Yakkos'Nations Of The World
The State Capitals
The U.S. Presidents
Or, if you're more into the Shakespeare scene, try Animaniacs on Hamlet or Midsummer Night's Dream
Sheer brilliance.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Yakko's World
It's a shame that Animaniacs had to disappear from the airwaves. It was perhaps one of the most brilliant cartoons out there. and educational, as well. check out:
Yakkos'Nations Of The World
The State Capitals
The U.S. Presidents
Or, if you're more into the Shakespeare scene, try Animaniacs on Hamlet or Midsummer Night's Dream
Sheer brilliance.
Yakkos'Nations Of The World
The State Capitals
The U.S. Presidents
Or, if you're more into the Shakespeare scene, try Animaniacs on Hamlet or Midsummer Night's Dream
Sheer brilliance.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
62 Uses for Vinegar
Click here for 62 household uses for vinegar. Some of them are quite useful and interesting. I had completely forgotten about #10, soaking a chicken bone in vinegar overnight to turn it into rubber. I remember doing that a few times as a kid. I didn't really get out much, after all.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Lance is in my head
I hear him there. It's Lance again. Mocking me. Telling me to get off my ass, to give up on that Family Guy marathon on TBS, to dig my running sneakers out from under that pile of dirty towels, and to get out of the house and work up a sweat for a change. Man, I hate that guy.
Lance Armstrong is inside my head. More specifically, he's inside my iPod. well, actually, he's inside a little doohickey attached to my iPod, called an iPod Nano+Nike..umm...doohickey.
A couple of months ago, my doctor checked my cholesterol and told me I wasn't getting enough exercise. I told her that I thought perhaps going up and down the stairs twenty-eight times each night before the kids managed to successfully fall asleep would classify as "enough" exercise, but obviously it didn't. she told me, in not so many words, to get my ass to the gym. Trouble is, I've tried that. Like most Americans, it never works. You start off going four days a week religiously. Then suddenly that drops down to two days, then once a week if you're lucky, and soon you forget which road the gym is on. No, I needed another option.
That's when I decided to try running.
I hate running. It's boring. It's painful. It's exhausting. It sucks in hot weather. It sucks in cold weather. In fact, I have some recollection that the first time I ever used a four letter word was when the track coach back in grade school met me and said, "hey, a tall thin guy like you should try out for the cross-country team!" I believe I replied, "F*ck that!" But recently I realized the benefits of running. It's cheap. There's virtually no equipment. You don't have to drive anywhere. And you never have to worry about getting to the gym only to discover you forgot an important item in your gym bag, like soap or headphones. So I gave it a shot. I started to realize it wasn't so bad. I could run a few miles and work up a sweat, and given the geography of Pittsburgh there were plenty of hills on which I could challenge myself to see how well I was doing.
Then, I discovered this iPod Nano+Nike doohickey. It's a $30 gadget that comes in two pieces. One piece plugs into the bottom of your iPod Nano (or my wife's Nano, in my case), and the other piece hooks onto your sneaker. Use it when you run, and it tracks your mileage, pace, and calories as you go, storing all your run data on a Nike website for reference.
Frankly, it's a brilliant piece of technology, but not because of the data it can track. It's because of Lance. You see, throughout your run, a young attractive female voice briefly interrupts your music to tell you important things, like "1 mile completed" or "400 yards to go!!" but any time you hit a new milestone such as the longest run you've taken, or the fastest pace for the mile, Lance pops in and congratulates you personally. "Congratulations! You just ran your longest run ever!" Makes you feel pretty accomplished.
And it drives me crazy. With each run, I wonder what I can do to get him to notice me again. When I take a week off from running, I truly believe he's just sitting there, inside the little gadget, as it rests on top of the inkjet printer, thinking, "oh great, another couch potato." Yeah, I can hear him. Right now he's talking to the main voice-over lady saying, "can you believe this guy?? I won 7 tours in a row with one testicle, and after his first and only 5-mile run he can't stop whining about the blister on his toe. Jeez, what a slug."
But recently I discovered there's a setting on the doohickey where you can change it from Lance's voice to that of world-famous marathon runner Paula Radcliffe (I never heard of her either). That's much better. I've been mocked by women all my life. It's part of my comfort zone. I can work with that.
Now where the heck did I leave that headband with the built in umbrella?
Lance Armstrong is inside my head. More specifically, he's inside my iPod. well, actually, he's inside a little doohickey attached to my iPod, called an iPod Nano+Nike..umm...doohickey.
A couple of months ago, my doctor checked my cholesterol and told me I wasn't getting enough exercise. I told her that I thought perhaps going up and down the stairs twenty-eight times each night before the kids managed to successfully fall asleep would classify as "enough" exercise, but obviously it didn't. she told me, in not so many words, to get my ass to the gym. Trouble is, I've tried that. Like most Americans, it never works. You start off going four days a week religiously. Then suddenly that drops down to two days, then once a week if you're lucky, and soon you forget which road the gym is on. No, I needed another option.
That's when I decided to try running.
I hate running. It's boring. It's painful. It's exhausting. It sucks in hot weather. It sucks in cold weather. In fact, I have some recollection that the first time I ever used a four letter word was when the track coach back in grade school met me and said, "hey, a tall thin guy like you should try out for the cross-country team!" I believe I replied, "F*ck that!" But recently I realized the benefits of running. It's cheap. There's virtually no equipment. You don't have to drive anywhere. And you never have to worry about getting to the gym only to discover you forgot an important item in your gym bag, like soap or headphones. So I gave it a shot. I started to realize it wasn't so bad. I could run a few miles and work up a sweat, and given the geography of Pittsburgh there were plenty of hills on which I could challenge myself to see how well I was doing.
Then, I discovered this iPod Nano+Nike doohickey. It's a $30 gadget that comes in two pieces. One piece plugs into the bottom of your iPod Nano (or my wife's Nano, in my case), and the other piece hooks onto your sneaker. Use it when you run, and it tracks your mileage, pace, and calories as you go, storing all your run data on a Nike website for reference.
Frankly, it's a brilliant piece of technology, but not because of the data it can track. It's because of Lance. You see, throughout your run, a young attractive female voice briefly interrupts your music to tell you important things, like "1 mile completed" or "400 yards to go!!" but any time you hit a new milestone such as the longest run you've taken, or the fastest pace for the mile, Lance pops in and congratulates you personally. "Congratulations! You just ran your longest run ever!" Makes you feel pretty accomplished.
And it drives me crazy. With each run, I wonder what I can do to get him to notice me again. When I take a week off from running, I truly believe he's just sitting there, inside the little gadget, as it rests on top of the inkjet printer, thinking, "oh great, another couch potato." Yeah, I can hear him. Right now he's talking to the main voice-over lady saying, "can you believe this guy?? I won 7 tours in a row with one testicle, and after his first and only 5-mile run he can't stop whining about the blister on his toe. Jeez, what a slug."
But recently I discovered there's a setting on the doohickey where you can change it from Lance's voice to that of world-famous marathon runner Paula Radcliffe (I never heard of her either). That's much better. I've been mocked by women all my life. It's part of my comfort zone. I can work with that.
Now where the heck did I leave that headband with the built in umbrella?
Leave the kids home and see Ratatouille
We spent a hot summer day in the movies yesterday to see Pixar's latest masterpiece, Ratatouille. It was a really good movie. But the kids hated it. Our younger one fell asleep, and the older one cried to leave (we convinced her there was ice cream in her future if she stayed, so she did). Frankly, I could see her point. It wasn't scary. But it was adult-themed. Most of the characters talked with a French accent, and she didn't follow it. The jokes and humor were way, way above her head, and the overall theme of French cooking had no basis on her everyday life. Add that to the fact that the head chef was a meanie, and she wanted outta there.
I thought it was a good movie. Not Pixar's best, but a couple of things resonated with me. First, this movie really seems to be a cross-over for Pixar, where they successfully draw both animals/characters AND humans. In Toy Story, the humans were clunky looking. In The Incredibles, they were purposefully cartoonish. In this movie, they looked right. Second, the cooking theme was fabulous. Anyone with a sense for the kitchen would love this movie, and the writers made this a major point of the movie with a theme of "Anyone can cook."
On the flip side, the idea of rats in the kitchen just didn't work for me. In Bugs life, the ants were cute. In this movie, the rats were, well, rats. And seeing a thousand of them flowing into a restaurant was just ooky.
I will have to see it again, though. If only to recall which character was played by John Ratzenberger. Supposedly it was someone named Mustafa, but I don't recall who that was.
I thought it was a good movie. Not Pixar's best, but a couple of things resonated with me. First, this movie really seems to be a cross-over for Pixar, where they successfully draw both animals/characters AND humans. In Toy Story, the humans were clunky looking. In The Incredibles, they were purposefully cartoonish. In this movie, they looked right. Second, the cooking theme was fabulous. Anyone with a sense for the kitchen would love this movie, and the writers made this a major point of the movie with a theme of "Anyone can cook."
On the flip side, the idea of rats in the kitchen just didn't work for me. In Bugs life, the ants were cute. In this movie, the rats were, well, rats. And seeing a thousand of them flowing into a restaurant was just ooky.
I will have to see it again, though. If only to recall which character was played by John Ratzenberger. Supposedly it was someone named Mustafa, but I don't recall who that was.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
My Simpsons Avatar
The Simpsons Movie Site has a game on it where you can create your own avatar. Or, in non-geek terms, draw yourself as a Simpsons character. Here's me, though I couldn't find a nose that truly did me justice:
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Money advice from a 6-year-old.
Now that our renovation is winding down, we decided it was time to refinance and somehow pay our way out of this money pit. The process involved dragging the squirts with us to the bank to sign some loan papers, so I informed the kids it was time to get their shoes on so we could go to the bank.
"Why do we need to go to the bank?" Natalie asked. I explained to her, in basic terms, what it meant to "refinance".
"But daddy," she replied, "you could save ten thousand dollars over the lifetime of a loan with Quicken Loans! Why don't you try them out?"
Hmm, too much TV maybe?
"Why do we need to go to the bank?" Natalie asked. I explained to her, in basic terms, what it meant to "refinance".
"But daddy," she replied, "you could save ten thousand dollars over the lifetime of a loan with Quicken Loans! Why don't you try them out?"
Hmm, too much TV maybe?
Monday, July 09, 2007
Off Topic: Make me a WiPod!
I try to avoid getting my geek on here, but I couldn't resist. I, like a bazillion others out there, have been ogling the new iPhone while being completely uninterested in buying one. I currently have a work-provided Blackberry, and have no reason to expect to use anything but that in the near or long term future. Therefore, the phone part would be of no value to me. Plus, I don't have six hundred bucks burning a hole in my pocket. I already have plenty of holes in my pockets, and I need that money to buy new pants.
However, I’ve been saying that by the end of the year Steve Jobs needs to hop back up on the stage and introduce the next generation of iPods, which would (should) essentially be the iPhone without the “phone” part. Multi-touch screen, OSX, Wi-Fi access, and bigger drives. It seems I’m not the only one thinking this way.
Now, in this article, the writer suggests that the next iPod will not have internet access. To me that would be a mistake. I would think that the benefits of having a truly wi-fi networked iPod would be huge to Apple and to users. And it’s exactly what I want. I want my iPod to do the following:
-Automatically connect to available wifi
-sync wirelessly. I hate cables. So does Steve Jobs.
-Be recognized by my desktop machine running iTunes, so that I can listen to music on my office computer that's shared by my iPod.
-Sync with an AppleTV wirelessly, so I can (in theory) go to a friend's house and play that episode of Lost on my friend's TV easily. I say "in theory" because I have no friends with AppleTV, nor do I expect to any time soon.
-Have all that cool google maps stuff and browser stuff that the iPhone has.
-And, yes, I suppose to some it would be great to be able to buy music from the iTunes Music Store directly from the iPod. I don't expect to do that much, but I can't imagine Apple's not thinking that way.
It seems to me that anything less wouldn't be worth doing. Especially because it ALREADY EXISTS.
Imagine being able to walk into the office with your iPod, it connects to the Wifi automatically,
However, I’ve been saying that by the end of the year Steve Jobs needs to hop back up on the stage and introduce the next generation of iPods, which would (should) essentially be the iPhone without the “phone” part. Multi-touch screen, OSX, Wi-Fi access, and bigger drives. It seems I’m not the only one thinking this way.
Now, in this article, the writer suggests that the next iPod will not have internet access. To me that would be a mistake. I would think that the benefits of having a truly wi-fi networked iPod would be huge to Apple and to users. And it’s exactly what I want. I want my iPod to do the following:
-Automatically connect to available wifi
-sync wirelessly. I hate cables. So does Steve Jobs.
-Be recognized by my desktop machine running iTunes, so that I can listen to music on my office computer that's shared by my iPod.
-Sync with an AppleTV wirelessly, so I can (in theory) go to a friend's house and play that episode of Lost on my friend's TV easily. I say "in theory" because I have no friends with AppleTV, nor do I expect to any time soon.
-Have all that cool google maps stuff and browser stuff that the iPhone has.
-And, yes, I suppose to some it would be great to be able to buy music from the iTunes Music Store directly from the iPod. I don't expect to do that much, but I can't imagine Apple's not thinking that way.
It seems to me that anything less wouldn't be worth doing. Especially because it ALREADY EXISTS.
Imagine being able to walk into the office with your iPod, it connects to the Wifi automatically,
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Waiter, some more monsters in the closet please?
I once determined that dressing a small child is like putting socks on a moving ceiling fan. Be that as it may, putting two small children to bed is like trying to walk a tightrope. One false step and you're flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, wishing someone would just come and put an end to your misery.
It usually starts innocently enough. "Five minutes 'til bedtime" comes the proclamation. After this initial announcement, brief series of events are scheduled to occur:
-Clean up the toys
-Go upstairs
-Change clothes
-Come down for snack
-Read a couple books
-Head upstairs
-brush teeth, pee, wash up
-Nighty night
-Mom and dad get some "us" time.
Believe it or not, things don't always go as planned.
Sure, we start off on the right foot. But more often than not, the tightrope starts to wobble somewhere between agenda items #1, and #2, and by Item #4 we're tangled up in the net far below. Let's take a walk, shall we?
First, there's agenda item #1, the cleaning of the toys. This simply doesn't happen. The conniving little varmints have already learned how to scheme their way out of cleanup duty, usually by stirring up a ruckus. "She hit me! She poked me in the eye! Waah! Get upstairs, you!" So let's move to #2.
Going upstairs can be surprisingly challenging. Often I have this bright idea of yelling, "last one upstairs is a rotten egg!" This starts off great, because the kids hit the steps running. However usually by the third stair tread either someone trips, pushes, or gets upset at being deemed the rancid poultry. If in fact they DO make it successfully up the stairs, dad becomes the rotten egg and a ten-minute giggle fest ensues.
Let's touch on snack time next. Typically it starts like this. "What do you guys want for snack? (no answer). What do you want for snack?? (no answer). Snack? anyone? Kitchen closes in thirty seconds!!!"
"Grapes!"
"We don't have grapes."
"But I WANT grapes!"
"We don't have grapes. How about strawberries?"
"Grapes!"
"Once again, we have no grapes. If you can find grapes, you may eat them."
"Really?? Yay, grapes! Wait, ACTUALLY, I want strawberries."
My wife and I could wash, trim, and cut an entire bushel of strawberries - nay, an entire truckload of strawberries, and no matter how many were placed in front of those kids it would be two strawberries short of needing a second helping. "Can I PLEASE....have more strawberries???" So, one of us gets up, washes, cuts, and arranges a nice second helping of strawberries only to find out that while we were in the kitchen hunger passed, and it was on to things, like the discovery of the dried up piece of Play-Doh found under the kitchen chair that makes a great bouncy ball.
