Lee's little corner of the interwebz

How To Survive on Stage

2011-09-22T20:04:00.004-05:00

So a friend said to me the other day, "I don't know how you get up in front of people and sing like that." I took that as a compliment, though in retrospect might not have been... And deep down, I know she was just making conversation, but because I take stuff like that as a literal challenge, I figured I'd share my "secrets to success" with the rest of the world. Maybe its more like, "failing without destroying your ego" but I'll let you make the call.

Ok, so here's my formula for public performance:
1) Practice as much as you can so then you know deep down that even if you suck in front of everyone, you can tell yourself you *know* you *could* have done a great job.
2) Know that everyone out there wants you to succeed. Nobody wants to hear you fail, so they will forgive what you're doing wrong, and listen more for what you're doing right. People will remember the 2 verses you did right, not the one you monkey'ed up if you take it in stride. (Judged events and angry drunks are different. I recommend avoiding both.)
3) Perform for people a lot. Eventually it won't throw you off as much because you'll have said every possible stupid thing under the sun. After a while doing dumb stuff into a mic won't phase you as much and you might even start to enjoy it. Yes, even *I* have said stuff I regretted. No, I won't tell you what I said. You had to be there, and I'm glad you weren't. Wait until next time, and yes, there will be a next time.
4) People don't care as much as you do about what you sound like. My inner critic and suck-meter are far more sensitive than most audiences. Yours probably is too.
5) You're never too 'seasoned' to psych yourself out. It still happens to me on occasion, usually in church. My kids think it's really funny to see my legs shaking. All you can do is get back on the horse. Next time will go better.
6) Make sure there's a next time.
7) Instructions are pretty simple. The execution is tricky.

There is one more kind of anti-guideline caveat-thing, and that is simply to know when it's NOT your turn. Sometimes you should just take a bow. Play nice and give someone else the spotlight. I've been at a couple events lately where someone has asked me to play/sing spur of the moment. Sometimes this is fine, sometimes it isn't. I was at a house warming with work friends. My friends knew I played guitar, but the hosts didn't, nor did they ask me to play. I don't think that's an appropriate time to surprise people with you 'talents.' Also, I was at a wedding reception recently where the bride, after finishing singing a song herself, looked my way and pointed the mic at me. I appreciated the invite, but really, it was her moment and I'm not going to be the douchebag that tries to one-up the bride. And seriously, how would I follow that up, anyway? Here's some Nirvana unplugged I hope ya'll like!

So that's it in a nutshell. Be yourself, but not so much of yourself that you look like a total idiot. Maybe next time I'll reduce the 7 points down to one.

Wait. Am I under what?

2011-09-14T14:51:00.005-05:00

So you know that mountain of paperwork you have to fill out when you go to a new doctor? I'm working my way through a 12 page "Getting to know you" evaluation and, I kid you not, the second to last question is:
"Are you currently under the influence?"
Seriously? They waited 12 pages to ask that? I'd think that would be kind of a page 1 question... you know, like "If Yes, then please come back and fill out the other 11 pages when you're sober."

If it wasn't just a check box I'd love to put "No, but I was when I started."

My secret weight loss formula REVEALED

2011-09-13T19:55:00.007-05:00

So, when you're built like half a man like I am, you get used to people using adjectives like 'thin' or 'skinny' or 'boney' to describe you. True story, I actually got called 'slight' the other day as if it were 'slightly' less of an insult. Slight? Really? What am I, a ballet dancer? At that point you might as well call me a 'lithe' or 'wispy' and get it over with.
Everyone assumes that I've always been this way. And granted, I never hit big guy status, but the truth is, 4 years ago I was up 25 pounds and well, any way you look at it, that's a decent sized bag of cat food to be carrying around your waist all the time.
So how did I do it? How did I become the sexy, lean, beast you see before you today? I can sum it up in two words:

Stress. Out.

That's right, you too may be among the small percentage of people who actually lose weight under stress. Just like me! You just have to apply this simple formula to your current life style:

Anxiety = Loss of Appetite + Metabolic boost = Weight Loss

See? It's just that easy! You stress out. You're no longer hungry so you quit eating. AND with your accelerated metabolism, you'll be burning off the pounds while you lie awake all night!

I don't just sell the system, I really believe in it. Let me tell you how it all worked for me. 3 years ago my fat ass was happily sitting on the couch dipping Fritos into a pint of Ben and Jerry's when my wife and I decided to try this program called, "Go to Ethiopia and come home with two children." In less than a week I was totally stressed and BAM! 10 pounds gone in 2 months! Then 2 years ago I lost my job and another 10 pounds! It really was amazing. And simple!

And that's not all! It's practically free, there's no expensive equipment to buy, and you don't even have to change your exercise routine. Heck, you can probably even make money by selling your bed, since you will be too worked up to use it anyway. And on the all stress program, you can eat whatever you feel like eating! Anything you can choke down is yours to keep! I've even lost weight after a night of binge drinking! Never mind the fact that I was completely dehydrated and that alcohol and caffeine amplify anxiety disorders. They also accelerate weight loss and that's why I drink Captain AND Coke! What's important is your weight, not your health, so it all still counts! It's remarkable!

Oh, and it's a great conversation starter too. People will love to hear about how you are using just the pressure of daily life to drive your weight down. Women especially will find your story absolutely fascinating. Be sure to bring it up loudly and often for maximum effect on the babes.

So try it now! Join the millions of people who have gone through sudden and catastrophic lifestyle changes and see if the all stress program is right for you!

WARNING:
Results are not typical. For most normal people walking this planet, anxiety and depression tend to cause weight *gain.* Stress and comfort eaters may not experience similar results. Symptoms of large amounts of stress include depression, blood pressure spikes, and long term damage to your internal organs. But hey, at least you'll be skinny, right? Please consult your doctor before changing your diet, exercise routine, or increasing stress levels. And talk to your local comedian if you are having trouble coming to grips with sarcasm on the internet.
Click HERE for more actual info.
On a side note, I've found that adding fries to a meal consistently adds half a pound the next morning. Like clockwork. Even for a slight guy.

Sun of a...

2011-09-12T10:37:00.003-05:00

Just for the record, I got sunburnt yesterday. Yes, that's right. Second week of Sept and "my summer tan" which was actually decent compared to other years, was rendered obsolete.
Being 'fair skinned' is so overrated.

All My Tears Be Washed Away

2011-09-06T17:23:00.004-05:00

Mark's this guy who, for whatever reason, loved to hear me play at The Brick. Considering I'm just a dude with a guitar who plays for an hour on the weekends, he made an incredible effort to come out and listen to me on a regular basis. He also continuously tipped generously even after we had established a friendship, which in my experience, is unheard of.
I heard an interview with Bono a long time ago where he said (in so many words) that the problem with Christian music is that Christians don't want to write about or listen to conflict. But in order to write a song or tell a story with a resolution, you need a conflict to resolve from. I still find this true. At least most churches don't mince words about it any more. The category is "Praise and Worship." See? No need to dwell on hardship, or problems, or pain, we'll just jump straight to praise and worship. There are exceptions to the rule, of course. Death, which Christians are supposed to celebrate on one level, is inherently conflicting. I think that's why I am drawn to the genre I oh-so-cleverly call 'Christian Death Songs.' There's a bunch that put happy tunes to fairly morbid topics, like "I'll Fly Away" or "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" that sound like a great time until you listen to the lyrics. And a couple that are appropriately somber. I think "Amazing Grace" nails the right tone with the right words. But there are even fewer that just admit that death sucks for everyone but the dead. The ones I'm familiar with take the viewpoint of the dead trying to reassure the living. I like those. I appreciate the conflict. Mark liked them too. He would joke with me about how I should do a two hour set of death and break-up songs while people would relax, enjoy their coffee, and then slit their wrists.

I found out my friend Mark died of a heart attack this morning. I had seen him a week ago at karaoke and been in contact with him a couple times since then, but nothing connected. About noon today, I got a phone call asking me to sing at the funeral. Of course I said yes before I really thought through the logistics of it all, which honestly, it is probably much better that way. When I told Chris, she asked me what I would sing. Fortunately, I happen to know exactly which Christian Death Songs were his favorites. Choosing a song would be the easy part. Singing it will be the challenge. I called my friend Bruce who I would classify as an 'elder musician' to see if he had any advice on getting through funeral music. "Yes" he said, "Whatever you do, don't try to sing. You'll never make it. I've never made it. Find someone who isn't attached to the deceased to do the singing." We both laughed that nervous laughter you use when you're trying to wrap your mind around bad news, and hung up.
So I will miss my friend Mark. I will miss his encouraging smile. His attentiveness to my music. His randomly timed, yet poignant text messages (He drove a truck and would contact me at weird times from weirder places.) And his boldness to initiate conversations with an unintentionally aloof coffeehouse musician.

Here are the lyrics to "All My Tears," one of Mark's most requested songs:

When I go, don't cry for me
In my Father's arms I'll be
The wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed and I'll be whole.
Sun and moon will be replaced
With the light of Jesus' face
And I will not be ashamed
For my Savior knows my name.

It don't matter where you bury me,
I'll be home and I'll be free.
It don't matter where I lay,
All my tears be washed away.

Gold and silver blind the eye
Temporary riches lie
Come and eat from heaven's store,
Come and drink, and thirst no more

It don't matter where you bury me
I'll be home and I'll be free
It don't matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away

So, weep not for me my friends,
When my time below does end
For my life belongs to Him
Who will raise the dead again.

It don't matter where you bury me,
I'll be home and I'll be free.
It don't matter where I lay,
All my tears be washed away.

39

2011-09-01T19:17:00.004-05:00

So I turned 39 yesterday and I gotta tell you... it's not so bad, or at the very least, it could be a lot worse. 38 was pretty good to me. Running the Rockford half marathon was probably the highlight. I ran 13 miles in 1 hr and 49 minutes, which was a once in a lifetime pace for me. Peshtigo white water rafting was a close second. Both were firsts that made me feel like I might actually be capable of surviving a catastrophe.

Here's me running like I'm chased by zombies

If I lump anything that's happened in the last week into 'My Extended Birthday,' then it's been a fantastic party. It started Friday night with karaoke in Belvidere, where I met up with Becky from work and her friends, who never fail to entertain. One of them is an amazing, room-goes-quiet, instant fan-club, singer. Under normal circumstances, that is awesome... however not so much when you have to follow her all night in the singing rotation. Then it kinda sucks and just becomes a big joke. Hey look at me! I'm the guy who is singing after the person you actually wanted to hear just finished! That's exactly why opening bands don't follow the headliners...
Saturday morning I got up and ran (thank you Fri night caffeine) and then went to sing at The Brick Cafe. It's interesting to hear what a night of my karaoke voice does to my coffee house voice the next morning. Sometimes it's great and adds some gravel, other times it destroys my upper range. It could go either way. Then Saturday night I ended up in Elgin at an OpenMike night with the old U46 bunch. Singing there was unusual because I think I sang 9 songs that night. 45 min at an open mike even after doing a set with Joan Jett, Brittany Spears, and Culture Club? Ridiculous. Did you not just hear me sing Culture Club?
Two days later I had lunch with Nez. Yesterday, Chris called me "El Jefe" (the chief) all morning, gave me a birthday wedgie (to make me feel like I was in grade school again? thx lol), then took me out for Thai. At work, Becky put a 90lb bag of Peanut M&M's on my desk and said, "Happy Birthday. That ought to keep you for a while." I'm not exactly sure what that means, but from what I can tell, it means I don't have to share. Then after soccer practice, I took the kids to DQ just to make sure they'd be sugared up and crabby when they got home.
Along with all this I somehow managed to finish up Season 1 of "Game of Thrones" which is worth watching, though I don't recommend it for everyone.

So I guess what really made 39 special (I know, it should be 38 Special shouldn't it?) is that I got to sing a lot and hang out with a bunch of old friends, new friends, and family. It was just a great mix.
I don't want to wait a year to have a another week like this.

9/5/2011 addendum
To make it even better, this weekend, I jammed with Marty Friday night, then Chris and I went to the wedding of an old U46 friend and got to sit at a table with other district people I haven't seen in a year. Then Sunday I played guitar at Wesley and hung out with the family in Elgin. It's really been the perfect week of friends and music.

Photo Challenge Days 26 - 30

2011-08-05T08:18:00.001-05:00

Day 26: Close up
So Dad, Is this close enough for you?
Day 27: From a Distance
Kites on Mackinac Island
Day 28: Flowers
Flowers are easy to find in Michigan in July. I took a lot of flower shots but I like the near silhouette look in this one, just because it's different.
Day 29: Black and White
Other than cropping, I really didn't mess with the other pictures much. This one, though, I had to play with the settings to get the football nice and dark.
Day 30: Self portrait
I liked the idea starting and finishing the photo challenge with the same topic. Then, I guess in theory, you can see how much you've improved. In this case though, I really like my Day 1 picture of myself more than any of my final portraits. Now, maybe it's because I did it in 5 days and not the full 30 so my artistic eye didn't have as much time to develop. Or I'm photo snob now and I'm so hip I don't even like my own stuff any more. There is another lesson in this though, sometimes the first shot is the best. Many of my final choices were actually the first, most spontaneous shots. So I guess the moral is, when in doubt shoot it anyway.

Photo Challenge Days 21 - 25

2011-08-04T08:16:00.000-05:00

Day 21: Faceless self portrait
Ok so technically there is a face in this picture, but if you look in her eyes you'll see me.
Day 22: Hands
Day 23: Lens Flare
I've never actually tried to get a lens flare, I've only gotten them on accident.
Day 24: Animal
I did have some other 'successful' animal pics this week, but this one had the most personality even though it was fleeting.
Day 25: Something Pink

Photo Challenge Days 16 - 20

2011-08-03T08:14:00.001-05:00

Day 16: Long Exposure

Day 17: Technology
My battle worn MP3 player... on a stump.

Day 18: Shoes
It's easy as a photographer to end up with shoes in your shot. I thought it was more interesting to not make them the focus of the picture.

Day 19: Something Orange
Chris thinks she looks like an Oompa Loompa and tried to dial the color back a bit, but this is how it left the camera. It looks vintage magazine-y to me. I shot it at sunset, so yeah, everything was orange and naturally over saturated.
Day 20: Bokeh
Ok, I've never done bokeh before. You're supposed to have a bright, out of focus background that then becomes 'starry' in the picture. Of course, Chris did the old, "You do it like this..." *CLICK* and got a great bokeh shot on the first try. This is as close as I got.

Photo Challenge Days 11 - 15

2011-08-02T10:30:00.000-05:00

Day 11: Something Blue
Yoyo toes

Day 11: Something Blue2 (Bonus!)
Day 12: Sunset
Cedar Campus bay, from 'The Bear'
Day 13: Me with 13 things
Day 14: Eyes
So we're on Mackinac Island and this horse drawn carriage pulls up and stops right in front of me. I was shooting straight into the sun so I couldn't see much through the camera viewer, but I thought I had a good angle on these great horses. When I got home I realized the whole series was quite... disturbing. Although maybe it was me doing the disturbing.
Day 15: Silhouette
Cedar Campus bay at dusk

Photo Challenge Days 6 - 10

2011-08-01T10:30:00.001-05:00

Day 6: Low Angle
Marquette statue, Mackinac Island

Day 7: Fruit

Day 8: Bad Habit
I think Chris is right. This picture is much more interesting left on it's side.
Day 9: Someone I love
We argued about whether or not shooting with the flash through a window would work. I tried it anyway and I was very happy with the results.
Day 10: Childhood Memory
I had a lot of fun throwing the frisbee and trying to shoot left-handed from the hip.

Photo Challenge Days 1 - 5

2011-07-31T11:42:00.007-05:00

Chris brought a 'photo challenge' along on our vacation to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. You're given one topic or technique each day for 30 days. Well, I didn't have a month and I kinda wanted a Michigan theme, so I did it in a week. I'm oh so 'accelerated' like that...
Also, other than cropping, the pictures are generally unedited and not 'tweaked.' I figured if I started doing that I'd spend 20 years fiddling and never post.
Anyway, here's how it went:

Day 1: Self Portrait
Aaaand I'm off to a roaring start, aren't I?

Day 2: What I wore today
I went running this morning and this pic turned out to be one of my favs. Though admittedly it looks better than it smells.
Day 3: Clouds
(Chris and I argue about who took this one... she probably did, but I'm taking credit anyway because my other cloud pictures are dull)
Day 4: Something Green
I think it's a half inflated alligator, but I thought it looked like a depressed, beached turtle.
Day 5: High Angle

Surely you jest

2011-06-23T18:51:00.000-05:00

Dude! I got one of those new beemers too, except mine says "Saturn" on the front.

Bandit B Gone

2008-07-12T23:23:00.003-05:00

Just wanted to say that I caught another 2 raccoons this week. I'd like to thank the first one for eating blackberries before capture so that I now have a big purple stain on my pooped deck. I'd also like to shout out to the second one who left 'signature' in big scratch marks.

I know, I know, I should have set the trap on say... cement, but I've never had those problems before.

Anyway, the kids got to see the last one and have now had the 'My Daddy catches raccoons' experience.

Critter Review - Summer 08

2008-07-09T22:03:00.006-05:00

Ok, well for starters, if you haven't figured it out, I've been blogging over here a lot more lately as things have kinda changed around the Gardner household recently. I will probably continue to do so, but I couldn't really justify griping about feral animals on the family blog, other than the fact that Yordanos wanted to know the Amharic word for "Raccoon." I'm like, "No Amharic. Raccoon English Only," and pulled up this picture in an attempt to describe why I don't want them running around the backyard, dining on free cat food.So yeah, about 3 days ago I could no longer deny the fact that there were too many flippin raccoons hanging around. I put food out for the cats and a half hour later, no cats, but *4* raccoons (looked like a mother and 3 'cubs' or whatever you call them) were enjoying dinner. So I put the trap out, and needless to say, I caught the one male cat that I couldn't get when I was on the 'neuter the neighborhood' spree. It was kind of a toss up, but I decided to let him go and hope for one of them masked bandits. About an hour later, I looked out and saw a small raccoon in the cage. But here's the thing, whenever I've captured a cat, the other cats all do the, "No sir, I didn't see anything, officer" pose. But this is the first time I've gone out to the cage to find 3 other animals trying to help the trapped one out, and let me tell you, mama was pissed. So I took the little guy 'to a better place' and set the trap again, hoping to catch the mother, figuring that it would be my best bet at keeping them all together. Less than 15 minutes later, another sibling wandered into the trap. Again, he is now in a better place and hopefully caught up with his brother. I guess losing 2 in an hour was enough to convince mama raccoon that there was no such thing as a free meal at the Gardners because there has been no evidence of raccoon activity and the outdoor cats have been lounging around the yard all afternoon (lately they've been dine-and-dash'ing.)

But speaking of the outsiders, it's been over a week since we've had a 'Fat Murray' sighting and I think it's safe to say she's slinked off to the eternal catnap. Once she was no longer pregnant, she really wasn't very fat, but the name stuck anyway. I've probably mentioned this before, but I was amazed that we didn't lose any cats in the winter when the temperature dipped to -25. I figured if they could survive that, they could handle pretty much anything. But I guess when you're talking about feral cats, it's really a matter of when, not if. She was a gentle cat, I hope it was quick.

So cheers, Fat Murry, your serene, fuzzy face will be missed.

How I made my insurance man's day

2008-06-05T18:22:00.004-05:00

Step 1: Find bat in attic
Step 2: Go to internet and search for "OMG, I has a bat in my attic! Please Advise." Be sure to read about how good they are for the environment, how disease ridden they are, and then the part about how there's a big fine if you're caught exterminating them, you insensitive twit.
Step 3: Call insurance guy and say, "The interwebs said that most home owners insurance policies cover bat removal and clean up. Does mine?"
Step 4: Tell him to call you back when he's done laughing.

For extra credit, read about how you aren't supposed to 'relocate' bats in June, July, or August because the babies can't fly yet. Then look at this and try to care (No, it's not my attic.)

Ok, but the ironic thing is that, although they won't help get the bats out, they will pay for property damage caused by bats. Not clean up, but actual damage. So I guess I have to wait until the attic is so full of bat turds that it crashes through to my dining room. Geniuses.

De-Dinked: The Last Hoorah, no regrets.

2008-06-05T11:44:00.007-05:00

It occurred to me recently that there really isn't a formal, "Go out with a bang because from now on you'll have to actually BE responsible, and not just faking responsibility like you have been throughout your marriage" rite of passage. There's no equivalent to a bachelor party before having children. I've watched my friends scurry about trying to get in that one last gift for themselves before their baby arrives. Money is almost always tight and the wife is usually keeping an eye out for such activity, but most guys wheedle in one last treat. I got lucky. I got permission to get the bass guitar early on. But Hallmark is really missing a niche here. Whichever company convinces women that having a child should constitute a celebration (and I'm not talking baby shower) will make some serious money.

It might also eliminate some of the awkward conversations I've had with folks who try describe the joy of children but are just too exhausted to think striaght. Seriously, parents are the worst salesmen for parenthood. "It's the best thing in the world... well, I mean, it's hard but it's worth it... and it's going to change life as you know it... and you won't sleep for 18 years, but you know, it's great." Um, so which is it? Because as far as I'm concerned worrying about whether the bleach is in a locked cabinet and "sheer bliss" are mutually exclusive, but apparently becoming a parent melts your brain to the point where that makes sense. Anyway, wouldn't it be easier if instead of trying to explain how joyous it was when your kid finally coughed up a LEGO, if current parents could just say, "So, what did you do for your Un-Dinking?" (Dink= Double Income No Kids) See? It's easy.

Anyway, I was thinking of all this because the past couple weeks have really been kind of one extended DINK fest (if that catches on, you heard it here first) and it's been better than any one event I could have planned. At a wedding reception, the math is working against you. A four hour reception with 240 guests means that you get to average 1 minute with each person, and that assumes you visit all through dinner. Maybe I've just been more aware of it lately, but I've done most all of the 'Me' things I've wanted.

-Had coffee with Wandtkes
-Played at The Brick
-Went to an Ethiopian restaurant with the Owens
-Sang at church
-Drove the commute with my wife one last time
-Saw movies (in the theater) with Megan, Brent and Zach
-Karaoke'ed with good (I dare say, borderline "great") friends
-Saw my favorite bartender
-Had lunch with "The Boys"
-I READ A BOOK!!! (Well, half of one anyway...)
-Various people who I haven't seen in ages have called out of the blue, the list goes on.

I know none of this stuff sounds like party material, but add it up and it's actually what any single celebration could ever hope to accomplish. I've interacted with nearly everyone whom I consider near and dear (I've missed a couple of you, but you know who you are!) in the past two weeks and that has made this transition into parenthood a real celebration for me.

So thanks to all of you who came to my two week De-DINK-A-Thon. It's really been my pleasure, and hopefully Team Gardner can return the favor sometime.

The Saturn does not need more "BAM!"

2008-05-18T14:45:00.004-05:00

So Friday night, Chris stayed late in Elgin to hang with her knitting crew, and I went out to Open Mike and Karaoke. So, I'm walking home at 1am and I see Chris's car parked in the street, which is *really* unusual. I guess I had left my car in the driveway and she wasn't up for the car swap it would take to get her car into the garage.

Now, normally this is not a problem, but occasionally, on weekends when the weather is good the youth of Belvidere take advantage of unattended vehicles. I say "occasionally" because since we've lived at this house I've had stuff done to my car a handful of times. Getting my mirror whacked off was probably the most serious, but that happened to every car on the street that night, and clearly nothing personal. Some might say once is too much, but for me it's not so much the damage that bothers me, it's more just the feeling of being violated.

