The Ghost of Halloween Past

I'm swamped with work and loads of stuff to do this year, but I did want to note that we'll be taking the kids out tonight to trick or treat. We'd dressed them up as a flower and a lion at year one, a football player and a cheerleader at year two, and last year was our final opportunity to 'force them' into costumes we selected, where I got my long-time wish of seeing them dressed up as Bam-Bam and Pebbles. This year he's a pirate and she's a ladybug, of their own accord. And it'll be big fun tonight to take them out and about the new neighborhood, which we've been told is a gold mine for doing so.

I had a great time every year as a child doing this with my parents so I enjoy passing it down to my own kids. And of course, arriving at work today I found the assorted few adults who still think they're kids, which I guess is fine. I'm getting less cranky in my old age. Perhaps I'll even give the older teenagers candy tonight instead of chewing them out for being too old to be doing this anymore. But I'll give them the crappy stuff.

I've posted a few entries about Halloween that are still worth reading, or re-reading if you feel so inclined.

Yabba Dabba Duo

There IS an age limit to Trick or Treating

The Talking Pumpkin

Misfortune Cookie

After spending the morning in continued head pain and picking up a prescription for Amoxicillin, downing the first capsule moments after walking away from the counter and well before hitting the door, I stopped for some takeout Chinese food on the way to my car. I thought that a little hot soup and spicy chicken would aid the process of clearing out my nasal passages. Between picking up the lunch and arriving at home, the box has angled enough to drain some of the sauce into the plastic bag, and over the obligatory fortune cookie. As I found this while unpacking the contents, I didn't think much of it, and just figured I'd eat the cookie now, as there was no real point in waiting and letting it get any soggier. But while chewing away, I found that the taste was not quite as I'd expected. Sauce coating aside, there was something else awry. Something a bit denser than the typical fortune cookie. Something like.... paper. Yeah. Paper. I stuffed the cookie into my mouth without removing the fortune. Had I read it before ingesting it, it likely said: "You'll soon pass unsolicited advice."

This one, this one I'll blame on the medication.

Murietta's Swell!

In a previous entry, I lamented the loss of our remaining stock of 1996 Meritage wines from Murietta's Well, the location of our wedding reception. Then, yesterday, after having a particularly nasty attitude through most of the morning, culminating in teeth clenched exchanges of frustration with my wife, I headed out to help my mom with troubleshooting a non-functional PowerMac G5. After about an hour or two, I found and temporarily resolved the issue. Bad Memory. (not me, the computer, although I could use an upgrade as well).

In appreciation, she sent me home with some steaks, crumbled blue cheese and stuffed potatoes. Seizing the opportunity to redeem myself on the home front, while my wife was off at a kids birthday party, I cranked up the tunes, speed cleaned the entire house, broiled the steaks and prepared a nice meal for us. But one thing was missing: A killer red wine. So taking the chance that, perhaps, not all of the bottles had gone back, I blindly selected one of the remaining five. I cautiously removed the cork to find it was in very good condition. I poured a partial glass, let it breathe, took a sip and found it was in great condition. 12 years old and quite delicious.

Dinner was excellent. The bottle went wonderfully with it, and the reception of the cleaned house and prepared meal got me out of the dog house. This time.

Meanwhile, I'm attributing the excruciating headache I've had since last night to needing a new glasses prescription, and not the wine.

Things That Go Bump On MY Night

My TNL plans this week were far from elaborate. Catch up on work-related tasks at the office, swing by the library to pick up some books on hold, drop in at the Los Gatos Apple Store to get help with an iPhone problem, continue working at the Great Bear and be home ~9-ish to watch TiVo'd "30 Rock" and "The Office" while continuing with more work into the early hours.

I worked too late to stop at the library and still make my scheduled appointment at the Genius Bar, but I did make it to that. And I also made it to the coffee shop just long enough to pour coffee into a cup, position a chair in the spacious front section, align my coffee, cookie and MacBook Pro just so, and connect to their wireless network in order to spend another 1.5 hours doing work and listening to music.