Let's skip ahead a few chapters, to the bathroom ritual. Each night, the statement, "okay, go brush your teeth" seems to have an alternate meaning. what it really means is, "yay, I get to stand in front of the sink, stare at myself in the mirror, and imagine myself as the beautiful princess that I am, swept away by Prince Eric, to a land that's pure and white, with happy little animals and colorful flowers, and friendly flying dragons that breathe fluffy white clouds for me to lay upon, and...
Sorry. Got carried away there.
Anyways, the bathroom ritual is my least favorite part of the evening. If it's not the escape to dreamland, it's the aftermath. I'm curious to know when a child first realizes that spitting out toothpaste in a downward angle, TOWARD the sink, is far more effective than, say, spitting in the general direction of the tub? OR that a towel can often dry hands just as well even if it doesn't have a picture of a princess on it. Or that the proper method of cleaning toothpaste spooge off the mirror is NOT to lick your hands then rub the mirror with them. When the kids finally head off to college, I'm calling the CDC and having them quarantine the bathroom and study it for the existence of a new virus.
From start to finish, we typically expect the bedtime process to take about ten minutes. The reality is that more often than not, two hours is gone before the final goodnight. And mind you, the final goodnight is never the first goodnight. Shut the lights and leave the room, and suddenly it's as if the kids are at a fine restaurant that serves only parental annoyances. "Yes, I think tonight I'll have the scary shadow, with a side of noises outside the window. What's that? You're out of scary noises? Well, perhaps the chef can whip up a nice bad dream from that movie we saw earlier, with a side of another book please? And for dessert, perhaps a slice of can I sleep in your bed? Wonderful, thank you."
Check please.
It usually starts innocently enough. "Five minutes 'til bedtime" comes the proclamation. After this initial announcement, brief series of events are scheduled to occur:
-Clean up the toys
-Go upstairs
-Change clothes
-Come down for snack
-Read a couple books
-Head upstairs
-brush teeth, pee, wash up
-Nighty night
-Mom and dad get some "us" time.
Believe it or not, things don't always go as planned.
Sure, we start off on the right foot. But more often than not, the tightrope starts to wobble somewhere between agenda items #1, and #2, and by Item #4 we're tangled up in the net far below. Let's take a walk, shall we?
First, there's agenda item #1, the cleaning of the toys. This simply doesn't happen. The conniving little varmints have already learned how to scheme their way out of cleanup duty, usually by stirring up a ruckus. "She hit me! She poked me in the eye! Waah! Get upstairs, you!" So let's move to #2.
Going upstairs can be surprisingly challenging. Often I have this bright idea of yelling, "last one upstairs is a rotten egg!" This starts off great, because the kids hit the steps running. However usually by the third stair tread either someone trips, pushes, or gets upset at being deemed the rancid poultry. If in fact they DO make it successfully up the stairs, dad becomes the rotten egg and a ten-minute giggle fest ensues.
Let's touch on snack time next. Typically it starts like this. "What do you guys want for snack? (no answer). What do you want for snack?? (no answer). Snack? anyone? Kitchen closes in thirty seconds!!!"
"Grapes!"
"We don't have grapes."
"But I WANT grapes!"
"We don't have grapes. How about strawberries?"
"Grapes!"
"Once again, we have no grapes. If you can find grapes, you may eat them."
"Really?? Yay, grapes! Wait, ACTUALLY, I want strawberries."
My wife and I could wash, trim, and cut an entire bushel of strawberries - nay, an entire truckload of strawberries, and no matter how many were placed in front of those kids it would be two strawberries short of needing a second helping. "Can I PLEASE....have more strawberries???" So, one of us gets up, washes, cuts, and arranges a nice second helping of strawberries only to find out that while we were in the kitchen hunger passed, and it was on to things, like the discovery of the dried up piece of Play-Doh found under the kitchen chair that makes a great bouncy ball.
Let's skip ahead a few chapters, to the bathroom ritual. Each night, the statement, "okay, go brush your teeth" seems to have an alternate meaning. what it really means is, "yay, I get to stand in front of the sink, stare at myself in the mirror, and imagine myself as the beautiful princess that I am, swept away by Prince Eric, to a land that's pure and white, with happy little animals and colorful flowers, and friendly flying dragons that breathe fluffy white clouds for me to lay upon, and...
Sorry. Got carried away there.
Anyways, the bathroom ritual is my least favorite part of the evening. If it's not the escape to dreamland, it's the aftermath. I'm curious to know when a child first realizes that spitting out toothpaste in a downward angle, TOWARD the sink, is far more effective than, say, spitting in the general direction of the tub? OR that a towel can often dry hands just as well even if it doesn't have a picture of a princess on it. Or that the proper method of cleaning toothpaste spooge off the mirror is NOT to lick your hands then rub the mirror with them. When the kids finally head off to college, I'm calling the CDC and having them quarantine the bathroom and study it for the existence of a new virus.
From start to finish, we typically expect the bedtime process to take about ten minutes. The reality is that more often than not, two hours is gone before the final goodnight. And mind you, the final goodnight is never the first goodnight. Shut the lights and leave the room, and suddenly it's as if the kids are at a fine restaurant that serves only parental annoyances. "Yes, I think tonight I'll have the scary shadow, with a side of noises outside the window. What's that? You're out of scary noises? Well, perhaps the chef can whip up a nice bad dream from that movie we saw earlier, with a side of another book please? And for dessert, perhaps a slice of can I sleep in your bed? Wonderful, thank you."
Check please.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Mizpee
MizPee is a new service focused on delivering pertinent information regarding the location of nearby restrooms.
Unfortunately, nothing in Pittsburgh yet. Suddenly, I see an opportunity. If I became the Pittsburgh expert on this, I could generate quite the following of tech-savvy old farts in Squirrel Hill who need to pee while wandering down Murray Avenue looking for the best deal on kosher meat. A veritable "Peed Piper" of sorts.
Regardless, I tried this out on my Blackberry. I'm afraid I don't hold much hope for success of this service, as it took so long to load up on the Blackberry that before I could find the nearest bathroom I...oh never mind, too easy.
Using MizPee is as simple as surfing to mizpee.com via a mobile device browser. Users simply enter their location and MizPee delivers a list of nearby toilets, how far away the toilet is, a rating and whether it requires payment. Further details may include disabled access, whether the restroom includes a diaper-changing station and for those really keen on browsing for the best toilet, user comments as well.
SMS is also supported; users can send a text message to 415-350-2290 with their location and receive details of their nearest loo in return.
Unfortunately, nothing in Pittsburgh yet. Suddenly, I see an opportunity. If I became the Pittsburgh expert on this, I could generate quite the following of tech-savvy old farts in Squirrel Hill who need to pee while wandering down Murray Avenue looking for the best deal on kosher meat. A veritable "Peed Piper" of sorts.
Regardless, I tried this out on my Blackberry. I'm afraid I don't hold much hope for success of this service, as it took so long to load up on the Blackberry that before I could find the nearest bathroom I...oh never mind, too easy.
A picture is worth 426,000 or more words
Artist Chris Jordan's website contains an exhibit called "Running The Numbers", a unique look at popular statistics? Want to know what 2 million plastic bottles, the number consumed in the US every five minutes, looks like? How about 426,000 cell phones, equal to the number of cell phones retired in the US every day? Pretty stunning pictures. As he says:
My hope is that images representing these quantities might have a different effect than the raw numbers alone, such as we find daily in articles and books. Statistics can feel abstract and anesthetizing, making it difficult to connect with and make meaning of 3.6 million SUV sales in one year, for example, or 2.3 million Americans in prison, or 426,000 cell phones retired every day. This project visually examines these vast and bizarre measures of our society, in large intricately detailed prints assembled from thousands of smaller photographs.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Out of the mouths of 7-year-olds.
It was approximately 4800 degrees in the shade today, so Natalie and Jessica were delivered to one of those industrial indoor play-places today to burn off some energy while their mom paid a visit to the local Costco. Later, at dinner time, Natalie gave us some details of the events that transpired while they were there.
"It's a good thing I was there with Jessica," she said, "because five boys were pushing her and trying to get in front of her."
"They were?" replied my wife. "Why were they doing that?"
"I think it was because they wanted to be behind me because they thought I was so pretty."
Paris Hilton, look out.
"It's a good thing I was there with Jessica," she said, "because five boys were pushing her and trying to get in front of her."
"They were?" replied my wife. "Why were they doing that?"
"I think it was because they wanted to be behind me because they thought I was so pretty."
Paris Hilton, look out.
That wasn't so easy.
I'm not a very deep thinker. For example when someone forwards me a video like this on the mathematical principles behind moebius transformations, describing how a flat plane can be bent to do all sorts of crazy mathematical things, I think, "oh, pretty colors." I prefer to think about the more mundane things in life, the everyday things that happen around me. Simple stories. uneventful stories. Stories of things that really annoy the crap out of me and are only worth repeating during the walk to lunch with coworkers.
For example (and you knew there'd be an example), I walked into an office supply store yesterday, after my mother-in-law requested that I buy her a cordless phone system. She wanted one similar to the one we have, with one base and multiple handsets, one that would work well and be simple to use. That last part is crucial. My mother-in-law is a self professed luddite, daunted by technology. If it has a neat feature that doesn't involve receiving a call, making a call, hanging up the phone, or beating a prowler senseless with the handset, she doesn't want to hear about it. Frankly, after two years of using a Blackberry I don't blame her.
So as I was saying, I walked into office supply store yesterday. I won't mention the name, but its corporate colors are red and white. Doesn't narrow it down? Okay, well, the name rhymes with "Shmaples". As usual, there was perhaps one other customer in the store, a round creature rummaging through the clearance table perhaps hoping to find a sweet deal on an external floppy drive marked down for final clearance. I headed for the phone section. Now, Shmaples tends to be a pretty well-organized store, but I think the staff member in charge of the phone aisle must have left his headset out of his ear that day (if you've ever been to an office supply store lately, you'll know that these days all the staff wear special two-way radios in their ears so they can pretend they're members of Jack Bauer's field ops teams instead of the dudes in charge of making sure the Sharpies are lined up in the plastic bins with all their caps facing in the same direction).
On the display shelf were perhaps three dozen phone systems, each of varying prices, features, and quantity of handsets. One would EXPECT that directly under the display models would be the boxes of said models that customers could grab and take to the register with them. However, that expectation would be false. Instead, what I saw were perhaps four dozen boxes, strewn about the shelf like it was late afternoon on Black Friday and all the early bird sales had ended. Of the three or four models I was considering buying, I could not find a single matching box on the shelves.
Noticing my look of consternation, "Doug" walked over. I knew his name was Doug because his headset was clipped to his nametag, causing the nametag to flop up and down as he walked, thus bringing my attention to it. Finally I understand the purpose of the headsets.
Doug asked me if he could help with something. I explained I wanted to buy a multiple-handset phone system, I was looking at "these three" each one being priced between $59 and $79, but couldn't find packages for any of them. He replied with, "oh, if you want a multi-handset phone, follow me."
Confused, I followed him to the end of the aisle, where a several packages of six different models were stacked. However, none of those packaged sets matched anything I just saw on the shelf.
"I don't understand," I said. "if these are the multi-handset phones, then what are those back there?"
"Well, these are on sale, so I thought you would like to know about them."
I looked at the stack of merchandise. As I mentioned there were six different products on the rack. There was one price tag on the entire rack, stating $79.99 for a Sony model of some sort. I looked around at the products and noticed not one of them was a Sony. So I pointed to a Uniden model and said, "so how much is this one?"
"Um, I will have to check."
He disappeared and returned to tell me it was $129.99.
I said, "But the Uniden model over there looks pretty much the same as this for $69."
"I guess you're right."
This guy should get a job at the Apple Genius Bar.
At that point, my cell rang. Thank the lord, I had an excuse to get away from this amorphous blob of human indifference. After I took the call, I considered just leaving and going to one of the other red-and-white office supply stores, but "Manager Bob" stopped by.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Yes," I told him. "I would like you to go over to that shelf there and find a single box that matches any of these phones you have on display. I bet you can't do it." I wanted to make a snarky remark about the staff having lots of free time to get the shelves more organized since there were never any customers in the store, but he interrupted too quickly.
"Let me grab Steve, and he can help you out."
Bob called Steve over, and then Bob went to barricade the door so I couldn't leave without buying something.
Steve, surprisingly, was relatively helpful. He told me, "This shelf is a mess. Let's go to the computer and see what we got. Ah, I see we have one of this item (the one I was interested in) in stock, but I'll be damned if I know what it is. Tell you what, let's order it and have it shipped to your house for free."
Well, at least THAT was easy.
For example (and you knew there'd be an example), I walked into an office supply store yesterday, after my mother-in-law requested that I buy her a cordless phone system. She wanted one similar to the one we have, with one base and multiple handsets, one that would work well and be simple to use. That last part is crucial. My mother-in-law is a self professed luddite, daunted by technology. If it has a neat feature that doesn't involve receiving a call, making a call, hanging up the phone, or beating a prowler senseless with the handset, she doesn't want to hear about it. Frankly, after two years of using a Blackberry I don't blame her.
So as I was saying, I walked into office supply store yesterday. I won't mention the name, but its corporate colors are red and white. Doesn't narrow it down? Okay, well, the name rhymes with "Shmaples". As usual, there was perhaps one other customer in the store, a round creature rummaging through the clearance table perhaps hoping to find a sweet deal on an external floppy drive marked down for final clearance. I headed for the phone section. Now, Shmaples tends to be a pretty well-organized store, but I think the staff member in charge of the phone aisle must have left his headset out of his ear that day (if you've ever been to an office supply store lately, you'll know that these days all the staff wear special two-way radios in their ears so they can pretend they're members of Jack Bauer's field ops teams instead of the dudes in charge of making sure the Sharpies are lined up in the plastic bins with all their caps facing in the same direction).
On the display shelf were perhaps three dozen phone systems, each of varying prices, features, and quantity of handsets. One would EXPECT that directly under the display models would be the boxes of said models that customers could grab and take to the register with them. However, that expectation would be false. Instead, what I saw were perhaps four dozen boxes, strewn about the shelf like it was late afternoon on Black Friday and all the early bird sales had ended. Of the three or four models I was considering buying, I could not find a single matching box on the shelves.
Noticing my look of consternation, "Doug" walked over. I knew his name was Doug because his headset was clipped to his nametag, causing the nametag to flop up and down as he walked, thus bringing my attention to it. Finally I understand the purpose of the headsets.
Doug asked me if he could help with something. I explained I wanted to buy a multiple-handset phone system, I was looking at "these three" each one being priced between $59 and $79, but couldn't find packages for any of them. He replied with, "oh, if you want a multi-handset phone, follow me."
Confused, I followed him to the end of the aisle, where a several packages of six different models were stacked. However, none of those packaged sets matched anything I just saw on the shelf.
"I don't understand," I said. "if these are the multi-handset phones, then what are those back there?"
"Well, these are on sale, so I thought you would like to know about them."
I looked at the stack of merchandise. As I mentioned there were six different products on the rack. There was one price tag on the entire rack, stating $79.99 for a Sony model of some sort. I looked around at the products and noticed not one of them was a Sony. So I pointed to a Uniden model and said, "so how much is this one?"
"Um, I will have to check."
He disappeared and returned to tell me it was $129.99.
I said, "But the Uniden model over there looks pretty much the same as this for $69."
"I guess you're right."
This guy should get a job at the Apple Genius Bar.
At that point, my cell rang. Thank the lord, I had an excuse to get away from this amorphous blob of human indifference. After I took the call, I considered just leaving and going to one of the other red-and-white office supply stores, but "Manager Bob" stopped by.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Yes," I told him. "I would like you to go over to that shelf there and find a single box that matches any of these phones you have on display. I bet you can't do it." I wanted to make a snarky remark about the staff having lots of free time to get the shelves more organized since there were never any customers in the store, but he interrupted too quickly.
"Let me grab Steve, and he can help you out."
Bob called Steve over, and then Bob went to barricade the door so I couldn't leave without buying something.
