Week 107: Aqua King

"Boudreaux! Boudreaux! Machine Number 6 is broken again!"

I look up from the couch. I'm tired. Seriously.

"Not now, guys," I mumble.

"No, no, talk like Boudreaux! Come on Daddy, be Boudreaux!"

My youngest kids, ages 5 and 3, are both shouting over each other about Boudreaux and Machine Number 6. They are jumping up and down with excitement. Literally. Feet above the carpet jumping.

I realize they will not stop until I play and will simply continue to call me Boudreaux, and while my heart isn't in it, I start using the accent, an abomination between  fake French and video-game character Mario.

"Oh, no, Machine 6, eet is such a piece of junk, maybe Boudreaux should buy a new one, eh? What do you think? Ees it worth a fixing, or should we shop for new machine?"

"Boudreaux, I called in the fix-it man," says the five year old seriously. "He says he's fixed it right this time so it won't break again."

"Okay, I trust you, my friend, but eef Machine 6 breaks one more time, we reely need to get rid of it -- so many problems, no?"

And on it goes.

Who is Boudreaux?

There is a diaper rash cream called Boudreaux's Butt Paste, and once when the youngest had a painful rash I created the Boudreaux character to distract him -- my son and I called out "Boudreaux! Boudreaux!" to get his help.

From those beginnings, Boudreaux as a character developed and the mythos became more solid. My sons work in the Butt Paste factory fulfilling orders, fixing machines and running the lines. We have two truck drivers, hot-headed Tony and Christine. There have been two diabolical owners of the plant, Franco, who went on to open a different factory and who once got into it with Tony, and now Bob. 

Believe it or not, the game has none of the potty humor you would expect from something called Butt Paste, but instead takes the stance of making a beloved product that both kids proudly stand behind.

Man, it's a weird game, all the more so because it has become so detailed and consistent. 

Sometimes I think I'm actually working in the Butt Paste factory.

And as jobs go, I suppose this is one of the best.

An actual letter from my son to Beaudreux -- I gave him the wrong spelling
by accident. You'd think a successful businessman such as me would remember
how to spell his own name, but
Beuadreaux, he has no time for spelling names when he has
a factory of Butt Paste to run!  Even Beaudreux, he makes mistakes.
That is life, no?

I snapped the photo of the awesome bottle truck from Matchbox, part of their 2012 City collection. As much as I wanted, I was unable to find a Butt Paste truck, but this will be close enough.

Week 106: BMW M3 GT2

This week's Hot Wheels, a performance racer BMW M3, is dedicated to the high performance talking that goes on between my five-year-old (A), and three-year-old (G). Performance, with many, many laps.

The two of them can talk and talk, cracking themselves up with running jokes only they understand, such as discussing their "ugly sidekick" -- Hey, hey, my ugly sidekick looks like a trashcan, followed by, Hey, listen, hey, I got a good one, mine ugly side kick looks like a tennis racket! This back and forth ugly sidekick discussion easily went on for fifteen minutes.

Many of the times I tune out their talk so it becomes a buzz in the background, especially when it turns to imaginary video games they are playing, but sometimes I can't help but listen for the sheer, at least apparent, randomness and strangeness.

Here are only a few examples:


At breakfast:

G: What if I had a pet elephant?

A: The he would step on you and you would become flat.

G: No, I would not become flat because he is outside and I am inside, so he couldn't step on me. He is outside.

A: Well, when you go outside, he could step on you and squish you.

G: Well, I don't have a pet elephant. Sorwee.

 Heard from the back seat while driving past a grave yard:

G: Are there skelwetons and ghosts in there?

A: No, G--, there's no such thing as skeletons.

G: Yes, there are. There are too such things as skelwetons and ghosts.

A: Okay, that's true. There are skeletons and ghosts. But they don't live in Ohio.

Heard during a heated discussion in the living room:

A: No, Poop Guy can't fly.

G: Yes he can. Poop Guy CAN fly!  (I can't type the rest of this conversation about superhero Poop Guy. I just can't.)

It can even be educational:

G:  I think I would like to float.

A: (said with a very authoritative tone) Well, it's like this, G--. We don't float because there's this thing called gravity. If you're on a planet, than gravity pulls you down, so you have to go to outer space to get away from gravity so you can float, so you'd probably have to go in a space ship, but don't go near the sun, because you'll melt. Really. You'll melt.

G: I don't want to melt.

A. Me neither.

 I didn't think he was listening when we talked about gravity!

Yes, their conversations can at times be like sleep-inducing white noise to adults, but they can also be exceptionally fun -- but I never did find out if Poop Guy really can fly or not.

Photo of the Mattel Hot Wheels BMW snapped by me -- look for Phil to be back next week.

Week 105: Goodyear Blimp

The above 1991 Hot Wheels Goodyear blimp was pulled from its original packaging to commemorate the second annual Daddy's Tiny Cars Race, which took place in my living room this past Friday. The tiny blimp didn't actually look fly above the race, but covered the event in a symbolic, Hot Wheelsy kind of pretend way. I could feel the presence of the imaginary film crew.