Then the phone rang. It was my wife, calling from her cell phone, with the police on the landline, telling me that I had to come home. Somebody had been repeatedly pounding on the door and blocking the keyhole so she could not see them.

Back in 1999, we'd been married for less than a year. I was working late one evening when I got a frantic call from my wife, whispering and telling me that somebody was in our house. (It was a duplex, actually, but that's not important right now). She was calling me from the bathroom, where she'd been taking a bath and reading a book at the time, when she heard somebody walking up and down the hallway outside the bathroom door! She got up, locked the door, and luckily having had the phone with her at the time (in case somebody called) she called to inform me that she was suddenly not alone in the house.

When she told me this, I told her to call 911, and I raced to my car. My heart was pounding, I was speeding, weaving and rushing to get home, and calling 911 as well myself. I traveled a 20 min distance in half the time.

When I reached the duplex, the police had already arrived. She'd put on a robe and rushed to the door to let them in, and they had inspected the entire place. There was nobody there. Nobody. There was no sign of forced entry and no sign of force exit. There was nobody hiding in the garage, the back rooms, the closets.... anywhere. The officers left, and she swore up and down that she was certain she had heard this. She was adamant about it. She heard somebody walking in the hallway. The puzzle was laid before me. I put on my logical analytical detective's hat, paced about, puffed on my Baskerville pipe and deduced away.

The following evening, I was home at about the same time as her call the night before. As I continued to ponder the possible scenarios, I heard, through the shared wall of the adjoining duplex, the subtle and indistinct voices of our neighbors, Ace and Gary. Their names were not really "Ace" or "Gary", but we strongly suspected they were partners, yet we were not quite certain, so we'd just referred to them as the Ambiguously Gay Duo next door. Suddenly, I figured it out. We walked next door and knocked. When Ace or Gary opened their door (I never could remember who was who), I asked if they'd been home long. They'd both just arrived, which explained my hearing them talking. I asked if one or both of them typically get home at that time and they said yes. I explained what happened the day before and I asked if we could do a quick experiment. I went back to our side of the duplex, sat in the tub, and they walked up and down their hallway. It sounded EXACTLY like somebody was in ours. Case closed.

These things usually have reasonable explanations. Occam's razor. And on the occasional situation where something unusual happens, I've typically and successfully applied this principle with great success. So when walking to my car after receiving her call, I started to mentally work through the possible explanations. As far as a pounding on the door, being Halloween, perhaps it was a prank. As far as the covered peep-hole, maybe somebody taped a note there, or the decorative Halloween sign she'd put on the door was blocking the opening. In the realm of likelihood, these seemed far more possible then anything necessitating the calling of the police.

I'm not knocking her for being concerned. She's home alone, has children to care for and protect when somebody unexpectedly pounds on the door and she's unable to see out the peephole. Although my drive home might have been peppered with muttered Yosemite Sam cursing due to the frustration of having my night out called to a sudden ending, for what would likely have a reasonable and rational explanation, I still had to take it in stride and understand her feelings. As well as the fact that my assumptions could end up being wrong. So I cut her some slack. After all, we're different people and we handle things like this in very different ways. She tends to think first with her heart, and I with my head.

When I arrived home, driving past the patrol car that was leaving in the other direction, I walked in and asked what'd happened. As she related the events following the call to me, expressing her utter embarrassment, it was all I could do to not burst out laughing. In fact, I was unable to contain it and we both ended up laughing at the situation for some time following. It turns out we'd been "BOO'd". When the police officer arrived, he found, on our doorstep, a bag with some candy, Halloween flashlights and a printed "boo" sign with instructions in a gift bag on the patio. This was left by an anonymous neighbor, and it's akin to a Halloween chain-letter within the neighborhood. We now have to "Boo" somebody else. And that blocked peep-hole? It was the Halloween sign I mentioned earlier, immediately pointed out to her by the cop upon his arrival. And it was at that point in the story that I busted out laughing.

