Renovating Parenthood

Our latest example of our own poor parenting

2011-12-01T18:23:00.003-05:00

Dad, where's the iPad?

Why do you need to use it?

I just need it!

Whatever...it's over there.

(Five minutes later...)

What are you doing on the iPad?

Playing Bakery Story.

That's why you needed it so bad?

I needed to cook my food before it spoiled!

Um, yet you left the bag of cheese from your snack on the counter for the last hour?

Yeah, but this game teaches me to cook!

You mean, as opposed to, say, helping mom make dinner?

What's your point?

Sigh.

Ask the Spirit Wind...

2011-11-28T21:47:00.003-05:00

(Some of you faithful readers out there are fellow dads in the Indian Princess program with me. Consider this a rerun. For the rest of you, I wrote this a few months back for the newsletter I produce for our local Indian Princess program, the YMCA father/daughter bonding club that Jessica and I are in. Yes, I'm repurposing content. Deal with it).

Homer Simpson once said, after having joined a mysterious secret society known as The Stonecutters, "Marge, I've never felt so accepted in all my life! These people look deep into my soul and assign me a number based on the order in which I joined." Well listen up all you first-year dads in the Indian Princess program. Much like Stonecutter #908, it is time for you and your princess to communicate with the Great Spirit Wind and come up with your very own Indian names.

Understand that this is an extremely important and delicate task. Your Indian name describes you. It lets people know the source of your inner beauty. It goes on the lapel of your vest, if you pay extra for the embroidery. The same is true for your young daughter's Indian name. And bear in mind that you might want to steer your little girl away from any names with "butterfly" or "rainbow" if you're going to be able to pick her out in a crowd.

Think of some of the great Indian names of our past history. Cochise. Geronimo. Dances With Wolves. These great chiefs carried names of power. Of nobility. Of the ability to jump off things while yelling your own name.

Because you asked, I'm going to share with you the story of finding my own Indian name. It was Saturday night at our first father/daughter campout, and I was still struggling to come up with something meaningful. I had wracked my brain day and night trying to pull something from deep within. My youngster was of no help to me, as the best thing she could come up with was "Smells Like Feet". As the evening campfire approached I pulled our tribe's campfire torch from my car, and removed the plastic shopping bag that was wrapped around the top to protect the car from smoke stains. I took one look at the bag and had my epiphany. "Giant Eagle."

All was well and good until last Spring's Deer Valley campout. There, I found myself on the ceremonial campfire stage with a fellow tribal officer, also with the chosen name of Giant Eagle. And HIS name was embroidered on his vest. AND he was an actual Giant Eagle employee. He won this round.

So it was back to the drawing board. I came home, gathered my princesses (the older one graduated from the program a few years ago), and told them it was their solemn duty to come up with a new and more meaningful name for their dear old dad. The elder child suggested "Elephant Snout". I sent her to her room without dinner. My younger one promptly ran to get a children's book containing names for different animal butts. "How about Moose Caboose? Chicken Cheeks? Duck-billed Platypus Gluteus Maximus?" Again, no dinner. My wife informed me it was time to take the dog out for her daily exercise. It was then that we knew.

Your do-nothing newsletter writer, Runs With Terrier.

Thanksgiving at the Genius Bar

2011-11-27T14:51:00.003-05:00

This week the family attended the usual Turkey Day festivities with my wife's extended family in Detroit. Lots of children, gushing grandparents, too much turkey, and Apple products. Lots and lots of Apple products. It was kind of odd, frankly. I counted six iPads, 5 iphones, an iPod Touch, and a Macbook Air amongst 14 people, half of which were under the age of eleven. Much of the weekend was spent showing off favorite apps, discussing how to copy DVDs onto the iPad for the long drive home, and competing against one another playing Words With Friends. I kind of felt I should be wearing a blue shirt with an Apple ID badge around my neck.

But the highlight of this strangely Jobsian Thanksgiving, was my wife's new toy. After years of surviving with a basic flip phone that (dare I say it) was ONLY good for making PHONE CALLS, I finally broke down and bought her a new iPhone for her birthday. For the first time in her life her technology is cooler than mine. And at long last, I have my revenge.

You see, I have occasionally been labeled "that dad", the one who is too busy with his head down and his eyes on his iPhone when he should b enjoying the world around him. Of course that time has long past, and it's rare that I'm distracted by it anymore. It certainly never makes it to the dinner table, and my wife hasn't had to say, "HELLOOOOO? ARE YOU LISTENING??" to me in a long time. well, at least not because of my phone. But yet, somehow the subject of the non-attentive dad will often come up in mixed company, and my lovely wife has always been happy to paste that label on my forehead. Well, no more. The tides have turned. Now she's the one with that Pavlovian reaction every time someone sends her a Facebook message and the phone gives off a little floop. She's the one eagerly awaiting that next turn against her cousin in California playing a week long Words With Friends marathon. And she's the one constantly asking Siri if she should be putting on a sweater.

Okay, perhaps I'm being unfair - she's only had the phone a few days, and it's all new and shiny. Of course she's going to want to play with it. And that Siri thing is just so freaking amazing. We'll give it some time, and I will report back in a few months. But back to the Thanksgiving family gathering, it really struck me as amazing both how much money we've all given Apple in recent years, and how our Apple products are constantly at our hips not unlike a six-shooter was always at the ready on the hip of a cowboy in the Old West. Its technology got us safely to Detroit, and allowed us to easily check the status of our hotel accommodations. We used it to check available showings of The Muppets and buy our tickets. We looked up recipes and the biography of Ernest Hemingway, and we kept our kids busy during any given downtime. We even used the GPS settings to see where en route from the park the kids and wives were, so we could prepare for the onslaught of a half dozen young children starving from an afternoon of fall playtime. And that infamous quote about the best camera being the one that's with you? Truer words...

The holidays always means getting together with people that often don't have much more in common than shared blood. Yet technology seems to have built on those bonds. No more seeing people once a year and having to catch up on what seems like a lifetime of stories. It's all been posted on Facebook for everyone to stay up to date. No more great stories of getting lost on the way there or having arguments with the grandparents over which bridge to take to the movie theatre. Just let the GPS do the job. This technology has done a wonderful job of making these annual visits easier to prepare for, travel to, and deal with. But are we better for it? Perhaps. I'll ask my wife. That's her texting me from the garage asking for help bringing in groceries.

The Next Parenthood Renovation

2011-09-29T20:19:00.004-04:00

Holy crap.

I take three months off from blogging, and in the blink of an eye I've gone from being a father of preschoolers to panicking about how we're going to be able to afford a Bat Mitzvah in two years. What the hell did I just miss?

Back when I started this blog in 2005, coming up with subject matter was an easy task. I was the father of two small children, ones who really didn't understand the term "internet" and just thought that the computer was something "Mommy and Daddy stare at while I watch Elmo". Now, I have daughters with their own Skype accounts. Daughters who know how to connect their friend's ipods to our wireless network. Daughters savvy enough to google themselves, and come across my blog. Suddenly, I'm censored.

Back in the early days, I had free reign to write about my daughters' pooping habits. I could drone on endlessly about the silly things that came out of their mouths. I was generally welcome to make fun of them because, well, at that age they're more like scientific oddities or house pets than they are actual humans. But now, they are self aware. They are people. People with Skype accounts. I need to be careful what I say. The day I post the details about my daughter's barfing episode and she hears about the post from a schoolmate is the day it's all over, and I'm living in the woodshed. I guess that's the reason you haven't seen much from me lately here. I'm too busy censoring myself.

But now that we're planning our first Bat Mitzvah, I feel I need a platform to vent again. Over the next couple of years, things are gonna get a little crazy. Every big decision we make is going to have to be weighed against Bat Mitzvah plans. Do we replace our 12-year old minivan, or stick it out a few more years with its broken door and leaky windshield? Do we plan a big summer vacation again next year, or buy a plastic pool and stick around the back yard? And most importantly, do we need those new friends in our lives, since it will just increase the size of the guest list?

I'm thankful I live in an area of the country with a pretty moderate standard of living. Everyone's heard the stories about the parents that spend a hundred grand on their daughter's Bat Mitzvah, and any Jewish family with a kid coming of age knows that Keeping Up with The Steins is required viewing. Personally, I'm all for a backyard BBQ and convincing my sister to make desserts. But I know I'm going to be outvoted. I'm sure there will be a DJ, There will be a photographer. There might even be professional catering. So while I have no idea how I'm going to afford it all, at least I know I can blog about it.

And you know what that means. I'm back baby!

Really, I don't know why I bother.

2011-06-29T21:34:00.002-04:00

Let's face it. The days of buying electronics at a store are long gone. And I should have realized that, but sometimes I guess I'm just too stubborn.

We're headed on a family vacation soon. It's gonna be long car ride. Luckily, we've got gadgets. In fact, we've got gadget overload. Aside from the obligatory portable DVD players, our collection of Apple mobile devices has grown to a point where if I hear one peep out of the little pipsqueaks in the back row between the time we leave and the time we get to our destination I'm gonna go all Clark Griswold at Wallyworld on them.

So of course, having this many gadgets means improving our ability to charge them in the car. Scosche makes a charger with two USB ports and is designed to charge both iPods and iPads (which take more juice), and I decided it was high time to pick one up. Rather than buy one from Amazon and hope it arrives in time for our trip, I decided to go the instant gratification route and stop in Best Buy.

Now, visiting Best Buy is something I try never to do. All the sterotypes of the big box store hold true there. Employees who know nothing more than what's on the card in front of the item, limited and overpriced selections, and a store layout that begs for people to leave with the sudden urge to take a shower. Nonetheless, I knew that Best Buy sells the item, because it said so on their website. So I stopped in.

Last November, Best Buy attempted to boldly redesign their stores,turning the interior into "mini learning stations that demonstrate how devices can interact with one another wirelessly" I found the inside of the store confusing, poorly lit, and utterly unfriendly. Despite that, I wandered around a bit until I found a rack of car chargers, though the one I was looking for was not there.

A blue-shirted woman with a secret service earpiece in her ear and a clipboard in her hand came walking toward me and asked if she could be of service. I told her I was looking for a car charger that supports iPads. "

Well, these support iPods," she said.

"Yes, I see that. But none of these are approved to properly charge an iPad. I need one that provides 2.1 amps".

Okay, just to be clear here, I'm no electrical engineer. But read any Apple product page or iPad charger page on the web, and you will soon know that the iPad requires a 2.1 amp charge. Really, it doesn't take much to find this out. However, my response completely stumped my personal blue-shirt, and she took me in search of the iPads themselves, thinking perhaps the charger I needed would be tucked in next to them. Once we made it to the iPad section (at the other end of the store from the iPods), she spent a good long moment staring at a rack of Apple-branded iPad Smart Covers before she realized this was not the charger rack.

I told her, "Tell you what. Let's bring up the Best Buy website and I can show you exactly the thing I need." I started to pull out my iphone but then suggested it might be faster to do this on a store computer. She agreed, but unfortunately for her by the time she got logged into the computer I'd already had it up on the phone. Of course she happily took the SKU number from what I showed her and entered it into the store inventory system, only to learn it would have to be shipped from the warehouse. She told me it would take two days, I told her fine, and she began to enter the order. On the final screen, after entering my credit card number, it informed us the item was "unavailable". Well, that was a complete waste of time.

Since I was standing next to the camera section, I decided to kill a couple more minutes and check out the digital cameras for no good reason. When I quite literally just placed a finger on a Canon EOS and set off the security alarms, I decided I needed to get out of this godforsaken store as soon as possible. As I walked out, the "greeter" whose job it is to stand at the front door and check people's receipts, held his Secret Service mic to his mouth and said, "will someone please take care of that alarm?"

Now, I found it especially amusing that the guy (me) who set off the alarm in the camera section was able to turn and walk right out of the store without so much as a second glance by the greeter. However he was right on top of getting that annoying alarm turned off. Impressive store security.

When I got home, I logged onto Amazon and put in my order for the car charger. Even paying extra for quick shipping, it still was cheaper than for what Best Buy's website had it listed. Never again.

Sure I wear my seat belt, but only when I'm drinking

2011-05-25T21:42:00.004-04:00

My office just instituted a new health program, that offers points towards healthy habits (exercising, eating right, etc) in an effort to keep costs down. Overall it makes sense and seems to be a fairly intelligent program. But there is one thing about it I find just a little odd.As part of an overall introductory questionnaire, each participant states whether or not he or she smokes, drinks, or wears a seat belt.

It's the seat belt question that has me puzzled. My first thought is, who in their right mind would say that they don't? But then my second thought is, why does it matter? Okay, I realize that my ER bill is going to be that much lower if I'm in an accident wearing your seatbelt as opposed to, say, being launched through the windshield of my Subaru headfirst into the nearest jersey barrier. I get that. However shouldn't the question perhaps dig a little deeper, and find out a little bit more about my driving habits themselves? For example, do I text while driving? Do I cut people off? Do I check my email at stoplights? Do I like to adjust my eyeliner in rush hour stop-and-go traffic? Do I enjoy the occasional McDonalds' hamburger with a hot coffee held between my legs and greasy fries in the cup holder while cruising at 70 miles per hour down the interstate at four in the morning? I mean really, just because I wear my seat belt, that doesn't mean I'm a good driver. Shouldn't the question be, "do you drive like a maniac who's late for a movie?"

I need an R2 unit

2011-02-27T21:36:00.002-05:00

In the past three years that I've owned my current car, an indicator light has popped up on the dashboard several times. According to the direction manual, this indicator light suggests that one of my tires is about to have a catastrophic blowout, and that I should immediately pull to the side of the road, move to a safe distance from the automobile, duck down, and call the authorities immediately.

The first time this happened, after checking the pressure in all the tires and finding nothing wrong, I brought the car to the shop where, after connecting the car to their magic diagnosticator and visually scanning the surface of each tire, they discovered a small nail in one of the tires. The second time this happened, they found nothing wrong but suggested I bump up the pressure a few pounds beyond what's suggested in the direction book. Now the light is back on, and I'm annoyed.

We live in an incredible world of technology. I could go out right now and buy myself a car that does some truly amazing things. These days cars can give you tun-by-turn directions with a map on screen. There are cars that will make cell phone calls for you. Find the nearest gas station. Call for help if you crash into a tree. For goodness sake, there are even cars that will PARK themselves now!

So will someone PLEASE tell me why, in this day and age of fantastical new automotive wizardry, I still need to bring my car to the shop just to find out what that little red light on the dashboard means?

I want a car that tells me how much metal is left on my brake rotors, and whether they need to be adjusted or completely replaced. I want a car that tells me exactly how low my oil level is. In quarts. I want to know when the last time it was that I changed my air filter. How dirty my transmission fluid is. And I don't want to have to bring my car to someone else to find this information out.

Really, what I want is an R2D2 unit in the back of my car that can constantly analyze the health of my vehicle, let me know if there's a problem, and give me the details of the fix. Is that too much to ask? Obviously, it isn't:

(Source)

Aimee Mullins and her 12 pair of legs

2011-01-30T16:23:00.003-05:00

This is simply incredible. Every parent should show this to their kids.

Athlete, actor and activist Aimee Mullins talks about her prosthetic legs -- she's got a dozen amazing pairs -- and the superpowers they grant her: speed, beauty, an extra 6 inches of height ... Quite simply, she redefines what the body can be.

Syyn Labs and that neato OK Go thingy

2011-01-22T13:47:00.004-05:00

I'd been hearing about some new music video by the band OK Go, the ones who made the now-infamous choreographed-dancing-on-treadmills video a while back that by now even your grandmother has seen:

But I'd never seen their newest concoction, a Rube Goldberg contraption that's timed to the music, and kept forgetting to look for it until I read a little bit about it in the latest issue of Fast Company Magazine. According to the story, this video took 85 takes to get the functionality and timing just right, and the final result is one video take with no editing and no tricks. Sheer awesomeness.

The contraption was built by folks at Syyn Labs, a sorta-kinda company made up of artsy nerds who love bringing things to an obsessive level.

Oh, but wait - there's more. Syyn Labs was then tapped to make another Rube Goldberg contraption for the Google Science Fair, seen here:

Jumping the Shark, and other Happy Days References

2010-12-27T18:54:00.005-05:00

Cosmic Lattice of Coincidence

This evening, the dinner table discussion somehow led my wife and me to explaining the show Happy Days to our young children. This, in turn led me to explain the term "Jump The Shark". I said to my ten year old, "Natalie, some day you will hear the term 'Jump The Shark', and you'll be able to impress your friends by telling them exactly what it means and where it comes from.

My wife then decided to see if, by chance, TVLand had a few episodes of Happy Days that we could Tivo. When she turned on the TV it was tuned to some random kids show on NickJr, and, in a frighteningly odd cosmic lattice of coincidence, the very first thing out of the actor's mouth was "Don't ya think that's jumping the shark a little bit?"

Dad IS all-knowing.

Auto Repair

Speaking of all-knowing dads, I scored a point for all the guys out there recently. Okay, so you can imagine the scene...a couple of guys standing around the front of a car with the hood open, staring intently at the engine block and plotting their next move to get this baby running again. Really, we all know it's just an excuse to enjoy a refreshing beverage out of earshot of the usual household din. Then one of the wives leans out of the front door and cracks wise by saying something like, "why dontcha stare at it a little more, maybe you'll just CONVINCE it to work!" Well, darling, I proved yesterday that staring at an automobile's engine is, in fact, an effective tool for driveway automotive repair.

You see, the other day we had to have a cracked windshield replaced on the minivan. The auto glass company came to the house during the day while I was at work. They fixed the glass, and my wife then pulled the car into the garage. The next day, after attempting to head out of the house on an errand, she came up the basement steps and reported to me that the car was dead.

Not interested in removing my butt from its comfy position on the couch, I told her to take mine, and I'd jump start it later, figuring the interior light was probably left on again and the battery was toast.

Now, let me say, right here and now, that I am NOT a car guy. Other than knowing where the engine IS on the car, my automotive repair abilities pretty much end with "hmm, that doesn't sound right", and buying a new car. But three days later, when I remembered to investigate the problem, I discovered the battery in fact wasn't dead, but rather the ignition would churn but the engine wouldn't turn over. I tried it several times, then thought perhaps the repair guys had forgotten to reconnect something after they finished. So, I opened the hood.

After staring at the engine for a solid two minutes and seeing nothing out of place, I began to run through scenarios in my head. Call AAA? Call Honda? Ask the guy next door to stare at it with me for a few minutes? Finally I closed the hood and decided it was definitely time to buy a new car. I got back into the driver's seat, and decided to try it once more. And wouldn't you know it, she started right up. Another successful automotive repair.

Shrinkage

On a final note for the day, I would like to express my sympathies to all you dads out there who somehow were conned into getting a Shih-tsu or other similarly dropkick-sized dog as a family pet. I know it wasn't your decision. You really wanted that black lab. You had it all planned out...you were going to name him Johnny Wonder, give him a red bandanna and a collar with spikes, and drive to the town dump every weekend with him hanging his head out the side window of your Dodge Ram. But instead, your 6-year-old girl fell in love with little Fifi and begged and pleaded until you realized you had no recourse but to begrudgingly say yes. Suddenly you're sharing the house with a creature that resembled the main character from the movie Gremlins, wears knit sweaters, and gets carried everywhere in a pink faux Gucci bag. Really I feel for you.

I say this because for the past week I've shared your pain. As part of a holiday trade-off, this week we are watching Muffin, our babysitter's Shih-tsu. Really, there's nothing wrong with the dog, but every time I have to take it for a walk my testicles shrink just a little more.

Barf

2010-12-23T14:08:00.002-05:00

If there's one thing about parenthood I would eliminate, it would be barf. Poop I can deal with, but barf...oh god...barf. The spoiled, rancid aroma. The feeling that just being in the same room with it may lead to contracting a disease more horrible than any thus far studied by science. Just thinking about it makes me want to lose my lunch.

A coworker of mine just had his first baby last week. He and his wfe are still in that initial state of shock and sleeplessness, not quite understanding exactly how they went from being people who could go out for a night on the town with little notice, crack open a beer and hang on the couch for three Sunday football games in a row, or sleep for eight straight hours with little care in the world, to the exhausted zombies that they are now, having to wake every other hour to feed this insidious new monster screwing with their schedule.

Well, I've got news for them. That ain't NOTHING. Add barf to the equation.

For us, it began around 1am. I awoke to the distinctive sound of our younger one coughing up whatever was rotting in her belly, followed by the classic scream for mommy. It was then that I kicked my lovely wife in the shin to awaken her from peaceful slumber and shouted, "Jessica! Vomit! Let's go!"

In a fog, we dashed in to find the little tyke covered in her own spooge, sticky hands in the air, dripping onto her head. The spooge trail continued down onto the sheets, the side of the mattress, into the frame of the bed, and onto that really-bright-idea-to-put-in-neutral-colors beige carpeting.

My wife and I entered Special Teams mode. She took charge of the soiled child; I took charge of the soiled everything else. As she carried Jessica, at an arms length, into the bathroom, I switched on the lights to determine exactly what I was dealing with and then dashed to the basement for supplies. I took the dog with me to make sure she didn't decide it was time for a late night snack. I came back up, arms loaded, with:

-gloves
-the Chuckit Bucket (yes, we've named it)
-towels
-spray cleaner
-a garbage bag
-a gas mask
-a blow torch
-a portable version of that disinfecting chamber from The Andromeda Strain.
-paper towels

As I worked my way through the cleaning process in the bedroom, I kept one ear open for happenings in the bathroom. Poor squirt yacked at least two more times, and at least one of those times missed the toilet completely. Natch.

My next step was to carfully ball up the little one's soiled sheets, pillows, stuffed animals, and clothing and bring it all down to the washing machine. As would be expected, the washer was already full of wet clothing, and of course the dryer was filled as well. Classic. Once I got the laundry going, I ventured back upstairs to find an additional growing pile of laundry in the hallway, and a scene in the bathroom that looked somewhat like a murder but with less red on the walls and more green. The little one was resting comfortably, for the moment, on the couch in our bedroom. She remained there for the rest of the night, except for getting up every half hour to puke again. We sat with her all night of course, partially to comfort her and partially to make sure she made it to the toilet in time. Her tummy calmed itself down around 7:30, just in time for me to go to work. Joy.

I assured my coworker that this was an isolated incident, and SURELY this sort of thing isn't a NORMAL occurrence for any family. Sure... I mean really, why ruin his work day? After all, he only came into the office to get some rest.

Begin the onslaught of holiday songs

2010-11-29T20:18:00.002-05:00

Tis the season. The day (or so) after Thanksgiving, where every retail outlet in the burbs plays the same holiday music feed over, and over, and over again, thus increasing the likelihood of employee insurrection dramatically.

To be honest, I love holiday music. Each year I build on my ever-growing my collection of classics and oddities (Got a new one for us this year, Colbert?). But frankly I wish people would stop trying in vain to produce a good and memorable song about Chanukah.

I mean, really. What's the first Chanukah song that comes to mind? Yeah, that ridiculous dreidel song. No one really likes it. And it's not exactly what you would call an "inspiring" song, like such Christmas classics as The First Noel, or Silent Night. And since the dreidel song was created, virtually every Chanukah song since has done nothing but make what should be a fairly solemn holiday of remembrance of the bravery of soldiers and the miracle they witnessed into a pile of silliness. If you need a better example, how about Adam Sandler's Chanukah song? Yeesh. I can't tell you how many non-Jewish classmates in high school came up to me and said, "dude, you're Jewish...how come you're not in the Adam Sandler song?" and then stuffed me in my locker.

Okay, I suppose Rock of Ages classifies as inspiring and worthy. And I don't mean the Def Leppard song.

Here's this year's example. While I gotta admit it's catchy, it's no Rock of Ages. Bah humbug.

Room Empurgement Day

2010-11-16T19:05:00.000-05:00

Once every few months (or, once every other day according to my lovely wife), I get a burr in my saddle about the state of clutter in the house. Usually I get stirred up after my wallet becomes submerged under a ream of kids' artwork that's collected on the kitchen counter, or when I need to reach something in the back corner of the playroom and realize the only way I'm going to get to it is with a pound of C-4, a Hazmat suit and a roll of paper towels. And when I get stirred up, that's when the soonest available Saturday becomes Room Empurgement Day.

Sometimes I get smart, and provide some incentive to my daughters to join in Room Empurgement Day. "Come on girls! Let's find the floor of the basement so we have a place we can put a new Foozball table!" Other times I just use threats. "I'm walking into that room with a plastic garbage bag, and I ain't leaving until it's too full to tie closed. If your collection of broken Harry Potter wands ends up in my path, so be it."

I recall recently where I happened to strike just the right cord (don't ask me how) to get the girls excited about the prospects of a clean playroom. The elder child, showing off a few drops from her dad's anal retentive gene pool, was extremely enthusiastic about organizing, sorting, and purging. Her younger sibling just nodded her head in agreement and confirmed that, whatever she was going to be doing, mommy would need to be no more than three feet away at all times.

It was a great start to Room Empurgement Day. In theory. We were going to be like one of those families you see on the DIY channel who hire the professional organizer and sort their entire collection of belongings into eight color-coded storage boxes, an alphabetized file cabinet, and a wall-hanging photo montage containing the pictorial story of their family's life events through the ages. I could just picture myself in our spotless home, relaxing in the cushy leather chair by the fire, reading the latest issue of The New Yorker with my faithful labrador at my feet while my wife cooks up a fresh batch of scones with homemade marmalade and my children built me an ottoman made entirely of popsicle sticks. Wait...where was I? Oh, right...reality.

Here's what actually happened. Saturday morning breakfast, 5 episodes of Hannah Montana, and a Spongebob later, I finally managed to peel the kids away from the TV and announce it was time for Room Empurgement Day to begin.

"WAIT!" yelled Jessica. Now, 99.98% of the time you ask Jessica to do something, that's the answer you get. "WAIT! I'm not done putting my squishies to bed!" Okay, so I'm not quite sure what squishies are, and I don't know why they need to hit the sack in the middle of the day, but we certainly weren't going to get any effort out of Jessica until the little varmints were tucked away for their nighttime slumber. So while Mom bought some time putting the dishes away so Jessica could put her squishies to bed within tugging distance from her mother, I took Thing #1 upstairs to tackle the mess in the playroom.

Once upstairs, it wasn't long before distraction set in. I asked her to sort through a pile of stuff in the middle of the floor. As soon as a long lost plastic bathtub from her Barbie dollhouse was discovered, Natalie left the pile intact and migrated to the Dream Home. I pulled her back in by asking her to return her collection of fancy scarves draped across the playroom TV back to her bedroom closet, and found her ten minutes later sitting on her bed revisiting a book on how to draw cartoon puppy faces. That's when the moaning and complaining started. Then the crying. Then the tantrums. And Natalie really, REALLY hates when I tantrum.

Soon Thing #2 came upstairs with her mother, and I put them to work sorting books. This of course led to the realization that, no matter how destroyed a book was, no matter that the pages of the book were stuck together with 5-year-old dried up baby formula, it was not going to be leaving the house without a fight.

