DUOS: Pop Art Attacked Two At a Time


To know Orange County artist Sam Carter is to know funny. It’s in his DNA. His father, Samuel Carter III, boasts a cold, calculating wit. If there is a line he won’t cross, it’s buried in the sand. Think the late George Carlin without the raspy voice. Sam inherited the same levity. Toss in the influences of Caddy Shack, Saturday Night Live and The Jerky Boys along with years of listening to movies and television in the background while drawing as a single child growing up in Orange and a pop culture satirical monster is born.

Carter, Director of the Design Studio at USC Auxiliary Services and formerly an art specialist at Disney’s Art Department, started drawing about age 4 or 5. He drew Garfield in elementary school and became frustrated when other kids couldn’t match his skill. When he was 9 created elaborate maps of imaginary amusement parks filled with minute detail.

In high school he started a line of T-shirts entitled Dismal with the iconic Disney “D”. One shirt featured a creepy one-eyed, one-eared Mickey Mouse while another set many Disney characters in a pool hall. While not yet defined at the time, Carter was creating pop surrealism, an underground art movement mash-up of Surrealism and popular culture created simply to entertain.The phrase originated at The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum in 1998 for an exhibit of the same name (and book in 1999 which covered the exhibit) and is sometimes referred to as lowbrow art. It’s often filled with humor and sometimes a sarcastic comment on society.

Pop Surrealism at its Lowest Brow

Carter’s first solo art show “DUOS” exemplifies the pop culture influences from his youth. Hosted at Santa Ana’s  F+ Gallery, his collection depicts “pop culture’s most duos flyer backnotorious, obvious, famous, ambiguous and dynamic duos.” The Blues Brothers Jake and Elwood, Jules and Vincent from Pulp Fiction and Sesame Street’s Bert and Ernie are some of the 69 (of course) twosomes on exhibit starting Saturday, June 1. The themed show will run through July 10.

“I liked the idea of DUOS, it’s almost endless,” Carter said. “So picking my favorites would be fun. That’s what this type of art is all about. Nothing too serious or heavy in my stuff.”

Carter, who uses the tagline “Pop Surrealism at its Lowest Brow” on his website, began working on DUOS in January. He sketches a piece with a Wacom tablet and then creates shapes on top of it with Adobe Illustrator. He said this project forced him to learn how to simplify his designs.

All 69 DUOS, by Sam Carter

All 69 DUOS, by Sam Carter

“I usually work my art to death and not realize I should have walked away a long time ago,” he said. “This was a good learning process as an artist to only give myself a limited amount of time for each person in the duo.”

“My fucking wrist hurts from it,” he added.

Amy Kaplan, manager at F+ Gallery, first met Carter, a Cal State Fullerton art grad, at a bi-monthly life drawing group at Dr. Sketchy’s, an anti-art school in Anaheim. Kaplain said the gallery normally features fine art, but her and owner Micah Kersh have always wanted to mix in pop art, and she thought Carter was the perfect fit.

“I’ve always been a fan of his work,” Kaplan said, “and have wanted to feature him in one way or the other.”

A huge Back to the Future fan, Carter said his favorite pieces are Doc and Marty or movie maker Kevin Smith’s characters Jay and Silent Bob.

Blues Brothers Jake and Elwood, DUOS, by Sam Carter.

Blues Brothers Jake and Elwood, DUOS, by Sam Carter.

“It’s fun to have an art show where you can have someone like Jay in a piece giving the  finger,” Carter said. “A simple gesture is so true to his character.”  Each duo can be purchased as limited editions on opening night.

Attack of Pop Art Rages On

Carter said he sees himself expanding the DUOS collection in the future. He hopes to hit 100 total tandems and feature them on his website at samcarterart.com.

In August, Carter and a group of artists under the moniker Popzilla will put on a themed art show called Mega Mouse, which takes a look at what would happen if Disney continues to buy up creative properties, like they have with Star Wars and Marvel. Popzilla’s first show, Rat Trap, was a celebrity roast of Disneyland and earlier this year Rothick Art Haus hosted SteamPOP, which covered all things pop culture seen through “steam punk” goggles. Carter said the group is always looking for “awesome, nerdy new artists” to join his crew.

For More Information:

F+ Gallery


Popzilla on Facebook

duos flyer back

Chow, Brunch and BBQ – How Was Your Weekend?

