Before the Wii, it was just we

In a tribute to times gone by, Lake and I camped out in Grammie and Pop's sun room for a tournament while in Dallas this past weekend. Some of my friends play tennis, some pool, and some card games. The only kind of tournament allowed at the Martino household includes none of those activities. Let me take you on a ride in my delorian with it's flux capacitor. How about an early 90's flashback to the old standby of Dr. Mario? Ah yes, the original Nintendo game. While Duck Hunt was my original favorite, the chuckling dog starts to get on your nerves after awhile and I think PETA banned the game eventually. If they didn't, they probably should have.

Grammie and Pops bought the Nintendo, I assume, in an effort to keep up with the times and show the grandkids how "hip" they were. And they really were hip as Pops would practice while we were in school and when we visited on holidays, he would kick our trash! There is nothing more degrading than losing a video game to your grandpa. For you young ones out there, Nintendo was the first really big game console. and even our parents didn't know how to play them, so props to Pops (we should so make that a slogan!!) for learning it! The only predecessor was Atari and you can only play pong for so long. As a side note, before video game consoles, you had to play on your computer and who remembers Frogger?!?!?

Come to think of it, I don't ever remember us not having some kind of video game. I remember when we had an IBM that had a black screen with green type and a printer with paper that had green and white lines on it...any who, Dad got us this plastic keyboard that you plugged in and could play Muppet games on. Good times. Then there was good old Mavis Beacon typing game who taught me to type. Not the most fun game, but effective nonetheless. I guess in a way, I owe this blog to ole Mavis.

Okay, back to Dr. Mario. If you are so young you have never heard of Dr. Mario, I'm sorry for you. This is possibly the best game ever. Not only do you have to manipulate your pharmacy choices (could this be the stem for all the prescription drug abuse these days?), but you have to kill germs. This alone can get boring. The best option is the 2-player option. You race against each other to kill all your germs first. (Perhaps the stem for my germophobia?) But the single best part of the 2-player game is that if you kill more than one germ at a time, your opponent gets "rained" on with random pills he doesn't need. As it "rains" it plays this annoying little tune that I only wish I could convey over a blog. But I can't. Use your imagination, I know it's in there.

So during our tournament, I quickly remember why I NEVER play against Lake...he always wins! And I would like to point out here as a side note, and a bit of a jab towards Lake, that we only ever owned one video game he couldn't beat. Yep, just one. And it was the only game that was mine. Neither of us could ever get past the second level. What is this intriguingly difficult game, you ask? It is none other than Barbie. Yes, Barbie. We figured out how to dodge all the flying shoes and hats in the stores, but we never could get across all the mall fountains without dying. Sigh. Now you understand why I consider the mall a workout. Okay, sorry Lake (not really), but back to my story.

I realize quickly I am not going to clear my germs faster than him, so I decide to take a different tactic. I wonder if this is how our political leaders plan war...? If I can't beat him, then I'll just torture him. To my advantage, he forgot about the dreaded drug rain. Mwuahahahaha! I finally got him with a really great rain and he jerks out of his chair, jumps in the air, and screams with no intonation, "You just da da da danted me!"

I will never figure out how to play Dance Dance Revolution or Guitar Hero, and even Wii can't improve my tennis score, but I will always be the evil scientist in Dr. Mario who poison's your pharmacy. Da da da danted that Lake!!!!
p.s. I love you!!!!!!!

Driving Miss Deya

I've been reading all my old postings and in order to dispute a certain rumor (I am only funny when I'm sick), I felt the need to write something. I'm going to share a story about a friend. We will call her Jane. No, it is not really me, you'll see why and if you are reading this and your name really is Jane, I'm sorry I used your name and it's nice to meet you since I really don't know anyone named Jane. All disclaimers out of the way now? Oh wait, "Jane" I am sorry, but it had to be done and as good of a friend as you are, I don't think you read this anyway. Guess we'll see...mwuhahaha (is that how you would phonetically spell an evil laugh?!?)

As I mentioned before, Chris' car went to the shop to get a little work done. Let's start with a shout out for extended warranties! Woo Hoo!!!!!!! So, I'm talking to Jane about the CRV's little excursion to the dentist and she asks me a funny question: "Do you know how often you are supposed to change your windshield wipers?"
Immediately I ask Chris, my friendly in-home mechanic, who answers: "every 6 months." (you didn't know that either, did you?)
"Ok, I didn't know that!"
"So, what's the big deal? When did you change them last?"
"I didn't know you were supposed to change them!"
"You've never changed them....ever?!?!"
" (in a timid almost whimpering voice..) No."
"So, the whole time you've had the car, you've never changed them?!?! (Even I know you have to do it when it quits wiping the rain off the windshield. otherwise, what's the point?) When did you get your car then?"
"Um...2004?"

Ladies, this is why men make fun of women drivers. Men, we get it, don't say it, just smile and nod. In Jane's defense, I had to share with her a story exhibiting my own ignorance in car maintenance which I know my father will never forget and Lake, if this happened on your mission...sorry about your car. :)

To start out with, let me say that I got 100% on my written driver's ed exam. 100 freaking percent. The actual driving test, we won't discuss, but I still claim it's not my fault I didn't want to hit the squirrel and that I was emotionally traumatized for the rest of the test. In high school Lake and I shared a 1988 white hard-top Jeep Wrangler. The key word for this story is '88. If you are currently driving an '88 automobile, props to you for keeping it running this long as we are all about to learn that I couldn't have accomplished such a feat. So I am driving along, taking some stupid short cut by the train yards in the not-so-friendly part of town and smoke starts coming out of the engine. I am smart enough to know this is not good, so I pull over. As a pull over there is an exploding sound right before the engine dies. Not good. Let me just clarify that this was a time before cell phones. Yes, try and think hard, there was a time before cell phones. So I analyze the situation and try and figure out my best options. There are no other drivers on the road, period. One side of the road is a cliff-shaped lava rock wall. The other side is a cemetery. Yes, a graveyard. If only this happened in the night time, I could have made a fortune on my cheesy horror flick story rights. Behind me, I passed the train yards. Not wanting to get picked up by a scary vagabond (if you are reading this and have ever at any point in your life been a vagabond, I am not slamming you, I have great respect for what you did, I just know I am a weakling and could not live the life you led) I decide to walk forward. Eventually in the distance, I spot this creepy dirty diner next to an abandoned gas station. Think Corner Gas in Hell. So I venture into the diner. There is not a house phone that I may use (which I still think was a lie), but there is a pay phone. That would be great if I had any coins. A nice truck-driver man took pity on me and tossed me a quarter. After a short and panicked conversation with my dad, he agrees to come pick me up. I walked back to the car as I sadly felt safer there, next to the decomposing bodies than in the diner. Once Dad shows up, not less than angry, we had this conversation:
"Deya! You are out of oil! Why didn't you change it!?!?!"
"The light didn't come on."
"The what?!?!"
"The light on the dashboard that tells me to change my oil never came on."
"...(slight reddening of the face and glaring of the eyes)...."
"That's what I learned in Driver's Ed. The light will come on when you need to change the oil, and it didn't come on yet. So how was I supposed to know when to change the oil?"
"...(at this point I can tell he is trying to talk himself out of strangling me)..Well, Deya, how many miles have you driven since your last oil change?"
"Um, last..oil change....? The light never came on, Daddy."
Despite what Lake thinks, there are a few times when I cannot get away with murder by wrapping my arms around Dad's neck and saying, "Daddy, I love you!" Costing him a new engine in the Jeep would be one of those times.