A letter to my brother Travis Cole about his dating Emma Stone

Dear tall blonde Travis,

So I didn’t want to bring this up but I am afraid I just can’t let it slide. I had a dream last night in which we were in high school and you were dating Emma Stone. You know that she is my celebrity main-squeeze and it is entirely inappropriate that you would even think of dating her. Oh and before you start telling me that this was my dream and you had no control, I am pretty sure there was a study done at some university somewhere that talked about how you can influence your friend’s dreams by little things you say or do. Obviously some passing comment informed my subconscious about your devious intentions with my Emma.


I can’t even look at this without remembering how you two went to that restaurant in that volcano and didn’t even bother to ask me if I wanted to come.

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150 thank you’s to Ty and Jeanie

So I haven’t written much for a week and that’s really more a result of laziness than lack of time. It’s true that we added an additional member to this family with Parker but we also had Tia’s parents in town to help us balance out the chaos and what help they were.

In fact, I would be lying if I didn’t say that Tia’s mom and dad basically ran this place for the last week. They did shopping, cleaning, helping with Simon, Parker, etc. I am not very good with “Thank you’s” in person but I am okay writing them and then sharing them with the world. So that’s what I am going to do. 150 Thank you’s to Ty and Jeanie.
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The story of Parker’s birth

Well let’s talk about how Parker was born and how it was one of the craziest things of my life. But to fully understand the insanity of it, you have to realize that when we had Simon it was one of the easiest, longest and most laid back events of my life. Simon took a whopping 22 hours to be born and during the waiting time for that, Tia got all dooped up before the pain came and I read an entire book. Simon was so set on never coming out that they almost had to do a c-section to get him out. So when we began planning for Parker we had that entire event in mind.

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1986 Green Honda Part 1: Rise of the Bats

My blog has become something of a hub for telling old stories about my childhood but thus far most of these stories have been relatively unknown tales that I am recounting but today that all changes. The story of my 1986 Green Honda is one of my more famous tales and has been told and retold over dinners, at parties and pretty much any time anyone has car trouble. But it has never been written down so today we officially document this tale of woe.

It was like this... only green and haunted.

It was like this… only green and haunted.

Now I’ll be spreading the 1986 Green Honda story over several different posts because it’s a long and elaborate tale and today I just wanted to set the stage a little bit and tell the story of the two bats. Now those who have been reading know about my two friends, Danny and Stephen Barnes. I more or less grew up with these guys and spent a lot of time around them. I consider them both brothers and family and whenever I am in town I make an effort to see them but after you read this story you might wonder how our friendship could endure such trials.

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Three things you can find in Simon’s bed that will remind you of me


It’s 5:30 in the morning. We’re on week three of Simon waking up at this ungodly hour. Tia and I have been taking turns staying up but frankly neither of us is in the best position to deal with it. Tia is literally about to explode with a child and I’m… well I’m tired. It sounds terrible to say but at least Tia can get a nap during the day. Once I wake up at 5:30 there is no going back. I should delete this paragraph because I sound like a tool. Eh, it’s too early to delete.

Usually, Simon has no good reason for getting up this early. Usually, it’s just him laying in bed shouting “Mom” or “Dad” or sometimes even “Thomas”. He’s referring to Thomas the Tank Engine and not Tomas our manservant. We don’t let Tomas deal with Simon, we’ve got our Nanny Marylyn for that. I think her name is Marylyn. So hard to keep track of all the help. But I digress.

So typically he has no good reason for being awake but this morning his reason was justified. All over his pants. You see Simon had the largest diaper I have ever seen. It looked like he didn’t spend anytime sleeping, just a whole night of pooping. It required both Tia and I to get in on clean up duty. I held Simon’s legs to clean him and he was continually apologizing which you know what that leads to. I even told him it’s not his fault to which he began repeating, “my fault”. Yes once again we appeared as abusive parents as Simon whimpered, “I am sorry. My fault.”

So now Simon is all cleaned up and sitting in the living room watching Finding Nemo and Tia and I just got done changing his sheets. I wasn’t joking when I said this was like Poopmagedon. If we had let this sit longer, this poop might have become self aware. But I just did a poop post so this isn’t about poop. I don’t want this to look like a nine year old kid’s blog.

