Category: general

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

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as busy as i want it to be

Loser.

Hey guys thanks for commenting.  I love when you comment; I truly do.

Tuesday was another jam-packed day.  If it wasn’t work, it was something outside work.  Sometimes I feel like, being counted among the comparatively (on a global scale) wealthy American middle class means we have just enough freedom-to-move in our lives that we end up smashing too much in.  Between our professional obligations and leisure or recreation, we often smoosh so much into our days that we don’t take enough time to reflect.  Worse, much of what we cram into one go-round of the clock is of little consequence.

Sometimes, when each day feels bookended by sleeping and waking alone, with not a moment’s breath to spare in between, I find myself craving a respite.  It’s then that I fix my sights on some future even and start thinking of it as the “finish line.”  The whole, “Oh, I can’t wait until Christmas; then I’ll finally be able to relax” thing.  I guess it’s a very human thing to do, but sometimes it’s a bit delusional.  There’s no real “finish line,” I just need to make time, prioritize, and take care of what’s most important.  Each day can be as busy as I want it to be.

But, failing actualization around that idea… I am indeed looking forward to Thursday this week.  Why?  Because after work that day, we make the drive down south for weekend at Disneyland. I get in free a’cause of my birthday, and we’re spending two full days at the park – this time with some good friends and their kids for company.  So this week, Thursday is my finish line.  And if I can only keep pace until 5pm on that day… everything’ll be alright.

Everything’ll be alright.  Goodnight.

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dusted

My heart won't melt it.

Good Tuesday to ya, folks.  Hope your week began well; mine was a busy blur of missed connections (wanted to get a haircut, couldn’t; wanted to put up the tree; couldn’t, etc.).  At least I got to the gym.  Now I’m going to write.

Sunday afternoon, a little later than I’d wanted to, I broke out my own ladder and a borrowed extension job from a buddy, and set to hanging the Christmas lights.  I hadn’t done it in a few years since we’re normally out of town, and being all exposed up there in the biting cold and wind reminded me why.  But they’re up now and they look mighty cheery.  The tree, unfortunately, has fallen victim to the busyness of our evenings and remains un-assembled and un-adorned (yes, we do the fake thing).  We’re thinking maybe tonight (which would be tomorrow night, as I write).  Things have just been too hectic for the both of us until then.

Let’s talk about a few other things, but let’s make a pact to keep it short, OK?  I want to finish my book tonight.

Last night the local weatherman promised the unthinkable: snow here in the foothills.  Where we live in particular, we haven’t seen snow in some thirty years.  Sure enough, this morning we woke to a light dusting that stuck around until the noon hour before melting away.  I woke Keaton around 7:30am before going to work to show her the snow through the windows; Sharaun took pictures and posted them to the Facebook (what she does); and it was all the talk around the water cooler at work.  Sometimes I think it would be nice to get a little snow around Christmas… you know like on the days when your refrigerator and pantry are stocked enough to keep you eating like royalty, the cable works and football is on, and you can read a book by the fire and not have to go anywhere.  Those days are fine for snow.  I guess if we lived a few more miles up the road…

Guess the season is here.  Goodnight.

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fumes

Ugh.

Friday Eve and we’re out of the house, relying on the charity of friends.

Why?  Because the hardwood floors went in today and the house reeks of fumes.  I mean, it’s pretty bad.  You can look on the Facebook if you want to see pictures of it; Sharaun is on top of the Facebook.  Me, I just write words.  So, words: The flooring looks good.

They’re about 80% done I’d guess, with some finishing work to do tomorrow but likely not a full day’s effort.  And, as much as we wanted to hang around and admire it, we’re limited to the bedroom and it’s just too stinky.  So we had Keaton call up Jeff & Kerry and invite the family over.  “Can we come to your house tonight,” she asked, “Ours is too stinky.”  Thankfully they didn’t have the heart to deny a three year old in distress.

