Merry Christmas.
James Brown died this morning. That is a shame. We all have our time to go. Peace be with you, James.
Christmas is low-key this year. It turned out to be very quiet, which I think I probably needed more than I realized. I slept in four days in a row. Some kind of record, really.
I have this week off from school, so I’ll be enjoying my evenings at home, even though I’ll be working on homework projects due when I return to school.
My family was together in Alaska for Christmas, unfortunately I was not able to be there, the expense, and timing of school made that mostly improbable. I miss them, but since Derek wasn’t going home either, we just decided to play it cool around Portland. We are similarly not going to party it up for New Year’s either.
My family thinks somehow I’ve gone off the deeper end since my attitude is mellowing. Doesn’t all good aged booze mellow if you leave it in the barrel? Not that I would dare to compare myself to a fine aged booze, I’m more like a bottle of Jägermeister, dark, thick, strong, and needs to be keep chilled.
Aren’t you supposed to mellow as you grow in life? This year some of my gifts didn’t arrive in the mail. No big deal, it happens. When you take into account the volume of things going back and forth, and the sheer reality that most people leave things until the last minute, I’m surprised I got as much mail as I did. Everything will show up in good time. I’m glad that I don’t work for UPS of Fed-Ex. I’m also glad that I’m no longer a front-line worker in retail. Yes, I still work in retail, technically, but I don’t have to work in a store. Until maybe next year. Ugh.
Yes, next year may be the year that I wind up returning to work at a store, in a retail environment. I am going to have to keep current on my certification, and the best way to do that is to keep current by working in the field that I’ll have my degree in. It makes sense, it will just be scary to be out in the world again, starting back as low man out on the totem pole.
It is raining in Portland, typical Oregon winter. I’m glad it didn’t snow, that would have made going to work tomorrow pretty horrendous. Although a lot of people have tomorrow off, I gather.
Making a ham for dinner tonight, and Derek bought me new Calphalon Fusion cookware, which I will be trying out. Ham, Potato Lyonaisse, and I’m not sure what else. We’ll see what I feel like cooking.
I’ll be cooking in my kitchen, playing music on my AirTunes, which I’ve plugged my i-Dog into (thank you Eric and Kelli). The i-Dog is interesting, he’s basically a tamagachi type device, he needs attention, and feeding, etc. We’ll see how long I can keep him happy and alive. Although, since he really wants music, that will work out well, I have plenty of that.
Merry Christmas to everyone, I hope that you were able to be with someone you love, and enjoy the spirit, tradition, and festivities that you are accustomed to.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
Hit the Road, Slack......
Yeah, ok. I've been a blog slacker lately. It isn't all that easy for me to juggle full time work, full time school, and some form of a life. As the holiday and Christmas season approaches, I'm happy to say that I'm already done with all of my Christmas shopping. Having to mail packages is a good motivator to getting things done early.
Thanksgiving was a good weekend. I refused to cook Turkey dinner this year, owing to the fact that it was my actual birthday this year. We went out to a classy German restaurant (http://www.rheinlander.com/) where we had a full feast. Eight people were in attendance. It was a nice time. Honestly, it wasn't all that expensive; I would have spent just as much on food if people were eating at my own house. Plus, it was soooooooo excellent to come home after eating, and being waited on, and have a clean house still. Normally I would be opposed greatly to being out in public on a Holiday, and also making someone else work on a Holiday, especially one that is really about togetherness in my family tradition.
The waitress got a HUGE tip. HUGE. I gave her money on top of th 20% she already got. Aren't I nice? It was my birthday.
She yodeled a German song (not Frohliche Geburtstag - Happy Birthday in German). She was quite good. Great voice.
Friday, black Friday, was the first Black Friday I have not work in my 15 years of retail. It was sooooooooo nice.
Had people over on Friday to celebrate, eat pizza and watch "Another Gay Movie". Very funny. Saw it in the local independent movie theater. Hilarious. Funny, but probably only if you are "family". If you don't know, probably might skip it on netflix. (It includes a naked Richard Hatch........ so you've been warned)
Saturday was top tier Barenaked Ladies! That was awesome. Only four of the crew went to this one, Derek, Mike, Ken, and myself. Opening act was M Doughty, former front man from Soul Coughing. He's a very strange man. I think I'm probably the only one who liked him. For me, I would have paid to see him in concert. It was the only time I've ever been to a concert where I liked both the opening act, and the headliners.
BNL give a great show. Same genre as Moxy Früvous, and They Might Be Giants.
The new album is pretty awesome too, already went out and bought it.
The 60 gig iPod is 75% full, although I haven't copied all my cd's onto my G5 yet. Someday. Maybe after I graduate.
Thinking of going to Vegas for a few days when I do finally graduate. It is kind of looking like perhaps I will be graduating in November of 2007. Then it would be an early birthday present. Still debating though.
People in close relations have me 60% convinced not to go skydiving for a graduation gift to myself and instead take a hot air balloon ride. We'll see.
Well, I spent tonight wrapping Christmas presents, and now it is time for bed.
Hope that everyone has a great Christmas this year, I'm sorry that I won't get to see most of everyone.
I'll try to keep the blog a bit more updated if I can.
Take care y'all!
Thanksgiving was a good weekend. I refused to cook Turkey dinner this year, owing to the fact that it was my actual birthday this year. We went out to a classy German restaurant (http://www.rheinlander.com/) where we had a full feast. Eight people were in attendance. It was a nice time. Honestly, it wasn't all that expensive; I would have spent just as much on food if people were eating at my own house. Plus, it was soooooooo excellent to come home after eating, and being waited on, and have a clean house still. Normally I would be opposed greatly to being out in public on a Holiday, and also making someone else work on a Holiday, especially one that is really about togetherness in my family tradition.
The waitress got a HUGE tip. HUGE. I gave her money on top of th 20% she already got. Aren't I nice? It was my birthday.
She yodeled a German song (not Frohliche Geburtstag - Happy Birthday in German). She was quite good. Great voice.
Friday, black Friday, was the first Black Friday I have not work in my 15 years of retail. It was sooooooooo nice.
Had people over on Friday to celebrate, eat pizza and watch "Another Gay Movie". Very funny. Saw it in the local independent movie theater. Hilarious. Funny, but probably only if you are "family". If you don't know, probably might skip it on netflix. (It includes a naked Richard Hatch........ so you've been warned)
Saturday was top tier Barenaked Ladies! That was awesome. Only four of the crew went to this one, Derek, Mike, Ken, and myself. Opening act was M Doughty, former front man from Soul Coughing. He's a very strange man. I think I'm probably the only one who liked him. For me, I would have paid to see him in concert. It was the only time I've ever been to a concert where I liked both the opening act, and the headliners.
BNL give a great show. Same genre as Moxy Früvous, and They Might Be Giants.
The new album is pretty awesome too, already went out and bought it.
The 60 gig iPod is 75% full, although I haven't copied all my cd's onto my G5 yet. Someday. Maybe after I graduate.
Thinking of going to Vegas for a few days when I do finally graduate. It is kind of looking like perhaps I will be graduating in November of 2007. Then it would be an early birthday present. Still debating though.
People in close relations have me 60% convinced not to go skydiving for a graduation gift to myself and instead take a hot air balloon ride. We'll see.
Well, I spent tonight wrapping Christmas presents, and now it is time for bed.
Hope that everyone has a great Christmas this year, I'm sorry that I won't get to see most of everyone.
I'll try to keep the blog a bit more updated if I can.
Take care y'all!
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Pro-Pain
As you could probably tell if you read any of my earlier posts here, I don’t have the best luck with electricity. Well, as it turns out, I’m not all that keen on fire, either.
It is always important to remember that fire and children do not mix well, unless you’d like a miniaturized Hindenburg on your hands.
I was probably eight or nine years old at the time of the incident. My dad had purchased a modular Coleman smoker / cooker propane powered bar-be-cue unit. It was fairly round, black, and cylindrical. You could stack modules up over the base unit to extend the center of the unit upwards, so that you could accommodate more than just one layer of whatever it was you were trying to cook, smoke, or otherwise char.
When you stacked up the modules and put the lid on the unit, it appeared to be a very shiny black rocket.
To light the unit, there was a tiny little “match” tube along the bottom of the unit. You would strike the match, and the gas whooshing out of the nozzle would connect with the flame, and voila! Instant combustion.
So, imagine, if you will, what happens when you involve a clumsy, shy, very introverted nine year-old, give him matches, and instructions that may have been age appropriate for an adult, but not for an inattentive hyperactive youngster.
So, Dad sets up the smoker, stacks it high, and places racks of salmon throughout the unit. On goes the lid. He goes into the house for some reason, and suggests that I light the unit.
Why? I’m not sure, I don’t actually remember. Some fun reason I’m sure, matches, propane, and me.
He issues instructions to me as follows:
Turn the tank to open, open the valve on the cooker all the way until you can hear the gas whooshing, then strike the match and hold it to the tube until the flame ignites the cooker.
Yeah, sure.
So I go out to the unit, turn on the propane tank feed, turn on the valve all the way on the cooker, I don’t hear anything. I probably was too nervous.
So I wander back into the house, and ask my dad the instructions again, to make sure I heard him correctly. He re-iterates the commands to me. No one realizes that I've had the unit on the "on" position this whole time.
I go back out to the back deck, where the cooker sits, light the match, bring the match down to the light tube, and……..
KABOOM!
The lid flies off, probably 30 feet into the air, and lands somewhere else, salmon flies out of the internal parts of the rocket cooker, and lands on the garage roof, I singed my eyebrows off, turned pale white, walked in through the rear patio window. My mother says that I screamed and passed out, or some such. Honestly, I don’t have a clue what happened.
Apparently the gas was flowing freely before I ever left the unit to re-confirm the instructions. In the time it took me to get confirmation, and head back out to the deck, the “rocket” portion of the cooker had basically filled up with propane, and when I lit it, propane does what propane is supposed to do, ignite.
Many people laughed, many people still laugh, and I admit that if it hadn’t happened to me, it probably would have been funny.
To me, I just make sure that I carry a flame around before ever making an attempt to light something.
I try to leave fire to someone else more talented, and less prone to eyebrow injury.
It is always important to remember that fire and children do not mix well, unless you’d like a miniaturized Hindenburg on your hands.
I was probably eight or nine years old at the time of the incident. My dad had purchased a modular Coleman smoker / cooker propane powered bar-be-cue unit. It was fairly round, black, and cylindrical. You could stack modules up over the base unit to extend the center of the unit upwards, so that you could accommodate more than just one layer of whatever it was you were trying to cook, smoke, or otherwise char.
When you stacked up the modules and put the lid on the unit, it appeared to be a very shiny black rocket.
To light the unit, there was a tiny little “match” tube along the bottom of the unit. You would strike the match, and the gas whooshing out of the nozzle would connect with the flame, and voila! Instant combustion.
So, imagine, if you will, what happens when you involve a clumsy, shy, very introverted nine year-old, give him matches, and instructions that may have been age appropriate for an adult, but not for an inattentive hyperactive youngster.
So, Dad sets up the smoker, stacks it high, and places racks of salmon throughout the unit. On goes the lid. He goes into the house for some reason, and suggests that I light the unit.
Why? I’m not sure, I don’t actually remember. Some fun reason I’m sure, matches, propane, and me.
He issues instructions to me as follows:
Turn the tank to open, open the valve on the cooker all the way until you can hear the gas whooshing, then strike the match and hold it to the tube until the flame ignites the cooker.
