Stay with me on this one. Although it seems to be a long and meandering miscourse of disparate anecdotes (and, truth be told, that pretty much pegs it) there is a point in there.

I'm out of the dart tournament. Here at work there's an annual dart tournament (although this is my third year and this is the first one since I've been here). It's double elimination. I'm out after two games. My second loss was to a girl. A girl who sets her throw with her hand a good 8 inches from her head, off to the side. And kicks up her rear leg when she throws. I used to be good. No, check that. I used to be Damned good. I used to get on the board at the local pub and not get off until it was time for wings. What the hell happened? 7 years of not throwing darts happened. 7 years of not worrying about winning the next game to save a buck (loser/challenger pays and electronic Cricket was a buck a game) so there'd be another buck in the booze pool.

Since my ignominious elimination last week I've played at least a game each day at lunch and an occasional one in the morning. This morning, every mark closed ('cept bulls) in 5 rounds. Boo yah! The kid's still got it. Lemme back in the tourney! No dice. I'm a spectator until the next annual tournament (in 2006?).

Got a haircut. Short. Number 3 blade on the sides and back with a nice soft blend to the slightly longer top. Short hair has lots of advantages. First, it's hot in Atlanta. I'm outside a lot these days (3 kids will do that to you). With short hair you don't have massive sweat build up under the hat and when a breeze starts up you doff that sucker and feel the glory of natural air conditioning cool your brain. Ahhhh. Second, it's easy. Shower, towel, brush once each side. Done. Stays there all day without hair gunk. Lastly, the hairs stand a bit higher. Their numbers are not what they once were. Before they could lay in ambush, well camouflaged by their peers. Now my follicle army must rise and present their strength boldly to do battle with the encroaching Army of Forehead.

I've been teasing Pop about his ever increasing balditude pretty much since I could speak and realized that it pissed him off. Bear looked at me the other day and said he could see my head inside my hair. Soon it will begin. Karma sucks.

Thought about fighting it. There's a lot of options now. Plugs, transplants, Rogaine with Minoxidil, lots of new stuff you hear advertised lately. Maybe a nice rug? Maybe take the initiative and just go bald like Ryan did? Nah. The only one of those I could respect myself after implementing would be the ultimate shave treatment but I was in the Navy and I remember the trauma of seeing what I look like bald. Some guys look good totally bald. I am not one of those people. I'll resign battle and wait it out until I have a heavenly halo surrounding my pate, just like Pop has now. Then the two of us can sit back with a beer and laugh at Bear when he realizes that he's losing his hair. Sometimes Karma is okay.

There are two sorts of people. Those that masturbate and those that lie about it. My three boys fall firmly into the first category. I swear, as soon as the pants are off it's open season. Bacon is the worst offender. The other two will run around nekkid having a great time with an occasional grope to pacify them. Bacon's first priority is rolling the wurst and all other considerations are secondary. I was a bit concerned about all of this at first but Lovely Wife assured me it's normal and healthy behavior. Apparently it is. They don't do it when they have clothes on so there's no fear of the uneducated seeing this behavior and thinking that Lovely Wife and i are pervert child molesters or anything like that. So, what the hell. Let 'em go, I say. I mean really - I would give a lot for it to be socially acceptable for me to drop trou and choke the pope on a whim. You go boys! Enjoy it while you can.

Did a lot of running around yesterday. At Borders, little Burger had a blast yelling out his favorite new word. "Memo!" That's like Nemo, not the annoying things at work. In fact, it is supposed to be Nemo but he can't do "N" yet. That's Nemo the fish of course, not the star of the classic work of fiction. "Hey, Burger. Nemo!" Big smile on little face and "MEMO!" at the top of the little lungs. Daddy: "Nemo!" Burger: "MEMO!" Daddy: "Nemo!" Burger: "MEMO!" We attracted some disapproving looks but who gives a damn. When you can get a smile that big from an impromptu accapela round of "Nemo!" "MEMO!" nothing else much matters. You want to read your book for free go to the bloody library, jackbutt. (Due to parental considerations I've been replacing "ass" with "butt" lately. It works. My kids will grow up swearing in PG.)

