Because I'm a sucker for traditions (not to mention easy to use holiday themes), we now proudly present:
Things I am thankful for this year
A reasonably healthy family.
The fact that the town we've moved into has thus far proven to be as nice as it seemed before we moved.
A good job where I am appreciated.
Maintaining my ability to nearly always come up with an appropriate (or if I can get away with it, inappropriate) witty response to something.
Tofurkey.
The fact that none of my weird medical issues this year turned out to be anything serious.
All five of our regular readers here at Dangerously Low On Grog.
A family of in-laws who make me feel welcome and accepted, often more so than my real family did.
Only one awkward death situation (hey, I'm getting up there in the years, and I need to be glad that these are kept to a minimum).
Having a PSP to help get me through the dreaded exercise bike time.
Two beautiful, intelligent children who make me feel strong, important, and loved.
One beautiful, intelligent, wonderful wife who continues to impress me in ways that words cannot express. No one helps me grow, challenges me, or fills me with as much joy as she can, and I'm forever thankful that she is part of my life.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving, unless you're in a country other than America. Then, I hope you have a wonderful Thursday. Either way, take a minute to appreciate the things you have.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
gLife
As someone who's life is intricately woven in with technology, it's probably not surprising that I use a lot of cutting edge tools to run things. What's making me nervous at this point is that so much of it comes from a single source. One company consistently pulls off what I need - a useful version of a desktop application that I can use online. The issue is that so much of my life is wrapped up in it now, that I'm beginning to fear their power over my.
Google may very well own my life at this point.
Seriously, I use Gmail as my main account (as well as the email for this blog). I use Google Calendar to not only maintain all of my appointments, but monitor my lovely wife's appointments (we share calendars), the Princess's school calendar, a home maintenance calendar, and the typical U.S. holidays. I've used the Google maps customization to map out my neighborhood in an effort to remember the names of those who live around me. I love my iGoogle desktops, and obviously they are the only search engine I bother with whether looking for web pages, images, maps or videos. Throw on top of that that DLOG is on Blogger (also owned and run by Google), and you've got a pretty good swatch of my life wrapped up in free Google technology.
So the other day, I'm setting up the whole counting calories scene, and trying to figure out where to keep track of stuff. Initially, I started out on the family wiki (yes, we have a family wiki). The problem was that I don't like entering data into wiki or HTML format. In looking for another solution, I once again checked out Google Documents, and found, both to my relief and consternation, exactly what I was looking for.
If you have a Google account (or a Gmail account), then you can access Google Documents. There, you can create text documents, Powerpoint like presentations, and even spreadsheets. That's the one that got me. I can enter my calories into a spreadsheet that will calculate totals, and then I can switch to a second page to put the daily totals for calories and exercise. Very cool.
My only concern is that Google's "Do no evil" creed can only last so long. One day, they are going to look at all this awesome free stuff they've been offering up, and decide that it's too good to be free. By then, my life will be so intertwined with these systems, I will be forced to commit to whatever demands they make. They can decide that they are a new religion, and I will have to choice but to bow down to my new Google overlords.
Here's hoping they don't require funny, Hari Krishna haircuts.
Google may very well own my life at this point.
Seriously, I use Gmail as my main account (as well as the email for this blog). I use Google Calendar to not only maintain all of my appointments, but monitor my lovely wife's appointments (we share calendars), the Princess's school calendar, a home maintenance calendar, and the typical U.S. holidays. I've used the Google maps customization to map out my neighborhood in an effort to remember the names of those who live around me. I love my iGoogle desktops, and obviously they are the only search engine I bother with whether looking for web pages, images, maps or videos. Throw on top of that that DLOG is on Blogger (also owned and run by Google), and you've got a pretty good swatch of my life wrapped up in free Google technology.
So the other day, I'm setting up the whole counting calories scene, and trying to figure out where to keep track of stuff. Initially, I started out on the family wiki (yes, we have a family wiki). The problem was that I don't like entering data into wiki or HTML format. In looking for another solution, I once again checked out Google Documents, and found, both to my relief and consternation, exactly what I was looking for.
If you have a Google account (or a Gmail account), then you can access Google Documents. There, you can create text documents, Powerpoint like presentations, and even spreadsheets. That's the one that got me. I can enter my calories into a spreadsheet that will calculate totals, and then I can switch to a second page to put the daily totals for calories and exercise. Very cool.
My only concern is that Google's "Do no evil" creed can only last so long. One day, they are going to look at all this awesome free stuff they've been offering up, and decide that it's too good to be free. By then, my life will be so intertwined with these systems, I will be forced to commit to whatever demands they make. They can decide that they are a new religion, and I will have to choice but to bow down to my new Google overlords.
Here's hoping they don't require funny, Hari Krishna haircuts.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Why The Count Is Always Ripped
Despite the fact that I have incredible powers of denial, it has come to my attention that I have once again put on a few extra pounds. It's nothing dramatic yet, but it needs to be dealt with before I expand back to my marriage weight (I'm not showing the pictures, but we were a monocle, top hat and umbrella from my lovely bride marrying the Penguin). As such, I've returned to the dreaded task of calorie counting.
Now, I cannot properly express my disdain for this practice. It's not that it's a bad thing. In fact, I think it's the only real path to me ever losing weight. Rather, I dislike it because it goes against one of my most deeply rooted habits. Not only do I love to eat, I love to graze.
This is an issue because I fail to realize how often I'm eating something without thinking about it. You go to work, and there's always someone who has a dish (or in my current case, a bucket) of candy free for anyone. I have a near physical inability to walk by such things without partaking. It's worse when someone trots out baked goods or, Bob forbid, the almighty doughnut. You might as well just throw them at me.
Then I start counting calories, and realize that each thing I pick up will not only count against me, but will involve work. I have to write it down or I'll forget I ate it. Then I have to look up the calorie, fat and protein content of the item. Then it goes on my chart, and the totals are recalculated. Fact is, my laziness contributes at least as much to any resultant weight loss as the concern over caloric intake, but hey, as long as it works, great.
Don't get the wrong idea here - I'm glad I'm doing it. It's just that when I'm trying to discuss work stuff, and I realize that I've looked at the bowl of Fun Size Snickers six times in the last minute, well...it's hard. I'm not an inherently strong person, taking most of my power from my lovely wife. (I actually do it while she sleeps. It's complicated, and there's chanting involved - send me an email if you need more information.) I was raised to face such adversity with an overwhelming "Oh, what the %#$@" followed by a gorging of such decadence it would make Caligula blush.
I will overcome my resistance though and follow through, if for no other reason than the rat bastards who make Desperate Housewives continue to ignore my pleas to let a couple of the male characters let themselves go a bit. I mean, these are supposed to be old married couples, right? Is it really necessary that Tom remain in his chiseled state? The guy owns a pizza place for Pete's sake (last I watched anyway). They need to let him kick back, knock down a few beers, eat some nachos, and bulk up a bit so I don't have to work so hard to compete.
Well, that or I could convince my lovely wife to only watch According to Jim, but that just seems so cruel.
Now, I cannot properly express my disdain for this practice. It's not that it's a bad thing. In fact, I think it's the only real path to me ever losing weight. Rather, I dislike it because it goes against one of my most deeply rooted habits. Not only do I love to eat, I love to graze.
This is an issue because I fail to realize how often I'm eating something without thinking about it. You go to work, and there's always someone who has a dish (or in my current case, a bucket) of candy free for anyone. I have a near physical inability to walk by such things without partaking. It's worse when someone trots out baked goods or, Bob forbid, the almighty doughnut. You might as well just throw them at me.
