Pride is an interesting emotion. At times it makes us do some downright stupid things, yet it has motivated many to heights never before achieved. It can make us jealous, boastful, angry, and sad. But it also can make us heroic, philanthropic, altruistic, and joyful. There really isn’t any point to any of this; I just wanted a nice opening before I degraded into my typical writing style. Oh, I suppose I can make a tie-in between photo number one and pride if you like: At what age is it that pride really kicks in? (I would say we are probably as saturated as we’ll ever be by the time we reach our teenage years, but it must start earlier than that. However, I know it’s not sunk in hardly at all by 25 months of age, and I’ve got proof).

Check out this shot of my little guy playing in the bathtub … he’ll enjoy it with me next week when we scan through the various blogs on NHRA.com (he likes to sit on my lap sometimes while I’m on the computer), and we’ll both have a good laugh. Jenna definitely wouldn’t react the same (she also likes to sit on my lap while on the computer, I was referring to having a photo of her butt shown on the internet), so it must be pride. Come to think of it, I think I’d have a good laugh if it was me in the photo (as long as the authorities didn’t knock on the door). I must have no pride (or a slight case of exhibitionism).

Before you think that someone snuck into our house and graffitied our bathtub, that’s done in Jason’s markers and crayons, which wipe right off (or so we’ve been told). The artwork is what Jason likes me to do at bath time, and he and I have a great time, though my artwork hasn’t improved at all since we started.

Speaking of baths, there won’t be any more for about a week. No, no, we’re not doing our Robin Williams impersonations here; it’s just that the bathroom is out of order. No, no, I didn’t break it sitting in there reading National DRAGSTER; we’re doing a budget remodel to make the house more sellable. Though the construction dust and noise are a major hassle (and we’ll be doing the same to the other bath in about two weeks, the results should be well worth it). I took the liberty of taking some “before and after” shots to show you what I mean: In the before pic, check out the hospital psycho-ward-looking tile, and how about that medicine cabinet? It looks like something you’d see in an I Love Lucy rerun. It’s cool to know that people had bad taste back in the ‘70s, too. I’m really happy with the “after” photo. What do you think of the “man-look” to that raw concrete around the sink? And who needs a flush toilet when you can get those cool five-gallon buckets in many colors, shapes, and handle designs! Okay, we’re not quite to the completion yet, so I’ll show the finished results later. It’s like I said earlier, no pride! I can handle it, I’m a man.

Though my last blog wasn’t posted until after Easter, it didn’t include any of the activities from t

hat Sunday, so here goes; the three of us headed out to Pasadena to spend time with Jenna’s father’s side of the family. Grandpa Bill got to play with both of his grandbabies in the park, and Leia and Eric are expecting another in November. Little Jack will be 2 in June, so being a big brother should be a lot of fun for him. Jason’s going to have to be okay with having cousins, because his dad’s falling apart and can barely keep up with him (I hope that all of this writing in the “third party” doesn’t get too confusing), never mind having one more. Jason really liked having his Granddad swing him, and he chased Cousin Jack around the park.

We headed home at 2 p.m., as we had Cindy and my family coming over for dinner. My Grandma, Uncle John, and Cousin Jason with his oh-so-close-to-being-his-wife Stephanie all came out to see their favorite relative: my son. Being that no one was going to show up for another two hours after we arrived, I still had all of the painting supplies out, and the eaves bordering the driveway no longer met my newer, tougher standards (how come it’s okay for your house to look like crap for years, but at the time you decide to sell it you start panicking and fixing all the stuff that was “good enough” for you?), it was time to get to work: scrape, sand, prime, fill, sand, paint, and more paint. Done, but now the front of the house looks a bit questionable to me … when does it end? Heck, I even bought a bag of concrete last week to patch a gap in the backyard that probably was there since Eisenhower was in office. I’m on fire (I probably shouldn’t say that in my line of work)!

Anyway, back to Easter Sunday: Jason (the tall one) and Stephanie set up an Easter egg hunt for Jason (the short one). If I’m being honest (and I try my best to), Jason (the tall one) and I sat on the couch and watched UFC while Steph did the labor. Sorry, Jason (the tall one).

While staying on the honesty thing, Jason (big one) spun Jason (little one) round and round and then stood him on the ground, where the effects of motion disorientation (that’s a fancy term for “vertigo”, which is a clinical term for “dizziness,” which is a euphemism for “nauseous”) were readily apparent. I have to say that we all laughed quite a bit watching little man stumble, but we had to draw the line at three sessions, any more would be bordering on child abuse. Sorry, Jason (both varieties). It actually looks like the little guy is practicing surfing.

