Saturday, February 28, 2004
My daughter, the alien
Like her mother, Shelby has a long, pointy tongue. It's weird enough all by itself. But after sucking away on a blue-raspberry push-up pop all day, it looks outright inhuman.
Already Darby has missed a soccer practice, which was this afternoon, but it could not be avoided as it conflicted with her pottery class, which ends next weekend. We may actually have to miss her first game because of a similar conflict.
I picked the kids up from their mother's earlier than usual because a relative (a step-uncle) was passing through town for just a day, so we went to visit with him. As such, most of the day was spent catching up with family stuff, with an interlude to the new-to-South-OKC Johnny Carino's restaurant for dinner. Very yummy.
I picked the kids up from their mother's earlier than usual because a relative (a step-uncle) was passing through town for just a day, so we went to visit with him. As such, most of the day was spent catching up with family stuff, with an interlude to the new-to-South-OKC Johnny Carino's restaurant for dinner. Very yummy.
Friday, February 27, 2004
Cracking My A$$ Off
Yes, Shawn-oh-king-of-poor-verbal-skills made that statement today. At lunch, in relaying a story and trying to simultaneously use the phrases "laughing my a$$ off" and "cracking up", that is what came out. Vast quantities of tearful, abdominal-pain-inducing laughter from all present immediately ensued. Yet another moment I will never be able to forget as word of my words spreads and becomes the source of many a jest in my general direction.
20,000
On the way to work this morning I flipped 20,000 miles in the less-than-year-old VUE. At this rate I'll have no warranty come this time next year. :(
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Sock Her Momma
Today was Darby's first day of soccer practice for the soon to start season. She was VERY excited about starting soccer again as it has been nearly a year since she was last able to play. Since she broke her leg near the end of last summer (a couple of weeks before the fall soccer season was to start), she missed the whole season and has been eager to play again.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Hole-less conclusion
With regard to the bowels of my property, for those that care enough to be following along, when I got home today, the big giant hole in my yard was filled in, and the fence they tore down to get to my yard was repaired. Except for the big giant hole in my wallet, and the very large grassless spot in my back yard, I think this saga has come to a (hopefully permanent) close.
Viruses suck
In the small gap between the discovery of the latest (C) variant of the Netsky virus and the vendor release of an inoculation, we were susceptible to the will of the evil virus writers and their wicked ways. And for the first time in literally years (I run a tight ship), we were caught unprepared, even if not of our own doing or lack thereof. So much of my day was spent recovering from the ill-effects of a user infection. Fortunately our casualties were light, but no one likes to leave a man (or computer) behind.
Oh, and during my struggles, I discovered that I can't say the word "virulent" to save my life.
Oh, and during my struggles, I discovered that I can't say the word "virulent" to save my life.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Anti-Atkins, I mean Fat Tuesday
What better way to contemplate the last day before lent than to drive down to New Orleans to watch girls flash for beads tally your carb intake and laugh in the face of Dr. Atkins. If you couldn't tell, I'm not much of a propoent of the Atkins diet, or the low carb philosophy in general, but I was discussing the matter with a friend at lunch today, so it's on my mind. While I have no idea what the carb content of my lunch was (bacon cheeseburger and fries), my dinner is estimated at 85 grams of carbs per serving, and I'd say I had at least three servings worth. Yummy!
Monday, February 23, 2004
Useless details
I've learned way more about sewer lines lately than I care to know, and I still don't know that much, but here are the mostly useless details you'll probably want to skip.
I live in a fairly old neighborhood, built in the early 1960s, and subsequently the homes in these parts started out with "orangeburg" sewer pipes.
Here are spliced excerpts from various online resources:
"Orangeburg" is the brand name of a bituminous fiber sewer pipe material that was manufactured by Orangeburg Manufacturing Company. This type of piping was typically manufactured by rolling bituminous material (tar) and paper into the shape of a tube.
Bituminous fiber Sewer Pipe was commonly used in the 1960s and 1970s to make the sewer line connection from houses to the public sewer. Other sewer pipe materials were also used during this time period, such as cast iron or vitrified clay. Therefore, not all houses constructed during this time period were connected to the public sewer with Bituminous Fiber Sewer Pipe.
The bituminous material tends to deteriorate with age. As the material deteriorates the pipe begins to be flattened out and no longer maintains a round interior circumference. The flattened pipe can be further damaged by the use of router tools.
In addition, the pipes are subject to invasion by plant roots. The plant roots grow within the pipe and eventually restrict or block the flow.
These problems are manifested in repeated backups of the sewer line from the house to the public sewer in the street or alleyway. Clearing affected sewer lines with mechanical router tools will result in only a temporary improvement.
In the early 1970s plastic piping materials were introduced into the Uniform Plumbing Code and their use has been common ever since. This would include PVC and ABS material.
At some point in the past, my main (orangeburg) sewer line was replaced with PVC. This is a good thing. However, they did not also replace the "riser", which is the pipe that connects the main sewer line to the city main line via a wye. Subsequently the riser degraded and/or became root infested, bringing me to where I am today. Having just received a PVC riser.
I live in a fairly old neighborhood, built in the early 1960s, and subsequently the homes in these parts started out with "orangeburg" sewer pipes.
Here are spliced excerpts from various online resources:
"Orangeburg" is the brand name of a bituminous fiber sewer pipe material that was manufactured by Orangeburg Manufacturing Company. This type of piping was typically manufactured by rolling bituminous material (tar) and paper into the shape of a tube.
Bituminous fiber Sewer Pipe was commonly used in the 1960s and 1970s to make the sewer line connection from houses to the public sewer. Other sewer pipe materials were also used during this time period, such as cast iron or vitrified clay. Therefore, not all houses constructed during this time period were connected to the public sewer with Bituminous Fiber Sewer Pipe.
The bituminous material tends to deteriorate with age. As the material deteriorates the pipe begins to be flattened out and no longer maintains a round interior circumference. The flattened pipe can be further damaged by the use of router tools.
In addition, the pipes are subject to invasion by plant roots. The plant roots grow within the pipe and eventually restrict or block the flow.
These problems are manifested in repeated backups of the sewer line from the house to the public sewer in the street or alleyway. Clearing affected sewer lines with mechanical router tools will result in only a temporary improvement.
In the early 1970s plastic piping materials were introduced into the Uniform Plumbing Code and their use has been common ever since. This would include PVC and ABS material.
At some point in the past, my main (orangeburg) sewer line was replaced with PVC. This is a good thing. However, they did not also replace the "riser", which is the pipe that connects the main sewer line to the city main line via a wye. Subsequently the riser degraded and/or became root infested, bringing me to where I am today. Having just received a PVC riser.
Functionally resolute... but not without aftermath
Since I've loved so much lately to speak of my hole, my back log, my sewage, and the like, I thought I'd do so once again. Hopefully there will only be one or two more so inspired posts beyond this one.
I never thought I'd find myself saying something like, "Only $1250! Woo-hoo!" But here I am doing it, as the cost could have been far greater... by two thirds or more.
As noted earlier, when I arrived home today, I discovered that I had an exposed underground. Only I had no phone calls or messages or notes on my door to further elaborate on the state of my household bowels. I didn't dare risk assuming anything, as I am far too dangerous when I assume. So I left it all alone and took the kids (at their request) over to my father's house two miles down the road for emergency restroom detail, a practice we had gotten quite good at these last several days.
While at my father's, I called the cell phone of noble gentleman number two, to gauge his situational awareness with regard to my sewage flow. He tells me they got it all hooked up, and that everything is functional, but they couldn't bury everthing until it was inspected by the city tomorrow.
Glee was rampant within me. I loaded the kids into the car for the short drive home, and the very first thing I did when we got there was... flush! And I did it three more times just to be sure. More glee!
Until I realized what lay before me.
You see, it's rare for me not to do at least one load of laundry every night, just to keep up. And here we've been several nights without such ability. I will be doing much laundry the next few nights.
And then there's the dishes. I don't exactly have a large inventory of dishes to begin with, so several days without the ability to run the dishwasher has us not only piled on the dirty dishes, but left few usable dishes to spare. The dishwasher and I will re-aquaint often this evening and maybe the next.
I never thought I'd find myself saying something like, "Only $1250! Woo-hoo!" But here I am doing it, as the cost could have been far greater... by two thirds or more.
As noted earlier, when I arrived home today, I discovered that I had an exposed underground. Only I had no phone calls or messages or notes on my door to further elaborate on the state of my household bowels. I didn't dare risk assuming anything, as I am far too dangerous when I assume. So I left it all alone and took the kids (at their request) over to my father's house two miles down the road for emergency restroom detail, a practice we had gotten quite good at these last several days.
While at my father's, I called the cell phone of noble gentleman number two, to gauge his situational awareness with regard to my sewage flow. He tells me they got it all hooked up, and that everything is functional, but they couldn't bury everthing until it was inspected by the city tomorrow.
Glee was rampant within me. I loaded the kids into the car for the short drive home, and the very first thing I did when we got there was... flush! And I did it three more times just to be sure. More glee!
Until I realized what lay before me.
You see, it's rare for me not to do at least one load of laundry every night, just to keep up. And here we've been several nights without such ability. I will be doing much laundry the next few nights.
And then there's the dishes. I don't exactly have a large inventory of dishes to begin with, so several days without the ability to run the dishwasher has us not only piled on the dirty dishes, but left few usable dishes to spare. The dishwasher and I will re-aquaint often this evening and maybe the next.
Progress?
There is presumably a big giant hole in my back yard. I presume this because there is verifiably a big giant pile of mud in my back yard, ostensibly obscuring said big giant hole. There are also little colored flags sticking out of the ground all over the place, surely the marked off underground lines. Were it not raining and generally unpleasant out, and were I not a complete klutz, I might venture out to peer down the hole. But couldn't you just picture Shawn slipping on the mud, falling into the big sewage-tainted hole, not able to get out, reminiscent of the pool scene from Poltergeist? I know that I just brought joy to some faces by mere suggestion. But that is definitely not a situation I will put myself into.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Figures (though it's about right I guess)
The Which John Hughes Movie Character Are You quiz pegs me as Brian from the Breakfast Club. I shouldn't be surprised, but I guess I thought I'd improved some over the years.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Today was "bring a friend to class" day for Darby's pottery class. At Darby's request, I had previously contacted the parents of one of her good friends, and we made arrangements for me to pick up their daughter on the way to class this morning. After classes, the girls (including Darby's friend) went with their mother for several hours before I picked them all up and took Darby's friend home.
By this time it was dinner time and after a quick meal, we went a short ways out of town to visit some family friends we hadn't seen in several months.
By this time it was dinner time and after a quick meal, we went a short ways out of town to visit some family friends we hadn't seen in several months.
Friday, February 20, 2004
The verdict (so far)
The sewer line is kaput.
The whole visual/camera thing was mostly a moot effort. I kind of figured, but I let them try anyway. "I can't see anything down there" were the words of noble gentleman number two as he looked at his little screen. No kidding? You can't see anything through that raw sewage? Huh. Who would have thunk it.
But we were able to determine the exact location of the problem. The little camera thingy they shoved down my line had a transmitter on it, and they used a receiver to detect where it stopped at.
So I signed some paperwork obligating me to pay a minimum of $1250 to have my line replaced from the point of breakage to the city main line. If any other part of the line is damage, it will cost another $2400 (minimum, but maybe more) to replace the whole line.
See, renting doesn't sound so bad now does it? I'm lucky if the amount it would cost me for a worse case scenario is about the same as the equity I have in this house. So how am I better off owning it? Well, don't answer that. It will not cheer me up or change my mind at this point.
