Week 110: 1963 Cadillac Ambulance

This week's tiny car is a strange one, a combination of a 1963 Cadillac Ambulance and a surf buggy. I've featured this same car before back in Week 35, but it was a straight-forward ambulance and not all beach funky.

I've featured this one because I'm going to blog about odd combinations. Forgive me in advance.

Three-year-old G, five-year-old Racer A and myself were on sitting on the couch when G nonchalantly began telling me about an imaginary person, Mr. Maht-Maht, who has a golden chore chart.

The kids have weekly chore charts I print every week, with G's on blue paper and A's on green. Last week, A switched to Purple. Apparently, a golden chore chart is top of the line.

So, Mr. Maht-Maht and his golden chore chart. Here's where things go south.

I've got a golden chore chart, I've got a golden twinkle in my eye. Wait, what the...!!!

In the past I've talked about Racer A's imaginary friends Nickadizzy and Shotts, but Mr. Maht-Maht is something quite different. I had to go tell my wife, who, after laughing, came out to ask G about him. Here's the conversation:

Rochelle: Tell Me about your friend, what's his name, Maht-Maht?

G: He's not my friend. He's just some imaginary guy.

Rochelle: Okay, well tell me about Maht-Maht.

G: MR. Maht-Maht.

Rochelle: Mr. Maht-Maht. Tell me about MR. Maht-Maht.

G: Ummm. He has a golden chore chart.

Rochelle. He does? A golden chore chart? What else.

G: Ummm. I don't know. Let's see. Oh yeah, he's a wiener.

Rochelle: A wiener?

G: (with the tiniest smirk at the corner of his mouth. Yes. He's a weiner. He's growing boobs.

Rochelle: Oh, he's a weiner that's growing boobs. Do you know what boobs are?

G: Oh sure. They're what you got. (G points)

Rochelle: That's right. Anything else?

G: (thinking). Oh yeah. He's got a...a.... (G points to his wrist and looks me.)

Daddy: A watch?

G: YES! A watch. He's got a watch, and when it gets to three, he can turn into a human. But just at three. But he can grow legs if he wants when it's not three. He has a friend, Mr. Cot-Cot. He's human. And a super hero. He has a sword."
---------------------------------

Not even acknowledging all the Freudian, gender-development discomfort of this imaginary guy, I'm not sure I want Mr. Maht-Maht hanging around. There was a cartoon on Cartoon Network called Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.  I don't want to picture Mr. Maht-Maht as a character.

I'm going to go play with Mr. Maht-Maht.
What's so funny? Why is everyone laughing?

OR

Why do we have to wait until 3:00
before we can go swimming with Mr. Maht-Maht?

Okay, the truth is I had no intention of blogging about this one but my wife begged me, so this is fulfilling a rare blogging request.

 I don't think I'm taking requests anymore.

Thanks to Phil Pekarcik for the great pic of the surf Caddy. Sorry it had to be featured with Maht-Maht. I mean MR. Maht-Maht.

Week 109: 2012 Camaro ZL1

We love looking at cars over at Daddy's Tiny Cars, like the hot little Hot Wheels Camaro above -- especially my son Racer A and I. While the rest of the family might not have the same enthusiasm as we do, our combined gusto for cars, old and new, is enough for the whole family, and we would even have some left over enthusiasm for a dog or cat, if we had one.

Today, Racer A and I packed up our car-looking-energy and took it to Rock-N-Roll Capital Street Machines'  Halloween Cruise Appreciation Night in Solon, Ohio. Accompanying us was my wife and son G -- Racer Z had some other things to do so couldn't make it this time.

On the off chance this blog makes its way to anyone at Rock-N-Roll Capital Street Machines, Daddy's Tiny Cars wants to give a big shout out to the great folks over there and this cool event. We all had an excellent time, and the free candy given out made it even better for the kids.

At every car, A was awestruck -- he even loved the look of the old dashboards, and that's without any prompting from me. As we went around and looked at the cars, A wanted me to snap a picture of him in front of some of his favorites, so below is a montage of some of the cars.

Halloween, muscle cars and candy, with beautiful autumn leaves on the trees -- do you really need anything else?

For tonight, I'd say no. I don't need anything else.

Photo of modern day Camaro muscle car courtesy of Phil Pekarcik.

Week 108: 1965 Mustang

RETRACTION!!

For the first time since DTC debuted, I'm going to do something I haven't done before.

I'm going to retract an entry.

Daddy's Tiny Cars is a blog diary, and as such shows the ups and downs of life, but nonetheless, it's also a mission statement of the future and on how I look at life.

I wrote a blog about about the possibility of never owning a restored muscle car, and the more I thought about it, the more that blog bugged me.

One, because the blog in retrospect came off as defeatist.
Two, because the blog lacked any real pizzazz.
Three, because I actually believe I will one day own a restored muscle car.

Seriously, the above Hot Wheels '65 Mustang deserves a more energetic blog. That is not a car for focusing on deficits. That's a car for kicking butt. Even as a tiny die-cast Hot Wheels, it doesn't take any whining. That is a car for action.

In that spirit, I've cut out the parts of the blog I felt were wimpy, and kept the good stuff.

Unfortunately, all I had left after cutting was the opening fragment of a sentence:

My five year old son and I were watching the Barrett-Jackson muscle car auctions on cable the other day, pointing out the cars we liked ...


Okay.

That's much better!


By the way, that awesome staging of that awesome Mustang courtesy of photographer Phil Pekarcik.

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.