Category: lil’ chino

the coming spawn

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i guess you’ll need that soon

All that hard work pays.
A day spent working, not at work, but working still. Brushed sand into the paver porch as a joint stabilizer, poured some river rock on the new pad where we erected a shed the other day – Frank helped out with it all. It was good, working in the sun with my brother, smoking my pipe while we rocked an Allman Brothers show from the Fillmore that’s some thirty years old. After that I mowed the lawn and cleaned the shower – a good working Monday, none of it in a cube or in front of a monitor. Breaking a sweat outside is good, especially for the good of your own property – makes a guy feel accomplished, worth something.

Sharaun’s folks get in tomorrow (today as you read this). For the first time in five years, Sharaun’s gonna do Thanksgiving dinner here at home. We’re serving six: her folks and her little brother, and my brother as well. I’m actually excited, we’re always gone for the major holidays – so we’ve never really had the chance to “christen” our house with a good Thanksgiving meal or Christmas morning. It’ll be nice, one more step towards us being a full-fledged family; a family who stays up late on Christmas putting together Castle Greyskulls and Ewok Villiages while their children sleep. I dunno, I guess I’m somewhat obsessed with what I perceive to be our “transition” to parents, to a “family” moreso than we were before just the two of us. Frank and I were sitting in the backyard today, admiring our work, when he asked me what I planned on putting in a largish open area of grass. “I dunno,” I said, “A swingset maybe.” “A swingset,” he repeated, “Yeah, I guess you’ll need that soon, huh?” Yeah, I guess I will.

Right here, where you’re reading this, I had three different paragraphs started – and subsequently deleted. With that as my track record, and considering it’s late and I’m tired – I’m calling this match here. Blank page-1, Dave-0.

‘Nite.

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paid vacation

Put 'em in the wind.
The first person I told that Sharaun and I were having a baby was the drummer from the band Autodrone. I told him as we were in Manhattan, walking down Broadway I think… heading to Smith & Wollensky for a fat steak. It sounds more glamorous that it is. The drummer is Ben’s brother Dave, and I was in New York for work. Still, on it’s own, that first sentence sounds totally awesome.

Last Thursday night I was getting ready for bed, thinking about my vacation next week. Thinking about my India trip after that, my trip to Oregon after that, and my trip to Florida after that. Then I started thinking about my “bonding leave” after that. For the past two weeks, I’ve been agonizing over that schedule; fretting. See, I’m a little terrified. Terrified that, after being away from work for what will amount to months, I’ll become irrelevant, lose touch, fall out of respect as a contributor with an opinion that deserves to be heard. I’ve shared this fear with some, and they maintain that it’s irrational. “Not all that much changes in 6wks,” they insist (see, I’ll be “gone” twice, each time about 6wks long), “you’ll fall right back into the swing of things,” they say. And, while those assurances do lend some small comfort, my issues with earning workplace respect still gnaw at me – poking me, chiding, “They’re all gonna forget you, you’ll simply cease to be relevant.” So, I still have some hesitation, and it was in the throes of mulling that hesitation that night when I had a revelation, when I saw the flipside of the coin.

I’ll embrace the second-order effects of my very own fears – I’ll give up. I’ll trust the well-wishers, believe the re-assurers implicitly. Things will be the same. Afterall, I’m not delusional enough to think I’m in-expendable; or that the organization will fall apart in my absence, void of my wisdom and guidance. I’m not that puffy-chested. So, regardless of any lingering doubt, I’ll assume I’ll return from all this away-time as if returning to work on any Monday like today. I’ll imagine I’ll walk right in and pick up where I left off, that my time away will in no way effect my impact. This will be a forced belief, of course, as I truly think quite the opposite – but it won’t matter. Wanna know why? Because taking this approach, I get one very clear benefit – I can rest on my laurels for a bit and enjoy a very fortuitous alignment of travel, holidays, vacation, and “leave.” Who cares if I become irrelevant. I have the skills to become relevant again. So, let’s do this; bring it on – I’m ready to not care like I’ve not not cared before. And believe me, I’m the king of not caring.

