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slumbered away the sweet-spot

Happy Monday folks.  Gonna be a busy three days, both at work and home, before we fly up to Oregon to hang out with Grammy and Grampa for Mother’s Day.

And me?  I’m still groggy from a doozy of a Sunday afternoon nap. Went into the city last night with Anthony to see Rogue Wave in concert, didn’t get back home until 3am. The late night, combined with the somewhat early rise for church made for serious case of the post-lunch sleepies. So, I deferred the tons of yardwork I had planned and settled down shirtless on the couch for a “short” nap soundtracked by XM’s “Deep Cuts” station. Three hours later, I awoke in one of those well-rested states of ultimate satisfaction. Yes, I slumbered away the sweet-spot of the day, but man was it some kinda rewarding in it’s own special way. So, setting the tone, I’m still here reveling a little bit in waking rested and happy.

Saturday this weekend I wanted to take Keaton out for a bike ride (or, bike tow, to be more precise).  We got on the road around 9:30am, after a breakfast of pancakes and eggs (I rarely ever eat breakfast, but sometimes Saturday affords me the time and/or motivation).  I packed her into the carrier with some juice and a baggie of Goldfish, and threw a blanket in the back just in case she got cold when we got going.  We were on a short timeline, since we were due at a two-year-old birthday party at a park across town by 11am.  I opted for a ride to the park, a quick romp on the playground, and a ride back.  It was a good time, and I’m hoping it helped at beginning to acclimate her for longer trips.  Even by the end of the short ride to the park, she was asking to get out and walk, so I still have some more breaking-in to do.  Was a good time though, peep the pictures:

And I’ll leave you at that.  Tomorrow I’m going to try to cram in a lawn mowing, prep for big-trash day on Tuesday, and a bunch of lunchtime errands – I’m giving 3:1 odds.

‘Night.

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fear me, air-breathing planetwalkers

Today I wore a new shirt (well, new for me, I actually got it for Christmas last year from Sharaun’s family in Florida). It has “pronounced” collars. So pronounced, in fact, that my shadow in the parking lot while walking to my car for lunch made me laugh.

To me, it looked like the kind of ornate future-space uniform an intergalactic planetary overlord might wear.

Fear me, air-breathing planetwalkers; fear me.

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bring on the boo-boos

Wednesday, and the remainder of this week can’t go fast enough. I’m just ready to get to the weekend, work’s just not doing it for me lately. Luckily, a week from today we fly to Oregon to stay for a while with Grammy and Grampa. While there, I’ll go into the local sawmill so I’m not AWOL.  Should be a good long-weekend and at least give me something of a “break” from the regular here-and-now grind.

Let’s go ahead and do this blog thing then, not much in the way of continuity though, I’m afraid.

While I was out in the yard the other evening putting in some new plants, I stopped by the recently-planted garden to see if anything had began to push through the dirt. Sure enough, a couple of the cucumbers and most all of the beans have already sprouted and are making a charge for their share of sunlight. I was happy to see it, as I’d used year-old seeds I had leftover from last Spring’s sowing and wasn’t sure they’d be good to go, especially since I hadn’t taken any particular care in storing them. Hopefully the quick sprout is a good sign, and the garden will come in full and healthy again this year.

Sharaun called me at work today to tell me a funny story. I guess Keaton took a spill today walking out to the car, and skinned up her knees to the point of bloodying them both a bit. Sharaun wiped them off enough to put her in the carseat and clean her up a little better when they got home, but halfway there more blood had appeared. Keaton looked down at her bloody knees and said, “Hey look I have some jelly on there Mommy!” I don’t think she’s ever really drawn blood before, so why not think it’s jelly?  Suppose we should get used to bloody knees and scrapes and scratches, huh? The real fun of childhood begins.

May sound silly, but I say bring on the boo-boos.  I’m ready to nurse more skinned knees from climbing trees and removing training wheels and playing soccer and gymnastics – or whatever kinda things girls skin knees doing.  I’m ready to swoop in for a reassuring rescue, so let’s do it.

Goodnight.

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i heard a scary noise

Tuesday night and I just put Keaton down. I immediately threw on the new Wolf Parade record, which leaked earlier today. Even though it’s a poor-quality rip, the first song is super promising. I’m excited about the rest of the album – and I’ll let ya know.

