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into your brain


It’s Monday as I write, and it’s the last day of my week-long “working from home” vacation extension. If I were grading the amount of “work” I’m getting done while “working from home,” I’d say I’m at about 75% of my in-office capacity. It’s not that I can’t do it without being distracted, it’s that I just don’t knuckle down enough while here. So, in part, I’ll be glad to actually get back into the office tomorrow where I can be 100% worker-Dave and work my way back into the flow of things. I’ll miss the baby, and the abject laziness without regret, and hanging out with Sharaun all day eating gingersnaps – but it will be good to actually feel like I’m truly “earning” my paycheck again. Oh, and before we get into whatever we’re about to get into – I added a bunch of new pictures to Keaton’s gallery. I dunno, maybe you’re not as amped as I am about my new daughter… I suppose that’s understandable. But even so, I’m gonna keep posting pictures and linkdropping right here, mostly because you’re not the boss of me.

Tonight Sharaun ran out to the grocery store and left me to man the baby-ship. Turns out, Keaton was still a half-hour away from her next “scheduled” feeding (I like how, when they’re infants, they’re not “eating,” they’re “feeding.” Like throwing slop in the trough for the pigs every day at 4pm – “feeding time.”). However, we’ve sort of noticed a pattern in her evening eating habits – the pattern being she picks up her schedule starting around sundown, wanting to eat every couple hours vs. every three. Needless to say, she was not happy being stuck with dad – the only member of the family with milk in her breasts not around. So, I bounced and sang, swung and patted, hugged and kissed – did pretty much everything and anything to try and calm her down. I had a modicum of success, for the most part keeping her occupied between raspy wails, but I was a poor substitute for boobs. Hopefully, as Sharaun learns to love the robot suckling-machine, I can play a poor mammary substitute with a bottle of fresh stuff in mom’s stead. ‘Cause man, ain’t nothing piercing like a baby’s hungry cry… I mean right into your brain.

Sometime over the weekend, my SATA RAID array went south. Truth be told, I knew it was going to happen – the thing’s been acting flaky now for the better part of a year. Randomly on reboot I’ll get a degraded or failed message from the controller, but usually a reboot will make the thing recognize properly. It’s been tenuous forever, and I keep saying I’ll replace it one day – but working in the “computer industry,” the last thing I want to do at home is fix computers. So, I’ve been ignoring it, rebooting until it works, chugging along and filling that crap array with more and more data I don’t want to lose. So, now, the standard frantic data copy to some intermediate drive, RAID replacement and re-copy. I’m going to a larger PATA drive array, I made a purchase of four 250GB drives long ago when there was some rebate offer – planning to change the dodgy array all along. As a bonus, aside from a non-crap array, I’ll be doubling my capacity to 500GB – which is good, as I was fast approaching my old 240GB cap. I hate working on computers, I really, really hate it.

Back to work. Cellphone alarm’ll ring ’round 6:40am and I’ll snooze it till 7am. 10min shower, dress, pour four cups of coffee into my metal carry-cup and hit the road. Tomorrow I’ll dig my fingernails in, grip tight for my 8hrs and try and kill so much work that I can sleepwalk through Friday afternoon. I imagine it being busy, when I get back; busy like it was when I left. I plan on coming home for lunch so I can hold my daughter – maybe she’ll be in one of those good moods where she just looks up at the lights and makes little snorting sounds. I think that would make my day.

Goodnight.

Posted on

realize the model


With this baby, I wonder: Older babies coo and giggle when you play with them; smiling and laughing in response to attention. I wonder if Keaton’s doing the same thing inside, but her little face and vocal cords haven’t learned the motions yet. I play with her like she can: zooming my face close to hers until our noses touch with a loud “boop” sound (don’t ask me what “boop” means, I think it’s kind of onomatopoetic for the kind of soft fleshy impact sound two noses may make, in the exaggerated children’s-cartoon world of sound). Even though her little face doesn’t give away anything, I like to think, on the inside, she’s feeling those same feelings that will later get translated into smiles and giggles – when the proper neural pathways connect the emotions and expressions. So, I forgive her for not visibly reacting – at least for now.

