(R)evolution

Ah yes. It's that time of year again when state legislatures wind down for the year before the summer with a push on agendas, lobbyists make a last dash to their representatives and voters give a lukewarm thumbs up or down on any number of local or state issues.

So it comes as no surprise that Evolution has again come under fire from proponents of Intelligent Design.

The Kansas Board of Education will open hearings today to debate the teaching of Intelligent Design and suggest a more critical look at the Evolution citing that it's a controvertial theory. This follows several other states who have had similar debates for the last twenty years, some even involving stickers being placed on books stating that Evolution is only a theory and not fact.

Most states are trying to come to terms with what to teach in schools. Opponents of such debates, including the National Institute of Science, claim that such ciriculum violates the seperation of church and state. Proponents argue that schools are currently ignoring other creation viewpoints.

Honestly, between you me and the wall, Intelligent Design is a cop out. It's a weasly move to incorporate faith based ideas with the knowledge of science. It's saying, "Hey, we don't know what happened really. In fact, all we have to go on is this one book. We do know that you guys are all wrong."

Intelligent Design is the notion that life on Earth is too complex to have evolved by itself and must have been the brain child of some higher power, some architect that created the patterns by which life is constantly being updated. Think of it as a piece of software that's set to reinvent itself every couple months to adapt to its user. Now, the software designer isn't a deity, but it is smart enough to know that the user will eventually require the software to update in a certain pattern, so the writer will create that pattern along with instructions on when to adapt and how to follow the pattern.

Sounds like evolution to me. Self adapting system. The difference here is, ID says someone created it, Evolution says it happened on its own.

So who's behind this design that's intelligent? Not God, you say? Ok, who?

See, the problem these IDers are having is that no one is really disputing the fact that both their cabal and the Evolution Camp basically agree that life adapts according to some pattern. The difference is, the IDers are trying to force a deity into it under the guise of science, and it just won't fly. I'd rather have schools teach Creationism as a faith based idea and then compare it with Evolution as a science based idea, then debate it rather than introduce the tepid and weak theory.

I think I would be more inclinded to agree with the ideas behind ID if they could scientifically prove who the designer was.

What to do.

I really don't know what to make of this. Maybe our readers can illuminate us on the situation and it's frustrating nuiances.

LMA goes to a Montessori school. It's a great school. She has friends, the teachers are nice and I think she's excelling in the atmosphere that exists. I know saying "Montessori" sounds very upper-class and snobby, but it's really nothing to get excited about. They are just good teachers and they tend to focus on things like motivation and self-control and confidence more than just a daycare or a public school might.

Might, I don't know for sure, this is my first kid.

Well, something came up this week that's a little unsettling. This is teacher appreciation week, nationally I believe, and last week LMA's school sent home a list of things to get the teachers; things like flowers, or apples or drawings or whatever. Well, in the hectic events of normal every day life, we totally spaced it. Just flat out forgot. I think it was more my fault than Mrs. A's as I take the kids to school and pick them up most of the time. I see all the signs, get all the handouts, talk to the teachers, etc. My burden to bear.

In my defense, I can't get out of the house without forgetting something if there are more than 5 things to remember. Most of those memory slots are taken up by things like "put on your pants" and "don't forget the children" so having extra things like "diaper wipes" and "yellow folder" means that something gets pushed out. I'm only human, it just does.

Now, with that in mind, it's not LMA's fault she didn't bring anything for her teachers. Mrs. A and I really help out with her school the rest of the year as it is. We've given her class a hamster that Mrs. A feeds and tends to weekly. We bought the school a hose holder for the outside. We donated time to help shovel sand from the front into the sandboxes in the back. We stay late after events to help clean. We do a lot.

So when her teachers tease her about not bringing in a god damn flower, that's crossing the line.

I mean really, who sends home a note saying, "Go buy these things for your teachers?" Who does that? How about a note that says, "Next week is teacher appreciation week. Do your best to show your child's teacher you care by giving a gift. Some suggestions are..." That would have been fine. This was a daily thing. Monday, flowers. Tuesday, a fruit basket. Wednesday, a drawing. I mean come on. Isn't that a little weird or have things changed that much since I was a kid?

Anyway, the point is that her parents forgot, not her. If the teachers have a problem with that, they should call us. (Which still gets me, call us to complain they didn't get presents. You know, they won't get me anything for Father's Day, I know they won't.) You don't make the 3 year old child an example in front of the class. You don't make them feel bad and lower their esteme because they have a busy family that just honestly forgot.

Also, we pay tuition. It's not cheap to go to this school. We appreciate them plenty by paying them. To kick in all this extra crap just makes me so angry. I don't understand.

So now, it's Wednesday. I've got two days to figure out what these jackals need and possibly go out and buy it, just so my little girl isn't made to feel like a fuckin' lepper. But does that mean I've caved? Does that mean I've given in to their demands just because they teach my kid?

The other aspect, and I hate to use this card, but it's the only thing I have left, is her teachers are primarily from other countries originally. I can only hazzard a truly xenophobic guess that there is some kind of cultural line of communication that's being fuzzed here. I mean, LMA is in this daycare/school for 10 hours a day. I don't like it, but it should illustrate that Mommy and Daddy are really freakin' busy. We may not have time to get presents for people 5 days in a row. We may have just forgot about yet another piece of paper stapled to her lunch box. We may have not had the funds to perpetuate such an exercise. Is that something that happens elsewhere? Are teachers appreciated more around the world than they are here? I'm sure that's the case.

But don't take it out on the kid. The kid can't tie her own shoes yet or do much writing. Why make her feel bad in front of her friends?

God, I just don't know what to do. I liked her teachers before this, now I think they're petty and arrogant and aren't really there to help the kids. I'm probably wrong on that, but it doesn't make me want to be one of those helpful parents anymore. No sir.

Hey hon, we're on the news! Ooooh crap.

As discussed with some friends, getting on Texas for choices made by legislative bodies doesn't mean that all Texans are jerkholes.

However, when it makes it to the Daily Show, then we just start looking silly.

