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one day though, things could change


Today, my heart is sad. I’m sitting here listening to Built to Spill’s classic Ancient Melodies of the Future, and feeling pitiful. No particular reason (a lie, to be sure), but still I do. Maybe it’s because I came home from work (well, the bar post-work, to be sure) and Sharaun and Keaton weren’t here. No, not it. Maybe it’s because I feel like I haven’t had a decent amount of quality time with Keaton lately, like her mom gets to spend so much time watching her change every day and like I’m missing something, missing her growing. No, that’s not it either. Whatever it is (I know what it is), it sucks. I’m just not much for talking tonight, was tight-lipped (for the most part) at the bar with my cronies, and now I’m here spilling words into this text box on a webpage… it’s a function of my being. One day though, things could change (you never know when). Ahhh… how splendidly juvenile. Let’s on with it then.

I keep having this recurring dream: I’m in someone’s house, I don’t know the person and it’s clear to me that I’m there without their knowledge, i.e. I’ve broken in. No one’s home, and I’m busy stealing foodstuffs and essentials. I’m scruffy and unkempt, and the clothes I’m wearing are dirty and worn. It’s at this point I realize I’m ravenously hungry, and furthermore that I’m here because I’m desparate. I’ve been hiding out somewhere; outside, by the looks of me, and I’m here breaking and entering on an urgent mission to restock my necessities. The house and the stuff I’m stealing changes, but the theme doesn’t – I always end up having to make a hasty exit as the home’s inhabitants return while I’m busy pilfering. Last night, for instance, I was filling a sack with bags of dried split-pea soup mix, and I was ecstatic to have found it. I was also stealing a large pot from under the kitchen counter, and was filling it with rolls of toilet paper from the bathroom when I heard the front door open. It’s funny how clearly the sense of fear and urgency comes though in a dream, entirely mind-generated. I hit the backyard and was out the gate in the fence as the owner was discovering their loss, fleeing back into the woods somewhere. An easy-guess interpretation: I’m hiding from something, or scared to face something. Not sure what that may be though…

Helped a friend make a website this weekend, and, while I’d never misrepresent myself as a web-design guru, the exercise did give me a chance to learn some new GIMP/Inkscape techniques. Working from a template, we created a similar layout from scratch (admittedly, it’s a dead-simple design with no frills, and I used deprecated table-based layout techniques), and I think it came out pretty nice. Simple, clean, but gets the job done without going too crazy. Yeah, I know, it’s laughable in terms of “real” design, but as long as it books rooms and makes money – I’m happy. So anyway, if you’re into fly-fishing or just an outdoor escapist like me, go give them some trade.

Goodnight.

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life gets in the way


Took a hiatus from writing last week, work was busy and I was occupied in the evenings. Life sometimes gets in the way of blogging, I guess. Actually, I have nothing to write tonight, and am just not in the mood – but I had some crap stuff that I forgot to delete last week I figured I’d use to fill the space. This weekend I spent a lot of time vacating multiple pieces of hardware from our “computer room” and consolidating them into a brand new single computer which now lives in the built-in niche in our kitchen. I didn’t like the built-in niche when we bought the house, figured it too small for a proper computer desk (it is, really), but now I like it. Sharaun likes it too, since she can be out here with Keaton. Anyway, now we can turn that room into a real guest room.

People, please, please stop calling me asking how to install the pirated software you downloaded from BitTorrent. If you have no idea how to unRAR or unZIP a file, if you can’t comprehend having to burn a .bin/.cue file to a CD before using or (or God forbid using a virtual drive to read the ISO), or if you have no idea how to navigate a folder tree in Windows or understand where the hell something you just downloaded or extracted went on your drive – pirating software isn’t for you. If you can’t understand the concept of a keygen, don’t know what a readme is, or have know idea how to run a patch in the root directory – give up and pay the damn $30 to do your taxes.

Just because the software is out there for free, and you can call me to walk you through the installation process (something that will take 10x the time it would were I there with you) doesn’t mean you are entitled to use it for free. In fact, if you have no idea what a RAR file is, you have no business trying to bootleg software… so give up. And please, stop calling me and making me ask things like, “Did you unRAR it? Where did you extract it to? What do you mean you don’t know? Go back and do it again, pay attention. No. That’s in your My Documents folder. Where? It’s under your username… what? OK, double-click on My Computer… No, you’re gonna need to patch that DLL. Just put the file called patch.exe in the directory. What? No, where extracted it. Oh, you don’t see extensions, and you have to show hidden/protected files. Go to Properties…” Ugh!

