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i guess it’s better than malaria

Taking my chances.
Evening folks. Not that much tonight, just a single topic, but I make up for it with pictures.

Today I went to the doctor to get my anti-malaria pills for the looming India trip. Apparently there are several varieties of pills that can be prescribed to ward off the disease – and the doctor began by explaining that the one she’d chosen to dispense to me was one with “the least amount of adverse side effects.” “What kind of ‘adverse side effects?'” I asked. Well, this one can cause diarrhea and some patients experience “strange” dreams (can’t wait for that, based on some of the things I’ve been dreaming of late). “Hmmm…” I wondered aloud, “How much worse are the other drugs?” “Well,” she began, “Some can cause hallucinations.” Wow; hallucinations. How much good am I going to be to my customers if I’m up there, completely malaria-untouchable, but tripping balls and out of my head? For reals y’all, check this out:

A sampling of the various omens of doom stuck to the side of this “medicine”:

Take this medication at least 2 hours before or 2 hours after magnesium or aluminum containing antacids, iron, or vitamins/minerals.

Do not lie down for at least 30 minutes after taking this medication.

Prolonged or excessive exposure to direct and or artificial sunlight should be avoided when taking this medication.

Warning, do not use if you are pregnant, suspect that you are pregnant, or while breastfeeding.

This medication should be taken with plenty of water.

Do not play basketball or ride horses/donkeys, or play basketball while riding horses/donkeys, for at least 3 hours after taking this medication.

OK, so I made that last one up for comedic purposes – but, honestly. So lets get this straight – I can’t lie down, can’t go outside, can’t breastfeed (dang). I’ve never seen a pill bottle with so much instructional text and warning labels. When I picked up the prescription, I paid and began to walk away – but before I got to far, the cash register guy told me, “Wait a second sir, the pharmacist wanted to talk to you about this one.” “Great,” I thought, “this is some serious stuff.” The pharmacist basically just wanted to go over the various warnings, and give me the dosage directions: Take one pill a day beginning two days before arriving in malaria risk area, one each day while in risk area, and one each day for four weeks upon return. Extreme to me, but I guess it’s better than malaria.

Speaking of India, I broke down and went into work today. I had been on the fence about going into the office or “working from home” today, with both my brother and my brother-in-law both still in town – and my boss out. I know, however, that should I not come in, I’d get next to nothing, if not nothing, done with my time. So, I begrudgingly set the alarm for the standard 6:40am-snooze-snooze 7am wakeup and took up my week-forgotten pre-work routine. And, although I didn’t finish my India material, I did go from about 0-to-30%. More importantly though, I took care of a bunch of “housecleaning” activities that had been monkeys on my back this past week. So, while I’m still not 100% ready for this trip, I gave myself a heck of a lot more confidence that I can be ready before I have to get up in front of others and prove it. Not only that, but I’m otherwise “prep’d” for the trip and have taken care of the little things that you always need to take care of before international travel. Go me.

Done early; no late-night obsessing over an entry tonight. Until tomorry.

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a snowy day

Novice.
Before I say anything else (which likely won’t be much tonight), I just wanted to make sure I thank all of my commenters for doing just that, commenting. Nearly every time I read a comment, I have to restrain myself from commenting back – which, to me, is a close to a cardinal sin for a blogger (self-commenting, that is). So, don’t take my lack of response as a lack of caring… you’re a big part of what keeps me writing and I loves you all. Now to the same-old-same-old.

Today, we rolled up to Tahoe so Sharaun’s mom could get her first glimpse of falling snow. We were successful, to say the least – as we had to turn around shortly past the summit because the snow was so heavy. The roads were white and I was having flashbacks to our last stranded-in-a-blizzard experience coming home from Oregon last year. So, I pulled a dicey u-turn on a windy mountain road and headed back down – stopping shortly near a nice snowy field for the 1st-time standards of snowball fights and snowangels. And, since you’re reading this, we made it back down the mountain alive and with only one loss-of-control slip-sliding event. Her folks leave tomorrow, seems like it went by so fast. Her brother, and mine, are sticking around until the end of the week. In fact, my brother and I head to the airport at the same time Friday – him returning to duty and me taking wing to Bangalore.

And, speaking of India, thanks for the all encouragement regarding my trip. I’m still not looking forward to the work bit at all, not at all. I will indeed take lots of pictures, and try to enjoy things as much as possible. But man, packing… I have to pack for both India and Oregon, since I fly in from India on the 9th, pick up my bags, check them on another airline, and then get on a plane bound for Portland. I know, I complain to much – I should think of it in terms of getting a “freeish” vacation to an exotic country and getting to spend my birthday with my folks, wife, and unborn daughter. But, if I did that, I wouldn’t have any paragraphs to fill this page with… would I?

