Tuesday, June 21, 2011

You're the one for me

You gave $2,825 in 72 hours and another $1,045 in the month before that for a total of $3,870 in about 40 days--and average of almost $100 per day--all of which will go directly to the fight against cancer. [updated June 22, after final totals received from PMC site]


And all of which made me shave my beard, head...and, yes, my legs. All of which you can watch below.

But all of those numbers aren't as important as these numbers. Because that's what it's all about:
One patient at a time, fighting cancer
One researcher at a time, fighting cancer
One caregiver at a time, fighting cancer
...and each one of you, fighting cancer. I asked you to be the one, and each of you was the one--for which I'm forever grateful.
More tomorrow on people's reactions to my chrome dome and thanks to those who made this happen.




Papa Bradstein's newly streamlined head will slip through the air as he rides 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Thursday, June 09, 2011

Be the one: make me do it

We've come a long way together, you and I.


If you're here, you must be one of my six loyal blog readers, which means that you might remember the days when we had a dog and Mama's nom de blog was Wifey. Or, you might suffer from memory loss like me and have to look it up on the blog.

Some of you even know me outside of this blog/Facebook/twitter. You can confirm that my kids aren't Photoshopped to be as beautiful as they are and that I am as over-the-top proud of them in person as I am online.

My question to you, then, is this:
If you know me so well, why don't you want to embarrass me, make me work harder every day--you know, get back at me?
I mean, c'mon, you know that somewhere along the way I did something--maybe big, maybe small--that you weren't too fond of, or that made you uncomfortable, or that made you throw a fire extinguisher at my head, but I ducked down at the last minute to pull up my white knee-high tube socks.

Here's your chance. I'm handing it to you on a silver platter. It will only take a few seconds of your time and cost you a few bucks, and then you can say that you were the one--you were the one of six who finally settled your score with me. Or at least tipped the ledger balance a bit more into your favor.
That's right: You can be the one who makes me shave my beard.

[I'm only $450 away from someone forcing me to do it. Be the one.]
Wha? That seems so lame.

Aah, but you're forgetting that I hate to shave. That's the only reason I've had a beard for the past 25+ years--not because it's so comfortable to have face fur during a Southern summer down here in Dixie where I live.

And you're forgetting the all too real potential for embarrassment. As I wrote previously:
Perhaps I have some horribly inadequate chin that slumps into my neck, making me appear like Beaker on the Muppet Show.
Adding to the embarrassment...you did see where I promised to post video of the shearing on my YouTube channel, right? Which means, thanks to cross-site syndication, that everyone I know, have known and might ever know will see it.

But, if forcing me to drag a cold, razor sharp, steel blade across my jugular and carotid every morning before my eyes are fully open and caffeine has steadied my jittering hand, and if embarrassing me before the world with a public shaving--that's "public" with an "l," get your mind out of the gutter--isn't your doppio macchiato, then perhaps you're the one out of the six who truly likes me.

In that case...
Do it for Mom, who always wanted me to shave my beard, but didn't live to see that day.

Do it for Dad, who never lived to see me with a beard--but who probably wouldn't have liked it either--and for whom I always ride.
Whatever your reason, do it now. I've never been closer to such great discomfort, embarrassment...the clock is ticking, I'm holding the blade in my hands, what are you waiting for?



Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Monday, June 06, 2011

Rhymes with T, starts with P

I may grow gills this summer.


Out of the 48 hours of this weekend, I spent about 46 in the pool with the kids. The other two were spent at a birthday party.

For those of you who, like me, can't remember anything before yesterday this morning five minutes ago--you know: parents--I'll remind you that our lifeguard, along with us and his swim lesson teacher, spent last summer trying to get the boy in this video to put his face in the water and to not cling to someone or something as he swam.

What a difference a year makes.

As for his sister, the only way I could shoot this video was to do it while she was upstairs napping because her favorite pool tricks include
  • running down the ramp at swim lessons until she's over her head in water
  • when she's stopped halfway down the ramp, flinging herself face first into the water
  • jumping down the steps of our pool
  • trust falls off the edge of our pool, especially when nobody's really paying attention
All of which is another reason I need to continue riding my bike to work: keep my heart healthy enough to withstand the shocks inherent in watching her around water. It's not helping with my other need, however, which stems from brother and sister's willingness to swim in water of any temperature.

I need to grow a layer of walrus blubber this summer.




Papa Bradstein will drag his tusks 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Thursday, June 02, 2011

Climbing the walls to jump into the deep end

Baby Center has this poll that asks whether or not my toddler has climbed out of her crib yet, but I can't complete it because there's no "As soon as she gets down off the top bunk, we'll check that out" answer.


And the bunk climbing hit, like, six months ago? Nine months ago? As soon as she realized there was a ladder is when.

I'm not so worried about the climbing out of the crib--she's climbed up and fallen off most everything else in this house, so I'm pretty sure she'll survive that. I'm worried about what comes after that and before we notice that she's made a break for it.

Then again, so long as she stops short of her brother's escapade during which he climbed out, "changed" his own diaper, and ended up with poop and Vaseline smeared all over his room--while a babysitter was watching him, of course--she's going to have a hard time surprising us.

At this point, I'm more concerned about her affinity for water, which leads to a propensity to run headlong into it until she's, well, over her head in it. Or, if that fails, to just step off the edge of the pool and expect someone to catch her. Or, if that fails, to belly flop into the shallow end and suck in a lungful of water.

She's watched her brother long enough that she knows to hold her nose, but since that prevents her from breathing she, of course, opens her mouth every time she sticks her face in.

Good times.

And you ask why Mama takes her to swim lessons while I take 3B? I'm not as dumb as I look. OK, maybe I am, but it's really just because I called dibs first.

But, most important, both of them love pool time, which makes hot afternoons like we've had all week blissful, especially since I've been home early to enjoy them. Today, we were all reclining on the warm cement while the city pool inspector did his thing and the kids ate ice pops from the freezer and Mama said, "This is the life."

She was right, although I might stay awake for more of the life if I didn't have to keep getting up at 3.30 to make it in for night shift meetings. And even in those moments when we're not soaking up the heat of the sun beside a beautiful pool, looking up at the waving pine trees and wandering clouds, even when we're chasing a toddler down the ramp into the pool at swim lessons, trying to catch her before she launches herself, or cleaning poopy Vaseline out of the carpet...this is the life.


Papa Bradstein not swim 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer, but he will ride his bike that far for that cause. Please support his ride.

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