Steve, surprisingly, was relatively helpful. He told me, "This shelf is a mess. Let's go to the computer and see what we got. Ah, I see we have one of this item (the one I was interested in) in stock, but I'll be damned if I know what it is. Tell you what, let's order it and have it shipped to your house for free."
Well, at least THAT was easy.
Monday, June 25, 2007
The boy next door
I'm so glad I have girls. Having boys must just suck. Take one of the local neighbor kids, whom I shall refer to as "Tad" (named changed to protect the innocent) as an example.
Tad is a local neighbor kid. He's 8 years old. And chances are if there's trouble in the neighborhood, he's behind it. He's also responsible for some of the best sarcastic comments I've ever heard from a kid his age.
A while back Natalie was riding her bike in the cul-de-sac. He joined in and, as 8-year-old boys tend to do, started following her in circles in a slightly menacing way (for an 8-year-old). Natalie was still getting used to 2-wheeled riding, so understandably this was making her nervous. I called out, "Hey Tad! That's my daughter and I'm pretty protective of her, so if she gets hurt there's gonna be trouble."
His response was, "Why? You've got another daughter."
Point for Tad. Another was when he came out to ride his scooter with no shoes on. I asked him where his shoes were, and he replied with, "aw, mom doesn't care...she just wants me to make sure I don't end up in the hospital cuz it will screw up her exercise schedule."
Now, knowing his mom, I can definitely see her saying that. And I can respect her for that...I'd probably say the same thing. But she obviously didn't realize when she said it that he'd use it against her later. Point two for Tad.
This past weekend we had some folks over for a BBQ, including two girls around our girls' ages. The four of them vanished for the entire evening. We never heard a peep from them. For at least two hours I forgot I had children.
But then Tad showed up. Within minutes, there was trouble.
He came down he driveway wearing bright green rubber dishwashing gloves. He said he just liked wearing them, but I'm guessing he was really hoping to avoid fingerprint evidence. Before too long I saw an object from the toy collection flying down into the part of our yard I refer to "the ravine of lost souls", and Tad tumbling after it. The girls were about to follow, but I warned them against it. Soon after that, Tad found himself bound tightly to a plastic see-saw with jump rope.
Now, normally I would have cheered for four little girls who were able to hogtie an older boy like Tad to a plastic see-saw, but I'm afraid he likely tied himself up. From what I've heard, boys will do that sort of thing.
The problem was, he couldn't get out. The more he tried, the more it tightened. The boy obviously has a future as a kidnapper. I had to go and rescue him. I considered leaving him tied to the see-saw and carrying the whole package back to his dad, but I figured the dad had enough aggravation. They have another boy. I then considered tossing the whole pile into the ravine of lost souls, but there were too many witnesses. So I had no choice but to go down there and untangle him.
Later after I untied him, his name came up amongst the adults above on the deck. From the driveway he yelled, "I heard that! I know you're talking about me. Remember I'm everyone's nightmare!"
He's a sharp kid.
Speaking of boys versus girls, I heard another example of the difference from my wife today. she took the kids to dentist and, while Natalie was in the chair, my wife recognized one of Natalie's classmates in the waiting room. Now, Natalie knows every boy and girl in her class by name. She can describe each one's habits, dressing styles, mom's name, and favorite colors. When my wife said hi to the boy and said she was Natalie's mom, he responded with, "who?"
She followed with, "you know, in your class, long red hair..."
"Hair?"
Thus proving boys have no concept that girls exist until cooties make their presence known.
Tad is a local neighbor kid. He's 8 years old. And chances are if there's trouble in the neighborhood, he's behind it. He's also responsible for some of the best sarcastic comments I've ever heard from a kid his age.
A while back Natalie was riding her bike in the cul-de-sac. He joined in and, as 8-year-old boys tend to do, started following her in circles in a slightly menacing way (for an 8-year-old). Natalie was still getting used to 2-wheeled riding, so understandably this was making her nervous. I called out, "Hey Tad! That's my daughter and I'm pretty protective of her, so if she gets hurt there's gonna be trouble."
His response was, "Why? You've got another daughter."
Point for Tad. Another was when he came out to ride his scooter with no shoes on. I asked him where his shoes were, and he replied with, "aw, mom doesn't care...she just wants me to make sure I don't end up in the hospital cuz it will screw up her exercise schedule."
Now, knowing his mom, I can definitely see her saying that. And I can respect her for that...I'd probably say the same thing. But she obviously didn't realize when she said it that he'd use it against her later. Point two for Tad.
This past weekend we had some folks over for a BBQ, including two girls around our girls' ages. The four of them vanished for the entire evening. We never heard a peep from them. For at least two hours I forgot I had children.
But then Tad showed up. Within minutes, there was trouble.
He came down he driveway wearing bright green rubber dishwashing gloves. He said he just liked wearing them, but I'm guessing he was really hoping to avoid fingerprint evidence. Before too long I saw an object from the toy collection flying down into the part of our yard I refer to "the ravine of lost souls", and Tad tumbling after it. The girls were about to follow, but I warned them against it. Soon after that, Tad found himself bound tightly to a plastic see-saw with jump rope.
Now, normally I would have cheered for four little girls who were able to hogtie an older boy like Tad to a plastic see-saw, but I'm afraid he likely tied himself up. From what I've heard, boys will do that sort of thing.
The problem was, he couldn't get out. The more he tried, the more it tightened. The boy obviously has a future as a kidnapper. I had to go and rescue him. I considered leaving him tied to the see-saw and carrying the whole package back to his dad, but I figured the dad had enough aggravation. They have another boy. I then considered tossing the whole pile into the ravine of lost souls, but there were too many witnesses. So I had no choice but to go down there and untangle him.
Later after I untied him, his name came up amongst the adults above on the deck. From the driveway he yelled, "I heard that! I know you're talking about me. Remember I'm everyone's nightmare!"
He's a sharp kid.
Speaking of boys versus girls, I heard another example of the difference from my wife today. she took the kids to dentist and, while Natalie was in the chair, my wife recognized one of Natalie's classmates in the waiting room. Now, Natalie knows every boy and girl in her class by name. She can describe each one's habits, dressing styles, mom's name, and favorite colors. When my wife said hi to the boy and said she was Natalie's mom, he responded with, "who?"
She followed with, "you know, in your class, long red hair..."
"Hair?"
Thus proving boys have no concept that girls exist until cooties make their presence known.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
When Doody calls
For some reason the subject of professional pooper scooper services came up the other day. In doing my usual extensive scientific research on the subject, I found that there is quite literally, well, a crapload of companies out there in the business of cleaning up your dog's business. In fact, there is even a nationwide directory of poop scooping companies, sorted by state. Who knew? And the names, oh the names. I'd consider getting into the business myself but a)I'm not interested and b)I don't think I could come up with a business name nearly as slick. Some examples culled from the above site:
Doodie Calls
Wholly Crap Pet Cleanup Service
Bomb Squad Dog Waste Removal Service
Doodie Free
Doggie Dooers
Doodle Scoopers
Pup-P-Doo Crew
Double Doodie
Poop Fairies
Civic Doody
This company did a fine job of putting a promotional video on their website that really sums up what they do. Make sure to watch through to the end:
Doodie Calls
Wholly Crap Pet Cleanup Service
Bomb Squad Dog Waste Removal Service
Doodie Free
Doggie Dooers
Doodle Scoopers
Pup-P-Doo Crew
Double Doodie
Poop Fairies
Civic Doody
This company did a fine job of putting a promotional video on their website that really sums up what they do. Make sure to watch through to the end:
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Discovering the power of Sketchup
I mentioned in my last post that I discovered the program Google Sketchup, an amazing and FREE 3D rendering program. The program is great for drawing to-scale 3D images of just about anything. In only a couple of hours of fiddling I was able to make this accurate drawing of our family room complete with not-yet-existent built-in furniture. But I was a bit befuddled when I thought about changing the size of the bookcases. I wanted to "drag" the sides out flush to the side walls, but the drawing was too complex to simply grab a side and pull. So I needed to do a little research.
The above is my long-winded way of saying, "holy crap, check out this tutorial". I came across this video (about 20 minutes long) that shows a professional carpenter named Gary Katz designing an attractive bookcase in Sketchup. In this video he shows you very simply how to use each of the most powerful tools in the program. It is truly an amazing piece of software. I dare you not to get hooked after viewing this.
My kingdom for a dehumidifier
Lest you think I've abandoned the blog for better pastures, fear not. I've just been collecting fodder. I've also been spending a decent amount of time doing some of those niggly little projects that have hit the list since the renovation was completed. Like installing ceiling fans. Like getting poison ivy from free mulch. Like watching it rain inside the house.
What's that you say? Rain inside the house? That can't be good.
No, it's not. It seems we have a trifecta of issues, as it were, that's leading to a visit from Bob The Builder later this week. The house has about double the square footage of roof area now collecting water. Additionally, it has brand new siding. Add to that an absolutely torrential rainfall, and we've found a glitch. It seems that last night, during the downpour, the front gutter was overwhelmed and rain began to "sheet" down the front of the house. Directly above my daughter's bedroom window is a small U-shaped vinyl channel that's designed to "finish" the bottom end of the siding above the window. This channel filled with water so fast that it couldn't handle the load, and water filled up behind the siding and began running down the inside of the window. Not good.
It's situations like this that make one realize just how fragile an organism a house can be. It also gives me the ironic realization about just how fragile a homeowner's budget can be. This happened the same day I had to bring my car in for emergency surgery, and hours after my wife and I decided on a design for built-in furniture we want to put in our family room. As the saying goes, "it never ends".
But on to other topics. I've fallen in love with a computer program called Google Sketchup. I was looking for a simple home "CAD" program that would allow me to put together some designs for built-in furniture when I came a across it. Sketchup is a FREE program that allows you to quickly and painlessly draw in three dimensions. After about a half hour of learning and two hours of doing, I was able to produce this to-scale reproduction of our family room with potential designs for built-ins. And the best part is that in the actual program, I can rotate the image around on three axes to get a view from all sides, above and below. Like I said this is an amazing program. There's also a wealth of information on how to use it, an entire society of woodworkers who've put together templates, tools and plugins, and a database on Google of presketched images you can grab for free. Oh, and if you're designing a building and you want to see what it might look like in the real world, you can place your image on Google Earth in exactly the location you want, to see what your house might look like in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, or in the sands of Dubai. Like I said, it's free, so check it out.
What's that you say? Rain inside the house? That can't be good.
No, it's not. It seems we have a trifecta of issues, as it were, that's leading to a visit from Bob The Builder later this week. The house has about double the square footage of roof area now collecting water. Additionally, it has brand new siding. Add to that an absolutely torrential rainfall, and we've found a glitch. It seems that last night, during the downpour, the front gutter was overwhelmed and rain began to "sheet" down the front of the house. Directly above my daughter's bedroom window is a small U-shaped vinyl channel that's designed to "finish" the bottom end of the siding above the window. This channel filled with water so fast that it couldn't handle the load, and water filled up behind the siding and began running down the inside of the window. Not good.
It's situations like this that make one realize just how fragile an organism a house can be. It also gives me the ironic realization about just how fragile a homeowner's budget can be. This happened the same day I had to bring my car in for emergency surgery, and hours after my wife and I decided on a design for built-in furniture we want to put in our family room. As the saying goes, "it never ends".
But on to other topics. I've fallen in love with a computer program called Google Sketchup. I was looking for a simple home "CAD" program that would allow me to put together some designs for built-in furniture when I came a across it. Sketchup is a FREE program that allows you to quickly and painlessly draw in three dimensions. After about a half hour of learning and two hours of doing, I was able to produce this to-scale reproduction of our family room with potential designs for built-ins. And the best part is that in the actual program, I can rotate the image around on three axes to get a view from all sides, above and below. Like I said this is an amazing program. There's also a wealth of information on how to use it, an entire society of woodworkers who've put together templates, tools and plugins, and a database on Google of presketched images you can grab for free. Oh, and if you're designing a building and you want to see what it might look like in the real world, you can place your image on Google Earth in exactly the location you want, to see what your house might look like in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, or in the sands of Dubai. Like I said, it's free, so check it out.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Like Organizational Mannah From Heaven
My lovely wife writes for several local publications. The editor of one assigned her a new story, one that made me jump for joy and go into sarcastic-husband mode all at once.
The assignment is for my wife to hook up with a professional organizer. The organizer would proceed to invade my wife's office and get her life organized. My wife would, in return, write a story about the experience.
My first thought was to ask if the magazine editor had a secret webcam pointed at my lovely wife's desk. How else could the editor know what a perfect candidate she was? That one didn't quite get me a slap across the face, but it did get me a "bite me" and a nasty look.
I've long ago accepted the fact that my lovely wife is the yin to my anal-retentive yang. If we had geeky organizational nicknames, they would be "file" and "pile". I file everything. She performs this precarious balancing act of paper, books, and other materials upon various strategic corners of the desk, floor, and any other flat surface. Once a month or so I go on a tear and clean things up, after which she berates me for throwing something important out. But don't get me wrong...I'm not perfect either. I cannot follow a schedule, remember an important date, or do basic math, whereas she can tell me exactly how many hours are available between Friday at 5pm and Monday at 8am and how few of the items I've put on our list for the weekend could possibly happen without disrupting the space-time continuum and creating a wormhole in our cul-de-sac. In a sense, we complete each other.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to this project. It involves cleaning, filing, and possibly the construction of one or more shelves. This should be quite an experience.
The assignment is for my wife to hook up with a professional organizer. The organizer would proceed to invade my wife's office and get her life organized. My wife would, in return, write a story about the experience.
My first thought was to ask if the magazine editor had a secret webcam pointed at my lovely wife's desk. How else could the editor know what a perfect candidate she was? That one didn't quite get me a slap across the face, but it did get me a "bite me" and a nasty look.
I've long ago accepted the fact that my lovely wife is the yin to my anal-retentive yang. If we had geeky organizational nicknames, they would be "file" and "pile". I file everything. She performs this precarious balancing act of paper, books, and other materials upon various strategic corners of the desk, floor, and any other flat surface. Once a month or so I go on a tear and clean things up, after which she berates me for throwing something important out. But don't get me wrong...I'm not perfect either. I cannot follow a schedule, remember an important date, or do basic math, whereas she can tell me exactly how many hours are available between Friday at 5pm and Monday at 8am and how few of the items I've put on our list for the weekend could possibly happen without disrupting the space-time continuum and creating a wormhole in our cul-de-sac. In a sense, we complete each other.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to this project. It involves cleaning, filing, and possibly the construction of one or more shelves. This should be quite an experience.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Insta-Blessing Key Fob
gizmodo has a posting about a new product called the "Say-A-Blessing"
Okay, let's think about this. an electronic key fob. With an LED light on it, no less. For what? for remembering all those easily forgettable shabbat prayers. You know, that day of the week where you aren't supposed to be using anything electronic. Hmm, seems about as useful as a Blackberry with a dead battery, doncha think?
I can just picture my Grandma Edith (rest her soul) trying to figure this out. She presses a button, and some Korean-sounding weirdo recites a brucha in his worst Ashkenazi, all the while Grandma Edith is yelling with a mouth full of rugelach, that little bit of crumb hanging from the side of her lip, a used tissue hanging out of her sleeve, and she grabs my arm with that deathly grip, "Michael...Michael, what is this this thing? I can't hear it! Can you hear it? I can't hear it! He's saying these crazy things, Oy. These new toys!"
The Say-a-Blessing keychain can get through those pesky blessings for you with the push of a button for whatever type of food you're about to eat (except pork and shellfish for some odd reason), allowing you to cut to the chase without pissing off the big man upstairs. Everybody wins? Oy vey. –Adam Frucci
Okay, let's think about this. an electronic key fob. With an LED light on it, no less. For what? for remembering all those easily forgettable shabbat prayers. You know, that day of the week where you aren't supposed to be using anything electronic. Hmm, seems about as useful as a Blackberry with a dead battery, doncha think?
