Category: general

Sunday afternoon and the weather is so perfectly sunny and blue-skied that it’s hard to believe it’s the very heart of February. Instead of building snowmen or cursing frozen toes in bed at night, I feel like I should be hosting friends in the backyard for a barbecue, maybe running in sprinklers or chasing the ice cream man. As much as I love it, I’ve so far squandered it, sadly. I think I’m subconsciously waiting for it to be a little more predictable, another couple weekends of this I’ll be convinced. I’ll retire the jeans and call up the shorts from the reserves, stop checking the chance of rain before work each morning, and work on my flip-flop tanlines. It’s coming… I can sense it.

Roughly a week from now, I’ll drop Sharaun and Keaton off at the airport where they’ll navigate their way to Florida to our newborn nephew, and Keaton’s first cousin, baby Hobson. Then, for five whole days, two of them being weekend days, I’ll be a complete and total bachelor. And, as much as I’ll miss them both, you have no idea how much I’m looking forward to this time. See, I have a plan… a scheme, a grand idea I’ve been machinating and devising ever since we booked her trip. If all goes well, I plan to use those four days to clean. Yup; you read me right: I want to clean. And I don’t mean dust or vacuum, although I’ll likely do those things; I mean clean. Harsh-sounding or not, I’ve often found myself plotting just how I’d bring the house back into order if Sharaun were to just “disappear.”

Don’t worry, I’m not considering looking for shady ex-cons on Craigslist or anything, this is just a fanciful line of thought I sometimes turn to when the place is overwhelmingly disarrayed. See, after Sharaun disappears, I immediately set to work bringing the house in-line with my expectations: things have a place and when taken from that place are subsequently returned to it; clean is the “base” state and all ongoing effort is reduced to simple tidying; and things that are trash or arguably trash are thrown away instead of ferreted into corners or stowed for no reason. I figure, given a week without anyone undoing all my doing, I could have this place in a state I’d be happy to come home to each day.

So, in what I feel must be a test, I’ve been given that week by the powers on high. I’ve decided now that I’ll use that time to bring this place into that “base” state of clean. My plan of attack: Before Sharaun leaves, I plan on investing in about twenty or so moving-size cardboard boxes. After she’s gone, I’ll label the boxes in groups: trash for sure, why not trash, storage, and donate. Then, with my time, I’ll go methodically through rooms and parts of rooms in the house, bucketing items into boxes accordingly, striving for some kind of Godly top-to-bottom Spring cleaning. I’ll leave the boxes in the front room before doing anything with them to give Sharaun a chance to veto any of my choices, but the goal would be to either have them stowed or gone not long after she’s back.

Think it’ll work? Yeah, I have my doubts too.

Goodnight friends, I love you because you laugh at me.

Tuesday night, sitting here watching the live dog-and-pony show on MSNBC, the circus that is modern-day democracy. Nothing much groundbreaking yet, other than the fact that I’m not near as glued to the returns as I thought I might be. Sharaun’s out at a meeting, abandoning Keaton to another night with dad. And, dad’s not much better, as I, too, am going to abandon her for a few hours while I go out with friends to celebrate a birthday within the clique. (No, I’m not leaving her home alone… sheesh.) Anyway, I guess none of that is really interesting… so I’ll stop now.

Hey, man. Hey, how’s it going? I wanna rap to you real-style for a minute, OK? I’m not trying to be harsh or anything like that, I just wanna talk straight to ya for a second. What I want to know is… what’s wrong in your head that you seemingly can’t remember that you’ve told me this story, like, a hundred times already? You just sit there, telling me again. You’re waving your hands to illustrate your exaggerated points, and your mouth forms a perfect open circle as you exclaim your key points with a little too much bombast. I sometimes wonder if I could throw a dart right down the center, not touching the sides like in Operation. But I sit here like a chump, re-reacting to the same highs and lows in your warmed-over narrative, because I’m too polite to tell you I’ve heard it before.

I mean, it was an OK story the first time around, maybe even worth re-telling in my company if there are new people around – knowingly putting me through it again for the sake of the newcomers. I’m OK with that. But it’s just us right now, just you and I sitting here, with a whole world of new and exciting events we could talk about, and here you go again with that same old yarn. I’m not gonna say anything, but I’m not gonna listen either. I know when to smile, laugh, and physically emote incredulity – like a trained animal I’ll have you thinking you’ve got me under your spell. Hell, I’ll even throw in an eyebrows-raised “No kidding?,” for ya, I’m a nice guy like that.

Think you just had a meaningful conversation with me? Not likely. I was thinking about naked chicks or fireworks or how I wish Led Zeppelin would tour the US this summer with John’s son Jason filling in on the skins.

Was good talking to you though, we should do it again sometime. And, knowing you, I’m sure we will.