And, before I go – Tyler (Sharaun’s brother) and I have been playing the Pac Man machine like it’s going out of style this week. In fact, I think I’ve played it more this week than the entire time since I built it. Tyler was the first to do some internet research and memorize the four main level patterns that enable you to play forever if your reflexes are fast enough. Watching him destroy me every game made me also want to learn the patterns, and now we’re both completely addicted to running up the high score. Tyler shattered the long-standing ~39000 score with an amazing ~100000+ effort tonight – and I just thought I’d mention that.

I really have nothing to say. Nothing. Goodnight.

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thanksgiving day

Turkey is good.
Thanksgiving. One of the best sanctioned-lazy days of the year.

I woke up around 8:30am, hopped in the shower and, after drying, pulled on my most comfortable t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Making my way to the living room, everyone was awake and the kitchen was already bustling. The parents-in-law were both busy putting the finishing touches on dishes that were prepped last night, making them ready to slide into the oven come time. Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down to watch the parade and see what that latest internet goings-on had to offer. The weather is gorgeous, 70s and sunny with the mornings still crisp and cool, and the atmosphere at the house is all family and chatter. I love it; absolutely love it. It feels unlike any Thanksgiving I’ve yet had. Sharaun and I six months into our new daughter and family all around, it really feels grown-up; established, familiar.

Moving on to the weekend’s writing.

I wrote a lot this weekend, but most of it on the to-be-posted “best of 2005” entry. I plan to finish it up in spurts over the next week and drop it sometime while I’m in India. Excited? I thought so. Now on with the now.

Speaking of India, I leave in four days, that’s way too soon. I have nothing prepared – nothing ready; I have almost no idea what I’ll be doing there. I really, really, don’t want to go. I’ve been feeling so slack about work lately, maybe it’s because there’s so much more family stuff to focus on… I have no idea. I am excited about going to India, if just for the travel opportunity and bragging rights – but the “working” part of it has me worried. Ah, whatever, I do this every time I go somewhere. I have one week to pull something, anything, together – I suppose if I knuckle-down I can get something workable together – but will I do it, that’s what I want to know. In reality, I’ll likely do like I’ve done so many times before – I’ll wing it. Just fly across the world with nothing but my limp cock in-hand, relying on my smile and handshake to make the trip worthwhile. Man, this writing-cycle does tend to get old, I can only imagine the reading-cycle… sorry y’allz, let’s move on.

Crazy dreams last night, one in particular that I can remember was super-crazy. I was standing in line for confessional, two people waiting in front of me. I can remember feeling nervous because I wasn’t sure of the proper protocol once I actually got in the confessional. As a kid, I was hardly Catholic long enough to get baptizes, let alone be confirmed – so everything I know comes from movies. Soon I was the lone petitioner in line, and I knew something was wrong when person before me finally came out. I entered and sat down, “Father forgive me, it’s been blah blah since my last confession.” To my horror, I could see that the priest was laying on the ground, blood around his mouth. Despite this, he heard my confession and, instead of assigning penance, told me in a raspy dying breath to find that man who just left, at any cost. I left the church, walking across a green field, scared. Somehow, as things do in dreams, I looked back to find that the priest turned into a small dog, also with blood around its mouth, which was now chasing me as I ran towards my car. That’s it, crazy eh?

Before I go, I wanted to share this with y’all. A long time ago, someone left a message on our answering machine, a wrong number. It was funny. You can listen to it below:

[audio:holdinitdeeown2.mp3]

See ya.

Posted on

yellow photos

Minorpixels.
Evenin’ folks. Happy Thanksgiving to you all! Sorry for missing yesterday, family in town and just a general vacation malaise prevented me. Enjoy today’s simple, but done, entry.

I was thinking the other day about photos. I can remember looking through old photos of my brother and I, or even older ones of my folks when they were small. Often yellowed with age, the colors had been faded or muted by time – and the even older had no color at all, pre-personal color cameras, black and white. That got me thinking about the current state of personal photography, which can be pretty much summed up with one word: digital. In a generation or two, no more will kids look back on faded yellowed photos of their parents’ younger days. Every picture will be as pixely crisp as the day it was stored as a series of ones and zeroes.

I want to talk a little about baby gear. Sharaun and I went to the local baby superstore today to register for everything the expectant parent could dream of wanting. I was blown away by the multi-function baby gear. Nothing has a single function, everything is Swiss Army Knife style: the high-chair is a rocker in case baby dozes while eating; the Optimus Prime playpen magically changes into either a bassinet or changing table; even the cribs can extend their lives by being reassemble-able into beds. Everything is so fancy, so complicated, so extreme. They have “special edition” cribs that have been stylized by famous designers: the Gucci Edition diaper bags and Coach cribsheets are particularly fetching. I found it all pretty overwhelming, and, rather than get me excited about the coming tidal wave of baby gear, I found myself feeling materialistic, over-sold on things of questionable need and over-marketed-to.

