Category: self

Introspective thought on my own behavior or actions.

Posted on

weekend on the carpet


I spent most of this weekend laying on the ground playing with Keaton. It was fun and gloriously lazy. Now it’s time to close it out, sadly, as the clock ticks towards midnight on Sunday. It’s gonna be a tearful goodbye, as a desk in a cubicle is nothing compared laying on the carpet with my daughter.

Last Thursday, on the way back to work after lunching at home, I decided I felt like smoking my pipe. So, I pulled out one of the smaller-bowled ones I got years back in a batch of estate pipes I got on the cheap from eBay and packed it with my favorite tobacco, Frog Morton On the Town, and happily puffed my way back to work. It was nice, and I think I’ll do it more often. I have less guilt about stinking up my truck because, well… that truck is a piece of work as it is… a little stank won’t really kill its curb appeal or anything. Also last week on the work tip, in the unfortunate bits of work sandwiched between waking, lunching, supping and sleeping, I was quite busy and really pretty productive. Good for me, as I’m still coaxing all the hamsters back into their wheels after coming back off vacation.

A third track from the Arcade Fire’s pending album hit the internets this weekend, this time through the official website as a goodie embedded in a flash page (of which the source was quickly decompiled in short order to get a direct-download link). Again it’s a little darker sounding, and again it’s been getting a fair amount of “can’t hold a candle to Funeral” flack around the water cooler. I dunno, that’s three finished tracks now, and yes they sound good – but I’m not sure anything can live up to my expectations. I fear I’ve doomed this album to the sophomore-slump before even hearing it, and that just ain’t right. Hopefully, I’ll eat my words when the full thing leaks. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t taken the time to really put on my headphones and listen to them – I’ll make it a point to do that soon.

Finally, I feel the need to express my thanks for my wife and friends – who setup not one, but two 30th birthday parties for me (one being a surprise party on my birthday, and one being a joint party with Kristi). Furthermore, special thanks to Cynthia – who not only made both my cakes, but decorated my 1st one in a “Pink is the New Blog” theme, took my picture with it, and sent it over. (For those unfamiliar with “Pink,” it’s one of the ‘net’s most popular gossip-blogs.) Anyway, turns out I made Trent’s Saturday post (scroll down towards the bottom for my cameo). Now, don’t go thinking I’m a huge gossip-blog guy or anything… I’m more of a casual fan (I go there mostly for pictures of Scarlett Johansson and Jessica Alba) and the whole thing was Cynthia’s idea – but it is cool to see your mug on the internet. Way to go.

Goodnight, until the next time.

Posted on

what’s with the ladder?


Friday night I had a great dream. I dreamed that some friends of mine had come over to take a look at the paver-stone porch I’d built (with help) in our backyard, as they were considering such a job themselves. As we all bent and stooped to inspect my work, I noticed a small hole near the border of the stones, right were they end in a curve and give way to the grass. Looking more closely, I could see that, under the stone porch which I’d pieced together a stone at a time, there was a vast opening. Using the supernatural physics of the dream world, I poked my head in to get a better look.

Opening up before me was an immense white room, its cavernous emptiness broken up only by sparsely-placed alabaster white columns reaching up some 20-30ft at spots to support a ceiling of, you guessed it, pavers. Once in the room, the fact that the space was easily a thousand times greater than that of my porch above seemed to melt away (like facts often do in dreams, I guess). I couldn’t take my eyes of the impossible canopy above me, the underside of my paver porch above looked much like it did topside, but down here seemed supported by nothing for long spans between the aforementioned columns. The whole thing was curved and warped, seemingly unable to stay together, but defiantly there nonetheless as undulating waves of tightly-woven bricks pitching up and down and left and right into the emptiness. I could see the sand I’d swept into the cracks to help “set” the bricks in place but knew that there should be no reason the structure should be able to support itself with such huge open spaces underneath.

Making the picture even more odd, at spots there were long “fingers” of assembled bricks, fitted tightly together with sand and arcing off from the roof to delve downward into the cavern. The fingers followed the warped curves of the brick ceiling above them for a bit, then got thinner and thinner until ending in a point. They, too, hung impossibly in the air above me, supported by nothing other than the point where they grew from the brick rooftop. I realized while looking at them that they were mistakes I’d made while laying the porch above, spindly brick tentacles showing where’d I’d gone off-course and later corrected myself.

