tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141456022012-01-23T22:40:55.223-05:00Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14486296130283273035noreply@blogger.comBlogger7331100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-41492296797928285032012-01-20T11:30:00.001-05:002012-01-20T11:38:51.827-05:00

It just occurred to me that over the past year, several of my law school classmates have stood before the venerable justices of the U.S. Supreme Court to field difficult questions of law, with answers that might find their way into the annals of American jurisprudence. My son just asked me, "Does The Beastmaster wear underwear?"

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-48102207058602713432012-01-16T12:22:00.010-05:002012-01-18T17:30:39.709-05:00

Over the holidays we were in Pittsburgh with my wife's family watching The Griswold Family Christmas Lampoon or whatever it's called with all the crazy lights on the house and Randy Quaid. At the first scene with Todd and Margo (the yuppie neighbors) I yelled out, "Ooh, that's us." While not entirely true, to my wife's relatives in Pittsburgh we might as well be. My wife's stepmother judiciously

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-69097368403035123222011-12-30T09:01:00.006-05:002012-01-03T14:31:23.023-05:00

I put a few of our favorite pictures from 2011 in a slideshow; most never appeared on this site. When I see all the fun stuff we did this year all chronological like that, I feel less bad about all the arguing and frustration that also went on between this dad and his six and three year old kids. Because trust me: there was plenty of that too. The song is "We Don't Need Much," from the

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-60301255747740482622011-12-23T11:10:00.002-05:002011-12-24T09:10:05.209-05:00

This year we were excited and honored to have author and illustrator Heather Ross do the portrait and hand lettering for our 2011 holiday card. Half of our daughter's dresses are made from Heather Ross fabric and we have admired her illustrations for many years (so it was a special thrill to have her create this card for us). For the subject, Heather chose our annual trip up to Eastern Market

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-83462964089205093172011-12-20T10:36:00.002-05:002011-12-22T12:30:40.127-05:00

There's usually a point during our evening walk where I let my dog off his leash to run around an empty park. He's a birddog---either a Braque français or a German Shorthaired mix---and he has all the energy and instincts of his breeding. On Friday night, we were alone out in the darkness (the lights in this city park haven't worked in years) when I saw the dog suddenly stop circling, stand

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-5034852511704528642011-12-08T12:06:00.009-05:002011-12-08T22:58:35.079-05:00

This blog post is not sponsored by anyone. It seems like half the blogs in my reader are doing sponsored posts half the time these days, and as much as I'd like a little more pocket money I am glad I decided to stop doing those. I hated bending over backward to avoid looking like a total sellout (which only made me look a sellout stuck in some stupid yoga pose). Sponsored posts pay really well (

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-68158344980095491342011-11-23T11:43:00.013-05:002011-11-28T10:35:44.319-05:00

This is not a post I ever wanted to write, but I feel it would be somewhat irresponsible for me not to. I tend to be relentlessly positive about this city and all of the things we're able to do here, and that's probably annoying and unrealistic so I feel compelled to follow up on a couple of ongoing stories to give the full picture. First, one of the stores that I wrote about in the old "But

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-45249576987669900542011-11-22T16:54:00.002-05:002011-11-22T18:55:39.976-05:00

According to the Detroit Free Press, some lunkheads have already set up tents at a suburban Best Buy, even though they don't yet know what the Black Friday deals are going to be. “A Best Buy employee said it was going to be great this year, the best in five years, so we will see what kind of deals we get." I think this means I have participated in my first internet meme. Next up: lolspeak.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-53647609690461547822011-11-09T14:30:00.002-05:002011-11-09T14:47:14.630-05:00

I woke up feeling really good yesterday, which is almost always a sure sign that trouble lies ahead. Ever since the end of Daylight Savings Time, it's been a lot easier to get the kids to school on time---or even early---allowing me to experience what it feels like to be a responsible father. Yesterday was one of those days where the kids seemed to wake up already dressed for school and I had

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-1448403126179743252011-10-31T15:29:00.001-04:002011-11-01T10:55:27.997-04:00

This year my six-year-old daughter wanted to be a ghost for Halloween---"but definitely not just a sheet ghost." We've been reading a lot of Victorian ghost stories and I think this led to her vision of "an old-fashioned ghost." Unlike past years' efforts, this turned out to be an incredibly simple costume and she was able to do a lot of the decision making herself. We started browsing the pre

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-1056876498409804972011-10-27T14:17:00.002-04:002011-10-27T16:12:41.695-04:00

One of my son's favorite movies is The Rocketeer. Celebrating its 20th anniversary this year, the film is based on Dave Stevens' brilliant 1980s comic books series that tells the story of young depression-era racing pilot Cliff Secord and his accidental discovery of a jet-pack prototype that leads to a bumbling and short-lived career as an unlikely superhero. Made a decade before Hollywood

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-86711059123678797202011-10-25T14:57:00.000-04:002011-10-25T14:57:46.376-04:00

When I was three-years old we took a family vacation to Colorado Springs. After a big pancake breakfast one day we drove to the top of Pikes Peak. My memories of that trip do not include any remarkable vistas: I only remember my father with a hose somewhere on the side of the Pikes Peak Highway, washing pancake vomit out of the rental car. I was just out there for a few days last week. I didn't