Know what guys? I wrote that last paragraph based around a funny incident I had today, and then, re-reading it in review prior to publishing, realized that I myself I’m likely the greatest offender of the very thing I’m tongue-in-cheeking. I mean, I do that re-telling stories thing all the time (thanks Dad, I completely blame you for this trait). Right now, at the tender age of thirty-something, I do this with full consciousness, just to exploit the story for all it’s worth. In the sunset of my years I fear, however, that I’ll do it for lack of knowing.

Well, it behooves me to go to bed, being that I need to wake before the dawn again to make my favorite daytrip to Portland and back. I made time today to stop by the library over lunch and checkout a new book for the travels, although I don’t think I’ll be one-daying this one, seems a little more dense and requiring of detailed attention. I’ve wanted to read it for a while, all the learned seem to have, and I hate feeling left out. You may have heard of it, I think Oprah even opined about it, it’s called One Hundred Years of Solitude. I’ll let you know how it is.

Goodnight.

Hi dear readers. Let me apologize for ruining what was a great month by neglecting to post for the past couple days. It just happens sometimes. A couple late nights are to “blame” this time, one spent hanging out with friends and one spent in a cramped bar listening to music. My entry today was written while I was distracted, and it likely shows. Sorry.

I called to cancel my free trial of the penis-building pill Enzyte on Monday morning, one day before I would’ve been auto-enrolled in Berkeley Nutraceuticals’ “auto-renew” program, where they’d begin shipping me a new supply of pills each month, at a cost of some $60 (Confused? Catch-up on the genesis of the Enzyte business here, take note of the scientific process I’m using here, and finally, check out the first results reported here). Anyway, I thought the conversation was worth sharing, and works well as a lead-in for my latest benchmarking session:

Cast of Characters:
Enzyte HQ – A cheery female with a decidedly Southern accent.
Me – Dave, the guy trying to cancel his free trial of herbal penis-enlarging pills.

Enzyte HQ: Thank you for calling Berkeley Nutraceuticals, how may I help you today?

Me: Yeah, I want to cancel my free trial of Enzyte before I get in the auto-renewal program.

Enzyte HQ: OK hon, I can help you with that. Do you mind if I ask why you’d like to discontinue use of the product? Is it the cost, or some other reason?

Me: No, sure. It’s not the cost, really… I’m just not seeing the “results” I was looking for. (Not entirely true, since I wasn’t exactly looking for any results other than some good blogging, which I think I have definitely got.)

Enzyte HQ: Well, sir, I can appreciate that. However, this is a natural herbal product and because of that we really ask that you give it a full ninety days to see results.

Me: OK, well then it’s the cost.

Enzyte HQ: Well hon (I can hear the smile on her face now), what I can do today for you then is offer you a standard two month supply, normally sixty-some-odd dollars, for just forty-five dollars. And I’ll also take you out of the auto-renewal program. Will that work for you?

Me: Ummm… thanks, but I really don’t feel like paying for it.

Enzyte HQ: (Still as cheery as a Bible Belt Cracker Barrel waitress on Sunday morning.) I understand hon. Tell you what I can do then, I can go ahead and send you another thirty day supply at no cost so you can continue to evaluate the product. How does that sound?

Me: Well, if y’all are going to send it to me for free, then, yeah… sure I’ll take it. (See how easily I affect an accent when in the proper company? It’s got something to do with winning friends and influencing people.)

Enzyte HQ: OK hon, well you will still have to call and cancel again when this thirty day trial is up, is that OK?

Me: Sure, I can do that.

Enzyte HQ: Well we’re sure are glad you’re not giving up on us, hon!

Me: Uh-huh… thanks…

Enzyte HQ: And sir, before you go today, I’m happy to inform you that you’ve won a free five-night stay at a Walt Disney resort hotel in Orlando Florida. This is a completely free offer sir, for five nights for you and your family. All you’re responsible for is getting there and your tickets to the park.

Me: Wha…? I…

Enzyte HQ: So sir I’d like to go ahead and transfer you to our vacation department so you can go ahead and book this amazing deal, would that be alright?

Me: (Not wanting to be outright rude, so beating around the bush.) You know, we’ve actually got family in Florida, and we can get into Disney pretty cheap and don’t need to stay there…

Enzyte HQ: Well that must be nice sir, but we have plenty of other locations to choose from. You can go to Las Vegas, San Diego, Vale….

Me: Ah, no thanks… I only really called to cancel the pills…

Enzyte HQ: I understand hon. Did I tell you about our magazine offers? I can get you two full years of either Maxim or Details for over 90% off the cover price.

Me: (Chuckling as I talk.) Noo, no… but thanks tho.

Enzyte HQ: (Now also chuckling, a good sport.) OK hon, well we do appreciate your time and business. You have a good day now.

Me: You too.

