Cow Magnets

So my friend Howard posted a links to a couple of interesting stories about cows this week. Funny, he usually focuses on politics, but I'm thinking there's not much going on in politics this week. Either that or his FIOS is busted again.

First, it seems that more and more these days cows are being fed things like potato chips and M&Ms, because farmers can get deals from the factories that make junk food to purchase leftovers on the cheap. Mmmm...now imagine slathering that cow with butter. There's your Good Morning Burger right there!

Second, there's a story about how a study was done by people with extra time on their hands, and it turns out a vast majority of cows stand facing magnetic north. I have a theory as to why.

I just finished reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Critics were overwhelmingly positive about this book, but frankly I thought it was a fabulously written mediocre story. The author did an absolutely incredible job building the setting for the story in tremendously vivid, intentionally rambling detail, but while half of me loved that side of the book the other half was extremely annoyed at how little actually HAPPENED in the story in close to 600 pages. Up to the very end he has you on the edge of your seat waiting for the big reveal, and afterward you say, "that's it?" In case you are into this sort of thing and plan on reading it I won't stop you, but I will make mention of something I first learned about while reading this story.

Cow Magnets.

It seems that since cows graze in the grass (when they aren't chowing down on Pringles and M&M's), they tend to pick up pieces of metal such as barbed wire bits, nuts and bolts, and the like. Farmers feed 3-inch cylindrical magnets to the cow, and the magnet picks up the chaff that the cow swallows, keeping the nails and such from causing something fittingly called "hardware disease". Huh. Hardware disease. Anyone who's seen the mess of buckets under my workbench knows I have a little bit of that myself.

My point being, whatcha got yerself her is a bona fide cow compass. If I had a chunk of magnetized iron in my 4th bonivial meta-colon I'd probably face due north too.

Too cool for school work

P1090156
Originally uploaded by daninhim

In an effort to catch up on a little blogging I thought I'd post a pic of my most recent woodworking project. Now that Thing#1 is entering 2nd grade, she needs a place to do her calculus homework. A coworker moving out of town offered up a few sheets of mdf and plywood that she didn't want to schlep in the moving van, so I jumped on the opportunity and build Natalie this desk and bulletin board. As is the case with most workshop projects, I learned a few things along the way. Like the fact there's a right way and a wrong way to hang doors (one of these days I need to deal with the fact that the drawer face is crooked). Or the fact that one should always plan ahead to make sure the project, once built, can make it's way out of the workshop and to its final resting place using available manpower and without denting the door frame.

On a more informational note, I came across this polyacrylic finish from General Finishes. This stuff is great. It's a clear glop that, coming out of the can, kinda resembles phlegm. But after laying three coats of it on the desktop, the surface is now impervious to dents, scratches, and perhaps even stinger missiles. I'm considering painting the entire inside of the house with it.

A missed opportunity

The Olympics are now over. I can resurface. Okay, so that's not really the reason I haven't written for a while, I've just been short on fodder. Fodderless, as it were. But, today I had a sad thought.

I realized that I missed a grand opportunity to excel as a parent these past couple of weeks. You see, we let the kids watch much of the amazing Olympics opening ceremonies, but failed to do so much as debrief them on any of the competitions that happened throughout. You see, when they are awake, and the TV is on, usually it's Hannah Montana or some crap like that. Because I'm so used to simply NOT watching TV during the day, I never once thought to put the daytime coverage of the events on TV instead. and the events that unfolded in the evening occurred after their bedtimes. So our household was Phelpsless. Boltless. Completely without Costas. I know I know...Tivo....

Today while driving home from work I caught a snippet of NPR All Things Considered, the portion where they read listeners' letters. One writer commented about how he agonized over letting his kids stay up so late, but after Phelps won his awards and the kids dashed across the street to do their best imitations of him in the neighbors' pool, he realized how justified he was letting them witness these amazing events as they unfolded. Suddenly I felt guilty. Cuz I didn't.

We had Tivo'd the closing ceremonies, and as many know there was a final mens' volleyball competition against Brazil as part of that recording. I mentioned it to the kids, and we watched. Jessica (and her mother) got bored and cranky after ten minutes, but Natalie and I stared riveted (I'm a huge Vball fan anyways). By the last game Natalie was hooting and hollering and jumping on the couch. She was so completely excited to see the USA win a medal, she went to sleep singing "God Bless the USA" with a grin on her face.

Well, at least that made me feel a little better.

Good news is that her birthday party is next week, and her brilliant yet slow-thinking dad is planning an Olympics of our own in the back yard. Chocolate coins hot-glued to ribbons will serve as medals, and instead of track & Field and Swimming we'll have the Monkey & Banana race and tug 'o war. Should be fun. Stay tuned.

I'm in gripe mode this week.

As I mentioned in my last post, part of our adventure to OfficeMax included getting ripped off by the price of printer ink. I know, get in line. As I mentioned, we us a Canon Pixma ip5200. It's actually quite a nice printer. It does photos well, it's fast and quiet, and it prints two-sided. And, as I mentioned one of the "selling points" at the time was that each ink comes in it's own cartridge, so you only need to replace the ones you use up instead of wasting the other inks when one color runs out.

Bullfeathers.

Last night I printed twenty copies of an invitation to my daughter's birthday party. It was 4-color, with a couple of photos, and the design was pretty heavy on yellow.

After copy #4, the yellow ran out. I replaced it. After copy #5, the cyan ran out. After copy #6, the magenta ran out. After copy #10, the black ran out.

Good thing I didn't waste all that cyan, magenta, and black when I replaced the yellow.

I'm really considering one of the new printers Kodak is proclaiming will save a ton of money on ink, as their replacement cartridges are only ten bucks for black and 15 for 5-color. Plus with their current sale, you get 4 extra blacks and three color carts with the printer for $149. Considering we just spent around fifty bucks for a set of 5 colors for the canon which will probably last 4 months, this seems like a really good deal. Plus I've been considering buying a scanner for a while.

Trouble is, I can't get a good handle on the reviews of this thing. Some people say it's the greatest thing ever. some say it's horrible. So which is it? Bear in mind most of the printing we do tends to NOT be photos, but rather printouts from websites or color pictures of favorite webkinz characters. But how well it print? And also how well does it scan? Help me Obi Wan, you're my only hope.

Okay, on to my next gripe.

About a month ago I hopped onto the website for Thule car racks to buy a couple of replacement parts. Recently I had to remove the roof rack from our van and discovered two of the "feet" had rusted solid. As a result I had to cut them off. Thule has this handy website from which you can order replacement parts, but the problem as you can see here it listed the foot (the part I needed) as out of stock. but I found it odd that the full kit at the top was available. So I called them.

The nice lady I spoke to told me that this part is no longer manufactured. She said they DO have some in stock, but don't advertise it on the website because they are running low. But regardless she took my order and told me they'd be shipped out in a day or two.

A day or two later, I received ONE foot. Well, that's useful.

I found it odd that the packing slip said quantity=2, so I called them. This guy named Frank, in the Quebec office, told me that this was because the second foot was backordered. I asked him how could they be backordered if they are not manufactured anymore. He paused for a moment, and then I distinctly heard the sound of a metal file drawer opening. Then he said, "I've got one here, I will ship it out to you."

That was nine days ago.

Today I called Thule back, and got Frank again. I asked him what happened to my second foot. He told me that "according to the computer it said there were more in the warehouse, but that was wrong and instead they need to ship from the other warehouse, and that was going to take another week."

You know, when I was a kid, my mom would often drag me along during her visits to the supermarket. And whenever a new flavor of Pop Tarts caught my eye, she would always give me the same sneaky answer. "Those are on sale at the other store.," she would say.

To this day I've never been to "the other store."

Anyone need a roof rack with only three feet?

OfficeMax Promotions and logic

Every once in a while OfficeMax has a "15% off everything that fits in this bag" promotion in the Sunday paper. You take the paper bag with you to OfficeMax and, like it says, get 15% off anything that fits in the bag. It just so happened that we needed a few things, so we took the bag to the store yesterday and purchased about about $50 worth of items. As the headset-wearing drone(what's up with those things, anyways? what are these guys, Navy Seals?) behind the register rang up the items and placed them on the counter, I put them back in the promotional paper bag, thinking I'd use it to take my new purchase home and use the bag to hold old newspapers for recycling later.

But no, the cashier told me he had to confiscate that bag so I didn't try to use it a second time, and he transferred everything into an overly large plastic bag, tossing the paper one into a trash can behind him.

What the?????