As I walked around wondering how the whole thing hadn’t yet caved in, I came upon a humongous bowl-shaped sagging which was supported at it’s lowest point not by one of the white columns but instead a 10ft yellow ladder. It was the largest and most precarious dip I’d seen in the whole warped construction, and it looked to be held up as an afterthought with a ladder from someone’s garage. I remember thinking of how often I’d walked on the porch above with Keaton, and thinking we could never do it again for fear it might crumble beneath us and send us flying to the white floor so far below.

Interpret. Goodnight.

Posted on

is it butt-doctor time?


Traffic is on XM as I sit here and write. Half-past 7pm now and I just wrapped up sending some late e-mails for work, trying desperately to get a handle some things which’ve been consuming me of late. This week has been a good one at work, one of those ones where I get to use my brain to dream up what-if type stuff and go figure it out. I like that kind of stuff. I find, interestingly enough, that I get my best thoughts and ideas after I’ve removed myself from work-proper and have a chance to reassess a situation mentally with the benefit of some brain downtime. For instance, I regularly plan out e-mails or courses of action while showering in the morning or brushing my teeth at night. Tonight, a doozy hit me on the drive home from work. What am I even talking about? Let’s get on with it…

This about-to-be-thirty thing is an odd beast. I’ve never been one to spend a lot of time thinking about age, my brithdays generally pass without much fanfare or rumination on my part. This year, though, I’ve been surprised how much pause I’ve taken to consider my three-decade milestone. Not a lamenting or dreadful kind of pause, just a different line of thought than normally accompanies each passing year. I suppose it’s because, although it’s really quite arbitrary, there is some recognized “milestone” a big birthdays like this. For me, it’s less about “woe is me, I’m going to be old” and more about looking back or taking stock. And, since part of “taking stock” is doing those little “how’m I doing” self-evaluations, my mind also turns to those arbitrary life “checkpoints” that everyone keeps track of in their heads. Married? Job? Kids? Check, check check.

This year, however, also seems to come with some degree of self-judging on standards which are newer to me. Things like how healthy I am, and how well I take care of myself. I haven’t really been more than superficially concerned with things of this nature before, as evidenced, I’m sure, by my portly frame and general yen for excess. Turning thirty, which, if I’m lucky, isn’t even a third of my existence, and having Keaton, I’m starting to think about things like my own longevity and its effect on those around me. I’d hate, for instance, to have to leave this sphere for nothing more than too many Double Whoppers and too few jogs round the track. Now, don’t think I’m going all reality-TV on you here or anything, words are one thing – but changing a lifestyle, that takes work y’all. I will, however, seriously consider shaping up when I hit forty – promise.

C’mon board the animal train, c’mon everyone. Learning about animals, is really lots of fun! Colors, sizes, what they say, if they’re fast or slow. Learning about animals, there’s so much to know! Toot! Toot! -Christmas with a baby.

Goodnight.

Posted on

self-centered focus disorder


Monday and I’m wishing I had some more time off, work is not sitting well with me of late. I’m depressed by how much stupidness goes on there, sometimes that happens. I waffle between one strategy where I master the politics and bullshit and just ride the wave, and another strategy where I try to “fix” things and make things better – and sometimes I get torn between the two and feel… ineffective… or something. Also, sometimes I just get discouraged, need a vacation, need time to do nothing.

I get these irrational peaks of emotion, where I just sit at my desk thinking about how much I’d rather be at home with Sharaun and Keaton, or how I wish it was Thanksgiving or Christmas and I was with friends and family. Sometimes, when this happens, I get an almost uncontrollable urge to “run,” to just get up and go. I can’t explain it really, it’s like I just get this sudden influx of what’s important in life and I want to go be with those things instead of at work. Sometimes these peaks align with particularly busy or hectic times at work, which is logical being that those are the times when a body’s mind would naturally turn to things more enjoyable – but other times they happen quite randomly, seemingly unprovoked.

Anyway, this morning at work I had one of those… and I wanted nothing more than to run away from it all. Get in a car with Sharaun and Keaton and head somewhere quiet, turn off the phone, lock the doors – hole up with what really matters.