Mind you, I can’t really do this… my self-confidence-centered paranoia will ensure that. I won’t let myself sabotage what I’ve strived to build up, either nature or nurture instilled me with too much common sense to just waste what makings of a career I’ve already managed. Still, it’s a nice counterpoint to salve my nervous fears, and it gives me a sort of rebellious comfort. Through some twisted thought process, becoming irrelevant by being an absentee is somehow sexy to me – a bucking of the system in some sense. Reconciled internally by me as an outward show of hubris; me hanging my nuts in the wind for the world to see. Oh yeah, sexy.

Anyone else think the only way the OC is remotely watchable these days is by fast-forwarding through the crappy grownup segments? God that show sucks, and how I used to fawn over it. Who spliced a storyline from Days of Our Lives in between the indie-rock kids drama? They should be fired.

Goodnight, I’m out.

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vacating

Vacating.
Wrote some of this for the never-happened Tuesday entry, and some of it for an intended-to-happen Wednesday one… but I’m not gonna go back and change verb tenses or preface stuff by when it was written… you can figure it out. Seems crappy to have a solid week last week and then to fall off completely this one… but that’s how it goes. In Oregon today, returning early tomorrow – fast trip cutting into my normal weeknight sleep allotment. Bah.

Haven’t talked about music much of late, guess I really only resort to that when I can’t think of much else to write. After all, who really wants to know what I like by the week anyway. But, in the spirit of writing for me and not you, I’ve been listening to the new-to-me (but in reality, dirt-old) album (link contains lotsa streamy goodness) by the Shout Out Louds lately, stuck it on my cellphone for the flight and general listenin’ while traveling. Damn fine album I think… right down to the Pole Position “doot-doot-doot-deet” rip that kicks the whole thing off. You should listen to it, it’s radawesome. That album and the truly-new Joggers, both been occupying my eartime pretty exclusively.

Hey guys, back from slackin’… no time to write Sunday as I was completely overwhelmed with a late breakfast, mid-afternoon nap, and dinner at Pat & Cyn’s. But now I’m back, writing. Power musta went out at the crib today, welcomed home by blinking clocks and a dead internet connection. And, no doubt as you read this, I’ll be jetting my way up north for a meeting and an overnighter. Don’t want to go, of course, but will go anyway… for wont of paycheck-continuity and all. If I had time I’d go see my folks, but with a one-day turnaround and a quasi-work evening engagement, there just ain’t time. It’s not that I don’t love ya, moms and pops, you just gotta understand the life of a young billionaire CEO.

Was working on finalizing the December travel plans today; India, up to Oregon to visit my folks, then over to Florida for the in-laws. It’s a pretty quick pace… I scheduled the flight out to visit my folks on the same day I fly in from India (tried to change my return, but they couldn’t do it without a hefty penalty). I don’t even leave the airport… fly in after 15 hours, pick up and re-check my bags, meet Sharaun and fly back out. Extreme, yeah… but it’s the only time we had. After blocking off my work calendar to reflect the travel, I was pretty surprised to see that I’m only at work three days the entire month… and only in town about a week. Not bad for a guy who likes his time away from work. Yup; nearly a week off for Thanksgiving; and December’s gonna fly by. Then January, then February, then six weeks off to spend with Lil’ Chino. Bring it on. I won’t even remember what it is I do come April.

Whatever, OK… whatever. Goodnight.

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clouds and clouds of white smoke pour from your fingertips

Amaze your friends!
So sorry guys, I’ve been off on a tangent lately and writing about religion a bit. I hope this hasn’t turned away the God-phobic of my readership, but I can promise you a Lord-free entry today. Stick with me, I’m going all one-track on ya, I promise. Oh, and… I’m still writing… which makes me happy.

