Category: general

Where I put something when I’m too lazy to categorize it.

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out of element

Look at that black dude's balls!
I’ve decided that I’m just not extreme. Some people, while not extreme – can make that extreme transition. Working a desk job by day and paragliding or basejumping by night. Me, not so much. Not that I’m not crazy or afraid to take risks, I’ve always been willing to stick my neck out. It’s not even that I’m afraid to be extreme, I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. I’ll wakeboard, slide down waterfalls, hike mountains, etc., but I think I’m just a few ticks shy of being truly “extreme.” No worries, I think I’m “mundane” or maybe “average with a touch o’ crazy.” Either way, this paragraph is over.

Oh man, I thought of an awesome idea last night. I decided that Anthony, Ben, and I should get together and pitch a reality show to the networks. I had several ideas, but most centered around us pitching a classic “out of element” show where three computer engineers go somewhere “uncharacteristic” and have their experience taped. My first idea was to take three engineers and have them go to Alaska and homestead (man, I really thought you could still do that). The cameras could follow us as we try to build a house, farm, hunt, whatever. You know: “Three computer engineers, one raised on farm, one who used to be fat, and one who can’t do math – abandon their cubicles for a shack in the Alaskan wilderness.” Maybe the Alaska thing is too extreme (there’s that word again), but we could pitch a few ideas just for good measure: three engineers run a charter fish camp on a tropical island, move to the French countryside and run a winery, walk the Appalachian trail for three months, etc. So yeah, I have a wife… don’t worry, I’d work her in somehow.

Today I actually broke my cycle of laziness and got out to work in the backyard. I filled all the ditches for the sprinklers in “zone three,” and did some general rock cleanup. Then I fired up the sprinklers and sat on a stool in the middle of them, just because I could. It was relaxing actually, after sweating and working to rake dirt and rocks, sitting in the middle of a rain of cool water looking out over my creation. I am God of this backyard, all ye lizards and crickets boweth unto me and offereth up ye tributes unto me.

I’ve been listening to the new Polyphonic Spree album, and – it’s pretty good. I mean, it’s saccharine-sweet hippy crap, but great music. I’ve also decided I have to see these guys live. You may remember them as doing a song on an Ipod commercial a while back (indie is so out-of-the-closet), but the “band” is a sight to behold. Actually, they freak me out a little bit. Mostly because they look like some freakish doomsday cult, ala Heaven’s Gate or something. I count twenty-five white frock wearing “brethren” in most of the band shots, creepy. But for all the creepiness, they make some dang fine tunes. Even though the copy I have is all busted (a terrible blippy, bloopy, hiccuppy rip), I can hear the potential goodness of the album.

Time for bed, g’night.

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waiting for the bus to take me to college

Spacey man, far out.
Even though Skinny Puppy’s Rabies may be one of the worst examples of “music” ever, it’s a like opening a musical time capsule for me. Listening tho this album brings my clad-in-black high school days rushing back. Not that I feel into the whole industrial/goth thing for too long, I’d say maybe six months top – but there was a time I lived for Frontline Assembly, Ministry, Skinny Puppy, and the like. So listening to it now as a byproduct of my ripping project is fun enough. I’m mad right now because I can tell I’m going to have to stop writing at some point and go pee, and I hate interrupting my writing – the urge goes stale really quick. Chances are I’ll come back to the page and deem everything I’ve written already “crap.” Owell.

I came home from work today fully intending to head into the backyard and fill in the ditches that comprise my recently-finished sprinkler system. However, it was so balls-hot today, I decided a nap on the couch would be far more rewarding. It’s OK, I worked quite a bit this weekend – the pavers for the porch were delivered last week and I started laying them. Seeing the combination of the finished retaining wall and newly-added mulch, the trees, and a little imagination for a finished paver-porch and green grass, I’m getting really excited. I actually think the backyard is gonna look better than average when I’m done. To be able to say that I did it 100%, from planning to labor to maintenance – will be a source of extreme pride for me. Considering I learned most of the skills on my feet as I went along, I think I’ve earned that pride.