Before I get to the weekend, if you missed Bugs & Cranks posts from last week:

This is a real promotional item.

This is a real promotional item.

  • Mike Trout hit for the cycle and I broke down every Angels cycle in franchise history here.
  • I gave some alternate Angels giveaway ideas, since this Mike Trout hat looks so stupid.
  • You can find all of my Bugs & Cranks posts here.


Drinks + a movie starting after 8 pm = Sleepy Seth. It’s a formula that never fails, no matter how much I fight it. From what I could tell, The Hangover III was meh. It sure wasn’t enough to keep me awake, but I’m also the guy that slept through Jurassic Park III in its entirety. Really, all I saw was the first ten minutes, if that. Surround sound and fierce dinosaurs be damned. I didn’t wake up until the credits.



I mostly stayed awake for The Hangover III but head-nodded my way through the middle. Basing a script around Chow pretty much kills any chance that I’d enjoy the movie. He’s a good bit character, but that’s it. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that each movie in the series got worse as it increased Chow time. David Blaustein at ABC News is right on with his review of Chow and the movie.

Seth’s Review: Wait for it to hit Netflix or HBO/Starz/Cinemax/Showtime, or borrow someone else’s copy.Just don’t pay for it.


Lazy day. Ran some errands. Took a nap. Went out to eat since Gray and Ellie begged “to go for a ride.” Two families shared a table directly behind us with the parents on one side and kids at the other. A 7-year-old played with her parent’s smart phone and Gray picked up that Mickey Mouse was somehow involved. So for the next 15 minutes I had to keep him from turning around to watch the show. Which is irritating. Our food was out and it was time to eat but his back corkscrewed towards the hypnotizing glow. A fork finally brought his full attention to his chicken strips.

I use my iPhone a lot. My wife hates it. So I’m not one of those purists against technology or anything. Maybe it’s just the old guy in me coming out. But does a 7-year-old really need to watch a show or play a game in the restaurant, especially when she’s there with other kids her age? Say it’s a toddler or two with just mom and dad. I can kind of get it, since there’s a decent chance that toddler will scream and yell and distract other patrons in the restaurant. But a 7-year-old? It irked me.

Earlier in the year, Henry Yates, a British journalist wrote the following in The Telegraph as he questioned the use of iPads at the dinner table.

“I reckon we’ve got to fight against the easy option,” he writes. “As work’s tentacles encroach on our family time (tentacles facilitated, it has to be said, by on-the-move access to emails), our mealtimes are becoming one of the few isolated chances to really connect with our kids. You know, the old-fashioned stuff: talking to them, listening to them, asking about the school cake sale, humouring their daft little stories punctuated by endless ‘ums’ and ‘ers’. Strengthening your family’s foundations for the buffeting to come.”

The phone/tablet is the easy option. That struck a chord with me. Give your kids the chance to enjoy eating out, talking, coloring and people watching (Gray’s favorite). If that doesn’t work, then light the beautiful brats’ faces up with your gadget. Note to self: weave “daft” into my writing more often.


A day date for the wife and I. We brunched it up at Goodfella’s Cafe in Corona and followed that with a viewing of The Great Gatsby. Two movies in three days crushes my previously projected figure of two in one year. Now Gatsby is a movie to spend your cash on in the theater, as the visuals and experience are that good. Plus, Lenardo (Hi, Munky) DiCaprio is super dreamy. Did his orange face look like it was rubbing off to anyone else?

That is, unless you have a Blu-ray and a kick-ass HD TV (which I don’t). Or weed (which I don’t). Tom Long summed it up nicely.

I completely agree.

I completely agree.

Memorial Day

We went to my wife’s grandpa’s place in Pico Rivera for a barbecue (burgers and ‘dogs). She had to work at night so my mother-in-law kept the twins over night at her place so I could get to work on time in the morning.

The Angels and Dodgers began a four-game freeway series at Dodger Stadium and this guy blew a 6-1 Angels lead to snap an eight-game win streak.


Isn’t it always a bad time to have a bad game, C.J.? In a pissy mood the rest of the night, I wandered around the house aimlessly. My grand ideas of a night home alone evaporated. I just wasted three-plus hours to watch the Angels blow that game. Shit.

With work on the horizon, I’ll go nod off to Mad Men and dreams of Joan Holloway throwing airplanes at my desk.

Soooooo so hot.