You know, when this baby comes, I’m taking time off. No, refining that, I’m taking a state-paid “leave of absence.” That’s right, an extended vacation. Sure, it’s at less than half my pay… but it’s some awesome time I’ll get to spend with Sharaun and our daughter. It seems so far off now, February… but I know it’ll be on me in an instant. It will no doubt seem even speedier with all the travel we have planned for December; the month will be a blur – with not a single week at home the entire thirty-one days. For me, the 1st week spent in India, then directly to Oregon for my birthday with the folks. Then the very next weekend we’re off to Florida for Christmas with her family, only to return a few days before 2006. A short two months after that, and we’re parents. Honestly, I still can’t believe it. I think about it and just can’t comprehend it; the change coming, the new stuff. I guess I really won’t be able to “understand” it until we live through it. Maybe then I’ll know a little better what to expect when number two comes around. We’ll see.

I’ll talk about work a little bit now.

I want to share with you what I think is one huge aspect of my path to success, at least at work. You ready? This is some serious tactical information I’m about to give away. Here it is: be a data hog. Horde, packrat (as a verb), stash things away for future reference. I am convinced that “knowledge” as we normally think of it is about a 50/50 mix of wisdom and resources. What I mean by that is, you have to have some “wisdom,” or common sense, acumen, not-dumbassness, whatever you wanna call it, to even begin to execute. If you’re a drooling retard who consistently makes piss-poor decisions, you’re not gonna succeed even if you save the entire internet to your cellphone for handy reference. But, if you’ve got that basic ability to think… you’re halfway to being perceived as a genius. The other half is simple: store what you can in your brain, but, even more important, keep everything on-hand for quick consultation. When I say everything, I mean everything from a documented history of the past, to reference materials, to a well-maintained a personal network of other “smart” people. It’s that simple folks. What you’ll realize is, people respect someone who can react knowledgeably nearly as much as the do someone who’s truly knowledgeable – if the results are the same. So, strive to know where knowledge is – even if it’s not in your own head.

I’ll talk about magic a little bit now.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with magic. My brother and I used to put on magic shows in our garage, performing tricks I’d learned from the many books I had, most of them bought at garage sales or used book outlets, written for children decades before my time, and given to me as well-read, coverless, dog-eared gifts. My favorite place at Disneyland was the magic store on Main Street, where I bought my first tube of “Mystic Smoke.” For my 5th grade birthday party, my parents hired a magician who came and entertained my friends and I; I was never happier. By the time I was twelve years old, I knew how to “blow eggs” and stuff them with confetti, pour milk into a rolled newspaper, and pull a card off the bottom of a deck.

Back then, there was one of those costume/magic stores about an hour from our house – in the city where my mom grew up. I would was thrilled every time we had the chance to be in town, and would beg my dad to make a stop. I remember the place having all sorts of expensive masks hanging on the wall, and racks of costumes. What I was interested in though, was under the glass display case and in on display shelves behind it: the magic tricks. The man behind the counter would demonstrate the newest tricks; a knot that seemed to pass through a wooden block, sticks that changed color when you said the magic word, all the latest and greatest. I used to save up my allowance, adding a new trick to my canon with each visit. When we moved to Florida, my obsession waned, but didn’t fade. After all, middle-school makes it hard to concentrate on the latest sleight-of-hand illusion when girls all around you are sprouting boobs and wearing Malibu Musk.

As a surprise one year, my folks got the family tickets to see David Copperfield at the local performing arts place. As a kid, Copperfield was my favorite magician, his illusions seemed amazing, and I was thrilled to see him perform live. As I grew up, however, I learned to resent him. His tricks were so grandiose and his stage presence was repulsive, he was all that was wrong with modern magic. Anyway, even a trip to see Copperfield in person wasn’t enough. Soon enough, I found other things to care about, and my thumb-tip and secret-pocket handkerchief went into a box with my other tricks and up into the closet. I still got my Abbotts catalogs throughout highschool, but I usually only like it for the smell of paper and the kitschy illustrations. In college, I saw David Blaine’s Street Magic, which stirred the love deep within me again and sent me running to the local store for a Svengali deck, Scotch & Soda, and all the staples of Blaine-style closeup magic. After college, I bought some books on “true” card magic, or card manipulation… but could never master the moves.

Yeah, that ended up being boring and void of any meaningful point – but I’m unwilling to delete all that writing. Live with it.

