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monday AV club (sans V)


Happy Monday morning friends. Hope you all had an enjoyable Easter weekend, maybe took a lazy full-bellied nap or something.

Lemme catch you up on the weekend’s goings-on, something I normally don’t do. Friday night I made the conscious decision to not do anything, and I ended up with the place to myself until late – so when I crawled into bed I snagged Keaton from her crib to keep me company. Saturday morning Keaton and I went down to the church and did the Easter egg hunt (the prep for which was what kept Sharaun out late the night prior), and later that evening we had another party with friends (where dad ended up having a little too much to drink). Sunday we had Easter dinner with friends. It was a great weekend, and the weather was better than perfect.

Oh, and on Friday night I found out I can record snippets of sound with my phone and send them to myself over e-mail. So, I decided to record some audio of Keaton and I singing songs (which we happened to be doing at the time). I liked the results so much, I wanted to share them with you guys. (Turns out it was a good excuse to install a nifty audio-player plugin and retrofit all my audio-containing posts with it also, so, y’know, there was that nerd-attractive aspect to it too). And now, for your pleasure, sit back and enjoy the vocal styling of Miss Keaton:

[audio:voicenote2.mp3]
Itsy Bitsy Spider [Trad. Arrangement; Excerpt]
Just the good ol’ version, but only the first round, mind you.

[audio:voicenote1.mp3]
Itsy Bitsy Little Star In The Sky [Mashup]
Keaton sings us her favorite bits from her favorite two songs. I almost explode when I hear her say, “Llll-like a dyma in the ky! Little tar inna ky!” at the end. Sigh…

[audio:voicenote3.mp3]
Rock-a-Bye Baby & “The Beatles”
I try to prompt her for more, and am not that successful. Every night I sing her the Beatles’ song, “I Will,” and that’s what I’m asking if she can sing for me (she knows the words, it’s her first song!). “The Beatles the Beatles the Beatles…,” ha!

Man, she’s really come a long way since her somewhat embarrassing American Idol audition at the tender age of six months, huh? (Sharaun has taken video of her singing all these songs too, it’s just a lot easier to edit together audio than it is video! Blame it on my lazy.)

Oh, and while going back through my old entries and converting audio links over to the new in-post player format, I stumbled on some good old-school entries I thought I’d drag up from the mire and link to today – y’know, just to round out the post.

First, I stumbled on this gem from 2005. I mention the year here because, in this case, it’s quite notable. See, for me, that post was written in the year 1PK. That’s right, just a mere six months before Sharaun and I would have Keaton (well, technically only Sharaun had her, in the verb sense… but we both have her now). The thing is, when I read that middle paragraph – the one where I bitch and moan about the woman narrating every single minute detail of her flight to her child – I cringed. Because, dear friends, this is exactly what Sharaun and I constantly do with Keaton. Granted, we don’t do it with our voices loud enough to be heard across town, but… still… cringe.

Second, I found the post where I linked to audio samples of a few of the prank phone calls my friends and I used to make and record back in high school. Good stuff, still makes me laugh after all these years, check it out here.

Lastly, the post where I almost offhandedly threw in a hilarious message we’d received on our answering machine, presumably by mistake. Good stuff there too.

Well then, I think that’s it. I did originally have a picture/video update planned for Keaton’s gallery (hence the amended entry title today), covering her 2nd birthday party and Easter, but I didn’t quite get it finished. So look for that sometime around mid-week or something. Until tomorrow then, goodnight.

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YDF #1: The Garba Mane


Hi everyone.

Welcome to the first, of what I hope to be not-just-one, You Decide Friday. Today you helped decide the course of the blog by suggesting content through voting and plain-out suggesting. I’m so glad so many of you voted, and am impressed with the suggestions and the clever “gaming” of the system to essentially beat my anti-cheat statements yesterday about the “all of the above” thing. I say “all of the above” is cheating and that I’ll defer to the 2nd most popular by votes, and you up-vote all the others equally… good job.

First, I want to get some logistical clarifications out of the way. In retrospect, I did a poor job explaining how I intended the poll to work: The original topic suggestions entered by me are just a few items off my huge running list of “blog ideas.” By voting on your favorite, I didn’t mean to say that I’d never write about the others – they’ll all get hit eventually (as long as I enjoy writing). So, maybe that’ll help next time around. And, as a technical sidenote: In the end, I decided I don’t like the polling plugin I spent so much time configuring – when I tried to close the poll for voting earlier today, it wouldn’t work, and kept accepting votes. I’ve decided to go with a different, less AJAXy-cool polling plugin the next time around.