Then I start counting calories, and realize that each thing I pick up will not only count against me, but will involve work. I have to write it down or I'll forget I ate it. Then I have to look up the calorie, fat and protein content of the item. Then it goes on my chart, and the totals are recalculated. Fact is, my laziness contributes at least as much to any resultant weight loss as the concern over caloric intake, but hey, as long as it works, great.
Don't get the wrong idea here - I'm glad I'm doing it. It's just that when I'm trying to discuss work stuff, and I realize that I've looked at the bowl of Fun Size Snickers six times in the last minute, well...it's hard. I'm not an inherently strong person, taking most of my power from my lovely wife. (I actually do it while she sleeps. It's complicated, and there's chanting involved - send me an email if you need more information.) I was raised to face such adversity with an overwhelming "Oh, what the %#$@" followed by a gorging of such decadence it would make Caligula blush.
I will overcome my resistance though and follow through, if for no other reason than the rat bastards who make Desperate Housewives continue to ignore my pleas to let a couple of the male characters let themselves go a bit. I mean, these are supposed to be old married couples, right? Is it really necessary that Tom remain in his chiseled state? The guy owns a pizza place for Pete's sake (last I watched anyway). They need to let him kick back, knock down a few beers, eat some nachos, and bulk up a bit so I don't have to work so hard to compete.
Well, that or I could convince my lovely wife to only watch According to Jim, but that just seems so cruel.
Monday, November 24, 2008
That's Just How I Roll
When you move into a house, you find all sorts of things that need to be fixed. Carpets need to be straightened, paint needs to be touched up, incredibly dangerous installed fireplace inserts need to be reinstalled - that kind of thing. After a while, things settle, and you began to notice the smaller things that previously escaped your notice before. This weekend, I had such a revelation.
The fixtures in my bathroom were installed upside down.
Now, for the towel rack this does not matter much, but for the toilet paper roll it's a real issue. See, the fixtures feature a metal design, sort of an altered Fleur-de-lis (that's right, I'm all cultured and %#$@). As a result, the upside down installation puts the point of the design at the bottom, as can be seen here:
You may be asking why this is a big deal. Well, the pointy part digs into the toilet paper roll when it is hung correctly, i.e. when the paper comes over the top toward the bathroom, as opposed to hiding behind the roll. So, in order to use this holder, you have to hang the roll incorrectly, like this:
This is incorrect because it sends the wrong message. When hung correctly, the roll of toilet paper is expressing its readiness. It's right there, willingly waiting to perform its duty, fearless and confidant that it can get the job done.
When hung the other way, the paper seems to be hiding. It knows why you're there. It knows how this is going to down. It's almost cowering in its knowledge of its final destination, avoiding those patrons of the porcelain facilities in the hopes that perhaps they will instead opt for one of those Cottenelle wipes or even a facial tissue instead. This is not a product who is ready and willing to do its job, and the user is shamed for forcing it out of hiding to meet its end, or their end, or whatever.
So yeah, I'm going to have to remedy this situation as part of my ongoing to-do list. I can't have my guests feeling all bad about themselves each time nature calls. I want people to feel comfortable and relaxed in my home, free to do whatever job needs to be done guilt free. I want us to receive compliments on it."I love how you've decorated the place, and to tell the truth, I've never been so comfortable dropping a duece in someone else's house in my life."
Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I can put that one off for just a little while longer.
The fixtures in my bathroom were installed upside down.
Now, for the towel rack this does not matter much, but for the toilet paper roll it's a real issue. See, the fixtures feature a metal design, sort of an altered Fleur-de-lis (that's right, I'm all cultured and %#$@). As a result, the upside down installation puts the point of the design at the bottom, as can be seen here:
You may be asking why this is a big deal. Well, the pointy part digs into the toilet paper roll when it is hung correctly, i.e. when the paper comes over the top toward the bathroom, as opposed to hiding behind the roll. So, in order to use this holder, you have to hang the roll incorrectly, like this:
This is incorrect because it sends the wrong message. When hung correctly, the roll of toilet paper is expressing its readiness. It's right there, willingly waiting to perform its duty, fearless and confidant that it can get the job done.
When hung the other way, the paper seems to be hiding. It knows why you're there. It knows how this is going to down. It's almost cowering in its knowledge of its final destination, avoiding those patrons of the porcelain facilities in the hopes that perhaps they will instead opt for one of those Cottenelle wipes or even a facial tissue instead. This is not a product who is ready and willing to do its job, and the user is shamed for forcing it out of hiding to meet its end, or their end, or whatever.
So yeah, I'm going to have to remedy this situation as part of my ongoing to-do list. I can't have my guests feeling all bad about themselves each time nature calls. I want people to feel comfortable and relaxed in my home, free to do whatever job needs to be done guilt free. I want us to receive compliments on it."I love how you've decorated the place, and to tell the truth, I've never been so comfortable dropping a duece in someone else's house in my life."
Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I can put that one off for just a little while longer.
Friday, November 21, 2008
At Least I'm Not Crying and Telling People I Love Them...Yet
We're running late today. It's not that I don't have anything to say. I'm simply having trouble putting words together in a coherent fashion. See, the Moose is all better, and that's great, but staying up with him and taking care of him left me vulnerable to a sinus infection. As a result, I was up a good part of last night with a crushing sinus headache. When I woke up, it hurt to move my head, so I took a Sudafed, which got rid of the headache.
Now I just don't know where I am.
It seems to be getting worse too. Over lunch I squandered a half an hour picking up lumber for the handyman (who postponed until tomorrow and frankly is nearing replacement) to do some repairs, and felt tired, but that was all. As the afternoon presses on, I'm teetering closer to...I'm not sure what. I'm not going to fall asleep I don't think. It's not like I've been drinking, although honestly if it doesn't clear up by six, I might be calling home for a ride. I'm just really out of it and wishing I was at home under a blanket.
So, another disappointing blog in a week of weak posts. Sorry folks. That's the reality of being a family guy - frequently, everything else has to be dropped for the sake of one of my pod. Now I'm off to get another half pot of godawful complimentary company coffee. I don't know that the caffeine is really helping at this point.
I do find that trying to suppress the gag reflex keeps me awake though.
Now I just don't know where I am.
It seems to be getting worse too. Over lunch I squandered a half an hour picking up lumber for the handyman (who postponed until tomorrow and frankly is nearing replacement) to do some repairs, and felt tired, but that was all. As the afternoon presses on, I'm teetering closer to...I'm not sure what. I'm not going to fall asleep I don't think. It's not like I've been drinking, although honestly if it doesn't clear up by six, I might be calling home for a ride. I'm just really out of it and wishing I was at home under a blanket.
So, another disappointing blog in a week of weak posts. Sorry folks. That's the reality of being a family guy - frequently, everything else has to be dropped for the sake of one of my pod. Now I'm off to get another half pot of godawful complimentary company coffee. I don't know that the caffeine is really helping at this point.
I do find that trying to suppress the gag reflex keeps me awake though.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Niger(ia), Please
Okay, we're kind of back. The Moose is well enough that he wants to play and watch Zobomafoo, so I have a few minutes to put down my thoughts, and today, despite lack of sleep and Sudafed head (sweet, sweet Sudafed head), I have thoughts. First, today's soundtrack (for those of you who don't know how this works, click the link and let the default occur, and if that fails, right click the link, save it to your computer, and then open it).
Message No. 419
So, one would hope that at this point this kind of public service announcement would be unnecessary, but the gullibility of the common man never ceases to amaze me. Case in point: the nice lady who sent hundreds of thousands of dollars to someone she didn't know, cleaning out hubby's retirement fund, mortgaging her house, taking a lien on her car - all hoping to get a cut of millions of dollars from someone escaping Africa. It's known as the "Nigerian Scam". Note the last word there.