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-46525246406972937022011-10-13T14:40:00.000-04:002011-10-13T14:40:51.730-04:00

With Halloween only a couple weeks away, if anyone is interested in learning how to make armor for little knights, I put up a tutorial over here.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-62693214418835423642011-10-06T14:02:00.002-04:002011-10-06T14:36:07.394-04:00

The people who sold my parents their house left behind a stack of gold cardboard in the attic. There were hundreds of massive sheets, and with a good pair of scissors and a few hundred brass fasteners, I spent years turning them into elaborate suits of armor that protected me on many adventures slaying the dragons in our backyard. I brought my kids back to that house a few weeks ago to see their

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-27020208961915329292011-09-29T13:39:00.005-04:002011-09-29T19:00:05.600-04:00

Now that we've reached the end of this growing season, I thought I'd give a final update on the garden project that occupied so much of our time this summer. These days I'm mostly clearing out sunflower stalks and dying flowers, and hoping for enough sunlight for the last of the tomatoes to ripen. With my daughter in school every day, we don't get to spend as much time as we'd like at the garden,

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-2331275787626450832011-09-16T12:28:00.005-04:002011-09-19T14:45:39.642-04:00

He considered when it would be the proper time to teach them the importance of eluding fences. You can always go over them, he might say, but it's better to find a way under or even through them. A fence is a peculiar thing, he thought. By its very nature of projecting strength it invites analysis of its many weaknesses. And don't let them fool you: every fence is weak. The lesson, of course, is

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-28677851847776904292011-09-02T12:45:00.004-04:002011-09-02T13:49:01.723-04:00

She wants to know why the heroes in the stories are almost always all men or boys. That's not always true, I say, But I won't sugarcoat it for you: men have always tried to control everything. Even stories. Even women. Especially women. The past looks worse than today but someday this too will be the past. Everything's still not okay, but it's better than it was, and you have it within you

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-33139955314229732702011-08-25T11:56:00.001-04:002011-10-25T14:59:08.309-04:00

  While viewing these photos, you should imagine the musky odor of Grandpa's Pine Tar Soap in the air.  Grandpa's Pine Tar Soap is the official soap of Northern Michigan. After several months of exclusively using Grandpa's Pine Tar Soap myself, I am happy to say that on this vacation my wife also started using it. Being married to a woman who smells like a burning tire factory almost

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-60692271675512714412011-08-23T11:14:00.002-04:002011-08-23T12:09:35.473-04:00

There is a sign in our neighborhood that warns: SLOW CHILDREN PLAYING The other day we were walking the dog past that sign and my daughter casually mentioned that she doesn't like it. Sometimes I forget that she's old enough to be learning to read. "Why does it say that when we're not all slow?" she asked. "Gram's not slow. I'm actually quite fast." What an adventure lies ahead

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-53383784804926571512011-08-08T09:36:00.002-04:002011-10-25T14:59:08.304-04:00

        2011 Monroe and Lenawee County Fairs. Last year's fair pictures. Get to yours before it's gone.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-72388350506688046622011-08-05T13:21:00.003-04:002011-09-19T14:10:22.879-04:00

When we were at the thrift store the other day I found a copy of The House on Hackman's Hill, a much-loved book from my own childhood. It wasn't the the newer edition, but the fantastic old 1980s Scholastic cover with the photo-realistic painting of the two cousins breaking into the titular house. In the book, the mansion has been abandoned since it's owner (an Egyptologist) disappeared under

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-74132653412353600412011-07-25T16:19:00.011-04:002011-09-19T14:14:38.361-04:00

This past May the kids and I hopped on the bike and rode around our neighborhood looking for something to do this summer. We have a neighbor who gets up every morning and picks up the trash that accumulates in this city full of litterbugs. We wanted to do something like that. For a few days we went around the edge of the neighborhood beyond her usual circuit, filling many garbage bags with

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-29890584780808754922011-07-14T10:41:00.017-04:002011-09-19T14:11:11.454-04:00

Come my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready, Have you your pistols? Have you your sharp-edged axes? Pioneers! O pioneers! For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers! So impatient, full of action, full of pride and friendship, Plain I

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-77440627683784618882011-07-07T11:12:00.001-04:002011-07-07T11:18:11.135-04:00

This week I'm honored to once again offer an affordable limited edition photograph on Jen Bekman's wonderful 20x200 website. It's the photo of the "feral church" you might remember from this post.   It's available in three sizes ($20 for 8x10, $50 for 11x14, and $200 for 16x20) and like all 20x200 prints you now have the option of ordering it matted and framed. Even if you're not interested

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-81430276935758321742011-07-01T12:09:00.005-04:002011-07-01T15:28:30.473-04:00

The TSA lady encourages her to walk through the scanner. Though her father will be at her side every moment of this trip, she must do this one thing by herself. The woman has the power to pull her aside, put her through one of those invasive pat-downs, but this one doesn't have that cruelty in her veins, only a rare touch of kindness: "Where are you flying today, sweetie?""San Francisco," answers

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-31771591653434028612011-06-21T15:05:00.002-04:002011-06-21T22:59:01.044-04:00