Dishes are washed and put up, Sharaun’s asleep on the couch, the cat’s got food, and now the evening’s chores are done and there’s nothing left to do but sleep. Did I tell you we bought some furniture? Wait, who is “you?” Anyway… we bought some furniture for the front room. We’re dropping dough like live-in girlfriends drop marriage hints… hemorrhaging money, as I like to say. The big outpouring to get the place worthy of our new family member. We’ll be ready for you, Lil’ Chino, we’ll be ready.

Love ya, goodnight.

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crunching numbers

Could be hand outstretched for money, like the 1st paragraph; or religious hands like the last.
Writer’s block removed, if only for a day. Four of six paragraphs written made it, not so bad. Let’s get to the lucky four then, shall we?

Last night I did something I’ve been meaning to do now for a while: overhaul our finances spreadsheet to predict what things will be like once Lil’ Chino arrives. I had been avoiding it because I don’t really use the spreadsheet for much other than reference anymore, which I guess tends to happen when you’re not for wont of money. I’m not all Greenspan with my finances or anything, I tend to be happy if we have some pocket money, are able to save some each month, and aren’t getting past-due notices. But our plans for a one-income post-baby household had me more than a little curious – just how realistic is that? Well, after some serious modifications to my OpenOffice Calc spreadsheet (I made federal and state tax deductions automatic), I was able to plugin whatever numbers I wanted to run various financial scenarios. I guess the good news is that we won’t be penniless; we’ll still be able to save each month, tho perhaps not as much, won’t be getting past-due notices, and should even have a little scratch left to get a cup of joe in the morning should we want. It gave me comfort though, seeing the bottom line in the black… made me feel just that much more like we really are ready to have this girl.

Changing subjects drastically…

A friend asked me the other day how I always manage to recall some long-ago-written entry and link back to it as something related to my current topics. I don’t know really, I guess I do tend to remember a pretty surprising amount of what I’ve written. Sure, there’s lots of crap in there that I’ve forgotten – but I think, for the most part, the stuff I forget is filler anyway, “fluff” to make the page look full. If I put time and thought into something I wrote though, odds are I’ll remember that. That’s not saying I haven’t found myself about four or five paragraphs into what I think is going to be a stellar entry when I start thinking, “Have I done this before?” A quick search of past entries proves it: you dumbass, you wrote about this eight months ago. But, in general, I’m pretty good about keeping that stuff in my brain-bone. Stuff I’ve written, lyrics to songs, obscure math equations, all sorts of inconsequential stuff… but things like mom’s birthday or paying the city utilities bill, not a chance.

I got almost all the Halloween stuff packed away, stowing the growing collection in the garage is becoming more and more Tetris-esque each year. I’m glad that, as part of the remaining backyard landscaping I broke down and decided to pay for, I’m getting a pad put in. I plan to use it for one of those ready-made sheds from Costco or the like, and a convenient place to store the three garbage cans this city gives me. Speaking of the landscaping, I think this weekend will be a big one… I’m expecting tons of progress, none of which will be made by the sweat of my brow. I’ll try and throw up some pictures if it’s dramatic enough. In fact, I like my new media gallery, Coppermine, so much, I’ve been thinking of re-putting up all sorts of pictures that I once had online but have since gone away. Yeah… when I get motivated…

Wow, them Catholics are on a roll. I wonder if we’re seeing the makings of a secretive Catholic “marketing” campaign here: Bring religion into the 21st century; make it “fit” with the modern collective’s advanced state of consciousness and understanding; make it less fanatic and legalistic and more about raw human spirituality and virtue; tout its complementary value to scientific and medical knowledge instead of championing its archaic disparities as universal truths. I guess, depending on your personal mix of worldliness and spirituality, there’s a religion for everyone… from barely-believin’ to handling-snakes-and-speaking-in-tongues.

Goodnight mofos.

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candy candy candy

Wetter... better?
Happy Halloween!