Next step, call the people who come out and mark off all the underground lines... gas, water, electric, fiber optic (yes, apparently there is buried fiber optic lines near my house), etc, so that they can do some digging without causing anymore havoc. They tell me the hole may be 6-12 feet deep, that they may have to tear down my chain link fence, that they'll do their best to put the fence back up when they're done, and they'll fill the dirt back in the hole, but I'll have to take care of the lack of grass in that area of as yet undetermined size.
Best case, digging will start late Monday or early Tuesday.
Yes yes, I know. Fun times. And you're jealous, too, right?
The whole visual/camera thing was mostly a moot effort. I kind of figured, but I let them try anyway. "I can't see anything down there" were the words of noble gentleman number two as he looked at his little screen. No kidding? You can't see anything through that raw sewage? Huh. Who would have thunk it.
But we were able to determine the exact location of the problem. The little camera thingy they shoved down my line had a transmitter on it, and they used a receiver to detect where it stopped at.
So I signed some paperwork obligating me to pay a minimum of $1250 to have my line replaced from the point of breakage to the city main line. If any other part of the line is damage, it will cost another $2400 (minimum, but maybe more) to replace the whole line.
See, renting doesn't sound so bad now does it? I'm lucky if the amount it would cost me for a worse case scenario is about the same as the equity I have in this house. So how am I better off owning it? Well, don't answer that. It will not cheer me up or change my mind at this point.
Next step, call the people who come out and mark off all the underground lines... gas, water, electric, fiber optic (yes, apparently there is buried fiber optic lines near my house), etc, so that they can do some digging without causing anymore havoc. They tell me the hole may be 6-12 feet deep, that they may have to tear down my chain link fence, that they'll do their best to put the fence back up when they're done, and they'll fill the dirt back in the hole, but I'll have to take care of the lack of grass in that area of as yet undetermined size.
Best case, digging will start late Monday or early Tuesday.
Yes yes, I know. Fun times. And you're jealous, too, right?
Root of my problems
(well, my current problem anyway)
I despise my sewer line. If it weren't already part of its functional description, I would crap all over it.
Of course, if it weren't having such problems, I would praise it for not being dysfunctional. After all, it's in no one's best interest to tick off a sewer line. I mean, you don't want that stuff coming back up on you, right?
So, I've got myself one of the most dreaded problems of home ownership. The very type of problem that makes me want to go back to renting. A blocked up sewere line. Only now it seems to be spiraling into worser levels of suckage.
A number of years ago I had this problem. I paid a noble gentleman (it must take nobility to endure that type of work) to clear out my line and I've worried about it few times since. Not because I had nothing to worry about, but because I'm completely ignorant of such things.
You see, back then, said gentleman described the nature of the issue... roots in my sewer line. It was recommended that I poor a particular toxic substance into my toilet once or twice a year to help quell the problem, but he also said things could be further complicated in years to come. Oh how correct he was.
Today I had another noble gentleman visit the bowels of my dwelling to once again clean out my troublesome sewer line, only to find that, despite his many valiant efforts, he could not. Too much blockage. Probably even an outright broken line.
Oh the dread.
"What, you mean I can't go back to work?" was my immediate response. I would much rather be working than pondering the dread on my face when I envision my future self calculating the total cost of this situation's rectification.
If the line is broken, the cost will be significant. So much for laser eye surgery this year. Plus, it will mean further non-work, at a time when it is quite critical that I in fact be working.
Already I have paid noble gentleman number one for his efforts, yet still have a dysfunctional sewer line. Noble gentleman number two is en route. He will use the miracles of modern technology to insert a camera into places where no one really wants to look but must. If noble gentleman number two determines via (yucky) visual confirmation that my line is quite dead, it will have to be replaced, at great cost of time and money.
I predict many rants to come on this topic. It is, after all, a crappy topic.
I despise my sewer line. If it weren't already part of its functional description, I would crap all over it.
Of course, if it weren't having such problems, I would praise it for not being dysfunctional. After all, it's in no one's best interest to tick off a sewer line. I mean, you don't want that stuff coming back up on you, right?
So, I've got myself one of the most dreaded problems of home ownership. The very type of problem that makes me want to go back to renting. A blocked up sewere line. Only now it seems to be spiraling into worser levels of suckage.
A number of years ago I had this problem. I paid a noble gentleman (it must take nobility to endure that type of work) to clear out my line and I've worried about it few times since. Not because I had nothing to worry about, but because I'm completely ignorant of such things.
You see, back then, said gentleman described the nature of the issue... roots in my sewer line. It was recommended that I poor a particular toxic substance into my toilet once or twice a year to help quell the problem, but he also said things could be further complicated in years to come. Oh how correct he was.
Today I had another noble gentleman visit the bowels of my dwelling to once again clean out my troublesome sewer line, only to find that, despite his many valiant efforts, he could not. Too much blockage. Probably even an outright broken line.
Oh the dread.
"What, you mean I can't go back to work?" was my immediate response. I would much rather be working than pondering the dread on my face when I envision my future self calculating the total cost of this situation's rectification.
If the line is broken, the cost will be significant. So much for laser eye surgery this year. Plus, it will mean further non-work, at a time when it is quite critical that I in fact be working.
Already I have paid noble gentleman number one for his efforts, yet still have a dysfunctional sewer line. Noble gentleman number two is en route. He will use the miracles of modern technology to insert a camera into places where no one really wants to look but must. If noble gentleman number two determines via (yucky) visual confirmation that my line is quite dead, it will have to be replaced, at great cost of time and money.
I predict many rants to come on this topic. It is, after all, a crappy topic.
There's no more doubt. I'm still a yankee.
Per the Yankee or Dixie quiz...
"33% (Yankee). A definitive Yankee."
(Of course, the Okie transaltion of "definitive Yankee" would be "damn Yankee")
This should reassure my friends back in Philly that I've not gone totally southern on them, and will only fuel the onslaught of insults from my Okie friends.
"33% (Yankee). A definitive Yankee."
(Of course, the Okie transaltion of "definitive Yankee" would be "damn Yankee")
This should reassure my friends back in Philly that I've not gone totally southern on them, and will only fuel the onslaught of insults from my Okie friends.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Another night with my servers
After literally an entire afternoon of offsite meetings, though it was "quiting time", I had to head back to the office to apply some patches to several servers this evening. Then it was pickup the kids time. While they are normally at their mother's Thursday night, she is experiencing severe pain from her recently reported car accident, and her doctor has prescribed two days of bed rest to relieve the spinal inflamation. Fortunately my father agreed to watch the kiddos while I performed my previously scheduled system maintenance.
And now for the funniest stupid thing I said all day...
"It's Finnish, but it isn't finished?"
(regarding an incomplete product for which we are awaiting delivery that happens to be developed in Finland)
And now for the funniest stupid thing I said all day...
"It's Finnish, but it isn't finished?"
(regarding an incomplete product for which we are awaiting delivery that happens to be developed in Finland)
Happy birthday news blog
Today is the one year anniversary of this blog. If you're just joining us, you've got some catching up to do.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Nothing (or very little) feels better in the morning than beating the UMF. I felt this morning that it was going a little too well, so I peeked out and glimpsed the enemy of my winter mornings. Quickly I ran out and started the car, just in time to make it worthwhile once the kids and I finally got out there to leave. So the UMF to DMF (discovered morning frost) conversion energized the morning and it's gone not so bad since, contrary to the norm.
Monday, February 16, 2004
So much for a day off
Several relatives have been having computer frustrations of late and I had promised to swing by today to address issues for some of them. From about 11:15-2:30, 4:30-7:15, and then 7:30-8:50 I was running around working computer stuff.
During all this, the ex called me so that she could pick up the kids in her new car, the pretty neato Mini Cooper.
During all this, the ex called me so that she could pick up the kids in her new car, the pretty neato Mini Cooper.
Just when I thought I could stop beating the penguin...
My good bud Jim get's me started on my addiction again...
Current high score is597.8 628.9 640.8 642.9 716.2. Best shot is 97.7 98.7 99.3.
Current high score is
I am a Beast
Not sure how I feel about that...
Thank you to the Which Marvel Superhero Are You quiz for helping me determine my true calling.
Thank you to the Which Marvel Superhero Are You quiz for helping me determine my true calling.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
No pants for the skinny guy
No offense to the American public, which is gaining weight quite rapidly on average. But this stuff is starting to adversely impact me, the skinny guy.
How, you might ask?
Well, I have a theory. It is my belief, after careful observation, that stores are in general stocking more items of larger sizes, and a reduced inventory in my size range.
I've noticed in the last year or so that I've had an increasingly difficult time finding 30x32 pants. And an impossible time finding smaller waists than that. Fortunately I've gained a little weight in the last few years (probably old age catching up to me). Up until a few years ago I wore 28x32s. Well, last evening when I went pants hunting, I went through nearly every pair of casual pants in the store's inventory (JC Penney) and I was lucky to find about a handful of pants to choose from. So I was able to get one pair of pants that would fit me, but to avoid buying two identical pairs of pants, I took a risk that I might gain more weight soon and bought a pair of 32x32s. We'll see how well the belt does with that.
But seriously folks. The Crossroads JC Penney's has a rather large inventory of men's pants in my opinion, and for waists about 34 inches and up, you'll have zero problems finding yourself some leg cover. But us skinny guys need to cover our chicken legs, too. I mean, you really don't want to see these things, do you?
I probably should have just done the online thing, since I never try anything on anyway.
I was just so shocked to have gone through what I would say was hundreds of pairs of pants, and found very little to choose from in the end. And I'm talking all brands, too. You might think it was a manufacturer thing, but given that I had this problem across brands, I think it has to be either a conscious store or company decision. Of course, I can only verify this by checking another store, which I may have to do the next time I'm at one of the other malls.
I know... this was a silly rant, and absolutely no one will have sympathy for my skinny butt. So save yourself the "you poor baby" comments. I understand that I'm fortunate to still be sporting a 30-inch waist at age 30. I just... want... to buy... some pants....
How, you might ask?
Well, I have a theory. It is my belief, after careful observation, that stores are in general stocking more items of larger sizes, and a reduced inventory in my size range.
I've noticed in the last year or so that I've had an increasingly difficult time finding 30x32 pants. And an impossible time finding smaller waists than that. Fortunately I've gained a little weight in the last few years (probably old age catching up to me). Up until a few years ago I wore 28x32s. Well, last evening when I went pants hunting, I went through nearly every pair of casual pants in the store's inventory (JC Penney) and I was lucky to find about a handful of pants to choose from. So I was able to get one pair of pants that would fit me, but to avoid buying two identical pairs of pants, I took a risk that I might gain more weight soon and bought a pair of 32x32s. We'll see how well the belt does with that.
But seriously folks. The Crossroads JC Penney's has a rather large inventory of men's pants in my opinion, and for waists about 34 inches and up, you'll have zero problems finding yourself some leg cover. But us skinny guys need to cover our chicken legs, too. I mean, you really don't want to see these things, do you?
I probably should have just done the online thing, since I never try anything on anyway.
I was just so shocked to have gone through what I would say was hundreds of pairs of pants, and found very little to choose from in the end. And I'm talking all brands, too. You might think it was a manufacturer thing, but given that I had this problem across brands, I think it has to be either a conscious store or company decision. Of course, I can only verify this by checking another store, which I may have to do the next time I'm at one of the other malls.
I know... this was a silly rant, and absolutely no one will have sympathy for my skinny butt. So save yourself the "you poor baby" comments. I understand that I'm fortunate to still be sporting a 30-inch waist at age 30. I just... want... to buy... some pants....
