Maxwell Photos

Tractor Pull

Sarah and I decided that we had one more activity to do before completing the middle America trifecta of hick motor sports. We had already been to the demolition derby and the monster truck rally, so all that was left was the tractor pull.

It was actually a bit louder than we anticipated. Max cried with the very first race. Max's parents were even plugging their ears because it hurt so bad. Sarah took the baby to the back of the bleachers, but the sound was still too loud, so she walked outside the venue for most of the runs.

I didn't know what to expect before coming. When I thought of a tractor pull, I envisioned a competition of local boys pulling a rope tied onto a tractor and seeing which group could pull it the farthest. Boy, was I wrong. The tractor isn't even pulled, but is the pullER. I guess it shows we're city folk.

A Yankees Rip-off

We spent the weekend in New York with Mom, Dad, and Kevin for his high school graduation trip to see the Yankees. All the tickets to the game for purchase on the internet were more than $100. My Dad, being the true Meacham that he is, refused to pay such a price for tickets, and decided that we should risk flying to New York without tickets and try to get them from scalpers before gametime for a cheaper price.

We knew that there were criminals scalping fake tickets. In fact, posted all around the stadium were signs that say: "Beware scalpers selling counterfeit tickets." We met a guy outside the stadium that was selling tickets. We asked him if he had 5 tickets for the next day's game and he pulled out some tickets from his coat pocket to show us. We were kind of skeptical that he was legit, but he told us he had been doing this business for 13 years. He pulled out a wad of cash that must have included 50 twenty dollar bills to prove to us that he had been doing business with many others.

My thought was that either he was for real or else he was ripping a lot of people off. We asked him if he would go up to the ticket office with us so that we could verify the tickets' legitimacy, but he declined by saying that even legit scalpers get hammered with a $200 fine for selling tickets within 1500 feet of the stadium, so he didn't want to be discovered. He was selling them for $50 instead of the face value of $65. My Dad and I deliberated a little more, but when he showed us that the seats were between home plate and the Yankees dugout just a few rows up, we decided that these tickets were too good to pass up. We bought 5 tickets for $250.

After buying the tickets, my dad marched right on over to the ticket office to ask for their verification. The man behind the counter looked at the tickets and said, "I'm sorry, these are fake." We were shocked, angered, betrayed, saddened, and a bit embarrassed for falling for a scam artist. We tried finding that guy, but of course he had walked away right after our transaction. My Dad called the scammer's cell phone number (which he had given us as "proof" that he was legit) and left a message on the voice mail that unless this guy called us back in one hour, we would call the police (which we never did).

Looking back, there were signs that should have tipped us off that this guy was bogus. The posted signs, the fact that he was selling them before gameday, that he wouldn't verify with us at the ticket office, that his ticket price was too good to be true--all these things pointed toward the conclusion that we were too obstinate to see. Afterwards it made me reflect on the signs of the Second Coming; I hope I'm not equally obstinate with those signs. And just like we were rejected at the gate to enter Yankee Stadium with our fake tickets, we will likewise not gain passage through the heavenly gates if we are not prepared and haven't given heed to the signs of the times.

ps--we had to buy another five tickets to finally get into the game.

On the Links

It's too bad that my parents didn't start giving me golf lessons when I was 2 years old because for sure I would have ended up like Tiger due to my insanely uncanny abilities. Um..yeah!?! Actually, I don't think there are any golf skills in my genes.

The OSU golf course was rated the #1 collegiate golf course in America, so Dad and I thought we'd give it a try. Since I'm a student I got to golf for only $18 on a course that was definitely the most groomed and scenic that either of us had ever played.

Our favorite hole was #10 where we both had memorable shots, and serendipitously it was the only hole where we took out the camera. We were kind of nervous hitting off the tee and having to make it over the lake because both of us had skipped many previous shots, the kind that rocket off at 100+mph about 3 inches above the ground.

Dad shot first. I tried to take the picture mid stroke, but because of the camera's delay I was late. But it turned out to be a good thing. Circled in red is the area that I have enlarged for your viewing pleasure. Yes, Dad nailed that poor duck. It squawked and flapped its wings, perhaps grateful that he didn't die yet annoyed that we hadn't called 'fore.'

Determined not to lose my ball in the lake like Dad, I swung as hard as I could. Unfortunately, I hit one of those skipper shots, but fortunately this one skipped through the water and up onto the fairway.

It was a time of good laughs and light sunburns. Oh, what a sport.

Zucchini Festival

Like some of our other activities in Ohio, the Zucchini Festival will be most remembered for all of the hicks that we saw. I call them "hicks" for lack of a more politically-correct descriptor.

According to wikipedia, to call someone white trash is to accuse a white person of being economically, educationally and/or culturally bankrupt. White trash should be differentiated from the more socially acceptable term Redneck.

My favorite "redneck" moment was not the pony turn. It was not the zucchini fudge. It was not the fried snickers bar (pictured). It was the mouse run (unfortunately, not pictured). Inside a large booth was a round spinning table that had holes numbered 1-100 along the perimeter. The booth workers would hold a mouse (named Sparky) above the table and then drop it. Whatever hole the mouse ran into for cover was the hole that won. The cost to play the game was 25 cents. If you had placed your quarter onto the correct hole number then you would win a larged stuffed animal. I placed quarters on numbers 65 and 61, but alas, victory was not for me.

My First Sunday, by Max

Hi everybody. This is Max. I wanted to tell you how rough my first day at church was. It started out all right. I loved my littled ducky outfit that one of Mommy's neighbors gave me.

But then I got a little bit nervous about being adored and passed around by all those
people at church. Just the thought of it made me a bit queasy...so I threw up.

Really I had no reason to be nervous. Everyone at church said I looked adorable. And they all talked about how Mommy didn't look like she had just brought me here 2 weeks ago.

I didn't like Sunday School too much. I fussed my way out of that meeting and got myself into the much more comfy mother's lounge. My mom was so good at making me comfortable that I relaxed a little bit too much and spit up down her shirt and tinkled through my diaper, through the blanket, and down Mommy's skirt.

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Mommy and I left church right away and for some reason when we got home, Mommy wasn't anxious to put new clothes on me. So I just chilled in my stylish garbage collectors.

But I soon found a softer blanket and I decided to take a nap.


I love my naps. They make me happy. I have happy dreams.



In fact, sleeping time is some of my best thinking time.


Maybe I should think about how to behave better next Sunday.

Max at 1 week

Here is some video of Max. It's amazing how much you long a little newborn can hold your attention. Sometimes we will lay next to him and just look at him as he makes countless facial expressions in his sleep, which range from looking like he's in excruciating pain from a circumcision to smiling as if he's in a warm uterus. Do you think babies dream? If so, did they dream in utero? If so, where do they get the ideas of which they dream because they have yet to process any visual pictures? Do their dreams then consist only of sounds that they've heard before? I guess these are pointless questions, but ones that we've thought about over the last week.

Max has decided that he likes to sleep all throughout the day and have little interaction with his parents. However, he does like to wake up from 10pm-2am and doesn't seem to understand that we want as little interaction with him at that point as possible.

He is a cutie, though. It's amazing how fast the bonds start to build between parent and child.