Anyway, up until the aforementioned poll-gaming, the results were a tie between “all of the above” and “How Keaton loves the garbage man, just like I used to.” In the end, I decided to go with the latter. Next time, I’ll better frame the poll (once more, the idea being that you’re voting on which post idea you’d most desire me to write about that Friday, but understanding all the ideas are captured and will probably eventually make their way onto the internet). So then, let’s take bull by the horns… shall we?

When I was a young kid, I loved the garbage man; or so my parents tell me. In fact, around the age of four or five, I was apparently quite fond of all-things garbage. Now, my parents, much like all parents, I’m sure, have, over the course of my adult life, latched on to a few “go-to” stories and anecdotes about my childhood, and the refer to them whenever possible. The one about how I used to love the garbage man, and garbage in general, is one of these old standards. The “David, did I ever tell you about how much you loved the garbage man?,” question is one I’ve become intimately familiar with. (“No, pop. I used to love the garbage man?… Get out!,” is a good tongue-in-cheek response, by the way.) Sarcasm aside, my folks seem to take particular delight in regaling me with tales of how I’d wait outside each morning on garbage-collection day so I could wave and smile to the garbage man in his truck (particularly if we’re amongst a gathering of my grown-up buds).

This may sound odd today, but you have to remember how “active” garbage day was in its heyday. Back then, garbage collection was done not by a guy driving a truck with a robotic arm who never has to leave the comfort of his cab, but by a highly-orchestrated “crew” of workers. In these days of yore, a garbage collection “team” consisted of: the guy who drove the truck, and one or two additional guys who actually rode on the back of the truck, clutching to special perches designed specifically for the purpose. When the truck stopped at the curb, which had been conscientiously lined with garbage cans by homeowners the night before, the ridealong men actually jumped off the trucks and used their thick-gloved hands to hoist and dump the trash into the back of the truck. This was something of a choreographed ballet, the principles dressed in overalls, workboots, and grimy baseball caps. As a kid, it must’ve been something to see.

Did I do a good enough job convincing you it wasn’t that odd of a thing to be interested in? No? Well, I guess that’s fine, because there’s more…

In addition to the story about how I loved the garbage man, and garbage collection day, my parents nearly always segue that story into the one about how, when in public places, I used to run from garbage can to garbage can – giving each a big hug. Now, look, I know what you’re thinking… you’re saying to yourself, “Dave, that’s kinda odd… I mean, the thing with the garbage truck and all… boys are often impressed with big machines and stuff so that’s pretty understandable. But… embracing garbage cans?… That’s a little odd.” And yes, I know, I know. But, what’s a guy to do? I can’t go all America’s Most Wanted, put on some weight, change my hair color and shave my beard, move to Fargo and go by Bill Schmidt or anything – I have to stand up to my past, have to greet it with… open arms. So what if I ran between garbage cans hugging them? Odd, yes; certifiable, no.

Making a long story short, or something, it suffices to say that, as tyke, I liked garbagey stuff. And, while I’ve long outgrown this refuse infatuation (aside from the small level of fascination I still have in the whole taking-away-garbage “process”), I fear it seems to be genetic. Keaton, as cute and spotless-clean as she is, seems to also suffer from the garbage-man love (she calls him the “garba mane,” but then, we all have petnames for the things we love).

Every Thursday morning, when she hears the rumble of the garbage truck making its rounds through the still-sleepy neighborhood, she’ll shout, “The garba mane is coming daddy!” “Yes,” Sharaun or I will reply, “You hear the garbage man, don’t you?” “Yeah, I hear a garba mane!,” she’ll say, followed with a, “See him?!” We tend to pull dialog out of her, so we’ll reply with simple questions like, “What does the garbage man do?,” or, “Do you like seeing the garbage man?” “Yeah!,” she’ll reply anxiously, “He dumpa trash, daddy! He dumpa trash inna big truck! W-w-w-w-wan-wan-wanna-wan-wanna wave at the garba man, daddy!” At which point we’ll (actually, it’s typically Sharaun, since I’ve usually already left for work) take her outside and let her watch the garbage truck take away our trash.

She smiles and shouts and waves at the man driving the truck. Originally, he sat there as stone, somehow managing to not acknowledge Keaton, all her brilliant cuteness directed squarely at him. Personally, I think he might have figured her for some kind of cuteness-Medusa, and likely feared that, should he look at her directly, he’d be turned into a fluffy little yellow chick or stuffed Sanrio kitten. Nowadays, though, Sharaun says his hardened heart has grown weak, and he returns Keaton’s smiles and waves as he directs the robot-arm to our trash.