Yeah, sure.
So I go out to the unit, turn on the propane tank feed, turn on the valve all the way on the cooker, I don’t hear anything. I probably was too nervous.
So I wander back into the house, and ask my dad the instructions again, to make sure I heard him correctly. He re-iterates the commands to me. No one realizes that I've had the unit on the "on" position this whole time.
I go back out to the back deck, where the cooker sits, light the match, bring the match down to the light tube, and……..
KABOOM!
The lid flies off, probably 30 feet into the air, and lands somewhere else, salmon flies out of the internal parts of the rocket cooker, and lands on the garage roof, I singed my eyebrows off, turned pale white, walked in through the rear patio window. My mother says that I screamed and passed out, or some such. Honestly, I don’t have a clue what happened.
Apparently the gas was flowing freely before I ever left the unit to re-confirm the instructions. In the time it took me to get confirmation, and head back out to the deck, the “rocket” portion of the cooker had basically filled up with propane, and when I lit it, propane does what propane is supposed to do, ignite.
Many people laughed, many people still laugh, and I admit that if it hadn’t happened to me, it probably would have been funny.
To me, I just make sure that I carry a flame around before ever making an attempt to light something.
I try to leave fire to someone else more talented, and less prone to eyebrow injury.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
College Daze
Being back in a class room after many years in the "real world" is a very odd feeling. Admittedly I had a great deal of apprehension and fear surrounding being back "in school". Having had only online classes up until know, actually going to college, at campus, and interacting with real professors and students felt quite daunting.
Nervous? You bet.
Ready? Sure.
I am parking at a parking garage that is about 13 blocks from my college campus. This is for a few reasons. First, it helps me to get some exercise. Second, it gives me time to clear my head away of all the garbage of my day at work, allowing me to focus on turning my brain power towards "learning" mode. Third, I don't have to fight for spaces close to campus or even on campus. On campus parking is a joke. Fourth, it gives me a chance to clear my brain after class. I can walk back to the garage and feel pretty alive and alert. Granted, my mind set may change when it starts being horrible weather and I am no longer under sunny skies, but instead under rain and wind chill.
The good part, the old man at the parking garage took a liking to me. He's only charging me 3 bucks a night to park in the garage. I was going to buy a reserved spot for a monthly fee, but up until he starts charging me more money, it isn't cost effective to shell out 70 bucks a month. (At this rate, I'll only spend about 24 bucks a month. Once I have 4 actual ground classes a week, then it would cost me about 50.)
I happen to have only one professor for all my classes right now. I know his style and how he wants things "done", so that has made things very easy for me. He's got a different attitude.
He said, "If you all do not get an 'A' then I am not doing a good job of teaching you".
So far, classes are not difficult, a lot of memorization, which is what I'm already used to.
Only 3 classes this term. If the next term classes are similar in structure, I may opt to take 4 and get them over with that much faster. I'm paying the same amount of money either way, but still it would be nice to FINISH.
I am glad I am not the oldest person in class.
Unfortunately, I am the math whiz.
Hopefully they don't all stone me by the end of the term.
The good news is that none of the classes are curved.
More later.
Nervous? You bet.
Ready? Sure.
I am parking at a parking garage that is about 13 blocks from my college campus. This is for a few reasons. First, it helps me to get some exercise. Second, it gives me time to clear my head away of all the garbage of my day at work, allowing me to focus on turning my brain power towards "learning" mode. Third, I don't have to fight for spaces close to campus or even on campus. On campus parking is a joke. Fourth, it gives me a chance to clear my brain after class. I can walk back to the garage and feel pretty alive and alert. Granted, my mind set may change when it starts being horrible weather and I am no longer under sunny skies, but instead under rain and wind chill.
The good part, the old man at the parking garage took a liking to me. He's only charging me 3 bucks a night to park in the garage. I was going to buy a reserved spot for a monthly fee, but up until he starts charging me more money, it isn't cost effective to shell out 70 bucks a month. (At this rate, I'll only spend about 24 bucks a month. Once I have 4 actual ground classes a week, then it would cost me about 50.)
I happen to have only one professor for all my classes right now. I know his style and how he wants things "done", so that has made things very easy for me. He's got a different attitude.
He said, "If you all do not get an 'A' then I am not doing a good job of teaching you".
So far, classes are not difficult, a lot of memorization, which is what I'm already used to.
Only 3 classes this term. If the next term classes are similar in structure, I may opt to take 4 and get them over with that much faster. I'm paying the same amount of money either way, but still it would be nice to FINISH.
I am glad I am not the oldest person in class.
Unfortunately, I am the math whiz.
Hopefully they don't all stone me by the end of the term.
The good news is that none of the classes are curved.
More later.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Travels & Tribulations
Over the past few years, I have had the benefit (or burden) of traveling a great deal both personally, and because of my employment. I've had some nice vacations, most recently I spent nearly two weeks with a great deal of very close and dear friends in St. Louis, Missouri.
When I travel for work, I don't always get fun locations. Compton, California is a very nice place to drive though. Quickly. I don't know that I especially like it there other than short visits. And never after dark. In a rental car. I'm pale fish belly white in my appearance, so I stand out readily like a fresh raspberry ground into brand new cream colored carpet.
One thing that always seems to happen to me at airports and on planes is that I get extremely annoyed at other people's behavior. Do people lose all of their common sense when they fly? Is there some unwritten rule somewhere that I never found on the ticket purchase agreement? Am I not reading the fine print clearly enough?
1) Rushing the gate
It never ceases to amaze me how many people line up right in front of the door to the plane as soon as they think they are going to squeeze their ass onto the fuselage. Even though most airlines have a methodical boarding procedure, people seem to think that rushing around, standing in the way of those people that actually need extra time to get onto the plane, and rushing the entrance will assure them that they get onto the plane before anyone else! This matters, of course, because we know that if you get on first, you will probably arrive at your destination before everyone else. Well, that is true, provided you sit in the front of the plane.
2) Homelessness
How many bags do you people need to bring on a plane? Give me a break?! It isn't the most fun thing to have to check baggage, and think about someone rifling though and touching (or who knows what else?!) your unmentionables. I have personally had my luggage lost. More than once. It happens. No one is perfect. But, do not punish me by deciding that you are going to attempt to carry on 2 bags, a roll-a-way, a laptop, a purse, briefcase, small camp stove, kayak, parachute, and blender. If you really need all that crap, please, plan ahead. SHIP the items in advance. You'll save yourself the worry of traveling with it, and you'll save the gate attendants from having to fight with you to separate you from your items, while also holding up the entire process. If you are that insecure about your belongings and planes, I'd suggest you drive instead.
3) Cluelessness
No matter how hard you throw, shove, push, cram, swear, or rant about that over-stuffed, bulging mammoth bag that you could barely fit down the aisle of the plane, it is NOT going to fit in the overhead bin. Nor is it going to fit underneath your seat. Why must you make the whole plane suffer through the ordeal of finding space for your bag? Check it! Don't take it out on the flight attendants when they tell you it will HAVE to be checked. Simple geometry and physics support that space is finite, and the area of your bag exceeds the area of space allotted. Again, if you are truly that insecure, drive.
4) Stupidity
Those beverage carts aren't weightless. Why do you have to wait until after they pull that cart out to decide you have to get your fat ass up out of your seat, and travel all the way to the back of the plane to use the restroom? I know, you should just stand in the aisle and wait for the cart to float over the top of you! That would work great! Damn, that gravity thing.
Honestly people, get a clue. Sit your ass down if the cart is in the aisle. You inconvenience the whole planeload of people, and delay the flight attendants from doing their jobs. Let them finish what they are doing, then run up and down the aisles as you need to. Don't expect the poor staff to have to perform cart acrobatics simply because you have a bladder control issue. Again, if you have problems, don’t fly.
5) Deaf or simply brain-dead?
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard flight attendants have to repeat themselves to idiot passengers. How hard is it to understand that you have to put your seat-back up for landing? How hard is it to put that tray table back in the “upright and locked” position? Now, maybe if you’ve never ever been on a plane before, if you’ve never seen any movies in your life, and you don’t speak or understand English or any form of dialectical hierarchy communication structure can you get away with this. Every single time there is at least one idiot that can’t seem to manage to put his seat back up, or his tray table. Is this really that hard a task to perform? If this is a trauma for you, I might suggest trains, they travel slower, probably safer for people of such intellect.
When I travel for work, I don't always get fun locations. Compton, California is a very nice place to drive though. Quickly. I don't know that I especially like it there other than short visits. And never after dark. In a rental car. I'm pale fish belly white in my appearance, so I stand out readily like a fresh raspberry ground into brand new cream colored carpet.
One thing that always seems to happen to me at airports and on planes is that I get extremely annoyed at other people's behavior. Do people lose all of their common sense when they fly? Is there some unwritten rule somewhere that I never found on the ticket purchase agreement? Am I not reading the fine print clearly enough?
1) Rushing the gate
It never ceases to amaze me how many people line up right in front of the door to the plane as soon as they think they are going to squeeze their ass onto the fuselage. Even though most airlines have a methodical boarding procedure, people seem to think that rushing around, standing in the way of those people that actually need extra time to get onto the plane, and rushing the entrance will assure them that they get onto the plane before anyone else! This matters, of course, because we know that if you get on first, you will probably arrive at your destination before everyone else. Well, that is true, provided you sit in the front of the plane.
2) Homelessness
How many bags do you people need to bring on a plane? Give me a break?! It isn't the most fun thing to have to check baggage, and think about someone rifling though and touching (or who knows what else?!) your unmentionables. I have personally had my luggage lost. More than once. It happens. No one is perfect. But, do not punish me by deciding that you are going to attempt to carry on 2 bags, a roll-a-way, a laptop, a purse, briefcase, small camp stove, kayak, parachute, and blender. If you really need all that crap, please, plan ahead. SHIP the items in advance. You'll save yourself the worry of traveling with it, and you'll save the gate attendants from having to fight with you to separate you from your items, while also holding up the entire process. If you are that insecure about your belongings and planes, I'd suggest you drive instead.
3) Cluelessness
No matter how hard you throw, shove, push, cram, swear, or rant about that over-stuffed, bulging mammoth bag that you could barely fit down the aisle of the plane, it is NOT going to fit in the overhead bin. Nor is it going to fit underneath your seat. Why must you make the whole plane suffer through the ordeal of finding space for your bag? Check it! Don't take it out on the flight attendants when they tell you it will HAVE to be checked. Simple geometry and physics support that space is finite, and the area of your bag exceeds the area of space allotted. Again, if you are truly that insecure, drive.
4) Stupidity
Those beverage carts aren't weightless. Why do you have to wait until after they pull that cart out to decide you have to get your fat ass up out of your seat, and travel all the way to the back of the plane to use the restroom? I know, you should just stand in the aisle and wait for the cart to float over the top of you! That would work great! Damn, that gravity thing.
Honestly people, get a clue. Sit your ass down if the cart is in the aisle. You inconvenience the whole planeload of people, and delay the flight attendants from doing their jobs. Let them finish what they are doing, then run up and down the aisles as you need to. Don't expect the poor staff to have to perform cart acrobatics simply because you have a bladder control issue. Again, if you have problems, don’t fly.
5) Deaf or simply brain-dead?