Hasn't Al Gore taught these people anything? I had a perfectly good recyclable bag in my hand, but no, that goes into the trash, which I'm sure will be tossed in a landfill, and instead I get to waste a plastic bag.

I'm pretty sure OfficeMax sells markers. Anyone think that maybe a better practice would be to grab a sharpie and scribble "USED" across the paper bag? Brilliant, I know. I want credit for that idea when they start doing it. And yes, I wrote an email to OfficeMax. I'm just that annoyed.

I should also mention that one of the reasons we went there was to get raped on new inkjet cartridges. We have a Canon Pixma printer that has 5 separate cartridges, and in theory you "only replace the ones you need." In reality they all empty at the same time, so the theory is complete marketing bullshit.

Normally I would hunt the web to find a good deal on cartridges, but we needed them in a hurry so we figured the 15% promotion would be good enough. When we got there I learned that they now sell an OfficeMax-branded version of the Canon cartridges, at a discounted price. Great. Except that they don't sell the 5-pack, only individual colors. And if you add up the price of the individual colors of the OfficeMax-branded ones, the price is exactly the same as the 5-pack Canon-branded set. Again. Brilliant.

The Vomitron claims another soul

I've been reduced to applesauce. Here I am, it's 12:57am and, in a desperate attempt to nourish my recently emptied body, I am carefully and tentatively spooning applesauce. The Vomitron has claimed another soul.

This evening's festivities involved going to a local church fair. All the good stuff was in attendance. Sugar coated funnel cakes, teenage girls texting each other in their short shorts and straight, lifeless hair, and Carnies hawking cheaply made stuffed Care Bears behind booths falsely advertising easy wins. And of course, there were rides. As a dutiful dad of an almost-eight-year-old, I was ready to show my girl the wonder of the spinning steel monsters with minimum height requirements.

I've never been squeamish about bile-inducing carnival rides, but over the past few years I have noticed my stomach acting more and more questionably with every spinning teacup, every looping roller coaster. And as we approached the shining yet rickety centrifugal force experiment, I'm pretty sure my belly button mouthed the words, "dude, I suggest the carousel."

I ignored my belly button.

Natalie and I mounted the steps and took our places in the circle of fun-seekers, and the churning began. As she squealed in excitement, I looked for stationary items on the horizon on which to focus in a futile attempt to maintain control, all the while holding back my hot dog and fries like a pit bull trainer holds back his killer dog. I survived the ride, but thought about finding a discrete tree to grab hold of before my legs gave out. It was a comfortable, cool evening, and I was sweating profusely. My feet were numb, and the sounds of the carnival around me were quickly dissolving into a muffled hum in the back of my head.

The wave of sickness eventually began to clear. That's when Natalie asked to go on the Octopus.



Off in the distance I saw my next challenge, one of those rides with eight two-person cars on the ends of long arms, the arms rotating around a central axis allowing the cars to spin freely and wildly depending upon the distribution of weight. I thought that I saw a central handlebar in each car that would allow passengers to maintain control of the spinning. I thought wrong.

As this pathetic yet dutiful dad mounted the ride with his grinning daughter, I searched in vain for that handlebar but to no avail. The ride began, and it was then that I learned that the 120-pound difference between our weights was quite an enabler. The car began spinning wildly.

The ride lasted exactly two rotations too long. Even Natalie said so. I finished off the ride the color of Kermit the Frog; she was a shade of Gonzo.



The good news was I didn't lose it at the carnival. The other good news was that the friends we were with had decided, while Natalie and I were doing our best imitations of smoothie makers, that their three-year-old had had enough and it was time to go. I barely remember the ride home, other than leaning out the window with the wind in my face, hoping not to chuck in their brand new Highlander.

When I got home, after about a half hour of sitting on the bathroom floor shivering and sweating, my intestinal fortitude gave way, and the funnel cake came back up with a show of violence not seen since the last Jason Statham movie.

I went straight to bed, but now at a little past midnight I've realized I don't have the nutrition in me to last until morning. The safe choice seems to be applesauce. It appears to be staying down.


Update: I forgot to mention that this was Natalie's first experience in memory of her father using the word "Shit." I believe it was fully justified.

Immaculate Conception?

Well, the Evening of Solitary Wonder went as planned. While Hilary was off at the resort with things #1 and #2, I managed to build a complete, to-scale replica of the Basilica in Rome carved from a single piece of curly Bubinga down in my workshop, watched Transformers with only slight damage to one eardrum, and not once did I have to listen to what I'm listening to right now, which is the sound of my four-year-old screaming at the top of her lungs from the timeout chair proclaiming she wants to be second in the shower instead of first.

Perhaps the only flaw in my plan was forgetting to disconnect the phone. It rang at least a half dozen times throughout the night, the caller ID usually informing me that some durned fool family member was checking to see if I was enjoying my night off from the family. People, stay with me here.

On to another subject. So we've got this fish. A blood parrot South American Cichlid. He's been acting kinda funky lately. First, he's taken to rearranging his tank, by pulling up all the plants and by sucking up gravel in his mouth and spitting it into various corners such that the bottom of the tank resembles the topography of the Adirondacks. Second, he's taken to hiding away in a corner behind the sunken pirate keg and when we approach the tank he'll puff himself up to twice his normal size and charge straight at us till he bumps his noggin on the glass, over and over again.

First, I thought Goldie was just in need of a hobby. Now I'm starting to wonder if something else is up. Something involving planned parenthood. So I decided to pull the tank out a bit and peer around to get a good look at Goldie's little hideout in the back of the tank, and there on the bed of gravel I noticed what looked kind of like tiny pieces of rice in a bed of algae. Neither makes sense, since I just cleaned out the tank last Sunday. There's no algae in the tank right now, and there certainly shouldn't be any sand. I started to wonder...could this be some sort of fish eggs? Does Goldie have a nest? Is he a she? None of this makes any sense, since Goldie lives alone except for an algae sucker that never comes out of the pirate keg. If anyone out there knows anything about the odd habits of South American blood parrot cichlids, do tell. The last time Goldie was in a tank with another fish (besides the sucker) was about four months ago. What's the gestation period for cichlid babies? I'm not sure I want to know.

I'm giddy with anticipation

Have I mentioned lately I have a wonderful wife? She obviously must love me, because she's giving me a fabulous gift later this week. She's made reservations at Oglebay, a resort in West Virginia, and hasn't invited me to come along. Instead, she's taking the kids, leaving me home to fend for myself for 48 hours.



I've slept in our house alone exactly once. It was the day Natalie was born. After 18 hours of grueling labor (trust me, it was exhausting, I don't know how I survived it), I came home around 6am and slept for a good ten hours, or at least until Cousin Vivian called and woke me up to explain how traumatic it was thirty years ago when her uterus exploded (I will never forgive her for that). So after almost 8 years, the house is mine again.

And what sort of debauchery do I have planned for my night at home alone?

Well, first I'm probably going to clean the house. As any parent knows, cleaning a house with kids around is like trying to mark a path of Reese's Pieces while E.T. follows you. It's really pointless. I just want one evening where I can sit down on the couch without impaling myself on a Barbie doll.

Next, I will head down to the workshop. And NOT expect to be called back upstairs five minutes later to resolve a fight over who gets to log into Webkins just as my fingers are coming a little too close to the table saw blade.

Then, I think I'll do a little bit of research into audio performance. Having two children that go to bed early (or one would hope) and a wife who insists on watching a movie with the volume so low I need the subtitles for the hearing impaired on (seriously), I've never had my surround sound system to a volume level loud enough to be heard over the flickering of a votive candle. Well, I've got the Transformers movie coming from Netflix tomorrow, and the volume's going up to eleven baby. So don't call, cuz I won't be answering the phone.

Oh, and don't stop by expecting to visit, either. All of the above will be done naked. Except maybe the part about the table saw.

Really it's a sad, sad life I live.

Time for an airing of the grievances

There have been a multitude of things annoying me lately, so you need to feel my pain. Let's get right to it.

First on the list, credit card fraud. The other day I got my Visa statement to find three identical charges on June 12 for blockbuster.com, for about ten bucks and change each. Being a Netflix user, I found it a little disconcerting. After a little investigation I learned that some varmint filled out three applications for blockbuster.com and thus got three free movies, all with false names but using my credit card number.

Who let that happen? Isn't the name on the application and the name on the credit card supposed to match? did anyone check the application? Run the credit card? The nice folks at Blockbuster customer service in fact told me this happens "all the time". Nonetheless, she asked me four times during the conversation if I'd like to take that thirty dollars worth of charges and, rather than get a refund, open up a Blockbuster.com account of my own. Right.