As often happens when I feel pressured or pushed into something, my rebellion-reflex kicks in. The double-overhead shelves piled high with Diaper Genies, Table Edge Protectors, and baby video surveillance systems made me itchy; made me want to skip all the fancy crap. People didn’t have remote-controlled, transforming playpens that played nature sounds and gently vibrated while replicating the woosh of the womb back in “the old days.” (Note: I often refer to “the old days.” This is an idealistic time which exists only in my head that I imagine to be some Utopian mix of Mayberry and the time when dads used to smoke pipes after work in their study while their wives made a roast and their kids were at Scouts). People had high chairs built of wood, cribs built of wood, they changed their baby on any old flat surface rather than an EverSterile, singularly-purposed, Governing Council of Happy-Babies Approved “changing table.” People got along fine without buying straps that tie your tall furniture to the walls in case baby decided to pull them down crushingly. It made me want to go purposely simple, old-skool baby care.

I had a third paragraph, but it was the suck. Goodnight, Dave out.

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i guess you’ll need that soon

All that hard work pays.
A day spent working, not at work, but working still. Brushed sand into the paver porch as a joint stabilizer, poured some river rock on the new pad where we erected a shed the other day – Frank helped out with it all. It was good, working in the sun with my brother, smoking my pipe while we rocked an Allman Brothers show from the Fillmore that’s some thirty years old. After that I mowed the lawn and cleaned the shower – a good working Monday, none of it in a cube or in front of a monitor. Breaking a sweat outside is good, especially for the good of your own property – makes a guy feel accomplished, worth something.

Sharaun’s folks get in tomorrow (today as you read this). For the first time in five years, Sharaun’s gonna do Thanksgiving dinner here at home. We’re serving six: her folks and her little brother, and my brother as well. I’m actually excited, we’re always gone for the major holidays – so we’ve never really had the chance to “christen” our house with a good Thanksgiving meal or Christmas morning. It’ll be nice, one more step towards us being a full-fledged family; a family who stays up late on Christmas putting together Castle Greyskulls and Ewok Villiages while their children sleep. I dunno, I guess I’m somewhat obsessed with what I perceive to be our “transition” to parents, to a “family” moreso than we were before just the two of us. Frank and I were sitting in the backyard today, admiring our work, when he asked me what I planned on putting in a largish open area of grass. “I dunno,” I said, “A swingset maybe.” “A swingset,” he repeated, “Yeah, I guess you’ll need that soon, huh?” Yeah, I guess I will.

Right here, where you’re reading this, I had three different paragraphs started – and subsequently deleted. With that as my track record, and considering it’s late and I’m tired – I’m calling this match here. Blank page-1, Dave-0.

‘Nite.

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paid vacation

Put 'em in the wind.
The first person I told that Sharaun and I were having a baby was the drummer from the band Autodrone. I told him as we were in Manhattan, walking down Broadway I think… heading to Smith & Wollensky for a fat steak. It sounds more glamorous that it is. The drummer is Ben’s brother Dave, and I was in New York for work. Still, on it’s own, that first sentence sounds totally awesome.

Last Thursday night I was getting ready for bed, thinking about my vacation next week. Thinking about my India trip after that, my trip to Oregon after that, and my trip to Florida after that. Then I started thinking about my “bonding leave” after that. For the past two weeks, I’ve been agonizing over that schedule; fretting. See, I’m a little terrified. Terrified that, after being away from work for what will amount to months, I’ll become irrelevant, lose touch, fall out of respect as a contributor with an opinion that deserves to be heard. I’ve shared this fear with some, and they maintain that it’s irrational. “Not all that much changes in 6wks,” they insist (see, I’ll be “gone” twice, each time about 6wks long), “you’ll fall right back into the swing of things,” they say. And, while those assurances do lend some small comfort, my issues with earning workplace respect still gnaw at me – poking me, chiding, “They’re all gonna forget you, you’ll simply cease to be relevant.” So, I still have some hesitation, and it was in the throes of mulling that hesitation that night when I had a revelation, when I saw the flipside of the coin.

I’ll embrace the second-order effects of my very own fears – I’ll give up. I’ll trust the well-wishers, believe the re-assurers implicitly. Things will be the same. Afterall, I’m not delusional enough to think I’m in-expendable; or that the organization will fall apart in my absence, void of my wisdom and guidance. I’m not that puffy-chested. So, regardless of any lingering doubt, I’ll assume I’ll return from all this away-time as if returning to work on any Monday like today. I’ll imagine I’ll walk right in and pick up where I left off, that my time away will in no way effect my impact. This will be a forced belief, of course, as I truly think quite the opposite – but it won’t matter. Wanna know why? Because taking this approach, I get one very clear benefit – I can rest on my laurels for a bit and enjoy a very fortuitous alignment of travel, holidays, vacation, and “leave.” Who cares if I become irrelevant. I have the skills to become relevant again. So, let’s do this; bring it on – I’m ready to not care like I’ve not not cared before. And believe me, I’m the king of not caring.

