Evil People

I firmly believe that there are some people in this world that are just no damn good. Part of this is personal experience. Part of this is professional experience. And part of it is just plain old contrariness and a lack of confidence in the general goodness of humanity.

Okay, so I'm a Grinch. Deal with it.

Red's 10-yr-old has had a friend since we moved in here, about 4 years ago. They lived just down the street, and up until this morning, they were utterly inseparable - twins, if you will, from different mothers, but as alike as any two little girls can be. Last night, Little Blond Friend's older brother ran away from home, after he called his mother something highly inappropriate to her face and was facing a well-deserved whuppin' across the ass from his dad. In their search for him, Little Blond Friend's dad came past our place to get LBF, and he was reeking of alcohol, enough so that the other friends we adults had visiting commented on the odor from nearly 20 feet away inside the house (he never came in) after he left. I spoke with LBF's mom this morning and commented on it, saying that perhaps Dad really shouldn't have been driving, and that I'd had some reservations about allowing his daughter to go with him in that condition.

Big mistake. Of sorts. She went, if I can use the term (and why not, it's my blog dammit) absolutely batshit crazy. Off the deep end. Ca-waaaazy. How dare I say that her husband would drive drunk with his daughter in the car, blah blah blah. Okay, he nearly fell down our stairs and I could smell him before I opened the door....but oh no. Anyway.

So a while later, he calls me. Now, mind you, other than the two or three breif times I've encountered the guy, and the one time Red and I made the mistake of going out for a quiet drink (or a dozen) with these two in which much hilarity did not ensue, I've hardly ever spoken with the guy. He calls me all indignant and telling me I'm not allowed to say anything to anybody, I'm way out of line calling him a drunk, etc etc ad nauseum. I told him....once....that if the only reason he'd bothered dialing my number was to get in an arguement with me, that I wasn't interested - he had obviously been drinking the night before, I noticed it, and commented on it to the other adult in the equation. That was it. I told him if he wanted to fight to save his breath.

Next words out of his mouth, "Well, no, I wasn't calling to fight with you, but I just want to let you know you'd better not say anything like that about me again, or I'll..." -=click=-

Shortly thereafter, the other adult calls and screams at my pregnant fiancee. Not a recipe for success.

Then they send over LBF, who, mind you, is all of about 12, and other than our 10-yr-old, has no friends. None. Nada. Zip. The message? "My dad says I can't be friends with you anymore, because WG was so rude to him." Red, who happened to be in earshot, corrected LBF quickly on this, giving her The Facts that she obviously hadn't gotten from her parental units, and the kid went hollering back to the car that Red said her dad was a drunk driver.

Well....yeah, actually.

So the upshot of the day was that I had a sobbing 10-yr-old girl in my lap, unable to understand why a man in his late thirties would choose to have a temper tantrum and take it out on his daughter and herself. I hope I explained it okay...at any rate, she did stop crying eventually.

The moral of the story here, I guess, is that people just suck. :(

Edit: Apparently Jeff has encountered the same phenomenon. Proof!

I can haz gingerbread?

Indeed I can. Mom brought me a large pan of it. I intentionally exerted a herculaean effort (quite heroic of me, I must say) and managed to keep from eating more than 1/8th of the pan in one go. Red liked it, the 10-yr-old loves it, but the true champ of this eating contest is the youngest, who managed to devour her helping in about three bites. I believe I heard the -=whoosh=- of the air rushing in behind where it had just been, as a matter of fact.

Hopefully it'll all stay down. I haven't had any nausea issues since earlier this morning, so I'm hoping for the best and eating like it's 1999. :)

14-year-old mack daddy

I mentioned this story to Kate at one point in an email exchange. Looking back over the blog so far this year, I see I've dropped hints on a number of things, so I guess I should clear those up. Call it a New Year's Resolution.

In 2001, Red and I were still coworkers & friends (this was long before we were dating). We both volunteered for a project funded by our employer, mentoring kids at a local middle school as they worked through the Lego Robotics Challenge. It was a motley group of kids; mostly kids I'd call "average", and a couple that were much more what I'd classify as "geeks". One in particular stood out of these, and I'll call him Mr. Smooth.

Mr. Smooth was a brilliant kid, and like most geeks really didn't get along with his peers. Most of them, in fact, couldn't stand him because he usually had the answer to their questions, wasn't shy about displaying the fact that he knew better than they did on a lot of problems, and was, for the most part, contemptuous of them. He got along with Red and I okay, mostly because, to be honest, he reminded me a lot of myself at that age....(brains+mouth)-common sense = bad things.

I forget exactly how the conversation started. I believe the kids were asking Red if they should call her by her first name or Mrs. ____, and she told them to call her by her first name, that was fine. There was a short pause in the conversation, and then Mr. Smooth spoke up.

"You know, I used to watch a show that had a character named (Red's name). She was a koala bear."

"Oh yeah?" Red asked.

"Yeah. I like koala bears. They're cute.....and they're vicious," Mr. Smooth said, and winked at her. Red could only laugh.

"Smooth, Mr. Smooth.......very smooth."

The fun never stops around here.

On the Suck-O-Meter, there's a range of Things That Suck. For instance, dropping your food when you're about to take a bite of it sucks, right?

Getting sick right in the middle of present-opening on Christmas morning sucks.

Continuing to vomit all day long uncontrollably sucks more.

Vomiting to the point that the diarrhea you also have simultaneously makes an appearance really really sucks.

Learning midway through the day in the middle of all of this that Mom made gingerbread because she read this blog entry caps it all off nicely.

Edit, Friday morning: I actually managed to get some solid food down yesterday, in case anybody's wondering. I've missed an entire week of work, which should make next week just utterly grand. Bleh.

Various vaguely Christmasy type stuff.

Hi there. Merry Christmas to you, reader, whoever you might be, from Red, Little Red, and Thing #1 and Thing #2...and the Little Bean, of course. My five cats also wish you happy holidays, provided you're prepared with their various favorite treats. Just so you know, Freckles likes salsa, Prince likes tortilla chips and chestnuts, Snuggles likes ice, Chunk likes tuna casserole, and Peaches....well, Peaches likes anything, in very large quantities, which is probably why she weighs nearly 20 lbs.

For Christmas so far this year I've gotten to listen to my coming son/daughter's heartbeat for the first time. I have to say it's the finest present I've ever gotten.

So far, no snow. The weatherman can't make up his mind if we're going to get any or not.

Shopping is done, finally. Nothing's wrapped, that being the job of the parental units to assist Santa in for morning delivery of loot.

Right now the girls are introducing themselves to the baby. Along with the fetal heartbeat, the kit we got has a microphone and belly speakers that strap onto Red's belly, for playing of Mozart, talking, reading, and so on. I intend to expose my son/daughter to heavy metal and Monty Python. :)

Happy Holidays! We're off to Grandma's house for much devouring of food.

Sweet!!!

Peter Jackson is making two films out of The Hobbit and the time between it & LoTR. I'm so excited, if I weren't sitting down already, I'd have to go sit down.

Best comment on Trutherism EVER

Heh. Succinct, to the point, and spot-on. I'm about laughing myself silly here.

The guilt knife in my back

So I was ready for bed....sitting here minding my own business in my PJ's. Red and Little Red (the oldest) are sitting here watching CSI. Suddenly, Little Red sits up.

"OMG....like I totally forgot, I have to go to Wal-Mart tonight, because I forgot to get a toy for my Toys For Tots little boy, WGcanyoutakemepleasepleaseplease....." bounce bounce bounce

"Uh...." I replied snappily, looking down at my somewhat-clad self.

"Come on," Red said. "She's going to be spending her own money, you just have to drive."

"But I'm all ready for bed," I protested, thinking Blah, I gotta get up for work in the morning....

"I have to get him a toy! You don't want him to wake up Christmas morning and not have a toy do you???? He's five, and I want to get him a fire truck." persisted Little Red.

"Honey. Come on, you had a fire truck when you were a little boy, didn't you?" Red continued. She, of course, knew the answer. I'll tell you why she knows the answer to this one of these days. "Just think, this poor little boy will wake up all excited on Christmas morning, and he won't have a truck, and it'll be all your fault."