Saturday, February 14, 2004
After we visited Saturn, we went to the mall, as I had to pick up some work pants. I usually like to have on hand two work-weeks worth of work pants. But for various reasons of no time to shop and natural clothing attrition, I am several pair short of that baseline.
The girls were very good. Very patient with me. We ended up being in the store for more than an hour (for reasons which I'll soon rant about), so I told them that if they continued to be good, we could walk around the mall. So after I did my work shopping, we did in fact stroll around the mall.
The girls got to play for awhile at the indoor playground recently installed at Crossroads Mall. We also checked out the pet store, a favorite activity for the girls when we visit that mall. They like to pet the puppies and rabbits that are on display.
I didn't want to be at the mall long enough for dinner time to roll around, but that became unrealistic quickly. We ended up eating at Garfield's, and though the food was good, we had an experience worthy of a rant, but I'm not sure I'm going to put the time into it.
The girls were very good. Very patient with me. We ended up being in the store for more than an hour (for reasons which I'll soon rant about), so I told them that if they continued to be good, we could walk around the mall. So after I did my work shopping, we did in fact stroll around the mall.
The girls got to play for awhile at the indoor playground recently installed at Crossroads Mall. We also checked out the pet store, a favorite activity for the girls when we visit that mall. They like to pet the puppies and rabbits that are on display.
I didn't want to be at the mall long enough for dinner time to roll around, but that became unrealistic quickly. We ended up eating at Garfield's, and though the food was good, we had an experience worthy of a rant, but I'm not sure I'm going to put the time into it.
Did I just see a tall man in a cat suit?
(aka Of all the days to leave the digital camera in the car)
We were at the Saturn dealership for more than an hour in support of my efforts to keep my (point of) VUE finely tuned. Usually this practice is quite boring, especially for the kids. While there is a playroom at the dealership, which is not unuseful, it is generally better equiped for toddlerish kids. The girls usually make use of it for the books and maybe a movie if there's one playing, but they often outgrow it quickly. So this time I had Darby bring her gameboy advance and Shelby brought a V-Tech PDA learning toy that she enjoys. I brought myself a technical book to read in support of some training I have next month.
While all of that turned out pretty well in that the kids were reasonably well entertained. It would figure that this would also be the one time that there was already entertainment on hand.
The place was packed. And with combinations of things you might not expect to find in one place, except maybe... on Saturn.
For some strange reason, they were having a blood drive at the dealership today. I can see it now, "honey, let's go give blood, and oh, while we're light-headed maybe we'll buy a car." Well, I guess to entice you to partake of the giving of blood, there was a tall guy in a cat suit, and another person in a blood suit. Yeah, I know, crazy. This wasn't just any cat suit mind you, it was a Cat In The Hat suit. I have no idea how that is supposed to make me want to give blood (not that I'm anti-blood-giving... I'm a two-gallon donor, so I've done my part). And then there was the blood suit. I just don't know what else to call it. It was a suit shaped like a drop of blood, with a great big smiley face on the front of it. Only my kids thought it was a red Hershey's kiss (which I guess would have been appropriate for the holiday), so it was interesting explaining to them that it was in fact a drop of blood. It was also interesting explaining why there was a drop of blood walking around, and why people give their drops of blood to begin with. I think my kids might have nightmares because of this. I don't know, something like count chocula chasing around the big red hershey kiss. Craziness I tell you.
But wait there's more!
In the midst of all of this, there was a live radio show going on. AM 640, "The Sports Animal", was doing a show, hosted by the locally famous Bob Barry, Jr. So what you had was crowds of people around the TV in the waiting area watching the OU basketball game, with the local sports authorities nearby reporting on it and other sporting news.
The dealership was supposed to be giving away a car in a drawing from those who gave blood (the more enticing incentive, rather than the creepy mascots), but that was to occur about forty-five minutes after we were done and ready to go.
But I tell ya, that whole hour of my life was strangeness that could not have been planned, expected, or believed, had I not seen it with my own eyes.
We were at the Saturn dealership for more than an hour in support of my efforts to keep my (point of) VUE finely tuned. Usually this practice is quite boring, especially for the kids. While there is a playroom at the dealership, which is not unuseful, it is generally better equiped for toddlerish kids. The girls usually make use of it for the books and maybe a movie if there's one playing, but they often outgrow it quickly. So this time I had Darby bring her gameboy advance and Shelby brought a V-Tech PDA learning toy that she enjoys. I brought myself a technical book to read in support of some training I have next month.
While all of that turned out pretty well in that the kids were reasonably well entertained. It would figure that this would also be the one time that there was already entertainment on hand.
The place was packed. And with combinations of things you might not expect to find in one place, except maybe... on Saturn.
For some strange reason, they were having a blood drive at the dealership today. I can see it now, "honey, let's go give blood, and oh, while we're light-headed maybe we'll buy a car." Well, I guess to entice you to partake of the giving of blood, there was a tall guy in a cat suit, and another person in a blood suit. Yeah, I know, crazy. This wasn't just any cat suit mind you, it was a Cat In The Hat suit. I have no idea how that is supposed to make me want to give blood (not that I'm anti-blood-giving... I'm a two-gallon donor, so I've done my part). And then there was the blood suit. I just don't know what else to call it. It was a suit shaped like a drop of blood, with a great big smiley face on the front of it. Only my kids thought it was a red Hershey's kiss (which I guess would have been appropriate for the holiday), so it was interesting explaining to them that it was in fact a drop of blood. It was also interesting explaining why there was a drop of blood walking around, and why people give their drops of blood to begin with. I think my kids might have nightmares because of this. I don't know, something like count chocula chasing around the big red hershey kiss. Craziness I tell you.
But wait there's more!
In the midst of all of this, there was a live radio show going on. AM 640, "The Sports Animal", was doing a show, hosted by the locally famous Bob Barry, Jr. So what you had was crowds of people around the TV in the waiting area watching the OU basketball game, with the local sports authorities nearby reporting on it and other sporting news.
The dealership was supposed to be giving away a car in a drawing from those who gave blood (the more enticing incentive, rather than the creepy mascots), but that was to occur about forty-five minutes after we were done and ready to go.
But I tell ya, that whole hour of my life was strangeness that could not have been planned, expected, or believed, had I not seen it with my own eyes.
Win some, lose some
Dropped the kids off for their art classes this morning and headed to the supercenter for some shopping. On the way, I made a maintenance appointment for the VUE (surprised that worked, usually calling the same day yields no free appointments). While shopping, I couldn't resist detouring to the music section. I ended up adding the latest Yellowcard CD, as well as the latest Five for Fighting CD to the collection.
I had been eying the Yellowcard album for several months, but resisted buying in lieu of other choices or circumstances. I must now say that that was plum stupid. I've already listened to the CD all the way through and it is a serious kicker of butts. I can't believe I didn't buy it sooner. Those of you that like that type of music and have been thinking about it, get over your lame selves and buy it. You won't regret it in the way I regret not having gone with the gut to begin with.
Now, the FFF album is a different story. Traditionally, I wait to hear AT LEAST three songs off an album to assess the value in acquiring the entire CD. There have been transgressions, of course, and the results thereof are a mixed bag. You'd think I had learned my lesson. When the last FFF album was released, and "Superman" was all over the airwaves, I couldn't resist picking up the whole CD to satiate my need to hear that song 87 times in a row. Fortunately in that case, the album turned out to be consistently solid and overall quite good (but not a kicker of butts). I am sad to say that, after hearing the exceptionally good "100 Years" on the radio this time around, my assumption that lightning could strike twice in the same place was... overconfident. While there are a few very excellent tracks (such as the aforementioned new single), the album as a whole is a little disappointing in its lack of that consistently solid sound found on the previous LP. In fact, there are a few "what were they thinking" tracks that were suckers of butts. So, unlike Yelllowcard's Ocean Avenue , The Battle for Everything will not be in the regular CD rotation. But I'm not so certain I'd call it a remorseful buy.
I had been eying the Yellowcard album for several months, but resisted buying in lieu of other choices or circumstances. I must now say that that was plum stupid. I've already listened to the CD all the way through and it is a serious kicker of butts. I can't believe I didn't buy it sooner. Those of you that like that type of music and have been thinking about it, get over your lame selves and buy it. You won't regret it in the way I regret not having gone with the gut to begin with.
Now, the FFF album is a different story. Traditionally, I wait to hear AT LEAST three songs off an album to assess the value in acquiring the entire CD. There have been transgressions, of course, and the results thereof are a mixed bag. You'd think I had learned my lesson. When the last FFF album was released, and "Superman" was all over the airwaves, I couldn't resist picking up the whole CD to satiate my need to hear that song 87 times in a row. Fortunately in that case, the album turned out to be consistently solid and overall quite good (but not a kicker of butts). I am sad to say that, after hearing the exceptionally good "100 Years" on the radio this time around, my assumption that lightning could strike twice in the same place was... overconfident. While there are a few very excellent tracks (such as the aforementioned new single), the album as a whole is a little disappointing in its lack of that consistently solid sound found on the previous LP. In fact, there are a few "what were they thinking" tracks that were suckers of butts. So, unlike Yelllowcard's Ocean Avenue , The Battle for Everything will not be in the regular CD rotation. But I'm not so certain I'd call it a remorseful buy.
Friday, February 13, 2004
"Do" Done
After taking Shelby for ice cream for her good behavior this week, I finally got that haircut I was wanting. Glad I waited. Unlike the other night when it was nearly overflowing, tonight there was NO ONE in the joint (probably because they were all out getting valentined and dined). So I was able to walk right in, do the do, and then back out again in about fifteen minutes.
For timing reasons, I went to the old (quasi)reliable supercuts and slapped down my twelve bucks. Though my search for a more traditional and consistent barbering source continues, I must say that Jim does have a point about the benefits of getting your hair fondled by a 20-something girl, in contrast to a scruffy old man. That, and the efficiency of of such "chop shops", are thier only saving graces. Well, and maybe the hours. I've not seen too many old fashion barbers cutting hair until nine in the evening. So I guess supercuts (and thier respective equivalents) are the fast food of the hair industry. Like fast food joints, you know they're not good for you, but they're there when you need them.
For timing reasons, I went to the old (quasi)reliable supercuts and slapped down my twelve bucks. Though my search for a more traditional and consistent barbering source continues, I must say that Jim does have a point about the benefits of getting your hair fondled by a 20-something girl, in contrast to a scruffy old man. That, and the efficiency of of such "chop shops", are thier only saving graces. Well, and maybe the hours. I've not seen too many old fashion barbers cutting hair until nine in the evening. So I guess supercuts (and thier respective equivalents) are the fast food of the hair industry. Like fast food joints, you know they're not good for you, but they're there when you need them.
Recap
For me, today was filled with VECS aftermath, even though it was two days ago. More people than usual stopped by the site to experience a little Friday the 13th humor. I'm glad everyone has enjoyed the product of my folly. I shall do my best to provide more, and I suspect it will not be too difficult.
Shelby continued her excellent week. She didn't get any tallies aside from the one mentioned the other day, which is great (and abnormal) for her. She even got a congratulatory certificate from her teacher. Darby, on the other hand, got two more tallies in as many days, bringing her YTD count to 10. Far too many for the "good girl" of the family.
I was supposed to be patching servers tonight, but I got a call near the end of the day informing me that the ex-wife had been in a serious car accident. Turns out she is out of the hospital and okay, just bruises and the like, but her car is totaled. So, I had to pick up the girls from school instead of working late. Oh darn. (though it's usually a downer for the girls when, expecting their mother, they see me instead)
Shelby continued her excellent week. She didn't get any tallies aside from the one mentioned the other day, which is great (and abnormal) for her. She even got a congratulatory certificate from her teacher. Darby, on the other hand, got two more tallies in as many days, bringing her YTD count to 10. Far too many for the "good girl" of the family.