Now every time someone asks you where you're from, you have to clarify that you're in Austin, Texas. Just makes me so angry. Eh, but I'm also tired, and heavy lids win out over high blood pressure.

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I've seen a ton of movies this last week. Pilgrim was sick Wednesday through Friday so I had some time at home. Saw Equilibrium with Christian Bale. Good movie, not great. It's a bit predictable and just a little far-fetched, but it is sci-fi. And speaking of sci-fi, Mrs. A actually suggested we go see The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. If you don't know anything about me and Mrs. A, know that I love movies and she likes movies. She doesn't understand waiting in line on opening night or getting there in time for previews. We have this game that we avoid playing in where she will ask what else some actor's been in, then I try to make it as simple as possible by thinking of something she's seen, but invariably ends up with both of us throwing our hands up saying, "You know what, forget it."

However, Hitchhiker’s was just a blast. It wasn't like the first time I saw, The Matrix but what is anymore? And to all you purists, if you want something that's faithful to the book, read the gorram book. It's a movie that was in part written by the guy who wrote the book, then he died, so what do you want? This movie was just fun and exciting and well crafted and well acted (I thought.) Definitely worth the $8 and the giant tub of pop corn and spiked cokes.

Also went to The Alamo Drafthouse to see Kung-Fu Hustle with some coworkers. Another fun ride. I don't think it was a fun as Shaolin Soccer but that may be because I hadn't been exposed to Stephen Chow movies yet, so I was expecting more of the same. And I got it. And I wasn't disappointed.

And while we're on movies that disappoint, what the frack is wrong with you people who think Zoolander was funny? I watched the later half of it this weekend after turning it off after the first half the first time I watched it, but coming back to it out of morbid curiosity. What a piece of shit that movie was. I really like Owen Wilson but even he couldn't save this. I was a Ben Stiller fan, but I think that admiration ran out after Mystery Men. Pee-yew.

Aliens vs. {Predator wasn't much better, but it at least had some coolness going on with it, like the fight scenes. I mean, going into this, you know the humans are going to get slaughtered, just seemed rather obvious and contrived. Plot was REALLY pushing it. I do believe Paul W.S. Anderson could have done much better had he, I don't know, pulled a kid off the street and asked him to write this. Blee-argh!

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So we're thinking of buying a new house. Not thinking really as much as going ahead with plans to do so. We've been looking at neighborhoods and houses, well shoot, since we moved here. Lately we've stepped it up a notch. Word to the wise for anyone moving to Austin; stay away from Hyde Park, Terrytown, Travis Heights or Barton Springs areas. No no, they're not bad neighborhoods, far from it. But the houses are half a million dollars.

*ZOIKS*

That's right, just decent, 3 bedroom houses in Hyde Park are 750,000. Those little cracker box houses that are usually a bright shade of baby-blue or pink or yellow with a red door and the detached garage in back? Yeah, those. Built in the 50's, electricity is probably not up to code and you're 5 miles from the nearest decent grocery story, but because the zip code is 78705, it's 3/4 of a mil.

Just sick, man.

Anyway, so Mrs. A wants to live closer into Austin, that means we have to find the diamond in the rough. Something in a cool like area that won't fleece our bank accounts. We're also thinking of buying land and building our own house. There was even talk of building onto the house we already have.

So the process is started, we're going to talk with our mortgage lady again and see what we have to do to buy a bigger home but keep our mortgage about the same. It isn't going to happen unless we can conjure up $100,000. But even 30% down may not help. What needs to happen is for these kids to start working. I'm sure there's a cotton field or mine they can spend a few hours in, isn't there?

Wisdom of LMA

Pilgrim crawling into the fireplace. LMA says, "When he crawls into the
fireplace, we'll put a fire in there and he'll get all fired up."

Yes. Yes he will.

Texas going straight.

Yesterday's news and not terribly current, but just wanted to keep everyone up to date.

I need to figure out a way to make sure that more Dems can vote on this. I need to be able to help mobilize this crusade against those who would discriminate.

I tired of this debate, so much. I just don't understand how people can hate another group of people with such flip. Almost as if they don't think anything's wrong with it. Almost as if they think they are better, somehow, then those they seek to diminish. I think it's funny that on the same page, there is a poll asking if you think there is a quality of life disparity for African Americans in Austin.

Yes. I do. I think if you aren't white, you're seen as second class. I'd like to add to it white and straight and Christian. Now, you have to be all three, if you're white and Jewish and straight, you're out. If you're Latino and straight and Christian, you're out. If you're white and straight and Pagan, you're out. It's the Trifecta of Prejudice, the Holy Trinity of Intolerance, the Triumvirate of Bigotry.

The thing that really irks me about the whole debate is that there are so many other things wrong that aren't being fixed because of this. If people could just ignore things like religion and sexual preference and color and age and gender and maybe focus on things like homelessness and unemployment and child abuse and hunger, and I hate to sound like a 1970's soda commercial, but the world would be a better place, for you and me. Just wait and see.

Seriously. Imagine the political power we could put behind tax reform, law enforcement, emergency management, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, employment agencies, women's and children's shelters if we just stopped thinking of our fellow man as a statistic. Are you human? Yeah. That's all we should have to know. If you can do a job, if you have a hobby, if you like a music or a show, if you can lift a baby, if you can make Macaroni and Cheese, if you cry and sleep and like sunshine but also rain, there's no other point about you that would make a different to whether I like you or dislike you. I don't dislike people because they're black or female or Baptist or straight or Mexican or tall or fat or cross-eyed. I dislike people because they're mean, close-minded, aggrandizing, delusional, self-righteous assholes. There should be no other reason to hate people other than how they act.

I can tell you that the lesbians who are going to have their foster children taken away are not any of those things. They are people and shit like this just hurts people. So if you feel like hurting people rather than better spending your time being helpful, by all means, make sure the fags can't raise abused and neglected children.

New Faces

In case the ever growing masses are not yet aware, I've added a few links to the page in the hopes of getting readership to friends and family. However, in all honesty, the links go to places that get page hits ranging in the thousands to millions, so I doubt my minor fiefdom driven traffic will impact their counts by much.