A few weeks ago I finished reading my first digital book, and after the last page I was hooked. I know I'm a stubborn late adopter and surprisingly I don't have anything to say about missing "the tactile aspect of turning the pages of a good book" in some annoying Public Radio voice. I resisted this long for a host of annoying reasons, but I found myself pleasantly surprised by the advantages of

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-81947833036005497992011-06-15T11:16:00.002-04:002011-10-25T14:59:49.903-04:00

This year we returned to the Squam Art Workshops and my wife spent three days learning new sewing and knitting techniques from some amazing teachers and I spent those days with the kids poking around one of the most peaceful and beautiful camps around. Fortunately, nothing was as dramatic as last year's ill-fated canoe trip across the lake, and we were able to just enjoy our days and take

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-40730830468085407972011-06-10T11:34:00.001-04:002011-10-25T14:59:29.020-04:00

So I just dropped my daughter off for her last day of kindergarten. Before you assume I'm going to get all weepy about that, consider how the entire summer stretches before us: I get to be with both these kids all day every day for the next three months. I don't have any part-time sitters. I haven't even signed up for any day camps. I am, apparently, a masochistic idiot. Oh, whatever. Just a few

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-31482902320174283052011-05-26T13:13:00.006-04:002011-05-26T14:07:38.500-04:00

I was sitting on the couch the other day when a wave of panic rolled over me. It occurred to me---as it has several times over the past year---that as fun as this blog has been to write and as awesome as it is to make a living from it, Sweet Juniper (at least in its current incarnation) is kind of like a tub of yogurt at the back of your fridge that has reached its expiration date. Sure, it's

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-83874029830551984982011-05-17T14:49:00.002-04:002011-05-17T18:15:27.844-04:00

Sing to us Muse, of the boy who loves masks, the veils and veneers of heroes; Tell us not of his many now-familiar deceptions, that garbage-heap iron constable, The caped superkid, or that light-sword wielding warrior from a distant star. No, sing of a father's weariness of Lucasfilm gewgaws,      his fear of the inevitable JarJar encounter. He remembered his honeymoon: the family villa in

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-879067719924000872011-05-13T17:00:00.000-04:002011-05-13T17:00:14.933-04:00

Wife: You must be getting pretty good at doing the morning routine all by yourself. Me: They got up at 6:30, but I didn't remember until 8:12 that I'd promised her teacher I'd make seed bombs with her class today. Wife: How did it go? Me: The kids had fun. Wife: You are a total rock star. Me: Rock stars sleep late, do drugs, have sex, work for like two hours a day, and get other people to

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-8481202920877102652011-05-05T12:32:00.001-04:002011-05-05T13:10:11.987-04:00

My wife's job has lured her away for two weeks, leaving our entire tribe in my care 24/7. In consolation, the other day I went out and bought myself a new vacuum cleaner. Then I hung my head in shame when I realized how excited I was to get home to use it. When I was a child my dad would disappear for a week every October with a bunch of his buddies packed in an RV on pilgrimage to the massive

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-13933469064334780022011-04-28T11:19:00.007-04:002011-04-28T16:12:02.767-04:00

Now that Republican front-runner Donald Trump has finally put to rest the important issue of whether or not our beleagured president was born on American soil, I think it's high time that The Donald turn his attention to the little-known but highly important matter of the rise of the Obama Oil Corporation and its expanding presence here in the city of Detroit, where the total lack of a right-wing

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-20127456660848980952011-04-22T16:17:00.002-04:002011-04-27T09:04:08.973-04:00

"Never underestimate what a few sheets of sandpaper, a little elbow grease, and a can of spraypaint can do." So long, Disney Princess Bike. We agreed that riding a pink bike decorated with pictures of Sleeping Beauty was about as princessy as buying a $19.99 cubic-zirconium version of Kate Middleton's engagement ring advertised during the second hour of a Lifetime Original Movie. I let her

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-75598902771282581212011-04-19T13:07:00.057-04:002011-10-25T14:59:08.299-04:00

When I arrived in New Orleans for a conference last Thursday, the first thing I did was rent a bike to see a city I'd never visited.  New Orleans is so lush and colorful and beautiful it makes San Francisco look like a bunch of yuppies shat pastel over Pittsburgh. Renting a bike is a perfect way to experience a new city, and not just because everything passes by much slower than the blur you

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-46947095998423802122011-04-13T14:37:00.003-04:002011-04-13T14:39:07.954-04:00

As you can see I've got a new header up there. I didn't draw it; Rachel Fannin from Hi Happy Panda did. A month or so ago I stumbled across her blog and started enjoying her stories and photos of her adventures with her two kids around New Orleans. I e-mailed to tell her how much I loved her blog (and her hand-drawn header), and when she said she planned to change it when her family moved back to

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-30229465704492236072011-04-08T11:16:00.002-04:002011-04-08T11:25:31.660-04:00

This morning my daughter made her own scrambled eggs even though I had no idea she could. One moment I'm helping her drag her Swedish stool contraption into the kitchen and the next she's expertly cracking two eggs in a metal bowl and whisking them. "When did you learn to whisk?" She just shrugged, and poured the airy mixture into a buttered pan. It's not like she whipped together a roasted leek

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-7881524657190960222011-04-05T15:00:00.000-04:002011-04-05T15:00:38.551-04:00

