Category: general

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

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on the strasse


Feet on the ground in Duetschland. Picked up my Mercedes E-class and hit 200km/hr on the autobahn between Munich and the hotel. Sunroof open, radio tuned to the local “hits” station. Funny what you’ll listen to when the alternatives are slim. I found myself quite enjoying some Prince and Fine Young Cannibals. Well, OK, I really only enjoyed the Prince – I was just too damn nervous to fiddle with the radio while going 200km/hr. It’s a gorgeous day here in Bavaria, the sun is out and the sky is blue. Germany is is just as gorgeous as I remember it being last year this time. I honestly think I could pick up and move here, I really like it that much. Maybe it’s the German bloodlines of my family calling me home, but this place is like fantasy-land to me. Meat-loving, beer-loving people who enjoy being outdoors, driving nice cars, and value efficiency. Yeah, these are my people… where do I sign up?

The flight was so-so. I sat next to a hulking German man who kept trying to elbow his way into my space. I also got screwed with a window seat, which, actually, didn’t end up that bad as I could lean my head against the wall and try to sleep. As for sleep, I got a little, but it was less than ideal. The movies they were showing were still the same batch I saw going to Shanghai last month, so I tried to nap then. Finally, for some reason, I wasn’t in much of a music mood. I couldn’t find anything that sounded right, nor that I wanted to listen to. Finally I settled on making a playlist of a bunch of Silver Mt. Zion albums and just putting it on random. And, some eleven hours later, it was over.

Speaking fog flying: Sometimes I wonder, as the plane I’m sitting in banks for a hard turn and I can look down the length of the wing at the near-perpendicular ground below, how come the thing doesn’t just “slice” through all its lift and simply fall out of the sky. I had a friend once who was fascinated that ships as big and heavy as modern-day aircraft carriers manage to float. To her, something that heavy just shouldn’t float. That’s kinda like me with airplanes. Although I learned in school just why they really do stay in the air, I’m still amazed that they actually do. A little floating village, brilliant.

Well, it’s time to off and get some beer at the local brewpub down the road – I’m tired of waiting for my fellow traveler to wake up so I’m just gonna go get it done.

Until tomorrow sometime then.

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wash for show


Made good on my promise and stayed home from work today. Too bad, though, that it did not excuse me from working. In fact, I busted my butt today at home working on material for the presentation I’m giving Thursday in Germany. It’s coming together, but it’s still in the “gathering content: ugly” phase, and I have all the “content defined: window-dress” work ahead of me. I’m not too worried, as I have tonight and the plane trip over, plus about 24hrs on the ground in Germany prior to the actual meeting. I also found time to mow the lawn, something I had to do prior to leaving unless I wanted to come home to the Serengeti. And, once again, lawn mowing becomes blog fodder – although this time for a slightly different reason.

As I pushed the lawn mower around the grass, cutting in vain a living growing organism which would just grow right back again, I couldn’t help but notice the activity across the street from me. My neighbor, whom I’d never really noticed before, was out washing her car. My neighbor, whom I’d never seen before, was wearing tight black pants, a pink shirt, and had her long blonde hair up tied up. My neighbor, whom I’d never seen before, was reaching and bending and stretching in all the ways that one would reach, bend, and stretch while washing a car. Now, I set the scene like that because I wanted to acknowledge the fact that, yes, I noticed. What red-blooded male wouldn’t. I mean, my neighbor (whom I’d never seen before) seemed to be in her thirties, and quite well-maintained physically. So yeah, I noticed. But, I didn’t ogle. Well, until… that is… until…

While I was first noticing my neighbor, I very distinctly saw my neighbor notice she was being noticed. In fact, several times, when I made a neighbor-facing pass across the turf, I caught her watching me to see if I was watching her. Now, who was really watching who is hard to say, but I got the feeling that I was not being watched because I was watching, I was being watched to see if I was watching. What I mean was, this wasn’t a woman casting nervous glances over her shoulder to see if the masher across the street was mentally undressing her, this was a woman who was stretching and bending and reaching and knowing she was watched. Again, I have no real proof, but check out this.