I was supposed to be patching servers tonight, but I got a call near the end of the day informing me that the ex-wife had been in a serious car accident. Turns out she is out of the hospital and okay, just bruises and the like, but her car is totaled. So, I had to pick up the girls from school instead of working late. Oh darn. (though it's usually a downer for the girls when, expecting their mother, they see me instead)
VECS
[by popular demand and without further ado, I present to you a parable about what NOT to do with compressed air]
Picture two guys and a girl having a conversation. The guy standing across from the girl happens to be holding a can of compressed air, as he had been recently blowing some dust around ("cleaning the servers" as he calls it). While holding the can of air, and simultaneously conversing with the girl, he developed an apparent nervous twitch and squeezed the trigger on the air for just a moment. I noticed that the air nozzle was (hopefully unintentionally) aimed almost directly at the girl's upper mid-section, if you know what I mean, and she was wearing a somewhat low-cut, slightly loose, v-neck type blouse. Not that I pay attention to such things.
Well, as you might guess, the airflow created some... movement... of the blouse (don't worry, there was no exposure... not that I was looking for it), and as I realized what had happened, I tried to signal to the guy to get him to stop (without the girl noticing as to save all from undue embarrassment), as I didn't think he noticed what he was doing with the air as he conversed.
The guy in question happens to never pay attention to me in general, much less when I speak directly to him, so of course he failed to notice my subtle hints about his potentially embarrassing air assault. So he continued to converse, unphased. And, to my surprise and I guess empathetic embarrassment, he continued to blow his air onto the cleavage. AT LEAST another four times. AND, following each of these air bursts, the girl would engage in a corrective blouse adjustment, as though she were aware of the guy's faux pas. In fact, it looked to me at the time as though she were fully aware of the situation, but just not verbalizing any discomfort, perhaps in order to avoid embarrassment.
Well, upon the conclusion of our conversation, the three of us went our separate ways, going about the business of our days. Things would have been just fine had they been left alone right there.
Maybe an hour later, the aformentioned guy, myself, and three other guys all head to lunch. During lunch, the aformentioned girl becomes the topic of conversation, which reminds me about the nearly disastrous situation a short while before. So, I mention to the previously air-wielding guy what I observed him doing to the girl, and I asked if he realized the danger upon which he dared tread.
As suspected, he did not realize he was blowing air upon the girl inappropriately. And by this point, pretty much everyone at the table was laughing about the scenario I had described. It was a pretty funny moment in retrospect. But little did I know at that lunch, it was not over.
Personally, I would have been fine with the story ending right there. But, thanks to one of the other guys at the lunch table (we'll call him "the traitor" to eliminate confusion), the adventure would continue to escalate.
Apparently, some time after we got back from lunch, "the traitor" approached the girl from the beginning of our story, and he says to her something to the effect of "hey, I hear [the guy] was blowing air on your chest and making your blouse fly open."
[insert mayhem here]
Now, I'm actually reasonably certain the traitor didn't say those precise words, but considering I would have rather the story ended without him stepping outside the circle of trust to divulge the lunch-time conversation to the girl (who was better off without this information), it makes me feel better to imagine that he embarrassed himself in such a way. And since I was not there when he did this, I shall enjoy my moment of poetic license.
Well, as mentioned, the guy did not notice he was blowing air at the girl's cleavage, causing her blouse to flap slightly. It also turns out that the girl, we learned, didn't noticed she was being blown upon, and that the adjusting of her blouse was as habitual as the guy's squeezing of the air trigger to involuntarily incite said blouse. So, this whole funky situation was pretty much almost entirely a figment of my imagination gone wild. I do realize that had I kept my mouth shut to begin with, none of this would have followed. Which is why I even mentioned the incident in yesterday's blog, because it was the icing on my day of poor communication management.
Did you think the story was over?
Not quite, there's still the injury part.
You see, sometime after the traitor chopped down the trust tree with smiling glee, I confronted him about that big giant mouth of his. I advised that he keep his mouth entirely shut from then on out, never to be heard from again, because the conversation he divulged was never intended for broader consumption. So, of course, as know-it-all guys, we subsequently engaged in idle banter about whose fault it was to begin with, and we were being entirely too loud about it.
[re-enter cleavage girl]
The girl could apparently hear us across the hall bantering about who's mouth was bigger and needed to remain the most shut, so she came over to let us know that none of it was really a big deal (even though I was never unembarrassed about any of it). Right about then, the guy of previous fame re-entered the story, following right behind the girl as she entered the room to advise us, essentially, to shut our equally big mouths.
But, being the stupid guys that we are, we kept on (and on) about it, likely driving the girl to frustration, until she finally burst out (verbally of course)...
"They're just boobs, everybody has seen them"
And that, my friends, is pretty much a direct quote.
So, as if on cue, Mr. Air-can himself raised his hand as though summoning a waiter -- index finger pointed up, one eyebrow raised oh so slightly -- as he quite idiodically replied, "um, I haven't," in response to the girl's proclamation of self-exposure.
[insert further mayhem]
This would be the part involving injury. The girl wound-up good and smacked the guy square across the back, in a manner which I'm certain all in the near vicinity could hear. While the guy didn't physically show us the magnitude of his injury, he expressed (often) that it was quite sore and probably would leave a mark. And he was wondering how on earth was he going to explain that to his wife.
So there you have it. I told you it was no big deal. Just caused me some measurable embarrassment. But I hope some of you can learn at least a little something from my mistakes.
Picture two guys and a girl having a conversation. The guy standing across from the girl happens to be holding a can of compressed air, as he had been recently blowing some dust around ("cleaning the servers" as he calls it). While holding the can of air, and simultaneously conversing with the girl, he developed an apparent nervous twitch and squeezed the trigger on the air for just a moment. I noticed that the air nozzle was (hopefully unintentionally) aimed almost directly at the girl's upper mid-section, if you know what I mean, and she was wearing a somewhat low-cut, slightly loose, v-neck type blouse. Not that I pay attention to such things.
Well, as you might guess, the airflow created some... movement... of the blouse (don't worry, there was no exposure... not that I was looking for it), and as I realized what had happened, I tried to signal to the guy to get him to stop (without the girl noticing as to save all from undue embarrassment), as I didn't think he noticed what he was doing with the air as he conversed.
The guy in question happens to never pay attention to me in general, much less when I speak directly to him, so of course he failed to notice my subtle hints about his potentially embarrassing air assault. So he continued to converse, unphased. And, to my surprise and I guess empathetic embarrassment, he continued to blow his air onto the cleavage. AT LEAST another four times. AND, following each of these air bursts, the girl would engage in a corrective blouse adjustment, as though she were aware of the guy's faux pas. In fact, it looked to me at the time as though she were fully aware of the situation, but just not verbalizing any discomfort, perhaps in order to avoid embarrassment.
Well, upon the conclusion of our conversation, the three of us went our separate ways, going about the business of our days. Things would have been just fine had they been left alone right there.
Maybe an hour later, the aformentioned guy, myself, and three other guys all head to lunch. During lunch, the aformentioned girl becomes the topic of conversation, which reminds me about the nearly disastrous situation a short while before. So, I mention to the previously air-wielding guy what I observed him doing to the girl, and I asked if he realized the danger upon which he dared tread.
As suspected, he did not realize he was blowing air upon the girl inappropriately. And by this point, pretty much everyone at the table was laughing about the scenario I had described. It was a pretty funny moment in retrospect. But little did I know at that lunch, it was not over.
Personally, I would have been fine with the story ending right there. But, thanks to one of the other guys at the lunch table (we'll call him "the traitor" to eliminate confusion), the adventure would continue to escalate.
Apparently, some time after we got back from lunch, "the traitor" approached the girl from the beginning of our story, and he says to her something to the effect of "hey, I hear [the guy] was blowing air on your chest and making your blouse fly open."
[insert mayhem here]
Now, I'm actually reasonably certain the traitor didn't say those precise words, but considering I would have rather the story ended without him stepping outside the circle of trust to divulge the lunch-time conversation to the girl (who was better off without this information), it makes me feel better to imagine that he embarrassed himself in such a way. And since I was not there when he did this, I shall enjoy my moment of poetic license.
Well, as mentioned, the guy did not notice he was blowing air at the girl's cleavage, causing her blouse to flap slightly. It also turns out that the girl, we learned, didn't noticed she was being blown upon, and that the adjusting of her blouse was as habitual as the guy's squeezing of the air trigger to involuntarily incite said blouse. So, this whole funky situation was pretty much almost entirely a figment of my imagination gone wild. I do realize that had I kept my mouth shut to begin with, none of this would have followed. Which is why I even mentioned the incident in yesterday's blog, because it was the icing on my day of poor communication management.
Did you think the story was over?
Not quite, there's still the injury part.
You see, sometime after the traitor chopped down the trust tree with smiling glee, I confronted him about that big giant mouth of his. I advised that he keep his mouth entirely shut from then on out, never to be heard from again, because the conversation he divulged was never intended for broader consumption. So, of course, as know-it-all guys, we subsequently engaged in idle banter about whose fault it was to begin with, and we were being entirely too loud about it.
[re-enter cleavage girl]
The girl could apparently hear us across the hall bantering about who's mouth was bigger and needed to remain the most shut, so she came over to let us know that none of it was really a big deal (even though I was never unembarrassed about any of it). Right about then, the guy of previous fame re-entered the story, following right behind the girl as she entered the room to advise us, essentially, to shut our equally big mouths.
But, being the stupid guys that we are, we kept on (and on) about it, likely driving the girl to frustration, until she finally burst out (verbally of course)...
"They're just boobs, everybody has seen them"
And that, my friends, is pretty much a direct quote.
So, as if on cue, Mr. Air-can himself raised his hand as though summoning a waiter -- index finger pointed up, one eyebrow raised oh so slightly -- as he quite idiodically replied, "um, I haven't," in response to the girl's proclamation of self-exposure.
[insert further mayhem]
This would be the part involving injury. The girl wound-up good and smacked the guy square across the back, in a manner which I'm certain all in the near vicinity could hear. While the guy didn't physically show us the magnitude of his injury, he expressed (often) that it was quite sore and probably would leave a mark. And he was wondering how on earth was he going to explain that to his wife.
So there you have it. I told you it was no big deal. Just caused me some measurable embarrassment. But I hope some of you can learn at least a little something from my mistakes.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Much a "do" about nothing
It's that time of the month.
Time for a haircut.
Haircuts are always (and I mean ALWAYS) a hassle for me for various reasons. I've got this funky amer-asian hair that never takes well to cuttings. Combine that with most of the "barbers" I've delt with that don't take well to cutting funky amer-asian hair, and you've got yourself an all-around kludge.
I went to the haircut factory (supercuts) this evening in search of a good clipping, but it was unusually packed. The girls were with me and I didn't want to encroach upon their bath time, so we headed home, cut-free.
The crux of my problem is the lack of barber-stability. Most folks I know have a regular barber or hair-dresser or whatever the appropriate term might be. Much in the same way most of us have a regular doctor, eye doctor, dentist, etc. But I've never been able to find someone that could adequately and reliably handle my mop. My friend Jim in Philly knows what I'm talking about. Back in high school I tried his life-long barber, with less than splendid results. And I've tried the barbers of others as well over the years, but to no avail. Thus I am relegated to the model-T of barbers, the hair-o-matic stylings of the (not so)supercuts. I wouldn't mind that so much, but it's not even cheap. Well, I guess it is compared to what it costs a woman to get a good do, but I'm reminded of the days of $5-8 haircuts that were at least as good as my $12 "super" cut. I mean, the price of gas has gone up quite a bit, but even it hasn't doubled.