So, knowing that it's a nice spring evening and it's not a school night, I approach the Saturn trying to get the glare from the street light at the right angle to see if there's been any damage. I see a big clear splatter mark across the windshield which, if I hadn't gotten the car washed 3 days ago, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but now this requires more investigation. I continue walking toward the car and I see that there is little bits of something on the ground, but they're not reflecting so it's not glass, which is a bonus.

Care to guess what I found sticking to the hood and windshield wipers of my wife's car? If you guessed "olives" you'd be half right. Yeah... someone threw olives and maraschino cherries at my car. Cherries? Olives? If you can't make a good martini, don't take it out on me. Seriously who, pray tell, decides at midnight that they are going to drive around and garnish the neighborhood?

And this isn't the first time this has happened. Okay, okay, technically last time my car was condiment'ed with catchup but you get the idea. I don't know if the "traditional" vehicle vandalism foods are too expensive now or what, but it's just really weird. What's also weird is that they they didn't just whip the bottle of olives at the car (i.e. I didn't find a chip in the glass, or the container in the lawn) but they did egg the side mirror. ??? As if to say, "It's just a prank, but not really." I really don't mind the "sticky until you wash it off" stuff, but eggs can do real damage. Maybe kids just don't get the difference yet. I know I didn't until I had to clean it up and then realized a couple months later that I had missed some places where the paint had been eaten through.

Kids these days... pfft, whatever. Just stay off my lawn or I'll shake my fist at you.

Bob Strikes Back! (Hoser...)

2008-05-12T19:14:00.005-05:00

I've talked about Bob, the World's cheapest man and the previous owner of our house, before. Well, for the past year, I've been watching various hose carriers and reels decay and fall off our house. All I could think was, "We can put a man on the moon, why is it so difficult to keep a hose tidy?" I believe the answer lies in how much one invests in equipment. For NASA that means, "As much as is necessary," while for Bob it means, "As close to zero as possible." Big difference.

(Note how the spigot is actually holding more hose than the caddy at this point...)

So I'm at K-Mart the other day and I remembered that the south side hose caddy is literally on it's last leg. I trudge off to the lawn and garden section, just to kind of get an idea for how much a replacement part is going to cost me and I see that there are about 15 different devices for storing your hose. Finally I find the one that's $3.89 that looks similar to the one that's clinging to my house by it's fingernails. It seems to meet all of Bob's criteria: It's an off brand, has absolutely no frills, and it's the cheapest one... at K-Mart! I get back home and find that my current hose "organizer" is exactly the same brand, no surprise there.

I go back to K-Mart and buy two of them. Why? Because to Bob's credit this particular hose carrier has five mount points, four of which line up perfectly around a brick. So since I got the exact same model, I don't have to drill more holes into my house. And I won't have to the next time it falls off either. Home improvement using the Bob method. Ta-Dah!

Feline Evangelist [Eye Roll]

2008-04-24T21:26:00.007-05:00

Want to know how to tell you're a crazy? When you start comparing yourself to other crazy people and you say to yourself you must be ok because at least you aren't like them.

I went to the grocery store today for 3 things. 3. Just a survival run. Milk, tea, and catfood. That's it. The first two took me about 2 minutes, so I go whipping my cart into the kitty section. I'm scanning for the biggest bag I can find, when this other guy in the aisle sees me perusing and says, "Hey, can I make a recommendation?" Sure, why not, and hopefully you're going to point out the stuff that's on sale.

So he points out the only Purina catfood flavor that's not made with animal byproducts. Ok, kinda interesting. He then describes what 'animal byproducts' actually are. Ooo-kay. Then he explains why beaks, claws and feathers are bad for a cat's digestive system. Fine, I got it. Then he proceeds to give me an anatomy lesson on feline kidneys, and the proper diet to care for them. Yeah, yeah, yeah... I look at his cart and it's FULL of cat food, but interestingly, not with the brand he recommended. He then goes into great detail about how the wet food he's buying is way better than the dry stuff he recommended. Glazing commences, no more eye contact. He tells me about how this particular wet food is produced at a fish cannery and not a catfood plant so it's higher quality. He says blah-blah tuna blah, when Chris calls me with a couple more items to pick up. Oh, I love that woman and her timing! I pull back. He leans in. The smell of dirty cat wafts toward me. I stand still, thanking God that my wife wouldn't put up with our house (or me) smelling like that. Then, I kid you not, he then starts to suggest milk alternatives for lactose intolerant cats. Now I'm trying to figure out an exit strategy. He then shows me the two bottles of Lact-Aid buried in his cart under the cat food. Leaving is no longer optional and is now paramount. He says that he learned all this because his other cat died of kidney problems and the vet explained all this to him. KTHXBYE! I leave without a bag catfood. Dude, I was just happy to get out of that aisle.

I came back later, but he had cornered some other woman. Sorry sister... he's sexually harmless, so you're on your own.

Here's the thing, I was looking for food for the outdoor cats. Feral cats have an average life expectancy of about 3 years, 5 max. And frankly, I suspect far more die from a Chevy overdose than renal failure. And I happen to know that they can survive -25 degree nights on whatever food is on sale. But there was no way I was going to pick up the 20 pound bag 'o dehydrated chicken eyeballs in front of that guy after that lecture.

Well, not there anyway...

Now, I'm not exactly an emotional cornerstone when it comes to the death of a pet, but seriously, at least I'm not that guy.

Fat Murray is not impressed with the outdoor buffet.
(Yes I stole this pic from Chris's blog. It's a great shot.)

Putting the Oh-Oh-One in m0n0nuc1eosis

2008-04-23T21:26:00.005-05:00

Smiles everyone, Smiles! This is officially my 100th post! So I'll try to make it a reeeeally good one, like the 100th episode of Stargate or the 100th Strongbad email. You know... a real American classic.

Or, I could just post an oh-so flattering picture of myself with my head on a stump and be done with it...Ta-DAH!

Back in my day, we didn't have Photoshop. NoooOOOoo! We had dead trees, and a game called, "Saw off my head and throw it at a stump." We played it for hours AND WE LIKED IT!

Ok, Ok, meanwhile...
I mentioned earlier that I finally went to the doctor last week. Well, the lab results came back today and oh, lookie here, there's a big pile of Mono-fighting antibodies hanging out in my blood. The only reason those would still be there is if I had recently had Mono. Lovely. I feel mildly vindicated though. It's kind of like the old Wayne's World quote, "I thought I had Mono once, turns out I was just really bored," but in reverse. Granted, it's not as funny to say, "I thought I was bored for three months, turns out I had Mono," but it's more accurate to my situation.
Anyway, Chris listened to the voice mail, squinted at me and said, "Hmm, who'd you get Mono from?" playing the coyly-jealous spouse card. "You," I said, answering the question and trumping the conversation in one syllable. Her attitude kinda descended after that. Chris had a rough winter too, and not just because I was asleep or the living dead the majority of the time.

Oh, and apparently I'm low on vitamin B12. So my doctor who casually mentioned that I should probably be taking a daily multivitamin, was right. Care to guess the symptoms of a b12 deficiency? Clipped from wiki:

"Common early symptoms are tiredness or a decreased mental work capacity, decreased concentration and decreased memory, irritability and depression."

Really? No freekin' kidding. Here's a summary of my winter: Eye roll. Fidgit-Fidgit. Yawn. Glare. "What were you saying again?" Tap-tap-tap. Sigh. Glaze. Stretch. Head in hands. "What?"

Aaaand Scene!

No time like April...

2008-04-20T22:27:00.003-05:00

...to start working on those New Years resolutions, that's what I always say!
Last month I had to return the Bass guitar I had been borrowing for 3 years. The original owner was coming back from (at least) his second tour of duty and wanted it back. I was going to arm wrestle him for it, but you know, I didn't want to embarrass him or anything... so you know, I just played it cool. I didn't even cry.
Ever since then I've been laying the groundwork for getting my own. You see, in our marriage there's a LOT of passive-aggressive, cloak-and-dagger, mind games going on all the time. It's like this constant brutal chess match. Here's a sample conversation:

Me: You know, I had to return that Bass Guitar I was borrowing... I'm going to need my own.
Her: Fine.
Me: I'm serious, I need to buy one soon.
Her: Ok.

(20 minutes later)

Me: Hey, I'm going out to go buy a Bass guitar and you can't stop me.
Her: I told you that was fine. Bye!

See how at this point I've got her so spun around she almost thinks it was her idea? CheckMate baby, CheckMate.

Anyway, so I drove out to my not-so-terribly-local guitar shop looking for a bass guitar. I don't think I was being really picky, but I had some basic criteria. For starters, acoustic-electric translates to me as, "I can practice without an amp" and that alone is a deal maker. Also, it has to have frets and only 4 strings. I could not care less about the brand or the electronics, I did have those two options figured out. The design and style should be fairly 'generic' for lack of a better word. I don't need a lot of bling or attention at this point. Oh, and it should sound and feel good... did I forget to mention that?

Turns out I did have a couple more parameters though, that I didn't even know about. For instance, I immediately skipped over any guitar that had "JAZZ BASS" printed on the headstock. I'm sure they sound great, but I guess I'm just not comfortable enough in my bass-ulinity to get over that. And on the other hand, there's a lot of really presumptuous Bass guitars out there. I'm not Flea, nor will I ever be. And there was a whole wall of daggery/skullified/blood-oozing/spidered basses that just gave me the finger as I looked them over. Seriously, for me, it's an instrument, I'm not trying to make a statement yet. I finally found this one in the far corner, facing the wall without a price tag. That's about as unassuming as you can get. SOLD!

Oh, and last rule of guitar buying. Once you put your money down, don't pick up another guitar. No good can come of that.

Gauging my [CENSORED] success

2008-04-20T10:58:00.004-05:00

In my constant quest to write down all the unwritten rules of karaoke, I've come to recognize some very tangible indicators of audience approval. Now you might assume that this would be fairly obvious, but you'd be thinking with your sober mind. Your friends are there for support and should be encouraging even if you tank. Strangers are well, strange and unpredictable.

Applause is not a particularly valid indicator. From the mic it's hard to tell the difference between, courtesy clapping, genuine applause, and just unrestricted enthusiasm induced by "liquid courage."

Being completely ignored isn't necessarily a good or bad thing either. Maybe you missed that single approving nod, or it could mean folks just came out to socialize and it happened to be karaoke night.

Sometimes people sing along because they are familiar with the song. Other times people sing along because they're trying to drowned you out. It's kind of a toss up.

So how do you know if you suck or not? Here's how I gauge it...

1) How do *I* feel I did. Bottom line is that if I think I nailed it, I probably did.

2) Explicatives followed by "A!", "Rocked," or "Sweet," tell me that I did something right. I'm going strictly by experienced frequency here. I get an enthusiastic "That was BLEEPIN' Awesome!" so rarely that it has to be noteworthy. And lastly...

3) Did it make girls dance? Because really, at that point, does it matter how well you're actually doing? The consensus from guys is, "No." Technical accuracy goes right out the window after that. For women singers, your mileage may vary.

I'd like to thank my friends who came out the other night and made sure I heard #2 and then proceeded to completely abuse #3. I still feel scarred and dirty, thank you Julie.

I've already said too much.

Supporting the Arts

2008-04-19T22:37:00.004-05:00

So today was my day to go to The Brick Cafe and do my guitar thing. I've been trying to expand my mainstream folk repertoire, so it's really cool to start playing something new and see toes start tapping immediately. This follows the "People like what they know" philosophy. I'm sure at some point I'll get bored and embittered, but for now, there's just sooo much catching up to do. Today's successful request was 'something by Dan Fogelberg' and I was able to whip out "Bad Moon Rising." (Ok, Ok, that was CCR, and I sang it nearly and octave lower, but it was close enough to count.) [Addendum: actually it wasn't close at all because I keep confusing Dan Fogelberg and John Fogerty, so technically it's strike two...] But on the flipside, I thought I had "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night in one of my books, said I could do it, and then had to renege.

Anyway, There were two things that made today noteworthy. The Sweet Adelines were rehearsing up the street and came by on their lunch break. And let me tell you, these ladies were not done singing. I'm not used to having 5 women belting harmonies, and frankly carrying me through "The Boxer." That was cool. They have a concert coming up iff'n anyones interested.

And the other notable event was that I got to see my wife's pictures up on the wall and for sale in an art shop! One of the owners used to be a display designer and did a great job of showcasing Chris's stuff. For instance, her butterfly picture is hovering behind a cactus display so it looks integrated and natural. Things like that. It's a very thoughtful, pleasing layout, but admittedly, I was distracted. Partially because I was really proud of my wife for getting her pictures off the computer and into the world, but also because the picture in the middle was hung vertically instead of horizontally. It's fine, and I doubt anyone else (other than Chris) is going to notice or care, but my brain couldn't get past the fact that 'it was sideways.'

It's also fun to see her get a glimpse of celebrity status. This evening at Church someone came up, without prompting, and said that they had seen her pictures and really liked them. Chris was gracious and as the conversation went on, the woman asked her how she got so close to the bear. The bear? What bear? "You know," she insisted, "The black and white close up of the bear." I could see Chris mentally scrolling through her portfolio...

"Do you mean Murray?" Chris asked.

"You have names for bears?"

"No, he's our cat."

"Does he look kind of like a bear?"

"Actually, he looks kind of like a house cat."
There was giggling involved and it was all in good spirit, but welcome to the world of art Babe, where everyone is free to interpret your stuff however they want.

Murray. Not a bear.
(but available for purchase at The Brick Cafe!)

From the 'Information-I-could-have-used-earlier' department

2008-04-17T22:42:00.003-05:00

This morning's excursion into awkwardness was actually an extension from earlier in the week. Monday afternoon I went to the doctor's office because I had sat down at a blood pressure machine again and had pretty much exactly the same experience as last time, and it made me nervous. So my Doctor took my blood pressure twice and couldn't figure out why I was so worried about 110 over 72. I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about why these stupid machines think I'm 130 over 85 and categorically 'prehypertensive.' The rest of the conversation went something like this:
"Has work been extra stressful?"
"No, not more than usual."
"Do you exercise?"
"Yes, twice a week. In fact, I feel great afterwards."
"Then do it more."
"Uh, ok..."
"Are you taking any vitamins?"
"No."
"Do that too."
"Alright."

Now I know all that doctor-speak and medical jargon may have gone over your head, so let me put it in plain English. She said that it was her professional opinion, that I should just suck it up, quit whining, and come back when I'm carrying a limb. If you read between the lines, you'll note my response was something to the effect of, "Ok, but if I have a heart attack tomorrow, it's your fault."

Communication with the doctor types is a very subtle art.

We compromised and agreed that it was worth my time to 'get some bloodwork done.' I know it's a common phrase, but I still don't like it when they make it sound as mundane as an oil change. Anyway, the problem is, that I had not been fasting and that I needed to come back when I hadn't eaten anything for 12 hours. Fine.

That brings us to this morning. I walk into the blood lab at 8:32, sign my name on the roster, and look expectantly at the lab tech since I'm the only one there. She proceeds to squeak a highlighter pen across my file a couple time and then reaches under her desk and pulls out a dixie cup and a plastic lid.
"Fill this and bring it back to me. The bathroom is on the right," she said.
"This doesn't seem very sanitary. Don't you have syringes and sterile vials for this kind of thing?" Ok, ok, I didn't really say that. What I really said was, "Wait... what?"
"The. Bathroom. Is. On. The. Right. I need a urine sample," as her tone soured.
Really I wasn't trying to be difficult, but my brain was trying to figure out how 'urine sample' constituted 'bloodwork.' What came out of my mouth was, "Well THIS will be interesting..." and I walked to the bathroom.

See, when you're psyching yourself up to face one of your fears (me and my own blood go way back) you tend to take care of the other calls of nature so you can stay focused on your opponent. But don't worry folks, I was able to pony up and 'meet the demand.' (Just call me Johnny on the Spot! heh...)

But you know, would it have been so hard for for the Doctor to give me a little warning about that? You know, just a little, "Hey, fyi, I circled the 'make him pee in a cup' box too," would have been greatly appreciated. Is that too much to ask? Apparently.

PS) I google image searched for "Urine sample" thinking it would be really funny to add a picture to this post. Yeah, um, again, not one of my better ideas.

Here "Kitty" "Kitty"

2008-04-16T21:47:00.010-05:00

I was doing my usual evening routine of cleaning up cat vomit and wandering aimlessly around the house when I looked out back and saw another raccoon dining out of the cat dish.
This has brought me to one of two conclusions:
Either A) I need to get into the Coon Skin Cap business, or B) I've been getting the wrong animals fixed.

Sigh... this is so not how I wanted to spend my weekend.

Guess that explains why I haven't seen any real cats this evening.
At this point, I think I'd take the Cougar.

In other news... There is pizza in Ethiopia

2008-04-15T22:15:00.005-05:00

As stated before, at this point we can't post any pictures of our children. But if, say, you were to do you're own research on Ethiopia, and just happen to find an article with a picture of a smiling boy and a girl in a red shirt out there on the internet, then well, you know... that would be some pretty good research.

[After reading the article] Chris was a little disappointed that their first pizza won't be with us in the States, but it struck me funny. "You will be going to America soon so, quick! Figure out how to eat this with your hands!"

I guess I forgot pizza was cultural. I wonder what else is on the 'How to Survive in America' class schedule? What else do we totally take for granted? Slurpies? Duct Tape? Captain Picard? Peanut Butter? Road Rage? I know, I know, it's ridiculous... everyone's heard of Picard, but humor me.

One of my friends has already claimed dibs on their first Happy Meal. I hope that isn't lesson two or he's going to be ticked.

Moment of clarity

2008-04-15T22:00:00.002-05:00

I discovered one of the secrets of happiness today:

Try not to have mutually exclusive interests.
For instance, playing guitar and glass cutting are probably not the best combination of hobbies.
I'm just sayin'...

Not so great, actually.

It's Calculus, don't take it personally.

2008-04-13T21:47:00.004-05:00

This post is for my Father, the humanitarian, who dedicated his career to humbling college students one semester of Calc at a time... (click to enlarge)
As a general rule I really try to only use my own stuff, but I saw this at the FailBlog today and snorted.
Love ya, Dad!

Adoption News

2008-04-13T16:51:00.003-05:00

For those of you who we haven't talked to directly this week, Chris and I finally got an adoption referral from Ethiopia and we quickly accepted. What this means is that Habtamu, a 9 year old boy, and his 6 year old sister Yordanos will be joining the Gardner Clan sometime in the near future. We're figuring summer-ish, but really who knows.

Details are sketchy, but we've been told that they are healthy physically and emotionally. We also have received pictures (finally, faces for our children!) but aren't supposed to post them since they are minors and all the legal stuff isn't finalized yet. Chris has been updating our Adoption Blog, pretty regularly lately. Check there for the latest and greatest.

That's my objective, just-the-facts version of the story...

My subjective, emotional response goes something like this:

For those of you who we haven't talked to directly this week, Chris and I finaaaAAAHHH hubbida hubbida (runs in circles) Yeek yeek (arms flail) AAAAAAHHHHGH! (clunks against wall making that coconut noise) pftpftpftpft (drools) RADIO SILENCE.
NO CARRIER.

Yeah, that about sums it up.

How about we do this one in the Key of EEEeeeEEEeeeEEE

2008-04-13T14:01:00.005-05:00

Pet peeve #775: Church music that can't physically be sung.

If you write a song, and you're the only one who is ever going to perform it, then feel free to put it in the 'right' key for your voice. But you know, if you're going to write music for the masses, maybe you should put it in a key that's friendly to the average singer. Seriously. We sang a song this morning in what I call "The Key of Chris Tomlin." If you aren't familiar with Tomlin, it equates to "The Key of Sting." He sounds great singing it. He is also an alto. The rest of us are left fumbling with trying to either sing an octave lower or harmonizing and hoping that some woman out there is picking up the melody. I knew we were in trouble when I heard my friend Marty, who has the vocal range of Prince, started choking off notes. I'm not knocking Tomlin as a worship leader and songwriter, I just wish you didn't have to be a dolphin to sing his stuff.

This Old House, "Spring" Edition

2008-04-12T23:51:00.004-05:00

The weather has been crap for crap here in Chicago this April. We had a couple nice days and then it's just been raining steadily since then. It snowed today. It didn't stick, but still...
Anyway, I know it's spring because the bugs that have been happily dormant in our basement for the last 4 months are now out on the prowl again and they're flippin huge. I had a great shot lined up of a 2 inch house centipede when Sibbie heard the camera and came to investigate (i.e. swat at the bug and then lose it under the couch.) Thanks girl, I'm sure next time we find it, it'll be 6 feet long and carnivorous.

I think I'll be sleeping with Janis tonight.

Ugh, so nasty but at least they don't crunch.

All we are is Dust in the... thank you, thank you very much

2008-04-12T21:33:00.006-05:00

I don't think I've mentioned this before, but awhile ago I talked to the owners of our local cafe/art store (Yes, we do have an art shop) and asked them if they would be opposed to having some live music. They said that would be great, and they asked me if I knew any musicians with real talent that would be interested. I said I did, but that I intended to play anyway.

So for the past month, on Saturdays I've been "doing my guitar thing" for about an hour at The Brick Cafe. I've been kind of keeping it on the down low because I didn't want to get all excited about it and then have it not work out. But things are going well and it's been a lot of fun.

I haven't sung at a coffee house for at least 10 years, so building up a coffee house set has been kind of an interesting challenge. Back in the day when I only had to fill 20 minutes, I used to play novelty music almost exclusively. Which is great for surprising people, and giving them something they haven't heard, but isn't always appropriate dining music. I mean, although *I* think the song "Dead Puppies" is absolute genius, I'd be hard pressed work it into my lunch set with a clean conscience. That's clearly dinner music.

The approach I'm taking this time assumes that people come to a coffeehouse to relax for a little while. So I've been trying to add 'comfortable' music into my repertoire. Fortunately, the bulk of the Saturday crowd is older and appreciates folk music, so the likes of John Denver, Simon and Garfunkle, John Prine, Johnny Cash, and Bob Dylan, go over really well. I have now even successfully taken requests (for songs!) which is a big milestone for me. Really, Whoda thunk? The whole thing has been very cool and has been really rewarding.

I've also experienced first hand one of the best pieces of advice I was given about playing at coffeehouses... people tip better if you play what they want to hear. I know, I know, if you aren't a musician it sounds extremely obvious, but there's a part of most performers that really wants to play either our own stuff, or stuff we think we play technically well. That's what Open Mike nights are for. Truth of the matter is, people are much more engaged when they know the song, and not so interested in hearing what you feel like playing at any given moment. I'm not saying I would play Brown Eyed Girl (which in my little circle of musicians is so cliche it's taboo) I'm just saying that an audience with a penchant for folk music would probably enjoy it if I did.

I've really enjoyed defining my coffeehouse style and voice, not that I've got it perfected yet. It's definitely not my Karaoke voice, which is a lot of fun but has... shall we say, "limited appeal" outside of Friday night (I wouldn't inflict my Alice Cooper on anyone sober...) And yet it's rougher and looser than my Sunday morning voice.

It's a great little gig. Low pressure. Low commitment. Play stuff folks like. Play stuff I'm not bored with. When I'm done I get a HotDog. It's pretty much an ideal situation. So next time you're in the neighborhood on a Saturday, come on out, have some coffee and a sandwich, and see me. I might even play something you actually want to hear... :-)

Please disperse... there is nothing to see here.