Now, this is hardly a new phenomena. The whole "I have to escape the country with my 40 million dollars and will happily give you a cut if you give me your bank account information" thing showed up in my first inbox about eight years ago. Since then, it has been well documented. So yeah, no excuse there.
But let's assume that this woman somehow missed the television, radio and print news stories about these scams. Maybe we should cut her some slack. After all, we're all human, right?
In the immortal words of Will Smith, "Aw, hell no".
Her friends told her it was a scam. Her family told her it was a scam. The %#@$ing police told her it was a scam. Not even a supposed letter from George W. Bush full of misspelled words clued her in that something was not right here. I mean, I would believe the misspelled words, but he has people for proofreading. It's a Presidential perk.
So, for any of you that still don't get it, there is no way that anyone, anywhere, is going to offer to share lots of money with you. People are, in their tiny little hearts, essentially greedy beings. It's part of survival. There's a reason we all wait around for our inheritances - death is pretty much the only way to get people to give away money without wanting something in return.
Now forward this to all of your really gullible friends. They'll thank you. Actually, wait...just send me their emails.
I have some lovely swampland that I would like to talk to them about.
Message No. 419
So, one would hope that at this point this kind of public service announcement would be unnecessary, but the gullibility of the common man never ceases to amaze me. Case in point: the nice lady who sent hundreds of thousands of dollars to someone she didn't know, cleaning out hubby's retirement fund, mortgaging her house, taking a lien on her car - all hoping to get a cut of millions of dollars from someone escaping Africa. It's known as the "Nigerian Scam". Note the last word there.
Now, this is hardly a new phenomena. The whole "I have to escape the country with my 40 million dollars and will happily give you a cut if you give me your bank account information" thing showed up in my first inbox about eight years ago. Since then, it has been well documented. So yeah, no excuse there.
But let's assume that this woman somehow missed the television, radio and print news stories about these scams. Maybe we should cut her some slack. After all, we're all human, right?
In the immortal words of Will Smith, "Aw, hell no".
Her friends told her it was a scam. Her family told her it was a scam. The %#@$ing police told her it was a scam. Not even a supposed letter from George W. Bush full of misspelled words clued her in that something was not right here. I mean, I would believe the misspelled words, but he has people for proofreading. It's a Presidential perk.
So, for any of you that still don't get it, there is no way that anyone, anywhere, is going to offer to share lots of money with you. People are, in their tiny little hearts, essentially greedy beings. It's part of survival. There's a reason we all wait around for our inheritances - death is pretty much the only way to get people to give away money without wanting something in return.
Now forward this to all of your really gullible friends. They'll thank you. Actually, wait...just send me their emails.
I have some lovely swampland that I would like to talk to them about.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Couch Sitting, Moose Style
I'm sitting here with the Moose, pretty much getting hollered at every
time I leave the couch, which is rough as I'm running on coffee and
Sudafed myself (I've been getting sick all week). So not only am I
wasting my really sick, Barry White voice (oh baby baby), I'm again
not writing a decent blog entry. So, sorry to the five people or so
that follow this. Please don't abandon it - we'll be back to droning
on about things that rarely matter soon enough.
time I leave the couch, which is rough as I'm running on coffee and
Sudafed myself (I've been getting sick all week). So not only am I
wasting my really sick, Barry White voice (oh baby baby), I'm again
not writing a decent blog entry. So, sorry to the five people or so
that follow this. Please don't abandon it - we'll be back to droning
on about things that rarely matter soon enough.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Well, I Can Tell You How To Get There
We're going to be brief today because I'm writing from my phone while the Moose watches Sesame Street. We're home because someone has hives (hint - it ain't me). So yeah, stop by tomorrow and we should be back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Monday, November 17, 2008
On The Bright Side, Still No Contact From Relatives
This weekend, I finally hit the point of Facebook weirdness. See, I'm pretty open when it comes to the whole friend invite thing. So long as I know you, or knew you, we're good. It's turning into a bit of a high school reunion, but that's okay. As I've previously mentioned, it's nice to see what people are up to, make smart ass remarks about their statuses, and generally feel like I'm maintaining contact, all without the difficulties of actual, real-life socialization.
So, this weekend I get another friend invite. This one actually included an email spelling out that I went to high school with her, she graduated a year ahead of me, yadda yadda yadda, which people don't usually go to the trouble of doing (typically it's just the automatic "so and so want to add you as a friend"). So, I'm at this point curious as to who this is.
I follow the link (all on my iPhone, where I do the Facebook stuff), and I'm presented with the usual, extremely brief overview that is supplied when you're not actually friends yet. This includes the person's profile and their profile picture. So, what I have at this point is that she's married, she's catholic, and she chose as her profile picture a shot of herself in a bikini.
And I have no idea who I'm looking at.
This isn't a huge shock at first, because I have a lousy memory (not to mention I don't recall a lot of people coming to school in a bikini). So, I ask my wife (who went to school with me) if she knew who it was. She says yes, but it does nothing to jog my memory. Since I didn't remember this person, I ignored the request.
Now let me explain this a little, lest you think me callous. I know that for some people, these sites are a game. The whole goal is to see how many friends you can get. So, when I'm presented with an invite from someone I don't recall, and they have chosen a profile picture that would appear to be selected for maximizing the potential "yes" responses, at least among the male crowd (or the female gay crowd - don't want to leave anyone out), then I am suspect that I am being used as a pawn in the game, and homey don't play that. Besides, the bikini thing is a little awkward. If you don't believe me, then I'll change my profile picture to myself in a banana hammock and see how many of my current friends drop me like Fox dropping a program once they realize how good it is (Firefly canceling mother %#@$ers).
The real kicker here is that in writing this, I realized who the person is. We were in choir together (which is how I knew most people not in my immediate circle in high school). So now I kind of feel bad for ignoring the request.
But not as bad as potentially causing any of you to picture me in a banana hammock.
So, this weekend I get another friend invite. This one actually included an email spelling out that I went to high school with her, she graduated a year ahead of me, yadda yadda yadda, which people don't usually go to the trouble of doing (typically it's just the automatic "so and so want to add you as a friend"). So, I'm at this point curious as to who this is.
I follow the link (all on my iPhone, where I do the Facebook stuff), and I'm presented with the usual, extremely brief overview that is supplied when you're not actually friends yet. This includes the person's profile and their profile picture. So, what I have at this point is that she's married, she's catholic, and she chose as her profile picture a shot of herself in a bikini.
And I have no idea who I'm looking at.
This isn't a huge shock at first, because I have a lousy memory (not to mention I don't recall a lot of people coming to school in a bikini). So, I ask my wife (who went to school with me) if she knew who it was. She says yes, but it does nothing to jog my memory. Since I didn't remember this person, I ignored the request.
Now let me explain this a little, lest you think me callous. I know that for some people, these sites are a game. The whole goal is to see how many friends you can get. So, when I'm presented with an invite from someone I don't recall, and they have chosen a profile picture that would appear to be selected for maximizing the potential "yes" responses, at least among the male crowd (or the female gay crowd - don't want to leave anyone out), then I am suspect that I am being used as a pawn in the game, and homey don't play that. Besides, the bikini thing is a little awkward. If you don't believe me, then I'll change my profile picture to myself in a banana hammock and see how many of my current friends drop me like Fox dropping a program once they realize how good it is (Firefly canceling mother %#@$ers).
The real kicker here is that in writing this, I realized who the person is. We were in choir together (which is how I knew most people not in my immediate circle in high school). So now I kind of feel bad for ignoring the request.
But not as bad as potentially causing any of you to picture me in a banana hammock.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Lifestyles of the...Meh. Whatever.
Can someone tell me what is wrong with me that I almost never care about the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Everyone else in the US of A seems to eat this #%@$ up, and I can't even make myself read the preview blurb that shows up under Google news headlines. Is it me? Am I overestimating how interested others are in this stuff?