As I once again turned to cut a swath that cast my eyes in her direction, she offered a short wave and a smile – a gesture which I returned, all neighborly-like. Then, much to my surprise, she walked away from drying her car. She walked up into her front lawn, where the sprinklers were sprinkling. She stood there, in the sprinklers, and began to untie her hair. Once her hair was down she shook it out, first side-to-side and then up-and-down in some slow-motion head-banging action. As she tossed her hair around, she held her hands out to gather the spray she stood in. She took her hands and proceeded to wipe her face and hair. All the while, I was trying not to fix my gaze on this display.

I’ll admit, it was hard. Here was a scene right out of a movie, here was a my neighbor standing in her sprinklers tossing her hair around. What’s more, she waved to me again; in the middle of all the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue posing. That wave sealed it for me: she was putting on a show, for my benefit. I was even more convinced as she began to set about seemingly pointless yardwork which required her to do yoga-like feats of bending and squatting and stretching. Yes, my friends, this was a peacock’s plume, a lizard’s throat-thing, a cricket’s call… I was being courted from afar.

Now, this doesn’t just happen to me. I mean, I’m not exactly the picture of a hot young Latino gardener. I admit, my voluminous t-shirt could’ve adequately hidden my gut. Plus, we were at that special distance where you can’t quite make out the definition on someone’s face, and I had a blue bandanna tied around my head (hiding my growing baldness). Furthermore, I don’t think you could see the yellow armpit stains from that distance, especially as they were obscured by my mowing posture. So, perhaps, just perhaps – she mistook me for a strapping young buck out displaying his ability to work. Either that, or it’s one of two things: I gravely misinterpreted the situation or she’s seen me around and has had enough time to fall madly and secretly in love with me.

In the end, I chose not to mate with the female. I mean, the circuits in my male brain which were programmed when my ancestors still lived in caves and wore animal furs were all lit-up and green for “go.” But, the more refined gentleman in me decided to pass on this opportunity. Good to know I still got it, though.

Well, it’s 10:30pm and my workday is over. 7am to now, working pretty much solid but for a few short meetings, a lawn-mowing, about an hour-and-a-half of play-time with Keaton, and some quick meals. I figure it was well over a 12hr day, and I’m tired for it. Yet, still I have to pack, which I’ll likely put off until tomorrow morning… and still have plenty of work to keep me busy on the plane…

Until Germany then, gutenacht.

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on the eve of travel


Sunday night and I’m supposed to be headed downtown to see a sweet concert we’d all been looking forward too. But, alas, the sweet concert got canceled. Needless to say, we were all (those of us who’d scored tickets to the sold out show) quite bummed. However, I can’t help but think this is an example of divine intervention. See, I leave for Germany on Tuesday. Flying out for a breakneck four-day trip where two of the days will be spent traveling. Back into the heart of Bavaria for handcrafted beers and wonderful sausages.

But, as fun as it sounds – I am going for a reason: work. And, this time, that means I’ll need to give a presentation to a customer while there. Being that I’m presenting a world away in just a few days, you’d think I’d have some content written, reviewed, and practiced. Truth is, I haven’t done slide-one. I knew this coming off Friday, and kept telling myself I’d have to knuckle-down and do some work over the weekend, but I very knowingly ate up all my weekend time doing all things not-work instead. So, when the show was canceled, it was like God giving me my work time. Now, I can solve my problem of having to have 90% material sent out before my 7am PST meeting tomorrow. Thanks Lord, now I can work ’til midnight.

It’s OK though, because I’ve already decided that work owes me tomorrow. Not just me, but my family too. Yep, work owes me some time with them, since work’s taking it away with travel quite a bit lately. So, I’m calling in my debt, and work’s gonna make good. More specifically, I’m taking the day “off” tomorrow. Sure, I don’t really mean taking a vacation day – but I do mean a nice “phoning it in” day spent working from the couch with a bluetooth headset. It’ll be good for me before I go, spend a day with Sharaun and Keaton – even though I’ll likely be distracted – should be worth it.