Last week I went back inside the Roosevelt Warehouse (often called the Detroit Public Schools Book Depository) for the first time in three years. I previously wrote about it here and here. The building was properly boarded up for the first time after that dead man was found frozen in the ice at the bottom of an elevator shaft, but at least one man still lives inside the building. I was

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-56453582161660137292011-03-30T11:50:00.004-04:002011-03-30T14:58:59.544-04:00

My daughter's deep and earnest love of the Nain Rouge---the red imp who supposedly has brought bad luck to our town for three centuries---has only grown over the past year. Part of this is my fault, due to the purchase of (and frequent reading from) a physical copy of Marie Caroline Watson Hamlin's 1883 book Legends of Le Detroit, full of tough-as-nails coureurs de bois, phantom horsemen and

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-24534954516137553272011-03-23T11:40:00.007-04:002011-03-30T14:20:52.561-04:00

This is my good friend Ryan a few days ago. As you can see, he's wearing a red union suit (complete with ass-flap) and a hillbilly beard doing a jug dance on top of a pile of rocks, letting me take pictures of him that he can't be sure aren't going to end up on the internet. That is the price of being close to me. I got an e-mail from someone the other day accusing me of treating my children

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-1489626964869027182011-03-20T08:42:00.004-04:002011-03-21T13:43:57.804-04:00

My child is unquestionably a genius. This was apparent even in the womb. From the very date of his conception, we hired out the Stadtpfeifer nightly to play Le Quattro Stagioni directly into my wife's uterus (to preserve his mother's dignity, I will refrain from describing in too much detail the manner by which we ingeniously used a large ear horn to amplify the concerto for the wombling's

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-68512908092612129152011-03-16T11:32:00.004-04:002011-03-16T12:21:05.185-04:00

There is a teenager sleeping in the room where we once slept. He towers over both of us, though he was only five-years old the last time we were in Vienna. He's nineteen now and that's exactly how old we were then. His door is always shut with only muted German phone conversations and video game bleeps to let us know he's in there. It occurs to me how far on the other side of that disquieting

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-74805858045323864192011-03-09T12:52:00.003-05:002011-03-09T13:25:06.571-05:00

We're back from Austria. I will probably have a lot to say about the ups and downs of traveling in Europe with two small children, but right now we are struggling with some serious jet lag so I'm just going to share a few upcoming engagements: For the parenting blog crowd, it appears I am going to be on a dad panel with Jon Armstrong at next month's Mom 2.0 Summit in New Orleans (April 14-16,

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-45009217294059562072011-03-07T09:58:00.001-05:002011-10-25T14:59:08.294-04:00

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-39853774379838981432011-03-01T03:50:00.002-05:002011-03-07T10:14:18.176-05:00

What's up Vienna. We are all up in your fancy coffee shops, crayolas on the floor, kids crawling under tables all loud and sh**. Star Wars guys flying everywhere. ObiKenobi in your Sachertorte. Jawas in your java. We are eating Wienerschnitzel every night, son. Beers the size of Big Gulps up in here. ) We are all up in your palaces with grubby fingers and snot fangs. Shhh. . . don't

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-43828904924438616792011-02-18T23:02:00.058-05:002011-03-11T09:57:07.336-05:00

She turned six years old a couple weeks ago. The baby she was is all gone now, all gone from her cheeks and arms. She is so skinny. I find a pair of cotton pants I bought her in San Francisco five years ago and they re-enter her wardrobe as leggings. I can pick her up one-handed by her ankle and lift her till we're eye-to-eye. The marks on the closet door say she is getting taller, but it is a

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-21744851739627890902011-02-16T12:18:00.006-05:002011-02-16T12:43:16.054-05:00

Well, it looks like Detroit is going to get its $50,000 Robocop statue. After a week of getting tons of e-mails about it, I'm ready to break my silence: I don't really have much of an opinion. I'm somewhere between the humbugs and the hipsters, I guess. But I am glad I'll be able to take my son to see the statue, if only so he can deliver the hipster equivalent of Sub-Zero's spine rip fatality

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-10484261934054083272011-02-11T14:48:00.001-05:002011-02-11T17:31:43.014-05:00

It sure was brave of Han Solo to go back out into that blizzard to look for Luke, especially once we learn from R2 that the odds of surviving are 725 to one. But, you know: never tell Han the odds. . . When I was a kid I never gave any thought to how Han must have had to cuddle up against Luke in that shelter all night. I guess I was so distracted by the idea of warming oneself in

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-56660816996991245802011-02-07T15:47:00.007-05:002011-02-07T16:05:25.733-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about food for weeks (and not just how I ordinarily think about food. . .me want. . .more). Because of the piece I wrote about Detroit grocery stores (and some of the pushback it received), I have had to recognize and confront some of my biases. By all accounts, I definitely seem to view certain food-related choices as a measure of sophistication. Some people say they

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-35159827266640515142011-01-31T14:45:00.002-05:002011-09-19T14:13:20.793-04:00

A bunch of artists recently came to Detroit through Juxtapoz Magazine and stayed for a month or so with the Powerhouse Folks to transform a bunch of abandoned/unoccupied houses on a block of Moran Street to the tune of a hundred Hamtramck ice cream trucks. It was definitely one of the more interesting things to happen around Detroit lately [and here is a great article/interview about it]. I got