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard flight attendants have to repeat themselves to idiot passengers. How hard is it to understand that you have to put your seat-back up for landing? How hard is it to put that tray table back in the “upright and locked” position? Now, maybe if you’ve never ever been on a plane before, if you’ve never seen any movies in your life, and you don’t speak or understand English or any form of dialectical hierarchy communication structure can you get away with this. Every single time there is at least one idiot that can’t seem to manage to put his seat back up, or his tray table. Is this really that hard a task to perform? If this is a trauma for you, I might suggest trains, they travel slower, probably safer for people of such intellect.
Monday, June 19, 2006
In Memory of...
In memory of John Christian Jacobesen
September 2, 1961 - May 13, 2006
Derek and I had just moved into our new house. Well, new is misleading, the house was new to us, but it was built in approximately 1940. As is customary to how we like to party, we invited a select few close friends to come over for dinner and dessert at our new place. I planned on making a nice meal for all of us culminating in one of my world famous cookies and cream, hot fudge and caramel swirled New York cheesecake.
This was going to be my first round of entertaining at the new house since we had settled in. I was adjusting to cooking in my kitchen, the stove was different, and the oven seemed a tad temperamental for being brand new. Still, moving into an old house that had a brand new kitchen seemed like such a sweet victory.
Laurie and Kim were both excited to attend, and Chris J and Little Chris wanted to know what they could bring to contribute to the evening. Chris J was famous for his sweet tooth and seemed to have a fondness for chocolate. I knew that if I dangled cheesecake with chocolate before him, it was a sure thing that he’d keep his calendar clear. Everyone was committed to attend, and being that we were all couples, it was going to be quite the gay dinner party.
We set the date, and decided upon a nice barbecue steak dinner, cooked on our brick barbecue in our back yard. It was a fairly cool summer evening, so we opted to eat indoors rather than to hang out underneath the trees in the back of the house.
Dinner went flawlessly. The house really doesn’t have room in the kitchen for a dining area. Instead, we placed the dining room table in our living room. Since we entertain frequently, it only makes sense that we’d have the most important piece of furniture in the biggest room of our humble abode. The bonus to having the dining room table in the living room is that you can peer out the gigantic picture window that spans the entire front wall. Sometimes you can view the squirrels chasing one another across the neighbor lady’s bird feeder, or see the stray and random person walking along the sidewalk between our house and the street.
This evening was not to be so tame. As dusk began to creep further into night, Chris J was transfixed by an apparent argument that was taking place on the sidewalk within his field of vision. He perched on the couch as watched events unfold, transfixed by the happenings just beyond the panes of glass.
A domestic dispute was clearly afoot. Everyone suddenly had converged to watch, as if the window were simply a wide screen rendition of a “Cops: Special Portland Edition” episode. A police car showed up. Then another. Suddenly there were three cop cars in front of my house, preventing people from driving through the street. Cops were walking about, talking to the participants in the dispute.
Chris J wanted to go out and see what was going on, he was just beside himself. He had to know! Kim opted to go out and chat with the officers, since she could reasonably identify herself as a fellow officer, and was likely not to be accused of interfering.
Kim slips out the front door, chats for several minutes with some of Portland’s finest, and then returns to be debriefed by all of us. As best as anyone could determine the couple had been arguing, and it had escalated between the parties as other people started to get involved, take sides, and start playing the “he said things about you” game.
By this point our next-door neighbors were out on their front porch watching the events as well, they waved at us through our windows, and Chris J waved back excitedly. This was better than TV.
Eventually the events died down, and everyone’s level of excitement in the house began to return to normal. It was time for dessert.
As I began to slice the cheesecake in my kitchen, I realized that the cheesecake was soft set. It hadn’t firmed up entirely, likely because I didn’t bake it long enough in the new oven. I’d have to make a note of things for the future that the oven wasn’t quite baking like I had expected.
Cheesecake was served. Cheesecake disappeared. Chris J seemed to consume his in one fairly fluid and complete inhale. He loved it, as did we all. I offered him another slice, and he proclaimed most vehemently that he could not have another piece, as he was trying to watch his girlish figure. It was damned fine cheesecake though.
We chatted in the living room, relaxing after the euphoria that was cheesecake, and slowly descending into that dull food coma that tends to ensue when you’ve overeaten and overindulged in decadence. Idle chit chat was being exchanged, the drama of our home grown Cops episode had quelled, and we were all just enjoying the company that good friends share.
Chris J got up for a glass of water, and my dog dutifully followed him into the kitchen. Beau was probably hoping that Chris J would drop some crumbs or feed him something he wasn’t allowed to have. Even though Beau knew better than to beg directly, he was always hoping to be able to vacuum up something that was dropped inadvertently.
Kim stared through the doorway into the kitchen. From her vantage point in the living room she could clearly see what Chris J was up to. The rest of us were seated away from the opening of the door, and my back was to the kitchen.
“Fuck!”
The word resounded in my kitchen, and hung heavy across the living room.
Kim started to chuckle. We all got up to see what the commotion was about.
Chris J was busted. Beau’s tail was wagging wildly in approval. Apparently Chris J had decided he was going to sneak another piece of cheesecake. What he didn’t realize was that my oven had unknowingly booby-trapped his prize. As he lifted the cheesecake up off of the shelf of the fridge, and attempted to cleanly pull off another piece, the form gave way. An avalanche of cheesecake guts spewed down the side of the server, along the sidewall of the fridge, and onto the floor. I say “onto” the floor, but in all reality, Beau made rapid and complete work of removing any traces of cheesecake that had been in existence.
Chris J returned to the living room, grinning sheepishly from ear to ear. He had another piece of cheesecake on his plate and was making quick work of it. We continued to laugh, and the evening slowly faded into night. Eventually everyone decided it was time to head for home. We bid one another good evening, and ushered everyone to the door.
The lesson I learned from Chris J:
Life is far too short to not enjoy it, have that second piece of cheesecake, claim it, make it yours, and even if it explodes apart and falls onto the floor, you can still be graceful. Indulge, enjoy, rejoice.
September 2, 1961 - May 13, 2006
Derek and I had just moved into our new house. Well, new is misleading, the house was new to us, but it was built in approximately 1940. As is customary to how we like to party, we invited a select few close friends to come over for dinner and dessert at our new place. I planned on making a nice meal for all of us culminating in one of my world famous cookies and cream, hot fudge and caramel swirled New York cheesecake.
This was going to be my first round of entertaining at the new house since we had settled in. I was adjusting to cooking in my kitchen, the stove was different, and the oven seemed a tad temperamental for being brand new. Still, moving into an old house that had a brand new kitchen seemed like such a sweet victory.
Laurie and Kim were both excited to attend, and Chris J and Little Chris wanted to know what they could bring to contribute to the evening. Chris J was famous for his sweet tooth and seemed to have a fondness for chocolate. I knew that if I dangled cheesecake with chocolate before him, it was a sure thing that he’d keep his calendar clear. Everyone was committed to attend, and being that we were all couples, it was going to be quite the gay dinner party.
We set the date, and decided upon a nice barbecue steak dinner, cooked on our brick barbecue in our back yard. It was a fairly cool summer evening, so we opted to eat indoors rather than to hang out underneath the trees in the back of the house.
Dinner went flawlessly. The house really doesn’t have room in the kitchen for a dining area. Instead, we placed the dining room table in our living room. Since we entertain frequently, it only makes sense that we’d have the most important piece of furniture in the biggest room of our humble abode. The bonus to having the dining room table in the living room is that you can peer out the gigantic picture window that spans the entire front wall. Sometimes you can view the squirrels chasing one another across the neighbor lady’s bird feeder, or see the stray and random person walking along the sidewalk between our house and the street.
This evening was not to be so tame. As dusk began to creep further into night, Chris J was transfixed by an apparent argument that was taking place on the sidewalk within his field of vision. He perched on the couch as watched events unfold, transfixed by the happenings just beyond the panes of glass.
A domestic dispute was clearly afoot. Everyone suddenly had converged to watch, as if the window were simply a wide screen rendition of a “Cops: Special Portland Edition” episode. A police car showed up. Then another. Suddenly there were three cop cars in front of my house, preventing people from driving through the street. Cops were walking about, talking to the participants in the dispute.
Chris J wanted to go out and see what was going on, he was just beside himself. He had to know! Kim opted to go out and chat with the officers, since she could reasonably identify herself as a fellow officer, and was likely not to be accused of interfering.
Kim slips out the front door, chats for several minutes with some of Portland’s finest, and then returns to be debriefed by all of us. As best as anyone could determine the couple had been arguing, and it had escalated between the parties as other people started to get involved, take sides, and start playing the “he said things about you” game.
By this point our next-door neighbors were out on their front porch watching the events as well, they waved at us through our windows, and Chris J waved back excitedly. This was better than TV.
Eventually the events died down, and everyone’s level of excitement in the house began to return to normal. It was time for dessert.
As I began to slice the cheesecake in my kitchen, I realized that the cheesecake was soft set. It hadn’t firmed up entirely, likely because I didn’t bake it long enough in the new oven. I’d have to make a note of things for the future that the oven wasn’t quite baking like I had expected.
Cheesecake was served. Cheesecake disappeared. Chris J seemed to consume his in one fairly fluid and complete inhale. He loved it, as did we all. I offered him another slice, and he proclaimed most vehemently that he could not have another piece, as he was trying to watch his girlish figure. It was damned fine cheesecake though.
We chatted in the living room, relaxing after the euphoria that was cheesecake, and slowly descending into that dull food coma that tends to ensue when you’ve overeaten and overindulged in decadence. Idle chit chat was being exchanged, the drama of our home grown Cops episode had quelled, and we were all just enjoying the company that good friends share.
Chris J got up for a glass of water, and my dog dutifully followed him into the kitchen. Beau was probably hoping that Chris J would drop some crumbs or feed him something he wasn’t allowed to have. Even though Beau knew better than to beg directly, he was always hoping to be able to vacuum up something that was dropped inadvertently.
Kim stared through the doorway into the kitchen. From her vantage point in the living room she could clearly see what Chris J was up to. The rest of us were seated away from the opening of the door, and my back was to the kitchen.
“Fuck!”
The word resounded in my kitchen, and hung heavy across the living room.
Kim started to chuckle. We all got up to see what the commotion was about.
Chris J was busted. Beau’s tail was wagging wildly in approval. Apparently Chris J had decided he was going to sneak another piece of cheesecake. What he didn’t realize was that my oven had unknowingly booby-trapped his prize. As he lifted the cheesecake up off of the shelf of the fridge, and attempted to cleanly pull off another piece, the form gave way. An avalanche of cheesecake guts spewed down the side of the server, along the sidewall of the fridge, and onto the floor. I say “onto” the floor, but in all reality, Beau made rapid and complete work of removing any traces of cheesecake that had been in existence.
Chris J returned to the living room, grinning sheepishly from ear to ear. He had another piece of cheesecake on his plate and was making quick work of it. We continued to laugh, and the evening slowly faded into night. Eventually everyone decided it was time to head for home. We bid one another good evening, and ushered everyone to the door.
The lesson I learned from Chris J:
Life is far too short to not enjoy it, have that second piece of cheesecake, claim it, make it yours, and even if it explodes apart and falls onto the floor, you can still be graceful. Indulge, enjoy, rejoice.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Mentos - The Spewmaker
All right, I must be out of the loop, since the phenomenon has been going on for quite some time, but in case you missed it, apparently if you take a nice big 2 liter bottle of diet coke, open the top, and then dump in Mentos, the diet coke fountains up, out of the bottle, up to 20 feet high.
