Category: general

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.

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.

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.

Dude, could we have an image that portrays sadness any better than this? I mean my God people, did you camp out next to this poor kid’s kin with your finger on the shutter ready to create a graven image the second this man’s heart breaks? You can see the combination of sleepless nights and pure agony in his red-rimmed eyes… and the whole thing comes to us in vivid Chromavision thanks to the well-meaning folks at the AP. I understand the motivation, it just sucks that this poor guy has to mourn his son on the front pages of millions of websites and newspapers. Sorry Mr. Sun-il.

Tonight my co-workers from Taiwan were in town, and my boss and I took them out for dinner. After dinner bossman headed home early and I took the boys out for some beers at a local bar. It was actually really cool, being the sole US “host.” Good “face time” and general “team-building.” Man, I sound like just another suit eh? Well whatever, I see that kinda think as a good chance to build up relationships that might get me somewhere someday. The more of the APAC brethren that know my name and enjoy hanging out with me, the more my name gets out as a good US host. Can’t hurt, right?

What’s happened to me?… so career-minded and self-motivated. The yuppie in me is in a constant battle with the hippie in me. Like those old cartoons where there’s a devil on Pluto’s left shoulder telling him to bite Goofy in the ass, and an angel on his right admonishing him to not. Except on my right shoulder there’s a twenty-something in a sweater-vest sitting on an Ikea sofa watching Moneyline with Lou Dobbs, and on my right shoulder there’s a patchouli-drenched, flannel-sporting, dreadlocked and unshaven mod sitting on a yoga mat in the grass at a MM&W or SCI show. Don’t get my Lou Dobbs or acronymed band references? Congrats, you’re neither yuppie nor hippie – and are most likely a square. Now back to your regularly scheduled romance-novel, MTV, and Top 40 radio please. Dang, sorry… got a little harsh there…

There’s been a serious lack of tunage lately… and I’m feeling the pain. I mean, the last stellar albums that graced my stereo are now becoming quite stale. One can only listen to Modest Mouse and Iron & Wine so many times before you just get tired. So lately I’ve been going back in time and revisiting some old favorites, hitting some old Death Cab, Decemberists, and Wrens for good measure. It’s not new, but it’s a constant… and sounds fresh to reminiscent ears. Hopefully someone will come out with a blow-away LP soon, because I’m getting worried that I’ve either lost my knack for finding the rad noise – or the scene is drying up, neither of which are good.

I missed a day of blogging again, I just end up running out of time. With all the recent holes in my one-a-day plan, I’m wondering if I’ll ever get back on task. I tend to do OK when things are slower at work – but as it is I just don’t feel like filling in the days with crappy crap. So I’m gonna keep on writing when I can write, instead of writing just to fill up a day. I mean, I need precious time to come up with stuff like the Ikea and Moneyline gags above… that shit doesn’t just write itself people.

I’m out of words, until whenever… Dave out.

You have to wonder why the Lord, our God, would make the tissue of the human mouth and throat so much sturdier than that of the anus. I mean, it stands to reason that man will eat things that are at a spice-level which he can handle. Only problem is, what I can safely handle on one end don’t translate too well to what I can handle when it’s headed in the other direction. I loves me some spicy food, the hotter the better, and if you don’t then you’re a pussy. I had these awesomely spicy Chinese noodles for dinner the other night, and I swear I was almost crying on the toilet at work today. First off, I was on the toilet at work, which doesn’t happen unless we have a level-seven or above situation – so that fact alone is telling in the ferocity of this movement. It was one of those sweat and headache inducing ones, where right in the middle of it all – you’re not sure but you think you might puke instead of colon-explode. Anyway, I’m not one to go into gory detail, so I’ll leave you with the generalities lest you are easily grossed out.

I’m trying to write early tonight because I’m dead tired for some reason, I should be ripping CDs right now but I’m not. Sitting here listening to the new Badly Drawn Boy album, trying to make myself like it – and it’s just not happening. I mean, it’s good and all – but it’s nothing compared to his previous efforts (I mean, if you ask me). That kinda disappointed me, but I guess you don’t get what you don’t pay for. And being that I rarely pay for any music these days, my expectations probably shouldn’t be that high. Anyway, there seem to be a few good tracks on here, but nothing to write home about. Write a paragraph on the web about, now that’s a different story. Ugh.

Ben will be here soon and we’ll go running. I don’t want to run tonight, but I will because I’m trying to make my fat go away and get into better shape. So far, I’ve got nothing to show for it but some sore feet and the occasional calf cramp walking up the stairs at work. It’s gotta be much easier to just get signed up to go on Survivor or Pioneer House or something, ’cause running sucks. I see Ben, here he comes, he’s gonna wanna run right now. He’s walking to the door, there’s no escape now. I gotta put on my shoes.

See, on the blog you’d think I was just hitting enter and starting a new paragraph. But in real life, hours have passed, running has been done, and I’m now sitting here wrapping up the evening and listening to some Quicksilver Messenger Service. When I was at my brother’s place last weekend, I was amazed by the amount of crap he and Angela take. She works at GNC, so they’re both total health freaks – and take every kind of supplement known to man. Amino acids, vitamins, proteins, fruit enzymes, you name it and they take it. Although they’re not really into herbs, they do seem to go for any vitamin or supplement that can be extracted/concentrated and squished into pill form. It’s a daily regimen of protein smoothies and upwards of twenty pills – no joke.

The bottle of Jager is on the shirt, not part of the daily routine.

While I was there, Angela managed to sell me on GNC’s Centrum-like multivitamin. It gives me all the “recommended daily value” things I need, and contains some amino acids and stuff that’s not in Centrum – plus (and according to Angela, this is the real plus) it’s time-released. I used to take Centrum, so it’s not that much of a stretch that I’d buy into this vitamin mumbo-jumbo. Anyway, the GNC multivitamin (which, awesomely, is called “Mega Men”) has had lycopene for like, ever… and Centrum just added it. I mean, c’mon people… get with it. When you gonna pull your heads out of your asses and start eating glutamine shakes with your flax seed cereal and soy milk?! Sheesh. I mean, if it wasn’t for all the Viagra and Phen-Phen knockoff wonder-drugs they sell, you could almost mistake them for a real store. I’m happy with my vitamins though, and I can already see through walls.. so they must work at least a little.

Dave out.