And why do I have to spend five bucks to get the credit card fraud affidavit notarized before I can be refunded the $32 in charges? Why is it important that some guy working at the local Kinkos put his signature on a piece of paper before I send it in to the credit card company? I think I need to start a career as a notary, as it appears this is perhaps the easiest way to make five bucks on earth.

Next up, Costco. Two weeks ago we purchased a couple of big 'ol floor pillows for our living room. One red, one green. We figured we'd exchange the color we didn't like for mate to the one we did. Upon returning to Costco with the red one I discovered there were no more greens to be had in the store. And they couldn't call around to other Costco stores, because all the colors fall under the same upc code. And they're not available online. Swell. So much for state-of-the-art inventory systems. Anyone need a green floor pillow?

And then there's the takeout lunch I had yesterday. I stopped into this sandwich shop I'd never been to before. As I was waiting for my grilled veggie wrap I noticed a sign that said the cups in which they provide drinks are corn-based, biodegradable cups. Very progressive of them, ignoring for a moment the argument of whether or not we're using too much corn in this country. So why did they provide me with my takeout sandwich in a Styrofoam container double-bagged in two plastic shopping bags? People, come on now.

Last but certainly not least,let's talk about cars, car repair, and indicators of pending destruction. A couple of weeks ago I determined my ever-faithful Mazda 626, with 107k miles on it, was due for a timing belt change. That $800 repair at the Mazda dealer turned into a $1600 repair quickly when I found out that not only was the timing belt about to break off, but the pulleys that the belt rode on were screwed as well. To make life even more fun, once I got the Mazda back I brought the Odyssey in to National Tire And Battery for brake work, as the whole front end was shuddering when slowing to a stop. Boom, there was another $792 worth of repairs. Now, only a week after getting the Mazda back, a system malfunction light has appeared on the dashboard. Two days later, the exact same warning light appeared on the Honda. Coincidence? I think not. Conspiracy? Most likely.

I could go on, but I have breakfast to eat.

I'm on vacation, gimme a break

Okay, so Renovating Parenthood has been a tad dry in terms of content lately. What do you want from me, it's summer! There's lawns to mow! Porches to rebuild! Chipmunks to poison!

And despite the media's insistence that we should all be planning our staycations this summer, the family unit and I decided to buck the system and get out of Dodge last week. Off we went to Baltimore, home of those baseball-playing Oreos. The last time we really went anywhere as a crew was Niagara, where it disgusted me to feel I was dumping the contents of my wallet over Canada for mediocre entertainment and lousy fast food. Oddly enough the same sort of wallet-cleaning occurred in Baltimore, but frankly I was okay with it. Baltimore is a fabulous town, and we enjoyed spending our money there.

While kudos goes to the wife for excellent planning and hotel arrangements, I take responsibility for making the drive to Baltimore completely blissful. The key was my brilliant idea to have the girls, armed with their dvds and snack foods, buckled in about a mile behind us virtually out of earshot in the third row of the Odyssey. Until Honda includes a cone of silence as optional equipment, that's about as good as it's gonna get. Stress-free drive means a stress free daddy.

My wife selected the Inn at Henderson's Wharf as the place to park our weary behinds during the stay. She couldn't have found a better spot. A converted tobacco factory right on the water, it was a fantastic place. If you're headed to Baltimore I highly recommend it.

During the week we did the typical touristy things. We rode the Duck Boats, spent a dad admiring the fishies in the fantastic Baltimore Aquarium, and ate more ice cream than one really should in an average week. We even checked out the B&O Railroad Museum, followed by a day visiting friends in Annapolis, and had a chance to tour the gorgeous Annapolis Harbor and ogle the yachts.

So, now we're back. I promise to be a better grandson. I promise to write more. Really I do.

A hero gone

Sorry, it's been a while since the last writing, but I would be remiss if I were to not post something about this week's celebrity loss, George Carlin.

Growing up, I had two role models in my life: Kermit the Frog and George Carlin. Sure, you might ask, "what about your dad?", but I would point out that in my twisted memory of childhood Kermit and my dad were the same, um, person. Ask my sister and she'd say the same.

I grew up with Carlin. I said my first dirty words with Carlin. Some day I will find out what a few of them actually mean.

I was introduced to George in the 80's with Carlin At Carnegie. I distinctly remember standing next to the TV sometime around the fifteenth viewing of the special, my finger poised on the "record" button of my cassette tape recorder (the one I also used to plug into my Timex Sinclair 1000) so I could record the audio and listen to it over and over again. And I did. Over and over again. Back then I could recite the first 90 or so words from George's complete dirty words list from memory. And I did. Over and over again. Somewhere in the basement is the complete list, but no matter. This week I confirmed that Carlin At Carnegie is forever available on YouTube. Enjoy.

If it wasn't for George, I wouldn't know what to say when I opened the refridgerator and came across an empty plate (Did something east something else?).

If it wasn't for George, I wouldn't have known that the Mexican Hat Dance was written by two people.

George made me snicker every time the flight attendant said, "please check the overhead compartments for any belongings you might have brought on board with you (well, I MIGHT have brought my arrowhead collection).

George taught me that the object of baseball was to GO HOME.

George taught me that woodpecker was the tragic next stage of pussyfoot.

George taught me that a fart's a fart, and that's that.

Ironically, this week I've been introducing my daughters to Season 1 of The Muppet Show on DVD. Timeless classics. As an adult, I have a new found respect for Kermit, and see how he did in fact shape my life. Kermit was the leader, the anal retentive organizer, trying to make sense and order of the weirdness around him. That's me. But I also noticed one thing I had never realized watching the Muppets as a kid.

Kermit was quite the horndog.

Forget about Miss Piggy for a moment. In two of the first three episodes of Season one, Kermit and his cohorts hosted Juliet Prowse and Connie Stevens. Both babes. And Kermit could have had either one of them. Had it not been for the G-rating of the Sunday night show, he would have. he's just that charming.

Somehow, I didn't pick up that trait growing up.

A little Fathers Day Rasta, mon

Sunday was, in my humble opinion, a perfect Fathers Day.

After sleeping late, my kids surprised me with the power tools that I bought a few days earlier and had my wife hide (how did they know???). We then spent much of the morning cleaning the garage. Now, you're probably thinking, "what the heck kind of Fathers Day event is that? Well, the important part of that last sentence is the word "we". You see, my family actually HELPED me clean the garage. I believe it's a first. It obviously WAS a special day.

In the afternoon (and a beautiful afternoon it was), the four of us went to a concert in a park. It was a Reggae Band called Spiritual Rez. We had gotten there early, so we were fairly close to the front. There was quite the collection of hippies, stoners beatnicks and freaks there. All good people, mind you.

About a half hour before the concert started, Natalie noticed a gypsyish-looking woman in a sun dress with a pretty freaky tattoo down her back; she was hula hooping. Natalie got up the guts to go ask to try it herself, and instantly become the star of the crowd (I had no idea she was such a good hula hooper).

Then, the concert started, and both Natalie and Jessica decided to dash up to the very front and center and dance, nonstop, for at least 45 minutes. Now, given this was a Reggae concert, the crowd was feeling the vibe, and there was plenty of dancing going on. Natalie was right in the center of it all. The image of Natalie, wearing a very preppy teal-colored short sleeve shirt, khaki capris and, and Disney Princess sandals, strutting her moves (picture Elaine from Sienfeld) in amongst about 50 or so of these stoners, hippies, and free-loving rasta tatooed creatures was absolutely priceless.


We're talking skinny dudes in cargo shorts with no shirts, scruffy wastoids in dreadlocks and rasta caps, numerous young ladies dressed for the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, and even a guy with a backpack full of juggling pins (hey, we love you all, 'mon). The whole scene got even better when the lady with the hula hoop gave it to Natalie again so she could show off in what was effectively a mellow mosh pit. The crowd was eating it up, Natalie was feeding off the attention. And me without my damned video camera.

In an effort to give the younger sibling her moment in the bloglight, I must also mention the events of the day before. Jessica had her first ballet recital. She and a dozen or so of her 4-year-old classmates were the opening act in a two-hour grand presentation, performing in precise synchronicity to the tune of Snuggle Puppy. Okay, maybe no so precise. But holy crap there is nothing cuter than a dozen 4-year-olds in tutus clutching stuffed animals and attempting to keep in step with one another. The highlight, I believe, was when the girls were to skip in a circle, and the young lady next to Jessica appeared to forget the next move. Jessica was not shy about pushing her aside to get where she was going. And again, no damned camera. I'm hoping someone has it on video and can get it to me.

Priceless...