Listening to the “new” Nick Drake album, not new really – but some of the mixes are new and even a few tracks are new to me. He’s got one of the most brilliant voices, and his writing is awesome. To think I “discovered” him back in college from a VW commercial or something (remember, they were all headed to a party – got there, and decided that driving with the moonroof down was better than the party?). Anyway, fate would have it that I “discovered” Nick Drake and Elliot Smith around the same time – so they’ve kinda “melded” in my mind as period artists. Reminding me of hot, rainy, summer afternoons in Florida, waiting for the bus to take me to college. Good memories, good music.

The Taiwan trip is sneaking up on me, and I haven’t really been preparing that much in terms of getting ready for my presentations. I need to set up some meetings at work to “pick some brains” and make sure I have the right canon of knowledge and current marketing party-line when I get up there. I’m not worried about the customer visits, but the industry training event is a little different, as I want to do a good job and not just be another white dude up there blathering. While I’m excited about the trip (I always am), I expect the last minute “ugh, I don’t even feel like going” feeling to set in as the date draws near (it always does). I always end up having a blast though, and each time I teach or present in front of an audience my confidence in doing so improves vastly. Crap thing this time: I miss Sharaun’s birthday while I’m over there. Yeah, that really bums me out, but what can ya do?

Doodoo time.

Much better. An odd out-of-cycle dump, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Drifting off into the don’t-wanna-write-anymore ether, Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures lulling me along. Too long staring at the screen writing nothing means it’s time to call it quits. Until tomorrow, Dave out.

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roll your own

I am the winner!
I’m off vacation, I’m off vacation (read it again, as a funeral dirge). Yes yes y’all, it’s over. It was rad to the bone while it lasted, filled with relaxing days of blessed unproductively and unabashed laziness. Alas, the week is at an end and by the time this is posted I’ll be back at work, busily climbing the corporate ladder. It’s cool though, I’m refreshed and actually kinda ready to get back to things left cold on my plate a week past. I mean, I’m just sitting here on bellyful of tri-tip omelet, fresh off a splendid leisurely dump, ripping through my CD collection. What am I saying, this rocks. Work blows. Where’s that winning lottery ticket?

Somehow, we got to talking about the whole toilet paper discussion the other night – and my earlier entry about the mechanics of my wipe. People were in general agreement that the “kinda stand up and wipe from behind” technique which I employ isn’t that odd at all, which made me feel better – but then we delved into more detail and I was once again made to feel alone in my wiping style. See, we decided to discuss not just the “direction” of wipe, but the TP usage model as well. So, how to you use the paper? My answer brought forth laughter, shock, and mocking. However, like my previous fears about my strange wiping techniques – the internet helped me to feel a bit less “unique.” (Not that the internet is a good place to judge the weirdness or non-weirdness of your actions or anything).

According to this page, 20% of people admit to using TP the way I do: the “whole-hand wrap.” That’s right. I forsake the more popular “wad” and “fold” techniques for what I consider to be a far superior method. It goes something like this: take TP in hand and grasp the lead edge between thumb and inner palm, now spin roll around hand to get hygienic “mummy-like” coverage (if you cannot remove the roll from the spinny thing, you must unravel a long span and manually wrap). It’s best to cover from the top of the palm to about a half-inch below the fingertips. Now take the karate-chop edge of the hand and pinky and use as the primary wiping-surface. Once you’ve used this section of the wrap, and with a little practice, you’ll learn to rotate the entire TP glove to a clean spot and reuse – all with one hand. Usually three rotations’ll do it clean. At this point, depending on the tightness of your wrap, you can either unravel the TP into the bowl using a gentle circular shaking motion, or alternatively spread your fingers and break through the paper straightjacket ala Bruce Banner’s Hulk-transformation shirt ripping.


getting ready to wrap		        
a couple rotations to rule out any
single-layer bleeding
 

tightly wound, nice coverage		        
powerful, yet clean, hands bust through
the feces-coated paper sheath

And that’s it, no chance of poo on the hand as I would imagine you risk with either the “wad” or “fold” technique. Am I a savage for this? I mean, is this not more sensible than simply shoving a “wad” of paper up your butt? A wad which may or may not provide 100% hand-coverage? So, next time you’re at my house and you catch yourself wondering why all the rolls of toilet paper are loose and sitting on top of the spinny thing rather than inserted through it as normal – you’ll know why. Mock me if you will, I found what works for me and America tells me to embrace it rather than change it because society deems it “odd.” So to summarize – I wipe in a semi-upright position, from bottom to top, and with the paper wrapped around my entire hand. What a site this ritual must be for an observer, I shudder to think.