Uh-oh my leet pirate friends, looks like the digital-pirate spotlight is beginning to shift in dangerous directions. In an article in the Boston Globe, the writer examines an “obscure data network technology” called Usenet. Hint: this is what you’ll see me refer to on sounds familiar as “absmi,” “the groups,” “binaries,” or “the newsies.” It’s an interesting article, with some relatively insightful commentary on the day-to-day of the newsies:

The Usenet has long been one of the primary sources for the illegal files found through peer-to-peer services… [it] also has long been a center for illegal file swapping. …huge numbers of illegal video and music files are traded every day on the Usenet. [It] offers the downloader an extra measure of privacy, because the Internet address of his machine is known only to the Usenet server and can’t be intercepted by investigators.

Hollywood’s attack on the Usenet companies [is like]… ”a strategic strike to cut off the supply, like a drug cartel. This is top of the food chain stuff.”

They even have some ideas about news users, and what’s said to be a rise in Usenet usage:

”A common misconception among people who use networks like these is that they’re in a group that is above the law,” said movie industry association spokeswoman Kori Bernards. Indeed, she said the popularity of the Usenet as a place to swap illegal files has grown recently, perhaps because the music and movie industries have successfully shut down several distributors of peer-to-peer software, the most popular means of file swapping.

It’s obvious the article isn’t written by a binaries guru, as there are some misconceptions – but it is somewhat worrisome that terms like NZB, Usenet, and piracy are all being used in mainstream media articles.

Until now, it’s been relatively difficult for ordinary Internet users to get at illegal Usenet files. They aren’t indexed by Google, and downloading them is often a slow, painstaking process.

Usenet trading of illegal files hasn’t become a a large-scale problem yet. One reason is that NZB downloading isn’t free. The NZB search sites charge membership fees… By contrast, peer-to-peer systems are free.

Read the entire article if you’re inclined (if boston.com won’t let you access the article, try using one of these bugmenot logins).

Slow? Painstaking? Not free? Fingers crossed everyone; let’s hope they don’t find out. You take my newsies and I may be forced to go straight… the horror, the horror. When the story hit the front page of digg.com this past weekend, the digg user comments echoed my thoughts above. Some of my favorites:

First rule of Usenet is you do not talk about Usenet.

Ok, WHO TALKED?

waves fingers
You didn’t see any USENET.
disappears into the shadows

this is not the warez network you are looking for, move along

Never heard of it. Move along, nothing to see here.

But, of all the comments, one stood out as particularly insightful to me:

this is crap. why can’t the industry understand. I have “a friend” who uses newsgroups. “He” pays a subscription fee to a nzb provider, and pays a monthly fee for access to “the usenet”. now what does this mean? it means that even people who are called pirates are WILLING to pay for a service that provides reasonable pricing and CHOICE. driven by demand and request, and not dominated by a drm technology that impedes the ability to listen or watch content on the medium of their choice. these stupid organizations need to take a lesson away from their so called “discovery” of usenet. idiots, realize the model and present a compelling alternative, and you get subscribers.

I couldn’t have said it better myself, seeing as I also have a “friend” who follows the same model. What a great comment. If someone is willing to pay ~$15/month for unlimited access to illegal binaries, wouldn’t stand to reason that they may be willing to pay the same for unlimited access to legal files? Sure, there’d need to be a huge selection, and they’d need to be DRM free – but the model is already working, just illegally. Flip that, folks, take that and do it within the boundaries of the law – and you’re a rich man. Too bad there are so many middle men and so much payola in the music business that it’s unlikely a Utopian agreement like that will ever be able to happen.

Everybody catch England’s newest hitmakers on Saturday Night Live this weekend? Coolfer has some interesting commentary about the Arctic Monkeys craze (which I’ve written about previously here and here), and how their US success is much slower-coming, if coming at all, than it is across the pond. This band is more hyped than anything I can recently remember. Every time I hear something new about them, I pull out the album again… in an attempt to hear the greatness so many extol. I plan to check it out again tomorrow, just to be sure. In related news, The Four Stages of the Arctic Monkeys:

Goodnight.

Posted on

faith in fireworks

dotjesus.gif
Before I get to the pre-written stuff, a link to Keaton’s gallery – where I’ve uploaded a small set of new photos.

OK, here goes a house cleaning: all the “God” tagged drafts I’ve had lingering rolled into one entry, cleaned up as much as I could stand before I got tired of re-writing months old ideas, and published as one. Some of this stuff is pretty good, some isn’t as developed as I’d intended… but here goes.

Ever wonder why God doesn’t do miracles anymore?