It's about this point where my lovely wife and I realize, yet again, what every parent already knows. Clean the room when the kids are gone, throw everything out, and hope to god that the kids never think to ask what ever happened to that old Dora The Explorer backpack that's now sitting in the bottom of the garbage bag. Another successful Room Epurgement Day complete.

The Rally to Restore Sanity

2010-11-15T06:42:00.007-05:00

A couple of weekends ago I attended Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity And/Or Fear. I had nothing better to do that day, which was really the ultimate requirement for attendance. For those of you who didn't watch it on TV or have no idea what I'm talking about, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert hosted a rally on the National Mall in Washington D.C. to get people excited about the possibility of just "being reasonable" rather than becoming either overly political to the left or the right, or being so brainwashed by the media feeding frenzy of the day that you no longer have the ability to think for yourself.

While the rally was interesting and I'm glad I went, I'm also glad I Tivo'd it to watch later because I missed about 90% of it.

Getting to the rally was definitely the most important part of the experience. After finding that I was the only one of my local friends nuts enough to make the trip, I decided to head to DC on my own and stay with my cousins, whom I easily convinced to go to the event because, like me, they had nothing better to do. I drove out the night before, and the next morning the three of us began our trek into town.

The adventure started at the DC Metro station in West Falls Church, VA around 9am. Having failed to think of buying Metro tickets the night before, we arrived there to discover twelve hundred people in line in front of us attempting to buy Metro tickets as well. After about an hour of standing in line and a couple of brief thoughts about leaping from the over pass onto the roof of an oncoming train in hopes of skipping the line, we made it to the ticket booth, bought our passes, and hoofed it down to the platform. When we looked back at the line behind us, we discovered that it now extended out the door of the station and down the street.

This was the line in front of us to get tickets for the DC Metro.

The first available train arrived at the station after a few minutes. Unfortunately, it was so completely packed with people from the previous stops that there was no chance of getting on. So we decided to be sneaky and get on the next train arriving from the OTHER direction, take it to the end, and wait for it to turn back around. That turned out to be a well-timed idea, because ten minutes later when the subway arrived back at our original station we saw that EVERYONE was attempting to do that. I have to believe that enough people gave up waiting that the rally would have been attended by an additional hundred thousand or so people had the DC Metro gotten their act in gear and supplied more trains.

We arrived in town a little after noon. Yes, over three hours to get in from the suburbs. So much for restoring sanity. After a brief walk toward the mall, we encountered THE CROWD.

For the next several hours we were packed like matchsticks into the vast, wide open space that is our National Mall. We had as clear a view of the stage as a resident of Vermont would have of Manhattan. The speakers and Jumbotrons were so far away that all we could hear was an occasional bass echo off the wall of the Smithsonian, amongst the chanting of "Louder! Louder!" by our three hundred thousand immediate neighbors.

But what made the whole thing bearable was the people around us. Everyone was friendly. Outgoing. Perhaps a little silly. The signs being carried by many were ingenious, and the costumes were a bit odd if not ridiculously funny.

I found it amusing that with 300k people they attempted to have an information booth.

That white thing behind the guy with the camera is a dude dressed as a tooth.

A simple test that should be used for all future primaries.

Hopefully not at the same time. Ew. Talk about your hanging chads...

Left wing kitten-loving hoser. Get outta my Belgian Cafe!

After watching the rally on TV the next day, I have to say I really didn't miss all that much. John Stewart's closing speech was fantastic, and his banter with Colbert was amusing as usual. The rest of the acts served pretty much as a way of filling time, and not much more. But at least I can say, "I was there".

I got a colonoscopy because I was short on material

2010-10-18T17:18:00.006-04:00

Dave Barry once said that every good comedy writer should get a colonoscopy. Well, who am I to disagree? I've really been short on material lately, so in an effort to beef up my blog I thought I'd go for a comedy classic and get a colonoscopy myself, then compose a rectal anecdote just like the pros do.

Okay, so that's not EXACTLY why I opted for a colonoscopy. I'll save you the, um, seedy underbelly of the full conversation with my doctor, but suffice it to say that she told me "well, you've got to get one in ten years anyways", and suggested I do it now just to rule anything out. And by "anything", that of course meant cancerous polyps, alien life forms growing in my upper GI, or a blockage caused by that box of Crayolas my friend bet me I couldn't eat in 4th grade.

Since we're talking about a colonoscopy here, I figure it would be best if I started with the end of the story. Everything's fine. I'm clean and clear, and now about eight pounds lighter as a result of the purging process. More on that in a moment.

But first, back to Dave Barry. A while ago he wrote perhaps the most important piece of medical journalism EVER, the chronicle of his own colonoscopy experience. It's required reading for anyone who plans to join the club. And I will also say that the article is phenomenal in its volume of sheer comedy as well as it's ACCURACY. I mean, it's frighteningly accurate. Every detail. So rather than plagiarize on his genius, I can only add my own twists and turns.

Now would be a good time to go read his article. I will be here when you get back.

The day before the test, as Dave also explained, I was not allowed to eat any solid food. It was chicken broth and Gatorade for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was also allowed popsicles, Jello, and hard candy, as long as they weren't red or purple. Which made me wonder - was I avoiding red or purple foods due to some sort of staining on the inside of my colon, confusing the doctor when he was inspecting my insides into thinking I had stigmata? Unfortunately I forgot to ask.

Like Dave, my beverage of choice the evening before was MoviPrep. While his description of this vile substance was 100% accurate, I will add a few details. First, the stuff tastes like someone took a half dozen week-old used margarita glasses, wiped the slimy salt off the rims with a dirty finger, and mixed it with the residue found on the floor of a Gatorade factory. And yet, if you search the web you will find that "86% of people who took MoviPrep rated the taste "acceptable" or "satisfactory." I find that number dubious.

There's a chapter in one of the Harry Potter books where Dumbledore and Harry travel to a cave in an effort to track down a horcrux. Once in the cave, they must row across a dark lake to an island. On the island is a pedestal. Resting in that pedestal is a horcrux, submerged beneath a mysterious fluid. Dumbledore announces to Harry that he is going to drink all the fluid and, no matter what happens, no matter how much he screams in agony, no matter how much he begs Harry to let him stop, how much he pleads to Harry to just let him die, Harry must make sure Dumbledore finishes all the liquid.

That liquid was MoviPrep. It's just that bad. The directions say that over a course of an hour, you must drink the first liter, in four parts. The first part sets the stage, making you realize just how horrible the stuff is, and causing you to wonder how on earth the second liter will go down. But then, you think, the directions say that you won't have to drink the second liter until two hours later. Surely, that gives you some recovery time, right? Um, no. You will be spending the next two hours sitting on the toilet while every last ounce of gunk from the inside of your colon gets power washed out of you. And, as Dave says, just when you think you've recovered from the first dose, it's time for the second.

By the time I was halfway through the second liter, more was coming back up than was going down. My advice is to drink it over the kitchen sink. Oh, and of course while you're attempting to drown yourself from the top down, the bottom half of you is reminding you that you need to be close to the bathroom at all times. I never did make it through the full second liter. My insides simply told me "no freaking way" and that was that. Plus, I realized I was doing this so the doctor had a clear, unobstructed path through my intestines, and I figured if he had to maneuver around those Primanti's french fries I had last month then so be it. This is Pittsburgh after all, so I'm sure he'll know to look for them.

While I will spare you the details of my time in the bathroom, I can at least say that during the purging phase I was able to watch not one but two full Netflix movies as they streamed on my iPhone. Yeah, about 4 hours. It's amazing that I can even walk today.

The next morning, my lovely wife (whom I can only love more for putting up with my poop jokes, and noises, all night) escorted me to the hospital. I signed in, and the nurse prepped me for the procedure. I was told to remove everything but my socks and shoes, put on the classic hospital gown, and wrap a beige blanket around my waist. I guess they figured I would be SO embarrassed by my outfit that talking with a complete stranger about what he was going to insert into my rectum would be no big deal. And they were right.

I was then wheeled into the procedure room. Immediately I thought of Dave Barry's article again, warning us to ask for the non-ABBA colonoscopy. Amusingly there WAS a radio playing in the corner of the room. And the song? "Na na na na..Hey Hey Hey...Goodbye..."

Seriously.

The nurse then asked me to turn on my side while she connected something to my IV. I turned to see I was facing a 37" flat screen TV with the output from the special camera that someone else in the room was preparing. I then said, "Oh, cool, do I get to watch?" She responded by telling me as long as I was awake I could watch whatever I wanted. The very next instant, I was sitting up next to my wife and getting dressed. I missed the whole damned thing.

The nurse had told me that I would have a bit of amnesia as a result of the anesthesia. She was right. Not only did I miss the procedure, but most of the conversations I had from the point I woke up to about a half hour after my wife got me home are a complete mystery. Supposedly I was awake and alert, but I do not remember the drive home, eating my lunch, or any of the conversations I had with the nurse before I left. It was actually a little freaky.

So here I am, a clean bill of health, my tummy now filled with colon clogging BBQ'ed beef, ice cream, and donuts. I figure I survived this long on a good old fashioned American diet, and ten years from now I can empty it all out again. Hopefully by then they will come up with a liquid that at least 87% of people who take it will find acceptable or satisfactory.

A refrigeration odyssey

2010-10-16T18:25:00.004-04:00

We had the pleasure of test driving a new refrigerator for the past month. Now, as I sit here waiting for its replacement to be delivered, I thought I would share the story as well as some uneducated opinions on fridge design.

Our tale starts with car shopping. Or, rather, a determination that we would hold out with our beaten-up, wet-dog-smelling ten-year-old Honda Odyssey for another year instead of buying a replacement. That left the budget wide open to take care of a few other major purchases. I had recently realized that our old secondary fridge, in the basement, was leaking air around the sides, causing a mold farm that Louis Pasteur would have been proud of. It was time for the beast to be retired to the scrap heap, and at long last we'd be able to replace our wimpy little kitchen fridge with a shiny new model, relegating the current one to basement duty.

Our first (and only) stop was the Sears Scratch 'n Dent warehouse. We found a shiny black French Door style Samsung with all the bells and whistles for about $900 less than the retail cost, and immediately snagged it.

Unfortunately, once it was delivered, we discovered a few problems that weren't exhibited at the warehouse when it was on display. For one, the giant gash across the front was definitely NOT there when we picked it out. Plus, the leaky water hose, while handy for washing the floor or keeping the dog hydrated, was not what we were hoping for. And the sound the motor made at 11:00 the first night, similar to that of a small plane landing in our kitchen? Yeah, this guy was headed back to the store.

After a little bit of online research and shopping around (yeah, I know, something we should have done to begin with), we decided to spend a little extra money and spring for a new model, rather than another scratch 'n dent. Sears made us an offer we couldn't refuse to exchange the Defecto Fridge for a better model at a discount. So here I sit, waiting for a shiny platinum side-by-side model to show up at the front door.

Okay, so the observant reader in you may have noticed we've switched from black to platinum, and French Door style to side-by-side. See, this was a great opportunity for us. For the month that we had Defecto Fridge in our kitchen and despite my wife not getting the endless collection of my "My God, It's Full Of Stars" jokes, we realized that having a giant black behemoth in our already too-dark kitchen made it all that much more cave-like. So now we go to platinum which, by the way, is the new trend over stainless steel because it's doesn't show fingerprints. We also realized that this whole trend of French Door fridges is complete and utter whitewash by the refrigeration industry. Sure, it seems neat at first to not have to bend down to get the milk. It also seems like a sweet deal having a giant platter-sized drawer for all those Martha Stewart style deli trays you will constantly be pulling out for those classy guests you're always having over. In reality, here's the downside to having a French Door style fridge:

-You can't store anything taller than a relish jar anywhere but on the door, without removing a shelf. And the doors will hold approximately 1.5 gallons of milk, one bottle of ketchup, a container of apple juice, and a bottle of Hershey's chocolate syrup. No more.

-That giant platter-sized drawer will stay empty for much of its life as you hope some day to have friends to invite over for deli.

-The fridge has an alarm that warns you if you accidentally leave the door open. Which is handy because they don't close by themselves. But what's not so great is the fact the alarm isn't loud enough to hear unless you're standing right next to it.

-The freezer on the bottom is big, but annoyingly clunky to open. There's an upper drawer in it, but as soon as you put anything taller than a gallon of ice cream in the bottom that upper drawer will be blocked.

For all those benefits, a French Door fridge appears to cost about $600 to $1000 more than a side-by-side. Save your money and,once you find friends that you want to entertain, take them out to dinner.

On a final note, I should comment that while Samsung apparently makes an excellent quality refrigerator, their technical translation department needs some help. Some fun examples from the instruction manual:

"After taking out the Ice Bucket and cleaned, please make sure to install after removing the frost and moist."

"Please contact your service agent's."

"To get best performance of product, Temperature of frozen food during defrosting can shorten its storage life."

How not to introduce your children to camping

2010-07-25T22:30:00.004-04:00

This weekend I attempted to demonstrate the wonders of tent camping to my two young offspring. Unfortunately, as most Pittsburghers are aware, this was NOT the weekend to go tent camping.

It seemed like a simple enough plan. Two guys, their four young daughters, a couple of tents, and enough s'mores to power a Girl Scout troop for weeks. My kids were very excited, this being their first experience sleeping in a tent that wasn't set up in the basement. We had our supplies ready, our juice boxes on ice, and our GPS coordinates entered. What could go wrong?

Well, for one thing, we failed to count on that predictable summertime weather in western Pennsylvania. Threat of rain + plans to do something outdoorsy = guarantee of rain.

After meeting at a local pizza shop for dinner, we all headed out in two cars to Cook Forest, about two hours away. The skies were clear, but it was one of those typical hot summer days that usually brings on a good whalloping of rain when you least expect it. We reached the campsite just after dark, and just as it started to rain lightly. Ever try finding a campsite in the dark while it's raining? It's about as easy as finding a lost penny at the bottom of a tar pit. Nonetheless, we found it just after that point where the girls began to get tired and cranky, wondering if we were ever gonna be there. You know how it goes.

We pulled in as the rains dissipated, and started to set up the tents while the girls proceeded to explore their surroundings by shining flashlights in each others faces. By the time I got my tent laid out, the rain came back. And this time, it brought friends. It was then I realized a crucial camping mistake, which is to ASSUME you remember how to set up the tent based on a foggy memory of doing it several years ago. Naturally, attempting this in the dark during a torrential downpour, With two children leaning over your shoulder screaming that they're getting wet, was not a pleasant experience. As I proceeded to set up the rain cover upside down, I started to wonder if parents of kids on the boat from the Poseidon Adventure felt the same way when it turned over.

Nonetheless, I got the tent set up keeping the inside relatively dry, managed to get the sleeping bags and the girls' things into the tent without completely soaking them, and attempted to lay them down for the night. Tried to, anyways. The girls sat staring at me, with fear in their eyes, as the thunder started. One began to cry in fright. The other just looked at me with an "are you serious?" look on her face. I explained to them that we were perfectly safe, and the thunder and lightning were far off, and that the tent would stay dry. Lucky for me, they were both exhausted enough that they fell asleep within minutes, each one with a death grip on one of my hands, while I lay wide awake for the next several hours listening to pouring rain and wondering if they felt I'd kidnapped them and were going to leave them in the forest as a very wet snack for the bears.

At around four in the morning, just as I began dozing off, Natalie tapped me on the forehead to inform me that one of her molars fell out. Well, at least there was that.

The next morning they recovered quickly from their night of terror, ate some breakfast, and were off to start the day. After quite a successful canoe trip down a lazy river, some go-karts, lunch, and a visit to a swimming hole, my buddy and I felt we'd probably redeemed ourselves from our attempts to permanently scar our children the previous evening. We made our way back to the campsite and cooked hot dogs and s'mores over the fire, and felt pretty good about ourselves. Then, the thunder returned.

This time we were prepared, and simply made our way into our now dry tents, just in time for yet another torrential downpour. It was then that my wife called me to inform us that the area was expecting severe thunderstorms until around one in the morning. Natalie began to cry again, and Jessica simply took on the same vacant stare that I remember Jeremy Piven having in the movie Judgement Night, when he realized that in a couple of seconds Dennis Leary was going to drop him off the side of a building to his demise. It was then that my buddy and I tossed in the towel and decided it was time to pack up.

We waited for this rainstorm to stop, made our way out of the tents, and began piling items into the cars. The girls, overjoyed with the idea of getting out of this god-forsaken place, were more than happy to actually help with the teardown and packing. And of course, just as we began to tear the tents down, the downpour began again. While the girls waited in the cars, the two of us finished packing up the tents while being drenched head to toe. When I finally sloshed my way into the minivan, one of my daughters greeted me with an outstretched arm holding my last dry shirt. She handed it to me and said, "maybe next time it won't rain."

That was all I needed.

Incentives

2010-07-22T19:40:00.007-04:00

At last, I have her where I want her.

When my older child wants something, she's very clear about it. Her latest "thing" is dogs. Everything about dogs. Her room is decorated with thousands of stuffed puppies, ceramic puppies, pictures of puppies...there's even paw prints neatly painted on her bookshelves (very tastefully, I must say). This week, she's going to "camp" at Animal Friends, the local no-kill shelter. There, she's being immersed in puppydom. And it's getting to be a dangerous thing.

If you've been following my rants, you know we already have a dog. A crazy nutbag, neurotic, chew-up-everything-in-sight-if-you-leave-me-alone-for-more-than-38-seconds dog. So, naturally, she wants a second dog.

Each day she's come home not only telling us what she's learned about dogs that day (today we learned the term "hybrid dog!") but also about the latest little cutie that she absolutely must have. Trouble is, it's not just her saying, "oh, she's so cute, I MUST have her!". No, instead, she comes with justification, explaining the numerous reasons why it would really be beneficial to have a second dog:

1. It would help with Daisy's anxiety and attachment issues.
2. Daisy would have a buddy.
3. It's not like it would be TWICE as expensive to have two dogs (really?).
4. Daisy would play with the dog while we were gone and stop chewing things.

Hmm, well, frankly a couple of those items DO make sense. However, as the person who does 90% of the walking, feeding, mess cleanup and paying for, as well as 100% of the poop cleanup in the yard, I ain't too interested in doubling my efforts.

Naturally, my almost-ten-year-old declared she would step up to the plate and help with all that. I asked, "even poop cleanup?"

Of course, she replied with "eww...gross!"

I told her that's what it's going to take for me to even CONSIDER a second dog. She then declared that, yes, she'd help.

I tried to make her feel better about it by explaining that if you leave the poop in the yard a couple of days, it hardens like a rock and is easier to pick up. For some reason that didn't make her feel better.

This evening she and I walked Daisy together, and she continued to spout out facts about why it would be good to have another dog, a boy dog, one Daisy could be buddies with, one that would distract her, keep her busy, and she would certainly help more with the feeding and care, and yes, she'd even help clean the poop....

And right then and there, Daisy left a deposit in the neighbor's yard. So with a wide smile, I handed my daughter the little plastic bag.

She replied with, "what, now?"

"Yup, if you even want me to CONSIDER IT..."

"Ew."

But she did it. Arms extended, holding her nose the entire way back. But she did it.

Upon our return, we walked into the basement and was reminded of the massive pile of cardboard boxes, destined for recycling, that Daisy turned into confetti all over the basement floor. The pile that's been sitting there for two weeks.

She's downstairs cleaning it now, as I write this.

Ah, a classic parenting moment. I wonder how long I can milk this?

The Family Vacation

2010-07-18T19:38:00.006-04:00

We've just returned from what can only be deemed a classic American vacation. Last week we packed the minivan with beach toys, scooters, coolers, and antacid and headed for a rented beach house in Delaware, where we stayed with our close friends who also have two small children and an SUV filled with crap.

Overall the week was a success. We left on speaking terms with our friends. The moms got their well deserved rest and yet left more exhausted than they arrived. We only broke two dishes, a glass, and a vase containing fake flowers that was a victim of poor placement in the first place. And the dads, also known as the "pack mules", managed to squeeze out just enough relaxation to not go completely insane.

Paul, my fellow pack mule, reminded me of a post I created several years ago as a warning to future parents on what they should expect when a new member of the family arrives. Well, in a similar vein, a couple with no kids perhaps debating whether or not to join the parenting game might just decide against it after reading the following vacation highlight reel. I'm pretty sure the sound of doors slamming and tires squealing that I heard one night early in the week was the unmarried vacationing couple next door sneaking out in a combination of disgust and panic.

The bunk beds
The kids were quite excited to find two sets of bunk beds in the house where we stayed. Of course, with one kid still in a pack-and-play, that meant two top bunks for three kids. Time for a lesson on sharing, right?

Before the first night's sleep it was decided that, each night, the kids would switch things around so that the duty of sleeping in a lower bunk would be shared equally amongst them. This seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. Unfortunately it also meant that, each night, the parents had to deal with a child who was so traumatized by the possibility of bumping her head when sitting on the lower bunk that they would refuse to go to bed. For some reason, none of the kids bought into the logic that my buddy and I both spent four years of college sleeping on a bottom bunk while somehow avoiding a concussion. Go figure.

The tantrums
By the end of the week, Paul and I made it a game of deciding which kid would be next to tantrum, and why. With only a little practice we were able to call them moments before they would occur, much like Radar O'Reilly in M*A*S*H would announce the arrival of helicopters before anyone else could hear them.

There were tantrums over sharing of toys. Over naptime. Over sandcastles. Over hair clips. Doors being closed on fingers. Sequence of showers. Showers instead of baths. Baths instead of another five minutes in the pool. Getting out of the pool. Getting out of the bath. Getting out of the shower. Shopping for trinkets. Shopping for t-shirts. Over ice cream. Over dinner selections. Over being dragged on a pirate cruise. Over who got to be the 8th person in the minivan, forced to sit in someone's lap.

In other words, it was just like being home.

Fear of the ocean
I suppose it's healthy for a child to have some level of fear of the ocean. It's big and swirly, tastes bad, and movies are made about it with sharks eating people who like to swim. On the one hand, there's the level of fear that allows the child enough courage to go ankle deep into the water, only to dash out at full speed before the cold wave splashes at thigh level. On the other hand, there's the child who's level of fear is so high that just the sight of seeing dad enter the water without her causes screaming and panic. We experienced both levels, and every one in between. My oldest managed to work up the courage to join her dad several yards into the water where the waves broke, only to refuse to speak to him for the rest of the night when he somehow managed to allow the wave to crash directly into her face, filling her open and screaming mouth with salty sand. Paul's oldest took the stance of "uh uh...if I don't go in, you don't go in, so get your butt out of that water, mister!". Thus, he stayed pretty dry all week.

Out to Dinner
What would a beach vacation be without that night out at a big ol' seafood restaurant? Well, we belted through two dinners out this week, one more successful than the other. The first was in classic style. The little one's nap failed to take, so he was the typical bear that every parent dreams of. The only way to keep him from fussing was to constantly distract him with the spotlight-induced images of fish swirling around the restaurant floor, and thus we didn't see much of him or his mom the entire meal. And of course there were the usual bathroom breaks. First a child announces it's time to empty the bladder, so mom takes her. Upon returning to the table, the second child announces it's her turn, and the parent returns to the bathroom. Once back, she realizes that she, herself failed to go, and it's time for another trip. By then the appetizers are finished, and it's the dad's turn to go. Overall, we would have all seen more of each other if we'd asked for a table inside one of the restroom stalls.

The second dinner was almost strangely successful, with little issue to speak of. This was despite the 45-minute wait for a table, which we realized would be worth it when we thought about the fact that it would take us at least that long just to find another restaurant, and on a Friday night that place would have a wait as well. But the kids kept themselves occupied the entire time. Perhaps it was due to the four iPhones we had in our possession, each with a copy of the game "Pee Monkey" on it.

The noise, noise, noise, noise!
After accepting the challenge from my eldest child to swim down and touch the bottom of the nine-foot deep pool, I found myself unable to remove the water from my ear. After three days of asking people to repeat themselves and turning the TV volume up to eleven, a trip to the local urgent care facility was necessary. It turned out that the water pressure had compacted enough wax into my ear canal to make an entire colony of bees say, "dude, that's a lot of wax."

Unfortunately I didn't realize how good I'd had it. After my ear cleaning, I quickly learned just how loud a house with four children who've had nothing but ice cream and popcorn for four days straight can be. I promptly went back to the urgent care facility and asked for my wax back.

It only took about thirty years, but at last I finally understand why my parents never took me or my sister anywhere.

On LEDs, snoring dogs, and the Daily Show

2010-07-03T23:18:00.000-04:00

My wife and I have a pretty good sleeping space. Though it's a fairly big bedroom (about 30 feet long, 12 feet wide), it doesn't feel cavernous or empty. Probably because of all the crap everywhere, but that's for another post. It's quiet and peaceful most of the time, except when the neighbor kid plays basketball in the driveway next door at midnight, but that's also the subject of another post. What IS the subject of this post, you ask? Well, tonight I'm going to talk about the wonders of LED technology and how they manage to nerf up my REM sleep.

You may recall a year or so ago, the fun adventure I had attempting to replace the ceiling fan, due to a light clicking noise that came from the motor at 4 in the morning. Well, along with that episode I've managed to build up a fine little collection of enemies to my feng shui. For example:

A couple of years ago we picked up an admittedly cheapass 19" LCD television for the bedroom. After the first hour of the first night with it in our room, I had to trudge down to the workshop and locate the roll of black electrical tape to cover up the bright blue LED light shining from the bezel of the TV when it was OFF, because it lit up the entire room at night. Now I ask you...do I REALLY need an indicator to know that my TV is off?

A few months ago, when we upgraded our Tivo, I moved the old one into the bedroom. We quickly realized that the need for quiet sleep outranked the need to watch last night's episode of Jon Stewart in bed, and the Tivo's fan was soon silenced by our unplugging the unit and selling it on ebay.

I'm currently typing this on our Mac in the bedroom. This Mac usually resides in the office downstairs, but its been temporarily moved to the bedroom while we remodel the office. I've taken to putting it to sleep each night, so that it doesn't randomly spout out midnight appointment reminders or blind us when the screen suddenly wakes up. I've also had to cover up the external hard drive, which has yet another blue LED that lights up the room.

Last but not least, we just received a new bedroom cable box from our cable provider. This unit is a DVR (the reason we have a DVR along with the Tivo is yet another post). Between the loud fan and the ultra-bright clock on the face of this unit, it gets unplugged at night as well.

It seems to me that these are all fine examples of weaknesses of the product testing process. Just like the way only left-handers tested the iPhone's antenna strength, obviously no one bothered to test out the TV or cable box at night in a real world test, only to discover the LEDs are bright enough to land a plane by. Kudos to the LED industry for making an impressive product. Sell it with a dimmer switch next time.

It never used to be this way. Back in my college years I spent many a night zonked out in the back bedroom with 40 or 50 of my fraternity brothers on the other side of the wall, doing and consuming things that really aren't appropriate for this blog. I blame this change in my ability to sleep soundly quite squarely on my children. 9 or so years of waking up to the slightest whine or sniffle has really taken its toll. And right now, as I turn to look behind me, I see my lovely wife zonked out across my pillow and breathing heavily, my dog in her crate snoring, and my younger offspring asleep on the couch and coughing lightly every thirty seconds or so. I think I will go downstairs and catch last night's Jon Stewart.