I can just picture my Grandma Edith (rest her soul) trying to figure this out. She presses a button, and some Korean-sounding weirdo recites a brucha in his worst Ashkenazi, all the while Grandma Edith is yelling with a mouth full of rugelach, that little bit of crumb hanging from the side of her lip, a used tissue hanging out of her sleeve, and she grabs my arm with that deathly grip, "Michael...Michael, what is this this thing? I can't hear it! Can you hear it? I can't hear it! He's saying these crazy things, Oy. These new toys!"
Friday, June 01, 2007
Someday I will Learn
Hilary has another story (poem, actually) published! It's in an online 'zine called Stories for Children, and the June issue has her poem entitled "Someday I will Learn". and, no, it's not a story about how much of a dolt her husband can be sometimes...
Check out the site here, and you can download the story reader in PDF form.
Check out the site here, and you can download the story reader in PDF form.
Toy or Tool? The Segway...
Howard and I have been sharing some thoughts on what gadgets fall under the category of toys, versus being classified as tools.
Last week I saw a Segway in use for the first time. A mall cop at Ross Park Mall in Pittsburgh was "walking the beat" behind Cheesecake Factory on one. It made me wonder what he'd do if he encountered trouble. would he leave the Segway unattended and pursue the actor on foot? would the perrpetrator's partners in crime steal the Segway when he leaves it?
To me, the Segway is the most unfortunate example of a toy is really trying to be a tool, but can't figure out how. Or maybe I can't figure out how. Here is a piece of phenomenal innovation. When the rumors began to surface about its existence, people in the know said cities would rebuild themselves around these things. But before the Segway could even gain a foothold (no pun intended), towns were banning them from sidewalks for fear of injuries.
The fact is, the Segway tries too hard to resolve a need that doesn't necesarily exist. I'm not sure I see how you can do anything on a Segway that you can't do better walking or on a bike. For one thing, cops doing a bike beat get more exerrcise and can go faster, and into more places, than if they used a Segway. So is there truly a NEED fora Segway? If not, then it's a toy.
In my opinion there are a few ways that a Segway could become more than just a toy. First, give it the ability to tow a trailer. This would make it useful for warehouses, mailmen, and the like. Second, make it strong enough to tow those trailers uphill. This might make it handy as alternative transportation for suburbanites. And lastly, make it faster than walking briskly. The idea of transportation is to get someplace faster than walking.
The Segway has its place. As a curiosity, as a toy, and in some cases perhaps as something that verges on a tool. But it ain't there yet.
Now, if Segway decided to actually build the Concept Centaur they show on their site, that right there is a toy that excels at being a toy.
Oh and hey...what's a Segway?
'bout 150 pounds.
Last week I saw a Segway in use for the first time. A mall cop at Ross Park Mall in Pittsburgh was "walking the beat" behind Cheesecake Factory on one. It made me wonder what he'd do if he encountered trouble. would he leave the Segway unattended and pursue the actor on foot? would the perrpetrator's partners in crime steal the Segway when he leaves it?
To me, the Segway is the most unfortunate example of a toy is really trying to be a tool, but can't figure out how. Or maybe I can't figure out how. Here is a piece of phenomenal innovation. When the rumors began to surface about its existence, people in the know said cities would rebuild themselves around these things. But before the Segway could even gain a foothold (no pun intended), towns were banning them from sidewalks for fear of injuries.
The fact is, the Segway tries too hard to resolve a need that doesn't necesarily exist. I'm not sure I see how you can do anything on a Segway that you can't do better walking or on a bike. For one thing, cops doing a bike beat get more exerrcise and can go faster, and into more places, than if they used a Segway. So is there truly a NEED fora Segway? If not, then it's a toy.
In my opinion there are a few ways that a Segway could become more than just a toy. First, give it the ability to tow a trailer. This would make it useful for warehouses, mailmen, and the like. Second, make it strong enough to tow those trailers uphill. This might make it handy as alternative transportation for suburbanites. And lastly, make it faster than walking briskly. The idea of transportation is to get someplace faster than walking.
The Segway has its place. As a curiosity, as a toy, and in some cases perhaps as something that verges on a tool. But it ain't there yet.
Now, if Segway decided to actually build the Concept Centaur they show on their site, that right there is a toy that excels at being a toy.
Oh and hey...what's a Segway?
'bout 150 pounds.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Teens can't live without the internet
Howard posted a link to this article about how a panel of teens said they can't live without the internet and mobile devices.
"One kid, the most outspoken and rebellious of the bunch, said he had lost two phones in the last month — one left on the top of his car, and the second broken when he leaned on it while playing pool. Of course, later, when asked what piece of technology he couldn’t live without, he said he would die if he lost his cell phone."
I often think about the perception my daughters have of what computers and the internet are all about. To them, it's like TV, I guess...something that's always been a part of life and someday they are going to learn more about. They can't imagine life without it. But I have to laugh about a kid saying he'd die without his cell. True, if he was lost in the wild and had no phone, yeah, he might die. But frankly, I don't think I've ever said that about any piece of technology I own (no, not even the TiVo). Yes, there are many things I could not do without computers or the internet, but then again there are many things I DON'T DO BECAUSE OF the internet. Like read books. Like go outside more. Like clean the bathroom more often. Like play with my kids more.
Last winter, we had a power failure (very rare in our neighborhood) right at dinner time. My wife was not home at the time, so the kids and I went into campout mode. We dug out every Shabbat candle and votive we could find, ate a lukewarm dinner, and set up a campsite in the master bedroom. We told stories, talked about past power failures and past campouts before they were born, and had a great old time despite the fact that the room was dropping to a brisk temperature rapidly. The kids often ask me when we can do that again.
I'm thinking of shutting the power off to the whole house once a month.
"One kid, the most outspoken and rebellious of the bunch, said he had lost two phones in the last month — one left on the top of his car, and the second broken when he leaned on it while playing pool. Of course, later, when asked what piece of technology he couldn’t live without, he said he would die if he lost his cell phone."
I often think about the perception my daughters have of what computers and the internet are all about. To them, it's like TV, I guess...something that's always been a part of life and someday they are going to learn more about. They can't imagine life without it. But I have to laugh about a kid saying he'd die without his cell. True, if he was lost in the wild and had no phone, yeah, he might die. But frankly, I don't think I've ever said that about any piece of technology I own (no, not even the TiVo). Yes, there are many things I could not do without computers or the internet, but then again there are many things I DON'T DO BECAUSE OF the internet. Like read books. Like go outside more. Like clean the bathroom more often. Like play with my kids more.
Last winter, we had a power failure (very rare in our neighborhood) right at dinner time. My wife was not home at the time, so the kids and I went into campout mode. We dug out every Shabbat candle and votive we could find, ate a lukewarm dinner, and set up a campsite in the master bedroom. We told stories, talked about past power failures and past campouts before they were born, and had a great old time despite the fact that the room was dropping to a brisk temperature rapidly. The kids often ask me when we can do that again.
I'm thinking of shutting the power off to the whole house once a month.
Kromofons: The future of the Alphabet (or not)
Here's an article about some wackjob (or perhaps genius?/) who invented a new alphabet years ago based not on written text but on colors. Quite simply, each color represents a letter of the alphabet. He invented this years ago, but only now felt it was ready for the world due to the ubiquity of color monitors. Frankly, I see a whole new market for little code puzzles on kids' place mats at the local Olive Garden, but beyond that, I don't see it.
The website is an enjoyable, if not completely useless and time consuming, toy for about ten minutes, but it contains many of the inventor's complex word and sentence creations with little to no explanation of practical application. Basically, the guy must have had a little too much free time in his bedroom as a kid.
The website is an enjoyable, if not completely useless and time consuming, toy for about ten minutes, but it contains many of the inventor's complex word and sentence creations with little to no explanation of practical application. Basically, the guy must have had a little too much free time in his bedroom as a kid.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The EPIC program
The other day we attended our first official parent/teacher conference. Natalie's Kindergarten teacher had all good things to say about our little shining star, and in fact confirmed what we already know: that she's smarter than either one of us. We discussed enrolling her in the "gifted program" soon. This got me to reminiscing about my own experience with the gifted program back in my elementary school days.
There are only four things I remember from my years in elementary school:
1. Getting hit in the eye by a rogue snowball.
2. Witnessing my dog, Dusty, get pummeled by a car on the day of the science fair
3. The event at the school dance that caused every boy at Northeast Elementary to enter puberty simultaneously.
4. The EPIC program.
Okay, let's take these one by one. First, the snowball. to this day I don't know if it was intended for me, but I ended up with a scratched cornea and bad vision in my right eye to this day. If you, the thrower, are out there reading this, thanks a whole lot, buttwipe.
Second, the death of Dusty. It was my first encounter with death. Dusty hated kids. He repeatedly tried to eat me. But seeing him lying under that Michelin, tongue hanging out, eyes stoned cold, will be forever cemented in my head far more than the schematic of the inside of the Space Shuttle that I threw together for the fair.
Next, the dance. In a classic tale, a plain, homely, barely-noticed girl named Tina (I think) managed to get a makeover of Hollywood proportions in preparation for that night, showed up for the 8th grade dance, and caused every boy in the room to simultaneously grab the nearest helium balloon and position it strategically in front of his belt buckle.
And now, to the EPIC program. The only educational part of elementary school that I actually remember. I think I remember it so vividly because it was so traumatic. Several students were taken from class on Wednesday and bussed to a different school in town (Ivy Drive, the "school where bullies were made") for a day of advanced learning. I believe part of this was learning to cope with the repeated tormenting we encountered whenever we showed got off the short bus at the school parking lot.
But I have to admit, I actually learned a few things in the EPIC program. EPIC, by the way, stood for "Enrichment Program for Intellectually gifted Children". These were the kids that were bored in the normal classroom, showed an obvious tendency for advanced learning, or (like me) displayed absolutely no skill whatsoever in gym class. Each Wednesday, once we escaped the bonds of the typical social studies curriculum and made it through the gauntlet of the Ivy Drive Bullies, we were able to think freely, command respect from our peers, and screw around with a cutting edge Radio Shack TRS-80 computer all day.
I hope that Natalie's experience is as fulfilling.
A Memorial Day Weekend to forget
Okay, I'm back. The weather has been nice, and there have been way too many projects to do around the house to even consider sitting down in front of the computer for any length of time and ramble on about the wonders of my life. But today I've got time, as I'm in the midst of recuperation.
Today is the first day back after the 4-day Memorial Day weekend. And this one's going to be quite a memory.
It started Thursday night, at Thing#2's preschool picnic. Thing#1 wasn't feeling too well, so we left early and later discovered she had a fever of around 101. She was pretty miserable that night. But that was nothing compared to Friday night, when she managed to almost break her nose watching TV. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but somehow the coffee table encountered her face, causing her to spurt blood out of her nostrils and her parents to rush her to the hospital and explain to the authorities that we weren't child beaters. In the end the x-ray was negative for a break, but she spent the weekend looking like a raccoon.
Saturday was spent preparing to host some neighbors in a "break in the new deck" party. The instant the first guest rang the doorbell, the skies opened up and it rained for the rest of the night. During the (now indoor) party, I started to notice that I wasn't feeling too great. Plus, I realized I'd been totally bitten up by something outside.
Sunday, whatever hit me came out full force. I had a full fledged cold virus with all the trimmings, AND what I thought were insect bites turned out to be some sort of rash. I thought perhaps it was a reaction to cold medication, but later I'd be proven wrong....
On Monday, the illness and itching continued, and I spent most of the day sitting around in misery. My loving wife planned ahead for a night of being kept awake by my coughing and decided to set up camp in the guest room, but that didn't help any. Because late Monday night Thing#2 decided to wake up screaming every half hour from 11pm to 4am. Either she wanted a drink, or she was missing her stuffed bunny, or her leg was uncovered, or the night light was too bright. By 4am we were just about ready to have to explain ourselves to the authorities once more.
Today, I went to the doctor to see about this rash. It turns out it isn't a drug reaction after all, but poison ivy. I'm not quite sure how I managed to contract poison ivy, but my theory is this. Our township collects leaves each fall, mulches them and leaves the mulch pile in a public for any resident to take for gardening. I decided to take advantage of it this year and grabbed a few buckets of it. My guess is that’s where it came from. This is what’s known as “no free lunch”.
So as I sit here, squinting through my swollen eyelids, I think it's high time to get back to blogging. So there ya go.
Today is the first day back after the 4-day Memorial Day weekend. And this one's going to be quite a memory.
It started Thursday night, at Thing#2's preschool picnic. Thing#1 wasn't feeling too well, so we left early and later discovered she had a fever of around 101. She was pretty miserable that night. But that was nothing compared to Friday night, when she managed to almost break her nose watching TV. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but somehow the coffee table encountered her face, causing her to spurt blood out of her nostrils and her parents to rush her to the hospital and explain to the authorities that we weren't child beaters. In the end the x-ray was negative for a break, but she spent the weekend looking like a raccoon.
Saturday was spent preparing to host some neighbors in a "break in the new deck" party. The instant the first guest rang the doorbell, the skies opened up and it rained for the rest of the night. During the (now indoor) party, I started to notice that I wasn't feeling too great. Plus, I realized I'd been totally bitten up by something outside.
Sunday, whatever hit me came out full force. I had a full fledged cold virus with all the trimmings, AND what I thought were insect bites turned out to be some sort of rash. I thought perhaps it was a reaction to cold medication, but later I'd be proven wrong....
On Monday, the illness and itching continued, and I spent most of the day sitting around in misery. My loving wife planned ahead for a night of being kept awake by my coughing and decided to set up camp in the guest room, but that didn't help any. Because late Monday night Thing#2 decided to wake up screaming every half hour from 11pm to 4am. Either she wanted a drink, or she was missing her stuffed bunny, or her leg was uncovered, or the night light was too bright. By 4am we were just about ready to have to explain ourselves to the authorities once more.
Today, I went to the doctor to see about this rash. It turns out it isn't a drug reaction after all, but poison ivy. I'm not quite sure how I managed to contract poison ivy, but my theory is this. Our township collects leaves each fall, mulches them and leaves the mulch pile in a public for any resident to take for gardening. I decided to take advantage of it this year and grabbed a few buckets of it. My guess is that’s where it came from. This is what’s known as “no free lunch”.
So as I sit here, squinting through my swollen eyelids, I think it's high time to get back to blogging. So there ya go.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
The Best Movie In The World
My daughters have recently discovered the best movie in the world. At least, that is what they tell me. I believe it has something to do with Barbie, and the title of this movie escapes me. I just know the DVD is always in the player and the box is always lying open on the coffee table or wedged between couch cushions.
The movie is on constantly, whether I'm home or at work. Yet I have no idea what it's about. I've never looked up the screen or acknowledged it's script. I do know that Steven Right does the voice of one character. It's hard to miss him even in the background, and at any moment I expect him to ask why we drive on a parkway and park on a driveway.
Recently I learned a bit more about the plot of this cinematographic wonder, as the girls have taken to acting out key scenes from it in the back yard. Best I can tell, here's how it goes:
Natalie plays Odette, the female (Barbie)character. Jessica plays Derek, the handsome prince. Odette lies on top of a faraway mountain, dramatically performed by the tarp-covered pile of gravel destined for the underside of the new deck. Derek lies upon the top of another distant mountain, skillfully acted out by the pile of sand for the walkway. The script is as follows:
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
This goes on for a half hour or until one of the actresses decides she needs a snack and retires to her trailer.
I really need to get that walkway done.
The movie is on constantly, whether I'm home or at work. Yet I have no idea what it's about. I've never looked up the screen or acknowledged it's script. I do know that Steven Right does the voice of one character. It's hard to miss him even in the background, and at any moment I expect him to ask why we drive on a parkway and park on a driveway.