Not that I'm willing to recreate this experiment personally, I've witnessed all the videos online.
If you are so inclined to see what is going on, check out www.youtube.com
Perform a web search for diet coke, and mentos.
You won't be disappointed.
Not that I'm willing to recreate this experiment personally, I've witnessed all the videos online.
If you are so inclined to see what is going on, check out www.youtube.com
Perform a web search for diet coke, and mentos.
You won't be disappointed.
Friday, June 02, 2006
HPeeved
Derek was nice enough to buy me a new computer with some bonus money he got last fall.
Being that we didn't have much room in the "computer" room, we opted to move the computers downstairs into the semi-finished basement.
This necessitated the creation of computer tables / desks, workstations where we could situate the new computer, along with the old computer, and my school laptop. (And also Derek's laptop, which he uses for his online crack addiction...)
4 computers, one internet connection, many wires, much complicated madness and insanity.
I wound up having to install and situate a LAN router. Basically we had to get a box to negotiate all the computers together so that they can share with one another, and also reach the internet.
The downside, if we really wanted to share a printer, we'd have to purchase a "network" printer. The anemic ink jet Epson printers that I had been loyal to just weren't going to work on the "network". Having a single printer for each computer seemed silly, not to mention that it would take up a great deal of space.
In January, I broke down and started looking for a "network" printer.
I settled on an HP laser jet, an Officejet Pro, Model K550.
Expensive. $300. More than I've ever paid, since usually the Epsons are nearly free, they want you hooked so that you buy the ink, where all the true profit is. It seemed like a steep price. There were a few features that were nice though, it has a duplex mode. It comes with a mechanical apparatus internal to the printer that flips the piece of paper over. That is pretty cool. Saves on paper! It also has 4 different ink cartridges, so I guess that is better, because I might run out of black before everything else, right?
The bonus, HP was offering a mail in rebate of $60.
Ok, $240. Still pricey, but since a "network" print server was going to cost me nearly $150, on top of a new printer.... I took the plunge.
I despise mail in rebates.
Hate them.
You have to mail them in after jumping through all these hoops. Never get them back, never fill them in correctly, and often they get returned to you because you did something wrong, and never with enough time to turn around and mail them back in.
Or, they send you a notice that you did it all wrong, but they don't send it back to you, they just laugh and tell you that you suck, and you're never getting your money back. You can almost hear the bastards laughing.
The manager at the store I bought the printer from actually told me all about the rebate, and the cash register spit out an extra receipt, entirely for the purpose of the rebate.
Cool.
I took the printer home, filled out all the paperwork, took a copy of it with my nifty scanner, and printed it out in full real color on my new networked HP printer. It was so convincingly sharp in color that I nearly couldn't tell the original from the copy.
Great quality.
I was impressed, and very satisfied with my purchase.
According to the HP paperwork, it'd take 3 decades before my rebate would be processed and sent back out to me.
I mailed off the forms, not really expecting the money back ever. I bought the printer paying full price, knowing that likely I was ending up paying full price.
Several weeks later, I received one of those funny, folded, sealed self adhesive mailer documents. Working in payroll, I'm fairly familiar with a folded up check document sealed in its own self contained envelope. My company utilizes the same type of form for the paychecks and pay stubs.
Upon opening the letter, I was greeted with a failure notice.
According to the form, the rebate wasn't valid at the time I purchased it.
Confused, I looked over the paperwork.
UPC from the box attached as indicated? Yep
Copy of the store sales receipt attached as indicated? Yep
Model of printer clearly defined on the rebate form as one included in the rebate? Yep
Sales receipt dated for the time frame that the rebate form indicates? Yep
Confused, I called customer service for HP. Not really, it was a "help desk", a company clearing house devoted entirely to issues revolving around rebates. (Go figure that they'd need an entire outsourced company to deal with rebate disputes....)
In talking with several people, and a supervisor, I wound up with no satisfaction.
I was explained to that the rebate was only for online purchases of HP products.
"Sir, the rebate form was only available online, and was not valid for any purchase at a store at the time you made a purchase of the qualifying product. We suggest that you go back to the store that sold you the product, and make them refund you".
I explained repeatedly that the store gave me an HP rebate form, clearly from HP, clearly showing the model of printer, the date of validity, and the amount to be rebated to me.
They kept claming that it was for online purchases only.
Ok, then why would it ask for a dated "store" sales receipt? If I bought it online, it wouldn't be from a store would it?
If it came from HP's own website, the paperwork would seem fairly silly, no? HP already knew I bought the printer if I get it from their website? No?
After several disgruntled conversations, which usually terminated with me asking for someone in a position of higher authority, I reached my limit. I took all the information I could, and resigned myself to the fact that I'd never get my $60.
I really didn't think I would get it. Honestly. But I was kind of eager for the fight, the chase, the hunt, the kill.
I started calling HP, daily.
I wrote a nasty letter.
I sent several such letters.
I resigned myself to the fact that HP wins, and I lose.
After 4 weeks of daily phone calls, I ceased my assault.
I got my rebate in the mail yesterday.
$60.
That puppy is in the bank. I think I'm going to use it for ink cartridges. They are $15 per cartridge, and I need 4.
Worked out nicely.
Being that we didn't have much room in the "computer" room, we opted to move the computers downstairs into the semi-finished basement.
This necessitated the creation of computer tables / desks, workstations where we could situate the new computer, along with the old computer, and my school laptop. (And also Derek's laptop, which he uses for his online crack addiction...)
4 computers, one internet connection, many wires, much complicated madness and insanity.
I wound up having to install and situate a LAN router. Basically we had to get a box to negotiate all the computers together so that they can share with one another, and also reach the internet.
The downside, if we really wanted to share a printer, we'd have to purchase a "network" printer. The anemic ink jet Epson printers that I had been loyal to just weren't going to work on the "network". Having a single printer for each computer seemed silly, not to mention that it would take up a great deal of space.
In January, I broke down and started looking for a "network" printer.
I settled on an HP laser jet, an Officejet Pro, Model K550.
Expensive. $300. More than I've ever paid, since usually the Epsons are nearly free, they want you hooked so that you buy the ink, where all the true profit is. It seemed like a steep price. There were a few features that were nice though, it has a duplex mode. It comes with a mechanical apparatus internal to the printer that flips the piece of paper over. That is pretty cool. Saves on paper! It also has 4 different ink cartridges, so I guess that is better, because I might run out of black before everything else, right?
The bonus, HP was offering a mail in rebate of $60.
Ok, $240. Still pricey, but since a "network" print server was going to cost me nearly $150, on top of a new printer.... I took the plunge.
I despise mail in rebates.
Hate them.
You have to mail them in after jumping through all these hoops. Never get them back, never fill them in correctly, and often they get returned to you because you did something wrong, and never with enough time to turn around and mail them back in.
Or, they send you a notice that you did it all wrong, but they don't send it back to you, they just laugh and tell you that you suck, and you're never getting your money back. You can almost hear the bastards laughing.
The manager at the store I bought the printer from actually told me all about the rebate, and the cash register spit out an extra receipt, entirely for the purpose of the rebate.
Cool.
I took the printer home, filled out all the paperwork, took a copy of it with my nifty scanner, and printed it out in full real color on my new networked HP printer. It was so convincingly sharp in color that I nearly couldn't tell the original from the copy.
Great quality.
I was impressed, and very satisfied with my purchase.
According to the HP paperwork, it'd take 3 decades before my rebate would be processed and sent back out to me.
I mailed off the forms, not really expecting the money back ever. I bought the printer paying full price, knowing that likely I was ending up paying full price.
Several weeks later, I received one of those funny, folded, sealed self adhesive mailer documents. Working in payroll, I'm fairly familiar with a folded up check document sealed in its own self contained envelope. My company utilizes the same type of form for the paychecks and pay stubs.
Upon opening the letter, I was greeted with a failure notice.
According to the form, the rebate wasn't valid at the time I purchased it.
Confused, I looked over the paperwork.
UPC from the box attached as indicated? Yep
Copy of the store sales receipt attached as indicated? Yep
Model of printer clearly defined on the rebate form as one included in the rebate? Yep
Sales receipt dated for the time frame that the rebate form indicates? Yep
Confused, I called customer service for HP. Not really, it was a "help desk", a company clearing house devoted entirely to issues revolving around rebates. (Go figure that they'd need an entire outsourced company to deal with rebate disputes....)
In talking with several people, and a supervisor, I wound up with no satisfaction.
I was explained to that the rebate was only for online purchases of HP products.
"Sir, the rebate form was only available online, and was not valid for any purchase at a store at the time you made a purchase of the qualifying product. We suggest that you go back to the store that sold you the product, and make them refund you".
I explained repeatedly that the store gave me an HP rebate form, clearly from HP, clearly showing the model of printer, the date of validity, and the amount to be rebated to me.
They kept claming that it was for online purchases only.
Ok, then why would it ask for a dated "store" sales receipt? If I bought it online, it wouldn't be from a store would it?
If it came from HP's own website, the paperwork would seem fairly silly, no? HP already knew I bought the printer if I get it from their website? No?
After several disgruntled conversations, which usually terminated with me asking for someone in a position of higher authority, I reached my limit. I took all the information I could, and resigned myself to the fact that I'd never get my $60.
I really didn't think I would get it. Honestly. But I was kind of eager for the fight, the chase, the hunt, the kill.
I started calling HP, daily.
I wrote a nasty letter.
I sent several such letters.
I resigned myself to the fact that HP wins, and I lose.
After 4 weeks of daily phone calls, I ceased my assault.
I got my rebate in the mail yesterday.
$60.
That puppy is in the bank. I think I'm going to use it for ink cartridges. They are $15 per cartridge, and I need 4.
Worked out nicely.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The power of the Asterisk
| Your Birthdate: November 23 |
 You're not good at any one thing, and that's the problem. You're good at so much - you never know what to do. Change is in your blood, and you don't stick to much for long. You are destined for a life of travel and fun. Your strength: Your likeability Your weakness: You never feel satisfied Your power color: Bright yellow Your power symbol: Asterisk Your power month: May |
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
A Drive for Just Us...
Justice, there are numerous definitions, but this one is the one I find most fitting:
The upholding of what is just, especially fair treatment and due reward in accordance with honor, standards, or law.
Why do I mention this?
Funny little story.
A few weeks back we were having company visit us from Atlanta. Being that we are polite and generous hosts, we felt it unnecessary to have our guests rent a car for a few days since I would be taking time off from work to play tour guide. We would all get along quite well, provided no one minded the dog fur in my SUV.
After retrieving the arriving persons at the airport, we made our way home. While attempting to merge into traffic onto the interstate highway, some rude driver already on the highway refused to let people in, at 60 miles per hour. Undaunted, and being much bigger than the tiny Toyota Matrix, I simply turned my blinker on, and moved into the lane. There was plenty of safe distance, although the driver felt that I had encroached upon their personal space. Being that we were in the more right of the lanes of traffic, I was traveling slower than the rest of the lanes, but still maintaining 60 or so.
Our less than happy tailgater decided to slingshot around me, honking and flashing hi-beam headlights. We moved around into the left lane, and then immediately in front of me. If I had been the typical troublemaker of my youth, I would have done something brash and annoying. This time, however, we had company, and I felt no need to create a car accident. I simply kept in the lane, and accelerated to about 65, the posted maximum limit. The Toyota Matrix, who we determined was female, has Nevada plates. She was not accelerating, but trying to slow down, in an attempt to annoy me. I didn't care. We kept driving. I changed lanes into the left lane as she continued to slow down.
