tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146536080194187272024-03-12T21:15:31.429-04:00Irregularly Periodic RuminationsReflections on whatever passes through my mind.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-64383445843337777702014-01-23T13:21:00.002-05:002014-01-23T13:21:49.278-05:00Everest<br /><br />(Every once in a while I get a little thoughtful. Don't worry, I'm sure it will pass soon.)<br /><br />I was leaving the gym today and it reminded me of an experience last semester. That day, I was leaving the gym after racquetball. When I came to the stairwell, there were some labored noises from around second flight of stairs. I couldn't see what was going on at first, but the students at the university work with disabled students as part of their course work, so already had some idea. (Regardless of whether or not it's for their classwork, I think those students—or anyone who works with the disabled—are saints.)<br /><br />When I made it to that level, it was as I suspected. Two of our students and a faculty member were helping a disabled individual down the stairs. She had a helmet on for her own safety and obviously needed the assistance to get down the stairs. There is an elevator that they could have used, but even though she couldn't speak, I could see how determined she was to get down those stairs. She was also immensely frightened.<br /><br />Her head occasionally snapped back—something beyond her control—but the students were there to help her. She walked down, step-by-arduous step. Her breathing was labored from the effort, but there was no stopping her. I walked slowly behind the group, listening to the encouragement from her entourage. It took a few minutes and I was more than happy to let her make it down without feeling the need to squeeze by and rush about my day. Her foot cleared the last step and she made it to the bottom safely. A small cheer went up and smile spread across her face. Everyone, including myself, congratulated her.<br /><br />I counted my blessings and was even thankful for my problems as I walked back to my office. I also realized the power of achievement. We don't all have the same skills in the same degrees, but you should always be proud of what you have pushed yourself to do. Don't let anyone belittle your accomplishments and, more importantly, never belittle anyone else's. For some, two flights of steps is their Everest. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-8764833554451277972014-01-12T12:43:00.000-05:002014-01-12T12:43:54.093-05:00Old School at the Bowling AlleyI'm sitting here at my son's bowling league writing this and I realize this is the best notebook I've ever had. It has an excellent boot-up time and shuts down even faster. I have a single app that does writing, revision, brainstorming, mindmaps, and even diagramming. Okay, the app is actually my pen and the notebook is an actual notebook--with paper in it. It's funny since I'm an IT guy. I run servers and work with computers all day. I have access to laptops, tablets, and desktops (no smartphone though, I don't believe in them) but here I am with pen (not my beloved fountain pen, though) and paper. <br />
<br />
Almost all of my writing drafts start out on paper. I like the feel of it. It's tactile and sensuous and feels more like creating. It's also much faster for me. I can draw arrows to rearrange stuff easily, cross things out, and make notes in the margin without having to click around on a page and interrupt my flow.<br />
<br />
I also like it because it never runs out of charge and I don’t worry about the kids darting around here and knocking on the floor--it’s rated pretty well for drops. I can even spill stuff on it and access the data afterwards. <br />
<br />
Another nice thing about it is that this draft gets some slight revision when I enter it into whatever program. As a result, some of the suck falls away. Generally not enough to spare me from another revision, but every bit helps. <br />
<br />
Everybody’s process is different though and not everything works for everyone--or even for every occasion. What’s your process like? What are your favorite tools for writing? I’m curious if you would care to drop me a comment.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-72691969582268391032014-01-06T08:00:00.000-05:002014-01-06T08:00:00.246-05:00Writing goals and other weirdnessBeing a writerly type, I've got some goals set for the year. One is to finish the four encyclopedia articles that are due by Tuesday, but three are done and one is under a few hundred words left, so why not procrastinate and write a blog entry?<br />
<br />
Other than the articles, it's the usual stuff you would see on any writer's platter ... write every day, submit one short story a month for the first four months (old ones and to-be-written ones) and focus on one novel. The last one is the most important. I have five going on right now and I think it's time to end the madness and bear down on one. The daily writing has been going well for the past few months, but that hasn't always been the case with me.<br />
<br />
Back in early 2013 I was writing on and off, but not enough to sate my pestering muse. I turned to the Internet in an attempt to find a writing buddy. I thought we could both check in with each other and make sure we were getting writing done and do critiques. Sounds good, doesn't it? I posted an ad on a site. The site is actually for people seeking "co-writers," but I thought if I explained myself well enough I could find a good match--because that's what the Internet provides without fail, right?<br />
<br />
Here's a list of the people contacted me:<br />
<br />
The first guy we'll call the movie guy since that's what he wanted to do. I didn't, but I figured I'd learn something. His suggestions for my stories were good and I learned a lot about writing for the screen, but ultimately he wanted to develop his idea sans my interference. That's okay since I had no desire to write my story into a <strike>B-</strike> C-movie with a 75 dollar budget. No regrets there, I learned a lot.<br />
<br />
Next came emo blogger girl. She didn't seem too bad at the outset, but oddly, she didn't have any ideas for anything. It seemed mostly like she was looking for someone to support her in her quest for racking up oddball posts on her blog. ...and she was pissy. Like in a "needs meds" and "should wash her hair more" kind of way. Dropped.<br />
<br />
Then came "I'm not a writer but I have lots of good ideas" girl. She had bad grammar. I think I've said enough already with that last sentence. Dropped.<br />
<br />
Then came British songwriter girl. We developed some good stuff--one serial killer novel plotline (my contribution) and one dreamland/alternate universe plotline (her idea.) We got rolling and then she discovered she really wanted to focus on singing in bars. Hopefully the next song she learned was, "Another One Bites the Dust."<br />
<br />
Finally came superhero girl. She really wanted to write about teen superheroes. Whatever, I'm flexible. We came up with the characters, plot, and some chapters. There was some weirdness like the occasional probing questions along the lines of "do you think sex between teens is a bad thing?" and "do you think I should have my superhero take her clothes off here?" There was also a constant feeling that I was dragging her along instead of a nice quid pro quo feeling. To test this last theory, one day I gave her something to work on and didn't follow up with a "how's that coming?" email. Eight months later, I still don't see the response in my inbox.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, I'm getting words down now without an accountability partner. (I just recently found the term "accountability partner" in a pretty good book on writing, "Butt-in-Chair" by Jennifer Blanchard--that term would have been nice to know before my search.) If you go looking for one, perhaps you can find someone local that you know is reliable and partly sane. Ultimately, I just hope that I can help someone else avoid the crazy train that I felt compelled to ride on. Consider this post my writerly public service announcement. Also, if you go searching for my post that looks for "someone to swap critiques and check in with to encourage each other to write" it's been duly deleted.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-7078028304115921242014-01-01T07:53:00.000-05:002014-01-01T07:53:25.449-05:00Happy New YearHappy new year to all of you--well, more like none of you since I doubt there's anyone who reads this anymore. A two-year hiatus will do that.<br />
<br />
I've had the urge to write on this blog for a little while now. I dodged it for a while with thoughts along the lines of, "What if what I have to say isn't interesting anymore?" I got over that with a quick resolution (even though I don't believe in them) and with the notion that I'll be writing on this blog just to write. Note that I don't say "I'll be blogging" since I do see a difference. Blogging implies playing the game--commenting, getting comments, seeking out kindred spirits, etc. I'm just here to write now. I guess I'll just jump right in ...<br />
<br />
While my new-found motivation to write here might be considered a resolution, my main goal for this year is to lose a little weight. I don't need to lose much mind you, but we all have this image of what we'd like to look like and mine does not include anything that rhymes with 'dove candles.'<br />
<br />
Enter the fitbit (not an ad for the product, just commenting on a gift, people) which my lovely wife (not an ad for my wife although she is pretty awesome), Bernadette, got me for Christmas...<br />
<br />
It's a neat little device that basically is a pedometer with Bluetooth. I can log my totals online and see how active I was during the day. That's interesting enough and I like keeping track of that kind of stuff, but I didn't know how that was going to help me lose any weight and get back to a sensible running form. Then I discovered another feature on the website that the information gets posted to.<br />
<br />
Food logging.<br />