Take for example the whole Brad-Angelina-Jennifer fiasco. You know how much I know about that? That Brad, Angelina, and Jennifer are involved, and that the prettiest among them is still Brad. It seems like every other day, I see another headline on these three. Jennifer said something. Now Brad's all huffy about it. Angelina wants to give up movies so she can built a real life "It's A Small World" ride in her living room, and she only has to adopt 15 more kids until it's complete.
Do. Not. Care.
It's not that I dislike these people - I don't know them, so how could I. (Side note - that is an inaccurate generality. Example: If you're the dude who farts in the cereal isle at the grocery store right before I go down it, causing my to step right into the eye of your funk in an effort to buy my kids Cheerios, I don't need to know you. I don't like you.) I enjoy their work for the most part. I just don't care about their home lives. It's simply none of my business.
Now of course there's a line there. What if I really enjoy someone's work, but it turns out that the person is a tremendous douche bag in real life? Do I boycott their work on the basis of my disapproval of their social skills? Is it irresponsible of me to simply not care what kind of person they are so long as their not being really destructive? Should I have stopped reading Ctrl-Alt-Del by now?
Beats me, but the question has zero effect on my apathy towards this kind of celebrity news. I note two kinds of celebrity news - someone did something that I can poke fun of (like letting naked pictures of themselves get onto the internet), or someone died. Yep, until People starts a section that's nothing but death and humiliation, I think I'll pass.
Actually, now that I've said that, I fear I've cursed some celebrity to die in a some ridiculous fashion while stark naked, the entire thing filmed and leaked on the internet immediately. I don't wish that on anyone, but I am a man of my word. I'd have to watch it.
Please, please let Hugh Hefner be safe tonight.
Take for example the whole Brad-Angelina-Jennifer fiasco. You know how much I know about that? That Brad, Angelina, and Jennifer are involved, and that the prettiest among them is still Brad. It seems like every other day, I see another headline on these three. Jennifer said something. Now Brad's all huffy about it. Angelina wants to give up movies so she can built a real life "It's A Small World" ride in her living room, and she only has to adopt 15 more kids until it's complete.
Do. Not. Care.
It's not that I dislike these people - I don't know them, so how could I. (Side note - that is an inaccurate generality. Example: If you're the dude who farts in the cereal isle at the grocery store right before I go down it, causing my to step right into the eye of your funk in an effort to buy my kids Cheerios, I don't need to know you. I don't like you.) I enjoy their work for the most part. I just don't care about their home lives. It's simply none of my business.
Now of course there's a line there. What if I really enjoy someone's work, but it turns out that the person is a tremendous douche bag in real life? Do I boycott their work on the basis of my disapproval of their social skills? Is it irresponsible of me to simply not care what kind of person they are so long as their not being really destructive? Should I have stopped reading Ctrl-Alt-Del by now?
Beats me, but the question has zero effect on my apathy towards this kind of celebrity news. I note two kinds of celebrity news - someone did something that I can poke fun of (like letting naked pictures of themselves get onto the internet), or someone died. Yep, until People starts a section that's nothing but death and humiliation, I think I'll pass.
Actually, now that I've said that, I fear I've cursed some celebrity to die in a some ridiculous fashion while stark naked, the entire thing filmed and leaked on the internet immediately. I don't wish that on anyone, but I am a man of my word. I'd have to watch it.
Please, please let Hugh Hefner be safe tonight.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Hillary Would Have Made This So Much Easier
So, Lindsay Lohan, being a beacon for all things awkward lately, is now being jumped all over for referring to Obama as the the "first colored president". Apparently, this particular form of lingo is considered archaic amongst the Hollywood hipsters. Here's the funny thing about it though - what would you say?
I was trying to discuss this with the Princess that day after the election, and I asked her if she knew what it meant to say that someone was "African American". She responded that it was probably someone who spent half their time in Africa, and the other half in America. I paused, thought about it, and promptly abandoned the conversation at that point, realizing that my daughter (correctly) doesn't give a %#@$ what color someone's skin is, and doesn't even really think about it at all. I mean, her answer makes as much sense as anything else, and it's not what I meant at all.
All my life I've actually dealt with this issue. I know it sounds silly, but dammit, I have no idea what terminology is correct when referring to...what? Black people? People of color? African Americans? Have I now offended somebody? It's weird, especially in light of the fact that I'm really not racist in any meaningful way. (Note: I avoid saying outright that I am not racist, not because I believe that one race is superior than another, but because to simply say "I'm not racist" is a bit of a fallacy - as Avenue Q put it "Everyone's a little bit racist".)
Anyway, it's one of those things that actually causes me to avoid discussions where I have to refer to anyone of a specific ethnicity that cannot be directly referred to by country. This gives me the freedom to talk about Mexicans and Canadians for example, which is nice, although I don't have much to say on either subject. I can't refer to my own ethnicity, because, despite the appearance of being the standard white guy, I'm actually an American mutt, with blood that's known to be English, Scottish, Mexican, and a little touch of Macaque (great great great great grandpa was apparently a bit of a freak - let's not talk about that).
So yeah, while I question Lohan's choice of words, I can't judge her as quickly as so many others seem to be. It's an awkward thing to talk about, and it seems there are always people lurking about who are just dying to be offended by something. Maybe we can all get together and get legislation signed that tells us what the proper terminology is. Then, if someone's offended, we can just point them to that, and say something like, "Hey, I don't like it either, but it's the law".
Gods, I shudder to think how we're going to deal with the first albino, hermaphroditic, midget President - the politically correct contingency will implode under the strain.
I was trying to discuss this with the Princess that day after the election, and I asked her if she knew what it meant to say that someone was "African American". She responded that it was probably someone who spent half their time in Africa, and the other half in America. I paused, thought about it, and promptly abandoned the conversation at that point, realizing that my daughter (correctly) doesn't give a %#@$ what color someone's skin is, and doesn't even really think about it at all. I mean, her answer makes as much sense as anything else, and it's not what I meant at all.
All my life I've actually dealt with this issue. I know it sounds silly, but dammit, I have no idea what terminology is correct when referring to...what? Black people? People of color? African Americans? Have I now offended somebody? It's weird, especially in light of the fact that I'm really not racist in any meaningful way. (Note: I avoid saying outright that I am not racist, not because I believe that one race is superior than another, but because to simply say "I'm not racist" is a bit of a fallacy - as Avenue Q put it "Everyone's a little bit racist".)
Anyway, it's one of those things that actually causes me to avoid discussions where I have to refer to anyone of a specific ethnicity that cannot be directly referred to by country. This gives me the freedom to talk about Mexicans and Canadians for example, which is nice, although I don't have much to say on either subject. I can't refer to my own ethnicity, because, despite the appearance of being the standard white guy, I'm actually an American mutt, with blood that's known to be English, Scottish, Mexican, and a little touch of Macaque (great great great great grandpa was apparently a bit of a freak - let's not talk about that).
So yeah, while I question Lohan's choice of words, I can't judge her as quickly as so many others seem to be. It's an awkward thing to talk about, and it seems there are always people lurking about who are just dying to be offended by something. Maybe we can all get together and get legislation signed that tells us what the proper terminology is. Then, if someone's offended, we can just point them to that, and say something like, "Hey, I don't like it either, but it's the law".
Gods, I shudder to think how we're going to deal with the first albino, hermaphroditic, midget President - the politically correct contingency will implode under the strain.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
It's Like Raging Against the Machine, But From Your Parents' Basement
I would like to take today's post to address a topic that seems to be worsening lately. I see it all the time. In movie theaters. In chat rooms. In comic book and video game shops. Even on Slashdot. (Especially on Slashdot.)