Yesterday at work my laptop crashed.  The brand new SSD (solid-state harddrive) crashed and burned; two measly months old.  Yeah I was crippled at work today, but more importantly I had a rough go at blogging last night and tonight.  It’s funny how accustomed I’ve become to having a computer at arm’s reach.  The iPhone is something of a workable substitute, but it’s just a bit to small to be my full-time armchair connectivity.  Anyway, the IT folks say I’m supposed to get it back tomorrow, so I should have it for the weekend.  Good thing… because I have the DTs already.

This weekend has been designated our official Christmas-preparedness weekend.  Up goes the tree, the house lights, and all the other interior and exterior trimmings.  Keaton is more than excited about helping me do all of the above.  She’s promised to help me do everything from climbing the ladder onto the roof to topping the tree with our topper.  I’m actually excited about it too; I like when Keaton helps me do “guy stuff.”  Makes me feel all “dad” and whatnot like I’m showing her how to drive a stick or mow the lawn.

Teamwork; we got it.

Goodnight.

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a milkshake from another girl’s yard

Bump, stumble, ouch!

The night before we left Florida, I fell down the stairs.

Not a couple stairs; I full-on tumbled down half of a staircase.  It was at my in-law’s place.  The bro-in-law and I were moving an air mattress from an upstairs bedroom to the living room downstairs; moving it fully inflated.  To get it around the corner at the top of the stairs I had to pull it as it had become wedged.  I’m standing on the stairs, pulling it, and my brother-in-law is at the top pushing.

When the thing finally popped free and came unstuck, all my pulling turned into falling backwards.  I took one small hop as I could to try and get a foot down, think I grabbed onto the handrail for a fleeting moment, but ultimately couldn’t stop gravity from doing her job.  I smacked onto the tile at the base of stairs, luckily taking the brunt of the fall on my left thigh.  After moving my hand and fingers to check for breaks, I just sat there under the air mattress laughing.

Falling down the stairs is scary, y’all.

If you, like us here at sounds familiar, live in the United States, you’re also bombarded daily with the fear-mongering, rubbernecking, witch-hunting, and outright un-professionalism of the “modern” media.  And if you’ve tuned it all all over the past few days, you’ve been treated to the newsworthy nugget that is Tiger Woods’ recent automobile accident.  Now, I don’t care about this any more than I cared about “balloon boy” or any other not-really-news story the media hypes unnecessarily… but this bit is funny to me, follow.

Amidst all the tabloids, including the major twenty-four hour news outlets included, speculating about Mr. Woods’ alleged indiscretions, he himself released a statement today on his webpage that was ultimately a public apology to his family.  In it, he uses the word “transgressions” to describe whatever “personal failings” led to this event and subsequent media frenzy.  It was well written, and nondescript enough to protect his family’s privacy while giving some chum to the media sharks.

Funny thing is, if you looked at Google’s search trends page yesterday, you’d note that, right alongside hot queries like “tiger woods affair pictures” and “tiger woods voicemail,” you’d have seen this comedy gem: “transgression definition.”

Ha.  Americans.  We love sordid affairs; just call them something simpler for us, OK?  Instead of apologizing for “transgressions,” how about saying you’re sorry for being “down with OPP ,” “steppin’ out,” “triflin’,” or maybe “getting a milkshake from another girl’s yard.”  Those are things the MTV generation can understand OK Mr. Oxford?  Kthxbai.

Goodnight.

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two black eyes

Bonk!

A week ago Tuesday, the week before we left for Florida, which is where we are now, I was on a phone meeting with an employee of mine around 5pm.  As we were wrapping up, with another ten minutes or so remaining in our conversation, Sharaun called my cellphone.  I didn’t answer.  About 50% of the time, when I’m working that is, I don’t.  Usually, she’ll just leave a message or send a quick text, assuming I’m occupied and can’t get to the phone.  This time, however, she rang my desk number immediately after.  When I didn’t a answer that, the cellphone again.  Curious, I politely put my call on hold and answered.