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The one thing I do everyday and how Friday ended up being different

There’s lots of things I do most every weekday but there is one thing that I do that occurs at the same time in the same place in the same way.

My daily poop.

But why am I telling you this? Because today something different happened, something exciting, something (dare I say) beautiful. But let me set the stage.

Everyday, at 12:45 I start feeling the need in my gut to make a trip to the men’s depository. I’ll typically hold out until around 1:30 and then I’ll finally can’t hold back the wave inside me. The reason I hold out at all is because this whole process is a bit of exercise for me.

You see I skip going to the bathroom on my floor. My floor’s bathroom isn’t the most pleasant place. It’s very popular, loud and gross. It’s like trying to go in a club, there’s music (typically classic rock sometimes rap), there’s writing on the stall walls and it’s just very… farty.

So I’ll go there for a pee but anything beyond that I’ll make a trip to the quiet, exclusive 31st floor. The 31st floor is the Carlton Ritz of public restrooms. Most of the 31st floor full of women making the men’s room quiet, clean and a place where a man can gather his thoughts while dropping load.

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Action Packed: The novelization

Growing up the other Travis, Steve and I were aspiring film makers to the umpteenth degree. When we weren’t spending our time planning musical numbers in our dates or working we were making films. Now the biggest issue we had here is that while we loved filming, we never bothered with coming up with a story. We were like Michael Bay without all the special effects.

So a lot of what we filmed lacked any real substance or direction, this often led to us coming up with a very basic premise and mostly shooting scattered scenes around it that we would then either leave unfinished or turn into a trailer with the promise of more to come… though they never did.

That was the story with Action Packed 2: Return of the Badguys. We create a sizzle reel of no-money shots and cut together a trailer that featured a ton of car based action and then nothing. This trailer was all that existed and all that has existed of this amazing, in-depth characters of British Intelligence, Marine Corp and a Ninja.

Take a look for yourself:

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The most depressing Valentine’s Day post you’ll read four days after Valentine’s.

This past Friday was Valentine’s Day and since my wife is 38 weeks heavy with child, her idea of a good time was staying home and eating Chinese food and watching a James Bond movie (this is my idea of a good time every day, so I was cool with it). But prior to our watching of Moonraker (go easy, we’re going chronological here, it couldn’t be avoided) we spent some time playing with Simon before we put him to bed. As I sat there watching Simon excitedly open a Valentine from my Mom, I began thinking about all the heartbreak this poor little guy is going to go through in his life. Right now it’s all about candy and toys but in a few years, he’s going to be liking girls and giving and receiving Valentines and soon enough his little heart will be broken. How do I know this? Because it’s happened to me before him.

Three very memorable times.

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Hell… or the CTA

Let’s play a simple game. I am going to describe 10 situations to you and you’re going to tell me if I am describing Hell or one of the many services of the CTA/Ventra system. For those living outside of Chicago, the CTA/Ventra is the transit authority here in Chicago. They work the buses and trains around the city. All right, let’s get started:

1. It is hot, stuffy, crowded and someone keeps touching your butt. Are you on the CTA or in Hell?

Answer: You’re on the CTA! 

2. You can hear weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Are you on the CTA or in Hell?

Answer: Though these sounds can be heard on the CTA, this is actually describing your time in Hell. The correct answer is Hell. 

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The most intense sport I’ve ever played.

I grew up in a family of sports enthusiasts. Everyone had their thing. My sister and brother played soccer, my step-brothers did baseball and basketball, my step-sister did dance and cheerleading and my younger brother did basketball. Everyone loved to play sports, watch sports, discuss sports.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I KNOW I have a different Dad than the rest of my family, I would swear I am adopted. Because if you’ve spoken with me for a couple minutes or seen me in the elevator, than you know that I don’t really care for sports. I am not coordinated and I get embarrassed easily when I miss or really screw it up for a team.

The sports my parents put me in, usually just ended up benching me for most of the season because I was the kid who ruined the game by missing an important shot or accidentally kicking the ball into the wrong goal or picking flowers for my mom from the soccer field. All true stories. So needless to say, I don’t like sports. But that all changed yesterday.

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