Recently I learned a bit more about the plot of this cinematographic wonder, as the girls have taken to acting out key scenes from it in the back yard. Best I can tell, here's how it goes:
Natalie plays Odette, the female (Barbie)character. Jessica plays Derek, the handsome prince. Odette lies on top of a faraway mountain, dramatically performed by the tarp-covered pile of gravel destined for the underside of the new deck. Derek lies upon the top of another distant mountain, skillfully acted out by the pile of sand for the walkway. The script is as follows:
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
Odette: "Derek!!"
Derek: "Odette!"
This goes on for a half hour or until one of the actresses decides she needs a snack and retires to her trailer.
I really need to get that walkway done.
Monday, May 14, 2007
You have got to be kidding me
Teachers stage fake gunman attack on sixth graders.
I'm beyond words. I don’t even know what to say here. Whatever idiots thought this was good judgment should be hung by their toenails and beaten senseless.
I'm beyond words. I don’t even know what to say here. Whatever idiots thought this was good judgment should be hung by their toenails and beaten senseless.
Happy Fathers Day
Yesterday of course was Mothers Day, and as luck would have it while attempting to provide my wife with a day of bliss I think I stumbled upon the ultimate Fathers Day.
The morning started off with me cooking a nice brunch with all the trimmings. Works for me. I love to cook. Then, to give the wife some "me" time I took the kids out in the back yard to play. They ran around while I awaited a delivery of gravel for the landscaping under the new deck. Yes, I actually had the balls to schedule a gravel delivery on Mothers Day. While I waited, I dug out the area for our new walkway. Rarely does one handle a pickax on Mothers Day.
After the gravel delivery. It was off to Lowes. What? Lowes, you say? Yes, my lovely wife was reminiscing about the lilac trees in her back yard during childhood, so I suggested we check out the garden center at Lowes. While there, I loaded up on about a hundred square feet of pavers for the walkway along with two lilac bushes and some other items. after a stop at Cold Stone Creamery to harden our arteries, we came back and spent the afternoon landscaping.
Side note, during my wife's morning "me" time she went for a walk and passed by the neighbors' house. They swapped stories about Mothers Day events and, when she told them about going to Lowes later the husband replied with, "you're going to Lowes on Mothers Day??? Wow, you're a rockin' wife!"
Had it not been for the fact that we were out of beer, this would have been a perfect Fathers Day. As I often say to my wife (okay okay, not nearly often enough), how'd I get so lucky?
The morning started off with me cooking a nice brunch with all the trimmings. Works for me. I love to cook. Then, to give the wife some "me" time I took the kids out in the back yard to play. They ran around while I awaited a delivery of gravel for the landscaping under the new deck. Yes, I actually had the balls to schedule a gravel delivery on Mothers Day. While I waited, I dug out the area for our new walkway. Rarely does one handle a pickax on Mothers Day.
After the gravel delivery. It was off to Lowes. What? Lowes, you say? Yes, my lovely wife was reminiscing about the lilac trees in her back yard during childhood, so I suggested we check out the garden center at Lowes. While there, I loaded up on about a hundred square feet of pavers for the walkway along with two lilac bushes and some other items. after a stop at Cold Stone Creamery to harden our arteries, we came back and spent the afternoon landscaping.
Side note, during my wife's morning "me" time she went for a walk and passed by the neighbors' house. They swapped stories about Mothers Day events and, when she told them about going to Lowes later the husband replied with, "you're going to Lowes on Mothers Day??? Wow, you're a rockin' wife!"
Had it not been for the fact that we were out of beer, this would have been a perfect Fathers Day. As I often say to my wife (okay okay, not nearly often enough), how'd I get so lucky?
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Failing to deliver
I'm very disappointed with myself.
I stopped in at the hospital this afternoon to visit my mother-in-law. As I was leaving, I got in the elevator just as a man pushing a hospital gurney came out. On the gurney was resting not a patient, but a six-foot step ladder.
At the time the best I could come up with to say to the guy was, "looks like you'd better step up his treatment." I got a polite chuckle out of that. But I KNOW there's a better one out there and it bugged me the rest of the day. I'm worried this is a sign of old age, not being able to hit folks with smartass comments on a timely basis.
If you can come up with better, feel free to share.
I stopped in at the hospital this afternoon to visit my mother-in-law. As I was leaving, I got in the elevator just as a man pushing a hospital gurney came out. On the gurney was resting not a patient, but a six-foot step ladder.
At the time the best I could come up with to say to the guy was, "looks like you'd better step up his treatment." I got a polite chuckle out of that. But I KNOW there's a better one out there and it bugged me the rest of the day. I'm worried this is a sign of old age, not being able to hit folks with smartass comments on a timely basis.
If you can come up with better, feel free to share.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Buy your kid this toy or he will fester
NPR had a story about how the toy industry plays on parental anxiety by convincing new parents that without expensive and shiny toys and gadgets to stimulate a child's brain, the little squirt will aspire no higher in life than to enter the janitorial service industry (not that janitorial service isn't a highly respected profession in its own right).
The story included an interview with Susan Gregory Thomas, author of Buy, Buy Baby: How Consumer Culture Manipulates Parents and Harms Young Minds. She points out how products are being marketed to stimulate certain sides of the brain and to help them develop certain cognitive skills, and to further explain that there's absolutely no science to back up the claims. She also points out that toy companies are interested in "cradle-to-grave" brand loyalty, which is why you see Dora The Explorer on everything from videos, to underpants, to notebooks, to sneakers, to computer games. I'm sure the marketers behind Dora are working on cell phones, checkbook cases, purple automobiles, and Depend Undergarments in an effort to complete the cradle-to-grave cycle as those Dora fans mature to old age.
We have a basement full of shiny, bleepy crap, most of which was given as gifts, that were supposed to somehow stimulate our childrens' development. And believe me, it's all crap. 90% of the battery-operated toys we own have long since had their batteries die, never to be replaced again. The tried-and-true winner toys are those that have nothing to do with this marketing insanity. They are:
Crayons and paper. Lots and lots of paper
wooden blocks
flash cards
books
Magna Doodle
Wdgets
Various little animals in a pretend farm/zoo set
Dress up clothes
Notice a trend here? No batteries. No branding. Total creativity allowed. And most of these items have been around for a hundred years.
There's one exception that I can think of to the flashy bleepy thing, which is the Leapster. My kids love this toy. And it's secretly educational.
My wife and I don't need to read a book to know the other crap will rot our kids' brains.
Now if I could just do something about those Disney Princesses.
The story included an interview with Susan Gregory Thomas, author of Buy, Buy Baby: How Consumer Culture Manipulates Parents and Harms Young Minds. She points out how products are being marketed to stimulate certain sides of the brain and to help them develop certain cognitive skills, and to further explain that there's absolutely no science to back up the claims. She also points out that toy companies are interested in "cradle-to-grave" brand loyalty, which is why you see Dora The Explorer on everything from videos, to underpants, to notebooks, to sneakers, to computer games. I'm sure the marketers behind Dora are working on cell phones, checkbook cases, purple automobiles, and Depend Undergarments in an effort to complete the cradle-to-grave cycle as those Dora fans mature to old age.
We have a basement full of shiny, bleepy crap, most of which was given as gifts, that were supposed to somehow stimulate our childrens' development. And believe me, it's all crap. 90% of the battery-operated toys we own have long since had their batteries die, never to be replaced again. The tried-and-true winner toys are those that have nothing to do with this marketing insanity. They are:
Crayons and paper. Lots and lots of paper
wooden blocks
flash cards
books
Magna Doodle
Wdgets
Various little animals in a pretend farm/zoo set
Dress up clothes
Notice a trend here? No batteries. No branding. Total creativity allowed. And most of these items have been around for a hundred years.
There's one exception that I can think of to the flashy bleepy thing, which is the Leapster. My kids love this toy. And it's secretly educational.
My wife and I don't need to read a book to know the other crap will rot our kids' brains.
Now if I could just do something about those Disney Princesses.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Grease without the Hotpants
If you have a daughter between the ages of 3 and, say, 16, you have probably heard of - nay, been bombarded by - High School Musical. Or as I refer to it, "Grease for today's younger generation, without the hotpants."
High School Musical is yet another gear in the massive engine that powers the DisMAY (Disney Marketing around Youth) Machine. It's a movie about two beautifully perfect high school students. She is a scholar, an academic master. He is a sports star, captain of the basketball team and wanted by every girl in school because, like, omigod, he's got those dreamy eyes. During a New Years' karaoke party the two are forced to come on stage together, having never met before, only to discover they just happen to lipsynch pop music together like angels. They spend the rest of the movie trying to figure out how they can audition for a duet in this year's high school musical without his buddies mocking him, her science geek cohorts ostracizing her, or the two of them accidentally touching lips together in an act of unbridled (and inappropriate for Disney) passion.
The music is light. It's fluffy. It's meaningless. And it's unbelievably catchy. I will be the first to admit that the songs are far better than anything Barney, the Wiggles, or Christina/Jessica/Baldy could ever hope to spout from their headsets, and you'd be hard-pressed to keep your foot from tapping or your head from bobbing if I were to play it for you right now. But after hearing the soundtrack for the nineteen-hundred and twenty-fourth time in the minivan it still makes you want to stick a car key into your temporal lobe.
My daughters love the movie. Jessica, my three-year-old, knows the words to every song and will sing "Start of Something New" to herself all day long without even realizing she's doing it. Every day, as soon as they get into the car, they demand to hear the soundtrack.
The engine powering this Disney conglomerate is just awesome. It has rocketed the stars, Whatshisname and Whatserface, to an absolute pinnacle of Disney branding. There is a float in the Disneyworld parade. They have their own section in the theme park. There's HSM parties. Clothing lines. A traveling Broadway show. Every high school is doing the show this year. Heck, there's even an article in Wikipedia.
Recently my wife heard the news that the traveling show was hitting Pittsburgh. When I heard how much the tickets were, I cringed. Four tickets (that would be for the girls, my wife, and their grandmother) would cost close to $200. Of course after the Circus fiasco, I realized that $200 really meant twice that after t-shirts were bought, autographs were obtained, and twirly High School Musical light-up doohickeys were purchased. So I decided it was time to place my foot firmly in the down position.
Luckily, I never got the chance to do so. Our daughters have moved on to Barbie Fairytopia. Oh...there's a story for another time.....
High School Musical is yet another gear in the massive engine that powers the DisMAY (Disney Marketing around Youth) Machine. It's a movie about two beautifully perfect high school students. She is a scholar, an academic master. He is a sports star, captain of the basketball team and wanted by every girl in school because, like, omigod, he's got those dreamy eyes. During a New Years' karaoke party the two are forced to come on stage together, having never met before, only to discover they just happen to lipsynch pop music together like angels. They spend the rest of the movie trying to figure out how they can audition for a duet in this year's high school musical without his buddies mocking him, her science geek cohorts ostracizing her, or the two of them accidentally touching lips together in an act of unbridled (and inappropriate for Disney) passion.
The music is light. It's fluffy. It's meaningless. And it's unbelievably catchy. I will be the first to admit that the songs are far better than anything Barney, the Wiggles, or Christina/Jessica/Baldy could ever hope to spout from their headsets, and you'd be hard-pressed to keep your foot from tapping or your head from bobbing if I were to play it for you right now. But after hearing the soundtrack for the nineteen-hundred and twenty-fourth time in the minivan it still makes you want to stick a car key into your temporal lobe.
My daughters love the movie. Jessica, my three-year-old, knows the words to every song and will sing "Start of Something New" to herself all day long without even realizing she's doing it. Every day, as soon as they get into the car, they demand to hear the soundtrack.
The engine powering this Disney conglomerate is just awesome. It has rocketed the stars, Whatshisname and Whatserface, to an absolute pinnacle of Disney branding. There is a float in the Disneyworld parade. They have their own section in the theme park. There's HSM parties. Clothing lines. A traveling Broadway show. Every high school is doing the show this year. Heck, there's even an article in Wikipedia.
Recently my wife heard the news that the traveling show was hitting Pittsburgh. When I heard how much the tickets were, I cringed. Four tickets (that would be for the girls, my wife, and their grandmother) would cost close to $200. Of course after the Circus fiasco, I realized that $200 really meant twice that after t-shirts were bought, autographs were obtained, and twirly High School Musical light-up doohickeys were purchased. So I decided it was time to place my foot firmly in the down position.
Luckily, I never got the chance to do so. Our daughters have moved on to Barbie Fairytopia. Oh...there's a story for another time.....
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Stacking the Deck
So, where have I been?
It's been an exhausting week. Mom and dad came in, and we built the deck. This was the last major step in the renovation; our house is complete now. All we have left to do is replace the grass, do general landscaping, make some built-in furniture, redo the dining room, the kids' bathroom, the front porch, the guest room, the office, finish the mud room, get a new oven, new washer and dryer....you know, just the little stuff.
The deck project was fun. Decks are really the ultimate guy projects. It of course involves lots of wood and power tools, there's lots of lifting of heavy stuff, and there's math and beer. Math, you say? When you can impress your friends by telling them how you calculated the rise and run of the stair risers and used lasers to determine if the deck would be level, well, that's a good guy project.
Building it took good portion of a week. I'd already dug the footers a couple of weeks ago, so Tuesday was spent doing most of the structure. On Wednesday I had to work (at my real job) for much of the day, so Dad busied himself with planning out the flooring and the stairs. All day Thursday was flooring, Friday more flooring, Saturday...flooring and stairs. On Sunday we finished the railing just in time for happy hour, which was my goal. The crowning moment was rolling the gas grill off the front porch (through the kitchen and family room), bringing a much overdue end to a year of neighbors yelling, "hey, what's for dinner??" every time I grilled in the front yard.
Finding the materials was an adventure. We went with "Trex-like" stuff for the floor, choosing Home Depot's cheapest offering. Luckily I was itching to get this project going for a long time and ordered the stuff over a month ago, because it took close to four weeks to arrive. The pressure treated lumber was ordered from an 84 Lumber store that closed down the day before delivery. The railing is made of aluminum tube balusters from Deckorators, bought at Lowes. The adventure there was being able to get all the tubes we needed at the Lowes in Cranberry, but finding out that the little plastic doohickeys that attach the tubes to the railing were only available at the OTHER Lowes, 20 miles away. And lastly, the top of the railing is made of (ridiculously expensive) cedar, bought at an 84 Lumber that DIDN'T close down, and strapped to the roof of the minivan in the pouring rain.
And then there were the screws.
Since the deck floor is made of composite, we needed to buy special screws. The lumber comes in gray, brown, tan, or red (we got red), and Home Depot sells special color-matched screws designed just for this purpose. Well, that is, they are color matched as long as you bought the gray or brown composite. Even though the rack at HD clearly states "red screws", there were none to be had. At any HD in Pittsburgh. Or in Connecticut, for that matter. Or Elizabeth, New Jersey. Yet when we asked a guy about special ordering them, he told us he couldn't because they are a regularly stocked item. This stupidity lasted about three weeks until I broke down and bought the brown screws. And, as it turns out, the brown screws match the red composite perfectly. Sigh. Why they couldn't have just told me to buy the brown to begin with....
By the way, some of you folks of the handy ilk might be wondering why we didn't choose one of those fancy "hidden fastener" systems that screw in from the bottom. Well, two reasons. First, it would have cost us about $800 extra. Second, every dealer we talked to said they suck. There ya have it.
So after an exhausting, muddy, wet week of non-stop work, we have a place to have a relaxing dinner or a drink.
Well, we did, until the bees found us.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Listerine Recall
The company that makes Listering has announced a voluntary nationwide consumer recall of all lots of the GLACIER MINT™ and BUBBLE BLAST™ flavors of LISTERINE® AGENT COOL BLUE™ Plaque-Detecting Rinse after the Company determined that the preservative system is not adequate against certain microorganisms.
I believe that is what's known as irony. Kills germs that cause bad breath, but not the ones that cause, oh, death.