I love that she loves the garbage man. It makes me think that she’s somehow like me, even though I know it’s purely coincidental and all.

Well, that’s it. Hope you enjoyed it. Goodnight.

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it’s better than rain


Thursday. Garbage day. Maybe the internet stalkers can puzzle out where I live based on that; I hope not. Today is also your last chance to vote in the You Decide Friday Poll, where you can tell me what to write tomorrow. And, whoever cheated and added the “all of the above” option (which, crappily, is currently winning), I’m totally gonna ignore that and default to whatever’s behind it – all of the above is cheating, sorry. Anyway, let’s get onto this blogging thing…

Was another gorgeous day in Sunny California today. Most of the trees are in bloom now, hastening their way to Spring green. As I drove back to work after lunch, I cut through an airborne swirl of little pink and white dogwood blossoms, whirling and twirling like Springtime snowflakes. I kept waiting for some to flitter in through my open windows or sunroof, maybe land on my shirt or something – but not a one did. I was happy on that drive, not just because of how neat it was to be driving through a haze of blossoms, but because I’d met Sharaun and Keaton for lunch at a park nearby work. We had chicken sandwiches (have to consume that thoughtful rotisserie chicken I so rudely spurned Monday evening), and Kristi and Colton, who also joined us, brought some potato chips and soda. I ate my sandwich sprawled on the grass, then played around with Keaton for an hour or so before reporting back to the sawmill. Was a good lunch, even though I did put $70 of gas into the Ford on the way back… stupid dead dinosaurs… cost so much.

That’s really all I have tonight. It was a late dinner at a friend’s place, a fellow manager at the sawmill to be precise. While we supped, we discussed creative ways to turn the screws at work, discussing our eventual ascent up the pile of overworked bodies to the top of the pecking order. No, not really. In reality, we played with the kids and talked about the trip to Mexico we’re both going on in the near future. I enjoy not being at work with work people, it’s fun sometimes. I’ve really made some good friends through the sawmill.

Well, before I leave you, you’ll get one last chance to vote on the theme for tomorrow’s entry right below. Thanks to those who voted already.

Goodnight everyone, check ya on the flipside.

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feelin’ breezy


Hi there internet people, I love ya.

A good Wednesday to you, hope your week is going well. Today, I wrote a little bit about nothing, but managed to llink to entries ranging back some five years. So, even though today’s content may not be all that stunning, hopefully you can poke around the links and find something to kill those five minutes you count on sounds familiar for. Enjoy it.

This morning when I got out of the shower, pulled some boxers over my dusted junk, and headed into the closet to decide what I’d wear to work, I was happy to see that the clothing fairy had paid my two rungs of clothes a visit. The pair of jeans that fit me best (not from an external point of view, where they are saggy and bunchy in the wrong places, but from the vantage of my own personal comfort wearing them) had magically materialized – I’d been unable to find them for a couple weeks now – and I discovered an orangey-kinda-salmon collared shirt that seemed new to me.

Intrigued, I pulled the coral-colored thing off the hanger and held it up to my undershirt-clad chest for a quick check in the mirror. “Hmmm… not bad, feels ‘Florida’ to me,” I thought. I unbuttoned a couple buttons around the neck and pulled it on over my t-shirt, smiling at myself in the mirror, a pink-orange Don Johnson air about me. “Yeah, this shirt makes me look so ‘breezy,’” I thought to myself, knowing it was the perfect adjective.

Anyway, since I don’t really build a ton of variety into my weekly rotation of clothes, I was happy to have assembled something I felt “breezy” in. I felt like I belonged beachside somewhere, sipping an umbrella’d drink and eating fish or something. As I strode confidently into the living room to get some coffee, pack up the laptop, and head out to work – Sharaun noticed my shirt. “You know there’s a grease-stain right in the middle of that shirt, right?”

Tragedy! Sadness! Crushing disappointment!

First let me say that I hate grease stains. It’s the stain that’s not a stain. Just a tiny little piece of fabric that somehow now just a little darker than the rest, a bit of permanent wetness that seemingly nothing can salvage. I get these stains on my shirts all the time, maybe because I eat a lot of greasy things, maybe because I’m a sloppy eater, maybe I’m just sloppy and greasy… the particulars aren’t really that important here. Thing is, I hate these stains. They inevitably draw the eye, and they’re more frustrating than an overt stain of say red ketchup or brown coffee – they just sit there, almost-hidden… making you look bad and sloppy and simultaneously decrying your love for, and poor handling of, greasy food.

