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thar she blows


Happy Monday friends. Me, I had a good weekend. Managed to do a fair amount of cleaning and organizing around the house and get in some good kickin’ it time with friends. Neither Sharaun nor I is feeling top-notch, both fighting something, and Keaton’s got “the croup,” according to the doc. So, we’ve hung a “Quarantined” sign on the door to ward away those of good-health from the little infirmary we have here.

Oh hey, before I forget, I finally got around to posting some pictures from our Christmas in Florida. You can check them out here.

Remember Friday when I wrote about the storms coming to sunny California? Yeah well, the storms came, and they beat upon our street with fists of wind and rain. The news, of course, covered the squall as if Al Queda was behind it, with unrelenting 24hr coverage and plenty of Johnny-on-the-spot reporters to give everything a nice local color. I don’t know when weather became cause for round-the-clock “death watch” reporting, but things have gone a tad far if you ask me. When I start seeing computer simulations of what “could” happen if the wind picked up to 900mph (just hypothetically), I change the channel. Anyway, back to those fists of wind and rain: In this fight the wind was Smokin’ Joe and our backyard fence was Ali. And, for those confused by pugilistic allegory, here’s some visual aides for that last sentence:

Yeah, it totally blew down, about ~30ft of it, posts snapped clean off at the dirt (where I suspect they had already rotted a good deal). I actually tried, during the fiercest winds while the fence was wobbling fiercely but still holding onto the ground, to go tie some guy-lines to the posts in the most trouble. The wind was so strong, however, that I couldn’t even use the nylon strap to right the tilting thing, pulling with all my might and using my weight, I was nearly lifted off the ground trying to wrestle what had essentially then become a huge wooden sail. I mean, look at the toppled BBQ Anthony and I built in the foreground there, that thing ain’t light. After that, I gave up and just let the thing go down. The tall shrubs we have on the other side of the fence were all that kept it from blowing away completely.

Oh, that last pic? That’s what I did to save another wind-wobbly section of fence. See that tie-rope? It’s secured to an old gas grill I happened to have laying around in the backyard, and, while the wind was strong enough to drag the grill across the lawn, it couldn’t quite manage to pull it over the retaining wall. I know it’s ghetto engineering, but it worked. I’m sure the first caveman-graven wheel wasn’t quite a Michelin, either.

I was going to write some more… but I just don’t have it in me. I’m gonna bake some cookies and listen to some new albums instead. Goodnight lovers.

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a provider, a protector


It’s coming up on one heck of a storm here in Sunny California. The wind was blowing the spray from my tires sideways away from the car as I drove home from work, big poofed-up plumes of frenzied droplets floating on the gusts. It’s exciting, you know, when you’re all but sure a storm is brewing and you’ve got a nice warm sheltered hideaway from within which you can hole up and observe. Makes me feel safe, and somehow wise, as if the rigid walls and roof of a house I didn’t even build were extensions of my own arms, stretching out and wrapping tight around my family to spare them from the raging elements. A provider, a protector, someone whose work paid for the place that’s keeping you dry and warm. Yeah, I like storms. And, from what “they” say, this one’s gonna be a ribbon-taker, windy, rainy, and cold.

I say bring it on. After my blustery ride home, I was greeted by an empty house. Not so bad, says I. I put the iPod on shuffle and cranked it rather loud, but had to turn it down just a tad so I could hear the horizontal rain picking up speed outside (remember, it makes me feel strong and stuff?). And, even now, as Neil Young screeches out a live version of “Old Man,” I’m excited for the inky wet environment outside the window, and my brain is turning to those stormy-night ship fantasies I’ve written about before. Reclined in my quarters, nose spiced with pitch, stomach contents sloshing at rhythm with the sea, reading some mouldered book by the shifting light of a gimbaled oil lamp on the wall…

Let’s change the subject, before I start calling myself Ishmael and start looking for wrinkled brows and a crooked jaws…

When I was in Florida, my brother-in-law and I were watching TV, and the program on was “sponsored” by the “natural male enhancement” pill, Enzyte. Now, I’ve often wondered why Enzyte is the only “penis pill” that gets advertised in mainstream media. I mean, they have commercials during prime-time TV, a NASCAR sponsorship deal, and tons of print ads in respected circulars. And these aren’t your back-of-the-magazine Mangaian Tribe wiener pill adverts, either. These are real full-page ads that look like they were designed by paid graphic artists. Anyway, during each commercial break, there was an Enzyte commercial offering a thirty-day free trail of the herbal penis-bulking formula. Soon, I was joking with my brother-in-law that I should order them, take them for a month, and blog about what happens. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. I even started thinking of funny post-accompanying graphics I could design to chart any “happenings” during my “trial.”

