Category: blogging

Where write about writing, and my website sounds familiar.

Posted on

if i never work another day


Sunday in Hawaii. I debated over writing at all, labored over potentially ruining the “vibe” of the past couple days – but, in the end it seemed the right thing to do. I’m actually poolside now, committing that nerd’s sin of peering heads-down into my BlackBerry while vacation goes on around, and without, me. I don’t mind though, doing a quick lookaround I can see that I’m not the only technology-hobbled one here. But, I will use it as an excuse for brevity.

So, then, Hawaii: The trip here was a bit stressful, the flight long, the luggage plentiful and heavy, and the drive to the resort fraught with crawling traffic due to some roadside fire. However, the past two days have been nothing short of a relaxation goldmine. So much so that I find myself struggling to believe it’s actually been two days – time has been passing with a luxurious slowness, slipping by hour by blessedly long hour.

I sprung for a weekly rental rate on some snorkeling gear that first day, and am glad I did. Not but fifteen feet off the beach, which is not but a hundred feet from the room, the seafloor turns into a solid bed of coral. Stretching as far and wife as you can see are corals, crazy Discovery channel tropical fish, eels, turtles… It’s like swimming around in an episode of Nova. Now, Sharaun, who’s been snorkeling in Roatan, says that, despite how beautiful it is here, it’s not but a fraction of what she saw. It’s cool though, as we’re scheduled to do a “true” snorkeling trip Tuesday morning, and she expects I’ll be even more blown away then. I could go home happy just spending a few hours tooling around past the waves right here in front of the hotel. It really is something…

The week’s dancecard is filling up fast, with a luau and a dinner cruise, a snorkeling expedition and a “romantic” dinner, a trip ‘cross-island and glass after glass of overly-sweet rum-heavy drinks with slices of pineapple stuck to their rims. But still, I’ve managed to limit my wardrobe to a single pair of shorts and two shirts – and have worn nothing else save what I wear in the pool or waves (which is most of the day). I swear, if I never work another day…

There’s so much more I could write – but it seems pointless here when I could be doing nothing in the sunshine instead. Until later then.

Posted on

this is sabbatical


Today I had the day to myself; well, Keaton and I, that is. Let me tell you, today was “sabbatical.” My time alone with Keaton this morning embodied everything I fantasized about before leaving for this nine week vacation. I rose early and showered, prepared for the day, and bid farewell to Sharaun and our houseguests as they departed on a sightseeing trip to San Francisco. Keaton and I had made plans to go to the park, and I leisurely readied her diaper bag and stroller. After some sunscreen for her and I (a bright, overly-warm sunny day today in northern California), we set off on the mile-ish walk to the closest public park. I brought along my iPod for the trip, set on random, but kept the volume low enough to converse with Keaton along the way: “Truck!,” she’d say. “That’s right,” I’d reply, “That’s a truck!” “Plane!,” she’d exclaim. “You’re right,” I’d confirm, “That’s a plane you’re hearing.” It went on like this: “tree,” “rock,” “car,” and, eventually, “slide!”

I was the sole dad at the park, and we had walked right into a local “mom’s group” who had convened there for a “playdate.” This thing is quite common among the stay-at-homes, I’ve come to learn. At first, there was some hesitation, but soon the matrons accepted me into the fold – and we were all conversing as we watching the children play. We exchanges ages, talked about language development and diet, and fawned over the cuteness of our collective brood. It was fun, actually, and I could all of the sudden see myself perhaps enjoying being a stay-at-home Mr. Mom. Now, in reality I’m much to selfish for such a job – but it was fun to entertain the thought.

We stayed at the playground for an hour or so, sliding on slides, playing in sand, and running around in the mulch. It was on the walk back home, though, that things really began to sink in. Thinking to myself, I wondered: was it Thursday?, no, maybe… Wednesday? Ahhh… who cares anyway, look at that blue sky! Here I am, walking home from spending an hour at the park with my daughter, and I have nothing to do at all for the rest of the day. In fact, I can read my book, maybe write a little, but most of all lounge around on the couch listening to the “Deep Tracks” channel I love so much on XM. Whatever I want, that’s what I’m gonna do; Nothing, that’s what I have to do. Feed Keaton some chicken and broccoli and put her down for a nap. Man it’s a beautiful day… this truly is what sabbatical must be all about. I think it’s finally sunk in. And, friends, the real loveliness of this is that, as I sit here today, I’m not even to the halfway point. Still plenty of loafing to do.