Oh sure, every day, on the 700 Club, God’s modern-day miracles are enumerated and trotted out for applause: seven puppies saved from a burning building, a child’s cancer going into remission, a twisted I-beam from the World Trade Center rubble takes the shape of a cross. But I’m not talking about those kind of miracles. No, I’m talking about the kind of miracles designed to convince people that a) there is a God, and b) He’s a powerful God to be feared and worshipped. Miracles, I mean, like those described in the Bible: burning bushes, making the blind see and the lame walk, parting seas, and booming voices from the skies – to name a few. Where are those miracles? Doesn’t God love us enough anymore to give us those slaps in the face and wake up our faith? To use a bit of Paul’s own logic: If 1st century Christians needed miracles to help them believe in and fear God, how much more do we, two-thousand more years removed from the events, need them?

Why don’t people receive visions and revelations directly from God or angels? Why don’t they have inspired dreams or waking conversations with the Lord, why are there no more prophecies? Why has God stopped talking to the people he created, the people he loves and desires to come home to him? Why end it all X years after Christ fulfilled the ultimate prophecy? Why not keep talking, nothing new to reveal? OK, fine… but what about a, “Hey, Mr. Believer, it’s God here. Just wanted to talk to you and let you know I still love you. Don’t forget to spread my gospel, OK? Alright then, bye.” Christians usually explain this by saying the revelations and prophecies of old were simply to “start” the church, to get the ball rolling. Once the Bible was assembled, believers had it as the ultimate truth – and could no longer be fooled or taken in by false prophets. Thus no need for any more direct communication from God. But even with the Bible… wouldn’t the occasional communique from God help bolster faith, help confirm he’s still out there?

Most modern Christians will tell you that, even though there were many amazing miracles in the Bible designed to spread belief in, and fear of, God – that belief model wasn’t working. They’ll say, despite the wonders performed, the people still doubted God, still wondered if He existed, still disobeyed His commands. They’ll most likely tell you that a faith based on miracles is a hollow, easily forgotten, faith. These are all good points, I guess… a faith where you have to believe of your own accord, without fireworks and fanfare, that’s much harder to swallow – and therefore much more devout, right? Bah, I still argue that stopping the sun in the sky tomorrow would cause some currently doomed souls to stop and question their disbelief, would plant a see of doubt into their hardened hearts. And, wouldn’t God want that? Sure, a faith based solely on miracles could be a shallow faith, the believer always left wanting for the next big magic trick to keep them faithful – but does mean that a good old fashioned miracle has no value? I say no.

You’ve heard the saying, “There’s no atheists in a foxhole,” right? Absolutes are always tough, but I do think it’s true that a lot of folks tend to call on God in the thick of it, believing in Him or not. And, while it’s surely not true that there’s never been an atheist in a foxhole, I’d bet more than a few in-a-foxhole non-believers end up calling on God as mortars whiz by. I would submit that, likewise, there’d be a similar amount of atheists-turned-theists at the local God-does-miracles show.

So let’s stop all this, and take the explanation that we simply don’t need miracles anymore. We have the inspired Word of God, and that’s enough to win souls – and anyway, a faith based on the teachings of the Bible alone would be a stronger faith than one based on witnessing miracles. So, sometime shortly after the events of the New Testament, God stopped performing miracles, stopped sending prophecies to his people, stopped casting spirits and demons out of the spirit-plagued and possessed. But, if God stopped all this, particularly the casting our of demons and spirits – one of two things are true. Either people are, to this day, still getting possessed by demons and plagued with spirits while God simply ignores them – or the Devil stopped sending said demons and spirits to possess and plague.

But, are we also to assume that Satan, God’s nemesis, also decided to stop possessing people with demons, stopped afflicting people? The church has no problem saying that Satan is still “tempting” folks these days, they say such things all the time. If Satan can still reach into this world enough to effect temptation on mankind – are we to believe he’s simply “limited” himself to that? No more demon possessions, no more spirits? I hope not, because the power to lay hands on the afflicted supposedly died out with the apostles – and, anyway, God doesn’t need to do miracles anymore – so you’d be on your own should you get “demons.” I guess the Christian defense of this could be twofold: either there are no more possessions, for whatever reason; or, if there are, you can simply pray them away. I think I’m getting too far off into the weeds here… I’m gonna reign it in a bit.