So, I did it.

And that, dear readers, means you should prepare yourself for a weekly Enzyte update here on sounds familiar. This way, you can accompany me while I add all sorts of unclassified and under-researched herbs and proprietary substances to my daily diet, and follow along with me as I analyze the witchcraft of the pills. Now, don’t think I haven’t realized that typing “Enzyte” this many times on my blog will be like lighting a massive signal fire to the penis-enlargement spam lobby, because, I have. But, I think there’s a chance for some funny writing here. And, c’mon people, it’s not like I actually need natural male enhancement or anything… as it’s well-established that I’m 110% OK in that arena of physical attributes. So anyway, here’s hoping it makes for some good blogging, and look for the first update soon!

Before I go, I found these two (one, the other) enthralling (to me) brief stories written by a guy about some of the crazier nights he had back in the underground after-hours clubs in an early-1980s NYC. I thought they were well-written, and very Tarantino-esque (fitting with the post Kill Bill high I’m still coming down from since seeing them again for the first time in a while). You should read the stories, they’re quite entertaining, and, whether truly non-fiction or not, pretty engrossing. And, man, that guy has really done some cool stuff… like burning down a crack house, or surviving a Blackhawk Down hail of bullets in Afghanistan. And, yeah, I think they’re true.

And, I hate to proselytize this early on, but did you guys see Obama’s “victory” speech after his Iowa caucus win last night? I thought it was brilliant. Watch it here, or read the transcript if you’re bookish like that. Thanks Iowa.

Goodnight.

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I’m no parent, or anything


Hi. Happy Wednesday.

To start, let’s do a couple barely-introspective paragraphs:

You may remember (although, you’d be quickly forgiven if you didn’t) that we had houseguests back in September. While they were here, we set them up with five-star accommodations (read: the air mattress in the former computer-room now nothing-room). And, as a testament to my laziness and general apathy, I’m sad to admit that I just today deflated that mattress and folded/stored all the bedding. Oh yeah, some three-and-a-half months later.

It was all part of this “assess and purge” sort of cleaning kick I’m suddenly on, taking stock of what we have and how it’s stored, and getting rid of non-essentials wherever possible. We’ve got a ton of junk we don’t use or need, and it’s time to start getting rid of it – donating, selling, or just junking altogether. It feels good to free up space and organize, even if it does drive Sharaun a bit mad when I get a little OCD like this. Sometimes, I just reach a breaking point and go all flip-out neat-and-tidy crazy… this is one of those times.

Next, let’s do a music paragraph:

Over the Christmas free-download period (it’s customary for some of the online music-enabling sites I frequent to offer “free” downloads over the holiday season), I somehow ended up grabbing a copy of The Pretty Things’ 1968 album, S.F. Sorrow. Before just a few weeks ago, I’d never even heard of the album, didn’t even know it existed. But, as soon as the first song came over the speakers I knew I’d stumbled onto something special. Let me tell you now, I absolutely love “finding” amazing albums I’ve never heard of. Having somewhat of a big head about the amount of the “important music” canon I’m familiar with, these UFO gems always seem so special. This is some sort of under-the-radar psychedelic rock-opera masterpiece, apparently recorded at Abbey Road during the same time the Beatles and Floyd were in-house recording Sgt. Pepper and Piper, respectively. Man, what the heck was in the water at Abbey Road that year? Anyway, the album itself is immediately likable and interesting… and I’m really glad I “discovered” it, forty years after it was made.

Now let’s do a random today at work paragraph:

Sometimes I just feel like I’m in the wrong place for the particular moment. I’ve written about the sensation before (but I can’t seem to find the link… lil’ help?). Today was a classic case of that type of day. I sat at work all morning knowing I should be at home instead of in my fuzzy-walled cubicle staring at my computer screen. I just felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there, and the draw to get where I was supposed to be was strong enough to be almost physical, a muscle-urge to actually pack up and walk out the door to be with my family. I’m not always sure what the catalyst is for such urges, they tend to seem pretty random, but there’s no denying the “push” accompanying them. Anyway, I sat there, listening to my iPod and dreaming away the morning – doing next to nothing for the shareholders, who, if they could’ve peeked in on me, would likely petition the board for my removal. I just wanted to be home, to be doing things other than the great-nothing of work. Hey, I like that… I might start calling work “the great nothing” instead of “the old sawmill” from now on… not a bad nomenclature. Anyway, the feeling eventually passed, or better faded into a general want to just head home and be done with it.