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-19365088646753037182011-01-25T14:40:00.004-05:002011-01-25T15:55:18.506-05:00

On this site, the idea that Detroit does have grocery stores and outlets for fresh produce (despite a national and local media repeatedly stating otherwise) is kind of a dead horse. Well, today I am kicking the shit out of that dead horse over at Aaron M. Renn's excellent Urbanophile blog. Aaron's blog consistently has a fresh and interesting take on urban affairs and policy that's neither too

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-74341131906278221222011-01-20T12:16:00.011-05:002011-01-20T14:01:45.578-05:00

As a few commentators on the last post and a lot of e-mailers have noted, that is me on page 157 of the February issue of Oprah Magazine. What's some guy who just makes things out of junk doing between a New York lawyer who's devoted her career to helping homeless mothers and. . . Miranda July? A few of the projects and activities we do around here caught the attention of some editors at O and

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-63631478897783407792011-01-14T10:51:00.003-05:002011-09-19T14:13:46.165-04:00

I know, I know. . . superheroes are pretty much the little boy equivalent of princesses. And those of you who've been reading for a few years know how hard I've tried to keep the Princess Industrial Complex's tulle-draped arms from obscuring my daughter's imagination. It certainly feels hypocritical not to go on some tirade about gender roles and how little boys are encouraged to be heroes

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-64937941442267161952011-01-11T14:45:00.005-05:002011-01-11T19:10:13.707-05:00

We took a field trip to the Michigan state capitol when I was ten, stopping at the Potter Park Zoo in the afternoon. This was what one might consider a major formative experience of my provincial youth. I can distinctly remember staring out at what seemed like the hustle and bustle of downtown Lansing and thinking I am destined for bigger and better things. Just like this. I was listening to

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-33208611846942222952011-01-05T14:53:00.009-05:002011-09-19T14:16:37.985-04:00

I wrote last year about our discovery of a flooded field a few blocks from our home that had frozen over, and how we visited it with ice skates. What made that experience so magical, I think, was the fact that we were always the only ones there, and no one ever told us to stop. I wrote then, "Sometimes there's just nobody around to say you can't do that." It is one of the perils of living here,

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-87907060595681321422010-12-31T16:34:00.000-05:002010-12-31T16:34:51.985-05:00

Yep, another blogger has made an end-of-year slide show of family pictures with an indie rock soundtrack that he narcissistically imagines will somehow interest a few passing strangers. Still, it was a damn fun year in which we did a lot of fun things. Some of these photos have appeared on the site this year, many have not. The song is "This Bed" from the excellent 2010 album Thistled Spring by

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-20491107188222777932010-12-22T09:25:00.000-05:002010-12-22T09:25:24.511-05:00

Last year we decided to start a tradition where each fall we'd commission an artist we admire to create a family portrait for our annual holiday card. Thanks to the wonderfully talented Yelena Bryksenkova for making our card this year [I wrote about Yelena in more detail here; she also has her own blog and an etsy store filled with lovely prints]. In addition to the portrait, Yelena

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-48482149784041055542010-12-17T14:58:00.003-05:002010-12-17T15:00:05.699-05:00

If I could go two months back in time and show myself a video of what an effort it is to get my kids goretexed and in the car in all this snow and cold here on December 17, 2010, I might ask myself why anyone would live here, why anyone would ever go through this, why we do. But we do. Those of you fully acclimated to warmer climes might ask the same questions should you see what our roads look

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-17727596336271366412010-12-15T14:53:00.002-05:002010-12-15T14:57:02.497-05:00

federated_media_section = "ACS"; Now I don't normally use this space to draw attention to the site sponsors FM lines up for us, but today I just wanted to announce that we're honored once again to participate in the More Birthdays campaign from the American Cancer Society. Too many of our lives have been touched by cancer (my wife and I previously wrote posts for the ACS here and here) and

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-29692698466459119772010-12-14T13:20:00.001-05:002011-09-19T14:16:54.378-04:00

. . .but we didn't expect the snow to come this heavy and this soon, so the plastic sled is only a makeshift solution while I ponder constructing a more gallant conveyance. It may be eleven degrees outside, but I'll be damned if several times a day that dog doesn't drag his harness up to me expressing a desire to pull. Snow between the toes does irritate him so I've already ordered some sled

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-24562323276804628692010-12-08T14:48:00.000-05:002010-12-08T14:48:20.346-05:00

So I'm watching that Will Ferrell movie where he's an elf and Peter Dinklage (forever known to me as the dwarf from The Station Agent) comes on playing a bad-ass children's book author who tells Will Ferrell how much "action" he gets. And then he beats up Will Ferrell and I think, Bravo, dwarf from The Station Agent. Later I flip the channel and one of those Lord of the Rings movies is on about

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-23532583728066533592010-12-01T12:19:00.000-05:002010-12-01T12:19:00.372-05:00

I know content has been a little light here in the main column lately, but I'm constantly updating the content behind through those six small square images at the top of the right column. I still have so many Terrifying Nixon-Era Children's Books to share, along with many other treasured, out-of-print books that I've found at thrift stores or in schools that were being demolished. In my opinion,

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-7609825260822824132010-11-25T09:58:00.000-05:002010-11-25T09:58:21.191-05:00