<br />
If you haven't done any, it's the process of writing down what you ate during a day and keeping count of the calories you're eating. I think we can safely and appropriately portmanteau the phrase 'food logging' to a simpler 'flogging.' I think that's fitting for two reasons. The first is that when you first start doing it, you quickly realize that unless you are exercising vigorously, you are limited in how much you can eat. Severely so if you've been noshing over the holidays. Since I don't run in the winter, my caloric intake (if I want to lose any weight) is limited to somewhere between consistently peckish and nigh-ravenous. The second reason is that it's just a pain in the ass. In all honesty, I won't eat something just because I don't want to have to drag my butt to the computer and put it on my log. I guess this is a good thing, since it inspires me to achieve my state of persistent, gnawing hunger. Could I find some filling foods that are lower calorie? Perhaps some leafy greeness that would start a small-scale war between rabbits and hamsters? Sure, I could, but that sounds like work too. There's research and the buying of new foods to deal with. My lazy side kicks in at some point and says, "Hungry is pretty simple. Let's just go with that." I do have an exercise bike upstairs but it's a hassle to convert it from a clothes rack to an exercise device.<br />
<br />
All told, my issue is a minor problem that I'll overcome (albeit in an underfed state) and count it as a blessing and a challenge. Here's to hoping you have a fantastic, happy, and healthy new year and any issues you encounter over the year are slight.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-47486108289801067602011-09-21T15:15:00.000-04:002011-09-21T15:15:08.041-04:00The Dam Half<br />
Ahh, the wonders of nature.<br />
<br />
It's one of the reasons that we who run engage in trail runs. You get some nice scenery and some exercise...not a bad deal. This past weekend I ran the Dam Half at a state park. I had run it the year before and decided I would do the same this year. Like the year before, I found myself a little pressed for training time and ended up well-trained for a 7 mile race. The Dam Half is 13.1, not too much more than 7. No biggie.<br />
<br />
That and it's all about enjoying the scenery, right?<br />
<br />
It was about 40 degrees when we were waiting around (read: freezing our asses off) in our shorts, but once we got started, I knew we would warm up quickly. I started out running with my buddy, Brad. He pushed our pace in the beginning and then we got caught up behind some slow guy. I thought we were running too slow, so I told Brad to pass him once we had a chance on the single track we were on and we did. Then I thought Brad was running too slow, so I told him that I would set the pace and passed him.<br />
<br />
The one thing I almost never do in a race is look back. A) It slows you down B) taking your eyes off the rock-strewn course we were on is plain madness and C) it just feels like a sign of weakness...as if you're worried that the person behind you will catch you. Evidently, looking behind you can also be used to see if your partner is still with you. Brad was not.<br />
<br />
Whatever. Slow poke.<br />
<br />
I was tempted to look around at the scenery...it had turned into a beautiful day. I then remembered that until you got to the short sections of fire road, it wasn't a good idea to look around thanks to the rocks in the trail.<br />
<br />
Hmmm, the wonders of nature.<br />
<br />
I kept a steady pace and ground up the occasional steep climb. I was running pretty good around mile 10 and hit a technical (read: miserably rocky) flat section. I was a little tired at that point and a rock -- cleverly disguised as a much shorter rock -- tripped me up. I stumbled and realized I was heading rapidly for the 'lose it' stage. I put a hand out and saw a cluster of rocks best quantified as a "face full" coming up at me, so I came up with a better idea and threw myself sideways off the trail. Sadly, my plan also involved a tree which I ran my shoulder into. I stopped abruptly -- as planned, of course -- and since the tree was only about 5 inches in diameter, I got to hear the leaves rattle as well.<br />
<br />
Uh-huh, the sights AND sounds of nature.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I jumped up and did the most important thing -- looked around to see if anyone noticed. No one was around, so I trotted off down the trail and then thought to check my shoulder to see if it was working.<br />
<br />
It was. After a quick -- well, not so quick actually -- 700 foot climb over rocks and a field of largish boulders, it was only another mile and a half until I made it to the finish line.<br />
<br />
Despite the lack of proper training for the distance, I did run really well. I made it in 3 hours and one second, which is a half an hour better than last year's time. It was a great race with great organizers and I got a nice medal and a really cool, bark-textured bruise.<br />
<br />
Brad clocked in after the 4 hour mark, so it turned out that I had plenty of time to enjoy the park after all.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-12924965605520110822010-02-16T12:01:00.001-05:002010-02-16T20:29:34.720-05:0020 Q<p>Bernadette smacked me in the shoulder, “I can’t believe it got it right!” </p> <p>She held out the small, red orb to me. The screen read, “refrigerator.”  It was an electronic game based on the game 20 questions that someone had bought for The Boy. Basically, you would answer “yes,” “no” or “maybe to a series of questions and it would guess (with fairly good accuracy) what you were thinking of. It was sort of fun.</p> <p>Bern wanted to know how it was so accurate and looked it up on the Internet. After she found out that it used a simple AI algorithm, she said, “It’s sort of like what’s-his-face.”</p> <p>Ever the geek, I replied, “Do you mean Alan Turing? The mathematician who developed the test to check for true artificial intelligence?”</p> <p>Ever the mom, she replied, “No, the little guy on SpongeBob…his wife.”</p> <p>“Karen? Plankton’s wife?”</p> <p>“That’s it!”</p> <p>Somewhere in that exchange lay the key to figuring out the difference between men and women, but I’ll figure that out later…</p> <p>Anyway, I was playing with the 20Q game later and decided to see if it could guess,</p> <p> “wife.”</p> <p>20Q: “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”</p> <p>Me: “Animal.” (only because there was no “angel'” category.)</p> <p>A few more questions were asked and answered until, “Does it have a tail?”</p> <p>Bernadette: “What are you doing?”</p> <p>Me: “Checking you for a tail.”</p> <p>More questions and then, “Does it have claws?”</p> <p>I answered “no” since there wasn’t a well-sure-if-you-get-her-mad button.</p> <p>Finally it announced its guess of “a crush.”</p> <p>I thought, “Hmmm. Yes, but not quite the answer,” so I pressed “no” which gives it a chance to ask five more questions. I answered those questions and waited to see if it would guess “wife.”</p> <p>The guess scrolled across the screen, “Is it a soul mate?”</p> <p>I smiled and pressed, “yes.” Very correct, indeed.</p> <p> </p> <p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:745b719e-8e33-4c0d-b496-f7a08dbd1ef9" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/a+belated+Valentine's+Day+post" rel="tag">a belated Valentine's Day post</a></div></p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-56895485830897751952010-01-28T21:32:00.002-05:002010-02-16T20:31:36.143-05:00A new addition<div class="posterous_autopost"><div>She's a cutie. I'm pretty sure she won't stay this size though.</div><a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/heinous/tBKhMxYWMWLOa77zlrohh4yhhmpDLX4NXKw5wKA6tWA7s7sE564wbEInaEhj/100_4235.jpg.scaled.1000.jpg"><img height="375" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/heinous/SVhfli0xQ9oW8iuYhfgShVE3nL38rmOXXLmpRVNOhPo4MFehuRYaX8eZQjPh/100_4235.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" /></a> <a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/heinous/VwKy7tcK4kUCqnRBtzoKvxrDt10U3LZl0V2e8m9B5HoLP6stxhYEpOjLBX2I/100_4236.jpg.scaled.1000.jpg"><img height="375" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/heinous/E8ROKmfDwaeH0cR7gaDGy4f7oDn7TKdq2GDjnOMtHwC1jYAnYRGpnLH0YXmR/100_4236.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" /></a> <a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/heinous/fYomfVNfgPOEjFL4XEla1Sg3SGMXp4xl0ZGwsbbffkZE2PAhDyfKnwuWsGua/100_4238.jpg.scaled.1000.jpg"><img height="375" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/heinous/5y3JumgQnrECIvntO5jVxMAwgLNoZbRt67GCcLMitFyqwhRsv0hhpsQDTIwm/100_4238.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" /></a> <br />
<div><a href="http://heinous.posterous.com/a-new-addition-16">See and download the full gallery on posterous</a></div><div style="font-size: 10px;"><a href="http://posterous.com/">Posted via email</a> from <a href="http://heinous.posterous.com/a-new-addition-16">heinous's posterous</a> </div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-20342788338474006132009-06-09T10:32:00.001-04:002011-09-30T11:24:03.194-04:00The Canoe TripThanks to everyone for the warm welcome back. Now for the beginning of the canoe trip...<br />
<br />The canoe trip all-in-all was a great trip, there were a few details that stood out, however. We arrived at the outfitters on time and rented the canoe. We piled into the van, canoe in tow, with a very nice couple that we chatted with. We drove for a while and at some point I hazarded the question, "How long do you think the trip will take with the creek at its current level?" <br />
"About four hours at a leisurely paddle," was the reply. <br />
I figured since we could always paddle a little harder at points, that wouldn't be too bad. It was a little longer than we had planned, but that was okay. I don't recall Bernadette or I choosing an actual drop-off point. I think we went with "upstream" for maximum clarity. <br />