If you haven't heard, Freecycle is a network of people interested in giving away and obtaining free crap (and I mean crap in the global sense, not just the garbage sense. Some crap is good crap). If you've got something to get rid of and feel guilty tossing it in the trash, post it on Freecycle and chances are you'll find someone who wants it. Alternatively if you're looking for something post a request on Freecycle and chances are someone out there is looking to get rid of it.

I'm a big fan of Freecycle, despite having been briefly banned from it. I've gotten rid of lots of post-renovation stuff including old paint, a door, and old gutters. I've also used it to gain a new family member in the form of Goldie the Blood Parrot Cichlid. But most importantly, I've gotten more than my fair share of enjoyment reading some of the more goofy posts I find on there.

I've been collecting the good ones for a while. I thought I would share some gems from my collection, of course removing names and such to protect the innocent, the stupid, or the just plain creative. I've found I can sort the classics into a fair amount of categories, which I will do now. I promise these are true.

Category: Why'd you bother?

Offer: Two packages of active dry yeast.

Offer: 4 ripe bananas

Category: Am I reading that right?

Offer: 2 White full-figured bra's (WIRE). Both were wore. Size 40DD.
(Hmm, I was hoping someone was getting rid of a hammock, but this will do.)

Offer:......cloth reusable menstrual pads. I purchased these several years ago and I don't need them anymore. are unbleached cotton made by Dixie Babies..these are 10" long pads for medium to heavy flow.
(What frightens me is that there was a follow-up post that these were taken).

Offer: 2 tubes of hair putty
(Hair putty? Sounds like the new product from the merger of Hair Club For Men and the Gorilla Glue Company)

Offer: Potbelly pig, "Snickers".
("Snickers" being just the perfect name for it).

Category: Good luck with that.

Wanted: Wood working tools, Power tools, bench....I especially am looking for a Router, Router bench, and Jig saw.
(No real man would part with these items).

Wanted: Mac computer for video editing
(Yeah, I must have one of those lying around somewhere).

Wanted: …just entered into the world of public safety in may of 07 and work in a rather dangerous neighborhood on a patrol where there is quite a bit of gang activity. I'm in need of a bullet proof vest if anyone has gotten a new one and have one that is close to expiring or has expired not too long ago i sure could use it as i frequently encounter individuals who possess illegal/stolen firearms and also have had several shots fired at us on multiple occasions. Any help with this would be great. Even if it's not a perfect fit it's better than no fit!!!
(Okay, holy crap! Ever heard the term "you get what you pay for"? It applies here).

Wanted: I am looking for kitchen cabinets. Mine are 30 years old and look very drabby and starting to fall apart.
(And, finding free ones on Freecycle will be an improvement how)?

Wanted: Books on the Rapture
(The event where Jesus comes down to save everyone, or the Blondie album?)

Wanted: machine that plays mini dvd tapes.
(Think about it.)

Wanted: I'm looking for T1 line, any length.
(Okay, the geeks out there have already chuckled at that one. For the non-geeks out there, a T1 line is essentially a very high tech, expensive telecommunications protocol and cabling solution that provides fast internet access directly from your ISP. Something large companies can afford. Something that involves long term contracts with telephone providers. Not something you give away on Freecycle. I think this dude wants an Ethernet cable. Or, maybe I'm wrong).

Wanted: Hp deskjet 960c printer power source
(I suggest electricity, thermonuclear fission, or gerbils in a spinning wheel).

Category: If I had the free time, I'd jump on it.

Offer: Nerd Xing Sign.

Offer: McCalls sewing pattern 3931, for adult men's or women's kimono (size small).

Category: Spell checker ain't gonna help that.

Looking for a died mope or a working Moped

Category: Instant classics.

Wanted: My son is in need of a football helmit for his 2nd grade school play/book report.
(I’d suggest this guy use the one from his own childhood, but obviously he didn’t have one. Nor did he have shouldemer pads. So why do you think he needs protective gear for a book report? Must be SOME school!)

Wanted: Dutch Hoe. I never knew there were different types of hoe, I thought this was the only one. If any one has such a thing going spare I'd be very grateful having just got a house.
(With clogs, or without?)

Wanted: Anything Science Related. Our church is hosting a Science Themed Vacation Bible School...
(Ugh. Too many jokes. I give up).


Looks like I'm getting banned again.

Scream Four, The Campout

An odd thing happens when you raise children. Your shopping list tends to cover a broad spectrum of categories. I was cleaning out my to-do list, and took a second look at a shopping list from the weekend. Looking back, it strikes me as a rather odd list:

New flashlight
Inflatable duck floaty
Scuba Flippers
Beer
Hannah Montana action figure
bounce dryer sheets
Wallace and Gromitt movie
Pringles

This was in preparation for an Adventure Princess campout with my daughter last weekend. In case you're wondering, the flippers and the Duck were for my costume for the dance, and the Hannah Montana action figure was for the raffle held during the campout. The Pringles and Beer were mine.

As for the campout, while it was a lot of fun, it was also a complete washout. Our dreams of horseback riding, mountain climbing, and sailing on the lake were drowned by heavy downpours the entire day. Instead we spent most of the day watching the really awful remake of Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (the Johnny Depp one, a total travesty)and eating ice cream at the snack bar, and playing a long, drawn-out game of Go Fish.

I want to throw a question out to the women of the audience. Why, exactly, does a gathering of little girls result in hours of meaningless screaming? Natalie and her buddies spent lots of time hanging out in the cabins together while the guys sat on the porch managing the beer and Pringle collection. During that time, we probably had to enter the cabin at least thirty times to tell the girls to stop screaming. But we never actually saw a REASON for the screaming. Each time we entered, we found them sitting on the bed making bead necklaces. We saw no sign of the Deer Valley Slasher, that mysterious guy with the hook for a hand who preys on little girls at campgrounds. There was no giant spider climbing the walls. None of the children were being eaten by a bear. Near as I could tell, they were all sitting on the bunk bed together making bead necklaces. So why the screaming? It was as if the conversation went like this:

Girl 1: can you hand me the bead box EEEEEEEEAAAH!!!!!!!
Girl 2: Sure, here you go EEEEEEEEAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!
Girl 3: My sister says Hannah Montana has a big nose EEEEEAAAHHH!!!!!!!
Girl 1: Your sister is a big poopyhead AAAAA!!!!EEEEEE!!!!!!
Girl 2: I want Pringles EEEEEEHHHH!
Dad 1: What's all the screaming in here????
Girls: What screaming?

Saturday night was the last straw with the screaming. After the dads were done listening to the Penguins lose to the Redwings on the XM radio one dad brought, it was time to tuck the girls into bed. The campground was generally silent except for one cabin, where the ladies had not yet been corralled. This cabin was directly below mine, and I had a direct view of what was happening. The dads were roasting Pringles by the campfire, and the girls were playing a game of shining flashlights in each other's eyes and screaming at the top of their lungs. Every five minutes or so one dad would proclaim, "girls, quiet down," which of course fell on deaf ears. By 11:45 that night I'd had it. I sat up, leaned to the window of the cabin and yelled, "SHADDUP DOWN THERE!!!!"

After some quick scurrying by the dads, the campground was suddenly silent. And there was much rejoicing. and sleeping.

Forgotten photo #2

Beat this caption...
Originally uploaded by daninhim

Damned shame throwing away a perfectly good superhero like that....

Okay, so I'm in a slow period. Or maybe it's a busy period. In any case, I'm sitting watching Overtime #2 of the Pens/Redwings cup game, and I thought I'd pop open blogger in order to keep myself awake.

Forgotten photo #1

Cutest bug ever
Originally uploaded by daninhim

I was doing some cleanup of my Flickr account and came across this photo I'd forgotten about. We found this little guy in our back yard. I never did find out what he was, but talk about a cutie.

The Rooter of All Evil

Thomas Crapper, the man credited with increasing the popularity of the flush toilet in America, was born in 1836. It is important to know that Crapper was NOT the man who invented flush toilet. That award, as we well know, goes to the team of John Harington and Alexander Poopsalot as early as 1596. Then came the first public installation of toilets at The Great Exhibition in 1851, and since then nothing good has come out of the toilet.

I've said in the past that if there's one thing in the world of home improvements I will avoid whenever possible, it's plumbing. Especially toilets. It's not that I'm not physically capable of installing a toilet, but I just think it's a wise move to avoid messing with anything that can severely damage your home AND that involves poop (of course, our kids fall into that category as well, but that's another story). Something as simple as a slow leak could end up causing the kitchen ceiling to rain down on your waffles. Trust me. It's happened to us. And I was really annoyed because they were good waffles.

