what’s the number for green beans?
Don't tell anyone, but I skipped out on an afternoon "teambuilding" event for work today and came home instead, to "yardbuild" alone. I needed to mow, and wanted to try and give the empire-building crabgrass a little bit of the business. I went mad, a little bit, I think. I mean, I just got so frustrated I started ripping up crabgrass, uprooting the stubborn creeping weed with a trowel, and leaving massive bare spots in my yard in the process. It's OK, the grass was already dead there. My yard has gone from what was arguably one of the best-looking on the block, to one of the worst-looking. If I were just a tad more vain I'd consider paying to have the whole thing uprooted and re-sodded. But, in the end, it's just grass... and I realized today that there's no way to beat the crabs... I pull up a whole colony only to find that it's sprung to life in another corner of the yard. So, I had a moment of realization, standing there in my patchwork yard, and decided that I can be happy even if I have an ugly lawn. Even if it's all crabs, it's still green.
Today when I came home from work (at noon, bwahaha!), I was kinda hungry and I started rummaging through the house for food. Well, the kitchen at least. Threw away a loaf of moldy bread that had been out since before this weekend's Oregon trip, looked at the bleak offerings from the fridge, and moved onto the pantry. Upon opening the pantry, I was greeted with the strangest site:
A wall of labeless cans glaring out at me. What the heck is this? I picked up a can or two to see what in the world was going on, but was even more dumbfounded when I noticed that each can seemed to be hand-numbered in permanent marker. I checked a few more, and they all had numbers written on the bottom in marker. Now, under normal circumstances I would've found this whole thing to be extremely odd. However, living with a teacher, you get used to strange things being left around. I figured that it must be some project Sharaun was working on for her class, maybe some kind of recognition or memory thing... I dunno. The thought of a "list" somwhere that matched each numbered can to a description of its contents made me laugh a little - but I soon forgot about the cans after a nice tuna sandwhich (tuna from a pouch, no can needed) and half an hour of Cops.
Later, Sharaun called on her way home from school and asked me to check some ingredients for our planned dinner. When I went to the pantry, the cans reminded me to ask her about what kind of "project" they were for. Turns out, she had no idea what I was talking about. In quick order, I deduced that we had been hoodwinked. Someone practical-joked us, and now all our cans were labeless and their contents a mystery. What's worse, Sharaun needed some chicken broth and green beans for dinner. Luckily, she's familiar enough with the chicken broth cans to pick them out - but our jokester had even thought of that. Any can with identifying info on the top or bottom had been blacked out with marker... ingenious.
Oh, whodunnit? Well, if the engineer-sevens (y'know, those Euro-techy sevens with a little horizontal line in them?) weren't enough of a tipoff - the fact that I loaned my housekey to Pat this weekend while we were in Oregon sealed the deal. Really, you think you're doing a nice thing by letting friends mooch off your ESPN GamePlan... sheesh.
Tonight I got a mail from my pops, in response to my entry yesterday - or more correctly, in response to my thoughts on Ollie North's letter to Kerry. Here's what he had to say:
Hi David, I read your blog today and I would like to offer you my view as a Viet Nam veteran of what I think of the war as I look back after 30 years. Thirty years ago I was on the flight deck of the USS Coral Sea helping my ordinance buddies load napalm and 500lbs bombs. We lost many fine young men (two of them were my squadron's commanding officers) who flew off the flight deck and never returned. These were men who I worked with, talked to, and met their wives and children on R&R. David if the war had not started when I was on the Coral Sea I would have went to Canada or Sweden after I found out what the United States was doing in Viet Nam.
I read Oliver North's letter and I can't understand his position. He says, " Worst of all, John, you then accused me -- and all of us who served in Vietnam -- of committing terrible crimes and atrocities." This statement is blatantly false, a lie if you will. John Kerry never accused everyone who served in Viet Nam of committing terrible crimes and atrocities. He stated the facts and some who wanted the war to continue don't like the fact that atrocities were committed by US troops. Take a look at this and make up your own mind, http://quivis.com/tigerf.html.
If you, like Ollie North, can support this method of fighting a war, and justify it, then vote for Bush. If you don't believe, as I don't, that there is any justification for My-Lai or the murder of innocent civilians, vote for Kerry. Love you, your Paw.
And then, followed up 15min later with this:
Hi David, I was just looking at this letter I wrote you and I noticed it was 40 years ago, not 30, that I was in the Gulf of Tonkin helping give the people of South Viet Nam freedom and democracy. I was 24 years old, the same age as your brother John who is probably going to be going to Iraq to fight another war to give the people of Iraq freedom and democracy. I have never contributed to a political campaign before David, but I have sent a contribution to the Kerry campaign as I feel this is probably the most important election in my life. Love you, your Paw.