Boy/Girl Twins Will Never Ever Everrrrrrrrrrr Be Identical


“Boys have a penis, girls have a vagina.”

Unnamed little boy, Kindergarten Cop

Our twins are pretty dang cute. When we’re in public a stranger often asks if they are twins. Which is cool. I mean, Gray’s noticeably taller and thicker than Ellie. Yep, they’re twins.

“Are they identical?” A third of the time that question follows. And then I lose my shit.

It’s a boy and a girl.

“Naw,” I passively answer as I move along, uninterested in correcting the ignorant stranger.

This happens enough to my wife and I that it’s time for some education. Grab a seat, pull out your notebook and let’s begin. There will be a quiz at the end of the lesson.

Zygotes and shit

A zygote is a fertilized female reproductive cell. Identical twins are monozygotic. That means the fetuses formed from one fertilized egg that contains either XY (male) or XX (female) sex chromosomes, and then that one egg splits into two. As a result, there are two males or two females that share the same DNA and have similar attributes.

When two separate eggs are fertilized by two different sperm they are dizygotic (two zygotes). Fraternal twins are dizygotic and the combination can result in male or female, since they’re two separate cells. It’s the same genetic connection as regular siblings. They might look a like, they might not.

Let’s Break It Down

Two girls – identical or fraternal

Two boys – identical or fraternal

Boy/girl – fraternal

Our Situation

We ended up with twins because I didn’t want to pay a shit-ton of money for in vitro to have it not work. So I decided, against my anxious wife’s wishes, to increase the odds by transferring two fertilized A+-rated embryos into my wife’s uterus. And it fucking worked. Two embryos = two zygotes = fraternal twins.

Pop Quiz, Hot Shot

Gray and Ellie are:

A) Identical twins

B) Fraternal twins

C) Super cute, OMG OMG OMG

D) Like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.

I feel like the guy in the hat when I'm with the twins.

I feel like the guy in the hat when I’m with the twins.


Identical twins share the same DNA. They were formed from the same reproductive cell. Penises and vaginas don’t share the same DNA strands.

Correct answer to quiz is D) Like the Velociraptors from Jurassic Park.

Sugar Rush, Nemo and Pirates – How Was Your Weekend?


We returned to Yogurtland with the twins after a night out at one of the most charming, unique and culinary creative restaurants in our area – Chili’s. There’s something about my boys and ice cream that just don’t jive. And I know, it’s not Ice Creamland, but for our 2-year-olds, it’s all the same.

Jax wasn’t much of a sweets kid. To be fair, we didn’t push sugar on him at all, and when he did taste it, he was indifferent. The only time he really cared about candy was just after Halloween when he was 3. Rather than napping he raided his Halloween bucket. When I found him, blue Pixy Stix dust led me to him hiding in the corner of the front room. Paper straws circled him. He was whistling Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.

Similarly, Gray isn’t in to processed sweets. He prefers fruits and Teddy Grahams. Ellie, however, would eat donuts and pancakes for every meal if she could. So when we told her we were going for ice cream, her face lit up.

“Ice CREAM?” She emphasized the cream. We hunkered down with two buckets of yogurt to shovel into our mouths. Meanwhile, Gray’s anti-sugar protest led him to people watch, one of his favorite past times. He turned down multiple offers of whatever menage of flavors I mixed. Can’t blame him. The coconut was a tad off.


The t-ball class ended, mercifully. Ellie came out with her best focus of the “season”. She ran the bases with determination, rarely sat down and never asked to be carried. I mean, that’s a good day even for Hanley Ramirez. Gray, however, asked to be benched. Or car-seated for a 2-year-old.

After his first at-bat I had to restrain him from sitting with his teammates. He ran the bases with my hand clasped around his wrist. I yanked him off the ground a couple of times, too. In the field, he refused to get off his toosh, and instead chose to leave. I walked him to the van, strapped him in his seat and drove closer to the field. I rolled the windows down in the van and watched the rest of the game under a shaded tree about 50 feet from Gray.

Between innings I checked on Gray. Softly, he asked to get up. I explained he could only get up if he was going to play. He agreed. I unbuckled him, he requested his glove and we walked back to the field. He finished the game at first base. He paid attention, only laid down once and didn’t fight when I demanded he get up.

Ellie and her medal

Ellie and her medal

Their coach distributed participatory medals, I snapped some photos and let each of them hit off the tee once more.