I did some things today, so it was OK. First, I shaved off my beard. Completely shaved off my beard, gone. I saw two people who I’d just seen the other day (when I was still bearded), and they didn’t even notice. Not that I did it (or didn’t do it) to get a reaction, just that it obviously meant more to me than it did anyone else. When it was gone, I actually regretted it – my face looked young and fat and the faux-chinline the hair give me was gone. Now though, I’m already used to it. So much for my fantasy of having a bushy beard at the Arcade Fire show (which, come to think of it, was a pretty odd fantasy). Also today, I planted some fruit trees. It’s something I’ve wanted to do, and I ended up putting in a plum, apricot, and orange. With the dirt like it is here, just digging the holes to plant trees is a workout – pummeling rocks with the breaker-bar and whatnot. I also watered the garden, which is doing quite well. Here, some pictures:

Before I go, I’ll drop a link to Keaton’s gallery, which I’ve updated for the first time in a while Enjoy some new images here.

Goodnight.

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death becomes me


Hey blog. Long time no write. First, Monday was claimed by a grandparent-funded date-night in Oregon. Then, Tuesday fell victim to the senseless timesink of travel back home to sunny California. So, another two nights with nothing new to say and no time to not write it anyway. I won’t say it’s not a trend – it’s totally a trend. But, things move on.

Like for instance, Anthony came over tonight. We were putting together the early versions of our late-summer plans for hiking the John Muir Trail. Fifteen days. The kickoff to my two-month paid-vacation, which my workplace allots its employees every seven years. Yes, the hike to end all hikes – the hike that will most certainly kill me if I can’t stick to the training Anthony and I have planned. But, as “getting fit” is among the top things which I am self-conscious about – I shall say nothing more about it. So, let’s move on to today’s music-centric blog.

Every once in a while while listening to the iPod on shuffle, a track from one of my old favorites will come up. More specifically, a track off the a compilation called DJ’s Delite Volume 1: DJ Vibes.

Seems like a simply statement right? But wait, there’s a massive story lurking here.

Back in highschool I got into “techno” music (and by this generic classification I don’t mean 4/4 “house” music, but more the wild ’92 breakbeat scene). From there, I naturally branched into the jungle scene – which, for a year or so, I ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But, as jungle turned darker with the Chicago scene, I went looking for more of the jangly piano-and-sample stuff that first attracted me to early breakbeats. I ended up at happy hardcore… which some may laugh at now, as the present has cast it as probably the most universally hated genre of music in the history of music. But, that didn’t matter to me then. And, for those who understand, let me clarify that I was not into the pointedly-crafted brand of saccharine happy hardcore which later came to typify the genre, I think of myself as being more into the “happier” side of jungle and breakbeat – not that syrupy fake stuff that most people think of as happy hardcore now. Annnyway… back to DJ’s Delite.

Back then, in my head, I was always looking for the next “best mix.” I’ve written about this before, so I’ll let you read that for more backstory. Now, I’m a litle fuzzy on the specifics, but back in the day I somehow ended up with a mixtape from the once-awesome Chicago junglist mecca that was Dubshack. This tape was a recording of a “rave” over in the UK where the music was bouncy, happy, choppy and fun. The DJs spinning were the likes of Ellis Dee, DJ Vibes, DJ SS, DJ Brisk – names I’d never heard of before. The records they played were even less familiar though: stuff by Naughty Naughty, SMD, Omni Trio, Vibes & Wishdokta – nothing like most of the names I’d seen thrown around on mixtapes I had from local DJs. I loved that mixtape. The only drawback, as I thought back then, was the practice of including the MC’s ranting and raving over the entire thing (a common practice in mixtapes from that era of UK shows, but less popular in the US, I think). Perusing the Xerox’d Dubshack catalog, I located and ordered more tapes with simliar DJs and records (but without the MC babbling). One of those tapes ended up being the tape. That tape was DJ’s Delite Volume 1: DJ Vibes.