So you say modern-day miracles would only cheapen peoples’ faith in God? I say bull-puckey. Modern-day miracles would wake some people up, reaffirm faith in some, and, in the least, get people talking. Modern-day miracles would be a good thing for God and Christianity, there’s not a doubt in my mind.

So again, ever wonder why God doesn’t do miracles anymore?

One of the things the church Sharaun and I go to regularly is big on is not “adding to” or “subtracting from God’s word.” For the religiously uninitiated, this means that the church is a self-professed “Bible-based” institution – using only the Holy Bible for all creeds, rules, and procedures. It’s not an uncommon view among Protestant religions, especially those born out of the Protestant Restoration in the early 1900s. Ignoring some of the many things that could be said about this, I wanted to, instead, concentrate on the use of this idea as a basis for “ignoring” or placing a zero-value on the many historical and apocryphal writings that have survived time and are available today. I think this is bunk, and is probably one of the most selfishly-motivated misinterpretations of a couple straightforward verses:

Revelations 22:18
Clearly, John is referring only to the “book” that he has just finished writing – his Revelation. He doesn’t want anyone adding to, or subtracting from, that particular book. We can be ultimately sure of this because of a couple things: Firstly, at the time John wrote Revelation, there was no bound collection of writings called a “Bible.” The Bible as we know it today didn’t even exist, so John couldn’t possibly be referring to our modern-day canonization. Second, John makes it explicitly clear that he’s referring the book of “this prophecy.” He limits the scope of his statement to the prophecy of the Apocalypse he’s just given, simple as that.

Deuteronomy 4:2
Here, Moses is revealing God’s law to his people – and the context couldn’t be more clear. In fact, using this Old Testament verse in application to the entire Bible is more ludicrous than doing it with the verse in John’s Revelation. Deuteronomy is the last book of Moses, and not only was there surely no bound book called a “Bible” at the time, but there were many more Old Testament writings yet to come, not to mention the entire New Testament. If we think of these writings on a timeline, any post-Deuteronomy writings would technically be additions. The statement here is obviously in reference to the Mosaic Law, not some yet-to-be cobbled-together book dubbed “the Bible.”

So, church, open your eyes and minds; don’t be afraid. The usage of these two verses to limit potential inspired or relevant text to the Bible only is narrow-minded and a stretch of interpretation. I completely disagree with any interpretation of these verses which focuses on “limiting” information sources to a Bible that didn’t even exist at the time.

Last up, a religion link rodeo. Just to close things out.

Check out this super-interesting (to me) analysis of the problem of “fit” in regards to Noah and his ark. Two animals of every kind, on a boat – I’ve often dismissed it as fable for reasons of practicality, but the detailed look provided in the previous link does a good job actually trying to affix some measurements and numbers to the whole deal. It’s worth a look, if you’ve ever wondered about it.

Lastly, some good reading on the endlessly-interesting Mormons.

Goodnight folks, sorry to get all God on ya again.

Posted on

like a ton of bricks


First day back at work, even if it is from the comfort of my couch in slippers, and I’m already ready for another baby-vacation. It’s always been hard for me to truly work when I’m “working from home,” so I’ve been closeting myself away in the computer room – attempting to be isolated as much as possible from the hustle and bustle of the new-baby rest-of-the-house area. It’s working OK so far, I was able to catch up on mail and at least bring myself up to speed on what’s going on – now if I could just read enough e-mail to make me care. Nah, that’s unfair; I care… just not as much as I do about the new little life that’s sleeping behind the office double-doors, just in the other room. Somehow work just pales in comparison.

While I was sleeping on a hide-a-bed in the corner of the hospital room where our daughter was born, I’d put the iPod on “shuffle songs” and drift off to sleep to some rand() generated mix of tunes. Today I took advantage of the rarity of recent days that was sunshine and mowed the front and back lawns during a working-from-home lunch break. Again, I put the iPod on “shuffle songs” and let the little computer decide what I’d hear. It was during that random listening session that I got the idea for a blog feature centered around the iPod’s “shuffle songs” function: the iPod random memory generator. For me, songs are tied to memories almost as closely as smells are (I’ve written about it before, so won’t put myself through documenting it again). So, this evening while Sharaun and her mom were out shopping, I put the iPod on shuffle and began remembering. The rules: I document what the song makes me think of, what I remember thinking about the song, and I skip songs that have no appreciable memories. Here goes:

The Byrds – Eight Miles High
Middle-school summer, maybe 7th or 8th grade. I think I 1st heard this song as part of some “deep discount” bin 60’s psychedelic comp cassettes. The seemingly random guitar jumble that makes up the bridge immediately turned me on, as did the foreboding harmonies throughout the track. Another one of those songs that made me want to try marijuana.