As part of our home renovation we added a new master bath. We spent a good amount of time searching for the right blend of shower, toilet, sink, and and toothbrush holder, and in the end were happy with the result. Our throne of choice was the Champion Cadet Elongated "Right-Height" in bone color, for several reasons. For one, it could flush thirteen golf balls without clogging. This would be important for my short game (achem. I mean, LONG game). For another, the elongated bowl was a key feature because, well, think about it. Let's just say I need my space. At least that's the argument I gave my wife when we were shopping.

Our plumber installed the fixtures with only minor issues, and since then the bathroom has made a fine sanctuary for us to primp and preen and disappear with copies of This Old House for hours on end. Until the other night, when evil reared its ugly head.

Actually I need to back up for a moment. A few weeks ago, I started noticing a black, mysterious substance that appeared to be seeping out from under the toilet. It was fibrous and odorless, and my thought was perhaps there was some sort of insulation or sound baffle that the plumber had installed under the toilet, and it was literally squeezing itself out as people sat down on the unit. I kept an eye on it, and noticed it continued to grow in size. And, the toilet started to rock slightly, implying the bolts were loose.

Okay, it was time to pull the toilet and reinstall it. I kept avoiding the issue, until the other night when I noticed water on the floor. Now it was REALLY time to fix things.

But I wasn't prepared for what I saw next. When I pulled the toilet off the floor, I was greeted with more of this mysterious substance. As you can see in these photos (one and two), which really you should only look at if you've got the stomach of Iron Man, this black, fibrous funk surrounded the drain opening and actually entered into the pipe itself. What could this be? Could it be a relative of the Sarlaac, the multi-tentacled alien beast with the immense, gaping mouth that inhabits the Great Pit of Carkoon, on the planet Tatooine? I suppose it was quite possible.

Of course the first thing I did was call dad. He had no idea. So I tracked down the number of the plumber who installed the unit to begin with, and called him at 9:30 in the evening. He had no idea either, but was certainly intrigued. He then went on to tell me about the fun things he's found clogged in toilets past, such as hairdressers' combs, mayonnaise jars, and Tonka trucks. When I was able to get a word in I asked him if there was a chance there was some sort of felt or insulation underneath the toilet when he installed it. He said he did not recall any and couldn't imagine why there would be any.

Oh dear.

This led me to believe that this foreign substance is not something man-made, at least not manufactured by human hands. And it didn't make me feel better when the plumber started his next sentence with, "In all my years of plumbing...."

After a quick bout of the heebeejeebees, I quickly grabbed every ounce of disinfectant I could find, along with about six layers of rubber gloves and a portable decontaminiation unit I borrowed from the local Haz-Mat team, and began the defunkification process. I won't gore you with the details. But suffice it to say that since then, every minor itch I've had, every need to cough, every twitch of a muscle has made me think I've caught an Ebola virus.

Surely, there must be a better way.

Today the plumber came. Yes, I could have just has easily reinstalled the toilet myself, but the way I see it I had better things to do, like not falling prey to a Sarlaac and being slowly digested over thousands of years. I'll leave that to the plumber as well.

Applecare Bangalore

I had to call Applecare today. This is the second time with the new iMac, for the same issue. Upon restarting the Mac I get the "bong" sound then nothing but a gray screen. Turns out that my firewire external hard drive is keeping it from starting up. The instant I unplug the HD it proceeds. So that's a whole separate issue I'm trying to figure out.

But what I found amusing was the fact that I was so obviously calling India when talking to Apple. The help was perfectly fine, though I wouldn't say "stellar". she stuck by the playbook. BTW I believe her name was "Lady", and she had a thick Arabic accent that she was trying valiantly to disguise. But then there was the hold music. The first song was a Beatles Tune (For Your Love, I think). The second song was some whacked out Indian chanting music. And then there was the background noise. I can't say I speak the language, but it sounded to me like someone was getting fired. I heard a loud voice yell something that sounded exactly like the scene in Die Hard when the bad guy with the long hair (Karl) was attempting to properly disconnect the phones, right when another bad guy came along and cut all the lines with a chain saw. Then, there was yelling back, and more yelling from the first guy. Suddenly all the regular chatter one would hear in the background at a help desk ceased. Lady paused to regain her poise, and continued on the phone with me.

Maybe Steve Jobs himself was visiting?

Is Ironman for Kids?

My buddy and I saw Iron Man this weekend. First let me say, it rocked. Well done movie. I won't get involved with actually REVIEWING it, because I don't generally write reviews and frankly did not spend my childhood watching Iron Man or any other Justice League cartoons when I was a kid. If you're looking for a review, check with my friend Howard, who hasn't seen the movie yet but has been informed he should get his butt there as soon as possible.

So another friend of mine posed the question, "should I take my kids?" Mind you, we're talking about kids under age 8. It appears this is around the time when kids start getting exposed to death, destruction, sexuality and other juicy tidbits of pop culture that make up the big screen and the elementary school bus ride. My 7-year-old is headed that way now. Here's the general path she's taken:

Age 1: Religiously watched the Simpsons, because they were colorful and made funny noises, and there was a dog.
Age 2: Loved Pixar's Monsters, Inc for the big fluffy blue guy, but after the 14th time watching it had a nightmare and told us to return the DVD to the store. No way we would introduce "The Incredibles" any time soon.
Age 3: Banned from Simpsons. Replaced with Elmo.
Age 4: Watching Dora now. Over, and over, and over again.
Age 5: Barbie invades. Please don't make me go on.
Age 6: High School Musical arrives on the scene. Natalie learns the term "Omigod Omigod Omigod!!! Also first year riding the bus for kindergarten, after the first day comes back with the mouth of a sailor.
Age 7: Tries out the Incredibles. Loves it. Watches it over and over again. Sees her first PG-13 movie, National Treasure. Loved it for the history, had bad dream due to the guy plummeting to his death. Got over it quickly and went to see National Treasure 2. Now enjoys a good plummet.

Based on where she is at Age 7, I can only assume that at Age 8 she will be shooting up heroin in a corner alley and selling herself for money due to the horrible parenting she received thus far.

But that brings me back to the original question (or does it?), "should kids see Iron Man?"

I say yes, with a few caveats. Let's break this down:

SEX
There's not much in the way of the big nasty going on in Iron Man. While the main character is portrayed as a womanizer, that is demonstrated only once when he hooks up with a reporter from Vanity Fair and leaves her for the assistant to kick out the next morning. But the actual sex scene was simply a fully clothed moment of emphatic rolling around on the bed that lasted about 5 seconds. No biggie there.

DEATH
Bad-guy Arabs get killed, probably about a couple dozen of them in various ways. blown up, lit on fire, and shot. Nothing in the way of blood and gore, no body parts. In one scene the main bad guy shows off his severely burned and scarred head, that's about as bad as it gets.

EXPLOSIONS
Lots of them. After all the main character was an arms dealer. But it's all good.

FRIGHTENING MONSTERS
Okay, there's one in the climax. It's big and mean, and tosses the main character around like a toothpick. But that's usually the way these movies pan out ain't it?

HUMOR
This movie is very funny. There's a couple of very fun scenes that any kid would see and immediately spew Coke out his nose.

So that's the rundown. But here's an underlying reason your kids should see this movie. How do you think your life would have been different if you'd never seen Star Wars (and, I'm asking only people other than my wife, who refuses to believe there ever WAS a Star Wars)? When Star Wars came out, I was 7 years old. To be honest I don't recall if my parents took me to see it, but I'm sure I must have seen it at some point. And from then on, Star Wars was embedded in my psyche just like it was in yours. I have a feeling Iron Man will have a similar affect. This movie is Part One of an inevitable series of movies on the Justice League, and you'll want to stick around.

So in summary, If your kid can handle Transformers, The Incredibles, Godzilla, or Batman, he can handle this. Actually scratch Batman...those movies always creeped me out.

On Top in Old Smoky

It seems the American Lung Association has declared Pittsburgh the #1 smokiest city this year, edging out Los Angeles by a nose...or perhaps a lung.

I saw this story in about five or six different websites today. Interestingly, only the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette attempted to defend the city and it's air quality, and understandably so given it is a Pittsburgh-based newspaper. They pointed out that most of the soot is centered around the Monongahela (c'mon say it with me, pronounced like it's spelled) valley and more specifically the Clairton Coke Works. Sounds kind of like doing an air quality study while holding your tester next to the tailpipe of a Dodge Powerstroke Diesel while it's running.