Anyway, here are some images of our daddy/daughter trip to the park today. I took Ben’s advice and used a new kind of WordPress plugin, so the below images are kinda fancy-like (g’head, click on ’em and see for yourself). Not sure if I like it, lemme know if you have some feedback.

I actually think it’s pretty slick, no? Yeah, it took me about an hour to get WordPress 2.3 installed and fiddle with the new plugin. Anyway, it’s tough because it’s so sweet, but I don’t want to completely abandon my Coppermine gallery install – where all my pictures have traditionally lived up until this point. We’ll have to see how well I like this style before I decide to do any mass migration. Enough, nerd talk, yes?

I originally had another bunch of paragraphs after this one, all on a completely different topic – but decided to cut them out and use them later in the week. So, as of now, I’m officially ending this post. Peace out and I’ll holler at you later. Time to go read my book and perhaps catch a nap coincident with the baby.

See ya.

Posted on

hopelessly given over to anticipation


Monday night and I’ve not got much for you. My mind is wandering day and night, thinking about the nine weeks off that are just around the bend. At work, I think about drinking beer in a tent in Munich. At home, I read Muir Trail hiking diaries on the online. Between the two, I listen to music as I drive and think about lounging on the beach at Hawaii. Hopelessly given over to anticipation, it’s like Christmas at eight years old.

The new Rogue Wave leaked today and I’m sitting here listening to it, a freshly assembled pile of bits plucked from this machine and that machine, downloaded willy-nilly swarm style and magically reassembled on my end through the power of Bram Cohen. Sharaun’s at the gym and I decided to pause the episode of PBS’s History Detectives I was watching in favor of checking out some new tunes at volumes she simply wouldn’t allow. Besides, I noticed when queuing up the History Detectives that the TiVo is recording a new episode of that abysmal So You Think You Can Dance show she so enjoys, which means that’ll come on when she gets home. I figured I better enjoy some tunes while I have the chance. Man I hate “dancing” shows… Anyway, this album sounds fine enough.

About the lack of writing: I had partial entries for both Friday and Monday, but couldn’t pull it together enough on either of them, so gave up with a paragraph or two on each. Friday’s was about an unsettling experience I had at work. The kind that makes you all nervous and tweaky kinda like you know something bad is happening. This particular experience was so unnerving to me that I decided I wouldn’t be able to focus until I was able to truly clear my head of it. So, I up and left the sawmill and went home. That’s where I wrote the one or two paragraphs that I could never fill out. Y’know, the ones about the thing at work that set me off. Yeah. Monday’s entry was a half-written try at a new blog “feature” I’ve been wanting to debut, called “music appreciation,” or somesuch… I haven’t decided yet. Even with sights set so high, I just couldn’t make it happen. And, to be honest, I’m only writing a paragraph now about not being able to write paragraphs then because I need another paragraph now. Gripping, no?

Goodnight.

Posted on

of tea


Good Wednesday evening, friends and lovers. Tonight the trash goes out; I’ll never cease to marvel at the fact that I can drag 15lbs of stuff I no longer want down to my curb and wake up with it gone. Garbagemen don’t get the respect they deserve… that’s an essential job, y’all. Now to the canned stuff.

A long time ago, in the early days of my Taiwan travel, I received some local tea as a gift from a customer on a visit (hey sawmill gestapo, it weren’t an ethics violation – I was assured it was less than $20). The tea came in an attractive tube-shaped container, with faux gold Chinese characters and decorations “lacquered” on the outside. I even came equipped with some of that traditional Chinese red-tassle stuff tied in pretty bows and knots around it. Thankful, I accepted the tea and brought it back with me to America (US Customs was never informed, take that Big Brother). When I got home, I showed it to Sharaun and proceeded to put it, unopened, up on the highest, normally unreachable, relegated to seldom-used items, shelf in the pantry. And, until last night, that’s where it stayed.