Right now we're busy preparing the Thanksgiving meal at our house for the first time in years, and I just wanted to share this picture from this week's trip to Eastern Market, where we bought everything we needed for the holiday meal. The potatoes, parsnips, leeks, braising greens, fennel, and all the other herbs were grown here in Detroit. The sausage (pork, toasted pepitas, curried

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-46255465081718180292010-11-18T10:02:00.002-05:002010-11-18T20:21:31.569-05:00

Look what arrived in our mail the other day: Seriously, how cool is Peter Weller? After seeing the photos of my son in the Robocop costume, he took time away from his acting (eight episodes of Dexter) and UCLA teaching schedule (as well his dissertation for the PhD he's earning in Roman and Italian Renaissance art) to send an autographed photo to my son. Signed ROBO! Check out that note:

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-84271047329026547312010-11-16T10:29:00.000-05:002010-11-16T10:29:52.834-05:00

I hope you liked the updated Detroit guide. Every time I go to a new city I check out the design*sponge city guides before I look at anything else and I am honored to represent Detroit in those offerings. This is my blog about trying to raise kids creatively in downtown Detroit. I am a former lawyer turned Gentleman of Elegant Leisure (i.e. stay-at-home dad). I am also now known officially as

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-64602413167194837602010-11-15T13:01:00.007-05:002010-11-16T11:16:47.609-05:00

Growing up out in the middle of nowhere could get pretty lonely. My sister was always a good sport about playing G.I. Joes, but when three boys moved across the street my life changed. It became a whole lot easier to plot elaborate war games or just play some baseball. I remember sitting at our front window watching the construction of their house. This was just before the Age of McMansions, when

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-14246511830175272022010-11-11T14:46:00.002-05:002010-11-11T16:04:39.205-05:00

When I got home after a couple days away and saw the kids in the afternoon we headed straight out to the playground. We built a "haunted forest" by jamming fallen sticks into the sand, using a ghost my daughter made at her friend's house (a patch of white fabric tied around some pinto beans) for the spooking. The playground usually fills with lengthening shadows of other kids from the

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-82514219350639833082010-11-04T11:53:00.004-04:002010-11-04T16:37:26.745-04:00

I know that is pretty specific, but I have a solo exhibition with over a hundred photographs at Illinois Wesleyan University's Merwin Gallery running through December 9, 2010. I'll be there to give a lecture/talk for the opening on Tuesday, November 9 at 4:00 p.m. in the gallery, and would love to meet any local readers who'd be interested in stopping by to hear me speak and see the pictures. And

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-22654327707957124312010-11-01T09:52:00.001-04:002010-11-01T10:11:41.339-04:00

One of my daughter's favorite animals is vulpes vulpes, the Red Fox. She loves stories and tales about foxes, from Aesop to Dahl to the ones told by her own father (but her favorite might be Dickon's pet fox "Captain" in The Secret Garden). I have written before about how foxes are returning to our fair city, and I've even seen one running around our neighborhood. The other day we were walking

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-72456848628370348212010-10-27T12:03:00.009-04:002010-10-30T15:39:01.204-04:00

The fastest reflexes modern technology has to offer. On-board computer-assisted memory. And a lifetime of on-the-street law enforcement programming. It is my great pleasure to present to you: Robocop. The boy insisted for months that he wanted to be a robot for Halloween. His sister was a robot when she was his age. We looked at various robot images on the computer and he was most intrigued

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-5686807700610528062010-10-21T09:57:00.003-04:002011-10-25T14:59:08.289-04:00

Just a few photos from the past few weeks while I work on a proper new post. Click here to see the rest.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-83419269819677328722010-10-14T09:51:00.005-04:002010-10-14T16:46:39.080-04:00

We were driving down a suburban street the other day on our way to an orchard and came across an older house that had been elaborately decorated for Halloween. Plywood boards had been "nailed" across glass windows as if to say the zombies are coming but they're not coming in without a fight. There was haphazard graveyard fencing set up, a few ragged styrofoam tombstones on the front lawn. I

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-85844231751182946722010-10-08T12:04:00.006-04:002010-10-08T13:05:41.478-04:00

As the son of a special education teacher, I'm not unfamiliar with the rough road of political correctness anyone trying to write or talk about certain disabilities has tread over the last forty years. In fact, I'm pretty sure that last sentence was somehow politically incorrect. Still, I did a double take when I saw the title for this book on the shelf at the thrift store. Harriet Langsam

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-44740095714971292022010-10-01T08:49:00.001-04:002011-01-20T12:47:21.469-05:00

I. Setting: Still-idling 1986 Olds Cutlass Ciera, strip mall parking lot, April 1998 Girl in passenger seat, redhead, will one day marry and witness painful egress of children (2) from her nether regions (on this day: silently hopeful of such a possibility in some distant future). Girl's head turns with key counter-clockwise as ignition halts: "I wish you'd dress a little nicer. . .You ought to

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-84693924195971415982010-09-29T11:37:00.005-04:002010-09-30T09:49:04.912-04:00

The kids somehow busted my new scanner so I have a backlog of creepy old children's books. Today I'll share two books that I guess are supposed to teach kids how to react in the worst possible scenarios they might encounter: kidnapping and sexual abuse. There seems to have been an entire niche of the publishing industry dedicated to serving the needs of parents who were uncomfortable talking with

