You're Really Growing On Me

Thanks to the internet, I can tell you exactly what I was doing on the evening of April 8, 2004. My college roommate and I ditched afternoon classes so we could drive up to the Tabernacle in Atlanta and attend one of the most entertaining concerts of all time. 

The Darkness was a hot new British glam rock band with one album to their name, but oh what an album it was. Among their hit singles on Permission to Land was a song titled “Growing On Me,” a super catchy tune. It also served as a rather honest real life account of lead singer and guitarist Jonathan Hawkins’ troubles with herpes. 

While a raucous crowd sang along with the choral call and response of “You’re really growing on me. Or am I growing on you!?” the zipper on Hawkins’ leather jumpsuit malfunctioned and we were all witness to the tattooed flames emanating from his crotchal region. A Union Jack was swiftly pulled from atop the speakers and stuffed down in the offending area, but we were already rolling in the aisles already with laughter.

I don’t hear Growing on Me often these days. When it does pop up on an old playlist, I’m teleported back to that night in 2004 and crack a smile. But I also still appreciate the age-old philosophical ponderance of the song. Who really is in charge? And when does the parasite become the host?

In April I left a job that served to largely define who I was and had been for over a decade. If my team was getting acquainted with a potential partner or customer, my bosses wouldn’t hesitate to introduce me simply as Chappy (many thought that was actually my first name) and drop a nugget about my involvement since the very early days. I can’t say I minded this. People love a good origin story, and I was proud to be a part of it.

But here we are four months later and that former life is feeling a bit distant. While I’m tempted to say something cliche like “that part of me is missing” I’d be better served to ask “Who am I, really?” If you pull back the superficial egoic layers that have accumulated over time, what is left? Simply put, what ideas do I cling to so tightly that they have started getting in the way of personal growth?    

I lean heavily on consistency and predictability. A well-maintained schedule is my jam. We Chapmans eat dinner at exactly 6pm every night. Why? A long time ago, my wife casually indicated that time sounded good to her. After years of dogged adherence, this evening routine is now ingrained in my bones - to the point where food regularly hits the table at six and zero seconds, even without the aid of a clock.

While you might place such obsessive dedication in the good column, I could share plenty of examples of where this need for comfort and consistency quickly turns unhealthy. A type of madness develops where my mind is constantly yearning for that next warm embrace of familiarity in the day, that little hit of adrenaline when I check another predictable box. I also hardly ever pivot with a positive attitude. Throw a change into my snug little world and you’ll get a look that says “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?”

Bob Goff is an author, lawyer and humanitarian who is one of my favorite personalities. Bob has a few interesting quirks. For instance, he always wears a Boston Red Sox cap (for a friend that died of cancer) and lists his personal phone number publicly so people can call him (I actually did this and had a lovely chat). Another is that every Thursday, Bob chooses something to give up. This could be literally anything - from a personal habit to a project, involvement or business venture.

Why does Bob insist on this constant change? Because he understands the impact that attachment can have. The love and want of material things is a pretty noticeable indiscretion. We can see that impact on our bank accounts, as well as our closets and storage units. But what about the simple ideas that start to trap us over time? I’ve had a bit of fun channeling this mindset - indulging in a bit of self reflection and simply asking why I do pretty much everything. Let’s rip off that band-aid. 

Exhibit 1: So Long, Large Hunk of Meat

Food has always had an outsized presence in my life. I will spend hours a day planning future meals and reliving the delights of dishes past. As much as I love it, though, we’re still talking about “feces in waiting” as a famous Canadian chef put it on Parts Unknown. It’s perfectly OK to celebrate food, but in a measured and intelligent way.

The American plate, like many things in this country, is a bit over the top compared to the rest of the world. I find that to be quite selfish of us, especially since it doesn’t seem to be working for our waistlines. My entire consumptive life has featured a sizable hunk of meat with a little bit of vegetables (usually from a can or fried) thrown in to fill the remaining space. If the rest of the world carried on like this, there wouldn’t be enough dead animals to go around. 

I could continue along, putting this thought in the far reaches of my mindspace, leading my family down an unsustainable (and pretty unhealthy) path of endless chicken tenders and cheeseburgers. Or, I could put on my big boy pants and get to cooking a more comprehensive offering of vegetables, grains, fruits and nuts. Anything coming fresh out of the garden gets priority vs. what our discriminating palates might have historically found on Doordash.