Wallpaper. Why did it have to be wallpaper?

2010-06-29T06:43:00.001-04:00

When I was young I was a huge fan of Looney Tunes. Every Saturday morning I would sneak downstairs just before 8:00 in the morning, turn on the kitchen black-and-white, and watch Bugs, Elmer, and the gang cause mayhem and mischief while making timely jokes that went way over my head for many years to come. One of my favorite sketches was the one with Michigan J. Frog, the singing toad that drove an unnamed stranger to insanity. In the end, the man buried the frog in the foundation of a skyscraper under construction just to get the blasted creature out of his life. In the final scene, it's the year 2056, and a laborer from ACME Building Disintegrators is using a ray gun to completely eradicate the building when he stumbles upon a box containing our hero, the singing frog.

Forget iPads. Forget 3D television. What this society needs is one of those building disintegrators. Think of the deteriorated urban landscapes we could clean up. We could eliminate landfills. Imagine setting it to its lowest setting, "wallpaper removal", and making this home renovation chore an absolute breeze. No more scraping. No more gooey mess. Just point and shoot.

See? ya like how I slid the subject of a home renovation project in without you even noticing? Yeah, it's time again (still). After spending the last few weeks building cabinets for my neighbor, she offered (well, she accepted the deal) to paint our dining room. That turned into painting both the dining room AND the adjacent home office, since they will both be the same color. So naturally, this led me to realize that now is the perfect time to completely remodel both rooms. In my spare time.

Anyone who's been to our house knows what we're dealing with. puke-beige carpeting that's been in the house about 5 years too long, "lovely" rose-patterned pink wallpaper on which a former resident with a Laura Ashley fetish spent way too much money, and curtains that saw their prime years ago in a mid-eighties walkup in the Bronx. Well, we're switching out the carpet for Pergo that I rescued from another area of the house (more on that another day), and the curtains and wallpaper are to be replaced with something from the Sherwin-Williams Arts & Crafts pallet. This will lead me down the road of new baseboard and crown moulding (Arts & Crafts as well, new lighting, and yes...built-in office furniture. All in all, the project should keep me squirreled away in the workshop until my older one gets past the training bra phase.

Unfortunately, it all starts with removing the wallpaper. I hate wallpaper. I hate putting it up. I hate taking it down. Whomever invented wallpaper didn't really plan out the exit strategy very well. As tacky as it is, I understand why some less anal retentive folks actually consider painting over wallpaper. Not that I'd ever do that, but I feel for the poor bastards.

The offspring were of little help to me on this project, of course. Despite my desperate attempts to make them my slaves, they have quickly learned that the best way to avoid work is to get into fights with each other about it. Sure, they loved the first step of the wallpaper removal process, which was to peel off the top layer in sheets, leaving the shreds on the floor. But when it came time for the spray-and-scrape process to remove the glue from the wall, it was nothing but "Hey, I wanted to use that scraper! That scraper's special to me! Fine! I won't help then! Sissy, stop throwing at me! I wish I was an only child! I hope an asteroid crashes into this planet and squashes you like that centipede daddy found in the dryer! I hate you!" I realized when they were fighting with each other about who did the better job of tearing up the pieces on the floor into smaller pieces, that their fighting was a coordinated effort to get out of helping their dad. Very sneaky.

In the end, I came up with a rhythm. Spray the wallpaper remover. Stop to make coffee. Yell at the kids for fighting with each other. Scrape the walls. Repeat. It was a very productive day.

Designing a thing can't be THAT hard.

2010-06-13T19:55:00.004-04:00

Over the past few years, I've often thought to myself that for my next career move, I need to work for a company that makes an actual THING you can hold in your hand. Okay, so that goal went by the wayside with my new career in the financial industry (and no, I don't work directly with cash, so that doesn't count), however I have to say I sometimes wonder how much better I could make things than the people out there who actually do it. Have you ever come across a product with a flaw so completely and utterly stupid it makes you wonder why the designer wasn't burned at the stake by company stockholders?

Take, for example, the air mattress I just attempted to inflate for my daughter's sleepover with her friend. This mattress, made by Coleman, comes with a handy-dandy inflator that blows up the mattress in less than two minutes. It's great when it works. However, the designers of this gadget demonstrated their idiocy by missing one important characteristic of the inflator.

Let's think for a moment...how often does one typically use an inflatable mattress? A couple times a year? When the in-laws come to visit? During flu season when the spouse bans you from the master bedroom due to excess phlegm? So that means for about 360 out of 365 days each year, this cordless inflator sits idle in the closet with a dead battery. That dead battery takes eight hours to fully charge, by plugging the inflator itself into the wall. AND, when the inflator is plugged in, it CANNOT BE USED. I'm sure most inflatable mattress users. like myself, never think to charge the inflator a day in advance before pulling the mattress out of the closet. And, if you're like me, you then end up rigging up your bike pump to do the job you'd originally bought the inflator to do. I'd really like to know what idiot allowed this through testing.

Next let's take a look at my new printer, a Kodak ESP5250. This is actually an excellent printer. It's one of those that Kodak is touting to have the lowest replacement ink cost in the industry, and it appears to be true. It prints well, scans well, and runs virtually flawlessly. Except if you move it.

The power cord on this printer resembles that of a laptop cord, with a "brick" that rests on the floor between two pieces of cord. The adapter that plugs into the back of the printer is so loose that if you move the printer a half inch, it sheds itself of the power cord completely. Really? No one noticed that in testing?

Finally, let's look at this alarm clock and iPod charger/player I bought for my daughter. It seemed simple and functional enough. It works as a clock, and it allows Thing #1 to fill her bedroom with the sounds of Hannah Montana blaring from her Nano any time she wants. However, it cannot actually be used as an alarm clock, despite the product description. You see, for some ridiculous reason when the alarm sounds, it always sounds with the volume at it's HIGHEST LEVEL. It even says in the directions, "after the alarm sounds you may adjust the volume to a lower setting." Seriously? Someone not only tested this "feature" but didn't feel the need to question the design? Way to go, tech writers. I'd like to know if the quality assurance team that tested this device actually tested it on small children, only to watch them launch through the ceiling when the alarm goes off with the music volume set past eleven. Morons.

Unfortunately my daughter wants to keep the clock radio, because it has cool changeable designs. At least the designers had their priorities straight.

40-year old Verging

2010-06-01T23:15:00.000-04:00

Okay, okay, I know, the blog. Yeah, it's time to get my butt back in gear and let those creative juices flow. I have to say that the past couple of months have been a trying time for the creative side of my brain for many reasons. For starters, I've quit my job (the one I've had for a little less than a year after being laid off from a place I'd been with for close to two decades) and am starting a new one two days from now. Meanwhile I'm taking a week to get my head, my life, and the house back in order, to prepare for my upcoming role as an engagement manager (sorry, that's as detailed as I'm gonna get right now...it's a rule of mine not to blog about work), and to lay some concrete below the back steps. Yup, there's always a home improvement project.

If you were expecting to see a post here that I'd spent days and days noodling over to get the content and the comedic timing just right, you'll be sorely disappointed I started this post at 11:15pm and expect it to be done by 11:21. Instead, this is more of a reboot for me. At least once a day lately I've been saying to myself, "would you just sit yer ass down and write something already?" The problem was, I couldn't decide on a subject. Should it be about my daughter's solo at the 3rd grade violin recital? About buying a new Flip Video camera only to have its hard drive completely filled with shaky closeups of the dog's nose as taken by my 6-year-old? Or how about the fact that after completing our major home renovation only two short years ago, we just completed about seven grand worth of re-work as a result of damage from this winter's snowpocalypse? Hmm, well you know how sometimes your guest room just gets so messy, you don't even bother straightening it up and instead just close the door and pretend it's not even a part of the house until the day you find out your sister and her entire family are coming for a weekend stay for the first time since your wedding? Well, in blogging terms, today is that day. Time to open the door and start shoveling.

I suppose a good enough place to start would be with what may be deemed by some as a personal milestone this year. It finally happened. I hit forty. I don't believe I've thought much about it up to this point...it's just another notch in the long, somewhat worn belt of life, really. And frankly, I tend to wear the crap out of my belts, keeping them around for years and years past their prime, until the holes are loose and the leather is so shredded that I would have an easier time keeping my pants up with duct tape. So, I guess if I were to build this into a solid metaphor, I can say that I've got a lot more life in me before I completely fall apart and I will attempt to make the most of it by adjusting a notch or two.

I realized one interesting thing related to my birthday, though. 40 years old is the youngest age that I truly remember my dad being. Oh, he's still alive and kicking, so this isn't some memoir about a father long since past. But when I think back to my childhood, I realize he was 40 when I was ten years old, and I don't really remember any time when he was younger than that. For some reason, this strikes me as important. I think I know why, too. According to my own brain and memories, my dad's life began thirty years ago, when he turned 40. This means I'm just getting started, as well. And I've got nothing to complain about. Well, except that I need a new belt.

My new Theme Song

2010-03-20T20:44:00.007-04:00

Every once in a while I come across something accidentally that gets me all giddy inside. This weekend, I came across my new theme song, along with the genius behind it.

While listening to Pandora yesterday, I heard something completely new. It was a song called "Shop Vac, but an artist named Jonathan Coulton. It seems back in 2006 Coulton produced a number of songs under the Creative Commons License, giving them away for free and thus becoming an internet sensation. Which makes me wonder why I never heard of the guy before yesterday. Especially because he grew up in Colchester, CT and was roommates with John Hodgeman. Anyway, the guy is a freaking genius and absolutely hysterical. Take some time and check this stuff out:

If you're an itunes user, click on this link to be taken to Coulton's collection of 52 songs he produced by releasing one each week for a year. The album, aptly named Thing A Week One, is available for free as a podcast. Make especially sure to listen to the songs below.

Now, to make the experience even more worthwhile, it turns out there's an entire Wiki site dedicated to Mr. Coulton, where you can read the lyrics to each of his songs. The song links below are to their lyric pages.

Shop Vac

Re: Your Brains

Mr. Fancy Pants

Code Monkey

The Town Crotch

After you've listened to the above selections, I dare you to not go about your day with "All we wanna do is eat your brains" running through your head endlessly.

Genius. Absolute genius.

My thoughts on the iPad, and more importantly on books

2010-03-16T22:26:00.004-04:00

I came across a blogger's well-written post about Books in the age of the iPad through my friend's blog. I began writing a very long comment at the end of the article, but decided that, as long I was in the mood to pen a full diatribe, I might as well make a blog post about it. So go ahead and read the article. I'll wait. Then, come back.

Okay, so here's my thoughts. Much of the author's future vision of print seems dead on. In the coming age of the iPad, books will need to become more creative, more special, and more worthy of buying a paper copy as opposed to simply downloading it. However, I think that the points he makes about what won't be missed are simply untrue for a great many people.

As a result of focusing the last 20 years or so of my life on the printing industry and loving it, I got to have the last summer off when my company downsized. I hold no vision of a printing industry that isn't close to death's door. It has shrunk in size each and every year I've been in it, and I'm happy to be moving on to brighter pastures. But I will never stop loving print. It's just to special an industry.

Meanwhile, I watch the transition of print to digital by watching the habits of my lovely wife. She reads somewhere close to 100 books each year. She keeps a massive, color-coded list of books she has read each year, and looks forward to seeing it grow the way a triathlete in training looks forward to seeing his times shrink with each workout. Sometimes I think she skirts the fringes of insanity with this passion of hers, but I have the utmost respect for it. Frankly, it is kind of fun to watch her obsess over the latest issue of Bookmarks Magazine, or burn out a hair dryer (and a few hair follicles) after sitting in the bathroom for an hour lost in the pages of her latest novel. And of those 100 books each year, very, VERY few are purchased retail. They come second hand, they are borrowed from the library, they are purchased at used book sales, and they are even found tucked away in our house, obtained in years past by providers unknown.

My wife has told me over and over that she will NEVER read an electronic book. While I find the finality of that claim somewhat dubious, I cannot disagree that she, and many like her, are the reason the printed book may never go away, and I hope she's right. After all:

-You shouldn't have to spend $500 just to read a book.

-You can't give an iPad to your friend after you're done reading an ebook. Heck, you can't even conveniently give it to your spouse. And likewise, most households aren't going to buy an iPad for each member of the family. At least, mine ain't.

-As I mentioned above, very few books in our house were bought retail. I know, I know, this is one of the reasons why the printing industry is having such a hard time, and they need this new business model. Sure, that's true, but if my wife had to pay $15 for each and every book she read (now would probably be a good time to point out that she's actually purchased or obtained enough books that she hasn't read yet to keep her squirreled away in her reading chair for another couple of years without ever leaving the house), plus $500 for an iPad, well, the kids would be headed for technical school instead of Carnegie Mellon.

-Personally, one of my favorite times to read is during that period on an airplane when your tray tables must be placed in their full upright and locked position. The time when all electronics must be shut off is the best time to pull out that second-hand novel sitting in my backpack. And when your landing gets delayed such that you're circling for two hours without being able to use your ebook reader, well good luck not trying to light your sneakers on fire in frustration.

-Books don't break.

-You can't take an iPad to a book signing (which, by the way, is exactly where my wife is at this very moment).

-While I definitely agree that this new paradigm will force book manufacturers to get more creative with their printed products, I don't believe the same is true for childrens books. Be it toddler board books or young pre-teen Judy Blume novels, those products will be around for a long, long time. And believe me, after you've watched your nine-year-old waste an afternoon playing the Wii or on Webkinz.com, it's incredibly uplifting to see her pull out a Nancy Drew Mystery (yeah, they're still around) and disappear into a cozy chair for an hour with it.

-Imagine how dull and drab the den will look with empty bookshelves. I will have none of that.

-Perhaps the biggest problem I have with the concept of an iPad is the distraction. My wife complains that I never read anymore. That's almost true. I have to make an effort to detach myself from the day-to-day, from my latest home project, from the TV, or from the computer, in order to sit down and read something. But when I do, it's a unique experience that cannot be compared to attempting to read a story when you can be so easily distracted by something completely unrelated without even looking up from the page. This morning, as my daughter was reading The Lightning Thief at the breakfast table (and mind you I would NEVER let those grubby, pineapple juice-ridden sandwich clamps touch my ipad at the breakfast table if I had one), she asked me what a "caduceus" was. Not recognizing the word, we headed for the computer and suddenly got lost in a half hour of surfing Wikipedia and related sites. On the one hand, it's great to have all that information at your fingertips. On the other hand, it's great to disconnect once in a while.

Don't get me wrong. I want an iPad. I can't justify buying one right now, but I want an iPad just the same.

The REAL reason I haven't been blogging...

2010-03-10T21:30:00.003-05:00

At long last, my latest workshop odyssey is complete. Well, at least complete enough to take a break for a while. I've finished constructing my entertainment unit. I still plan on building a piece over the TV and perhaps putting doors on the bottom of the bookshelves, but for now it's done enough that I can sit back, watch LOST, and enjoy the final product.

This was definitely a fun project. It was quite a challenge working with those old sycamore floorboards, as often times it was tough to get a piece of any decent length without huge knots or holes. Overall I didn't have any major disasters during the project, except for when I realized I incorrectly measured the space for the bottom drawers such that there's quite literally less than 1/16th of an inch of extra space for the DVDs to fit in them. Oh well, soon all video will be online anyways.

Hmmm, what's the next project gonna be? Well, my neighbor conned me into helping her build built-in cabinets around her fireplace, so that should keep me busy for a while. Plus I have a dining room to redo. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll spend a little time OUT of the basement for a while.

Coffee...a cup best brewed cold...

2010-03-01T22:05:00.003-05:00

I'm baaack! And I'm seriously caffeinated. I'm also attempting to enjoy life a little more and, as a result, I'm working on getting my creative juices flowing again by reintroducing myself to my own blog. I hope the one or two remaining people with an RSS feed to this blog missed me as much as I missed myself.

While I refuse to blog about anythig related to work, I will say the past few months of my new job have been stressful and exhausting, and I will leave it at that. you want the full scoop? Buy me a beer. Or a cup of coffee. Hey speaking of which, that's quite the natural segue into the subject of today's blog post. Snow. No wait, I mean coffee, not snow. I'm sick of snow. and so are you. I'll just talk about coffee.

I'm somewhat of a coffee snob. I get all my coffee fresh roasted from Prestogeorge, my favorite place in Pittsburgh's Strip District, and tend to drink about three of four cups a day. I refuse to drink that standard office swill, and cringe any time someone tries to offer me skim milk to put in my cup. Recently my trusty-yet-raggedy DeLonghi coffeemaker decided it was time to give up the ghost. Well, not totally, but the timer button stopped working. Yeah, sure, it still makes coffee, just not at four in the morning while I'm still asleep. And that's annoying. So it was time for a new coffee maker.

My needs were simple. A steel carafe and a timer were really my only requirements. I wasn't interested in a machine that automatically grinds, as waking the dog at four in the morning would be a whole different annoyance. I also believe that those doohickies that take the single-serving plastic tubs of coffee are yet another example of how this planet is doomed, so I'm not going there either. And, unfortunately, I took the time to read all the comments on Amazon.com for each coffee maker I viewed, and noticed one common thread...they all sucked. Curse you, Amazon, and your Web 2.0 openness. It was so much easier to shop when I knew nothing about what I was buying.

Then I started to read about the concept of "cold brewing". The idea is that you take a pound of ground coffee, dump it in a plastic tub with about nine cups of water, let it sit for a day, then drain it through a filter. The end result is sort of a coffee "concentrate". Take a little bit of this concentrate (about a 1/4 cup) and mix in a cup of boiling water Yes folks, it's a trendy take on instant coffee! But the concentrate has none of the oils and acids left in typical brewed coffee, and therefore it tastes more "pure" and is less harsh on your stomach. One batch of concentrate apparently will last over a month in the fridge and makes about as many cups of coffee as the traditional process would, but with no waste because you make it a cup at a time. The gadget to do this cost about thirty bucks, so I decided to give it a shot.

The verdict? I'm still undecided, but I'm leaning toward excellent. They say that this process makes coffee that "tastes like a coffee shop smells" and they are absolutely right. It has a sweet, pleasant taste with no bitterness. You can make it as strong or as weak as you like simply by adding more or less concentrate. It's the first cup of coffee that I've ever enjoyed drinking black. While I'm still in the process of finishing my first batch, I'd say I'll stick with it for a while. Here's some other interesting things I've learned about this whole process:

Someone on a website commented that if you drain the "sludge" after it's done steeping for the day and immediately put new water into the old coffee grounds, you can get a second batch of concentrate that's just as good as the first, thus doubling what you get out of a pound of coffee. It appears to be the truth, because I can't taste the difference between batch 1 and batch 2.

The brewing process isn't exactly the cleanest in the world, but since you only do it about once a month, it's not so bad.

This stuff makes kickass iced mocha and iced coffee as well.

It's nice making coffee with boiling water. You end up with much hotter coffee that you do from a typical brewer.

If you invite friends over that drink decaf (god knows why), you might have a problem if you don't have a spare coffeemaker around, because this whole cold brewing process isn't exactly a spur-of-the-moment thing. You can, however, make an entire pitcher of coffee simply by measuring out enough concentrate to mix with the right amount of boiling water

The leftover sludge makes great compost for the yard. Just dump it around your plants to keep deer away. That is, if the snow ever thaws.

Avoiding frozen pipes without setting fire to the house

2010-01-03T20:40:00.007-05:00

Okay, I had three different Facebook friends mention they had frozen bathroom pipes this weekend. I think it's high time I share my discovery with the world regarding a great way to avoid frozen pipes forever.

When we renovated the house we made a really dumb decision and located the new master bathroom sink not only on an outside wall, but in sort of a "bumpout" that looks like this:

I know, I know...kind of looks like the side of an RV, right? Well, not the brightest idea, in retrospect. The pipes froze twice in the first winter. The solution we came up with was to install a Watts Water Circulating Pump on the hot water tank.

The concept is simple. On the "hot water out" pipe atop your water heater, you install the pump. under the sink with the problem pipes, you install a special mixing valve (that tubular thing in the foreground) that connects the hot and cold water pipes together before the water runs to the faucet. The gadget on the hot water tank has a 24-hour timer on it, on which you can set intervals of 15 minutes each for it to run at various times throughout the day. When it kicks on, it sends hot water up the hot water pipe, to the mixing valve under the sink, and back down the cold water pipe to the water tank, thus filling your entire system with hot (or at least warmer) water. Voila, no more frozen pipes. During the coldest time of year (um..now!) I have it run once every two hours.

Installation is simple, and if you're lucky no soldering is necessary. By "lucky" I mean that if the hot water pipe coming out of the top of your hot water tank is flexible, then all you have to do (after properly turning off and emptying the tank) is unscrew the hose, put this gadget on in between it and the tank, and reconnect. If the pipes are straight copper, you'll need to cut the pipe. I helped a friend install one in his house and, to avoid soldering, we used a pipe fitting called a "sharkbite" fitting. Ask the guy at Home Depot about it.

Another advantage to this thing is you no longer have to wait ten minutes for warm water to reach the shower. The only disadvantage (other than the relatively minor electrical usage) is that you, ironically, must wait a bit for COLD water to come out of the tap. But really, which is worse, rinsing your teeth in warm water or crawling under the sink and setting fire to your house with a blow torch?

A pink kink in my think

2010-01-01T08:44:00.004-05:00

Why pink? Why, why I ask you?

This New Years weekend will be spent painting my daughter's room pink. Why? Because after months and months of hounding and hounding me that she didn't like the washed-out green walls, I finally relented, made the mistake of handing her the Sherwin-Williams paint book, let her pick her three favorite colors, and thanked heaven she didn't pick obnoxious orange like she originally requested for the bathroom renovation. Then I made her promise that if she did most of the work emptying out her giant scrap heap of a room I'd paint her walls with her. So, pink it is. Never mind that it's a dark pink that will make the room feel like the inside of a Hello Kitty clock on a cloudy day. Never mind that her room currently has the cleanest and most not-in-need-of-repainting walls in the whole house. Never mind that I hate pink.

My hatred for pink goes back quite a ways. The first girl I ever dated wore nothing but pink. Everything, absolutely EVERYTHING, she wore, day in and day out, was pink. It would stun anyone to see her mix it up a little with a red scarf or a purple sash. Luckily she dumped me before I truly couldn't take it anymore.

A while back, researchers did a study that seemed to suggest women are genetically programmed to prefer shades of pink. One possible reason for this was that while men hunted, women gatherered, and they had to be able to spot ripe berries and fruits. I'm not buying this. My daughter hates berries.

Comcast Makes Good

2009-12-22T20:03:00.003-05:00

At long last, we have a working Tivo. For those who weren't paying attention, after writing my last post clearly describing how the fine folks at Comcast could not for the life of them figure out how to get a Comcast CableCard properly installed in a Tivo, an Internet-trolling Comcast Customer Service employee came across my blog and actually posted a comment asking me to contact him so he could help. So I did. And he did. And just like that, all is right with the world. He conferred with the tech that was coming to the house, made sure the guy would have a full arsenal of tools at his disposal, and voila. At long last I can Tivo this week's episode of "Hung" on HBO. Not that I'd want to. The show is pretty lame, frankly.

So what have we learned, class? Well first, it pays to speak your mind. And these days, if you speak your mind you'd be surprised just who might actually hear it. In fact several months ago, I posted a similar rant about attempting to replace a defective ceiling fan bought at Home Depot. As a result of that rant, the administrator of a large ceiling fan sales website commented, thanking me for posting such useful information. Had I thought of doing this a few years back when we discovered the aftermarket warranty on our couch was as much a sham as the blanket tossed over the back of the same couch, I would have ranted about that, too. Hmm, maybe I still will.

Suddenly, I'm taken to a moment back in time, back when I was when I was a strapping young lad by the age of 10 or 11. One day in elementary school I was assigned a homework assignment that involved selecting a product that I liked and writing a letter of praise to the manufacturer. The product I chose was the Swingline stapler. But not just any stapler. Specifically, one of those tiny red ones designed for elementary school to students carry around in their pencil boxes.

For some reason that seems to escape me at the moment, this was the product I chose. Looking back, I realize now how close I became to becoming that guy played by Stephen Root in Office Space. It's kind of eerie, actually. Come to think of it, I do mumble a lot, and I like setting fire to things. I could set this whole building on fire, in fact, I...

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah.

While I don't recall exactly how I extolled the virtues of the Swingline Mini Stapler or how exactly it completed my childhood, I do remember one thing. Out of all the kids in the class, I was the only one who got not only a response from the manufacturer, but a freebie as well. Yes, Swingline actually sent me a shiny new Mini Stapler, with a year's supply of staples. I remember walking proudly into school that day, heaving my shiny new Mini Stapler over my head like an Academy Award, thrown off balance by the proud slaps on the back from my fellow students, showered with cheers and coy giggles from fawning school girls. There I was, a true hero of the gifted class, for one brief but powerful, shining moment that my fellow students would recall fondly for years to come. At least, that's how I remembered it.

What the heck was I talking about again?

----------

And I said, I don't care if they lay me off either, because I told, I told Bill that if they move my desk one more time, then, then I'm, I'm quitting, I'm going to quit. And, and I told Don too, because they've moved my desk four times already this year, and I used to be over by the window, and I could see the squirrels, and they were married, but then, they switched from the Swingline to the Boston stapler, but I kept my Swingline stapler because it didn't bind up as much, and I kept the staples for the Swingline stapler and it's not okay because if they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire...

Construction of the Horse Poop Cabinets

2009-12-20T16:06:00.008-05:00

One month into my latest workshop project, I am surprised to say I'm making good progress. You may recall that I've decided to tackle the construction of an entertainment center using, among other things, some reclaimed lumber from an old barn in the area. Jeff, my woodworker buddy who sold me the sycamore floorboards that he scavenged from the old barn, reminded me that a)not only will this wood make for a beautiful piece of furniture and a good story but b)horses, cows, and perhaps an occasional goat have been peeing and pooping on this wood for over a hundred years. Mmm...smell that history.

Working with the stuff has been an interesting challenge. As demonstrated yesterday when I tossed a few scrap pieces into the fireplace and watch them erupt into flames, this wood is as dry as the Sahara. Every time I cut a piece on my table saw, I nervously expect the piece to disintegrate into dust. But so far the wood has held together quite nicely. It's also been a challenge cutting down boards in such a way that I don't end up with giant knot holes or nail holes, although a few nicks and scrapes here and there make for nice character.

The project is proving to be a good learning experience, as well. For example, I learned you really shouldn't put the back of a bookshelf on before putting the face frames on. If your back isn't quite square, the face frames ain't gonna fit. I also learned that a biscuit joiner is a very cool tool to have in the arsenal, because it allows you to screw up and get away with it. I've also learned that I should have bought a random orbit sander years ago, using Gel Stain is a lot like spreading chocolate pudding, and I proved the old woodworker's saying that you can never have enough clamps.

So, here's my progress so far:

The original design:

Just checking to see how off-square I am:

Bookshelf #1 complete (well, aside from shelving and lighting of course)

The sycamore has some really cool grain patterns to it:

I think I need more clamps.