Anyway, sure enough – there was a small dark splotch right over the center of my sternum. Sighing, I lamented, “Oh man I thought this shirt was brand new, I don’t even remember ever wearing it before.” “You did, once,” she replied, “Remember you got it for Christmas in Florida, and that same day you dripped hot-wing grease on it.” “Stupid and delicious hot-wings, being all greasy,” I cursed in my head. Having already convinced myself I was some Miami Beach ladies man in the thing, though, I decided to wear it anyway. I mean, I have to wear a badge to work in the end, and as suave as that makes me look – the stupid lanyard that hangs it from my neck also does a fair job covering the stain. And, let’s face it, Don Johnson never had to pick up ladies wearing this thing around his neck (Man, that hair! Thank goodness for September 25th, 2003).

‘Night online compatriots, I have deep emotions in my chest when I think of you. Until tomorrow.

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wherever i roam


Monday night and, despite my best intentions, I ended up at the bar for St. Patrick’s Day after work instead of home in the garage repairing my downed shelving. It started out as an innocent non-commitment to some friends at work. You know the kind, where you say to your encouraging buddy, “Yeah, I dunno, maybe I’ll swing by after work – I’ll let you know.” Most males know this for a fancy-worded version of, “Nah, I’m gonna pass, but I’ll patronize you with niceties anyway.” It’s understood, you could go, it’s entirely feasible – you just won’t. Occasionally, you’ll be challenged on these non-commitments, and it’s then that you have to decide where your loyalties lie.

For me, and tonight, it was an easy decision: Sharaun was at her pregnant teen-moms thing, and she’d taken Keaton along (man, I hope Keaton doesn’t learn anything from those teens…), so I effectively had a kitchen pass until around 9pm. Even though she’d bought a rotisserie chicken for me, and left me handwritten instructions on the various sides I could make for myself (salad: tomatoes and cucumbers are in the bottom drawer; au-gratin potatoes: the box is in the cupboard; and garlic rolls: they’re frozen, bottom shelf of the freezer), I decided to instead join the crew at the brewpub for a drink to the patron saint of Ireland. I spent about $15 on beer, $13 on a dinner of shepherd’s pie, salad, a side of potatoes, and bread (starch-laden, just the way I like it).

But, I did manage to make it home by 8:30pm so I get to see Keaton before she goes to bed… and that’s where I am now: Sitting on the couch typing while I await the arrival of my family. I even sliced off some of that (now cold) chicken and ate it, just so all my wife’s efforts to take care of her poor helpless lout of a husband in her absence weren’t entirely wasted. The chicken was good, and I’m able to listen to the iPod a little too. So, in all, it was a a good evening – even if I didn’t lift a finger to get the garage shelf (and all its contents) up off their pile on the floor (which, incidentally, happened to fall right on top of our other garage-pile, making some kind of stunning super-pile – read yesterdays’ entry if that doesn’t make sense).

Well folks, that’s about all I have. But, in closing, I just wanted to share an image I received in an e-mail from a dear, dear relative – one who believes all Democrats are direct spawn of Satan, and only Republicans can get into Heaven (I’m not sure she really believes this, it’s just a comedic device – and, really, I do love her… for-serious-real). This was attached to a long mail about how President Bush is the Second Coming of Christ or something (read the thing here, if you’re interested – but note Glenn didn’t really say it all), but it was so good I had to share it all by its lonesome:

See, all the hubbub over that Abu Ghraib business was totally overblown, because… I mean, when you put it in context… look what Kennedy did. I was all like… wow…

Goodnight my friends.

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a firm belief in entropy


Happy Sunday night Sunday night people; Happy Monday morning Monday morning people.

Sitting around now drinking some better-drink-it-tonight wine before it goes to vinegar, listening to the iPod shuffle up some tunes, and helping Sharaun decide what to make for dinner by suggesting my all-time go-to, spaghetti. “Why is it always spaghetti?,” she asks rhetorically. “It’s my secret punishment for you not having dinner planned,” I think in my brain while I say, “Because I like spaghetti,” out loud (neither is less true than the other). Long blog tonight, words just came. I resisted the urge to split-and-save, and just plonked it all down in as best a logical order as I could find. Enjoy.