So, the events probably played out as follows: A neighbor, or more likely one of the neighborhood kids, put this bag together, set it on our patio, and knocked on the door. They probably did not intend to startle the occupant, but they did so rather loudly, perhaps out of excitement. They then scampered away, but not too far away, watching from a distance in eager anticipation of seeing the door open and observing their gift being received. But after a couple of minutes and no response, they snuck back up, banged on the door again, and skirted away. After two attempts they assumed we were not home or just gave up and when back to their house. All the while she was inside, wondering who was banging on and blocking her view through the door. And calling 911.

She was and remains embarrassed about it. But after we laughed, she got a call from a friend, relayed the story and was laughing about it even further. These things make for great memories. And perhaps learning experiences, too.

More Reasons To Embrace The Dark Side

I found myself thinking about the planets last month, and how cool it'd be to take the kids, or just go myself, to a planetarium. If you've perused my website you'll see several entries touching on astronomy or images of the stars that are breathtaking. When you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, there are a few visions that one can take in that put everything into perspective; things like staring out at the ocean at sunset, looking at the timeline of world history, watching a full moonrise from Glacier Point in Yosemite, screening Koyaanisqatsi under the influence of some consciousness-altering substances, or gazing up into a blanket of stars on a clear night sky. I've been fortunate enough to do all of these and more, and when I started wondering about nearby planetariums, I remembered that DeAnza college has one on campus.



But what I really walked away with was a desire to return for a true Astronomy show. They do them weekly so I'll be coordinating a return visit in the near future, one to check out the full astral experience of the new facility. Oh, and the title of this post refers not only to seeing this show, but the added bit of trivia I uncovered on wikipedia: "Some of the profits from The Dark Side of the Moon were invested in the making of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.". How cool is that!

I checked online and found that not only is it still there, it had just completed a massive renovation. And I mean massive! They've installed a full new 'seamless' dome, HD projection, new seats and interior, and an "The Infinium S Star Projector", the first ofitss kind in the US. It's practically a brand new development. And they were opening it to the public again in the forthcoming weeks.

Their schedule of astronomy and laser light shows includes a weekly laser show to Pink Floyd's "The Dark Side of the Moon". And it occurred to me that, even though my high-school girlfriend and I had used this or midnight showings of "The Song Remains The Same" as excuses for her coming home very late from our dates, I'd never really gone. I love that recording and stars, so why the hell not?

I went with three close friends this weekend. We met for appetizers and beers and then headed over to check out the show. It was stellar. Pun intended. It was great fun and 'trippy', too. The sound was incredible and really made for a pleasant listening experience. And although the whole 'laser show' experience seemed hippy and dated, it was great fun and enjoyable all the same.

An Untied Hitching Knot

True story: As I walked into a meeting today, one of the attendees was talking to another, about pets or something along those lines. Suddenly, as I'm taking my seat, woman 'A' blurts out to woman 'B' "Aren't you getting divorced?". I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as discussing a personal topic like the end of her marriage doesn't seem to be quite the typical 'pre-meeting chatter'.

Woman 'B' paused a moment as other's in the room fell silent and turned to listen. With a slow and hesitated delivery, she replied: "uhhhhh, yes, well we were thinking about, it but I'm not sure now".

Wow. Quoting Jess quoting Jon Stewart: "...Awkward".

I felt compelled to interject some compassionate or supportive statement, but I wasn't sure just how to react, so I let her continue talking to the woman 'A'. She carried on, saying something I could not quite hear, referencing a place to stay, and then, oddly, something about not being able to "ride him to work and tie him up outside".

As their conversation continued and they discussed the laws against riding livestock on city streets, I pondered just how much "a horse" and "Divorce" can sound the same when you're hearing is going.

And I was grateful I didn't speak up to console or support, either.

