Destroy all you want, just keep it quiet.

Last week, I won a pair of tickets to a monster truck show at our local expo complex. Now, I know what you’re thinking – I probably don’t strike you as the typical monster truck connoisseur – and you’re right. It’s usually not how I spend my Saturday nights, but I do have a seven-year old boy and if there’s one thing they all love at that age, it’s motorized mayhem.

Or so I thought.

He was pretty excited about it as we headed out there; not just because of the trucks and the destruction they promised, but also because he was going to get to stay up past his usual bedtime. At his age, staying up late is the Holy Grail of achievements. It’s like getting a bowl of ice cream on top of another bowl of ice cream.

Apparently we missed the memo about showing up early for these sort of things. We got there 20 minutes before the show started, but the arena was already packed. After walking around the stands for a few minutes and getting a few wayward glances from folks who obviously mistook me for Paul Giamatti, we were able to find a couple of available seats in the far corner. Unfortunately, that meant we were seated right next to the parked trucks – something which ultimately sealed our evening’s doom.

He had earplugs, but they weren’t enough to drown out the sound of obnoxiously overtorqued engines revving thirty feet away from us. As soon as they fired up the trucks for the introductions, The Boy decided that they were way too loud. About ten minutes later, he had stopped paying attention to what was going on and just buried his head in my jacket in an attempt to shield his delicate little ears from the rumbling audial assault.

They put away the big rigs for a while and let some local yokels trash their homemade Mad Max vehicles. The Boy seemed to enjoy that. They weren’t nearly as loud as the large trucks.

But then they fired up the monster trucks again and it was time to go. The Boy feigned a bathroom emergency that suddenly disappeared once we got out of the stands, which was his way of getting out of harm’s way while still protecting his first-grade manliness.

There were some tears as we left the arena. “Why do they have to be so loud? Nobody likes that. It just hurts your ears. That’s not fun at all.”

I managed to get him to pull it together (mostly) by telling him we could get some ice cream on the way home. Ice cream usually solves most things and this proved to be no exception. One Oreo McFlurry later, he was good to go again.

On the way home, I called my mom because she had texted to ask how the show was going. I told her that we were on our way home already and that I guessed The Boy just didn’t like destruction all that much.

That earned an indignant protest from the back seat – “Why did you say that? I like destruction a lot. I just don’t like loud noises.”

So there you go. If you’re going to destroy things in my son’s presence, please keep the volume at an acceptable level.

Fries at the bottom of the bag

• The Paul Giamatti reference above wasn’t totally random. Some guy told me in the elevator at work today that he thought I was him at first. That was totally random.
• The Boy is already halfway through basketball season, which is totally fine with me. Bring on the baseball already.
• Filed my taxes last night. I love technology. I can’t believe I used to do that with a pencil and paper.
• The Boy had his first grade concert last week. The theme was predictably lame (“Different, but the Same”), but it did feature a performance of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” en Español. The Girl was confused, but impressed.
• Speaking of The Girl, if you need a shopping cart fixed, she’s your go-to gal.
• I have no thoughts on the Super Bowl other than that the 15-second Letterman promo was clearly the best commercial of the evening.
• Why do I love Flickr? Well, among other reasons, because it has a group dedicated to people who take pictures of urinals.
• The new router is continuing to chug along just fine. Thanks for asking.