2008-04-10T20:31:00.003-05:00

It took all day, but I finally feel better and am not acting like a such a crabcake anymore.

We now return you to your regularly well-mannered Lee.

It's ok. You can come out now.

Kitty round up, bound up, and ground up: Spring'08

2008-04-09T20:53:00.007-05:00

Ok, this is a really rambling catch-up blog, but I promise it'll be the last one about cats for quite awhile... You've been warned.

I caught the b/w female (CodeName: Rica) before she had kittens. On a whim I left the trap open and baited before leaving for work the other week. I came home 10 hours later and found her inside.

I apologized to her because she had probably been in there 9 and a half hours already and then was going to have to spend the night in the same cage, as well as any waking time the next day at the vet.
Sorry little girl, it's for the best. Apparently she was a horrible patient, but from our angle, she recoup'ed pretty quickly. After two days in the basement, she was eating normally so we left the back door open for a couple hours and she found her way out. That's the way we like it, nice and easy.

The cat before her (CodeName: Crested Murray, because we're oh, so clever) was the exact opposite. After two days, no food had been eaten and the litterbox hadn't been used. I knew she was hiding in the one dark, unreachable place left in the basement, perching on the pipes behind the utility sink... the cast iron utility sink that is riveted to the floor. This is when my inner voice said, "The only thing worse than trying to get a cat out from behind a bunch of plumbing is trying to get a dead cat out from behind a bunch of plumbing." So at about midnight, I found my old friend Janis and together we made sitting on the pipes less... "inviting." The downside was that Janis literally scared the pee out of this cat. I cleaned it up as best I could at the time, which wasn't nearly good enough. I think I'm going to have to bleach under the washing machine to really eliminate the smell. Won't that be a nice project. All facts considering though, that's the first accident we've had to deal with from one of the stray cats.

One of the reasons I've been so zealous this year about caring for the strays is that last year at this time, the back deck smelled like death and it lasted for half the summer. I swore to myself that I'd do whatever it took not to have to deal with the smell and wondering what the hell died under my deck this year.

And people, let me get on my soapbox here for a minute... a couple years ago I was sitting in the reception area at the Vet's, when this older woman came in with a kitty carrier. We started talking and it turned out that she was there to get some pregnant female fixed. I remember thinking to myself, "Jeez, just pawn off the kittens and be done with it," but now I totally understand. Cat population growth is exponential, and it's yearly. The only real way to control it is to nip it in the bud. I've been dealing with 3 pregnant females this season, but in 2 months, I'd be trying to figure out what to do with another 10 kittens. The economics of the situation make decisions easier, and dealing with it sooner is definitely better than later.

I know, I know, some of you are thinking that I should have just had them terminated, but honestly, I don't mind them being around, I just don't want any more of them. The average life of a stray cat is something like 3-5 years max anyway.

On a totally different note, from the Kitty-Karma-Police Department... The other night coming home from a party, I hit a farm cat. In my youth I thought that there should always be time to swerve. Yeah, well, I'm older now and sometimes there just isn't. I remember white legs and two thumps and that's about it. It was disturbing, but not as devastating as you might think for a guy who has spent a year now caring for feral cats. Surprising, but at least it was over quickly, and in that sense, fairly compassionate. My conscience is clean about the whole thing, but I've got to tell you, two days ago some dirty white cat that I had never seen before showed up in our backyard. He sat on the fence long enough for me to get a good look and I haven't seen it since.

All I could think of was, "OMG, The cat came back, the very next day..."

There are no clean getaways

2008-03-27T22:14:00.007-05:00

I was out of town for all afternoon and didn't get home until about 9:30pm yesterday. Since the feral cats didn't take the bait (I'll get you yet, Lil Rica!) this means I missed the "close the trap and before dusk" window. I didn't think much about it because I caught the raccoon yesterday. I know there's a possum that's been sniffing around, but what are the chances of that wandering in less than 24 hours later, right?

Around 1am I heard the cage thrashing, which is a bad sign because I don't usually hear trapped cats from inside the house. Not able to leave an animal in peril, I get up to check out what's going on. It was just beginning to rain so I just poked my head out the back door and could only hear something in the dark hissing and clawing. Yeah, probably not a cat. Especially since there were 3 sets of cat eyes coming over the fence to do their own investigation (I guess you could say they were going to perform a CAT scan... thank you, thank you, you guys have been great. Next show at 11!) Anyway, I ducked back in to grab a flashlight. When I got back out, one of the cats was about 18 inches from the cage. Sigh... That's what this neighborhood needs is for one of these cats to get rabies, so I shoo them away and take a closer look myself.

Yeah... not a possum either.

Don't let those big brown eyes fool you. This bad boy was mean and Cra-Hanky. I knew this guy was going to be 'special needs' because he had already soiled the length of the cage and then continued to panic in it. No wonder the cats were interested. And since I've been a raccoon specialist for oh, the last 24 hours, I knew with certainty that there was absolutely no point in feeding this bugger a towel. But out of pity, I moved the cage over a couple feet, getting him out of the rain (and his other stuff) and went back to bed.

Chris checked him out the next morning and noted (as you can kind of see in the picture) that he really didn't have raccoon stripes. I told her that in my raccoon-expert opinion, the coloration difference was most likely due to genetic variances and the fact that it had spent the night digging a 2 inch deep trench through the mud under the cage. Somehow, it had also managed to pull some rocks into the cage. I'm still baffled by that one. Was he planning to pound his way out? Did the cage need decorating? Only the raccoon knows for sure...

Anyway suffice it to say that this is NOT how I planned on spending my spring break. Oh, and kids, don't worry, he's "in a better place" now too.

PS)This blog title is the tag line from the movie "No Country for Old Men" which fits nicely with this topic and my previous blog. I was going to photoshop the movie poster and put raccoons in it, but I'm running out of steam here...

No Country for Old Racoons

2008-03-27T14:09:00.007-05:00

As a quick summary of recent events, the last time I walked into the veterinarian's office, the vet tech behind the counter looked up and said, "Hello Mr. Gardner, finish spaying the neighborhood yet?" The answer is no. I've got one more very shy, elusive girl that needs a fixin'. The feral cats have a very specific pecking order for eating, so catching them has been pretty easy and methodical. I put one bowl of food out until it's the target cat's turn to eat. Then, I put the food in the cage. Wait about 10 minutes and then 4 out of 5 times, I've caught the cat I'm expecting. But this little one (Codename: Rica) has either figured out the cage or is so far down the pecking order that she eats hours after the other cats. For about 3 days I've been feeding the other cats, then taking the food away hoping that at some point she'd figure out the food schedule. Well, again, she's either too smart or too stupid. So started leaving food in the trap throughout the day figuring that since the other cats were fed they wouldn't sniff around the cage, but she still might.

It hasn't worked yet, and worse yet, it threw off my system.

So, the other day I had a passing thought that if I left food in the live-trap overnight there would be a pretty good chance I'd catch something other than a cat. We know other critters have come dining on the cat food, I just really didn't want to have to mess with anything else. Then, the other night after forgetting to bring the food in, I found this on my deck:As you can see, this sucker was about 10 feet long and not at all pleased with his dining arrangements. Note that the gaping wound on his back no doubt added to his pleasant demeanor. I had toyed with the question, "What am I going to do if I catch a wild animal?" before, but now I had to have an answer. I mean seriously, what the hell was I going to do with this thing? So, I think I followed a pretty logical course of actions.
1) First, I grabbed the camera and took a couple pictures. What you don't see in the above shot is Famine sitting on the railing over the cage enjoying the show.
2) I tried my one cat trick. When you throw a towel over a trapped cat, it chills out. When you throw a towel over a trapped raccoon it pulls the towel through the cage and eats it.
3) I call for backup. I grab my cellphone and call the first person I could think of who owns a gun. He tells me he can come out the next morning and take care of it. I tell him I may be able to handle this on my own, I just wanted to know his availability.

Legally, I'm not exactly sure what the 'proper' course of action is in my town. My best guess is that it involves hiring a professional trapper to transport my already caged critter. So, without incriminating myself, what I can tell you is that the raccoon is "in a better place now" and we'll just leave it at that.

NOW it's St. Patrick's Day

2008-03-18T00:29:00.003-05:00

Today there's been a lot of talk about U2, Van Morrison, and Thin Lizzy on the radio. But the day just isn't complete without a plug for my favorite Irish band, Flogging Molly. I stumbled upon them back in the Napster days. Someone had categorized them under "Christian, Celtic, Punk" and that combination was too much to resist. Actually, I don't really think any of those words describe them particularly well, but give them a listen and decide for yourself.

Karaoke King PreMix

2008-03-17T23:45:00.005-05:00

So I've been trying for months to figure out how to add music to this Blogger-thingy. See, here's the deal... Blogger is owned by Google and therefore it's pretty friendly with other Google products. So, let's say I wanted to add video. It's no problem to slap in your favorite YouTube video into your blog. Pictures? Easy. Picasa even has a 'Blogger This' button built right in. But Music... oh, yeah... about that... you're going to need a "third party vendor" and "personal storage space" for them there MP3's.

Well, I found www.podbean.com which is free for us little people. Granted it's geared toward podcasting, but it can work with MP3's so I figured I'd give their widget a go.

And if everything goes right, here's my latest musical nugget. And as per usual, I should probably explain myself.

Basically, this one time, when Matt and I were at karaoke, there was this guy who thought he was God's gift to the karaoke machine. Long story short, he sang THE song was going to be my finale, and right then we looked at each other and decided that the "Karaoke King" song had to be written. So Matt wrote up 2 verses and a guitar riff that he liked and then passed it my way to see what it would turn into after going through the Leevis filter. Well, what he gave me was about 6 minutes of himself cranking on his guitar, giving a commentary, screwing around, and then more cranking. And I thought, wouldn't it be funny to just run with that? Wouldn't that just tick him off to not use any of the actual lyrics? So, although "Karaoke King" hasn't been recorded or even totally written yet, here's the "Pre-Mix." Just click the green triangle on the left.

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Just some Good Old Bo...AAAAAAH!!!

2008-03-17T21:55:00.007-05:00

Gah, what happened to the last week and a half? I don't know if I really got that busy or if I just hit the, "I should blog about that sometime" point and decided that thinking that was close enough. I've got about 400 things I've been meaning to jot down and I think that has also become a mental barrier.

Anyway, the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, right? So for starters, Remember this guy? Well I got the scoop the other day. Apparently, if you want "custom bodywork" like this, the formula is quite simple:

1) let the roads to ice up
2) wait until 3am
3) get reeeally drunk
4) drive full tilt into a snowbank at the end of a T intersection
5) enjoy 2 seconds of Dukes of Hazard goodness
6) walk home so you can call in your "accident" later and dodge a DUI
7) congratulate yourself on being a super-genius YEEEE-HAW!

The General does not approve.

I'm too sexy for my... umm... er... never mind.

2008-03-07T19:16:00.008-06:00

Here is the most important fact of this post:

-I won a push-up contest.

You read that right. I was challenged. I conquered. I acted like it was easy.
Granted, two days later I'm still feeling pain in places where I didn't even know my arms went, But the important part is that I actually won some form of physical competition. Me. The original cubesitter. My "slow but steady workout plan for nerds" finally paid off.

So here's my exercise plan:
-A lousy workout is better than no workout. Step one is to just walk through the door at the gym. I tell myself that I don't have to run the whole time I'm on the treadmill, I just need to get on it. I don't set any free weight expectations, I just lift what's comfortable. Minimum goal is to "move around for at least a half an hour." I can talk myself into leaving my couch and doing that. Then I usually end up staying longer, but it feels more like extra credit than obligation.
-If something starts to hurt, stop and do something else. If my knees start hurting on the treadmill I move to the elliptical machine. If my arms hurt I either do less weight or I move onto my legs. I've come to the conclusion that there's some equipment in the gym that I am just not meant to use. It's ok. It ain't worth a permanent injury. If I'm moving, it still counts as exercise.
-Keep it interesting. Monotony = boredom = quitting. I need both an iPod and a TV to last any amount of time on a treadmill. But it works. I plug in, tune out, and before I know it, a half hour goes by. If my routine gets boring, I'll either ramp it up or move on to something else. And that leads into my next point...
-Do ONE thing you haven't done before. Whether it's 5 extra pounds, minutes or push-ups, it counts as an accomplishment. Even if it's the lamest workout ever, you can honestly tell yourself you've made some form of progress. And the effect is cumulative.
-Don't expect radical change. This isn't a "15 pounds in 15 days" deal. This is about a routine that you can perpetuate (I'm sure there's a better word for that...) There will be progress, but it's measured in months, not weeks. And if you do decide to bulk up or train for something, the good habits and time commitment are already in place.
-If you don't feel better when you leave, you're doing it wrong. I guess this is my way of saying quit while you're ahead. Stop before you're absolutely exhausted. It puts positive reinforcement on exercising. Yes, it's like willingly tricking yourself, but it works.
-If you don't want to workout, go back to rule one.

This is my routine. I'm not the bulkiest beefcake or the sleekest runner at the gym, but I feel good and it works for me. And if you follow it, after two years, you too may be able to do more pushups than an 8th grader.

As a matter of fact, the bag DOES say "CAT FOOD"

2008-03-04T22:03:00.001-06:00

Now, in general, even the feral cats are pretty tidy. Even when we had to bring some of them in for neutering, they all figured out the litter box. But every once and a while there will be a big mess next to the food dish or the water bowl will be full of ambiguous floaters, which to me indicates that one of the cats is sick or has a mouth infection or something. So the past couple of days I've noticed some sloppiness around ye olde feeding trough so I was keeping my eyes open for an ailing cat. Well yesterday I figured out which one it was...

It was the fat ass raccoon. And he's doing just fine.

I wish I had gotten a picture of this bandito, as it stood frozen almost audibly debating whether to bolt or stay "incognito." (Oh, remind me that incognito rhymes with bandito next time I'm stuck for lyrics...) Anyway, that cheeky treerat-monkey thing just stared at me for about 3 seconds and then went on it's way. Apparently I wasn't much of a threat.

Chris came home right about then and said, "Hey, I saw a huge cat earlier in the evening. Turns out it wasn't a cat." "Was it the mask or the ringed tail that gave it away?" I responded. She then blurted, "That's no Coon, it's a space station!" and proceeded to giggle back into the house. Fine. You win. Nerd.

When Raccoons Attack!

This whole episode reminded me of a time I was up in Northern Wisconsin in a cabin that actually had a raccoon feeder out back. Yeah, it was like a huge bird feeder with a ramp on either side. The folks up there would put out 5 loaves of day-old bread and watch the feeding frenzy in the evening. It was actually far more entertaining than it really should have been, but the best part was when a porcupine showed up and lumbered up one of the ramps backwards, quills at attention. Watching 20-odd raccoons (who had just established some form of pecking order) bail off the feeder like it was on fire was definitely worth the price of admission.

Wreck of the Week

2008-03-02T21:43:00.004-06:00

I probably haven't mentioned this directly, but my neighbor has a flatbed truck. Since we share a driveway, it's not uncommon for us to come home and see a random vehicle sitting on the back of their truck, especially on the weekends. What is unusual though, is that generally we see cars that have spun out or ended up in a ditch somewhere and just needed a tow. Not so much in the head-on collisions department... Anyway, we came home from church this morning and saw this bad boy still thawing at the end of the driveway. I thought it looked epic and battle weary, waiting for triage.

I'm not exactly sure what it fought, but I think if this truck could talk it would say, "Yeah, you should see the other guy."

Here's a close up:

I'm not big on car maintenance, but I don't think I would have used a fence post to drain my radiator...

Memories of my childhood, as told through caffeine-goggles

2008-02-22T15:03:00.005-06:00

So I'm sitting here at The 'Boo. You know, CariBOU Coffee. I've been here once before under similar circumstances so you know, we're, like, pals now so it's earned a nickname. Of course, I'm here by myself so there's no one else around who can appreciate my cleverness. That is, if shortening the name of a location down to one syllable constitutes clever... ala 'The L' or 'The Y.'

Chris is off knitting a couple blocks away at a friends house. I was invited to join them but I declined and opted to chill at the Boo. Admit it, it's growing on you. (I think what makes it so cool is that I'm sure I'm the first person in the world to think of it.) Anyway, yes, I said knitting. She is off cavorting with her knitting buddies, or as I like to call them "unsavory elements who refuse to put down their needles." And I'm stuck here at the Y. I mean the Boo. Whatever. I'm left to caffeinate myself slowly (or quickly if I prefer) and try to stay out of trouble until she calls and says she's on her way. Then I'll go wait outside until she pulls up and drives me home.

The only thing missing at this point is Ken. When it came to standing around waiting for parental units to arrive in vehicles, there was no one more often by my side than him. He was like my early teen equivalent of a foxhole buddy. We'd stand around with our coats unzipped in the parking lot of a church, or school, or community building, or wherever depending on what day of the week it was, avoiding eye contact and trying to find something to talk about that we hadn't already verbally smothered the life out of the night before. I don't know exactly when we learn the art of the rhetorical question, but I sure didn't have it back then. Some nights there would be grueling expanses of silence as we'd desperately try to think of something poignant to say. Something new... Something pertinent.

As an adult, I've lost that urgency.

When did stating the ridiculously obvious, or random words start counting as acceptable conversation? As a teen I never would have been caught saying something like, "Oh, looks like the radio's on" or "Man, this weather..." while tugging the strings of my gray hooded sweatshirt so tight that only my nose would stick out. And I certainly wouldn't have expected any kind of intellectual nod from Ken while he jerked his coat zipper back and forth loosely to the rhythm of some song by Queen. No wonder kids think adults are lame. If you didn't have something profound to bring up, you didn't say it because you didn't want to prove to everyone you were an idiot. You just stood there picking at the flapping sole of your tennis shoe until you thought of something. Of course, you have to define the word "profound" through an adolescent, blurt-prone filter, but still, if only for a second, you thought your insight was important. More often than not though, feeble attempts at conversation would ensue. Phrases like "My braces hurt" would come out completely unprovoked, but hey, at least it wasn't some comment about the existence of weather. And eventually, one of two things would happen, either a car would pull up and rescue us from the dusk of uncomfortability, or the conversation would somewhat begrudgingly get rolling again... and THEN a car would pull up.
Take the following example:

"I can see my sock through the hole in my shoe. (Pause) Did Andy get a BMX?"
"No, he got, like, a 12 speed or something."
"Did he ever get passed the third level of Lode Runner?"
"Yeah but I had to show him..." **Beep Beep**

Fortunately though, all this verbal fumbling eventually paid off and allowed us to land impressively wicked babes later in life. You know, High quality women who are thoughtful enough to drop us off at coffee shops while they go seek the council of other women with an unhealthy obsession for natural fibers.

True story. As I sit here, some guy (not me) sitting at the table next to me with brown hair, glasses, an oversized gray hoodie, a black watch, bracelets, faded jeans, and short white athletic socks with brown shoes (I said NOT me) just asked the girl behind the counter how much a walrus weighs.

The answer? "Enough to break the ice. Hi, my name is..." I didn't actually catch his name though because at that moment my brain somehow slapped my forehead from the inside. I tuned back in in time to catch him high five his buddy. Then he sat down and made a Thundercats reference thereby singlehandedly molesting my whole childhood. Nothing is sacred to this generation.

I've been totally scarred at the 'Boo.

Granted, 25 years ago, this guy would have been my total hero, but since he hasn't had as many years to hone his skills at conversational repartee as yours truly, I'm going to put this in the simplest terms I can:

You can put whipped cream on a turd, but it's still a turd.

BooYah!

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to pack my bag, put on my oversized winter coat, and stand around outside until my wife pulls up to drive me home.

And on that note, I think my friend Ken said it best:

Zrippah-Zip, Zrippah-Zip, Zick-Zak!
That's his coat's zipper singing "We Will-We will-rock you," loser.

"I'm running the wrong way."

2008-02-16T13:21:00.003-06:00

If you happen to be reading this and you don't live in the area, earlier this week some asshat in a trenchcoat walked into a lecture hall at NIU and started shooting, leaving several dead and eventually killing himself. Now, DeKalb is only a half hour away from here so everyone has some kind of connection to the University. Everybody knows someone who was there, or should have been there, or a friend's friend who saw the whole thing, or whatever. But I've got to tell you, I don't mean to be cruel, but I just can't wrap my mind around that kind of situation. The blatantly senseless violence. The emotional wreckage. The lack of clear motive. Even though it happened 30 minutes away, when I hear first hand reports, I still kind of glaze over. There's nothing to say, there's nothing to do. I can't relate to this on any level, nor would I attempt to cheapen the experience by acting like it.

So as folks around here have been talking things out, I've just kind of been, well, letting them talk it out. I try to actively listen, but for the most part I just sit there zoned out. I've been emotionally distant throughout the whole ordeal, but that's not my personality and I know it. So I've been waiting for something to sink in. Something to click. Something to push me out of shock and onto the next phase of healing and understanding.

This morning in the chiropractor's office, I found it. I was sitting in the reception area sifting through the Rockford paper, noting how the local media was handling this whole thing. Students shocked... police acted... parents relieved... school responded... No offense, but you could pretty much write these stories beforehand and just fill in the names and numbers after it actually happened. As I drifted over the headline "As Students Fled Danger, Medic Ran to Give Help" I slowed down to indulge in a 'Hero story' no doubt about some emergency responder who jumped out of an ambulance and acted supernaturally. But I was wrong.

Ok... just to give you some background info, I am a total chump for heroics. I went to a conference once where one of the speakers read clips out of some "Winners of the Congressional Medal of Honor" book for about 15 minutes out of his 20 minute lecture. It was absolutely riveting. I was completely absorbed by all the selfless and monumentally stupid things men do for God and Country. It really only takes one story about a guy charging a machinegun nest to bring me to tears anyway, Band of Brothers made sure of that.

So I start reading this article, and I get to the part about how Jeff Merkel, a Navy medic who is now at NIU on the GI Bill, called his wife and I quote;

“I told her, ‘I’m running the wrong way,’ but I had to,” he said. “I know how to do things. I’ve seen this kind of violence.”

And I lost it. Yes Jeff. If your gut reaction was to run toward an unknown threat to assess damages and help victims, the fact that you "Know how to do things" is a ridiculous understatement. I sit here wondering if I would have even had the presence of mind to duck and crawl out of the auditorium, let alone help anyone. I can't relate to this kind of heroism any more than I can relate to the tragedy or the insanity that brought it about, but it touched me when the other two hadn't. And "running the wrong way" has such tremendous spiritual implications I could write a series of blogs on that phrase alone.

So I'm sitting there unsuccessfully trying not to cry and needless to say, that is when I get called into the chiropractor's office. Fantastic. My doc walks in perusing my chart and says, "Hey Karaoke King, How are you doing today?" And I'm like, "JUST FINE! WHY? I mean **wipe-wipe** I'm fine. Well, my back doesn't hurt. **sniff** How are you? Say, are those my X-rays?"
"I'm good," He responded, "Why don't you lie down and let me take a look at your back."

Good Chiropractors know where to push, great ones know where not to.

I said tree HUGGER, not MUGGER...

2008-02-10T20:29:00.000-06:00

We moved out to this sleepy little community about 8 years ago to get away from the craziness of Big City life. You know, to start a family where life is a little more straight forward. Where there aren't as many bad influences like you have in the burbs. You know, like gangbangers, White Castles, and community colleges. That kind of crap. True story, I knew we were no longer in ChicagoLand when I saw an ad in one of the local papers advertising "A free shotgun with purchase of an ATV." Let me know when you can get that kind of deal at a Starbucks.