Comcast continues to amaze me

2009-12-20T07:34:00.002-05:00

I promise I'll get back to my regularly scheduled blogging about constructing the ultimate family with my next post, but first I need to vent about Comcast one more time. We're now into our third week of owning a new Tivo and of having Comcast pay visits to the house only to have no clue what to do with us.

It was such a simple matter. Tivo requires the use of a CableCard. Comcast provides CableCards. Make an appointment, have a Comcast dude come over and install it, and you're golden, right? So let's see where we are....

December 4: Make appointment for a week from Saturday
December 12: The 8-12 window of the appointment goes by, and at 11:59 lady calls to say the tech has no cable cards, can they bring me a set top box instead. I explode at her for making me wait all freaking morning to tell me this, instilling fear and wrath such that the woman cowers in a corner and pleads for me to let her supervisor call me. Supervisor never calls, so I call Comcast tech support and complain for an hour. Supervisor then calls, comes over 45 minutes later with three CableCards, none of which work. Says he needs to get new ones from "the warehouse" during the week. Makes appointment for 6pm-9pm December 16
December 16: Tech shows up at 1:30 in the afternoon. WTF. Installs a Cablecard. Spends an hour on the phone with the home office. Gets it working, except there are no premium channels showing. Doesn't mention that to my lovely wife, and leaves thinking he's free. I come home see there's no premium channels, call Comcast.They spend ten minutes trying to send a signal to the Card with no luck. Says they need to come out again with a new CableCard.
December 19: Tech arrives on time, but with no replacement cableCards. Spends an hour on phone with home office, trying to get current card to work, with no luck. Lists the name of every supervisor he can to woman on other line, pleading my case to her and explaining how Comcast has totally screwed us. I like this guy, despite the fact that he didn't do anything for us. Plus Daisy LOVED him. Our next attempt happens Tuesday afternoon.

Okay, so that brings us to today. I've realized the flaw in their system.

First of all, it's a known fact that CableCards arere a commercial failure for the industry, primarily because Comcast and other Cable companies realized that they shouldn't offer $2.00 CableCards to customers when instead they could market $10 cable boxes and get additional revenue with On Demand sales. Sure, makes sense. But that doesn't negate the fact that new Tivos REQURE the use of CableCards, and Comcast still OFFERS CableCards, therefore they should SUPPORT CableCards.

Second, most of their techs work from home. They wake up each morning and say, "Well Brain, what are we going to do today?" Pinky answers with, "Same thing we do every day, Pinky...install some cable boxes." Basically if a gadget ain't in their truck already, they aren't prepared for the day and there's going to be a problem. At no point are the techs informed ahead of time that there will be a CableCard installation, and he'd better stop at the warehouse and get a working CableCard.

Third, CableCard settings expire. If the tech grabs a bunch to keep in his car, they are already initialized and coded to work with the local Comcast system. But if they aren't used in, say, three months, the settings automatically expire and the card needs to be reinitialized before it's brought to the house.

Seems like a classic failure to communicate. If they ever get this working right, the next thing I'm going to do is have a little chat with Comcast, and have them lower my bill by using this strategy.

Oh and the next Comcast employee who asks me why I wouldn't like to keep Comcast's DVR instead will get punched.

As long as I'm venting

2009-12-13T15:52:00.000-05:00

Wow, this is a first. I'm bored. I'm actually bored. Not to say my life is normally the most exciting there is, but it's raining outside, the wife and Thing #1 are out, while Thing #2 has vanished into the playroom with her new Barbie dollhouse. It's cold and rainy outside, my cabinet project is currently in midst-glueup so I can't work on it right now, and I don't feel like watching TV, exercising, or in any way improving my life.

I know! I'll vent some more!

As you could see by my last post, major consumer goods have annoyed me lately. So as long as I'm walking down that path, maybe I'll take some time and bitch a little bit about Apple.

W....H...A...T...?...?....?

"But Mike," you say. "Aren't you, like, a total Mac lover? I mean, don't you want to MARRY your Mac?"

Well sure. Our house has gone all Mac, as we currently has two Apple iMacs no PC-based machines, three iPods, an iPhone, an Apple Time Capsule, and an Airport Express. After all, I use PCs all day at work and, much like a gynecologist, do I really want to take my work home each day? And all of it works together just so bloody well. So why would I complain?

Because Apple seems to have failed with two simple, basic home computing rights: The right to keep a to-do list and the right to print an address correctly.

I'll explain. First, Apple has done a very nice job on integrating a To-do list application into their Mail and Calendar programs. Since users are always in Mail anyways, it's easy to click one button and add an item to a to-do list in a separate window of the Mail program. Those To-do items also synchronize with the Calendar program, so you can easily see in the calendar what's coming up on the To-do list.

But there's one huge flaw with the whole To-do list feature. It doesn't exist on the iPhone. You can sync your mail, calendars, addresses and notes between the computer and the phone. Why THE HELL can't you sync To-do lists? It seems like a basic human right. And come on, Apple, people have been complaining about this since the day the iPhone first came out. I mean, I can point my iPhone at a star in the sky, and it will automatically tell me what star that is. I can hold my phone in front of me, and it will give me the name, menu, and reviews of the restaurant in front of me. I can even update my Facebook status. Why the hell can't I keep a decent to-do list on it using Apple's own to-do application?

The second issue I have is that, apparently, the developer of Apple's address book application came from a very broken family. There's a seemingly nice intelligent feature in the address book, where if you enter the name of a contact's spouse in the "spouse" field, that spouse's name will magically appear when you print an address label. Great, so if my buddy John Smith is married to Jane, I just put Jane's name in the Spouse box, and as a result I can print a mailing label and it will state "John and Jane Smith". Great. Almost.

The first problem is that you must put Jane's last name in the Spouse box as well. Otherwise her name will not appear. Okay actually, once I managed to figure out this extremely poorly documented feature, I began to realize it actually makes sense, because if Jane keeps her own name of "Jones" then the system is smart enough to print "John Smith and Jane Jones" rather than John and Jane Smith.

But wait. There's more. It turns out that if there is ANY other "Jane" in your address book, her name will not print on the mailing label unless you create an address book entry specifically for Jane Smith, with exactly the same address as john's, AND enter her name in John's Spouse field. Huh? Why? I get the feeling that this is because the address book is trying to handle the concept of divorce elegantly. Perhaps Jane moved out, got a new address, and therefore needs her own Christmas card.

But wait, it gets better. The same process is true for kids. If John and Jane have a little boy Joey, and you want to address their Christmas card as "John, Jane, and Joey Smith", then you must put Joey's name in the Child field and include his last name. but if there's any other Joey in the address book, then little Joey Smith needs his own address book entry too, or his name won't print on the Smith's address label. Why in the name of Steve Jobs would I want to create a separate address book entry for every child of every friend of mine in order to get a working mailing list for our annual holiday cards?

Oh and speaking of which, there's no way to toggle the feature on and off. So if I want to send an Xmas card to the entire Smith family, great. Do the above. But then if I only want to invite John and Jane to the Bar Mitzvah, without the kids, I have to completely redo their address entry.

I have a hunch that Steve Jobs doesn't send out his own Christmas cards. Otherwise this would never be a problem.

Commercial Failures of the week

2009-12-12T22:29:00.002-05:00

Ever have one of those weeks where everything seems to cost you time and money? Where everything seems to break at the same time? where the whole concept of the "valued customer" apparently means nothing anymore? This was one of those weeks. It started early in the week, when I called a medical supply office that was making custom fit orthotics for my running shoes. I suddenly realized it had been over two months since I ordered them. They told me, "yeah, they're here, can you come in next week for a fitting? Okay great, see you then. Oh and (lowers voice to a mumble) these aren't covered by insurance, so that will be $160."

Wait...what? And, why didn't you tell me this before making the order?

Things progressed when I paid a visit to my local Lowes. We have a light fixture in our kitchen with three hanging track lights on it, and one decided to fry itself. We installed it in late 2006, so naturally Lowes doesn't carry it anymore. And neither does the manufacturer. Not even repair stock. Great. So I can either tear apart the fixture and attempt to replace the element inside that's fried, or replace the entire light fixture AND the matching one over the dinette table, which won't be easy because these fixtures were specifically chosen because the hole in the ceiling is off-center. Naturally I'm going with the former plan.

And then, there's Comcast. You know all those FIOS commercials you see with the read-headed cable guy who simply just doesn't have anything worthwhile to offer his customers? I was that customer today. A little over a week ago we treated ourselves to a brand new Tivo. This Tivo takes CableCards, which are little cards that slide into the Tivo and perform the same task as one of those digital cableset top boxes. Comcast readily provides them, but they insist on coming out to install. No problem, I made an appointment for today (a full week after I called), and they gave me the typical arrival estimate of between 8am and noon.

At 11:59 today, just as I was about to click the "chat now" button on Comcast Support's website, the phone rang. It was the contractor's secretary who called to say not only is he running late, but that they didn't have any Cablecards and wondered if I'd like a set top box instead. At that point I completely blew up at her and demanded to know why they are just telling me this now, and how she expects me to insert a set top box into the little slot on the front of my Tivo. She quickly got herself off the phone by interrupting my tirade and asking if I wanted the supervisor to call me directly. I replied with "yes please" and hung up the phone.

An hour and a half later, having heard nothing from them, I CALLED Comcast support, and got a very nice and understanding lady who took all sorts of notes and sent all sorts of emails to allegedly the right people who would get in touch with me. Very nice of her, though so far that gets me cable service on my Tivo as much as pouring orange juice into the CableCard slots would. But it turned out that 45 minutes later I got a call from a "district supervisor" who said they found some CableCards and would be right over. And they were.

And none of the three CableCards he brought with him worked. He then told me they would have to come back during the week. So I scheduled the followup appointment, let him leave the house, then called the nice Comcast lady back and asked her what she could do for me to compensate for the misery of the day. The best she could do was give me a $20 credit. Not only was that pretty pathetic, but a friend reminded me this evening that this installation also cost $16. So I'll be calling Comcast back again shortly. Meanwhile, FIOS continues to dig up our street, laying cables for their service. Keep digging FIOS, keep digging.

And to top things off, my camera broke this evening. Awesome capper to an awesome day.

Best music video ever

2009-11-24T20:56:00.002-05:00

No, not this one:

That's Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, of course. I thought I would let you watch it as a simple refresher, before you see the REAL treat, which is this:

My chance to be just like Norm. No, not NORM!, the other Norm.

2009-11-22T22:15:00.005-05:00

Okay, okay, I hear you...you're thinking, "geez, WTF... Mike's at home with the flu, the LEAST he could do is post to his blog once in a while." Yeah, well, you're right. But the trouble is I don't have a laptop, and I didn't manage to drag my sorry butt out of bed for at least three days straight. It got to a point where I was starting to form some sort of crust on my thighs, so I decided it was finally time to get up and face the world. And here I am. Three days off work with something that did NOT amount to swine flu, but managed to leave behind a nasty case of bronchitis that makes me sound like a fully grown harp seal stuck in the carburetor of a Civic (wait, do Civics have carburetors? Nah, probably not...there goes my whole metaphor).

Okay, so that's where I've been. If I WASN'T hacking up phlegm balls the size of a small squid I would perhaps be much further along with my latest renovation-related project. I've decided it's time to finally face the music (that pun will hurt in a moment...) and build us an entertainment unit for the family room (see, told ya). You see, When we built the addition, we at least planned ahead and managed to mount the TV on the wall. What we did NOT do, however, was anything else even remotely related to making our stereo system NOT look like it was set up by a couple of Alpha Chi brothers attempting to decorate their off-campus man cave. Here it is currently, in all it's glory, my favorite part being, as my buddy calls it, the "off" center speaker:

Okay, so maybe it's not THAT bad, but my wife and I are card-carrying adults now, and it's about time we had something that doesn't make us look like we've been furnishing our home via the As-Is section of IKEA (which, BTW, is exactly where we got that base cabinet). So, here's my master plan:

Okay, sure, you say, that looks pretty standard. What's the big deal? Why not buy yourself an entertainment unit and get it done with, right? Phphhhh. Please. I refuse to stoop so low as to go out and buy myself something that appears gorgeous, is likely shoddy in makemanship, costs about ten times what it's worth, and probably doesn't fit that whompin' huge CD player when in fact I can custom build something that perfectly fits our needs, comes with the same shoddy makemanship, and costs a tenth as much. Add to this the fact that my wife has already approved me spending oodles of hours down in the workshop to make this beast when I could be spending quality time yelling at my children, and there's obviously no question I should build my own.

But wait, there's more.

If you've ever watched Yankee Workshop, you know that Norm, the carpenter, is famous for a few things: 1)First, a little shop safety. Always wear "these" safety glasses 2)having thirty-eight different routers so he doesn't have to spend time changing router bits, and 3)somehow managing to get his hands on some slab of lumber that was scavenged from a Revolutionary War cannon stand that's been buried in a salt mine for 250 years and turning it, magically, into a beautiful and finely crafted duck-shaped wind chime. I mean, really, how many of you have watched those shows on HGTV only to scoff when the home builder proclaims that the floorboards have been reclaimed from a 200-year-old barn, or that the ceiling's false beams were saved from a vintage ice factory being demolished in Cheboygan, thinking "yeah, but they don't sell that stuff at Home Depot."

Well, thanks to my buddy Jeff (a far more experienced woodworker than I) I can finally say I can be just like Norm, sort of. Jeff discovered a 100+ year-old barn being torn down in his neighborhood, and he had the foresight to deal with the crew and buy himself a number of chestnut ceiling beams and sycamore floorboards. And then he had the foresight to offer to sell me some of those sycamore boards for use with this little project of mine And I had the foresight to say yes. So give me a several months, and if all goes well I will be able to stand there as visitors admire my handywork while I casually explain, "oh, this old thing? Yes, it's made from the salvaged boards of a centuries-old barn." and then move on to explain how I selected the sycamore because it brings out just the right tonal harmonies when I stream Depeche Mode on my iPod. Or something like that. I'll have to work on the story.

So production has started. Nothing to show just yet, but I know that resting comfortably across my workbench right now is the case for the lefthand bookshelf, awaiting the first pieces of newly planed antique sycamore floorboards to be applied to the front face. If only I could breathe well enough to handle being in my workshop long enough to do it. Well, that's what pharmaceuticals are for.

Into The Woods

2009-11-08T22:20:00.007-05:00

Okay, this has nothing to do with anything, but I took a few interesting photos over the weekend at Kentuck Knob. For those unaware, Kentuck Knob is the Frank Lloyd Wright home in Ohiopyle that ISN'T Fallingwater. It's actually only a mile or two from Fallingwater. Built as a home for the Hagen family (of Hagen Ice Cream fame), it is now owned by some British guy named Lord Palumbo, who still uses it on occasion but has opened it up to the public for tours. It's a very cool house, and far, far more livable than Fallingwater. Down in the woods behind it is a meadow containing a sculpture garden. That's where I took these.

The Red Army

Last Call

The Wall

This is an actual chunk from the Berlin Wall.

Kentuck Knob

Kentuck Knob

Back in my day...

2009-11-04T06:09:00.007-05:00

This week was parent-teacher conferences. That most wonderful time of year, when the kids get a couple of free days off and the parents rearrange their schedules so they can sit in tiny chairs designed for six-year-olds and find out exactly what they are getting out of their school district's tax dollars.

For us, parent-teacher conferences are actually fairly boring. I mean really, how often can you hear phrases like "pure unadulterated genius", "miles ahead", and "their future fame and fortune will more than cover your retirement" before it starts to get a little repetitive? Really, the highlight of conference night is walking out of the classroom and roaming the hallway, picking out the documented moments of brilliance that are our childrens' artistic masterpieces hanging on the walls amongst more feeble and pathetic attempts at creativity while other, lesser parents run screaming from their own childrens' classrooms and hurl themselves off the top of the gymnasium bleachers in a vain attempt to quell their own anguish over their child's mediocre performance.

Sometimes I can't help but get my geek on, but this year during the conference I felt compelled to ask how involved the students get in computer skills development. I figure that by the time our children reach adulthood the cyborgs will be pretty much running things around here, so I want to make sure that my kids are skilled enough to be useful members of the Great Hacker Resistance of 2030. That, and I'm hoping my older daughter might be able to help my wife occasionally by recovering a lost Word document or two when I'm not home.

I received an interesting response to my question. It turns out that the kids don't spent a whole lot of time in the computer lab these days. Why? Because it's a complete waste of time. More often than not a typical lab session starts with a bevy of computer crashes, "teacher, I can't login" complaints, and accidental mouse clicks inadvertently leading kids to open the Windows System folder and deleting Autoexec.bat. Frankly, it's gotten to a point where it just isn't worth the time and frustration.

Wow. This is quite a testament to how far with computers we have come. Microsoft and other companies have spent billions trying to make computers so friendly and intuitive that they have become too complex to teach how to use.

I remember when I was a youngster and part of the gifted program (otherwise known as the short bus full of snowball targets). We spent many hours learning and understanding computer concepts. Each day we would fire up the trusted Radio Shack TRS-80, wait for the black screen to appear, and start typing. That was it. No logins. No icons. No worrying about accidental downloads of porn. Back then, porn was where it should have been...in that secret box in my dad's workshop that he thought I didn't know about. And as long as he doesn't read my blog, he still thinks I don't know about.

What a life these kids lead. My daughters have never seen a world without the internet. Heck, they've never been without WiFi. They've never not shared the house with at least one iPod. And as a result, they're not the least bit dazzled by these technological wonders. The other day I introduced my kid to an iPhone app that automatically recognizes songs playing on the radio and identifies them for you. She was completely nonplussed, and simply asked me for the iPhone so she could play that game where you make the monkey pee in the toilet by tilting the phone back and forth.

Back in my day, the monkey I had to make pee in the toilet was an actual monkey. And he didn't like it when I tilted him.

My next 15 minutes of fame...very local, minor fame...

2009-10-09T22:33:00.003-04:00

Too all those readers who came across my blog after reading about it in this month's North Hills Monthly, welcome to the party. I hope you stick around for a bit. What you will find here will quite likely not enrich your life. It won't offend you. It won't make you think. and it certainly won't make you feel any smarter. But if it makes you giggle, perhaps guffaw, or maybe even pee a little, then I feel I've done my job. If you like, click on the "Favorites" tag in the list to the right and find a little more out about me and my yammering. By the way that's an incomplete list...I'm working on it...

For those of you wondering what the heck I'm babbling about, See page 40.

I'm starting to notice a trend here

2009-10-09T22:12:00.003-04:00

Animals. They're out to get me. And it's not just the fricking dog.

Let's start with the fish. Take the photo below, for example. I will call this exhibit A. Lovely fish tank ain't it? Notice how it seems like there's about 6 inches of gravel in there, piled up like a miniature mountain range? I didn't do that. The stupid fish did. No, I spent plenty of time making a nice cozy home for the critter, but instead the stupid fish decided she'd rather dig up the nice smooth layer of gravel and pile it all in the front of tank as if she's building a fort. Oh, and you also might notice the black thing in the background. That's the water heater. Which isn't where I left it. She moved that too. And the plant that looks like it's growing out of the left side of the tank? Nice.

Let's move on to the dog. Surely by now you're read my previous post and learned how El Destructo spends her time alone. Well, we were having SOME amount of luck with her in the basement, until today when she discovered the wonder of berber carpet, and began tugging at the threads by the garage door, as if by some magic one of her owners might be attached to the end of them. Awesome. Maybe she'll chew through to the tack strip. That'll teach her.

Okay, so that's the pets. But suddenly I'm realizing this conspiracy is wider than just this inner circle. This morning as I opened the garage door, I noticed two deer in the back yard, quietly munching away at my hostas. The looked up at me, smirked, and I distinctly heard one of them say, "What the hell you looking at?"

And then there's the moles. The moles that have made a tunnel network in my lawn more intricate than the London Tube system. Whick has been really great for drainage. Not to mention for the mower blade. Or the chipmunks that have dug a cavern so vast behind the retaining wall next to the driveway that it's expected to collapse within the next year.

Really, there's only one animal in this entire neighborhood that I can appreciate. And that's the bunny. The bunny has been living under a bush in the front yard for years, and never bothered a soul. Of course, I discovered him dead on the neighbor's lawn the other day. So there goes that. I'm thinking the deer bumped him off.

The Dog Runner

2009-10-02T21:36:00.010-04:00

Ugh. Daisy. That friggin' dog. When she's out in public, the best way to describe her is "always on alert". Bring her outdoors, and all of a sudden every bit of movement, every falling leaf, every passerby becomes her immediate prey. As a result, she's a HUGE pain in the ass to take on a walk.

Our normal walking route takes us past at least a half dozen houses with dogs. One bark from any one of them and Daisy's ears perk up and her body language screams, "I'm on that!!!!" God forbid one of those dogs happens to be outside. Suddenly it's like gravity has no meaning, and it's more like I'm flying a kite on a windy day than walking a dog down the street.

Speaking of windy days, those are the worst. Earlier this week we had some rain and wind, bringing the Fall season to our neighborhood rather quickly. Everything within sight or earshot become an object of Daisy's desire. "What's that??? A leaf?? I need that! Ooh, another leaf! Another! A whole bunch! Gimme Gimme Gimme! I need those! Squirrel!!! Aghh! Bunny! Get the squirrel, no wait...I need the bunny! Agh, what's that noise in the tree! Climb the tree! Climb the tree! Someone get me a ladder! I need a ladder! A rope! One of those mountain climbing rigs! Holy crap, a crow! I love crows! Is that a crow What's a crow, anyways?? I dunno, get it! Wait, did you hear that??? Was that another dog! I think it was a dog! It was miles away, but I know she's talking to me! Was that a dog??? Tell me it was a dog, I need to see it now! She wants to play! NOW!! Please Please Please Please Please Please! Ooh, hey, peanut butter treat! Sure, I'll calm down, thank..ANOTHER SQUIRREL! Get it! Hey, a worm! Never seen one of those, can I eat it? Can I? Can I? Hey, let's try it! Oooh squishy! Makes me want to leap in the air! Gotta poop! No wait, more leaves! Can't poop right now! Gotta hold it! Don't care if the poop's hanging out the back, I need that leaf! Get it! get it! GET IT!!!!!! AGGHHHH!!!

By the time we've gotten to the end of the driveway, I'm done.

(above dog portrayed by actor. Not actual dog.)

So that's the great outdoors. Let's talk for a moment about the inside of the house. Overall, she's a pretty well behaved dog when inside. Except when we leave. Man, this critter's got some issues. We keep a crate in our bedroom where she happily sleeps, but we also have been attempting to leave her in said crate when we leave the house. Yeah, that doesn't work too well. More often than not, we come home to a scene much like this:

What you are seeing here is the slab of carpet I laid UNDER the crate. Daisy spent her time gnawing away at it in frustration until there was nothing left but shreds of yarn. I'd make her suffer and not put ANYTHING in or under her crate, but I'm afraid she'd chew through the actual carpet in the room, only stopping when the crate fell through the kitchen ceiling below her.

Given how tired I was with having to vacuum the bedroom every time we came home, we tried a little experiment. I cleaned the basement out completely, and we set her up with a place to hang out there while we're gone. Her food bowl, some chew toys, even a radio with some Beethoven playing (heh. Beethoven. Unintentional dog movie reference. Damn I'm good. Of course I'll stop before I say something really corny, like "his Bach was worse than his bite, that sort of thing"). Additionally, we set up the camcorder in a quiet corner to tape the goings on when we left the house. Lo and behold, we've actually had some success. While we still come home to a freakishly lonely, shaky and nervous dog who, according to the tape, spends the first hour alone wandering aimlessly about the room howling like a coyote, she has yet to destroy anything major in there. Well, that's not quite true. Jessica made the mistake of leaving her dress shoes on the floor of the basement yesterday. Yeah,there's forty bucks down the drain. And the day before, a wooden letter "A" from a toy got left out, and we came home to what looked like what you find stuck in the gears of a wood chipper. But we've made progress, And as an extra bonus, if we keep this up the basement might actually stay clean for a long time. and that makes dad VERY happy.

Leverage

2009-09-13T21:47:00.002-04:00

This past week our little family hit a major milestone. Our elder offspring turned nine years old this week, and the big gift this year was mom's old iPod Nano. Yes, we got away with a used gift. Okay, so we spiced it up a bit with a shiny pink case, some new headphones, and all the greatest hits of Hanna, Selena, and the Brothers Jonas that we could round up (all through legal means, of course...). Natalie was thrilled, and frankly so were we. Why?

Leverage.

You see, at last we finally have something of real value that can be taken away at a moment's notice. In fact, just two short days after receiving it, she got it taken away from her for a day after pulling her usual non-listening antics at bedtime. Yes, finally, after nine years of a ridiculously smart and sometimes devious little squirt managing to get away with just about everything short of murder around here, finally we have a reason for her to listen to daddy telling her the FIRST time to go brush her teeth, as opposed finally acknowledging him yelling it the FIFTH time in frustration and calling him the "mean daddy". We should have given her an iPod YEARS ago.

I noticed another major benefit to our daughter's new possession. Anyone who knows our daughter knows that a)she's got some lungs and b)she ain't shy about using them. Sure, she can sing, but Jeezuz does it have to be that same Miley Cyrus song over and over and over again? I don't care if our daughter could out-sing Celine Dion herself....there's only so many times I can hear the same verse before I want to stab myself in the eardrum with the nearest kitchen utensil. Well, now that she's got an ipod, she gets to listen to that same song, and many others in her repertoire, to her heart's content. And when she listens to them, she tends to sing softly to herself. Ah...peace.

And conveniently, the next day she brought home her shiny new violin for school practice. Maybe that Miley song ain't so bad after all.

A Sabbath Feature?

2009-09-07T19:05:00.003-04:00

We've done something many homeowners only do once in a lifetime. We bought a new oven. And yes, my lovely wife already asked if we could go out to dinner and celebrate.

So here's something I never knew. Many ovens come with a Sabbath Feature. A Sabbath Feature you ask? Yes, indeed. It's designed so that Jews who observe the rules of the Sabbath that proclaim that no "work" is to be done on the Sabbath can still have a hot meal. Essentially it's a glorified "delay start" feature.

But what really blew my mind was that a)this feature is actually CALLED the "Sabbath Feature" in the instructions, and b)it's something that's actually CERTIFIED KOSHER, by the proper Kosher certification authorities. Don't believe me? Check out page 21 of the instruction manual here. Or, for more info, check out the Star-K online site.

I wonder what happens if I that feature on ribs night?

A fun visit to the Genius Bar

2009-09-07T17:43:00.004-04:00

I love the Genius Bar at the local Apple Store. Not because of the Geniuses. With the right training and gumption, anyone can fix a Mac. But instead, what I LOVE is the process Apple has put into place to make you feel welcome at the Genius Bar, as well as the interesting characters you come across while there.

Today was a great example. Last night, my iphone decided to stop talking to me. I use the Voice Control feature quite often to call people, and when you tell your phone "Call Joe at Work" it's supposed to respond with what it thought you said ("Calling Jose Plurk"). However, my phone decided to just clam up and make the call, without telling me what it was doing. Real annoying when using the headphones and not looking directly at the phone's screen. So here was the process I went through:

1. Looked through Apple's discussion boards for a while. Closest thing I found was someone who managed to sweat all over his headphones and short them out.