Hmm... I don't even really have much to add or comment. I respect my dad's opinion a lot, even if he can't remember how many years ago he was in Vietnam... I mean, he is getting old and all. Thanks for the notes pop.
Lastly, I finally got a Gmail invite... so I now have an account. Yeah, so, I wasn't really on the bleeding edge this time - but that's cool. Now I just need to figure out who gets my invites.
Dave out.
a community service, y’all
Not that I think Ollie North is a man of great integrity or anything, I don't really know enough of the details of the whole Iran Contra situation, but he's penned a very interesting letter addressed to Kerry - which I thought was a good read. I like the fact that he didn't get into questioning the whole award-validity thing, making it seem like he's taking the high road, of sorts. Anyway, I found it interesting, and, if anything, it at least sounds less venomous and fanatical than most political attacks I've read. I tend to like things on an inverse scale to the amount of foaming-at-the-mouth political fervor associated with them. If you present me with a well-thought-out, rational, and most importantly calm argument, I'm much more willing to listen to you than if you're one of a million boobs wearing purple-heart band-aids at a group masturbation for God incarnate. I guess, under the microscope, everyone has some pretty nasty crap in their past that they'd rather stay under the rug or in the closet.
While getting dressed this morning, I came up with my idea for today's blog. I got struck with a the urge to write after reading the Ollie North letter, and whipped up the intro paragraph in five minutes. Then when I got home from work I got started on the media to backup my story. So, here goes.
Know how I know my wife loves me? She irons patches on all my drawers. Yup, whenever I get a new six-pack o' boxers, she steals them away and irons little patches and crap on 'em. Some might say this is done, not out of love, but rather as a protection mechanism. The thinking being that, in the heat of the moment, when I'm alone in my hotel room on one of my many business trips and a cute girl has not only managed to Houdini her way through my triple-locked door but also to convince me to drop trou - the unmistakable insignia of a doting wife will convince the aforementioned she-devil to release me from her spell. I mean, for real, what man-ravaging vixen with even an ounce of conscience could continue seducing her pray once she notices a cute little bunny or stately giraffe on her intended-victim's undies? No one, that's who! Whatever the motivation, I'm glad my drawers are personalized.
But, what would a blog entry about iron-on patches on my underwear be without pictures of my actual shorts? So, overwhelmingly demanded by the silent majority, I spread before you the cornucopia that is my skivvies. Feel free to take a gander, but don't stare too long lest you be called by the sirens of my underpants, only to crash unfulfilled on the rocky shoals of my manhood. Feast:
 T-rex, my personal fave. |
 A poodle, with matching blue face. |
 Little pig. |
|
 Speak no evil. See no evil. Hear no evil. |
 A long-neck giraffe. |
 A pink bow. |
 N-I-C-E. |
 Yup, that does indeed say "Diva." |
And no, I am not embarrassed at the gargantuan size of my shorts - does not the elephant have the largest cage at the zoo? Has not Hollywood taught us that even the largest and mightiest of cages cannot stop hairy beasts from taking women, rampaging the city, and fighting off biplanes while scaling tall buildings? I liken my boxers to these cages, holding back a fury that will only be safe within confines large enough to house it. These boxers are doing a community service, y'all - we should give them a merit badge and put them in the newspaper. And to the overly-scrutinous, I have absolutely no idea what those stain-looking marks are on the giraffe and the bow - I pulled them out of the dirty clothes that way, I swear.
Being that I want my Halloween decorations up about two weeks prior to the actual holiday of holidays, and that it's already the 2nd week of September - that only gives me one month to plan and construct this year's Halloween display. So, today I set about the task in earnest. I picked up a 20,000cfm fog machine (nearly eight times the volume of fog from the machine I bought last year) on the 'net, and Ben and I did some brainstorming on this year's "big" prop. In the end, I think we've hit upon a great one: something I like to call a Winch Witch.
Think this mounted on a track on the roof, using the force of gravity to roll on a track down to the roof's edge, all the while being lit by eerie light and accompanied by a cackling soundtrack. The "flight" of the witch from the roof peak to edge will be triggered by a garage-door light-beam circuit. When someone breaks the beam, the light will turn on, the soundtrack will play, and the witch will fly on her broom from her hiding place near the top of the roof right up to the roof edge near the unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. I'm most happy because the idea to make the witch prop dynamic is all our own, and we're already acquiring the components to make it happen. I mean, with a plan like the one below (Kentucky Fried Chicken grease spots and all), how can it not succeed?