I’m a month into this new routine and it has made a big difference in my overall energy, along with growing our family recipe library. This simple change has reawakened my imagination a bit, while simultaneously helping fuel…

Exhibit 2: Outside Time

Having moved across state lines at the age of 14, I don’t have many people in my current life that understand how different things were for young Chappy. While goobers who haven’t visited Alabama may assume the inverse, I went from a very rural situation to the type of suburbia where they give you floor plans to choose from. For ten years in the tiny town of Senoia, Georgia, my parents would encourage us to get lost in the fifty acres we shared with my Grandmother. There was a pond, trails, wide open fields and all kinds of wildlife. I loved it. 

There are people who take comfort in the hum of city life and proximity to their human neighbors, but it still gets to me occasionally. I’ll pass another huge parking lot with two cars in it and get pissy about how much better that would have been as a park. But this is the same guy who has started to count watching soccer on our screened in porch as “nature time.” I live in fear that Patagonia is going to come for all the stuff I’ve bought and REI will revoke my membership for being a fraud.

It makes sense that so much of our days are spent in the comfort of the indoors. We’ve outsmarted bugs, inhospitable temperatures, rain and such. If comfort is the sole aim, however, we’re on a fast track to Wall-E playing out in real life. 

In an effort to get reacquainted with the out-of-doors, I have been leaving the house in search of trails and hills. I participated in my first legit trail race in over five years this Saturday - a test here in the summer heat of Alabama called Ridge to Blazing Ridge. I got so close to nature during my quiet two hours in the woods that I was digging bits of it out of my shoulder afterward.

It has also helped my sanity to simply walk out the front door and down the street whenever I have a break in the schedule or need a reset moment. Rather than putting exercise and nature in their own little boxes to check, I’m getting reacquainted with the idea that one can simply go outside for fun and get lost in it.

Exhibit 3: Why So Serious?

We had a few whole family beach trips this summer that churned up my childhood nostalgia. I can’t recall exactly when it stopped, but I recall goofing off as much with the adults as I did the kids in our family. We played sports, had rollicking adventures and were constantly on the move. There wasn’t a screen anywhere.

Nobody knows how, but eventually I transitioned from adolescent to adult. All fine and good there, but the shenanigans largely stopped. On our more recent trip, I put the beach beers aside and delved into the activities that I had long since ascribed to the younguns. Boogie boarding is dope, as are scooters, sandcastles, beach bikes and games. Despite the heat and bugs, I successfully drug the entire family outside for an evening croquet match.

As the person who generally does not have a hard and fast obligation with the workweek rolls around, it should be my civic duty to get the party going for everyone else. As a solid first step, I’m now the social chair for our neighborhood organization. They gave me a very respectable budget and plenty of autonomy to get real weird with it.

Exhibit 4: Wabi Sabi

There’s a natural rhythm and flow to life. Though I consider myself a competent percussionist, it seems I often miss the beat because I’m forcing my own tempo. This is why I can’t bear to serve up a 6:30 dinner, go on a spontaneous trip or try out a different hairstyle. I like controlling my own little world. It makes me feel safe and snug living in this illusion that I am in charge.  

This nagging need historically manifests itself in anger when things don’t go my way. My head explodes, leading to worry that needn’t exist in the first place. More than anything, I want to savor the moment for whatever that moment brings. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I want my kids to learn to live that way too. 

It hurts my heart a little when the girls say things like “I can’t wait to be older.” My thoughts were the same at their age and the mentality has never stopped. Here I am at forty, finally realizing each day is a blessing. Meanwhile, I’m walking circles around the kitchen island trying to get my steps in while the girls lounge away watching cartoons. It’s time to break the cycle.

The stories, experiences and growth opportunities are here for the taking. It’s time to shed some compulsive layers - finding freedom in loosening the grip a bit.

Life is never going to be perfect, but it always has a sense of humor. Allow the real you to shine and have a good laugh about it all.

The Scientific Method

Allison takes several extended trips each year, leaving the remaining three of us to goof off in her stead. The girls and I have naturally designated these periods as “daddy daughter fun week.” While I love my wife dearly, I also look forward to this time and the creative test of entertaining my littles. And we make quite the mess. 

