Category: general

Sunday evening, the sun on it’s way out and the house is at it’s warmest from being open all day, baking.

I just came in from an afternoon spent working around the yard; one of my rare fits of activity. Was a good one though: got the lawn mowed, fixed a couple busted sprinklers (the tough ones, where you have to dig a trench and redo pipe and whatnot), tinkered in the garden, and finally got around to finishing up the mending I had to do on the fence ever since it blew down waaaaay back when (seriously, it was a long time ago). The work got bonus points because I got to use both my circular and jig saws, as well as my sawhorses. Any man’ll tell you, he loves getting to use the tools he spends so much money collecting. Makes me feel virile… might not wanna get near me, may end up with twins just from my scent.

Today is both my Monday and Friday this week, as we leave bright and early tomorrow morning for a week-ish long (or short, rather) vacation in Florida. The plan is simple: Some beach time, some time by the pool, maybe some molasses-based Southern barbecue, and a good bit of time with family and friends. I’ll tell you this: I’m ready for a vacation. Work has picked up of late, and looks to be aimed in that general direction for the next few months. I actually think I may have squandered my downtime… shame on me. At least we’re getting away though – and I can’t wait to see if Keaton is a little more keen on the sand and waves this time around, since she’s getting so much better in the pool.

The other day Sharaun found one of these Fisher Price kids’ digital camera things at the local Goodwill. I’d never heard of the things before, but she apparently had – and she realized the $3.99 pricetag was a steal, even if the thing didn’t turn out to be in working order she figured it for a worthwhile gamble. When she got it home, I opened it up and put in 4 AA batteries and one coin battery, put it all back together, and turned it on. Thing fired up and worked perfectly. I bet the folks who sold it either didn’t realize they needed to replace the coin battery, that, or it was stolen… one of those.

Keaton absolutely loves the thing, and acts like a professional photographer when she has it. She point it at you and say, “Onetwothree smile!,” before she snaps. The pictures are fairly poor quality, something like a tiny cellphone camera, but she still enjoys it. It has enough built-in memory for her to take about sixty or so photos, but I noticed it also had a SD card slot. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any spare SD cards, but I did have a gig MMC card I’d bought long ago when I was in Taiwan, it was for an old Nokia phone. Since MMC and SD are pretty much the same thing with just slight physical differences, I figured I’d try. I slid right in and worked great.

Anyway, I figure I may feature some of Keaton’s photography soon here on sounds familiar, so keep an eye out for that. And, while I have no firm plans for blogging or not-blogging while we’re in Florida, I can forsee a slow week (or, maybe all that free time will mean lots of writing… who knows). One thing I do want to try and do is my annual halfway best-of list… but, again, who knows.

Goodnight folks!

I know, two days without writing. Don’t worry though, nothing horrible happened to me – I’ve just been spending time with our guests in from Florida, and taking a break from the daily routine. Yesterday, however, I, like millions of other dragging Americans, made the sad return to work.

Monday though, we took Sharaun’s cousin Mia and her son Tate up to Tahoe to see the sights. Even though we were initially bummed that the mid-80° temperatures that we had last weekend had disappeared in favor of cold, clouds, and rain, we ended up having a great time despite the weather. Once we got home and got all dressed-down we lounged on the couch while Sharaun got on the phone with the Chinese joint up the street to order dinner. Finally we capped off the day-off watching Cloverfield, a movie I actually really enjoyed.

I wish I could take more vacation while they’re here, but I’m all booked up through the end of the year and will have to resort to sneaking out early here and there while I can for the rest of the week. Also, it’s tough to write with company in town… so you’re gonna get a mixed bag of stuff today (and perhaps for the remainder of the week).

Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to work at my job forever. On one hand, I feel like I might like to do just that. I’m good at it, I like it, and it’s not that hard for me. Why wouldn’t I want to stick around and do it until I retire? On the other hand, I feel like there might come a point where I’m just “done” with it. I often fantasize that this will take the form of me finally having my fill of the modern business world and running off into the country with Sharaun to grow alpacas or something… but that’s probably not too realistic. Anyway, I think the whole alpaca thing is a scam anyway. In fact, maybe I should try to invent the next “alpaca.” I could popularize some under-the-radar animal that no one wants, sing its supposed virtues and sell poseur hippies like me on forsaking their careers and disappear into the country to tend to the beasts. If not though, I bet I stick around here for a while. I’m a creature of comfort, you see, I tend to settle into a routine and stay there. Upsetting that routine upsets me.

For now, I plan on taking it one day at a time. Things seem to be moving pretty fast under that approach thus far. Too bad the same days, weeks, months and years I’m at work to go fast that I want to go slow as Keaton grows. If anyone figures that out, let me know, OK?

Goodnight.