Nerdrage.
A lot of people suffering from nerdrage don't even realize they have a problem. They simply feel that they are standing up for a set of standards that they believe in and feel they must defend, some ethical code that should prevent the use of characters or events that they once followed to be diluted in some fashion. So how can you, as a reader of DLOG, tell if you have succumbed to nerdrage? Lets try a few tests, shall we?
What is your immediate reaction to the following image?
Hmmm. Let's try another one. Here's the newly redesigned Starship Enterprise that will be featured in next year's new feature lenght film.
Finally, how does the following statement make you feel?
Each and every one of the Halo games sucked.
If you answered 3 to any of these questions, then you are absolutely in the grips of nerdrage. If you answered 2, you need to watch out - it's all too easy to slip over the edge from "thoughtful consumer" to "rabid, raving fanboy". If you bothered answering the questions at all, you might be surprised to find that you are, in fact, a nerd. Welcome to our fold.
Please people - be aware that nerdrage is a serious issue. Just because we can hide behind internet anonymity doesn't make it alright to rage against our fellow man. We can all be fans, and still respect someone else's opinions and visions of the works that we have enjoyed in the past. If we disapprove, it's as easy as not watching, reading, playing, or spending money on those works of which you disapprove, or simply turning the other cheek on those whose opinions differ from our own.
Unless of course someone tries to @%#$ up the Monkey Island series. Them we hunt down and painfully destroy.
Nerdrage.
A lot of people suffering from nerdrage don't even realize they have a problem. They simply feel that they are standing up for a set of standards that they believe in and feel they must defend, some ethical code that should prevent the use of characters or events that they once followed to be diluted in some fashion. So how can you, as a reader of DLOG, tell if you have succumbed to nerdrage? Lets try a few tests, shall we?
What is your immediate reaction to the following image?
- It's an interesting composition as well as an effective bit of foreshadowing to the events of the film.
- It's a disappointing reminder that the second trilogy did not live up to my expectations.
- GAAAH! GEORGE LUCAS RAPED MY CHILDHOOD! THAT KID WAS SO @&#%ING ANNOYING! JAR JAR BINKS IS THE DEVIL!
Hmmm. Let's try another one. Here's the newly redesigned Starship Enterprise that will be featured in next year's new feature lenght film.
- Interesting. It's kind of sleeker than I remember the Enterprise being.
- The lower hull is too small. Look how much space is left behind the nacelle pylons on the TV version. The neck, I'll admit, may just be due to the angle, or could really be a result of the shortened aft section, which is why I am waiting for the trailer before I really decide whether I hate it or not. So far, I'm leaning towards liking it, again, because of the angle of the shot. But the rear of the lower hull, where the shuttle bay should be, just looks too short even at the angle seen in the preview.
- It's clear that these guys don't care about Star Trek. This movie isn't even attempting to be cannon. And they're not including Shatner. WHAT THE #%$* IS THAT? MAKING A TREK MOVIE ABOUT TOS WITHOUT THE SHAT? %#$@ YOU J.J. "SHOULD HAVE STOPPED AT ALIAS PIECE OF #%$@" ABRAMS. YOU GO TO HELL! YOU GO TO HELL AND YOU DIE!
Finally, how does the following statement make you feel?
Each and every one of the Halo games sucked.
- Well, while not the most innovative games, they did prove that a quality first person shooter could succeed on a console.
- I actually quite enjoyed those games, and find them to stand equal to any other first person shooter game out there.
- You're a fag, and you and your entire fag family should die in a fire.
If you answered 3 to any of these questions, then you are absolutely in the grips of nerdrage. If you answered 2, you need to watch out - it's all too easy to slip over the edge from "thoughtful consumer" to "rabid, raving fanboy". If you bothered answering the questions at all, you might be surprised to find that you are, in fact, a nerd. Welcome to our fold.
Please people - be aware that nerdrage is a serious issue. Just because we can hide behind internet anonymity doesn't make it alright to rage against our fellow man. We can all be fans, and still respect someone else's opinions and visions of the works that we have enjoyed in the past. If we disapprove, it's as easy as not watching, reading, playing, or spending money on those works of which you disapprove, or simply turning the other cheek on those whose opinions differ from our own.
Unless of course someone tries to @%#$ up the Monkey Island series. Them we hunt down and painfully destroy.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
And I Thought the Cover of The Little Mermaid Was Scandalous
In my house, we don't watch a lot of television. The grown ups watch Lost, 24, and that's pretty much it. My lovely wife will also partake of Desperate Housewives, and the occasional reality show on Bravo, which I'll watch if I'm in the room. Myself, I'll sit through a Mythbusters if it happens to be on. That pretty well sums up the television viewing for the adults in our house.
For the kids, it's educational DVDs and the Disney channel. For the most part, this is fine. I get a little put off by some of the shows on Disney that involve kids occasionally being snotty, but at the same time, kids are occasionally snotty, so I accept it as reality that doesn't go too far. In fact, there's only one real problem I can see with the Disney channel.
The stars are constantly getting naked.
Oh, not on the channel itself ("Tonight, a very special Hannah Montana, guest starring Chris Hanson"). Elsewhere, however, the ladies of Disney seem to have issues with keeping dressed. Miley Cyrus is taking pictures of herself pouting at cameras in her underwear. Vanessa Hudgens had her own issues last year when she sent pictures to her High School Musical beau sans cheer leading outfit. Now, we've got a Cheetah Girl who was apparently so fast, her outfit couldn't keep up. Yikes.
Ignoring the societal implications of what this means to impressional young girls (or impressional old perverts), what the $%#$ are they putting in the water over at Disney that this is a common occurrence? I mean, these are people who live in the limelight all the time. Doesn't it seem like they would understand the whole "no video, no pictures, don't sign anything" mantra that keeps the average star or starlet from internet fame/humiliation? Or do they understand it completely, and are choosing to exercise the whole "no press is bad press" rule? I mean lets face it, there's a whole legion of thirteen year old boys out there who have suddenly become Disney channel fans.
Me, I'm guessing it's an extension of the whole Catholic School Girl syndrome. Teams of graduated mouseketeers are working tirelessly to keep your image squeaky clean, constantly monitoring every action of their property, i.e. you. What's going to happen the first moment that the ever-reaching eye of Big Brother is eluded? Shenanigans. It's human nature. The more you're told not to do something because it's bad for you, the more you want to do exactly that thing. It's not like this is a new thing. Just type in ex-Disney stars Britney Spears or Lindsey Lohan on a Google Image search (but not at work, and not if you've eaten recently).
Seriously, think about it and you'll realize that this is practically an epidemic of Magical Kingdom proportions, and that while it's a recently publicized thing, it's probably always been an issue. It's just that the invention of digital photography and the internet allows for making stupid mistakes a world wide phenomenon. Had these things come earlier, I'm sure you all would have been discussing the latest pictures of Annette and Cubby in leather masks and chains...and their little hats with the ears.
Wow...I just took that to a real weird place, didn't I?
For the kids, it's educational DVDs and the Disney channel. For the most part, this is fine. I get a little put off by some of the shows on Disney that involve kids occasionally being snotty, but at the same time, kids are occasionally snotty, so I accept it as reality that doesn't go too far. In fact, there's only one real problem I can see with the Disney channel.
The stars are constantly getting naked.
Oh, not on the channel itself ("Tonight, a very special Hannah Montana, guest starring Chris Hanson"). Elsewhere, however, the ladies of Disney seem to have issues with keeping dressed. Miley Cyrus is taking pictures of herself pouting at cameras in her underwear. Vanessa Hudgens had her own issues last year when she sent pictures to her High School Musical beau sans cheer leading outfit. Now, we've got a Cheetah Girl who was apparently so fast, her outfit couldn't keep up. Yikes.