As I bring this glass of wine to my lips, my hands still smell faintly of manure. I used the time after work today to put some new plants in around the house (yes, more new plants) and had my hands in a bag of planting soil for an hour or so. Warm and damp and stinking of organic decay, just like good soil should. Planted some flowers out back and some in front. I know I’ve talked about the yardwork jag I’ve been on, but the Spring weather really does make me want to spend my free hours out under the sun doing something productive. Call it human nature or something, but I enjoy it.

I think I’m getting balder. No, I mean, I know I’ve been getting bald now for years – that much is obvious. What I mean to say is, I feel like, after a somewhat long period of stasis, my hair has once again commenced the slow retreat it began so many years ago. For a time there, I don’t think much was happening – the thinness of my crown seemed to be holding, or at least was advancing at a near immeasurably slow pace. Now, though, I can definitely see a difference – it’s getting sparser and sparser up there… and ever more I can see through the little sprigs up top as the light shines through from behind. I’ve written before about how I’m not one to obsess over balding, and that still holds true – but the thought of actually having zero hair up top is sort of unsettling…

I mean, when that little bit of hair is gone at the top, there’s just nothing… right? And then, I’m the bald guy. I’m the thirty-something management-type at the office job. The guy who drinks coffee in the morning and takes his kids on vacation and reads. Oh man, that’s me. The old guy. The old bald guy.

Still though, despite this train bearing down on me, it’s singular headlight slicing through the night with a bead on me – I don’t care enough to do anything about it. In fact, I’m ready. Bring it on baldness train, come take my hair by the freightcar, take it and leave me and don’t come back. See, I’m one of those guys who believes that, if God needs my hair back, He must have a good reason. In fact, who here can question His wisdom? Not I, surely not I. So, Lord, You gaveth and You’re takingeth away – and I, for one, am totally cool with that. Seriously. You do what You gotta do, I’ma keep on keepin’ on, hair or no hair.

Segue.

For a few weeks now, when we go to put Keaton down for bedtime she’ll ask all cautious and filled with trepidation, “I might hear a funny noise, Daddy?” “No,” I reply, “You won’t hear a funny noise.” To explain this ritualistic exchange, I want to take you back in time to about three weeks ago – when I entered Keaton’s room late one night because she had woken up and was crying. Upon hearing her cries, which my parental ears identified as “fear” and not frustration or pain or tiredness, I entered her darkened room:

Me: What’s wrong baby, why are you crying?

Keaton: It’s scary Daddy, hold me.

Me (scooping her up, still sobbing): What’s scary baby, did something scare you?

Keaton: Yeah. I heard a scary noise.

Me: You heard a scary noise? (I do this all the time, repeat what she just told me.)

Keaton: Yeah. I heard a scary noise. It was coming from my back.

Me: The scary noise was coming from your back? (See?)

Keaton: Yeah.

Me: What did the scary noise sound like?

Keaton: A fart.

And Keaton bounced and jiggled on my shoulder as I tried to laugh both violently and silently. In the end, I told her the noise wasn’t “scary,” that it was just “funny” and she shouldn’t be upset by it. She eventually calmed down and, apparently, took my noise-classification to heart. So, every night now, she asks if she might hear a “funny” noise, and I tell her no.

Scared of farts; this can’t be my child.

Mmmm… by the way, the Wolf Parade album just played through once and I have to say I’m impressed. I’m hoping that, with repeat listens, it’ll establish itself as one of 2008’s best. Time will tell.

A’fore I go, check out the picture Megan posted of Keaton from camping (seems everyone’s beating me to getting pictures online this time around). Goodnight.

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a grumbly harrumph

A grumbly harrumph to you, early morning Tuesday friends. Hope your coffee is strong and hot, and you got at least six hours of peaceful sleep last night. Me, I don’t know, because I write this business the night before. Go back and read a few, maybe check out the random posts over there in the sidebar – yeah, right over there – that’s right You’ll pick up on the timing pretty quick.