One constant on our agenda is the egg drop competition. This elementary school staple was one of my favorites back in the day, as a fun introduction to problem solving and experimentation. You can instantly see it light up their little brains when I spread the materials out, hand them their egg and let them get after it. The problem as of late is that they have mastered the game. Our eggs generally have no reason for concern. 

As a juicy twist for this year’s competition, I declared the winner would be the one with the lightest successful payload. A kitchen scale was produced so they could measure their creations out to the gram and whittle down to only necessary weight. Challenge accepted, but Maggie couldn’t resist adding googly eyes to her vessel, christened Dr Egglestine. 

I couldn’t be more pleased that my children have embraced the scientific mind. With the likes of Mark Rober, Emily’s Wonder Lab, How to Win at Everything and other fairly pure educational programming, they have access to more engaging content than I could have ever dreamed of at that age. They have built robots, learned the basics of coding, studied the microscopic and interstellar alike. I know it’s standard procedure to have little faith in the next generation but unlimited knowledge is at their miniature fingertips. With some halfway decent parental guidance, who knows how far they’ll go.

Being a scientist inherently is an admission that one does not know everything. You start with a hypothesis and through the crucible of testing, measuring and analyzing, arrive at a conclusion that is supported by evidence. The edge of discovery is moving constantly, so there will always be a challenge to what we think we know. As Anthony Bourdain humbly admitted “It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it, how many places I have still to go, how much more there is to learn.”

We are well into summer at this point. “I’m bored” is a phrase that has popped up a few times already, but what I keep reminding our household is that we are constructing our own barriers to fun and growth. Go outside. Look around. We’re spinning around at a thousand miles per hour on a big hunk of spherical rock that just happens to have the perfect atmosphere and temperature for our existence. It’s a miracle you are even on this planet because the odds of you being born are in the neighborhood of one in 400 trillion. The pep talks at Chapman HQ are really strange, I know. 

In the last few weeks, the girls have used scientific rigor to figure out what animal has been sneaking onto our back porch for snacks (red fox), what kitchen items work best to catch fruit flies (bowl, vinegar, saran wrap with small holes in the top) and how to make your own non-Newtonian fluid while creating the biggest mess possible. As I type this, Maggie is on the back porch grinding black pepper on our plants to see if it will mitigate pests organically. This is the kind of stuff that makes my heart sing, even if some deep cleaning follows. I can spout off fun facts until I’m blue in the face and they can ask our myriad devices any question that comes to mind, but the voyage of discovery will always resonate more.

Stay curious, my friends. And don’t forget to keep a pair of googly eyes handy, just in case.

Maggie somehow got ahold of a red fox print to compare. She included her foot for scale.

The Family Motto

(The voice of a small human heard from across the house)

“No, Maggie! Stop! Gimme! It’s mine!”

My youngest is still in her church outfit and we’re already being covetous again. I give my wife the “I’ll take this one” look and project my voice down the hallway.

“Jesus never said Gimme! It’s Mine!”

I thought this life lesson might fall on sympathetic ears. The Sunday school content was still ringing in their little heads. I am no biblical scholar, but felt safe not consulting Google for historical accuracy.

When it comes to helpful texts concerning our particular situation, however, the Bible does have a few glaring omissions. To start, there is a lack of content concerning little Jesus. Surely Mary and Joseph had it easy, but I’d like some examples of a sinless childhood. Would Jesus throw a temper tantrum and accuse his brother James of taking his stuff? We can make assumptions, but can’t be sure now can we?

From my current role as a father, it’s worth pointing out that we also don’t have “Jesus’ Guide to Parenting’ as a handy reference. That sure would clear some things up. “Honor your father and mother” is another great one to yell down the hallway, but the Old Testament is short on notes pertaining to screen time and the Internet.

Everyone has an opinion on the best methods, but we can all agree that parenting is hard. Each day brings a new adventure in this dynamic world we live in. Through the good moments and the bad, I always try to convey in our home that we’re on the same team, and on that note, will say wise things like “Chapmans always clean up after themselves” or “Chapmans don’t pick our butts in public” to instill the proper expectations and consistency for our brand.

Such quotable edicts occasionally proliferate beyond our immediate family. My niece and nephews love to spread the gospel of “Uncle Chappy always says be cool.” Instead of dogging them for lackluster behavior, it’s a lot more fun to ask them if what they are doing fits the definition of being cool. 