Ignoring the societal implications of what this means to impressional young girls (or impressional old perverts), what the $%#$ are they putting in the water over at Disney that this is a common occurrence? I mean, these are people who live in the limelight all the time. Doesn't it seem like they would understand the whole "no video, no pictures, don't sign anything" mantra that keeps the average star or starlet from internet fame/humiliation? Or do they understand it completely, and are choosing to exercise the whole "no press is bad press" rule? I mean lets face it, there's a whole legion of thirteen year old boys out there who have suddenly become Disney channel fans.
Me, I'm guessing it's an extension of the whole Catholic School Girl syndrome. Teams of graduated mouseketeers are working tirelessly to keep your image squeaky clean, constantly monitoring every action of their property, i.e. you. What's going to happen the first moment that the ever-reaching eye of Big Brother is eluded? Shenanigans. It's human nature. The more you're told not to do something because it's bad for you, the more you want to do exactly that thing. It's not like this is a new thing. Just type in ex-Disney stars Britney Spears or Lindsey Lohan on a Google Image search (but not at work, and not if you've eaten recently).
Seriously, think about it and you'll realize that this is practically an epidemic of Magical Kingdom proportions, and that while it's a recently publicized thing, it's probably always been an issue. It's just that the invention of digital photography and the internet allows for making stupid mistakes a world wide phenomenon. Had these things come earlier, I'm sure you all would have been discussing the latest pictures of Annette and Cubby in leather masks and chains...and their little hats with the ears.
Wow...I just took that to a real weird place, didn't I?
Monday, November 10, 2008
Today, On a Very Special DLOG
Fair warning...today's post is not meant for the fellas. Instead, I want to address a serious topic with regards to women's health issues. I know it's not a popular topic, and I will completely understand if all the guys want to call it quits right here. In fact, I'll even give you something better to do to make up for leaving you out today. Here: The 7 unintentionally perverted toys that will ruin your children. Enjoy.
Now then, for the women, I would like to discuss the serious issue of chronic kidney disease, and how it can effect women's health in ways that haven't previously been considered. According to recent research, chronic kidney disease can be involved with various gynecological health issue that may not have been thought about before. Why am I talking about this here? Honestly, just to ensure that all the guys stopped reading at the first paragraph, maybe the second sentence of the second paragraph tops. If you really want to read about that stuff, follow the link above. Bob knows I don't want to talk about it.
Okay, so this weekend saw a combination of events that caused a reaction in me that, while not unheard of, is unusual. See, since election night I haven't gotten to catch up on my sleep at all, and have actually had a couple of rough nights on top of it. Throw in a couple of drinks (followed by a couple of drinks), and Saturday night found me in an emotionally unstable state. My lovely wife and I settled in to watch Sex and the City in our living room, and she snuggled up to me, and this is key, so she wasn't actually facing me in any way.
This last part, it seems, is the deciding factor to what I'm about to confess. At several points during the movie, I cried. It wasn't for any of the typically acceptable man reasons either. I had not been shot or received any kind of flesh wound. None of my immediate family had perished (although if action movies have taught me anything, it's that the loss of your immediate family is never met with tears, but rather a blind rage that leads to a complicated and bloody path of revenge fueled destruction). It wasn't even the loss of a pet (which, as a cat owner, is not actually a publicly acceptable excuse for man-tears).
Instead, I was crying for the reasons one might expect from such a film. My eyes watered when Carrie went all the way across to New York so Miranda wouldn't be sitting around alone on New Year's Eve. I actually had tears running down my face when Miranda and Steve met each other on the Brooklyn Bridge after determining that they did in fact want to be married and get over all of the problems they had been having. There were waterworks, too, when someone pooped their pants. (Okay, that time I was laughing, but it's bathroom humor. What do you want from me?)
What's fascinating is that I realized that, had we been sitting in a different way so that my lovely wife and I would have been facing each other, it wouldn't have happened. I'm not sure why. It's not like she's going to make fun of me, or call me a big sissy or anything (at least I don't think she would - she's still wonderfully unpredictable, and frankly I still haven't recovered from the dreaded wedgy of '99 indecent, of which nothing more will ever be said), but I'm sure I would have stifled the urge to cry had my face been visible. Bizarre.
I guess it's so ingrained in me that men aren't supposed to show emotion at stuff like that that even in the exhaustion and whiskey fueled state I was in, I glanced to make sure no one was looking before I discretely wiped my face on my sleeve. (What? That's what sweatshirts are for.) I mean, you always hear about how women want men who are sensitive, but as it was once explained to me, that doesn't mean women want a man who cries, they want a man who comforts them when they do. So even though I know that it wouldn't have bothered her, I still couldn't have cried if she would have been watching. Not sure what to make of that, or if there is a lesson in all of this for me, but there it is.
Now let's all hope the guys skipped this one - between not knowing how football is played and still not having seen 300, I'm already dangerously close to having my man card revoked.
Now then, for the women, I would like to discuss the serious issue of chronic kidney disease, and how it can effect women's health in ways that haven't previously been considered. According to recent research, chronic kidney disease can be involved with various gynecological health issue that may not have been thought about before. Why am I talking about this here? Honestly, just to ensure that all the guys stopped reading at the first paragraph, maybe the second sentence of the second paragraph tops. If you really want to read about that stuff, follow the link above. Bob knows I don't want to talk about it.
Okay, so this weekend saw a combination of events that caused a reaction in me that, while not unheard of, is unusual. See, since election night I haven't gotten to catch up on my sleep at all, and have actually had a couple of rough nights on top of it. Throw in a couple of drinks (followed by a couple of drinks), and Saturday night found me in an emotionally unstable state. My lovely wife and I settled in to watch Sex and the City in our living room, and she snuggled up to me, and this is key, so she wasn't actually facing me in any way.
This last part, it seems, is the deciding factor to what I'm about to confess. At several points during the movie, I cried. It wasn't for any of the typically acceptable man reasons either. I had not been shot or received any kind of flesh wound. None of my immediate family had perished (although if action movies have taught me anything, it's that the loss of your immediate family is never met with tears, but rather a blind rage that leads to a complicated and bloody path of revenge fueled destruction). It wasn't even the loss of a pet (which, as a cat owner, is not actually a publicly acceptable excuse for man-tears).
Instead, I was crying for the reasons one might expect from such a film. My eyes watered when Carrie went all the way across to New York so Miranda wouldn't be sitting around alone on New Year's Eve. I actually had tears running down my face when Miranda and Steve met each other on the Brooklyn Bridge after determining that they did in fact want to be married and get over all of the problems they had been having. There were waterworks, too, when someone pooped their pants. (Okay, that time I was laughing, but it's bathroom humor. What do you want from me?)
What's fascinating is that I realized that, had we been sitting in a different way so that my lovely wife and I would have been facing each other, it wouldn't have happened. I'm not sure why. It's not like she's going to make fun of me, or call me a big sissy or anything (at least I don't think she would - she's still wonderfully unpredictable, and frankly I still haven't recovered from the dreaded wedgy of '99 indecent, of which nothing more will ever be said), but I'm sure I would have stifled the urge to cry had my face been visible. Bizarre.
I guess it's so ingrained in me that men aren't supposed to show emotion at stuff like that that even in the exhaustion and whiskey fueled state I was in, I glanced to make sure no one was looking before I discretely wiped my face on my sleeve. (What? That's what sweatshirts are for.) I mean, you always hear about how women want men who are sensitive, but as it was once explained to me, that doesn't mean women want a man who cries, they want a man who comforts them when they do. So even though I know that it wouldn't have bothered her, I still couldn't have cried if she would have been watching. Not sure what to make of that, or if there is a lesson in all of this for me, but there it is.