The beginning of the trip was idyllic. We saw mother wood ducks on the water with their ducklings trailing dutifully behind. When we got close they would hurry their little tails as fast as they could away from us. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gPElTl73QA/ToXeKMzPiDI/AAAAAAAABFc/Tp4gGIWH8tU/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gPElTl73QA/ToXeKMzPiDI/AAAAAAAABFc/Tp4gGIWH8tU/s320/091.JPG" width="320" /></a>The Boy caught some frogs with a net and let them go after showing them excitedly to us when we landed. It was peaceful and both the weather and the scenery were fantastic. </div>
<br /><br />
I checked my watch and an hour had passed. We snacked a little and paddled on. After another half hour had passed, we passed a familiar bar that was visible from the creek. What was odd was that the bar, by road, wasn't terribly far from where we had been dropped off. <br />
It was about then The Boy asked, "Are we at our destiny yet?"<br />
Since<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wWKFOSJjIJA/ToXePufDbBI/AAAAAAAABFo/hQJSXGXUsqw/s1600/098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wWKFOSJjIJA/ToXePufDbBI/AAAAAAAABFo/hQJSXGXUsqw/s320/098.JPG" width="320" /></a> we were nowhere near our destiny nor near our destination, Bernadette and I looked at each other and shrugged it off. I will admit that I did start to paddle a little bit harder at that point. <br />
We found another place to stop for a while. No frogs this time, but we did find something else... mosquitos. Biblical plague types of numbers were involved here people. They loved our canoe. Its arrival must have been foretold in some ancient mosquito prophecy because pretty much all of them came to worship it in a highly mobile cloud. They seemed to be all males since we didn't get bitten at all. Had they actually bitten us, I don't think we would have made it back. <br />
We shoved off and spent the next half hour alternating between paddling and swatting mosquitos until the bottom of the canoe was lined with their tiny, spindly corpses. It did serve to keep The Boy occupied. I know this because as soon as they were gone, we faced the return of "Are we at our destiny yet?" <br />
We took it with aplomb though. Bern did make the observation that when you're in a canoe, with no real place to land — the banks were higher and steeper at this point of the trip — you're basically trapped. It's sort of like the movie <i>Alien</i> without the bother of someone's chest bursting open to release a peppy carnivore. Then again, the crew of the <i>Nostromo</i> didn't have to paddle the ship through space with a six-year old, so we'll call that a wash. <br />
Time passed, we paddled. Not quite enough to qualify as feverishly, so we'll just go with avidly. Regardless of our efforts though, I noted that I could have outwalked our pace by at least a factor of two as I watched the shore slide by. <br />
Luckily we had that aplomb going for us. <br />
We passed <a href="http://h31n0us.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-lions-or-tigers-just-bear.html">the bear</a> which was close to the point where our cabin was located. The watch read four hours into the trip at that point. <br />
The trip by car from the cabin to our landing point takes roughly three minutes. By canoe, the trip takes about an hour. I now suspect there are small spots of curved space along that part of the creek that dilate time. I may go back and look for them later, without a six year old along, but I was too busy avidly paddling to care then. <br />
We landed — finally — and I walked to the outfitters while Bern and The Boy stopped at the local country store for snacks. The outfitters is a 30 second drive mind you, but a 15 minute walk. With oars. And life vests. <br />
Like I said, it was a great trip, but I did manage to take notice of two drop-off points that would have made for a shorter, much less "Are we at our destiny yet?" laden trip for the next time. I'll also evidently need to help the people at the outfitters redefine "leisurely paddle."<br />
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<div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:b8f59375-4993-4ef7-bbb1-9210ed335848" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
Technorati tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/wow" rel="tag">wow</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/that%27s%20a%20lot%20of%20paddling" rel="tag">that's a lot of paddling</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-88293020917514881472009-05-29T12:01:00.001-04:002009-05-29T12:01:40.987-04:00No Lions or Tigers, just a Bear<p>We went on a nice canoe trip over the weekend (more on that later) and towards the end of the trip, I looked up and saw what seemed to be a large, black bag in a tree.</p> <p>I asked, "What's that in the tree?" (I had already been told there was a bear in a tree earlier in the day but the idylls of a weekend at camp must have gently washed that fact from my mind.) </p> <p>Bernadette said, "That must be the bear." She was kind enough to leave off "idiot" since she knew I had heard about it.</p> <p>We were sort of excited to see it, but The Boy remained lukewarm on the subject. Sometimes I think if he can't play with it, have it fetch him something, or snack on it, an object's value drops drastically in his book.</p> <p>We paddled past, stared at fuzzy bear butt for a while, and I suspect we would have hurried back to our landing point so we could get back to camp and look at the bear up close and from the front, but the previous four hours of our trip had disabused us of the notion that there was such a thing as "hurry" when you're in a canoe.</p> <p>Once we did get back to camp, (it took another hour make the roughly two mile journey) we hopped in the truck and went down to take a look. Here's what we saw (click to embiggen):</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SiAG4omh8CI/AAAAAAAAAnc/ph2eXqyBFHw/s1600-h/1028.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" border="0" alt="100" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SiAG41TEq6I/AAAAAAAAAng/_buinQIMNAg/100_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="408" height="310" /><img style="border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" border="0" alt="102" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SiAG5EpFeXI/AAAAAAAAAnk/kJvJA_Si2f8/102_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" width="410" height="316" />  </a></p> <p>She's about 30 feet off the ground and doesn't look at all comfortable, but there she is. The bear was asleep as far as we could tell. What you can't really see in this picture are the two cubs that were with her in the tree. This is also probably the reason that she can sleep so well in this position.... kids.</p> <p>Bernadette called the game commission to make sure the bear would be able to make it down and she was assured that bears can get themselves out of positions like this. She was gone the next morning. We didn't check for ourselves, but the rest of the valley already had and passed the news to us.</p> <p> </p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:2f3cd6d1-5943-4ca8-a790-110ce0be997c" class="wlWriterSmartContent">Technorati tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/nature" rel="tag">nature</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/bears" rel="tag">bears</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/canoe%20trip" rel="tag">canoe trip</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-44473251480615333792009-01-29T10:45:00.002-05:002009-01-29T23:14:12.233-05:00The Spider<p>By request from my 100th post: The day I met the Biggest God-Damned Spider Ever.</p> <p>I rock climbed a lot during and right after college. It was a good adrenaline buzz and it helped me overcome my fear of heights. There is a challenging route in Huntingdon (in PA) that had an outcropping. The climb up to the outcropping was easy, but then it was all finger and arm strength to get past it.</p> <p>I was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belay">on belay</a> and had climbed just about to the point where it got difficult. I reached up for a nice handhold and had to dig out some moss to get a good grip. I tossed the moss over my shoulder and yelled out, "rock," so my partner didn't get a face full. We always called out "rock;" it made sure that you didn't look up. No one looks up when there's a rock coming. Well, at least the people who don't require reconstructive surgery.</p> <p>I reached back into the hole I had dug out and felt a tickle. No biggie, there are all kinds of roots and stuff that were coming through the rock. I found a foothold and pulled up to the point where the hole was.</p> <p>...and there he sat. </p> <p>...on my hand.</p> <p>...a big spider. Quite possibly the largest ever recorded in the history of spider kind. The kind of size that would have made Beowulf say, "Shit."</p> <p>Okay, it was a little over an inch long but as far as I was concerned it may as well have been a Great Dane with six eyes and fangs dripping acid.</p> <p>I froze. I hate spiders. Not that "run from a room, screaming like a little girl" kinda fear, but too close to that kind of fear for my testosterone to handle comfortably.</p> <p>I thought briefly of trying to blow it off my hand but visions of it jumping into my mouth (there are perils to having a pretty good imagination) when I opened it to blow filled me with a distinct unease. That and I would have had to have resumed breathing; yet another hurdle. </p> <p>I wiggled my fingers as much as my death grip on the rock would allow. It raised two front legs in defense.</p> <p>I considered chewing through my rope and plunging to quadriplegicy but I figured Gargantua (I had named him by now) would have merely clung to my hand to enjoy the ride and then bit me just for kicks. </p> <p>Because spiders are calculatingly sadistic like that. Just ask <a href="http://magnetoboldtoo.com/2008/10/03/ara-arac-arachnthat-totally-rational-terror/">Kelley</a>.</p> <p>The legs went back down.