Suddenly, she shot out into the left lane, and accelerated off, like a bat out of hell. I'd guess she was likely trying to show me up, or some such silly nonsense. My estimate of her speed, considering the rate at which she was no longer visible to me, was probably close to 80 or 85.
We discussed in the cabin of the SUV that she must be pissed off. We laughed it off, and continued home.
As we drove over a stretch of road, and made the lane changes to come upon the exit to my house, we saw up in the distance the familiar flashing blue and red lights of the Portland Police Department. As we approached, we saw a Toyota Matrix with Nevada plates pulled off the road, and the police officer right behind her. Hmmm, think perhaps she was caught being reckless and speeding and with out of state plates, which would have made her a further target? Oh darn! Poor tourist!
Everybody wave!!!!
The upholding of what is just, especially fair treatment and due reward in accordance with honor, standards, or law.
Why do I mention this?
Funny little story.
A few weeks back we were having company visit us from Atlanta. Being that we are polite and generous hosts, we felt it unnecessary to have our guests rent a car for a few days since I would be taking time off from work to play tour guide. We would all get along quite well, provided no one minded the dog fur in my SUV.
After retrieving the arriving persons at the airport, we made our way home. While attempting to merge into traffic onto the interstate highway, some rude driver already on the highway refused to let people in, at 60 miles per hour. Undaunted, and being much bigger than the tiny Toyota Matrix, I simply turned my blinker on, and moved into the lane. There was plenty of safe distance, although the driver felt that I had encroached upon their personal space. Being that we were in the more right of the lanes of traffic, I was traveling slower than the rest of the lanes, but still maintaining 60 or so.
Our less than happy tailgater decided to slingshot around me, honking and flashing hi-beam headlights. We moved around into the left lane, and then immediately in front of me. If I had been the typical troublemaker of my youth, I would have done something brash and annoying. This time, however, we had company, and I felt no need to create a car accident. I simply kept in the lane, and accelerated to about 65, the posted maximum limit. The Toyota Matrix, who we determined was female, has Nevada plates. She was not accelerating, but trying to slow down, in an attempt to annoy me. I didn't care. We kept driving. I changed lanes into the left lane as she continued to slow down.
Suddenly, she shot out into the left lane, and accelerated off, like a bat out of hell. I'd guess she was likely trying to show me up, or some such silly nonsense. My estimate of her speed, considering the rate at which she was no longer visible to me, was probably close to 80 or 85.
We discussed in the cabin of the SUV that she must be pissed off. We laughed it off, and continued home.
As we drove over a stretch of road, and made the lane changes to come upon the exit to my house, we saw up in the distance the familiar flashing blue and red lights of the Portland Police Department. As we approached, we saw a Toyota Matrix with Nevada plates pulled off the road, and the police officer right behind her. Hmmm, think perhaps she was caught being reckless and speeding and with out of state plates, which would have made her a further target? Oh darn! Poor tourist!
Everybody wave!!!!
Monday, March 13, 2006
He's Back! He's Back! Rick's Back on the Air!
Click the link above.
DO IT!
DO IT NOW!
I love Rick Emerson.
He is the *man*!
He makes me laugh, he makes fun of people, and I can relate to him.
He's funny, and has had quite some interesting ups and downs with his radio show(s).
I used to listen dutifully daily. I would elongate my lunch hour, take breaks to sneak out to the car and listen, and finally broke down and bought a radio for my desk at work so that I could listen and work at the same time. (Well, listen mostly)
Then, along comes some changes, and they moved him to an earlier time in the morning to accomodate a new line-up.
Ok. I'll play along. Cranky, I changed my listening habits.
Then one day, vanished. Gone. Suddenly Rick was replaced by some odd pre-fab cookie cutter radio station format.
No warning.
Nothing.
Like finding out someone ran over your dog, and didn't even have the decency to stop to see if he was even ok.
Just drove on for miles, with your dog's tail still stuck in the front bumper.
I threw my radio away, after smashing it to pieces. (Yes, I have anger issues...)
Today, as I was driving back from lunch, and Dr. Laura was really starting to make me want to hurl myself into a wall repeatedly, I switched the channel on the radio.
I heard that voice.
I thought it must be a re-broadcast, perhaps a podcast on the radio.
I listened along anyway, hoping it would be a funny show from the past.
It wasn't.
It was live.
Heeeeeeeee's Baaaaaaaack!
I'm so stoked.
This made my whole day.
For the rest of you who don't have any idea, go listen.
Load up your iTunes, search the podcasts for the Rick Emerson show. Listen for a few days worth of espisodes.
Get into the groove, Rick's style, and the general feel.
You'll laugh until you wet yourself.
I have to go buy a new radio for my desk now!
DO IT!
DO IT NOW!
I love Rick Emerson.
He is the *man*!
He makes me laugh, he makes fun of people, and I can relate to him.
He's funny, and has had quite some interesting ups and downs with his radio show(s).
I used to listen dutifully daily. I would elongate my lunch hour, take breaks to sneak out to the car and listen, and finally broke down and bought a radio for my desk at work so that I could listen and work at the same time. (Well, listen mostly)
Then, along comes some changes, and they moved him to an earlier time in the morning to accomodate a new line-up.
Ok. I'll play along. Cranky, I changed my listening habits.
Then one day, vanished. Gone. Suddenly Rick was replaced by some odd pre-fab cookie cutter radio station format.
No warning.
Nothing.
Like finding out someone ran over your dog, and didn't even have the decency to stop to see if he was even ok.
Just drove on for miles, with your dog's tail still stuck in the front bumper.
I threw my radio away, after smashing it to pieces. (Yes, I have anger issues...)
Today, as I was driving back from lunch, and Dr. Laura was really starting to make me want to hurl myself into a wall repeatedly, I switched the channel on the radio.
I heard that voice.
I thought it must be a re-broadcast, perhaps a podcast on the radio.
I listened along anyway, hoping it would be a funny show from the past.
It wasn't.
It was live.
Heeeeeeeee's Baaaaaaaack!
I'm so stoked.
This made my whole day.
For the rest of you who don't have any idea, go listen.
Load up your iTunes, search the podcasts for the Rick Emerson show. Listen for a few days worth of espisodes.
Get into the groove, Rick's style, and the general feel.
You'll laugh until you wet yourself.
I have to go buy a new radio for my desk now!
Friday, March 10, 2006
eeee leck trissity
Electricity and I are not friends. On more than a few occasions I have had the misfortune to encounter electricity in a way that makes me both über respectful and downright paranoid of the demon coming through the wires.
Episode 1: The Phantom Menacing Range
When attempting to cook dinner one evening, I turned on our circa 1950 Ken-o-Lux (Kenmore Knock off?) range only to be met by a huge flash of white light, followed by purple smoke.
And me being hurled across the room.
Derek thought this was both entertaining and hilariously funny. He finally stopped laughing only to realize that this meant he'd be buying us dinner that night.
Heating element blew out, ordered a replacement (or one that Sears thought *might* work, since they didn't have a record of that particular stove, and since it only had a 3 digit serial number, they couldn't cross reference it in their archives).
After installing the new element, no matter what cycle you selected for the range, both the broiler and bake elements would come on and stay on, no matter the internal temperature of the oven. We got really creative with *flash* cooking.
I wrapped two of the metal racks in the oven with tinfoil to create an insulating "hot box" for me to manage to cook somewhat with. Didn't end up working that well.
Episode 2: Attack of the Hair-dryers
Yeah, you know you want to make a bald joke.
Go ahead, I'll wait...
Are you done?
Really?
You sure?
I'll continue...
As I'm drying my hair one morning, I am met with the overwhelmingly odd sensation of bumble-bees coursing up and down my arms, followed immediately by the cord of the hair dryer melting away, a large flash of light, a boom, and the breaker blowing at the fuse box. I must have screamed, thinking I'd been shot, since Derek came running into the darkened bathroom (lights were on the same breaker) and asked "What the hell did you do?" Yeah, I was so bored that I gnawed through the cord while I was using it. I'm an attention whore that way.
Episode 3: Revenge of the Range
So we moved into a nice home, compared to the ghetto villa we used to live in (See Episode 1). The bonus was that the kitchen had just been entirely remodeled. Brand new, never been used appliances, new cabinets, new sink.
Derek and I are sitting in our computer room (which is on the opposite side of the house, and completely not visible to the kitchen in any way). As we are doing our typical bantering, KA-BOOM! Bright flash of white light filled the house. We could see it even from where we were sitting.
I said, instantly, " The range just blew up."
Derek queries: " How do you know that?"
I reply, "Trust me, I have a history with electricity, and ranges, and I recognize the death rattle when I hear it."
Cautiously I enter the kitchen, ensuring that I do not come anywhere near the range. Sure enough, the digital display is blank, pitch black. Dead. This range was less than 3 months old. We hadn't even had the chance to burn pizza drippings intot he bottom of it yet.
Derek pulls the stove out from the wall. ( I nearly pass out just from the thought)
He says, " You stand here and watch the outlet while I turn the breaker back on."
"No way!" I reply.
"Fine!" He snaps. "Then go downstairs and turn the breaker back on while I watch the outlet."
"Are you crazy?! Remember me? Mr. Electricity? No way!" He tried to convince me.
We actually had a little fight over it.
Hello?! Remember me? The crazy one with not a good track record with electricity.
Eventually I found a wooden "corn" broom, and turned the breaker on by shoving the tip of the broom along the breaker switch.
As it turned out, the idiots who installed the range didn't screw in the new electrical cord properly and it shorted out.
So, tonight, as we are both sitting in the basement, which is where we have moved all of the computers in the house now, the lights start to flicker and flash and make a buzzing humming noise. If you saw the new "War of the Worlds" movie (And managed to live through Dakota Fanning screaming for 2 hours), then you know the noises that I'm referring too. A creepy, eerie, metallic electrical flashing welding noise, right before someone is pulverized into grey dust.
I'm thinking we are having lightning strikes.
Derek goes outside, and comes back in to report that the power pole in front of our neighbors house is arcing and the wiring has caught on fire.
WHAT?!
"Did you call 911?" I beg.
"Nope."
Damn-it! I called 911. I have to admit, they answered the phone much faster than I had expected, the phone never even rang.
Long story, short, (too late) the transformer on the line has blown, and it set fire to the lines. Fire department comes out, closes the street to traffic for 15 minutes, while the Power Company guys come out and work on the lines.
No one got hurt, and the power never went out at our house. The neighbors weren't so lucky, it was the line to their house that caused the lines to blow.
It was interesting to sit on the couch in my living room and watch the power box arc and flame for a few minutes.
I'm glad I was behind the safety of my living room window.
I think that I'm going to pull out of my driveway extra fast for the next few days, just in case there are any loose wires.
Episode 1: The Phantom Menacing Range
When attempting to cook dinner one evening, I turned on our circa 1950 Ken-o-Lux (Kenmore Knock off?) range only to be met by a huge flash of white light, followed by purple smoke.
And me being hurled across the room.
Derek thought this was both entertaining and hilariously funny. He finally stopped laughing only to realize that this meant he'd be buying us dinner that night.
Heating element blew out, ordered a replacement (or one that Sears thought *might* work, since they didn't have a record of that particular stove, and since it only had a 3 digit serial number, they couldn't cross reference it in their archives).
