My oldest daughter and I came back from the family reunion last night so that I could see her off to camp this morning. Kiki and I got checked in, got her luggage thrown into the truck, and then stood around with the other families waiting for the “all aboard” call for the buses.

Kiki wasn’t hanging out with her friends. She was staying kind of close to me. Why? well, mostly I think it’s because she didn’t recognize anybody. All these people were new.

I tried to nudge her in the direction of other girls a couple of times, but she didn’t rise to the occasion.

I told her that one of the skills she could be learning this week was “how to introduce yourself to people you’ve never met before.”

She said “I can’t do that, Dad. I’m SHY.”

I got down on my knees (which puts my face just a little below hers) and said “You’re not shy. Shy would have its face buried in my armpit. You just don’t know how to do this yet. You’ll learn, and you’ll be fine.”

Moments later someone she knew came tearing up to her, and they greeted each other with age-typical giggles and hugs and grabbing. I slipped away while she wasn’t looking, and stood about 25 feet off, leaning on a lamp-post, watching. It took her a good two minutes to realize I was gone. She found me quickly (I wasn’t hiding) and grinned at me. I grinned back.

I let her and her friend alone. There was a quick “everybody-gather-round” assembly, and while most parents stood with their kids, I stood almost completely out of earshot where I could barely see mine.

And then it was time to board the bus. Kiki’s friend (I’ll call her “Abby” because that’s not her name) had a friend (or maybe sister or cousin — I’m not clear on that) who was crying and didn’t want to go. Kiki and Abby bracketed the tearful friend, arms around her, and they walked to the bus together. They all squished into one bench seat (I remember, barely, when my butt was small enough that I could do that with my friends), and before too long the friend’s tears were gone and the three of them looked ready for the bus to GO already.

That’s my girl. She might think she’s shy, but when she sees somebody who really needs a friend, she’s there in an instant.

She does her Daddy proud, she does.

Dragon’s Keep is owned by my friend Shaggy. Yes, that’s what he goes by. The red hair and goatee make it obvious, and he’s gone by Shaggy for as long as anybody in the store can remember — decades, even.

Shaggy and I went to see Bloodrayne together back in January.

Yesterday at the Keep, he gave me a gift. My very own DVD copy of Bloodrayne, purchased somewhere from a used DVD bin for $5.99.

Monday he and I may take the time to look at the special features, including “deleted scenes.” Honestly, anything that didn’t make the first cut for this film probably should be stuck in a lead-lined box and fired into the sun, rather than unleashed on the public, but we’re going to have a look just to be sure. It’s like rubbernecking on your way past a high-speed rollover. You don’t want to know what’s in there, but you can’t just not look.

But after the obligatory rubbernecking… well, I’m not going to let this DVD into my home. I’ll need to get rid of it. But how?

Yes, I’ve considered printing my film review on glossy, DVD-box-sized cardstock and creating a one-of-a-kind “Reviewer’s Edition,” but I’m not sure I can do that in good conscience. Just because I didn’t create the filth in question doesn’t mean that it would be any less immoral for me to accept money in exchange for filth. So I need suggestions: what should we do to dispose of this DVD?

Fie on you, Shaggy Patterson, for putting the “gag” back in “gag gift.”

The 8lb flat we bought at the store says “Strawberries * Fraises”.

I love strawberries, but I hate the green bits on top. Can I get the strawberries without those? You’d think there’d be a market.

–Howard

ps. Yes, I read French. But that doesn’t mean I have to eat those green frezzy bits on top of my strawberries.

As an experiment, I bought a package of peanut-butter-creme Double-Stuf Oreos. I had one bite of one, and decreed them “fit only for children.”

The children are eating them now. Patches, in particular, is eating them. He peeled the Stuf out of two cookies (the PB creme is firmer and less sticky than real Oreo creme) and used them to sandwich one Oreo cookie “cookie.” And then he looked up and me and said “Look! A sammich!” And then proceeded to eat it.

Obviously two times “double” stuff is “quadruple” stuff. But if you then HALVE the amount of cookie, what do you call it? Does the original ratio of Stuf to Cookie matter, or can the cookie and creme amounts be treated as variables, and the equation somehow reduced through Oreo Algebra?

Consider: If the original oreo cookie is represented by O(oreo cookie)=C(the two chocolate cookie parts)+S(stuff on the inside), then a double-stuf would be O=C+2S. Patches’ Sandwich becomes O=C/2 + 4S. Multiplying both sides by two, you get 2O=C+8S… which isn’t the same as “Octuple-Stuf” because you’ve got that “2O” hanging around on the left side of the equation. Solving for “Stuf” you get 2O-C=8S, and then S=(2O-C)/8, neither of which is especially helpful.

I guess the real question is “Do Oreo Cookie engineers get hung up on Double-Stuf algebra, or is it just me?”