I'm also testing something that just came about while browsing the list of Blogger options. I've always wanted to participate in whatever RSS or XML news feeds are, and I feel like a grandpa saying this (listen up dad) but I don't understand them. I downloaded Pluck to read feeds, but I couldn't tell you what I'd be reading. The most online time I have is at work, and I should be working, not reading blog updates and quirky news articles. But it doesn't seem to work here, and at home it might be kind of a waste of a download as the time I'm on the home machine is spent in the binary bossom of Mistress Photoshop.

However, I did find the email update option. Now I can write from any email client I want. It's funny, I think this is really cool. Writing from an email instead of the dashboard update page. I don't know why. It doesn't take any longer. For people who don't do this often, imagine having a microwave in your bedroom. Now, it might seem cool at first. You can bring your favorite frozen pizza to bed and watch some TV. But you haven't sped up the cooking time. You walk the same distance to get the pizza, then go back to the room. The pizza tastes the same. Ah, but you say, no one has a microwave in their bedroom.

And that's exactly why I'm writing this entry from my email. Because I can.

Phbbt!!

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(Incidentally, what may not work and what I'm used to doing is hand typing all the htm codes, so if you see some odd symbols and no fun links I'll have to go back out to the kitchen and nuke my pizza in there.)

Mr. Pilgrim is THIS close to walking. I mean it. Friday he took what has quantitatively become his first steps. He's taken a few tottering wobbles in the past couple weeks, but this was the first time he had a desire to get somewhere and his chubby little legs propelled him. Both Mrs. A and I were on hand, as well as the babysitter and Lil Miss Austin. Mrs. A cried and was really glad she was here for it.

Mrs. A and I were going through baby clothes (because the little monster is already wearing 18 month old clothes) and bagging up anything marked 6-9 or even some 6-12. She held on to one piece and said, "This is my Pilgrim. This is how I remember him." The depression she had really blanked out the first half year or more of his life, a life spent almost entirely with his mom. Now, I don't remember much about LMA at that age and even memories of this guy are fading, but Mrs. A I don't think, and she has said as much, remembers much of anything. It was really hard to listen to her say that and it made me wish he'd stay this age just a little longer.

But no, he wants to talk now. He really hasn't got the conscious Mama or Dada just yet, but if you say, "Say Mama" his mouth will move. He can also understand, "Where's my nose." and he points to your nose. He also bonks and gives you kisses. Sounds cute until you get one. Baby kisses are like kisses from a 3 foot bass. There's more cleaning up afterwards than expected. We're hoping to get a recording of him babbling because there's a certain timber and phonetics in a one year old babble that is hard to reproduce. If I were to type it, it'd look like...

bwerta bwerta bwerta bwerta...

And so on. He just grabs an object and just starts reading it the riot act, man. Whatever this plastic Sesame Street character did before he got a hold of it, it will not do again in its lifetime. He's also not happy with the small broom and the diaper bag.

Go get Opera, the CEO will pull a stunt.

Seriously. This smacks of publicity, but what the hell. I've been using Opera for a few years now, I think more people should. Now with version 8 out, it's more secure, the mouse browsing is spectacular and the tabbed windows has me ruined. Not to mention the selective cookie administration, smart pop up blocking and password wizard.

Yes, only about 2% of people use Opera, compared to something like 20% Firefox and the rest to either IE or some smaller open sourced things, but my money's on this puppy.

Plus the guy will swim the channel.

Sometimes...ugh...no words, just read.

More bad news for sane people.

Rep Talton's email

Complete list of who voted for this bill, SB6.

The following are all the Dems who voted for this bill.

Allen, A
Bailey
Chavez
Cook, R
Deshotel
Dukes
Edwards
Eiland
Escobar
Farabee
Flores
Frost
Gidding
Gonzales
Gonzales Toureilles
Gillen
Hochberg
Hodge
Homer
Hopson
Jones J
King
Laney
Luna
McClendon
McReynolds
Moreno P
Naishtat
Noriega
Oliveira
Peña
Picket
Puente
Quintanilla
Raymond
Ritter
Rodriguez
Rose
Solis
Strama
Turner
Uresti
Veasey
Villarreal
Vo

Here's a list of contact information.

ACLU

I expect some results people. This is intolerable.

Ooooh, you got Mrs. A breathin' fire.

It's been a while since the (R)s have given me something to talk about. Well they bucked out of their slump with a whopper.

Apparently now, in Texas, if you're gay, you can't be a foster parent.

AND

If you are gay and are already a foster parent, the state can come take your foster child away.

AND if you say you aren't gay the state can come to your home and investigate IF YOU'RE GAY!

I'm going to let you digest that for a bit.

Meanwhile, here's a picture to look at whilst you ponder.





Hey, glad your back. For those outside of the state of Texas, all I ask is that you shake your head sadly for those of us in Austin. We try, we really do. We try to remain groovy and liberal but morally sound. We work hard, we teach our kids right and we give them room to grow and learn and play. Some of us go to church. Some of us believe in God or gods or The Goddess. We have been shouting so loud from within this little oasis of sanity that our throats are starting to hurt, but dammit, this shit is now intolerable.

I can't imagine what something like this must look like from the steel towers of New York or the sand and fog of San Francisco or the chilly ponds of Canada or the rest of the freakin world. How are they looking at us in Texas now? I know that a good many people wouldn't mind if we just quietly slipped back under a Mexican flag and gave back all the BBQ. Now I just can't imagine what the other 49 are thinking.

Well, probably more like the other 3.

See, I keep thinking this is a Texas thing, and it's not. We're just big and loud and like staying over on the weekends, hope you don't mind. The problem is that most of the country is like this. "Have orphans raised by queers? Shit, man, why don't you just let Osama bin Laden piss on the First Lady's head?" I mean for real, what are you people thinking? This bill had to pass because people voted on it, so I ask you (and use the comment thingie and leave you name and emails, chumps) what the FUCK are you thinking?

Now, let me get this straight (and we read the bill, don't think that we didn't.) Texas does not want gays or lesbians to raise children as foster parents. They feel it is in the child's best interest to limit the number of potential families out there willing to give them a place to live that's not a shelter AND quite possibly move them out of a home into a shelter in favor of not being cared for by gay men and women.