2. Logged into Apple Support and requested a support call.

3. Five seconds after hitting Send My request, my telephone rang, and a dude from support was calling to help.

4. After trying a few things we found we couldn't fix the problem, so the dude was swell enough to check the hours of my local Apple Store and make me a convenient appointment for 12:10pm today to go meet a genius.

5. I got to the store around noon to discover that on a rainy Labor Day, EVERYONE hangs out at the Genius Bar. I checked in with the Concierge, walked back to the bar, and there was my name, third on the list.

6. After ten minutes, Genius Alex called my name. We discussed the problem. I told him how I'd tried a restore of the phone last night, to no avail. We tried a different set of headphones. We tried my headphones on a different phone. Then, he asked me if I restored the phone from a backup. I said yes, and he suggested perhaps I do a restore without doing it from a backup, thinking the backup might contain the obvious software error that was present. After reassuring me I'd lose nothing by doing this, he restored my phone from a computer within the store, and voila, the problem was fixed.

There's a reason for the alleged Apple Tax. And I'm happy to pay it. All computers have problems, Apple included. But I'm willing to pay a little extra to know that the problem will get fixed without wasting my time.

While I was hanging out the bar, I witnessed just the cutest thing I'd ever seen in a computer store. A little old lady, perhaps 70 years old, dragged a large canvas bag into the store and straight to the Genius Bar. The bag contained a 20" iMac. When she reached the bar, she made eye contact with Genius Alex and said, "Young man, can you help me? I've lost my Safari and I can't get it back."

Genius Alex and I looked at each other with knowing eyes, completely understanding that the poor old lady had mishandled her mouse ever so slightly, dragging the Safari icon off the dock so that it had disappeared, and somehow she felt her only solution was to lug the entire computer back into the store for some sort of warranty repair. How sad, and adorable. I nodded to Genius Alex with an "I can wait" gesture, and he took the little old lady aside to show her the error of her ways. Two minutes later, the little old lady gave Genius Alex a thankful pinch on the cheek, and he was back to wrap up his session with me.

Apple's retail setup is just superb. Despite crowds, they are able to handle traffic flow while making it appear effortless. They have an entire section of the store devoted to repairs, with nary a stray USB cable lying around in disarray, unlike your typical IT department or PC repair shop that usually looks like a grenade went off in the store. They have even done away with registers, instead employing several "light-blue-shirts" who roam around with handheld devices that scan your items for purchase as well as your credit card wherever you might be standing in the store (although I did notice that these handhelds were PocketPC based, and made sure to point that out to the store employee who sheepishly acknowledged it). In the days on big box stores closing and a vast amount of shopping being done online, other retail companies could learn a thing or two from Apple here.

I did notice one negative aspect of Apple's layout in the store, however, while this handheld process of checking people out was very slick, it also made it very confusing for customers to know where to go to actually buy something. I wanted to purchase a replacement keyboard today and, after pulling it from the shelf, I looked around and noticed there were no registers. I then looked around for an available employee but, given the crowds, every one of them was deep in conversation with a customer at the time. After wandering aimlessly for five minutes I finally was able to make eye contact with an employee who directed me to an available light-blue-shirt person at the back of the store dedicated to checking out people's purchases. They need a sign.

Morning in The Canine Kingdom

2009-09-06T06:15:00.005-04:00

It's 6:15am on what was supposed to be a sleepy Labor Day Saturday morning. Instead, I've been up for an hour trying to get the smell of Lysol out of my lungs after having cleaned up this morning's disaster.

Lately, mornings have hit their stride in terms of routine. Typically I'd wake up around this time and grab a shower while Daisy relaxed patiently, locked away in her crate in the corner of our bedroom. After my shower, I would let her out, she'd grunt a few times, stretch, and then crawl into bed with my wife and stay there for another half hour or so til someone brings her outside.

Today was a little different though. At around 5:30 I woke up to the distinct sound of an excited dog waiting for a certain child of ours to "quietly" unlock the crate without waking her parents up. "Natalie, just open the crate and let her out already" I mumbled. But it turns out I was off base. Instead, it was my wife trying to get the crate open in the dark. She told me Daisy was making some odd noises. A second later, Daisy was released and leaped onto the bed, but rather than snuggle in she continued to act a little crazy. In an instant, I knew the problem.

Anyone who knows me is aware I've got a nose the size of Maryland. And with all that real estate comes a sense of smell not unlike that of a bloodhound. Alright, maybe a bloodhound with a sinus infection. In any case, despite the fact that my head was buried in the pillow, I noticed an oh-too-familiar scent wafting through the air.

"She pooped in her crate...get her off the bed!"

"What how do you...?"

"Trust me! Get her outside"

I immediately got up while my wife delivered the dog to the outdoors. With the lights on low, I began to search the crate and the blanket within it for the offending material. Unfortunately, I found it with my hands and my knee rather than with my eyes.

Yuck.

So here I am, done scrubbing the crate and carpet, wide awake and blogging. I can only blame myself for this instant, being too lazy late last night to spend more than 38 seconds on the final dog walk before bed. Daisy looked embarrassed, and I couldn't blame her.

But here we are, the American Family, two-point-four kids and a dog.

Life with Daisy has generally been enjoyable. She's an endless source of playtime for the kids, she's generally low maintenance as far as dogs go, and when we take her to the dog park we get comments about her speed and agility like "Holy crap that mutt can corner better than my BMW" and "I thank you for bringing your dog here and tiring mine out for the day." Yeah, she's pretty freaking fast. I'd like to get a radar gun on her.

Daisy's got her issues like any dog, but none of them are insurmountable. Her razor-sharp teeth have helped her chew through two leashes, a Gentle Leader harness, a couple of our kids' necklaces, and a leg of the kitchen table. But overall she's not destructive, unless she's left alone. When we're in the house, she's mellow and happy, but when we put her in the crate and leave she completely freaks out as if we were slowly lowering her crate, with her in it, into a molten volcano for a canine sacrifice. One time she managed to break out of the crate and, though I missed the cleanup, I understand it looked like we'd taken a direct hit from Katrina. When we take Daisy for walks, she goes on immediate alert status, attempting to bolt after anything that moves, be it a human, another dog, a leaf, or an airplane. We're working on these, even enlisting the aid of actual dog trainers.

Okay, an hour has passed, and Daisy's decided to wake up and start her day for real this time. Gotta go for a walk now.

Wait a minute...wasn't this supposed to be the KIDS' dog?

PA Turnpike Rest Stops

2009-08-16T22:03:00.004-04:00

If you've come across this page in hopes of finding a simple list of the rest stops on the PA Turnpike along with their mile markers, you've come to the right place. Find it below. But first, a little back story about the reason for this post.

This past weekend we traveled from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia. At one point during the drive, I thought to pull out my shiny new iPhone and see if I could find a handy list of all the PA Turnpike rest stops and their mile markers. That was actually slightly harder than I had expected. The first hit was of course the PA turnpike website (more on that in a moment), and the second took me to the site WikiAnswers. I thought I would touch on that second one first, because the answer posted there was so abominably stupid it was funny. The posted answer stated "I cannot give you a whole list, but if you look for blue sign that say, like rest stop, or service plaza, that would be where."

Well, no kidding. Thanks for that valuable piece of wisdom.

And, yes, I then proceeded to register on WikiAnswers and put a REAL answer in.

Back to the PA turnpike website. They have a fairly handy and detailed map here that lists all the rest stops, but it's not very easy to read on an iPhone and impossible to read on a mobile device with lousy graphics. So, if you came across this link in hopes of finding a simple list of turnpike rest stops and their mile markers, here you go. And if you have room for corrections, please add a comment.

EASTBOUND:

Oakmont: 49.3

Somerset: 112.3

Midway: 147.3

Sideling Hill: 172.3

Plainfield: 219.1

Highspire: 249.7

Bowmansville: 289.9

Valley Forge: 324.6

WESTBOUND:

North Nashiminy: 351.9

King Of Prussia: 328.4 (this one is closed according to the map)

Camiel: 304.8

Lawn: 258.8 (this one is dog friendly, btw)

Blue Mountain: 202.5

Sideling Hill: 172.3

Midway: 147.3

Somerset: 112.3

New Stanton: 75 (approximately...it's not marked on the map)

Another new chapter begins

2009-08-16T21:50:00.001-04:00

My visit to the strange and curious world of unemployment has come to an end. Tomorrow I start a new job as an implementation specialist for a tech company that focuses on continuing education for the medical industry, bringing to a close both my forced summer vacation and my 20 year career in the outskirts of the printing industry.

And I ain't looking back.

Hmm...medical and pharma industries. Well THAT'S new. But I'm kinda thinking it's an industry that isn't exactly going away any time soon, so there's that. All in all, I'm giddy. I've got my new pencil case with my #2's freshly sharpened, mom bought me that new backpack I was hoping for, the one with Obi Wan on the outside pocket, and I spent the evening cleaning out my thermos and making my salami and cheese sandwich. I'm ready. For my first day, I get to come in at 10:00am, have lunch with customers, sit through some training, and go to dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in town. Not a bad way to start a new gig.

So how was unemployment? All in all, not so bad. I'm still getting severance from my old place, so double-dipping for the next few months will be very nice. It was also nice having the time to focus on one thing at a time during the day, as opposed to constantly multi-tasking in an effort to avoid staying up til 3 in the morning just to find extra time to pay bills or watch the last three weeks' episodes of the Simpsons on Tivo. But all those stories I heard about unemployed folks tackling major projects like repainting the dining room or replacing the roof? Yeah, not so much. I've got a long list of projects that went untackled. And they will remain that way for some time. In fact as I write this is occurs to me that back in March I bought a new faucet for the guest bathroom, which is still sitting in the box. Hmm, I should get to that.

I suppose now would be a good time to list a few things that I've learned during unemployment. Sure, I could write a list that includes things like "make time for family" and "make sure to exercise" but you could find that in just about every professionally-published article on the subject of dealing with unemployment that exists on the web. Instead I will list a couple of things that might not have gotten mentioned on CNN.

1. Even if you feel you are comfortable with your current job and career, don't use that as an excuse to not look around, to not keep your resume current, or to not continuously network and learn. I fell victim to complacency while I was working. I hadn't brushed off my resume for almost 15 years and, even though I sensed my layoff coming, I still couldn't motivate myself to get moving on it until the day I was let go (okay, the day AFTER I was let go). Plus, as I networked and met people I was stunned to learn what was out there in terms of resources, industry knowledge, and continuing education.

2. Don't be late with your unemployment claims. Filing for unemployment was surprisingly straightforward, and the initial process was entirely done on the phone. Once filed, every two weeks I went to the state's website and file my continuing claim. But, my advice to you: don't forget. If you do, you might just get denied. I skipped a claim at one point, and when I tried to play catch-up a month later I felt like I'd been sent to the principal's office. Oh, and, most importantly, never, NEVER mention the word vacation. If you go on vacation, you can't claim for the week that you went. When asked why I was late in filing my claim, I said something like, "you know, I got busy with interviews, went away on vacation for a couple days...just forgot...". Yeah, I shouldn't have mentioned that middle part. Just having said the word meant I could not claim for that missing week. Now, I kind of feel like arguing this point, because when the family and I went on vacation I perhaps spent as much time following up on contacts and job applications as I would have if I were home. Yet just the fact that I mentioned the word in a sentence meant not being able to claim for it at all. Whoops.

3. It's ALL who you know. Monster.com and similar sites were USELESS to me. And I never even bothered to fill out an application for a single job posted in the local paper. Instead, I looked first to the people I knew, then to the companies I thought I might be interested in working for. I very rarely came across a company that DIDN'T have a job posted on their website, so in many cases I applied directly through those website posts. However, the ONLY ones I got any traction on were ones where I knew someone, or knew someone WHO knew someone. so network. Network, network, NETWORK!!!! How, you ask? First of all, go to EVERYTHING. Come across a free seminar on social media? Go to it. Job fair? Go to it. Scrapbooking club? Join it. you never know who you might come across. My family and I went to the opening of the Roboworld exhibit at the local science center, and while there I struck up a conversation with a guy demoing a new robot built by a local startup. We talked jobs, he gave me my card, and I would have pursued it if in fact I could figure out how to operate the danged toy robot, but it daunted me, so I figured I wasn't qualified to work there. However, this new job I'm starting is a perfect example of the value of networking. I was forwarded a link to the job post by a former coworker who was laid off the same day I was. Turns out he wasn't the right fit for the job, but thought I might be. I applied, and heard nothing. Then, my wife discovered that the names of the executive team a this company were familiar to her, and that she knew a person who knew the team. This person she knew was a former coworker of mine as well. And I'd already interviewed at this person's company, where they are currently still deciding how to fill that position. Long story short, I contacted her, she contacted the company, I got an interview, and they liked me enough to throw me an offer after that interview. It's all who you know. You'd be surprised just how willing people will be to stand up for you.

4. Don't be a hermit. I read an article here about how lots of unemployed people are embarrassed to tell their friends, and instead dress up in a suit and tie every day and pretend to leave for work each morning. Morons. Absolute morons. I told my neighbors. I told the mailman. I told the guy behind the counter at PetSmart. In fact, as a result of telling my barber, he got his girlfriend to give me a reference at her company. You can't network if you don't talk to people.

5. Take notes. I use a program called Evernote to take all sorts of notes. I also use it as a todo list. During the job hunt, I had one note that served as an ongoing to-do list specifically pertaining to the job hunt. I had another that served as a daily diary of accomplishments, no matter how large or small. Whenever I sent a resume, my accomplishment note included a web link to the job, contact information, and even my opinion about what I thought my chances were like. I referenced it constantly. And the nice thing about Evernote is that it's a web-based service, so I could take notes on my computer and those notes would automagically sync up so they could be viewed on my blackberry, ipod, or on other computers.

6. Relax. It's only your job. Your salary. Your career. But it's not you.

That's ALL I need

2009-08-07T10:28:00.004-04:00

Great. The last thing I need is another member of the family into Disney Princesses. Here I thought we were exiting that phase slowly but surely. But it turns out this is one of Daisy's favorite places to sleep.

Yet another child in the house that isn't willing to learn to use power tools. Sigh.

The dog honeymoon ends

2009-08-03T22:19:00.006-04:00

In the vintage HBO special "Carlin At Carnegie", George Carlin had a lot to say about dogs. One of my favorites, went something like this:

"Hi George, how's it going?"

"Agh! The dog...goddammit never mind!!!!! He chewed the legs of off EVERYTHING!!!"

Well, we haven't quite reached THAT stage with our recent canine acquisition, but we've certainly had our share of adventures over the past several days. She has survived quite well in our care, perhaps despite repeated inadvertent attempts by me to poison her. But I'll get to that later. So far, Daisy has been a complete joy. She's almost ridiculously playful, has grown very comfortable with her new home and surroundings, and on flat ground can reach a speed of almost Mach 5.

The folks that owned Daisy previously (we got her from a foster home that found her on the street) had obviously trained Daisy JUST enough that she hasn't caused any problems yet. No accidents on the rug, on destroying furniture. Well, that is, except for eating the kitchen table. No really. She ate the kitchen table. Okay, not ALL of it, just one foot. I guess after 8 years of my children dropping applesauce, milk, and ice cream during regular attempts to fill their faces, the legs of the table have acquired a nice patina of flavors on them. I suppose if I was a foot tall I'd be snacking on them too.

Daisy also managed to chew through her first leash in less than two days. Her current leash is made of chain links, and if she gets through that one I'm going to contact that guy who just crossed the Allegheny River on a tightrope and borrow some of his wire.

Today was the first day we had the opportunity to leave her alone in the house. Based on her obvious chewing abilities, she's going to be confined to her crate when we're not home. I gave her a test run this afternoon. She cried, she barked, but she survived. When I got home, she was so happy to see me that she cried like I'd saved her from being trapped in a well, and promptly followed me around for the next three hours and anchored herself to my lap every time I sat down, making sure that I never, NEVER leave her alone again. In fact through the magic of the iMac camera, here's proof. Let me tell you, it's a challenge typing this way.

But you know it's funny, I certainly don't get a greeting like that from my FAMILY when I return from Home Depot. Not even close.

As I mentioned in the last post, Daisy's only real issue (other than her ravenous appetite) is her interaction with other dogs. She's so excited by the world around her that every blade of grass requires a sniff, every sound in the distance requires a perking of the ears and a bark of attention. And when she encounters another dog while on her leash, it's chaos. she immediately tries to assert her authority and go on the attack, so much so that we've had to tackle her for doing so more than once. Obedience training is definitely in her future. On the other hand, when we take her to the local fenced-in dog park, she's incredible to watch. Other dogs seem to flock to her, and as soon as they start to play those other dogs and their owners quickly discover just what kind of speed she has in those thin legs of hers. Virtually every other person at the dog park has seen her run flat out across the park has this to say.

"Holy crap."

In fact I witnessed an overweight black labrador stop in her tracks after failing to keep up with Daisy, and clearly heard her mutter the words, "sweet jeezuz."

Yeah, she's fast (and yes, Paul, she's the dog that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs). Next time we go, I'm taking the video camera.

Oh yeah, about my inadvertent attempts to poison her. The day after we got her was the day I decided to do a yearly cleaning of the deck with a bleach based solution. That was also the day she discovered the gravel underneath the deck is a great place to hang out, dig in the ground, and keep cool. The next day she decided not to leave my side for the entire afternoon, even while I was spray painting a piece of furniture. I have a feeling that one of those two incidents were the reason we had to bring the dog to the vet monday to have her red, swollen eye checked out. It's fine now though. And, yeah yeah, I know, let the lectures begin.

2litlegirls and 1littledog

2009-08-01T07:43:00.010-04:00

We've put another addition onto our home. This one comes in the form of a Whippet, Jack Russell, and Kangaroo mix. Or as I like to call her, a Smorgasbord, Meet Daisy.

My wife and I are dog people. Very much out-of-practice dog people, but dog people nonetheless. From the moment I was born to the day I left for college I always lived with a canine sibling (sharing a bed with an overweight yellow lab for 13 years, in fact). Since the girls were born, we'd often contemplated when the right time to introduce a dog to this house would be. So naturally we made the financial decision to add an expense to the household while I'm currently unemployed. Yup, careful decision making here. Truth be told, after putting the addition on the house, I didn't have a whole lot of interest in muddy paws messing up those brand new carpets just yet. But my lovely wife accidentally came across this little critter on the Internet, was smitten, and that was that. Be damned, the lack of paycheck! We're getting a dog!

Daisy was a stray picked up by Animal Advocates. Frankly she was quite a deal. She came housebroken, crate trained, microchipped, and spayed. She included a nicer carrying case (her crate) than the last power tool I bought. The family that fostered her told us she was a great dog for kids, though a tad on the "needy" side. She even had some basic training. In fact when she first got home we gave her a biscuit, which she promptly carried into the kitchen to eat lest she soil the living room carpet. Good dog.

Yeah, that needy thing. The moment I sat down to type this she realized I wasn't in the same room as her, dashed into the office, and jumped onto my lap. I hope this Mac's keyboard responds well to slobber.

Truth be told, we couldn't have done better. Okay, she's a little bit on the small side, but at least she's not the sort of dog you would carry in a diamond-studded bag through your local mall. for years I told my wife that my one requirement of a dog is that it be able to jump into my Jeep Wrangler on its own. I sold the Wrangler four years ago, but the rule still applies.

They say a loose Whippet is a lost Whippet. This part is going to take some adjustment. Growing up, the act of taking my dog for a walk involved opening the front door and saying, "see ya later". Only an hour after getting Daisy home, I went outside to get something and mistakenly left the workshop door slightly ajar. Within seconds I saw this flash as she launched herself like a fighter plane off an aircraft carrier. I figured we were in for the shortest period of dog ownership in history. But luckily I caught up with her when she stopped to examine he neighbor dog's poop, and even more luckily I got her just before she rolled in it.

The girls, of course, were beside themselves when we got her. We surprised them as they got off the camp bus, and the screams of delight were unreal. Thus ensued hours of "Daisy! C'mere Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! I'm thinking we should have named the dog "space bar".

Daisy's first night was almost frighteningly flawless. As I mentioned she came with a crate, which we strategically positioned in a corner of our bedroom. After we tucked the kids in for the night and Daisy went in to check on them several times, she decided it was time to crash, and came into our bedroom. First she found a place for herself in the middle of the bed. After I kicked her off, she decided a good location would be on the floor in front of the bed. Then, just for kicks, I led her into her crate, where she settled down and I shut the door. And the next time we heard from her it was 7:30 in the morning. I NEVER thought that would go so smoothly, especially the first night in a new home.

Taking Daisy to the fenced-in dog park was an interesting time. Until that point, Daisy had been a pretty mellow, sedate sort of pup. But as we approached the gate to the park and she saw the local competition, she shifted into high gear. It was there we learned she can actually bark. We also learned that for a small female dog, she's got balls of steel. While still on the leash, she confronted the biggest, meanest looking shepherd she could find and, snarling and growling ferociously, she made it clear who was the new queen of the castle. At first we thought, hmmm, maybe this "dog" thing wasn't such a good idea after all, but an older, seasoned gentleman with three dogs older than him told us that she was just establishing her turf, and once she was off leash she'd be fine. So I took a deep breath, removed the leash, and off she went. And he was right. Daisy had a blast. She dashed around, jumping and playing with all the other canines, sniffing every new butt she could find. Running at a speed just under that of sound, whenever she came across an obstacle (like another dog, a rock, or one of my children) she'd simply jump over it without slowing down. we were highly impressed by her vertical leap.

So it appears this dog thing may just work out. Our only issue with her right now is her current tendency to growl and bark violently whenever she comes across another dog during her regular walk, but hopefully that's nothing a little obedience training won't cure. Now if I can just remember to keep the danged door closed (I repeated my mistake on day two, and luckily she dashed right into my arms), we might just be able to keep her around for a while.

Yard Sale!

2009-07-25T09:59:00.000-04:00

Since moving to The 'Burgh three twentieths of a century ago, I've always been oddly mystified by the fact that no one here knows what a Tag Sale is. Growing up in CT, everyone had tag sales. In Pittsburgh it's called a Yard Sale or Garage Sale. No one here has ever heard the term Tag Sale out here. And for some reason this bugs me. Yet I don't know exactly why. As a kid I never went to a tag sale that I can recall. And my parents certainly never held a tag sale. so why it bugs me, I don't know. But it does. And it's my cross to bear.

So that's a fine lead-in to my report on the events of last weekend, our tag...um...yard sale.

Since we've been married, my wife and I have held two yard sales. The first was just before moved out of our apartment after buying our house. We lived in a row house on a busy street and, as a result, cashed in. We had hundreds of people drop by and buy some of the most useless crap you could imagine. However I believe we also had a hex put on us by an ultra-religious crazy lady who bought a box of old cassettes so she could record her bible stories onto them, and also bought a giant papasan chair but didn't come to actually pick it up until late that night. We didn't think she was coming back, so we sold it to someone else. At that point flames shot from her eyes, she raised her hands to the heavens, and declared that we were going to burn in hell for our transgressions. My eyebrows never quite recovered from that incident.

Perhaps that's also why our second yard sale, a year or two after we moved into our house, was such a miserable failure. Despite the nice weather, and despite the fact that a church around the corner was holding a yard sale as well and would hopefully drive traffic our way, we had perhaps a dozen customers and made about forty bucks. At that point we swore never to have another one.

But then the crap pile took over.

You know that drawer everyone has in their kitchen that they refer to as the junk drawer? That's our basement. Two or three times each year I get a burr in my saddle about the disastrous mess and decide to clean it up, but within a week of doing so, magically, the entire space becomes so compacted with new crap that navigating from one end of the space to the other involves a block & tackle and assistance from three professional trapeze artists. Well, being at home so much lately, I of course got the purging bug. I actually started in the attic, and worked my way down through the house. Before I knew it, the attic was clean, all the main rooms of the house were clean, and even the basement was spotless. I honestly had forgotten we'd laid carpet down there. As a result, however, one bay of the garage was crammed to the ceiling with stuff that we either didn't use any more, never used in the first place, or simply wanted to get the heck out of our house. I strategically piled it all in my WIFE'S garage slot, therefore guaranteeing assistance in the final purging effort.

We considered renting a semi-trailer to get it all to Goodwill, but given my current employment status we decided having some extra cash might be a good thing. So the ads went out to Craigslist and the Pennysaver, the signs went up, and away we went on a trip to that crazy world of people who love to collect other people's crap.

The statute of limitations must have been up on the old hex, because the yard sale gods were smiling on us for a change. The weather held out despite a huge rainstorm the night before. The traffic was substantial, and people actually bought stuff. The volume of wierdos was at a minimum as well, other than the lady who spoke no English but kept asking for TWO of something, and the old guy dressed like Jimmy Buffet who had no idea who James Taylor was. I mean, really, if you've over 55 and wearing a straw hat and flowered shirt, aren't you REQUIRED to know who James Taylor is?

Despite our overall success, we still finished the day with way more crap than we wanted remaining. I'd made a vow to not allow ANY of it back into the house, but unfortunately I was only about 50% successful with that effort. We separated the remaining crap into a Goodwill pile and an eBay/Craigslist pile, and the latter still resides in our basement awaiting attention. So, while the upstairs and attic are still clean, we STILL have a 500-square-foot junk drawer. But overall I feel I've made progress. Now if I could just find someone interested in buying 58 puke-stained onesies, a Polaroid camera, and a Desperate Housewives Dirty Laundry Board Game still in it's original wrapping (seriously), I'd feel even better.

Mr. Clean Pays a Visit

2009-07-20T09:38:00.006-04:00

There's been an incident.

Several years ago, when Natalie was but a wee lass and our younger Jessica was still in her infancy, Natalie thought it might be a fine idea to hone her artistic abilities by creating a masterpiece in the living room wall. Of course even back then she realized it would be wise to blame her younger sister for the graffiti so as to stay out of trouble. However she made the mistake of signing her name to the artwork and yet blaming a younger child who not only wasn't able to write the word "Natalie" but could barely even stand up by herself at the time. Thus her plot was foiled, and she was introduced to the wonders of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser as punishment.

In our house, each child is allowed the opportunity to write on the walls and avoid death once. ONCE. Last night, it was Jessica's turn.

During the day, Jessica announced she was going up to her room "to do something", gave us a mysterious "you don't need to know" look, and disappeared. Later that afternoon we discovered what she was up to. She thought it might be a nice idea to put her own personal brand on each of the surfaces of her room by labeling each with a Sharpie. Above her headboard was written "Mi Bed". On her closet door was "Mi Clost". And on the bedroom door was "Jessica's Room" with a little heart on it. My favorite, frankly, was the drawer in which she keeps her My Little Pony collection. There's a pic of that below.

As soon as Mommy discovered this, Jessica was devastated. She knew she'd done wrong. Despite smiling and laughing and telling her the story of how her evil older sister attempted to foist blame upon her for a similar incident years back, Jessica was very traumatized for having done so wrong. Well, in some cases trauma is a good thing, cuz we know she ain't doing it again. At least, not until we get a dog and she can blame stuff on it instead.

