A Poorly Timed Turn of Events

I had an interesting experience at lunch yesterday that I had to jot down. I was en route to meet a friend for lunch, when another called and was interested in going as well and riding with me. I had just made a left hand turn into traffic, and to pick up the phoning friend required a U-turn. I happened to be approaching the light, where the left hand turn lanes opened to the left, so I moved to the left and turned on my signal. Upon seeing the green lights above the intersection, I started to make the left hand turn. Directly into head-on traffic, coming at me in multiple lanes from the other side.

I have to cop to it being my own fault. I wasn’t paying complete attention to what I was doing. It was a stupid move.

The intersection was one at which there was no U-turn allowed. So how did their happen to be a left hand turn lane? Well, it’s one that is intended to lead into the next intersection, which is a freeway onramp and tends to get backed up. So the lane I had moved into was not one for turning at THAT light, but at the next one. The green lights above the intersection included an arror over mine, but not one pointing to the left… one pointing straight ahead, as in…. keep going, you idiot.

Like I said, my bad.

Of course I realized the error immediately. It’s hard not to when you’re 1/3 of the way into a turn and you realize that the oncoming traffic’s not yielding, and cars behind you are driving around you and onto the intended turning spot. And at that point, there was absolutely nothing I could to do ‘back up’ or correct the error. I had to see it through and wait until the oncoming traffic subsided and I could proceed.

The only thing that would have made me feel like a bigger idiot and further heightened my stress at the moment would have to have looked to the left and seen a sheriff’s car sitting at the freeway off ramp, watching me the entire time.

And of course, just my luck, there sat a sherif’s car at the off ramp, watching me the entire time. And of course, I immediately felt like a bigger idiot.

I gestured to him as the traffic had passed and I completed the turn, to indicate that yes, I saw him, I know he saw me, and I know I just screwed up big time. And as you’d expect, mid-way into completing the turn, his lights turned on, siren as well, and he started pulling me over.

There was nothing I could do… I made the mistake and there was no undoing that. I did hope that he’d at least hear me out on the fact that this was a momentary lapse of reason and a rare but sincere mistake that I tried me best to appropriately and safely address. But the guy pulled up along side me, even as I was making an effort to pull into the corner gas station and discuss it with him, and oh man, was he pissed off! His face was red with anger and he was violently gesturing for me to pull over…. uh, which I was trying to do. In fact, his having pulled along side and trying to get my attention actually prevented me from being able to turn into the gas station as I had intended, because it required my missing the turn while trying to figure out what he was doing along side of me instead of following me.

I pulled into the next entrance and parked, and he came storming up to my car, practically screaming at me, “What the hell are you doing”?!?! I was surprised that he was reacting as angrily as he was. This was not a smart move, but not a completely insane and unbelievable occurrence. I’d expect that type of shocked and incredulous reaction to, oh, driving the wrong way on an off ramp or driving backwards a full block or two in heavy traffic…. but a left turn at a no left turn intersection is not worthy of such a visceral response.

I made it immediately clear that I knew I’d made a mistake, that i realized it immediately and that I felt there was no option other than to wait until it was safe to complete the turn. But he was still furious.

He said there was an armed robbery he was en route to and that he didn’t have time to deal with this occurrence, so it was my lucky day. But he was still shouting, and flushed, and he turned and returned to his car.

I figured I’d been given a bit of a reprieve. I expected I’d get a ticket, I could not have argued that I didn’t make the mistake, although I might have considered going to court to at least explain the events and try and knock down any fine or black marks on my driving record.

As I buckled up and turned on the engine, a motorcycle cop turned into the station, and as I drove away I could here the cop that had pulled me over relating my actions to the other cop in complete frustration and anger. I almost thought I should wait and make sure we really were done and there was not going to be a change of heart or passing off of the citation issuance to the other guy, but I also figured that the exchange had been completed and I believed I was free to go.

So as I exited the gas station in order to go get the friend who was waiting for me, the sudden presence of flashing lights and siren from the motorcycle cop, now in my rear view mirror, indicated that, no, we were not done by a long shot. I immediately pulled into the first spot I could, turned off my engine and I knew exactly what to expect.

The motorcycle cop came up and said “My partner just told me about what happened”.

“Yes”, I explained, and again, gave a very brief but sincere summation of having made a big mistake, recognizing the need to cautiously exit the dangerous situation, and having done so but knowing I screwed up.

“Well, he’s asked me to write up a citation for you. I’ll need your drivers license and registration”.

I said OK, and as he walked back to his cycle and got on the radio, I pulled out both, and got back into the “my bad, my mess, nothing I can do about it now” mental state of mind.

The bike cop returned and as I extended my hand with the aforementioned documents, he gestured with a a hand and said “Hang on”.