After installing the new element, no matter what cycle you selected for the range, both the broiler and bake elements would come on and stay on, no matter the internal temperature of the oven. We got really creative with *flash* cooking.
I wrapped two of the metal racks in the oven with tinfoil to create an insulating "hot box" for me to manage to cook somewhat with. Didn't end up working that well.
Episode 2: Attack of the Hair-dryers
Yeah, you know you want to make a bald joke.
Go ahead, I'll wait...
Are you done?
Really?
You sure?
I'll continue...
As I'm drying my hair one morning, I am met with the overwhelmingly odd sensation of bumble-bees coursing up and down my arms, followed immediately by the cord of the hair dryer melting away, a large flash of light, a boom, and the breaker blowing at the fuse box. I must have screamed, thinking I'd been shot, since Derek came running into the darkened bathroom (lights were on the same breaker) and asked "What the hell did you do?" Yeah, I was so bored that I gnawed through the cord while I was using it. I'm an attention whore that way.
Episode 3: Revenge of the Range
So we moved into a nice home, compared to the ghetto villa we used to live in (See Episode 1). The bonus was that the kitchen had just been entirely remodeled. Brand new, never been used appliances, new cabinets, new sink.
Derek and I are sitting in our computer room (which is on the opposite side of the house, and completely not visible to the kitchen in any way). As we are doing our typical bantering, KA-BOOM! Bright flash of white light filled the house. We could see it even from where we were sitting.
I said, instantly, " The range just blew up."
Derek queries: " How do you know that?"
I reply, "Trust me, I have a history with electricity, and ranges, and I recognize the death rattle when I hear it."
Cautiously I enter the kitchen, ensuring that I do not come anywhere near the range. Sure enough, the digital display is blank, pitch black. Dead. This range was less than 3 months old. We hadn't even had the chance to burn pizza drippings intot he bottom of it yet.
Derek pulls the stove out from the wall. ( I nearly pass out just from the thought)
He says, " You stand here and watch the outlet while I turn the breaker back on."
"No way!" I reply.
"Fine!" He snaps. "Then go downstairs and turn the breaker back on while I watch the outlet."
"Are you crazy?! Remember me? Mr. Electricity? No way!" He tried to convince me.
We actually had a little fight over it.
Hello?! Remember me? The crazy one with not a good track record with electricity.
Eventually I found a wooden "corn" broom, and turned the breaker on by shoving the tip of the broom along the breaker switch.
As it turned out, the idiots who installed the range didn't screw in the new electrical cord properly and it shorted out.
So, tonight, as we are both sitting in the basement, which is where we have moved all of the computers in the house now, the lights start to flicker and flash and make a buzzing humming noise. If you saw the new "War of the Worlds" movie (And managed to live through Dakota Fanning screaming for 2 hours), then you know the noises that I'm referring too. A creepy, eerie, metallic electrical flashing welding noise, right before someone is pulverized into grey dust.
I'm thinking we are having lightning strikes.
Derek goes outside, and comes back in to report that the power pole in front of our neighbors house is arcing and the wiring has caught on fire.
WHAT?!
"Did you call 911?" I beg.
"Nope."
Damn-it! I called 911. I have to admit, they answered the phone much faster than I had expected, the phone never even rang.
Long story, short, (too late) the transformer on the line has blown, and it set fire to the lines. Fire department comes out, closes the street to traffic for 15 minutes, while the Power Company guys come out and work on the lines.
No one got hurt, and the power never went out at our house. The neighbors weren't so lucky, it was the line to their house that caused the lines to blow.
It was interesting to sit on the couch in my living room and watch the power box arc and flame for a few minutes.
I'm glad I was behind the safety of my living room window.
I think that I'm going to pull out of my driveway extra fast for the next few days, just in case there are any loose wires.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
LA Story
I had to go down to Los Angeles recently for business. My dealings actually take me into Compton.
I stay in Torrance, about 25 to 30 minutes driving from LAX airport, depending upon the traffic levels and how you drive.
The company has a rental agreement with National Rental Cars. There is a "club", and being a member, all I have to do is show up with a valid reservation and I get the luxury of picking any car on the lot in the designated area, and they all cost the same.
When I arrived to retreive my car, and be on my merry way to the hotel, they only had a bunch of Chevy Yukons on the lot, of a strange looking boxy vehicle, called the Chevy HHR. I picked the smaller HHR since I didn't want to be driving around a Yukon all over the greater LA area. If I had been with some other people, perhaps.
I got in the car, started it up, and admit, the car was kind of cute, and it really grew on me after driving it off the lot. The car had exactly 33 miles on it. Brand spanking new. After a recent traumatic experience with a brand new Pontiac I bought, I was a bit hesitant, but oh well. A new adventure.
Drove around most of the afternoon and evening. Got settled at the hotel, went out to dinner at a very nice place, went back to the hotel, ran up to the local grocery store to get some orange juice and soda for the hotel room, came back to the hotel, and crashed out for the night.
78 miles on the HHR.
I go out at 7:30 AM to leave for the offices.
I put the key in the ignition.
I turn the key.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Bong.Bong.Bong. Check Charge System, Batter Saver Mode Enabled.
Lemon.
I should have known. I have bad luck with GM vehicles, I can always pick the ones that are flaming piles of excrement.
I called the rental car place, they told me they would send out "road side" assistance to help me out. If they could jump it, I'd be just fine.
No way.
Imagine me stranded in Compton late at night with a car that won't start. I don't think so. Chubby white boy? Not this lifetime.
A very non-english speaking guy showed up at the hotel to "jump" the HHR. The battery is underneath the spare tire in the back of the cargo area. There is not a battery in front, since there isn't room. Go figure.
Car started up once he jumped it.
Whoopee!
I had to drive the car all the way back to the airport, and get it exchanged.
When I arrive to exchange the vehicle, the attendant in the parking lot doesn't speak much english either. I attempt to tell him that I am in need of another vehicle.
"Si!"
The car is defective.
"Si!"
What do you want me to do?
"Si!"
I ended up taking the keys with me, so that the car didn't wind up getting put back on the lot. I wouldn't want the car to do something bad to yet another renter! Ick!
After another 30 minutes of waiting in line and dealing with customer service people, I was able to explain to the counter agent that the car I had was quite defective. I explained what was wrong. She says to me "Wow, you sure got a lemon didn't you!"
I got the lemon? I didn't buy it this time.
I drove off the lot with a Grand Prix. Pontiac.
I'm such a glutton for punishment.
Luckily the Grand Prix ran fine. I made it back home safe and sound.
I was ready to like GM products again, only to be kicked in the teeth.
I'm sticking with my Ford. It has never stranded me anywhere.
I stay in Torrance, about 25 to 30 minutes driving from LAX airport, depending upon the traffic levels and how you drive.
The company has a rental agreement with National Rental Cars. There is a "club", and being a member, all I have to do is show up with a valid reservation and I get the luxury of picking any car on the lot in the designated area, and they all cost the same.
When I arrived to retreive my car, and be on my merry way to the hotel, they only had a bunch of Chevy Yukons on the lot, of a strange looking boxy vehicle, called the Chevy HHR. I picked the smaller HHR since I didn't want to be driving around a Yukon all over the greater LA area. If I had been with some other people, perhaps.
I got in the car, started it up, and admit, the car was kind of cute, and it really grew on me after driving it off the lot. The car had exactly 33 miles on it. Brand spanking new. After a recent traumatic experience with a brand new Pontiac I bought, I was a bit hesitant, but oh well. A new adventure.
Drove around most of the afternoon and evening. Got settled at the hotel, went out to dinner at a very nice place, went back to the hotel, ran up to the local grocery store to get some orange juice and soda for the hotel room, came back to the hotel, and crashed out for the night.
78 miles on the HHR.
I go out at 7:30 AM to leave for the offices.
I put the key in the ignition.
I turn the key.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Bong.Bong.Bong. Check Charge System, Batter Saver Mode Enabled.
Lemon.
I should have known. I have bad luck with GM vehicles, I can always pick the ones that are flaming piles of excrement.
I called the rental car place, they told me they would send out "road side" assistance to help me out. If they could jump it, I'd be just fine.
No way.
Imagine me stranded in Compton late at night with a car that won't start. I don't think so. Chubby white boy? Not this lifetime.
A very non-english speaking guy showed up at the hotel to "jump" the HHR. The battery is underneath the spare tire in the back of the cargo area. There is not a battery in front, since there isn't room. Go figure.
Car started up once he jumped it.
Whoopee!
I had to drive the car all the way back to the airport, and get it exchanged.
When I arrive to exchange the vehicle, the attendant in the parking lot doesn't speak much english either. I attempt to tell him that I am in need of another vehicle.
"Si!"
The car is defective.
"Si!"
What do you want me to do?
"Si!"
I ended up taking the keys with me, so that the car didn't wind up getting put back on the lot. I wouldn't want the car to do something bad to yet another renter! Ick!
After another 30 minutes of waiting in line and dealing with customer service people, I was able to explain to the counter agent that the car I had was quite defective. I explained what was wrong. She says to me "Wow, you sure got a lemon didn't you!"
I got the lemon? I didn't buy it this time.
I drove off the lot with a Grand Prix. Pontiac.
I'm such a glutton for punishment.
Luckily the Grand Prix ran fine. I made it back home safe and sound.
I was ready to like GM products again, only to be kicked in the teeth.
I'm sticking with my Ford. It has never stranded me anywhere.
Monday, February 13, 2006
VD And Me!
VD.
Valentine's Day.
Everyone's favorite, unless you are single.
Luckily, I'm not single.
I was struggling to find something of a romantic nature to purchase or create. I'm not really crafty, except for being a pretty fine confectioner. And while I could have whipped out some pretty awesome cheesecake variants, that wouldn't really have been a surprise, hard to make a surprise in my kitchen with the other half around.
Besides, where would I hide it once it was made? Once the refrigerator was opened, the jig would be up.
I opted, instead, to purchase some chocolates from an online merchant whom my parents clued me in on.
Great stuff. Insanely good chocolate, kind of pricey, but damn they are binge-worthy.
The helpful merchant actually reminded me in an email that this time last year I had placed an order. And if I was so inclined, I could make a purchase this year, and even get a discount! Not that I would ever put a discount on my love. That would be wrong.
The online merchant even went to far as to import the exact order from last year, including the mailing address. All I had to do was plunk down my credit card numbers. Mailing address? Of course, I'd never have the items sent home, always send them to work, free publicity!
I did opt, however, to make a few changes in the chocolate selections. I wouldn't want to buy the exact same thing.
It is chocolate, but none the less, it ought to be a good experience!
Upon completing the information, I was informed that I could select the delivery date. Obviously I chose February 14th.
Why would I choose otherwise?
Chocolate isn't adequate enough, so I also purchased a few CD's. Comedy, funny stuff I know that will be listened to by the both of us.
Jim Gaffigan - Beyond the Pale
Stephen Lynch - The Craig Machine
Now, getting these CD's was an ordeal all unto itself, but I'll spare you.
Got some fun wrapping accessories.
Wrapped them, put them into witness protection so that they wouldn't be found by someone looking for their gift......
Today I get home from work to find the opened boxes of chocolate on my dining room table.
Appears that delivery on the 14th actually meant the 13th.
Should I be upset that they showed up early? I mean, I guess I should be happy that they didn't get delivered late.
