Spoonfighter junior is two. I would like to say that he is growing like a weed, but he’s really short and is barely growing at all. So, really, he’s growing more like our lawn. Which is weird because we didn’t put nearly as much fertilizer on our lawn.

He’s not into food, so much. We’re so desperate to get him to eat that we’ll literally let him eat anything he decides to put in his mouth, short of black tar heroin. (It’s a pain in the a** to get out of his clothes.) Pretty much all he likes are donuts and hot dogs. And even to get him to eat hot dogs we have to lie to him and tell him that it’s the meat of some exotic animal. One time we cut the hot dog into long, curved slivers and told him that it was elephant trunk.

His favorites so far are silver back gorilla and baby seal. I don’t know what we’re going to do when we run out of endangered species. We’ll have to get creative, I suppose. “Look! It’s Kanga from your Winnie the Pooh book, remember? Nummy nummy!” (Wait, I’ve already used that one. Yes, I’m a horrible parent.) We recently took him to the zoo for the first time, and I wonder if he was thinking, “Oh, a giraffe. I love giraffe.”

You know, I like the zoo, but it would be a lot better if it was more like Costco or Sam’s Club. You’d go up to an animal enclosure and there’d be this little old lady wearing a hair net and holding a plate full of samples. “Here - try some of this snow leopard. It’s very lean, and it’s on sale today for $5.99 a pound.” Awesome!

The other thing that sucks is that the animals are all pretty lazy. Poke ‘em with sticks or something. Make ‘em do tricks! It’s hard to keep a little kid interested in a lion that sits around like it’s on welfare.

ME: “Hey, loooook! What is that? Is that a lion?”
BOY: “Squiwwel, Daddy! Squiwwel! LOOK DA SQUIWWEL!”
ME: “Yes, that is a squirrel. But don’t you want to see the lion?”
BOY: “Squiwwel squiwwel squiwwel sqiwwel! Yay!”
ME: “HEY - I DIDN’T JUST SHELL OUT 80 FREAKIN BUCKS SO YOU CAN LOOK AT THE LITTLE BEASTS THAT GO THROUGH OUR FREAKIN GARBAGE. LOOK AT THE !@#%!^% LION!!”
BOY: “Bird, Daddy! LOOK DA BIRD!”

I didn’t actually yell at him. I’m really a good parent. When the lions didn’t work out, I bought us tickets for the little train that goes around the zoo. He was totally hooked and threw a fit when the ride ended. This presented a parenting dilemma. I didn’t want to reward bad behavior, but I couldn’t bear to see his sad little face, so I chose a creative “third way.” I slipped the driver of the train fifty bucks and told him not to stop. Then I went home and took a nap.

(Ha ha, I am so just kidding, Ms. Child Welfare Officer.)

I’m about to go to the Five Points DMV to get plates for my recently-acquired, less-old car (a 1997 Saab). One of the few perks of living in the hood is that you don’t have to wait very long at the DMV. Nearly every customer is dispatched with the words, “Like I told you the last time you were here, sir, you need to bring proof of insurance.” Telling that to 15 people takes a surprisingly quick 5 minutes. Another perk is that sometimes your car is still there when you’re finished.

UPDATE:
Wow. It wasn’t like that at all. There was almost no-one there. I pressed the button to get my number, *BING*, my number is put up on the board. The only other people were a couple of professional-looking, honky-chicks, and an old black dude in a wheel chair accompanied by what I took to be his son. The son’s job was, apparently, to react to everything the clerk said with, “That’s bullshit.” Actually, it was more like, “Tha’s boo-shit.”

CLERK: “Hello. What can I do for you today?”

SON: “Tha’s boo-shit.”

Springtime in Denver is breathtaking. I get to enjoy it from behind windows and windshields, and for the approximately 4 accumulated minutes I spend walking between my car and various buildings every day.

It’s not really that bad, but I wish I could get out more this year. We’re so busy getting the decks cleared prior to the arrival of Spoon Jr. that there isn’t any time for getting out into nature.

People are driving with their windows down, and my neighborhood, where Black, Latino and White live together in relative harmony, is constantly serenaded with the sounds of each culture’s music: Rap, Polka, and Sirens.

Speaking of which, I’m amazed at the number of Rap and R&B cuts about the fascinating subject of “Being at the Club”. I had no idea it was such a rich wellspring of artistic material. In that way, it is a lot like “Bling”, I suppose.

I have been doing a lousy job of blogging lately. I was starting to see a significant increase in the number of unique visitors, but I suspect I’ve ruined that trend. I miss the comment spam, too. Please, spammers, don’t stop. I love hearing about cheap software, prescription drugs and adult items. Really.

It’s warm, and Spring is just getting started here in Denver. We didn’t get a Winter this year, just an extra three months of Fall. I don’t mind one bit. Put a half-inch of snow or ice on the road and my 30-year-old BMW handles like a 2,000-lb, greased water balloon.