I've lived in this city for about 14 years now. The air is not pristine. It's not crystalline. But it ain't LA. I've been to LA, and I've seen the brown sky. Pittsburgh has crystal clear skies (on the occasion it's actually nice weather), and unless you live near the Clairton Coke Works, it ain't bad. The problem isn't soot. It's allergens.

I had a friend and coworker who lived here for a while, and he couldn't take the air quality due to his allergies. I remember once talking to him in my office, and suddenly hearing a loud "PSSSSSS...." sound, like someone had stuck a pair of scissors into a basketball. I asked what the heck that was, and he said, "that was my sinus".

He lives in Hood River now, and is much happier.

My family and I are perfectly happy with the air quality here, as long as we stay well stocked in Clariton, Sudaphed, and furniture dusters.

Babyproofing 2, the Next Generation

This week we entered a new phase of parenthood. Babyproofing, round two. No, I'm not talking about a new batch of outlet covers and spongy coffee table corner covers. I'm talking about Our old friend, the Internet. For so long, the ol' bunch of tubes has been our oasis, our home for our brains, our place to easily find videos of rednecks getting hit in the crotch.

Then Natalie discovered YouTube.

After several rounds of showing her Muppet classics, American Idol performances, and Time for Timer flashbacks, she realized there was something special about that magical search box. You want Zack & Cody? See Zack and Cody get their tongues stuck to the revolving door. Want Puppies? It's like a million and one dalmatians out there. Want Barbie? How about a video entitled "Is Barbie Based On a German Sex Doll?"? Okay, it could have been worse. Much worse. But right then I realized it was time to learn how to kid-proof our Internet experience.

Our family computer is in a very public area, on a counter in the center of the TV watching, dining, and kitchen area. In general, we trust that when she's beating on the keys, she's trying to reach 250 points on the Wow Wow Wubzy game. Now that she's got the power of the search box in her hands, we've realized we need to watch her like a hawk. One false click, and she'll be on the road to pornographic heroin-laced sugar daddies peddling Nigerian Viagra.

So it's time to investigate an area of the computer I've never bothered to look at before. Parental Controls. Now, if you read my last post you'll know we've got a nice shiny (and I DO mean shiny) iMac in our possession, giving us one Mac running OSX 10.5 Leopard, and another running the older OSX 10.4. Here's where my post wavers from it's normal snarkiness to providing perhaps useful information for anyone interested in this subject.

Apple did an excellent job building in kidproofing tools to OSX 10.4, and in 10.5 someone put some real thought into major improvements (huh, imagine that...Apple putting thought into their designs). While I found there were several annoying features involved with settings things up on the 10.4 machine, I discovered all of them were fixed on the 10.5 box. Here are some of the features and the major improvements they made with Leopard:

In 4, to set up Safari with access only to specific websites, you must log in as the kid you are attempting to protect, and EVERY time you add a website you need to type in your admin username and pwd. Pretty annoying when your admin user name is long and you've got a list of 10 or so sites to deal with. In 5, this is all done within the prefs panel on the Admin account, AND they provide you with a head start in the form of an excellent list of about a dozen sites like Scholastic, PBSKids, etc.

In 5, they improved the hierarchical list of applications you can turn on/off for the kids' login. It was very confusing in 4, and try as I might I could not get MS Word to appear when she logged in. That seems to be fixed in 5. They've also added a setting to hide profanity in the dictionary so my kids won't be able to look up all those little gems that come out of my mouth when I drop sheets of plywood on my toe.

In 5, they added a whole section on time limits. You can specify that the kid cannot login at certain hours without permission from an admin, and even then you can say "alright, give her one more hour then kick her out. You can also limit weekend usage to a total of X hours. Excellent way to get those grubby little sandwich clamps off the keyboard and onto the handle of a lawnmower on a Saturday morning.

In 5, they added complete logs of every site they either go to or try to go to (and are blocked from), every app used, and every iChat conversation.

So, if you're concerned about the kids, you can't go wrong with OSX 10.5 Buy a Mac, dude.

BTW, side note...MacOutfitters was nice enough to give me $212 back as a rebate for buying (literally) yesterday's model iMac. So kudos to them.

It's Mac's fault. It's Mac's fault!

After taking the week off to rebuild the porch, sink deeper into debt, and make George Bush proud of what we're doing with our tax rebate, our home computer decided it wanted in on this plan. We've had an iMac for the past several years, and it was starting to get a little long in the tooth. This past weekend, the logic board decided to crap out on us. The computer still works, but the built-in monitor doesn't. Handy given the prominence of the monitor hanging of the top of the computer.



It works with an external monitor, so my options if I want to keep using this one are to either glue a sheet of cork board to the front of it and use it to post my daughters' latest artistic creations, or remove the monitor and turn the gooseneck into a lampshade. Both are reasonably viable options, but it was time for a new Mac.

I was a little hesitant, because the rumor sites all said that new releases of the iMacs were about due. However we couldn't afford to wait any longer, so Saturday I came home with a shiny new 20" iMac with 4gigs of memory, a Time Capsule on the side, dual overhead cams, and chrome headers. Yeah, it's a Hemi.

And, conveniently, Apple released the new iMacs today. TODAY!

Okay, it’s not even remotely a big deal, but it IS hugely ironic. The good news is there is not much change to the one we bought. Instead of a 2.48gigahertz processor, it’s a 2.66. We'll never notice the difference. Otherwise, the specs and price are the same. But can you believe that crap? And no, I'm not going to return it because the additional gigahertz just ain't worth the two days I spent setting the new one up. But, man...that's uncanny.

The original iMac we bought years ago was purchased through MacMall, Apple dropped prices a week later and MacMall wouldn’t honor the price change. This is why I’m afraid to buy a new car. The day after we buy it all cars will run on plastic grocery bags.

But regardless, I'm happy now. More importantly, my lovely wife is happy now, as she's able to surf the net like she's Danica Patrick on the final lap.

When I finish the lampshade iMac project I will be sure to post pictures.

Our new Passover Tradition

Before
Originally uploaded by daninhim

It was just over two years ago that we broke ground turning our humble little abode to a slightly bigger but still humble palace. Groundbreaking actually occurred during Passover 2006. So, in an effort to keep with Passover tradition, Dad and I tore apart the front porch this past weekend.

I never liked this porch. It's only four feet wide, and the railing makes the porch useless for anything but collecting leaves and varmints. And what's with those wagon wheels in the corners? Yeesh. Add to this the fact that I hadn't bothered putting a fresh coat of paint on the railing in the 8 or so years we've been in this house, and suddenly said humble abode was starting to look like it needed an old Chevy up on blocks in the front yard. It was time for some refreshment of the curb appeal.

Demolition was easy. Those columns weren't holding anything up. And the railing balusters were so dried out that one good smack with a Fubar took them right out.

I'm no fan of regular maintenance. For example, the landscaping in the front yard is "mulched" with river rock, so I don't have to do the typical suburban thing and shovel mulch every year. Thus, I wanted the new porch to be relatively maintenance-free. Thus, we had to consider a relatively new product: lumber made of PVC plastic.

I'm sure you've seen those vinyl fences that Home Depot and Lowes sell these days. They suck. They look ugly. Put one of those up on your property and you're barely making a statement of "I'm too classy 'nshit to have some ol' chain link fence in my yard". However, this new PVC lumber they've got actually makes a bit of sense. For one thing, it's textured to look a little more like wood. And for another, it's available in all sorts of widths, cuts well on a table saw, and is generally easy to work with. Aside from the fact that it is ridiculously expensive, nor overly "green" unless you count the gallons of paint and wood cleaner used over time if we did it with wood, it can be a good option when used appropriately. I'm hoping this was one of those appropriate moments.







For anyone who cares, those arches were made by hand, and the posts consist of pressure-treated 4x4's with the top half covered in a PVC tube made for this purpose, and the bottoms clad with PVC planks cut to fit each side. The project went smoothly and was relatively within budget (that is, the budget we'd set after the initial sticker shock for the PVC). There's still plenty more to do, like replace those discolored shingles, paint the ceiling, and build a deck over the porch to make it a bit more attractive.

We had two fun moments. First, you might notice in the picture that the gutter doesn't reach all the way to the right. That's because the longest in-stock gutter we could find was 21 feet, and the roof is 22 feet. And I wasn't about to special order or piece things together. I'm considering a rain chain or something decorative in that corner. But the fun part was getting a 22-foot gutter home in a minivan. It stuck two feet out the tailgate and about four feet out the front passenger window. I had to drive home carefully to avoid taking out a speed limit sign.

Then there were the moles.