But somewhere along the line, everything changed. It's like we just got here and suddenly the schools were overcrowded, the Earth started warming up, and people were driving imports. It's like we were right back in suburbia. And I gotta tell ya, I'm feeling like some soccer mom just crammed me into back a minivan full of cleat-wearing, iPodded, stinky boys and took the beltline straight to Hell. I blame WalMart.

Well, the other night, it hit home. Literally. One of the things I've noticed about youth around here is that they really want to be all 'awesome' like the City kids. So, they do their best to mimic their antics. You know like cosmic bowling, or going to a private school, and my personal bane... littering. I cannot begin to tell you how many Twinkie wrappers and fastfood bags we've found in our front yard over the years. I don't know what it is about my lawn that says, "Don't worry, clearly these folks work for the department of sanitation" but apparently it whispers it to all the kids in the neighborhood. I found a full, upright cup of salsa once, still wrapped in tinfoil (I guess the burrito had enough flavor on it's own.) I also hit a ten dollar bill with the lawn mower last fall. For future reference, don't try to cash a shredded bill at a bank unless you can recover both serial numbers. Who knew?

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm grousing about litterbugs when it's 5 below outside. Well, the other night, I walked out the front door and found this laying on my sidewalk:

And my first thought was, "Why the hell would anyone break off a reflector and throw it at my house?" For whatever reason, my brain usually asks "Why" before "Who" or "How." It also takes things extremely personally. I've spent far more energy than I care to admit mulling over whether an errant Ho-Ho wrapper was a symbolic gesture or just windblown garbage. Anyway, upon further inspection, this reflector was not the only piece of vehicular debris in my front lawn. So, I followed the only logical course of action. I took a deep breath, trudged back into the house, and asked my wife point blank if there was anything she needed to talk to me about.

"Like what?" she responded, blinking twice. She caught onto my tone though and was taking me seriously. I could tell because she stopped knitting to make eye contact.

"Oh, I don't know..." I said with as much restrained judgment as I could muster up, "How's your car these days?"

"Why? WHAT? Did you hit my car again?" At this point, I *think* she actually set down one of her needles. But either way, I knew she didn't have anything to do with the situation out front.

"No, nothing, never mind. There's a bunch of green car parts in the snowbank that apparently are not off your Saturn."

"Really?" She went to the window, but at this point it was too dark to see anything.

The next morning, Chris took pictures from the other side of the sidewalk:What the picture doesn't show is that the gouge taken out of the tree is at least 3 and a half feet off the ground. And keep in mind that our house is in the middle of the block. I'm not saying it hasn't been slick out there, I'm just saying that it's not like some bloke just slid through an intersection, hopped the curb and clipped our tree. Someone was going pretty fast... and if that someone is you, I've got your bumper and I'd like a word with you.

It's a sad day when trees aren't even safe to line the streets anymore. What's this place coming to? Will the hatred ever end? I mean, if it was a Sugar Maple, I'd understand... But, dude. Won't someone think about the conifers?!?!!

All we are saying, is give trees a chance.

PS- Apparently our tree was the only victim and that whoever else was involved is ok. A police report was filled out, but we can't request records until business hours, so stay tuned for the next exciting episode of "Get Off My Lawn"

Winter Schminter

2008-02-09T21:11:00.000-06:00

This winter is starting to wear on me. Chris has blogged about this as well. But seriously, we have this deal with our neighbors. We mow their front yard, they take care of our sidewalk in the winter. Then, our neighbors on the other side have a plow so they take care of the driveway. It's been quite a while since I've had to do any serious shoveling, and I know I shouldn't expect to get through a winter without shoveling but a guy can dream, right? So here's a couple more action shots from my folks house.

Earlier this week I shoveled on our Snow Day so it wasn't like I had just worked 8 hours and had an hour commute to look forward to. One of my coworkers did go in the day it snowed around 12 inches. The problem was that only about 3 inches were on the ground on the inbound commute, which is bearable. But by the end of the day, the driving conditions were ridiculous. He took a picture on the way home and I thought I'd share just to show how bad it's getting around here. (Double-click to embiggen the picture if you can't read the sign.)

Ok ok, just kidding, but when is the last time I've posted a photoshopped pic...

Dopplegangers! Imposters! Fan Club?

2008-02-07T19:30:00.001-06:00

How do you know your blog is popular? You start running into people who mimic your behavior. Take this couple I found on the interwebz the other day. I don't care how much you knit, or how snazzy your laptop is, or how red your room is, or how boring your life is, or how cute your cats are, you will NEVER be the as awesome as the originals. Never! Besides, all the cool kids have 3 cats these days. Pfft. Two cats is so 2006.

So, uh... wanna hang out some time?

There's a reason why they call it a Snow Day...

2008-02-06T17:02:00.000-06:00

I was hoping to get a chance to go out and shoot some pictures

but it was my turn to shovel

And my cat was useless

And so was this one

And my berries were cold

So I didn't get any pictures

Big pond, small fish pt II

2008-02-06T13:01:00.000-06:00

So last Saturday, I ended up running with the big dogs. Matt called and said he had a green light to go to karaoke night. Now, if you are a loyal reader, you know that Friday night is karaoke night period end of quote. So after explaining to him that he had the wrong night and that I already had plans (no really, I did) Matt said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "Save the drama for your Mama. We're singing in Hanover Park tonight." So I rescheduled my other plans and trucked out east.

I had been warned about culture shock, but I still had a pretty serious case of country mouse syndrome. For starters, singing started at 10pm, and secondly, there were 35 singers. 35. So, let me do the math on this one... 35 people x 5 minutes per song = you're lucky to sing twice in four hours, and that assumes you can make it until 2am. It reminds me a lot of going to an amusement park, where you stand in line for 2 hours for 3 thrilling minutes. So really the highlight of the evening was sitting around with Matt making fun of anyone who made me feel old and inferior... which was pretty much everyone. But you know what I always say... those who can't do, blog. So to that end, apparently in Hanover Park, any kid who doesn't go to school or have a job does karaoke. I know this because, A) by looks of them they clearly weren't going to church the next morning and therefore obviously high school dropouts and B) they were just a little too good at this singing thing. A little too refined. And that was enough license for Matt and I to act like the judges from the Muppet show. Ok, but seriously, there were a lot of amazing singers. Definitely a younger gene pool than what I'm used to though, and apparently this is the other world that Jeti Entertainment lives in. Who is Limp Bisquick anyway?

In Belvidere, it's no big deal to try new songs. Folks appreciate the effort even if the execution is not particularly... polished. You can practice a song over and over only to find out that the karaoke key is higher than the recording you've been listening to. That kind of thing happens. If you only get to sing one song, then the stakes are a lot higher and it's a lot harder to take risks. The other advantage of singing in a smaller venue is that you get to see growth. I've seen people go through a huge metamorphosis throughout the course of an evening. I mean that in a good way, well, ok, I've seen it go south too, but that usually is due to a little too much 'liquid confidence.'

Maybe these things happen in the Big Pond too, and I just didn't see them unfold that night. Also, I've never been in a bar with so many people and so few listening, but I guess that's the way things work. Anyway, I guess I'm spoiled rotten in my little pond where everybody knows my name.

I've occasionally entertained the idea of singing in a karaoke contest somewhere, but mostly just to affirm if I'm good enough. But you know, I don't think that's really necessary any more.

Big fish, small pond pt I

2008-02-06T11:30:00.000-06:00

So last Friday, Chris and I went out to karaoke. And let me just take a moment to set the record straight, I don't go religiously because I have no where else to be on the weekends... ok well, maybe I don't actually have any place else to be, but singing karaoke is where I'd choose to be even if I had another offer. And besides, now my wife is there and like, my one other friend, so why would I want to go anywhere else? Granted, karaoke may not be as 'cool' as staying up late doing keg stands or playing cribbage, or whatever you kids are doing these days... Not all of us enjoy diving into the pinochle underworld at the VFW, or enjoy the thrill of Blessed Virgin's high stakes bingo night, you know. If you can't go a weekend without the adrenaline rush you get from playing that damn Atari2600 into the wee hours. Fine. I'd say YOU are the one with the problem, my friend. And as far as I'm concerned, you can take your Guitar Hero, and your Facebook, and your Grey's Anatomy with you into the 5th circle of Hell where all you riff-raff belong.

I'll be at karaoke.

Anyway, I digress... I guess... bottom line was Karaoke was a hoot and we were pretty much the only ones singing so I think I sang about 17 songs. Other than the fact that I couldn't get John Denver's "Calypso" out of my head for about 4 days (thank you soooo much, Marty) it was great. And if you didn't know, my wife has every WHAM song committed to memory and has been known to even do a little dance while singing. And seeing THAT is worth giving up euchre night. Or at least moving it to the karaoke bar...

I shot a man in Reno HEE-HEE just to watch him die. BWA-HAAHAAHA!

2008-02-02T12:44:00.000-06:00

Although I've been blogging consistently for a couple months now, I haven't done any song writing. I haven't really even gotten 'the bug' to do so. With blogging, I can start with, "What bonehead maneuver did I pull off today without getting myself killed?" and work from there. The beauty of this approach is that every day is filled with new material. Also, in the blog/journal format, if I write something that isn't terribly interesting, I can wait around until I do something else stupid and turn right around and type up another one. Which, depending on the day, could be less than an hour.

Song writing is different. Since I inevitably put way more time and effort into it than I initially intend, I feel like I need to make count. No gutter-balls, so to speak. It needs a 3 minute story arch. It needs to be clever, yet not esoteric. It needs to be catchy yet poignant. Blah blah blah... and thus songs don't get written. I heard a live session with Suzanne Vega the other day. Apparently, she has songs on her latest album that she started six years ago. !!! It shouldn't take longer than 5 minutes to decide if whether then next chord should be C or G. It's got to be one of the two... Six years? Come on Suzanne. I just don't have that kind of attention span. (Hmmm... that rhymes, may have to use it later...)

Anyway, Yes, I know, that's totally the wrong attitude for song writing. I need to just turn off the filter and do it. But even then you need a starting point, or an ending point. Either will do. Sometimes artsy types begin a journey and see where it leads, other times you set your sites on the horizon and try to figure out how to get there.

Well, finally I had two ideas that when combined could work their way into becoming a song. The first was the belief that, although one of my friends says he's over his Johnny Cash phase, I came to the convenient conclusion that he's just tired of all the JC songs he knows and not really sick of the genre. The other spark came from the fact that this same friend is about to be the father of his fourth son. We tease him on a fairly regular basis about being prejudice against little girls and so forth, so I imagined at some point, this would probably be discussed around some family meal as well. I envisioned teen aged boys poking their father. "Why don't we have a sister?" "Yeah, Dad, where's our sister?" And then I thought, what would be cooler than to say, "Oh, you used to have a sister...," whip out your guitar, start playing a boom-chucka-chucka-chucka rhythm, and sing some scandalous tragedy that ends in the terrible death of a girl?

Yes, that's certainly cool enough to write a song about and since I'd never tried writing a tragedy before, I thought I'd give it a go. Now I had a style and an ending. That was enough to get started, and soon I stumbled on the phrase, "Your sister, she won't be coming home." There's something about the 'sister, she' part... the reinforcement through redundancy, that I really liked, so I knew I had a good chunk for the chorus. For you math nerds who can't relate, this is like knowing two angles and the distance between them on a triangle. It's a slam dunk and only a matter of time before the whole thing fits together. (Just a little geometric proof illustration so you remember whose geeky blog you're reading...)

Anyway, so I hunched over my laptop and started filling in the gaps in my story like a crossword puzzle. This is kind of how my brain worked:

Ok, so this is a Johnny Cash like song... so, the singer should be singing from prison. Typa-typa-type. Aaaand, the song is about 'the sister' dying tragically. Ticka-ticka-tick. Add some religious undertones. Tappa-tick-tip. No wait, it's a case of mistaken identity, so it's is not about the sister, her death is the ironic twist. BackSpa-a-a-a-a-a-ace. So what would drive the singer to murder? Adultery! Typitty-type-type So why would the singer accidentally kill someone he doesn't know...? Wrong woman! Ticka-tappa-tick. Ok, and just to make sure the singer is really guilt-ridden, he's got to do something heinous like kill a priest too. Ticka-tick... tap... tap... Delete-delete-buhleet. Typa... Delete. Ticka-tap. Delete Delete. Crap. How do I kill a priest in an adulterous case of mistaken identity? Double crap. How about a Nun? It doesn't have to be a priest if it's easier to kill a Nun... Usher? Altar boy? Flower girl? Gah!

This is how your brain tells you it's time to walk away.

So I stopped for the evening figuring I'd find a way to put down the priest or whoever in the morning. Well I woke up thinking about it, and still couldn't find an even remotely plausible way to get a priest in bed with the wrong girl at the wrong time. I was stuck and so I did what the pro's do when they get caught in a rut... you ask an expert.

"Hey Brian, I need to kill a priest and an innocent woman, how do I do it?"

"Why are you killing an innocent woman?" (It's worth noting that I was not questioned about my motives for killing the priest, nor why I was trying to murder anyone at all at this point...)

"Because I need to kill someone else in a murderous rage, and the victim is a sympathetic plot point."

"Oh, then that's easy. You shoot the confessional and take them both out. You should watch more movies. "

"Thanks, Brian, I knew you'd know how to solve my dilemma."

"Sure, anytime you have need to off some clergy, just let me know. Wait... why do you...?"

"Oh, no reason. Thanks, bye!"

So I got home and continued typing. An overheard confession, 12 bullets, a case of mistaken identity, a dead priest, and a life sentence later, my Cash-esque tragedy was complete. Chris happened to walk in just after I finished it and so with wild anticipation I sang it for her. Afterwards, I looked at her expectantly. She just sighed... "If you're trying to be serious, don't smirk when you're killing people off. And if you could use your powers for good next time, that'd be great."

I guess she's right. You can write Cash lyrics and sing it Cash style, but Johnny Cash never giggled delightfully at his own cleverness in front of an audience. Ever.

I bet Edgar Allen Poe did, though.

Home Owner Aptitude Test 3: FAIL

2008-01-26T22:04:00.000-06:00

Home Ownership Rule #143: You can lie to yourself, but you won't fool the house.

Earlier this week, I found water in my basement. As previously stated, our house is about 100 years old and water in the basement is, at this point, a fairly common occurrence. What makes this particular leak unique is that there's been subzero temperatures for about 7 days in a row. You would think this would have raised a red flag. But it didn't because my super genius brain rationalized it to me in such a way that although I didn't understand, it made sense. It told me that there simply couldn't be water down there in this weather, and that if there was, it must be from some unusual, one-time circumstance. So as I got out the mop, and muttered to myself, "It's freezing outside, there can't be water down here, it's freezing..." my brain wove these marvelous stories that hypothesized about massive furnace condensation, or strange winds blowing snow down the chimney, or about global warming causing the earth to superheat from the inside out. It could be anything. My brain also told me that there would never ever be water in my basement again in January, because it was freezing. And it made me repeat this over and over. They were charming tales and I believed them as I mopped. I believed them the second and the third day as well.
Eventually though, I casually mentioned to Chris that I had been cleaning up water that couldn't possibly exist in our basement.
But she spouted some gibberish phrases like, "Did that spigot on the side of the house freeze and break because you left the hose attached?" and, "You know, like you did at the last house" which in my heightened state of awareness barely sounded like English at all. "No, I took the hose off in the fall. And besides, that wouldn't cause water in the basement anyway. It's freezing outside." I responded logically.
Chris bowed to my supreme intellect.
So today after mopping more water that wasn't in my basement, I played a hunch and found conclusive evidence that my brain was right all along.

I went outside and found a 2 foot ice fountain had formed between the ground and the spigot.

See, clearly a case of furnace condensation.

(Follow up: Yes, the plumber is coming tomorrow morning...)

Home Owner Aptitude Test 2: D+

2008-01-26T19:35:00.000-06:00

Bob is not a popular man in the Gardner household. He's the previous owner of our house, and basically, anything that goes, will go, or has gone wrong, I blame on Bob. If Bob had taken care of it right the first time, then I wouldn't be dealing with it now. Yes, I know. Our house is nearly 100 years old and he's only 65. Don't try to change the subject. It's all his fault.

For instance, I'm absolutely positive that Bob didn't update any of the electrical wiring. He added some more, but there's still plenty that's ridiculously old. The whole south half of our house is on one circuit. So I could be in the front with the vacuum, and Chris could be in the kitchen (three rooms away) with the coffee maker and we'll blow the fuse. There are 16 circuits in the electrical box. What exactly are the other 15 doing? I think they should quit loafing and help poor little 15amp #16 when the toaster oven kicks on.

Suffice it to say that 'Bob' is my three letter four letter word, and when I put on my Mr. Fixit hat, it gets a lot of mileage.

So today's exercise in frustration is courtesy of Bob. Because if Bob hadn't bought the cheapest bathroom faucet on the planet, I wouldn't have had to spend 5 hours replacing it. I know what you're thinking... "But Lee, the sign at Menards says that replacing a faucet usually takes 60 minutes or, at the most, 90 minutes if you're a hydrophobic, seven fingered monkey."

Here's the thing... This faucet has been bugging me for a while because it sprays water at weird angles, which is symptomatic of debris clogging the fixture. No biggie, you should just be able to remove the piece at the end of the nozzle, the aerator, at clear out any bits of gunk in the filter. However, when you buy the cheapest faucet on the planet with a permanent aerator, this is not an option and you have to truck your butt out to Lowes for a replacement once it gets clogged. Thank you Bob. So I run out to BigBox Store #1 and buy a nice $70 fixture (on sale for $45) only to get it home to find that it's aerator is also permanently attached. Apparently a $70 faucet is on the low end, and only suitable for people who think their pipes don't rust. Anyway, it was a deal breaker, so I return it and go to BigBox #2. Fortunately they have an equivalent faucet for the same price and it has my 'feature.' So I get home, gather a bucket o' tools, and mentally prepare myself for lying on my back on my bathroom floor for the next hour. I turn off the hot and cold water from under the sink and proceed to get hosed down. Again, normally when you turn a knob into the OFF position, it's reasonable to assume you won't get wet. But when Bob buys the cheapest Water Supply Valves in the world (probably some package deal with the faucet,) you should just expect them to break on contact. So I dump all my tools on the floor, wedge the bucket behind the sink, and run into the basement to find the main shut off valve. I crank the valve closed and walk back upstairs. Water is still pouring out. I run back downstairs and turn the valve more. Water is still coming out. I do this two more times, and I think the only reason the knob didn't break off in my hand is because my flailing little Tyrannosaurus arms barely touch fingers, let alone grip anything. Then, in a moment of shear enlightenment, I turn on the water for the laundry sink in the basement which effectively drains all the piping above it. And finally my bathroom sink stops running. Yay Gravity!

So I'm off to LocalHardwareStore #1 for a new set of valves. LHS#1 is closed because I guess only idiots don't finish their "60 minute" weekend projects before noon on Saturday, so drive on to LHS#2 that's a little more forgiving... they give you until 6pm. As I peruse the plumbing repair aisle, I can now see why someone would skimp on valve quality. You can save about 19 cents per valve, and you do have to get one for hot AND for cold. So that's like, what... give me a minute... let me do the math on this one. But I'm not bitter. I'm just walking around a hardware store with wet pants because some guy wanted to save 38 cents 10 years ago. My cold drippy butt can get behind that.

Anyway, I was kind of in a hurry and forgot that pipes as well as valves come in multiple sizes. So I bought valves (the good ones) of both sizes for a grand total of $9.75 and trucked back home. Now, what I really should have known was that the world's cheapest faucet would be connected to the world's cheapest water valve with... you guess it, the world's cheapest, and now crustiest and not-so-flexible, tubing. That miscalculation would cost me trip #2 to LHS#2. For those of you keeping count that's 2 trips to BB1, 1 trip to BB2, 1 trip to closed LHS, and 2 trips to LHS#2. This project has now cost me 5 hours, $50 in parts, and roughly $120 in gas. So at this point I call my wife and ask her some thinly veiled questions like, "You won't be home any time soon, right?" to make sure I've still got a buffer of time.

The good news, and the reason I gave myself a passing grade on this Home Aptitude Test, is that the faucet is now installed and almost completely leak free! As a bonus, the aerator is not only removable, but will shoot water square at your crotch if you don't put it back on correctly. Now that's a feature the next owner of this house is sure to appreciate!

I hope they blame Bob too.

Did you hear that small popping sound? That was my ego.

2008-01-21T18:43:00.000-06:00

It's worth mentioning that Chris finally agreed to being dragged out to karaoke last Friday. So I've been all excited this whole week knowing that I would get to witness the sacrificing of a karaoke virgin. Needless to say, she did just fine and we had fun. Although, she kept singing break up songs... should you take it personally when your spouse sings 'You're so vain' and then follows it with 'Take it on the Run' or do you tell yourself it's just a coincidence?

So Chris was chatting with one of the other folks at the bar and I walk into this conversation:

C: So is karaoke night always like this?
Local Girl: No usually there's more people singing.
C: I'm glad there weren't tonight. I would have been intimidated.
Local Girl: Pfft, not after you heard them once. Hon, there were 7 or 8 singers in here last weekend and they were all awful.
C: Heh, then I guess I won't worry about it.
Me (blurting): I know, right! (Thinking... wait a minute, I was here last week...)

I can has dream?

2008-01-21T17:15:00.000-06:00

Unnamed gray tabby, CodeName: "Fat Murray"

One of the nice things about working for a government agency is that when these federal holidays like MLK Day come around, you can visit all of your favorite capitalists without using a personal day. Today I hit the dentist, the recycling center, Ace Hardware, Lube Pro's, Taco Bell, and the gym. That's a week's worth of lunch hours right there. I had also scheduled an appointment with the Vet in hopes of catching one of the "Outsiders" and getting it's little gears put in neutral, so to speak. (Much to Chris's chagrin, I keep calling them "The Outdoorsies" which is absolutely as lame as it sounds) Under normal circumstances, we feed them before going to work. They know the schedule and come running. But it's been so ridicu-cold lately that even though we put food out early, the cats don't show up until much later after the sun comes out.

Intolerant Tabby would like to celebrate
this day by being left the hell alone.

Anyway, today, I don't know how they knew, but 15 minutes after canceling the appointment and explaining to the Vet that there was no way I would possibly see, let alone capture a cat in this weather, they showed up and brought friends. It's as if they all have little feline cellphones and texted each other.

FREE FUD, NO TRAPZ

ORLY? SW33T

KTHXBAI

So, there I am standing in the snow feeling like Boss Hogg at the end of every Dukes of Hazard episode with nothing to do but throw my hat on the ground, clench my fists, and take pictures of the freeloaders. Happy MLK Day little punks. You won't out smart me next time!

The Past: Overrated

2008-01-20T17:45:00.000-06:00

So today I decided to try and make good on one of my goals/resolutions. Chris and I cleaned house yesterday so I figured I'd try to take a bite size chunk out of one of my perma-projects. And actually I nibbled at two.

I mentioned earlier that it's been 'stupid-cold' lately, and it reminded me of a project that's been half finished for, um... two years now. I put insulation up in the ceiling of the basement throughout about 3/4 of the house, and on days like this, when I walk around in socks I can tell exactly where I left off. The worst part is that there are 3 full bundles of insulation unopened and a 4 foot pile of scraps just sitting there, waiting to either be installed or eventually get wet and ruined. There's something extra stupid about being cold and yet literally sitting on a stack of insulation. Anyway, the odd and end pieces are now up and performing as designed and I can at least chalk that off my list.