</p> <p>On an educational note: A funny thing happens when you cling to a rock in the same position for too long no matter how good of shape you are in. Your muscles get tired. First they feel tired...evidently fear and adrenalin let this stage pass without notice. The next stage basically amounts to a slight quiver which moves into a noticeable quiver which heralds something known as 'muscle failure.'</p> <p>I was at noticeable quiverosity.</p> <p>I took a breath and blew gently. The dreadlocks that Gargantua was sporting blew lightly back and he again lifted up his front legs. </p> <p>After a <strike>week</strike> a few seconds, his legs came back down and he sauntered off my hand. Thankfully this was not in the direction of my face. I would have had to have scrubbed my face vigorously on the rock had this happened.</p> <p>I told my partner I was coming down. No actual climbing was involved in this process, I was lowered.</p> <p>When I got to the base, my buddy looked at me and said, "Dude, why'd you stop?"</p> <p>"Spider," I replied.</p> <p>"Wuss."</p> <p>"Bite me."</p> <p>I haven't been scared of spiders since the incident, so at least I can thank Gargantua for that. If I ever see him again though, I'm smashing him with a hammer.</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:23d63eb6-7fed-470b-8863-b3ec7ee1d1c9" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Not%20a%20recommended%20form%20of%20therapy." rel="tag">Not a recommended form of therapy.</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com75tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-69784986401870313052009-01-28T12:59:00.001-05:002009-01-28T12:59:23.389-05:00I Never Knew...<p>My wife and I were driving around the other day and got caught behind a particularly slow driver. I don't know how we get into conversations like this sometimes, but here it is:</p> <p>The Wife: "If that idiot wants to park, he should use the lot over there, not the turning lane."</p> <p>Me: "Yeah; that and I don't like his license plate."</p> <p>TW: " 'He Gene?' Maybe his name is something like Howard Edward Gene."</p> <p>Me: "He should have sounded it out before ordering it. It sounds like his boyfriend's name is Gene."</p> <p>TW: "He can't be gay. Gays don't drive minivans."</p> <p>I briefly thought about this in an effort to refute it, but I then realized that not a single one of my gay friends has a minivan. Curious.</p> <p>Me: "So you're saying that gays have too much style to drive a minivan?"</p> <p>TW: "Exactly... Lesbians, however, do drive minivans. I have experience with that."</p> <p>We pulled into the lot and she caught site of the guy driving and said, "He's elderly too."</p> <p>Me: "So there aren't any old, gay dudes?" </p> <p>I hadn't known that it wore away over the years like a fine patina gently buffed off of a favored copper pot. </p> <p>TW: "...and look, he's using a handicapped spot."</p> <p>Me: "Yet another fine reason for him not to be gay."</p> <p>The Wife countered with, "Just as good as you thinking he was gay due to his license plate."</p> <p>Touché, mon coeur. </p> <p>We ended up laughing at how goofy we sounded as we got out, but overall it was quite the educational day for me.</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:26f3d3a9-bf67-4505-98a1-c332dbf9a1f0" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/so%20why%20are%20we%20dumb%20enough%20to%20drive%20minivans?" rel="tag">so why are we dumb enough to drive minivans?</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com66tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-90848014954186858222009-01-25T09:07:00.005-05:002009-01-25T14:43:47.022-05:00Sunday RandomnessI'd would like to thank everyone for all the fantastic comments and general well-wishing for my 100th post. Time to move on though. I will be getting to the various requests for more information on some of the items on my list, but since it's Sunday, I'm going for simple randomness.<br /><br />============<br /><br />The other day my son said, "Daddy, I'm cold. Can you turn up the heat?"<br />I looked over (unfortunately, this isn't a rare occurance) and said, "Dude, you're naked. Why don't you try putting on some clothes?"<br />I still cannot figure out how or why his clothes magically shed themselves at random intervals, generally between blinks.<br />I suspect an ongoing plot against my sanity.<br /><br />============<br /><br />Did you know that you can only follow 200 blogs on Blogger? Seriously? That seems limiting to me. You would think that the Google/Blogger empire could figure out how to do better than that.<br /><br />I'm feeling repressed.<br /><br />Fascist bullyboys.<br /><br />If you recently followed me and I haven't followed back it's because I'm off to correct this wrong. Perhaps I can take out a few windmills in my quest as well.<br /><br />============<br /><br />We had an early Chinese New Year party yesterday. Her parents and my parents were over as well as her brother, wife, and their son. It was a nice party and a we all had a good time.<br />At one point, my son brought out his pair of play handcuffs so he could play police with his cousin.<br />He plopped them on the table and his grandmother (my dad's wife) said, "Do your mommy and daddy use those too?"<br />We laughed and then The Wife, who thought we were talking about playing police with The Boy, said, "We use them all the time."<br />We all pretty much lost it at that.<br />After the party had broken up, we were talking about how funny that was and she said, "Oh, is <i>that </i>what she meant?"<br />I said, "Yup, you just outed yourself as a perv to our immediate family. I'm okay with that."<br /><br />At least I didn't have to explain to her why the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgtN-CtU_BU">Obama fisting</a> (beware of the comments following the video... they get a little raw) comment was so funny.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-24722009705934517632009-01-20T13:46:00.002-05:002009-01-20T13:49:41.586-05:00Totally Ignoring the Inauguration...<p>Okay, maybe not totally ignoring it. I will pause to poke fun at any person who weeps over the inauguration. It's politics people. He's a just a dude we picked for office. Let's wish him well and hope his plan matches his vision.</p> <p>Anyway, I have a whole bunch of stuff (memes and an award) that I let go for a long time. I'm taking the massive lull in actual work (due to the <strike>deification</strike> inauguration) to bang this stuff out.</p> <p>The first is a meme from <a href="http://thewiseyoungmommy.blogspot.com/">Petra</a>.</p> <p>The Rules:</p> <p>1.go to your documents <br />2. go to your 6th file. <br />3.go to your 6th picture. <br />4. blog about it. <br />5. tag 6 friends to do the same.</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SXYb8_Eq-hI/AAAAAAAAAl0/7XXWYgPBoXg/s1600-h/007%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-width: 0px;" alt="007" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SXYb9U2qvYI/AAAAAAAAAl8/OtStY-ylFfo/007_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" border="0" height="300" width="394" /></a></p> <p>This was actually taken by my son. This is a portion of his dinosaur collection. He can name them all and it's always a kick to hear him quiz his mom on the names since she butchers the pronunciation and then she gets corrected by him. I think at this point he was lining them up for a pep talk in an effort to take over the world. Unfortunately for him, his grasp of "inanimate object" is tenuous at best. You're all safe for now...</p> <p>Tag six people? Nah, not doing it today. Take the meme if you want the blog fodder.</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:54b85994-6c55-4d09-af6c-022b284cecbc" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline; float: none;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/rawr%21%20phear%20my%20dino%20minions" rel="tag">rawr! phear my dino minions</a></div> <p>============</p> <p>I received an award from NoBS at <a href="http://imemeit.blogspot.com/">I Meme it</a>. It's the <strong>The Premios Dardo</strong> <strong>Award.</strong> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SXYb9uGdUYI/AAAAAAAAAmA/VswQy0W29vc/s1600-h/Premios_Dardo%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border: 0px none ;" alt="Premios_Dardo" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SXYb-NLDx-I/AAAAAAAAAmE/WS6kHPJTTAk/Premios_Dardo_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" border="0" height="293" width="231" /></a> </p> <p>From NoBS's site:</p> <p><span style="color:#ffffff;">This award acknowledges the values that every blogger shows in his or her effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values every day.</span></p> <p>Wow, I've never been accused of most of that before, but I would like to sincerely give my thanks for the award. I would also like to advise you to find another ethical advisor if you're currently using me as a guidepost ;)</p> <p><span style="color:#ffffff;">The rules: <br />1) Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his or her blog link. <br />2) Pass the award to 15 other blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgment. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.</span></p> <p><span style="color:#c0c0c0;">15 Blogs! Holy crap, that's a lot. *Grumble* Fine, here goes. These bloggers are well worth the read if you don't have them on your list and are a better fit than I am to this award if you ask me :)</span></p> <ol> <li><a href="http://dianesaddledramblings.blogspot.com/">Diane's Addled Ramblings</a> </li> <li><a href="http://www.thestilettomom.com/">The Stiletto Mom</a> </li> <li><a href="http://clarkkentslunchbox.blogspot.com/">Clark Kent's Lunchbox</a> </li> <li><a href="http://okayfinedammit.com/">Okay, Fine, Dammit</a> </li> <li><a href="http://strangepilgram.blogspot.com/">Strange Pilgram</a> </li> <li><a href="http://backpackingdad.blogspot.com/">Backpacking Dad</a> </li> <li><a href="http://notasangry.blogspot.com/">justsomethoughts...</a> </li> <li><a href="http://www.moonspun.org/">Moonspun Spins</a> </li> <li><a href="http://sweetpeasurry.blogspot.com/">ค קเภςђ ๏Ŧ tђเร คภ๔ ค ๔ครђ ๏Ŧ tђคt</a> </li> </ol> <p>Bah, that's close enough to 15.