Man I love multimedia-rich entries like this one, I wish I had the time and ideas to do them more often. Surf on over to Ben's site to see pictures from our weekend excursion to Smith Rock, Oregon this weekend. But, I gotta ramble y'all... have to unpack and air out the gear from this weekend's camping trip... there's a new Aqua Teen Hunger Force on the TiVo, and I need another bloody mary.
Oh, and you guys know from my former rants that I'm not one to usually go for this kinda crap - but several respected message boards I fequent, as well as trusted publications, have huge threads where people are saying this is real. I'm not sure, but I'm gonna put a link here and see what happens. You have to sign up for some crap "trial" offers at the end, but maybe I can get a free 'Pod. (I've heard ancestry.com is the easiest to cancel after the trial period, and I'm kinda interested in what data they've got on my fam anyhow...) Whateva.
G'night, Dave out.
bland and without passion
Riding in the back seat on the way home from a weekend in Oregon. My driving shift just ended and now it's my turn for a nap or something. According to the battery meter on this laptop, I only have about 26% left to write - that's cool, because seeing the scenery go by out of the corners of my eyes is kinda making me sick. We just passed a town called Balls Ferry - I'm laughing on the inside.
Oregon was awesome. I flew in Friday night around 11:30pm, just as Sharaun and Ben were driving up to the Portland airport - timed perfectly. We spent Saturday bumming around, and ended up getting a new pack for Sharaun at RIE (the no-sales-tax-havin' policies in Oregon made it a good buy), as well as some nice long underwear for me - you know, to keep the boys warm on cold overnight campouts. Saturday night was a mini family reunion of sorts at Ben's folks' place, where Ben and his siblings came together for some BBQ ribs and a multitude of other foodstuffs. Went to bed that night on an air mattress with a full belly and happy heart.
Sunday morning we woke up early, thanks to the cell-phone alarm (those things have really changed the way I do a lot of stuff), and packed up for the road-trip to Smith Rock. We stopped in the touristy town of Sisters on the way down, and walked a few shops before grabbing lunch at some place where I had an awesome prime rib sandwich. (My goal here is to *not* mention food in every paragraph, so as not to appear a complete glutton). Less than an hour later we had pulled up to the bivy camping area at Smith Rock and were picking pads and setting up camp.
Smith Rock is an awesome state park, they've put a heck of a lot of work into the place to make it very people-friendly. With it's hundreds of climbs, it's a seriously popular destination for sport climbers from around the world - and at almost any time you can see people tied in and climbing all over the rock-face. I likened it to be at a skatepark, watching some really good skateboarders at their best. Watching those climbers was great, we sat and watch a couple groups for a quite a while on our hikes, it's just to fascinating - kinda makes a fella wanna try out the sport, y'know? (Maybe if I didn't have to haul all the extra poundage up with me, I'd give it a go).
Anyway, we did a couple short hikes to some scenic spots. Really nice hikes, strenuous but not very long at all so not killers. The camping was also great, since the weather was gorgeous I didn't bother putting the rainfly on the tent, giving us a great view of the stars at night. It's great waking up and looking through the mesh at a sky full of stars, especially out there where there's no artificial light to obscure any - it's like the whole sky is speckled. When I was leaving Houston on Friday, I was actually thinking I'd rather go home to Sacramento and relax - but after the weekend I'm really glad we went. The combination of all the recreational time and work-related travel-time I've had lately has really been like being on some blissful extended vacation. Going back to the office for a four-day week tomorrow is gonna be like putting the shackles back on.
That's it for me today, bland and without passion, but that's it. Dave out.
balls y’alls, balls
Balls y'alls, balls. Once again I'm sitting through this 5hr presentation. Man, I thought I'd seen the last of it back in Taiwan, but here we go again. I mean, for real, I know this thing by heart now - even the parts that aren't mine. It's like we're the cast of Cats or something, can you imagine how bored they must've been of performing that play? I bet any cast member could fill in for any other cast member. I mean, I could speak to everyone's stuff - but I probably couldn't answer all the questions like they can. Really, I don't even care. My stuff is at the very end, so I'm gonna blow through it and get out of here.
Well, everyone I know back in my hometown in Florida has abandoned ship and is heading for higher ground. (Everyone is, or everyone are? Is, right?). Anyway, there were mandatory evacuations in Rockledge, my old stomping grounds, even though the only people the cops were actually forcing out were mobile home owners. I suppose that's good, God has demonstrated again and again his opinion of mobile homes. He hates them so bad, he's made them tornado and hurricane magnets - poor mobile home people. But really, if it's in the definition of your house's name that it can be easily moved - you might've thought you'd have some idea. Anyway, to all my people in Florida who may be reading this entry huddled by candlelight in an emergency shelter - good luck and hope you and your stuff stays put and stays dry.