Another one of my back projects is to sort through the boxes of notes, letters, and cards that I've got stashed in the basement from years gone by. Basking in the glow of successfully warmifying my house (and calculating all the pennies I'll now be saving) I grabbed a shoebox from the storage room and started picking through envelopes and little folded notes. Turns out it was the 1990 through 1993 box, which can pretty much be summed up as "Ugh." See, back in the days before there was text messaging and cameraphones, we would use this thing called a 'pencil' and apply one end gently to a piece of paper, creating a pattern of symbols. It was pretty primitive. It took the full use of your hand, so like, you couldn't send a text, play tetris, and listen to MP3's at the same time unless, of course, you had a typewriter, a Nintendo (there was only one choice...,) a time machine and two friends. And the language we used is what you now call 'Job Interview English' except we used it all the time and not just on term papers. Texting hadn't been invented yet because we still had 10 fingers and we hadn't evolved to the point of only needing our thumbs to communicate with each other. So for an example, the Olde English phrase, "I cannot believe that Susan asked William to TurnAbout" would roughly translate to "SRLY?" As you can see, text messaging is far more efficient and eloquent.

Anyway...
This shoebox was chock full of letters, mostly from girls I had treated badly, and a couple from ones I had treated really badly. There are a few problems with rediscovering old notes from old girlfriends. For starters, they really don't tell you much about you. They're mostly about them. Honestly, now that it's been 15 years, I'm really more interested in how *I* did on my Spanish final than how they did. But not much more. I also think there should be some kind of ritual at the end of a relationship where you give each other back all your correspondence. At least if you got your own sappy letters back then you'd know how your day was and what a dope you were. Can you imagine some relative of said ExSig coming up to you years later asking about what their mother was like in high school? The correct answer is, "I don't know," not "Sure, here's a box with 150 letters of her expressing her unyielding love for me. Woo-Hoo, what a horndog! I've been keeping them just in case someone like you came by." Or maybe a burning ceremony for any notes folded more than once down the middle. That would be acceptable.

Romeo, Juliet, now you listen to me.

On a slightly more serious note, this Sunday I'm singing a song called "I'm Not Who I Was" which pretty much describes how I felt after getting back in touch with some high school folks through MySpace. No really, I'm cooler now. Just ask me. I've been practicing in the mirror for years now...

Yar! She's a cold one!

2008-01-20T11:43:00.000-06:00

So for those of you who are not in the mid-West (my blog has a HUGE following in Southeast Asia...) we're finally getting our winter weather. Temperatures are dangling around zero degrees Fahrenheit and the wind drops that another 15 degrees. So that's like -85 degrees Celsius or something.

How does it feel to look Death square in the eye?
Do you feel lucky? Well, Do ya?

Cold like this turns normal routine things into problems. For instance, when you turn your car off, you legitimately have to wonder if you are going to be able to start it again before April. Some of us with older vehicles worry about that kind of thing daily anyway, but now it becomes a real concern. You have to ask yourself, "Have I done absolutely everything humanly possible to help this car start again? Turned off light, defroster, and radio - check. Said 5 hail Mary's - check. Gently stroked the dashboard and whispered, "It's ok girl, you can rest now..." - check.

And pretty much anything left in your car that contains liquid is forfeited to the elements. That can of Coke that rolled under the shotgun seat three months ago, is now going to seek it's revenge on your apathy. Heck, I left a pen in my car this morning and I'm debating whether I should sacrifice it or call in a rescue party. Batteries? Drained. Lotion? Solidified.

So Chris and I laid in supplies on Friday in hopes of not having to leave the house again until Tuesday. It's not going to work. We're out of ice cream already. And frankly, if I were in a Zombie movie, I'd face the hordes for ice cream... not that they'd be moving very quickly in this weather anyway. Come to think of it, it would be pretty easy pickings, I mean, it's not like I wouldn't have plenty of time to reload. But I digress...

Speaking of the frozen undead, the remaining kittens of the apocalypse seem to be taking the cold snap in stride. I noticed today that my neighbor's garage door is open about a full cat-width so I suspect that's where they've been shacking up. They come out and sun themselves during the day, so we really only see them on the weekends. I really didn't want to turn this into a cat blog, but they're the only things moving around these days and I got some decent pictures yesterday. So here you go. Oh, and if you ever need to shoot a picture of a black object in snow, here's the trick: BUY A PENTAX. These were shot on automatic (2 points for the idiot proof camera!)

Famine giving Death the hard goodbye.

Kinda makes you wonder about how much infighting there was between the Pale Rider and the others...

Famine posing for a chilly photo op. Death lurks.

Come on brain, don't fail me now...

2008-01-17T20:15:00.000-06:00

Chris and I were talking in the car about tidbits and factoids that had come up throughout our day when the conversation meandered into this:

C: Hey, someone told me today that they've developed a drug that inhibits recalling bad memories. I don't know how that would really work, but the idea scares me.
L: Um, yeah, isn't that what 'Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind' was all about? Realizing that bad memories shape your character? What does that title mean anyway? Isn't it the long way of saying 'ignorance is bliss?'
C: Yeah I think so. Which is what makes the title ironic.
L: Hey speaking of things forgotten, I read the other day that they've found a drug that reverses the effects of that disease... the big one...
C: *blink-blink*
L: ... the one where you... forget... things... (realizing I'm doomed)
C: Altzheimers.
L: That's it. I was stuck on Parkinsons, but I knew that wasn't right.
C: Maybe you should look into that.
L: Why?

You're laughing WITH me, right?

2007 in review

2008-01-17T19:12:00.000-06:00

Well, I know I'm kind of late for all the cool year end lists, but I don't think I've ever done one before and since 2007 is worthy of note, humor me.
A couple years ago, though I don't remember the original source, a friend quoted something to this effect in his journal, "If you haven't laughed your loudest and cried your hardest in the past year, then it was wasted." Now, I don't totally agree with that sentiment, but it's been bouncing around in the back of my mind for a while. And 2007, though I wasn't really expecting it, did deliver both.

See! I'm really at Salt Lake City!

Life changing events this year:
-Visited Salt Lake City on business
-Cruised the Caribbean with the family for pleasure
-Chris got a digital camera and started blogging
-Rekindled the writing bug
-Housewalk
-Submitted adoption dossier to Ethiopia
-The Joy of Karaoke
-The Pain of Pestilence

Fav pic of the lil' bugger.

Who knows what's in store for 2008 but here's the plan as it stands today:
-Be a parent (not just apparent...) By the gods, this looks like it's going to be the year. For as prepared as I should be, I think I'm like everyone else, just praying for the strength to make all the right decisions for my children and for a flippin' good babysitter.
-Learn bass. I think I've finally hit critical mass on this one. I have the desire and I have no excuses. Church needs someone on bass. "The band" doesn't need a 3rd guitarist. I don't really even have any aspirations of being a particularly good player. I just want to be functionally mediocre. I can do that. I'll let you know where I end up in a year.

(These are my 'every year plans')
-Make 'progress' on the house. I tend to get overwhelmed by large projects at home. The housewalk really forced us to get some of the big stuff done. But really, if I divide and conquer, and I can see progress, then things get done. I find it satisfying when it works out that way. The hardest part is just getting off the couch...
-Get back into glass. Stained glass art falls into the progress category. There's about 600 small projects that need to be done before I have an area that's carved out for glasswork. It needs to be cat proof and yet well ventilated...? That's why it hasn't been done.
-Write more music. Again something that I don't do regularly that brings me a lot of satisfaction. I've gotten back into the habit of writing, I'd just like to channel that back into music.

It's true, I'm not going to run for President this year (by popular demand...,) but I think 2008 could be another landmark year and as just as significant as this last year has been. Um... did I just use the word 'landmark'? Uh, maybe I should resolve to not using marketing-drivel/corporate-speak for a year... Sigh... always room for improvement.

Why for art thou blogging?

2008-01-06T20:54:00.000-06:00

Since soooo many of you have asked...
The reason I've been blogging a lot more the past 2 months is worth mentioning. For most of the year, I had an after-work routine that, barring slight variations, was pretty consistent. It involved coming home, eating, working out or doing errands/chores, then heading onto the computer to play 'The Game' until I got tired. Now, 'The Game' to me is utterly therapeutic because it meets all my qualifications for being relaxing. It's not particularly fast paced, game time is about 45 minutes per round, and I found a system so I win pretty much every time without batting an eye. It's total brain candy and I just go into drone mode for about an hour, then decide if I want to do it again. (If you're wondering, no, unless you're Ken, you haven't played this game. It's totally obscure, old, and generally not noteworthy, but it does offer addictive gameplay.) Anyway, from time to time it would flit through my mind that these 45 minute chunks could really be put to better use. Then I'd click 'New Game' and I wouldn't have to think about THAT again for a couple days. In late October I had an Epiphany of sorts. I'd like to think that I came about it all my own, but really I think the lack of progress on any of my longterm goals finally broke me. I couldn't ignore my 'Do it Later' list any more. Besides, there were things like blogging and song writing on that list that I genuinely wanted to do but just hadn't set aside any time for them in months. Dropping 'The Game' was the only way anything was going to change, so mid October, I committed to not playing the game through New Years, as kind of a reverse resolution. I figured I could do it, because really, I just needed to get through the 6 weeks to Thanksgiving, then we'd get busy and it would all be downhill from there. So I did, and this blog is pretty much a direct result of the decision to reallocate 45 minutes of my time a night. You could argue that I'm still wasting my time, but I don't think so. At the very least, journaling is cheap therapy. :-)

All present and accounted for

2008-01-06T20:27:00.000-06:00

(Written December 31st)

Ok so stumbling in at 3am after 20+ hours of travel wasn't exactly an ideal day, but when three fuzzy faces greeted us at the door, we knew we were home. So a big Gracias goes out to Megan for taking care of our furballs. As a bonus I saw Death and Famine out back today. I hadn't seen the two of them together since Thanksgiving and figured that nature had run it's course on one of them (they're both black so I wasn't really sure which one...)
Anyway, so now today's challenge is the adjustment back into regular life. I've still got this cold thing that I picked up a couple days ago. Having a cold on a vacation stinks, having a cold and catching connecting flights just sucks. I knew I was in trouble when my ears actually felt better at 36,000 feet than they did on the ground. Also, although I never really felt like I had 'Sea legs' on the boat, I still feel like I'm swaying back and forth. I'll be glad when my living room stops rocking.
So no New Year's partying for me, kids. I'll be horizontal way before midnight.

So how was your day?

2008-01-06T20:11:00.000-06:00

December 30th
Day: You go home now.

Ok, so let me put the events of the day in order for you:

6:00am- Chris gets up, Waking Lee up
6:30am- Shower, pack, and eat.
8:00am- Off the boat toting luggage, looking for tour bus
8:20am- Sitting on bus, awaiting tour
9:00am- Santo Domingo tour is supposed to start
9:30am- Tour actually starts
12:30pm- Tour ends, dropped off at airport
2:10pm- Made it through customs with all paperwork in order
4:45pm- Fly out of the Dominican Republic
7:30pm- Land in Atlanta, Georgia
8:45pm- Made it out of customs and back through Homeland Security
11:05pm- Flight leaves Atlanta
12:00am- Landed at Midway
1:00am- Carpooled to my sisters house, picked up car
1:30am- I start 'seeing things' in the fog, but tell Chris I'm fine for driving anyway.
3:00am- Home, changed kitty litter, passed out.

Fine dining to Flying dining...

Cruise Day '8'

2008-01-06T19:47:00.000-06:00

Santo Domingo redeemed
December 30th

So here's our problem. We had to check out off the ship at 8am this morning. Our flight, assuming it was on time, leaves at 4:30. So either we sit at the airport for 8 hours, or we find something else to do. The cruise offered one last excursion, which was a 3 hour tour around Santo Domingo. After much deliberation, miscommunication, and ill-will, we decided to do it. At the very least, they're supposed to drop us off at the airport afterwards, and frankly, the tour cost us just about as much as cab fair does for us gringos. So this time, we went around Santo Domingo in our little tourista bubblebus, shielded from the unsavory elements and it was very enjoyable. Ok, when I say 'went around Santo Domingo' I mean we drove 6 blocks, went up a block, drove back the way we came 4 blocks, got out, walked the 2 blocks to get back where we started, and went to the airport. But those 6 blocks were really cool! Santo Domingo is the city Columbus founded, so we were standing in some of the oldest buildings in the New World. Where Columbus lived. Where Cortez and Pizzaro planned their conquests. Where Sir Francis Drake plundered. It's all more interesting than I thought it would be. We then went to the Amber museum which was cool. Chris has a thing for Amber, fortunately for me she's always been more interested in the process than the possession.

Mmm... Old Cannons...

Anyway, the excursion left a much better impression of what Santo Domingo will be like for future tourist. It's a beautiful nation, given a few years and I suspect it'll be another regular stop for most of the cruiseliners.

And no, they did not charge us to leave. :-)

Cruise Day 7

2008-01-05T23:49:00.000-06:00

December 29th - At Sea
(Written Dec. 30th)

Day seven was an 'At Sea' day, which is exactly what it sounds like. Now this was our second day without a port on this cruise. Our first one was Christmas Day and normally the cruise would have ported on Martinique Island, but since nothing was open, we didn't stop and instead puttered by the island. Today though, we had to haul keester and cut across The Gulf from Aruba back to the Dominican Republic. The key point is that A) we were moving fast, and B) we were nowhere near any land to buffer the wind. Compound that with the cold that I caught yesterday and you are in for a wild ride Mr. Toad. Btw, cold symptoms should be completely outlawed in the Caribbean. Being stuffy and tired is just cruel and unusual punishment at sea or otherwise.
So I spent the day, and I mean the WHOLE day, exploring the two non-advertisement channels on our cabin TV. Luckily, I'm not as up on my second round movies as I thought so it wasn't unbearable... unless, of course, I stood up, which was quickly remedied voluntarily or otherwise.
So those of you who told me about Wild Hogs, Happy feet, Blazing Saddles, Stardust, Bourne Ultimatum, A Christmas Story, Music & Lyrics, and CNN... you were absolutely right. Every one of those movies met my semi-conscious expectations, unless you're the dope that tried to tell me Wild Hogs was good. Don't worry, I knew better.

Cruise Day 6

2008-01-05T23:33:00.000-06:00

December 28th - Aruba.

One Happy Island indeed.

As it turns out, The word Aruba (although I forget which language) means 'Nothing' because apparently the first folks to get there weren't terribly impressed by all the scrublands. We, however, found plenty to do. Chris and I took the island tour, while the others (after a minor fiasco and a decent amount of frustration) went snorkeling. The tour was interesting because, if for no other reason, we got to see the economic differences on the island. We went through the poor, middle class, and upper class districts on the way to several of the sites. I guess I was surprised that everything from orphanages to golf courses would be on a tour. Maybe it was unavoidable due to travel routes, but our guide did a good job of putting a positive spin on things.

This poor guy only has ONE swimming pool!

And to add to his coolness, he dropped us off at the Butterfly Farm instead of taking us all the way back to the boat. I think Chris took 9000 pictures, give or take a couple. Contrary to my initial impression, butterflies are really interesting when you aren't trying to memorize their life stages for a biology final. It's one thing to read about all the different survival mechanisms, it's another thing to have one whiz by your head and hear your guide say, "That one's very toxic, he's used to flying wherever he wants. This one here isn't as daring because he just *looks* poisonous and doesn't really like the attention." Huh. Just because your brain is the size of a pinhead doesn't mean you can't have personality.

Little known fact:
Black butterflies are the ninjas of the insect world.

We were ported in Aruba all evening, but Chris and I went back to the ship for lunch after our tour and never went back out. Shopping... expensive food... meh. As the T-Shirts say, "Same crap, different island."

Cruise Day 5 pt2: It's Karaoke time!

2008-01-05T23:09:00.001-06:00

(Written Dec. 27th)
Ok, so this one time, we were on a cruise, and I did karaoke...

Clearin' the dance floor, one note at a time...

No seriously, they had karaoke for an hour tonight, and if you think I was going to miss it, well, then you sir have not been reading my blogs. There were a couple of twists tonight that made things memorable and different from what I would consider 'normal' karaoke. For starters, it was a formal wear night for dinner, which means everyone was dressed up except of course those of us who rushed back to our cabins and changed. Secondly, native English singers were in the minority. Good, bad, or otherwise, it was entertaining. And just to make sure the evening was unforgetable, mi familia was there to supply ample peer-pressure and to record the event in case there weren't already enough pictures and footage to keep me out of public office.

So did you know that there's some super cheesey song called "Feel like making love" that is NOT the rockin' one by Bad Company? Yeah, well, I found out the hard way too. Which, as much as I wanted to sing it, it was probably for the best that it was mislabled in the songbook. It was not a 70's classics kind of crowd. It was a karaoke 'standards' crowd, which makes sense in retrospect. If you're going to know any songs in English, it's going to be stuff like Sinatra, Stevie Wonder, and apparently... sigh... Neil Diamond. (What is the obsession with singing Neil Diamond at karaoke? Someone explain it to me plz because I've got nothin.) Anyway some guy did La Bamba and it was a huge hit. (Karaoke lingo: any time women dance to the song you're singing, it becomes a 'huge hit.') And I really didn't want to follow that, but fortunately, with all my prior l33t karaoke training, I chose to sing 'Ring of Fire' by Johnny Cash. It's very American with a Spanish flair and just happens to be the only JC song I'm comfortable singing. The other guys that sang came in their suitcoats and had that international smooth groove air about them. I, however, just to be, like, total anti-establishment, performed in sandals and a hoodie, complete with a dance move I like to call the wobbily 'WhiteBoyNeedsMoreToDrink' one-step. I think the name is pretty much self explanitory, but my dad shot video of it if you want to follow along. Anyway, it went over really well and I could tell by the way my family wouldn't make eye-contact with me afterwards that they were duly impressed. (Karaoke lingo tip II, 'going over really well' means that the applause feels genuine, regardless of whether it is or not. Conventional Wisdom dictates that being inebriated helps more songs 'go over really well.')

Anyway, it was a great way to end Day 5. Our bodies are still in the Caribbean, but our hearts are starting to tell us that this vacation will be over soon. Work came up for the first time in conversation at dinner tonight and I'm starting to feel like I've been dealing with the same crazy people for, like, a *week*. On several occasions, Chris has interjected this sentiment into conversation, "I once had a life where I had to get up, go to work, and worry about things every day. Frankly I don't know how I did it. I much prefer this life."

Indeed, and tomorrow my Love, is Aruba.

Cruise Day 5

2008-01-05T22:55:00.000-06:00

December 27th - Margarita Island

Watch out for Mangrove Ninjas!

So far, today has been the exact opposite of yesterday. We ported at Margarita Island in Venezuela this morning and the only way I can describe it is that it's like they know they rock and they've got nothing to prove. The beaches were close to port and basically spoke for themselves. The shopkeepers weren't agressive. Of the islands we've been to, this is the first to just let us be tourists without feeling totally assaulted. I'm sure there's more to the story here (like the cruise liners strong arming the locals out or something,) but I appreciated being sheltered, unhassled, and just allowed to enjoy the beach, bars, and shops for once.

Needless to say, we spent the most money there... you know, as a reward for good behavior.

Today's theme was to take the advice of friends who had been on other cruises.

A coworker recommended trying a Coco-loco. So being the savvy (and now international) drink orderer that I am, I walked up to the beach bar and had this conversation:

"Hola senor, wat you like?"
"Hi, what's in a Coco-loco?"
"You wan Coco-loco?"
"What's in it."
"Wahsinit?"
"Yes, what is a Coco-loco made of? Er... ingredients."
"Ah, si, uhm, ah, coconut... milk, y ah, coconut... rum."
"I'm for it."
"You wan Four? Four Coco-Loco's!"
"No, just one."
(blank stare...)
"Si, one Coco-loco," (Blender whirs...)

That's right, I can look like a dolt in pretty much any bar in the world! Respect. Anyway, all facts considering, he was very nice to me after that and guessed I was from England. English??? I probably should have just let him think that, but I fessed up and we (read HE) talked about Chicago baseball while adding about 15 different liquors to my 'coconut rum' drink. I always figured that the British would be better adjusted at ordering drinks, but it gives me hope that maybe there's a whole country full of people who can't order in a bar without disgracing their nation.

The next piece of advice I got was, "Get over it, men give great massages."

So I signed up for a 'theraputic massaje' on the beach. Three women and one man were giving massages, as you can guess, I got the guy. It was pretty heavy on the therapy and light on the relaxing. It was 45 minutes of drilling pressure points, which wasn't exactly comfortable, but feels good now. Anyway, I'm glad I did it. Chris asked me afterwards if I felt better. I told her, "Not much, but I think I'd feel a lot worse if I hadn't done it." That was one of the lessons from kayaking the other day. Sometimes you have to go the extra mile just to stay in place.

Dad: Still looking for yesterday's kayak. Just kidding!

Cruise Day 4

2008-01-05T22:24:00.000-06:00

December 26th - Grenada Island
(written December 27th)

Grenada. I should have stayed in town...

Well, I didn't feel much like blogging yesterday. Want to know why? Here's some Lee Gardner trivia with which you can amuse and impress your friends. I flippin' hate canoes. I was a Boy Scout for most of my minor years. I completed a total of 4, yes count them, *4* merit badges (I'll explain that whole saga some other day...) Anyway, one of them was for canoing, so that on the off chance that I ever jumped out of a plane and landed in a canoe (because I would never get into one voluntarily) I could at least scramble back to shore. As far as I'm concerned, completing that merit badge was for survival purposes only. And like many other survival training exercises, it was awful and emotionally scarring. I remember in high school these fresh military recruit guys would come back from Boot Camp and talk about horrible stuff like mustard gas training and bunker drills. And I was all like, "Pfft, Back in 8th grade I had to portage a full size aluminum canoe BY MYSELF." Yeah, that shut them up pretty quick.

So when my sister suggested kayaking on Grenada, I was like, "Sure! I've never been in a kayak before!" In the guidebook, all the day-trips all have little code pictures to describe the outings and this one had the 'Light Activity-Family Oriented' symbol next to it. That should have been my first clue. But, you know, I've been, like, working out and stuff and had just conquered the Wall, so I was feeling pretty virile and stuff... It wasn't until later that I realized that 'kayak' is the Eskimo word for 'cheap plastic canoe.'

I've tried to blot most of it out of my memory, but here's the basics... We should have known that things were going to be rocky when an 18 passenger tour bus came to pick up the 24 of us. When we finally all got to the boat launch, Dad and I figured we'd get a two seater instead of both going solo. The plan is to row out to a beach on an adjacent island, hang out for an hour, then come back. No problem, we could see that the island wasn't that far away. So we hop in, and right away, my Father who has had a lifetime of back issues, finds that his seat cushion is misaligned. The problem is it's pretty much impossible to make any kind of effective adjustment to a seat behind your back, with a life preserver on, while you're sitting on it floating in the water. Mine was fine so I didn't even think about it until he couldn't hardly sit up at all. All I knew was that from the get go if my paddle wasn't in the water, we were going backwards. My psyche can handle it if I'm not making 'progress' but I get reeeally frustrated knowing that every second I'm 'resting' it's going to cost me X number of extra strokes just to get back where I started. Anyway, yes, the wind was against us right from the start. Then we turned a corner, and the wind was still against us. Then we turned another corner and the wind was STILL against us. And that's when I snapped and called for help. There was no way we were going to make it around the last corner (which reportedly had the strongest winds and current.) We weren't the only ones who got stranded, there were at least 8 of us who had to be towed back in. On the return trip, we came back exactly the way we went out so I could see that we did indeed cover lots of water, we just didn't make it to the beach. So we spent the better part of the afternoon on 'the wrong' beach waiting for the rest of the kayakers to come back. But really, is there ever a wrong beach to be stuck on in the Caribbean?