‘Round about 6:30pm on Monday and I’ve got the bluetooth hanging from my ear as I sit in one of those late-day Taiwan meetings. I’m listening, to an extent, but I’m also monitoring the baked ziti Sharaun left me for dinner before going up to run the teen-moms thing she does. She told me what temperature it’s supposed to bake at, and for how long, through rolled-down windows as I was pulling in the driveway and she was pulling out (at the same time, I could see Keaton mouthing “I love you daddy” through the glass as she blew me kisses). But, by the time I got in the house I’d forgotten both. I chose 375° for about thirty minutes – seems to be working OK so far (just need to make sure I get that crispiness on top, you know). On my own again for the evening, I suppose.

Before my 6pm call I pulled on some crappy shorts, dirty flip-flops, and no shirt to go plant some plants in the backyard. It’s hot outside here lately, and I wore nothing on my head so the sweat dripped down my face and burned in my eyes. I enjoyed it. And now, jumping around in time even more – that hot air is filling the house I opened up after my meeting ended, and I’m listening to this new album that’s supposed to be rad. I haven’t made up my mind.

This morning at work I decided to get some breakfast. I don’t usually eat breakfast at all, but occasionally I’ll go down to the café for my coffee and be tempted by the breakfast burritos or serve-yourself tater-tots and cheese-eggs. Got a small bowl of the latter this morning, spooned some salsa on top, and it made a great start to my day. Funny how little things can improve the outlook of a day, huh?

I’ve been going a bit crazy with Summertime “to-do” items lately. First up, the landscaping work I did on the sideyard out front, something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. Next on my list is redoing this little walled-planter/garden area we have along the sidewalk from our garage to our front door – it’s been in disuse now for too long, and looks a mess. I plan cunningly make use of the leftover pavers I had when I did the backyard porch so many years ago to create a nice little area for a swing or bench or something, and possibly even incorporate a little pond installation.

And, speaking of pavers, I guess it’s about time I finally clean and seal the porch in the backyard – and spent some time last week getting smart on the procedure and necessary materials. Finally, re-planting the retaining wall slope out back (filling in with more groundcover) and planting a tree in the corner out front. Realistically it’s a long list of work, but I’d like to make as much progress as possible over the next month – as we have a procession of family and friends coming to stay beginning then. Gotta keep up appearances, you know. Now, if only I can get Sharaun to care about the inside of the place… sigh…

Let’s switchum gears, as the old Indian used to say.

The other night, I booked a rather impulsive trip to Florida for Sharaun, Keaton, and I. We’d both been sort of bummed that our only planned visit this year was over Thanksgiving, and I was acutely bummed that it would mean I’d not see my new nephew until he was nigh on nine months old. So, I set about looking for stupid-low prices on plane tickets, and managed to find a great deal at the beginning of June. What’s more, United was offering double miles as a promotion during that time – and before I knew it I’d clicked through to a purchase. I immediately sent a note to my old cronies asking them to reserve me an evening for reminiscing and catching-up in a smoke-filled pub of their choice. Really, though, we’re excited about getting back to the place I still refer to as “home.”

And, mmmm… before I go, I see my friends are more disciplined than I, and some have already posted images from our weekend camping outing not but two days gone now.  Check out some images of the fun here, and look for an update from me sometime in the coming days…

Holy crap guys I’m really sorry about this mess of paragraphs. I feel a little aimless this week, just writing about things to write. Hope you can put up with it.  Goodnight.

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back from camping

Happy Monday friends.

Around dinner time on Sunday and I’m home alone listening to some music. We got back from a weekend spent camping today around noon, and after unpacking, washing up, and making and eating a sandwich, I curled up on the small two-cushion-long couch (gave the three-cushion-long to Sharaun) and took a sound nap. I’m still attempting to shake the last of the cobwebs from my head even now – naps can be solid things you know, like I was knocked out.

Camping, getting back to things, was great. The weather welcomed us, and showed up warm and beautiful. The food was the usual small-army variety that car camping so seems to inspire, being more than enough for our little group of weekenders for twice the time we stayed, and tasty to boot. There were five two year olds on this camping trip – making it clear that the physics of the activity have forever changed. Not in a bad way, it’s just a new twist. Keaton seemed to have a great time, running around covered in dirt head to toe, taking naps in the tent in the afternoon, and curling up with mom and dad on the air mattress in the evening (yes, air mattress – car camping, remember?).