“My partner said he was pretty pissed off and said some harsh things.”

“Yeah” I replied…., “He said a few”.

“Well, he said he should not have done so. We’re not going to give you a citation today. But you need to be careful”.

I agreed with him, thanking him for the break as he walked away. I turned around, continued back to pick up my passenger, and as I explained the turn of events from the last 5 minutes, we drove past that same spot, where the motorcycle cop and another were positioned, exactly at the turning point I’d made, almost as if they either expected me to do so again, or wanted to dissuade anybody else from trying to do the same.

I gestured with a wave as we passed by. It wasn’t returned, but I was just grateful to have avoided getting a ticket twice in such a short span of time.

Out Of Character Humor

I’m involved in a back and forth discussion about a string of text in an engineering effort. As it can happen, everybody with an opinion waits until the text has been nailed down, approved and submitted for localization. Then and only then do I start to really get feedback, even though there’s been 2+ weeks for it to be voiced. So in response to a number of late comers with input, I voiced the following sentiment:

"I’d only be open to delaying the release if we found out that somebody misspelled “shut down” in a sentence, given the immediate proximity of the U and the I keys."

I expected at least one snicker. Nothing. Not even a grimace.

Beanie There. Dumb That.

A quick follow up entry around the Garage Sale and Craigslist selling experience. Both are proving to be a bit of a nightmare. The garage sale was not the appropriate venue for selling larger items, but doing so through Craigslist is not a picnic either. I’ve worked with some great and cooperative folks but I’ve also had my shared of total flakes and lame questions.

Each evening this week I’m returning to the rental from 5.30 to 6 to meet and hand off belongings. I’ve had about a 30% success rate in people actually showing as they’ve said they would. That’s pretty pitiful and inconsiderate, IMHO. No-shows are incredibly rude and a waste of my valuable time.

I’ve had to give ‘product demonstrations’ to show that the items do indeed work, down to installing a baby gate in a doorway for a couple of folks. I understand that one, it’s reasonable to want to be sure something will indeed work or to know how to assemble something. It’s also understandable to ask for more detail then what’s in a listing. But what is with the inquiries about conditions that are frequently already stated in the listing itself? Why write and ask when it’s already there?

If I put something for sale and say “It’s in great condition.There’s some typical wear and tear but it’s fully functional”, then what makes people write and ask what condition it’s in? Same goes for price… everything has a price right in the ad but folks write and ask how much I am selling an item for. DUH! It’s all there, mook-boy… pivot the propeller on your beanie and you’ll see it right next to the title!

Oh, and the best ones are, and I kid you not, questions like “If I disassemble the crib will it fit into the trunk of my BMW Sedan?” Well, uh…

1. I’m not well versed on trunk capacities of European motor companies.


2. There’s numerous models of BMW Sedans, which is a critical factor as well.


3. You’re interested in a typical crib, you know how big they are, and you know what kind of car you drive, when I do not. Who in this equation has a greater chance of being able to answer your question?

I’m In A Mellencampy Mood

As reflected in my “Now Playing” sidebar, I’m in the mood for some music from the Heartland. I’ve recently read a very interesting article in Vanity Fair about Mellencamp and it’s made me dust off his music (can one really dust off an MP3 file?) and put it on heavy rotation. This is some great stuff. I really have fond and strong memories attached to the music on “Scarecrow”, which I played constantly during the summer of ’85. It was one of the CDs in my car that made me break out the drumsticks at stoplights. Yes, I mean that literally. I had drumstick in my car at one point, and for that CD, they were essential. Especially for the bridge in “Justice and Independence ’85”.

Setting Sale For the High Seize

We have lots of stuff we’re not taking with us on our move… things like baby gates and strollers, some furniture, a microwave…. the typical “Garage Sale” fodder. So I’m sitting here in front of an open garage on an early Sunday morning, writing during a lull in traffic, wondering just who in the world might drive up and want to give me anything for a 20 year old herringbone sport jacket that I’ve held on to for 18 years too many.

This all started with my wanting to avoid hauling all the junk we hauled from the last house, and didn’t use, to yet another house. As I’ve said in prior posts, we’ve moved 5 times in 2 years and much of the belongings we’ve carted from place to place never left the box they were packed in. And as one does, we picked up more and more items along the way. In many cases, due to our family situation, we picked up two of each.

At first I figured I’d sell things through Craigslist. It’s a great ‘direct market’ for things like playpens, strollers, professional camera tripods, treadmills, cribs and such. But it’s also teeming with the complexities on managing communications, setting up meetings, no-shows, and lost opportunities. I made a few attempts, succeeded with some and did not with others, and then I figured that just sticking a sign on a few street posts and camping out for a few hours would net a greater return on investment of my time. Less hassles, less posting of ads, less emails and phone calls, and no opportunity for somebody to not follow through on a commitment.

