that I genuinely want on a year basis, which is a picture with my daughters with their tag team championship blets, with me with one of my numerous blets from my collection 25 blets deep.  I genuinely could keep this going for 23 moar years even if I didn’t get any more blets, which is a fat chance, because all promotions eventually redesign and there will always be title reigns that inspire me to want them, but the fact of the matter is that it is also genuinely my life’s mission to have this photo, every year, with my girls, for the rest of my life.

So here we have it, year two of dada and his daughters with our respective blets.  I’m not sure what really made me pick the IWGP United States championship as my blet of choice this year, but it seemed to work out, because Kenny Omega and Will Ospreay tore the roof off of the arena in Toronto, and I just love how gaudy and red it is, and I was just feeling it for this year.

But more importantly is just how big my girls have gotten over the last 12 months since the last photo was taken, and #2 is rapidly catching up in height to her big sister.

Full disclosure, this was still a composite photograph, cobbled together from three separate photographs, because it’s nigh impossible to expect to get a perfect picture of both my girls posing with their blets and expect to have me in the photo as well, and I wonder how many years it’s going to take before I’m able to do this in one fell swoop where all three of us are in position at the same time.

Regardless, much like last year, and much like all future iterations will probably do, this photo makes me extremely happy.  No matter how hard life gets, parenting gets, and how much emotional turmoil I go through every now and then, these photos calm me and brings me back, and I think about just how happy I will be in the future when I’ll have enough of them to make collages and scrap book them, and maybe become internet famous for five seconds when the Buzzfeed of 2045 gets wind of my timelapse and wants to use me for clickbait.

And because I’m neurotic, I’m going to make sure to make this post always drop on June 25th of every year, regardless of when Father’s Day actually is, because I started it last year on June 25th, so it’s forever going to be the dada and daughters blet day from here on out.

Dad Brog (#114): Of course she picked the J’s

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Welp, this post didn’t age well: a long time ago, apparently back in 2017, I made a post questioning the existence of Air Jordan shoes, for toddlers.  Like, Air Jordans were developed to be Michael Jordan’s signature line of athletic shoes for when he was in the act of playing basketball, but almost instantly they became anything but athletic shoes to anyone other than MJ or any other basketball players who wanted to be like Mike or were also under contract to Nike.

They became status symbols, reasons why people were killed, eventually becoming acceptable as formal wear and/or a stylish option that could be paired with just about anything at all and be met with an approving nod.  Eventually J’s would be released for women, and much like it was back in like 1988, Jordans were about as popular as they’ve ever been, if not more than they were when they burst onto the scene.

And then I saw a kid that could barely walk, rocking some MJ 12s, and was like wtf, why does a toddler need J’s???

But this was six years ago, and now I have a three-year old enrolled in a hip-hop dance class for the next season of her dance school’s year.  No tap shoes or ballet shoes for this class, it’s about sneakers.  Now I’m probably a little bit more of a sneakerhead than mythical wife is, but she knows that J’s are still the cream of the crop when it comes to stylish sneakers, so naturally she trolls the shit out of my by deliberately steering my daughter into wanting some J’s of her own.

And as much as I didn’t want to plunk down the $60 for a pair of shoes that most likely won’t even be able to fit her by the end of the dance year, the idea of my own kid rocking her own J’s wasn’t entirely undesirable.  Naturally, when Nike opened their Disney vault and basically made every iteration of Air Jordans available and customizable to the Nth degree, the 9-year old in me that loved MJ 1’s got my own pair, and in spite of the price tag, I like the idea of my kid having a pair of her own 1’s, regardless of how absurd it is that there are J’s for toddlers in the first place.

So here we have it, it took some steering from the wife, but the seed was planted in #1’s head, and she picked out the MJ 1’s out of several options that she also picked, and through process of elimination, naturally landed on the J’s as her pick for hip-hop class.

$60 poorer, but at least I’ll have pride of having some matching kicks with my kid, doubly when she outgrows them, and bequeaths them to #2 to where they’ll get a second life.  And if I can take care of them well enough, maybe I’ll sit on them to where I can flip them on like StockX in the future for its original investment in like 15 years.

Straight up Nazis

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Over the weekend, I gave blood.  Little did I realize that the bloodmobile I was giving blood at, was like a block away from where there was a straight up Nazi demonstration in front of a synagogue.

Like, I don’t really have much reason to posted about this at all, other than to condemn and hope that some very internet-ty consequences come to those straight up Nazis who participated in this demonstration.  I guess there’s a proximity thing that makes me feel like I dodged some sort of metaphorical bullet that makes me feel like addressing it.

But really, straight up Nazis.  I firmly believe that there are tons of actual racists and antisemites, but most of these bigots are smart enough to know to keep their bigotry on the downlow, so that they can, exist in modern civilized society, and not be ostracized for their misguided hatred.

However, what we had here, was an actual group of people, who were unapologetically, full disclosure, no attempt to hide their identity, straight up Nazis.  I’m actually a little bit surprised at it, because even the oft-criticized American public school curriculum teaches us that Nazis are some bad people.

And yet, we have a group of people who are completely at peace with their choice to be sympathizers and willing agitators of such extreme hatred, and I’m just kind of like wow.

Also, there’s an easy connection to make with where this happened and the old controversy of Wolfenstein Elementary AKA East Side Elementary and their once, a-little-too-much-like-the-Nazi-eagle logo, but from what I understand this group is like a traveling group of Nazis that just kind of go around to harass synagogues with their surprising Nazism.

Either way, like I said, I don’t really know why I felt the compulsion to write about this.  I guess it was so flagrant and surprisingly shock value, that I just felt like I should share my two cents about the topic.  Obviously there’s something to be said about even acknowledging it at all which isn’t really helping the greater good, but like I said, with all the open identities there, I hope these shitheads are spread out, identified, and get doxed or lose some jobs, because people like this have no business being able to coexist among more civilized people in this country.