I wore that tape out. Wore. It. Out. It was awesome to me. It was the best tape I’d heard in a loooong time. Nearly eighty minutes of almost-all good material: fast, choppy, bouncy, sometimes overly sweet… I ate it up. Looking back on it now, it does indeed seem somewhat “too happy,” but I still love it as a mix – aways will. And that’ll bring us back to the beginning of this whole thing: when one of those tracks comes up on my iPod. And, when one does, I get instantly nostalgic for those highschool days. In fact, several times, the single track sounds so good to me that I’ll flip the iPod over to the whole mix and start from the beginning – only to realize, around three tracks in, that it just can’t hold my attention for 76min like it once could. Seriously though, sometimes nothing sounds better than a track off that compilation… all beatsy and sped-up-broken vocally… great stuff.

After writing the above, I realized I have a chance here for an interesting side-story. Some years after getting the DJ’s Delite tape from Dubshack, and after making multiple “backup” copies (as I often used to do with cassettes I cherished), I decided I needed to find a CD copy for archival and longevity purposes. So, I hit the internet (on my Packard Bell with my Prodigy account) to look for some more of this new sound. In my effort to track down a CD copy I ended up blindly sending a mail to the catchall e-mail address of the label that released the original compilation on vinyl: a semi-established UK jungle/happy hardcore label called Rogue Trooper. Rogue Trooper records was an offshoot the longer-established and more well-known Death Becomes Me label, which had pressed several important pieces of wax in that era of electronic music. Or maybe it was the other way ’round, I can’t remember. I eventually got a reply from a nice gentleman in the PR department of DBM Records, and he happily scored me a CD copy of the mix (which I also cherished). The CD was indexed as a single, 76min long, track – all running together, but I didn’t care – I could finally stop worrying about my tape copies breaking or melting. I couldn’t have been happier.

Anyway, in a similar way that my whole Beligan Benefactor story went down, I soon found myself trading more and more casual e-mails with the label’s PR guy. Turns out that Death Becomes Me, until that point mostly a vinyl-format release outfit, was starting to dabble in CD-R-based releases as opposed to factory-pressed CDs, and they were curious about how these new-fangled recordable CDs would hold up to shipping around the world. Somehow, it became my “job” to “beta test” their new CD-R format releases. They would cut CD-Rs of all their new releases and mail them to me, whereupon I would receive and play them for a week or two before reporting back on sound quality, shipping damage, etc.

It was a lot less formal than I make it sound – but what it amounted to was me: some random kid from Florida, getting pre-release jungle and happy hardcore mixes from the then-hottest UK scenesters. I think of it now, and I think how I could’ve used is as my “in” to “the scene.” Between that and my job at the record store, where I was awash in pre-release promos, I could’ve staked a pretty decent claim. But, that’s neither here nor there. Some of the CDs I got were good, some bad, some not-bad-but-boring. Somewhere today at home, I still have a stack of hand-labeled CD-R releases from Death Becomes Me and Rogue Trooper…

Neat huh? Years later still, I’d decide that I wanted to convert that CD into MP3. I took on the onerous task of ripping it, splitting up the long 76min single-track into individual records as best I could by ear, and storing it digitally. And that, dear friends, is the long story of just one album on my iPod – from a random cassette I ordered from a random Chicago mail-order music joint in the mid-nineties to a CD I got direct from the UK to bits and bytes on an iPod. Cooool…

Goodnight.

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the cost of her butt

Sweaty but comfy.
It’s too bad sweatpants have such a bad reputation, because those suckers are about as comfortable as it gets. I know, I spent the first half of this past Saturday lounging around in a pair. Yup, brown sweats and a too-big t-shirt, both of which have seen better days (which makes them even better, in this man’s mind). Seems like most men would agree that sweatpants are #1 for comfort, and most women would agree that they are objects of derision. Either way, I’m down with ’em. Let’s get back to the single-father thing.