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-87332970016442105822010-09-23T11:36:00.007-04:002010-09-23T15:08:18.245-04:00

I. The MountainShe says she wants to climb a mountain. It is raining, but they will try it. A few steps from the cabin she says what's that, stopping to hover over a tiny coral-colored creature.It's a red-spotted newt. A terrestrial eft. She has never heard the word newt. They follow him on their knees as he scampers into the shelter of red pine needles. "See," he says. "This is one of those

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-32371349127097199192010-09-20T11:29:00.002-04:002011-09-19T14:17:43.805-04:00

We just rushed back from a wonderful week in New Hampshire so that my wife could perform her Matron of Honor duties at a beautiful Indian wedding here in Detroit. I have a lot to write about, but for today I just wanted to share some pictures of my gorgeous wife and daughter in their wedding lenghas.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-49175322295479996712010-09-09T09:53:00.001-04:002010-09-09T09:55:01.974-04:00

We bought a quart of ground cherries from the Grown in Detroit collective last week and after scarfing them down we scouted around our friends' gardens for more until we found enough to make some jam.  One friend called them cape gooseberries and considered them an annoyance, particularly when he saw them return after he thought he eradicated them last year. A hardy perennial, they are

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-21896809203151172932010-09-01T11:39:00.009-04:002010-10-30T15:41:22.880-04:00

Growing up involves the continual testing of belief. There are the big lies we all eventually recover from: Santa Claus. The Tooth Fairy. The American meritocracy. Then there are those other sweetly-ridiculous yet honorable beliefs of children that are challenged as they venture out into the world: Nothing beats mom's cooking. My dad can beat up your dad. In my daughter's case, one day she's

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-72215849041428636772010-08-26T08:51:00.002-04:002010-08-27T11:34:19.081-04:00

A few months ago some guy came from the cable company and told us if we didn't let him install the digital box he had under his arm, we would only get eleven channels. Now I hadn't seen a legitimate cable box since 1987 when my parents agreed to a trial run of premium cable and I believed the HBO feature presentation intro was exactly what it looked like to die and go to heaven. We get free

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-84214895773255161282010-08-19T10:07:00.008-04:002010-08-19T11:20:12.331-04:00

Your father was driving north along a country road at night with one beer sputtering in his capillaries, far from enough to create any real risk but just enough to get him thinking about danger. The road itself was lit only by his car's headlights for twenty miles. The occasional window on some hillside glowed warm and yellow, saying someone is in here; someone is home safe and sound when you are

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-57735592125020172302010-08-16T16:14:00.001-04:002010-08-16T16:15:48.282-04:00

This is another post that's mostly pictures. Click here to see them all.       For most folks who grow up around here, going up north is a ritual of summer. I went up with my family every year, and now that I have a family we'll probably head up I-75 at least once a summer. This year we rented a cottage with my mother-in-law on lake

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-24175351571224228372010-08-11T09:45:00.002-04:002010-08-11T09:54:42.433-04:00

Lots more, click here. Get to yours, before it's gone.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-77251050312796146162010-08-05T16:28:00.006-04:002010-08-05T21:05:26.482-04:00

I've been writing here for more than five years now. I do not like taking up this space to talk about it. I'm fairly certain that those of you outside our sorority of navelgazing windbags known as bloggers don't really care about our conferences, our free trips to the Caribbean, or whatever the hell we have to say about our blogs on our blogs. But I am going to say this anyways. There's no way

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-77490896152236282242010-07-29T10:41:00.003-04:002010-07-29T10:42:56.374-04:00

Perfect for when you need a book to help explain to your children the terrifying effects of nuclear fallout, malignant tumors, leukemia, chemotherapy, diplomatic ties between Cuba and the Soviet Union during the Cold War, Ukrainian mullets, the cruelty of the American embargo, and the benevolence of aging communist dictators. To see more pages from this book, click here.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-78032310571774247552010-07-27T11:16:00.006-04:002010-07-27T12:41:14.300-04:00

1. Yes, I know his nose is dripping. 2. No, Daddy didn't dress them today. Daddy dresses them every day, you old bag. 3. Also, Daddy doesn't "have his hand's full today." Daddy is managing just fine. And stop calling me "Daddy." It's creepy. Go get a Maurice Salad at Macy's and leave me alone. 4. It is great that I'm giving Mommy a break, isn't it? The break is called HER CAREER. 5. Do not

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-72831647290625009852010-07-21T12:59:00.012-04:002011-09-19T14:18:26.829-04:00

Could you do me a favor? Please, if you know me in real life, don't ever say you never read my blog and then ask what I've been up to. I know you're just being polite, and I know that if you never read this website it's unlikely you'll ever take note of this request. It's not that I'm bothered by you not reading: I actually find that refreshing. I'm totally cool with it. It's just that when

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-90847390956651441152010-07-15T10:52:00.003-04:002010-07-15T11:22:56.408-04:00

  Put five city slickers in canoes on an Appalachian lake and have them camp in an isolated hillbilly ghost town abandoned after the TVA dammed up its river and somebody is going to joke about squealing like a pig. It's such a given I actually spent a few weeks scouring eBay for a vintage black life vest like the one Burt Reynolds wore so that my contribution to the inevitable comedy would be