So after talking to our guides, it turns out this was a fairly new excursion and that you can get to the beach by either going clockwise or counter-clockwise around the island (makes sense.) But one way is too short for hardcore kayakers and the other way is too long for us recreational types. They also claimed to have taken the wind into account when determining which route to go, but that it shifted after everyone rounded the first corner. *I* think it wouldn't have mattered. Upwind is upwind regardless of which side of the island you're on. Anyway, we survived with some generally unused and now overworked and cranky muscles and mostly just a bruised ego.

When we met up with my mother later her response was, "Don't you know you should never get in a canoe with your Father?" We laughed, but not because it was that funny. It was that 'bonded through peril' kind of laugh.

The worst part about the kayaking trip is that it nearly overshadowed the beauty of Grenada. The weather was amazing that day and we decided that the breeze would have been perfect for doing pretty much anything but paddling.

As a total nonsequitor, to get to the boat launch, we took a tour bus through town. It's always interesting to see what's different and what's been totally Americanized on these islands, but I had to laugh when we passed 'The Office of the Leader of the Opposition' (that's exactly what the sign said) and then half a block up was the Peace Corp building.

Daily Distraction: Caption THIS!

2008-01-04T22:38:00.000-06:00

You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? I'm pretty sure that they're the same ones who say that "He who can laugh at himself will never run out of material." Anyway, well, I have no words for this one so I need your help:

_____________

We've deemed this picture the 'goofiest candid photo' of the trip. And since we've been kicking it around over here, I figured I'd let everyone else put on the blindfold and take a whack at it too. So feel free to post your uber-cool, most high-larious, captions in the comment section and rofl away.

Cruise Day 3 pt2: Gomer hits The Wall

2008-01-04T21:57:00.000-06:00

My Christmas Bell

I've been trying to 'expand my horizons' on this trip. You know, when I'm not sleeping in the sun somewhere... or sleeping in the shade somewhere... or sleepin- well you get the idea... I figured now is as good a time as any to try some different things. For instance, I don't usually eat much (read 'any') seafood, so I've ordered a couple of the seafoody dishes at dinner. My only goal that I had for this trip was to attempt the rock climbing wall on the back of the ship. Mostly because I know rock climbers are dead sexy beasts and I wanted to be one, if only for a few moments before I splattered on the ground.

Don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like... oh, never mind.

People give you really weird advice when you're contemplating climbing a wall. Or maybe it's that other wall climbers are weird and therefor give weird advice. My sister, the yoga instructor who has climbed before, recommended keeping my shoulders in. I'm still trying to figure out what she actually meant by that, but given my prior experience with aerobic instructors, it didn't surprise me that her advice wouldn't be in real English. And speaking of fitness nuts and other foreigners, there was this guy in front of me who claimed to have gone rock climbing before but was asking a load of dorky questions. I mean, stuff even I figured out, like, "Which rocks are the hardest?" Um, duh, they're *ALL* hard especially the ones waaay at the top... Anyway, the worst part was, he really did know what he was doing, he was just in the tourist ask-a-million-questions mode. As soon as he got strapped in, he was all business. He whipped out 2 small daggers and just stabbed his way to the top. So now I know how ninjas spend their holidays. Whoda thunk?

Aaaanyway, Who wants to follow that act? Me, I guess.

So today was the day. After standing in line and watching monkey babies scamper up the side of the wall for 45 minutes, it was my turn. I told my family that they didn't have to come, although it would be nice if someone got a picture. Needless to say they were all there ready to stare, point, throw things, applaud if/when appropriate, and of course take pictures of the whole ordeal.
Have you ever played one of those video games where you pick up some kind of invulnerability powerboost and you've got about 20 seconds to wreak havoc before reality sets back in? Well, as soon as I touched the first handhold, I figured I had about 45 seconds before my muscles would shake and give out or I'd realized what the heck I was doing and do something stupid like look down. I didn't actually time my ascent, but the pictures are all timestamped within 2 minutes, which means I hauled my keester up that rock like a squirrel on fire. The next thing I knew, I heard a voice from the other end of my safety line yell, "You have to LET GO OF THE WALL to come down." Easy for you to say... you're already at the bottom. Thank you Mr. Helpful.

This is me, NOT letting go of the wall.

But I did it. I climbed the wall and rang the bell. I'm no ninja, but I get by.

Cruise Day 3

2008-01-04T21:44:00.000-06:00

December 25th, Christmas Day
No Port of Call

Today was an 'at sea' day. Apparently this cruise normally stops at Dominica (?) but since it's Christmas Day nothing would be open so we're just cruising on to Grenada. I'm fine with that. I'm getting pretty good at sitting next to the pool doing jack squat for long periods of time. Chris has been reading, I've been flipping through about 750 songs from the 80's on my iPod.

I saved you a seat!

As a total side note, Chris has been dropping things ever since the trip started. She keeps trying to tell me that her inner ear is just super-sensitive or something, but I think her brain went on vacation and now her limbs are going on strike. Lens cap, food, memory card, toothpaste, more food, razor, etc... pretty much EVERYTHING! So, I *thought* I was behaving myself and maybe not being 'supportive' per se, but at least not sighing heavily everytime I heard something clink on the bathroom floor. But I guess I wasn't as stealthy as I thought because after like the 700th clatter, I hear from the bathroom, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't roll your eyes at me. I'm not dropping things on purpose, you know." So tell me ladies, how did she know? She wasn't even looking at me. Could she sense it with her inner ear? Anyway, to date, I have only dropped one thing this whole trip. Unfortunately it was her toothbrush and it wedged into the utility end of the toilet brush. What? It's not like it hit the floor, shesh, you women are so sensitive. Fine, we'll call it even. Anyway, I fessed up immediately and we bought another toothbrush for, like, $57 + gratuity at the general store here on the boat. I think is called the "If you had to buy it here, we know what you're willing to pay for it" shop.

Cruise Day 2

2008-01-04T21:11:00.000-06:00

December 24th - St. Maarten
(Written Dec. 25th)

Merry Christmas everybody! Wish you were here!

Well, Yesterday was 1/2 day at sea, 1/2 day in St. Maarten. Carrie and Dad decided to go on a snorkel trip while the rest of us just wandered around Philipsburg. And by 'wandering around' I mean 'walking past about 600 liquor and/or jewelry shops.' Unfortunately, as we are not booze and diamond types, this left us with a whole lot of meandering and not a lot of shopping. To prove what a wild bunch we are, here's a complete list of expenditures on St. Maarten for the 6 of us:

-2 Snorkel trips
-4 Froo-froo non-alcoholic drinks (Woo-Hoo!)
-1 Stick of deodorant
-1 Tube of foot cream
-$2 donated to the St. Maarten Animal Humane Society
-1 Scarf (an actual souvenir)

My brother-in-law doing his part to keep the Caribbean economy strong!

This was the first port we went to that was really built for tourism. We were the 5th cruiser at the dock, so it was kind of interesting to see how the immediate pandemonium disperses as you get further and further away from the boat. If you were a shop owner, the difference in traffic you would see just by being half a block closer or farther would be pretty severe. And frankly, how do you sell YOUR jewelry when there's 599 other jewelry stores in a 3 block radius?

Anyway, here's my deep thought of the day: This cruise reminds me of high school. It might be because it's about the size of my alma mater... But there's also the same kind of weird social circles. It seems like there are certain people that you run into constantly and others that just kind of appear once and then you never see them again. Or is it that you only take note of certain people and the rest of the faces just fill the gaps? I don't know, but I've 'just run into' family members several times accidentally at weird times in strange places. (Remember, this is like a 10 story hotel, it just shouldn't happen that often...) There's also another family with exactly the same schedule as us (same flight, hotel, and dining time) which is kind of awkward.

So last night was our first formal dinner which wasn't as goofy as I thought it was going to be. I expected to feel really out of place, but the staff treats you the same (i.e. really well) so it didn't feel forced. Where I'm going with this though is that there are several pictures of me attempting to look debonair or anti-debonair.

Not fooling anybody...

But the highlight was later in the evening when Chris said, "So, how's the ice cream, sugarpants?" and I heard, "So, how's the ice cream, (Not-Sugar-but-another-word-that-starts-with-SH...) yer pants?" I think I replied with something like, "Well, it's good, but it's not THAT good" and then had to explain what I heard. Needless to say we've been giggling about it ever since, because, you know, Chris asks me that kind of question all the time. The rest of the family is totally out of the loop on this one, as we've been incorporating 'Sugarpants' into conversation and then snickering quietly.

Cruise Day 1

2008-01-04T20:27:00.000-06:00

December 23rd, 2007
Royal Caribbean Cruise - Santo Domingo

Since I don't know when I'll have the time and/or inclination to blog out here, I figured I should do it whenever I can.

So far, 2 for 2 on the happy endings. Chris and my folks survived the mean streets of Santo Domingo AND our lost luggage appeared tonight as if it had been waiting for us the whole time. We are currently at the end of 'Day one' according to the Cruise schedule and have left the Dominican Republic.

Right outside our hotel, the foodline I mentioned earlier was part of a political rally. Apparently 'The People's Candidate X' was giving out food as proof that he understood the state of poverty. And when I say 'food' I don't mean cans of Campbells and ramen noodles. I'm talking about live pigs and chickens. Chris said that on their way back to the hotel, the security guards were all pointing and taking pictures of these 3 turistas walking down the middle of the street between the working poor and their Christmas dinner. Chris asked one of them to email his pic to her, but she claimed dibs so you won't see it on this blog if it shows up.

In Santo Domingo, pigs are caught by YOU!

After we checked out of the hotel, but before we left, there was a family in the lobby that was just finishing up from their cruise. We chatted a bit, but as it turns out, it costs $10 to enter the Dominican Rep, and $20 per person to leave. I'm sensing a snappy Hotel California-esque slogan in their future.

Regarding luggage adventures, back when we were initially packing, I had mumbled something about how I didn't have any unique way to identify our luggage. My folks usually wrap their bags with colored duct tape so that you can spot them easily... you know, like at the baggage claim, or floating in the water. Chris's response was, "I've never seen another bag that's the same color as mine." Is it me, or is saying something like that just begging for trouble? Anyway, so once we found our rooms on the boat, we were standing in the hallway deciding what to do next, which btw is not an uncommon event for a bunch of Gardners, and I spot a luggage cart wheeling down another hallway. "Hey, there's Chris's bag" I noted, but since none of the other bags were here yet, my comment didn't raise any eyebrows. And besides, Who's going to believe that a partially color blind guy who has been in a stupor for the last 36 hours can spot an olive green bag in another hallway? Well, for the record, I'm a flippin baggage hero. I chased it down and found it parked in front of a room that was off by one digit from ours. I'd take full bragging rights, except if Chris hadn't mentioned it's unique color I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Suck it colorblind test, I'm handi-capable!

Ok, and here's my deep thought of the day: Other tourists are like other drivers. Have you ever noticed that YOU are the only one that 'drives right' on the interstate? If someone else is going faster than you, they're a lunatic, and if they're going slower, they must be idiots. (George Carlin made that observation so you know it's true) But in the same spirit, there are no 'normal' tourists. They're either ridiculously good looking and you can't figure out why they would subject themselves to looking at YOU on their vacation, or they're so goofy looking you can't believe they ever made it through customs. heh... "Yes sir, your papers are in order, but I have seen your passport, and for the sake of our children cannot allow you into our country." And to make things just that much weirder, they usually hang out together.

Ok, Ok, no more making fun of strangers...

Parting shot: Standard procedure on a cruise is to have a lifeboat drill as soon as everyone has boarded. For us, we had already been on the boat a couple hours but hadn't eaten since breakfast and the blood sugar levels were running a little thin. I'm pretty sure that was the case because I've never before heard my wife whisper, 'dead... dead... dead...' at anyone who was late for a safety drill. Also, I can *usually* resist the urge to punch her square in the life preserver.

I'm going to stick with the low blood sugar theory...

Tomorrow St. Martin!

Look ma, no luggage!

2007-12-23T08:39:00.001-06:00

Ok, well, the problem with writing a blog while you are ON the plane is that the experience isn't technically over until you get checked into the hotel... with all your luggage.

Note the profound lack of baggage

Ok, ok, it wasn't that bad. The bad news is, one of our bags is MIA. The good news is that it was the 'equipment' bag filled of masks and fins and NOT underwear, socks and passports (travel necessities listed in order of importance.) The airport said that it might be coming on the next flight from Atlanta and that it would 'just be 10 minutes' but it turns out there was even less luggage (and more irate people) on that flight. Trying to get that bag cost us another 2 hours at the airport which meant we got to the Marriott about 6:30 local. (btw, it's pronounced 'Mario' down here, which is just different enough to make you question if the cabbie really knows where to take you) So yeah, that made for a long day of travel. Especially since I didn't get any sleep the night before. Did I mention I had a great time at karaoke? jk...

Anyway, I've come to the conclusion that being dead tired while flying isn't such a bad thing. Unless of course you're the pilot, but I won't go there. Anyway, airports are more bearable. You aren't as aware/concerned about how much everything flipping costs. Time is no longer linear. The lists of perks goes on and on... Now admittedly, someone had to be in charge otherwise I'd still be sitting at the airport trying to convert dollars to euros (another long story, but the punch line is that they don't use Euros here anyway...) But I was not labled 'El Hefe' (The Chief) and therefore free to pass in and out of consciousness at my leisure. It's a good thing too because I was going to do it anyway.

Getting close to the white rabbit. I has his carrot.

Who needs fashionable iPod accessories? When I've got an audio splitter and a twist tie, I'm always stylin'

So anyway, rumor has it that internet access is $8 a minute on the boat so this is most likely the last time I'll be posting until after the cruise. Sorry but you'll have to wait for the new year to get burnt whiteboy pic's. But really, I'm sure these lovely airport shots are going to be the highlight. Chris is out getting actual pictures of Santo Domingo now. For those of you not adventuring this holiday, S.D. is the poorest nation we're visiting and I just found out Chris and my folks have to cross an (armed) food line to get to the cultural center. Hope she comes back with some great pictures!

Or, you know... just comes back...

What do these # have in common: 37, 42, 81...

2007-12-23T08:25:00.000-06:00

Those would be the temperatures today in Chicago, Atlanta, and Santo Domingo respectively.
So yeah, we're off, and as I'm typing this, we're in the air to Santo (or as I like to call it, 'santa') Domingo. It is nearly Christmas after all.

This is my dead sexy plane face. I call it "The Delta"

Anyway, we survived the usual airport rigors. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary and were able to make our connecting flight. Our flight out of Midway was at 6am. Which meant meeting up with my sister and folks at 3:30am, which meant leaving the house at 2:30am. Which meant I was left with the decision to either sleep for a couple hours and get up at 1:30, or stay up and play with my other late night Friday friends. Chris went to bed at 7 and actually got about 6 hours of sleep.

So anyway, last night at Karaoke...

Matt and I decided that last night was our best bet for getting a decent group of folks together (not to be confused with a group of decent folks...) for a night of singin' and general frivolity. And I gotta tell you, in that, we succeeded. I believe saying that the evening was 'off the hook' is an understatement. 'Off the hook' doesn't require therapy afterwards.

In recent weeks I've been acused of being... oh what's the word they used... "Addicted" to karaoke. This is total garbage, and I assure you I can quit any time I want. Besides, the first sign of having a serious problem is that your friends notice a change in your behavior. And I swear to you that whatever you've heard about me hasn't come from any of my REAL friends. Pack of lies. Anyway, I'm always glad when I can share the joys of my... um... dependency with others.

But I don't have a problem. I can talk about other things. I mean, I could tell you about how I'm typing this with my arms pinned to my sides and the screen folded nearly in half because I'm squished into the T-Rex position on this plane. I'm getting the full flavor of this flight... 3 hours and somehow the guy in front of me has managed to lower his chair completely into my lap. My laptop sitting on his sleeping face as I type.

So anyway, this one time at karaoke...
What I love about this karaoke bar is that noone sings half-assed. Sure, there are those that use their whole ass, but in those cases you celebrate the effort, or the amusement factor, or maybe the opportunity for improvement... whatever, as long as everyone's having fun.

Oh, wait, I was talking about the flight wasn't I? So Chris and my sister are sitting next to me planning the week out. Calculating what we can do, where we can go, how we're going to get there, what time, etc, etc, etc... Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they're getting a grip on the trip. I mean somebody's got to do it, otherwise we'd just sit on the boat and like, I don't know, hang out on a big flippin boat.

So anyway, back at Karaoke, I heard the raunchiest version of "Summer Loving" I've ever heard. And an impressive rendition of Manilow's "I write the songs." But my personal highlight was when I started singing a song by Bush and 3 folks came up and airguitar'd, airbass'd and airdrum'd behind me. I had a full air-band rocking out behind me, but the whole experience was nearly eclipsed out of my memory when Matt came running up and lifted his shirt. It's not like I threw beads at him or anything, he just did it. (Remember the part about needing therapy?) Yeah, well I'm scarred.

As it turns out, there are some unwritten rules to karaoke. I didn't really realize this until they were broken, of course... But for instance, it's never appropriate to flash the singer if you're a guy. Teh funny is not directly proportional to the damage. The other rule we figured out was that if you are actually IN a band, karaoke'ing to a song your band covers is cheating. It just is. Part of karaoke is singing stuff you don't normally perform. Listen, I don't make the rules, I just point them out when they're violated.

Don't you judge me. I don't have a problem.

Home Owner Aptitude, I has it.

2007-12-16T22:14:00.000-06:00

Chris and I haven't paid rent for almost 10 years now. Along the way I've learned a few things about home repair, and was reminded of these simple principles as I installed a light fixture this weekend.
1) The right equipment is the difference between a 10 minute fix and a 3 day job. For this particular repair I needed a screwdriver, wire strippers/cutters, electrical tape, 10 foot ladder, electric drill, 2 machine screws, extra electrical wire, mounting plate, Janis, and wire caps. All of which would need to be used simultaneously at the top of the ladder. Piece of cake. "2 Ball cap nuts" are also in the equipment list but I doubt they're really needed. I think somebody just threw them in to make grown men giggle.
2) Safety first. I can't stress this enough, especially when you're doing electrical work in the dark on a ladder on a staircase. At least wait until you've got some daylight.
3) Follow the instructions, but be ready to improvise. No matter how thorough the directions are, there's no way some dude in China could account for (and describe in English) every situation you might run into. For instance, I don't have a 10 foot ladder, but I do have one of those sectional ladders that's 12 feet. Fully extended, the ladder wouldn't fit, so I folded one of the sections to make a nine foot ladder. Then it was still a little low, so I put it on a stair instead of the landing. Then it was a little too far from the wall so I extended the one folded section out until it touched. Remember kids, Safety first! Other than that, you can see from the following picture that I was able to follow the rest of the instructions to the letter.

Couple things to note about the picture on the left. You'll notice that I did not use Duct Tape to harness the lamp to the ceiling. This is an electrical project, therefore I used electrical tape. Also, Yes, the fixture is temporarily lashed to the ladder using spare wire. Yes, the ladder is aluminum. Boy Scouts and Navy Seals have been using this technique for centuries, take it up with them. Lastly, I did not photoshop this picture. The heavenly glow is confirmation that God approves.

15 hours, 3 blown fuses, and 9 lightbulbs later you'll get something that looks like this on the right:

Ta-da! It's just that easy.

Yet another relaxing Saturday

2007-12-15T16:35:00.000-06:00

So I had one thing on my list today, to install a light fixture over the back staircase. Here's a photo of my current progress:

Watch your step.

You know, I kind of enjoy doing electrical stuff around the house. It kind of validates my existence in the household when I can actually get a light switch to work. But the thing is that it takes me about 6 hours to do even basic wiring. Double that if I'm on a ladder. So in these days where I have precisely 38 minutes of daylight to work with, well, keep a flashlight handy or you'll end up in the basement a little faster than you were planning.

Did you say Dork-Boxing or Kick-Borking?

2007-12-14T18:45:00.000-06:00

Sorry JC, next time stay out of roundhouse range.

So I put my body through another exercise in pain yesterday. Actually, I blame Chris. She caught me at a weak moment and decided to exploit the opportunity. We were at the gym last night and I had been going pretty strong on the treadmill for 20 minutes when she taps me on the shoulder. "Your presence is requested in the other room," she says. Now, mind you, we're at the gym. There's only one other room and that's the aerobic studio. So I'm thinking that like the CD player is on the top shelf and she can't reach it or something, but she's smiling at me so I know something ain't right. I walk in there looking for the big hairy cockroach that needs crushing or whatever and the door slams behind me. At this point I realize I have just been abducted and metaphorically thrown in the trunk of Chris's Jazzersize class. Ok, ok, I think she said it was "Cardio Kickboxing" but what I heard was "Pain in Spandex, twelve o'clock!" Keep in mind that I've already run close to 2 miles, which I made abundantly clear to the instructor.

"Good" she says, "Then you're warmed up."

???

Dude, I was thinking more cool down at that point... Anyway, you know all those things people say about aerobics instructors? About how they're masochistic little women who need the sweat of others to survive? Yeah, well they're all true. Sure they look all nice and smiley, but that's just to lure you into the room. My sister used to be an aerobics instructor and boy howdy, she can be pure evil. She actually advanced to Yoga instruction, which is like aerobics but you have to convince people to strain themselves slowly instead of working them into a frenzy. It's far more sinister, but I digress...

I was expecting to be humiliated by my, shall we say, "limited range of motion." I even figured weird things were going to hurt the next day. But I was not expecting to have to learn a new language. Sure, it kinda starts out sounding like English, but then words are more barked than spoken and they don't really make sense to anyone with an education anyway. Most of the class was a blur (literally from the sweat in my eyes) but I remember it going something like this:

"Ok, we're going to stretch our arms now so raise your hands over your head, palms facing up, and reach toward the ceiling."

I'm thinking to myself, "Alright, I can handle this..."

"Now roll your shoulders forward keeping your back straight. You should feel it in your lats and delts. Keep your core tight."

Wait, what? Something hurts, is that my lat? How did I lose my Court-ite, already???

(Music starts: Booka-booka-booka-booka...)

"Ok right tiger paw left, front knee down, and PUNCH and up, and PUNCH and up... Watch your face! Punch like you mean it! Your knee doesn't touch! Don't hyperextend! Guard up! I said PUNCH LIKE YOU MEAN IT!"

Whoa whoa whoa... Lady, you lost me at 'tiger paw.'

"And 8 more... HUH... 6 more... HUH-HUH-and 4... 3,... HUH, 2... 1 and AGAIN!"

Ummm, is 'huh' supposed to be a number because you're kinda using it like it's a number, but either way, your counting isn't consistent. I'm just saying that it's hard to follow someone counting backwards in some non-uniform numbering system...

"Time for front kicks. Alright, aim for groin height but if you can't get there, aim for the knee. And 8! ..."

Groin height? At this point, I'm barely reaching ankle height, lady. How about a viscious foot stomp? I could probably manage a couple of those.

