of snakes and snaking
Good evening blog-readin' crew. Let's just get right into it today...
Today on the way home from work, Sharaun called me to say that "something was stinky" in the guest bathroom. "OK," I thought... as she walked in there, live on the phone, to investigate. "Oh no!," she exclaimed, striking fear into my heart. I demanded anxiously, "What?!, What is it?" "There's all sorts of food and gross stuff filling the bathtub in here! It looks like the kale from dinner last night that I put down the garbage disposal." "OK," I said... "I'll look at it when I get there..."
Being that I have relatively little experience with plumbing, I called a couple buddies in that last mile home to pass the situation by them. Both consulted that I had a clogged pipe somewhere, to which I replied, "Well duh," and asked how I could figure out a little more. Anthony suggested I watch the sewer cleanout outside the house, while running water in various locations in the house, to see if I could get an idea where the blockage was. Doing this, I decided that the blockage was between the kitchen sink and guest bathroom, to which I replied, in soliloquy, "Well duh."
So, I motored up to Home Depot to rent one of those electric drain-snakes. I brought it home and tried snaking from the kitchen sink back towards the bathroom first, which didn't work. I then went into the bathroom, braving the stench of the bathtub full of festering mangled foodstuffs, removed the overflow/cleanout cover, and snaked down that drain. After sinking twenty or so feet into the pipe, giving the thing a good whirl every few feet to break loose any clogs, the stagnant bathtub gurgled and sputtered, and the nasty water slowly began draining. After verifying the drain was clear, I cleaned up the gross bathtub with some Comet and called it a successful do-it-myself home repair job.
Nothing makes a man feel like a man like successfully solving some household problem. Now I'm all testosteroned and ready to punch bulls and chew nails. Oh, and, speaking of feeling "male" and being all "testosteroned," yesterday marked the first day of my "Enzyte Challenge." As such, I want to explain a little more about how I intend this to work.
Progress will be judged on a visual basis, using a graphic along the lines of the image below. The first Dave is the baseline Dave, and his X and Y proportions are tied, via some magical and secret percentage-math, to my real-life measured "data." Growth/change is measured in two dimensions, and mapped (via those known-only-to-me factors) to the X/Y dimensions on the images. In other words, any subsequent Daves will have grown in the X/Y dimensions by any actual "growth" experienced by me. Here, just have a look at what I'm talking about...
I know the image above isn't quite aligned, I just roughed it in to show what you'll be seeing. I'm fairly confident, though, that I'll never have to make a "grown" Dave overlay... as I expect the net results of the experiment to be precisely null. Anyway, let's have fun with it.
And, for anyone wondering, the first day on Enzyte did have some notable moments. A few hours after taking the pill, I experienced a heated sensation in my face and limbs, and a mild red flush and "tightness" in my cheeks. The one "side effect" the pill lists is "transient flushing and a feeling of warmth," both from the niacin contained, so I'm fairly certain that my experience was pill-caused. Finally, late last night I experienced this same warm feeling, but this time centralized in my nether-regions. Interesting... but without any hard data I'm not making any claims (pun half-intended).
Goodnight.
chicken soup for me
A Monday evening greeting to you, blog readers. Hope things are well on the other end of the internet. Me, I'm sitting on the couch after watching the BCS championship with friends. Sharaun and I have assumed our standard post-repast evening roles: her watching TV, me half-watching TV with the laptop in my lap. We should really shake it up a bit, maybe play Twister or something... y'know... go wild. Today, I'll regale you with some cutesy tales of Keaton and I. In fact, let's go ahead and do that right now...
This past Saturday, I decided to clean out our much-neglected garage. I do this on something of a “cycle.” Knowingly letting things pile up on the workbench and around the cars, stacking boxes on the ground haphazardly, and ignoring the tufts of mown and dried grass that start to amass in the corners. Then, every few months going in and doing one big “sort, purge, store” operation. I’m actually OK with letting the garage go like this, it is the garage, after all, so I don’t mind if I can’t eat off the floor.
Anyway, I was in there Saturday rocking out to the iPod plugged the 1970s receiver, courtesy Goodwill, working away while it rained outside. At some point, I had to go back inside. Upon returning to the garage, Keaton ended up following me out. Since I had pulled both cars into the driveway so I could maneuver the ladder around and stuff things up in the rafters, she had the whole room to run around in. She brought her little stroller out, and began walking in circles in the middle of the garage while I worked. Soon, she began dancing to the music, and I just couldn’t help myself: I abandoned my garage work and joined the rainy-day garage dance-party with my daughter. We danced circles around that garage for a good fifteen minutes, and it was positively one of the best times I’ve had in my entire life – hands down.