What jarred it loose from its dusty enclave was an episode of a show I enjoy called Bizarre Foods. On this episode, the host was touring the beautiful isle of Taiwan, sampling its many strange foodstuffs. At one restaurant he was treated to a multiple-course meal in which every dish was based around the tea leaf. Seeing how much the Taiwanese love and value their tea reminded me of that red and gold tube hiding way up in the back of the pantry. So, I pulled over a dining room chair and climbed atop to peer into the dark recesses of our dry goods. There, pushed all the way back into the corner, sat the tea. I yanked it down and proceeded to open it. Inside was a vacuum-sealed foil packet, and absolutely nothing in the way of instructions, guidance, or information (well, at least not in English).

Now, I should add here that, on the TV, the Bizarre Foods host was receiving a lesson in “rare” and expensive Chinese teas, and was browsing some of the insanely priced high-end teas one can purchase in Taiwan. The leaf he was looking at came out to about $7,000 USD per dried pound. At this point, I began telling Sharaun that, when the customer had given me the tea so long ago, the Taiwanese national who was with me had told me that it was very rare and expensive, and likely worth about $800 for the entire tube. This story was completely false. So, as I’m examining the sealed foil package, she’s all the while harping from the couch, “Don’t you dare open that! You need to put that stuff on Ebay! Do not even think about opening some $800 tea!”

I wanted to maintain the ruse a little longer, and besides, I was truly unsure how to make the stuff and needed to do a little research. So, I left the bag sealed and hit the internet to figure out how to “brew loose leaf tea.” The internet, for the only time ever, was largely a disappointment. That’s when I remembered another long-lost item I’d seen gathering dust in our house (we really need to do some large-scale cleaning and purging, it would seem): an electric tea-brewing gadget that was sitting, also unopened, somewhere in the garage. Since it was only 11pm, I decided to go have a look. I located the “Mrs. Tea” right away, and brought my prize inside.

“What are you going to do with that?,” she asked. “I know you’re not thinking you’re going to make that tea… you need to sell that stuff, not drink it. Let’s make $800 on that crap.” “Babe,” I said, as I pulled out the paring knife to cut open the foil package, “I was just messing with you, this stuff isn’t worth $800.” “I knew that,” she replied.

I sawed off the top of the foil tube and gave the rolled, dried leaves a nice sniff. To my surprise, they still maintained the very strong and pleasant aroma of Chinese green tea (I didn’t even know what kind of tea this was until I saw it). Luckily, “Mrs. Tea” came with some teaspoons-of-loose-leaf to cups-of-tea guidance, and, by 11:30pm, I had a nice hot pot of traditional Chinese green tea. I must say, the tea was delicious. Reminded me of the stuff I had at the fancy teahouse on the shores of the West Lake in Hangzhou, China, although not as fresh: we had some of the last green leaves of the tea season when we visited on Tombsweeping Day this year. Anyway, in the end it was quite a journey for that little tube of green tea from Taiwan. I look forward to drinking some more of it now that I’ve broken the seal. Like tea? You’re welcome to come have some with me, friend.

Oh my gosh y’all (tea stuff is over now), I was watching a TiVo’d Seinfeld episode tonight and saw a certain Public Service Announcement. At first I was confused, but when I realized at the end that the PSA was warning kids about the dangers of blogging… I was ecstatic! I immediately hunted down the clip to post here. So, remember kids: Think before you post.

Wow, an entire entry about making tea. Good job me. Goodnight.

Posted on

family came to town


Hey there folks, remember this blog thing here on the internet where I used to write? I didn’t give up on it, or anything, I just took a nice break from writing, coincident with the vacation I took as family came to town. And, after a week-long hiatus from blogging, I must say I feel refreshed and happy for staying away briefly.
My only regret?: It’s now Sunday night and tomorrow I return to work. My only solace?: Only six more weeks until I’m off for two months… just counting down now.