I wrote this. I posted it. Now I'll be shutting down my laptop and taking Little Red to Wal-Mart.

Redheads.

Sheesh.

Edit: On the way out was this witty exchange:

Me: "So what do I get outta this anyway?"
Little Red: "That warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy from me not punching you."

Another Christmas Tale

Okay, so I know my dad reads my blog, or at least promised he'd start. Hi, Dad. This one's for you. :)

One year, when I was about five and my little sister was two, we arranged ahead of time to make gingerbread cookies with my mom. We were industrious tots, and I at least was determined to have enough cookies to last us through the winter. (I suspect my parents habit of referring to each other in bear-related pet names had something to do with this, but I digress...) We made a double batch of my mom's gingerbread cookies, which are one of the things about the holiday season that I absolutely love.

Actually, food in general is one of the biggest things I love about the holidays, but, again, I digress.

We made the aforementioned cookies on Christmas Eve, because, well, Santa needs fresh cookies to keep him going - it's cold and (in Oregon) rainy out there. We left him quite a few, because of course the reindeer would be wanting cookies too, and I for one was not going to see Rudolph waste away! I was satisfied in my five-year-old mind that we'd left quite enough cookies for Santa and the reindeer, and wafted off to sleep convinced that cookies would be forthcoming right after (if not sneaked before) breakfast, and secure in the knowledge that loot was nigh.

Imagine my suprise the next morning, however, to find out what a greedy bastard Santa actually was. He had eaten, not only all of the many cookies my sister and I had left for him (and the milk, too), but the ENTIRE DOUBLE BATCH OF COOKIES.

All of them.

Every.

Single.

One.

Oh, there were crumbs left, of course, but not enough to even satisfy a mouse, as the Grinch story goes. I was devastated, scarred for life, and quite distraught at the wholesale carnage. The smell of them still lingered in the air, taunting us with their sweet heady aroma. I also noticed my mom and dad looking quite guilty, and I knew with the certainty only a five-year-old could possibly muster. They had failed to prevent Santa from eating all of our cookies.

I still wonder about that Christmas, you know. I can just see Santa coming in, discovering the cookies, and like a vacuum cleaner, devouring the lot with a whoosh, a chug of milk, and a twinkle in one eye. To this day, when I leave cookies for him, I hide the rest.

Just in case.

Edit: heh

Tippling Tuesday, done early

I won't have time for my weekly beer post tomorrow - Red's got her business meeting, and I shall go as the dutiful carrier-of-things, so I'm a day early.

Today's brew is Henry Weinhard's Classic Dark. This beer is a very dark American lager beer - the website says it's available mostly in the winter (October thru March), but I've been able to find it year-round locally, so I suspect they're brewing it year round.

Classic Dark is a really deep chocolatey beer - those of you following my beer posts have no doubt noted a distinct preference for dark beers, and with good reason. I'm not a big fan of hops, really - even Northwestern hops tend to give a beer enough bitterness that the brew they're in is really harsh. This beer has three distinct malts, and a finish I can only describe as kind of sweet.

That big news I promised all six of you....

So I said I'd give out big news, and you'd have to wait....the waiting is now over (sorta). Most of the essential people having been informed, now it's your turn.

I'M GOING TO BE A DADDY!!!!!!!!!!

Edit: I realized this morning that I probably should share a bit more info. The newest lamb to this flock is due in July. I got to see movement and a beating heart for the first time yesterday, and I must say I handled it exceptionally well...no fainting, hyperventilating, or weak knees to be had. Nosiree.

I did get a little choked up when I saw the little butt wiggling, though. It's about the size of a kidney bean at the moment, and quite the lively little bugger. I hope for Red's sake s/he behaves him/herself prior to birth, because I've heard many times that I used to kick my mother's ribs so hard she could hear them creak. Red's family is also prone to big babies - she's a fraternal twin and she & her sister were both just a little over 7 pounds at birth.

Edit #2: Well, the kids have all finally been told. We couldn't tell the youngest two because they went to their dad's house for the weekend. Reactions thus far:
Oldest: You're joking, right. Look, you guys, this really isn't funny at all (repeat).
Middle: YAHOO!!!! MOMMY'S GOING TO HAVE A BABY!!!! (continued exciting jumping up and down)
Youngest: Yay! Now, knucklehead (looking up at me), this had better be a baby brother. There are too many girls in this house already.

Me in 40 years

Heh...

Christmas stories

You know how some families have those stories having to do with Christmas and Santa? I was listening to the radio the other day, and they were having readers call in. One lady said she had programmed "Santa" into her speed-dial on her cell phone, so she could show her 4 year old when he was being particularly trying.... "Mom has a direct line to Santa, young man. Look, I'm calling him now."

I started thinking about my own family history.

See, Grandpa was quite a prankster. I'm not sure what prompted this particular episode, but as with most of his really big ones, he put quite a bit of planning into it. In (approximately) 1952, the family was living in northern Idaho. Grandpa was an avid hunter, and decided to use that fact. Well in advance, he set aside deer hooves, deer blood, and started complaining about how Santa rarely brought him anything really good for Christmas.

Christmas morning, around 4 AM, he went out and industriously put down fake sleigh tracks in the snow on the roof, with deer prints, boot prints, and a copious amount of blood. Once he got back down off the roof, he sneaked back into the house, got out his shotgun, and then ran hollering through the house about intruders, out the front door, and cranked off several shots into the sky. My father, his older brother, and two older sisters all came running out to see what was going on, and when Grandpa came sauntering back in, very satisfied, at least one of them got up the nerve to actually go out and check the roof (very aware of what day it was supposed to be and who would be likely to have been sneaking around in the house). The sight on the roof was, as one can imagine, appropriately horrific.

The fun part of this story, however, is not the immediate aftermath. The fun part of this story is knowing that until the year Grandpa died, in 1998, he got in his stocking a handful of walnut shells and a largish lump of actual coal.

Every. Single. Year.

It actually got to be quite a family tradition. Every year that the grandkids were around, Grandpa would pull down his stocking and look in it last, after everybody else's presents were open. Several pairs of expectant little eyes would be looking up at him, and he'd say, with a twinkling blue eye, "Weeeell.....let's see what he got me this year." A short dramatic pause, and he'd stick his hand in, and pull out a handful of the obvious contents. "Oooooooooohh......doggone it, he got me again!!!!!" accompanied by a smattering of delighted giggling.

Good times.

Yep

Bit slow blogging...busy with work, more work, and that other item I mentioned (and no, I'm not telling you yet...you have to wait till next weekend).

I've lived in Oregon all of my life - the storm system that came thru yesterday & today was as bad as any I've ever seen. (I'm not old enough to remember the Columbus Day Storm, sorry.) Yes, it really is that bad here...well, not here here, but you get my point.

Things that are awesome

Is there anything better than hearing a 7 year old reading fluently?



I can't think of anything.

Grammar Nazis

Heh.

I always liked the Grammar Nazi when the now-defunct Queen of Wands did it, and it's just as funny done by somebody else.

Musical Goodness

I've been a fan of Shel Silverstein since I was a kid. My parents exposed me to The Giving Tree, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Falling Up, and A Light in the Attic when I was first learning to read, since poetry, written without a lot of pretentious big words, is often great to teach children how to read. I've always loved Uncle Shelby.

So it was with amazement that a friend of mine at work told me of Silverstein's musical work. I had no idea, and I feel so sad at having missed out. I spent most of today listening to Freakin' at the Freaker's Ball and laughing myself silly at the irreverent humor of Stacy Brown Got Two.

Now I'm going to have to find everything that man wrote and read it, just out of general omigod-howdidinotknowthis.

News from the other side

I have big news.....but you're all going to have to wait a little while until I can tell you. It's a secret, see?

Until then, enjoy this.

Sad news

Kevin Dubrow, the lead singer for Quiet Riot, was found dead today. This really sucks.

My biggest memories of Quiet Riot are much like my memories of Twisted Sister....fond ones, of a group of guys with really big hair having fun poking fun at the more serious metal bands in the 80's. I'm sure there were lots of drugs involved, I never really looked past the music to be honest.