The Beatles – When I’m 64
Middle school again, 8th grade this time. Sitting in the backseat of my best friend Kyle’s mom’s miniature Dodge Colt, Kyle’s had her put his Sgt. Pepper cassette in the deck. At the time, I’m deeply in 7th-grade-love with Kyle’s little sister – something about which I think he has no idea. In reality, sometime later Kyle tells me all his friends eventually come to be infatuated with his sister. I felt bad, but that can-count-the-weeks-on-my-hand closet “relationship” did wonders for me on the road to the perfected womanizing I’d so enjoy come my nubile college years.

Ministry – Flashback
9th grade. I’ve taken to wearing black steel-toed boots, long back socks which, when coupled with my too-long black shorts, leave only an inch of exposed calf, a Skinny Puppy t-shirt, and shades. My lord, I must’ve made the worst looking wannabe goth of all time. I remember diving into the industrial/noise scene head-first. Fueled, of course, by a fascination with the music – and then later bleeding into a misguided attempt at adopting the culture. I tried my best though: bought incense, outlined my windows in velcro and affixed a hook-side copy of the velcro square to pieces of 5mil black visqueen which I could use to completely blot out all external light from my bedroom, dressed the part, etc. I did everything short of dying my hair, painting my walls black, and posing for pictures in graveyards. What a joke; but what a memory.

Dungen – Sluta Följa Efter
Fall 2004. Riding around with the windows down, this absolutely euphoric album blaring. Sharaun is complaining, they’re not singing in English, she can’t understand them, they sound all “fjordy” and stupid, like the hurdy-gurdy Swedish Chef muppet or something. But God as my witness, this album is infectious – saccharine and dreamy, with layered cymbal, bursting beats and spinny guitars. Eventually, I oblige and change to something more “intelligible” for Sharaun’s sake – but I think this LP will always remind me of my last pre-baby summer.

The Decemberists – Los Angeles
Driving the 405, headed to a yacht on which my best-friend from 5th grade is about to be married. Before this, I’ve only seen him once since I left California so many years ago. A surreal experience, seeing him again and being able to be there at his wedding – so many years in the future.

Donovan – Riki Tiki Tavi
College. I have a one-bedroom place in town, Sharaun stays with me most nights even though we’d be condemned to Hell should her family find out. We don’t hump, I swear. My computer is stashed away in a desk that’s been shoved into my walk-in closet – and it’s here that I struggle through my first few engineering courses. Every night I fall asleep to music, and Sharaun with me by default. I’d picked up a bunch of Donovan LPs remastered as CDs at the local college used-CD store, and kicked them fairly often. Visions of pizza boxes on the counter and second-hand futon furniture… college.

Sleater Kinney – Little Babies
Junior year of college. I take a 36hr bus trip halfway across the country to visit Kyle in his Air Force barracks. An amazing journey in itself – but while there he introduces me to some new music (as he’s done for years). Sleater Kinney is one of the acts he turns me on to. Without re-writing what’s already been written, here’s what I remember when I hear this song. Oh, and I think there’s a paragraph in here too.

That’s enough of that for now. It’s fun though, I think I’ll try it again sometime.

Today the baby stepped up her game and launched a three-front attack on her poor old dad. Sharaun pawned her off on me for a wet diaper change, so I stripped her down and laid her on the changing table for a wipedown. She immediately peed on herself, and the table. Pee on her back, legs, everywhere. I cleaned up the pee, wiped down her entire body, and laid her back down on a cloth diaper. I turned to reach for a fresh diaper, turned back, and she’d peed on herself again. Wiped her down, put her on a new cloth diaper, and began strapping on her new clean one. Then the coup de grace, she spit up all over her face, neck, and hair. A three-fluid attack pretty much warrants a bath… those scented wipes can only go so far.