Keaton seems to be getting over her double ear infections quite nicely, with the help of some foul-smelling medicine we have to keep in the fridge. Her eyes have stopped gooping and her nose is less runny (she’s still got a nasty cough, though). Lately, I’ve been noticing her “getting older.” The way she plays with me, the little things she does when she’s wrapped up in her own world, she just acts older or something – more like a little kid than a little baby. She’s going too fast.

Goodnight.

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it’s shameful, it’s disgusting


Life sometimes gets in the way of blogging. Like tonight, I fully planned to shirk this thing, didn’t get home until 11pm and was tired. Then I remembered I had the binned paragraph about babies/cardboard/consumerism and I thought about going in and filling in around it – I again decided no. Then, laying down, I had the walking though, figured it was good for a paragraph, and went with it. So here I am then, listening to “Disco 2000” from Pulp’s absolute classic Different Class, literally one of my favorite albums of all time. Highschool all over when I hear it. Today was Keaton’s real first birthday, as measured by the sun and moon and tides, and wouldn’t you know it – she’s sick with a runny nose, puffy eyes, and a rattley cough. Poor birthday girl.

I think I’d like to try an experiment, wear a pedometer for a week and see how far I walk, on average, each day. I would expect the results to be nothing less of pitiful. I think of all the walking the human race must have had to endure to get where we are now. Walking through deserts, across ice-bridges, over perilous mountains – all with nothing more than two feet and a hunger. It shames me that me, some long-downline descendant of the great walkers of human history, walks so little in any given day. I can probably count the instances in which I’m required to walk: around my house in the morning after waking up; from the car into work and up to my desk; maybe a restroom break before lunch; lunch; to the car on the way home; and finally around the house again before retiring at night. It’s gotta be staggeringly low, and that’s the sum total of my daily “activity.” It’s shameful, it’s disgusting. Looks like the alliterative “Synthia” was onto something…

Ever since having a baby, our status as “consumers” has risen alarmingly. I’m weekly toting empty cardboard boxes out to the recycle bin, and even with all the “break down boxes” training from my days in fast food I still get lazy and try to stuff them in just as they are. Sometimes, when the bin is full, 90% air and 10% fully-assembled cardboard boxes, I’ll just pile up the new boxes on the bricks outside. Often hoping for rain so it’ll turn into a mush that’s easier to squish into the bin. But, they still come, box after box after box of diapers, wipes, toys, whatever. Week after week we consume, more and more and more. Keaton flies through diapers. We put one on her, she pees in it or poops in it and we take it off. It goes in the trash, the trash goes to the curb, and Keaton’s pee and poops end up in the landfill that’s about 10mi from here, a stinky hump on the flat horizon, flocks of seagulls hanging around the line of trees planted as cover. Sometimes I think there’s got to be a better way.

Quick check: Looks like I didn’t win the lottery. Back to work tomorrow it is then. Today’s piece of flashback humor: mistaken identity II. Goodnight.

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we don’t care about the old folks


Going through this stack of dusty papers that is the mail, I found a check from our credit card folks, $5.47. That’s good money now! I figure that’ll buy me half a bottle of Mega Man; I’m out, and feeling slightly off-mega. Somewhere between aggro and super, maybe… but definitely not mega. Bought some lottery tickets today, the check more than makes up for what I spent, so that makes me feel vindicated or something. I decided to buy them because the jackpot is all jacked-up, somewhere upwards of two-hundred million dollars. Went in with a couple buddies from work. Good guys too, it’s a shame I’ll have to off them if we win. If I win, though, I’ve decided to take up writing in my spare time. Writing, and swimming in my Money Bin.

Monday night though, we had tomato soup and grilled cheese, what I like to think of as an old “hobo standby.” I like it though, Sharaun makes it sometimes when she’s pressed for time or doesn’t want to run to the store, and I don’t mind because it’s tasty and I can launch black flotillas of pepper on the surface of my soup. She was busy working on some stuff on her computer, so I played with Keaton until about eight before putting her down. Her cold is getting worse, I think. Her right eye is all goopy, collecting at the corner in nice gooey eye boogers I lovingly scoop out with my fingers. She still acts like a trooper though, with nary a sign of discomfort.

The rain continues to come in sunny California. I like it. Last night I listened to it pelt the windows and tick down the drainpipes while I waited for sleep, I had that tent fantasy again, willed it, actually. It was still coming down this morning, I used my umbrella to walk from the car into the building at work. Umbrellas, though, as I’ve mentioned before, are useless in my opinion, and every time I use one I think about how I’d rather have a nice long London-style “Mac” to stay dry instead. Like I said though, I like the rain. It makes my grass green, forces lazy days inside. I like the way it makes the streets and sidewalks shiny and dark and uniform in color, like they all got a coat of lacquer and are fresh and new. I like the sun better, though.