Because why?

Am I missing something? Were all the gays I knew in college secretly hiding poison tipped fangs and an unnerving love of Ramstein? Do gay men smell really bad? Do lesbians use children as piñatas? Are they all using children to make a giant soup with that witch lady from Bugs Bunny?

I don't understand the reason.

And if all you can say involves the Bible, Christianity or that salt stain under that bridge in Chicago, I don't want to here it. That's not a reason to remove children from decent care that the state can't provide.

You want to know how I know they can't provide it? This is all an amendment to a bill revamping Child Protective Services. Hey, we need to fix our state child care system, it's broken. Well let's do all these things, hope it works, then make sure the gays aren't involved.

Fucktards.

Lighter than airlines.

Now this is just ridiculous. I know I know. Safety in the air, 9/11, don't let the terrorists win. You know, I'm all for that crap.

Stopping people from being able to light up after a long flight is just retarded. You think potential terrorists are going to stop because they can't carry lighters? How many bombs have been exploded on airlines in the past 50 years? One? Almost 2? There have been fewer than 2500 fatalities each year for the billions of miles flown over the millions of departing flights since 1970. Does anyone think that it's going to go down even further now that lighters aren't allowed?

They aren't talking about banning lighters from just carry on, but checked lighters as well. That means you have to, if you're a smoker, hit a gas station after you leave the airport before you can light up. What a freakin' annoyance that is.

I've been trying to quit smoking, in fact it's been a few days since I've had one. I was down to just a couple a day, if that, so I don't know if it's so much quitting as it is taking a break every couple days. I don't smoke at work but maybe once a week, then if Mrs. A's brother and his wife come over (they wanted to be called something, but I forget, Uncle and Aunt Austin?) then we'll have a few beers and smokes.

But the point is, this isn't making airlines safer, it's just upsetting more people. I mean, lighters don't even really fall into the dangerous or "why would you take it anyway, dipshit?" category. We're lumping little disposable lighters in with ammunition, hand grenades and dynamite. Although the most interesting item I saw on there was Realistic Replicas of Incendiaries. What is that? Good looking knock off of a fire-bomb used to hold your change?

There's also Chlorine for Pools and Spas. Now, if I was going to be a jerk as say, "Well, this chlorine is for my bathtub," would they let it on?

Martial Arts Weapons. Hey folks, a trained martial artist could use a crouton as a weapon, this should be renamed "Fanboy Paraphernalia" because only super loser BiMonSciFiCon asshats would try to carry a Klingon batleth on a freakin plane. You think Sonny Chiba is every going to be caught carrying a Hanzo sword? Puh-lease, TSA.

Look, I don't mind this laundry list of stuff we can't take onboard. I never remember to pack my Kubatons anyway, and Mrs. A is ALWAYS leaving her Gas Torches in the car. However, now that you've attacked a section of the population that has an addiction, albeit a legal one, isn't there some sort of free rights thing involved here? Probably not, because you let in the lighters and suddenly the Bleach Fetish crowd is gonna cry Roe.

So what I propose is this. While the TSA says they've put the word out about this ban, there's bound to be a good 90-95% of the world population that doesn't get their internal memos or 15 second blurbs on MSNBC and will continue to bring lighters on planes. They will be in pockets, purses, backpacks, fanny-packs and gym bags. People won't even remember they have them.

So, at each airport, there needs to be a donor box at security that is then run over to baggage claim every time it gets full. You loose a light getting probed, you pick one up waiting for your misplaced bags. It's only fair, right?

Hug him and squeeze him.

Mrs. A would probably not want to bring this up, but it appears as though we've lost our cat.

How do you lose a cat, you might ask. Don't cats run away?

Well, yes. That is mostly correct. George was found by me and Mrs. Austin about 5 years ago, very shortly after we moved to Austin. He was a stray that would hang out by our house a lot, so we started feeding him. Of course feeding him kept him coming back, and eventually we pissed off the landlord by cutting a hole in the garage door to make a cat door. It was a homemade cat door, by the way. I thought it'd be easy to cut out a square, put some hinges on it and voila! But guess what, that only works in Archie comics.

Anyway, George moved with us 2 1/2 years ago to the house we now live in. He never strayed like you hear about when people move the pets go nuts looking for their home. We always left the garage door open a little ways so he could come in. He was a fat friendly cat. (Was, how dare I.) Mrs. A, however, is allergic to cats so he had to stay outside, but she would see him every day and give him a little love.

So last week we noticed that we hadn't seen him lately, in almost a week. Well, once you realize you're missing something it doesn't matter when it was last you saw it, steps have to be taken immediately. Mrs. A printed up fliers and we took turns canvasing the neighborhood. Now, most of our neighboors are latino, but I'm hoping even they could recognize an animal and a phone number.

So it's days later now and we haven't got any calls. George has tags, but we always get collars that break away, so he doesn't get caught on something, and they break away and get lost. I haven't quit grasped the logic behind that one yet, but I know it's circular.

George is apparently pretty old. The vet says he's about 15, but I don't think that's right. He wasn't much older than 2 or 3 when we found him. I don't think he's even 10 yet. However, he does have FIV, and I'm thinking that if anything, he finally succumbed to that. But I sure didn't see any signs of declining health. Animals, I hear, have a way of knowing when it's time and they tend to go off and find a quiet place. I sure hope I don't stumble on that place in a few weeks.

The other thing is, since he didn't have tags, someone may have found him and either kept him or turned him over to the animal shelter. We haven't called the shelters yet, I'm afraid to honestly.

I just hope he comes back. Mrs. A really misses him.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

New Comments.

The Comments tags at the bottom of each post should now just go right to a commenting popup rather than a new page with the same post and another link.

So, now it's easier to leave your feed back, all 4 of you.

Dooced

Well, I was going to write about work, but after getting an update from the ever savvy Mrs. Austin about Dooce.com, I was convinced to do otherwise.

