It's Grow Time...

Alright Gents,

Entering it's 4th consecutive year, the time is upon us. As what started as a stiff breeze of male has turned into a full-force man-soon! I foresee a torrential downpour of testosterone and hair reigning upon our manly faces.

I speak of the one and only Cinco de Mustache.

The rules are simple:

1. Growing season begins April 1st.
2. Your face is your canvas; you do with it what you wish. Whether it be a beard, a goatee or the pure mustache. You grow until May 5, Cinco de Mustache.
3. On Cinco de Mustache, for the entire day, you must wear some form of mustache: the Handlebar, the Molester, the Moustachio (affectionately known as the Selleck), the Pornstache, the Walrus. It is your nose undergrowth, you decide. But for one day, May 5, you wear a mustache.
4. And remember, a mustache is an island. By connecting, you only cheat yourself.

The time is now! Relish your flavor savor. Conquer your mouth brow. Let your lip-mane ride free. Feed your face manimal.

It’s time to shed the shackles of the naked upper lip and tell the world “I am Man”. Put on your magnificent lip warmer friend, and join Cinco de Mustache!

Toss the razors and damn the wives. This is our DESTINY!

Good luck friends. Growing season starts Thursday.



A trip down man-mory lane - Cinco de Mustache 2009

Bye Bye Dude

Quick Cal Update...

The little fat man finally figured it out. After 14 months of immobility and 5 months of raw knees, he finally is up and waddling around on his own two feet. He cracks me up when he walks. It’s like watching a balloon animal wobble around the house. Besides walking he is also talking. It’s only been 5-months since we activated his cochlear implant and he is already saying about 10 words. It has been really fun to watch him learn to use his voice.

Walking and talking. The little dude is growing up…

Work-ation

Took a little trip to Florida for work. And for those that say “Lucky, you got to go to Florida! I spent exactly 40 minutes outside of the hotel over the span 4 days. It was grueling and I am exhausted. So no. Not lucky me.

But there were some bright spots. I did get to drive an Audi R8. And for those that don’t know what that is; open another browser. No seriously, stop reading this and Google Audi R8 – I’ll wait...

How sexy is that car? Anyway, neither here nor there.

The one thing I do love about traveling though is the music. I don’t know what people did before ipods, but I pity them. What is better than cruising at 35,000 ft. rediscovering some lost gems in a random playlist somewhere. Do you remember how good Lightening Crashes (Live) is? What about some old Tom Petty? I don’t think I’ll ever reach enlightenment, but if I do it will be listening to the Eels at 6 ½ miles above the surface of the earth.

STEVE RECOMMENDS: Artists perfect for when you are at cruising speed: Anything by the Eels, Weepies, and for good measure throw in a classic like the Garden State soundtrack. You won’t be disappointed.

…and Delta? For hells sake just throw the baggage fee on my ticket price. This is getting ridiculous.

A Rather Belated Christmas...

Londyn - Christmas morning

Cal & Lou - Christmas Day

Steve & Beav - still going strong

Cal climbing...as usual

These will be the good ol' days.

May Your Days be Merry & Bright

The Rant of an Old Man

I got cut off on the way to work this morning. The slam on your brakes, spill your contained beverage on your work khakis, cut off. And do you know what I did? Nothing. Notta. Zip. In fact, I wasn’t even that upset. I began the why process and came to one conclusion. Age. It’s not that I don’t have the youthful energy to flip someone the legendary long Perkins eff-you finger anymore - it’s that age has changed me. So here’s my theory. As we age, we change. Some good, some bad – but like it or not, it happens. Turns out at 28 years and 11 months, I am now officially too old for road rage. Take MTV for example. For years I watched MTV. And sometime in the last 5 years, I’ve stopped. MTV didn’t change, I did. It’s not that I am outraged or disgusted by the content, I just don’t get it anymore.

And when I hear popular music, I wonder how kids relate to it. To kids across America, is Killers to you what Weezer was to me? Is your Kanye my Snoop? Nickelback my Nirvana ? Your Jonas Brothers my Hansen?( …I’m kidding. Seriously, I was kidding about Hansen. I never listened to Hansen. SHUT YOUR FACE! EVERYBODY LOVED MMM.. BOPP!) But I digress.

Then there is my liberalism. Oh to go back to the days of when things were black and white. Black and white is so much easier than gray. But the older I get I figure life is hard enough without being rigid in my judgments. I’ve gone as far as liberalizing myself out of a religion. (insert awkward laugh here)

Maybe it’s being a month away from the big 2-Niner. Maybe you’ll read this and think me a rambling fool. But you can’t spell change without age. (I just made that up. Right here – on the spot. Honest truth, just as I typed it, I made it up.)

On to the point! The point is…oh forget it. I’m getting too old for this.

Dear Santa...

Actually, this is Londyn's letter to Santa this year. Londyn talked and Brynn wrote.

Dear Santa,

You’re the coolest guy. You give presents. I want a unicorn, princess castle and princesses. Actually, I want Hungry Hippo. I think I need another present. Actually, I want my own tape. I want a new shirt that is actually green, so that I can where it to pre-school tomorrow. Bye- Bye and I love you.

Sincerely,

Londyn Perkins

The Perkins Get A Puppy

I have never owned a dog. It’s not that I hate dogs or don’t think puppies are cute. I just am not a dog owner. So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself a proud owner of a 15-month old, 25 lb., bald little puppy dog. He is a happy little puppy. He does everything a little puppy is supposed to do. He loves finding an open bathroom door so he can paw at the toilet paper and play in the toilet. He eats any and every scrap of food we give him at the dinner table. And after dinner, he scours the floor for leftovers. He is constantly barking, and whines when he doesn’t get to go outside. He’ll fetch anything and bring it back dripping with slobber. He follows Londyn around the house at the slim chance she will stop what she is doing and play. To be honest, I just never thought I would own a puppy, but Calan has changed that. Cal is the best dog in the whole world.