I dunno guys, just haven’t had much to write about lately. Skipped last night (well, kinda, read below), and not feeling much of anything bubbling to the surface tonight either, for that matter. I mean, I should have tons to write about – We went to an awesome wedding Friday up in Tahoe, spending a Keaton-less night in a cabin/mansion thing on the hill at a party with fire-eaters, an open-air hottub, and piles and piles of revelry. I was even on fire, at one point.

No, seriously.

So… I should have stuff… but I dunno.

Some of you may have seen a “blip” of an entry hit the blog around the midnight that straddled Sunday and Monday (I wrote it that way because I never know if I refer to midnight as Monday morning, Monday night, or Sunday something). I had set my Sunday writing to auto-publish at midnight, like I normally do, but hadn’t every finished writing it (I gave up around 10pm with only a quickly-typed opening paragraph but forgot to turn off autopost). Anyway, I realized what I’d done when I woke for work Monday morning and I recalled the entry. Forgive me the mistake, yes? Those of you with RSS readers can probably go back and check it out, but there’s really no need as I’ve integrated what was salvageable right here.

Anyway, today was a busy day at work. In early for a sunrise meeting with ze Germans, and a quickie lunch with my buddy Ben before coming back to work on a presentation I’m giving in a few weeks – right after we get back from Florida, actually. Thinking about it, I haven’t actually stood in front of a crowd and presented for a good bit of time now – I’m sort of looking forward to all the prep and the rush of “knowing” things when asked. That is, assuming the thing goes well, and not like some of the stinkers I’ve had before (they’re rare, I swear, but they happen). I’ve been putting in some prep time for this one though, and I’m fairly certain all should go well. Anyway – today was a busy day at work, I suppose.

Sometimes I dream about living on a boat. Nothing huge like a staffed yacht or anything, but a large sailboat (with backup power, or something) perhaps. Maybe just a year, drifting on the trades, stopping at small ports for food and supplies, sunning… Thing is, I know next to nothing about boat-life, let alone sailing… and I think there’s quite a bit of science behind the whole thing, and that my ignorance would likely need to be remedied before I set out. But, man, there is something appealing to it. Wouldn’t it be cool to just pack up the family and take a year off? I mean a whole year. Three-hundred, sixty-five days together on the sea, pitching with the current. Like most of my modern-man escapist womb-fantasies, this one too comes with 20th century amenities like music and internet and TV for Sharaun. She’d never go, anyway. Maybe take away the storms and the loneliness and the dangers of being so remote… maybe then she’d consider. But nah… just a lark.

OK, I’ve got nothing.  Sorry.  Before I go, check out Keaton and her friend Jake together from our camping trip a few weeks back over on a recent update to this website right here.

Goodnight.

The Northern California summer showed up with a quickness today, with our first 100°+ day of the season. It’s that dry, baking heat, the kind that makes the air around you so warm it presses; like it’s a physical thing. The picture accompanying this entry was taken in the Ford as I ran a bunch of errands at lunch. The display read 111° at one point, but I missed the chance to take a picture. And, even though I don’t trust that gauge much, it was still hot as sin here today.

Summer, we welcome you with shirts doffed and feet bare. Pour out upon us your bounty of fermented beverages and fire-warmed meats. We await.

Hey, I’m gonna tell a story now.

See, I’m pretty sure that the house a couple houses down from us is a “weed house.”

Huh? You don’t know what a “weed house” is? Well, let me break you off. A weed house is a home that is used specifically for the purpose of growing marijuana. Sometimes they are called, quite fittingly I might add, “marijuana grow houses.” See, someone purchases a home (usually a newly built one or in a new neighborhood), spends tons of money outfitting it with things like grow lights, automated watering systems, and high-tech air circulation and filtration systems (to avoid the house reeking a telltale stench when neighbors walk by). Oftentimes the owners of the indoor grow operation will bypass the electricity meter, effectively cloaking the massive amounts of power the operations require from the utility company (an easy way to get caught, as someone will always miss 1.21 jigawatts). Then, with a crop planted, the owners simply stay away and wait on the harvest.

Sound crazy? It happens, I swear. They busted a big ring of them a few cities away from here just a few months back, and similar setups are cropping up all over the country.

Anyway, let’s take a virtual walk down our street. See, we live in a new neighborhood, in houses built between four and six years ago (when we moved in). Our house is on the corner, so let’s start walking towards the communal mailbox unit (a modern-day phenomenon which I hate, but maybe I’ll write more about that later).

Oh, here’s our neighbor’s place. They’re nice folk, don’t live here full-time though. Like plenty of “bay” people, they own a couple places – one in the bay and one over here closer to the mountains. They live primarily over there, and show up around here every few months or so. One drawback to this ping-pong arrangement is that their lawn gets mowed really infrequently, and they haven’t invested any time or effort in the back (which comes absolutely un-landscaped when you buy the place). Unfortunately, this means that both their front and back yards are rife with weeds. We’ve actually become friends with these folks, they have a little girl almost exactly Keaton’s age. We’ve had dinner over there, had them over for playdates, and even exchanged e-mail addresses so we can know when they’ll be in town. And, other than their overtaken yard, they seem like right-nice folks.