Another reader mentioned that writing about work is easy and fun because there is so much stuff that goes on there. I agree, it's a given to want to talk about work. The last 7-8 years have felt like one giant job with different names. I haven't had to apply anywhere, I haven't had to interview or do a resume or hit the pavement or log on to Monster.com or any of that. I get paid pretty well and have learned a lot.

So, the day-to-day stuff that happens, I won't talk about. Don't get me wrong, I still write about it, but it'll be in book or memoir or something that will come out after I'm retired or after I get laid off and am looking for some money.

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Which leaves me to talk about the family this go 'round. I know some of you die hard readers would rather hear gossip about my job or dirt on other family members or cool places we've been, but you have to understand that I started this journal many moons ago to keep track of what our life with kids was like. Sometimes it's as boring to read as listening to people talk about stand up comedians they saw on TV, but I must write about it nevertheless.

Lil Miss Austin and I have been going through some trying times. I forget that she's only three. I treat her, no, I want to treat her like she's a teenager or at least an age that she can reason. But she can't. So what happens is I have unattainably high expectations and she has the focus and attention span of a three year old. What could go wrong?

The problem is, she has the intelligence of a 5 year old. She's very smart, very precocious, very manipulative and very charming. She's got me wrapped around her finger, but when I decide to push back, it's never in a constructive way, it's always with yelling.

So yesterday, after she'd not done what she was told, I scolded her. I scolded her all the way home. I scolded her loud and repetitively. There was so much yelling and talking that after a while she just kind went blank, like I'd talked too much and now she'd forgotten what it was that she did wrong. Because she's three. If left to sit long enough, a transgression against a parental rule becomes how many red cars she can see on the way home. Because she's three.

She later told Mrs. A all about it and described me as a big monster that stood over her yelling and she just wished I went away.

Tha-at's right.

Seeing it from that point of view makes me sick. It makes my gut bottom out thinking that she can relate these things and that I'm a monster to her. Of course later she said she loved me and I believe that day will eventually be forgotten to her, but only if I change the way I handle her. Mrs. A is so much better at it than I am. I'm no good at discipline, I'd rather play, but I can't always play. I have to pick her up from school, take her too school, be with her at home when Mrs. A has meetings in the evening. I can't just keep passing the buck to Mommy because it's not fair to Mrs. A, it's not fair to LMA, and it's lazy for me to be that way. It's not taking an active role; it's a passive role.

I get so frustrated when she gives me backtalk and ignores me when I'm trying to get her to do things. (Welcome to parenting, right?) But I always thought we were friends.

Later that night I upset Mrs. A and she snapped at me a little. She's sick and I was interrupting her show, but after the day I had, it was all I could do to keep from getting into the car and driving away. Sometimes it doesn't pay to be everyone's friend.

As I found out at work today as well, sometimes it doesn't pay to be friendly.

Don't worry, the humor will come back after a while. This had to be a boring post to read. Almost as bad as that comedian I saw last night...

Try not to. Go on.

I'm sitting in a meeting today in which the company chief executive and other higher ups are discussing and advising us on some information concerning our compensation. It wasn't bad, no one got laid off, we weren't bankrupt, but I don't want to get into too many specifics for obvious reasons; not least of which is that it's not terribly exciting to hear.

Which brings me to my conundrum du jour.

Why is it that teachers and supervisors and Type A people always give you a hard time about yawning? It's a semi-reflexive action, which means you only have some control over it. You can make yourself yawn to pop your ears, and you can stifle a yawn, but what's the point? Scientists don't even know for sure why we yawn, so that's the last thing I'm gonna do is stop it. If we don't know what causes it, I'm sure as hell not going to arrest it mid stride. I figure a polite hand to mouth is all that's needed. Surely, in this modern, enlightened society, we can appreciate that a yawn is a biological function and, while not appreciative if done blatantly, shouldn't be frowned upon if the person does it discretely. It’s in no way done purposefully to offend.

But no, even with my head down in my chest and the back of my fist to my mouth, I still get the inevitable, "We keeping you up?"

You know what? Yes, you are. Had I not had to stop my work flow and come sit with 20 other people in this crowded, warm office in these cushy leather chairs that lean all the way back and had to listen to people talk about numbers with the aplomb of The Turtleman from Night Court, then maybe I wouldn't have had to let my instincts take over and do...whatever my body does when it yawns.

Yes, you are boring me to tears. Yes you are filling the room with too much CO2. Yes you are giving me an ancestral signal that forces my jaw to want to stretch itself, either to show my teeth or signal a change of action is needed. Take your pick. Whichever you choose, notice it's not, "Keeping my attention rapt and undevided."

In middle school I had a French teacher who hated yawning. She was a little Mexican lady who was otherwise a hoot. She would stick her arms out like a cross and look up at the ceiling and say, "Nope! Jou give me stress!" One time, an étudiant de camarade (eh? French?) was trying to get her attention by saying, "Yo." After two of these consecutively, she snapped. "You called me a yo-yo?!"

Well shoot, went off on a tangent there.

Ah, yes. She would keep kids after school for yawning in her class. Her rationale was that when you yawn your ears plug up and you can't hear what she's saying and she would not repeat things. I mean do people know that yawning is a partial reflex? It's like getting the chills; you can't stop that. What's this social stigma we have with people thinking that when you yawn it is a personal affront? You want to know what the affront is? You being so damn boring, that's what's offensive. My yawning should indicate that you need to pick up the pace, Chappy. Use some sparklers or strippers. Forget the sparklers.

I mean really. It's these same idgets that say quirky little annoying things when you ask what the time or date is.

"Can you tell me what time it is?"

"Time to buy a watch."

“...”

"Sir, I don't have time to load a shotgun with rock salt and tear a painful hole in the front part of your chest, would you just tell me what fucking time it is please?"

I just don't get it. Especially if you yawn and cover your mouth, then say, "Excuse me." I mean, that covers all the Emily Post angels, doesn't it? If, after that, you still catch flak, can you cudgel the commenting individual with his or her own shoe? How about a quick punch to the throat?

How many times did you yawn reading this?

My baby watches CMT.

It was revealed to me that technically a Yankee is someone from one of the original Union states on the East Coast. I'd been desperately clinging to the fact that I was a Yankee simply because I wasn't from the South.