Oh, and I’m happy to report that the dead-animal smell which was coming from my beautiful new daughter’s nasty bellybutton is waning – as the shriveled thing finally made up its mind and dropped off. But man, we had neighborhood dogs ringing the doorbell and asking, in an extremely complicated sequence of barks and whines, which I eventually deciphered, if they could roll around on her. I don’t know if I have an extra-sensitive nose or what, but, to me, it really was that bad. Apparently, rotting stuff stinks. Sure, they look cute in photos when there’s not liquid poop running down their legs and curdled boob-milk leaking from their mouths. I was misled, people, babies are nothing like their presskits.

Until tomorrow, hope all is well out there in the blogosphere. Oh, and a warning, tomorrow’s will be a completely canned entry about religion – written long-ago and saved for a “vacation” day. Despite this admission, I urge you to keep reading, and keep commenting – it’s what keeps me going.

Goodnight.

Posted on

the times they are a-changin’


Sometime toady I realized I uploaded the last batch of photos to Keaton’s gallery at 640×480 resolution instead of the 800×600 I usually use. With a little ingenuity, I discovered how to go into the Coppermine database and reset the size without having to redo the entire album. So, for the vision-impaired, the images should now be sized big enough for your challenged oculars.

Today we had the pleasure of an unscheduled doctor appointment for the little one. Being the 1st-timers we are at this whole parenthood deal – we were most alarmed by an extremely foul stink coming from our perfect little daughter’s shriveled beef-jerky-lookin’ umbilical “stump.” All the books say “stink = infection,” so we called it in and headed to the baby-shop. Turns out, she did have the beginnings of an infection and the doc recommended we clean the area with alcohol – something the hospital recommended against. One thing about baby-care advice: it’s a very waffley science. Not to mention, many of the things they told grandma to do with her baby a mere 30yrs ago are now strictly verboten or, much to grandma’s chagrin, recommended against. Nothing’s worse than a well-meaning grandma trying to dispense advice from the trenches she remembers being met with a, “Mom, they actually don’t do that anymore.” I think they probably hear, “Mom, you did things the wrong way back in the stoneage – we don’t use bloodletting anymore, it’s barbaric; you are stupid for ever buying into it and I’m likely damaged as a result of your outdated mothering.” Not that we’ve had that happen with either of our two grandmas, who are both low-touch as grandmas go and fairly unassuming. We got lucky.

It kind of scares me how tuned-in to my life the junkmail syndicate is. They knew when we graduated college, and assaulted us with loan consolidation offers daily. They knew when we bought our house, upping the number of “refi now!” offers we got to mailbox-busting levels. And now, somehow they know we had a baby. We get complimentary magazines, packages of laundry detergent, diapers, formula, and all manner of baby-sundry. I’ve often wondered what my junkmail “profile” looks like. I wish it had a radio button for “shreds every single piece of the shit we send him,” so they’d realize and stem the flow – but, alas, I doubt there’s such a field in the record. I likely show up as a twenty-something married male who makes good money, has a kid, a house, and some college loans. Oh, and if my snail-mail and e-mail junk profiles are one in the same, they’d also mention that I have a ridiculously small penis, desperately want to learn more about human growth hormone and phentermine, and have a 24×7 addiction to online gambling. Based on a profile like that – I better get into some therapy, stat.

Goodnight.

Posted on

why i work


3:30 on a Monday afternoon and it’s clouding over outside, making the light in the living room all grey and somehow damp feeling. I’ve got a sleeping baby nestled in the crook of my left arm, a crocheted pink blanket draped over her naked-save-diaper body to keep her warm; I couldn’t be happier. Sharaun’s out shopping, something that I think is actually pretty therapeutic for her – so I’m glad she’s feeling up to it. The iPod’s jacked into the stereo on “shuffle,” and is currently offering up some Doors – fitting the weather well. Today I wrote about the baby more. Oh, and here’s the toplink to her gallery – updated with a few more things yesterday afternoon.

A week folks, one measly week – that’s all the vacation I asked of work when Keaton arrived. One week vacation and the next week “working from home,” which means I sit on e-mail and attend meetings on my cellphone. But, one week without worry, not spent thinking about what’s due next or who I have to call tomorrow. I seriously just want to lie down on the couch and drift off to a lazy sleep, soundtrack provided by my newborn daughter on my chest and the little smacking sounds she makes with her mouth. Just one week of that, guilt-free. I’ve got friends who just had babies, and they took off three weeks – I only asked for one, yet I can’t seem to “escape” work. It’s more me than it is work, I suppose – not being able to detach myself completely from that sense of responsibility – but it’s not made any easier by people who seem not to care that I want, nay, need, some downtime. So today, a little late I know, I decided to give the whole deal the figurative middle-finger. I’ve got all the time in the world for friends and family and my wife and little girl – but just for the rest of this week, work doesn’t get a spot on the rotation. You hear that work, eff you.