Rewinding to the evening before my sweatpant-rocking, Friday – Sharaun left me alone with Keaton to go play with some friends. She wasn’t in the best of moods, a little snotty and fussy – I think she’s cutting some more teeth (about time). But, we had a good time. I put her on my shoulders and we danced around the living room to the iPod like we were trying out for the ubiquitous chick-flick dance-around-the-kitchen-and-sing-into-wooden-spoons scene. Man, I hate that scene… what about that scene appeals so much to the ladies? You hate sweatpants and love that? The only movie I’ll permit it in is Mermaids, and that’s only because I love Winona. Anyway, I put her down around 7:30pm and proceeded to kick around the house until around midnight. Then, because she’s been overflowing her diapers nearly every night for the past week, I decided I’d change her before I retired. Turns out, after getting her in my arms, I just couldn’t bear to put her down again. I took her to bed with me and she slept on my chest for about an hour until Sharaun came home and woke us both up.

I’ve come to realize I care for my yard a lot more in my head than I do with my back and hands. In other words, I could stand to spend a lot more time weeding and pruning and keeping up with things – and I don’t. When I take a look around the neighborhood, I’d have to say I have one of the least “looker” yards of the bunch. I’ve still got a vast unplanted pile of mulch off to the left of my house, the walkway up to our front door is flanked by wisps of tall weedgrass, and what plants I do have seem dull and placed oddly. Even my backyard, which I toiled so long and hard to complete, leaves a lot to be desired: the plants I chose to plant on the slope of my retaining wall are stupid and ugly, and the brown mulch that once looked so good now looks like a pile of gray ashes. Sharaun hates the mulch because it’s so dead-looking, and I have to agree. If rubber mulch wasn’t so expensive and I could feel better about spreading ground up tires over the planet – I’d jump on it. I think it’d be awesome to just give a high-dollar landscaper a blank check and have ’em do a number on our “grounds.” But in the grand scheme of things, my weeds take a back-seat to things like world hunger, so why worry?

Poor Keaton has had a pretty bad diaper rash the past few days. Though it’s on the mend now, it was probably the worst she’s had yet. It’s an end result of a domino-like progression of baby-ills though, all starting with teething. Teething, in addition to rashes on the face, a runny nose, low grade fevers, and irritability, can cause diarrhea. Friday, she had ten diarrhea-diapers in one day. Even though Sharaun and I didn’t let her sit in them long, wet poo can wreak havoc on a little baby’s fair booty-skin. So, Keaton’s erupting teeth gave her a diaper rash – a cascade of baby dramas. On the plus side, I think she may finally be getting some friends for her lonely pair of teeth… too bad it’s at the cost of her butt.

Goodnight.

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video makes up for word


I don’t have much today, work was brutal like it hasn’t been for a while now and kept my brain pretty much consumed all day – no time to think about things to write about. It was non-stop and frustrating, but I did manage to get some long-overdue work done. In the end though, I split at five and didn’t look back. I stopped at the local warehouse place on the way home to get some final touches for the garden (some tomato cages, some bell pepper seeds, and some drip equipment). It rained today in sunny California, and the temperature was downright un-Summer… but I didn’t let it stop me from getting a few minutes outside finishing up my sowing and whatnot. I swear, if this garden works I’m gonna be pumped.

Anyway, the point of that paragraph was to say, “I’m tired.” So, I figured that, tonight, in lieu of writing, I could just post a link to the video we took of Keaton 2nd day walking. She’s getting better, and this afternoon was trying to walk more than crawl right near bedtime. She gets really happy when she’s doing it, I think she knows we enjoy watching it (she should, the way we cheer her on). Anyway, you can watch the incredibly cute video over at Keaton’s gallery – all edited and scored and annotated by moi. Enjoy!

Goodnight.

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getting out of a rut


Let’s clear the air here first, before we do the standard blog fare: For about two weeks now, I’ve been pretty disappointed with the blog. I haven’t been able to put the right amount of time and effort into it, and it’s shown with multiple-day dry spells and bad entries. I know exactly why too – I’ve just been doing too much of everything else: hanging out with friends, yardwork, playing with the baby, reading – just to name a few. I don’t think this is a bad thing at all, but I would like to get back into some more meaningful writing (not because I feel guilty but because I actually enjoy it). So, I’m hoping to get out of the rut here soon – maybe you’ll decide to see me through it, sit with me through the doldrums and wait for the other end of the tunnel?