Gotta get to scrubbin’ folks, dishes are calling. Goodnight.

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sweating out the bennies


I’ve got a pretty spotty entry today, but link to some pictures so maybe that makes up. Just got done doing the dishes from dinner, spaghetti and a green salad, quite good. I’m now drinking some white wine while Sharaun and Melissa watch the Oscars. I’m adrift in sea of gown-critiquing, heartthrob throbbing, and the occasional look up from the laptop on the off chance Natalie Portman is on the screen.

Sitting here on a Sunday afternoon in the shirt I wore yesterday, well, at least partly yesterday. It’s still got some chocolate frosting smeared into the fabric on my right breast, I can smell sweet whiffs of it every once in a while. Keaton’s sleeping and Sharaun is at a baby shower luncheon thing so I have the place to myself. I’m using my time wisely, writing and watching old episodes of the original Star Trek. I tried to listen to some music, but found I’m in one of those moods where nothing sounds right, nothing quite fits. So, Star Trek it is.

Saturday was Keaton’s 1st birthday party, and I think it went off swimmingly. I’ve posted some picture to her gallery here, which you can peruse here at your leisure. Incidentally, this is the 1st batch of photos taken with our camera, and I’ve also upped the size at which I “shrink” them to for web usage (1024×768 instead of 800×600). Anyway, my folks flew in for the party, and I think they got some good Keaton-time over the days they were here. I like seeing them with her, love to watch the way she makes them happy, especially my mom. Tuesday is her real birthday, a day on which, on year ago, I sat hunched over this very laptop in a hospital room, writing out the event in real time. It really is hard to think that she’s a year old now…

Spent a good two hours reading On The Road last night before bed (I think book titles, at least from what I remember from 10th grade, are supposed to be underlined, but on the web that’s reserved for hyperlinks, so I put ’em in italics). At some point, as Sal Paradise finally spent his first night in San Francisco and he says, “Boys and girls in America, have such a sad time together.” I had no idea the Hold Steady’s album took it’s name from the book, and was pleasantly surprised to “discover” a bit of cultural cross-pollination for myself. After patting myself on my literate back, I read on. I’m still excited about the book, still looking for moments to steal when I can read a little more. Even the stink of my own shit is made more bearable by plowing through a couple chapters. I’m hoping that whatever book I pick next in my “educate myself” 2007 read-a-thon doesn’t bring me down.

Goodnight.

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keystone chops


Tonight, Sharaun and I went out for our Valentines Day dinner. (I wanted to write that sentence as, “Tonight was Sharaun and I’s Valentines Day dinner,” or “Tonight was Sharaun and my Valentines Day dinner,” but I have never known how to say “someone and I/my” as a possessive so I chickened out). Anyway, we had traded babysitting with some friends of ours, watching their toddler while they did their Valentines and they’d in turn take Keaton while we did ours.

The dinner itself was so fraught with buffoonery that it was remarkable. First, our order was laughably wrong; next, our bill was incredibly incorrect; next-next, they charged my dinner to someone else’s card, his dinner to mine, and returned the wrong credit cards to each of us (of course, the other guy didn’t notice, signed his receipt, and left with my card); next-next-next, they refused to apologize or do anything other than attempt to “charge me later if the other guy calls when he notices he has the wrong card.” It was one insane example of incompetence after another, thirty minutes of it, while we were left to simply rot at our empty table. Finally, I got up and told them I was leaving, and canceling my credit card. I left them my name and phone number in case they wanted to talk about it, but stated that I planned to dispute any charge from them that evening that made it through prior to my card being canceled.

As old ladies on Andy Griffith say, “Well, I never!”

Got a bug today over lunch and went out with the weed spray to do some killin’. I also pushed the fertilizer spreader thing around to try and green-up my sullen yard. You’d think that the same lack of winter rain which has left my grass brown and crunchy would also mean no weeds. But, no, the weeds are in full bloom. It’s as if their roots drill deep into the Earth and have tapped some hidden spring, they’re always healthy and verdant, thriving even in this drought. The lawn, on the other hand, suffers miserably. I’m back to running the sprinklers in the morning to try and put some life back into it, which is something I’ve not done this late in winter (early in spring?) since I’ve had the place.