My upcoming travel plans have morphed so much in the past week not even I know what’s really going on. I think, that it goes something like: Houston to Taiwan, and scrapping the Japan visit for another week in Taiwan. I was kinda bummed that the Japan stint got canned, but there’ll be other chances I guess – I was just looking forward to the newness. The good bit, Pat and Anthony will be in Taiwan that 2nd week, so I’ll have some people to hang out with and whatnot. Also sounds like I’ll be headed to Oregon again next week to teach some kinda class. In other work news, my boss decided to take a different job – so in a short while I’ll be bossless and anxiously awaiting the appointment of a new good, or bad, leader. I have some concerns there, but it’s out of my hands – so I just do what bossman says (whoever bossman may be that day).

After a week of laid-back vacationing with Sharaun’s folks, and a semi-forced relapse into a slow southern drawl, I’m realizing how much I enjoy spending time with family. I mean, the in-laws used to be this intimidating bunch of people from whom I desired acceptance. After four years of marriage, it’s clear they approve of my union to their eldest, and even that we enjoy each others’ company. Much to my surprise, Sharaun’s dad and I agree on a great many things – more so than I ever would’ve imagined. The thing that probably floored me the most: he’s a die-hard Democrat and thinks Bush is making a mess of the good ol’ USofA. I dunno why I was so surprised by it, I just associate Southerners with conservatism or something. Actually, politically, he’s a lot like me. Not a rabid Dem, but not a rabid member of the GOP either – somewhere down the middle, and not afraid to vote for a dude regardless of party affiliation. Surprising, but nice.

Dave out.

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me, i whistle all the time

Guess!.
I’m on vacation, I’m on vacation (read it again, mockingly sing-song this time, like kids on the ballfield, y’know?). No, really. I’m on vacation. A week of time off, today being day #1. Sharaun’s folks don’t get here until late (10ish), so I have the whole day tomorrow to work in the yard, write, sleep, or maybe cook something. Cook something?

I was thinking the other day about the talent of whistling. Some people can’t whistle; me, I whistle all the time. I actually prefer whistling along to music over singing, perhaps because I tend to favor the tune over then words – but that’s immaterial. Anyway, whistling: how’s it work? Have I just been conditioned to know what blow-velocities and degrees of lip-pursing produce which tones? I can hear a song, or note or whatever, and whistle it back nearly pitch-perfect. I guess it just comes with time, eh?

I’m gonna admit something right now, I’ve never seen Goodfellas. Yup, that’s right – and I’m not even gay. I mean, there are quite a few mandatory-man-movies that I’ve somehow missed over the years: Goodfellas, Platoon, Scarface, Full Metal Jacket, Caddyshack, the list goes shamefully on and on. It’s not that I was a practicing non-male or anything, I guess I just never saw ’em. I know, this is cause for excommunication from the secret society – but I just had to get it off my chest. Think of more requisite male-movies, I bet I missed a fair amount of them.

Dude, all this buzz in the media about this about this unbeatable Jeopardy champ got me curious, and I decided to TiVo a couple episodes to see what it’s all about. After thirty consecutive wins, this dude has won nearly a million dollars – all from answering trivia in the form of a question. I pitted myself against him tonight and did OK, but the guy knows some seriously obscure stuff. Watching him trounce the opponents, I couldn’t help but imagine myself in his place… sweeping the categories, ripping through useless facts with a confident posture and cocksure smile, making millions.

Tonight Kristi called me with the perfect setup: she told me she was killing time reading her Jane magazine (not to worry, no more femmagazine bashing), and there was an article about the proliferation of blogs on the internet. She proceeded to read to me from the article, which started out talking about some political pundit site, and then read on: “…or read about the every day musings of an average guy at www.pharaohweb.com…” I about choked, wanting to hang up the phone that instant and call everyone I know (to brag that my blog had hit the big time, Jane magazine of course). After telling her to “shut up” a few times, she broke down and admitted the ruse. As far-fetched as it was, I wish is were real? I mean, what is a “blog” but a big “look at me” sign?