I believe that is what's known as irony. Kills germs that cause bad breath, but not the ones that cause, oh, death.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Planning on having kid?
I have a coworker who's expecting her first baby. It got me to thinking. As a father of two children, I consider myself a seasoned expert on the subject of child-rearing. I mean, so far I've done everything right, and documented all of my successes so that when the Father Of The Year award comes up for grabs again, I'm a shoe-in.
But that's just my opinion. I might be wrong. But I doubt it.
I have some suggestions for all those new parents-to-be out there. Some might call this unsolicited advice. I think of it more as a warning to all the new players on the team. And it certainly is a team. If we don't band together, those meddling kids will take over. Ever seen the Matrix? Yeah, it's like that but with more goo. So here's how you can best ready yourself for the onslaught:
1. Start buying twice as much food as you do now. When you get home, throw half of it away. That's exactly what will happen when your kid starts eating real food. You'll spend countless hours slaving over dinner and preparing a nutritious meal, and your kid will eat one carrot and half of your slice of garlic bread because three hours ago she had conned her grandma into an extra lollipop. But she'll have plenty of room for ice cream later.
2. Pay a neighborhood kid to call your house every 47 minutes starting at 7pm until around 6:30am. That will get you used to a normal sleep pattern once you have kids. For a more realistic effect, let the neighborhood kid know what TV shows you are watching so he can be sure to call you right when all the best scenes come on.
3. Practice the Dish Color relay. Take a blue dish from the cabinet and place it on the dinner table. Walk back into the kitchen. Now go and retrieve the dish, put it away, and replace it with a red one. Now do the same with two drinking cups. Then, bring out a fork and switch it with a spoon. You see, this is what will happen when your child forms an opinion. Bring him a bowl of red grapes in a green bowl on the third Tuesday of the month, and he's going to want them in the red bowl. Give her milk in the pink sippy, and she's going to want the Dora cup with the built-in straw. And don't even think about asking which bowl she wants before you select one; she will only change her mind the moment you bring it. You see, this is how they break you down, forcing you into submission.
4. When you talk to your spouse, only say the third and fifth word of every sentence. And repeat the fifth word twice. That's how it will be once you have a kid that knows how to talk. Or, more accurately, how to interrupt.
5. Accept the fact that you and your fertile loins will be personally responsible for global warming. Between the twelve thousand pounds of diapers your little varmint will go through, the massive collection of non-biodegradable plastic Disney Princess toys that will amass in the corner of the basement giving off toxic fumes, and the truckloads of empty cereal, Eggo waffle, and Easy Mac boxes you will dispose of each week, there's no hope for this planet and it's all because you wanted someone to carry on the family name. Ironic, ain't it.
6. Ask each of your friends to plan on getting together no more than once a month. When the day comes to get together, one of you should cancel due to illness. It doesn't matter if anyone's actually sick, but it will get you used to the fact that you will never be able to make advance plans with anyone because when the time comes someone's kid will have a fever of 102 and have spent the previous night throwing up on the duvet.
7. Kiss the following things goodbye: friends, spare time, exercise routines, sleep, disposable income, nice furniture, savings, cars that don't smell like spoiled milk, ironed clothing, polished kitchen floors, CD collections, recollections of important events in history, and extra space. All those items will be distant forgotten memories once he takes over.
8. Rent a classic horror movie. When the "girl screaming at the top of her lungs" scene come on, turn the volume up past 11. This will enable you to get started on the inevitable hearing loss that comes as a result having children. There is no sound more piercing on this earth than two children playing loudly in a bathtub while you are less than a foot from them.
9. Take a container of cottage cheese, and store it under the kitchen sink for a month. Now open it. Mmmm, notice that pungent aroma? That's kid barf. Get used to it.
10. No no, this one's for you to find out yourself.
But that's just my opinion. I might be wrong. But I doubt it.
I have some suggestions for all those new parents-to-be out there. Some might call this unsolicited advice. I think of it more as a warning to all the new players on the team. And it certainly is a team. If we don't band together, those meddling kids will take over. Ever seen the Matrix? Yeah, it's like that but with more goo. So here's how you can best ready yourself for the onslaught:
1. Start buying twice as much food as you do now. When you get home, throw half of it away. That's exactly what will happen when your kid starts eating real food. You'll spend countless hours slaving over dinner and preparing a nutritious meal, and your kid will eat one carrot and half of your slice of garlic bread because three hours ago she had conned her grandma into an extra lollipop. But she'll have plenty of room for ice cream later.
2. Pay a neighborhood kid to call your house every 47 minutes starting at 7pm until around 6:30am. That will get you used to a normal sleep pattern once you have kids. For a more realistic effect, let the neighborhood kid know what TV shows you are watching so he can be sure to call you right when all the best scenes come on.
3. Practice the Dish Color relay. Take a blue dish from the cabinet and place it on the dinner table. Walk back into the kitchen. Now go and retrieve the dish, put it away, and replace it with a red one. Now do the same with two drinking cups. Then, bring out a fork and switch it with a spoon. You see, this is what will happen when your child forms an opinion. Bring him a bowl of red grapes in a green bowl on the third Tuesday of the month, and he's going to want them in the red bowl. Give her milk in the pink sippy, and she's going to want the Dora cup with the built-in straw. And don't even think about asking which bowl she wants before you select one; she will only change her mind the moment you bring it. You see, this is how they break you down, forcing you into submission.
4. When you talk to your spouse, only say the third and fifth word of every sentence. And repeat the fifth word twice. That's how it will be once you have a kid that knows how to talk. Or, more accurately, how to interrupt.
5. Accept the fact that you and your fertile loins will be personally responsible for global warming. Between the twelve thousand pounds of diapers your little varmint will go through, the massive collection of non-biodegradable plastic Disney Princess toys that will amass in the corner of the basement giving off toxic fumes, and the truckloads of empty cereal, Eggo waffle, and Easy Mac boxes you will dispose of each week, there's no hope for this planet and it's all because you wanted someone to carry on the family name. Ironic, ain't it.
6. Ask each of your friends to plan on getting together no more than once a month. When the day comes to get together, one of you should cancel due to illness. It doesn't matter if anyone's actually sick, but it will get you used to the fact that you will never be able to make advance plans with anyone because when the time comes someone's kid will have a fever of 102 and have spent the previous night throwing up on the duvet.
7. Kiss the following things goodbye: friends, spare time, exercise routines, sleep, disposable income, nice furniture, savings, cars that don't smell like spoiled milk, ironed clothing, polished kitchen floors, CD collections, recollections of important events in history, and extra space. All those items will be distant forgotten memories once he takes over.
8. Rent a classic horror movie. When the "girl screaming at the top of her lungs" scene come on, turn the volume up past 11. This will enable you to get started on the inevitable hearing loss that comes as a result having children. There is no sound more piercing on this earth than two children playing loudly in a bathtub while you are less than a foot from them.
9. Take a container of cottage cheese, and store it under the kitchen sink for a month. Now open it. Mmmm, notice that pungent aroma? That's kid barf. Get used to it.
10. No no, this one's for you to find out yourself.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Watts makes good
A while back I told the story about my defective sink rim. Well, after sending the manufacturer the $75 bill for the plumbing job and a digital photo of the defective sink rim, they made god by dropping a check for $75 in the mail to me. Great to see a company stand by their product.
Friday, April 06, 2007
No dating til you're thirty!
Okay, this story needs a little bit of setup first. If you're a regular reader you know that my 7-year-old daughter and I are in the Adventure Princess program. And you may recall me mentioning "Uncle Harry", the Ombudsman of the Adventure Princess program and official guardian of the Princesses at all campouts. Uncle Harry has two mottos: Girls rule, Boys Drool and No dating 'til you're thirty. Uncle Harry announced he is retiring this year.
So on to the story.
The family went to see Meet The Robinsons today. Loved it, by the way. By coincidence, one of Natalie's schoolmates and his mom was sitting in front of us at the theater. His name is Aiden. And boy, is he dreamy. I mean, this kid is gorgeous. And Natalie knows it. Every time his name comes up, she blushes. Her cheeks become the color of her bright red hair. So of course, we foster the blushing by referring to him as "Ayyyydennnnn...he's keeeeyuuute...." which makes her blush even more and will quite likely give her a such a complex that she will grow up to hate her parents and get tattoos all over her body to spite us.
On the way out of the theater, Natalie stopped and asked me something.
"Dad, you know how Uncle Harry is retiring?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
"Well, does that mean that maybe some of his rules won't apply anymore?"
"What rules are you talking about?"
"You know, the one about not dating until you're thirty."
"Um, yeah? Why you asking? You looking to go on a date with Aayyyydennn? He's keeeyuuuute...."
"Pssh..I mean...um...blubber...um...I mean....DADDDDD!!!!!!"
So there it is. The first sign that Natalie realizes she's a girl, he's a boy, and I need to be learning how to use a shotgun.
So on to the story.
The family went to see Meet The Robinsons today. Loved it, by the way. By coincidence, one of Natalie's schoolmates and his mom was sitting in front of us at the theater. His name is Aiden. And boy, is he dreamy. I mean, this kid is gorgeous. And Natalie knows it. Every time his name comes up, she blushes. Her cheeks become the color of her bright red hair. So of course, we foster the blushing by referring to him as "Ayyyydennnnn...he's keeeeyuuute...." which makes her blush even more and will quite likely give her a such a complex that she will grow up to hate her parents and get tattoos all over her body to spite us.
On the way out of the theater, Natalie stopped and asked me something.
"Dad, you know how Uncle Harry is retiring?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
"Well, does that mean that maybe some of his rules won't apply anymore?"
"What rules are you talking about?"
"You know, the one about not dating until you're thirty."
"Um, yeah? Why you asking? You looking to go on a date with Aayyyydennn? He's keeeyuuuute...."
"Pssh..I mean...um...blubber...um...I mean....DADDDDD!!!!!!"
So there it is. The first sign that Natalie realizes she's a girl, he's a boy, and I need to be learning how to use a shotgun.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
The Financial Circus
We surprised the kids today with a visit downtown to see the Shrine Circus. My wife found a "great deal" on tickets, so it wasn't too expensive. Sure, great deal. Once we walked in there I was robbed of every dime I had.
It's a good thing the Shriners are a charitable organization. Because there is NO reason a visit for four to the circus should have cost us over $120.
It started with the $9 for parking. Well, The folks that run Mellon Arena obviously need to maintain the parking lots somehow, at least until they are all torn up in six months when the new arena for the Penguins starts construction. Once inside, they really had us cornered.
Since we arrived early, we were able to wander around the show floor a bit. Lo and behold, the circus elephants were out and giving rides to all the kids....at five bucks a shot. Then, to the moon bounce, for another $5 each. Once we found our seats, it was of course time for a snack. Nachos, a pretzel, and a couple of drinks, $14.75. and the list goes on.
But what REALLY got me was the "great deal" on tickets. Those tickets included a hot dog and drink for each of us. so, upon intermission we ventured over to the concessions. It turns out those vouchers were only good for soda. My kids don't drink soda. So we asked for water. Oh no, those vouchers aren't good for water. Water costs an additional $3.50. I even asked for an empty cup so we could find a drinking fountain. Nope. They weren't allowed to just give us cups (thinking about this now, I should have asked for the soda then dumped it out, but I was too stunned at the time to come up with that idea).
And then, of course, came the souvenirs. Look at all those flashy sparkly things. We were able to make it almost to intermission without buying them each a flashy sparkly thing, but there's a reason the "ringmaster" got her name. At one point she had asked for the lights in the stadium to be turned off, so all the kids with sparkly flashy things could light 'em up, and all those poor waifs without flashy sparkly things could feel unloved. Twenty-two dollars later my kids allowed me back into the family.
In the end, I gave over $80 to the Shriners' machine, plus the cost of the tickets. They'd better save a couple of really sick hospital patients for that.
Oh, a final note about that $3.50 water. That does not include a cap on the bottle. The lady at the concession stand told me it's a national law that bottles of Dasani must me provided sans cap at all stadium events. Supposedly this is for safety reasons, but we all know the real answer...more chance of accidental spillage, forcing another purchase.
Oh, and as for that "Visa...Priceless" moment? That was probably when Jessica said to me, "Daddy, I'm bored. when's this over?".
It's a good thing the Shriners are a charitable organization. Because there is NO reason a visit for four to the circus should have cost us over $120.
It started with the $9 for parking. Well, The folks that run Mellon Arena obviously need to maintain the parking lots somehow, at least until they are all torn up in six months when the new arena for the Penguins starts construction. Once inside, they really had us cornered.
Since we arrived early, we were able to wander around the show floor a bit. Lo and behold, the circus elephants were out and giving rides to all the kids....at five bucks a shot. Then, to the moon bounce, for another $5 each. Once we found our seats, it was of course time for a snack. Nachos, a pretzel, and a couple of drinks, $14.75. and the list goes on.
But what REALLY got me was the "great deal" on tickets. Those tickets included a hot dog and drink for each of us. so, upon intermission we ventured over to the concessions. It turns out those vouchers were only good for soda. My kids don't drink soda. So we asked for water. Oh no, those vouchers aren't good for water. Water costs an additional $3.50. I even asked for an empty cup so we could find a drinking fountain. Nope. They weren't allowed to just give us cups (thinking about this now, I should have asked for the soda then dumped it out, but I was too stunned at the time to come up with that idea).
And then, of course, came the souvenirs. Look at all those flashy sparkly things. We were able to make it almost to intermission without buying them each a flashy sparkly thing, but there's a reason the "ringmaster" got her name. At one point she had asked for the lights in the stadium to be turned off, so all the kids with sparkly flashy things could light 'em up, and all those poor waifs without flashy sparkly things could feel unloved. Twenty-two dollars later my kids allowed me back into the family.
In the end, I gave over $80 to the Shriners' machine, plus the cost of the tickets. They'd better save a couple of really sick hospital patients for that.
Oh, a final note about that $3.50 water. That does not include a cap on the bottle. The lady at the concession stand told me it's a national law that bottles of Dasani must me provided sans cap at all stadium events. Supposedly this is for safety reasons, but we all know the real answer...more chance of accidental spillage, forcing another purchase.
Oh, and as for that "Visa...Priceless" moment? That was probably when Jessica said to me, "Daddy, I'm bored. when's this over?".
Friday, March 30, 2007
Some Passover Enlightenment
With Passover coming soon, I thought I would share some recent (and classic) discoveries to make the Seder a little more enjoyable. After all the slaves got OUT of Egypt, so it's a happy time! Let's slouch and read some Dr. Seuss!
Dr. Seuss does the Four Questions
Wasting away in Maischewitzville
Funny, this looks like my family.
Uncle Eli's Haggadah
General Dr. Seuss-like goofiness
Matzoh Man
How to dress up a flat, unleavened cracker like a gay police officer.
The Two-Minute Haggadah
A Passover service for the impatient.
By Michael Rubiner
The Computer Engineer's Haggadah
(No, really)
And, lastly, the Top Ten failed Passover Sales Promotions:
10. US ARMY - "THE ARMY OF 'who knows ONE?"
9. Animal Awareness Passover Campaign - "Frogs are our friends, not a plague."
8. American Red Cross - "This Passover, lets make rivers of blood."
7. Lenox Hill OBGYN - "We won’t throw your newborn into the Nile."
6. Adoption Promotion Week - "Drop your unwanted children in a basket in the NYC Reservoir, for less fortunate parents to find!"
5. D'Angelo's Barber Shop: "Free lice check with every haircut."
4. Republic of China's Population Control Agency - Death of the first born commemorative pins
3. Ebay: "Your Afikomen is worth a lot more than that"
2. Radioshack: "You've Got 4 Questions, We've Got Answers"
1. Kosher For Passover Ex-Lax, now in new Matzah strength - "Ex-odus"
Dr. Seuss does the Four Questions
Wasting away in Maischewitzville
Funny, this looks like my family.