Being from the West makes me a Cowboy.

It does, really. Colorado is a western state, like it or not. It's not a Midwestern plains state, but it's not a West Coast state, it's cowboy country. The problem with that is I think of Texas, Oklahoma, Arizona, New Mexico and Wyoming as Cowboy states. So why not Colorado? Well growing up a 'burb outside of Denver, you don't really notice that you're in a Western state. Sure there's the occasional turquoise necklace or boot cut jeans or ten gallon hat, but it was an oddity to see them. I lived in one of the larger metropolitan areas in the country, surely cowboys lived on ranches or under the stars. Don't they?

Anyway, it's hard to embrace something you didn't know you were. Not being a native Texan I can either say I'm Not-A-Native-Texan which gets the same reaction as telling people you're a nudist (not terribly offensive, but just not right either) or I can tell them I'm from up north. I don't like saying I'm from Colorado because frankly, Coloradoans hate Texans. They just do. Don't ask, it has something to do with them buying up all our land or being assholes on the slopes. I haven't the slightest idea, but it was sort of ingrained into our heads as children as jokes and anecdotes and some horror stories. I even remember a trip up the side of Pikes Peak on the Cog Railroad and the tour guide said, as we passed a field of boulders, "And for you folks from Texas, this is what we call 'gravel.'" The rabble was roused after that and I remember thinking, "Yeah, stupid Texans."

But now I have to pause and consider that 3/4 of the people in my house are Texans by birth. My children are Natives. They are Texans. For the rest of their life they will be able to impress people worldwide with their place of birth. Meanwhile I'll be sitting in a small eatery in Greece trying to chat up the waitress with stories from Colorado and she'll be looking at me like I'm a nudist.

It's either that or come to terms with your surroundings. I like Austin. It's not so much Texas as other places like Dallas or El Paso or Luckenback, but it's a very cool place and has the bizarre distinction of being very un-Texas-like AND the state's capitol. I also like my family, those damn Texans that they are. And I like going to see concerts, even if it's Willie Nelson.

Mrs. Austin was doing a favor for a friend by buying tickets for them for a Willie Nelson concert. I don't know why this person couldn't buy their own damn tickets, but c'est la guere. Mrs. A did a solid for them, but for whatever reason the ticket place couldn't mail them in time and wasn't open in time for her to get them and then deliver them. (Seriously, make friends with my wife. You get concert tickets, mix CDs, drinks, furniture, babysitting and quite possibly some salsa.) Plans fell through and she decided to go instead, and then invited me. If you remember, this isn't the first Willie Nelson concert I'd been to, and I'm sure it won't be the last. The guy is 137 years old and plays guitar like a fiend.

But I'm jumping the gun.

First off, we leave under a giant and complete rainbow. Very Kermit. Next we are able to park right up front thanks to the handicap tag Mrs. A has for her leg. (And before you start in, she can't walk very far, so it's not like we're abusing it. You fascists.) We grab some drinks and food and then proceed to mill around during the first few opening acts. We take our seats, it sprinkles a bit, I'm wearing shorts and a tee-shirt and it's about 50 degrees (cuz I'm not a Yankee, remember? Guh! Read above) so I have to buy a couple long sleeve shirts. So now I'm a transplant with a cowboy hat and a Willie shirt and two Native children and I own a home. I'm like 98% Texan. The other two percent hates the Dallas Stars.

So the concert is a blast. Mrs. A got a little drunk and I tried to. The 2nd opening act was a guy named Shooter Jennings. My dad might get the reference. I won't push it now and if you like surprises, don't hit that link just yet. They were good, not really folksy, not really bluegrass, not really honky-tonk (like I'd friggin know, please) but they were really sort of aggressive, scratchy, dirty country music. Good beat, I could dance to it.

Didn't think twice about it. Then some other depressing-ass lady came on singing about mines and sugarcanes and some spinning wheel. She was the Zoloft love child of Jonny Cash and Melissa Ethridge. First song was awesome. "Fish swim, bird fly. Something something, by and by. Old men, sit and think. I drink." Really kinda silvery, tinny, edgy Patsy Kline song, but it went downhill from there. One song about people deserving mercy now, Mrs. A says, "Man, this song deserves some mercy now. My EARS deserve some mercy now." She’d had a few Tiki Passion Papayas.

Well, then the roadies start getting the stage ready for Willie and before you know it, he's on stage...before they were done. He just grabs a guitar (pronounced GEE-tar or GIH-tar) and starts playin'. The roadies scramble and the rest of the band, or maybe some of the roadies start playing the closest instrument available. It was almost as if Willie was back stage going "Want to see these guys freak out?" So Willie plays a concert like I've not heard before, he just goes from one song to another. There's no pauses in between to talk about rain forests or tsunamis or how the President did something stupid (that'd be a long interlude) or mentioning about what the next song was or why he wrote it or what pen he used to write it, just played all the songs.

Then, while playing By and By or The Wheel or whatever that spiritual song is, a few people join him on stage. First being John Popper of Blues Traveler fame. Next is Jessica Simpson. Then some other chick I recognized but don't know. Then Shooter Jennings. Nelson and Jennings. Get it now? He's the dead guy's son! Singing with Willie Nelson. We didn't get it until we got home. We were so focused on the fact that the guy's name was Shooter that the last name didn't really sink it. I was more impressed with John Popper, I think Mrs. A was impressed with Jessica Simpson's voice (which was pretty good.) I think they were all on stage because they were filming Dukes of Hazard and SXSW is in town.

Bang up evening. Really. Whiskey River indeed.

I forgot to mention that the title comes from a line Mrs. A thought she heard. When shooter was onstage he said something like, "This next song is called (something) and you can see the video on CMT." Cheryl thought he said the song title was "My Baby Watches CMT." Holy smokes, you need booze!

Oh Sue's Cannon.

The original purpose of this blog was to keep track of all the milestones of raising kids. Since there's no way in hell I'd actually keep track of a decent baby book, I decided to do this instead. I still have some of the old pages from the Geocities days, I may add them here one day, who knows.