The good news is that the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser is a wonderful product. Check out the end results of only a minute or two of scrubbing:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

And yes, I will be the first to admit that I'm overly anal retentive about these things. But I left the stuff she wrote on the walls, since we'll be repainting the room sooner or later anyways. However I'd like to avoid having to some day sand down and restain a door. And yes, I am looking oh so forward to the flurry of comments that include "oh, how cute" and "geez, you're such a mean dad for making her clean it up."

How to make your kids NOT eat fast food

2009-07-07T16:17:00.006-04:00

I'm not quite sure of the point of this, but it looks like fun. Fancy Fast Food demonstrates extreme makeovers of actual fast food items purchased at popular fast food restaurants. No additional ingredients have been added except for an occasional simple garnish.

For example, there's the Tacobelllini, made entirely from the parts of Taco Bell Burrito Supremes. That's good eatin'.

The Munks and the Restless - There's been a Murder

2009-07-06T09:42:00.003-04:00

Wow. Apparently I had no idea just what kind of soap opera I was getting into with yesterday's post. Apparently the fight between Roger and Darren took a murderous turn. I just discovered Darren lying belly up under next to the woodpile.

The Munks and the Restless

2009-07-05T14:56:00.010-04:00

I was cleaning up in the garage this morning with the garage doors both open. Every five seconds or so, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a chipmunk trotting out in front of the garage door, only to notice me and dart back behind the garage. This continued for several minutes until at one point I got curious enough to take a further look at things. Slowly and quietly I stepped outside the garage and found a strategic position on the grass to watch what turned out to be a scene fit for the cover of this week's Soap Opera Digest.

Two chipmunks, whom I shall name Flo and Roger, had found themselves a quiet and romantic spot behind the trash bins, right next to an old gasoline jerry can. Apparently is was time for some lovin'. Flo had the look of a horny coed during spring break. She looked positively radiant, lying there next to the gas can in a "check out my tail" pose. She was ready to get down to business, her cheeks puffed up as if ready to take in Roger's um...nuts.

Come on, this whole post was an excuse to use that pun, so feel free to chuckle politely.

Roger was pumped and ready, standing up on his hind legs, flexing his little chipmunk muscles, and keeping a close eye out for Darren, a third and obviously less dominant rodent currently hiding under a woodpile about twenty yards away. It was clear Roger was the alpha male, and it was time to get it things moving.

Roger saw me, but after a minute or so of making sure I wasn't a threat to his morning plans, he turned his attention to Flo. Roger took Flo in his tiny grip, threw her up against the gas can, and had his way with her. Five times. In approximately seventeen seconds. Chipmunks do it really, really fast. I had considered running to the computer and downloading a copy of Alvin and the Chipmunks singing Barry White's "Let's Get It On", but they were done before I even got the thought out. After the final time, Flo had decided she'd had enough, and turned what little energy she had left on getting Roger quite literally off her back. Flo turned to face Roger (oh yeah, you know which way they're doin' it) and gave him a left cross right on the forehead. Roger went flying. Once he regained his composure, he relaxed in a corner and lit a tiny little cigarette. Which, by the way, is something I would have recommended against given their proximity to the gas can, but who am I to judge?

Meanwhile back at the woodpile, Darren had decided his time was due. He'd spent enough time in Roger's shadow, watching Roger get all the chipmunk tail while he was left to spend each night with a cold shower from the lawn sprinkler. No, this time things would be different. With a freshly sharpened shiv carved from a wood chip in his hand, Darren headed from the woodpile, under the back door, past the planter and the bag of fertilizer, to Roger's lair. They battled. They fought. They rolled about with anger in their eyes. Flo looked on, completely disinterested in the result. Soon, the two competitors disappeared around the corner, and only one returned. Roger was victorious. I could tell it was him by the familiar way in which he then munk-handled Flo and had is way with her six more times. In about four seconds. Man, they're quick.

At that point, the evening was apparently complete. Flo waddled off, looking for some quiet time to start re-reading her worn copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting. Roger flipped on the TV and watched a show about acorn collecting. Off at the woodpile, Darren quietly licked his wounds and surrendered to another evening alone with nothing but his own paws.

And yet, despite the drama that unfolded this morning, with all the damage these little varmints have done to my landscaping this summer, once Flo pops out a few pups I can't help but think I'm going to be the one getting screwed.

Editor's note: Yes I know that's a squirrel in the picture. But c'mon...

Boop and Booop!!

2009-07-02T18:22:00.007-04:00

Jessica asked me today if she could label her bunny slippers. It seemed to be a reasonable question, as she was having trouble telling them apart. Not the left from the right...she's got that down. No, she keeps forgetting their names. After all, their names are so similar:

Right bunny slipper's name: Boop.

Left bunny slipper's name: Boooop!

Now, I don't believe just writing the names above quite explain the nuances of this specific bunny slipper naming convention. I will need to break it down further. First, say the word "Boop". Just say it, they way you'd drop the word "Boop" into normal conversation. That's the name of the right bunny slipper. Now, say the word again, but this time have someone sneak up behind you and pinch you in the ass just as you say it. Have you done that? Great. See how the word lasts a little longer, and reaches sort of an excited, high pitch at the end? Yeah, that's the left bunny slipper.

You can see why Jessica is having trouble. I mean, saying things like, "Dad, have you seen Boop and Booop!?" is easy enough. Sure honey, they're under the coffee table. However let's imagine she can only find ONE slipper. She's certainly going to need help knowing which to ask for. So how could I not help her out?

You think I'm kidding with this, don't you. I'm afraid not.

Then one day...at cheerleading camp....

2009-06-18T18:06:00.017-04:00

School is out, and all the good suburban moms and dads know what that means, right? Summer camp! After typing that exclamation point, I had to take a moment, breathe in deeply, then sigh. Back in my day, summer camp meant what it was supposed to mean...smelly cabins, giant rectangular trunks with broken corner hinges, bug juice, tube socks, beaten-up metal canoes, horseback riding, mud, swim lessons, dirt trails, and wearing the same filthy t-shirt for ten days straight. Some of my greatest childhood memories were from Outdoor Adventure Camp at Camp Jewell in Colbrook, CT, spending 5 days sleeping under lean-to's in the Adirondack mountains and waking up to find our backpacks stolen by bears during the night. Now THAT was summer camp.

The term "Summer Camp" has been completely watered down this day and age. Write a check for some sort of activity that involves getting your child out of the house for more than eight minutes, and it's called summer camp. For some reason, summer camps have been refined and diluted so much that only one activity can happen at any one camp. Of course we've got the sports camps. Soccer. Football. Checkers. There's the arts and crafts categories. Art camp. Weaving camp. Wicker basket making camp. And let's not forget about the performing arts. Acting camp. Violin camp. Yodeling camp. Now how the hell am I going to be able to pack an entire trunk to get my kid through a week of yodeling camp, I ask you??

But today I'm going to talk about cheer leading camp.

Upon arriving at the local middle school where the camp was to be held, I noticed that the parking lot was busier than the kiss-and-run lot at LaGuardia. Every color, shape and model of minivan was there jockeying for a parking space. Once we found ours we headed toward the front door to be greeted by half a dozen incredibly chipper and bouncy teenagers wearing matching pink t-shirts and short shorts with paws on the butt cheeks. Their arms waving in the air, they yelled to us, "HI THERE! ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR...
C H E E R L E A D I N G C A M P ????!!!!"

"Um...yes?"

They led us into the lobby, where we were engulfed by a swarm of these teenage jumping beans, poised and ready to guide our children to their respective cheer teams. As we followed them into the gym, our jaws hit the floor.

The gym was filled with perhaps 400 kids, all wearing the same matching pink shirts and short shorts with the paws on the butt cheeks. They were yelling and screaming like only young girls can do. They were doing cartwheels. Leaping in the air. Clapping hands. The decibel level was so high, as was the relative pitch, that my eardrums immediately burst apart and collapsed into a sopping mess onto each of my shoulders. I'm not even sure how to describe it, other than to say it made me think that the Disney Channel had exploded in the gym.

Actually, it reminded me of what it must be like to attend a terrorist training camp. New recruits to the gathering of zealots, being brainwashed to believe in the cause. Someone call Homeland...it's time to raise the threat level to pink.

(...must...assimilate....)

Friday was the big show. All the parents were herded to their respective positions on the bleachers and, one by one, each group got up to perform what they'd learned and practiced all week. I felt lucky that I'd lost all ability to hear that first day of drop-off, because the volume level was turned up way past eleven.

While I will fully admit it was very cute seeing my 5- and 8-year olds ra-ra'ing to the "Go Team Go!" mantra, I also saw right through the school district's evil plot. This was no summer camp. This was a recruiting session. Scouts were on hand taking copious notes and names for future placement on the high school cheer team. Start feeding your kids soy protein now, folks, cuz they're going to need to build some muscle mass if they're going to support the human pyramid during the big Thanksgiving Day game in a few years.

I did, however, notice one hole in the armor of this cheer army. If in fact the secret evil plan was to assimilate children into the Borg that is school spirit, they let slip two incidents that definitely gave parents pause, making them think twice about what their kids were getting into. First, there was one of the team leaders, recovering from what was obviously a recent cheering injury. On her arm she wore a brace that looked like it came straight from the set of Terminator. Second was the finale of the big show, when the Varsity high school cheering team got up to show off their prowess, tossed one of the young ladies high in the air, only to miss her on the way down and allow her to land flat on her back. While she avoided traction that day, it was a close call, and enough to make many of the parents wonder how soon yodeling camp would start.

Unemployment, facial hair and water fowl

2009-06-15T13:17:00.005-04:00

Hockey players apparently have a tradition of not shaving their facial hair during the season playoffs. Known as the playoff beard, this superstitious act is somehow supposed to increase a team's ability to win the Stanley Cup. Yeah, brilliant idea and so original, too. Back in '92, I myself didn't shower the entire two weeks of finals at Carnegie Mellon University, and look at me now - unemployed.

So speaking of that, I realized I've been a bit lazy in chronicling my adventures into the world of the economic recession. Go figure, rather than blogging I figured my time was better spent actually job hunting rather than blogging about job hunting. But I had quite a productive day thus far and a little bit of literary inspiration, so I thought I'd touch base with my loyal followers. Oh, and while I considered growing facial hair during my time off, I figured that showing up to a career fair looking like the Unibomber was probably not in anybody's best interest, so that's out.

First, the good news is that I've made progress. I actually had two phone-based interviews and one face-to-face meeting with a local company, and it looks very promising. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I care too much about my career and reputation to spout opinions about the company or the job opportunity, so I will leave it at that and simply update y'all when they realize they can't survive without my world-class talents and offer to pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars to come join their team. That aside, I thought share some thoughts about being laid off.

First of all, it's really nice not having to get up in the morning. However, my brain and my clogged sinuses still team up to drag my lazy ass out of bed each morning at 6:30, which is great because I've found that for the next half hour, before the crazy munchkins rouse and severely limit any chance of productivity, I can get a lot done.

It's apparently a myth that, once you're laid off, you'll have a wealth of time to get all those projects done you've been putting off. That's crap. Sure, I get to spend a bit more time in the Spousal Avoidance Center lately (that's the workshop, FYI) but don't expect that in the first couple of months you're going to tack an outdoor kitchen onto the back of the house or anything. Not to mention that once she hears you're laid off, your wife is probably going to make the tough decision to put the house cleaner on temporary furlough, so you'll be stuck cleaning the bathrooms. Yeah, make sure to put that on the to-do list.

And speaking of to-do lists, expect that once you're laid off you'll be spending the first couple of months getting your proverbial ducks in a row. Making folders for everything, organizing your contact lists, putting a to-do list together...it's all pretty endless. I've come to rely on Evernote, which I use to store all my job hunting information from notes on individual companies to my daily to-do lists and accomplishments. Evernote is handy because it's web based, so as long as you have internet access you can access your notes from anywhere. And that's very important when you're standing in line at a career fair trying to remember the name of the guy at ACME Widgets that you ran into a couple of weeks back. Of course, no matter how organized you are, once you get those ducks in a row you need to keep paying attention to them, otherwise this might happen:

And that's not good. Do I even need to break down the whole falling-through-the-cracks metaphor here?

Unemployment compensation has been an interesting experience. First off, the idea of standing in line at the unemployment office is no longer the reality. You sign up online. Wait for your paperwork, then once every other week you log into the site and answer four questions (Still unemployed? Yes. Still looking for work? Yes) and a few days later you get a direct deposit to your bank account. However there's one bit of governmental stupidity I'd like to share regarding this whole process.

When you first apply, you're sent a 29-page document with details of the program. In the back of the book, Appendix A contains a 5-page chart that enables you to figure out how much you're going to get as an unemployment benefit. In short, the chart starts with, "If you made between $800 and $812 per quarter, you're eligible for $35 unemployment compensation per week." The next line shows that you will make $36 if you made between $813 and$817 per quarter. And so on, for five pages.

So let's think about this. $800 per quarter, that's $3,200 per year. Most of you well-edumacated folks reading this blog probably make much more than that annually. I know I did, so I figured I'd have to scan pretty far down the chart to find where I stood. But wouldn't you know it...at the end of page 5 the last entry states that if you made $13,888 per quarter or more, you make $$558 per week in unemployment benefits. Couldn't they just say at the beginning that if your annual salary was $55,552 or greater, you make the max? Ah, government.

But frankly, I shouldn't complain too much about this. Uncle Sam is sending me money and all-in-all it's a pretty painless process. Not like those folks handling COBRA.

COBRA is a pain in the butt. My former company offered to pay for many weeks of COBRA payments (and hopefully I will be gainfully employed well before I have to pay for it myself) but in order to do this, they use a third-party administrator. Between my old company, the administrator, blue Cross, and myself, there are way too many cooks in the soup right now. As a result it's been two months and our doctor still can't get Blue Cross to recognize that we exist. As a result I've got a stack of medical bills on the corner of my desk that seems to grow by the day. Joy.

Okay, my break is done. Tune in next time when our hero talks about how useless newspaper want ads are in this day and age, and how to avoid driving his family completely nuts with his constant presence in the house.

Do you suffer from information overload?

2009-06-13T07:41:00.001-04:00

It's funny cuz it's true...

Roboworld

2009-06-12T21:53:00.003-04:00

This afternoon we decided to take advantage of our family membership to the Carnegie Museums and check out the members-only preview of Roboworld, the newest exhibit at the Carnegie Science Center. I thought I'd take a moment during the intermission between periods of the Stanley Cup game to blogify an opinion.

First, I should mention that, as new members of the museums, we did not realize that members need to pre-register for members-only events. When we showed up there at no specific time, we were told that a)there were timed entries and the next one was in three hours, and b)all the time slots were sold out. Crap. However, when the time came we were able to talk to a guy behind the counter and weasel our way in for the 5pm slot without too much trouble. Next time, I'll make sure to read the fine print.

The new exhibit is on the 2nd floor, by the planetarium. I believe it replaced some sort of construction-themed exhibit, though it's been a while so I don't remember exactly. The entry to the exhibit is guarded by Andy, a humanoid robot on a pedestal that answers questions and moves around on his stand. However he doesn't directly answer questions you ask; instead he simply spouts answers to pre-programmed questions selected from a computer kiosk to his side. Standard, but not exactly mind-blowing.

Once in the exhibit, the first thing I noticed is how "fresh" everything was. When I think of science centers, I tend to think of kiosks with fading CRT screens, buttons that don't work, big "out of order" signs, and generally worn out, abused crap. Not here. Everything was bright and shiny, and all the computers worked. By this, I was impressed. Around the sides were replicas of everyone's favorite bots from Hollywood (R2D2, Hal, the usual). throughout the space were stand-alone exhibits allowing visitors to understand how vision sensors created images for robots to process, how proximity sensors allowed for obstacle avoidance, etc. McKesson had an exhibit showing a robotic pharmacy where little packets of drugs were selected by computer for distribution to hospital patients. And Aethon had a "helper bot", a faceless box that moved around to different destinations in an imaginary hospital. There were various other small kiosks that were very interesting, plus a robotic "wall of fame" that consisted of a timeline painted on the wall with some sort of sliding LCD that would show highlights of the timeline when you slid it to a certain date. But then, there were a couple of highlights.

First, there was the robotic air hockey game (there's a video at the link). This was a typical air hockey table, and on the other end was a robotic arm with an air hockey paddle attached to it. each player was given 45 seconds to see if they could score against the robot. Most can't, it seems. I watched 8 or so kids try and fail, and then decided to try myself. I scored, but it took some effort.

Another major highlight was the robotic basketball player. This was simply a robotic arm on a stand in an area surrounded by a net. At the end of the arm was a fork, which picked up a basketball, and tossed it high into a basketball net. It made the short virtually every time, and afterwards would make a series of movements that obviously implied the robot was programmed to talk some smack to its opponents. Very cool.

The final highlight was the craft for kids. It consisted of a styrofoam square with a 9-volt battery and a motor attached to it. When the battery was connected, the unit would vibrate and move across the floor like a bug. The kids got to decorate these with feathers and foamies. Nat and Jess loved them.

As I'm writing this, I'm noticing that there are more items on this exhibit list than were at the actual show. We don't recall seeing the Foosbot or the Hazard Bots anywhere. Perhaps we just missed them.

So overall, I'd rate the new exhibit somewhere between a B+ and A-. I think it could have more. With CMU just down the road, I expected more. No Mars Rover. No CMU self-driving vehicles. No Asimo. No Pleo. Not even a Roomba. But if you've going to the Science Center, check it out.

Hampton Bay Ceiling Fan Warranty Service

2009-06-02T17:44:00.002-04:00

I wrote the title of this post specifically with the hope that anyone looking for customer service for a Hampton Bay ceiling fan comes across this post after a Google search. I thought perhaps my recent experience might be enlightening to some.

During the big renovation, we installed a Hampton Bay ceiling fan in our new master bedroom. For two years it's worked flawlessly, but recently it began making a random "clicking" noise at odd times. And, by "odd times" I mean usually 4:30 in the morning. After removing the blades, the light covers, and any other parts of the fan I could while still able to run the fan, I determined that the noise was coming from within the motor housing.

As luck would have it, the motors in Hampton Bay fans have a lifetime warranty. The rest of the body of the fan, however, only has a one-year warranty. I know this because being the anal retentive person that I am, I still had all the paperwork and even the receipt for the fan from my purchase two years ago. So off I went, in search of warranty service.

Of course, my first stop was the Web. It was there that I discovered that Hampton Bay DOES NOT EXIST. In fact Hampton Bay is simply a brand name made up by Home Depot marketing geniuses, and the fans themselves are made by a variety of unknown fan manufacturers around the world. Thus, I discovered how extra-fortuitous it was that I kept all the paperwork, because on the warranty card there was a number to call (the number for my fan was 800-527-0998 but your mileage may vary, because like I said the fans are made by different manufacturers). I called it, and got something called "The Mica Group". As soon as I said the words "Hampton Bay ceiling fan" they transferred me to another company called "The Madison Avenue Company". Odd.

It was surprisingly easy to get a customer service rep on the phone. she asked me the name of the model fan, which was listed on the instructions. She wasn't curious to know the serial number. I told her about my problem, and she agreed it "sounded" like a motor problem. She did ask me, however, to remove the remote control unit from inside the fan and hard-wire it directly to the power line, to rule out the possibility that the receiver was making noise. After telling her I already did that (sure I did...), she confirmed it was warranty replacement time.

She then put me on hold while she called my local Home Depot. After a few minutes she got back on the line, and told me if I stopped in and talked to Ron, he'd swap out a replacement. And wouldn't you know it...that's exactly what happened. I brought the old fan back in an old Amazon.com shipping box. As luck would have it, they still carried the same model fan, and in less than two hours I had a new (and quiet) ceiling fan hanging in the bedroom.

So, the moral of the story...DO NOT throw out your paperwork or receipt when you buy a Hampton Bay product. File it away for future reference, cuz ya never know...

Apple Store Workshops for Kids

2009-05-25T07:24:00.003-04:00

Hey, this is kinda neat. Apple is holding regularly scheduled workshops for kids to teach them how to make a movie with iMovie, music with Garage Band, etc. They are scheduled throughout the year, and are free. Too bad our local stores don't seem to be doing this, but maybe in the future...

http://www.apple.com/retail/youthworkshops/

Hurricane Natalie

2009-05-22T23:18:00.005-04:00

Much of my current at-home time has been spent either job-hunting, or wiping up the aftermath of my daughter. Like a typical 8-year-old (or so I'm told), Natalie has what I guess you could describe as a very narrow area of focus when she moves about the room. To put it in simpler terms, she doesn't pay any attention to what the heck she's doing. Be it shutting the bathroom light off when she's done brushing her teeth, leaving her poor little sister standing there in the dark, or grabbing something she wants out of the refrigerator only to cause a cascade of vegetables and Tupperware to come tumbling from the shelves, she's like a Tasmanian Devil on caffeine pills.

Case in point. A few weeks ago, she innocently walked out of our master bathroom, and somehow managed to take the entire closet door with her...along with the hinges, the door frame, and the drywall. As I entered the planning stages of THAT home improvement project, while watching a squirrel scamper across the front yard she leaned a little too hard on the curtain and somehow managed to rip the curtain rod out of the wall, leaving hole 2" in the drywall. And today I noticed that her ability to inundate the bathroom with water whenever she washes her hands is doing wonders for the paint job in that new bathroom. So despite my grand plan for the construction of workshop cabinets to be my first big project during my time off, I've had to put that project off just to keep the house standing.

I learned a few things during my door replacement project. First and foremost, you know those Project Starter coupons that Lowes sends us in the mail and includes in their circulars? Home Depot accepts those! You're welcome.

The door she ripped off was an inexpensive luan bifold door. I decided I wanted something a little nicer than that to replace it, and I also did not want them to be bifold. So I framed the doorway with some good quality pine, and then hunted for a new set of doors. Given my drastically reduced buying power as of late, I decided the best bet was to buy a set of solid pine bifold doors, remove all the bifold hardware, and trim them down to the right size.

One thing I discovered early on was that the door frame was not truly square; the faces of the frame were "splayed" out, such that if I hung a door on its hinges the door would not close flush with the frame. I got around that by trimming the hinge-side of each door at a slight angle, so they would close all the way.

Additionally, here's a handy tip for buying bifold doors off the rack at Home Depot. Inspect the doors before purchase EXTREMELY carefully. Notice, in the picture, the left hand door, about 9 or 10 slats from the top? Yeah, nice warp there. I didn't catch that until after I'd cut and stained the doors.

Also, bifold doors like these are not meant to be cut down to narrower widths. I took about 1/4" off each side of each door. As a result there are now exposed dowels, and the hole at the very top where the bifold pivot was to go is now exposed. Luckily all those defects are on the sides or inside of the door. Also, when screwing the hinges on I had to take a bolt cutter and cut about 1/8" off the ends of the screws or they'd stick through and ruin the slats.

It turned out that the doors were also narrower than the hinges. It looks fine in the end, but you can see how the doors are set back from the face of the door frame a bit rather than being flush, to account for the fact that the hinges were wider than the door was thick.

Despite all this hackery, I think they came out pretty nice. You might ask why I didn't order custom-to-fit doors to begin with, to make life easier? Because it meant the difference between a $48 pair of doors and a $248 pair of doors, that's why. And given Jessica will be turning 8 in only three short years, I figured I'd better save up for her inevitable destructiveness.

Oh, on a final note. I just read in the paper that our local town council gave developers the go-ahead to begin building a Lowes that will be within WALKING DISTANCE from our house. Dear lord, I need to get a job and FAST.

Damn you, John Grogan

2009-05-18T08:26:00.007-04:00

Until last weekend, I had my wife right where I wanted her...thinking I was a heartless robot, unable to show emotion. As all men know, showing emotion is a sign of weakness in a spousal relationship except when presented with a gift of a new power tool. "Oh, honey, you bought me the DeWalt DWM120 Heavy Duty Deep Cut Band Saw with the dual bearing blade guides??? Sweetie, you're the greatest! I love you SO MUCH." But then John Grogan had to enter the scene and screw up all my plans.

Who is this meddling Mr. Grogan, you ask? He's the "Me" behind Marley And Me. Grogan started off as a writer/columnist for a Florida newspaper, and gained fame when he and his wife decided to purchase the world's worst dog. This yellow lab, named Marley, quickly proved to be a holy terror, destroying every piece of the family home it could get its jaws around, humping the legs of innocent obedience trainers, and tackling UPS drivers on a daily basis. Grogan's life with Marley became the subject of his regular column, which eventually turned into a book and then a movie with Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson.

And why do I have a problem with this man? Well, for the simple reason that his story was the first movie to bring tears to my eyes since watching Old Yeller back in my childhood days. And now my wife knows my weak spot. Yellow dogs.

I should first explain that I grew up with dogs. First there was Ogelthorpe, a beagle that was around when I came into the picture. All that I remember about him was he loved eating toilet paper and eventually went blind (two things that were in no way connected). Then there was Dusty, a violent dog that loved to eat children. More on Dusty momentarily. After Dusty we had a brief stint with an Airedale named Sheeba, a hand-me-down from a relative that for some reason didn't last very long. And finally, there was Magnum. Magnum was MY dog. Sure, my parents originally picked her up as a pet for my sister, but from the moment Magnum arrived at the house she was MY dog. Magnum was THE dog. The one you grew up with, the one you had all the fond memories of. And while we don't currently have a dog, it's likely next on the list after I find myself gainful employment. But for now I have to envy other peoples' dogs.

Okay, if you haven't seen the movie Marley And Me or read the book yet, stop reading now and go out and rent the movie before continuing. I don't want to be blamed for spoiling it for you. I'll wait.

Take your time.

Really, I'll be right here.

Okay, good you're back.

The story chronicles the life of Marley and, more importantly, his death as well. As the movie progresses, Marley grows up but changes very little, always leaving a path of disaster in its wake. But that also makes the dog endearing to its owners and to the audience, and in the end when the dog dies (of old age), it's sad. Really sad.

There were a couple of scenes in this movie that brought out some seriously repressed feelings in me. In one scene, Marley falls ill and is loaded into the back of the van, wrapped in a blanket, headed to the veterinary hospital. Jennifer Aniston believes this is the end for Marley, and says her goodbyes to him before the van pulls away. That scene instantly reminded me of Dusty. Back in seventh grade, an hour before leaving to present my findings on the Space Shuttle's human waste treatment facility at the school Science Fair, Dusty got loose and met up with the underside of a Pontiac. My sister witnessed it, and I still recall her scream a block away. The last time I saw Dusty, I said goodbye to her as she was lay still a blanket in the back of our monkey-puke green Buick Century Station wagon. Yeah, that scene hit a little close to home. Granted I'm no Jennifer Aniston, but still.

The other painful scene was when Marley's time finally comes, and Owen Wilson has to say goodbye. Marley lay on the vet's table, obviously aware of his own fate. This reminded me of Magnum, to whom I never had a chance to say goodbye because I had moved to Pittsburgh. But I remember my mom telling me about her demise and definitely hurting later.

At the end of the movie, my wife glanced in my direction. I attempted to say something thoughtful and poignant, but all that came out was some sort of a blubbering sound.

"Are you crying???" she exclaimed.