Mind you, I can’t really do this… my self-confidence-centered paranoia will ensure that. I won’t let myself sabotage what I’ve strived to build up, either nature or nurture instilled me with too much common sense to just waste what makings of a career I’ve already managed. Still, it’s a nice counterpoint to salve my nervous fears, and it gives me a sort of rebellious comfort. Through some twisted thought process, becoming irrelevant by being an absentee is somehow sexy to me – a bucking of the system in some sense. Reconciled internally by me as an outward show of hubris; me hanging my nuts in the wind for the world to see. Oh yeah, sexy.

Anyone else think the only way the OC is remotely watchable these days is by fast-forwarding through the crappy grownup segments? God that show sucks, and how I used to fawn over it. Who spliced a storyline from Days of Our Lives in between the indie-rock kids drama? They should be fired.

Goodnight, I’m out.

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sometimes you just write

Add it up, add it up.
Friday y’all. Friday and I don’t have to wake up tomorrow. But now, Thursday night, it’s getting late and I have only the Lindsay Lohan and World of Warcraft paragraphs done (read on, you’ll see what I mean) – and if that’s all I can muster, you’ll never read this. I have no real original content tonight, just links and link commentary.

My new Maxim came with a free 14 day trial of WoW, and I am so tempted to install it and give it a shot. So many people I know are obsessed with it, and it does seem to be right up my alley. See, these are the things my sedentary lifestyle allows me to think over: whether or not to install a free game and invest some sitting-on-my-ass time in running around in it. I’m no gamer, but I have a feeling I could become addicted to a large fantasyish MMPORG like WoW or EverQuest. And… why I’m writing about this, I have no idea. Let’s move on then.

Found an interesting link today while doing random browsing of del.icio.us, a free online book (in PDF format) written by Scott Adams of Dilbert fame. But, this is no comic strip, just what Adams calls “… a 132-page thought experiment wrapped in a fictional story,” and recommends that, “For maximum enjoyment, share God’s Debris with a smart friend and then discuss it while enjoying a tasty beverage.” So, I figured I’ve got plenty of smart friends, and the premise of the book does sound interesting: Imagine that you meet a very old man who—you eventually realize—knows literally everything. Imagine that he explains for you the great mysteries of life—quantum physics, evolution, God, gravity, light, psychic phenomenon, and probability—in a way so simple, so novel, and so compelling that it all fits together and makes perfect sense. What does it feel like to suddenly understand everything? Compelling, no?

I’m about 40 pages into it and already it’s struck several chords with me, Divine omniscience vs. human free will, the odds of choosing the “right” religion, what exactly quantifies “belief,” etc. The narrative style reminds me a lot of Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael, actually. To temp you even more into reading, should you be the temptable type, an excerpt I particularly liked:

“Let’s say that you and I decide to travel separately to the same place. You have a map that is blue and I have a map that is green. Neither map shows all the possible routes, but both maps show an acceptable—yet different—route to the destination. If we both take our trips and return safely, we would spread the word of our successful maps to others. I would say, with complete conviction, that my green map was perfect, and I might warn people to avoid any other sort of map. You would feel the same conviction about your blue map.

“Religions are like different maps whose routes all lead to the collective good of society. Some maps take their followers over rugged terrain. Other maps have easier paths. Some of the travelers of each route will be assigned the job of being the protectors and interpreters of the map. They will teach the young to respect it and be suspicious of other maps.”

“Okay,” I said, “but who made the maps in the first place?”

“The maps were made by the people who went first and didn’t die. The maps that survive are the ones that work,” he said.

“Are you saying that all the religions work? What about all the people who have been killed in religious wars?”

“You can’t judge the value of a thing by looking only at costs. In many countries, more people die from hospital errors than religious wars, but no one accuses hospitals of being evil. Religious people are happier, they live longer, have fewer accidents, and stay out of trouble compared to nonreligious people. From society’s viewpoint, religion works.”

Scott Adams, God’s Debris

And we all blog about the same things in the end, don’t we?

Finally, while I’m not a big pop-culture fan, I did get a chuckle out of Stereogum’s relating of the Lindsay Lohan / Jason Lewis thing (although, I must admit I didn’t even know there was a “Jason Lewis” to impersonate). I think I like it more for the 007 famous-people-infiltrating aspects than I do for any vicarious thrill from this guy’s brush with Ms. Lohan. You can read it, and then when you’re done you’ll feel like my blog today was full of good stuff – it’s the power of linking.

I thought you were gonna start a blog, pussy.

Give up Dave, you obviously have nothing to say. Goodnight.