Usually I see at least two State Patrol cars during my commute, but today they are nowhere to be found. I put the peddle to the floor and let all 98 little carbureted horsies run free. Oh baby! I’m even able to get into the fast lane and do a little passing. So what if I’m only passing a mattress that’s fallen off the top of someone’s car. I take what I can get.

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Life is finally settling down, and I can think again. With thinking comes reflection. And with reflection, blogging.

As I’ve already blogged, work has been kicking my tail lately. But just when I thought I couldn’t take any more pressure, Bureaucracy rode up on his big red horse, Red Tape, and roped the Bucking Bronco of Progress. Now everything’s moving at a comfortable crawl again. Yee Haw.

This morning, I find that I’m suddenly aware of the passage of time. It’s all around me. People who were young and beautiful when I started working here now look tired and old. Boobs, butts and stomachs have sagged. Hairlines have receeded. Dogs who participated in “Bring Your Puppy To Work Day” have died of old age.

Most of my friends have had children. SpoonFighter Jr. is in the oven. (Please don’t tell Mrs. SpoonFighter that I just referred to her as a kitchen appliance.) I look in the mirror and see lines and bags around my eyes. My laptop battery only lasts two hours, now. Damn you, Time!

Speaking of Time, I bought a watch. I haven’t owned a watch since the Soviet Tank Crew watch that ran for two glorious, revolutionary years in college, before rusting right off my wrist. (I thought it was waterproof, so I wore it while swimming at the beach, once. When I got home I discovered a very small fish swimming inside the watch glass.)

I bought this Invicta, from Woot. If it sucks, please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. My life is made meaningful by new toys, even if the new toy is a watch. I am eagerly counting the minutes until it arrives. When it does, I will strap it to my wrist violently and continue counting the minutes until the thrill of thrill of “new toy” wears off. Then I will buy something else. That is the cycle. That is Life. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Mmm. What else….

1) New Music: I recommend Mick Sterling’s power-Soul/Blues/R&B. A coworker turned me on to him today.

2) Pool Halls: I recommend Table Steaks, at 20th & Sheridan, in Denver. IMNSHO*, pool halls should be nasty, dirty and thick with cigarette smoke. Hell, I want to feel like I’ve second-hand-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes when I’m done. The men should be looking for a fight and the women should be skanks. Table Steaks does not disappoint. Beside the fact an hour here will give you lung cancer, this place is Skank-O-Rama. All of the women here are FFCs*, women just barely hanging on to the edge of non-obesity long enough to land a man, get pregnant, and balloon to 300 lbs. They wear low-rise jeans and belly-exposing tank-tops so you can get a good look at their “muffin tops” and both sets of cleavage. Oh baby. Get itchy jes’ lookin’ at ‘em. Yep. If you’re looking for a Pool Hall, this is the one.

* IMNSHO: In My Not-So-Humble Opinion; FFC: Future Fat Chick

Last night Mrs. SpoonFighter and I were given tickets to the Pepsi Center to watch some tall guys dressed in blue pajamas and some tall guys in white pajamas play basketball. I think the guys in blue were called the Nuggets. Or maybe Nougats. I’m not really into sports.

There was this little guy whose shirt said “Boykins.” Seriously, he can’t have been more than 4′2″. At half time I tried to get close enough to ask him if he knew the Keebler Elves and could he maybe get me some cookies, but security stopped me.

For some reason, play stops every five minutes and these cheerleaders/exotic dancers run out onto the court. Now I know what happens during commercials. If they’d do the commercials while the players were on the court, and show the dancers, I’d watch more games. As long as my wife wasn’t home.

Denver Mayor John Hickenlooper today announced that the state capitol building had been seized by the City and County of Denver and would be converted to lofts. “The Capitol was one of the few old buildings in Denver that hadn’t yet been converted to lofts,” said Hickenlooper. “It was really only a matter of time.”

Hickenlooper went on to say that the seizure was entirely legal thanks to this year’s US Supreme Court ruling on eminent domain. “The land has already been rezoned, and the city is taking bids from developers. Naturally, we will compensate the State government for the value of the property. Probably in Wynkoop Brewery Gift Cards.”

When pressed for comment, Colorado Governor Bill Owens shrugged. “The building was full of Democrats, anyway.”

The fight over C and D really revealed the great philosophical divide between the “small government” folks and everyone else. I believe most Coloradoans saw TABOR as a means of forcing the government to be careful with our tax dollars. Now, most of us wonder whether, with TABOR in place, we can pay for schools and roads and important social programs.

The small government crowd didn’t and doesn’t want government involved in those things in the first place. The draconian effects of the “ratchet-down” mechanism that occurred because of our recession, though surprising to the rest of us, were not an oversight. They were part of an intentional strategy to achieve small-government policy objectives that would have been impossible to achieve directly.