"pphhhhpphhh...nnnn..no.." I believe I said while slobbering on my shirt sleeve and averting my teary eyes.

"Sweety! You are!! Oh my gosh! You ARE human and have feelings! I knew there was a reason I loved you!"

Suddenly, she was all huggy and kissy and crap. Jeez, it sucked. Now she's going to want me to watch chick flicks and shop for clothing with her. Next thing you know she's going to want me to help host a Pampered chef party or something. Damn you John Grogan! I need to get my butt to Home Depot and buy ten bags of cement immediately before it's too late.

P.S. In case you don't believe that I we ACTUALLY had a monkey-puke green Buick Century Station Wagon, I've attached a video with a somewhat embarrassing voice-over done by an 18-year-old me as I follow my dog around the room. The car is there too. And yes, that's the Alan Parsons Project playing in the background.

This is how bad it's gotten

2009-05-16T08:48:00.003-04:00

Anyone recording this morning's conversation with my daughters will definitely hold my parental decision-making abilities against me in the future. So, I might as well get it out there in the open now to avoid complications later.

Thing #2: Dad, can we turn on the TV?

Dad: Yes, but no Hannah Montana, No Zack and Cody, and no Wizards of Waverly Place.

Thing #1: Awww.....

Dad: No! You guys have been watching way too much of that trash, and it's rotting your brain.

Thing #2: We haven't watched Spongebob in a while.

Dad: Fine.

Define "progress".

2009-05-11T16:21:00.005-04:00

I'm still here. Still unemployed. Yesterday, a friend very hesitantly asked me, "um, can I ask how it's going? Do you feel like talking?"

Jeez, it's not like I'm Bernie Madoff, or my wife dumped me for another woman. I got laid off. Just like around 8% of Americans today. Of course, I'd love to talk about it. In fact, let's face it. The more I talk about it, the more likely it will be that someone who has an immediate need to hire an innovative and creative professional type with stunning good looks will overhear the conversation and swoop in like a prince with a glass slipper on a white horse...jeezuz I gotta stop watching Disney Channel with my kids.

So in answer to the question, how's it going? Quite well, in fact. After a little more than three weeks, I've been busier than I ever could have imagined, getting my professional house in order, my resume spit-shined, and my tie collection dusted off. I've spent numerous days working with an outplacement service by attending classes on negotiation tactics, career assessment, and networking. I've taken over my wife's desk, converting our friendly iMac into a resume generation machine. And I've actually found a few moments here and there to look out for #1, and do the things that I want to do.

Everyone always talks about how, after getting laid off, you get a chance to do all those big projects you've been putting off for years. Well, so far that's pretty much proven to be a myth. If I'm not following employment leads, I'm scheduling networking meetings, preparing cover letters, or searching for jobs on the internet. Sure, I am able to accomplish a few things. I mulched the yard for the first time in 5 years. I scrubbed all four bathrooms to a point where Mr. Clean himself would have put on cloth slippers before entering to avoid making footprints. And I've taken a bike ride virtually every day that weather has permitted. But frankly, this situation is proving that life's daily duties tend to flow like water, filling up every bit of available space. I'm sure that once the outplacement work ends this all will change, and I will find myself climbing the walls with boredom. But right now my to-do list is longer than the Unibomber's manifesto.

In these few short weeks, I have discovered one blessing to being laid off. I've erased virtually all signs of attention deficit disorder. After 15 years of my job, I'd learned to multi-task while multi-tasking, something I'm sure many of you are familiar with. I recall days where I'd sit down and say to myself, "Alright I'm gonna finish up this document" and, before even getting a chance to open MS Word, the phone rings and all hell breaks loose. Those days are gone. I can sit down in front of the computer, and spend an hour cleaning out my address book, uninterrupted. I can read several chapters of a book and not think, dang, I really need to go clean out my inbox." Well, at least I can do that while the kids are at school. Basically, I've rediscovered time and concentration. I could get used to this.

And so could my wife. She's even noticed that I actually tend to listen to her once in a while, without being distracted by the latest buzz made by my Blackberry.

As for the job front? I've sent out a couple of resumes, with little positive result. This was expected. More importantly, I'm talking with everyone I know, and finding more and more new opportunities to network and to meet people than I ever knew existed. For example, I learned for the first time that there's an actual non-profit organization dedicated to certifying professionals in the field of Project Management. My calendar is chock full of meetings and lunch dates, so much so that I find myself checking my calendar more often than I used to check my Crackberry when I was working, as I never know what's coming up next. It's been a very energizing experience.

On that note, I've got my shirt pressed and my tie selected, and I'm off to a recruiting event held by a large corporation in the area looking to hire about 4 gazillion people, most of them nuclear scientists. While I am not a nuclear scientist, I can pronounce "new-clee-ir" correctly, so I figure I've got a leg up on some folks. Wish me luck.

Some Pittsburghishness

2009-05-08T17:12:00.000-04:00

A two-minute tour of the Duquesne Incline:

Potbird's reason for squatting

2009-05-03T18:26:00.004-04:00

As suspected, Potbird's on a mission. If you look closely at the picture below, you can see offspring. Plus, it turns out there's an egg underneath her. How do I know? Because like a dorkus I accidentally hit the pot with my head as I was mowing the lawn, frightening the bejeebus out of her and forcing her to fly away. While she was debating what to do next, I took a peek in the pot and saw both Thing 1, as well as a Thing 2 still in the oven.

The ties that bind...update

2009-04-29T14:24:00.003-04:00

I'll bet some of you out there think I make the stories for this blog up just for my own amusement. Well, sure I do, but sometimes I can't help but hit the nail so squarely on the head it's scary. Only a couple minutes after writing last night's post, it was time to get the squirts to bed. This of course meant time for them to come up with any trick they could in order to delay the process. Last night's distraction was for Natalie to gather her collection of nail polish bottles (really? an eight-year-old has a nail polish collection? I'm surprised she hasn't installed a stripper pole in the playroom) and organize them in the new bathroom cabinet. As I walked up the stairs I heard, "Dad! The crystal gem fell off the top of this bottle. Can you glue it?"

"Sure honey, let me check inventory on 'crystal gem adhesives' first. Meanwhile, give me the bottle and I will put it on the mantel so it doesn't get lost."

The ties that bind

2009-04-28T17:49:00.005-04:00

Funny thing about being a dad. For some reason kids think that you can fix absolutely ANYTHING with glue. Princess tiara get stepped on? Just glue it back together. Barbie head keeps falling off? Just glue it in place. Hole ripped in that special bumblebee pillow? Glue it closed, of course. Sometimes I think my kids could break wind and expect me to glue it back together.

Of course, any expert will tell you that gluing the gangly neck of a top-heavy giraffe carved from stale Play-Doh back together is about as effective as trying to get the Large Hadron Collider to run on used cooking oil and chicken droppings. Sure, there's a glue out there for every substance known to man (and even a website devoted to gluing things to other things), but who really has the wherewithal to collect 147,000 different kinds of adhesives?

Over the past few years of owning children, I've found an easy solution to this problem of what to do with their broken crap.

Don't fix it.

Actually, there's more to this fiendish plan. Allow me to explain.

Let's say your daughter spends the entire morning constructing an exact, to-scale replica of the Chrysler Building out of toothpicks and Irish Spring with individually-painted Teddy Grahams representing the pedestrians of New York City milling about the base. And let's say that perhaps the structural integrity of her creation is about equal to that of a Jenga game perched atop a bobble-head. All of a sudden, the radio tower at the top of the building comes loose, dropping to the kitchen floor like last night's macaroni. Be prepared for the scream of horror. The tears. The distraught waif proclaiming that she worked all day building this special just for mommy, and life just isn't worth living now. What do you do? What...do...you...do???

First course of action is not to panic. Give your daughter plenty of praise regarding how beautiful her construction is, even if it truly looks more like Smokey The Bear than the Chrysler Building. Then tell her that you think this is something that is easily fixable, and that you've had radio towers break on you ALL the time, especially back when you used to have that hobby of building Chrysler Buildings for homeless people back in Connecticut. Tell her you've got a plan, one that may involve a trip to the local adhesives store the next day. Take her construction project, and place it safely on the mantle, or a high bookshelf...anywhere higher than the normal sight-line of a five-year-old. Then, let your child continue on with her day in blissful innocence, knowing she will have completely forgotten about it by lunchtime. It helps to place a shiny object in front of her as well.

Six months from now, when you're cleaning up the mantel and come across that dusty model of the Chrysler Building with the rotten globs that used to be Teddy Graham pedestrians surrounding it, rest assured it can be tossed with the knowledge that your child will never remember it existed. She's already built a bigger, better structure, an exact replica of the U.S.S Constitution. And that mermaid on the bow, the one she carved out of the sole of an old pair of Crocs? Yeah, it just fell off.

Someone call an ornithologist!

2009-04-27T06:56:00.004-04:00

Will someone please explain this to me? Three weeks ago we discovered a bird residing in a hanging flower pot outside our front door. I call her our Pot Bird. In those three weeks, we've never seen her leave the pot, even to obtain food. She's definitely alive and well. We've only gone within a couple feet of her, trying not to bother her, but she's not terribly afraid of us. Are there any ornithologists out there who can tell me a)what kind of bird this is, b)when we should expect her to leave and c)whether we should clean up the guest bedroom in preparation for a visit from her family once the eggs hatch (I'm assuming there are eggs, I have not seen them)?

Thus ends week one

2009-04-24T21:54:00.005-04:00

Wow, that was a quick week. It ended on a fine note...happy hour yesterday with thirty or so of my former coworkers forcing Sam Adams White Ale down my accepting gullet. This evening spent reading Unemployment Compensation Benefits paperwork from Uncle Sam. I can't decide which made my head spin more. But some personal thanks to those diehards who made sure I never went thirsty and also made sure I didn't end up sleeping in the gutter with the hotpants-and-stilletos-wearing homeless guy.

The clean-out of the office went smoothly. It took about two hours, and perhaps it was poor timing that I chose "bring you child to work day" to do it. At least one kid was overheard saying, "Mommy, why is that man taking all the things out of his office?"

"Because, little Timmy, he's demonstrating that if you get good grades, go to college, and work real hard you too can be on unemployment."

14 years of crap is now sitting on my dining room table, including several gems:

>An original Palm Pilot
>My Timex Sinclair 1000
>My framed certificate proving my attendance at Mead Paper Knowledge, a course held in Escanaba, Michigan designed to teach you everything you can do with paper including rolling it up and smoking the contents inside.
>A folder full of newsletters from the early years at my company, circa 1995, when there were were only about two dozen of us. Looking though it made me realize that from that era, four are still at the company, one's an accessory to attempted murder, and two are deceased.

Day 1: a day of firsts

2009-04-20T17:50:00.003-04:00

I guess it's good that it rained all day today. Last Friday, when I lost my job, it was beautiful and sunny outside. Great day for blowing off work, taking a bike ride, or mowing the lawn. But today, the weather was miserable, and that fit in well with my to-do list. Rather than be distracted by the sunshine, I was able to focus on a few important tasks:

1. Going back to bed.
2. Going to the gym for the first time in two years.
3. dusting off the resume.

These were three things I have not done in years. For example, typically I annoy the crap out of my wife every morning by setting the alarm for some obscene hour simply because it seems like a good time to get up and get things done. After all, if I wake up early I've found that I can put an entire coat of paint on the bathroom wall before the kids get up in the morning, whereas once they are awake they become enough of a distraction to make that same coat of paint take about three weeks to apply. But today was different. Today I woke up without the alarm at my normal time, but after a quick performance of my morning constitutional I crawled back into bed. That lasted approximately three minutes before Jessica bellowed from down the hall that it was time for her to be seen. Well, it was the thought that counts.

Later that morning, I took on a new responsibility, that of dropping Jessica off at preschool. There were all the moms, with their pitying looks of sorrow on their faces, looking at me as if I was a tiny kitten that had just gotten one ear entrapped in a box fan. Hmm...I may have to work that in the future, I'm just not sure how without getting in trouble with my lovely wife.

After dropoff, the administrator at the Temple roped me into helping him return some tables we'd borrowed for a fund raising event over the weekend. As I stood in the rain under cover of the van's open tailgate, waiting for him to come outside, I had an odd feeling. It was the feeling that I didn't have to BE ANYWHERE right now. Woah. That's new.

From there it was off to the gym. Health clubs take on a whole different attitude in between rush hours. Gone are the corporate yes-men getting in their morning exercise before donning their blue shirts and ties. Gone are the doctors who have been there since 5am swimming. No, after the rush hour ends, the gym becomes inhabited with a completely different clientele. Old people. Lots, and lots of old people. Frankly, that's not a bad thing. With my scrawny frame these people look at me as if I'm some sort of greek Olympiad. At least, that's what I will keep thinking to myself.

The afternoon was spent attempting to summarize the last 14 years of efforts into two pages of text. I started by digging out my old resume. It blew my mind to see that the last resume was written before including an email address on it was accepted practice.

Tomorrow's events should be just as entertaining for me. On the list of firsts will be my first cell phone purchase in 14 years (I've always carried a company phone), my first visit to a career center, and an afternoon spent shoveling out a decade and a half of stuff from my office drawers. And it's going to rain again tomorrow. Perfect.

A New Chapter

2009-04-18T09:23:00.009-04:00

This evening marks a new chapter in my my life. Only a few minutes ago, I completed submitting my application for Unemployment Compensation Benefits. Yes, I have become another statistic in this economy, an unemployed husband and dad. I received that special folder from HR this past Friday telling me that my 14 years with the same employer have come to an end. Not with fanfare, not with a military flyover, but with a nice severance package and a slight hope that if business picks up, perhaps I might get a call to come back.

I'd seen this coming for a while now. The economy sucks, the industry sucks. I can't fault my former company for this. Everyone's heard the same stories over and over on the news lately. As cutbacks approached, I put myself in my boss' shoes many times and usually came up with the same conclusion he did. So there I was. On the deck in the middle of a Friday afternoon, enjoying an Oktoberfest. Ironic, since October is when the benefits run out.

Perhaps I'm an idiot. Perhaps I'm in shock. But the fact is, I'm a bit giddy about this. While I haven't done a lick of job hunting in 14 years, and the last copy of my resume is so yellowed that it resembles the Gettysburg Address, I'm frankly excited by this opportunity. I've got a chance to go out and find that new life, form new goals, and take on new opportunities. Since it's only been a day, I'm going to ignore all those horror stories about people getting laid off throughout the country and being unable to find jobs, and I'm going to go with the expectation that one way or another I will manage a successful outcome to this new adventure. And guess what. You're coming along for the ride.

Like I said, this is a new chapter in life and parenthood, and it's certainly a good excuse for some meaningful blogfodder. No, you're not going to see anything flaming my former company or coworkers here, I've got too much respect for the folks there and not enough stupidity to do something like that. Instead, I think this will be a good opportunity to map out the adventure, perhaps clue some folks in on what it's like to be free from The Man for (hopefully just a few) months, and get reconnected with my wife, kids, and life outside the office. Oh, and if you're hiring, let me know. I work for food.

Our newest squatter

2009-04-13T17:01:00.004-04:00

We came home yesterday to discover this (click the pic to zoom in)

Apparently to some, a hanging flower basket on the porch might seem like a good place to make a nest. We didn't dare disturb the little bugger, but she did not budge despite the ruckus my kids made over this. Yes, she's alive, and I assume there are eggs underneath her. I wonder what's going to come first...the hatching of the eggs or the sprouting of the perennials in that basket? Either way our front porch is making for some unique entertainment.

Planned Obsolescence

2009-04-11T15:29:00.002-04:00

It seems the honeymoon is over for my beloved new Subaru. Why you ask? Is it falling apart on me? No, it's running perfectly. Does the gas mileage suck? Well, sure, but I knew that going in. Did I accidentally drive it into the side of a UPS Truck? No, still on the straight and narrow. So what's wrong?

I learned yesterday that the Subaru's iPod interface is obsolete. Tragic, right? Can you believe? I'm not sure how I'm going to get through my days here.

A little back story. When we went shopping for a new car, one of the criteria on my list was to have relatively advanced iPod integration, allowing me to control the iPod through the stereo. The Subaru came with a dealer-installed kit allowing me to control the iPod utilizing the "satellite" functions on the radio. Lousy interface, but it accomplished the task. I should also point out that I knew, going in, that my 5-year-old iPod was not compatible with this setup, and that my wife would have to surrender her beloved iPod nano for the cause. Some day I will tell her that I stole it from her. But that's another story.

So, speaking of other stories, this week I received a surprise birthday gift, from my daughters, of a shiny new iPod Touch. Yay! Fun. Now, bear in mind that the only member of the family allowed to purchase technology is myself, so in actuality I purchased it and gave it to my wife so she could wrap it up so the kids could surprise daddy. But of course, before I did that, I made sure to load it up with all my tunes pics, etc so it would be ready to go right out of the box. I am a sneaky one, to be sure.

The evening before my birthday, I perused the day's mail and found the latest piece of advertising propaganda from Subaru. There it was on page 11. An "Alert" stating that Apple has changed it's charging mechanisms and, while the newer iPods would still work with the subaru integration kit, they won't charge through it.

Honey! Time to trade in the new car!

In other car-related news, I thought I'd share an interesting tale of road hazards. The other day I was on a business trip to Columbus, driving the aforementioned Subaru. It was 6am, still dark out, and a coworker and I were zipping down the highway still waking up. All of sudden a large object appeared in the headlights, and I panic-swerved but hit it head-on at 70 mph. Luckily, it was a just a large piece of plastic sheeting, about the thickness of dry-cleaning plastic. When I ran over it I never saw it exit behind the car, but after the sudden moment of panic passed we didn't think about it again.

Later that day we got back into the car to head home from our destination. As soon as we pulled out of our parking space we knew something was amiss. Our first thought was a flat tire, due to the loud thunking sound. So I immediately stopped, and we got out to check. All the tires appeared fine. Thinking that this was extremely odd, I got in to pull forward while my coworker watched from the outside. He immediately knew what was wrong. "Remember that piece of plastic?" he asked. "It's balled up and wedged in between your wheel and the brake drum. I got out to look, and there it was, wound up in a tight ball and wedged in next to the brake caliper. Every time the wheel turned it jammed itself up tighter against the brake. It came out easily enough after I backed up a few inches, but moral of the story...if you run over something and you don't see it in your rearview mirror, you might want to get out and check.

The Festering Craphole is Complete

2009-04-11T08:47:00.006-04:00

Only six short months into my two week bathroom renovation project, I'm finally done. The festering craphole is no more. The cabinets are painted and installed, the Kissie Fish is hung on the wall, and we're ready for our new undersea-themed throne room to be taken over by those two aquatic creatures in the house that don't yet know how to brush their teeth without getting toothpaste on the ceiling.

Except for some assistance with floor demolition and electrical wiring from dear old dad, this project was a solo one. Though we decided not to touch the tub, I ripped out everything else and installed a new floor, wainscoting, sink, toilet, and cabinets. The three pieces of cabinetry I built myself, using ideas garnered from an article I found in Workbench Magazine.

Throughout the painting, tiling, plumbing and cabinetry process, I learned a few things that I thought I would share with my adoring public...

A two week project will likely take more than two weeks. This goes without saying I know, but i'll say it nonetheless.

Mouse hunting can easily add an additional week to the length of the project.

Avoid getting input on color schemes from your young daughters. That is, unless you like orange and green walls with purple fixtures.

Store-bought seashells can easily be passed off as ones you supposedly obtained scouring the shores of Cape Cod in hopes of making your daughters happy.

Pedestal sinks are easier to install than regular ones, but you can save yourself some grief by installing the faucet on the sink BEFORE you attach the sink to the wall.

You can buy one of every plumbing part Home Depot has to offer in one trip, and you will STILL need to go back there for one more thing before you're done.

Toilets and sinks are apparently designed to leak after the first two attempts to install, but will work fine afterwards.

When putting that little magnet catch on the back of the medicine cabinet door, make absolutely sure you don't run the screw right through the mirror.

General Finishes makes a polyacrylic clearcoat that you can put on painted furniture, making the furniture virtually indestructible. I would like to paint every surface of my house and car with this stuff. I'd drink it if I could.

If your daughters want to help, let them. Just avoid the final painting stage. Give them a screw to twist, or a clamp to squeeze. One little project to do will give them a huge amount of pride in their creation, and it will also enable them to take credit for the entire project once it's done.

Custom cut glass is not expensive and easily obtainable. The same is true for custom mirrors. This is especially useful to know when you have to replace the one you broke while installing the magnet catch on your medicine door.

Fine Woodworking's Box contest

2009-04-01T07:51:00.003-04:00

I dream of one day having the time, patience, and skill to do something like some of these folks did. The winner received a Steel City Table Saw with a granite top. That'd be easy to get into the basement.

The Festering Craphole, Month #7

2009-03-28T06:36:00.004-04:00

I had high hopes. I really did. I even have a draft post entitled "The Festering Craphole is Complete". But still, here it is, the SIXTH month into my little two-month long bathroom redo which I stared at the beginning of October, and the kids are still trashing the guest bathroom instead of their own.

Sure, we all know what "they" say...that your average home project will take twice as long and cost twice as long as it should. But we're approaching the SEVENTH month into my project of redoing the kids' bath. It was supposed to be done before the spring thaw (folks standing in the freezing Fargo floodwaters, yes I realize I still have time based on your temperature gauge).

So what's taking so long? Well, life, of course. You know, the daily grind, sick kids, trying to keep my job in this down economy...the usual thing. But this weekend I had the highest of high hopes. All that's left is to paint and install a couple of cabinets I made, hang some towel racks and a ceramic fish, and it's time for the big reveal. No brainer, right?

But then LIFE happened again.

You'll notice I'm writing this on a Saturday morning before 7am. I'm currently waiting for the coffee maker to finish it's job of supplying me with fresh Columbian that I can take with me on my drive to Lowes. This weekend I have three projects that trump the bathroom. First, the garage door opener decided to go into retirement. Second, I've got a hillside that needs some repair before the weeds move in. And third, the real kicker, is the faucet in the guest bathroom is now broken. Yes, yet another plumbing job. As fast as I can build the new bathroom, that's how fast the others are falling apart. Only two weeks ago I was ripping piping out of the powder room sink to remove a ten-year-old clog that had finally gotten the best of us. Before that, I was re-seating a leaking toilet in the master bath. I won't even mention that the vinyl floor in the guest bathroom is bubbling up, a result of dried out adhesive. Or that the paint is peeling. No, those are projects for another day. Or another seven months.

Well since I still don't have a big reveal, here's a teaser. It's the shelf unit I built to go where a window used to be in the kids bathroom, completely unsanded and unpainted, but at least it's proof I've gotten SOMEWHERE.

The real reason sheep are nervous

2009-03-23T22:32:00.002-04:00

(Kid friendly despite the implications of the title...)

Imagine what'll happen once PETA gets wind of this.

I've seen the recession...it's name is Facebook

2009-03-20T17:26:00.003-04:00

I'm convinced that this recession (depression?) we're in has been caused almost single-handedly by the good folks running Facebook. It has to be. Have you seen Facebook lately? It's like no one works anymore. Everyone's either busy updating their status with information about their latest bowel movements, Answering the the latest quiz about the type of invertebrate they are, or whining and moaning about how far our nation has digressed as a result of the new Facebook user interface.

Have we all gone insane? I mean seriously, while the hardworking lads in India are researching solutions to our planet's greatest scientific problems, my fellow Americans are taking the "Which Facebook Quiz Should You Take" quiz. Seriously.

I'm also convinced that Facebook is nothing but a front for the CIA and Homeland Security to gather information about each and every one of us. Think about it. By letting people know that my porn name is Magnum Delmar, the Feds can now deduce my dog's name and the street where I grew up. By listing the states I've visited, spies can now track my travel habits and determine where I'm planning on delivering my next batch of yellow cake. By answering the question about my worst fear in life, they can bury me alive and cover my face with tarantulas until I admit that I'm a terrorist plotting to do evil against my local township. These quizzes take us only a few steps away from providing the world with my mother's maiden name, my social security records, and the list of communist defectors I once got high with. I've never clicked, nor do I plan to click, one of those "allow this application to access my profile" buttons. Call it paranoia but what, exactly, are you planning to access? Why does a digital snowball need to know the list of people I dated in High School? Who are you working for??!! TELL ME???!!!!

And don't get me started about Twitter.

A couple of fine examples of why society is doomed

2009-03-20T06:31:00.000-04:00

First, there’s the latest fad in the automotive pimping industry, the Whistle tip (or as I like to call it, the Wizzleteat). Make sure to pay attention to the test drive at the end:

Then, there’s the neighborhood in Mobile, Alabama (where else?) that's convinced of the existence of a leprechaun. Don’t expect to see it in the video…it will disappear if a light is shone on it. I especially like the antique leprechaun whistle, made of high quality PVC. I bet it would sound swell attached to the muffler of my Supra.

I take it back. We're not doomed. We're already dead.

Planning to have kids? Better rework that budget.

2009-03-13T11:00:00.001-04:00

Some advice for all you expectant parents out there. I'm sure you're giddy with anticipation over the prospect of a new little one in your life. someone to love, to care for and, most importantly, to pay for. I'm sure you've got the nursery all ready, the pantry stocked with Enfamil and various jars of pureed vegetables, and the budget for the next several years solidified and ready for the little one to invade your life. You're ready to be Supermom and Superdad, right? We laugh at you, you silly young waifs. Here's a few things I bet you never thought of for that budget.

Birthday parties.
No, I'm not talking about your little one's birthday party. That's enough of a financial drain in itself, what with the required passage through the worlds of Build-A-Bear, MyGym, and giant backyard BBQ's. I'm talking about the friends' birthdays. As your child enters toddlerhood and begins to attend preschool, it's a requirement that she invite each and every classmate to her birthday party. Likewise, she's obligated to attend each one of their birthday parties. Each birthday party will out-do the last, and don't think for a MOMENT that you're not required to do the same. So plan on about twenty bucks a kid for presents. Plan to spend each and every weekend being dragged by your toddler to Build-A-Bear to go through the same ursine manufacturing process you did the previous week until she's amassed a quantity of stuffed bears no human should have to tend to. My advice to you? Train your child to become a pariah, loathed by each and every one of her classmates. It's cheaper in the long run, and scars will heal. Who knows, your socially awkward child might grow up to write a blog or something.

Paper
Kids love to draw. Expect that your printer will never be in proper working order. Expect that the paper tray will always be found on the floor under your desk after your kid has ransacked it in an effort to obtain clean media for her latest bit of artistry. Plan on about a ream of paper,per month, per kid. With the economy the way it is, save money by swiping paper from the office, since chances are good your company won't be around in the next fiscal quarter anyway. Oh, also consider space allocations in your home, as every flat surface in the house will eventually be piled high with your child's artwork. There's the stuff she makes at home, the stuff she makes in preschool, the stuff she scribbles on the back of the Denny's menu...none of it can be thrown away as it's all entirely too special and important and your child will still be healing from the wounds of not being invited to her classmates' birthday parties so don't injure her pride further by throwing something out. That sheet of 8-1/2" x 11" with the two messy crayon circles on it? Better get it out of the trash right now and put it up on the fridge before she notices what you tried to do. As if to demonstrate my point, Jessica just walked up to me asking, "Dad? Can I have a piece of paper?" I'd tell her to check the recycling bin, but if she does she'll find the pile of her drawings I threw out the other day and call me an evil ogre for doing so.

