Love means never having to say you're sorry. However, it is with sincere regret that I must now kill all of you.

If anyone had told me what percentage of my day would be spent listening to the irrational and piercing cry of one Hellboy I'd have laughed and told them there weren't 28 hours in a day. I'd have been wrong, of course, but the fact remains that no one can ever truly prepare you for the hell that is an infant.

Wrap all of the worst characteristics of your average person into the miniature body of a human. Remove all reason from said sack of loud and unleash it on two people who feel immeasurable quilt at every cry that comes from sack. Add in Geneva-Convention-violating amounts of sleep deprivation. That, my friends, that is having a child.

Notice that diapers made no appearance in that list of horrors? Know why? Because only an idiot thinks that changing diapers is the worst of having an infant in the house. The diaper changing is easy. It has a beginning, middle, and end (pun fully intended). There's a reason behind (ahem) it, some semblance of logic: food goes in, poop comes out, diaper is changed and disposed of, new diaper applied. Would you like the undercoating with that, sir? Perhaps and extended warranty? No? Well then, good day, sir. It makes sense, as a man, the changing of diapers. The screaming, the piercing, incessant, mindless screaming, that does not make sense and that you cannot stop it does not make sense.

Couldn't make them sing, eh, Life?

The only off button is the breast milk but you don't have breast milk. You have breasts and useless nipples and a screaming mound of suck. Why on earth don't men produce breast milk? How hard could that have been, eh, Life? It's further proof that there is no God for if there were Men would have fucking milk producing breasts for those occasions when the little bundle of joy won't shut the fuck up.

Cruel joke, Life.

If anyone tells you that having children is a blessing or the greatest thing you can do with your life or anything else flowery or romantic or ridiculous please run away from them. They are either liars, idiots, or grandparents seeking to ruin your life the way you ruined theirs. Yes, children are amazing but mostly when they are someone else's and don't live at your quite, orderly, clean house. Or they're old enough to walk, talk, and wipe their own asses. This whole infant thing is a horrible blight. How in the hell did we ever make it out of the trees with these little bastards constantly alerting every predator for a mile around that hey, tasty helpless meat right here! Come and get your fresh hominid! Bicameral mind be damned, we're louder than hell and easy to catch!

Stunning, Life.

Hellboy. The very moment you're ready to call it quits the little bastard smiles, drools, and does his new dog trick of rolling over several times. He'll finish with some baby gibberish and all of a sudden you love him. You love him and want to hold him forever and teach him how to track game, shoot a gun, light a fire, drive stick, surf, take a photo, catch a ball, skateboard, read, drink wine, and smoke cigars. You want very desperately for him not to ever get hurt but you know it'll happen and it'll be fine but still...

Nice, Life. Worked in a little safety valve, did ya?

It's all so very much to take in and it comes in such a rush. If anyone had actually told me what it was going to be like it might have been easier but I suppose nothing worth doing is ever really easy.

Peace out, bitches!

His idea of great R&R was cold rice and a little rat meat. He had only two ways home: death, or victory.

Or spending your free time with your baby boy. That's not death, that's victory. Fuck Hollywood.

It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage.

I had an epiphany the other day while holding my two week old son. It occurred to me suddenly that I might not live long enough to see my son turn the same age I am now, which is 40. I suppose this kind of thought crosses everyone's mind when they're forty. Reflecting on one's life is what you do at forty, right? I came to the conclusion that I've got one overriding regret now.

After all of the lying, cheating, stealing, drug abuse, cowardice, fear, and assorted bullshit my one and only regret is that I didn't have my son earlier in life. Perhaps his existence would have helped me avoid the legion of mistakes I've made in my life. Perhaps not. I suppose I'll never know about that aspect of the whole thing but I do know I wish I we're younger right now. Younger so that I'd have a better shot at being around for everything.

I'm happy that I'm not as much of a dumb-ass as I've been for much of my life. I think I'll be a better father for not being younger but again, one never knows. Suffice it to say I'm truly excited to be a father to both Number 1 and Hellboy and a husband to Stretch. We'll see how it all goes won't we?

Peace out, bitches!

Lawzy, we got to have a doctor. I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies.

Think of it as a movie.

Peace out, bitches!

You had the wrong kind? I've never had the wrong kind, ever. My worst one was right on the money.

I woke up today completely bummed out that Hellboy ain't been a'birth'd yet. Then I did some yoga and felt at peace with Hellboy not being born yet. Then I drove through traffic to get to work and was glad Hellboy wasn't born yet so it didn't have to sit in traffic. Then I worked on an interview with Shepard Fairey and was bummed that Hellboy wasn't there to meet one of my favorite artists but at least it didn't have to watch the wretched director act like a spoiled cunt. Then I drove home through traffic with a headache because I had forgotten to eat all day and realized Hellboy was pretty lucky to get all of its food through a fucking tube, automatically. Then I got home, with a headache and needing desperately to pee, and saw that The Kid had made a million red velvet cupcakes and cleaned up after herself and I was happy that Hellboy would have such a cool sister.

Oh, and I shot this on the way home because in spite of desperately needing to pee and having a major headache I thought it was funny.

Peace out, bitches!

Just like the guys in Thrashin'.

I recently remembered I'm a skate punk from LA, or rather, I remembered the skater part of the equation. I started skating again a few days ago and it's fucking awesome. I totally suck. I don't care. I zipped around the Culver City Skatepark today and tried a bunch of tricks that every kid today, as soon as they step onto a board, learns in a day. It was great. I'm a total kook all over again at 40 and utterly thrilled.

A happy accident occurred as well- I started shooting photos again. I shot photos of the wife yesterday. I shot this today:

I think my six years of anti-productivity can be traced to the decline and death of my skateboarding. Or maybe not. Maybe the two are completely separate and I'm just looking for an excuse to make sense of the fact that I walked away,  hobbled really, from two things I previously thought I couldn't live without.

I don't really care. I'm just happy to be shooting my little art fag bits of light and zipping around on my useless wooden toy. If this is my mid-life crisis then so be it. Definitely beats having an affair with a younger woman (translation: you need someone to boss around) or buying a sports car (translation: outward manifestation of your needing Viagra) and acting like a douche. I'm enough of an asshole already so...

Peace out, bitches!

You're the best time I've ever had.

Here are some photos of my hot-ass pregnant wife.

We're due right now and waiting, waiting, waiting. It's ok, though. The baby is doing great so far and we're aren't completely crazy yet so...

I surfed today and felt a thousand times better than yesterday when I didn't surf and got sort of grumpy. It happens says me Mum. Anywhy, the surf was awesome and I kept thinking about how much I'd like to get the 10 year old to surf this summer while I've got the newborn out in the great Ol' Pacific. A bunch of longboards, some sun, and some mellow waves sound like a fantastic way to spend a day. Future possibilities floating around the mush that is my mind. Floating.

We're due tomorrow, on the record anyway, and we're very calm and quiet right now. I'm planning on doing some yoga in the early morning and then going for a bit of skateboardin' before walking the dog. Then we'll all take a walk. Then we'll have a baby? Floating.

Peace out, bitches!