Wracked with guilt knowing I didn’t have anything but sentence fragments and idea outlines set to auto-post at midnight last night, I actually set my alarm for 40min earlier than normal this morning. All so I could wake up and come back to the familiar web-interface that is the behind-the-scenes of this page. Turns out though, that my host is down, or flaky, or something… and I couldn’t even access the tool. So here I am, drafting this in Thunderbird in hopes of mailing it to myself at work and doing a quick post once I’m back online. Even getting up early, I’ve not left myself much margin to write… so the pressure is high. Will he or won’t he? Likely he will, but it won’t be stellar. Enjoy.

Party was good, cleanup was lighter than years past. Hosed some puke out of the garage, steam-cleaned some beer out of the carpet… but other than that it was just garbage collection and general tidying. Good turnout too, judging from people-counts done on pictures I’d say there were around ~60 folks at the busiest time, pretty much the same as last year I think. The costumes were great, you can check them out over here. There were a few costumes that didn’t get full pictures, but I think most of ’em are here. Expect more snaps of the goings-on as I have time, or don’t… see if I care. Update: check out some candid party shots.

Yeah, I’m sorry, but I’m going to talk about it again. A good friend said something to me recently which I found profoundly brilliant. “Dave,” this good friend said, “If I got some poop on my hand, I wouldn’t just wipe it off with with a dry piece of paper… I’d put some water on that thing.” Man, what a brilliant statement. Who in their right mind would wipe poop off their body with a piece of paper and call it clean? Well then, why is it acceptable for my butt? My friend only offered this revlation to me in response a question I’d asked. The question? “Hey,” I said, “What’s that container of baby wet-wipes for in your bathroom?” A personal question, sure, but a fair one. My curiosity was piqued, so I asked. That’s when he laid it on me: TP first, then finish up with a wet-wipe. Brilliant. So, for weeks now I’ve been meaning to try out his next-best-to-a-bidet methodology. Today, I asked Sharaun to pick me up some wet-wipes at the store. Instead of asking me what for, she just said “OK” and brought them home (yeah, I thought that was odd too). So, if I remember – I’ll let ya know if it’s worth the effort.

Our daughter, who we haven’t officially met yet as she currently resides somewhere inside my wife’s belly, has been quite the active fetus of late. Kicking and spinning and doing all sorts of stuff that blows my mind. Fascinated, I keep asking Sharaun what it’s like. What does it feel like to have something… else… squirming around inside of you? I try to put myself in the situation, and I come to the conclusion that I’d likely be so amazed by it that I’d ignore the world around me in favor of just staring down at my own stomach trying to comprehend it. Sharaun suggests that maybe woman are “tuned” to be more ho-hum about it… it’s in their genes, they can roll with it because their kind have been experiencing it forever. Maybe she’s right, because, as hard as I try to imagine a little thing wriggling around inside me, sandwiched in between my guts somewhere, I still can’t come close. But, it is cool to get those tactile signs that your spawn is alive and well; maybe even reacting to your voice – since all the books tell me she can hear us now. Today, by the by, is the 1st day of her third trimester; the home-stretch if you will. I know, the math doesn’t quite work out to me either – but that’s what the doctors say…

Listening to the new Rogue Wave, which is garnering praise from all corners of indie blogdom. At first, I was a tad surprised how much attention the album was getting, having heard a few tracks leaked here and there and not being overly struck by them. But, as things tend to go, I’ve listened a few more times and am getting more attached with each go-round. Kinda reminds me of the Shins at spots. I dunno, I’m not jumping on the “one of the year’s best” bandwagon with this one just yet, but at least maybe I’ve got something different than the Wolf Parade to listen for a while.

I’m off to work. Good day to you.

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that stupid 9/11 fee

Energize.
Wow, can’t believe I’m actually coming back to this. I gave up on doing an entry tonight, after several longish staring-sessions with no words. And, since I was nodding off to sleep while dicking around the web… I decided to pack it in and call it a night. Turns out I walked around the house, switched off some lights, and got some inspiration. People read this right? Tell me people read this. Somewhere, there must be someone who notices when I miss two days in a row. If it wasn’t for you, you imagined daily readers, I dunno what I’d do. On to the waste of typing.