While I have been on this earth a good bit longer than these young ones, it is beginning to dawn on me that the management style of casting down life lessons and rigid standards from above is not always resonating. They soak up much more from how their parents act and treat other people. The whole “do as I say and not as I do” line is a lost cause. If you fart at the dinner table, don’t be surprised when your little ladies join in the fun.

While we’re in the trust tree, I have also been noticing tendencies in myself I would rather not pass along to the next generation. There’s this constant impatience with the pace of life and a jaded attitude that frankly sucks. While I plan to diversify our schedule a bit going forward, that unsettled mindset needs a new perspective. I could try to blame my problems on the unabashed consumerism and the attention economy that surrounds us, but maybe my britches have gotten too big for being curious.

And that’s where I return to the children. They have a lot to offer if we simply slow down and pay attention. Kids also say some hilarious stuff if you take a moment to listen. Jesus had plenty of content on why we should all strive to be more like them. A child looks at the world and sees possibility, nuance and a little mystery. Meanwhile, we see bills, bad drivers and weeds that need pulling.

We went through an exercise recently where our Sunday school couples were tasked with coming up with a family motto. Not one to miss a good Game of Thrones reference, I came up with “A Chapman Always Pays Their Debts.”  There were a few laughs from the collective, but let’s admit that would be pretty lame on a coffee mug. 

Upon returning home, we put the girls on the same task of crafting our motto. Libby didn’t even take a breath before yelling out “Unicorns are Real!” We of course thought that was hilarious at the time, but you know what? That’s right where I want to be. Believe that the world has more to offer than our careers, houses, cars and stock portfolios. The moment you turn on that sense of wonder, then the rest of the crap melts away. 

The Idea Phase

My favorite Golden Gate Bridge fun fact is that it takes so long to paint that the team walks right back across to start again as soon as they finish. The job never ends, it simply continues in perpetuity. One conjures up images of Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill each day only for it to wind up back at the bottom again tomorrow. The thought can be ominous if you linger on it for too long, because our lives aren’t so dissimilar.

Wild animals toil endlessly for survival, while we, the vastly superior beings, have eschewed our upright walking in favor of mechanized travel and plenty of other cushy modernities. sFire was cool and all but my Instant Pot has 12 cooking modes. So what then to do with all of the free time that such convenience affords?

What I’m quickly learning is that there will always be a task at hand if you are an impulsive human like myself. The very instant I’ve scrubbed the cars clean, vacuumed the house or mowed the lawn, the world immediately conspires to ruin my efforts. Without cause or direction, I find myself walking endless circles around the house, chasing one nibbling task after another. There’s a misplaced sock on the floor, so I take it to the laundry room and see a bathroom in need of toilet paper on the way. The cats are out of food, our recycling is full, and my mushrooms need another spritzing. So it can go for hours. Is this really healthy, though?

I’m on week three of this new adventure and the time has come for an injection of purpose into the routine tasks. I have a sense of what my weekly responsibilities look like at this point and some notable wife requests have been knocked out. In order to steer this ship in the right direction, here are a slew of goals I’d like all of y’all to hold me to in the coming months:  

Fun Dad Summer

I officially changed my LinkedIn status to “Stay at Home Dad” which they make as hard as possible. The dropdown menus judge you real hard when making such updates. It’s time to start living up to my illustrious title. And, by the way, summer is coming. With the advanced knowledge of my departure, Allison has not filled up our calendar with the usual slew of camps. This means it’s on me to entertain our little ladies and offer up experiences that make them better humans. Without breaking the bank, I’ll be planning an activity-filled curriculum to get us out of the house and have a memorable summer.

Feed Off the Land

I might have ten square yards receiving full sun around our house, but that hasn’t deterred my ambitions to grow as much food as possible. With an eye on limiting our dependency on the local supermarket and spreading the love around, I have set out to do two things. One is to plan days in the future where I will eat only items that come from our property. This is going to require an immersion in methods of preservation and even a little foraging, otherwise I’ll be lucky to get by on leaves of lettuce. Goal number two is to check out our local farmers market and start planning a product of my own, with any income (or leftovers) donated to the food pantry at our church.