And, if that weren’t enough heart-meltiness… here’s another one for you.
This morning, while leaving for work, Sharaun had Keaton in the bathroom sitting on her little potty. She was stark naked since she had just woken up and Sharaun took off her overnight diaper and pajamas. As I walked down the hall towards the garage, I stopped at the bathroom to tell Sharaun goodbye and give her a kiss. Since Keaton was occupied, I told her I loved her too and would see her later. She said, “Bye-bye Daddy!” and I headed off.
A few more steps down the hall I hear, “Kiss!,” and turn around to see the cutest buck-naked almost-two-year-old girl in the world bounding towards me with her arms out. My cheeks neared a complete loss of structural integrity from the sheer breadth of the smile on my face, and I squatted in a catcher’s position to received first a wide-armed hug, and second a nice juicy kiss smack on the lips. As far as I’m concerned, it was the best start to a day that anyone could ever ask for.
Oh, before I go - I wanted to let you know that my Enzyte arrived in the mail today (for background on the Enzyte thing, read here). That means that tomorrow will be my first day "on the pill." I'll try my best to make tomorrow be the day I debut my progress-tracking methodology and baseline status - so we can all get involved in the experiment from day one. Because, I know, you are just as interested in this as I am... right?
OK beautiful people... until the next blog, much love and safe-keeping. Goodnight.
thar she blows
Happy Monday friends. Me, I had a good weekend. Managed to do a fair amount of cleaning and organizing around the house and get in some good kickin' it time with friends. Neither Sharaun nor I is feeling top-notch, both fighting something, and Keaton's got "the croup," according to the doc. So, we've hung a "Quarantined" sign on the door to ward away those of good-health from the little infirmary we have here.
Oh hey, before I forget, I finally got around to posting some pictures from our Christmas in Florida. You can check them out here.
Remember Friday when I wrote about the storms coming to sunny California? Yeah well, the storms came, and they beat upon our street with fists of wind and rain. The news, of course, covered the squall as if Al Queda was behind it, with unrelenting 24hr coverage and plenty of Johnny-on-the-spot reporters to give everything a nice local color. I don't know when weather became cause for round-the-clock "death watch" reporting, but things have gone a tad far if you ask me. When I start seeing computer simulations of what "could" happen if the wind picked up to 900mph (just hypothetically), I change the channel. Anyway, back to those fists of wind and rain: In this fight the wind was Smokin' Joe and our backyard fence was Ali. And, for those confused by pugilistic allegory, here's some visual aides for that last sentence:
Yeah, it totally blew down, about ~30ft of it, posts snapped clean off at the dirt (where I suspect they had already rotted a good deal). I actually tried, during the fiercest winds while the fence was wobbling fiercely but still holding onto the ground, to go tie some guy-lines to the posts in the most trouble. The wind was so strong, however, that I couldn't even use the nylon strap to right the tilting thing, pulling with all my might and using my weight, I was nearly lifted off the ground trying to wrestle what had essentially then become a huge wooden sail. I mean, look at the toppled BBQ Anthony and I built in the foreground there, that thing ain't light. After that, I gave up and just let the thing go down. The tall shrubs we have on the other side of the fence were all that kept it from blowing away completely.
Oh, that last pic? That's what I did to save another wind-wobbly section of fence. See that tie-rope? It's secured to an old gas grill I happened to have laying around in the backyard, and, while the wind was strong enough to drag the grill across the lawn, it couldn't quite manage to pull it over the retaining wall. I know it's ghetto engineering, but it worked. I'm sure the first caveman-graven wheel wasn't quite a Michelin, either.
I was going to write some more... but I just don't have it in me. I'm gonna bake some cookies and listen to some new albums instead. Goodnight lovers.
a provider, a protector
It's coming up on one heck of a storm here in Sunny California. The wind was blowing the spray from my tires sideways away from the car as I drove home from work, big poofed-up plumes of frenzied droplets floating on the gusts. It's exciting, you know, when you're all but sure a storm is brewing and you've got a nice warm sheltered hideaway from within which you can hole up and observe. Makes me feel safe, and somehow wise, as if the rigid walls and roof of a house I didn't even build were extensions of my own arms, stretching out and wrapping tight around my family to spare them from the raging elements. A provider, a protector, someone whose work paid for the place that's keeping you dry and warm. Yeah, I like storms. And, from what "they" say, this one's gonna be a ribbon-taker, windy, rainy, and cold.