Don't get me wrong, I can't entirely blame the cutters. They've not much to work with from the cuttee.
Time for a haircut.
Haircuts are always (and I mean ALWAYS) a hassle for me for various reasons. I've got this funky amer-asian hair that never takes well to cuttings. Combine that with most of the "barbers" I've delt with that don't take well to cutting funky amer-asian hair, and you've got yourself an all-around kludge.
I went to the haircut factory (supercuts) this evening in search of a good clipping, but it was unusually packed. The girls were with me and I didn't want to encroach upon their bath time, so we headed home, cut-free.
The crux of my problem is the lack of barber-stability. Most folks I know have a regular barber or hair-dresser or whatever the appropriate term might be. Much in the same way most of us have a regular doctor, eye doctor, dentist, etc. But I've never been able to find someone that could adequately and reliably handle my mop. My friend Jim in Philly knows what I'm talking about. Back in high school I tried his life-long barber, with less than splendid results. And I've tried the barbers of others as well over the years, but to no avail. Thus I am relegated to the model-T of barbers, the hair-o-matic stylings of the (not so)supercuts. I wouldn't mind that so much, but it's not even cheap. Well, I guess it is compared to what it costs a woman to get a good do, but I'm reminded of the days of $5-8 haircuts that were at least as good as my $12 "super" cut. I mean, the price of gas has gone up quite a bit, but even it hasn't doubled.
Don't get me wrong, I can't entirely blame the cutters. They've not much to work with from the cuttee.
They will never call me... "the great communicator"
(unless they're referring to netscape)
Today was a day of great... miscommunication. Not only did I make up a word (actually, I made up two, but I forgot the other one already), but I entered into a very embarrasing cleavage scenario. VECS, for those that like the acronyms. I'm still in debate as to whether I even want to begin going into that one. But that was definitely the moment of greatest laughter. There were even injuries. I just... don't know where to begin.
But back to the roots of this blog for a moment, it's important to mention that Shelby has had her best disciplinary week in recent memory. She's gotten one tally all week, which is a far cry from her usual plunder. Both kids got progress reports from school, and they are good, though Darby's grades have dropped slightly (nothing major... yet).
And BTW, some of the good blog-action tonight happened in a comment, for those that don't follow them.
But back to the roots of this blog for a moment, it's important to mention that Shelby has had her best disciplinary week in recent memory. She's gotten one tally all week, which is a far cry from her usual plunder. Both kids got progress reports from school, and they are good, though Darby's grades have dropped slightly (nothing major... yet).
And BTW, some of the good blog-action tonight happened in a comment, for those that don't follow them.
Here's something I didn't post last night because I was trying so hard to quit... but now that I've come to terms with my addiction (I believe I'm on a two-year contract with a high penalty for early termination)...
Yesterday morning was a case of classic UMF. Classic because it was such a tightly wound morning that finally came together, and as we got ready to go outside I estimated we'd get to school with a few minutes to spare, until we actually got outside and saw the car.
THIS morning I peeked outside far in advance of our departure. But of course there was no frost. It's only there when I least expect it.
Yesterday morning was a case of classic UMF. Classic because it was such a tightly wound morning that finally came together, and as we got ready to go outside I estimated we'd get to school with a few minutes to spare, until we actually got outside and saw the car.
THIS morning I peeked outside far in advance of our departure. But of course there was no frost. It's only there when I least expect it.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Why stop now?
Someone actually recommended today that I stop blogging. Advising that it was adversely impacting my life.
They were serious.
Okay, well, I guess this will be my last blog.... thanks for reading.
They were serious.
Okay, well, I guess this will be my last blog.... thanks for reading.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Lost tales (from the back blog)
I just posted an old story that was never told. Now it has been told, and you have even more useless knowledge in your head.
I am pure evil
This is what people are telling me at work as they walk by my desk, see the box of school-fundraiser candybars, deposit a dollar, and walk away with candybar in clutched hand. Apparently, my support of my children's school is breaking resolutions all over the place. I have become the scourge of the office. Co-workers are traveling from distant cubicles to taste of my "evil" and then curse me for tempting them toward the dark side. The clinched-teeth faces and dastardly pointed-and-waving fingers are becoming all too common as the days pass.
But I am not making anybody partake of these VERY delicious, super-yummy chocolate treats. They simply sit there, innocently, on top of a printer even (for lack of a better place), for others to see as they traverse the thoroughfare that is near my cubicle (pods as we call them for whatever reason).
Sure, on days with long meetings that follow lunch, the box of unconquerable goodness may find its way to the head of a meeting table coincidently in my vicinity, but who knew it would cause so much joy and anger simultaneously.
The constituents of my three-flavors (caramel, crunch, almond) of delightful, smooth chocolate fun have found themselves thrusting their forcefully crumpled dollar bills in the general direction of the box-o-goodies, as they stomp angrily away, caramel in hand of course!
I truly do not see what all of this terrible fuss is about. Would anyone like to tell me what the big deal is? (while enjoying a mouthful of milk-chocolatey sweetness, of course)
But I am not making anybody partake of these VERY delicious, super-yummy chocolate treats. They simply sit there, innocently, on top of a printer even (for lack of a better place), for others to see as they traverse the thoroughfare that is near my cubicle (pods as we call them for whatever reason).
Sure, on days with long meetings that follow lunch, the box of unconquerable goodness may find its way to the head of a meeting table coincidently in my vicinity, but who knew it would cause so much joy and anger simultaneously.
The constituents of my three-flavors (caramel, crunch, almond) of delightful, smooth chocolate fun have found themselves thrusting their forcefully crumpled dollar bills in the general direction of the box-o-goodies, as they stomp angrily away, caramel in hand of course!
I truly do not see what all of this terrible fuss is about. Would anyone like to tell me what the big deal is? (while enjoying a mouthful of milk-chocolatey sweetness, of course)
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Disaster(s) Avoided
Our little work situation got resolved by the professionals this morning. Definitely glad we didn't have to get involved and implement contingencies. So that disaster was avoided.
I was juggling many phone calls for work with lunch at Mimi's Cafe, a very tasty (and filling) new establishment in far northwest OKC. Highly recommended. I may have to do a review on Eating Oklahoma.
After lunch I saw Along Came Polly, which was very good and VERY funny. There were very few moments of non-laughter for me, so don't believe the critics. And the company was excellent, so I don't think this was a disaster either. But only time will tell.
I have since picked up the kids from their mother's, and we are gearing up for new plans.
I was juggling many phone calls for work with lunch at Mimi's Cafe, a very tasty (and filling) new establishment in far northwest OKC. Highly recommended. I may have to do a review on Eating Oklahoma.
After lunch I saw Along Came Polly, which was very good and VERY funny. There were very few moments of non-laughter for me, so don't believe the critics. And the company was excellent, so I don't think this was a disaster either. But only time will tell.
I have since picked up the kids from their mother's, and we are gearing up for new plans.
Ugh
I just got off about an hour's worth of multiple conference calls for a work-related network connectivity problem. There is some really really broke stuff right now, and if they can't get it fixed in the morning, we may find ourselves pulling out contingency plans and having to work a lot this weekend.
Before getting the first phone call, I was falling asleep between my last post and trying to catch the news headlines. So much for that. Though I'm still REALLY tired and I have a potentially interesting day and weekend ahead of me.
Before getting the first phone call, I was falling asleep between my last post and trying to catch the news headlines. So much for that. Though I'm still REALLY tired and I have a potentially interesting day and weekend ahead of me.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Complications of a sick child
I got the call at 8:30. Shelby is sick and needs to be picked up from school.
Drat. It's every parent's worst non-emergency fear. Obviously a serious injury or something would be a worst fear, but most parents that have had to juggle work issues and a sick child at the same time understand that there are complications involved with that, and they fear that situation on a near daily basis when they know their child is teetering on the edge of being ill.
So, I picked Shelby up from school and took her to work with me. On the way to work, I called her doctor's office and asked if they thought they needed to see her. After I described what was going on with her, they said they wanted to see her. So, we got an appointment -- 3:45pm... yuck -- and headed to my office.
Shelby was very good this morning at the office, probably the best she'd ever been, for which I was thankful. Mostly she drew pictures and then started to watch a movie. One of my standard practices if I have to bring a kid to work is to also bring the portable DVD player, headphones, and a few movies so they won't be bored out of their minds (my office isn't exactly an exciting environment for kids). So she picked Lilo & Stitch and watched the first half of it before lunch while I was trying to get caught up from being out a big chunk of the morning.
One last note of interest concerning this morning, Shelby decided to put an orange dot sticker on her nose, and she walked around with it there all day, despite my requests that she remove it. She can be a strange one at times.
So we went to lunch at Mazzio's, but she said she didn't feel well enough to eat, though I tried multiple times to get her to eat something. Thanks to Rob who snapped that splendid photo of Shelby with the orange dot on her nose while we were at lunch. Shelby was pretty goofy for a girl that was supposed to be sick. And towards the end of lunch she asked me if she could play games in the arcade, so I gave her my only two quarters (had no small bills) and said go play what you can. Well, she came back not long after and said that she had put a quarter in the candy machine and nothing came out and that she thought it took two quarters. So I asked her to go put the other quarter in it to get the candy, which she ran off to do. Again she came back not long after and said that she had put the other quarter in a racing game, but it wouldn't start and that maybe it needed two quarters. I'm going to leave that part of the story right where it is, because I'm still shaking my head in disbelief.
We got back to the office and finally got settled back in with her continuing to watch her movie, as I had to get on a conference call to work out some technical issues. Well, the conference call ended up lasting two hours, but about halfway through the call, Shelby's movie ended. Though I put another movie in for her, she was already bored with that, so she kept doing the "when are we leaving" thing every five or ten minutes as I was trying to answer questions in the conference call. I finally got her to get interested in drawing again, and before long it was a little quiter than I expected it to be. When I turned around to check on her, she had fallen asleep in the chair. I'm certain she needed that.
I finished my conference call about 3pm, which gave me very little time to wrap things up and get to the doctor's office, which was across town. Well, I had three things I had to do before I left, so it ended up being like 3:20 before we got out of there, and then I lost my car in the parking lot at the worst possible time. So there I am, carrying all kinds of stuff (my work stuff, and the stuff I brought to entertain Shelby), holding my sick daughter's hand, looking for my car, and it's thirty degrees out with a firm wind, making it probably more like fifteen or twenty degrees with wind chill, which isn't exactly great on the sick daugher, and I can't find my car, all along with the clock ticking on a drive that I knew would take at least twenty minutes.
When I finally found the car, the cell phone rang. Argh. It was the ex-wife calling me back (she tried to call me during that conference call to find out what was going on with the doctor, but I couldn't take her call), so I handed the phone to Shelby and asked her to talk to her mom so I could get on the road if we had any hope of making it on time. It was like 3:26 when we finally got up to full speed. So I got the phone from Shelby, let the ex-wife know I was headed to the doctor's office, and she said she would meet me there.
Shelby and I got to the doctor's office right at 3:45. Despite all of our hurrying, everything got mollases slow right then.
First problem, the receptionist wanted us to fill out all new paperwork, which they make us do once a year. So I picked an argument with her, which probably wasn't the best idea, but man she can be abrasive sometimes (or maybe it was me being abrasive). I asked for blank copies of the forms (aside from what I had to fill out) so that I could take them home, scan them in, and fill the forms out digitally and just bring them new copies at each visit since none of that information has changed in seven years. I think she thought I meant that I wasn't going to fill out new forms right then, so I had to re-clarify after some initial banter back and forth ("sorry your information hasn't changed, but we don't get paid if you don't fill out these forms", "if you don't fill out the forms you can pay the full price of the visit" etc etc) that I intended to fill out the needless forms but just wanted extra copies to take with me. Argh.