Today I had decided that, after church, I wanted to get out into the yard and do some work. Yesterday I was out and mowing the lawn early enough that the puffs of my exhaled breath hung like small clouds in front of my face, trying to beat forecasted rain that never did show up. Today, I had plans to finish up the fence and maybe plant some new plants. Of course, per my standard work ethic, I got slightly less than that done. I did manage to finish up edging in the backyard (the stupid rechargeable edger ran out of juice with just under half to go, I swear I’m buying a gas one), tend to some plants, do some weeding, and actually do as much as I could on the fence without making the final trip to the hardware store for the pieces I needed (I was slightly less motivated than needed for a trip to the store).

While I was out laboring under the cloudless sunny sky, Keaton joined me, following me around and offering her “help” whenever she could. Unsurprisingly, I eventually broke down and ended up laying in the grass with her blowing bubbles from a bottle and wand she found somewhere. That was so fun, I decided to go ahead and taunt the weather Gods by breaking out the hammock and Summertime patio-set cushions and umbrella (I had uncovered the barbecue a week ago, and have cooked on it twice already in these infantile days of Summer). Keaton helped me fasten the cushions onto the chairs with their little Velcro loops, and immediately wanted to “fwing” in the hammock (which is the real reason I broke the thing out to begin with).

I figure, if I had to tally it all on a timesheet for a foreman, I’d have about one and a half solid hours of work, and an equal amount of time spent blowing bubbles, swinging with Keaton in the hammock, and running around the yard togehter. It’s the kinda workday I man can get into, you know? If only one of those burrito trucks would’ve come buy hawking quesadillas and nachos midway through or something… it woulda been tops.

Nerd stuff ahead, fast-forward if you want:

Oh, and, not that you care (or notice, I’ll bet) I fixed a few particularly annoying (to me) stylesheet bugs here on the site this weekend. One, I got rid of the stupid green bullets Internet Explorer put next to the poll choices from Friday’s entry (Firefox rendered them fine, but I had to hack around IE’s stupidness, and IE still doesn’t do the dynamic AJAXy stuff right like Firefox does). Two, I also finally fixed the fact that IE rendered the “recent comments” section of the sidebar with absolutely no gap between the comments (Firefox, of course, handled this perfectly and as intended). So, because it’s an inelegant fix, the gap in Firefox is now slightly larger than I’d like, while the IE gap is slightly smaller. Hey, it’s the best I could do without getting too fancy. Hope it enhances your experience (yeah, sure).

Nerd stuff over.

Let me tell you folks, I’m a firm believer in the concept of entropy. Defined as, “Inevitable and steady deterioration of a system or society,” I’m so convinced in the concept because I see it happening before my eyes all the time: Before I leave for work, I clear off my tiny third of the dresser-top (Sharaun gets two-thirds, I get the rest, this is just how it goes); when I return from work, the same surface which was just hours ago neat and tidy is now littered with washed and folded clothes, keys, stray earrings and other jewelry, receipts, and all other manner of crap. Entropy.

One day, upon returning home from work, I notice that our game of Balderdash was, for some reason, sitting on the floor in the garage between our two cars. Over the next few days, Balderdash was joined by some large bag bulging with Lord knows what. Soon, there are clothes atop the pile, what looks like trash, toys and shoes. I have no idea where the pile is coming from, but it’s not me. It’s growing by the week, and shows no signs of stopping. The other day I swear I saw a couple Fraggles asking advice from it. To make matters worse, it’s now spilling into the area where I walk, making the garage difficult to navigate. Entropy.

When I ask Sharaun about the slowly growing mound, she says, “Oh, that all came out of my car… I need to clean that up.” Folks, I honestly have no earthly idea how that substantial pile came from her car, especially since her car is still so piled with junk it’s hard to believe anything has ever been taken out of it. I guess, when the junk gets so high it spills out the open doors, she simply makes new piles. Now, let me say, I’m not trying to pick on her too much here… I mean I still love her and all. Entropy.

Then, tonight, Sharaun came home from an hour or so where I was home alone with Keaton, and came in the house to ask, “So… I guess you haven’t been in the garage lately, right?” “What do you mean,” I reply, “I was in and out of there all day today working outside.” “Well, the shelf above your workbench completely fell off the wall, everything’s all over the place,” she says. I walk into the garage to see for myself… and yes, everything has really fallen off the wall. Three of the four metal ‘L’ brackets that tie the shelving into the studs are still attached to the wall, although one is bent, and the fourth is gone, ripped out entirely. Everything, from our hiking packs, to boxes full of who-knows-what, to the receiver for my ghetto garage sound system… everything… is stacked in a sprawling pile at the front of my truck. I didn’t even stay in there long enough to contemplate the cleanup – I just sighed and moved on. Entropy.

