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/
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Hurricane Natalie
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.
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.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Damn you, John Grogan
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.
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.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
This is how bad it's gotten
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Define "progress".
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.
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.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Potbird's reason for squatting
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.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The ties that bind...update
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."
"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."
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The ties that bind
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.
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.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Someone call an ornithologist!
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)?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thus ends week one
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.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Day 1: a day of firsts
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.
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.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
A New Chapter
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.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Our newest squatter
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.
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.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Planned Obsolescence
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.
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Fine Woodworking's Box contest
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.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The Festering Craphole, Month #7
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.
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.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The real reason sheep are nervous
(Kid friendly despite the implications of the title...)
Imagine what'll happen once PETA gets wind of this.
Imagine what'll happen once PETA gets wind of this.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I've seen the recession...it's name is Facebook
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.
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.
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