I’m still in that giddy new-father phase where I actually smile hearing my baby cry. Where I just like looking at her little mouth wide open as she tries to communicate with us, the skin around her little eyes pursing up tight as her face reddens. But man, we’re thankful daily that she’s as “easy” as she is – I can’t imagine having one with a less sunny disposition. We’re lucky. We haven’t had a terrible night to speak of yet; last night being the “worst” of it with back-to-back set and stanky diapers and feedings keeping all three of us up until 2:30am. But, after that she sleeps right through to her next boobytime and lets us do the same. She did pitch a fit through the emotional clincher of Brokeback Mountain Monday night, right as they were trying to suck me in – effectively preventing me from getting tied up in the gay-cowboy love story. She was entirely silent, however, during the buttlove-on-the-range scene – go figure. Anyway, she’s a great baby – and we’ve decided to keep her, or, at least evaluate her a little longer.

Goodnight folks, we love ya.

Posted on

easin’ back into it


I’ve got a pretty random entry today, stuff I binned over the weekend that’s non-baby, and the obligatory baby. Here we go, short and sweet.

Grandma (on daddy’s side) left Sunday, and we had to check her carry-on twice to make sure she wasn’t trying to smuggle baby Keaton away with her. Grandma (on mommy’s side) arrives Tuesday – so Keaton won’t be doting-deprived for too long. Oh, and to satisfy the masses, I’ll go ahead and link Keaton’s gallery straight-away. I’ve updated it with some new pictures, and even some moving pictures (the future is now).

I half-wrote the following the day before the baby arrived, and wanted to be able to finish the thought.

I was thinking today about life-before-baby. Those post-college, marriage & career years, those before you decide to procreate. You settle into a complacency, because you’re ultimately familiar with the drill. My pre-child career years have conformed to a well-defined mold; so much so that I’ve kinda developed the feeling I’ve mastered things, know the ropes as well as they can be known. Not a conscious thought, I’m not that conceited, but a subconscious thing – a level of comfort with the established routine, a tried hand that knows how to execute the defined motions it’s practiced again and again. I suspect, though, that this baby thing is really gonna shove my perceived wisdom in my face. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m gonna find out pretty quickly that there’s a lot I don’t know. Time to learn new routines, to stumble and fall and curse the fact I wasn’t even given training wheels to ease me into this one. I think about this, and I actually get excited – excited about the new challenge, the new learning, the chance for new mastery. Bring it on little Keaton, I’m ready.

While I’m usually not one who makes a habit of stealing movies, I did download a screener of Brokeback Mountain last night (don’t tell the MPAA, OK?) – the hype just got to me I guess. Sharaun and I plan on watching it today (Monday), and I hope to at least have some kind of opinion formed to write about it tomorrow. I’ve wanted to see it for a while, dude-humping or not, as the story does admittedly sound pretty compelling. Not sure how much I’ll buy into a love story about two rugged cowboys – but I have a sneaking feeling that, if I do, I’ll know what the hype’s really about.

And, to end this entry – let’s get to some bloggin’ standard fare, eh? Link rodeo!

  • First off, and may be somewhat old as it’s been making the rounds on the ‘net for some weeks now – the compelling story behind one of the most sampled drumbreaks in history: the Amen Beak. Who’d’ve thought that a single drum breakdown from a ’60s track could’ve fueled an entire musical genre some 30yrs later.
  • Next, and continuing with the music theme, I ran across this hilarious little film about indie record store clerks the other day on videosift. Turns out it’s hosted at stereogum, and I must’ve missed the original post – but watch it – they’ve got us indie snobs pegged.
  • Now, check out this awesome “civil obedience” experiment by some GA State students, where they form a 4-lane front of cars going the legal speed limit and film the results.
  • And, second-to-last, some non-music links: these couple links about a hilariously overstuffed “Ebay house” and not-so-hilarious (but thematically related) pictures of folks dealing with depression-induced squalor.
  • Lastly, and equally unrelated – the results of treehugger.com’s “waste of packaging” contest – pretty shameful.

That’s it folks, lots of nothing. Goodnight.