Uncle Eli's Haggadah
General Dr. Seuss-like goofiness
Matzoh Man
How to dress up a flat, unleavened cracker like a gay police officer.
The Two-Minute Haggadah
A Passover service for the impatient.
By Michael Rubiner
The Computer Engineer's Haggadah
(No, really)
And, lastly, the Top Ten failed Passover Sales Promotions:
10. US ARMY - "THE ARMY OF 'who knows ONE?"
9. Animal Awareness Passover Campaign - "Frogs are our friends, not a plague."
8. American Red Cross - "This Passover, lets make rivers of blood."
7. Lenox Hill OBGYN - "We won’t throw your newborn into the Nile."
6. Adoption Promotion Week - "Drop your unwanted children in a basket in the NYC Reservoir, for less fortunate parents to find!"
5. D'Angelo's Barber Shop: "Free lice check with every haircut."
4. Republic of China's Population Control Agency - Death of the first born commemorative pins
3. Ebay: "Your Afikomen is worth a lot more than that"
2. Radioshack: "You've Got 4 Questions, We've Got Answers"
1. Kosher For Passover Ex-Lax, now in new Matzah strength - "Ex-odus"
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Pulling my crank
There's nothing like a good guy project. One of those projects that starts off as a simple fix-it and ends up as three trips to the local hardware store, the borrowing of a neighbor's pickup, and a call to the local utility company after causing a city-wide blackout. One of those projects that starts off simple enough, when you still have complete faith that it "shouldn't take more than an hour" and ends up with your spouse sending out a rescue party because you've been missing since Friday afternoon.
I had a good guy project this weekend. I had to fix my wife's elliptical machine.
The situation started at the tail end of the renovation, when the new bedroom was ready for occupancy. My neighbor and I moved this 500lb behemoth from the basement to the second floor. Unfortunately it was still plugged in when we started (yes, any good guy project is self-inflicted to begin with), and as a result we damaged the point where the electrical plug connects to the base of the unit. The plug connects to it much like a laptop, so let's call that point of connection "the plughole". It was still functional for a while, but eventually the "plughole" simply fell out of the machine.
So I called the manufacturer (has anyone noticed I have a penchant for calling manufacturers lately?) and asked if I could get a replacement plughole. He gave me a "there's good news and there's bad news" answer. The good news was they could overnight me the part for $20. The bad news was that the part was permanently attached to a wire that I would have to snake through the machine from the base all the way up to the electronic console at the top. I asked, "is it doable?" He said, "yeah sure, why not?" (I swear, that's what he said). I said, "let's do it then."
The next day the part arrived. I grabbed my tool bag and carried her up the stairs like that scene from Officer And a Gentleman, and got started.
Take a look at this machine. As you can see, there's a plastic "shell" of sorts surrounding a big round disk on each side to which the elliptical pedals are attached. The shell is attached by simple screws, so I started taking them out. After every last screw I could find was removed, I could not get the shell off. The disk seemed to be holding everything in place. And I couldn't figure out how to remove the disk.
So I called the manufacturer again. He responded with, "Oh, you need a crank puller."
In a glorious guy moment resembling that scene in Blues Brothers where John Belushi "sees the light"' the room brightened and a halo came over me as I realized that not only do I KNOW what a crank puller is, but my friends, I HAVE a crank puller! Yes, this overly expensive and very underused tool was sitting in my bike repair toolbox jut waiting for an excuse to be rediscovered. In case you are wondering, a crank puller is used to remove the axle that goes between the two pedal arms of your bicycle. But any real man would know that.
So after a quick trip to the garage and a quick, ummm, pull of my crank, the beast was subdued. Soon, the cable was snaked, the shell was put back on, and the unit was functional. Total work time, four hours spaced over three days, with approximately thirteen trips back down to the workshop for additional tools (including the crank puller). And the best part of it all? Only two leftover screws. Yes, the standard end to any normal guy project. I feel almost disappointed that I never had to call the electrical company, but the weekend's not over and Spring is in the air.
I had a good guy project this weekend. I had to fix my wife's elliptical machine.
The situation started at the tail end of the renovation, when the new bedroom was ready for occupancy. My neighbor and I moved this 500lb behemoth from the basement to the second floor. Unfortunately it was still plugged in when we started (yes, any good guy project is self-inflicted to begin with), and as a result we damaged the point where the electrical plug connects to the base of the unit. The plug connects to it much like a laptop, so let's call that point of connection "the plughole". It was still functional for a while, but eventually the "plughole" simply fell out of the machine.
So I called the manufacturer (has anyone noticed I have a penchant for calling manufacturers lately?) and asked if I could get a replacement plughole. He gave me a "there's good news and there's bad news" answer. The good news was they could overnight me the part for $20. The bad news was that the part was permanently attached to a wire that I would have to snake through the machine from the base all the way up to the electronic console at the top. I asked, "is it doable?" He said, "yeah sure, why not?" (I swear, that's what he said). I said, "let's do it then."
The next day the part arrived. I grabbed my tool bag and carried her up the stairs like that scene from Officer And a Gentleman, and got started.
Take a look at this machine. As you can see, there's a plastic "shell" of sorts surrounding a big round disk on each side to which the elliptical pedals are attached. The shell is attached by simple screws, so I started taking them out. After every last screw I could find was removed, I could not get the shell off. The disk seemed to be holding everything in place. And I couldn't figure out how to remove the disk.
So I called the manufacturer again. He responded with, "Oh, you need a crank puller."
In a glorious guy moment resembling that scene in Blues Brothers where John Belushi "sees the light"' the room brightened and a halo came over me as I realized that not only do I KNOW what a crank puller is, but my friends, I HAVE a crank puller! Yes, this overly expensive and very underused tool was sitting in my bike repair toolbox jut waiting for an excuse to be rediscovered. In case you are wondering, a crank puller is used to remove the axle that goes between the two pedal arms of your bicycle. But any real man would know that.
So after a quick trip to the garage and a quick, ummm, pull of my crank, the beast was subdued. Soon, the cable was snaked, the shell was put back on, and the unit was functional. Total work time, four hours spaced over three days, with approximately thirteen trips back down to the workshop for additional tools (including the crank puller). And the best part of it all? Only two leftover screws. Yes, the standard end to any normal guy project. I feel almost disappointed that I never had to call the electrical company, but the weekend's not over and Spring is in the air.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
The man who won a goldfish for me
My dad's best friend died this week.
His name was Otto Strobino, and he was a huge man. And I don't mean physically, but rather in every other sense of the word. He was incredibly active in the New Britain chapter of the Connecticut Lions Club (along with my dad)both locally and internationally, even serving as International Director. His C.V was a mile long, as he spent his life building businesses, relationships, and foundations, traveling the world, and basically being involved in just about everything he could possibly be involved with.
But I'll always remember him for the goldfish.
When I was somewhere around 8 years old, we all went to the Berlin Fair in Connecticut. Otto stopped to schmooze with everyone, and along the way he tossed a ping pong ball into a hole and, presto, he won a goldfish. Having no need for a goldfish at the current time, he found the nearest 8-year-old boy to give it to, which happened to be me. Would you believe that damned fish lived twelve years?
Otto (the fish) finally went to fishy heaven while I was in college. During it's very full life it spent a year in the 7th-grade science class fish tanks, where it killed all of its tank mates. It ate chicken. It ate spaghetti. It even survived an episode where my sister accidentally dropped a box of tea bags into the water and didn't notice for hours; when we discovered him he was swimming in water that was deep red in color and was suddenly talking to us with an English accent.
When my wife and I married, Otto (the man) was unable to make it to our wedding. So my father hand-delivered a gift from Otto, which of course was a new fish. Unfortunately Otto Two lasted only about twelve hours, but the moment was there. As soon as I buy that goldfish tank for my daughters, the first one's going to be named Otto.
I hadn't really seen much of Otto over the past several years, living in Pittsburgh while my family is back in CT. But once I heard about his passing, I thought about it and realized he was a surprisingly strong presence in my life. He gave my family direction in many ways, by serving as a mentor to my parents as their lifelong commitment to the Lions Club formed. He gave my family stories, by dragging my parents to exotic countries, to international conventions, and to golf courses throughout the Poconos. To me, he was the politician, the Mayor, the guy who was always shaking hands with someone. And yet, despite all his accomplishments, despite all his responsibilities, his awards, his travels and his friendships, the guy still had time to win a goldfish for an eight-year-old kid.
Goodbye Otto, we'll miss you.
His name was Otto Strobino, and he was a huge man. And I don't mean physically, but rather in every other sense of the word. He was incredibly active in the New Britain chapter of the Connecticut Lions Club (along with my dad)both locally and internationally, even serving as International Director. His C.V was a mile long, as he spent his life building businesses, relationships, and foundations, traveling the world, and basically being involved in just about everything he could possibly be involved with.
But I'll always remember him for the goldfish.
When I was somewhere around 8 years old, we all went to the Berlin Fair in Connecticut. Otto stopped to schmooze with everyone, and along the way he tossed a ping pong ball into a hole and, presto, he won a goldfish. Having no need for a goldfish at the current time, he found the nearest 8-year-old boy to give it to, which happened to be me. Would you believe that damned fish lived twelve years?
Otto (the fish) finally went to fishy heaven while I was in college. During it's very full life it spent a year in the 7th-grade science class fish tanks, where it killed all of its tank mates. It ate chicken. It ate spaghetti. It even survived an episode where my sister accidentally dropped a box of tea bags into the water and didn't notice for hours; when we discovered him he was swimming in water that was deep red in color and was suddenly talking to us with an English accent.
When my wife and I married, Otto (the man) was unable to make it to our wedding. So my father hand-delivered a gift from Otto, which of course was a new fish. Unfortunately Otto Two lasted only about twelve hours, but the moment was there. As soon as I buy that goldfish tank for my daughters, the first one's going to be named Otto.
I hadn't really seen much of Otto over the past several years, living in Pittsburgh while my family is back in CT. But once I heard about his passing, I thought about it and realized he was a surprisingly strong presence in my life. He gave my family direction in many ways, by serving as a mentor to my parents as their lifelong commitment to the Lions Club formed. He gave my family stories, by dragging my parents to exotic countries, to international conventions, and to golf courses throughout the Poconos. To me, he was the politician, the Mayor, the guy who was always shaking hands with someone. And yet, despite all his accomplishments, despite all his responsibilities, his awards, his travels and his friendships, the guy still had time to win a goldfish for an eight-year-old kid.
Goodbye Otto, we'll miss you.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
One little, two little, thirteen little indians....
As mentioned in a recent post, today was the gathering of the Adventure Princess tribe at our house. At approximately 2pm, Natalie began asking every five minutes or so how soon they would get here...which, by the way, wasn't until 6:30pm. At 6:30 on the dot, the first minivan arrived in the driveway, a dad and a princess unloaded, and the volume got turned up past Eleven.
It is simply astounding, the deafening squeal produced by a horde of such small creatures. If we could somehow harness it, I think we would have the makings of a new nonlethal weapon against terrorists. Osama himself would come running from his hidey hole with his hands to his ears crying, "make it stop, make it stop!" and we would have peace once again.
Despite that, the evening went off without a hitch. The girls first gathered around the table for "the wampum jar", during which each little angel mentions something good she did over the past few days and tosses a dollar into an ancient pot passed down over the ages from the great Chief Nonni Biscotti Chocolati to be saved for a charity at a later date. Usually, the "something good" tends to be "I helped my little brother get dressed" or "I got my mom a napkin". We have yet to hear one of the girls say something along the lines of "I urged my parents to rescue a child from Darfur and take him in as one of our own" but maybe by next year.
After the wampum jar, the kids were herded to the basement for "the craft". The craft is simply an organized way of keeping 13 kids from destroying someone's home while the dads stand back, watch, and drink a beer. Our craft involved decorating little clay pots with foamies and ribbon, then filling each with dirt and planting flower seeds.
(Now at this point, if you do not have children, you're asking yourself, "what's a foamie?" Ah, a very good question. Foamies are out to destroy the earth. Little pieces of soft, squishy poylethylsomething foam, cut into creative shapes with peel-off sticky backs. I'm certain they are not biodegradable, not recycleable, and come in plastic bins of approximately 123,000 pieces. If you DO have children, you're thinking, "ah...foamies...keep my kids quiet for a half hour...greatest things on earth)
After craft, it was of course snack time. And what's better on a school night when the moms aren't around? Why, cookies of course! We got 'em good and hyped up on sugar and sent 'em home for momma to deal with 'em. And that's all there is an to Adventure Princess evening. I gotta go dispose of 13 juice boxes and about 38,000 leftover foamies now.
It is simply astounding, the deafening squeal produced by a horde of such small creatures. If we could somehow harness it, I think we would have the makings of a new nonlethal weapon against terrorists. Osama himself would come running from his hidey hole with his hands to his ears crying, "make it stop, make it stop!" and we would have peace once again.
Despite that, the evening went off without a hitch. The girls first gathered around the table for "the wampum jar", during which each little angel mentions something good she did over the past few days and tosses a dollar into an ancient pot passed down over the ages from the great Chief Nonni Biscotti Chocolati to be saved for a charity at a later date. Usually, the "something good" tends to be "I helped my little brother get dressed" or "I got my mom a napkin". We have yet to hear one of the girls say something along the lines of "I urged my parents to rescue a child from Darfur and take him in as one of our own" but maybe by next year.
After the wampum jar, the kids were herded to the basement for "the craft". The craft is simply an organized way of keeping 13 kids from destroying someone's home while the dads stand back, watch, and drink a beer. Our craft involved decorating little clay pots with foamies and ribbon, then filling each with dirt and planting flower seeds.
(Now at this point, if you do not have children, you're asking yourself, "what's a foamie?" Ah, a very good question. Foamies are out to destroy the earth. Little pieces of soft, squishy poylethylsomething foam, cut into creative shapes with peel-off sticky backs. I'm certain they are not biodegradable, not recycleable, and come in plastic bins of approximately 123,000 pieces. If you DO have children, you're thinking, "ah...foamies...keep my kids quiet for a half hour...greatest things on earth)
After craft, it was of course snack time. And what's better on a school night when the moms aren't around? Why, cookies of course! We got 'em good and hyped up on sugar and sent 'em home for momma to deal with 'em. And that's all there is an to Adventure Princess evening. I gotta go dispose of 13 juice boxes and about 38,000 leftover foamies now.
Frogs review Home Depot's website
My friend Howard commented on the last post about why I didn't consider just getting quotes on all the materials for the deck from Home Depot's website.
I'll let the frogs explain why I didn't.
I'll let the frogs explain why I didn't.
Are you smarter than a Home Depot Employee?
So I went over to Home Depot today, to get a quote on all the materials I need to build our new deck a month from now. I figured they could just take the materials list we came up with, look the items up, and give me a quote on each so I didn’t have to walk around finding everything…right? Wrong.
I did the same at 84 lumber yesterday. It took five minutes. However, the guy at Home depot had to:
1.Log into his workstation
2.start up the same software they used to make the designs for kitchen cabinets and other advanced stuff.
3.design an entire deck ever so slightly resembling ours (mind you I had full architectural plans and a materials list with me)
4.adjust each dimension
5.print out designs and bill of materials that were very much not like what I needed
6.pick and choose certain items from the BOM and log into a different system, to find pricing
7.do additional searches to find pricing on additional things on our list but not on the BOM.
8.explain to me that he knew nothing about Trex or the other products, and suggest I call Monday.
During all that, a lady in her 60’s or so came by with her father, holding her father’s garage door opener remote. She asked if this opener had a battery in it. He said he wasn’t sure (wasn’t sure?? What kind of a man is he??). He then fiddled with it and said, “we do sell some batteries, but I’m afraid I don’t know”. I suggested sticking a coin into the little slot on the side to pop it open. He fumbled with it and decided not to try too hard, and handed it back to her, suggesting she try the outdoor department (mind you this guy is sitting at the millwork desk, which has a full display of Clopay garage doors right behind him).