Second, the waiting room was way packed. We ended up being in the waiting room for more than an hour, so I'm definitely glad we hurried and all. Amy read several books to Shelby, and then we watched home movies. I had brought my camera bag in with me (you never know when Shelby might strike a pose) which has both my digital camera and my digital camcorder in it, so we watched some of Darby's recent birthday footage, and some of Shelby's dance performances before they finally got around to calling us. But before we move on, take note that while we waited, Shelby said she had to use the restroom, but when I took her, she changed her mind and said she didn't have to go.
Third, once we were called from the big waiting room to the little waiting room, we were in the little waiting room for another thirty minutes before we saw the doctor. About five minutes of that waiting was the questions from the nurse about Shelby's condition, as well as the height (44in)/weight (46lbs) measurements. The rest of the time was idle time, and again I was glad we hurried. But Shelby once more said she had to go potty, so I took her again, only for her to say she wanted to hold it. No matter how much I argued with her, she wouldn't go into the bathroom and make use of it. So we went back to the little waiting room to continue our exciting times. One of which was Shelby informing us that she could touch her nose with her bottom lip (I call this one "Shelby's bitter (root)beer face" or "Shelby's rendition of the scene from the Matrix, 'what good is a phone call if you are unable to speak'" ... note the still present orange dot). Again, no one said Shelby wasn't a bit on the strange side (not unlike her father).
Finally the doctor arrives (this rant is nothing on her, she's great, really), and Shelby suddenly has to go potty and can't hold it anymore. Gasp. I tell her she will have to wait at this point, because she had quite some time and two chances to avoid this problem. And oh by the way, at this point it was after five o'clock and time was starting to dwindle before one of us was going to have to go pickup Darby.
As I feared, the time reached 5:30, and we were still in with the doctor, so I had to excuse myself to drive back across town to pickup Darby from her school after care while Amy stayed behind with Shelby at the Doctor's. About fifteen minutes later, as I was on the way to get Darby, Amy called me and said they were done, so I gave her a location to meet me at after I got Darby.
When I got to Darby's school, it was the worst time for it, but it was one of those "hunt for your child" moments, as they are not always where you expect them to be. Usually they are in one of the classrooms downstairs, but sometimes they are in the gymnasium, or sometimes in an upstairs classroom. After exhausting those three options, it was determined that they were in the library, which is rare for after care, but I finally got her ready to go and we headed off to meet her mother, as the kids were due to stay with mommy tonight.
So you think I am done, but not quite. After I saw Darby and Shelby off, I headed to the pharmacy to drop off the three prescriptions that we got for Shelby, and then I went to get a bite to eat while they were getting that ready. Of course, I arrived back at the pharmacy thirty minutes after they said they'd have it done, only to find they were not quite done yet. I probably waited at the pharmacy at least twenty minutes for my $43 in prespcriptions (only to find later that they had forgotten one... I had ordered a refill for a separate prescription for Shelby a few days before and asked that they include that with this order, but they must have forgotten... so I have to go back tomorrow). But wait there's more! About halfway through my wait, the pharmacy tech informed me that I would have to changes lanes since I had used the outside lane, which uses is small pneumatic tubes, and one of Shelby's prescriptions (a new inhaler) wouldn't fit in the tube. However, there was already a line for the inside lane, which uses a large drawer for big items, contributing to my overall waiting experience.
Finally, I got to head back across town to the ex-wife's house so that I could get Shelby going on her medications.
It may not have come across this way, but the whole experience was a bit exhausting. I am A LOT more tired than I usually am this time of day.
Drat. It's every parent's worst non-emergency fear. Obviously a serious injury or something would be a worst fear, but most parents that have had to juggle work issues and a sick child at the same time understand that there are complications involved with that, and they fear that situation on a near daily basis when they know their child is teetering on the edge of being ill.
So, I picked Shelby up from school and took her to work with me. On the way to work, I called her doctor's office and asked if they thought they needed to see her. After I described what was going on with her, they said they wanted to see her. So, we got an appointment -- 3:45pm... yuck -- and headed to my office.
Shelby was very good this morning at the office, probably the best she'd ever been, for which I was thankful. Mostly she drew pictures and then started to watch a movie. One of my standard practices if I have to bring a kid to work is to also bring the portable DVD player, headphones, and a few movies so they won't be bored out of their minds (my office isn't exactly an exciting environment for kids). So she picked Lilo & Stitch and watched the first half of it before lunch while I was trying to get caught up from being out a big chunk of the morning.
One last note of interest concerning this morning, Shelby decided to put an orange dot sticker on her nose, and she walked around with it there all day, despite my requests that she remove it. She can be a strange one at times.
So we went to lunch at Mazzio's, but she said she didn't feel well enough to eat, though I tried multiple times to get her to eat something. Thanks to Rob who snapped that splendid photo of Shelby with the orange dot on her nose while we were at lunch. Shelby was pretty goofy for a girl that was supposed to be sick. And towards the end of lunch she asked me if she could play games in the arcade, so I gave her my only two quarters (had no small bills) and said go play what you can. Well, she came back not long after and said that she had put a quarter in the candy machine and nothing came out and that she thought it took two quarters. So I asked her to go put the other quarter in it to get the candy, which she ran off to do. Again she came back not long after and said that she had put the other quarter in a racing game, but it wouldn't start and that maybe it needed two quarters. I'm going to leave that part of the story right where it is, because I'm still shaking my head in disbelief.
We got back to the office and finally got settled back in with her continuing to watch her movie, as I had to get on a conference call to work out some technical issues. Well, the conference call ended up lasting two hours, but about halfway through the call, Shelby's movie ended. Though I put another movie in for her, she was already bored with that, so she kept doing the "when are we leaving" thing every five or ten minutes as I was trying to answer questions in the conference call. I finally got her to get interested in drawing again, and before long it was a little quiter than I expected it to be. When I turned around to check on her, she had fallen asleep in the chair. I'm certain she needed that.
I finished my conference call about 3pm, which gave me very little time to wrap things up and get to the doctor's office, which was across town. Well, I had three things I had to do before I left, so it ended up being like 3:20 before we got out of there, and then I lost my car in the parking lot at the worst possible time. So there I am, carrying all kinds of stuff (my work stuff, and the stuff I brought to entertain Shelby), holding my sick daughter's hand, looking for my car, and it's thirty degrees out with a firm wind, making it probably more like fifteen or twenty degrees with wind chill, which isn't exactly great on the sick daugher, and I can't find my car, all along with the clock ticking on a drive that I knew would take at least twenty minutes.
When I finally found the car, the cell phone rang. Argh. It was the ex-wife calling me back (she tried to call me during that conference call to find out what was going on with the doctor, but I couldn't take her call), so I handed the phone to Shelby and asked her to talk to her mom so I could get on the road if we had any hope of making it on time. It was like 3:26 when we finally got up to full speed. So I got the phone from Shelby, let the ex-wife know I was headed to the doctor's office, and she said she would meet me there.
Shelby and I got to the doctor's office right at 3:45. Despite all of our hurrying, everything got mollases slow right then.
First problem, the receptionist wanted us to fill out all new paperwork, which they make us do once a year. So I picked an argument with her, which probably wasn't the best idea, but man she can be abrasive sometimes (or maybe it was me being abrasive). I asked for blank copies of the forms (aside from what I had to fill out) so that I could take them home, scan them in, and fill the forms out digitally and just bring them new copies at each visit since none of that information has changed in seven years. I think she thought I meant that I wasn't going to fill out new forms right then, so I had to re-clarify after some initial banter back and forth ("sorry your information hasn't changed, but we don't get paid if you don't fill out these forms", "if you don't fill out the forms you can pay the full price of the visit" etc etc) that I intended to fill out the needless forms but just wanted extra copies to take with me. Argh.
Second, the waiting room was way packed. We ended up being in the waiting room for more than an hour, so I'm definitely glad we hurried and all. Amy read several books to Shelby, and then we watched home movies. I had brought my camera bag in with me (you never know when Shelby might strike a pose) which has both my digital camera and my digital camcorder in it, so we watched some of Darby's recent birthday footage, and some of Shelby's dance performances before they finally got around to calling us. But before we move on, take note that while we waited, Shelby said she had to use the restroom, but when I took her, she changed her mind and said she didn't have to go.
Third, once we were called from the big waiting room to the little waiting room, we were in the little waiting room for another thirty minutes before we saw the doctor. About five minutes of that waiting was the questions from the nurse about Shelby's condition, as well as the height (44in)/weight (46lbs) measurements. The rest of the time was idle time, and again I was glad we hurried. But Shelby once more said she had to go potty, so I took her again, only for her to say she wanted to hold it. No matter how much I argued with her, she wouldn't go into the bathroom and make use of it. So we went back to the little waiting room to continue our exciting times. One of which was Shelby informing us that she could touch her nose with her bottom lip (I call this one "Shelby's bitter (root)beer face" or "Shelby's rendition of the scene from the Matrix, 'what good is a phone call if you are unable to speak'" ... note the still present orange dot). Again, no one said Shelby wasn't a bit on the strange side (not unlike her father).
Finally the doctor arrives (this rant is nothing on her, she's great, really), and Shelby suddenly has to go potty and can't hold it anymore. Gasp. I tell her she will have to wait at this point, because she had quite some time and two chances to avoid this problem. And oh by the way, at this point it was after five o'clock and time was starting to dwindle before one of us was going to have to go pickup Darby.
As I feared, the time reached 5:30, and we were still in with the doctor, so I had to excuse myself to drive back across town to pickup Darby from her school after care while Amy stayed behind with Shelby at the Doctor's. About fifteen minutes later, as I was on the way to get Darby, Amy called me and said they were done, so I gave her a location to meet me at after I got Darby.
When I got to Darby's school, it was the worst time for it, but it was one of those "hunt for your child" moments, as they are not always where you expect them to be. Usually they are in one of the classrooms downstairs, but sometimes they are in the gymnasium, or sometimes in an upstairs classroom. After exhausting those three options, it was determined that they were in the library, which is rare for after care, but I finally got her ready to go and we headed off to meet her mother, as the kids were due to stay with mommy tonight.
So you think I am done, but not quite. After I saw Darby and Shelby off, I headed to the pharmacy to drop off the three prescriptions that we got for Shelby, and then I went to get a bite to eat while they were getting that ready. Of course, I arrived back at the pharmacy thirty minutes after they said they'd have it done, only to find they were not quite done yet. I probably waited at the pharmacy at least twenty minutes for my $43 in prespcriptions (only to find later that they had forgotten one... I had ordered a refill for a separate prescription for Shelby a few days before and asked that they include that with this order, but they must have forgotten... so I have to go back tomorrow). But wait there's more! About halfway through my wait, the pharmacy tech informed me that I would have to changes lanes since I had used the outside lane, which uses is small pneumatic tubes, and one of Shelby's prescriptions (a new inhaler) wouldn't fit in the tube. However, there was already a line for the inside lane, which uses a large drawer for big items, contributing to my overall waiting experience.
Finally, I got to head back across town to the ex-wife's house so that I could get Shelby going on her medications.
It may not have come across this way, but the whole experience was a bit exhausting. I am A LOT more tired than I usually am this time of day.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Open House
The girls' school had an open house this evening. I call it "PTC Lite". It's not the dedicated, all out parent-teacher conference we have a couple of times a year, rather it was all the parents in the classroom at once checking out some of the things the kids are working on and having a few words with the teacher. Of course it was all preceeded by some announcements in the auditorium.