Crank it up to 11

I love playing music. The rub is that I’m not terribly skilled at any particular instrument. Call it a joyful noise. To encourage routine practice and fluff up my rockstar dreams, I’ll be planning a live performance this summer at our annual fundraiser with the stipulation that my kids have to join me for at least one song. Typing that just made my palms a little sweaty.

Chef Chappy

For someone who hasn’t worked in food service since the age of 16, I sure do read a lot of books on what it is like to be a chef. My wife credits Anthony Bourdain and her gift of a Big Green Egg for turning me into an obsessed foodie. Cooking for people makes me happy, especially when I get to plan out a unique menu and push myself a bit. As circumstance would have it, I owe two groups a “Chef Chappy Dinner” from a silent auction that got out of hand. It is time to settle up and expand my repertoire of dishes. (Note: Minutes after I typed this, I sliced off a decent chunk of my thumb while making a salad. Need to revisit the knife skills as well.)

Stop Being so Selfish

I’ve dipped my toe in the waters of volunteerism in the last few weeks and it feels gooooood.  I’m ready to champion a cause, commit and show my face on a regular basis. If you have followed along thus far, it may come as no surprise that this will be a food-related charity. 

Yoga Posin’

I claim to practice yoga, but what I’ve really been doing is putting on my Yoga with Adriene videos and following a routine of my own making. Every now and then I add a new pose for giggles, but there really hasn’t been much growth in my skill level over the last two years. I asked my wife if scorpion pose would be an attainable goal and she just shook her head. We’ll give it a go anyway and see what happens.

Hold onto your butts! I’ll be posting updates on my progress for each of these challenges. Should be an interesting adventure.

Living in a House Full of Ladies

I like to plan things. Meals, trips, conversation topics, most efficient driving routes, you name it. Some things, however, are beyond my control. Family planning, for instance, was a bit of a crapshoot. But in an ideal world, I wanted two girls.

So here I am, a father to two lovely ladies of 5 and 3. Every day is a joy. There’s glitter everywhere.

As I tackle year five of being wholly outnumbered, it’s time to offer up my findings. The sample size, at this point, has produced many insights that are rooted in factual observation, and hopefully won’t get me exiled to the basement. The time has come to hand in my report on what it’s like being the only dude in a house full of ladies.

Exhibit 1: So Much Hair

You know you have reached peak hair when every shirt you throw on has a dangly one in the sleeve. This is an unbelievably consistent occurrence and ever since Maggie grew a head full of curly locks to match her mother, this is my life. Drains, floors, and stray toothbrushes lay fully at their mercy.

To top it off, I have no idea how to style and/or arrange the two small heads that have been presented to me. WTF is a barrette and what are they good for!? I pick up at least 10 per day off the floor, so maybe they are simply fun to play with.

When Allison goes out of town, I consider it a success if my girls return home from school with any implements I stuck on their head still intact. Corralling a fidgety child’s hair into a reliable ponytail still feels like throwing darts, but I’m trying.

Exhibit 2: Music

Taylor Swift isn’t terrible. There, I said it. 

Music is one of those things that I hold reasonably sacred. I was a radio DJ in college at WEGL, played in a band* and have a decent record collection. Once I married Allison (for mostly not her taste in music) it was already assumed that I would have to make some playlist sacrifices. 

We have a family agreement that a song can’t be played twice on the same car trip. Rules exist because they were, at one time, broken to an egregious extent. I’m warming up to that T-Swift, but a man can only take so much. Once you hear your 5 year old belt out the line “In the middle of the night…In MY DREEEAMS…You should see the things we do, BABY!” then you start to reign it in a bit.

The Frozen movies actually have some pretty solid jams, and Trolls is a musical triumph. Over time, my critical mind has opened a bit. I’ve embraced music that would have gotten me fired from the radio station, but rest assured I’m still racing to connect my Spotify library first when we get in the car.

Exhibit 3: Dairy Products (mostly cheese)

Lord have mercy the cheese. I can’t say that my single days ever involved a cheese board, but here we are. That fondue pot we thoughtlessly registered for is now a staple in the pantry. Needless to say, my dairy product paradigm has shifted on its head.