We’re fresh off a two-night camping trip to one of our favorite local spots where, for the first time, we brought some rafts to play on the river we pitch tents alongside. I love the campsite so much, it feels remote, but is actually within an hour of civilization – and every time we go there I feel ultimately relaxed and taken-away. However, in all the times we’ve been there, we’ve never really played in the river much, aside from an occasional short swim in the frigid waters. This time, though, I had a blast rafting up and down the quarter-mile stretch of river that flanks the campgrounds, braving some easy “rapids” and simply floating around with the bottom half of a Newcastle cooling in the snowmelt waters.

Keaton seemed to enjoy herself too, and didn’t appear to mind the sand in her diaper or the thrice-daily smearings-on of SPF 45 sunblock at daddy’s less-than-gentle hands. She slept fairly well in the tent and liked hanging out by the water’s edge. I told Sharaun that my only wish would be that she were a little more on the “adventurous” side. Y’know, wanting to run down hills or venture off into the water with dad and stuff. But, I suppose I love her cautious guarded personality as much as I do every little bit of her, so no real complaints. Besides, her willingness to simply sit on a lap and enjoy some quiet time is kinda nice.

Oh, and, as a pleasant byproduct to telling the story of my time in the cold river – I think I’m ready to finally say that I’m “over” my cold-induced urticaria. I spent all weekend soaking in those freezing waters with nary an itch, hive, nor anaphylactic fit. The Lord be praised, I’ve been healed.

I’m gonna close this down now, but I’ll be back again tomorrow and hopefully onto my regular posting schedule this week. Also, I promise this week will see the “half-best of” list published… as it’s super behind right now. Goodnight folks.

Posted on

bloggin’ on the move


Happy Tuesday folks, I’m just gonna get right into it.

Blogging from among the masses in the general admission section on the lawn at the Gwen Stefani show (from my phone, no less).

The youth is in full “social gathering” regalia, young men with their baseball caps twisted sideways and half-cocked over tightly freshened-up crew-cuts, young ladies squeezed into skin-tight bits of cloth they’re trying to pass as clothes. Oh, it’s on (it’s not really “on,” I actually feel pretty old, to tell the truth).

I’m pretty much transfixed watching the chaperoning moms, the way they nonchalantly watch their pre-teen daughters “wind and grind.” I can’t tell if they’re really good at pretending not to care, all the while squirming on the inside, or if they truly don’t mind the statutory-inviting junior-stripper antics. Tell you what though, some of these girls are dancing like they have body parts that they haven’t even grown yet. Were we this bad when we were kids?

I’m actually petty amazed I’m able to blog from my phone right now; believe it or not, it’s the first time I’ve ever done it. This new BlackBerry predictive text keyboard is pretty functional, as should be evidenced by the fact that I totally wasted time typing about typing. Anyway, moving on.

Y’know, being here, seeing these kids, and, more importantly seeing these adults doing their best to look like kids, I’m actually happy to be all ‘grow’d up.” I’d hate to be “that guy:” Forty-something years old, all tatted up wearing a 13lbs silver herring-bone chain with spiked bleached-blonde hair ala “I’m thirteen and I just discovered Sid Vicious.” Hey, if I’m ever that guy, sit me down and lay it on me, OK? (The truth that is, lay the truth on me, OK?)

Well, the it’s nigh on midnight and we’re on our way home. The battery on this thing is almost gone, and I’m fresh out of things to say anyway. I know I’m totally gonna be disappointed with the length of this post when I see it on a real screen, but it looks huge squanched up on this tiny thing, so I’m calling it good.

‘Night.

Posted on

you see the balls on that thing?


Oh man it’s great having a blog that works. Or, I should rather say, it’s great having a host that works. I can write with ease, I can preview with ease, and, hopefully, you can enjoy the end result with ease (or, at least you could not-enjoy the end result… but still with ease).

A long, long time ago, I wrote a blog wondering about how penguins “do it.” This was a genuine question on my part, albeit passed off for laughs for the blog. The question had stemmed from a curiosity that I’ve had since I was younger: Where are birds’ naughty bits? I just took it to the extreme form of bird in an extreme environment for the sake of the blog because I thought it’d be funnier. Actually, I looked it up, and it’s a pretty decent entry – you can read it too, if you want. Anyway, this is a relevant opener for my blog today – because I finally figured it out.

Today, folks – today I saw a bird with huge balls.