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-76114266464499311612010-07-13T11:52:00.009-04:002010-08-05T17:50:39.324-04:00

I was hanging out with an old friend a few weeks ago and he started telling me about a canoeing/backpacking trip he was planning with a bunch of our college friends. "I wish I could go," I sighed with the resignation of a browbeaten steer. "Why can't you?" my wife snapped later. I sputtered something about the kids but she brushed it off. Her mother was off for the summer and would be more

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-55795652180096009822010-07-07T23:09:00.007-04:002010-07-08T11:58:38.546-04:00

Hi, everyone. It's Wood. It's been years since I've posted anything here on the main page. Jim left a few days ago on a camping trip with a handful of his best friends, guys he's known since his freshmen year in college. He was reluctant to go and pretty convinced that we couldn't possibly survive and manage to eat three meals a day without him. He was also worried about not being able to post

Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14486296130283273035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-66489320749877205542010-07-02T10:15:00.005-04:002011-09-19T14:19:34.027-04:00

A good friend built my daughter a raised bed in a sun-filled spot next to his house, and told her she could plant whatever she wants there. At the same time, we got together with some of our neighbors and started a community garden in our neighborhood. I'm father to a couple kids who refuse to eat pretty much anything that's green, so this was done with some hope that seeing food grow from

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-58175727158520892602010-06-29T10:12:00.001-04:002010-07-02T16:16:22.512-04:00

The neighbor girl goes to church every Sunday. We never do. The very idea of church is as mysterious and fascinating to my five-year-old daughter as the reality of Sunday services were tedious and agonizing to me as a kid. I woke up every Sunday morning as a child and went to a Baptist church downtown with my mom; my dad, still scarred from a Dutch Christian Reformed upbringing, refused to set

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-21188151336272835882010-06-25T11:38:00.007-04:002011-09-19T14:19:53.189-04:00

It's not hard to find a good mulberry tree in a city; the challenge comes in finding a good place where you can go and safely harvest them with your kids without worrying about little pickers wandering off into a road or something. I knew of plenty of perfectly good mulberry trees along sidewalks near our house from the stains the berries leave on the soles of my boots, but it took a bit of

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-39003753978377095432010-06-18T10:16:00.013-04:002010-06-25T09:09:47.789-04:00

Nothing I have ever done has resonated as much as the photos of what I called "feral houses" last summer. A quickly dashed-off blog post written while children tugged at my sleeves ended up capturing the attention of hundreds of thousands of people around the world and I still get hundreds of hits to that post every day. Even Alan Weisman, author of The World Without Us, e-mailed me about them.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-25550562738222484022010-06-11T11:15:00.004-04:002010-06-11T11:26:27.085-04:00

I never went camping as a kid.  My dad had a saying: "Until somebody can explain to me why I would want to pay a fee to sleep on the ground, get bit by mosquitoes all night, pee in the dark, and eat lousy food in front of a fire when I could get a hotel room for $40 and eat dinner in a booth at an actual restaurant, we're not going camping." The thing is, you never could explain it to him,

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-73670947324280647912010-06-04T10:19:00.005-04:002010-06-04T10:51:49.874-04:00

I've really backed myself into a corner with these Terrifying Nixon-era Children's Books, given all my phony captions and snarky commentary. Occasionally now I'll come across a book produced during this era and parts of it will be so strange I'm sure you'll think I made it up, and John Holland's The Way It Is (Fifteen boys describe life in their neglected urban neighborhood) is just

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-10825682587369729652010-06-02T13:30:00.001-04:002010-06-02T13:30:57.312-04:00

So I finally managed to visit Canada without getting interrogated by mounties in an all-white room on suspicion of kidnapping my own children. The truth is we live so close to Canada we can smell the poutine and polar bears whenever there's a strong sou'easter, but for three years I have been too scared to cross the border without my wife's express written consent. This week she wanted to go

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-75646683940297380632010-05-27T13:21:00.011-04:002010-06-24T10:41:53.112-04:00

"There are more than 400 liquor stores in Detroit. But if you want to buy food, good luck. In the entire 140 square miles of the city, there are no Krogers, no Safeways, only eight supermarkets, and they’re discount stores."  ---Chris Hansen, Dateline NBC, April 20, 2010. This post is part of my ongoing response to lazy journalists like Mr. Hansen who love to echo silly hyperbole because it's

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-81917684641286167132010-05-24T09:56:00.001-04:002010-05-24T22:39:59.399-04:00

Has it really been three years since the last time I pottytrained a kid using inappropriate pictures of beloved characters pooping? My artistic abilities almost certainly peaked in the seventh grade, but it seems that has not stopped me from sharing them with you once again: 1. A Robot 2. A Unicorn 3. Caillou 4. A Zombie 5. Wendell 6. Frankenstein 7. Muno (from Yo Gabba Gabba) 8. A pheasant 9.

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14145602.post-26327181463926821292010-05-19T10:53:00.001-04:002010-05-19T10:59:28.811-04:00

As I approach that difficult time in every man's life after he's extended a liberal arts education into some expensive yet practical professional degree, worked for a few years in said profession to pay off the debt, quit abruptly, and spent almost half a decade taking care of two small children, I'm realizing it won't be long before both kids will be off at school and I'll soon have to figure

jdghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138644775090861195noreply@blogger.com0