At Petsmart Bacon walked off while I was distracted by Burger. ("Nemo!" "MEMO!" Man, that shit never gets old.) Lovely Wife was with Bear in the potty because some butthat had locked the men's room door as they left it. Anyway, I had an odd sensation when I realized that Bacon wasn't rifling through the cat toys anymore. It was a moment of stark terror possibly accompanied by a mild cardiac infarction. Burger got quiet immediately even though I hadn't said a thing. Kids know. Picked up the Burger and quickly (and calmly, I thought) walked down the aisle looking for my dwarven escapee. End of the aisle, no Bacon. Quick the other way to the fish tanks (he loves looking at fish). No Bacon. Very quickly (and no longer calmly) to the front entrance. Lovely Wife had relayed a story about how Bacon and Bear ran out of Walmart while she was at the register. Despite constant instruction Bacon still has no respect for parking lots. Streets, yes. He just refuses to accept that parking lots are just as bad, if not worse. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had just been hit by a car. There was no other solution. Except that somebody had taken him. He's a good looking kid. And smart. But way too friendly. I need to expose him to some mean people because he doesn't seem to grasp that there are mean people out there. There's people at the entrance. Oh, God. It was a car. Terror hits again just as a familiar voice yells out "Daddy! Want a penny!" And there he is next to the big offering jar for dog and cat shelters. Turns out he found a dime (all coins are still "pennies") and went to put it in the "piggy bank". And he wanted another penny to put in. If I had one I would have given it to him. As it was I took his hand and walked back towards the rest room to meet Lovely Wife and Bear. "MEMO!" Smile. Thanks, Burger.

Watched Without a Trace last night. It's a movie from '83 about a 6 year old kid who goes missing. Definitely dated but well done. I watched about a half hour and then went outside to smoke and read Harry Potter. Lovely Wife called me back in for some back rub action (her back, not mine). Watched another half hour or so then decided it was bedtime. It's almost over, why not finish it? Cause I know that the kid is going to be dead. It wasn't telegraphed in the movie but it didn't have to be. 1983. Kid missing movie. Not a comedy. There was not going to be a happy ending. Scare me with Freddy Kruger and Alien monsters. Keep this real terror away. Don't want it. Probably should have told Lovely Wife about Bacon and Petsmart.

My birthday was pretty cool. I know that birthdays aren't supposed to be special after 25 or so but I still want a fuss made over me. Lovely Wife sent me off with G to see Pirates of the Caribbean. Awesome movie. Best adventure since Indiana Jones. Based on a lowsy Disney ride. Oh, I don't think so. This appears to have had the Disney name slapped onto a previously fantastic screenplay. Don't put it past them. Check out the computer game. A great game with excellent reviews. It should be. It's the successor to a great game that got great reviews. You see, Pirates of the Caribbean the game is actually Sea Dogs 2. Late in the production cycle Disney gave Bethesda Software a bushel of money to put their name on it. I'm pretty sure they did the same thing with an excellently written pirate movie that had nothing to do with any Disney name or property.

Anyway (that's my favorite segue in case you haven't noticed yet), the movie was excellent and I had just as good a time as I ever have had in a movie except once (I don't remember what that other movie was but that's irrelevant because it was the activities of my movie watching partner that made the experience memorable). Got home and the house was festooned with balloons and banners and Bear launched into the Happy Birthday song. There were fudge brownie cupcakes and vanilla ice cream. There were pictures lovingly drawn by the kids that will soon be adorning the walls of my mega cube. There was playing of the Hulk video game as well as Yahtzee. There was much ado about the birthday from Lovely Wife. Life is good.

So, I promised that there was a point here, didn't I? It's a bit of an abstract but essentially it is this: I'm getting older and that's okay. It snuck up on me. I'm still not really ready to be 34 but I seem to be doing a pretty good job of it. I miss things from when I was younger but I find that most of them aren't really that important. Most of them are still here with me if I go looking for them and the ones that aren't recoverable are more than eclipsed by the things that have taken their place.

In other words, I'm going to have to fake my midlife crisis so I can get my sports car.