I got home from work around five. Stopped on the way home to see the Saigon Turtle (I love this guy now, every time he cuts my hair I just sit there and marvel silently at his backstory). And, of course, my slight OCD requires that I must take a shower post-haircutting, lest those little unseen bits of shorn mane find a way to burrow into my skin and sprout more of the evil stuff I’m cursed with (which I clearly do not need). Anyway, my dome’s tightened-up, I’m home, and I’m showered – that’s where we were.

Fresh from the shower, I step into the living room to Keaton smiling as she toddles towards me chanting, “Dada!, Dada!” My heart melts, and I scoop her up and whirl her around a bit. Then, I ask her, “Wanna go outside and check on Daddy’s garden?” Not really giving her much time to answer, I assume she does, and crook her in my arm to head outside.

And now, I’d like to switch the narrative voice here to Sharaun, and write the next sentence as I like to imagine she would recount the tale:

Then I heard, “Oh my God! Quick, get the camera!”

There. Done. Now back to me.

As I turned the corner to inspect my garden, I could hardly believe my eyes. There, inside my less-than-twenty-four-hours-old “Fort Knox for Strawberries,” was my arch-enemy: the dang bird. One ripe strawberry, folks… one dang berry. I had intended to pick it today, and was happy that the dang bird hadn’t even touched it yesterday (must have been full from eating the one that prompted Fort Knox or something). And here, flapping madly, I had my quarry penned. Keaton “oohed” and “ahhed” as we approached the increasingly frantic berry whore. I still couldn’t quite believe it, it was almost too good to be true – and my mind immediately went to how fun it would be to write this very entry. “But, it’ll be nothing without pictures,” I thought as I once again hollered to Sharaun for the camera.

A full thirty seconds went by while Keaton and I examined the trapped beastie… fruitlessly (well, depending on the definition) flapping around looking for a way out. I laughed. Sharaun finally arrived with the camera, and I edged in to get a good shot. As I did, Mr. Berrybeaks became even more agitated – obviously sensing his impending doom. He threw his winged body wildly against the confines of For Knox for Strawberries. I snapped one picture:

As I reviewed the image, I was unhappy with it, and moved closer for a better shot. Then, out of luck, Berrbeaks found a weak seam in Fort Knox and was free. You’d think, harried from such a terrifying experience, he would immediately fly fast and far away. Oh no, not that bastard Berrybeaks – that bastard has an image to maintain.

He instead flew to the fence, alighted there, glanced down at me, shat, and then casually took wing.

OK, so I made up the part about him crapping – but I bet he tried and just couldn’t make, knowing him. Alas, I only have the one picture. But, I’ve gone to the trouble to go extreme-closeup for you:

I don’t really know what I was going to do had he really been trapped and at my mercy. I’d like to think I would’ve wrung his little bird neck. But, then again, I am the guy growing delicious berries outside in full view. So, feeling incredibly defeated, I set about fortifying Fort Knox for Strawberries. I think I found my flaw, a weak front-flap opening I designed specifically for picking access. After being so handily beaten though, I doubt it will work. I guess I’m just not meant to have strawberries… dang bird.

Moving on.

Sharaun lost her keys again today, she called me as I was sitting down for lunch at home. Called while performing a CSI-style grid-search of the local grocery store where she and Keaton were now stranded. I asked her if she checked with the counter to see if someone may have turned them in – she had, and no one did. I asked if she’d checked the parking lot between her car and the store – she had, and they weren’t there. “OK,” I said, “I’ll be right there.” I hastily finished my food and jumped in the car. As I pulled into the parking lot I spotted her and Keaton standing around. I parked, used my key to open her trunk and loaded her bags, then lifted Keaton from her buggy-seat for a hug. Eventually, when I got to opening her driver’s side door, I ended up finding her keys there on the floorboard.

Something wrong with that girl… but man do I love her.

Wow, I’m quite proud of all the linking I did in today’s blog – I have back-references galore, huh? To me, if I was a reader, that’d be key. It’d be like getting several more paragraphs than there actually are (y’know, by virtue of the old stuff you can go back and read?). Yeah, well, I liked it.

Goodnight.