And some Keaton paragraphs:

This month, Sharaun and I decided we’d get to work on teaching Keaton how to use the potty. The myriad of advice on when to begin this parenting process is mixed, and to me it just seemed most logical to just do it when we felt we might be successful, gaging that percentage by the cues she’s giving us at the time. And, being that, for the past few weeks, she’s shown a marked interested in “the potty” and the whole potty-process, and has taken to announcing her pees and poos with “Keaton use(d) the potty!,” we figured the time might be right. I mean, I’m no parent, or anything… but the good Lord saw fit to put this child under my care – so I must’ve showed some sort of promise, or kernel of talent, or something… you’d think.

So, as of yesterday, when she makes her potty announcements, we march her into the bathroom and go through the process: 1) pull down your pants (she has a lot of trouble with this, and seems to want to pull her pants “up” instead… which I keep telling her won’t work the same at all), 2) we’ll take off your diaper (again, having a step in there that she can’t do herself seems bad… but I’m not ready to toss the diaper yet), 3) sit on potty and do the good stuff, 4) wipe, 5) wash hands.

Thinking about it as a child, it really is quite a complex process of human engineering to relieve oneself in-line with current Western thinking on hygiene. I mean, there’s like a whole symphony of events that have to align to make the execution flawless. How do you, for example, explain to a semi-verbal not-yet-two-year-old that her pee-hole isn’t even lined-up over the pee-receptacle? There are a hundred bits of minutiae like that, too. Heck, pondering it, I’m amazed I hit the blow as much as I do myself.

I’m happy to announce, though, that, today she made her first two pees in her little kid potty, and it was quite a moment for Sharaun and I. I’ll let ya know if we experience continued success.

Finally, the closing thing:

Goodnight, love your bodies.

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here goes two-thousand and eight


Hey readers, sounds familiar is happy to welcome you to the Year of Our Lord two-thousand and eight. Rang in the year with friends at bang-up of a New Year’s fête, where I was able to have a grand time despite being the responsible non-drinking parent. And now I’m once again dreading a return to work… It’s gonna be a short one tonight, as I don’t have much to write and don’t much feel like writing anyway.

We went to dinner at our neighbor’s tonight. Filipino, they set a table that could feed a small village. (Not that that’s somehow indicative of the culture or anything, I just wanted to state the two pieces of information in one sentence.) All the major meat groups had representation: pork, turkey, beef, chicken; the vegetables and fruits were out in force; and there were multiple sweet finishes. After dinner, the spirits were brought out and I had a nice tall glass of mixed coconut, jackfruit, apple juice, and Filipino rum. It was a great couple hours of talking, and Keaton had fun playing around with their daughter, who’s just a bit younger. We had a good time and left with full bellies. Four plus years in the house and we’re just now getting to know our neighbors; where are the Leave It To Beaver block parties of the 1950s?

Oh man, the Kill Bill duet is on right now, I’d forgotten just how amazing these movies are… I’m totally gonna go watch them instead of stupid blogging.

Oh, and before going, I know I’ve been somewhat delinquent on updating Keaton’s photos page, so I’ll try and get some of the Christmas in Florida stuff up early this week, and maybe a “catch up” gallery to cover the various things I missed near the sloppily-covered end of 2007. Stick with me, I’ll make it worth it if I can.

Goodnight.

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the very air i breathe is saturated


As Christmas vacation begins to draw to a close, the tightening noose of coming work is beginning to chafe against my neck.

The e-mails are still trickling into the BlackBerry, each little “tinkle” sound reminding me that I can never really get that far physically removed from a job that happens primarily in cyberspace. Unseen responsibility surrounds me, floating around invisible right in front of me, waves and signals buzzing silently around my head, needing only to be read and decoded to transform them into questions I need to answer and things I need to do. It’s sad, in a way, that the very air I breathe is saturated with invisible bits and bytes that represent the work I have to do. Let’s not think about it, OK?

We had a brief scare yesterday, ending up in the emergency room with Keaton. As I mentioned in my last blog, she’s been running a fever now for a couple days, and it’s been sitting around 101° for most of the time. After Sharaun put her down for her nap yesterday, she went out shopping. And, since Keaton wasn’t feeling well and likely needed sleep, I was happy that she chose to take a longer-than-usual nap, not to mention it gave me a little time to rest-off the pukes-‘n’-poops I’d been dealing with myself. When she finally did wake up, I got her some Tylenol-doped juice and sat down with her while she drank it. As she was finishing up her sippy, Sharaun got home and joined us on the couch.