You’d think one paragraph would be enough to cover that, right? But no, I think I’ll continue. I often get these mental interrupts when executing on a task, and I’d almost always classify them as “selfish.” What I mean by that is, when I’m doing something that’s anything less than exactly what I want to be – I’m frequently interrupted by thoughts of doing that other preferable thing. Typically these thoughts aren’t enough to derail whatever I’m doing, but they can certainly add delay.

Thing is, there are precious few times where I’m actually completely content doing what I’m doing, where my mind isn’t racing thinking about other things I could be doing instead. I wonder sometimes if this kind of thing is normal, or if it isn’t some kind of ADD-thing. I’ve long come to terms with my own selfish nature – and have pretty much stopped feeling ashamed when I want to abandon one thing for a different one that makes me happier or serves me better – I’m just a dick that way. I guess, whatever it is that finds me sidetracked so often, it doesn’t really wreck things for me – I function OK despite, so that’s good.

Maybe I’ll coin a new disorder or something: SCFD (Self-Centered Focus Disorder); symptoms include always wanting to do what you want to do.

Pavement’s newly reissued and expanded Wowee Zowee: Sordid Sentinals Edition leaked the other day, and I’ve been spending a good bit of time examining all the Zowee-era goodies that I’ve never heard before. Some good stuff on there, from what was a landmark album to me – the album that truly got me interested in the indie-rock sound. Several tracks are ones I used to have on various singles, but haven’t heard in a long time – and some are just brand new or live. I’ll be honest though, I never have been a huge fan of live Pavement… but there’s some interesting stuff on here. Particularly intriguing are a couple versions of cuts which are labelled as “recorded in Holland” and are significantly different from their previous incarnations (albeit for some reason centered far to the left of the stereo image).

Before I go, I did manage to get some pictures up for this week’s installment of Keaton-in-pictures. Check ’em out here. Goodnight.

Posted on

full of stuff today


Thursday, my head hurts. There’s some big fire somewhere out there in the part of the world within wind-reach of me, and it’s blanketed the lands as far as I can see with smoke. The smoke bothers me, even though I was only out in it briefly as I shuffled to work, lunch, and the like. Full of stuff today, and it’s a Friday so I’m super happy for the weekend. Let’s do this.

Sharaun always makes fun of me because when I’m around people with foreign accents, I tend to subconsciously appropriate their accents in my own speech. I always feel somewhat disgusted when she calls me out on it, since it seems to me to be some sort of “pandering.” In reality, I think I may have developed this ridiculous tactic as a part of my larger “making people comfortable” approach to gaining confidence. I’ve long been able to observe and simulate or respond to body language in order to give someone an unspoken message that we’re on the same page. I also consider myself pretty good at pegging a person’s personality and likes/dislikes quickly enough upon initial meeting so I can be sure to subtlety work within the confines of their comfort. I’ve never been a used car salesman, but I bet if I went on a reality TV show where it was my task to study under the tutelage of one of the best some of the first lessons he’d teach would involve honing techniques much like the ones I’ve already described. Small, seemingly insignificant verbal and non-verbal actions which serve to make a person comfortable, to ease their natural defenses and give them the impression that you’re a good guy – all based on reflecting little bits of themselves back to them. Because, after all, who’s everyones most trusted person? Themselves of course. The more you’re like someone, the more they relate to you.

So, now that I’ve admitted I use manipulative techniques to win friends and influence people, let’s get back to the point of this paragraph: my fake accents. I don’t know why I do it, and I usually don’t even realize when I’m doing it. It can range from a subtle Latino-tinge to full-on broken English approximations of my good buddies from Taiwan. So, if you ever hear me do this – call me out. Help me break this embarrassing habit. Thanks.

Even though I sit at a computer and type most of the day for a living, I still come home and type some more for pleasure. Usually though, I don’t like sitting at “the” computer, you know – the one in the back room with a big ol’ desk and CRT monitor and comfy office-type chair. No, no, that’s too much like my work environment. Kicking it with a laptop on the couch though, for some reason that’s different. Dunno why, but it is.

Went through the mail tonight, pretty much a bi-weekly (if that’s the incorrect term for “once every two weeks,” I’m sorry, I have a hard time deciding if it means that or twice per week) thing now. The “snail mail” is of almost zero value to me these days, it’s 90% advertisements and wasted paper and the actual “need” for it has been almost entirely eclipsed by e-mail and the internet. Who the heck needs paper these days anyway, I tell all my bills that will allow it to “stop sending paper statements” and go all-online. I don’t keep a check register, just check in online every few days to make sure things look right. It’s the new generation folks, better hip up.