Not Big On Small Talk

Although I'm all for being polite and cordial when dealing others, sometimes I just want to ride the elevator a few floors or walk in the same direction as a co-worker without feeling an obligation to chat it up about my weekend with somebody I interact with once or twice a week. Yet there's this unspoken pressure and expectation that views silence as rudeness, and one's expected to fill that uncomfortable void with meandering and banal dialog about the weather, your weekend, how you like your iPhone, what's the stock at today, blah… blah… f'ing blah.

I'm really not trying to be aloof or standoffish. I simply find forced conversation painful and pointless most of the time. Yet almost mandatory, too, and if I don't participate I feel guilty and awkward.

It's a lose-lose situation.

Pressure Builds

I slept SO well last night. TOO well, I suspect, as it now appears that during that blissful downtime, the universe was working diligently to precisely align everything just so. Nothing on a large or disastrous scale, that is, as the universe knows those big issues don't throw me as off balance as the little ones do. It's things like having a shirt fall from a hanger while removing a different one, having the car ahead of me decide they can't make it through a changing light even though we both could have, or having a call drop when I'm leaving myself a message to remember something that I forget because I'm so irritated that the call dropped.... those little peeves add up quickly, and I had a few laid out for me to start my day today. Thanks, Universe.

I started the day searching in multiple locations just to find wearable clothing. Nothing new for most folks, as there's often clothes where they belong and clothes en route to where they belong in everybody's home. But in ours, kids clothes tend to intersect and redirect the flow of traffic, making it hard to track and locate things easily. No big deal though. But THEN I wasted 30+ minutes looking for something I seem to have misplaced at home; and not because it was something I *had* to have, but on principle alone, I had to find it. If there's a Top 10 list of things that make me rock in the corner while drooling and muttering, it's not being able to find something I need or want when I need or want it. Last night I had it in my hand when I walked in the door. Yet today it's nowhere to be found. Stuff like that makes me crazy. It makes me want to pick up and swing a chair through the front window because, hey, you know, that'll make everything better.

After 30 minutes of failed searching, I gave up. Strike one.

I started driving to work, leaving a voicemail at home to my wife, asking that she keep an eye out for it. But the voicemail ended up being me going off on a rambling tirade about being irritated, not being able to remember anything, blah blah whine whine blah.

SO, having just set up our new-fangled cordless phones and remembering the security code I'd set, I figured I'd just call back, punch in the code, erase the message and start over. Easy, right? Technology, right? Flawless..... right?

I dial. I hear our message. I press the code. I hear the automated machine say "Answer Off. Goodbye".

I turned off our answering machine. Now, not only would she arrive home to hear me blathering about how nothing works, that call to erase it not only didn't work, no incoming calls would be answered by our machine because of it.

Arrrrrgh. Strike two.

I made it to work just in time to get some much-needed food before heading to a meeting, only to find the main cafe area had been back-filled by dump trucks full of guest-badged visitors, all of whom had apparently not been fed during the two day's journey in the tarp covered dump truck beds. And the brain-trust who'd organized the gathering failed to consider giving more notice then the echo'd trampling of a stampeding heard of hungry guests might provide, leaving the cafe's culinary staff unprepared for the significant increase in hits to the bagel, muffin and coffee lines.

End result; spatterings of oatmeal beside the empty pot, a stale muffin with a thumbprint impression on the top and a small missing end portion adorned with what looked like "Magenta Passion" lipstick across its edge, and a still-spinning Cherrio on the floor were all that was to be found for yours truly to consume. Needless to say, I passed on all.

Strike three. Game over.

I know this is trivial bullshit. I know it's minimal with respect to many of the difficulties people encountered daily, in the US only, let alone any third world nations. I have so much to be grateful for that it's a pitiful and childish display of immaturity to be thrown by a few glitches at the start of one's day. So I've recovered, but at the time, stopping my feet and pounding on the ground while screaming 'Crap Crap Crap' just sounded like the right solution.