Every day before I leave for lunch, or start thinking about leaving for lunch, I do a quick calendar-check on my afternoon, just to see what lies ahead. Tuesday, I noticed that I had a 3-5pm appointment to switch from DSL to cable internet. Noting that I didn’t have anything from 1-3pm, I decided it was a good day to phone it in and play hooky for the afternoon. I used the extra time to make massive progress on the cleaning out of the eventual nursery room for Lil’ Chino. Stopped by the store, bought several of those big tupperware storage things, and headed home to consolidate and pack away – the 1st phase of transformation from guest/junk room to nursery. Moved most of the stuff into the garage, filling up a new shelf I hung a few weeks ago. As I began to neatly pack things away, I realized that we have a lot more storage here than I normally think we do. I mean, we packed nearly this same amount of material into a little apartment for years – so it stands to reason we’ve got much more room here. And we do; we’re just using the space wastefully right now. As Lil’ Chino pushes the junk out of the junk room, however, we’ll get more optimized. Wow, what on Earth am I writing about?

For the past couple nights I’ve had the strangest dream, two nights in a row now. I’m at home getting ready for work in the morning, and have to take some extra stuff in with me. Rather than pack it up and bring take it in with me though, I instead pull out this little gun-looking device. I then proceed to point the fun thing at whatever it is that I’m wanting to bring along with me. A thin red line, much like what you see on those UPC reader guns, comes out and I move it back and forth over the item. By doing this, I’m able to just think of where I want the item to go and it disappears from in front of me and is magically transported there. In my dream, I go around sending all sorts of stuff to all sorts of places, and showing off my teleportation thingy to everyone I see. As cool as it sounds, no one is really that impressed or surprised by the little gadget – despite my efforts to sell them on it’s coolness. As much as I expect people to be as excited as I am over this miracle gizmo, no one is and I’m frustrated by it. Who knows… what a strange dream.

The brake light on the Ford has taken to turning on randomly again, I have no idea what that’s about. Maybe it’s low on fluid, or maybe it’s part of the great electric haywire that is the Ford. Move the seat too far back, and you blow a 30A fuse rendering all electronic window/door/seat control useless; press play on the stereo and it mysteriously “reboots” (I didn’t even know car radios could reboot). Anyway, it was raining this morning and I was watching that little red light flicker on and off: BRAKE… BRAKE… BRAKE. Then, the low fuel light decided to get in on the dance: “CHECK GAUGE” lighting up when I took any incline. I was hypnotized by them. The rain fell outside and I listened to the new Broken Social Scene as the dashboard came alive. No idea why I wrote about that, but I took a note about it when I got to work this morning – so it was somehow significant to me.

Sharaun and I worked on the music for the Halloween party tonight, lining up folders of illicitly-gained MP3s for the occasion. Oh yeah, I haven’t really mentioned it as yet – but our 3rd annual Halloween party is this Friday (tomorrow, as you read this). Last year’s was such a success that I got a keg and a half for this one. Anyway, I always like assembling playlists. We worked on putting together two different tune-queues, each with different goals. Sharaun’s goal is to encourage dancing in the living room, and of course maintain the dancing once it’s broken out. Her list is heavy with body-moving classics and high energy favorites. My list is for the garage, where the keg is, and where there won’t likely be dancing. My list is full of music that encourages talking, stuff that’s good for the background; enjoyable, recognizable, but ultimately enjoyable white noise. Heavy with my favorite tracks of the year, it’s a more rock-based mix. Anyway, we’re both excited about the party. Keep your eyes peeled for pictures of the event post-weekend.

Bought our tickets to fly back to Florida for Christmas, cost us $20 after taxes and that stupid 9/11 fee. Hooray for skymiles. Looking forward to a travel-crammed December, with India and Florida and back from each as well. I feel like I traveled more this year than ever before, and that’s completely warranted too – because I totally traveled this year more than ever before. I bet, if I went back and did some research, that I was on a plane at least one time each month.

Me me me… can’t I write about something other than me?

No? OK then, goodnight.