I'm not too excited about flying right now, another 3hr+ flight to Portland. We had a 7am meeting this morning, and since my head is still on PST time it was really a 5am meeting to me. Waking up at 6am (4am in my brain) after staying up to watch Kerry's midnight RNC rebuttal was tough, so I'm pretty freaking tired - so I plan on sleeping the entire flight. Having to wear dress shoes today is not helping my busted big toes either, and they are throbbing in my shoes now as I type. As soon as I get outta here I'm throwing these clunkers in the trunk and putting on my flip flops. Easier to get through airport security that way too, since I'm obviously not hiding any bombs in my Reefs.
I was thinking about how seasoned I am now to the whole traveling thing. Back in college, I remember getting on a plane in Florida to go to my job interview in California - and only vaguely remembering how to do the whole thing. I think the last time I'd flown before that was when the whole family moved to Florida in the first place., twelve years prior Now it's all familiar, the security check-in, the terminals and baggage claim, everything. While I'm far from what I'd consider a frequent traveler (comparing myself to some others I work with), I do travel enough that I consider myself and airport and rental car veteran. Give me a hotel room, a company meal-ticket, and some frequent flier miles - and I'm good to go.
Sometimes, when I'm in a crowded pace, I like to stare around at the ladies and play a game in my head called "who would I do?" It's a pretty simple game really, I just look around and pick out girls who, if it came down to it, I would hump. Now, since the game is all hypothetical, it's not a problem being married or anything - and it's fair to assume, for the purpose of the game, that all girls who I chose to do would indeed give in to my attentions. So, right now, at the George Bush International Airport in Houston, Texas, terminal C37 - there are about eight girls around me who qualify. I mean, that girl over there with the long brown hair: I would totally do her. Oh, and this older-berry of indeterminate ethnic origin sitting to my right: totally do her. Blondie in the pinstriped pants across the aisle here: put her on the list, 'cause I'm totally doin' her. Anyway, you get the picture.
Guess that's it for a Friday night, I'm sure no one'll be reading this until Monday morning anyway... but at least I only missed a day this week. Dave out.
untucked
I'm gonna try my best to not let this week's travel keep me from writing, but if there's nothing going on worth writing about then I don't mind skipping a day. I think that could be a potential pitfall actually, forcing myself to write every day regardless of whether or not there's something to write about. Because Thursday I leave early for Houston, I'm attempting this Wednesday double-up to get myself ahead on the days. I'll spend Friday once again up in front of customers, wearing my best "I know what I'm talking about" face. Pull some ill-fitting khakis over my ass, tuck in a nice blue dress shirt, brush my hair and fill my breast pocket with business cards. The portrait of a corporate slave, bowing and scraping for a paycheck and some stock options. Why couldn't I have been a cowboy or rock star?
I'm sitting in a hotel in Houston, belly full of beer, steak, garlic-mashed potatoes, and some kinda Jack Daniels ice cream. Business travel is at least nice for the meals. The flight wasn't bad, and I got a lot done this morning before leaving. Y'know those ultra-productive days where everything seems to fall into place? When you're able to get everything that you wanted to done and more? I love those days. Tomorrow it's back to work, but for now I can sit here and watch W address the RNC. Then I guess Kerry is gonna talk in Ohio, it's a fun-filled night for politicos.
Last night the Killers at the Boardwalk was a good show. As usual, the tiny Boardwalk was packed wall-to-wall with the cream of Sacramento's emo-youth. Tousled, jet-black haired, lanky youngsters with dark thick-rimmed glasses and untucked concert tees. Doing their best to wear their angst and societal aloofness on their sleeves for all to see. Girls decked in once-again-cool 1985 makeup and hairstyles, with plenty of pink and poof. And me, a guy in his late twenties. A guy wearing jean shorts bought as Sams, Reef flip-flops, and a red and blue striped preppie shirt, untucked. With a brown corduroy Nike hat covering my thinning hair, I realize I'm fast becoming the outsider at these shows - and I like it. I wanna be that old guy my friends I and I saw at the Ween concert back in 1994, the one we laughed at because he wasn't wearing what we were wearing and looked so out of place. The one who just didn't care and came out to hear some good tunes. What am I talking about?
I'm not writing anymore, Dave out.
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