Participation increased this year to: myself; my kids: Racer A, Racer Z, and Baby G; my wife Rochelle; Tiny Cars photographer Phil; a friend of Z's, whom we will call the Mysterious Racer M, and my friend Les, who didn't race, but took on the role of track engineer and trouble shooter.

That's a lot of racing, and it felt like the below picture:

... a blur.

I structured this year's race as a single qualifying round and one final placement round. A grid on a clipboard allowed me to track that each racer challenged every other racer one time -- any more and the race would have taken too long and run the risk of pushing three-year-old Baby G into cranky overtime. Cranky overtime is very expensive.

Even as structured, the race spanned a few hours, but enthusiasm was maintained.

Les prepares for a race off between the Mysterious Racer M and
G, who appears to be cheering on the couch. Race is over here, G!

Each adult was permitted a single car, while kids could rotate out three cars so if they had a dud they could try another. This year saw a number of Hot Wheels novelty cars: a Scorpedo scorpion car, Vampyra, a bat/dragon type car, Sand Stinger, a racer all terrain vehicle, and even a 2011 Deora, which, if you don't know is a Hot Wheels classic with a big flat area that holds two surf boards. The removable orange surf boards were lost, but perhaps that was a strategy by G to make it faster.

Car selection is serious business. Make sure you have a doily.

To keep things balanced, I staggered the races so every few times a kid was up -- I didn't want all of one kid's races to be too close together so that he finished early and got bored or raced last and got bored early. There is no room for boredom in a Daddy's Tiny Cars race.

See? No boredom.

Making the event even more lively, the race paired up as a birthday celebration for Phil, so there was plenty of cake=sugar, kicking in the Nitro burners of Racer A and G.

The qualifying race took the top four onto the ranking round. I had a solid win for first (driving the '67 Camaro from Week 100), a tie-breaker for second resulted in Racer Z taking second and Phil, driving a dramatic red Hot Wheels Ferrari 360 Modena, third. A clerical mix-up left some doubt between the final qualifying spot being either Racer A or Rochelle, but ultimately A went on to the finals (wink, wink).

The finals, however, saw everything flipped, and in a surprise comeback from almost not even qualifying, Racer A took the blue ribbon!

Racer A and blue ribbon. Notice me and my clipboard.
A clipboard signifies proves I'm official.

I came in second, not too shabby considering the trouncing I took last year. In third was Racer Z, and in an unexpected upset, Phil, an early favorite to win, took Runner Up position, to be robbed of his chance at taking home a blue paper ribbon and instead taking home the less coveted green paper ribbon.

Racer Z and his third place ribbon. Pay attention to the ribbon,
not my hat.

Other awards besides the winner's circle were also presented, such as:

Youngest Racer:

Coolest Racer:

                                          And even a Super Slo-Mo award:

Other awards were given for :

Best Sport: Racer A

Happiest Racer: G

Biggest Crash: Racer Z

Interestingly, Racer A scored most of his wins not with a new, out of the package car, but with the below 1995 Hot Wheels Power Rocket, pulled from a giant toy box pile of Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars and of unknown origin. If you have kids with piles of cars, you'll understand. Cars just seem to show up there from who knows where.

The race was a success, and everyone had a great time. I've learned to catalog the participating cars and get a picture prior to the race, as some of the cars from this year have since returned to the car pile. We may never truly know all the models of cars that raced in 2012, but that's okay. In addition to excitement, the annual Daddy's Tiny Cars Race also provides mystery.

Additionally, track engineer Les and I are working on plans for an improved track. While I might like to see a four- or more lane track next year, I'm not sure about the logistics of scoring. Also, it would put more pressure on paying attention to the finish line, but with four tracks, we could squeeze in a lot more races! We'll see. Mattel, are you interested in a sponsorship?

Thanks to everyone not only present at the races but absent and virtual for supporting this blog diary into its third year. You all deserve a paper ribbon and a place on my clipboard.

Photo of my tiny Goodyear blimp provided by Phil Pekarcik, seen above with his green ribbon.

Week 104: 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood

Week 104, two baskets of 52 weeks, a two-year economy pack of tiny car blogging.

Bring out the fancy dinnerware, or at least the fancy cars -- I've rolled out the above beauty in turquoise, part of the re-releases that Matchbox does of the Lesney productions. The above car came in a box, y'all, like a gourmet chocolate, and I'm enjoying its tasty lines, because this is the end of two years of tiny car blogging.

I'm taking the day off from blogging about anything substantial on this blog -- care to join me? Go ahead, let the phone ring, put your feet up on your desk, tell the kids to heat up a Hot Pocket, and if they're thirsty, tell them they know where the sink is, and go play with your cars.

I'll see everyone next week for the exciting results of the Second Annual Daddy's Tiny Cars race.

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Photo courtesy of Phil Pekarcik, who believes his Hot Wheels will take the trophy in the upcoming race. We shall see. We also shall see if there will actually be a trophy.