</p> <p>Standard disclaimer for the awardees: Follow the rules or don't. This is a no pressure blog. I award people because I appreciate their blogs and I like to acknowledge them. If you don't want to pass it on, that's cool, just enjoy it.</p> <p>===========</p> <p>Lastly for the day, a challenge to my nerdiness from Kirsten at <a href="http://momjeansblogger.blogspot.com/">The Soccer Mom Files</a>. I have accepted her challenge. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://www.nerdtests.com/ft_nt2.php"><img alt="NerdTests.com says I'm a Cool Nerd King. Click here to take the Nerd Test, get nerdy images and jokes, and write on the nerd forum!" src="http://www.nerdtests.com/images/badge/nt2/59dc0096843ca54b.png" /></a></p> <p>Evidently I need more time in the sun. Take the test if you want to. I know there's got to be a bigger nerd than me out there. </p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:67d8fe18-2fb2-42d2-ae32-e2516e13e97d" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Seriously?%20Am%20I%20this%20big%20of%20a%20nerd?" rel="tag">Seriously? Am I this big of a nerd?</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com68tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-76217093160970374742009-01-16T09:34:00.001-05:002009-01-17T12:43:11.244-05:00Spin Cycle: What if?<p>The <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/">Spin Cycle</a> topic for the week was "What if?" It was a hard one for me. I like where I am in life and where it seems to be heading. I have a wonderful wife and a great son -- well, most of the time at least. I like my job and I rarely want for anything. As a result, I rarely play the "what if?" game with my life. So I was about to pass on this week's Spin Cycle (please forgive me for even thinking it Jen) and then the one thing that I play "what if?" with came to mind. It's not my usual light fare...</p> <p> </p> <p>What if... my mother had not refused to go to the GYN for her regular checkups for no other reason than she didn't feel like it?</p> <p>What if... They had caught the the cancer earlier, before it moved from her ovaries to the rest of her body?</p> <p>What if... she never had to go through all the pain of surgery and chemo?</p> <p>What if... She never had to be an inspiration for others by supporting them in the chemo ward and walking in benefits?</p> <p>What if... I never had to watch the light fade from my mother's eyes?</p> <p>What if... With the help of some wonderful hospice workers, we didn't have to take care of her broken shell of a body after that light had faded?</p> <p>What if... I didn't have to go through that dark period of loss?</p> <p>What if... I never had to see my Grandfather, tough as nails, raised in Hell's Kitchen, who fought in the Battle of the Bulge, set aside a book on "Dealing with the loss of a child" when I would go visit? </p> <p>What if... I never had to realize that not only did I lose a mother, but my grandparents also lost a daughter, and my father lost a wife?</p> <p>What if... My mother lived past the age of 42?</p> <p>What if... She had been able to see me get married, dance at my reception, and cry tears of happiness mixed with a wistful nostalgia of when her son was little?</p> <p>What if... She had gotten to meet her grandchild and spoil him and do wonderful (and stupid) things that her son would then later blog about? </p> <p>What if... I didn't feel compelled to be on the local board for the American Cancer Society just so I could do something.. anything?</p> <p>What if... One day there was a cure and no one ever had to write a "what if" about a parent, or a child, or a friend, or a loved one?</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com88tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-14896620799014985782009-01-14T21:42:00.001-05:002009-01-14T21:42:15.635-05:00The Ride<p>Recently, I had the pleasure of taking a drive with my in-laws, my son, and my wife. We were off to do some family thing, but that's not what's important here. The ride is what I want to talk about. </p> <p>The drive we were taking was a 45 minute ride. Not bad as far as rides go. We stopped for lunch along the way (I had one of the best paninis ever, thanks for asking) and then continued on to our destination. We were about 10 minutes out from arriving and for some reason my mother-in-law was possessed to say, "We should stop at the toy store."</p> <p>Hello? There's a six year old in the car and we're almost there and will actually be on time and you bring up a toy store? I looked for a suitably heavy object to stun her with but the damage was done.</p> <p>The Boy piped up, "What toy store?"</p> <p>Luckily, I'm quick in a crisis and came up with, "Your grandmother is thinking of another city entirely. There is no toy store in this town." I punctuated it with a Dirty Look.</p> <p>Grammy got the hint and backed me up with, "My mistake, there is no toy store in this town. Score one for my Jedi mojo.</p> <p>Seriously though, I know they had kids; I'm sleeping with one of them. Do they lose that kind of common sense over the years? The kind of common sense that declares you don't fill a six year old's head with visions of toys on an outing? </p> <p>Weens.</p> <p>So we arrived and did the family thing. Blah, blah, blah. We had a great time. Yada, yada, yada.</p> <p>...and we're back in the car. We're pulling out and my father-in-law looks to the left, announces that the store he's looking at sells ice cream, and zooms off for home. I remembered (too late, luckily for grammy) that they keep the tire iron under the seat but he was driving and I figured it was best not to whack him one. </p> <p>The Boy: "I want ice cream."</p> <p>Yeah, because <em>you</em> knew that was coming. God forbid pappy could have figured that out beforehand though. </p> <p>So we were treated to the extended remix of "I Want Ice Cream," for the next twenty minutes. It's sort of like the song, "I Want Candy," except that there's no tune, you can't groove to it, and it inspires madness and despair.</p> <p>At some point my FIL told The Boy that he would find him a place to get ice cream. Whatever. I was thinking of walking home by that point.</p> <p>Finally, we find a McDonald's. Close enough, they have sundaes. We pulled in, gave our order (The Boy opted for chicken nuggets because they're so much like ice cream), and waited. For a long time. Because I've evidently offended the gods and deserve this ride. </p> <p>We get to the window and get part of our order. Not all of it mind you since counting to two is a life skill that the chick that worked the window never mastered. The skill she did master? Apathy. Truthfully, she could have turned pro. If apathy could be spent as currency, she could have retired then and there.</p> <p>She literally stared at us when we said we ordered two sundaes and only received one. She didn't turn to correct the situation or ask anyone else to. She stared. Eventually we taught her the concept of this "two" through a combination of speaking slowly and complex gestures involving our index and middle fingers held in a sort of "V" shape. </p> <p>Welcome to central Pennsylvania!</p> <p>We finally pulled out. I was more than ready for drinks by this point when more FIL says, "Why don't we go see the deer?"</p> <p>There's a guy who has some land fenced off. He keeps deer on the land. They look like...um...deer. My son has seen the deer before but in an effort to magically transform the interminable into the intolerable, my FIL offers to make our trip even longer.</p> <p>Just. Freaking. Awesome.</p> <p>We drove a bit out of our way. We stared at the deer, they stared at us. Some had antlers, some didn't. They were trees as well. Yippee.</p> <p>Finally we arrived home. I'm not sure the vehicle came to a full stop before I got out, but I was out. </p> <p>I'm still plotting to get my in-laws back for that ride. </p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:2fc1fa7e-0fa6-4c3b-bbef-f7c20511b343" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/I'll%20walk%20next%20time" rel="tag">I'll walk next time</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-77480666077594806512009-01-10T21:53:00.001-05:002009-01-10T21:53:02.214-05:00The Other Church<p>Last week we decided to go to the other Catholic church in town. I'm not entirely sure why, but I just go with the flow when it comes to things churchly. </p> <p>We got there and the one nice thing was that the priest doesn't have a thick, gooey accent straight out of the Eastern Bloc. I could actually understand what he was saying. I didn't listen, but that's completely beside the point... I <em>could have</em> listened. He also had nice hair. It was a little long, so from a distance it looked decidedly like a fuzzy helmet, but it looked fine up close.</p> <p>Of course, being church, those were about the only positives to me.</p> <p>The first thing I noticed is that this priest (do I have to capitalize "priest?" I guess since I never bother capitalizing "god," that's sort of a moot point. Like they're going to add another year on to my life sentence in hell for disobeying the style guide.) sings every damn verse of the hymns. Every. Verse. Come on dammit, the other church does one and three. It's a time saver, let's get with the program here.</p> <p>There was another thing that bothered the crap out of me about the church music. They did <em>those</em> songs. The ones where they pick a psalm, throw some organ in the background, and slap some arbitrary notes to the words. Seriously? It sounds like someone is reading the newspaper to song. It's stupid. Stop butchering the last movement of Beethoven's 9th like that. It's criminal. God should make you weep nothing but grapefruit juice for perpetrating that on us.</p> <p>Behind me was what I like to call a "rusher." One of those people that is at least two words ahead whenever there's a group prayer or singing going on. I don't know the words to this stuff really well and that dude was not helping. Recite and sing at the correct tempo, jerkoff. No one is proud of you because you finished first.