It’s the little things

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When mythical wife told me that we were going to go on a field trip for Father’s Day, I thought that perhaps we were going to head to the ballpark and catch a game.  The Braves were at home, they were playing hot, and there’s usually some sort of Father’s Day promotion or giveaway associated with the day.  Plus, we haven’t been to the ballpark since like 2021, and a nice day game seemed like a viable option for Father’s Day.

But when I saw her punch in “Columbus, GA” into the GPS, I knew what we were doing.  She probably knew I knew, because she knows how fixated I am on these sorts of things.  Regardless, it very much was a me kind of thing to be doing, but obviously with the introduction of kids into our lives, things like me are fewer and further apart, so it really was a welcome idea to turn the clock back a little bit and do something completely random and time-consuming for what really amounts to so little in the grand spectrum of a day.

We went to the newly opened Tim Horton’s in Columbus, the very first in the state of Georgia. The first of allegedly 15+ to come in the state.  But as much as I love their iced cappuccinos made of crack like they were actually made of crack, I really didn’t have much thought about trekking all the way to Columbus for it, because they’re nearly like two hours away from Atlanta.  Especially since there’s already a proposed location in Atlanta, even if it’s in the shitty Midtown area.  But I was willing to wait out my first ever Georgia iced capp for when they were closer to where I was, and not Columbus, Georgia.

However, mythical wife knows me pretty well, and this is totally the type of thing I’d do in my previous life.  And so we made the journey down to Columbus to the first-ever Timmy’s in Georgia.

I was curious to whether or not the place was going to be slammed or not slammed, because Tim Horton’s is still a Canadian company, and there’s no guarantee that the yokels of Columbus really knew what was going to be put in their little town.  I feared the place would be a shitshow, but fortunately when we got there, it wasn’t that bad.  If we were driving through, it would’ve been a wait, but after the drive down, I wanted to go in and take my time a little bit.

Unfortunately, despite the name and brand being brought down here, the service and performance of the staff were still reliant on locals, and despite the fact that the restaurant was just three days open, and they were overstaffed to the gills, they were still completely overwhelmed, and they took forever to fulfill even the most basic of orders.

And unfortunately, they kind of messed up on my order, by completely forgetting to give me my hash browns, and more importantly, botching up my iced capp, the one thing I really wanted.  Granted, they botched it by making it an Oreo iced capp, which was delicious in its own way, but I still wanted a regular, vanilla iced capp, with no shit in it.  I didn’t notice it until we were gone, because it wasn’t mixed very well, and it wasn’t until I got a chunk of Oreo coming up the straw did it dawn on me, but at least I still got sort of what I was hoping to get.

Either way, for Father’s Day, yes, mythical wife and I drove two hours each way, so that I could get an iced cappuccino.  It was worth it, and I look forward to the next time I can have another Timmy’s iced capp, and hopefully it will be correct then.

But it’s the littlest things that make me happy, and short of my yearly belt photo with my daughters, there’s not really anything else I could have asked for.

Oh, MARTA #699

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TIL: apparently retired train cars can be cleaned and dumped into the ocean to create an artificial environment that can eventually grow into reefs

When I first came across this story, it was actually brilliant; the headline was something along the lines of MARTA trains to be dumped into the ocean, and I could already feel the gears grinding at just how such a story can write itself, with less thought to how Metro Atlanta Rail Transit Authority trains go from Atlanta to like, Savannah.

How it surely sounded like some sort of catastrophic fuck-up that only a company like MARTA would be capable of doing, to where trains from the city end up in the ocean, and just the thought of MARTA trains being unceremoniously dumped into the ocean would have to be quite the visual.

But then I come to learn that MARTA is just jumping aboard a program that’s apparently been around for a while, the practice of dumping retired train cars into the ocean, so that they can ultimately be grounds for reef life to grow and become artificial reefs for marine life to inhabit.

Honestly, once I started looking into the whole thing, it really does sound kind of cool, and I can understand the logic of how an old and busted dead train car could still serve a purpose, 20,000 leagues under the sea.  And as much as I love to clown on MARTA, I do have to give them a tip of the cap to participating in a program that’s progressive, creative and resourceful.

However, upon further reading something did catch my eye and pique my critical ire:

The cost to dismantle, clean, and transport the eight cars is just over $2.1 million.

I’m no expert, but those numbers seem pretty high.  I’m going to imagine that the vast bulk of expenses have to be in logistics and the costs to get these train cars on a tanker to boat them over to their eventual final resting spots, but I’m still hard pressed to believe that $2M bones is still what it actually costs to clean and dismantle and transport eight trains.

This, is where it all seems to make sense why MARTA is doing this, so they can create a smokescreen to (falsely) justify blowing $2M on an activity that looks like they’re trying to do good, but really just pad some peoples’ pockets as is the customary norm for an agency like them.

Dad Brog (#113): I melted

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

After our little famiry trip to the beach, it appears everyone but me has seemed to have caught something. Mythical wife was laid out in bed for most of the day, and our au pair was feeling below average throughout the day as well.

Prior to dinner, mythical wife comes downstairs and explains to the kids that mama isn’t feeling well. #1 rushes off to get her (toy) doctor kit, and my heart melts at the sweet and considerate gesture and the urgency she demonstrated at wanting to help.  I stop what I’m doing and assist her in making sure to get the stethoscope, thermometer and of course the syringe because mama needs medicine too, of course.

I love my kids so much, and it’s little things like this that break me into pieces at the thought that perhaps I am doing an okay job of parenting, after all.