What I didn’t really consider was the setup involved. It’s not as easy as you’d think. Well, I guess it’s not as easy if you’re just looking to have people filter through your scattered, dusty belongings ad hoc, having to identify what is/is not for sale, and having to make an off-the-cuff decision as to pricing.

I spent the majority of Saturday sweeping out the garage, looking like Bert from “Mary Poppins”, singing “Chim Chimmery” as I shuffled belongings about in order to contain a cloud of dust and dirt that would make Pig-pen feel like Mr Clean. I made a reasonable yet half-hearted effort to clean and prepare the items so they didn’t look like they’d just come from an archeological dig in Cairo. Then I tried to position things around and in the center of the garage so visitors could easily stroll through and see what’s available. And after all that, I had to think through and price items at what I felt was a reasonable price.

There’s a big difference in a one’s perception of “reasonable” when they’re doing a targeted search for something on eBay or Craigslist, then there is when they’re driving home from Church and make an impulsive right hand turn at the spotting of a hand scrawled sign on the roadside, where they expect they may finally find that ever-ellusive George Forman Grill they’ve longed for, yet have refuse to spend more then the change that’s gathered in the lint filled pocket of their Sunday best. So, with that in mind, I’ve tried to price things in between the drive by browser and the person who knows the value of an item. We’ll see how we do.

So far I’ve have the typical early-morning shoppers that arrive before hand and sit in waiting for the sale to begin. The pro’s. I’ve dealt with these scruffy characters before and it’s always an interesting experience. I’ve had some of the most irritable and caustic buyers show up first thing in the morning on prior sales, always with a large van they’re prepared to stuff with belongings that they intend to pay $1 for and then turn around at a flea market for $5. It’s a business for them. Fortunately for this effort everybody that’s stopped has been very pleasant.

Had I the time or inclination I’d probably enjoy the challenge of finding an elderly couple selling off the contents of their attic, complete with the box of their sons books and records that contains both a 1st edition of “The Catcher in the Rye” as well as a Beatles album that they give to me for free because they’re so offend by the band wearing butcher aprons and sitting amongst meat slabs and dismembered dolls. I’ve know people that have made little side business out of selling vintage ads from magazines on eBay. I think stumbling across such an opportunity is a great rarity but not something one can easily hunt down on a single weekend’s effort.

Things died down quickly and as the stopping point closed in I found myself being a little more flexible on the pricing. Of course even though I’ve cut my asking price by 1/2 to 1/4 of the original desire, there’s still a sense of success attached to knowing that the extra $20 I might make will require more than the equivalent in my valuable time looking for a buyer online during the course of the next week. That said, though, I’ve still encountered the buyer of several items at an amazing savings to them looking for an additional special pricing for “the whole set”, as if buying 4 or more items give them yet another break. I guess it’s all a part of the game.

I’m starting to reconsider which is really more work, online or on the street.

:-/

Urban Settlement Is In The Air

I thought I’d close out the week with one final update about the big move. This will be the 3rd in my little trilogy of posts. Sans ewokes. After the day of the actual move, which took far longer than expected, I ended up taking another day off in order to stay home and get some sort of moderate order in place. In addition, both the cable and the phone companies were scheduled to come address their respective setups, and both of them were situations where I wanted to be on hand in order to ensure that the right outcomes were achieved.



I started the day driving to the old house, where a number of belongings remain for an upcoming garage sale, as well as some small random items I still needed to collect. Also, the DSL was still up and running there, so I was able to contact work, address some critical emails and most importantly, download LOST for my wife.



I then went back and started getting my clothing in order. Man that felt good, and having a well designed closet organizer is really great for an anal retentive type such as myself. I fixed the closet doors that were hung a bit unevenly. The phone guy arrived and determined the line issue was there problem, so it was fixed at no charge. The cable guy then arrived and made quick work of getting us up and running, including running and installing cable to a new location. I got the wireless network in place, installed and updated the TiVo’s to the new network settings, setup the clothes dryer with a temporary venting solution, removed and wrapped up glass shower doors from the hall bathroom (which greatly impede the twin-bathing experience so conducive to a shower curtain environment) and upon realizing it was ‘garbage night’, put out the trash.