Still, it's sad. :(

Piano Man, and how not to run a restaurant

Red got me tickets for my birthday, over a month ago, to go see Billy Joel in concert at the Rose Garden in Portland today. First, let me say that the Piano Man certainly does not disappoint in his concert - a thorough mix of favorites going back to before I was born up to much more contemporary stuff, and at one point getting a member of his road crew up to do the vocals for an asskicking cover of Highway to Hell. Simply awesome.

But let's backtrack just a bit, for I have something about which I wish to rant.

Consider this. You run a restaurant which, on nights that the Rose Garden is actually doing something, represents the closest (and, for all I know, only) thing resembling an actual restaurant with real food within walking distance. As such, you are guaranteed standing-room-only attendance from people who, like me this evening, are hungry, and who, like me, want to partake of something with alcoholic content. One would think that, under such circumstances, one might make an effort to create an environment where people are interested in eating, with food people are interested in eating, and with staff capable of delivering it.

Sadly, this is not the case.

First, we came into the Rose Garden before the concourse was actually open. How we managed this, I'm not quite certain, but Red and I were chased off the "concourse" by an officious red-bejacketed harridan demanding to know what I was doing as I was walking by, as if it weren't relatively obvious that a) I was walking and b) I had no particular destination as evidenced by my inquisitive looks at all and sundry. I was told I could go into the above-mentioned restaurant, or exit the Rose Garden, but one way or another, my foray into the wild realm of Breaking The Rules was at an end. I felt like such a lawbreaker.

Anyway, so the restaurant was an option, right? I could go and get a drink, whiling away the hour and a half I had to await for the show with a beer and food. Ah, bliss!

Sadly, this was not the case. We didn't have a reservation. Lawbreaking denied, we were ushered toward the doors with all the hospitality of a dinner hostess toward a guest bearing a roadkilled possum as a door gift. Into the actually sub-freezing temperatures we went. Were there other options for food and drink, you ask? Well, no. Not so much.

25 minutes and approximately three frostbitten toes apiece later, we were permitted entry once more upon the concourse, somewhat chastened. We made our way to the restaurant, and waited in line for a table, were seated by a pleasant hostess, and then the real fun began.

Were I a waitress (and I'm not - I don't have the legs or the pleasant temperament for it), I would make an effort to learn the ways of fermented spirits; specifically, I would take the time to learn the difference between an amber ale and a cream stout porter. When asked for one, and given the wrong one by the bartender, I would not deliver it and ask with a blank gum-chewing look, "Well, that's whatcha wanted, dintcha?". No, see, amber ale is reddish/amber in color and transparent. Cream stout porter is as dark as strong coffee, and has a distinct creamy head on it.

Were I a professional cook (and I'm not, see above), I would not serve up a requested reuben sandwich with a) soggy, greasy marbled rye bread, b) enough mayonnaise that, if one were to wring it out, could be used to fry the accompanying fries in, c) a mere wisp of sauerkraut, and d) barely enough corned beef to constitute a halfhearted insult. The sandwich was vile in every describable way, and a few that can't be put in English. Not that I didn't try. Its sole redeeming feature was that it was hot, which I appreciated more than the revolting texture or cardboard-soaked-in-axle-grease taste. Were I a professional cook, I would also not serve up limp fries that had noticeably been fried in the same batch of nasty oil that had been used for deep frying fish of some unidentified kind.

The less said about Red's "Asian Salad", the better.

Were I an owner of an establishment, I would not charge $11 for the aforementioned sandwich and fries, and I would not be charging $8 for a 14-oz plastic cup of porter. The beer, at least, tasted okay, but that's probably because they had somebody from another company doing the tap cleaning and carbonation. I would have left a $.03 tip if I had had any pennies, but since I didn't, I left a note reading as follows:

"You have accomplished and served the most inedible food at the most unreasonable prices I've ever found. Congratulations on your achievement."

Just in case anybody wanted to know....

If you were curious about things I might want for Christmas, both of these rank right up there.

Update 11/26/07: These, too.

Weekly beer post

Well.

I was going to do a post this week about one of my favorites, the classic Guinness Draught. I was going to talk about how unique the nitro system is, the smooth chocolatey malted taste of it, etc etc etc. Now I'm not going to. Wanna know why?

I enjoy beer, and Guinness has been one of my favorites for years. About a year ago, they changed the formula, for reasons I can only guess at. Remember New Coke? Yeah, same thing - essentially, as I understand it, they changed the mix of the malts from using 100% really dark to about 75% really dark and about 25% caramel or lighter. The result is not unpleasant, per se, but it's definitely no longer the taste I'm used to. I've found a new love....or several, actually, and I've moved on.

The second thing is this. Look, I'm all for responsible drinking, and ensuring that kids aren't looking at inappropriate material. That's a good thing....but why in the name of all that's holy should I give my date of birth just to look at a site talking about their product??????

I suppose it could be a defense that they talk about actual brewing processes, how to make Guinness, etc, but come on. That stuff's not secret even in the most liberal sense of the word.

Anyway...goodbye Guinness. It was good while it lasted. I'll see you next St. Paddy's Day (can't drink anything but Irish beer on that day).

Disclaimer

Spambot comments will be summarily deleted without notice or apology.

That is all.

Weekend events

Well, I think I can confidently say I've fit as much shooting into this weekend as any other time I can recall. Wedding yesterday, glamor shoot today with the Matron of Honor from said wedding.....busy busy busy.

Photo editing to do - if I get a release to show them, I'll post. If not, you'll al have to suffer, wondering what might have been.

Cognitive dissonance

I'm sitting here watching somebody else reading my blog, over their shoulder, and I have my "Create New Post" page up on my laptop.

That's weird, in a cool, weird way.

Weekly beer post

Woops. I forgot my weekly beer post.

I don't have a new one to review, so since Kate's just doing salutes, I offer my own, a la Homer Simpson.


Mmmmmmmmmmm.....beer good.

Overheard

Exchange between Little Red (Red's oldest, 13 years old), and a Very Popular Girl That Should Have Known Better:

VPGTSHKB: (Little Red), you're such a nerd. You get straight A's, and you're always studying. I'm so much more popular than you, and I've got soooo many friends than you.

Little Red: Uh huh.

VPGTSHKB: I mean, like, I've got soooo many more friends, and I'm soooo much more popular.

Little Red: Okay, I'll tell you what. In twenty years, I'll remember you were the popular one, if you can remember to get me my pizza in thirty minutes or less.

Oompa Loompa?

Doopety doo.....He's got another riddle for you.
h/t The Smoking Gun

Cool!

Get a Cash Advance

h/t: Dr Helen

Criminy, what a week

Okay, so my last post was Monday.

Most of Monday and a significant amount of Tuesday was caught up with the housecleaning. Tuesday evening, I got food ready for children and skated off to Red's weekly meeting (I swear, I'll get to talking about her business....just gimme a minute, willya?). Got home kinda late.

Wednesday. Work....immediately following which was Red's big Open House for her business (the reason for the massive top-to-bottom housecleaning effort of the previous two days). It went well, but not as well as it could have. Dinner late, bed later.

Up early Thursday morning, more of this "work" thing I'm supposed to do in exchange for the ability to continue paying my exorbitant mortgage. Right, lots happening there, very busy day, covered a coworker's desk and kicked much hiney. Came home, discovered the power source on my desktop computer has apparently decided to go off to wherever it is that dead electronic components wind up, leaving me with my laptop. Did something after work involving something from work, I think....it all kind of blurs together. Oh, I meant to have a beer and forgot. How depressing. In bed somewhat late, woke up halfway thru the night for something that was well worth getting up for (heh), and then up a few hours later for....

Friday! Hallelujah, more work. Back to work, busy busy gogogogogogogo day in which I discovered much ineptitude on the part of other people, which I fixed and spread sunshine and happiness.

Now I am home. The kids are gone for the weekend with their dad. I am having cold pizza and a colder beer whilst sitting in my living room using my laptop.

*sigh*

Busy weekend ahead, too. Hopefully, I get to sit down for a little while on Monday of next week, but I'll bet it won't happen.

Weekly beer post

This week's review is Full Sail Brewing's seasonal fall entry, called simply Wassail.

I have somewhat more mixed feelings about this entry - for one thing I'm not so into hops, and while this winter ale isn't bitter by any stretch, it's definitely not a sweeter ale. There's a sharp spicy taste from the hops and from the four different malts used in brewing.