</p> <p>Also at this church was "Farting Guy." I call him that because once, in church, this guy was sitting next to us and letting them rip. This only happened once, ten years ago, but you don't forget stuff like that. Yet another reason to stick with the old church.</p> <p>Overall mass lasted only marginally longer than the other church, but if we could move to the verse one and three system we could get out of there earlier and I would consider that church instead, regardless of the perils of "Farting Guy."</p> <p>After mass, they had a thing for the kids which included an "epiphany cake." This is where you take a cake and put something inside like a bean and whoever gets the bean gets to wear a crown. I've always had issues with the epiphany cake and its potential to cause dental damage to an overzealous eater. This time, however, they put a little (but large enough to be an awesome choking hazard), plastic baby Jesus inside. </p> <p>Really? </p> <p>It's lucky parents were they to dig through their child's slice before they dug in. I'm sure "asphyxiation by baby jeebus" would be a real hoot down at the coroner's office. </p> <p>I'm not sure which church to go to now. Maybe I should come up with a third offering for town. I'll have to work on the plans for that. I'll let you know when they're done.</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:e1f8b7e2-7b46-4f43-85e1-1ab6a9a53dce" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/death%20by%20baby%20jeebus" rel="tag">death by baby jeebus</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/why%20do%20I%20even%20bother%20going?" rel="tag">why do I even bother going?</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-7369832871361691592009-01-08T23:29:00.001-05:002009-01-08T23:29:49.202-05:00Spin Cycle: Me? Guilty?<p>So I really wanted to do the Spin Cycle this week and I kept racking my brain trying to think of either what I was guilty about in the past or what I was guilty about now and I just kept coming up with nothing.</p> <p>Don't get me wrong, I have done things that I've been hugely guilty about in the past. There was the first woman that I was engaged to that I broke off. There were other women too, some with names that were erased by a combination of alcohol and time. There was that persistent feeling that I should have been by my mother's side more during her chemo even though I was a three hour drive away and taking college courses. I made it home nearly every weekend, but it never seemed like enough. </p> <p>I do the occasional thing now and then that I feel guilty for, but nothing big like in the past; I outgrew that hedonistic asshole phase. I might spend a little too much time on the computer or not help out around the house as much as I usually do, but the associated guilt is fleeting at best. Small stuff, small guilt.</p> <p>Then I started to wonder if I had reached some glorious state of amorality. Well, not amoral, just differently moralled (bite me, I can make up words.) I say 'glorious' because wouldn't it be wonderful <em>not</em> to feel guilty about things sometimes? </p> <p>Then I realized it wouldn't be so glorious.</p> <p>Feeling guilty, for all its pitfalls, shows us what we care about. Where our humanity lies. It points us in the direction of our flaws so we can kick at them and try to overcome them. It shines the light on things we could have done better so we can actually do them better the next time. Maybe not as perfectly as we would like, but better. </p> <p>It's about growth.</p> <p>I realized that over the years, I've felt less guilty about things because I've done less things to be guilty about. I've gone and grown in spite of myself and learned to forgive myself for the dumb things I've done and will undoubtedly continue to do.</p> <p>Wishing you the same :)</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:f126e318-530d-4e1e-b2f8-6a9e5ff6707e" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/well%20that%20took%20an%20unexpected%20turn%20to%20serious..." rel="tag">well that took an unexpected turn to serious...</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-36568685401916825952009-01-08T04:30:00.000-05:002009-01-08T04:30:01.347-05:00Not here todayI'm over at <a href="http://blog.lifewithtony.com/">Tony's place</a> doing a guest post for his birthday. Click over to see what I'm up to and maybe wish him a happy birthday while you're at it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-8270082965248608062009-01-06T09:29:00.000-05:002009-01-06T09:29:41.843-05:00The First Kiss and Other Stuff Too!<p>The stunning and consistently amazing Sher over at <a href="http://sherendipity.com/blog/">Sherendipity</a> (go read her...if you don't, you're only hurting yourself) has provided me with an interview meme which is sort of cool as far as memes go. I even volunteered for it. One of my answers even has a story attached to it, because that never happens on my blog.</p> <p>1.  <strong>Do you remember your first kiss?  C'mon, dish. </strong></p> <p>(This is the answer with a story...it would be a disservice not to tell it all.)</p> <p>Ahh, my first kiss. I remember it well. I was at a camp for gifted children in eighth grade. I don't know where all those smarts went, but they were there once evidently. It lasted a week and there was the cutest girl there. We met on the first day during some sort of nerd activity and it was love at first sight. The night of the same day, when the others were singing Kumbaya or some sort of similar crap around a camp fire, we were off talking. We could hear the fire crackling and it was a nice, cool evening. We stopped talking at some point and just stared into each other's eyes. Then we leaned in for the The Kiss. It was a first kiss for both of us, but there wasn't any awkwardness, it was just sweet and tender and it felt right.</p> <p>We spent the rest of the week alternately sneaking across the camp grounds and crawling into each other's respective tent to steal away whatever moments we could. The counselors only watched the front of the old army tents and left the rear of the tent unguarded. C'mon people, we were gifted. You had to do better than that.</p> <p>When the week was over, we said our goodbyes. Our schools played each other in football, so once a year we would meet at the game since we were both in our respective school's band. We never kissed again, we just caught up and shared stories and went our separate ways after the game.</p> <p>My freshman year of college, I got a card in the mail for my birthday that had a picture of Miss Piggy on the front of the card laying in a tent. When you opened it, Kermit was pictured entering the rear of the tent with the phrase, "You can sneak into my tent any time." It was from her. </p> <p>Good times.</p> <p><strong>2.</strong>  <strong>What lesson did you learn from your parents (good, or bad) that will, or has, influenced your style of parenting?</strong></p> <p>From my mom: Stand up for for your child no matter what. That and I have her sense of humor... that plays a huge part in my parenting.</p> <p>From my dad: "Because I said so" <em>is</em> a good enough reason. Also, give your kids enough rope to hang themselves and pull their butt out of the fire when they need it because most kids (or maybe it was just me) are too dumb to learn otherwise.</p> <p><strong>3.</strong>  <strong>Was there ever a time in your life that you passed on an opportunity that you really wanted, only to realize later that it was more of a benefit that you didn't take advantage of it?</strong></p> <p>Not really. One of my favorite things to do is jump at the chance to do just about anything, regardless of whether I've thought it out or not. It's a bumpy road sometimes, but I have some great memories and haven't yet wound up killing myself.</p> <p><strong>4.  The year is 1999.  Ten years ago, today, what were doing?  Better yet, what did you THINK that you'd be doing ten years later, and how close were you?</strong></p> <p>I was working at the university that I work at now and had been married to my wife for almost five years. We had bought our house a year or so earlier and were so excited about it. We had finally climbed out of debt, so that was pretty awesome too. </p> <p>What did I THINK I'd be doing ten years later? I pretty much envisioned myself where I'm at now (it's a good job) except that I thought I would have had a book published by now. I also didn't expect that we would have had to have adopted, but I wouldn't change that for the world.</p> <p><strong>5.  If you could write a letter to the future you, reminding yourself of anything at all, how would that letter read?</strong></p> <p>Dear idiot,</p> <p>Just a few things in case you managed to forget them in the interim... Remember to find the humor in everything that you possibly can. Practice patience, you know how you get if you don't. Put your mind to it (and your back if you have to) and you'll get to where you want to be. Spend as much time as you can with your wife and your child. No one ever said on the deathbed, "I wish I had worked more." </p> <p>If you forgot any of that stuff, you deserved to be called an idiot. If not, you can just crumble this letter up and toss it... job well done. </p> <p> </p> <p>Okay, that's that with the interview questions. I'd like to give a big thanks to Sher for coming up for such great questions and for just being Sher. You're awesome, babe. No question about it.</p> <p>If anyone is interested in being interviewed, just leave an "interview me" or "do me" in a comment and I'll come up with some questions for you. All shiny new and personalized! I'll take the first two "do me's" because I'm too lazy to come up with questions for more than two people ;)</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:569994da-36e7-4719-9322-c16ca5a8e66a" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/First%20kiss" rel="tag">First kiss</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/parenting" rel="tag">parenting</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/letter%20to%20self" rel="tag">letter to self</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/ten%20years%20past" rel="tag">ten years past</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com69tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-32794668445886922122009-01-03T08:10:00.000-05:002009-01-03T08:10:41.400-05:00Randomness + An Award<p>A new collective noun inspired by my recent usage of "murder of crows." I present "terror of toddlers" as a new collective noun.