"Ok, now lie face down. Center yourself, and bring your belly to your backbone."

Whatdoesthatevenmean???

Well, since I'm writing this, you can tell I survived. I did what any man would do when faced with an impossible situation, I flailed around like a squirrel on acid for about an hour then dropped to my knees begging for mercy. You know.

Chris looked over at me and said, "Wait till you find out what hurts tomorrow. You've been using muscles you never even knew you had." At that point I tried giving her the finger but since I couldn't feel anything past my elbow, I'm really not sure if I was successful or not.

On a completely different note, for those of you that need a little more VanDammage, have some Wallpaper from some guy with wa-haaay too much time on his hands.

Advanced Parenting: How to outlive your children

2007-12-13T20:14:00.000-06:00

A while back, Chris decided to scrapbook my childhood. So a couple weeks ago, she and my sister were digging through the 'Lee box' they got from my mom. Needless to say there were some gems in there, some of which I've put into a slideshow in the sidebar. But then we came across this picture from 1976:That would be my Grandma with my sister and my Dad holding me in his arm. I'm such a narcissistic little dope that initially this picture went into the pile for my sister to sort through, because lets face it, it's not a particularly noteworthy picture of me. But I here's the thing, in general, I see myself as being built like my father. In this picture he is one year younger than I am currently... and it's pretty clear to me that genetically, I have not been invited to the Gardner Gun show.

As the possibility of parenthood becomes more likely, I've been trying to come to grips with some of my adulthood realities, one of which is that I tend to tell people what I want to say, not necessarily what they need to hear. If you watch Scrubs, Dr. Cox is my antithesis. But sometimes you need to tell people things so they'll do the right thing, whether it's the absolute truth or not. That's not a skill I've got fine tuned.

Dad, however, figured it out. Here are two examples from my childhood...
One of the things that my father told me was that real math started at Calculus, and it was just expected in the Gardner house that you would learn Algebra, Trig, etc so that you would have a solid foundation when you got up to real math. Most people live their lives just fine without Calculus, but in this case, I am my father's son. Calculus lets you figure out things that don't go in a straight line. And since the world isn't flat, that's pretty much everything. When someone brings up having difficulty with high school level math, I still fight the urge to say, "Wait till you get to Calc," as if it's a requirement.

The other example is that I was told that Running (cross country or track) is a sport where a person without a lot of innate athletic ability can still be very successful through a lot of hard work. Mind you, this is coming from a guy who could still wear a tanktop in public into his mid-thirties... So I believed through most of high school that if I just kept pushing on, I would eventually obtain this success that has been set aside for those of us who persevere. The point is, although I don't personally believe that "anybody can run if you have the heart" anymore, I was told what I needed to hear at the time. I do, however, have tremendous respect for the sport, and maybe that was ultimately the lesson I was supposed to learn.

This picture has in some ways re-motivated me to at least try to get in some kind of shape. I found out that there's a rock climbing wall on the cruise ship we'll be taking over Christmas. Oh, did I mention we're going on a cruise? ;-) So my immediate goal is to get in good enough physical condition to not feel like a total fool when I try rock climbing. I've never done it before, on real rocks or otherwise, and frankly I suspect I'll hate it. But that's not the point. I want to know for sure.

So to that end I've been doing a lot of upper body stuff at the gym lately. Well, a lot for me anyway and let me tell you ladies, I am super sexy dangling and quivering from the chin-up bar. But I'm reminded of what I like to call "The sticky-lid factor." You can be in great shape and still get owned by a new jar of mayonnaise. I think there's something about my center of gravity, or my natural arm strength (which I apparently got from my mother...) or cosmic justice or whatnot that I will just never get to the point where pullups are easy.

The insult to injury (or my unopenable jar of mayo, if you will) is the fact that even most of my geeky friends have the upper hand when it comes to PE. Granted, I hang out with a 6 foot Korean and an ex-football player, but one of my other friends has a benchpress in his basement and I thought I'd be cool and casually sit down and do a couple reps one night at a LAN party. For the record, when I die, I do not want, "It didn't LOOK that heavy" on my tombstone. But suffice it to say that it took pretty much everything I had plus public humiliation to heave that barbell back on the rack and not just let it drop into my chest cavity. You know, those things would be easier to lift iff'n you just removed some of them weights. I'm just saying...

Stay tuned next time for my latest attempt at killing myself through self-improvement.

Of church mice and bar flies

2007-12-09T13:41:00.000-06:00

The other first of this weekend, was that I had never gone out to sing karaoke solo, I've always had a wingman. But it was Friday night and for the past couple Saturdays I had woken up with the desire to sing my heart out and no place to do it. So about quarter to 11, I threw on my coat and trudged out to the Karaoke bar about 3 blocks from my house. I brought some paper and a pen so if any lyrical inspiration hit, I'd be good to go. It also gave me something to do with my hands so I wouldn't feel like a total loser. It's either that or take up smoking which might tarnish my oh-so choirboy image. ;-) Anyway, as it turns out, I had a good time even if my immediate fan base was unavailable. The locals that were there were encouraging, and of course, Jeti entertainment was fantastic.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I still find the similarities between bars and churches intriguing. They both have to offer a service that is valuable enough that people will go out (and sometimes pay for) instead of doing in their own home. I've heard variations on the argument that since God is everywhere you don't need to go to church to gain insight on Universal Truth. So why go? And for that matter, why would I go to a bar and buy a drink when I could get the same thing for half the price at the grocery store, drink it in my favorite chair, and have total control of the TV while doing it? And yet many churches and many bars are very successful. What do they offer? What makes them worth the drive?

1) They make you feel welcome immediately. The motivation may be different, but the result is the same. If, as a newcomer, you catch any whiff of hostility you'll never go back. And keep in mind that shyness and snobbishness often look the same at first glance. The 'Norm!' factor is really true. People like to be where they're liked.

2) They provide a forum for social networking. People with common goals or interests will gravitate toward each other. People go to both bars and churches as much for the fellowship as they do for anything else.

3) They don't waste your time. They must provide a service that's valuable to you. Whether that's pitchers and a big screen game, or new insight into The Holy, the bottom line is that what folks experience at your establishment has to be 'worth it' or they'll walk.

As a side note, since I've been doing the Church thing my whole life, I know I've been viewing the Karaoke scene through, like, Jesus-goggles or something. Church is my measuring stick, and I find it fascinating how people treat each other when you take the overt social pressure to be on your best behavior out of it. Sometimes things go really well, other times, not so much. Granted, going down to the local tavern isn't like bartering in a Somalian market or anything, but it's still an interesting study in social dynamics.

Anyway, a friend of mine has been finding himself in more religious circles than he's used to lately. He was telling me about his frustration with navigating conversations and trying to get the lingo down. He gave examples of awkward conversations and how even ending a discussion politely wasn't easy when you don't know the rules of engagement. If you aren't a 'church-type' and you walk into a church, people generally are going to be talking about 'church-stuff' which is boring if you're not 'church-y.' What I found most interesting is that I've felt exactly the same way in bar situations. I don't care what you're drinking, let alone want to talk about it. I don't know proper subject matter or how to start or stop a conversation. I don't know the appropriate length time to make eye contact, or shake hands. I have to take all my social cues from people around me.

This is probably why we go to Baptisms and Karaoke Bars together. I guess sometimes you need a hunting dog AND the Ouija board. (Sorry, couldn't resist the reference, 4th quote down)

What's in YOUR washer?

2007-12-09T13:30:00.000-06:00

Janis about to show this washing machine how she feels about pickpockets.

I had a couple of firsts this weekend...
In the last 30+ years I have never put my wallet in the washer until now. Usually I'm very good about not leaving anything in my jeans before throwing them into the wash; it's part of my routine. But this time I was trying to be 'proactive' and surprise Chris, thereby breaking my 'system.' Of course the agony was that I figured out where it was during the rinse cycle, but since our washer is a front loader, there wasn't a thing I could do about it except wait, watch, and sigh heavily. So as I watched my pants do cartwheels, I took mental inventory of what I thought the damages might be. *Most* of my cards are laminated so the question is, what isn't. Well, I knew I had a couple business cards and a $30 gift certificate that were probably lost, but other than that, I couldn't think of anything. Which is when that sinking feeling kicks in. Surely I'm forgetting something ridiculously important. Safe Deposit Box numbers, insurance policy info, something...

So before throwing the rest of the load in the dryer, I assess the damages. I pulled out my dripping wallet and started pealing cards apart and laying anything that survived on the ironing board. There were a few casualties of war (a couple of folded post-it notes, my business cards, and a half-punched card for a Free Blizzard) but for the most part, nothing tragically irreplaceable. I came back upstairs and Chris asked how it went. "Well, the good news is that I'm not as important as I thought. I can destroy half the stuff in my wallet and not really lose anything of value," I replied. She laughed, "I could have told you that without even looking in your wallet."

(Ok, ok, she didn't really say that... but I could tell she was thinking it.)

WonderBar

2007-12-09T13:08:00.001-06:00

By popular demand, Janis on an ironing board showing off her business end.
Hands off gentlemen, she's all mine.

Winter SMARTS!

2007-12-05T20:56:00.000-06:00

Ok, the thing about changing seasons is that it really tests your long term memory and quite possibly, as in the case of winter, your survival skills. This week was our first decent snow, precluded by some freezing rain about 3 days prior.

Lessons learned last year:
-Park the car more than a shovel's width away from the house.
-It takes less than a half inch of ice to seal the bottom of the gate that separates the house from the garage and driveway. Best case scenario is to swing open the gate a couple times during inclement weather so snow/slush won't build up and the make the door stick. Plan B, just leave the gate open or you'll be walking around from the front door for the next 3 months.
-Do not put every ice scraper you own in your car. Keep a spare one OUTSIDE your car so that you can get INTO your car after an ice storm.
-Never assume that snow/sleet/meteorites will melt before the next round or weather hits, take action immediately.

How this year has played out so far:
When the ice hit on Saturday, I was actually out in it running some errands which, from a survival point of view is good because if your car is warm when the rain starts turning, then you get less ice build up and it's easier to keep clean. This also forces me to work the gate on my way back into the house, so I figured I'm covered.

Sunday comes and I realize that in my haste on Saturday, I had only opened the gate the width of my body, which created a nice door jam on the other side. Knowing that if I don't take care of this now, chances are good I'll be shimmying through the gate until April, I start kicking the ice dam flat. The whole time I'm congratulating myself on my forward thinking and at the same time glowering because if I hadn't opened the door half-assed in the first place, I wouldn't have this problem. I'm also reminded that now, instead of one solid (breakable) sheet of ice on my car, I have thousands of ice barnacles staking their claim on my windshield. Fantastic. I can, however, still get into my car and whip out my scraper so I didn't have to use the backup one in the garage.

Monday I casually noted that I could no longer see through the gap that is traditionally under the garage door on account of snow had drifted in front of it. I look over at my neighbors garage and see that his is wide open so I deduce that surely it wouldn't be that tough to open mine. I give the handle *one* ineffective tug and figure that A) it's going to melt away by the time I get back from work, and B) I don't need anything in the garage anyway. Both of which, as it turns out, were incorrect.

Tuesday morning, Colorado gets sacked and all the forecasters say 6 inches of snow are coming our way. Fine. Whatever. Nothing starts coming down for us until late afternoon, so I'm driving home from work thinking that it would be a good idea to clean up some of the ice on the driveway before it gets a layer of snow on top. How very proactive of me! And then it hits... and this is pretty much the exact conversation I had with myself:

"The shovel is in the garage. Crap. If I can't get into the garage, I can't shovel snow. Ok, don't panic... what else can I use? Pitchfork? Also in the garage. Spade? Garage. Chainsaw? Hoe? Hedge clippers? Garage. Garage. Garage. Ok ok ok deep breath... reapproach the issue. What do I have in the house that could be used to chip ice? The only thing we've got with a handle in there is a broom. Son of a *CENSORED* I'm going to be out there with a BEEPING hair dryer on a BEEPING extension cord freezing my BEEPS trying to open my BEEPING garage in the dark because I'm a BEEPING lame BEEP-Head."

So I get home Tuesday afternoon convinced that I'm going to be out there in the snow chipping ice on my knees with a screwdriver. And out of desperation, I check the basement one more time. Well, you know that tool your dad has that's probably 40 years old but looks like it was recovered from a Civil War battle site? The one that you know has only been used for it's actual intended purpose, like twice, but is your dad's 'Go To' tool. You know the one. You tried buying him a brand new one for $18 last Christmas from Menards in hopes that he'd get rid of the old one, but that didn't work. He won't give it up, won't let you borrow it, and refers to it as 'SHE' while using phrases that should only be used toward your mother like, "They just don't make them like her anymore," or "She ain't much to look at, but she's always been there for me."

For my dad, it's this hammer that looks like a prop from the movie Hostile. He tries to explain how it's balanced just perfectly and the grip is just right and blah blah blah, but really... there's no need to explain. Really. I understand.

Anyway, so let me just say I now have a 12 inch prybar that will be buried with me. Hey, We've been through some rough times, but we've stuck together and come out stronger. I guess I've come to understand my father, and my own manhood a little better.

So me and the Prybar are out there hacking at the permafrost lining the bottom of the garage door, which has now had 2 days to settle in, and not to brag, but Janis is making short work of the whole thing. We make a heck of a team. That is, until we get to the corner of the garage door closest to the back gate. Back on Sunday, I had the forethought to make sure the gate fully opened, but I did it by sweeping all the snow into a pile against the garage door. Genius. So now instead of 2 inches of ice, I'm picking through closer to 4.

Yes, I did eventually get into the garage, which was probably a good thing not just because I could get the shovel and give Janis a break, but because we could now get to Chris's car as well. Huh. I was wondering where we left that...

Lesson to remember for next winter:
-If it's snowing, keep your hood up or just expect snow down your back when you do finally decide to wear it.
-Don't tell the internet what a dope you are.

Vote for Rico

2007-12-02T17:31:00.000-06:00

How much you wanna make a bet I can throw a football over them mountains?

War is out. Rico is in, and it only took us a month to work that one out. We may do something silly with the spelling, but for now it's Rico as in Puerto Rico, as opposed to Ricoh like the copier, or Reiko like an anime character. It meets our basic cat name requirements. It doesn't have anything to do directly with his coloration, and it makes us smile whenever we call out for him (not that he cares yet.) I was hoping for more of a Japanese sounding name and ended up with a thoroughly Mexican one. Chris calls him Uncle Rico, I think Rico is humorous on it's own because he has really short legs and definitely rides lower than our other cats. (If you think I'm poking at a Mexican stereotype, you're missing the WAR reference... Get it?!?!1?)

So why is it so hard to just name a flippin' cat? Well, the way I see it, there were three things working against us, and bear with me, I've been meaning to bring this up for a while...

First, we can't use the same name as anyone else's pet we've ever known. This is my way of saying, you people with clever pet names have made things extremely inconvenient for us. Jeeves, Noko, Red, yeah, I'm talking to you. And that leads me to my next point...

I read somewhere (maybe Freakonomics?) about how my generation defines itself by it's individuality, not necessarily by traditional rights of passage. So for example, if you take a modern day wedding, there's generally more emphasis on how you're going to make it unique and memorable than how you're going to accommodate a rich history of marriage traditions. I believe the same is true for even fairly mundane things, like naming a pet. Giving an animal a traditional name implies that we weren't up to the challenge, even though Felix would have been a perfectly acceptable name for a black and white cat.

Lastly, names based on what an animal looks like are completely unacceptable. I call this the Obvious Rule. I know I'm going to offend somebody here, but really, Boots, Socks, Shadow, Marshmallow, etc, etc, blah blah blah are just insulting. What if you went to the zoo and all the zookeeper said, "Please don't feed Stripes the Tiger..." That really inspires the imagination, doesn't it? Don't you want to know more about this Tiger? The only time it's ok to give a pet a name a four year old could have thought of, is well, if you let your four year old name it. I met a cat named 'Moo' once, who was named by the resident two year old, and I'm fine with that. Ok, ok, there's ONE exception to the rule, and that's irony. If you want to call your fat dog 'slimjim,' or your black cat 'cue ball' you go right ahead. That's comedy gold. But otherwise, please have at least one degree of separation between an animals looks and it's name. If you want to name your golden retriever 'Brittany' because they're both blonds, that's minimally acceptable. 'Golden Grams,' however, is not. There is an Irish Setter clause though... you can name them pretty much any name from Guiness to Bono and it's cool. Thus sayeth the Lee.

As an addendum though, nicknames for pets are exempt from the Obvious Rule. We've occasionally called Rico ShortRound, which is technically is an 80's reference, but it's also extremely obvious. Murray is often referred to as Chucky or Ralph when he throws up. MooseCat or Sheds is always Sibbie. Oh, like you've never done it...

Hey, you! Yeah, you with the fuzzy butt!

2007-11-25T21:47:00.000-06:00

I can has name yet?

So this is, like, week 4 of having a cat tooling around the house without a name. He has a couple of working titles, but nothing official. We should probably just stick with War, because as it turns out, naming a cat through the process of elimination is not particularly efficient. It's kinda like American Idol and feels like it's going to take about as long to find a winner. Anyway, today we learned that his name is not Kyle; however, we added Heathrow, Chester, and Kubla to the list of possibilities. In true cat fashion though, he's been equally unresponsive to every name we've tried.

Stay tuned for more gripping details as this crisis unfolds!

Why I don't cook

2007-11-25T21:10:00.000-06:00

Here's a little recipe I cooked up that's sure to make you popular at your next family gathering:

Prep time: About 3 hours
Ingredients:
-1 pint of Ben and Jerry's
-1 serving of an alcoholic beverage, your choice
-2 high fiber granola bars
Directions: 3 hours prior to engagement, consume all ingredients. Add alcohol to taste. 'Brew' for 2+ hours or until you explode. Revel in your impending infamy.
Caution: Do NOT share this recipe with other family members! Do NOT share the glory.

Also great for family vacations or long road trips!

Now, I tried this out the day before all the festivities this year, but I can assure you that had I indulged in this concoction and then headed out for a full day with the extended family, the results would have been... legendary. Bon Apetite!

Turkey Ops

2007-11-22T19:03:00.000-06:00

Mmmm, Turkey....

This Thanksgiving Day worked out kind of interestingly for us this year. My side meets tomorrow in Elgin, and we didn't get our act together soon enough to make it out to Michigan. So... what do you do when you don't have plans for Turkey Day? Well, for the last 2 years Chris and I have been hearing stories from a couple of our friends about how *wonderful* their Thanksgiving meals are, and how *exotic* the ingredients are, and how much time and energy the cook puts into it, and on and ON and ON... And knowing these folks pretty well, we knew it was certainly within the realm of possibility that all this stuff was true. So we thought, what better way to avoid the stress of the season, than to leech onto someone else's family for a holiday, right? Genius! So about mid-June we started conspiring on how we could get ourselves invited into somebody else's home. After some recon and a couple well placed, pathetic, and not-so-subtle hints, we did indeed get the invite. Our friends were even kind enough not to roll their eyes on our arrival. But I gotta tell you, they delivered. The food was amazing. I've forgotten how magical buttermilk, sour cream, and bacon are. They can make anything taste better, and these folks take no prisoners which is probably why we had to sign a medical waiver on the way in.
As a total side note, Chris and I discussed later how it seems that having a couple of stragglers/strays/freeloaders around for the holidays might help put the family on better behavior. Stories that are told over and over now have a fresh audience and I think people tend to think twice before flinging dirt when it's no longer 'just' the family.
Anyway, kudos to our hosts and thanks for letting us take the soup home. It was just as good the second time around. (And the 3rd! -chris)

Et tu, iPod?

2007-11-16T21:19:00.000-06:00

I know people have various opinions about Apple and it's relationship with good and/or evil, but I'm here to tell you that my iPod nearly killed me this week. No, not because I had it too loud as I walked blissfully ignorant across railroad tracks, or because a sudden gust of wind just happened to try strangling me with the cord of the earbud. Oh, no... this was chillingly premeditated. Below I've reconstructed the steps and how it nearly got away with murder.

1) It lulled me into a false sense of security. Seriously, I didn't see it coming at all. It's been extremely reliable and 'the perfect companion' since it was purchased.
2) It gained my trust. No battery problems or accidental music library blow outs... it's been great. I pretty much exclusively listen on random, because whatever pattern it uses, I haven't figured it out (which my last 2 MP3 players were much more annoyingly predictable)
3) It tactically pinpointed my weaknesses. It learned that I'm most vulnerable to it's influence while driving or in the gym.
4) It waited for an opportune moment... at the bench press.
5) It went for the kill. After 2 sets, my iPod "Randomly" went from an upbeat Violent Femmes tune to "All out of Love" by AirSupply.

I have no idea where that song came from. Actually... I know where it came from, I just don't know how it got on my iPod. It was put on a mixCD I got as a joke, but that's a lesser point. Anyway, by the grace of God I was able to wrestle the whole 18 pounds I was lifting back onto the bar rest before my will to live was completely sucked dry.

Curse you bad-bad iPod and your evil, back-stabbing ways.

For your bad behavior, you have to wear an ugly sweater until you can play nice.

On the Drink of Disaster

2007-11-11T17:05:00.000-06:00

True story.
The problem with doing karaoke in a bar, is that generally you're expected to order something. Now, contrary to popular belief, I'm not much of a drinker. Steady yourself. I know, gentle reader, the shocking truth is that most of the stupid stuff I do, I do completely sober. So when I do go to a bar, I try to surround myself with other light-weight girly men for camouflage. But eventually, like zebras pacing the watering hole, one of us has to go up and order something. Last time, there were only two of us and it was my turn to test the waters for crocodiles. My buddy says, "Get me a Miller Lite." Great. No hiding out on the savanna. So I go up to the bar and order a manly Miller Lite and an equally masculine Mike's HARD lemonade. Oh yeah, feel that testosterone pumping. The bartender has obviously been trained well and remains stoic, but my spindly legs are poised and ready to bolt at as soon as the glass hits the counter. That's when one of the local lions lifted his large head and groggily starts to shake off his stupor. His eyes scan the surroundings and his nose goes up. He smells fear nearby, but he hasn't honed in on it yet. The bartender comes around with my drinks which tell every predator around that I won't put up much of a fight, and just as he reaches me, the lion's pupils widen and snap into focus.

"Excuse me..." he says with lazy calm. "Don't take this the wrong way, but one of those drinks is for a girl, right?"
"No," I say, exposing myself as the prey that I am. It's not like I can run at this point anyway.
"Oh, Jeez dude, I'm sorry. I just read somewhere that Mike's is one of the most popular drinks among women." The lion recklessly and effectively swats his large paws in my direction.
"That's mine." I look back at my herd longingly as this guy verbally chews my limbs off.
"Really? No offense man, really. I just assumed that one of those HAD to be for a girl." His head goes back down. The kill complete. I drag my bloodied carcass back to our table and explain to my friend how it was his stupid Miller Lite that made me look like a lady.
We did get the last laugh though. The lion was really bad at karaoke, but we told him he was good. Take THAT! You may be King of the jungle, but your roar sounds like crap.

Meanwhile, from the 'Becoming what you detest' department:
Up until last Saturday, I had been in a Starbucks exactly once in my life. I was carpooling and was not the driver. I had no choice, I don't even remember if I ordered anything. But in the last week, I have gone to Starbucks *4* times. What's wrong with me? I feel dirty. And on top of it all, I liked it. That's right, you heard me. I LIKED IT! I'm a Chai tea chump and apparently will pay over 3 dollars for a 'tall.' I hate myself.