It was at that moment that i realized I should get the front lawn mowed, which it desperately needed, so I could get the grass clippings taken away the following day. I started doing so, letting the kids come outside and watch. Shortly after I’d started, my daughter had her toy mower in hand and was walking behind me, pushing hers in the path mine had just cut. It was beyond adorable. I was something out of a Kodak commercial. Then they both took to their bikes and started riding up and down on the sidewalk of our dead-end street. And what really sunk in at that moment was that the experience of them playing in the front yard, riding bikes along the sidewalk, down a house or two, stopping to pick up dandelions from a neighbors yard in order to blow the seeds while making wishes, was exactly what drew us to buying the last house on a dead end street.



This feels right.

Not So Well Connected

Well, the move wrapped up last night at 7pm, putting the start-finish at 11 hours. Almost double my 6 hour estimate. And that was just getting belongings out and over to the new house. Now we’re experiencing the fun phase of such moments as finding that, although I wisely packed and hand carried the coffee maker, and even brought home some coffee beans, the coffee grinder is packed in one of 15 kitchen boxes. Stuff like that. We’ve all been there, so enjoy the visual as it tickles a memory in your own past as well.



Now we begin just trying to get things functional enough that clothes, toiletries, and cooking supplies are found and accessible. Meanwhile, we’ve decided that the phone company’s insistence that our phone is, indeed, turned on, does not quite mesh with the lack of a dial tone on any of our phone outlets. Additionally, the cable company not only needs to connect the cable but needs to install a cable in a new position. All the while, of course, as expected, we’re jotting down numerous little quirks and notes on things to do, from installing some dimmer switches to getting some handyman help. The day should be a productive one.

Why Are You Moving So SLOW?

I’ll tell you why. We have WAY too much stuff. I’m amazed that it’s 2pm, they’ve been packing and loading our house for 6+ hours, and it turns out we’re gonna have to take the load over, drop it off and come back for a second and final effort. (due mainly to a large swingset, but the time it’d take to disassemble and reassemble it is less then the load/drive time for the second trip.) Did I mention in a prior post that we’d be thinning out much of our belongings? Well yeah, let me just reitterate that… we WILL be thinning out many of our belongings! :-)

Checkmate

I’m pleased to say that today is moving day. It was in January of 2005 that we’d moved from the Bay Area to El Dorado Hills. We rented for a few months until we found and bought a home. Yet by October 2005, we were back in the Bay Area again, living in a very small short term housing complex for another 45 days. Then we moved into a rental in November 2005, regrouped, and finally bought the house that we’ll move into today. FIVE moves in just over TWO years. Along the way, 40% of our belongings never got unpacked. Today, when we move, we’ll be setting down some serious roots, and we’re going to unpack everything! I expect that we’ll be thinning out a good deal of stuff over the next few months, giving away toys and kids clothes, and probably having a garage sale or two as well. But that’s all fine by me. Because as far as I’m concerned this is my final move. This board has been played the distance. This is Checkmate. Game over, man.

Body Repair & Maintenance

I guess, as we all age, we encounter little pains or abnormalities in our bodies and their functions that remind us of the need to stay tuned up, and to make sure that all our nuts and bolts are tightly in places. We’re frequently encouraged to have annual physicals, dental visits, eye exams… the list goes on… and increases with age as well.

Now, I’ve never been one to really make an aggressive effort to do so. I feel like I had been very healthy and I was in good shape up until the past four years, during which time I’ve let things go, and I’ve not stayed on top of ensuring my own physical condition is kept at an optimal state. So, I guess it’s only to be expected that I recently found a reason to be moderately concerned.

I won’t go into depth about what, where, how, etc., but it was enough to merit an examination, a follow up evaluation, and a lingering wait for results. All is well, but there was a stretch of several days during which I had to consider what I’d do if something serious came back. I didn’t get stressed out, because I had a confidence that even if there was something to be concerned about, I would get through it. There was no hand wringing, and only the slightest bit of trepidation as I got the phone call, and then the subsequent “all clear” prognosis.

Still, it feels like the breeze of a swing to the face that didn’t make contact. This time. And I need to pay a bit more attention before a true blow is landed.

Auto Motive

I’m not a huge “Car” fanatic. Unlike many of my friends, I can’t jump into conversations about the latest Lexus or BMW and I don’t know all the minor details around body styles, engine torque or even what “Hemi” means. I’ve had a BMW, and i’ve had a sporty little convertible, and once I got all that out of my system, I had pretty much settled into the idea that a car is, well, just a car, not an extension of my personality, manhood, virility or ruggedness. It’s a frickin’ vehicle, for Christ’s sake. It gets me from point A to point B. The more economically, and the more environmentally sound, the better.



In the past 10 years there have been only two memorable occasions at which I found myself drooling over and really aware of and seriously interested in a particular car.



The most recent was the Tesla Roadster, which i’ve already written about previously, and it’s my hope that in the next 10 years they’ll prove to have been the company that forced a shift in paradigms and started (or, re-started, that is) a revolution in automotive breakthroughs.