"Oh freakin' crap!"
Those were my words, spoken quite loudly at lunch this afternoon, to the extent that I'm pretty sure EVERYone in the place heard me.
The words were in instant realization that I had made a terrible mistake. One that would earn me ridicule for an undeterminable amount of time. All future lunches would be tainted by this very action.
You see, just last week, I performed an off-blog rant concerning the dangers of beverage mix-up at a crowded table. Only to this week be both victim and executor of that unpleasant scenario.
Last week, I discussed the possibility of two people of opposite hand (e.g. right vs. left), sitting next to or across from one another, mixing up their drinks for one reason or another, because the drinks would be side by side. That conversation was in the context of everyone at the table having very contrasting tastes in beverages, and alluded to the mayhem that could ensue should a mix-up occur.
This week, that same scenario played itself out, and I failed miserably when faced with that challenge.
Picture a two-person table that, due to seating under-capacity, had been rigged to seat three. Now imagine my self, a right hander, sitting across from a lefty, our drinks now in near proximity of one another. But, to make room for the third person, I moved my drink to the left of me! All better, you might think. Problem solved you may say. Well, only if we were speaking of someone who could talk and a pay attention at the same time, and those who know me, know that isn't me.
So as I carried on a probably meaningless conversation, enjoying my Quizno's smoked turkey sandwich, I apparently let my cerebellum take over my beverage processing functions (that's the portion of your brain responsible for involuntary actions like breathing and blinking for you nit-picky people). But, I realized my error simultaneously as it occured, thus the violent verbal explosion as the contrary thoughts occupied the same place and time in my brain. You might think, after this, that I did not have one.
Anyway, as noted, out of involuntary habit I can only imagine, my right hand reached out for and obtained a beverage (remember that I had moved mine to the left side), brought it to my mouth, and as I tasted what was clearly NOT Dr. Pepper, I bursted out my dread. You see, lemonade can in no way be mistaken for any form of soda-type beverage.
As you might conclude, much mayhem ensued, as previously theroized, surrounding both my actions and my outburst.
I expect lunch will never be the same again. I shall endure the echos of my past far into my future.
The words were in instant realization that I had made a terrible mistake. One that would earn me ridicule for an undeterminable amount of time. All future lunches would be tainted by this very action.
You see, just last week, I performed an off-blog rant concerning the dangers of beverage mix-up at a crowded table. Only to this week be both victim and executor of that unpleasant scenario.
Last week, I discussed the possibility of two people of opposite hand (e.g. right vs. left), sitting next to or across from one another, mixing up their drinks for one reason or another, because the drinks would be side by side. That conversation was in the context of everyone at the table having very contrasting tastes in beverages, and alluded to the mayhem that could ensue should a mix-up occur.
This week, that same scenario played itself out, and I failed miserably when faced with that challenge.
Picture a two-person table that, due to seating under-capacity, had been rigged to seat three. Now imagine my self, a right hander, sitting across from a lefty, our drinks now in near proximity of one another. But, to make room for the third person, I moved my drink to the left of me! All better, you might think. Problem solved you may say. Well, only if we were speaking of someone who could talk and a pay attention at the same time, and those who know me, know that isn't me.
So as I carried on a probably meaningless conversation, enjoying my Quizno's smoked turkey sandwich, I apparently let my cerebellum take over my beverage processing functions (that's the portion of your brain responsible for involuntary actions like breathing and blinking for you nit-picky people). But, I realized my error simultaneously as it occured, thus the violent verbal explosion as the contrary thoughts occupied the same place and time in my brain. You might think, after this, that I did not have one.
Anyway, as noted, out of involuntary habit I can only imagine, my right hand reached out for and obtained a beverage (remember that I had moved mine to the left side), brought it to my mouth, and as I tasted what was clearly NOT Dr. Pepper, I bursted out my dread. You see, lemonade can in no way be mistaken for any form of soda-type beverage.
As you might conclude, much mayhem ensued, as previously theroized, surrounding both my actions and my outburst.
I expect lunch will never be the same again. I shall endure the echos of my past far into my future.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Prepared for once
It seems as though I'm always ranting about my complete lack of preparation for any given situation, as was alluded in a discussion today. So, here is an example of my (occasional) ability to be very well prepared far in advance.
I bought the girls Valentine's cards for school in early January, and we've spent the last few days filling them out (cards, envelopes, and both sets came with stickers) so that we wouldn't be rushing to do it this time next week for their class Valentine parties. It's a minor example, but in past years it has been quite the opposite, so had this blog existed this time last year, the predecessor to this post might have included the customary "Holy Crap, it's Valentine's Day?" style rant.
I bought the girls Valentine's cards for school in early January, and we've spent the last few days filling them out (cards, envelopes, and both sets came with stickers) so that we wouldn't be rushing to do it this time next week for their class Valentine parties. It's a minor example, but in past years it has been quite the opposite, so had this blog existed this time last year, the predecessor to this post might have included the customary "Holy Crap, it's Valentine's Day?" style rant.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
UMF
Most folks don't like surprises. Not unexpected surprises anyway, if that makes any sense.
And I'm pretty darn sure no one likes "morning surprises". Those little events that throw the rythmn of your day off from the get go, keeping you off balance all day long.
Most folks have a morning routine. A schedule. Maybe even a plan B. And some folks have built in the appropriate amount of slack into their morning to account for foreseable challenges.
For the most part, I feel that I have those bases covered, but for some unkown reason, I keep finding myself falling prey to one particular form of "morning surprise" that I just never seem to prepare for, no matter how many times it bites me. And it really just messes things up, almost always when the morning is nearly going well but the slightest variance will throw it out of whack.
So what is this monstrosity that so torments my mornings when I least expect or need it?
I call it UMF... or "unexpected morning frost". It seems silly, and it's certainly not the worst thing that can go wrong, but man, if you're not thinking about it, and you're falling behind, but you're on the virge of making up the time and getting all caught up with your morning, only to step outside to see that your car is not frost-free... at all. Ugh.
At least if a kid is sick or you get a flat tire or there's an accident on the highway, you can just tell it like it is and it's accepted as a non-mitigatable risk factor (NMRF). But when your windows are frosted over, and you've got to take several minutes to compensate -- subsequently shattering the equilibrium of your day -- what kind of excuse is that? Sorry I'm running behind, sir, my windows were frosty...
Sometimes when I experience UMF, I want to just get back in bed and "eject" from the morning. I forfeit, see you at lunch. Things will be better after lunch, all back in order. But unfortunately I don't live in a fantasy world (most of the time) where the unattended problems of the morning make themselves happy little solved problems by the afternoon without my (at least partial) intervention.
I know that most people will read this and think what a lame story it is, just scrape your windows and move on with life buddy. But from the single parent perspective -- my perspective, when you're struggling some mornings just to get the kiddos out of bed, much less get them fed and ready, sometimes you just don't think to glance outside to check the visibility status of your windshield. And, of course, it's on mornings like today when the "must leave now" point is fast approaching and the kids are still not quite ready, and I think I still might make it out on time because here they come with all of their stuff together, only to step outside and realize immediately... crap. We're not going anywhere.
It's really not that big a deal in the grand scheme of my daily problems, but it throws the day off just enough to give me issues throughout the day, when I already had plenty to begin with.
Now tomorrow, we're expecting a "wintery mix", so I'll therefore expect the possibility of MF/ice and plan for starting the car up early to defrost. No big deal. Even if bad weather related traffic throws off my day, it's still dismissable as an NMRF. Today, however, I was not expecting the frost, and it was the really thick frost that required extra elbow-umph (and time) to clear away.
Thus my rant about UMF. As expected, my whole day felt "off" and I've still yet to feel like I'm back on track. Though the day is about over. Why can't we have cool morning surprises, like UPCL (unexpected piles of cash on the lawn), or KARGU (kids already ready when I get up)?
I hope this is not just a me thing. But I suspect it is.
And I'm pretty darn sure no one likes "morning surprises". Those little events that throw the rythmn of your day off from the get go, keeping you off balance all day long.
Most folks have a morning routine. A schedule. Maybe even a plan B. And some folks have built in the appropriate amount of slack into their morning to account for foreseable challenges.
For the most part, I feel that I have those bases covered, but for some unkown reason, I keep finding myself falling prey to one particular form of "morning surprise" that I just never seem to prepare for, no matter how many times it bites me. And it really just messes things up, almost always when the morning is nearly going well but the slightest variance will throw it out of whack.
So what is this monstrosity that so torments my mornings when I least expect or need it?
I call it UMF... or "unexpected morning frost". It seems silly, and it's certainly not the worst thing that can go wrong, but man, if you're not thinking about it, and you're falling behind, but you're on the virge of making up the time and getting all caught up with your morning, only to step outside to see that your car is not frost-free... at all. Ugh.
At least if a kid is sick or you get a flat tire or there's an accident on the highway, you can just tell it like it is and it's accepted as a non-mitigatable risk factor (NMRF). But when your windows are frosted over, and you've got to take several minutes to compensate -- subsequently shattering the equilibrium of your day -- what kind of excuse is that? Sorry I'm running behind, sir, my windows were frosty...
Sometimes when I experience UMF, I want to just get back in bed and "eject" from the morning. I forfeit, see you at lunch. Things will be better after lunch, all back in order. But unfortunately I don't live in a fantasy world (most of the time) where the unattended problems of the morning make themselves happy little solved problems by the afternoon without my (at least partial) intervention.
I know that most people will read this and think what a lame story it is, just scrape your windows and move on with life buddy. But from the single parent perspective -- my perspective, when you're struggling some mornings just to get the kiddos out of bed, much less get them fed and ready, sometimes you just don't think to glance outside to check the visibility status of your windshield. And, of course, it's on mornings like today when the "must leave now" point is fast approaching and the kids are still not quite ready, and I think I still might make it out on time because here they come with all of their stuff together, only to step outside and realize immediately... crap. We're not going anywhere.
It's really not that big a deal in the grand scheme of my daily problems, but it throws the day off just enough to give me issues throughout the day, when I already had plenty to begin with.
Now tomorrow, we're expecting a "wintery mix", so I'll therefore expect the possibility of MF/ice and plan for starting the car up early to defrost. No big deal. Even if bad weather related traffic throws off my day, it's still dismissable as an NMRF. Today, however, I was not expecting the frost, and it was the really thick frost that required extra elbow-umph (and time) to clear away.
Thus my rant about UMF. As expected, my whole day felt "off" and I've still yet to feel like I'm back on track. Though the day is about over. Why can't we have cool morning surprises, like UPCL (unexpected piles of cash on the lawn), or KARGU (kids already ready when I get up)?
I hope this is not just a me thing. But I suspect it is.
Monday, February 02, 2004
NO MORE WINTER!!!
Freakin' groundhogs. Who needs 'em. Or their six more bloody weeks of winter.
When I was 11, I went groundhog hunting in the Pennsylvania countryside with a step-uncle. We spotted one of the little buggers poking his head out of a hole in an alfalfa field, so we laid low until he put a little distance between himself and that hole, my uncle with it in his sights all the while. One of us must have twitched (probably me), as the critter started running across the field, so my uncle opened fire, missing a couple of times, and then getting an apparent hit. I remember vividly that it was an off-center gut shot, as the groundhog spun around from the momentum of the bullet (clockwise, his nose and tail remaining fairly still, while his legs circled around his body) only to land on his feet again and take a few more steps before falling over to apparent demise.