Now let's all hope the guys skipped this one - between not knowing how football is played and still not having seen 300, I'm already dangerously close to having my man card revoked.
Friday, November 7, 2008
If You Were A Cheese, What Kind Would You Be?
This afternoon, I have to give an interview. I don't mean like a radio interview, I mean a "help decide whether or not someone gets a job" interview. I loathe doing this. Partially it's because I don't like the responsibility of having someone's fate in my hands, but more it's that I just don't ever know what to ask to find out if someone is actually capable of being a decent programmer.
Anyway, while I chew on that, I present to you:
Questions You Shouldn't Ask During An Interview
There. I think I have it all out of my system now. Wish me luck.
And hope that you never have your future employment in my hands.
Anyway, while I chew on that, I present to you:
Questions You Shouldn't Ask During An Interview
- What's under there?(Wait until they ask "Under where?". Giggle.)
- Who was the better Darrin Stephens? (Hint - it wasn't Dick Sargent, but that would be accepted, if not judged a bit. An answer of Will Farrel will immediately end the interview.)
- What's a buttfer?
- Do you like gladiator movies?
- If the team decided to dress up as an eighties hair band for Halloween, which band would you prefer, and who would you dress as in the band?(Hint: Poison = Fail. Bonus points for answering Def Leppard and being willing to commit to a full day of programming with their left arm hidden under their shirt.)
- So, who did you vote for last Tuesday. (Regardless of response, roll eyes.)
- XBox or Playstation? (Regardless of response roll eyes, unless they say PC. That's a win.)
- We're facing the task of taking an existing Windows based product and transforming it into a massively multi-user environment that will have to be installed across a server farm. Can you give me an example of a similar situation you've had to face, what pitfalls you ran into, and how you got around them? Please respond using an interpretive dance.
- If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?
- We have a strict code of conduct with regards to humor involving ethnic slurs. Can you give me an example of a situation where you encountered such humor? I've already heard that one. Do you know anything funnier?
There. I think I have it all out of my system now. Wish me luck.
And hope that you never have your future employment in my hands.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
So Today Was Good, But Willett's Still A Douche
I'm having trouble getting anything written today. It's a combination of being really busy and honestly, being in a really good mood. Maybe there's something to the whole "tortured soul artist" thing, but the happier I am, the harder it is to come up with a topic. Maybe it's because all of my rants would push me towards a bad mood, and I don't want to go there. Who knows?
I will say this - this week has seen some trouble with the morning routine. As discussed, I have the tots on a strict schedule in the mornings. Well, thanks once again to the douchebaggery of one William Willett, the kids are getting up early - about an hour early. So my morning routine, which partially relies on me getting up an hour before anyone else so I can get things set up, is falling apart right now.
The thing is, this morning it led to tremendous cuteness. The Moose was crying for me at 6:30, way too early, but I went and got him out of bed and asked if he wanted some cereal. He said yes, and I put him in his seat, gave him a sippy cup and a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. We were doing great, and then I committed the sin of pouring milk on the Cheerios. For reasons I totally don't understand, this set him off, crying like I had taken away his teddy bear.
Well, I couldn't make him stop, and I was getting very frustrated, when the Princess appears. She walks up to him and asks if he's alright, and he promptly stops. She steps behind his chair, and he starts again, so I ask her to come back over. He sees her - he stops. So I ask, "Do you want big sister to sit down and eat too?". Through teary eyes he responded in the affirmative, and so she sat and ate, and so did he. I have no idea why, but he needed her there.
The rest of the morning saw them playing together. She finished eating and read him books while he finished. They did blocks while I got dressed. The entire ride to day care she read him books while he looked on attentively. It's always amazing, the way they interact. It's so good having two kids who care so much about each other, and I'm a lucky guy to get to see that.
I will say this - this week has seen some trouble with the morning routine. As discussed, I have the tots on a strict schedule in the mornings. Well, thanks once again to the douchebaggery of one William Willett, the kids are getting up early - about an hour early. So my morning routine, which partially relies on me getting up an hour before anyone else so I can get things set up, is falling apart right now.
The thing is, this morning it led to tremendous cuteness. The Moose was crying for me at 6:30, way too early, but I went and got him out of bed and asked if he wanted some cereal. He said yes, and I put him in his seat, gave him a sippy cup and a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. We were doing great, and then I committed the sin of pouring milk on the Cheerios. For reasons I totally don't understand, this set him off, crying like I had taken away his teddy bear.
Well, I couldn't make him stop, and I was getting very frustrated, when the Princess appears. She walks up to him and asks if he's alright, and he promptly stops. She steps behind his chair, and he starts again, so I ask her to come back over. He sees her - he stops. So I ask, "Do you want big sister to sit down and eat too?". Through teary eyes he responded in the affirmative, and so she sat and ate, and so did he. I have no idea why, but he needed her there.
The rest of the morning saw them playing together. She finished eating and read him books while he finished. They did blocks while I got dressed. The entire ride to day care she read him books while he looked on attentively. It's always amazing, the way they interact. It's so good having two kids who care so much about each other, and I'm a lucky guy to get to see that.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
If Jack Bauer Were On Lost, They'd Have Been Off The Island In a Day
So, the election is over. America voted, and history was made. Hopefully, we can put our differences aside at some point and actually try and grow as a country instead of continuing the divisiveness that has plagued us for a long time now. I doubt it will happen soon, but I'm going to try and be hopeful. Either way, we can finally move on to other pressing matters.
24 is back.
Well, not entirely, but on November 23 there's a 2 hour movie coming out, and that was enough for me to break out my WWJBD (What Would Jack Bauer Do) bracelet today. To say I'm geeked is an understatement. I'm giddy. I may do a little dance later. I'll get back to you on that.
For the uninitiated, 24 is a show where America faces some terrorist threat, and in real time, Jack Bauer (played unerringly by the occasionally inebriated Kiefer Sutherland) manages to diffuse said threat in a 24 hour period. He does so by first always being right, and second by being a bad ass of epic proportions.
What's funny about 24 is that I love to watch it, and I love to root for Jack Bauer, even though he really stands for a lot of things I loathe. He does not hesitate to torture people for information (the highlight of the last season for me was when a dude wouldn't talk, so he shot the dude's wife in the leg, even though he was clearly friends with her). He's totally flippant about breaking laws that get in his way. He abandons all notions of personal rights if he thinks he can get information to stop whatever terrible thing is about to happen. Of course, it's watchable because he's (almost) always right, but still.
The thing about the show is that it's really well written. Everything Jack does has terrible consequences for him - he's essentially a man who has given up everyhting in his life to defend his country. He's lost his family. He's become a heroin addict. He always ends up an outlaw, hiding out until the doody hits the fan, and then he gets pulled in somehow to open yet another man size can of whoop ass on someone. So even though it's always preposterous, it's written well enough that I can't help but watch.
So yeah, the guy who couldn't give a damn what's on television tonight <i>finally</i> has something to look forward to. I seriously can't remember the last time there was scripted programming that really moved me to excitement of any kind, but 24 does that. If you've missed it, do yourself a favor and start catching up on the DVDs now. You'll be glad you did.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get into the spirit of things and go torture the &#%$ out of an analyst until they tell me whether or not I should be validating this data before the user can save it. Sweet.
24 is back.
Well, not entirely, but on November 23 there's a 2 hour movie coming out, and that was enough for me to break out my WWJBD (What Would Jack Bauer Do) bracelet today. To say I'm geeked is an understatement. I'm giddy. I may do a little dance later. I'll get back to you on that.
For the uninitiated, 24 is a show where America faces some terrorist threat, and in real time, Jack Bauer (played unerringly by the occasionally inebriated Kiefer Sutherland) manages to diffuse said threat in a 24 hour period. He does so by first always being right, and second by being a bad ass of epic proportions.