We hiked up the hill towards the parking lot. I looked back and Gray waived “Bye, t-ball.” Ellie did the same. The field was now empty. Just us on the hill with the twins waiving good-bye.

Gray, Coach and Ellie

Gray, Coach and Ellie.

My wife worked so the twins and I rocked movie night. Finding Nemo was the feature flick, which they hadn’t seen before. Some highlights:

  • Gray asked what happened to Nemo’s mom. “She died and went to heaven,” I explained. He stared a bit, but the answer sufficed.
  • I kept having to explain the difference between Nemo and his dad. You see, my twins are racists against ichthyoids. They all look the same. (Ichthyoids are fish, save your complaints)
  • We almost watched The Fox And The Hound but my wife thought older Disney movies would be too slow for 2-year-olds. Gray and Ellie hung in there all the way through, but were definitely more restless compared to watching Toy Story. A 6.5 jolt on the Richter Scale doesn’t stand a chance against Buzzy and Woody.
  • Mommy called during the movie to say good night. Before she hung up, frustrated from button smashing and toddlers screaming on speaker phone, I caught a glimpse of 13-year-old Ellie.
Ellie chatting with Mom

Ellie chatting with Mom


Gray is suddenly obsessed with Jake and The Never Land Pirates. Saturday morning he and Ellie complained about watching baseball (again) so I found one of the Pirates of the Caribbean flicks on HBO. I don’t think he took a bite for ten minutes, he was so enthralled. He started yapping about Captain Hook, wanting a pirate boat and a hat. He also wanted to go to Disneyland.

I enjoy feeding my kids’ interests so while my wife napped after a night at work we went on a shopping spree. We need to find a church before summer ends because if this keeps up I’ll be selling the Camry and biking it to work.

We returned with Bucky the pirate ship and a Jake costume. Ellie scored yet another Minnie Mouse doll. This one came with velcro bows to decorate her with.

Gray will pillage your shit.

Gray will pillage your shit.

At night we were to go to my parents for a joint birthday celebration (mine, my wife’s and my sister’s). My nephew, Liam, is also 2 and would be there. After his nap, Gray carried that sword around the house hollering “LET’S GO!” (Jake’s catch phrase is Yo Ho, Let’s Go.) My wife styled his hair before we left and Gray prepped for a confrontation he expected later that evening.

“No, Liam. Stop. No sword. Stop, Liam.” Apparently Gray was a tad anxious Liam would try to plunder his beloved new toy.

We coaxed Gray to leave the sword in the minivan at my parents. During pajama time I caved and delivered the sword to him. He sipped his milk on the couch with my mom when Liam hopped up next to him. Please don’t stab him in the eye, I thought. If he was a cat, Gray would’ve hissed. He had some mumbling words for Liam, the sword clenched in his red-fisted grip. Liam just wanted to sit next to his cousin and watch television. The lad’s swag would be safe this night.

Coke Might As Well Be Black Tar Heroin

The best way to drink it.

The best way to drink it.

When I am thirsty, one of my favorite treats is a Diet Coke from McDonald’s. I swear they lace that brown liquid heaven with heroin. And now, those pushers at Mickey D’s only charge one dollar for any size drink. For me, driving around southern California is like Lindsay Lohan on a pub crawl. A few sips of nirvana before we stumble around town in a broken heel and fall in a ditch with our dresses hiked up and flash our g-strings.

My wife knows this about me. She’s not an innocent party. But we do enable one another. Sometimes we’ll share to keep the guilt down.

The other day she tried to get all straight on me. She linked me to this article with the following lede:

With high levels of sugar, acids, preservatives and other harmful ingredients, soda causes more damage to the body than just expanding the waistline. From stroke to kidney stones to dementia, here’s a look at what can happen to the body long-term for those who regularly drink soda.

Well thank you, Mrs. Killjoy. Like my occasional tingling cheeks and foggy thoughts aren’t freaking me out enough.

The author of the article breaks down soda’s alleged damage to the brain (can’t remember/learn anything), teeth (you might as well drink battery acid), heart (increased risk of cardiovascular disease), lungs (asthma), bones (bone density loss), kidneys (stones), digestive system (bloating) and weight (obesity).