The other occasion was on a drive with my wife along hwy 280, when I first spotted and fell immediately in love with a Mercedes 320. I believe it was 2002, as I’d already purchased my simple and economical Honda CR-V, fulfilling my long standing desire to finally be at the same eye level as 70% of the vehicles on the road and not be constantly unable to see past the SUV behemoth in front of me. But when I laid eyes on the 320, I almost wished I could have a do-over. I was taken by the simple and elegant lines and beauty of it’s shape, and the headlights were so unique and seamlessly integrated into the sloping of the hood. I truly looked upon it as almost a work of art. A design art piece. And I decided then that, some day, perhaps within the next 5 years…. I’d have one.



That was 5 years ago. So, earlier this week, guess what? No, really, just guess…. guess what I got?!



Nothing. Did you really think I’d bought one? Well, sure, if they’d make a hybrid I’d be lusting again, but, like a fanatical animal-rights supporter that won’t eat veal, I won’t buy another car that’s run solely on gasoline. That and the recent signing away of my soul between two mortgages, plus the obvious inevitability that being a twins parent requires the possession of a minivan, it’s far from likely that a Mercedes is in my near future, if ever.



But somebody I know, this week did. They got a beautiful 320. Who? I’ll tell you who… this punk kid, this mere child that’s joined our group at Apple, a guy fresh out of college who’s internship last year led them to full time position doing web development. He bought a beautiful black Mercedes 320. I’m kidding, of course, about him being a punk; he’s a great guy and a very bright coder with incredible potential. And getting this position and that vehicle are both huge accomplishments for him, which I completely understand. Yet I was joking with him about how he’s less then 1/2 my age and has bought the dream care I’ll never own.



Earlier this week, my good friend Jon F. popped by the new house with a generous house warming gift. In his beautiful new Audi A4 convertible. I stammered my jealously when I saw it, as it’s a beautiful vehicle as well.



And yet in the big scheme of things, ultimately, I’m happy with my choices and the simple options for the time being. At least until the hybrid or electric options are more widespread, and the minivan needs have been met, I’ll be driving the CR-V for awhile longer.

Ive Just Clutched An iPhone

I just walked over to the Cafe on campus to get some iced tea. I do this at 2pm a few times a week, in order to fill a large thermos with tea and a few packs of Splenda to give me instant refreshment throughout the course of the next 24-48 hours. Yet today, as I walked in, I crossed paths with Johnathon Ive, the renowned designer of Apple products. He was not watching where he was going, as he was focused on touching the small, slim silver & black device in his hand. An iPhone.



I stalled momentarily, as do most of us when we suddenly find ourselves in the presence of a luminary such as Steve or John. Then I hesitated long enough to rationalize that, if he’s out and about with it, he’s been approached by others before me. He was standing at one of the counters about to order some food. So I walked up and made obvious leaning/glancing gestures and said “Sorry, but I just had to get a glance while I can. It look beautiful.”. He’s known to be relatively modest and soft spoken and he smiled politely, but I could see a slight extra clutching and obscuring of the device at the same time. “I’m looking forward to getting one in my own hands” I said, to which he grinned, a grin that had a hit of excitement and pride, and said “It’ll be worth the wait”. I decided not to press any further, said thanks, and walked away, my valued Apple Badge still in hand. ;-)



… the excitement builds….

Do I Look Like an Exhibit to YOU?!

I really don’t like that people who walk by my office have to stare in at me. It’s creepy. I have a typical office with a typical door and a typical floor/ceiling length window beside the door. Typical. But for as long as I can remember working in an office environment, people walking by have some inherent need to stare in and check out my surroundings. It’s unnerving. So much so that I’m pretty good about not doing the same to others as I work my way through the our structural maze. If you work in an office environment, watch for yourself and see how many people who walk by will stare in at you or your stuff. Do so non-chaulantly though, as I’ve found that an obvious glance in their direction only solicits one in return.

The bottom line here is that I don’t like feeling like a fish in a bowl. I don’t like feeling like my presence is subject to random inspection. I don’t like having to worry that a momentary break from work to find south park clips with a spooky fish will be seen as slacking by a strolling observer, or that a need to address a personal itch might just coincide with the passing by of an HR rep.

I’ve had people stand outside my office in conversations w/somebody across the hall, all the while taking a mental inventory of my workspace, and it bugs me. Sure, if I had some amazing art work or other unique items on display, I’d expect people to stop and look, but I don’t. Intentionally. I have a slightly cluttered desk, but nothing worthy of assessment. There’s two computers and a whiteboard. I’ve nothing on the walls and nothing on the shelves in which one might expect to find a vision of Jesus, or anything else meriting such focused attention and review.