What's funny about 24 is that I love to watch it, and I love to root for Jack Bauer, even though he really stands for a lot of things I loathe. He does not hesitate to torture people for information (the highlight of the last season for me was when a dude wouldn't talk, so he shot the dude's wife in the leg, even though he was clearly friends with her). He's totally flippant about breaking laws that get in his way. He abandons all notions of personal rights if he thinks he can get information to stop whatever terrible thing is about to happen. Of course, it's watchable because he's (almost) always right, but still.
The thing about the show is that it's really well written. Everything Jack does has terrible consequences for him - he's essentially a man who has given up everyhting in his life to defend his country. He's lost his family. He's become a heroin addict. He always ends up an outlaw, hiding out until the doody hits the fan, and then he gets pulled in somehow to open yet another man size can of whoop ass on someone. So even though it's always preposterous, it's written well enough that I can't help but watch.
So yeah, the guy who couldn't give a damn what's on television tonight <i>finally</i> has something to look forward to. I seriously can't remember the last time there was scripted programming that really moved me to excitement of any kind, but 24 does that. If you've missed it, do yourself a favor and start catching up on the DVDs now. You'll be glad you did.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get into the spirit of things and go torture the &#%$ out of an analyst until they tell me whether or not I should be validating this data before the user can save it. Sweet.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Why No One Asks Me What I Think We Should Have For Dinner
It's finished. I dropped off my beautiful children. I found my station (not a big challenge - it's a small town). I played God of War: Chains of Olympus while I stood in line for 45 minutes, carefully angling the PSP so the kids in line behind me couldn't see it (it's rated M for mature after all). Then I stepped up and exercised my ability to bend the laws of the land to my will.
The problem is now one of self control. Voting like this always leaves me a little mad with power. After all, I have just taken action that could change the path of the country forever. That's kind of a big deal.
At first I kept it under control. In my head as I drove back to work, I voted on the jokes coming from the radio, deciding which were worth retelling. Then I voted on which store signs needed to be updated.
By the time I got to work, it was getting harder to control. When I saw in my email that I was to be part of a new team, I promptly announced my candidacy for team leader, and then voted for myself. I've gone through every poll in my forum and voted on them, whether I cared or not. (I'm not even an artist, why would I have a Wacom tablet? Oh, who am I kidding? I totally want one anyway.)
When I voted my boss off the team for wearing navy blue and black together, I knew I had a problem. (In my defense - really? Navy blue with black? Tim Gunn Wept.) I went back to my desk, took a deep breath, and reminded myself that this is just part of living in a democracy, and that almost every American gets the same chance to vote that I did. This is not my power alone, so there's no need to let it go to my head.
Which reminds me - most of you guys are Americans. What are you doing sitting around reading blogs? Go vote! Go on now! Sheesh.
What would you guys do without me?
The problem is now one of self control. Voting like this always leaves me a little mad with power. After all, I have just taken action that could change the path of the country forever. That's kind of a big deal.
At first I kept it under control. In my head as I drove back to work, I voted on the jokes coming from the radio, deciding which were worth retelling. Then I voted on which store signs needed to be updated.
By the time I got to work, it was getting harder to control. When I saw in my email that I was to be part of a new team, I promptly announced my candidacy for team leader, and then voted for myself. I've gone through every poll in my forum and voted on them, whether I cared or not. (I'm not even an artist, why would I have a Wacom tablet? Oh, who am I kidding? I totally want one anyway.)
When I voted my boss off the team for wearing navy blue and black together, I knew I had a problem. (In my defense - really? Navy blue with black? Tim Gunn Wept.) I went back to my desk, took a deep breath, and reminded myself that this is just part of living in a democracy, and that almost every American gets the same chance to vote that I did. This is not my power alone, so there's no need to let it go to my head.
Which reminds me - most of you guys are Americans. What are you doing sitting around reading blogs? Go vote! Go on now! Sheesh.
What would you guys do without me?
Monday, November 3, 2008
Or Maybe It's a Hobbit - I Just Can't Tell
It feels like I should be talking about politics here, right? I mean, everyone else in the country is. Why not me? Because I'm kind of tired of it. I'm sure I'll go back to it tomorrow, but for today, we'll deal with something silly, which to my mind is more of what we need right now.
So, I live in a nice subdivision, and one of the things that comes with is extra signs along the roads reminding people that little kids play there, and they should slow down lest the run over one of them. I remember being impressed with these signs when I first looked at houses in this area. Well, now that I live here, we have one of these signs right next to our house, which is cool, but I get a better look at it now, and frankly, I'm not sure that I approve as much as before. Here's the sign in question:
Nice sentiment and all, I just have one question: what the #%$@ is that supposed to be a drawing of? I mean, it sort of looks like a kid, but what the hell is going on with its head? And if it's not a kid, then just what it is it?
Now, assuming that the text is accurate, that we are out to protect the "little people", I have a couple of theories. The first - my new home town is also home of the lollipop guild. You know what I'm talking about. The three tough looking Munchkins who came out and sang to Dorothy - those guys. I'm thinking one of them (the actors, obviously) got tired of the Hollywood lifestyle - the women, the parties, all that rot, so they resettled out here. Because of their celebrity status, the community wanted to make sure they were safe, so up went the signs.
This is, of course, not the only possibility, but the alternative is something I would rather not face. You guys know me by now. I try to be tolerant of all people, but there are some who I have a history with. Do I think that they deserve less protection? No, of course not. I'm just saying that given my history, I'm not sure that I want them living in my neighborhood. Still, look at the picture above, and compare it with the following photographic evidence:
If I find this to be the case, I'll do my best to turn the other cheek. I'll smile politely if I see one walking by. I'll compliment him on his lawn, and then stand around for five minutes while he sings his little song about how I should be edging my lawn propertly, waiting patiently for the "oompadee doo" letting me know he's finished. Whatever.
Mark my words though - the day one of them shows up to pick my daughter up for a date is the day we move.
So, I live in a nice subdivision, and one of the things that comes with is extra signs along the roads reminding people that little kids play there, and they should slow down lest the run over one of them. I remember being impressed with these signs when I first looked at houses in this area. Well, now that I live here, we have one of these signs right next to our house, which is cool, but I get a better look at it now, and frankly, I'm not sure that I approve as much as before. Here's the sign in question:
Nice sentiment and all, I just have one question: what the #%$@ is that supposed to be a drawing of? I mean, it sort of looks like a kid, but what the hell is going on with its head? And if it's not a kid, then just what it is it?
Now, assuming that the text is accurate, that we are out to protect the "little people", I have a couple of theories. The first - my new home town is also home of the lollipop guild. You know what I'm talking about. The three tough looking Munchkins who came out and sang to Dorothy - those guys. I'm thinking one of them (the actors, obviously) got tired of the Hollywood lifestyle - the women, the parties, all that rot, so they resettled out here. Because of their celebrity status, the community wanted to make sure they were safe, so up went the signs.
This is, of course, not the only possibility, but the alternative is something I would rather not face. You guys know me by now. I try to be tolerant of all people, but there are some who I have a history with. Do I think that they deserve less protection? No, of course not. I'm just saying that given my history, I'm not sure that I want them living in my neighborhood. Still, look at the picture above, and compare it with the following photographic evidence:
If I find this to be the case, I'll do my best to turn the other cheek. I'll smile politely if I see one walking by. I'll compliment him on his lawn, and then stand around for five minutes while he sings his little song about how I should be edging my lawn propertly, waiting patiently for the "oompadee doo" letting me know he's finished. Whatever.
Mark my words though - the day one of them shows up to pick my daughter up for a date is the day we move.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)