</p> <p>Usage: "I invited one too many kids to my son's party and ended up with a terror."</p> <p>What could possibly be more appropriate? Get the word out. <br /> <br />============ <br /> <br />On a car ride with The Boy, The Wife, his grandmother and grandfather... <br /></p> <blockquote>The Boy (in reference to something completely unrelated): "I'm confused." <br />Me: "Just wait until you get married."</blockquote> <p>The Boy's grandfather laughed and for some reason his grandmother offered to let me walk the rest of the way. I felt The Look from my wife bounce harmlessly off. <br /> <br />Was I wrong? I think not. <br /> <br />============ <br /> <br />The Boy's grandparents wanted him to spend the night since she hadn't seen him much over the holidays. We, of course, were more than happy <strike>to unload him and go enjoy ourselves</strike> oblige. <br /> <br />The Wife asked, "Would you like to go to your grandparents' for the night?" <br />The Boy nodded and replied, "I could use some time away from you people." </p> <p>I can't fault him for stating the obvious. I actually admire his wisdom at such an early age.</p> <p>============</p> <h3>An Award</h3> <p>This award comes from Nonna at <a href="http://nonnasnonsense.blogspot.com">Nonna's Nonsense</a>. I would like to thank her sincerely for it and apologize for taking so long in getting around to acknowledge it. Stop by and check her out if you get a chance. I really do like this award because it emphasizes the community of blogging. Here it is:</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SV71knCSskI/AAAAAAAAAlk/GpiFSs1z8a0/s1600-h/Prox_award%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="border-top-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="177" alt="Prox_award" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SV71k-A-9xI/AAAAAAAAAlo/UwEksCDBpqk/Prox_award_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="204" border="0" /></a> </p> <p><em>“These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who <strike>must</strike> may choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”</em></p> <p>Okay, so I changed a word in there because I never give awards and expect people to pass them on. I only give awards out to people that I enjoy reading and that's that. If you choose to pass it on, great. If not, just as great. No pressure, just props for the reads that I like.</p> <p>Also, charming? This is not a word that I generally use, but there it is, somewhat out of place on my blog...sigh. The perils of copy and paste.</p> <p>Now for the victims:</p> <blockquote> <p>Miss Grace @ <a href="http://www.missdisgrace.com/">Miss Grace's Disgrace</a>.</p> <p>CK @ <a href="http://creativekerfuffle.blogspot.com/">Creative Kerfuffle</a>.</p> <p>Khadra @ <a href="http://crabgoggles.blogspot.com/">Crab Goggles</a>.</p> <p>Weasel Momma @ <a href="http://worldofweasels.blogspot.com/">World of Weasels</a>.</p> <p>Stacey @ <a href="http://www.anymommyoutthere.com/">Is There Any Mommy Out There?</a></p> <p>Laura @ <a href="http://livinglaura.blogspot.com/">Living Laura</a>.</p> <p>Sarah @ <a href="http://sarahsblogtasticadventures.blogspot.com/">Sarah's Blogtastic Adventures</a>.</p> <p>Bern @ <a href="http://bernthis.typepad.com/bernthiscom/">Bernthis.com</a>.</p> </blockquote> <p>I'll get around to notifying everyone they got the award but I'm too lazy right now. Hopefully, they'll just figure it out all be themselves.</p> <p>and that's a wrap...</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:e75261f4-2f67-4814-a004-164a8f6f6de9" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/this%20was%20supposed%20to%20be%20a%20quickie%20post%20but%20then%20an%20award%20got%20involved%20and%20it%20took%20up%20lots%20of%20time%20-%20how%20does%20this%20happen?" rel="tag">this was supposed to be a quickie post but then an award got involved and it took up lots of time - how does this happen?</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-86949560369962217792008-12-26T08:00:00.000-05:002008-12-26T08:00:00.945-05:00That's Gonna Leave a Mark<p>The other day, I was in the kitchen tidying up. This is the important part, mind you. I was most pointedly NOT in the living room at the time and bear utterly no responsibility for what happened. </p> <p>Not. My. Fault. </p> <p>The Wife has acknowledged this fact.</p> <p>Anyway, at some point I heard The Boy say, "Mom, I cut my finger." It was a simple statement of fact. Nothing more, nothing less.</p> <p>Hmmm. "Curious," thought I. Being me though, when somebody says they cut themselves, I have to go see how good a job they did, so I walked into the living room to see what had happened.</p> <p>The table was scattered with shreds of paper that magically occur when my son get a hold of a pair of scissors. No biggie.</p> <p>The Wife was staring at some small particle that appeared to be roughly the size of two grains of rice. Not the long, wild kind. Just simple, white rice.</p> <p>The Boy was staring complacently at his thumb.</p> <p>The particle was actually a small chunk that The Boy had taken off of his thumb with the scissors. </p> <p>I frowned. Cuts are easy, stanching a missing chunk sucks.</p> <p>There is a peaceful time right after you cut yourself like that when your body seems to marshal its forces for one purpose and one purpose only. </p> <p>To bleed. Profusely. With reckless abandon.</p> <p>I knew it was coming, so I walked back into the kitchen for a clean towel. Then I heard the wailing. </p> <p>Ah, right on time.</p> <p>I came back to The Boy's thumb which had started bleeding. My first thought, being the loving father that I am was, "I hope he doesn't get any on the new couch." Seriously, blood is damn hard to get out.</p> <p>I wrapped his thumb in the towel and let him know that we needed to apply pressure. He started a mantra. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts."</p> <p>The towel was fairly absorbent, so I waited for a second to see if he would calm down. He did not. Instead he added, "I can't believe I did that," to his mantra. A little long for an effective mantra in my book, but hey, he's six and still learning. The Wife playing with the piece of ex-thumb didn't help the matter, so I got rid of it. Ick. That's all I'm saying.</p> <p>When I came back, The Wife was way past Frantic and heading on to Freaked. I'm sure that was most soothing to The Boy as well. I did what I had to and delivered the riot act to The Boy at 110 decibels. It elicited more tears, but he wilted and let me put pressure on. Mission accomplished.</p> <p>Don't get me wrong, I was all compassionate and crap after that, but you have to get audience participation for stuff like this. It stopped after about 20 minutes. There was a brief tussle over cleaning the wound, but 'the hairy eyeball' squelched that handily.</p> <p>He's fine now, no worries. The really funny thing? Here is the implement of destruction:</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SVRE4wpYYuI/AAAAAAAAAkU/9ptpvsQkpA4/s1600-h/frosty%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="345" alt="frosty" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_SFe0S0JCd5Y/SVRE5dWVD6I/AAAAAAAAAkY/BOTG50MMtQU/frosty_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="212" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>Don't screw with Frosty, man. He'll cut you bad. He's as cold as ice.</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:3731a12d-fd94-4a96-b8c4-2148884494b5" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/pwned%20by%20Frosty" rel="tag">pwned by Frosty</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com67tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-71331661948383044672008-12-12T12:24:00.001-05:002008-12-12T12:24:53.381-05:00By Request: The Corner Psychos - part 1<p>We live in a nice neighborhood and we have a dog and a child so we go for walks. On these walks, we have the pleasure of walking past Dick and Joan's house. It's sort of like the Dick and Jane books, but if they were demons: </p> <blockquote> <p>"See Joan throw a nutty."</p> <p>"See Dick have his spirit crushed and complain about the universe."</p> <p>"See Joan use inappropriate words around children."</p> <p>"See Jim get in her face and eventually just try to find ways to make them both have a stroke: gleefully."</p> </blockquote> <p>Before the boy came along, when we were new to the 'hood, we used to take the dog for a walk and Joan used to say, "I used to have a dog like that." We thought, "She's not bad."</p> <p>Then, one day, the dog set foot on her lawn...just walked on it mind you -- two or three steps tops -- no peeing was involved. All of a sudden we heard an outburst. Sort of like if nails on a blackboard could come to life at 120 decibels. "Get your Goddamned dog off my lawn!" At that time, being new to the block, we just moved along.</p> <p>We slowly learned from other neighbors that this is what they do. It was like the neighborhood secret -- <em>House of 1000 Corpses</em> minus the corpses. They hover around their front door waiting to cuss out potential offenders. The guy that lives across the street from them has a Harley. They yell whenever he starts it up. Once, there was a fire and the hydrant is located in front of their house. The fire was contained but the resultant water had washed some mulch away. They called the city and demanded to be reimbursed for the mulch and also called the water company so they could be reimbursed for the water they had to use to clean up. </p> <p> They hate when people walk on their sidewalk, so they park their car so it lays across the sidewalk. In the Summer, they lay their hose across it as if it creates and unseen barrier that people cannot cross.