“Keaton hit her head really hard on the table and the size of the bump really has me worried,” she said.  “OK,” I replied, “Was she unconscious?  Did she get sick?  Is she acting funny?”  With a round of “Nope”s in reply, I told her I’d go ahead and get off the phone right away and come home just to check, but it sounded OK to me.

When I got home I was greeted with a seemingly normal daughter, all but for the humongous bruised and swollen lump over her left eye.  Sharaun was helping her ice it when I got there, and a friend who’d stopped by just minuted before I arrived had already given it his best dad’s inspection and “all’s well” report.  I took a look myself, poking it a bit and asking her how she felt (you know, the real scientific kind of diagnosis-stuff I learned in computer engineering school).  After talking to her and prodding her I myself was convinced she just had one heck of a bump (or “hematoma,” as Trapper John taught me). And folks… it was indeed a large  bump… as the picture above somewhat indicates (bad light plus iPhone doesn’t make for superlative photography).

Anyway, as the week wore on, and we got closer to coming back to Florida to see family and friends we’ve not seen in year, the blood in that bump drained down into little Keaton’s face.  First, the bridge of her nose appeared swollen; next, small black circles at the corner of her eyes.  By Saturday, however, when we flew across the country, she had two fully-developed shiners.  We got some looks in the airport, and one flight attendant even stooped to whisper, “I couldn’t help but notice your daughter’s eyes, are they just naturally dark like that?”  “No,” I replied, “She took a header into a table.”

Oh well… part of growing up I suppose.  I’ll spend the last few evenings before we leave GIMP’ing out the black eyes from all the Thanksgiving photos for family, no biggie.

Maybe later this week I’ll write a bit about being in Florida.  In brief though: It’s good to be back and the place feels the same.

Until later.

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i know you’re watching

Stretched tight.

Mmmm hmmm internet.

I smell it on the horizon… wafting over from afar in scented waves.  Slightly coastal, faintly deep-fried, with a dash of burning rope and a hint of recent thunderstorms.  It’s vacation in Florida, and the smell is just the precursor to the faint strains of fiddle music, slow drawl and electric guitar that’ll begin to wend their way around my head as we fly 40,000ft over Birmingham and begin our final descent.

Monday when I got back to work after a week overseas, I went downstairs to the Starbucks for my morning coffee and was ecstatic to see they are already brewing Christmas Blend.  Man I love me some Starbucks Christmas Blend.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, at work, the Starbucks is free… at least for the brewed, non-fancy, stuff; but I’m down there before 8am for the first mug and back around 3pm for an afternoon refresh (not “refresh” in the sense that it takes me from 8am to 3pm to drink my morning’s cup… however).  Sometimes I think about how good I have it at work… that place, despite being my prison, is aaaallll-right sometimes.

Switching gears.

A good buddy of mine recently uprooted his family and moved to Taiwan.  Unwilling, however, to give up American TV (presumably because it’s just so good) he instead bought a neat little modern-age wonder-device called a Slingbox that allows him to transmit a TV feed from anywhere in the world to anywhere else in the world.  So long as you’ve got TV service wherever the Slingbox lives, you’ve got that same TV service wherever you may roam.  In this case, the Slingbox was installed at our place.  It’s in the closet, it has a dedicated HD DVR receiver and my buddy graciously supplements my cable bill to cover the costs (as well as sponsoring me to the highest speed boadband package to assure the bandwidth required for high-definition streaming is available).

When the Slingbox is active, meaning my buddy and/or his wife are halfway across the world watching TV from the receiver in our closet, there’s a little upside-down U-shaped series of LEDs that pulses, chasing one another from end to end.  Sometimes, early morning here, I’ll walk by the open closet while it’s still dark and I’ll be able to see that light pulsing on the shelf, casting a flickering red light a small ways out into the hallway.  Every once in a while it pulls me in and I’ll stand there watching the thing pulse for a few seconds, knowing.  Watching the LEDs snake their way around that U-shape sometimes feels like second-degree voyeurism or something.  Somewhere, thousands of miles away, someone is watching TV that’s originating from my closet.  At that exact moment.

I know you’re watching… you can’t hide.

Goodnight.