If one can of soda is 12 fluid ounces, I guess my intake is roughly 36 – 48 ounces a day. Rarely do I go without at least one can of Diet Coke or Pepsi. If I don’t order a beer at a restaurant, then I’ll chug down three or four glasses of the bubbling brown beverage. If we eat in, I’ll offer to split a soda with my wife. If she’s feeling extra strong that day and refuses, I’ll down it myself.

I’ve gone a day or two without the pop before, but like Michael Corleone in The Godfather: Part III, just when I thought I was out they pull me back in. That first hit after a few days is like fireworks in my brain. And not just Disneyland fireworks. I’m talking 20 simultaneous shows over the Hudson River on an unnaturally warm New Year’s Eve night viewed from my Manhattan apartment where windows replace walls and Ivanka Trump wraps her arms around my abdomen wearing nothing but The Apprentice t-shirt. It’s that fantastic.

The writer includes preparation to quit the legalized crack. She went cold turkey. I think she must be Superwoman.

I need to stop. I get it. But even after reading that nearly half of soda fountains contain fecal matter, I just chalk up the results to the assumption that folks in Virginia, where the study occurred, ran out of toilet paper. It’s not like that where I live. Plus, doesn’t all that carbonation kill the poo poo anyway?

Mother’s Day, Beerarita and Horse Poo – How Was Your Weekend?

Rose Canyon Cantina & Grill in Trabuco Canyon.

Rose Canyon Cantina & Grill in Trabuco Canyon.


I spent half the day in bed sleeping off stomach issues and flu-like body soreness before picking up my sister and her son to go celebrate my mom for Mother’s Day. Meanwhile, my wife helped her grandpa complete the patio project.

We met my parents at Rose Canyon Cantina & Grill, tucked away in Trabuco Canyon seemingly in the middle of nowhere. If you’re familiar with Cook’s Corner – aka a perfect filming spot for Sons of Anarchy – it’s right near there. If you ever wanted to go to Charming, take the drive.

The bar and restaurant filled up quickly with a mix of young and old celebrating the end of a week. Everyone was white, which gives you an idea of the flavor of the food – mild. It definitely needs a zesty boost. The atmosphere, however, is not as bland. Patio tables surround crooked trees dressed with white lights, horses strut up the adjacent dirt road and life seems slower. Simpler. The salsa’s pretty good, so go for drinks, appetizers and deep-fried ice cream and skip the entrée.

Crooked tree in the patio.

Crooked tree in the patio.

After grubbing the three kids played out front on a rock fountain to burn off energy. Two young women on horses stopped by to let the toddlers ohh and ahh over the horsies before clopping away.

After hugs and kisses good-bye the twins and I loaded into our minivan, rolled down the windows and moon roof and cranked up the stereo as we weaved through the canyon on a gorgeous night.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself, about ten minutes into the ride home. “It really smells like horse shit.”

I must have driven by a fresh load. We are in the country after all. Five minutes later I felt my right sandal stick as I lifted my foot from the gas pedal.

Weird. The same thing happened when I stopped applying the brakes and moved my foot back to the gas. I sniffed, bracing myself for a huge dose of crap. Nothing.

Now, my sandal is sticking more and more and I can imagine smushed horse dung smeared all over my shoe, the floor and the pedals. This is disgusting. I wanted to look to make sure but it was too dark and the curvy road was too dangerous to take my eyes from.

I called my wife on the way home. I’d need help bringing the kids inside as I hobbled on one shitless sandal. She was still at her grandpa’s. Crap. Gas station. I’ll go to the gas station and use their paper towels, their soaped up squeegee and their trash can. Brilliant.

We pulled off the freeway. “Gas?” the twins inquired. Yes, you observant little bugs. But we’re not getting gas. I parked the van, turned off the ignition and gently lifted my foot from the brake, fearful of spreading shit on the carpet, door or my leg. The white flourescent lights illuminated my sandal as I twisted my ankle to get a good look at the damage. I wondered if it’d be brown, yellow, green or a mash-up of the three.

It was gum. Just gum. That initial stank wasn’t in the van after all. Best news ever.


You know what doesn’t go well in 90 degree weather? T-ball and toddlers. Neither Gray nor Ellie cried, unlike a few of the other players, but at one point Ellie begged me to carry her around the bases and Gray just refused to even hold the bat in his final plate appearance. Next Saturday is the last “game.” The forecast is 89 degrees. I smell a repeat.

While everyone napped I wrote another post at Bugs & Cranks.