Just then, she began to shiver, which I took to mean she was breaking her fever. As Sharaun took her from me, however, she began to shiver more, and we noticed her lips looked a little blueish. Freaking out a bit, Sharaun took her out to ask her mom if she could see the blue as well, and I jumped online to search for “baby blue lips fever” on Google. The modern sage that is Google said that if, during a fever, a baby’s lips and/or fingernail beds turn blue, you should seek emergency care immediately. Meanwhile, Sharaun and her mom had reached the same conclusion, as Keaton was still shaking, not speaking at all, and her lips (and finger/toenails) were now an even scarier shade of blue-purple. They were already strapping her into her carseat as I rushed inside to grab my wallet, sling a very hastily put together diaper bag over my shoulder, and slip on some flip-flops.

With the hospital literally just up the road, we were there in under a minute. But even by then, she had regained nearly all her color and was starting to talk normally. We sat in the emergency room for about twenty minutes, every passing minute of which I became more convinced that she was now fine, and then were ushered in to see the triage nurse. After taking her vitals, she pronounced Keaton A-OK, and asked if we’d still like to be seen. Faced with the prospect of spending four hours in the hospital, or going home and keeping an eye on her ourselves, we chose the latter and packed back into the car. And, although she continued to run a fever the rest of the day, we had no more blue-lipped scares, and she already seems much more “herself” today.

Frightening, and odd, but I guess ultimately nothing.

Well then, until later, take care peoples.

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in the bathroom


Hey there post-Christmas America. Your trees down yet? Ya bust out the ladder and take the lights off the house already? Still scraping the last of the leftovers from the corners of you casserole dishes? Either way, I hope you had a good holiday. Down here in sunny Florida, we sure did. Oh, and this year Santa came with some extra special gifts…

Christmas came with an extra bonus this year: a vicious stomach bug that had me alternately sitting on or kneeling before the john all day yesterday. It was ugly, and tiring, and I didn’t answer the phone or do anything much aside from trying to sleep through the twisty flip-flopping of my beleaguered bowels. I woke up this morning feeling much better, but still with a rumbly middle… which I attribute more now to not eating anything yesterday than the bug. So, I decided to jump right back into things and am currently pre-heating the oven for a Totino’s pizza. For some reason, my stomach was craving it. I figure, if I can keep that down, I’m healed.

It’s a gorgeous day here, the sun is out and shining, and it’s not too warm to go outside and enjoy it. The original plan was to go visit my Uncle Tom, but we decided to give that another day so I wouldn’t pass along this lovely stomach-thing. Since I am feeling better, we decided we’d take Keaton down to the park close by, but now she’s acting all funny and is running a fever herself… so it seems like we’ll be housebound instead. That’s OK, I suppose I do enough complaining about our Florida trips being nothing but run-here-run-there that I should be thankful for some downtime on the homefront. I know it’s selfish to enjoy how cuddly Keaton gets when she’s not feeling well, but I just can’t help but love her crawling up into my lap and snuggling for an hour. Bad dad.

Well, I’m off. So far, the pizza is staying put… and that’s a good sign.

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merry merry christmas y’all!


Merry merry Christmas y’all!

It’s Christmas Eve in Florida as I write, and the weather is wonderfully warm and just humid enough to make you skin feel tacky and soft. I love it. Today, Sharaun went Christmas Eve shopping, doing her part to clogging the retail arteries along with the throng of other last-minute folks. She enjoys the “rush,” she says. And, since I’d always rather sit at home and enjoy some vacation, that’s just what I did.

Sharaun’s folks got Keaton a little tricycle that has an extension-boom thing on the back you can push her with. She feels like she’s riding the bike while you push from behind, and she loves it. We took a “ride” down to the river and back, and then re-did the route on-foot since she wanted to stay outside. After that she sat with dad out on the back porch (what you Yankees call a “Florida room,” a semi-weather-proofed screened-in room) and colored in her Sesame Street coloring book while I surfed the internet. It was a good Christmas Eve.

And now, Keaton’s curled up in her Pack-‘n’-Play, waiting to hear reindeer on the roof, and we’re all sitting around watching TV like a good American family. I anticipate a fairly lowkey Christmas this year, Sharaun and I have already each exchanged our gifts-majeure, and what will be under the tree tomorrow morning (today, as you read this) is mostly smaller afterthoughts. As such, I plan to enjoy watching others open their gifts more than looking forward to more loot of my own.

I’m actually looking forward to a nice day with Sharaun’s family, and am in no hurry to get back to California.

Well now, having said nothing yet, I better go. See, as is with most Christmases lately, the (totally legal) music sites I frequent are doing their holiday season “free download” blitzes – so I’m wracking my brain to decide what I need that I don’t have, and am keeping the internet connection saturated. So, I’m off get that new Grateful Dead show.

Goodnight people, and I hope Santa brings you everything you were after. Merry Christmas.