I'm not entirely upset the chocolate showed up early. I do have a belly-ache now, though.
Happy VD everyone.
Valentine's Day.
Everyone's favorite, unless you are single.
Luckily, I'm not single.
I was struggling to find something of a romantic nature to purchase or create. I'm not really crafty, except for being a pretty fine confectioner. And while I could have whipped out some pretty awesome cheesecake variants, that wouldn't really have been a surprise, hard to make a surprise in my kitchen with the other half around.
Besides, where would I hide it once it was made? Once the refrigerator was opened, the jig would be up.
I opted, instead, to purchase some chocolates from an online merchant whom my parents clued me in on.
Great stuff. Insanely good chocolate, kind of pricey, but damn they are binge-worthy.
The helpful merchant actually reminded me in an email that this time last year I had placed an order. And if I was so inclined, I could make a purchase this year, and even get a discount! Not that I would ever put a discount on my love. That would be wrong.
The online merchant even went to far as to import the exact order from last year, including the mailing address. All I had to do was plunk down my credit card numbers. Mailing address? Of course, I'd never have the items sent home, always send them to work, free publicity!
I did opt, however, to make a few changes in the chocolate selections. I wouldn't want to buy the exact same thing.
It is chocolate, but none the less, it ought to be a good experience!
Upon completing the information, I was informed that I could select the delivery date. Obviously I chose February 14th.
Why would I choose otherwise?
Chocolate isn't adequate enough, so I also purchased a few CD's. Comedy, funny stuff I know that will be listened to by the both of us.
Jim Gaffigan - Beyond the Pale
Stephen Lynch - The Craig Machine
Now, getting these CD's was an ordeal all unto itself, but I'll spare you.
Got some fun wrapping accessories.
Wrapped them, put them into witness protection so that they wouldn't be found by someone looking for their gift......
Today I get home from work to find the opened boxes of chocolate on my dining room table.
Appears that delivery on the 14th actually meant the 13th.
Should I be upset that they showed up early? I mean, I guess I should be happy that they didn't get delivered late.
I'm not entirely upset the chocolate showed up early. I do have a belly-ache now, though.
Happy VD everyone.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Tee'd Off
When Derek and I moved into this house, getting the new phone service set up was quite a fiasco.
The phone company (I'll refer to them as QWorst) told me several things that were untrue, including the fact that wound up in me actually not having phone service at both my old and new residences simultaneously.
When we had moved, QWorst assured me that not only was I able to keep the old phone number, but they could activate the line so that our current (old) number would ring at both residences if someone called.
Big fat ugly mole with a hair growing out of it bald faced lie!
Instead we wound up having to wait 4 days in our new home with phone service, but we were told that they would keep the old line active at no charge to us. Great consolation since the house was in escrow and the new owners had actually taken physical possession.
QWorst also neglected to inform me of the necessary updates required to keep my DSL service. They cheerily told me I'd have to download new software to update the DSL modem, as the new residence was going to be a different "Flavor" of DSL service, and until I had downloaded that new software, I would be unable to get online. HUH?
How do you suppose I would be able to get to the support website and download the required software if I am unable to get online because my software needed updating?
QWorst said they could mail me a CD rom, for a fee, and it would arrive in 7 to 10 business days.
(Long story, short {Too late, I know...}, I bribed a local friend with access to download the files for me, in exchange for me cooking dinner, he then brought the software to me! Thanks Mike!)
Our new phone was installed.
Great! Hooray!
Easy to remember number. Repetitive. Flows.
Great number. Or so we thought.
We started getting odd phone calls. Often. At late hours of the evening, and early morning. Sleepytime.
Usually in Asian languages that I am unable to reference being that I am painfully Casper the Ghost white.
Then we started getting phone calls during the day.
Normally we do not answer the phone unless we know the phone number calling, we let the machine pick up. We figure if it isn't important enough for you to at least attempt to leave a message, it isn't important enough for us to call you back. Weeds out a lot of dead weight.
The phone calls got annoying.
Finally I decided to investigate some.
A little history. Oregon, a number of years ago, decided to add an area code to the state, since 503 area code was filling up. It was decided that Portland would keep the 503 area code, but other areas of the state would be moved to area code 541.
Great idea.
What people didn't count on was that the internet was proliferating rapidly. Some people would create websites with phone numbers. Other entrepreneurs would create telephone directories based entirely off of those websites. Then those entrepreneurs would make new web page directories and publish them for tourists. And so on.
As it turns out, the phone number we now have used to be for a golf course. If you dial my number with the 541 area code, that is indeed what you would get. Instead, a multitude of websites advertise my home phone number as the golf course info line.
I made attempts to contact the webhosts and webmasters of erroneous info mongerers everywhere. There was an obvious language barrier on more than one occasion. I did manage to get my number removed from a Japanese Golf Golf Happy! Page. The rest, unchanged.
The calls persisted.
I contacted the golf course, they seemed apathetic. The lackey at the other end of the phone said, "What do you want me to do about it?"
I guess nothing.
I called QWorst to complain. Sure, they would be happy to change me to a new telephone number, for a fee.
No way those thieving, book cooking, money grubbing, lying, cheating, pole jockeys were getting more of my hard earned money.
So, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Now when we get phone calls, the conversation goes somewhat like this:
"Sure, we'd be happy to put you down for a Tee Time. In fact, if you bring a guest, you can play for free!"
We figure after a few months of angry and unhappy customers, perhaps the golf course might be persuaded to take action or at least help to join the fight.
Until then, anyone want to book some time on the greens? I might drive the golf cart myself!
The phone company (I'll refer to them as QWorst) told me several things that were untrue, including the fact that wound up in me actually not having phone service at both my old and new residences simultaneously.
When we had moved, QWorst assured me that not only was I able to keep the old phone number, but they could activate the line so that our current (old) number would ring at both residences if someone called.
Big fat ugly mole with a hair growing out of it bald faced lie!
Instead we wound up having to wait 4 days in our new home with phone service, but we were told that they would keep the old line active at no charge to us. Great consolation since the house was in escrow and the new owners had actually taken physical possession.
QWorst also neglected to inform me of the necessary updates required to keep my DSL service. They cheerily told me I'd have to download new software to update the DSL modem, as the new residence was going to be a different "Flavor" of DSL service, and until I had downloaded that new software, I would be unable to get online. HUH?
How do you suppose I would be able to get to the support website and download the required software if I am unable to get online because my software needed updating?
QWorst said they could mail me a CD rom, for a fee, and it would arrive in 7 to 10 business days.
(Long story, short {Too late, I know...}, I bribed a local friend with access to download the files for me, in exchange for me cooking dinner, he then brought the software to me! Thanks Mike!)
Our new phone was installed.
Great! Hooray!
Easy to remember number. Repetitive. Flows.
Great number. Or so we thought.
We started getting odd phone calls. Often. At late hours of the evening, and early morning. Sleepytime.
Usually in Asian languages that I am unable to reference being that I am painfully Casper the Ghost white.
Then we started getting phone calls during the day.
Normally we do not answer the phone unless we know the phone number calling, we let the machine pick up. We figure if it isn't important enough for you to at least attempt to leave a message, it isn't important enough for us to call you back. Weeds out a lot of dead weight.
The phone calls got annoying.
Finally I decided to investigate some.
A little history. Oregon, a number of years ago, decided to add an area code to the state, since 503 area code was filling up. It was decided that Portland would keep the 503 area code, but other areas of the state would be moved to area code 541.
Great idea.
What people didn't count on was that the internet was proliferating rapidly. Some people would create websites with phone numbers. Other entrepreneurs would create telephone directories based entirely off of those websites. Then those entrepreneurs would make new web page directories and publish them for tourists. And so on.
As it turns out, the phone number we now have used to be for a golf course. If you dial my number with the 541 area code, that is indeed what you would get. Instead, a multitude of websites advertise my home phone number as the golf course info line.
I made attempts to contact the webhosts and webmasters of erroneous info mongerers everywhere. There was an obvious language barrier on more than one occasion. I did manage to get my number removed from a Japanese Golf Golf Happy! Page. The rest, unchanged.
The calls persisted.
I contacted the golf course, they seemed apathetic. The lackey at the other end of the phone said, "What do you want me to do about it?"
I guess nothing.
I called QWorst to complain. Sure, they would be happy to change me to a new telephone number, for a fee.
No way those thieving, book cooking, money grubbing, lying, cheating, pole jockeys were getting more of my hard earned money.
So, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Now when we get phone calls, the conversation goes somewhat like this:
"Sure, we'd be happy to put you down for a Tee Time. In fact, if you bring a guest, you can play for free!"
We figure after a few months of angry and unhappy customers, perhaps the golf course might be persuaded to take action or at least help to join the fight.
Until then, anyone want to book some time on the greens? I might drive the golf cart myself!
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Being Mooned...
The full moon has to affect people. Craziness exists on many levels, and nothing seems to bring it out in humanity than the full moon force. Add to that, we had Friday the 13th. Surely something odd was bound to happen.
Had to go to a big warehouse style store today.
Not one of my favorite places to frequent, but sometimes when you buy in bulk, you save. I try to do my grocery shopping weekly, and then avoid the store the rest of the week. This saves time, money, and aggravation as well. We try to make only one trip out.
Derek and I had a fine time inside the store. It was pretty crazy, but not as crazy as during the Christmas and holiday season. We trudged across the parking lot to our vehicle, a very good distance away.
We unloaded our purchases into the back of the SUV. Our dog (who always travels with us) was eagerly watching all of the "hunting" we had just done, and was wide eyed with what I'm sure he suspected was food for him in some manner.
It was raining, as usual. Raining plenty. And colder, some wind is blowing since we are getting another storm system moving in.
Derek set the cart off along an area of the parking lot adjacent to the parking stalls, next to another cart that was already there, instead of taking the cart 150 feet to one of the cart "corrals".
This woman immediately started yelling at us.
"Would it kill you to take that cart back to where they go?"
She had no purchases of her own. Apparently she was having a bad day.
Interrupting us with her bad mood, probably not a good idea. Normally I would have ignored her. Derek got stirred up.
Luckily, no one was injured, although there was quite a verbal barrage back and forth. I declined to advise him that fighting a battle of the wits with someone who was obviously unarmed wasn't a fair fight, but I figured that would have just made him want to push her buttons even more.
Crazy Woman, if you read this:
A) There were carts scattered all around the lot, our one cart was definitely not going to cause the retriever any additional grief since we put our cart right next to one already there
B) Mind your own business. That employee that has to retrieve the carts has a paying job, and having had to get carts myself at a job, it builds character
C) Actions speak louder than words. I would have respected you, crazy lady, if you had taken the cart back yourself, but being the lazy cranky mess you were, you would rather complain about bad things than take the time to fix what was perceived by you as something wrong.
D) You were not around when we arrived at the store, took a stray cart way out in the parking lot, and drove it all the way inside to use for our shopping just so there was one less cart out there.
I wonder what the next full moon might bring!
Had to go to a big warehouse style store today.
Not one of my favorite places to frequent, but sometimes when you buy in bulk, you save. I try to do my grocery shopping weekly, and then avoid the store the rest of the week. This saves time, money, and aggravation as well. We try to make only one trip out.
Derek and I had a fine time inside the store. It was pretty crazy, but not as crazy as during the Christmas and holiday season. We trudged across the parking lot to our vehicle, a very good distance away.