And as a total non-sequitor, let me tell you why I think this seemingly innocuous picture makes me laugh. It's a shot from our living room, and granted not one of the most flattering. Study it carefully. Note the pile of dirty dishes and half finished knitting project. This my friends, is exactly what my living room would look like if my wife were suddenly vaporized. Well, except the lid wouldn't be on the peanut butter, but otherwise it's dead on. Don't worry folks, it's just a simulation. Chris is JUST FINE.

Bright Lights, Big Idiot.

2007-11-05T21:01:00.000-06:00

aka: Gomer goes to Town

And now for another episode of, "Why I hate traveling."

Pretty much, I have no travel skills. I can't blame it on my parents, they tried. I just got nuthin in the travel-intuition department and it makes me feel like the last 35 years have counted for absolutely nothing. If I can't even get from point A to point B, why worry about the shortest route, or how long it's going to take, or whether I packed enough snackies? Fortunately, I try to compensate by "Being Prepared." Unfortunately, that translates to "Carry a lot of cash in case something goes wrong" which admittedly isn't the most practical philosophy, but it's fairly effective as far as defense mechanisms go.
So this week I have to go into downtown Chicago for two days of training. And let me make this perfectly clear, I HAYAATE traveling to/in/from/through/around Chicago. Maybe if I was the only one there it would be better, but then I suspect I'd be running for my life from zombies or something...
Anyway, today was day one of this training. Class starts at 9am, so Chris and I are out the door at 6am, to get to the Elgin train station by 7. So far things are going smoothly, and I actually make it onto the train. Mind you, the station itself isn't open yet, so you just jump on the train and get your ticket later. It's not like they don't know where you're going. So I'm there with 9000 commuters and I'm the only one without a monthly pass. No worries though... I have CASH! So after we get through Bartlett, the conductor comes around. After quickly checking the passes for everyone in the front half of the car, he gets to me. I hold out a $20 (because that's what the ATM deemed me worthy of) and he squints. "Which stop?" he asks. Now you would think that a college grad wouldn't have any problem answering that. I stare. I have one choice. "Union Station" I say. His eyes roll. "No, which stop did you get on." Yeah... you see he doesn't know how much my ticket costs until he knows where I started. I stare...blankly. Where did I start? He wants Point A, not Point B. I can NOT remember the name of the station. Nothing. Time passes. People with actual tickets start to wonder what the hold up is. I've got nothing. Then my brain starts to trickle into my mouth... "Big, err Elgin, no, egh... TIMBER! Big Timber!" The conductor puts his head down. Punches a ticket, looks back at me and slowly says, "That'll be $5.15, sir." At least, that's what his mouth said. His eyes said, "Sigh... now I have to dig out $14.85 in change for this dope who can't remember where he was 15 minutes ago."
When we finally got to Union Station, I opted to walk 2 miles to class instead of trying to negotiate a cab or the busline by myself. Happy ending though, I did actually make it to class on time.

All Saints Day

2007-11-04T15:59:00.000-06:00

In my church's tradition, the first Sunday of November is All Saints Day. It's a time of reflection and remembrance for those who have died in the past year. Candles are lit and a powerpoint is shown as we're reminded to celebrate their earthly and eternal lives. I've always found it to be kind of a weird juxtaposition with modern day Halloween, but I suspect at one point it there was a more natural transition between the two holidays. Now, after a month of sugar and hype, I am challenged with trying to find joy in death. Real death, not movie death or funny or ironic death. Not the Halloween, costumed, candy-coated death. And it's difficult.

This year brought it's own unique frustration. About 20 people from my church died in the past year, and I didn't know any of them. I only even recognized one last name, but didn't recognize her face. Does that make this a good year? Am I lucky or am I a big jerk for not being involved enough? So while I'm stewing over that, my brain starts listing Christian death hymns. Amazing Grace. I've always been drawn to them. Partly because of my inner-goth-child, but also I think Bono (love him or hate him) summed up my feelings on the matter. Take My Hand, Precious Lord. He said that Christians generally don't like conflict, especially in their music, and yet most of the great songs revolve around some conflict. All My Tears Be Washed Away. You can't have a good song or story without a problem. I'll Fly Away. Throwing death in the mix inherently adds conflict.

And then the chorus of O Come and Mourn with Me Awhile poured into my head:

Oh love of God, Oh sin of man, in this dread act Your strength is tried.
And victory remains in Love. Jesus our Lord is crucified.

Talk about a rollercoaster. Love... sin... dread act...victory... crucified. From the chorus it's kinda hard to tell who's really winning. Sure, It's really a Good Friday/Easter hymn but I was struck by the parallel, though I couldn't verbalize it at the time. In six months I'll go through this again in reverse. Life to death, death to life. Celebration to mourning, mourning to celebration.

At this point, Chris looked over at me in the pew and whispered, "Do you need a Kleenex?" Needless to say, I'm all like, "No, I can handle it." Later in the car I fessed up that apparently I'm dealing with some stuff that's bubbling through to the surface. "It's ok, deal with it as it comes. At least you're feeling something," she said. And she's right... again.

Karaoke Evangelist

2007-11-03T19:03:00.000-05:00

Slowly but surely I'm figuring out what makes for a good night of karaoke, and what makes for an agonizing and humiliating one. Basically, if you end up feeling like this guy when you're singing, you're doing right. So here are my observations:

-Find a good karaoke place. I would define "good" as somewhere that's encouraging and welcoming, not necessarily a hub of high quality singers. For instance, my favorite place has this fantastic KJ (I think that's what Karaoke DJ's are called) who remembers your name, tells you that you are picking excellent songs, and who will even sing with you if you need that extra support. I also appreciate the fact that he cares what you sound like. He adjusts your volume, reverb, etc so you sound 'right' even if you don't sound 'good.' Jeti Entertainment rocks. I took all this for granted until a couple weeks ago when we went to some other joint assuming that all KJ's were equal. Suffice it to say, they're not.

-Pick songs you've listened to in the past 10 years. This may sound obvious, but it's really easy to get all nostalgic about some song that's aged well in your imagination. When you're up there singing, you want to be focusing on the music and the moment, not "Gee, I thought this song was much cooler" or "Huh, this song really is about homosexuality" or even worse, "Man, this is a LOT higher than I remember it."

-Don't pick long songs. If you've followed the above rule, this should help you find music you like in the 3 to 5 minute range. Believe me, the difference between a 5 minute song and a 7 minute song is staggering. Just because "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" is in the songbook, doesn't mean you should sing it.

-Go with a Buddy. It doesn't have to be someone who's going to objectively critique your singing, in fact it's probably better if they aren't. Matt (my friend in the picture) is the best Karaoke buddy ever. He's like the person riding shotgun who calls everyone driving slower than you an idiot, and everyone going faster a lunatic. In Karaoke that translates to rolling his eyes at someone who sings really well, and a slight head shake and knowing smile when someone sings like poo.

-Bring your own fan club. I just learned the value of this last night. Hearing applause from strangers is rewarding, but if you bring friends, you'll be sure to have an attentive audience. It also helps time go by quicker in between songs when you have more folks to chat with.

-Allow yourself to suck. Laugh off whatever goes wrong. Part of the fun of Karaoke is learning what works and what doesn't. You'll find these things out quicker and have more fun doing it if you take risks. This of course, is where a good buddly/fan club comes in.
I've had several conversations like this:
"So, How'd I do?"
"Dude, you rocked. I'm totally inspired. Now I'm going to try a song by Journey?"

Or the opposite:
"So, did it sound as bad out here as it did up there?"
"Man, Let's just say that I don't think this is really a crowd that appreciates the Spice Girls like you do. But at least now you've inspired me to try 'Faithfully.' At this point, what do we have to lose? "
And the cycle continues...

Lastly, Matt and I have had a couple discussions about this. Matt is much more careful about picking songs that he thinks the crowd will enjoy, even if he's not a 100% comfortable singing them. I was under the impression that a song, of any style, done well would be appreciated. Experience is showing that choosing songs the crowd wants to hear is generally received well regardless of how good you sing it, and that singing a song with technical accuracy isn't particularly valued. Maybe that's a no brainer given that we aren't competing for cash or anything, but it took me a while to figure it out.

So in conclusion. Don't stop... belieeevin'. Hold on to that feeeeeeelin'.

Meeting Leeroy Jenkins

2007-11-01T20:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I found out who Leeroy Jenkins is. Apparently he's an older (by internet standards) meme that I totally missed out on. But it meets my personal criteria for comedy-gold which is, when you watch the video that started it all, it just isn't that funny. You ask yourself, "What is the big deal here?" Your inner voice gives you about 30 reasons why it isn't amusing and what would have really made it funny. But then suddenly that same voice turns on you and you can't get it out of your head. I've been belting out, "LEEEROY JEEENKINS" all day with the full knowledge that nobody I blurted to would get it... and yet I couldn't stop.

Comedy Gold.

The True Spirit of Halloween

2007-10-31T18:23:00.000-05:00

(This is not my cat, but I wish I had thought of it...)

Let me tell you why I like Halloween. It's a purely sadistic reason. Chris doesn't *think* she likes Halloween so I take it upon myself every year to convince her otherwise. We have our own Halloween ritual that goes something like this...

"I hate Halloween, gah..."
"I know honey... I'm not really excited about it either. Should I get some candy anyway?"
"Ugh. Why? So a bunch of teenagers who don't even bother to put on a costume can pander at our house? You can if you want, but you have to watch the door."
"Ok... I'll take care of it."

(four bags of candy later)

BING BONG
"Murf urf turf"

"Whoa aren't you spooky! Here's some candy."
"Why is that kid dressed in the Scream mask? He can't be older than seven. Did his mother actually let him watch that movie? What's wrong with these people?"
"I don't know baby. That movie's older than he is, I suspect those masks are cheap these days."
"This holiday is ridiculous."

BING BONG
"Twick or tweet"

"Aw... Here ya go little ninja. Hey Chris, you just missed the cutest little assassin."
"Sigh... you're just perpetuating the problem. If we don't feed them, they'll quit coming."
"Then I wouldn't get to watch this tiny unicorn with baggy legs wobble around!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, if you hurry you can see her try to climb our stairs"
"Oh! Hee-hee! Look! Here comes a little bumblebee!"

That's when I know I've got her. At least for a little while.

But also, just as importantly, if we hadn't been giving out candy, we wouldn't have met our neighbors right across the street (who we've just been watching with a condescending eye from behind our curtains for the last 6 months.) With one of the kids dressed in a Star Trek uniform, we probably should have known that we had things in common. Then the mom says, "Have you guys seen Babylon5? My husband loves that show," and it was like the heavens opened up for my wife. "I'm watching it right now in the other room!" Chris replied.

So yeah, if it turns out she knits, I'll probably never see my wife again, but at least I'll know where to find her.

American History GenY

2007-10-30T22:28:00.000-05:00

So I'm at our local movie rental place the other night looking for something "We both can watch" and I see two of my favorite teenage stereotypes; thin crazy haired boy and darkling lip-pierced girl. Yes, you know them. They looked exactly as you are picturing them in your head. Anyway, I'm at the checkout counter with 1408 (you know, because Stephen King is a fun-for-the-whole-family kind of guy) And I'm listening to this girl build her case for why she should be allowed to rent an R-rated movie without any of the following:
a) A card or account at the store
b) Being 18
c) Consent from anyone over 18 with an account

After the old "I've looked everywhere" line and the "I turn 18 in 2 weeks" argument, she fesses up that the movie she's been dying to see is American History X

Now this was honestly disturbing to me. Partially because I had totally blocked out how rattling that movie was, and it had completely fallen off any of my Top10 movie lists. For me, it was a powerful and effective movie, but it's a movie you shouldn't get excited about seeing. If you haven't seen it, the 2 cent summary is it's a Neo-Nazi movie about hate and redemption. But if you're anticipating ENJOYING American History X, then you aren't old enough to watch it. There. I've said it. I guess I'm old now. Back in my day, the cool kids had all seen Clockwork Orange against our parents wishes. But we were also reading it in English class... And if this girl, in all of her black eyeliner glory had been trying to charm out a Shindler's List DVD, I would have had the same reaction.

The other thing that bothered me was that I knew there was nothing I could say that would convince her otherwise. It's a heavy movie. Any form of "Wait" would have only strengthened her resolve. The girl behind the counter said No, and the situation was never really in my hands, but I couldn't think of anything I would have said other than, "No because I said so." That frustrates me. There should be a more convincing logic than that (not that "I'm the adult and ultimately I'm responsible" isn't a logical argument.)

So GothGirl, if you're reading, Go rent BoonDock Saints, or The Shining, or Fight Club or something else fun and naughty on your 18th birthday (whenever that may actually be.) Save AHX, Platoon, Memento, and Saving Private Ryan until picking up the DVD doesn't make you all giddy.

My little Pestilence...

2007-10-27T13:07:00.000-05:00

If you're a reader of Chris's blog, you're probably familiar with the 4 kittens we 'acquired' (read: found in our backyard) early this spring. The Kittens of the Apocalypse, (that would be Famine, Pestilence, War and Death,) have become a constant source of reward and frustration. As much as we enjoy the little fleabags, taking care of them comes with some sacrifice. For one, our backyard has become a big green, private litterbox, which isn't surprising given how much they eat. Also, I noticed that we don't have any birds this year, go figure. But lastly, Chris and I have done our best to stay emotionally distant from these strays. We know we can't take them in, and yet we also know that they won't make it through the winter without our help. So for the past 4 months we've gone back and forth about how much we were going to take care of these cats. To feed or not to feed? Do we get them neutered so we don't have 800 cats next year? What are we going to do in the winter?

So last Sunday, Chris and I get in the car to head to church and find that Pestilence had been hit by a car the night before. Let me just preface this with the fact that I had absolutely no intention of getting attached to this cat. It's an outdoor cat. Outdoor cats starve, freeze, or get hit by cars. Logically I know this, and I've seen her dart in front of my car in the driveway. I have even given myself the, "We'll take care of these cats as long as we can..." speech several times. But here's what makes Pestilences death so frustrating... of the 4 kittens, she was the one that we had nurtured the most. Over the summer months she went from staying 3 yards away to walking over my feet to get to the food. During her brief stay in our basement after being spade, she'd nuzzle and let us pet her. Oh, and we haven't even gotten that Visa bill yet either. Sigh... Twist that tiny dagger...

So this is the part where I learned more about myself than I want. I don't know where I thought death-coping skills came from, but I was reminded that I don't have any. I am apparently a sensitive sentimental dope who grieves uncontrollably for feral animals. So I buried this cat, in hopes of some form of closure and that maybe it'll be easier next time around.

I find it interesting to see how people react when you tell them that you're grieving, probably because I'm really self-conscious about how I react to other people's tragedies. One of my cat-hating friends gave me a genuine, "That sux, I'm sorry" which I appreciate on many levels. He could have joked or laughed. He didn't, that was a gift. I think one of my other friends, who also recently lost an outdoor cat, summed it up as, "No more cats for us, too much heartbreak."

Indeed.

(Really when else would I get to use this picture?)

So, in case you're wondering, we're batting a thousand on ironic names. War is the friendliest, Death is still alive, Famine is always the first to the food dish, and Pestilence never got sick.

Turning 35

2007-09-01T17:17:00.000-05:00

Here's pretty much how my day went today...

-"End of the World as We Know It" by REM was the first song I heard on the radio
-Slogged through work... being the Friday of a three day weekend, it was a pretty low energy day. I had some good fixes, just didn't do much to get ahead.
-Got a card from Brian at lunch that contained a "gift certificate" that expired 2 years ago. Thanks B... wasn't really planning on cashing that one in anyway.
-Got to be 'the voice of the district' today as I was asked to voice over about 5 sentences for the automated phone system. If you call and want to know more information about the District Truancy Policy, I'll tell you!
-Got a voice mail of my sister singing Happy Birthday, complete with cha-cha-cha's.
-Fought the holiday traffic all the way home, so I called Megan at school to let her know that NickleBack was on the radio (it's an inside joke of ours that NickleBack is ALWAYS playing on the radio somewhere in the Rockford area.)
-Played my first open mike night at The Brick cafe, with Matt and Mark. Jim couldn't make it :-( Matt sang and played solo for the first time (amplified.) Mark brought harmonicas so he played along with MTA and Cows with Guns, then we did Million Dollars together. Mark also did accoustic versions of "Hit Me Baby One More Time," and REO Speedwagon. Totally forgot to sing my one birthday song, but I did do Proper Cup of Coffee.
-After that, Matt and I went straight across the street to a bar and Kareoke'd for 2 hours. We both got carded, which always makes us codgers feel young again. We were then told by the bartender that if you get THAT excited about getting ID'd, it's a dead giveaway that you're not underage. It's the first time I've done Kareoke and it was great because pretty much all the regulars were at the On The Waterfront Festival, so we had the place to ourselves and could try anything we wanted. And really... what better way to celebrate than to sing songs poorly to strangers?
-Save Tonight (Eagle Eye Cherry)
-Tainted Love (Soft Cell)
-Over Now (Cause and Effect)
-Glycerine (Bush)
-Hemmorhage (Fuel)
-With or Without You (U2)
Note that this list is in chronological order as well as "songs in my vocal range" in descending order. All facts considering, Hemmorhage went pretty well. I got to use my rockstar voice! :-) U2, however, I probably should have left for Bono.
Matt did really well too. Of course he's not stuck in the 80's/90's like me, so he sang Johnny Cash, The Who, Floyd, Queen, and Chuck Berry. He too tried his hand at a U2 song but was smart enough to sing it an octave lower (and earlier in the night...) but loose enough to do the Johnny B Goode dance.
-Lastly I got a, "Happy F-ing, Birthday" from some woman wearing way too much pink on our way out.
-Home by 12:30 because I'm an animal.

Ta-DAH! And now I'm 35. HOO-WEE!

I'll take "Things I don't want to discuss in the dentist chair" for $100, Alex.

2007-07-17T17:19:00.000-05:00

Last week I found myself being talked at by the new girl at the dentist's office. I'm not exactly sure what her position is, or what she's aspiring to be, but I do know that it was too early for me to discuss much of anything with anybody. So I'm sitting in the chair, she's fiddling with things that are supposed to be sterile, and she starts making conversation.

"Is it hot out there yet?"
"No, it's still pretty cool" (it's 8:15 in the morning)
"Did you see gas prices today?"
"No, I bought gas yesterday"
"How much was it then?"
"3.25"
"That's what it is today! It's rediculous."
"yeah."
"I hear it's going up to 3.50"
"Hmm," I muttered as I start looking around the room for something I can shove in my mouth so I can just grunt non-committal responses for the rest of this discussion.
Now, you've probably read the above conversation one of two ways. Either you're thinking that it's pleasant and superficial, or you're saying to yourself that after I made two "No..." statements, she should have figured out that small talk was not a service I required. I fall into the latter category because I'm sure I didn't accidentally say no... twice.
I hear some drawers open and close behind me while I try to settle into the chair. And then the talking picks up again.
"You know the holocaust? Are you familiar with that term?"

???

"Uh-huh" I choke out, trying not to sound as shocked and horrified as I really was.
"Ever since I was a kid, I thought that I would live to see another one."

I'm absolutely speechless. So I do the only thing I can. I wait to see if that was a definitive statement or if she's expecting me to somehow respond. The awkwardness doesn't last long, she breaks the silence with, "Yeah, it's getting so bad, it won't be long before people can't afford bread anymore."

Ok, So here's what I figured out...
1) She was still talking about gas prices
2) I AM familiar with The Holocaust. I am also familiar with The Depression.
3) If there's a chance you might confuse the two, don't bring either of them up in conversation. Frankly, it's offensive.

I've never been so happy to see the Dentist walk through the door in all my life.

Welcome to Michigan, We're too damn big!

2007-06-03T17:22:00.000-05:00

Ok, so Chris and I spent Memorial Day weekend visiting her side of the family in the Traverse City area. Let me start by saying that yes, Michigan is absolutely beautiful, pretty much any time of the year. This weekend everything was green green green. I think for the 36 hours we were up, the lens cap was on Chris's camera for about 6 seconds. A good time was had by all, so let me make it clear that I have no argument with the asthetic value of Michigan. What I have a problem with, is that it's a deceptively flippin huge state. I swear we somehow spend about 6 hours more in the car than I'm expecting, and this trip was no exception. I've noticed this on our yearly trips to Grand Rapids, and I have a theory about that... Here's a couple of simple math problems to illustrate what I like to call "Michigan Time Dilation Theory": If Chris's parents live in Grand Rapids, and her Aunt and Uncle live in Grand Rapids, how long does it take to get from her parents to her uncle's house? Those of us in the Chicago area would probably say something like "20 minutes in bad traffic" to get from one side of a suburb to another, but the correct Michigan answer is 45 minutes. So take a second to wrap your mind around that. If your brain drew a picture of a city and put Chris's parent's in one extreme corner, and her uncle's house in the other, you'd be correct. So, just to see how city-mouse savvy you are answer this, "What is the fastest way to get from one house to the other, taking the bypass around Grand Rapids, or cutting straight through the center of town?" If you answered "Neither, they both take 45 minutes" you'd be correct. Now somehow, that makes sense to me if the houses are in opposite corners, but I just thought I'd point that out. So lets add another variable, Question: "Chris's cousin also lives in Grand Rapids. How long does it take to get from Chris's parents house to her cousins?" Solution: 45 minutes. Fine, so logically the cousins house is somewhere in the vacinity of her uncle's, right?. So given that answer, deduce how long it take to get from Chris's Uncle's house to her cousins house?" 5 minutes? 15 minutes max? Wrong. 45 minutes. With the introduction of the cousin's house, it basically proves that a random point between her parents and her uncles house will also take the same amount of time to reach. Now I know what you're thinking... you're saying to yourself, "You're full of crap. I took geometry, if points A, B, and C are equidistant, it's not a conspiracy, it's a flippin triangle." And you might think that, until you look at a map of Grand Rapids. It's roughly square, and as you can see, this is about where normal Euclidian arithmetic starts to break down. We've already shown that taking the bypass around town takes the same amount of time as cutting diagonally through it, so apparently Pythagoras and that theorem of his never made it this far north. Taking that one step further, any point on a path between two end points will take the same amount of time to reach as it would to go straight from A to B. What do you call that? I'd call it a rip in the fabric of the time-space continuum. You might call it Grand Rapids, Michigan.
I've witnessed this phenomena around Grand Rapids many times. Sometimes it's amusing, often, it's just frustrating. Think about it, what if everytime you got in the car, it was going to take you 45 minutes to reach your destination? How do people live there? What I didn't realize is that apparently similiar anomalies happen throughout the state. Take for instance this weekend. Chris and I drove up through Wisconsin up to Manitowoc (just south of GreenBay) and took the ferry directly across Lake Michigan to Luddington, MI. On the map, Traverse City is "just north" of Luddington, so how long did it take us to get from Luddington to Traverse City? 2 hours. How long would it have taken us to go from Manitowoc "just north" to GreenBay? 45 minutes. Fine, and here's the other kicker. Our actual destination was Mancelona, which is "just outside" Traverse City. And THAT took another hour. I'm no cartographer, but I suspect that no matter which direction Mancelona is from Traverse City, it would have taken us an additional hour to get there. So I submit to you two things: The farther north you go in Michigan, the further apart everything is, and this continues indefinitely. Also, my wife has told me on several occasions, Grand Rapids is indeed the center of the universe. I don't know if that's true, but I can prove that it certainly doesn't play by the same rules as the rest of us.