 Allow me to  recite the inventory of our refrigerator at this exact moment: Cottage cheese, 2 packs of string cheese, cheese dip, cream cheese, muenster slices, 2 lbs of grated parmesan, 2 blocks of mozzarella, havarti slices, shredded cheddar, feta, pimento cheese, ricotta…I’m tired of typing, and I bet you get it by now. I never knew the genre could be so versatile, for the whole of breakfast, lunch and dinner.

When I heard of the dairy industry’s recent decline, I slept well knowing that we are doing our part to supplement the demand curve.

Exhibit 4: Pee Pee Shame

I thank God every day for having a penis. It is a much more convenient and efficient lifestyle. Getting ready in the morning, packing for trips, and purchasing clothes are all very simple undertakings. So, understandably, I was rattled a bit once the shaming began.

Allison and I are constantly reminded that there is no privacy in this house. A locked door or missing parent is simply an excuse to raise more hell and bust down the barriers between. Unless they are deeply unconscious, there’s a very good chance our poops, showers, and mommy/daddy special time will be interrupted.

It was Maggie who hurled the first insult. As detailed above, my visits to the restroom are seldomly uninterrupted, so Maggie took an opportunity to examine my unorthodox standing method and deem it “super gross.” Her feedback included commentary on “peeing out of (my) front butt” which was obviously hilarious. She quickly got Libby onboard with her hate mongering, so now the mere sight of me taking a leak elicits all kinds of chastization from the duo. With a few months of therapy, I’ll get beyond it. 

Exhibit 5: Toilet Paper

When you get married, there are compromises to be made. Two people will never perfectly align on every single thing, so you meet in the middle…except in those areas where you totally don’t. In the early days of my life with Mrs. Chapman, I wondered where all the toilet paper went. Then I helped create two more females. What used to last me a week will barely survive one day. It’s uncanny. Call me frugal, but even a big situation is likely a 10 square commitment. Somebody report back and let me know what the deal is. I tried to ask one time but was growled at.

Exhibit 5: Feelings

Historically, I would classify myself as “emotionally challenged.” The Chapman method, which has served to give several of us hypertension, is to internalize your feelings. I can recount many instances where my mother incurred serious wounds or was presented with really heavy situations, and just got on with it. The most I ever remember Brenda crying was when she backed into my sweet ‘95 Ford Mustang (a gift for my 16th birthday) and dented the fender. She was so upset that I got an aftermarket spoiler added at the body shop.

Fast forward to February 2015. Allison and I are hosting a Superbowl party at Chapman HQ. Maggie is 3 weeks from debuting on the scene. Toyota’s commercial that year featured a father and his daughter through the years. When the flashback ends, dad is crying in his Camry while dropping his adult daughter off at the airport. She is waving goodbye and departing for her assumedly dangerous military posting. Y’all, I totally lost it.

These days, it doesn’t take much. Old photos of our children, commercials featuring Sara McLachlan and sad puppies, Queer Eye reveals - all guaranteed to make me well up.

Yet, even with this heightened sensitivity, I still manage to hurt little baby feelings on a daily basis. My children’s responses to adversity and what I consider to be proportional reactions are usually way off. Therefore, I am often called  “mean” or generally accused of lacking the appropriate amount of empathy. My snuggles are also apparently second rate.

Last week, our family was at the pool. For Maggie, the time had come to offload her floatation aids and swim like a big girl. It was a goal we had pushed her to take on, and things were going well in the shallow end. Then, she slipped off a raft in an area where it was just deep enough to scare her a bit. Maggie was rescued immediately, but that didn’t keep her from elaborately expressing her dismay to the entire pool-going audience. 

Her immediate intent was to find the nearest exit and retreat in embarrassment, screaming dramatically with a face full of tears. But the gates were child proof and after the first one failed to yield, she furiously tugged on it like someone auditioning for the part of “desperate prisoner.” Over the next minute, she made a full circle of the facility, applying the same over-exaggerated theatrics to each locked gate and the distance covered between. Each failed attempt only brought out more emotion. It was made so much worse that we couldn’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all.

Here’s the thing, though. That same child came back the next day with a vengeance. She established her own training regiment, setting increasingly more challenging goals along the way. By the last day, she was swimming like a fish, having conquered her fears and the deep end. I couldn’t have been prouder. 

And that’s why having a family full of ladies is pretty great.

*Gooch was an influential house party band formed by my roommate and I. We were terribly awesome