Having this place try to sell me on vacation deals and “mens” magazines as closing pitches fits with the impressions I’ve developed of them. First, the pills themselves come with advertisements for more pills, specifically pills of the “eat all you want and still lose weight” variety. Then, when you try to cancel, they try to sell you on everything in the book. Seems shady, right? But, I guess the people that are ordering penis-embiggening pills may very well be the people who’d impulsively book Disney vacations (though a penis pill company, by the way) and spring for “eat all you want and still lose weight” pills. Still, the popup-esque spamvertising that accompanies their products speaks for itself if you ask me.

But, legitimate or not, let’s get to the results. If you’ll remember my post from about a week ago, you’ll recall that I saw zero change. Now, I need to take some time here and mention that I actually had some hope for changes on this measurement. Why? It’s hard to explain… but, I just kind of “felt” like I’d see results. There’s no doubt about it, things seemed different – felt different enough that I actually half-expected to be surprised. Maybe this is how these things sell? Some physical sensation that works to psychologically hook the user?

Unfortunately, although not entirely unexpectedly, however, the three-week results aren’t any different than the nine day results. Here’s the graphical representation:

(Learn how to interpret this chart here.)

But, don’t fret. Looks like I’ll be able to extend the experiment for another thirty days, and, who knows, maybe another thirty beyond that if they continue to comp me when I call to cancel. I’ll keep to it as long as they provide me the pills, so stay tuned.

And, before I go, I thought I’d point again to Megan’s photoblog, where she’s got another stunning snap of Keaton up. Don’t let the coy look fool you either, she was actually taking a coed bath with Jerah and Job when that picture was taken. One day I’ll get some new pictures up myself…

Well, I’m off to bed. An early rise tomorrow to head to Oregon for an extremely long day-trip. Goodnight my people.

I like it when it rains because the paint on the buildings looks so much brighter and more uniform. The streets are all a darker black, like they just got a fresh layer of asphalt. The air smells cleaner and the trees look greener for the dust that’s washed off. It was only a quick one today. I missed it, in fact, while I was home for lunch. I ate my panfried Gardenburger unaware. I first noticed it on the street and grass leaving my house and heading back to work. And, instead of turning left, I went right. Right and then right again, towards downtown, away from work, past the more brightly uniformly painted strip malls, rolling over sleek black roads. To the local record store, where I walked the aisles a bit, admired the cute girl behind the counter, wondering what kind of stuff she might be into, maybe it was her who had put on the currently playing copy of Disraeli Gears. She had a longish buttoned-down overcoat on, it was tan with wide angled collars. She wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, but she works at a non-chain record store and she smiled at me as I sung and hummed along to “SWLABR.” She easily topped that half-hour’s list. Still not feeling work I moved up a planned afternoon errand and moved towards the Post Office next. I hate the way the drying rain mottles the clean matte finishes it only minutes ago evoked. Now things look unfinished and patchy, the road spotted with sunbleached grey, paint on buildings dried in anemic streaks and spots, making them look sickly. After parking, I walk through the barely-falling rain and inside to stare at the locked doors and drawn blinds for a good thirty seconds before some kind stranger intones from over my shoulder, “It’s a holiday.” “Oh,” I say, “I knew that. Thanks.” I leave defeated, wishing I would’ve shipped that package Saturday when I instead did nothing, hoping it doesn’t mean negative feedback from my buyer. Then I feel guilty for not remembering it’s Martin Luther King day. The white man’s guilt. Work sucked for another few hours as I realized I’m going to be buried in annual-review work for the rest of the week; should be working on it right now, am not. The looming blocks of hyperbole I’d have to write are running after me in my head, a waking nightmare where I’m drowning in a sea of platitudes and sincerities. It haunts me even now. I took my 4pm from home, but gave up and put down the earpiece after Keaton woke from her afternoon nap with a 103° fever. You’d never know it from her attitude and wont for “play.” Sharaun was gone all night, cooking dinner for single-parent teenage moms up at church. She runs the show, like the boss of the teen moms thing, I admire her for the time and effort she puts into it. Came time for dinner and the supermarket deli people really should send undercover agents to surveil the chicken rotisserie-er people at Costco. So much more juicy and seasoned perfectly, and it doesn’t squeak in between your teeth as you chew, not to mention are at least a pound plus heavier and nearly cost-equivalent. It’s a win-win. Even Keaton enjoyed hers, along with the fresh green beans mom left dad to snap the ends off of, steam, salt, and accompany the bird. Played with Keaton, climbing couches and rolling on the carpet, bouncing her on tummy and hiding with her in blanket-roofed forts. Saved the day by replacing batteries in not only the stroked-out-sounding Chicken Dance Elmo but also the chopped-and-screwed hyphy rocking horse. Afterward, Keaton in comfy pajamas and safe in bed, Superdad watched the first part of the History Channel’s “Life After People,” before his loving wife made him turn it off in favor of the dreaded Friends reruns. It’s times like these when I turn to the internet, follow some dubious links and end up reading grotesque things I wish I hadn’t, yet being fascinated none the less. And thus ends another day, 738 words later. Goodnight friends and lovers, until tomorrow.