Let’s keep walking, shall we.

Ah, and here’s our neighbor’s neighbor’s house. This is the weed house, by the way. See, no one lives here. In fact, no one is has ever lived her, nor is anyone ever even here, period. Essentially, this is an abandoned house. The shades are forever-drawn, and, like our neighbor’s place, the front “lawn” has gone to weed and the back “yard” is just a bunch of weed-covered dirt and rocks.

As an aside, it really stinks having two weed patches right next to our house (I’m talking the kind of weeds you kill with Round-Up now, not the kind you chief while listening to “Stir It Up”). All the seed from the bumper crops that grow unchecked in their yards ends up settling in every dirt-holding crack, crevice, and thin patch in our yard. I’m convinced that my personal battle with weeds is as bad as it is solely because I live next to these two weed-strewn lots. Anyway…

The funny thing about the weed house is… our immediate neighbors mow the lawn there. Remember, the ones we are friends with? They mow it. Well, they do when they’re in town, at least. He mows them both. I’ve never asked him if he knows the people who own the house, but I’ve always wanted to know. Seems like he must, since he mows their lawn, right?

Over time, I’ve developed this theory… check it: Our neighbor owns his house and the weed house, that’s why he mows both lawns (duh). He and his family coming into town every few months is just a front for tending the crops. In fact, he’s probably got underground tunnels between the places or something, so he can come and go without fear of being seen. Being (somewhat) serious, though, he could likely maintain and harvest the crop under cover of night, going from backyard to backyard rather than out front – thus staying fairly well-hidden.

Yup, that’s my theory. My neighbor runs the weed house two lots down from us. I even have “evidence,” wanna hear it? OK… get ready: When we were getting ready to go to Mexico on vacation recently, we got an e-mail from our neighbors saying they’d be in town that very week and wanted to get together. We regretfully replied that we’d be vacationing in Mexico that week, and would sadly miss them. Their reply? Commiseration at our bummed-ness for not being able to socialize, and then, this: “Mexico, sounds fun! Do you know if they search all the luggage you take, even carry-ons?”

Huh? What?

Actually, I was just thinking, our neighbors (who we really do like, a lot) may be ‘net savvy enough to pull up our domain based on Sharaun’s e-mail. If so, I kinda regret writing this. Even still, it’s more for funny than it is for accusation – I promise. And, guys, even if you are totally growing piles and piles of dank-dank nugs in that house, we can still hang out – we’re cool. Sharaun, she might narc, but me… I’m on-board.

Have a good weekend, talk to you Monday.

Hi team.

Hump-day is now behind us and we’re off into the home stretch. We have a wedding to attend in the afternoon Friday, so I’ll be cutting out halfway through Friday to head up into the hills for the ceremony. Keaton’s spending the night with a friend from Sharaun’s mom’s group, they have a two-year-old also and he and Keaton get along swimmingly. I think this is the first night we’ve been away from her where one of our folks aren’t watching her, that’s some kinda milestone or something, right?

Let’s talk about the wardrobe problems I had today.

The sock I wore on my right foot was one of those ones where the elastic in the ankle-part has all given up its elasticity, and it kept getting sucked down into my shoe as I walked. Terribly annoying, I just tossed the thing when I took off my shoes this afternoon. Maybe it’ll help even up the sock numbers anyway, since I invariably have an odd numbered total anyway.

That, and I decided to give these new-fangled style of boxer-briefs Sharaun bought a second try. On the surface, they look great. They’re the same style I happily wear each and every day, but with the added bonus of the elastic band around the top also being covered in the softy-cotton material from which the shorts themselves are made. I know, you’re thinking – this could be revolutionary, like when they stopped attaching scratchy tags to undershirts and started silk-screening them on instead. Potential new heights in comfort. Yeah, well, that’s bunk. For some reason, when they covered the elastic, they also shortened the dang things by an inch or two per size. Now they feel great around my waist, but ride up as if my feet were on fire and they are making their getaway.

Clothes can be problematic for me, I guess.

Today at work someone placed a large box in the aisle with the word TRASH written on it. I took the box into an abandoned cube (cubes are what pass for “offices” in the modern corporate world, for those of you yet un-matriculated) and, with a large black marker, appended, To you maybe! With a little imagination… THE MILLENNIUM FALCON. Except I spelled both “millennium” and “falcon” wrong in my haste. Actually, the misspellings likely made it even funnier to the casual observer. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna think… even funnier.

I think that’s it then, folks. The best part was the writing on the box, right? I mean, other than that there was just the bit about the socks and underwear. Oh, and the wedding and being Keaton-less. Man, I gotta start coming up with the good stuff again soon or I’m gonna lose you all.

I’ll see ya around.