I don’t think I should have to shut my door and draw my blinds just to avoid being the target of walk-by gawkings.

It just bugs me and I wanted to vent. We all have our quirks, right? Some folks don’t like being interrupted, books that aren’t arranged by subject, gum-snapping, having their computer screens touched… we’re all subject to our own idiosyncrasies. This is one of mine. One in a long series. And at times, I believe I’m not only subject to my own, but to channeling everybody else’s as well.

Itty Bitty Twitty Committee

I find many things funny but when I laugh out loud, especially at something on TV, it’s refreshing, and rare. I’m not talking about snickering, I’m talking about full blown, side splitting, “Pause the TiVo ’cause milk is comin’ outta my nose” laughing. Family Guy has done that on more than one occasion. It’s not constant, but there’s been several FG moments that busted me up, and this Sunday they added another to the list.



As a brief explanation as to why in the hell I thought this was so funny, my childhood memories include zoning out in front of the TV on the weekends and those sessions exposed me to numerous shows, including the painful “HeeHaw”, complete with the dead-pan character-breaking introduction of musical guests at the end of a sketch.



So…. enter Family Guy’s team of creative writers. As a segue from a scene in which Peter and Bill Clinton steal a pig from a farm. The farmer appears, makes a lame joke, a laugh track accentuates the punch-line, and he breaks character to introduce Conway Twitty. Funny, perhaps, but “LOL”? Yes, because they transition to an actual clip from the show of the performer, big hair and bad production, for several seconds. I could NOT stop laughing and had to pause TiVo. (Yes, had I been drinking milk it would have come out of my nose). Then, later in the show, they hit the nerve once more, playing off the earlier reference and doing it yet again, just like they would on that decrepit old show. And they lingered on it longer, just long enough to have the performance reach an unintentional but painfully hilarious moment. THAT busted me up even more than the first, so much so that milk I’d had two days earlier actually did come out of my nose. And that’s when things got scary.



OK, I’m kidding about the milk, but damn, these two moments were LOL funny. Although there’s probably about only 12 people in the world that’ll get the reference, and only 9 may really appreciate it, it’s good to be a member of a committee along side a Family Guy writer or two.

The Long Haul

My wife had to leave town Friday morning in order to join her siblings and undergo the painful process of sorting through her mother’s belongings. This left me tending to the kids for 3 straight days, until her return Monday am. I had the easier side of the deal and wouldn’t trade places with her for anything.



As a surprise to her, and a proactive effort to reduce the costs of moving and accelerate the process as well, some friends joined me on Saturday and we hauled everything out of our garage and over to the new place. This might sound trivial, but our garage has, since we first moved out of the old place in 2005, served as our own little ‘self storage’, unit complete with rows of shelves and stacked isles of boxes. As I mentioned in a prior post, the garage looked like the warehouse from final scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. We completely filled a 14′ rental truck, which, by the way, was rented from a place who’s staff’s “born to kill” tattoos are not only art, but they’re name tags as well. It was somewhat nostalgic, because I’d helped each of the friends move previously, but many years ago, when we didn’t complain about the distance required to step up into the truck aggravating our sciatic nerve.



Along with spending Friday organized and preparing the garage as much as I could, the kids playing on the front lawn and driveway as daddy tried to non-chaulantly hide many of their old toys in the “Garage Sale” stack, I spent the day Saturday loading and unloading, Saturday evening back at the new house trying to put things in their places in order to make room for the rest of the stuff to come, and Sunday working on packing assorted belongings. Add to this that my son had a fever on Saturday and required some extra attention, and I’d have to save that seeing my wife drive up this morning was like seeing a passing ship on the horizon from the bow of a partially submerged life boat.

Mentos : The Messmaker

Steve Spangler was at Apple last week and I had an opportunity to meet him and to hear how Mac’s have made their businesses successful. Steve is known for making a ‘fountain’ out of a 2-Liter soda bottle by dropping some Mentos into them. They gave away little kits for this that include the Mentos and a little tube for easily dropping them in. It takes 7 mentos, according to the kit’s instructions. I showed the kids this, and they loved doing it.



I typically think there’s WAY to much carbonation in soda’s, and I make a habit of shaking out a good deal of it. So I found that dropping a single Mento into the 1/2 full bottle I had in the fridge actually did the trick. Although it did foam a bit, it was not too much and didn’t raise the level too high.



So tonight I opened a new bottle, poured a glass, and dropped in a single Mento, hoping to reduce the carbonation again.



Listing, not necessarily in order, the reasons that was a stupid move:

• Warm soda reacts differently then cold.


• 12oz having been removed does not allow the same space that a 1/2 full bottle did.