Wassail, traditionally, is a hot and spicy punch, cider, or mulled beer served around the Yule season. Without being hot, this ale does a creditable job. It's spicy, and is exactly the sort of thing one would be drinking around a fire after a long day skiing. It isn't a dessert ale or beer at all....more of an accompaniment to dinner or something just to be enjoyed on its own merits.

Overheard

The Bike Owner: aaaaargh
The Bike Owner: I got a Megatron and I can't for the life of me figure out how to transform it.
WG: lol
The Bike Owner: The instructions are horrid.
WG: Are they in engrish?
The Bike Owner: No words, just really ...bad... instructions.

Morning Fog

Ok, that was a first.

I've never had somebody call me to tell me they sent me an email to tell me that they came into the office to leave me a message telling me that they'd just dropped off something for me that I don't particularly need.

At least, not within the space of about two hours, anyway.

An interesting point

The Advice Goddess raises a good point:

It doesn’t take much for domestic violence against men to be taken seriously…usually, just a chalk outline where a man’s body used to be. The rest of the time, people tend to shrug it off or even find it cute: “Well, well, well, she’s quite the firecracker!” Granted, male abusers can do much more damage with their fists, but put a heavy object in a woman’s hands, and good morning brain damage! (Just wondering…has your husband gotten the ashtray out of his skull, or does he have to hang around smoking areas with his head bent down so people have someplace to flick their ash?)

I've been mulling over whether or not to get into the debate about feminism since I started writing this blog (yes, all three months of it....lol). I couldn't ignore this one.

My ex-wife is, or at least was, a staunch feminist of the "women are oppressed and always have been" stripe. I want to be clear about this: she is entitled to her opinion, and I am not going to say it doesn't have any merit. I do, however, happen to disagree with that viewpoint; this is largely because there are abundant examples of women who have chosen, for whatever reason, to stand out from the crowd and take some kind of action on their own behalf.

Therein lies the problem. Men, as a rule, have a strong tendency to see productive action as validating. Be successful, do something important, take action.....don't just sit and talk about it, for God's sakes....you'll never get anywhere that way. The problem with this point of view, and again, it has merit, but I'm not necessarily agreeing with it, is that it discounts all of the things that women seem to be naturally wired to do, which is networking and social interaction.

The feminist movement is, largely, exactly such a network. If men have a valid point that the cards are stacked against them in a domestic dispute with a woman, then one has to think a bit about why the deck is on the table that way and who's doing the dealing. This didn't happen by accident; the feminist movement going back to Sappho has focused its attention on changing the world to reflect its own agenda.

This, in concept, is not a bad idea. The problem is, things have gone too far.

How have we gotten in this country to a point where police responding to a domestic dispute immediately assume that the typical picture of woman = victim exists? Not all cops think that way, to be fair, but a great deal of them do based on experience. Presupposing the situation's details aside, in my opinion that's much like assuming that dice have a memory or that the stock market is always predictable - there are simply too many variables at work in peoples' interactions to assume that because a) has happened before, and often, that a) is also automatically true unless proven otherwise.

Dr. Helen had an article at Pajamas Media not too long ago that I found thought provoking, asking whether marriage is a winning propositon for men. The answer from her commenters was overwhelmingly no, that a man getting married is giving up far more than his freedom, he's opening the door willingly for a woman to take advantage of him in every way imaginable. Is this true? Have we really reached a point where the prospect of marriage's drawbacks outweigh its benefits?

Feminists have a point that there's a glass ceiling in a male-dominated workplace. I happen to work in an environment that is nearly the exact opposite, however - there are virtually no men at all in lower to middle management of the agency I work for, except if you go looking into IT. Other than that, one has to go further up into the upper echelons to find men. At my level, it's even more lopsided - my workplace numbers something like 40 women and 7 men. It's not quite 10:1, but it's close. Is this evidence of a glass ceiling, then, or it something much more pedestrian? The industry I work in doesn't attact a lot of men, and since the ranks of management are largely drawn from the pool of talent already in the agency, it would tend to make more sense.

Going back to the question of domestic violence, though, brings me to my last point (at least, as far as this post goes...). Men are encouraged, generally, to be emotionally repressed; thinking a problem through, reacting logically, taking whatever action is appropriate, these are all what men are "supposed" to do. For men to actually put the drive to "do" aside, and spend time networking, talking, and thinking the problem out, is hard, in part I think because it isn't generally encouraged (ie. not "masculine"), and in part because generally we have so little experience at it. Men - and I'm speaking largely for myself here - generally fear ridicule or mockery of their failures more than just about anything else, and not taking the somewhat more usual path of problem --> solution --> action --> resolution leaves one open to precisely that kind of shame.

In other words, expecting the person that's supposed to be "strong" to open up and discuss gooshy feelings is on a very basic level very counterintuitive. Personally, I think it takes a lot more strength to talk about one's problems than pretend they don't exist, but not everybody sees it that way.

I think Human Resources people read this comic

In particular, I think the last two panels pretty much sum up how they see those of us that do the honest work.

The Travelocity gnome's friends have landed

I like gnomes as much as the next guy, but I think I'd be a tad creeped out with 75 of these little fellas staring at me. I'm just glad I don't live in Springfield. :)

Followup to previous Metallica post

Okay, I had no idea they could do this. Metal done with acoustic drumset and cellos...how many bands would even try that? Wow.

Ok, now I have to see these guys live the next time they're out this way.

Redefining breakfast?

Ok, I'm all for food that's easy, quick, simple....but there are things you just don't mess with, and a man's pancake breakfast is one of them. ICK.

I want a CCP permit

I wonder how much a Carry Concealed Pickle permit would cost? (h/t Absolute Moral Authority)

You there, yes, you.

There is a new book out. You must own it. Go purchase it. Now.

That is all.

Overheard

The Bike Owner: I can't summon up a good give-a-damn today.

WG: I could, but it would require candles, a sharp knife, and a sacrificial victim.

If I were a Rock Star

I'd definitely put subliminal messages into my songs.

Brush your teeth, and floss.
Use soap.
Wipe.
Bathe regularly.
Take your vitamins.
Eat your vegetables.
Don't climb into bed and put your cold feet into the hollow behind your husband's nice warm knees.


I'm just sayin'.

All new appreciation

Metallica is awesome. I've liked them for a long time, although I'm by no means an "original fan" like a lot of metalheads, Red included. No, my exposure to Metallica came with the Black album, like a lot of more mainstream types. I haven't added to my collection of CD's, largely because I'm cheap.

So last week The Bike Owner sent me an mp3 of Metallica's Fight Fire With Fire, and bade me listen to just after the guitar solo. Here's a live version. Listen to the double bass drums that Lars Ulrich has going at around 3:23.....that's going at the same speed the guitars are going.

I started thinking about Lars as a drummer earlier today at work, after I'd kind of switched my brain off and was working on autopilot, when up came Metallica's One, again played live. Here's another video; the sound's not as good, but watch the beginning. All of that is the drummer, aside from the pops of the pyrotechnics.

Just....wow.

Snarf, Snarf...

As I believe I've mentioned, we have five cats. One of these days I'll get around to posting pics of all of them, but that day is not today. Anyway, I was musing to a friend of mine today that one of the cats in particular is a whiner. His name is Prince, if you're curious - he was originally named Princess because we thought he was a girl until we discovered he had boy plumbing.

I think all of that girly stuff - dressing him up in pink, painting his toenails (no, I'm not kidding), and getting him a foo-foo collar - had an effect on him. He's now a metro cat, if you want the truth of it. Anyway, he has this thing he does where he whines when he wants out, and will only accept Red letting him out. If I go downstairs to the front door to let him out he runs away.

My friend, The Bike Owner (and commenter here if you've been paying attention), refers to people doing that sort of whining thing as saying "Snarf, Snarf", and if you're at all familiar with the Thundercats cartoon from the 80's, you'll get the joke. If not, well, here is Snarf.

The funny thing is, of all of the cats, Prince looks the most like Snarf.