Switching gears a bit, money and stuff.

Last week, I was talking with my buddy Jeff about the pending large-payout Sharaun and I are making as a death-blow to our lingering college loans. I have written before about how I hate debt, and explained how our loans, while not bad in terms of the interest they accrue, are like a burning coal in my shorts. I just can’t stand to have them on our dockets, just sitting there, looming all large and menacing. So, I vowed this year to pay them off. Anyway, as I often do, I was trying to scheme a way to get airline miles from the large expenditure. Anytime we decide to drop a large amount of scratch, I’m always looking for a no-hooks way to get free flights out of it.

Jeff suggested I get Sharaun and I both a certain United Visa card which lets you earn miles on those “convenience check” things. Last year, Sharaun and I each signed up for a different breed of United Visa card because they were offering 20k bonus miles just for opening an account. As a result, we ended up with a completely free trip to Florida for the both of us – not a bad deal. Turns out, the Visa that allows you to earn miles also offers the same 20k signup bonus.

So… in the end, we both got the new Visa, I’ll end up rolling the old Visas into the new one (we don’t carry a balance on any cards, so it’s just open-ended accounts), we’ll both get 20k bonus for signup, and I’ll earn mega miles paying off the student loans. That’s two free continental-US flights (or perhaps a return to Oktoberfest… ?) all for paying off a debt (well, and, technically, a $99 fee for using the balance-transfer checks) – and I call that a good deal Thanks Jeff, don’t expect a consulting fee or anything. Free stuff is the best.

Well now, seems like we’re drawing to a close for Monday. Sorry it wasn’t anything super impressive. I’ll try and get a proper set of pictures from camping up later in the week. Goodnight.

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i could totally date natalie portman

Well folks, we here at sounds familiar aren’t even remotely into the gossip or pop-culture bloggin’ biz, but I couldn’t resist writing just a small break from typical today for some important personal commentary I want to get off my chest.

First let me start by saying that, out of all the women that God has ever created, I think Natalie Portman is my favorite. I’ve felt this way for a while. That may sound presumptuous to some, as I’ve likely only seen some infinitesimally small percentage of the aforementioned inclusive group of women – but I’m willing to extrapolate the date from the .0004% of womanhood I have seen and go out on a limb here. She is, ranked against my standards of female physical appearance, simply tops. Beyond that, I saw her once on the David Letterman show and fell in love with her for more than just her beauty. You may find it hard to believe, but in those scant five minutes we made an intense connection through the cathode ray tube, and I totally “got” her.

What’s more – I find her relationship history (as revealed to me by the ever-infallible tabloid press) to be quite reveavling. For instance, take the fact that she used to date Zach Braff (the hilarious dude from Scrubs, you know, they did that movie together that had the Shins song on the soundtrack, remember?). And now, she’s apparently “dating” Mr. Devendra Banhart, an indie music darling who crafts a modern brand of roots music which the music press has labeled “freak folk.” Personally, I’m not a huge fan of his music, although I admit there’s some interesting stuff there (mostly the Spanish language tracks, which I find compelling and mysterious for some reason). Before I expand on why I think these two men in Ms. Portman’s life are telling, I need to make another point.

I fully believe that I could make Natalie Portman fall in love with me. No, I’m serious. I have come to convince myself that I could get Natalie Portman to fall in love with me. I truly believe that I have sufficient powers of woo to win her over, regardless of the fact that I’m neither famous, terribly wealthy, nor an Adonis. I’m for real. Give me three months of close contact with her and she’d be mine, I can all but promise success because I am that confident. To the naysayers, I’ll need you to suspend disbelief for a minute – disregard my plump, well-fed physique, overy-follicled body, and thinning crown, and just take me for me word here: I can do this; I got it.

I totally got this guy… right?

You see, I’ve decided that, if she can date that Scrubs dude and the freaky guy you see above – she must fall for the funny artistic types. And, at the risk of tooting my own horn, I laugh at me all the time, and… writing is some kinda art, right? I mean, even if you don’t write well, you’ve sorta got an artist’s “heart” or something… yeah? You just get me a role on her next film as an extra, I’ll show you.

I could totally date Natalie Portman.

Goodnight.