Jason (little one) got a toy parachute that I was throwing for him. Just what are the odds that the one phone line that runs through the backyard would snag his new plaything after just three throws? Photo one shows my amazing athletic ability, combined with my ingenuity: I took my Grandma’s cane and did my best high-jump to dislodge aforementioned toy. Photo two shows me two minutes after reality set in. Uncle John held Jason on his shoulders while I unhooked the offending skydiver from the improperly placed phone cable. I have to say that through all of this I didn’t let it wound my pride in the least. I hung tough, just like a man.

Speaking of Jason and Stephanie, they will be tying the knot this Saturday out on Catalina Island (about 25 miles off the Pacific coast from Long Beach) while I am qualifying (hopefully No. 1) in Atlanta (located in the Southeastern portion of the United States, somewhere in Georgia). I really am going to miss being there, but things like this go with the territory when you drive a pro car. Cindy, Jenna, and Jason will be heading over there, and I’m so happy for my cousin and future cousin-in-law. Congratulations to both of you.

While my entire body still aches, and I haven’t lost my ambition, I kept plugging along with the housework. It was overdue for me to clean and organize the shed (that’s Latin for “separate structure where men stack crap for decades”), so I started emptying stuff out. I discovered that I still had a Honda scooter and my 1985 Yamaha FJ (that stands for “Fast Jack”) 600 in there amongst the junk. We are going to try to sell them, so I decided to break out the wax and cleaning supplies. And battery charger. I’m batting .500 right now, as the scooter runs, but the Yamaha obviously is in need of some of my newfound carburetor skills (as previously applied to my Vulcan 1500). That project will have to wait until after Atlanta. And the back door. And the painting. And catching up on all my UFC shows on TiVo (but never letting my pride get in the way).

Before I started in on the shed, but after finishing my painting projects, it was time to clean the garage. Having the old couch and loveseat in there really was putting a cramp on my “man-space”, so I figured I’d load them one at a time and take them to Goodwill. Jenna saw how I have been favoring my back and decided she’d call them for a pickup (okay, actually she called the Salvation Army, but that just doesn’t fit the title and theme of this blog, so let’s just stick with Goodwill for now).

So, get this; they won’t take my couches, my pride (oops, there’s that word) and joy since 1992, my man-furniture that I picked out myself (and Jenna won’t let me forget it) and have spent countless hours practicing the art of the horizontal chakra on. Can you imagine, I can’t GIVE AWAY my stuff! Now, my “wounded-pride meter” just went from zero to 10 in one second. I am hurt, mortified, ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated, offended, horrified, affronted, miffed, damaged, marred, and indignant beyond belief. I am upset, distressed, saddened, disturbed, troubled, disconcerted, and grieved. I am rambling, confused, long-winded, incoherent, and wordy, so I imagine that I should stop, discontinue, end, bring to a close, cease, abstain from, and otherwise put the ‘chutes out on this soliloquy before my pride takes another hit, strike, punch, thump, slap, beating, smack, whack, or bang (okay, now I’m overdoing a good thing, sorry).

Jenna wanted to throw them away, and when she called me with that notion I got a bit upset (mad, enraged, troubled … oops). We just stuck a “free” sign on them and they were gone in a few hours.

I got fingerprinted today, but I did nothing wrong. Okay, I’ve posted several photos of my son’s butt, and I did steal those crates that I use around the house, and I’ve certainly overdone the synonyms on this blog, but other than that I’ve been pretty good. I do school and hospital appearances occasionally for a group called Racers Who Care, and this is just one of the requirements for Los Angeles schools. It was all done over clear glass and registered onto a computer monitor, very high tech and cool to watch.

My plane takes off at 6 a.m. tomorrow for Atlanta, as I have a couple of appearances to do on behalf of Mail Terminal Services. Since I just sent in a blog (and mine are 20 pages long), I’ll have Jenna wait a day or two before she sends this in to Phil Burgess and Candida Benson at National DRAGSTER.

My family’s thoughts have been with Kathy Leon in Delaware for the past year or more, as she is suffering from pancreatic cancer. Kathy is Cindy’s sister, Jenna’s aunt, and a great lady. She recently has been struggling with the chemo treatments and is discontinuing them, so let’s all keep her in our thoughts and prayers. Next month we’ll head out for a visit to try and keep her spirits up. I could clean her shed, fix her motorcycle, redo her paint, take a picture of her grandnephew’s butt, nap on her recliner, show her my fingerprints, check out her thesaurus, lose her parachute, patch her concrete, or spin her around really fast until she gets dizzy. Or, I could let my wife throw out her furniture. Whatever it takes to get her back strong again!

I’m out, absent, away, elsewhere. … you get it, bye!