Holy crap, this has got to be the coolest game ever. Sharaun and I sat up for an hour trying to stump it with sitcom characters last night, but it beat us every time (at least, when we knew enough to give it meaningful answers). Try it, pick a sitcom character and then answer the questions as if you were that character – it’s fun with two people because one can think of the character but keep it a secret while the other poses the questions. I mean, we went totally obscure on this thing and it guessed ’em all.

Update: 12:17am, I’ve stumped the damn page! Haha, take that – I’m Fred Mertz from “I Love Lucy,” not Charles from “Charles in Charge.” Triumph! Sweet victory! Playing a dictator/sitcom guessing-game to into the wee hours… who cares! I’m on vacation.

Dave out.

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the boob bible

Workin' man.
Today, Nokia and Lays Potato Chips team up to bring you: the blog.

A wall-to-wall weekend of work, the likes of which haven’t been seen since last summer’s retaining wall heyday. I taxed myself, and for proof I offer the picture of my working-man’s neck to your right. Five yards of decomposed granite and four yards of shredded cedar needed to be moved from the street in front of my house to the backyard – wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow. The good news is, it’s starting to look like a backyard. Or, at least, I can see my envisioned endgame� and that’s rad. Oh to be done! The good news, I’m on vacation this week – the bad news, I have to go in tomorrow (Monday), because things are rockin’ in the workal area.

Friday night Sharaun and I went to Tahoe to celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary with a dinner cruise on the lake. It was a really fun time, and didn’t require too much dosh, so we had a blast. Cruising around the lake in a big ol’ paddlewheel, sipping mixed drinks and listening to some polished cover-band run through such dinner/dance standards as “Margaritaville,” “Play That Funky Music,” and “Brown Eyed Girl.” Saturday night we headed to Pat and Cynthia’s place for some dinner and cocktails. A nice relaxing night by the pool drinking bloody marys and smoking coconut flavored tobacco out of a Palestinian girl’s hookah (no, I’m for real).

The other day I sat down to take a dump, and on top of my normal bathroom-reading fare (a three-ring binder containing the 3rd-9th series of Garbage Pail Kids), sat Sharaun’s latest Cosmopolitan magazine. Thumbing past the multitude of ads to try and find some actual content (try it, that damn magazine must be 75% ads), I landed on a five-page spread about celebrity hairstyles. In this meaty piece of journalism, the writer went over hair “winners” and “losers,” explaining in detail why each was chosen as such. The Pulitzer Prize fodder didn’t end there either, the 25% of pages that had actual writing on them were simply crammed with think-pieces on topics like: “what your man wants to hear in bed,” “thongs or boyshorts,” and even a “boob bible.” Having finished my business thoroughly pissed at the waste of ink that was this woman-fluff, I headed to the living room to find my wife watching a show on VH1 about (drumroll)� celebrity hairstyles! I mean, c’mon people – are we this void of thought?

Time for dead, and I’m outta here. I still haven’t decided on my vacation writing schedule, so I’m not making and promises. Dave out.

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if you could sit here in this room

You won't believe this...
Honestly guys, could my life get any sweeter? I mean, I just took stock a minute ago. Sometimes it’s good to take stock, y’know? I was walking down the street in San Francisco, a chill in the air. I’m headed to my hotel, coming from a fine meal at a trendy open-air Spanish restaurant where I dined with managers two levels above me. Managers who I took beer for beer, letting them digest my name, an awesome guy to hang out with. The guy that tells jokes, the guy that gets by on his personality. So we bustle down the streets, talking of important business. And that’s how I end up here, typing on my laptop in my executive level 43rd floor hotel room. Where I have free access to the “executive lounge” and my room has a 30ft wall of windows which offer up the most stunning view of the San Franciscan skyline I’ve ever seen. I sit in my huge room, watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force in my boxers, the lives of millions of San Franciscans playing out hundreds of feet below me. Honestly, I’m on top of the world right now – cold urticaria and all. Now if they only have bloody mary mix in the mini-bar. Seriously, if you could sit here in this room and look over the city lights with me, you’d jizz. It’s that freakin’ awesome.