We unloaded our purchases into the back of the SUV. Our dog (who always travels with us) was eagerly watching all of the "hunting" we had just done, and was wide eyed with what I'm sure he suspected was food for him in some manner.
It was raining, as usual. Raining plenty. And colder, some wind is blowing since we are getting another storm system moving in.
Derek set the cart off along an area of the parking lot adjacent to the parking stalls, next to another cart that was already there, instead of taking the cart 150 feet to one of the cart "corrals".
This woman immediately started yelling at us.
"Would it kill you to take that cart back to where they go?"
She had no purchases of her own. Apparently she was having a bad day.
Interrupting us with her bad mood, probably not a good idea. Normally I would have ignored her. Derek got stirred up.
Luckily, no one was injured, although there was quite a verbal barrage back and forth. I declined to advise him that fighting a battle of the wits with someone who was obviously unarmed wasn't a fair fight, but I figured that would have just made him want to push her buttons even more.
Crazy Woman, if you read this:
A) There were carts scattered all around the lot, our one cart was definitely not going to cause the retriever any additional grief since we put our cart right next to one already there
B) Mind your own business. That employee that has to retrieve the carts has a paying job, and having had to get carts myself at a job, it builds character
C) Actions speak louder than words. I would have respected you, crazy lady, if you had taken the cart back yourself, but being the lazy cranky mess you were, you would rather complain about bad things than take the time to fix what was perceived by you as something wrong.
D) You were not around when we arrived at the store, took a stray cart way out in the parking lot, and drove it all the way inside to use for our shopping just so there was one less cart out there.
I wonder what the next full moon might bring!
Monday, January 09, 2006
Honey! There is a fetus riding our dog!
Ok, I stole the title from the short lived comedy show crafted by Matt Stone and Trey Parker of South Park Fame.
"That's My Bush!", was pretty bad, but pretty obscenely funny. It was undoubtedly too crude and too mean spirited of a Bush bashing to last on TV anyway.
In one of the episodes that line was used. Laura Bush screamed that after an aborted fetus (who had lived after the procedure and lived to be an adult although he never grew larger than the size he was when "aborted") landed on the family dog, and the dog ended up running around the room wildly.
Did I scare you away yet?
No?
Sheesh.
I adopted my own little animated Pilgrim Fetus.
Ain't he cute!
Why a Pilgrim?
My mother had the good sense to have my birthday on a holiday. I don't know what her secret was, or whether is was simply in the stars. Born on Thanksgiving Day. Truly, I am a turkey.
Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday. To me is it about togetherness, and holds more spirit to me in most cases than Christmas. Being an adult, I try to organize "Orphan" Thanksgiving, inviting over anyone I know, or even don't know, to share a dinner cooked in my home by me, and whomever chooses to bravely enter my kitchen.
So, I adopted the Pilgrim Fetus.
I know, sickly cute. I'm new at this blog slog. I'm sure I'll find all kinds of cutesy things to put up as time goes by.
I'm just starting out, so sue me!
"That's My Bush!", was pretty bad, but pretty obscenely funny. It was undoubtedly too crude and too mean spirited of a Bush bashing to last on TV anyway.
In one of the episodes that line was used. Laura Bush screamed that after an aborted fetus (who had lived after the procedure and lived to be an adult although he never grew larger than the size he was when "aborted") landed on the family dog, and the dog ended up running around the room wildly.
Did I scare you away yet?
No?
Sheesh.
I adopted my own little animated Pilgrim Fetus.
Ain't he cute!
Why a Pilgrim?
My mother had the good sense to have my birthday on a holiday. I don't know what her secret was, or whether is was simply in the stars. Born on Thanksgiving Day. Truly, I am a turkey.
Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday. To me is it about togetherness, and holds more spirit to me in most cases than Christmas. Being an adult, I try to organize "Orphan" Thanksgiving, inviting over anyone I know, or even don't know, to share a dinner cooked in my home by me, and whomever chooses to bravely enter my kitchen.
So, I adopted the Pilgrim Fetus.
I know, sickly cute. I'm new at this blog slog. I'm sure I'll find all kinds of cutesy things to put up as time goes by.
I'm just starting out, so sue me!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Seal Beatings
The three of us boys were pretty responsible growing up. We all had our moments, and I'm sure that some of the gray hair(s) showing up on our parents can be blamed on all three of us. As adults, I hope that we are fairly harmonious.
Growing up, I became a hoarder. As an adult, it is nearly compulsive. I worry about throwing things away that might serve a useful purpose. You never know when you might need that one piece of paper with that scribbled writing on it that didn't mean a thing to you when you looked at it yesterday, but meant a great deal when you awoke at 3 AM and jotted down your next invention idea.
On the flip side of my OCD personality trait, I am a saver. Hoarder, saver, same difference?
Vitamin-E Bro and his lovely shrinking wife Kelli bought me an iTunes Gift Certificate for Christmas and my birthday.
I love iTunes, and have been using it since the beginning. I've had an Apple computer for ages. Love them.
In my youth, I would have gone to iTunes and bought everything I could think of in quick and immediate totality, exhausting the thoughtful gift.
Instead, as an adult, I've made a rule.
If I want something, I have to wait two weeks.
If I still want it, and it is in the budget, I can buy it.
This tends to save me all kinds of money. But since the iTunes money wasn't really *my* money, I'm gonna spend it as I find things that appeal to me. A bit responsible, while still allowing me to be spontaneous.
Being naturally blond, and having a short attention span, I'm easily distracted by other things to buy.
So today on the way home from church (my weekly grocery shopping trip), I was listening to the radio.
A Seal song came on that I had never heard before.
Catchy, soulful, and emotionally charged.
So, there goes 10 bucks from my iTunes Gift Certificate.
If you like Seal, I recommend his album titled IV.
If you are more budget minded, for 99 cents, buy Seal - Love's Divine
Thanks Kelli and Eric!
Growing up, I became a hoarder. As an adult, it is nearly compulsive. I worry about throwing things away that might serve a useful purpose. You never know when you might need that one piece of paper with that scribbled writing on it that didn't mean a thing to you when you looked at it yesterday, but meant a great deal when you awoke at 3 AM and jotted down your next invention idea.
On the flip side of my OCD personality trait, I am a saver. Hoarder, saver, same difference?
Vitamin-E Bro and his lovely shrinking wife Kelli bought me an iTunes Gift Certificate for Christmas and my birthday.
I love iTunes, and have been using it since the beginning. I've had an Apple computer for ages. Love them.
In my youth, I would have gone to iTunes and bought everything I could think of in quick and immediate totality, exhausting the thoughtful gift.
Instead, as an adult, I've made a rule.
If I want something, I have to wait two weeks.
If I still want it, and it is in the budget, I can buy it.
This tends to save me all kinds of money. But since the iTunes money wasn't really *my* money, I'm gonna spend it as I find things that appeal to me. A bit responsible, while still allowing me to be spontaneous.
Being naturally blond, and having a short attention span, I'm easily distracted by other things to buy.
So today on the way home from church (my weekly grocery shopping trip), I was listening to the radio.
A Seal song came on that I had never heard before.
Catchy, soulful, and emotionally charged.
So, there goes 10 bucks from my iTunes Gift Certificate.
If you like Seal, I recommend his album titled IV.
If you are more budget minded, for 99 cents, buy Seal - Love's Divine
Thanks Kelli and Eric!
Friday, January 06, 2006
Chain of Fools
My brother tagged me on his blog. I'll complete the remedial task of answering, but I won't tag anyone else, since I'm a newbie. Normally I would have considered this to be somewhat of a chain letter, but I'll play along anyway.
Four Jobs You've Had in Your Life:
1. Dishwasher
2. Shoe Salesman
3. Certified 35 MM Acetate Film Projectionist
4. Computer Systems Analyst - Payroll (Nearly 15 years with the same company)
Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over:
1. Sneakers
2. Contact
3. Clue
4. All The President's Men
Four Places You've Lived:
1. Anchorage, Alaska
2. Federal Way, Washington
3. Greenbrae, California
4. Portland, Oregon
Four TV Show You Love to Watch:
1. Distraction
2. Good Eats
3. Law and Order (Any of them)
4. The West Wing
Four Websites You Visit Daily:
1. Get Your Bootleg On!
2. The Motley Fool
3. Rick Emerson
4. KGW News for Oregon
Four of Your Favorite Foods:
1. Deep Fried Cheese Curds
2. Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Fudge Brownie Ice Cream
3. Herbes de Provence roasted Yukon Gold Potato Wedges
4. Gen Tso's Chicken
Four Albums You Can't Live Without (at least for the moment):
1. Untitled - The Rembrandts
2. Heart Shaped World - Chris Isaak
3. Vespertine – Björk
4. Recurring Dream : The Very Best of - Crowded House
Four Places You'd Rather Be:
1. Ireland
2. Berlin
3. Alaska
4. The Moon
Four Jobs You've Had in Your Life:
1. Dishwasher
2. Shoe Salesman
3. Certified 35 MM Acetate Film Projectionist
4. Computer Systems Analyst - Payroll (Nearly 15 years with the same company)
Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over:
1. Sneakers
2. Contact
3. Clue
4. All The President's Men
Four Places You've Lived:
1. Anchorage, Alaska
2. Federal Way, Washington
3. Greenbrae, California
4. Portland, Oregon
Four TV Show You Love to Watch:
1. Distraction
2. Good Eats
3. Law and Order (Any of them)
4. The West Wing
Four Websites You Visit Daily:
1. Get Your Bootleg On!
2. The Motley Fool
3. Rick Emerson
4. KGW News for Oregon
Four of Your Favorite Foods:
1. Deep Fried Cheese Curds
2. Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Fudge Brownie Ice Cream
3. Herbes de Provence roasted Yukon Gold Potato Wedges
4. Gen Tso's Chicken
Four Albums You Can't Live Without (at least for the moment):
1. Untitled - The Rembrandts
2. Heart Shaped World - Chris Isaak
3. Vespertine – Björk
4. Recurring Dream : The Very Best of - Crowded House
Four Places You'd Rather Be:
1. Ireland
2. Berlin
3. Alaska
4. The Moon
I hope to bang like a monkey!
Did you click in the link above?
Do it! Do it NOW!
My older brother has been blogging for quite a while now. His pages are always funny, entertaining, educational, odd, or at least confusing. He's been suggesting that I might "guest" blog for him sometime. A few days ago, he posted what I took to be a challenge to create my own blog.
So, here it is.
Monkey Bangings?
Yes.
No.
Why?
The Infinite Monkey Theorem is an interesting concept.
If you read the link, you'll understand the premise itself.
I don't honestly think my musings of these electrons might someday be works comparable to Shakespeare. I do hope that you come away laughing or thinking. Hopefully both.
I do ask for patience during the infancy stage of my blogdom. I still have a lot to learn.
Do it! Do it NOW!
My older brother has been blogging for quite a while now. His pages are always funny, entertaining, educational, odd, or at least confusing. He's been suggesting that I might "guest" blog for him sometime. A few days ago, he posted what I took to be a challenge to create my own blog.
So, here it is.
Monkey Bangings?
Yes.
No.
Why?
The Infinite Monkey Theorem is an interesting concept.
If you read the link, you'll understand the premise itself.
I don't honestly think my musings of these electrons might someday be works comparable to Shakespeare. I do hope that you come away laughing or thinking. Hopefully both.
I do ask for patience during the infancy stage of my blogdom. I still have a lot to learn.
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