GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!

If you read my wife's blog you know that we signed our son Jimmy up for soccer. At first, it didn't appear that he was going to get into it much, unless there's a version of the game where you win by twirling in place until you're dizzy and fall down. In fairness, this behavior was not unique to him. The other two boys on Team Dolphin do the same types of things in their own flavors and the girl porpoises prefer to stand around and hug each other while the ball lazily passed them by. Within the last two game Saturdays, however, Jimmy has really come into his own.

From watching his cousin Olivia - as fearsome a barracuda as has ever been seen in eight-year-old soccer - Jimmy learned the following lesson:

Me: "Okay, buddy. What do you do when you get tired?"
Jimmy: (bending at the waist and placing a hand on one knee) "Put your hand on your knee."
Me: "Yep. And then what?"
Jimmy: "Then you suck it up."

Having that bit of wisdom in hand (thanks Livvy), he now plays with gusto, dashing up and down the field with his arms out behind him like a cape, pulling off some really good plays, and having a great time all around.

Today was one for the highlight reel: his first goal. If you watch the video below, you'll see the camera bobble after the ball passes through the cones because one proud father, who momentarily forgot he was holding the camera, is pumping his fist in the air. Eat your heart out, David Beckham.

Nice NOCARs

I had my appendix out when I was eight. I stayed in the hospital for a week - not kidding, a week - during what was then the normal post-operative recoup. The same surgery today has you in and out of the "procedure center" in less time than it takes an auctioneer to make a collect call.

Another change is the size of the hole they use to pull the appendix out. A scant couple of years after my operation, my brother and sister ended up getting appendicitis back-to-back. Not only were they home in time for supper, they had these dainty little slits in their sides. By comparison my scar looks like a saw-the-assistant-in-half cautionary tale.

The newest thing is they don't even want to make the hole in your side. A group of laparoscopic surgeons have started the Natural Orifice Consortium for Assessment and Research. These tee timers are experimenting with a concept of not making any new external holes for surgery, rather they employ the old openings you thought were for other things. (The short name for the organization is NOSCAR, but I defy anyone to find a legitimately usable "S" in there that makes the acronym not rhyme with "rocker".)

Not being female, I'm 33% deficient on usable openings. If I still had an appendix and found myself needing it removed, I'd only have two choices for this type of procedure; one of which would only make sense if I'd somehow managed to swallow my appendix.

This reality might put some guys off, but not me. Even though my entry choices would be limited, I see the real benefit with this type of surgery: I'd already be familiar with the sensation when I got the bill.

I Wonder About These Pets

Unless you are under the age of five (or live with someone who is), you may never have heard of The Wonder Pets. The abridged introduction is that the Wonder Pets are a band of schoolroom animals that Laura Croft themselves into a variety of adventures when everyone has left class for the day. The main characters are a guinea pig (Linny), a turtle (Tuck) and a duckling (Ming Ming). They work together to solve critical world issues like getting baby cows out of trees and convincing seals to share.

As adults, usually the time we spend in front of children's television shows is simply providing our offspring with an organic seat cushion. What we gain from the experience is the illusion of spending Q.T. with our young while allowing our ears to revel in the quiet and our brains to grind on subjects like how and when that stain got into the rug. For me it's good practice for my wife's upcoming family reunion: I smile and nod, laughing at the right places all the while secretly praying to God to open a wormhole connected directly to the Sunday night trip home, vainly struggling not to gouge my eye out with a fork.

The Wonder Pets is just one of the many reasons we don't leave utensils near the couch. It's not as vapid or cloying as The Teletubbies, but the two 12-minute episodes per half-hour also don't leave you with anything that lasts, either. Nothing that lasts, that is, except for a four-line theme song stuck inside your skull like a booger that just keeps switching from hand to hand with no intention of ever being flicked off. At least with Blue's Clues you end the time spent having learned some new words or new activities. Also, it's interesting to find out that paprika is made when salt and pepper get horny.

I try not to expend too much processing power on the flavor du jour of toddler television, but after some consideration, I think I kind of hate this current collection of caged critters. My problem with The Wonder Pets is not necessarily because it preaches subjects that put my fur up like extreme environmentalism (which it sometimes does) or because it's deeply entrenched in the gospel of group-cooperation-to-the-point-of-self-uselessness (which it always is). I was also quick to lower my eyebrow after the entire half an episode dedicated to songs about peeing - culminating with every major character doing doodle on some family's back lawn.

No, my problem is that The Wonder Pets are completely, thoroughly, 100-percent benign. They don't inspire any thought or conversation of merit, they don't teach anything practical, and worst of all, they don't have any real value past the reminder that Western civilization has pulled down and locked the lid of the hand basket. If there was at least a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle-like toy manufacturing engine driving the enterprise I could rest in that familiar country, but as of this writing Toys R Us has exactly nine Wonder Pets toys for sale on their website. The Power Rangers have had more product recalls than The Wonder Pets have total pieces of merchandise.

As much as I deplore The Wonder Pets' banality, though, my kid loves the little buggers in equal measure. Ming Ming is crack to a four-year-old. So we watch. I suggest other activities with some success, however, through the entire time we are doing other things my son regales me with stories of how The Wonder Pets saved the unicorns from certain extinction or how you should always congratulate yourself on a job well done by eating some celery.

Oh, well. As long as he doesn't take to peeing in the back yard.