Well, looks like the lid is juuust about blown off the whole Lonelygirl15 thing, all signs are currently pointing to it being a new form of Blair Witch derivative viral marketing – with most lines of thinking pointing to it being an advert for a Halloween-timed horror movie (perhaps even a mockumentary). With the whole registered trademark and cyber-sluething IPs to Beverly Hills talent agencies (not to mention a potential admission from “the creators”), it seems inevitable we’ll get the entire story here soon. Hey, it was fun while it lasted, and almost carried me through to the new season of Lost where I can once again assume my role as armchair detective. At least now I’ll quite writing about it, and spare you that small thing. (And damn, BoingBoing scooped me and once again made it look like I wrote this in response… I gotta start considering real-time posting if I wanna be hot on the shit.)

On the politics tip, I had a hearty guffaw reading this story over at the America Weakly website. America Weakly is a “satirical newspaper designed to give voters a glimpse into the future if Democrats take control of Congress this fall. Set in September of 2007, the newspaper reflects the condition of the America one year after a Democrat takeover of Congress.” In the story titled partly “Dems Celebrate End of Bush Security Measures,” the GOP Onion wannabe invents a hilarious fictitious statement from a House Democratic leader about the current administration’s NSA “wiretapping” goings-on:

“This program was a clear violation of due process,” House Judiciary Committee Chairman John Conyers said. “I don’t care how many attacks it might have stopped. Even if there really are sleeper cells in this country, we have a careful and deliberate process to stop them. Yes, it might take a bit longer, and we might not get every single bit of information, but that’s a small price to pay.”

Get more funny-’cause-it’s-freaky-not-because-it’s-funny Democratic-House endtimes GOP paranoia over at America Weakly. And, for some we-swear-it’s-not-pandering donkey goodness, head over to FaithfulDemocrats.com and count yourself shocked to see that it’s (purportedly) possible to hate guns and still love Jesus.

Goodnight.

Posted on

bad dad


Monday night, didn’t feel like I got to see Keaton much at all tonight – made me sad to put her down knowing I really won’t get much time with her again until tomorrow night. Got the Ford washed after work today, the first time in nearly six months (I know because of the dates on the pictures of the ski trip Pat borrowed it for). Driving it around afterward, it was amazing how different it is to be able to see clearly on my periphery. No more dust-clad windows. Varied topics today, I actually split this up into two – as I got off on a very detailed “co-op” tangent which I think deserves its own devoted entry (tune in tomorrow for that). And, we’re off:

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of “feeling good” about the house Sharaun and I bought (and currently live in). With real estate prices here in the streets-of-gold utopia of Northern California soaring to the realms of insanity, I think we did a good thing buying what we did when we did. At first, as more and more of my friends began purchasing their own, larger-than-ours, homes, and our little family expanded with Keaton, I felt a little bigger than the place. Even entertained the idea of moving in the not-so-distant future to accommodate our growth. I mean, ~1,500 sq/ft isn’t exactly a palace, y’know. More recently, though, I’ve developed a sense of “job well done” in our purchase. Instead of lamenting our lack of closet space compared to the walk-in jobs that our friends have, I decided to put up more shelves. Instead of worrying about the guestroom-to-nursery conversion leaving us incapable of proper hospitality, we got a sleeper-sofa and are considering repurposing the “computer room.” What’s more, as I trod the short hallways and modest living space – I begin to feel good about not living beyond our means. Not to insinuate others are, it’s just that I feel a bit better about the realism I now see in our choice.

