Well, it’s officially been two months since my last post (which was more of a non-post, really). I’ve generally tried to at least not have vacant months, but I managed to skip June altogether. However, I confess that of all the blog material I read, people blogging about why they don’t blog or how they want to blog more ranks within a few slots of the bottom of my list entitled, "Things I’m glad I spent my time reading online." No offense intended to anyone who does that unless, of course, me offending you causes you to do that less. Anyway, I’ve done it. And now I’m not doing it, but instead writing about other people doing it. Bored yet? I am.

I might soon post with some more personal updates about what’s up with our fascinating family, but right now I need to address something far more consequential: advancements (or lack thereof) in consumer product convenience technology. By this I mean: Did it really escape us for decades that you could use a flip cap on a toothpaste tube? Was the twist-off bottle cap really a revelation that eluded the beverage industry until the 1980’s? The condiment squirt bottle — were we not smart enough to figure this one out in the 1970’s? We aren’t talking complicated circuitry here – these are a matter of simple mechanics. Every time I see one of these little developments come down the line, my first question is, "Someone just figured that out?" Yeah, I’m that guy.

My current beef is with the folks at Dr. Pepper. I am baffled how people who produce such a fine sipping soda can’t manage to put together their cute "fridge pack" in an efficient manner. When I punch out the little perforated hatch, I expect to be able to then neatly place the "fridge pack" in my fridge, where it will store and dispense cold cans of Dr. Pepper. Instead, I usually get this:

And if you don’t think that scene isn’t followed by much cursing from me, you think too much of me. I am genetically predisposed to become unreasonably agitated with inanimate objects and then speak to them as though they are capable of being shamed and intimidated by my rage. Among many other admirable qualities, I got this from my father, and my not-yet-five-year-old son is already demonstrating quite a knack for it himself. We’re very proud.

Anyway, back to the cans. It’s not like this code hasn’t been cracked. Take, for example, the folks over at the Coca Cola Co. When I punch one of their hatches, even if I’m not overly cautious, I get this:

Not only is this packaging superior in its durability, but the end that remains after the removal of the hatch is tall enough that all 12 cans can be stored this way. Dr. Pepper also fails in this regard since, even if you manage to perform the delicate surgery required to successfully extract the hatch, you’re left with a front end that only serves to prevent an avalanche of 11 or fewer cans. It’s a crime, really. In fact, here’s a look at the current state of my refrigerator:

Yes, that is duct tape. On a Dr. Pepper package. Despite Aiden’s accurate contention that "Dad, duct tape is always awesome," I shouldn’t have to test that on my Dr. Pepper fridge pack. I mean, aren’t the daily threats to my security and the Texas heat enough? Must I also suffer this forever?