After he finished my quote I went to find the lady. I popped open the remote for her, pulled out the battery and told her, “go to the radio shack up the road and ask for one of these.”
I did the same at 84 lumber yesterday. It took five minutes. However, the guy at Home depot had to:
1.Log into his workstation
2.start up the same software they used to make the designs for kitchen cabinets and other advanced stuff.
3.design an entire deck ever so slightly resembling ours (mind you I had full architectural plans and a materials list with me)
4.adjust each dimension
5.print out designs and bill of materials that were very much not like what I needed
6.pick and choose certain items from the BOM and log into a different system, to find pricing
7.do additional searches to find pricing on additional things on our list but not on the BOM.
8.explain to me that he knew nothing about Trex or the other products, and suggest I call Monday.
During all that, a lady in her 60’s or so came by with her father, holding her father’s garage door opener remote. She asked if this opener had a battery in it. He said he wasn’t sure (wasn’t sure?? What kind of a man is he??). He then fiddled with it and said, “we do sell some batteries, but I’m afraid I don’t know”. I suggested sticking a coin into the little slot on the side to pop it open. He fumbled with it and decided not to try too hard, and handed it back to her, suggesting she try the outdoor department (mind you this guy is sitting at the millwork desk, which has a full display of Clopay garage doors right behind him).
After he finished my quote I went to find the lady. I popped open the remote for her, pulled out the battery and told her, “go to the radio shack up the road and ask for one of these.”
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Is a gathering of 14 little girls a gaggle, a flock, or the coming of the Apocalypse?
Okay maybe not the Apocalypse, but certainly a tenuous situation. This Sunday, approximately fourteen six-year-old girls will descend upon our humble abode for what's known as the Adventure Princess monthly gathering. A quick scan of the house enabled me to determine we've never had fourteen of ANYTHING in this house, never mind 14 high-pitched and overly sugared kindergarteners excited to get together and share with each other their latest pursuits of the ultimate in Disney Princess dress-up accessories. Luckily, each is arriving with a dad in tow. But honestly, what good are the dads, anyways? if things get out of hand, we'll all stand around watching the chaos and sharing comments with each other like, "man, that little blonde one sure has some lungs on her, huh?" and "nah, I got out of morning duty by getting her dressed for school one day in a t-shirt that said 'who farted', two unmatched socks, a tiara and her hiking boots."
So if you don't hear from me after Sunday, you'll know that the giant magnetic field caused by the static electricity of 14 little girls running to and fro engulfed our family room and sucked it into a black hole, lost for all of eternity. Or I may just be tired from the cleanup.
So if you don't hear from me after Sunday, you'll know that the giant magnetic field caused by the static electricity of 14 little girls running to and fro engulfed our family room and sucked it into a black hole, lost for all of eternity. Or I may just be tired from the cleanup.
I'm getting old
It's official. I'm getting old. My doctor told me.
I went for my annual physical a month ago, the one I get religiously every decade or so. Usually my blood pressure is obscenely low, my cholesterol is made of silk, and my pulse is often sampled by a local techno band because of it's perfectly rhythmic qualities. The only family history of illness I have is an occasional deviated septum, a couple of hernias, and one long-lost uncle who died in a clash with a rabid wildebeest in on an African safari.
But not this time. The news came down like a piano tied to a rope outside a 4-story walkup. It went sort of like this...
Nurse calls: Hi, I've got the results of your blood tests.
Me: Do tell.
Nurse: Everything's normal, including your overall cholesterol, but your Good Cholesterol is too low. You need to start working out.
Me: How did you know I don't work out?
Nurse: Oh please...
So that's it. My overall plans to coast into my golden years by spending every evening in front of the plasma with a bowl of Moose Tracks in one hand and a handful of my kids' Goldfish crackers in the other is for naught. I need to get my ass off the couch.
I went for my annual physical a month ago, the one I get religiously every decade or so. Usually my blood pressure is obscenely low, my cholesterol is made of silk, and my pulse is often sampled by a local techno band because of it's perfectly rhythmic qualities. The only family history of illness I have is an occasional deviated septum, a couple of hernias, and one long-lost uncle who died in a clash with a rabid wildebeest in on an African safari.
But not this time. The news came down like a piano tied to a rope outside a 4-story walkup. It went sort of like this...
Nurse calls: Hi, I've got the results of your blood tests.
Me: Do tell.
Nurse: Everything's normal, including your overall cholesterol, but your Good Cholesterol is too low. You need to start working out.
Me: How did you know I don't work out?
Nurse: Oh please...
So that's it. My overall plans to coast into my golden years by spending every evening in front of the plasma with a bowl of Moose Tracks in one hand and a handful of my kids' Goldfish crackers in the other is for naught. I need to get my ass off the couch.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Bugabootoo Redux
I must send praise to Columbia Sportswear for treating their customers so well. A half dozen years or so ago, I bought a pair of waterproof boots (similar to these). I pretty much only wear them in the snow. Around here, that means I probably wear them a total of about 8 hours a year. Otherwise, they sit in my basement feeling lonely. A few weeks ago I put them on to find that the leather upper had completely separated from the rubber bottoms. Okay, they are slightly old, but come on....
So I decided to call Columbia Sportswear. The customer service rep agreed with me feelings, that any boot used this little should still have decades of life in them. He then asked me if the rubber was cracked, which it was. He said, "ah, you may have a pair made when we were having some problems with our rubber supply. Send them to our warranty center, they just might replace them even though they are out of warranty".
They are! How about that? It's good to see some sign of intelligent life in this day and age of planned obsolescence and decreasing quality of manufacture.
So I decided to call Columbia Sportswear. The customer service rep agreed with me feelings, that any boot used this little should still have decades of life in them. He then asked me if the rubber was cracked, which it was. He said, "ah, you may have a pair made when we were having some problems with our rubber supply. Send them to our warranty center, they just might replace them even though they are out of warranty".
They are! How about that? It's good to see some sign of intelligent life in this day and age of planned obsolescence and decreasing quality of manufacture.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Apheresis Donation
Hey, I'm back. No, I wasn't taking a break to let the flamers cool down. I was traveling on business and visiting my buddy Paul and his wife and squirt on Dallas. I got back Friday, and spent Saturday morning donating platelets through Apheresis at the local blood bank.
I've been a blood donor for years. I usually give every time they call me, and it feels good to so. Blood donation doesn't seem to affect me physically, and I can usually get through the day without any dizziness of tiredness. So during my last donation, I got curious about the machine a couple of donors were hooked up to across the room, and the nurse explained the apheresis process to me.
As explained by the Central Blood Bank website and by the nurse, during apheresis blood is drawn and sent through a cell-separator machine. The machine spins the blood to separate the needed component, and then returns the remaining components to the donor in the same arm. I learned that this process is used to give platelets, which are the cellular component that stops bleeding and are used for cancer or leukemia patients, transplant patients and people with blood disorders. she told me the process would take about 2-1/2 hours and could be done early on a Saturday morning. And while a pint of whole blood has a shelf life of 45 days, platelets last only 5 days, making it all that much more important for the Blood Bank to find platelet donors regularly. Sounded good to me. So I signed up.
Up to the point of the actual needle stick, the beginning of the process is exactly the same as a regular blood donation. Fill out some papers, check the vitals, fill in a bunch of bubbles to answer questions about my last trip to Africa with an HIV-stricken pregnant prostitute with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease and a penchant for needle-sharing to get a tattoo.
After the needle stick, things got a little weird.
In a normal donation, the nurse hangs the bag below you and gravity does the work of removing the blood from your arm. With Apheresis, the blood is sucked by a pump from your arm. As it enters the machine, those wheels start whirring as the centrifuge kicks into gear, and the platelets are separated from the blood. The rest of the blood is mixed with an anticoagulant and fed back into your arm through the same needle. I must say, I was not a fan of that feeling. Not only was it literally a rush to the head, but the anticoagulant, as I was told, made my lips, teeth, and head tingle. The nurse gave me Tums to eat, telling me that would ease the tingling. Oddly, they did. That went on for a little over an hour. I also found that if my arm rested in a more natural position (palm down), the blood didn't flow so well through the machine, and it began beeping like R2-D2 to warn the nurse.
After the process was done, it took a little more time for me than usual to make it to the cantina for my free cookie and juice. I was light headed and bordering on nauseous. But that passed in about ten minutes, and I was back to normal. The nurse told me that extra calcium before a donation next time would help all those feelings.
Apheresis is a rewarding and extremely necessary experience. I certainly won't do it every time I give blood, but I could see doing it once a year or more. If you've got the stomach and criteria for blood donation, then give apheresis a try. It may be a bit uncomfortable and draining (literally), but look on the bright side: you'll save a few lives, get to watch a grainy copy of Terminator 3 while you sit there, make your kids look at you like you're a superhero, and convince your spouse that the most important thing you should do the rest of that busy Saturday is sit out on the deck and relax.
I've been a blood donor for years. I usually give every time they call me, and it feels good to so. Blood donation doesn't seem to affect me physically, and I can usually get through the day without any dizziness of tiredness. So during my last donation, I got curious about the machine a couple of donors were hooked up to across the room, and the nurse explained the apheresis process to me.
As explained by the Central Blood Bank website and by the nurse, during apheresis blood is drawn and sent through a cell-separator machine. The machine spins the blood to separate the needed component, and then returns the remaining components to the donor in the same arm. I learned that this process is used to give platelets, which are the cellular component that stops bleeding and are used for cancer or leukemia patients, transplant patients and people with blood disorders. she told me the process would take about 2-1/2 hours and could be done early on a Saturday morning. And while a pint of whole blood has a shelf life of 45 days, platelets last only 5 days, making it all that much more important for the Blood Bank to find platelet donors regularly. Sounded good to me. So I signed up.
Up to the point of the actual needle stick, the beginning of the process is exactly the same as a regular blood donation. Fill out some papers, check the vitals, fill in a bunch of bubbles to answer questions about my last trip to Africa with an HIV-stricken pregnant prostitute with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease and a penchant for needle-sharing to get a tattoo.
After the needle stick, things got a little weird.
In a normal donation, the nurse hangs the bag below you and gravity does the work of removing the blood from your arm. With Apheresis, the blood is sucked by a pump from your arm. As it enters the machine, those wheels start whirring as the centrifuge kicks into gear, and the platelets are separated from the blood. The rest of the blood is mixed with an anticoagulant and fed back into your arm through the same needle. I must say, I was not a fan of that feeling. Not only was it literally a rush to the head, but the anticoagulant, as I was told, made my lips, teeth, and head tingle. The nurse gave me Tums to eat, telling me that would ease the tingling. Oddly, they did. That went on for a little over an hour. I also found that if my arm rested in a more natural position (palm down), the blood didn't flow so well through the machine, and it began beeping like R2-D2 to warn the nurse.
After the process was done, it took a little more time for me than usual to make it to the cantina for my free cookie and juice. I was light headed and bordering on nauseous. But that passed in about ten minutes, and I was back to normal. The nurse told me that extra calcium before a donation next time would help all those feelings.
Apheresis is a rewarding and extremely necessary experience. I certainly won't do it every time I give blood, but I could see doing it once a year or more. If you've got the stomach and criteria for blood donation, then give apheresis a try. It may be a bit uncomfortable and draining (literally), but look on the bright side: you'll save a few lives, get to watch a grainy copy of Terminator 3 while you sit there, make your kids look at you like you're a superhero, and convince your spouse that the most important thing you should do the rest of that busy Saturday is sit out on the deck and relax.
Monday, March 05, 2007
A public apology: no pizza for you!
It seems that my innocent attempts to provide visual humor have offended. No real surprise here. But when I created my last post about Pizza Hut, I did what I usually do, which was to find an applicable image on google images and stick a pic of it next to the title of the post. Well, it seems the owner of the graphic didn't like it so much. First, I received a comment from whom I can only assume was the webmaster of the site where the graphic originated, suggesting that I was a thieving bodily orifice and that I should suffer with some sort of pain. I assume it to be the webmaster only because, well, who else would be tracking the possible bandwidth that the graphic would use? After a reply of my own, I received a far more professional, polite, and informative reply from someone whom I can only assume is an owner or officer in the business owning the website. One that politely explained their position. And I've granted their wishes and removed the graphic from my blog. A reasonable explanation deserves a reasonable response.
So, since this is a family friendly blog (at least it tries to be), I will point out the first lesson...that you get better results through politeness and patience than by being a blithering and threatening moron.
And by the way, I only deleted the comments because of the blitherer. I would have been happy to save the one from the site owner but I accidentally deleted it as well.
Now as for the use of graphics in general, I will also abide by the wishes of this site owner and be more forthright about my use of images, checking copyright where applicable and asking permission whenever possible. Frankly, I was wondering how long til something like that was going to happen.
And hey - we've all got a lot to learn about this newfangled thing called the World Wide Web. I still think it's a fad. We'll see.
So, since this is a family friendly blog (at least it tries to be), I will point out the first lesson...that you get better results through politeness and patience than by being a blithering and threatening moron.
And by the way, I only deleted the comments because of the blitherer. I would have been happy to save the one from the site owner but I accidentally deleted it as well.
Now as for the use of graphics in general, I will also abide by the wishes of this site owner and be more forthright about my use of images, checking copyright where applicable and asking permission whenever possible. Frankly, I was wondering how long til something like that was going to happen.
And hey - we've all got a lot to learn about this newfangled thing called the World Wide Web. I still think it's a fad. We'll see.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Irony in the form of Pizza
There's an article in CNN about Pizza Hut's "Book It" program being denounced by critics as corporate sponsorship run amok, leading to child obesity, etc. In the program kids read a certain amount of books and, in an exchange, receive a gift certificate towards a personal pan pizza. Critics say that all this is doing is pressuring parents to take their kids to Pizza Hut to engorge them with heart-disease-ridden pizza.
It's sad because yes, this is "corporate sponsorship run amok," and the end result is simply more business for pizza hut by the parents who have to buy a large pizza when they bring their kid there for his or her personal pan. It's sad because it's promoting fatty snacks for learning, and what kid would want to read a book if there wasn't a pizza in it for him?
But it's also sad because in many schools or families I imagine that this is the only way to get some kids to read. There's plenty of families out there that do a lousy job of promoting good learning habits and plenty of families that truly believe a pizza provides all four of the basic food groups (breads, meats, cheese, veggies) in one convenient package.
And lastly, it's sad because, frankly, I'd be willing to bet the Pizza Hut marketers truly believe this isn't a bad idea. Hey, if we can help kids learn to read, we're doing a great favor to our kids! So why shouldn't we make a buck or two while we do it? We've got to be able to afford the plan somehow, right? Well, yes. Right. But usually every bad idea that ends up blowing up the earth starts off as a good idea with good intentions.
I think I will go read a book to my daughter while she eats some fruit. she might even like it.
It's sad because yes, this is "corporate sponsorship run amok," and the end result is simply more business for pizza hut by the parents who have to buy a large pizza when they bring their kid there for his or her personal pan. It's sad because it's promoting fatty snacks for learning, and what kid would want to read a book if there wasn't a pizza in it for him?
But it's also sad because in many schools or families I imagine that this is the only way to get some kids to read. There's plenty of families out there that do a lousy job of promoting good learning habits and plenty of families that truly believe a pizza provides all four of the basic food groups (breads, meats, cheese, veggies) in one convenient package.
And lastly, it's sad because, frankly, I'd be willing to bet the Pizza Hut marketers truly believe this isn't a bad idea. Hey, if we can help kids learn to read, we're doing a great favor to our kids! So why shouldn't we make a buck or two while we do it? We've got to be able to afford the plan somehow, right? Well, yes. Right. But usually every bad idea that ends up blowing up the earth starts off as a good idea with good intentions.
I think I will go read a book to my daughter while she eats some fruit. she might even like it.
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