Not only that, but things are going well. I’m once again making visual progress on the backyard, with the work on the porch to commence in a week or so. My presentations went great today, I have a penthouse suite and nothing to do, and I’m three beers into a good feeling. Aqua Teen Hunger Force is over and I managed to find a new episode of Reno 911. Maybe I’ll make some coffee, because, see, I can do that. Right now I can do whatever I want. If I want to go downstairs and go out, I can. If I want to stay right here and sleep until 2am then wake up and watch the city for hours, I can. Come to think of it, I am kinda tired. But just to refresh – I don’t have to go to sleep or anything, because I am king of this hotel room. Maybe I’ll take a bath, I don’t think I’ve done that in years. I mean, I bathe, just not in a “bath” is all.

Oh man, this coffee is terrible. It looks like tea it’s so weak, and it tastes like hot water with a dash of coffee flavor. Yuk, I really wanted some coffee too. Man, you guys know what I should do? I should totally order room service. Like, some dessert or something. You guys wanna see what they have? Yeah, let’s check it out (let’s is short for “let us,” which sounds wrong). Holy crap guys, I’m totally drunk with power. Want proof? I just ordered a platter of chicken wings with bleu cheese dressing and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream. Why did I do this? I’m not even hungry, I only did it because I can. That’s right, I’m not even hungry. I probably won’t even eat it all, and I might even throw it away if I get tired of looking at it. Because that’s the extravagant life I live. Heck, I may even wake up in the middle of the night and make these fools bring some damn shrimp cocktail up 43 floors to my door, I’m not paying for it. Biatch.

It’s not that I don’t have anything more to say, I could go on like this forever – but I don’t feel like writing anymore. And going with the theme of me doing whatever the heck I want, I’m done with this blog.

Dave out.

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GIS for liberal.
You know, I’ve never really read this before. I don’t know who from Osama’s side so eloquently translated this letter, but it’s worded like an intelligent (although somewhat religiously-rabid) rationalization for some of their motivations. It’s long, but it’s an excellent read. Unfortunately, I don’t really see any peaceful resolutions to issues that come down to a difference in religious beliefs. When two peoples each believe that something is due to them or theirs by the grace of their different Gods? I just don’t see a diplomatic fix. God is so big, and certainly doing something in the name of God is right – without fail. And when you run into the blank check that is “the will of God,” there’s no arguing. I mean, God is always right, God told me to do this, this is right – case closed. Scary.

On a semi-related note, Ben and I are going to see Fahrenheit 9/11 tonight. I’m somewhat leery of Moore’s manipulative techniques, but I’m dying to see the film. Apparently it’s only opening in something like 500 screens nationwide, but CA must be extra liberal or something because there are three Sacramento-area theaters alone that are showing it. I’m no raving liberal, more like I flirt with the tamer aspects of both liberal and conservative stances, but I’m always open to checking out someone’s spin on things. Sometimes the spin itself can be interesting even if the meat is junk, but we’ll see.

We were debating the other day about whether or not it’s a moral quandary for vegans to eat non-meat foods which have been shaped/formed to resemble meat-foods. The whole discussion was spurred by Ben’s ordering of “vegan prawns” at a seafood place, partly because he hates seafood and partly to see what the heck a vegan prawn was. Turns out they are carbon-copies of prawns, fashioned from tofu. He said they look just like prawns. That seemed strange to me. I mean, what’s the vegan’s objection to eating animals? I understand it’s the actual “killing” of a living thing for food that they don’t dig – but is it not a tad hypocritical to then eat something that’s been specifically made to look like something that was killed for food? We have tofu hotdogs, tofu turkeys, tofu lunchmeat, really, tofu meat. I guess it’s a social thing, eating prawn-shaped tofu must be better than just horking down a big plate of tofu cubes or something. I guess vegan prawns are to vegans as non-alcoholic beer is to the teetotaler – something that makes them look less nutty in a social situation but doesn’t run afoul of their beliefs. Ahh, the power of the “everyone else is doing it” rationale.

Sunday night it’s off to San Francisco for a week, so the next blog will come to you from the city of fruits and nuts. Dave out.