Weekly beer post

Kate has her Tippling Tuesdays. I thought I'd turn it into a review of da brew. :)

First up, one of my new favorites: New Belgium Brewery's "1554"

This ale is really, really good, probably the best dark ale I've found since Guinness changed the formula for their brew. It's very smooth, doesn't have a sharp aftertaste like a lot of porters do, and isn't bitter in the least. In short, I like it a lot. It's got an almost chocolately finish that reminds me quite a bit of the seasonal late fall brews that one finds from the micro-breweries out here in Oregon, only they make it year-round, and goes with just about anything you care to pair it with (had some yesterday with Red's corned beef & cabbage....HEAVEN).

As a matter of fact, I think I'll have another.

A non-depressing post

It occurred to me a moment ago after re-reading that last one that the last three posts of mine have been somewhat depressing reading. This means it's time for some hilarity.

I give you the lewd monkeys of Kenya. (h/t LifePundit)

Why holidays, generally, suck

I am, in general, a Grinch.

I've been asked about this a lot - why I don't particularly enjoy the holiday season, why my response to a lot of the hooplah surrounding holidays is "Bah! Humbug!", and why I tend to get a bit cranky around the holidays. It's hard to explain.

I guess for some people, the holiday season starting around Labor Day kicks off a time of fellowship, getting together with family, enjoying fall-time parties, and whatnot. I don't associate the "holiday season" with most of that. I'm not denying it's there, and I enjoy it as much as the next guy when it crosses my path, but when I think of the holidays, that's not the first thing that comes to mind. I've been asked if something traumatic happened to me as a child at the holidays - no, my life doesn't parallel the middle of Gremlins, and I've never had somebody keel over dead over the Thanksgiving turkey. There was one particular incident when I was 18 that has stuck with me involving a 13 hour drive to visit relatives and being thrown out of the house the next morning, to spend another 13 hours driving on icy roads to get home at Christmas; maybe that incident has something to do with it. Who knows.

See, the thing is, holidays have all of this big build-up. I can understand it about Christmas/Hannukah, I suppose, since there is loot involved, but come on, do we really need to start seeing the displays for the stuff in October???? Anyway, the build-up nearly always means a letdown for somebody, and that's where I start having a problem. There's always somebody around with stars in their eyes about What It All Means, and that person nearly always gets their dreams utterly crushed at some point. I don't particularly enjoy watching that.

There are reliable studies that show a predictable and regular surge in crime rates in certain times of year, particularly around the holiday season - the studies I found are from the early 90's, but I doubt things are particularly different today. And that's just the stuff that comes to the attention of the police. Maybe that's just because human beings tend to be a violent lot, or maybe it's because we're genetically wired to off ourselves every so often, who knows. What I do know, though, is that families that get together have a tendency to fight either right before, right after, or during holiday get togethers. That one, immutable, unchanging fact turns me right off of all of it.

Don't get me wrong here - I absolutely love watching the kids opening presents on Christmas morning, and I love sitting down to a turkey dinner at Thanksgiving more than any other meal all year long. It's the insidious combination of false cheer (but you have to be happy, it's Christmas! makes no sense to me at all), spoken or unspoken expectations of the people around you (ie. comparisons of gifts....that is offensive to me on levels I can't begin to describe), and the commercialization of all of this desperate rush to glee that I despise to the depths of my soul.

Oh, and Christmas muzak. I don't like most Christmas music in general, but the muzak version of it is what they play in hell for the really bad sinners, I'm certain of it.

Local doings....

Found this earlier at The Jawa Report. As I said in the comments, I'm pretty sure I recognize this guy, and I don't think his name's Landingham. See picture here, second one down in the G's. Is it just me, or is that the same dude?

What kills me about this is that there's an elementary school directly across the intersection from where this happened, as well as three or four good-sized apartment complexes with lots of kids within a short walking distance. As a matter of fact, although I no longer live there, I used to live less than 500 yards from that intersection.

On a related note of interest, the Oregon State Police maintain an active registry of all predatory sex offenders in Oregon. I keep a close eye on it - there's only one living within a mile of me or either of the schools my girls go to, and he's quite some distance from us.

Really Annoying Things

This morning, I'm sitting here in bed working on photos I took yesterday on my laptop and listening to a "documentary" in the background. This show somehow has managed to trip up on two of the things that irritate me the most about TV, so I'm going to share.

First off, the show is about ghosts, haunted places, etc. Okay, fine, I can deal with that - what irritates the hell out of me, though, is the assumption that I as the viewer am going to go along with the notion that this is an opinion-neutral show. It's plainly trying to convince me that this place is really really haunted and presents all sorts of evidence in the form of rhetorical questions about whether or not it could be true.

What irritates me the most about that is that it's fundamentally dishonest entertainment masquerading as a documentary, much like watching most mainstream news programs come to think of it.

The other thing that annoys me a lot about this show is a narrating convention I see from time to time in actual real documentaries. For some reason, it often seems that the primary offenders are British historians, or to be fair, historians with a British accent. I love the British, but their historians need to just knock this off.

When you're talking about something that happened in the past, the correct way to refer to it is in PAST TENSE. Referring to a sequence of events that happened six hundred years ago in sequential order, in present tense may perhaps be gramatically correct, however, when one is contrasting that with current events, not only is it incorrect, it's often confusing. Determining cause and effect when the narrative is temporally neutral is something that these people should not be asking me to do on my day off.

Art, redux

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Four Foods on Friday?

Okay, I know it isn't Friday. Maybe, like Kate, I'm just early...but it's a meme about food, and I can't pass that up.

1. How do you like your eggs cooked? Any special ingredients?

I like my eggs in one of three ways.

--Scrambled hard, with cheese and herbs mixed in (much akin to Kate's way of fixing it, sans the cream since I can't eat it).

--Mixed in with corned beef hash and pan-fried potatoes, and plenty of tobasco, OR mixed in with a really good, fresh chorizo and lime. Either way, eat with a tortilla.

--Omelettes, with a variety of things in them, are one of my utmost favorite things. Chili, cheese, veggies, or even fruit are all excellent things to add to an omelette. The thing is, though, the omelette has to be juuuuust right or not only is it not good to eat, it is highly nasty.

2. What's your favorite cold sandwich, made on two pieces of bread?

Hands down, that's gotta be the one made with leftover turkey from Thanksgiving, with cranberry sauce, dijon or brown mustard, bean sprouts, provolone, mayo, and whatever else I can come up with at short notice. I particularly like that on a really dark Russian rye bread, but that's me.

3. What is your favorite pie?

If I'm eating in a restaurant, that's going to be lemon meringue, any time.

If I'm eating at home, honestly, it's a toss-up. Red makes pumpkin pie around this time of year that is to die for, and I've eaten enough of it in one sitting that I thought that might actually happen. The one my family goes for, though, and one that actually got me threatened with bodily injury if I ever brought it again, is Tollhouse Pie. (Note: fair warning - it is physically impossible to eat small portions of this pie. If you are trying to lose weight, don't make it.)

Tollhouse Pie:
1/2 C butter, melted
1 C white sugar
1 C brown sugar, packed solid
1 t salt
2 eggs, beaten until submissive
16 oz semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 t vanilla

Optional - any one of the following:
1 shot of spiced rum

Substitute half of the chocolate chips for cinnamon or mint chips - butterscotch is not recommended unless you have a sweet tooth that knows no limits.

Walnuts (I don't add them, as I think they're icky) or another nut you like, such as hazelnuts.

Mix all ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Preheat oven to 375F. Pour into two unbaked 9" pie shells - I make my own crust, but, again, that's me. Bake for 45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean.

4. Name one food you refuse to eat and why.

Anything with more limbs than me, because they're gross and fit into the general category of "bugs", whether they live in the ocean or not.

5. What's the name of your favorite restaurant, and is it small or part of a chain?

Given that I have a number of food allergies that restrict what I can eat, saying I have a favorite restaurant is impossible. I generally like authentic Mexican and Italian food because they generally aren't heavily based in dairy or nuts, which I have a real problem with. I can usually find something to eat at a steakhouse or a seafoood restaurant, and I often enjoy eating in such places. In general, though, uncomplicated food fixed by people who genuinely love to cook from things I can eat will win me over every time, and that usually leaves the big chains out of the running for first place.