But that brings me to today. Mrs. Austin said we need to remember Bonk. I think at one point when Lil Miss Austin was about nine months old, we had Bonk then too. Bonk is leaning your head foreward and letting the small child smack their forehead on yours. You say, "Bonk" and they bonk you. I think everyone has a version of this activity.

I was also instructed to talk about LMA's morning aria this morning of "Oh Sue's Cannon." Apparently it was funny, I wasn't there. I was there for her repetition of the Moldy Peaches song, "Who's got the crack."

LMA just repeats at will now, and not parroting like when she was young, she's actually memorizing things and recalling them later. The Burger King commercial with Darius Rucker (Hootie) singing the remade Rock Candy Mountain song "I like the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch, the breasts they grow on trees." Seriously, he says "the breasts they grow on trees." Well, that's really the only line I know and I sing it all the time cuz the CP&B marketing firm really knows how to worm their way into my brain. I'll never buy the damn sandwich, but I'll sing that song until Mrs. A leaves me.

Anyway, I was singing the first line when a little voice behind me finished it saying, "The best things grow on trees." Well that's shades better than what she could have said.

That is, of course, until she shouts "Who's got the crack?" at the Farmers Market.

...two American kids growin' up, in the heartland.

***The names have been changed to protect the awesome people.***

Every drive to see Mrs. A's family in Conroe takes us through a handful of small Texas towns; Brenham, Giddings, Elgin, Montgomery, Navasota. Every time we go through, especially if the town has a Town Square with a gazebo, I expect small town festivities. Oompa bands would play, balloons would drift lazily around, small children would play tag, old people would sit quietly with an iced-tea and reminisce about the war or some store that's been closed down, there would be bar-b-que and beer and funnel cake.

Well, dammit, it never happens. Driving through these small Texas towns -shoot, probably every state's small towns- is an exercise in grave disappointment. If you're lucky you don't take the highway that goes past the housing projects, or the abandoned mill, or the Walmart. However, most of the time, they are but a small pause on the highway, never anything to consider, never anything to stop and peruse, never any reason to stay.

That is, until Stonevale.

Now, I'm changing the names of people because when Mrs. A volunteered me to help her, she didn't make them sign a waiver saying, "My assistant here is a blogger and your names are going online." So to be nice and fair and polite and litigious, it's Stonevale.

And since it felt like being caught in a John Cougar Mellencamp song, the bride and groom will be Jack and Diane (though I could have used Bubba and Susan and got a better effect.)

Anyway, off to Stonevale we go. Stonevale is about an hour away from Austin and is literally a blink on the highway. In 2002 its est. population was an Elk's Lodge member roster over 5,000. Stonevale has a certain mill/plant that keeps the town running. I wish I could say what it was because it is just an awesome tidbit. Stonevale takes about 2 minutes to drive past on the highway, about 10 minutes if you take all the side roads.

So, it's fuckin' small, ok? But before I get my hopes up about small towns and such, like always, I remind myself of Brenham and Giddings and Navasota. Towns that appear charming but always end up being depressingly unhappy almost dead places. I keep my anticipation in check. That is, until we meet the groom's sister in law. We'll call her Marcie.

Marcie was a deep voiced, thin, blond with the thickest Texas accent I'd heard in a long time. If this town had a socialite, I would have expected Marcie to be it. Her husband, we'll call him Jim because I honestly don't remember his name, is also a photographer was was instructed by Marcie -and a few other people- to stay out of Mrs. A way. Poor guy, he was so cool too. Marcie met us at the wedding hall, which was part of a fair ground that consisted of a few big buildings and what appeared to be stables for livestock when the fair was in town. It was finally nice to see the inside of one of these buildings. I always see them from highway, you know the ones; heavy industrial strength siding, long flat and wide with a few regular doors and one big almost garage door that's white. Well, inside, it was a concrete floor with a few restrooms and corkboard walls. There was a kitchen as well. They had gussied the joint up with a trellis, few hundred chairs and a few dozen long and round tables.

But we weren't staying; Marcie whisked us to the Knights of Columbus hall. They called it the K of C and for the first few times I thought they were saying KFC. Honestly, in my head, I knew that they were making the food there so hearing KFC made just as much, if not more sense, than K OF C.

The K of C is a lodge, but off to one side, outside, a few of the groom's buddies were settin' up a fire pit to make some bar-b-que chicken. An old Texas gentleman tipped his baseball cap to us as we took some pictures, then off to the next location we went.

Jack the Groom is part of the Stonevale Volunteer Fire Department. There's no ladder designation I believe because it's the only Fire Dept. in the town. So Jack is a volunteer fire fighter and all his buddies are volunteer firefighters. Half the wedding party were firemen. If there was a fire during the wedding, it would have either burned down or you'd have had the best dressed firemen this side of Waco, and slightly inebriated.

So we got some shots of the groomsmen getting all dallied up and Marcie whisks us back to the Hall where the bride and her maids have arrived and are using the kitchen to get ready. Mrs A. and I set up shop with the laptop and begin taking some pictures. The groom and his men arrive just before the allotted time on a fire truck, lights on, sirens blaring. There's some milling around, the music plays, the bride comes out, the groom looks happy, the parents cry and it's suddenly over. The ceremony was a pleasant 15 minutes. Short and very sweet.

Because dammit, we got 6 kegs of beer to start drinkin'.

Boy howdy, can these folks pack away some beer. With a faint smell of bug bomb lingering through the hall, the party started to kick into its first phase with the tapping of the kegs and the arrival of the food. The bar-b-que chicken and the mustard potato salad (which didn't have the overpowering mustard taste I was expecting, you crazy people in Mrs. A's family should take note) and the bread and the green beans and the peaches and ice-tea all arrived in serving dishes I would have thrown away years ago, but in this time and space seemed timeless and reliable. Even with the K of C markings on the side. And the ice-tea came in a huge white bucket. Awesome.