</p> <p>They have called the police on children playing ball in the street.</p> <p>My favorite time of year is Fall though. It turns out that Joan is quite fussy with her leaves. I can sit on by back porch and watch the multi-colored leaves waft on the cool Autumn air to the sweet sounds of Joan. "Goddamn it, Dick! You're raking those leaves wrong! What the hell is wrong with you, you asshole!" That's pretty much verbatim. I didn't take the time to write it down, but poetry like that just sticks with you.</p> <p>Once, the mood took me and I yelled out, "Shut up Joan! Abuse your husband in private. We don't need to hear it." She volleyed back, but I had had my fun. Nothing more needed to be said.</p> <p>We live in an area with a lot of woods and mountains and I always think, "If he came to his senses, they would never find her body. Nobody would even care to look," and shrug. If I was him, it would be worth a late night of negotiating a dimly lit mountain path, but that's just me.</p> <p>Once though, we were walking The Boy and, being twoish at the time, he tread on their grass. Joan came out and started yelling...at my son. The Wife kept walking while pulling The Boy along, but I felt the need to speak my mind.</p> <p>I led off with, "Shut your yap and listen, you harpy." She quieted but that was short lived. I laid into her about yelling at my son. I realized I was getting nowhere after about a minute after I had the quick epiphany that I may as well be telling a starving wolverine to stop biting me. Instead, I figured that I needed an endgame move.</p> <p>I stepped onto their lawn.</p> <p>She lost her freaking mind. It was awesome. All the crap I had to hear from her and her husband was suddenly worth it. She never shut up for a second, but I no longer cared. I walked off her lawn with a parting salute. I didn't feel vindicated, but I did realize one thing.</p> <p>I had a new sport.</p> <p>Baiting Dick and Joan. </p> <p>More on that tomorrow though...</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:ecd1b5c6-2133-4458-93ec-e6047e9f6cce" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/crusading%20against%20miserable%20people%20for%2040%20years!" rel="tag">crusading against miserable people for 40 years!</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-37129047366299100662008-12-10T12:13:00.001-05:002008-12-10T12:13:29.510-05:00Anti-Wordless Wednesday<p>I tried, I really did. I had pictures here and everything. They just sat there though...taunting me. They weren't funny, they weren't witty. They were just there.</p> <p>Instead, let's talk about a cat...</p> <p>There was this cat in the neighborhood. He was a neighbor's cat and would roam about. We tend to believe in keeping cats in the house when you live in town. That way they don't decimate the bird population and are much healthier in the long run. I don't point this out to the neighbors who let their cats roam though. If I'm going to potentially alienate a neighbor, I like to go big. Ideological differences aren't any fun. Now a pulling a single leaf off the psychos' tree on the corner property...that's my idea of fun because they. Lose. Their. Shit. Then I egg them on because the rest of the block enjoys the harpy shrieks of the female half of team whackjob too.</p> <p>That's another story though...I digress.</p> <p>So this cat was about 6 months old and was pretty keen on finding all the female cats in the hood and doing what boys do. My wife is on the board at the SPCA so this creates an instant issue. </p> <blockquote> <p>The Wife: "What should I do?"</p> <p>Me: "Not hearing this."</p> <p>TW: "Seriously, what should I do?"</p> <p>Me: "Seriously. Not hearing this."</p> </blockquote> <p>My ruse of temporary deafness did not work however. Imagine that. Perhaps I should try the old "air embolism" ruse next time. I'll have to write that down. We talked about it for a while and it was decided (by her, I just replayed Jimmy Buffett songs in my head -- it's easy to smile and nod with Jimmy playing) that we would abscond with said cat and get him snipped as a public service. </p> <p>Yee freaking hah.</p> <p>Off the cat goes to get a denutification and promptly picks up a respiratory infection. Note to owners of said cat: vaccinations are a good thing. Now The Wife is in a tizzy. Let's play "What happened next?"</p> <blockquote> <p>A) Cat convalesces at the SPCA.</p> <p>B) Cat gets adopted and recuperates at a new, loving owners house.</p> <p>C) Cat hangs on the futon in my attic where I get to give him a 14 day course of antibiotics and develops the uncanny ability to turn on the TV to watch daytime/late-night television while I'm not looking and causes The Boy to grow progressively more attached while I continually think that two cats in the house is just fine and when is he going back to either the SPCA or the previous (rightful?) owners. </p> </blockquote> <p>Thanks for playing people...I think you all picked the right answer. There is no prize though because I got no prize in this deal either. So tough noogies.</p> <p>So let's imagine where this will end up... </p> <p>Have I mentioned that we've had 5 cats? (not all at the same time) Three were shelter cats but more importantly, two were from a neighbor whose house I can point to from mine. Yeah, I know I'm screwed despite my objections. </p> <p>Well, at least I like the cat...unlike the <a href="http://h31n0us.blogspot.com/2008/10/ballad-of-little-dog.html">"Little Dog"</a> reign of terror.</p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:fc452c82-3158-4ec8-bebb-a76f7455fd2d" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Hello? Do I get a say in this?" rel="tag">Hello? Do I get a say in this?</a></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-7869892379212602662008-12-09T13:09:00.000-05:002008-12-09T13:11:52.049-05:00Spin Cycle: Birth of Blog<p>The lovely Jen at <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com">Sprite's Keeper</a> was inspired by the nappy Jen at <a href="http://steenkybee.blogspot.com/">Steenky Bee</a> to do a spin on the birth of a blog. Why you started, what it's named what it is, and so on. Here is my humble tale:</p> <p>I started blogging mainly so I could kick around and just write. I was writing short stories and freelance stuff but I wanted to have something that I could do with a little more regularity -- to keep in practice and try out new stuff. I already had a nickname of "Heinous" from when I was a gamer. (I don't have time for that anymore, but once my son is old enough for some pwnage, I'll make sure I school him well.) I tried to use it for my blogger name but some fiend (who never seems to have used it -- the lousy mofo) had taken it. I had to resort to my 'leet' spelling, because I'm just all cool like that (read: geek), and that's where 'h31n0us' came from.</p> <p>The first part of my blog name, 'Irregularly Periodic', just came from the fact that I didn't post with much regularity originally. I still skip days, so it still sort of applies. The 'Ruminations' part came from the way I like to sit and look at things, generally with a touch of humor. I silently curse my choice of blog name just a little bit whenever I have to type it out. Thank the heavens for spell check. A find myself using IPR a lot nowadays.</p> <p>It started off smallish (as we all do) with a few visitors here and there and has grown a lot in a small time...much faster than I could have ever expected or even hoped for. </p> <p>I blog now because I love it. It has helped my writing in general, so that's been good in itself. Most important to me now though is the fantastic community of bloggers that I am fortunate enough to be a part of. I'm grateful for all the comments I get and the fact that people seem to enjoy reading my blatherings. I've made quite a few friends that I rarely, if ever, have to pay to talk to me. Now if I could just get my wife to read it...</p> <p>I'd just like to give a big, sappy thanks to you all for coming by whether you're new here or have been here from the start.</p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2014653608019418727.post-8185992346324137132008-12-07T11:32:00.000-05:002008-12-07T20:24:38.910-05:00Sunday RandomnessA quick salute to parenting super powers for the week...<br />
1. Super hearing: <br />
I was standing in the kitchen and heard a faint sound from outside. I thought, "I can identify that sound. Let's see. It sounds like glass...being smacked against...hmm, brick. Yes, that's definitely the sound." <br />
Dammit. <br />
I ran outside to see the boy testing the tensile strength of a bottle he was carrying to the recycle bin. Before parenting, I would have totally ignored that sound.<br />
2. or when you can see into the future: <br />
Me: "Dude, don't lean against that, you'll knock the soda off the table." <br />
The Wife: "It will be fine." <br />
*splash* <br />
House rules: I warned you well ahead of time, you clean it.<br />
============<br />
Tech Support call:<br />
"Hello, all my email is gone." <br />
"What is your login ID?" <br />
He gave it to me and said, "I graduated two years ago." <br />
"Sir, we generally delete account 90 days past graduation." <br />
"But I've been using it for two years." <br />
"And we sent you a notice that your account would be deleted after 90 days." <br />
"Well yeah, but I kept using it since you never turned it off." <br />
"We don't backup student accounts, it's gone. There's nothing I can do here." <br />
"But I've been using it for two years." <br />
<br />
I can only take so much of this stuff before I turn unpredictably snarky... <br />
<br />
"You're welcome for the gracious extension to your account." *click* <br />
<br />
Somewhere, someone is thinking I'm a rotten bastard and I'm okay with that. He graduated anyway. We already spent that money.<br />
============<br />
A definition:<br />
Blood Firsty: The feeling you get when you see a new post in your reader and are taken over by the compulsion to get to the blog and get your, "FIRST!" in.<br />
That's it people...go enjoy your day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00873541253069090821noreply@blogger.com43