I got home, and my woman is streaking...

...her hair, that is. Frosting, I suppose, is the correct term, but it's funnier this way.

Okay, I'll admit, I have a thing for long curly red hair. She knows it, too....I said something about shaving my beard a year or two ago, and she looked over at me and said, "You do, and I'll cut off my hair." I was horrified.

Anyway, long curly red hair with blond highlights. Looks good, baby.

Edit: Here's what I'm talking about on the right.

A quick gum...

Since Kate is feeling an advanced state of teh g33zoorz, rather than biting, I'm just gummin.

Yes, that's three links to the same blog, but if you don't read em all, you won't get the joke....and if you don't want to get the joke, you may bite me, because it is teh funneee.

Playing in traffic

We had a couple of extra little girls here Saturday night (from our 3 to 5, all told - after a certain point, the wisest thing is to hide upstairs and only respond to the sounds of things breaking). This isn't an unusual occurrence, there are after all three girls in this house, and they all have friends. Anyway, one of said friends' family is moving to Eastern Oregon next weekend, so this was kind of a last hurrah in getting together.

So I went to take Small Friend and our youngest with me back up to Portland. Along the way, I did some minor maintenance and whatnot, putting fluids in where they were low. I got as far as just between the interchange with Highway 217, and -=bam=- serious overheating, like smoke coming from under the hood overheating. I got it off to the median side of the road, where conveniently ODOT had coned off the inside lane (plenty of shoulder space too, which is a rarity in Portland in most places).

And there we sat. A couple of friends of mine came and rescued us, but we didn't end up getting outta there until after the tow truck left at around midnight with my car. I'm missing work today so I can go fix my car (I hope) or deal with it in some other way. We'll see.

Anyway, the point of this post was that I spent several hours in a car on the side of the freeway with two little girls, and guess what the main source of humor was?

Yep.

Fart jokes.

I love kids.

Edit (later):
Replacing the water pump. Hopefully that's all it'll need, but as of right now there's no way to know. Waiting....

Edit (later still):
The news is good - water pump replaced, and it's going to need a new radiator and hoses at some point in the near future. Also had to replace a tire, unfortunately, but it was about to go kablooey, and I have had quite enough of that lately.

Presented largely without comment

Just because it's one of those family photos that she'll kill me for in about 10 years. :)

The problem with alarm clocks

I was never a morning person as a child, or even during my early 20's. At some point, though, about 9 years ago, I discovered a love of early mornings - getting to work really early always seemed to really make my day go a lot faster/easier, because I could get a lot more done from 6-8 than in the rest of the day.

I'm not sure when that changed, but it may have something to do with the pitter patter of little feet around the place I call home. Becoming an insta-stepdad has changed a lot of other things, so I suppose it's logical enough that that'd change too. (It's amazing - I can sleep through an earthquake, but not the sound of a 5-yr-old's feet on carpeted stairs at 3 am....)

This morning, the alarm went off as it usually does, and I think it must have gotten set to an earlier time. I laid in bed dozing for a few minutes and then at some point realized that I needed to get my sorry carcass out of bed and into the shower or I'd be late for work. It was at that point that I realized the time was a quarter-to-the-hour. I rushed thru my morning routine, skipped shaving and breakfast, and made it to work by 15 minutes after the hour (impressive when you consider I have a 20-minute commute). I came bustling in, convinced I was late to work and would have to take a shorter lunch than usual and barely registering the fact that the parking lot was emptier than usual.

It was when the first of several coworkers looked at me, quizzically asking, "Why are you here so early?" that I realized it was 6:15 AM.

*sigh*

Sweet merciful crap.....

IMAO's Google ad at the top is advertising "sexy Hillary Clinton" photos.

If that isn't a terrifying notion, I honestly don't know what is. I think my brain needs more bleach.

Simply awesome

If you've never experienced the awesomeness of Despair.com, you have sorely missed out on one of the great cultural movements of our time. They have new Demotivators, and this one in particular caught my eye.

Go. Read. You'll thank me later.

New Neighbors

As I write, I'm being treated to a lovely back massage, at 11:15-ish PM on a Wednesday evening. But there's a catch....the back massage is being provided by my wall.

I haven't blogged about it before, but the owner of the house nextdoor was something of an ass. Last winter, one of my roof drainage downspouts came loose during a rainstorm, and the resulting cascade of water did a truly awesome job of excavating a swath out of the bank between his property and mine - his is about 10' vertically lower because we're on a hill. He took it upon himself to dig replacement dirt from underneath my porch to replace it. Much arguement and finger-pointing ensued. It was not a good time had by anybody.

So he sold the place, and the team of renovating owners are now in the process of replacing carpet, painting, and whatnot. I'd applaud this if but for one item....they evidently have day jobs and are doing this at night during the week, and while I enjoy music as much as the next guy, their choice leaves a lot to be desired in both genre and volume. This brings me back to the back massage I'm currently enjoying. Sort of.

There is something basically wrong with the idea that a central weight-bearing wall running down roughly the middle of my house, over 100' away, could be receiving enough sound energy to have a discernable vibration, much less one that feels much like being pummeled by epileptic squirrels. I've chosen not to involve the police at this time, however...these guys have no idea what they're messing with in this neighborhood. One of these days I'll have to post something about the retired lady on the corner who typically does yardwork in knee-high rubber boots and a fuzzy nightgown.

I am feeling Kate's pain with the whole neighbor thing.

Making the unreadable impenetrable.

Rachel has a great screed from Steven Weber, possibly one of the most blatant examples of somebody being in love with their own vocabulary I've ever read. Just for fun, I thought I'd improve it a bit - original for comparison above at the link, and here's the "new & improved" Engrish version, after a few trips through Altavista's Babelfish. :)

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I can feel my arteries hardening already.

It's when I see stories like this (h/t Instapundit) that I'm glad that Hardee's hasn't ever moved into the Pacific Northwest in force. I mean, really, wasn't the Monster Thickburger enough already?

I think Rachel is spot-on - Americans have gotten so used to per-person portions that would feed a family of four for a week in other parts of the world, that we've lost sight of how truly fortunate we are to live in this country.

Holy mother of....

This is unreal. Mind you, I have an eye for this sort of thing anyway due to what I do for a living, but this is staggering. A better rationale for a dress code in public schools I think I've rarely seen.

Wedding Photo

Red's little brother and his new wife, from their wedding in August. The only special effect on this one is the desaturation I did of the original RAW file. 1/160s @ f/5, 400 ISO at 120mm using natural light on a very bright sunny day.

Biting the Venomous One

Kate rightly castigates me and the rest of the universe for failing to bite when invited....so here's my nibble back, and an apology for my shameful neglect.

Things that Rightly Piss Me Off

Seriously, is there anything as deeply irritating as Doing As One Is Told at work, despite knowing that said action is dumber than a box of hammers and will result in no good, and less than twenty seconds later being reminded to take said action by a second person? Am I the only person who is annoyed by this?

I suppose the converse of this is telling one's management that a planned course of action will result in nothing good, seeing it disastrously and spectacularly go awry (in precisely the fashion objected to initially), and just smiling every time it's brought up. I've been fortunate enough to do that a couple of times in the past, and I suppose I'll go to hell for it.

Oh well. Hopefully it's worth it.

Heh

The single most awesome idea ever. E-VAR.

Link is work-safe, video there isn't.

(h/t Instapundit)

Birthday fun

Ok, so Friday was my birthday. Yay, go me.....actually, I was finding the notion that I've been on this rock for 35 years now somewhat depressing. That is, until yesterday.

My wonderful Red had to spend a portion of yesterday working on her business....not a problem, all things considered. I got several uninterrupted hours to play my video game, and since that's a rarity, it was quite nice.

Then the Billy Joel concert tickets showed up. Did I mention I love Billy Joel, and that I've never seen him in concert? I'm stoked, even if I have to wait till the end of next month. :)

Then my friend the bike owner turned up here, around 8:30 or so (see my last photo-post - the motorcycle Julie is sitting on is his), and he and Red and I went to Presley's Playhouse. They poured a shot of Glenlivet and a pint or three of Guinness into me, and got me a private lapdance from Presley herself. I'm no connoisseur of lapdancing....actually, this was the first one I've received for myself, but I have to say it was, "Impressive....most impressive," as Darth Vader says. Red refers to it as "intoxicating", but I think that's the booze talking, whether she had more to drink than me or not. :)

After that, we went to see a local band from the Willamette Valley called Quandry. A lot of local bands come and go - I hope these guys make it, they were excellent live.