Hey, before you read more – go check out the big ol’ backlog of pictures I uploaded to Keaton’s gallery, you won’t regret it (she’s cute as crap!).

Sitting at the gate awaiting my flight from Shanghai back to the US. There is a brilliantly beautiful girl sitting not far from me, traveling with her family. She looks to be part Western and part Eastern, apparently the best bits of each. I’m pretty much in love with her right now. Seems she’ll be flying to San Francisco as well, so perhaps between napping, reading, watching some TV, and stealing an occasional glance of her – I’ll have an enjoyable ten hour flight. And now, much to your amazement and sure-thing applause, I bring you the next sentence from some fifteen-hours later: Sitting in San Francisco waiting for that last puddle-jumper home. The brilliantly beautiful girl is also going home, it seems, and her home is the same as my home. Although, I must admit the long flight has dulled her edges just a bit – but I must look even worse than my fresh-and-clean best too, so I’d say the mutual chances of a clandestine hookup have at least gone down proportionally. It’s OK, though, because I’m about to be home with my wife and daughter – and I’m ready ready ready…

Ahhh… the relaxation that can only come from being on one’s own couch, a full weekend ahead of him, having just returned from China (yes, it’s a rare form of relaxation indeed). Keaton’s here too, just dad and baby – while mom man’s some event up at church (she’s become quite Mrs. Involved lately with all manner of “mom’s group” doings, which I think is wonderful – and probably appeals to that sense of responsibility she cultivated and then had to leave when she started, then departed from, her teaching job). All this means dad’s got Keaton for the morning, up until her afternoon nap. After that, I plan to try and get my garden planted (providing the clouds break). I’ll get what I can as living transplants up at the Home Depot, and if I can’t find the exact breed of what I want there I’ll do seeds over the ‘net and start that way.

Speaking of my garden, the folks in Shanghai were quite astounded when I told them that I was trying my hand at the trade. Seems their notion of American suburban backyards doesn’t include gardens (wonder why) – and my desire to “farm” had them somewhat befuddled. I liked it, added to my Western sense of mystery, I’m like a storybook figure: A rich American engineering manager with two cars who can have limitless babies if he desires and grows vegetables in his backyard. All I need is a blue ox and a loom that spins gold and I’d be a timeless legend. Now I have the added pressure of a few Chinese coworkers imagining my bounty of homegrown vegetables to deal with as I tool my crop to success though – if it’s a complete bust now I’ll be letting an entire nation down.

Anyway, Keaton and I are sitting around watching the sun try to break through the morning clouds. We’re listening to the astounding-sounding MFSL version of Yes’ calssic 1972 album Fragile, which I just put on my iPod this morning after discovering, after getting a sudden and strong yen to rock out to it during my flight home, that, much to my horror, it was not already thereon. (Man, I re-worded that sentence like four times before I decided I’d placed all the comma’d-off portions correctly. If you do that “it has to make sense without the comma’d parts rule” it should read: “…after discovering that it was not already thereon,” sounds right to me). Anyway, the omission made me realize that my Yes collection is somewhat lacking, so I ran out and picked up both 1971’s The Yes Album, and 1972’s Close to the Edge, which are both sounding mighty fine to me right now.

Oh, I’ve been wanting to write about all the things Keaton can now do – more for my own recordkeeping than bragging, although a mite of bragging ain’t never hurt no one that I heard of. Anyway, Keaton can now say the following things: “bye-bye,” “hi,” “dog,” “ball,” “hat,” “night-night,” “wow,” “mom,” “dad,” “bread,” and most recently, “no.” She can correctly point to the following body parts when asked: eyes, ear, belly, feet, nose, and tongue. As of tonight, she’s taken eight consecutive steps while standing, so on the road to walking. She can make a roaring sound when you ask, “What does a lion say?” Sharaun thinks she’s a genius because of all of this, I just think she’s regular.

Just finished my taxes. I had put in Keaton’s SSN yet because I couldn’t find the card. Found it, put it in, and saw my Fed refund go from like less than $200 to just over a grand. I thought that was hardcore awesome. Goodnight.