• The amount of carbonation in the 1/2 bottle that had been opened and refrigerated was less then a freshly opened bottle. I’d already shaken it out and had forgotten.


• The prior attempt that succeed was done in the sink as a precaution. This time was not.


• It didn’t occur to me that a single Mento would have the same effect as 7. (Perhaps ‘7’ is defined by marketing to increase sales).


• It took a bit of time to clean the blinds above the sink. They took the worst of it because the spray was at it’s peak as I was struggling to point the bottle into the sink and coated the cupboards, walls, floors and blinds. Along with my shirt and hair.

Fun with science, indeed. :-)

Who’s On An Island First?

It’s amazing how an abstract thought or moment leads to a website entry. Through a random set of thoughts and connections, I found myself thinking back on a teacher in elementary school. and our own little “Abbott and Costello moment”. I had been working on a theme paper of some sorts, and I approached her desk to join about two or three other kids also seeking guidance.



Without too much exaggeration, the exchange went something like this:

ME: How do you spell “island”?
HER: “is land”.
ME: Yes but how do you spell it?
HER: “IS LAND”.
ME: [getting frustrated] I know it’s LAND but how do you spell it?
HER: [also getting frustrated] “IS LAND“!
ME:
HER: “I.. S… L… A… N… D”

Nose Bleed

Every couple of years I have an altercation with a razor blade, and walk away scarred. It’s typically attributed to being in a rush or not paying enough attention, when a slip of the wrist leaves me with a minor cut or abrasion. No big deal, right? Well Sunday am, while in a flurry to shave and get out the door for an appointment, I knicked, of all things, a nostril. I’d over exended while shaving my upper lip, snagging and removing the tinyest possible little bit of flesh. Miniscule w/be an exageration. And the bloodbath began. Holy cow… what the hell is is with a frickin’ nostril? I don’t have a strong background in anatomy, but my understanding of major arteries does not include one’s nose. Yet it came out heavily, and stopping the bleeding was not an easy task. Without sounding like a total wimp, that sucker stung something awful as well.

Interestingly enough, I did google the topic of the nose and damned if there’s not a good deal of blood there after all:

In humans the nasal cycle is the normal ultradian cycle of each nostril’s blood vessels becoming engorged in swelling, then shrinking. During the course of a day they will switch over approximately every four hours or so. Meaning that only one nostril is used at any one time.

I had to use a small band-aid to help stop the bleeding. I felt like Nicholson after his run in with Polanski in Chinatown.

Suker Punch Line

My friend Johnathon has won my hard-earned respect. He's putting his own website up, and although it's still under construction, his short 'blurb' about the page content and site purpose is great. Especially given that the page shows as 'Under Construction', the fact that the sentence is incomplete lends itself to still being a work in progress or an intentional comment on the writer's state of mind. I wrote to him and asked. It's intentional. Great job, JS!

Another Perspective Adjustment

I hope that my website does not end up painting a picture of a man obsessed with death. I think I’ve written more then once about it, but ultimately, the desire has always been to reflect on the preciousness of life… something I tend to easily lose sight of when I’m bombarded with diversions 24×7. Then something gets placed before me that makes me stop and remember that the time I’ve had and the moment before me are all I can count on. What I do with my thoughts and action between now and who-knows-when should be done with consciousness as to it’s relative importance.

This week, I’ve been made aware of the passing of an old friend’s sister, and the pending passing of somebody I’ve never met, who’s about to give birth to triplets that will never know her. Both of these are ones that have been medically known and expected. And both of these are cold slaps in the face, reminding me to focus on the more important things.

I used to think an expected death was good for the individual, and for those left behind. I’m not so sure any more. My wife’s father and step-father both passed away within months of each other many years ago. The sudden loss of her father was hard on family but probably easier on him. What about her step-father? His death was dragged out, a slow winding down, never knowing each time you saw him if it would be the last time. It was lingering and painful for everybody. My friend Jess’s mother in law went the same way. And those left behind suffer over time, suffer watching the other suffer. There’s pain for everybody.

I used to think I’d want advanced warning for my own inevitable passing, so I could “do and say the things I needed to” while I still could. Now, I’m starting to believe that a sudden pasing might actually be better for everybody, not just less painful for myself. but only if I leave nothing unsaid. That’s the catch here… I really do have to live each day like it’s my last. Well, that’s not realistic, because I’d not go to work or pay my taxes or fill the car with gas…. but on a broader level, regarding relationships, I think you get the picture. I have to do and say the things I need to, now, not later. At some point, there will not be a later.