This all happened maybe seventy-five to a hundred yards away, so it was a bit of a walk (for an eleven year-old) over to the deceased rodent. When we arrived at the scene, his guts were hanging out the side of his body, and he was definitely deceased, though not quite stone cold. That was probably the grossest thing I'd seen to that point in my life. But it got worse. My uncle made me carry the groundhog by the tail all the way back to his house, oozing guts and all. I have no idea how long a walk it was, or how heavy that thing was to my little arms, but I remember that it sucked real bad. And I remember trying with all my might to avoid swaying the creature in a manner that might smear its guts on me. I also remember some of the guts inching further towards the ground, much in the way a kid might let a string of spit hang, nearly touching the ground, before being sucked back up (a la Adam Sandler's Big Daddy). Only no one was going to suck these guts up.
When we got to my uncle's house, we proceeded to gut (what was left) and skin the groundhog. But I can only guess that my uncle ate that groundhog for supper some night thereafter. My mother, sister, and I were only visiting our in-laws for a short time, and we didn't participate in any groundhog consumption during that visit.
But... every groundhog day since then, when that darn Phil character in another part of Pennsylvania goes and sees his shadow in apparent foretelling of additional winter weeks to come... I ponder my experience with his (hopefully) distant cousin, and wish I could extend a similar courtesy to Mr. Phil as well.
(post story editorial comment... that came out a lot more gruesome than originally conceived upon my reflections of this day of hogging ground)
When I was 11, I went groundhog hunting in the Pennsylvania countryside with a step-uncle. We spotted one of the little buggers poking his head out of a hole in an alfalfa field, so we laid low until he put a little distance between himself and that hole, my uncle with it in his sights all the while. One of us must have twitched (probably me), as the critter started running across the field, so my uncle opened fire, missing a couple of times, and then getting an apparent hit. I remember vividly that it was an off-center gut shot, as the groundhog spun around from the momentum of the bullet (clockwise, his nose and tail remaining fairly still, while his legs circled around his body) only to land on his feet again and take a few more steps before falling over to apparent demise.
This all happened maybe seventy-five to a hundred yards away, so it was a bit of a walk (for an eleven year-old) over to the deceased rodent. When we arrived at the scene, his guts were hanging out the side of his body, and he was definitely deceased, though not quite stone cold. That was probably the grossest thing I'd seen to that point in my life. But it got worse. My uncle made me carry the groundhog by the tail all the way back to his house, oozing guts and all. I have no idea how long a walk it was, or how heavy that thing was to my little arms, but I remember that it sucked real bad. And I remember trying with all my might to avoid swaying the creature in a manner that might smear its guts on me. I also remember some of the guts inching further towards the ground, much in the way a kid might let a string of spit hang, nearly touching the ground, before being sucked back up (a la Adam Sandler's Big Daddy). Only no one was going to suck these guts up.
When we got to my uncle's house, we proceeded to gut (what was left) and skin the groundhog. But I can only guess that my uncle ate that groundhog for supper some night thereafter. My mother, sister, and I were only visiting our in-laws for a short time, and we didn't participate in any groundhog consumption during that visit.
But... every groundhog day since then, when that darn Phil character in another part of Pennsylvania goes and sees his shadow in apparent foretelling of additional winter weeks to come... I ponder my experience with his (hopefully) distant cousin, and wish I could extend a similar courtesy to Mr. Phil as well.
(post story editorial comment... that came out a lot more gruesome than originally conceived upon my reflections of this day of hogging ground)
Stage Fright
Back in December, Darby brought home a piece of paper from school detailing an upcoming spelling bee at the end of January. She asked if she could do it, to which I replied that she could not. I explained that she didn't have a good history with speaking on stage, and that the spelling bee would add pressure to already anxious situation. But she asked again with a "please please please" to boot. So I gave in like any father would. I sent money with her to school the next day to buy the "official" spelling bee study book, and I had her study several times a week (only because we had to work it in with regular homework and piano practice). The last couple of weeks I had her study every day, and this past weekend, her mother worked with her, too (the contest had been rescheduled to 2 Feb).
This morning, I dropped the girls off at school, and I went back home (instead of work) to grab the camcorder before heading back to the school. When I entered the auditorium, there were probably twenty or so kids on the stage, though apparently none of them were Darby. So I looked around the auditorium until I located my eldest daughter, sitting in the audience with the rest of her class.
I walked over to her and asked why she wasn't on stage, to which she replied that she didn't want to do it anymore. I verified with her teacher that she was signed up and supposed to be on stage, and then asked Darby to please get on the stage with the other kids. She shook her head no. I asked again, got up and held her hand, attempting to lead her to the stage, only to have her pull away from me, throw herself back onto her seat and begin to cry. She was dead set on not going on stage.
I explained to Darby that we had already paid for this event, and that I had taken time off work to see her compete. That wasn't convincing enough for her. She was still crying and making a scene in front of her class and really the whole show (it had started by this time).
I then explained that I would much rather see her on the stage, trying, even if she didn't do well, than throwing a crying fit in the audience, and subsequently wasting her time (in preparation), and her parents' time (preparation and missed work). She was frozen to her chair.
In many other circumstances I would have pressed harder. But this was going nowhere and I didn't feel picking her up and forcibly moving her to the stage would have solved anything. She would have just been throwing a fit in everyone's direct view, which wouldn't exactly help the stage fright thing. So I told her we'd discuss it later and I went to work.
Needless to say, I was a bit miffed. But this kind of situation requires some balanced decision making, as I can't just be angry at her and punish her blindly for not wanting to embarass herself. However, I have since thoroughly explained that we will not be signing up for any more "public speaking" type events, and she will be losing some privileges for her behavior, in particular throwing a fit at age 8.
This morning, I dropped the girls off at school, and I went back home (instead of work) to grab the camcorder before heading back to the school. When I entered the auditorium, there were probably twenty or so kids on the stage, though apparently none of them were Darby. So I looked around the auditorium until I located my eldest daughter, sitting in the audience with the rest of her class.
I walked over to her and asked why she wasn't on stage, to which she replied that she didn't want to do it anymore. I verified with her teacher that she was signed up and supposed to be on stage, and then asked Darby to please get on the stage with the other kids. She shook her head no. I asked again, got up and held her hand, attempting to lead her to the stage, only to have her pull away from me, throw herself back onto her seat and begin to cry. She was dead set on not going on stage.
I explained to Darby that we had already paid for this event, and that I had taken time off work to see her compete. That wasn't convincing enough for her. She was still crying and making a scene in front of her class and really the whole show (it had started by this time).
I then explained that I would much rather see her on the stage, trying, even if she didn't do well, than throwing a crying fit in the audience, and subsequently wasting her time (in preparation), and her parents' time (preparation and missed work). She was frozen to her chair.
In many other circumstances I would have pressed harder. But this was going nowhere and I didn't feel picking her up and forcibly moving her to the stage would have solved anything. She would have just been throwing a fit in everyone's direct view, which wouldn't exactly help the stage fright thing. So I told her we'd discuss it later and I went to work.
Needless to say, I was a bit miffed. But this kind of situation requires some balanced decision making, as I can't just be angry at her and punish her blindly for not wanting to embarass herself. However, I have since thoroughly explained that we will not be signing up for any more "public speaking" type events, and she will be losing some privileges for her behavior, in particular throwing a fit at age 8.
The tax man neareth
Makes my head poundeth.
Got my W-2s this weekend. Friends and relatives are already talking about "the tax season". I really don't like this time of year. I don't mind doing my own taxes as they are easy. But I also do the taxes for both of my parents, and sometimes others. I don't mind all of that, except that it makes my head hurt. A lot.
Got my W-2s this weekend. Friends and relatives are already talking about "the tax season". I really don't like this time of year. I don't mind doing my own taxes as they are easy. But I also do the taxes for both of my parents, and sometimes others. I don't mind all of that, except that it makes my head hurt. A lot.
Sunday, February 01, 2004
I need help
I can't stop beating the penguin.
Damn you Dave Berry for turning me on to these silly things, damn you! :p
This is killing my time worse than bubblewrap. My current record is 1224.1 feet (or meters or whatever unit it's using), what's yours?
Damn you Dave Berry for turning me on to these silly things, damn you! :p
This is killing my time worse than bubblewrap. My current record is 1224.1 feet (or meters or whatever unit it's using), what's yours?
Super-Bowl, So-So Ads
I was initially rooting for the Pats (because of the Carolina defeat of Philly) in what started out to be a not all that exciting game. But it heated up real well in the second half and I found myself shamefully rooting for impossibly good Panthers. Too bad for those guys as they fought real hard against a great team.
As for the ads, I found myself all too often waiting to be impressed. The stand outs for me were the Shards O Glass Freeze Pops (appealing to my sarcastic side) and the Olympic beach volleyball players on the arctic beach (appealing to my love of... um... snow... okay okay, appealing to my guyhood). The 7-Up slam dunk commercial gets an honorable mention, not that any of the others weren't good or anything.
As for the ads, I found myself all too often waiting to be impressed. The stand outs for me were the Shards O Glass Freeze Pops (appealing to my sarcastic side) and the Olympic beach volleyball players on the arctic beach (appealing to my love of... um... snow... okay okay, appealing to my guyhood). The 7-Up slam dunk commercial gets an honorable mention, not that any of the others weren't good or anything.
Fear the Freaky Frog... Go On... Fear Him!
I guess I don't really know that it's a HE. But it sure is freaky.
Of course, I'm speaking of THIS strange creature, an apparently albino water-loving frog of sorts, lurking around one of three fish tanks at the restaurant Chequer's in Midwest City, where I had lunch today. I've seen it many times in my many meals at this usually tasty establishment, but that frog is not exactly good on the appetite, and today they sat us right next to the darn fish tank where it makes its home.
My kids get a kick out of it because of it's behavior. It sits there at the bottom of the tank, usually motionless, so much so that we thought it was fake the first time we saw it. Every four or five minutes, it "swims" to the surface for a breath of air, and then let's itself sink back to the bottom for further exciting adventures in creepy stillness. Ever since we first saw it, the kids MUST go see the frog before we leave if we are not sitting near it. They have to watch it for several minutes in utter suspense as they wait for that inspirational moment of flubber-pumping action. Or, that's what it looks like anyway, the thing is so seemingly overly plump. But this wallowing for air never seems to disappoint the children as they giggle at the sight of it, and as I find myself tearing them disappointedly away from the fish tank as we depart.
Today, however, was a different story. Since we sat right next to the thing, we had a very distracted meal, particularly from the children. After our close encounter today, I have officially had about enough of the freaky frog.
Frog legs anyone?
Of course, I'm speaking of THIS strange creature, an apparently albino water-loving frog of sorts, lurking around one of three fish tanks at the restaurant Chequer's in Midwest City, where I had lunch today. I've seen it many times in my many meals at this usually tasty establishment, but that frog is not exactly good on the appetite, and today they sat us right next to the darn fish tank where it makes its home.
My kids get a kick out of it because of it's behavior. It sits there at the bottom of the tank, usually motionless, so much so that we thought it was fake the first time we saw it. Every four or five minutes, it "swims" to the surface for a breath of air, and then let's itself sink back to the bottom for further exciting adventures in creepy stillness. Ever since we first saw it, the kids MUST go see the frog before we leave if we are not sitting near it. They have to watch it for several minutes in utter suspense as they wait for that inspirational moment of flubber-pumping action. Or, that's what it looks like anyway, the thing is so seemingly overly plump. But this wallowing for air never seems to disappoint the children as they giggle at the sight of it, and as I find myself tearing them disappointedly away from the fish tank as we depart.
Today, however, was a different story. Since we sat right next to the thing, we had a very distracted meal, particularly from the children. After our close encounter today, I have officially had about enough of the freaky frog.
Frog legs anyone?
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