We've had mole trouble for the past several years. I knew they were living under the porch, but I had no idea there was an entire compound under there. At one point dad put a small step ladder on the ground just in front of the porch. When he stepped on it, the ground opened up, exposing a hole the size of a waste basket (note the white piece of wood in the "after" picture, lying on the grass in front of the porch). I was able to reach under the porch the entire length of my arm, and there was still more to go. Luckily nothing bit me.

So there it is. Our annual Passover project. for next year's Passover seder, perhaps a pool.

Schmaltz in my veins, and Gribines in my heart. Don't call a doctor, it's Passover!

Tomorrow marks the first night of Passover. One of my favorite Jewish holidays, second only to Shmini A'tzeret (please note, that was the first of several references only Jews will get. For more information on Jewish holidays, consult your local library).

As long as I can remember, Passover was a pretty well-organized holiday. My mom would start cooking about three years in advance, stashing away briskets and chicken dishes in recesses of the basement freezer. That freezer was a constantly rotated inventory of large foil-wrapped platters, and I always knew Passover was coming when the number of platters became so many that the secret tin of frozen chocolate chip cookies she thought I didn't know about became almost impossible to reach behind the frozen tsimmes.

She'd invite no one officially, yet we never seemed to have fewer than 18 people including at least one person whom no one else at the table knew and and everyone wondered who invited. For years I thought it was Uncle Izzy, til I realized Uncle Izzy died in 1803.

Grandpa Jack would spend all morning bent over a wooden bowl preparing the chopped liver. From the depths of New Jersey Aunt Gert would deliver the 55-gallon drum of rendered chicken fat she'd been storing since last Passover (ah, schmaltz...sandwich spread of the gods) as well as the gribiness, a delicacy consisting of bits of chicken skin and onion fried black in schmaltz, (and low fat, too) and mom's friend would deliver the most insanely large and elaborate bouquet of flowers gathered since last season's Rose Parade.. Dad and I would spend a half hour wrestling with the nine-thousand pound dining room table he built himself out of solid oak and kryptonite (it's that heavy), and grandma would spend most of the afternoon grabbing various youngsters' arms, giving them $5 bills, and telling the to put that money in a safe place because, "you were always my favorite grandchild, not like your sister who never writes me."

The service was impeccably organized. Grandpa Jack, in his brown polyester shirt with the tan circles, would lead the proceedings with his Brooklyn accent and Ashkenazi prayers. As the youngest in the family, I'd usually get stuck asking the Four Questions. Mom would force the table to sing "Dayenu" in a key that totally pissed off the dog. My sister, my uncle and I would make the same lousy jokes every year about rabbis overcounting the days the Jews spent in the desert and about the "frog bowls" used to pour the wine into during the recital of the ten plagues. And when the meal started, it was matzah with schmaltz, chopped liver with schmaltz, and perhaps a hard-boiled egg with a little schmaltz on the side. In more recent years my brother-in-law Hillel would become the butt of a corny joke as the meat in the Hillel sandwich. And ever year, the various children would take that brief eighth of a second out from their meal to find the afikomen, which my unimaginative grandfather would predictably hide in the same place each year, under the chess set on the counter directly behind his seat. Easiest dollar you could earn.

Of course times have changed. My grandparents have long since been gone and, living 8 hours from home we don't always make it back for Passover. This year, however, we are looking forward to a new challenge. We're hosting.

Hilary has been cooking for the past eight weeks, sending me on countless trips to the grocery for potato and beef products. Natalie has been studying the four questions and Jessica has practiced Dayenu, looking forward to their on-stage debuts. The plastic seder plates they made in preschool have been dug out from the art bins under their beds, the ones that contain semesters of crayon and marker masterpieces from their formative years. There's a new cup on the table, placed next to the Cup of Elijah, to remember Hilary's mom who passed this year. And my mom and dad arrived yesterday in preparation for the big event.

Now anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis is probably wise to the fact that my parents come in and part of the house gets renovated. No exception this time. Dad and I tore down the front porch this morning. Hopefully by the time the first seder starts tomorrow we'll be able to access the front door. My sister, her husband and two kids arrive tomorrow night, using a Passover visit as an excuse for their daughter to tour Carnegie Mellon in search of a design school. Tomorrow there will be at least a dozen for dinner. Maybe more. Maybe Uncle Izzy will be there.

But some things don't change. The back of my parents' car contained the contents of their freezer. The flowers arrived from my mom's best friend today. Again, a Rose Parade float. And I've already sought out the best location for the Afikomen hiding place, on the buffet behind my seat at the table. As my daughters recite from the Haggadah and sing the passover songs tomorrow night, I'm looking forward to the time when, one day, they will have the opportunity to make fun of MY shirt. Traditions live on.

And mom brought Schmaltz.

Primping for Pesach

"I'll tell ya ladies, this spa is fantastic. First, an egg bath, then a matzoh meal facial (which I thought was a little odd, but this IS Brooklyn), and a little potpurri in the bath. What a life!"

Jon Stewart Clarifies the Obama Gaff

Jon Stewart did a brilliant job of putting the story of Obama's supposed slam against the good people of Pennsylvania into perspective. I typically ignore most of politics but, being a Western PA self-imposed elitist myself, I couldn't help but take a stand here. Thank you Jon, you've done a wonderful job of clarifying the issue, saving Obama's campaign, and, oh wait, demonstrating what a glorious booze-hound Hillary is.

Wii Teeth

Hi y'all, I'm back. Sorry for the extended hiatus...it's been kinda slow, and I haven't had much inspiration lately. UNTIL NOW!

Okay, check this out. researchers have put together a video game that teaches kids how to brush their teeth. Pretty wacky and totally impractical, but really, someone's thinking. I mean, it's gotta work better than the way I attempt to train my kids to brush. Usually my training regimen consists of yelling at Natalie to stop spitting on the mirror, yanking the brush from Jessica's hands when she insists on brushing with the handle end instead of the brush end, and getting really, really annoyed with having to clean up globs of Oral-B from the counter, the footstool, the toilet seat, and the lights. How they get toothpaste on the lights I don't quite know, but they do. On a regular basis.

So, in regards to this invention, it obviously isn't practical to install a computer in the bathroom to handle this. So maybe they should come out with a version for the Wii. Kids could bring a spit bowl and do it right in front of the TV. Heck, if they can have a Wii version of competitive eating (no, really), they should certainly have one for competitive brushing.

Happy Easter

Dang, you know I saved this pic JUST so I could post it on Easter Sunday, and forgot all about it. Oh well, happy belated Easter everyone.

How kids get their way

The following is a transcript of an actual conversation between my wife and my 4-year-old....

Kid: Mommy, I can't find my smile.

Mom: Maybe it's here (tickling her in different places).

Kid: No, it's not back yet.

Mom: Maybe it's here, under the chair.

Kid: No, it's not back yet. Maybe it will come back if you give me a snack. I'll take Cheese balls.

Horton Has Hearing Damage

First of all, to the Goyim out there in Whoville, you're missing one great benefit of being Jewish on Easter. Five dollar movies with no crowds. We took the family unit to see Horton Hears a Who this morning on the cheap, and had the theater practically to ourselves.

Now, at the risk of going all Abe Simpson here, can I just ask who in tarnation sets the volume knob in movie theaters these days? During the previews I determined that if I plan to take the kids to either Walle (the new Pixar flick) or Speed Racer, I'm going to have to invest in a family pack of ear plugs. There is simply no excuse for risking deafness in children in one of these places. Kids today have plenty of opportunities to lose their hearing what with iPods and such, without Lowes Cinemas helping them out thank you very much. Now excuse me while I go hike up my wrinkled socks..oh wait I'm not wearing socks...

As for the movie...it did not disappoint. Jim Carrey resisted hitting that level of annoying that sometimes turns him off to some people (including me), and Steve Carrel was stellar. They stuck, for the most part, with the story, except that the kangaroo (Carol Burnett) and her pouch-ridden offspring failed to emphasis their points with the expected "Me Too!" that was a major part of the original book. But no matter, they added enough to the story to make it a worthwhile full length film.

And yet, they never resolved the one thing that most bothers me about the story. When Vlad Vladikoff (the vulture, played wonderfully by Will Arnett) steals the clover and drops it in a miles-wide field of clover in hopes of it never being found, dontcha think that this would be a GOOD thing for the folks in Whoville? Why would the speck be in danger in this giant field of clover? Horton shoulda left it alone. Frankly, a vast majority of the problems inflicted upon Whoville were caused by Horton himself, what with the running and the jumping and the loud talking and such...