At night we met my wife’s family at Super Mex in Lakewood for a belated birthday celebration for my wife and I. Super Mex is the polar opposite of Rose Canyon Cantina – all flavor, no atmosphere. I enjoyed a “beerarita” which enthralled Ellie.

Ellie wanted a drink. Badly.

Ellie wanted a drink. Badly.

We drove back to my wife’s grandpa’s house for desert and presents and I left with a glorious BeerTender. I felt my liver slightly twinge when the twins ripped open the wrapping paper.

Krups BeerTender

Krups BeerTender. Be very jealous.


Sunday was weird. As mentioned before, our church is closing as a result of financial difficulties. Sunday was the “series finale” as our pastor themed it, and it didn’t disappoint. Old, familiar faces returned for one last reunion, there was laughter, tears and suspense-filled drama. I won’t get into the details as to protect other people’s privacy, but it sure beat the hell out of the Seinfeld finale. My wife alerted me to the fact that I haven’t really given justice to the impact Christian Life Fellowship made on me and what I’m feeling. I suppose at some point in the near future that’s a topic to address. Just not in this space.

And of course, it was Mother’s Day. The first Mother’s Day without Jax for my wife. She could probably fill 2,000 words with her views of Sunday, but she’s all private like and would probably spell Tearz with a “S.” That’s no fun. But it’d be infinitely more heart felt.

It was a subdued celebration. We met her mom, her brother and his girlfriend at Buca di Beppo where my wife said she almost punched out an elderly lady with an arm sling in the parking lot because she couldn’t wait 30 more seconds for my wife to finish packing up Gray and the restaurant supplies before slithering into her car. I love it when my wife gets fired up.

Exhausted from the day’s emotions, we all slept until 7:30 p.m. before doing dinner and showers and finished up with Dennis Rodman creaming his pants on The Apprentice.

What To Do When Your Child Says “F” You

Gray’s got this thing about him when he’s feeling ornery, which is at least once a day, it seems. Watch his eyes. They kind of light up. The corner of his mouth slightly rises just short of a smirk. And then he does exactly what you’ve told him not to do. Again. My wife and I agree that it feels like he’s flipping us off. “F you mom, I’ll do what I want to do,” is likely what’s going on in that skull of his. Go through this enough times and one starts to feel defeated. At a loss. My son’s going to be in jail by 16, isn’t he?

My wife took her frustration to her favorite spot on the Web in search of parental guidance, wisdom and understanding. She went to Pinterest.

Last week, during one of her night owl sessions, she emailed me three Pinterest links. The first two were Someecards that joked about not liking me because she’s out of meds and nagging because she cares, as silence is a sign of plodding my death. It’s funny ’cause it’s true. The third was a graph created by author Carol Tuttle, a creative marketing idea to promote her book The Child Whisperer.

The Child Whisperer

We’re in need of new ideas on discipline. Gray rarely balks at timeout. He knew the consequences and he was happy to serve his time. It was worth it to him. Ellie, however, cries like she’s been sentenced to death.

The gist of the book is children have one of four archetypes: The Fun-Loving Child, Sensitive Child, Determined Child and More Serious Child. Tuttle’s developed her philosophy through her work with children based on energy profiling. If we know how to read our child’s unsaid messages and respond appropriately, we will experience more cooperation and respect.

My wife and read the graph separately and came to the same conclusion – Gray is the Determined Child. He’s as loud as your alarm clock at 5 a.m. He’s as physical as Dennis Rodman boxing out to chase a rebound. And he covets adventure as if he was Indiana Jones. Except with food. He doesn’t want any crazy shit, like a cinnamon roll.

The first thing we talked about after reading this was saying “No” too often. Because he likes to explore he pushes boundaries constantly, followed by a lot of “No” and “Stop” from us. If he’s cooped up in the house too long he picks fights. He knows our house rules, but he’ll bust them just to stir things up. If he could write, “All don’ts and no play makes Gray a dull boy,” would be scribbled all over his bedroom wall in crayon.

Tuttle advises to encourage Gray, let him move fast and to allow adventure. They have an Ultimate Fighting Championship weight class for 2-year-olds, right?

My hope is to encourage anyone else at their wit’s end with their kids. Sometimes we just need a chart to simplify things, help us to understand our kids and keep us from slapping the “fuck you” off their precious little faces.