Prescriptions
Another advantage to making your child the preschool outcast is that it will enable her to avoid physical contact with other children. If your child is unlucky enough to have a friend or two, then plan for the worst. By the 3rd day of the first school year, she will have her first ear infection. The following week will bring a case of strep. After that, another ear infection, with diarrhea. And just in time for your upcoming vacation, she will pass all those diseases over to you, knocking you flat on your back for the rest of the month. Get to know your local pharmacist. You'll be there often. I should also mention that you should plan to add an extra closet to the kids' bathroom dedicated to the storage of Childrens' Tylenol, Vaporub, and humidifiers in the shape of Hello Kitty. As I write this, my wife is picking up Jessica's latest prescription, this time for an ear infection with pus on her tonsils.

Camp
This one has been discussed by many a blogger in the recent past, but it's worth mentioning again. As a dutiful helicopter parent (a term I just learned last night), you will need to make a multitude of decisions about how to get your child out of the house when school is done for the summer. But telling your child to simply go play outside is NOT an option. There are evil things in your neighborhood. A skeevy man with thick glasses and beady eyes is camped out at the end of your street at this very moment, waiting for a lone toddler to wander just a little too far from his front door, so the child can be swept up and shipped to an overseas white slavery ring. There are packs of wild dogs roaming your neighborhood right now, on the hunt for an afternoon snack. And since chances are good little Timmy has some syrup from this morning's breakfast still on his new outfit from Childrens' Place, if the wild dogs don't get him the swarm of bees will. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, camp. Start writing checks now. There's preschool camp. Bible camp. Art camp. soccer camp. Acting camp. Piano camp. Attitude Adjustment camp. Band-Aids and Booboos camp. Learn to be a Vegetarian camp. Send your child to all of them, for if you skip even one, come fall your child will be even more of the social pariah than she already is, having missed out on an opportunity to learn how not to fend for herself over the summer. Oh and of course, don't you dare try to schedule your own child for camp independently of the scheduling of the other children in her class. If your son's best friend is going to Paint Your Own Pottery camp, you'd better damned well send your son there at the same time, even if he thinks painting your own pottery is for sissies.

This is Apple Support, what are you wearing?

2009-03-04T14:18:00.002-05:00

I’m working at home on our iMac today. For the past several weeks the little scroll ball on the Wireless Mouse has given me trouble, refusing to scroll in any direction except up. I finally got tired of ignoring the issue and called Apple support. After saying the words "Wireless Mouse to the voice recognition system without it being recognized, I finally got myself transferred to a human, who forwarded me to a guy with a southern drawl (and, no, not southern India, more like Alabama). He asked me an interesting question.

“Sir, what kinda pants are ya wearing right now?”

I told him blue jeans.

“Perfect. Sir, I wantcha to take the mouse hold it upside down on yer blue jeans and rub it around on your pant leg so the ball spins real fast.”

I did.

“Is it workin’ now?”

Yup, sure was.

Best support call ever.

A rich man

2009-02-24T23:04:00.003-05:00

This weekend my wife and I had the pleasure of seeing the one and only Chaim Topol perform as Tevye in Fiddler On The Roof at the Benedum. Fiddler came out in 1971. At the time Topol was 36 years old, starring as a man much older and beaten down by the hard life in Anatevka. Now in his seventies, Topol is every bit the part of Tevye he was back then, with the same talent, the same voice, the same humor, and perhaps less makeup.

For many Jews, just seeing the movie is a required right of passage. Fiddler is to Judaism what It's a Wonderful Life is to Christmas (note that I said Christmas, not Christianity. Fiddler is that much more important). I myself has seen it perhaps 4 times, and I believe my wife has seen it around 40 times. Sunrise, Sunset and If I Were A Rich Man roll off our tongues more easily than the Sabbath prayers. We were both very excited to have the opportunity to see Topol himself perform, and we weren't disappointed.

The show was phenomenal. Billed as his "farewell", from the moment he walked on stage to the final standing ovation, there was a palpable feeling in the air that the audience was witnessing something special. Tears formed during his closing bow and standing ovation. For those of you not Jewish, imagine Jimmy Stewart coming back from the dead to perform It's a Wonderful Life on Broadway. Now imagine Terry Bradshaw performing as he did in the 70's, winning the next four Superbowls. Then, imagine Washington himself coming back to cross the Delaware one more time. Toss in a little bit of Jesus walking on water, and none of that put together even comes close to the feeling of seeing Topol point to the sky and say, "I know, I know. We are Your chosen people. But, once in a while, can't You choose someone else?" It truly was a religious experience.

The show itself stuck very closely to the movie. There was very little left out of the stage play. The sets were fantastic, revolving from Tevye's modest home to the town center, to the train station, to Motel's tailor shop smoothly and effortlessly. And all the supporting characters did impeccable jobs representing the characters of the movie closely. I could only imagine what was on their minds: "holy crap! I'm doing Fiddler with Topol!"

I enjoy the theatre, but I'm not a huge theatre buff. However I must say this was the most enjoyable and fulfilling show I've ever seen. Maybe because I have that special connection to the show that so many members of our tribe have. Maybe because it was Topol himself. Or maybe because, just once, thanks to my lovely wife we don't have to say, years down the road, "aw, we should have seen Fiddler with Topol back when..."

Because As the good book says, when a poor man eats a chicken, one of them is sick. Well, it doesn't say that exactly, but somewhere there is something about a chicken.

Lazar Wolf: How is it going with you, Reb Tevye?
Tevye: How should it go?
Lazar Wolf: You are right.
Tevye: And you?
Lazar Wolf: The same.
Tevye: I'm sorry to hear that.

Worst sound bite ever

2009-01-29T18:15:00.003-05:00

Back in high school, my one brief moment of popularity came when I joined a small group of friends and rented a helicopter as transportation to the Senior Prom. For a very brief time, all those high school bullies whose fists I was so well acquainted with were actually impressed by me. My moment of pride was damped slightly after I was interviewed by the local news team, and the ONLY part they put on the air was me exclaiming, "It was cheap! It was cheap!"

My buddies are STILL giving me crap for that.

Well, today I outdid even that glorious statement.

During lunch today I walked into a local sandwich shop, and Channel 4 Action News was there waiting for someone dumb enough to grant an interview. The guy with the mic asked me if I’d be willing. I asked what the subject was. He said they were interviewing people about concerns related to the big peanut butter recall. I told him I’d be willing to fake my way through it, and I believe I did. We talked on camera for close to 5 minutes, and I thought I came off fairly intelligent and well-versed on the subject.

I saw myself this evening on the 5pm news. This time my sound bite was far, far worse. I ended up with about a half second of air time. And check out what I said. While I can't find the actual video, here's the transcript. I'm towards the end.

I put a lot of faith into making sure I'm up on the news and finding out what we need to pay attention to.

Are you KIDDING ME??? What the hell does that even MEAN???????? And look at that participle, just dangling off the end there. What the hell!!!????

And by the way, I'm a shopper FROM McCandless, not IN McCandless!

I'm never doing an on camera interview again.

A couple of interesting tidbits

2009-01-28T06:47:00.001-05:00

While I work on my next piece of fish-wrapping for this blog, I thought I'd post a couple of interesting items I came across today in an effort to keep traffic to the site and ensure folks know I haven't vanished off the face of the blogosphere just yet.

Electric Bandaids
An interesting article about a company attempting to bring the electric bandage to market. According to the story, it's well known that a little jolt of electric current helps wounds heal. Personally, I think the scientists are headed down the wrong path here. What they really need to be doing is figure out a way of embedding mommy's kiss into these things. However, I wonder if they will come out in Dora and Spongebob versions?

World's Cutest Autism Therapy
Yet another Carnegie Mellon spinoff has created a toy robot called the Beatbot, designed to aid therapists in autism therapy. Check this thing out, it's totally adorable, and yet strangely Big Brotherish given it contains a camera that watches how you react to it. Make sure to click the link at the end of the article to watch the video, I dare you to look away. I want one of these.

My wife has been Shrunky Dunk!
My wife is currently aiding my offspring with the process of cooking Shrinky Dinks. Apparently, in the directions, they seem to have dangled a participle or two. The directions state, "Watch as the plastic begins to curl, move about and then flatten."

Which explains why my wife was scurrying around the floor trying to squeeze under the door.

Gutting the festing craphole...day 109

2009-01-21T18:32:00.011-05:00

Remind me again why I take on home improvement projects that involve plumbing? I hate plumbing. With every fiber of my being, I hate plumbing. I don't even like that computer game where you attach lines of pipe together to get water flowing from point A to point B.

However the latest story about my effort to redo my daughters' bathroom doesn't involve plumbing. It involves mirrors.

You may have caught on to the fact that I have two daughters. Sharing a bathroom during their formative years will most likely prove to be a challenge of design, storage, and copper-piping fortitude. In fact, most people ask me one simple question when I tell them that I'm installing a pedestal sink in the bathroom: "where are they going to put the tampons?" My answer is, "Don't know, don't care, and certainly not in my workshop."

Okay, so perhaps I care a little. That's why I decided that instead of buying a prefabricated, wall-mounted medicine cabinet, I would take the time and effort to build a custom-designed cabinet that's almost a foot deep. Plenty of storage for feminine articles. I came across a design (for the entire bathroom, actually) in Workbench Magazine, and decided to copy it.

The simple design of the cabinet door involved carving a rabbet out of the back of the frame, serving as a place to drop in a mirror and a backboard. The mirror and backer would then be held in my a couple of little turn-buttons inside the door. I didn't like that idea. I had visions of one of the girls messing with the turn-buttons and causing the mirror to fall out, recreating that scene from Die Hard when gunmen shoot out the glass of the computer room, causing a barefoot John McClane to drag his bloodied feet out the door to safety. Not a good idea, I thought. Instead I made a groove in the door frame, assembling the frame permanently around the mirror.

Not the wisest idea either, I found out later.

Installation of the medicine cabinet went fabulously. It fit nicely into the hole I carved for it, and was square and level. The glass shelves I ordered even fit correctly.

The final step was to attach the magnetic catch to hold the door closed. As I screwed the little metal plate onto the back of the door I heard a high-pitched "plink" sound. High-pitched plink sounds are never good. You know how when Wile E. Coyote accidentally launches himself off a cliff and, for a brief moment, there's complete silence and the laws of gravity are suspended? This "plink" sound was somewhat reminiscent of that moment when Wile E. Coyote looks down and discovers he's about to plummet. I quickly swung the door around and saw a 6-inch crack going up the mirror, a result of putting the screw in just the wrong place.

Awesome. My permanently-mounted mirror has a crack in it. That will do wonders for resale value.

Well, I'm saving the rebuilding of this door for another day. Meanwhile, I've got other stuff to do.

I finally got around to installing the sink this weekend. And have a recommendation for anyone who attempts to install a pedestal sink. Attach the faucet and drain to the sink before attaching the sink to the wall. It will make your life much easier and your knuckles will thank you.

The sink install only involved two trips to Home Depot. On the first, I walked in with a photo of my existing setup and asked the guy to give me every piece of piping I'd need to get the sink installed without a second trip to Home Depot. The second trip to Home Depot involved getting an additional 4" piece of PVC pipe which I needed once I discovered I had everything except the additional inches of piping 4 necessary to connect the underside of the sink to the trap. Once I had everything and after only 3 episodes of detaching and reattaching all the connections to stop leaks, It was done. I'd call that a successful sink installation.

The next step is the toilet, but before I get there I must deal with yet another distraction. It seems our roof is not adequately insulated or vented, and we've got an ice dam problem. That ain't good.

At least the kids think it's cool to look at. Kind of like how they enjoy looking at their oddly shaped faces in the cracked mirror.

Fatgirl slim and Smalley Smalls

2009-01-19T19:08:00.005-05:00

Not sure what to make of this, but what kind of dad would I be not to post it? I especially like the polka dot socks.

Okay, now zoom into that picture and check out the beautiful of our two innocents in the background, upper right corner. Where'd those two go????

88+86+43=217

2009-01-19T18:57:00.004-05:00

Well, those two crazy nutbag buddies of mine made it to the game, and tailgating was successful. Most of the time was spent hanging out with two equally nutty guys who came in from Toronto for the game. It was interesting to hear two Canadian's takes on Football, Obama and Sarah Palin, and I couldn't help but point out how impressed I was with their knowledge given 90 percent of the people in Heinz Field Gold Lot 1 had no idea who runs the government of Canada (yes, myself included). I was also strangely impressed by the fact that they brought ACTUAL Canadian bacon to put on their hamburgers.

I should also make a correction to my previous post, which is to point out that they in fact did NOT buy season tickets to the Bills in order to gain the rights to buy playoff tickets. No, instead one of them is on the waiting list for season tickets to the Steelers. Ah, much less nutty.

So after all that planning, it was mission accomplished. I met my friends for a fun tailgate, and they got to freeze their keesters off all night watching Ben and Troy take charge. Dear god...I'm assimilating....please help me....

They may be nutbags, but at least they aren't women

2009-01-18T12:47:00.003-05:00

I should add one thing to my last post. While I'm meeting up with my two nutso friends for this Steelers game, my wife is hooking up with a gaggle of her girlfriends to go downtown to see Menopause, The Musical (yes, ironic I know). The past three days I've done virtually nothing but listen to my wife's side of perhaps two dozen phone conversations, hearing about plans being arranged, rearranged, and rearranged again. Will parking be an issue? So-and-so doesn't like the dinner idea. This person can't make it because she's in labor. She doesn't drive in snow. there was an earthquake. somehow the evening plans went from 14 people meeting for dinner and a show to about 8 or 10 disparate smaller groups of women perhaps meeting at the theater before the show.

I can't help but be amused that two guys...GUYS...mind you...managed to plan this event well before football season ever started, and are going to manage to see this game successfully despite having to drive over 450 miles, in snow, to see the game.

It's been said, by the way, that because of the proximity of the showing of Menopause, The Musical to Heinz field, somewhere over the Ohio river there is likely to be a cloud of testosterone interacting with a cloud of estrogen and perhaps causing a massive weather event culminating in the destruction of all humanity for hundreds of miles around Pittsburgh. Make sure to watch the game tonight, as you won't want to miss that!

Ah, delicious irony.

My nutbag friends

2009-01-18T10:16:00.002-05:00

I've said it before, I'm no sports aficionado. I don't know my two point conversion from my seventh inning stretch. But with the final game of the NFL playoffs today (yeah yeah, go Steelers) I find myself sucked into the plans two of my buddies have to spread money, love and sporting insanity across Route 80 for approximately 450 miles.

To protect their identities, I will refer to these friends of mine as Nutbag#1 and Nutbag#2. Living in Connecticut, the two of them decided this year to splurge on season tickets to the Buffalo Bills (approximately 400 miles away) in an effort to get on the elite list of folks who get to spend oodles of money on Playoff tickets. It seems their plans worked out for them, and they are currently driving west en route to Heinz Field in Pittsburgh for the Steelers/Ravens game this evening.

I have no idea how much season tickets to the Bills cost, but let's imagine for a moment that they are $500 each. So that's $500, plus $200 each for tickets to today's game. Plus $150 for parking (they decided to go for the gusto and get a parking pass in Gold Lot #1 next to the stadium entrance). Plus perhaps $250 worth of provisions for tailgating. Plus gas money to drive 0ver 900 miles in the next 48 hours. Plus the hotel room (unless they decide to crash at our house).

Now, let's add to this the fact that Pittsburgh had 6 inches of snow last night, and the snowstorm is currently headed east, across route 80. In other words, they are driving straight into it. I should have created a gambling pool to wager on whether or not they make it here for game time....if they make it here at all.

So how am I sucked in? Well, first they had me comunicate with friends and coworkers to find out about an active tailgate game. Then they had me meet up with some guy in an alley in downtown Pittsburgh yesterday, to slip $150 out of the window of my car in return for a gold slip of paper allowing my friends the privilege of parking their car (I believe I've made it to the FBI's watch list for that one). And of course, I am to meet them somewhere downtown to help them navigate their way around Heinz Field when they get here (like I know).

So all you Pittsburghers who are firmly solidified in the nuttiness that is Steelers fanaticism, rest assured you are not alone. Oh look, it's snowing again.

No wonder the economy's gone bust

2009-01-16T20:10:00.002-05:00

Alright, I've got a bone to pick with Dick's Sporting Goods.

Ignoring for a moment the fact that it's approximately no degrees here in Pittsburgh today, this week marks the first snowfall of any substance this winter. Until now, the winter landscape consisted primarily of dead grass and that mud bog next to the front mailbox where my wife's minivan tires seemed to miss the driveway by about a foot while pulling out. But this week we had ACTUAL snow. Sure, it was only about 3 or 4 inches, but that's enough to make it worth pulling out the old sled.

Except that we don't own a decent sled.

With global warming being the controversial and somehow prevalent phenomenon that it is, I didn't do much to prepare for winter this year. I didn't gas up the snowblower until this past tuesday. I never replaced the ratty old sled with the gouge in the underside which causes it to turn left into the bushes immediately after takeoff. But during our first snow day, our neighbor and his kids came over to our house, and we discovered that with just the right amount of iciness, this week's snowfall created the ultimate sledding conditions in our backyard. We found that with just the right angle we could careen down our back yard hillside, across one neighbor's yard, across another's, down that neighbor's side yard, and into the street about 400 yards away at a speed of 30mph. Sweet. And this was with my neighbor's cheap plastic sled.

So today I decided to stop at Dick's Sporting Goods to pick one up myself. But lo and behold, there wasn't a sled to be found. I asked an attendant, who told me that they sold out of sleds almost a month ago.

WHAT???

Why on earth do retail stores do this? Go to a clothing store right now, and there won't be a sweater to be found, except perhaps in the clearance section. Don't they realize that people buy sweaters when they are COLD? Don't the grasp the idea that sleds should be purchased during WINTER? I blame the retails for the state of the economy we're in. Americans want to save gas, and all that's available are Hummers. We want warm flannel nighties for those chilly Saturday nights, and all we can get are Speedos. We're thrilled to finally have snow, and yet for some reason all we can buy are water skiis.

Pitt

Keep your garbage disposal in good condition

2009-01-08T06:58:00.000-05:00

You know, if you let it go too long, having a broken garbage disposal in your kitchen sink can lead to a lot of problems down the road. All sorts of odd things can grow in the sink.

Ask the Smart Dad...

2009-01-07T12:06:00.001-05:00

I found this in a pile on my desk. It's a picture my daughter drew two years ago in Kindergarten. Don't ask why it's a negative image...that's my scanner acting wonky. What's important is the message. "I will ask MY SMART DAD before taking any unknown substance."

Note the light bulb of brilliancy and the corporate logo shirt. She knows me well. And she knows she'll get a straight answer from me. While I don't recall being asked recently by my daughter if she could snort any white powder or down a bottle of skull-and-crossbones-flavored Gogurt, I'm ready for anything.

"Dad, what's this stuff?"

"That's Oxalic acid, dear. I use it to clean bird poop off the deck."

"Do you think it might taste good on ice cream?"

"Dunno. Never tried."

So much for that goal of mine...

2009-01-03T17:07:00.003-05:00

Much like you yourself are doing right this very moment, I spent a good portion of my free time this holiday break surfing the internet and reading stuff online when I could have actually been productive. In fact, I did a lot of things to avoid being productive. Oh sure, I had grand plans for the time off. I was going to finish the bathroom by the end of the year, so our kids could be brushing their teeth, showering and pooping in their grand new space while we could spend the next several days disinfecting the guest bathroom that they've now trashed. But as usual, the real world got in the way. Holiday parties, movies with the kids, and mornings sleeping in got the best of me.

While I certainly made SOME progress on the bathroom redo, along with the regular vacation distractions I my progress was also hampered by a family of mice that decided to make the wall behind the bathroom its home for the winter. Several evenings were spent trapping and disposing of the little critters and/or coordinating a plan of attack. The good news is that these were perhaps the stupidest mice around, and big fans of peanut butter. I'd place a trap each evening, and the next day I'd be getting rid of a little bugger. Seven days, seven mice. You'd think after two or three family members met their demise they'd avoid that scary thing that smelled of peanuts and find food elsewhere.

Despite my time spent hunting, I managed to finish the walls and begin building a medicine cabinet. Since I have two young daughters that will eventually have MASSIVE bathroom storage needs, I was looking for more than the typical wall-mount medicine cabinet the depth of a box of spaghetti. Instead, I wanted something as cavernous as a Ford Expedition. After a couple of visits to Home Depot I determined that I would be on my own to devise something. Fine by me. Conveniently the wall in which this cabinet is to be installed is a "plumber's wall", meaning it's over a foot deep and backs up to the other bathroom, so there's plenty of space to install whatever I want. I started with the reciprocating saw, tearing out a hole in the wall to make way for the cabinet. It was at this point I made one major mistake. I didn't quite realize the amount of vibration that the saw would cause, and during the tear out I managed to shake the wall so violently I caused a collection of glass candles in the guest bathroom on the opposite side of the wall to fall and shatter...in the toilet. I spent the next hour picking out shards of glass from there, thanking all that was holy that whomever last pooped in there had remembered to flush.

So far I've built the box that will make up the cabinet, and even surprised myself with the fact that it fit into the hole perfectly with the first try. I'm now working on the door, hoping against hope that I don't accidentally drop a trim router on the mirror as I do.

Speaking of routers, this project marks the first official use of my new router table. Dad and I built this into my table saw during his last visit, and it marks the introduction of a whole new set of opportunities to spend time in the workshop, as well as opportunities to spend money at my local Rockler store.

Spongebob Science

2008-12-23T07:02:00.000-05:00

When I'm looking for a fascinating show on science, I tend to shy away from classics such as NOVA, Mythbusters, or Bill Nye The Science Guy. No, for truly interesting demonstrations of science, I go to Spongebob.

Think about it for a second. In a simple half hour of animated wonder, you can discover fascinating creatures such as a squirrel that can wear SCUBA gear. Or a sponge that makes its home in a rare breed of pineapple that grows at the bottom of the ocean. And even more importantly, it's a land where fire can actually burn under water. Now THIS is science that our kids need to know. Thank god the show is on 24/7. I've told my kids in no uncertain terms that, if they want to be brilliant geniuses when they grow up and solve all the world's problems, they need to pay close attention to each and every fact-filled episode of that amorphous, yellow, porous demonstration of science at its finest and not miss a single moment. Even if it means watching the same episodes over and over again until all the knowledge has sunk in.

They seemed to be taking my advice to heart.

Okay don't get me wrong. Spongebob Squarepants is a brilliant show. Where else can you find a crab that apparently provides foodstuffs made of his own flesh and blood, a pet snail that meows like a cat, or a tiny plankton with dreams of conquering the burger industry? And Patrick? God, I love Patrick.

However, the one thing about the show that really gets my bunches in knots is the fact that simple scientific principles of underwater living are ignored during the writing process. I'm no scientist, nor am I a professional screen writer, but every time I watch the show I notice that approximately fifteen seconds into each episode, the writers fail to remember that their characters are sea creatures.

Here are some simple examples:

1. Spongebob is a professional bubble-blower. He blows fantastically complex bubbles. Under water.

2. In virtually every episode, a character falls to the ground in some sort of classic Wile-E-Coyote way. As opposed to taking advantage of, say, buoyancy.

3. Flames.

4. In at least one episode the gang hangs out at the beach, by a body of water. Forgetting they are IN a body of water.

I think the moment where I'd finally had enough of this was during an episode where Patrick somehow manages to form an intensely strong sense of smell. Sandy the squirrel walked past Patrick, and he held his nose because Sandy had a bit of a foul stench of wet squirrel to her tail, which was sticking out the back of her airtight scuba suit. Patrick proceeded to spray her down with air freshener, and she coughed and choked from the spray. So let's list what's wrong here. Sandy has an airtight suit on, but her tail sticks out. Her tail is fluffy and bushy, not wet and matted. Patrick sprays her with air freshener while she's wearing an airtight suit, yet she coughs and chokes at the fumes. Come on, people, we're better than this!

When I watch Spongebob, I can't help but feel the same way as when I watch a Bond flick, wanting to yell at the villian, "just stop talking and shoot Bond already! Forget the laser to his crotch! Likewise while watching Spongebob, I can't help but shout, "Float you idiot, float!"

The stuff you find on your computer when you clean your hard drive

2008-12-21T07:54:00.002-05:00

Found this on my computer this morning. No idea where it came from, but I love it.

Holiday cheer for the morning

2008-12-15T07:01:00.000-05:00

A classic from last year. Straight No Chaser doing 12 Days of Xmas...sort of...

And A Charlie Brown Christmas, performed by the cast of Scrubs:

Status update: The festering Craphole (day 73)

2008-12-14T21:57:00.009-05:00

Believe it or not I've made significant progress on our little bathroom renovation, and today was quite the banner day. This afternoon's efforts consisted of wainscoting, painting, and only two trips to Home Depot.

As is usually the case with us, the design of this room as evolved somewhat organically. Unlike those HGTV design shows, where the hottie designer of the week presents his or her client with a to-scale 3D color drawing of the entire redo, we've been sort of winging it. We knew we wanted something in the way of an oceanic theme. I knew I was going to do wainscoting on the walls, primarily because I didn't want to have to deal with patching the numerous holes. So we decided to delve into the world of faux finishes, painting the upper half of the walls in sort of an ocean blue. After finding and installing a floor tile that looked sort of like sand, we then had to decide what color make the wainscoting. Despite our daughters' pleas to make it seaweed green, we went against the theme and painted it a simple warm beige. We told the kids to imagine a sand dune.

By the way, if anyone can offer up the steering wheel from a sailing ship, we'll gladly take it off your hands to use as a towel rack.

Then came time to figure out what to do about a sink. Before we embarked on this project, I had envisioned a pedestal sink. However, I have never installed a pedestal sink, so at the last minute I wimped out and decided to put a typical vanity cabinet in. Went to Home Depot, decided on something, brought it home, lugged it upstairs, unboxed it , slid it into place, and promptly reversed the process after realizing how ugly it looked. So, we're back to the pedestal idea. Oh well, I can read directions I guess. And on the bright side, a pedestal sink means less surface area to collect toothpaste spittle.

A note about tiling a bathroom floor. I've determined that I could make a lot of money inventing something to easily cut that round hole for the toilet drain. currently the process involves a miter saw with a carbide bit (because I was too cheap to rent a wetsaw to cut 6 tiles), which effectively cuts the tiles but creates a ton of sparks and makes the house smell like a machine shop for a week. Then, you take a pair of "nibblers", which are essentially pliers used to break little pieces of tile off until you get the right shape, hopefully without shattering the tile in the process. After three hours of nibbling and two failed attempts resulting in shattered tiles, I had a reasonably carved circle...and a hand that was no longer able to grip objects for two days.

Here's the progress so far. If you zoom in on the second picture you'll notice artwork on the lower half of the walls done by a certain 5-year-old. She specifically asked if I could install the wainscoting AROUND her artwork so it wouldn't be covered.