Today we become adults

Yesterday was a huge milestone for us. Especially for me. We accepted delivery from Ethan Allen of our overpriced but completely succulent leather chair for our living room. This completes the transformation of our living room from embarrassing waste of space to a comfortable room good enough to be on one of those design shows. Well, on one of those local access cable design shows. Not sure if it's HGTV-worthy, but close.

It also means we are officially adults. Gone are the days of ogling over Ikea's latest pressboard wonders (oh, sweet! Check out the OONGBLAT! It's black AND it's got shelves), as is the need to have milk crates anywhere within a 75-foot radius of the dining room. In fact, I just sent an email to my sister bestowing 6 milk crates upon her daughter, who's headed to college in the fall. That's right. We're giving up the milk crates, cold turkey.

Since the day we bought our house back in 1998, the living room has been a pit of despair. The room is 22 feet long but only 11 feet wide, and the fireplace on one of the long walls is not centered with the opposite wall. As a result, anything we've tried to do to make this room comfortable, livable, and stately has been a dismal failure. Of course, the puke-gray berber on the floor and the monkey-poop brown wood paneling on one wall didn't help any.

I remember we first tried putting a cheap particleboard entertainment unit on the wall opposite the fireplace. Nice, especially if you liked watching TV while sitting in the fireplace. Then, there was the computer desk. An Ikea special, I believe we moved it to different corners of the room eight times before we finally gave up and renovated the house. There were futon faux pas, bad choices in couches, and the ottoman. Oh, that ottoman. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Go to a local furniture store, pick out a swatch of custom fabric, and have an ottoman made to our specifications. Now we have this striped red rectangle that doesn't match anything we own, completely in the way no matter what room it's placed in.

When the kids came along, this room became even more hopeless. any previous post I've ever written here referring to a sea of Fisher Price was referring to the floor of this room. We'd surrendered to the madness and given up.

But then the renovation happened. And we decided desperate measures were in order. If you've read my blog you know we started off by putting built-ins surrounding the fireplace. This was our first major step of bringing this room into adulthood. Then, there was the Ethan Allen designer.

Ethan Allen has always been one of those stores I felt like I didn't dare enter unless I wanted to give up the idea of sending my kids to college. But after visits to half a dozen stores for new furniture for this room, we were desperate. So one night after dinner, I headed out to the local Ethan Allen, leaving the wife and kids at home in hopes being able to look around the store without having to stop at every easy chair while the kids did a recline test. But after an hour of talking to Patti, one of the store's designers, I realized I was entering this new phase of life.

Patti and I had a grand old time looking at different styles and colors, and pulling out fabric swatches to compare. That's right, you heard me. I'm comfortable enough with my manhood to say that. In the end I walked out of there completely giddy about the idea of telling my wife what I found (okay, giddy sounds a little fluffy, but still). I also decided that Patti HAD to come out to the house to seal the deal.

That was about three months ago. Yesterday we took delivery of the last piece we ordered. As I type this, I'm relaxing in the living room, my wife in the chair next to me reading a book, and the kids playing dominoes (the only toy) on the floor. All I need is a hound to fetch my slippers.

We already realize these chairs will be with us until the day we die, or at least until our daughters sell off our assets and commit us to a home. But until then, We're going to sit back, relax, and waste away into retirement. Maybe I can train Jessica to get my slippers.

Strangle Puppy

I would just like to report that since my post the other day (two down from this one) on Jessica's ballet class the song "Snuggle Puppy" has been running through my head endlessly. I thought I should get this in writing so that when I go completely postal and begin strangling small animals, the authorities will understand.

Vitamin water

By now you've probably heard about the tests that were done on major metropolitan water supplies, which found that many city supplies contain traces of various pharmaceuticals that were not removed during the water purification blitz.

What a media bonanza this will be. First, the bottled water companies are swooning, digging out the numbers of their advertising execs and telling them to get on the stick with new commercials. "Mmm, cold, clean, Deer Park. All the water and none of the ibuprofen!".

Then, the tree huggers are going to proclaim that this is the worst thing that could happen to the environment, because not only are we killing our babies, but we're killing or fish and polluting the earth with even more plastic bottles.

Next the water filtration companies are going to get on the stick, saying we all need to run our and buy PUR systems because our life depends on it (now ask yourself, what exactly can't an industrial water filtration plant do that a tiny cylinder of activated charcoal can?).

And finally, there's the cities themselves. This will take some creative thought, but I think we can spin all this bad news toward the positive side.

Indianapolis: Enjoy our late night entertainment with our new caffeinated tap water!

Philadelphia: If Tom Hanks had only had a drink of our water in that movie, he'd have been fine!

New Jersey: We still smell funny and the smog will cause deformities, but our tap water will mummify you nicely.

Who's going to be the first to capitalize on that peppy jingle by Joe Jackson, "Everything gives you cancer"?

As the story goes, people are taking meds, peeing them out, and the meds don't get filtered in the water treatment plants.

A vast array of pharmaceuticals — including antibiotics, anti-convulsants, mood stabilizers and sex hormones — have been found in the drinking water supplies of at least 41 million Americans, an Associated Press investigation shows.

Mood stabilizers? Honey, I'm sorry I pissed you off...here, are you thirsty? Have an ice cold drink. Anti-convulsants? That explains my lack of seizures. And sex hormones? Sign me up!

What I don't get is that millions of women take birth control. Therefore one would think there's a high level of birth control drugs in the water, right? Yet millions of other women have babies every day. Explain that one.

Better yet, don't. My mind is made up, please don't confuse me with facts.

Whatever doesn't kill you will only make you stronger. After all when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, right? Umm, cool, crisp lemonade. Now with more roxithromycin!

BOX

We've been Nintendo Wii owners for about a week now. It was great fun, while it lasted. But the kids have moved on. That's because they've now got a BOX.

You see, we purchased a chest freezer this week. Once we got past the hard nipple jokes and mentioned what we were getting to the kids, Natalie replied with, "Hah!!! Does it come in a BOX?? Can we have the BOX? Can we??

So of course, once the unit was moved into the basement, we were left with the makings of a fine fort, just big enough for two small children. After a couple of arguments, a stern talking-to and a brief time out, the two finally agreed upon where the windows should be cut out and what color the door should be. I haven't heard from them for hours now. Beat that, Mr. Nintendo.

As long a we're catching up, I should mention that I had the privilege of taking Jessica to her ballet class on Sunday. Now, I am no fan of ballet. In fact I hate ballet. I think it might have to do with my inconsolable fear of tights. But seeing a bunch of 4-year-old girls in matching pink tutus lined up like a line of Necco Candy Dots, turning and smiling at their mommies and daddies through the window while they pick their noses and generally ignore everything the teacher is saying, simply redefines cute. They were practicing for their first recital, a dance number done to the tune of "Snuggle Puppy" involving a series of kicks, twirls, and something that seemed to be a cross between a shasay and a poopy-pants-run-to-the-bathroom move. However, rather than dedicated focus, mostly what the teacher got were silly questions and non sequiturs from 4-year-old girls. "Miss Ruthie? My friend Taylor lives on my street." "Miss Ruthie? Can I call you Miss Rooster?" "Miss Ruthie? I have a boogey".

Worth the half hour. Can't wait for that recital. YouTube, here I come.

Kids' Rock

This is brilliant. And safe for kids....


Kids Songs Sung By Rock Stars - Watch more free videos

Only 34 minutes til first Wii injury

We bought a Wii today. Which, by the way, is why you should expect very little in writing from me for the next several days. Also expect the entire family to be malnourished and unbathed the next time you see us. For those of you who live in a cave, the Nintendo Wii is a video game machine. It's strengths are the fact that, in order to use it, you actually need to physically move. That's got its goods and bads, which we'll learn about later.

The Wii is in high demand. If a store such as Target or Circuit City lists them in the Sunday circular, chances are they only received a couple dozen and they'll be gone within an hour of the store opening. Today I happened to be out and about before Circuit City opened, and I knew they had some in stock. So I drove by about a half hour before the store opened, and saw a line of a couple dozen people. I figured what the heck, I can stand in a line for twenty minutes or so. While there I learned they had received 23 in stock. It turns out I was #22 in line. Hey, I have a Wii. Folks, it's just that easy. And I had a real good laugh at the dumbass who parked himself at the beginning of the line at 5:30 this morning. He got himself a Wii, and likely a nice case of pneumonia to boot.

Back home, after about 15 minutes of the kids setting up their "Mii" online personalities, we tried out some games. The girls got hooked on bowling pretty quickly. That is, until our first Wiinjury. It was Natalie's ball and, on the upswing, she smacked her thumb on the edge of the coffee table. Nice and purple now. But no worries, the Wii remote is fine.