Compared to my neighbors, I’m somewhat disgusted with my lawn. Some of theirs look painted on, brilliant deep green and as thick and lush as new shag. Mine is weed-speckled and thin, whispy and here-and-there, looking on the edge of death. In the summer it usually picks up, but it’s still no prizewinner. I’m convinced that my lack of a green thumb is not to blame, but rather my unfortunate choice of lot. The corner lot, erected on a seeming bed of compacted rock with little to no soil at all in between to retain water. The lot itself a product of clearing the land above and below for other lots, a pile of crap beaten flat yet still pitched at a fierce slant, with a large burm and hollow right in the front yard. I’m convinced the grass can find precious little soil in which to root, and that what soil there is drains either too fast or not at all depending on the lay of the land. I’m also convinced the irrigation system was poorly designed. It’s an all-over mess. It’s not because I suck at things green, I promise.

May or may not post Friday, as I’m taking a vacation day and may not be inclined. Goodnight.

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reevaluating invincibility


Tuesday evening and Sharaun’s at a volleyball game. I put Keaton down to bed about 15min ago, and am now enjoying some Malajube whilst writing up tonight’s blog.

Before tonight, I was off to a slow start on Kerouac’s On The Road. The long introduction was interesting, but stole some of the immediate thunder I had expected. But, oh man, once I got into the book proper I was spellbound. Kerouac’s writing seems just barely strung-together enough to tell a story, like it was written in some mad fit (I know, it was) as if he was afraid it all had to come out at once or else be lost (I know, he did); but at the same time it’s so beautifully detailed and descriptive that I’m almost there with him, belting back whiskey on a flatbed racing across the west. I’m only six chapters in but I can barely put the thing down. I can’t wait until he gets to San Francisco. That said, then, I’ll go ahead and write this up snap-quick so I can get to reading, maybe get my voracious on. Here we go.

I think it’s time for me to reevaluate my invincibility. Over the past couple years, the number of times my body has succumbed to sickness or ailment has risen sharply. I used to be untouchable, completely impenetrable to disease. Recently, though, I’ve had to take a day off work here, another there, and have lost a few good weekend days to sleeping and sniffling. Is this what happens when you get old? Instead of ignoring the signals my body gives me, should I now pay attention to them and react accordingly? What crap. When did I become weak? This morning, I woke up with a sore shoulder, apparently my body didn’t like the way I slept on it, it ailed me all day, pins and needles. I remember when I could sleep in the reclined front seat of a Nissan Sentra and wakeup no worse for wear. Then, my mouse-hand has been protesting some movements lately, almost like the years of totally un-ergonomic use I’ve forced it to endure are coming to bear. Sometimes, I even get heartburn after eating a burrito (extra large, extra-extra spicy, please). What’s worse, I get super sleepy around 4pm every day. Oh Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?

A thought occurred to me the other day whilst pondering some work stuffs. I’m sure you’ve all heard the phrase “good old boy” used in reference to the way some organizations are run. Usually what’s meant by this is that a small network of back-slappin’ buddies run the company, promoting and demoting according to how well others fit into their “good ol’ boy” mold. So that regular Joes sometimes feel like their chances of being favored or given the big job or being promoted are hindered because they didn’t go duck hunting with the clique on the weekend, or some other such nonsense. Anyway, what I was thinking was, that this whole notion of a “good old boy network” probably isn’t that wrong, and furthermore shouldn’t be that surprising.

Dealing with people is tough, there are so many assholes, so many who are ungrateful, so many who are under-appreciative and over-demanding, so many who are abrasive, impossible to relate to, unpredictable, unprofessional, abstract, difficult. The old adage rings true, you know, “birds of a feather…” I wonder, though, if this “flock together” pack-mentality may be the subconscious (and sometimes all-too conscious) reason behind the classic “good ol’ boy network?” By surrounding yourself with an army of like-yous, you have to deal with a lot less. You know a lot better where the lines are, know what’ll motivate and what’ll correct. It makes me think, however, that the school of “relationship based management” may have hit on something. Developing relationships with the people you work with and who work for you is probably a good way to avoid the “easy out” tendency to populate the ranks with you-clones. Whatever, all I was trying to say is that maybe those folks who look at the good ol’ boy network with envy are just the square pegs…

It’s been well-established now that I love ARGs (Alternate Reality Games). I think my first real experience with the genre was the with the whole Lost Experience thing, which seems late when you consider the “I Love Bees” stuff and many of the other “armchair treasure hunts” which have gone on, but arguably I was smitten all the way back when the Smashing Pumpkins did something very similar with their album Machina, and I was way into that. I also got into the whole Lonelygirl15 thing for much of the same reasons. The idea that you can participate with others in a real-life Hardy Boys type mystery adventure is awesome to me. So, when I found out that the Nine Inch Nails, a collective of whom I’ve been a casual fan since high school, are slowly “leaking” tracks from the new album “Year Zero” as part of a viral marketing slash ARG thing, I was thrilled. Not only do I get awesome tunes, I get to follow a neat post-apocalyptic storyline to boot.

Goodnight.