I say bring it on. After my blustery ride home, I was greeted by an empty house. Not so bad, says I. I put the iPod on shuffle and cranked it rather loud, but had to turn it down just a tad so I could hear the horizontal rain picking up speed outside (remember, it makes me feel strong and stuff?). And, even now, as Neil Young screeches out a live version of "Old Man," I'm excited for the inky wet environment outside the window, and my brain is turning to those stormy-night ship fantasies I've written about before. Reclined in my quarters, nose spiced with pitch, stomach contents sloshing at rhythm with the sea, reading some mouldered book by the shifting light of a gimbaled oil lamp on the wall...
Let's change the subject, before I start calling myself Ishmael and start looking for wrinkled brows and a crooked jaws...
When I was in Florida, my brother-in-law and I were watching TV, and the program on was "sponsored" by the "natural male enhancement" pill, Enzyte. Now, I've often wondered why Enzyte is the only "penis pill" that gets advertised in mainstream media. I mean, they have commercials during prime-time TV, a NASCAR sponsorship deal, and tons of print ads in respected circulars. And these aren't your back-of-the-magazine Mangaian Tribe wiener pill adverts, either. These are real full-page ads that look like they were designed by paid graphic artists. Anyway, during each commercial break, there was an Enzyte commercial offering a thirty-day free trail of the herbal penis-bulking formula. Soon, I was joking with my brother-in-law that I should order them, take them for a month, and blog about what happens. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. I even started thinking of funny post-accompanying graphics I could design to chart any "happenings" during my "trial."
So, I did it.
And that, dear readers, means you should prepare yourself for a weekly Enzyte update here on sounds familiar. This way, you can accompany me while I add all sorts of unclassified and under-researched herbs and proprietary substances to my daily diet, and follow along with me as I analyze the witchcraft of the pills. Now, don't think I haven't realized that typing "Enzyte" this many times on my blog will be like lighting a massive signal fire to the penis-enlargement spam lobby, because, I have. But, I think there's a chance for some funny writing here. And, c'mon people, it's not like I actually need natural male enhancement or anything... as it's well-established that I'm 110% OK in that arena of physical attributes. So anyway, here's hoping it makes for some good blogging, and look for the first update soon!
Before I go, I found these two (one, the other) enthralling (to me) brief stories written by a guy about some of the crazier nights he had back in the underground after-hours clubs in an early-1980s NYC. I thought they were well-written, and very Tarantino-esque (fitting with the post Kill Bill high I'm still coming down from since seeing them again for the first time in a while). You should read the stories, they're quite entertaining, and, whether truly non-fiction or not, pretty engrossing. And, man, that guy has really done some cool stuff... like burning down a crack house, or surviving a Blackhawk Down hail of bullets in Afghanistan. And, yeah, I think they're true.
And, I hate to proselytize this early on, but did you guys see Obama's "victory" speech after his Iowa caucus win last night? I thought it was brilliant. Watch it here, or read the transcript if you're bookish like that. Thanks Iowa.
Goodnight.
I’m no parent, or anything
Hi. Happy Wednesday.
To start, let's do a couple barely-introspective paragraphs:
You may remember (although, you'd be quickly forgiven if you didn't) that we had houseguests back in September. While they were here, we set them up with five-star accommodations (read: the air mattress in the former computer-room now nothing-room). And, as a testament to my laziness and general apathy, I'm sad to admit that I just today deflated that mattress and folded/stored all the bedding. Oh yeah, some three-and-a-half months later.
It was all part of this "assess and purge" sort of cleaning kick I'm suddenly on, taking stock of what we have and how it's stored, and getting rid of non-essentials wherever possible. We've got a ton of junk we don't use or need, and it's time to start getting rid of it - donating, selling, or just junking altogether. It feels good to free up space and organize, even if it does drive Sharaun a bit mad when I get a little OCD like this. Sometimes, I just reach a breaking point and go all flip-out neat-and-tidy crazy... this is one of those times.
Next, let's do a music paragraph:
Over the Christmas free-download period (it’s customary for some of the online music-enabling sites I frequent to offer “free” downloads over the holiday season), I somehow ended up grabbing a copy of The Pretty Things’ 1968 album, S.F. Sorrow. Before just a few weeks ago, I’d never even heard of the album, didn’t even know it existed. But, as soon as the first song came over the speakers I knew I’d stumbled onto something special. Let me tell you now, I absolutely love “finding” amazing albums I’ve never heard of. Having somewhat of a big head about the amount of the “important music” canon I’m familiar with, these UFO gems always seem so special. This is some sort of under-the-radar psychedelic rock-opera masterpiece, apparently recorded at Abbey Road during the same time the Beatles and Floyd were in-house recording Sgt. Pepper and Piper, respectively. Man, what the heck was in the water at Abbey Road that year? Anyway, the album itself is immediately likable and interesting… and I’m really glad I “discovered” it, forty years after it was made.