Anwyn wants to get together...

Kennedy School, November 3 in Portland. Sounds like fun!

(Yes, I know I have no regular readers, but one has to start somewhere....)

Some new photos

Okay, I suppose putting the bikini photo first is shameless. :)
Nicole, very bright sunny day; 1/500s @ f/10, ISO 400, 90mm using a 70-300mm lens.

Harley-Davidson owned by a friend of mine, with Julie. 1/100s @ f7.1, ISO 400, 25mm using an 18-55mm lens. Sunny day, shot partially in shade using a gold reflector.

Portrait of Melanie. 1/500 s at f8, ISO400 at 165mm, using a 70-300mm lens on a bright sunny day.

Hiatus of sorts over

Kate reminds me I haven't posted anything here in ages. Yes, I've been neglecting my blog shamefully - there are good reasons for it. Honestly.

Anyway, sunshine and happiness will now resume. The Current State Of Things is as follows:

1) Yesterday was my birthday; please ignore any silly stories about something some Italian guy did several hundred years ago, since the important event for October 12 was in 1972.

2) Red's new business is proceeding apace....I'll have to devote a shameless promoting post to it soon.

3) I have new pictures. More on that later.

-=post interrupted by birthday celebratory debauchery=-

Transformers

Good flick. Nomination for best line:

Optimus Prime steps on a multilevel fountain in Sam Witwicky's yard, looks down and says, "Oops. My bad."

I am a genius

I have just finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. No spoilers here, but let's just say I correctly predicted most of the major plot points.

Go me. :)

Another photo from the 4th.

My friend Betsy says this looks like little winged fairies dancing in the sky. I think she's right.

Below/above the fold

Anybody out there that knows how to do the "fold" so often seen in blogs, please lemme know how. I want to post a few things that aren't work safe, but not till I know how.

Oh, and make the instructions user-proof, please? It's been literally years since I've made any attempt at knowing what I'm doing with HTML.

That, and I'm slightly drunk at the moment. :)

What's all this, then?

Now taking guesses....what's this? And no fair looking at the .jpg title.

Holy crap...

I want one too.

(h/t Instapundit)

I've been tagged....

Kate tagged me with this one....unfortunately, I don't know eight people to tag, so I'm going to have to sit that part out. Nevertheless, here's my contribution...

The rules are simple…Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1. Thing - I'm a diehard sci-fi/fantasy fan. Star Trek, Star Wars, Tolkein, Firefly, and a host of other shows, books, movies, etc, all hold a favorite place in my library.

2. Habit - I'm a creature of habit, to the point that my wife has teased me about obsessive-compulsive tendencies since we met. Case in point; I am utterly and completely worthless in the morning unless I get a shower (unless I'm camping, and usually I'll settle for a wash of some sort in the creek if I can get it).

3. Thing - I like gemstones (right, who doesn't?), but in my case I like actually digging them up. The engagement ring on my wife's hand hosts a .71 carat flawless Montana sapphire the color of an old pair of jeans that I mined and had cut myself.....actually, in point of fact, I also designed the setting and picked out the diamonds it's set with as well. :)

4. Habit - I can't stand being disconnected from my email. Not even for a day. Drives me crazy.

5. Thing - My current favorite medium and subject for photography is artistic nudes. The main reason I haven't posted any here yet is that I don't know yet how to do a "fold".

6. Habit - I prefer eating when I have a book to read; I think there are whole years of my childhood that I spent with my nose buried in a book, and I remember many occasions when I went to restaurants with my family and had a favorite novel along. I also often am doing several things at a time. For instance, at the moment, I'm chatting on IM with two people. writing this blog post, responding to an email from a model I want to work with, and watching Star Trek.

7. Thing - My preferred listening in music ranges from metal to classic - the laptop I'm writing this on has a library including Beethoven, Iron Maiden, Pink Floyd, and Bob Dylan.

8. Habit - I love to cook!

Red and Me

Some days, I feel like this guy.

Edit: or possibly this:

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Returning after a short involuntary hiatus

Blogger seems to have gotten confused as to who I am; my account was either deleted or locked, or something; I haven't been able to get in here to post anything since Saturday. I was quite annoyed.

Fortunately, the folks at Google were able to sort it out handily, and bloggy goodness will now resume. :)

Random cute cat picture

Okay, now that I got that last post out of my system, it's time for Cat Blogging!

Here's Snuggles again, this time all grown up. He always sleeps like that - Red says he's just like me that way, but I think she's lying.

Adventures in retail

I'm usually a pretty easy-going sort, and I do try to take into account that officious idiots are usually the way they are because of some bureaucratic ass somewhere issuing them directions to do whatever it is they do. I really do. I should also preface this by saying that everybody but the person I dealt with today was really quite helpful and pleasant.

That being said, Red and I went today to purchase some new items of clothing in the "professional attire" category, since she's in need of such things. We went into a retail outlet that will remain nameless (but which is located here). I was given the full monty there, and I'd like to express my appreciation today to Vicki, who went the extra mile for me today.

Retail outlets almost universally have dressing rooms of one sort or another. Usually, these are accompanied by chairs set about in various locations for accompanying members of the same party to sit whilst the person-who-wishes-to-purchase-things tries things on, comes out, checks the mirrors, gets the opinions of their party, and then repeats as necessary until the proper item is found. One would think, generally, that in a retail store selling to one gender only, that the chairs set out would be open to accompanying husbands. This, apparently, is not quite the case.

Red went into the dressing room with at least 5-6 items, and of course, it takes a while to try all of these things on, adjust them, and whatnot. I located the only remaining seat, a somewhat comfy plush fabric affair, and comfortably ensconced myself there, which happened to be both within eyeshot of the dressing room doors, but also right next to a table which had a number of signup things on it for one sale or another. I sat there, offering opinions on each item as it was presented and chiming in with the Male Viewpoint when I was asked from a couple of ladies who were trying on evening gowns. Nobody seemed discomfited in the least, at least until Vicki came trundling in.

"Sir...? Um, they really don't like men to be sitting here," she informed me. Obviously, this was intended to be impressed, and I was supposed to immediately be intimidated by Them.

"Ah. I see. I take it since you didn't say we that you don't share that opinion. Who, exactly, are they?" I replied, somewhat confused. (Somebody didn't want me sitting there, but it wasn't clear who....the government? Aliens? Beancounters from Area 51? Who, I ask you?)

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to move," she said, adroitly dodging my question.

"Okay. I'm sorry you have to do that, but go ahead." I replied, attempting to be sympathetic. She appeared confused.

"Well, it's just that the ladies using the changing rooms tend to feel somewhat intimidated by a man sitting out here," she hedged. I looked down at my terrifying 5'8", 160 lb self in sandals and shorts, and immediately began to feel better about myself. It's not every day somebody tells you that you're scary on a Saturday - at work, I get to be scary all the time, but on my weekend?

"Okay," I said pleasantly. "You see, there was only the one seat here when my wife and I walked in. I suppose we could put the several hundred dollars' worth of clothes she's currently trying on back, and take our money elsewhere. Will you be the one explaining that to your manager, or shall I?" I stood up and picked up the several bags of things and my wife's purse and began to walk out. She stopped me from getting far.

"Well, sir, you don't have to leave. Let me just find you another chair," and off she bustled, coming back in a moment with what turned out to be a fantastically uncomfortable folding metal chair, and setting it down less than ten feet from where I was currently seated. "There you go! How's that?" she said, attempting to be perky and patting the back of it several times. Rather than make a scene, since Red was currently between blouses (in the dressing room, of course - mind you, I couldn't actually see into a one of them without getting up and moving).

"Rather like being evicted, actually. I can only hope that your pay reflects your professionalism," I replied, and sat where I was requested to. She appeared pleased at the compliment and trundled off with an armful of some godawful green monstrosity to the next customer.