Quick reminder that I’m running sounds familiar‘s first ever You Decide Friday poll, and for convenience I’ve reposted the voting right below for those who’ve yet to participate.

Thanks to those who’ve already voted, and thanks to the creative soul who mashed up the options to make their own… quite humorous. If you’ve not voted already, what are you waiting for?

Did I mention that Keaton’s stuttering is back? If not: Keaton’s stuttering is back. It’s strange, because while she and Sharaun were in Florida, her previous bout simply disappeared. It was completely gone up until about three days ago (I even wrote about being happy it had seemingly cleared itself up), when, all of the sudden, she just started doing it again. Like I said before, I’m still not overly concerned, especially now that it’s come and gone once already – it’s just strange. I’ll keep ya posted on the on-again-off-again-ness of it right here on the ol’ blog, OK? OK.

Well, that’s about it… goodnight people. Until tomorrow.

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Post #1683


Thursday and I knew this weather couldn’t last.

The little weatherbar at the bottom of my FireFox window says there’ll be rain tomorrow, and today was cool and cloudy. Something in me must’ve known, because, even though I pulled the cover off the barbecue, I didn’t pull out the patio set umbrella, seat cushions, or hammock. But, I won’t be daunted. I still fired up the grill tonight to cook some tri-tip for the Lost crew (yes, we get together to watch Lost… we’re some kinda nerdy).

The tri-tip ended up a tad overdone, and Sharaun ended up mad at me for cutting her good pan (or something), being a lecherous drunk, and breaking one of our good wine glasses. I conceded two out of the three and apologized, but I thought I had a defensible position on the third and I stood my ground. Anyway, it was a good night, and I had a good time with our friends. Let’s do this blog thing now.

Today on the blog, I wanted to debut something new I wanted to try. In an effort to battle bloggers-block, which is something I’ve been known to suffer from at times, although not lately I think, I sat down the other day and tried to come up with ideas for new content. And, while I didn’t come up with anything Earth-shattering as a deep well of new and exciting material, other than the standards I draw on now, I did think of a what might be a novel concept for driving content. The idea is something I want to try calling “You Decide Friday.” What this means is, occasionally, I will try posting a poll at the end my regular entry. In the poll will be a few topic ideas I’ve pre-populated, and users will be able to add their own ideas (I think, we’ll see how that works out). The idea being that I leave the poll open for a couple days and let folks vote on what they’d like me to write about the coming Friday.

I dunno, I think it could be fun… if I can get participation. Regardless, since it’s just a thought I can scrap it if I’m unhappy. So, that being said, today I’d like to present the first “You Decide Friday” poll. Use the voting options below to tell me what you’d like me to write about. You can choose from my already-populated ideas, or suggest your own (everyone will be able to see and vote on your suggestions). To add your own suggestion, click the “Add an Answer” link, type away, then press “Vote.” And, for those wondering, yes – you can indeed cheat by deleting your pharaohweb.com cookies (I didn’t enable the fancier anti-cheat IP logging because it’s kinda crappy for folks who share IPs – all the people I work with). But, don’t cheat, OK? Thanks.

What are you waiting for, start telling me what to do around here:

Changing subjects: Today I woke up feeling like Beatles, and decided to blast Sgt. Pepper on the way into work. With the windows rolled down, the drive was chilly… but it was worth it to let the world know that I 1) have amazing taste in music and 2) am not skittish about sharing that taste with them , you know, philanthropically, as a way to culture them a bit. As the familiar songs threatened to burst my eardrums, I couldn’t help but smile. When “Getting Better” came on, those initial guitar stabs nearly brought tears to my eyes. See, once upon a time, something happened to me in the backseat of a car while that song played, and I’ve never been able to get the memory and the song disassociated from one another. It’s not a bad thing, really, the feelings that swell up when I hear those first strains of rock and roll are nothing less than joy and ecstasy. Look, I’ve even written about this before… some four years ago. Wonder how long I’ll be able to almost perfectly call up those feeling and emotions when I hear that song… is that a lifetime thing?

Well, that’s it for tonight friends. Be sure to enjoy your weekends, I’m gonna do my best with mine. Until Monday, goodnight – and don’t forget to vote.