Pool Play

Whenever somebody mentions my co-worker "Margo" by name, I'm filled with the uncontrollable urge to shout "Polo".

How Could They Eschew Foo?

Trite as it might be, I'm a bit disappointed at Saturday Night Live for the limited visibility of the Foo Fighters on Saturday. I honestly don't know why I watch the show at all anymore beyond habit, and perhaps morbid curiosity. But I was jazzed that the musical guest was Foo Fighters, and I TiVo'd it at high quality so I'd have a chance to hear 'em perform two tracks off their latest release. But I didn't get to here two. They only played once. The host was Jon Bon Jovi. The musical guest was Foo. But instead of giving Foo the usual 2 performances throughout the evening, they instead allows JBJ to take the stage at the opening and at the closing in a painfully obvious and sadly desperate effort to hawk his latest release. Hey, it's not that the songs were awful, but why have Foo at all if the host is gonna be the musical guest as well?

Still, their appearance in the digital short, "Punched" was a fun surprise.

A Feature Of Habit

I'm as prone to error as the next guy, and when you have routines, they often creep into the non-routine moments in your life. Like starting to drive to work on a weekend, or answering the home phone as you answer your work phone. But I just walked around the corner, up to my office door, and pressed the "unlock" button on my car key fob. Yeah. For my office door.

It's a good thing I'm not operating heavy machinery or making critical business decisions that impact a high profile company's customer base.

Nobel Prize Fighters

I know this'll likely bring a barrage of berating comments from my two favorite brother-in-laws. Both of them are awesome people I consider them immediate family, even though we differ dramatically on our political views. But I just could not let this recognition pass.

Praising “their efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change,” the Nobel Committee awarded the Nobel Peace Prize to Al Gore and the U.N.’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change.

As one of the many millions of people that actually do believe there's a man-made problem at hand and that we need to take immediate measures to manage it as best as we can, I'm glad to see this recognition.

To be honest, I care less about Gore's recognition then I do about that of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, which is a broad collection of scientists, activists and environmentalists that all deserve this moment in the spotlight.

Treasure Hunting

The kids just adore "teacher Debbie". They have been attending the pre-school she was the director of for over a year, however, she recently left to take a position doing similar work in an on-site facility at a large silicon valley company. So, they were very surprised when she showed up at one of the student's birthday parties this week. "Teacher Debbie" gave the kids a wrapped up little gift which, it turned out, was treasure. "Treasure" to them means small circular glass pebbles that are different colors, and very glossy. They'd get them from school on occasion, but these were special because they came directly from her. My daughter was very happy to get them and extremely excited as she opened them while sitting at the dining room table, only to have one of the three she received roll off the table, hit the floor, and bounce directly through the grate of the heater vent on the floor.

So what's any decent father to do? Well, they'd do as I did: they'd break out the long, metal flexible grabber thingy [That is the name for it... look it up] and a flashlight, then they'd get down on their knees, lift out the grate, brush away the cobwebs, and search for the pebble amongst the collection of dirt, dust, granola, cheerios and numerous other items that's been intentionally stuffed down there by them on prior occasions. Only to find that locating the treasure and navigating the opened grabber thingy into position proved far easier than actually keeping them at bay and out of my way or actually grabbing and extracting a round smooth piece of glass with four randomly positioned and twisted metal prongs.

And she proceeded to lose it.

She's on her way to being a professional 'hysteric'. She's slowly mastering the tantrum skills required to drive the most patient person up the wall. It's embarrassing as hell when she does this in public, and we're working on getting her out of this habit as quickly as possible, and by all means possible beyond "giving in". But in this case, she wasn't using her high pitched whines as a means to an end. She was sincerely upset to have lost what she just opened as a gift from her favorite teacher.