Now let's do a random today at work paragraph:
Sometimes I just feel like I’m in the wrong place for the particular moment. I’ve written about the sensation before (but I can't seem to find the link... lil' help?). Today was a classic case of that type of day. I sat at work all morning knowing I should be at home instead of in my fuzzy-walled cubicle staring at my computer screen. I just felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there, and the draw to get where I was supposed to be was strong enough to be almost physical, a muscle-urge to actually pack up and walk out the door to be with my family. I’m not always sure what the catalyst is for such urges, they tend to seem pretty random, but there’s no denying the “push” accompanying them. Anyway, I sat there, listening to my iPod and dreaming away the morning – doing next to nothing for the shareholders, who, if they could’ve peeked in on me, would likely petition the board for my removal. I just wanted to be home, to be doing things other than the great-nothing of work. Hey, I like that… I might start calling work “the great nothing” instead of “the old sawmill” from now on… not a bad nomenclature. Anyway, the feeling eventually passed, or better faded into a general want to just head home and be done with it.
And some Keaton paragraphs:
This month, Sharaun and I decided we’d get to work on teaching Keaton how to use the potty. The myriad of advice on when to begin this parenting process is mixed, and to me it just seemed most logical to just do it when we felt we might be successful, gaging that percentage by the cues she’s giving us at the time. And, being that, for the past few weeks, she’s shown a marked interested in “the potty” and the whole potty-process, and has taken to announcing her pees and poos with “Keaton use(d) the potty!,” we figured the time might be right. I mean, I’m no parent, or anything… but the good Lord saw fit to put this child under my care – so I must’ve showed some sort of promise, or kernel of talent, or something… you’d think.
So, as of yesterday, when she makes her potty announcements, we march her into the bathroom and go through the process: 1) pull down your pants (she has a lot of trouble with this, and seems to want to pull her pants “up” instead… which I keep telling her won’t work the same at all), 2) we’ll take off your diaper (again, having a step in there that she can’t do herself seems bad… but I’m not ready to toss the diaper yet), 3) sit on potty and do the good stuff, 4) wipe, 5) wash hands.
Thinking about it as a child, it really is quite a complex process of human engineering to relieve oneself in-line with current Western thinking on hygiene. I mean, there’s like a whole symphony of events that have to align to make the execution flawless. How do you, for example, explain to a semi-verbal not-yet-two-year-old that her pee-hole isn’t even lined-up over the pee-receptacle? There are a hundred bits of minutiae like that, too. Heck, pondering it, I’m amazed I hit the blow as much as I do myself.
I’m happy to announce, though, that, today she made her first two pees in her little kid potty, and it was quite a moment for Sharaun and I. I’ll let ya know if we experience continued success.
Finally, the closing thing:
Goodnight, love your bodies.
here goes two-thousand and eight
Hey readers, sounds familiar is happy to welcome you to the Year of Our Lord two-thousand and eight. Rang in the year with friends at bang-up of a New Year's fête, where I was able to have a grand time despite being the responsible non-drinking parent. And now I'm once again dreading a return to work... It's gonna be a short one tonight, as I don't have much to write and don't much feel like writing anyway.
We went to dinner at our neighbor's tonight. Filipino, they set a table that could feed a small village. (Not that that's somehow indicative of the culture or anything, I just wanted to state the two pieces of information in one sentence.) All the major meat groups had representation: pork, turkey, beef, chicken; the vegetables and fruits were out in force; and there were multiple sweet finishes. After dinner, the spirits were brought out and I had a nice tall glass of mixed coconut, jackfruit, apple juice, and Filipino rum. It was a great couple hours of talking, and Keaton had fun playing around with their daughter, who's just a bit younger. We had a good time and left with full bellies. Four plus years in the house and we're just now getting to know our neighbors; where are the Leave It To Beaver block parties of the 1950s?
Oh man, the Kill Bill duet is on right now, I'd forgotten just how amazing these movies are... I'm totally gonna go watch them instead of stupid blogging.
Oh, and before going, I know I've been somewhat delinquent on updating Keaton's photos page, so I'll try and get some of the Christmas in Florida stuff up early this week, and maybe a "catch up" gallery to cover the various things I missed near the sloppily-covered end of 2007. Stick with me, I'll make it worth it if I can.
Goodnight.
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