It’s times like this, and awareness of these things, that put my frustrations into perspective. It’s hard to think about this and be bothered by a heated political discussion with family members. And when I learn, as I did today, that a 42 year old mother of triplets belonging to our ‘parents of multiples’ group has brain cancer and will be giving birth within the week, but not living long beyond that… somebody who’s has 42 surgeries over a 10 year span and who has refused treatment in order to protect her unborn children, I find it hard to let behavioral issues with my 3.5 year old son get me down. When I learn, as I did this week, that the sister of a friend recently passed away after years and years of knowing the tumor she had would result in this, leaving behind her son, already in the care of her remarried husband and his new wife, I can’t help but feel foolish for letting little things frustrate me, like a child not wanting to go to bed on schedule, or having to wriggle my fat ass through a narrow crawl space under a new house to patch a piece of duct, when they’re all things I expect I’d give anything for the chance to do again once there is no longer an option to.

Inspiration Overload

It’s 4am and I’m unable to sleep. It’s not from caffeine, any focused or generalize anxiety, worry or regret regarding our recent home purchase, or even my wife’s occasional stirring. It’s due to nothing you’d consider a typical cause of insomnia. It’s from too many ideas, inspired by too many things that are simply possible these days.

Many years back, I’d keep a pad of paper and eventually an audio recorder at my bedside to capture the occasional idea that crept into my mind. It was typically about something I needed to remember to do, a spontaneous creative idea, or to ensure that the details about the disturbing dreams I would have were accurately related to the counselors assigned to monitor my progress following my release and reintegration into normal society. Unfortunately, the half-awake scribbling or cotton mouthed mutterings rarely translated in the light of day. And the dreams were always ones that would just result in more electroshock, so there was no motivation to record or relay those either.

These days, the tool of choice is my Treo, yet the subject matter and inspirations are on a whole different level and of a completely different nature. Yes, there’s still the occasional capturing of an errand to run or a web post to write, but there’s a heavier percentage of effort dedicated to the trivial. the novel and the inconsequential things that flutter into my mind, waking me up or detracting me during my waking hours long enough to capture them on an ever increasing to do list.

Simply because, in the world we live in today, far more things are possible, I find myself wanting and attempting to do them all. Anything. And with that, my mind wakes me with ideas that would have once been so momentary and unconscious that i’d never know they occurred. Now, they all bubble to the surface, I envision all the ways they could be acted on, and then I can’t sleep.

This falls all over the map; from creative, technology, or just finding answers to obscure questions. I now capture fleeting thoughts around music selections for the next kids birthday video, software to story board a short animated story i’ve been carrying around for about 5 years, researching duct repair I know I’ll need to do at the new house, capturing website entry ideas for future development, thoughts on how to automate the posting of ‘now playing’ entries on the sidebar, ways to reconfigure my home network in order to host my own web-server and file sharing environment, and at the most trivial, noting an interest to check wikipedia for the the band “Kajagogo”, because I’ve just always wondered where the hell that name came from in the first place.

Sadly, and frequently, the inspirations typed at 3AM into my Treo keyboard end up being as garbled and unintelligible as the scribbling from 10 years ago, but you know, I’m sure there’s a better way to capture these thoughts and I’ll have to add googling it to my list of things to do.

Dining On A Dime

Escrow has closed, and with it, so has my wallet. It’s time for depression era ingenuity when it comes to the work place lunch hours, and the absence of community soup lines calls for some strategic planning of ways to stretch this almighty dollar. I wish I could laugh now and say “no, no, just kidding”, but the truth is we’ll be on a pretty strict budget for awhile. Also, the way I see it, If I can cut every possible corner on a daily basis I’ll be able to enjoy the occasional beer or lunch out with friends.

Fortunately for me, Apple has an onsite Cafe that allows me sufficient options to ensure I retain all my excess weight, and still get by for only a few bucks a day. For example, there’s awesome Chili for $2.50 a bowl, and Pasta with a great varieties of sauces for $3. Each of which is a sufficient quantity of food to hold one over. Remember, portions in the US are typically double the amount one needs. In the morning there’s pl.enty of free coffee to keep me going, there’s often free fruit on hand for the taking, and a couple pieces of toast are just 25 cents. For the mid-day slump, the department I work in tends to have sodas and a few stashes of less-then-healthy snack options on hand, should I grow faint.

Now, there’s a few little extra angles one can leverage if desperation rears it’s ugly head. These are the ones my wife hears about and labels me a “Shyster“. I’ll admit they’re not quite above board but they’re minor infractions. I’m not talking about a classic “Dine ‘n Dash” maneuver, I’m talking about sneaking some bacon bits and extra cheese onto a burger by way of the salad bar, or the occasional refill of soda in a cup that never got filled the first time around. Minor infractions, right? I’m not aggressively breaking the rules, I’m just bending them a tad so I can squeeze through. Or so I rationalize….