The next option: The vacuum cleaner. Just sending one of the twins off to retrieve it helped break the suspense and gave me a chance to rethink the next step. It was either suck it out using the hose on the upright or affix a wad of inverted masking tape on a long stick and extract it that way.

As I recall it, when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I'd decided that I was too old for the stuffed animals I'd had as toys from being a toddler. No self-respecting child of my age still had stuffed animals. So, I'd gathered them up into a box and I told my mom and dad that I wanted to get rid of them. They asked if I was sure, and I insisted I was. We went through the box together, looking at each, and the only one I kept was a stuffed dog that'd been my primary toy as an infant. Even when it came to the big floppy blue bear, the other of the two I'd clung to as a baby, I said no, I didn't want to keep it. But it was said with a lump in my throat.

After going through them they said okay. I could donate them so somebody else might be able to use them. And my father drove me, with the box, to a nearby Goodwill drop off bin. These were big, yellow, metal containers, much like a large dumpster, but one with a "mailbox" style slot through which you could insert items, yet not sift through or extract them.

One by one, I put the toys into the bing, yet went it came to putting in the blue bear, as I let go and he tumbled into the darkness, I felt a pang of regret like I had just thrown away my best friend. But I was trying to be all grown up, and I pushed back the tears in order to be the big boy I wanted to be.

When I got back in the car, my lip was quivering, my eyes were welling, and my father detected my despair. He didn't hesitate to address it. He put his hand on my shoulder and he said: "do you want to go get your blue bear back"? I burst into tears, sobbing, saying yes, I actually did. So what's any decent father to do? Well, they'd do as he did: he lifted me up and holding the pull-back door, he lowered me into the large container, held open the slot in order to ensure I had enough light to find the bear, and once I did he helped me ease my way back out and into the car, to return home with my bear, which I kept for many, many years to come. I think it might still be packed away somewhere in the attic of my mom's house.

My son returned with the vacuum and I went about the effort, lowered the hose directly onto the translucent green treasure, and turned on the suction. I listened as the piece rattled it's way up through the hose and into the vacuum bag where I heard it rattling around. I took the bag out to the garbage, sifted through the dust, dirt, and lint until I found it. I returned inside, washed it and gave it to my daughter. Her face lit up, a huge smile appeared, and a loving "thank you" was extended my way.

It's difficult to imagine that, in 30 or 40 years, she will have any memory of these jewels or this event. But I could not help reflecting on my own father making that effort in my childhood, and what it's meant to me all these years. It felt great to see her reaction, and to remember how the little gestures or efforts can stay with us far longer then we might imagine at the time.

No Shirt, Sherlock

I've spent years working at Apple, and when they were to be found, I was collecting and saving posters and t-shirts as they became available. Newton, eWorld, Sherlock, iMac, OSX... I've got dozens of shirts packed away. BUT I recently decided that having shuttled the large plastic bin of t-shirts from home to home over several moves, I was never going to actually open and wear one, and I was never looking at them or utilizing them in any way. So, I'm holding onto the memories but making the shirts themselves available on eBay. I'm hoping that they'll end up in the hands of somebody that will get more pleasure over having them then I have had by keeping them stored in a plastic bin with cedar blocks for the past 8-10 years.

cc This!

I hate HATE HATE it when somebody at work is so impatient that they pester you via email, office phone, cell phone and then your manager. Let's just say that, oh, as a theoretical and completely made up example, somebody emailed me on Friday and asked to be added to a meeting that's on the following Thursday. Then that same person calls and leaves me a voicemail. THEN on Monday am they call my office again, then call my cell phone AGAIN, and then they write an email again and cc my manager as if this is supposed to escalate action or make me look bad. Jesus, I've not even had a single full workday and this dickwad coworker is adding my manager to the thread? WTF?

Dude, if you knew how busy I was, you'd chill the f@&k out. And come to think of it, if you have enough time to be this wrapped up around one meeting and make all these various attempts to reach me, you don't have enough to do.

Theoretically.

Thanks for listening.