The more I find inventive ways to improve and get the most out of what we’ve got, the better I feel about our purchase. Really, only in America do you have the luxury of wondering if your family of three needs more space than the quarter-acre, 1,000+ sq/ft house with central heat/air and running water. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced we should continue to enjoy the space we have until it really does become unfeasible (which, conceivably, could be never). I mean, I don’t think the house I grew up in with my brother and folks was near as big as where we are now – and we coexisted peacefully just fine. I look to things like the ample space we have for all our stuff, and all the amenities we need to stay healthy and happy, and I feel proud for living within our means… for not going overboard. Who’d’ve thought I’d have a sense of self-satisfaction having a smaller home than the Joneses? Now, I just want to convert to solar power…

At Sharaun’s birthday party at our house this past weekend, both of us ended up imbibing a little too generously. When I woke up in the morning hurting, I was pretty disgusted with myself. I didn’t really let on to Sharaun, but the fact that we were both not quite in our right minds as Keaton slept peacefully in her room really got to me. I felt utterly irresponsible, and mentioned to her that, from now on, even if we’re at home there’ll be only one of us drinking. It really got to me, running through the what-if scenarios in my head… made me feel painfully selfish for putting myself before Keaton in some way. Of course, nothing bad happened, but that’s not the point. The extent of my punishment this time was simply a day wasted to recovery as I lay useless around the house trying to sleep of my self-inflicted poisoning, and I don’t intend to give the fates another chance at some assigning grimmer consequences. Bad dad; bad, bad dad. No, seriously… bad dad.

After years of spending frustrating hours on the phone with my dad attempting to help him when he has a computer issue, I finally wised up and worked out a more practical solution. To be fair, pops has become increasingly computer literate, but being that he’s still not a worthy apprentice to my mastery I still struggle with things that, while basic to me, are not so natural and simple-seeming to him. To make things easier for us both, I walked him through signing up for a logmein.com account and had him add me as a secondary user of his PC. Now I can access his PC remotely from anyplace with a connection and a browser. The acid-test was on Sunday though, when I remote-troubleshot (and solved) a particularly nasty iTunes issue he was having. Logmein worked like a charm, I shoulda done this a year ago.

Goodnight my friends.

2006-08-20.jpg
Posted on

b-to-the-l-to-the-o-to-the-g


Late Thursday night, didn’t plan on writing at all – no inspiration. Sometime around 10:30pm I killed the lights and decided to head to bed, Sharaun pre-sleeping me by about 30min already. Tomorrow’s her birthday, you know (today, as you read this). Anyway, I ended up in the computer room sitting at the desk – sometimes that works better for writing than the laptop/couch combo. Queued up the Andrew Bird album, longing to remember last Christmas – what it reminds me of. So now I’m listening to it, sitting here without a shirt on, my hair freshly cut. I’ve noticed I started going shirtless around the house more in the evenings. This is a good sign to me that my old age is beginning to blind me to the true shock-value of my body hair. I always wondered if the hairy dudes at the beach had an iron-clad sense of self assurance, or were just oblivious. As I get older, I’m thinking it’s more than likely oblivious… as I am slowly ceasing to care. I could talk about this forever, you know. Let’s not let that happen, for the good of the… b-to-the-l-to-the-o-to-the-g.

Not a bad week in terms of stuff-done-getting, or something. Mowed the lawn Wednesday, got my hairs cut Thursday, and on top of it all had a prideswell of a week at work. Y’know, even though it’s a good chance to get to listen to a couple hours of unadulterated music with ample time for a wandering mind, I still think I hate mowing the lawn. Oh sure, I talk about secretly liking it somewhere deep within me – but mostly I hate having to do it. I wish my lawn was goth, so it’d cut itself.

It freaks me out when I look at myself in pictures and I realize I actually brush my little tuft of bangs to the right, instead of how I see myself doing it every morning in the mirror.

More on photo fraud (you’ll need sound).

The more I look at Keaton’s face, the more I’m convinced I’m getting closer to seeing what she’s going to really look like. You know what I mean, baby’s faces are poor indications of their aged appearance – but I’ve almost convinced myself I can catch a glimpse of the bits of permanence hiding under all the furiously growing bone and muscle. Sometimes, when she smiles, I can almost picture it – catch a glimpse of her as a young woman: strong-willed and intelligent, athletic, impeccable taste in music and well versed in its history, cautiously optimistic. Then I think, “I have no idea.” Nothing I think I see is any real indicator, most of those traits are more like projected hopes. But man, when I hoist that little girl overhead in a Superman pose – my huge hands wrapped around her body where I can feel her tiny ribs under my thumbs – and she lets loose with a smile so pure it opens her mouth pelican-wide, stretches her pink lips thin, and pushes her cheeks up into her eyes… it’s magic in my heart people; pure magic.

You’re smiling at me, aren’t you?

Happy birthday Sharaun, I love you. Goodnight.