I said nothing to the management at the store, since Red's business requires a close working relationship with that establishment's business...complementary services and all that. I wasn't pleased, however, and if I were a woman, I certainly wouldn't be shopping there.

Attention Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marines....

Here's to you.

Just in case, you know, you needed a reminder of why you're where you are and what you're fighting for. Thank you for preserving our rights, our freedoms, and our cherished way of life.

4th of July Goodness

Mmmmmmmmm ribs

There is nothing in this universe quite like my wife's recipe for ribs (originally that read "like my wife's ribs", but that reads entirely the wrong way), and I thought I'd share.

Take one large rack of pork or beef ribs. Remove silverskin from the back and wash. Pat dry, and put in a big pan with a dry rub:

Grill seasoning
Allspice
Ground black pepper
Salt
Seasoning salt
---proportions to taste, requires a bit of experimentation.

Rub it in & then allow to sit in the pan while the sauce is prepared in a large sauce pan:

1 bottle of Mr. Yoshida's Gourmet sauce
A couple splashes each of Yamasa soy sauce, worchestershire sauce
About 4-5 pieces of crystallized ginger, chopped fine
A handful of dried apricots, chopped fine
A small handful of dried cherries, chopped fine.
Let simmer until sauce has reduced to a thick consistency, and remove from heat.

Cook ribs over medium heat on the grill for about 30 minutes, and begin basting both sides at about 30 minute intervals. The ribs are done when the meat begins to pull away from the bone & is still soft & juicy; estimated time about 3 1/2 hours to 4 hours.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go make a total pig of myself.

Overheard

"Man, I love fried mushrooms with grilled onions, garlic, and a little butter. It's almost as good as sex."

"So you're saying sex with me is like fried fungus?"

"Uh....I love you?"

Cautionary party notes

I suppose it's inevitable that at any party, particularly a beach-themed party, there would be a sizeable number of people that haven't quite internalized what the whole "dressing" thing is all about. Actually, that's probably true of any group of adults, but I digress.

One particular example from last night has managed to imprint itself upon my unwilling retinas, much like the afterimage you get if you look directly at the sun, only in a bad way. Now, I should preface this by saying that I'm willing to accept pretty much any bodily shape, being of the belief that it's what's inside that counts. If you're healthy, and usually even if you aren't, I'm okay with that - it's your body, you're the one that has to live with it, etc. There are some things, however, that just shouldn't be permitted in public, and this is one spectacular such example.

Desperately exhibitionistic attitude? Check
Obese? Check
Pasty I-sit-in-front-of-a-TV-all-day-eating-pork-rinds skin? Check
Poor sense of rhythm, and insistent on monopolizing the center of the dance floor? Check
Thoroughly inadequate, for even the most liberal definition of modesty, bikini, made of edible candy (that made a slow but steady disappearance as the night went by)? Check

It was horrific, much like seeing a wreck by the side of the road, where you don't want to look, can't stand to look, but can't help yourself, and spend the rest of your days wishing you hadn't.


That being said, it was a pretty fun party anyway.

Edit: yes, I know I said I'd bring pictures. Be thankful I didn't.

Off To Washington

...where the fireworks are less illegal than here, and there is anticipated to be much fun to be had. Some friends of ours went to one of the Indian reservations and bought the really fun stuff; party tonight, back tomorrow, and back up there for the 4th.

I'll try to bring all of you pictures. :)

Saturday Morning Art

Overheard

"Mommy, I'm hungry."

"Okay, get yourself a snack if you'd like."

"Can I have a potato?"

"Raw? Or did you mean a tomato?"

"Yeah."

"Sure, just don't get it everywhere."

Hearty Guffaw Warning

I love Sinfest.

Fair warning, you start reading that comic, you'll be there for hours & lose track of time, I kid you not. But it's sooooooooooooo worth it.

Pain and Suffering

I'd give just about anything to spend at least one month out of a summer without one of my kids bleeding from somewhere. *sigh*

At least this one didn't require a trip to the hospital, but hopefully we've learned out lesson about doing as we're told & wearing shoes while riding our bicycle.

In defense of government office drones

I think pretty much anybody with a pulse has had an experience like this one. I read it today on my break at work, and it got me to thinking. I've been in Kate's shoes...but I've also been the lady on the other side of the counter, metaphorically speaking. Ever wonder what it's like?

Understand, first off, that I'm not condoning the completely mindless behavior of said drone - Kate is right that a pleasant attitude goes a long ways towards defusing the ire of even the most intractible curmudgeon (and yes, that's my $5 word allotment for today). Been there.

The thing is, what seems on the customer/consumer/voter side of the counter like a monolithic, unchanging bureaucracy is much closer to being somewhat like a member of an army of ants as they march. There's a certain inevitability to it, a pace that you just don't see in the private sector, a grind that keeps moving all the time. Toss into that a lengthy manual of Rules Thou Shalt Not Ever Under Any Circumstances Violate, and For Which You Could Immediately Be Terminated (or at least Harshly Scolded), and then make the manual completely dependent on the comparison of its more esoteric contents with similar manuals at all other levels of government, and the particulars of which are known only unto the Morlocks at Central Office.

Then make all of that Holy Writ completely dependent on both the tax revenue and legislators from various levels. Understand that any or all of the rules you spend literally weeks learning can and do change with little, and often without, notice. Nobody human can ever know all of it and actually work in the field with the public, so they settle for a working knowledge and occasional specialties.

Add to that the public whose default position is cautious, nervous GodIhopeIgetthesedamnpapersfilledoutright, which will instantly change to teeth grinding rage and "Hey, you work for me, I'm a taxpayer, dammit," if balked or made to stand in line 4a for an estimated hour to talk to the guy at window 8, 9, or 10 to learn what else they're going to have to do.

Finish off this repast with a management structure that is more likely than not composed of: a few well-meaning, genuinely sincere public servants that love their job and have earned a position of authority by being exceptional, and a majority of (for lack of a better term) venal, shallow, insecure, vicious adult third-graders intent only on climbing the agency ladder by stepping on the knives they've plunged into the backs of their peers and subordinates. Keep in mind that they'll smile at you when they talk and mean nothing that they say if it makes their life more difficult.

Now be in between all of that and dependent on supporting yourself & your family for the next 15-30 years depending on your age.

Welcome to your Government At Work.

Chomp...

Kate....tag, you're it. :)

Meh

6:30 AM. Work soon.

At least it's sort of a grey Pacific NW morning out there. On some level that makes it better.

What are you doing this morning?

Pubic Service Announcement

I'm only going to post once about this spoiled brat - this blog is officially a Paris-Free Zone.

The "travesty of justice" and the "raw deal" that Paris mentioned on Larry King...? Yeah, that'd be on our part. She should have gotten more time; 20-something days in a jail cell isn't enough to have Found Jesus and become a Reformed Member Of Society. Anybody wanting to debate that needs a serious read of county jail recidivism rates. She's contrite because her business deals depend on a public show of remorse, not because she's changed her ways.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled whatever.

Random Cute Kitten Picture

This is Snuggles (named by my 7-yr-old) from about a year ago. I am occasionally designated as his Person, but most of the time he's inseparable from my 10 yr old.

There will be further random cat-blogging as time goes by, just thought I'd kick it off right.

The most dangerous of creatures...

From the very first episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus:

Flying Sheep

Post The First, In Which Our Author Explains Himself

As the title says, the first post. I'll explain the title later to anybody that doesn't get the reference (which is probably most people).

In anticipation of the hordes of wellwishers I expect to meet this way, I'd like to thank several blog parents who may or may not be aware of their impact on me.

1) Glenn Reynolds was my introduction to weblogs. I started reading shortly after 9/11, mostly because what he had to say at the time was considerably more interesting, informative, and had less of an obvious agenda than any traditional MSM outlet I could find.

2) Jeff also had a big influence on me, partially due to his magnificent prose, partially because the guy can't seem to admit how completely fucking brilliant he actually is, and partially because he had the gumption to put it all out there and bare his soul when Nelson died. I cried. Nuff said.

3) Last, certainly not least, and probably the biggest reason for my actually taking the jump and publishing a public, online diary, is Kate, because she's generally awesome and as my wife puts it, Takes No Shit From Anyone. I admire that.

More to come. Watch this space.