Before I go any further, I want to insert a bit about the people. I hope you don't mistake my intentions here. I'm not poking fun at anyone or giving the fine folks of Stonevale anything but the highest respect. Being raised in a suburb and spending much time in a metropolis and now living in a sizeable city, I've never been a part of this small town life. It was amazingly friendly and happy and open and honest. They knew they were rednecks. They knew they were small town. And they loved it! The word "shy" was only used to describe babies and "deceptive" when talking about politicians. This was Bible Belt, slap ya on the back, drink another beer, good times. Even though I felt like an outsider with my black clothes and long hair, they didn't make me feel like it. In fact, we had a great time meeting all the people. We walked a fine line between having a job to do and wanting to party with them.

Good folk.

So there's the dinner, then the toast, then the cake. Then suddenly, the entire wedding party starts moving tables and chairs out of the way. Was it over? we asked Marcie's husband Jim. "Oh no," said Jim, a little loose and wobbly. "That was just the first part. This is where the real party starts."

And man was he right. The crowd at the actual wedding would have impressed most people. I would say a good 100 or so people showed up, all nicely dressed. But they left to go change and returned with, what I can only describe as, the rest of the town.

At 7pm the real party started and we saw probably 400 people at its height. The DJs -whom we met and liked and will probably talk to again at other weddings- played a good mix of country and hip hop with just a smattering of polka.

That's right, I said polka. Refer back to the bit where I was talking about oompa music. It took everything I had to sit in my chair and be still when they played the Chicken Dance (dada dada dada dum, dada dada dada dum, dada dada dada dum, clap clap clap clap.) But before the lights went out and the music and beer flowed like Dionysus had hit an above ground pool, there was the Grand March.

The Grand March was one of the most interesting things I've seen in a long time. It was a mix between a Conga-line and Square Dancing. To explain it would be a waste of time, so I'll just let you figure it out. One thing to add early on to that link is that at one point couples make a tunnel or bridge that the couples behind walk through. That was the funny part, and I suspect quite a few goosings and spankings were doled out.

After that our job really wound down. It was all about the drinking and smoking and dancing from that point on, and really, how many pictures do you need of that.

Mrs. A graciously made our exit after it was determined that no car was going to be jacked with shaving cream or condoms and headed home. I was abuzz with admiration and appreciation for my best small Texas town experience. I know nothing with live up to what I have in my head, but this was as close as it could possibly get. The only thing they didn't have was funnel cake.

Update

Mrs. A's first wedding is this weekend. I know she's excited and apparently ready to go. Her leg is doing better and her physical therapy seems to be helping getting stability and mobility back, but it still hurts a great deal.

I'm...still in some discomfort, I'll leave it at that.

---

I was thinking on my way to work today that the oil change service industry must be really hurting. Maybe it's just Texas. I've noticed in the past year especially that there are guys out front of their establishments just oozing exuberance, doing their best to get you in for their $18 oil change. There are signs and balloons and sometimes up to three guys in jumpers just hoppin' up and down, waving at people, giving the thumbs up. It's almost sad. I mean, I don't see them on weekends doing that, you know, when people actually have time to get their oil changed, and when it suddenly costs $24.99 instead of $18.

So I thought about it. Do I have time in the morning to get my oil changed? Of course I don't. I suppose if I did, these guys wouldn't be so brain-dead happy to get my car into their garage. My morning is orchestrated so tightly that there just isn't room for this kind of luxury. Now, if they had a van service to take my kid to school, stop by to get a coffee then hit the bank on the way back while my car juice was being depulped, then maybe, but just sitting there for 30 minutes isn't going to fly at 7:15 in the A of M.

So I'm left to scoot past these Glengarries with the same reaction I do the cardboard signs and church buckets I see on the corners. Acknowledge, but don't look directly at them, fuck with the radio, try to keep moving.

---

There's some more stuff going on too, nothing to take lightly of course. Mrs. A's going back to her sales job at Swell Computers. The message board I go to is starting to brand itself and is in the early stages of becoming a publisher and I'm on the ground level as an editor (good news really only for me I suppose.) The 2005 Priuses (Priusi? Priusis?) are in and I should have one soon, provide I figure out where I left my spine. Pilgrim is really showing some walking/talking chops lately. He cruises with the best of them and has taken a few steps on his own before plummeting unceremoniously onto his rear end.

Oh, and Lil Miss Austin really got me yesterday. As you guys know, I had a procedure done on Monday. I'm still a bit sore, so I walk a little funny. I'm dropping LMA off at school, limping a little but doing my best to hide it. Her teacher asks if I'm feeling ok, there's been a lot of sick kids and parents so it was an honest question. LMA response with, "Daddy had an operation on his hinny so he doesn't have any more babies."

Well, shoot. Cat's out of the bag.

In talking with Mrs. A last night, I mentioned that I was a bit depressed that no one really asked me how I was or how the procedure went (sans the brother in law, who was a bit too curious for my taste, freakshow). She said that it's not really an operation you can bring up socially. ACL? Fine and dandy. Cancer? Sure thing. Pregnancy? Bring in pictures. Vasectomy? When's lunch? If you bring it up at work, it's almost considered harassment in the most technical terms. If my coworker said, "Hey, how's your nuts?" I could file a complaint. By the same token, if I said, "Man, my boys are hurtin' today. Must be the stitches in my scrotum," I could be sitting in court right now.

So it's a stoic discomfort I sit through.

Luckily we have Mrs. A's knee to talk about, which, from my calculations, should be painful for the next few years. Plus, it's easier to talk about. No one ever got fired for talking about knees. Right?

---

Hey, if someone is good at buying NEW cars, drop me a line. I want to do this myself and not have Mrs. A be my negotiator, but she's so much better at it than I am. I just don't want to walk in with my pants down and my wallet open shouting, "Just don't hurt me!"

Dr. Richard Chop

This post is not about Dr. Richard Chop. Yes he is a vasectomy specialist in Austin. I didn't visit him. I just liked his name and I'm sure he's a fine doctor. Please visit his profile page to get information about him.

I won't beat around the bush. I got a vasectomy today. That's right, I had a guy I've met only a dozen or so times go at my sac with a sharp object, and it was covered under insurance.

I'm on some pain medicine, now, so whatever ramblings contained herein are of course subject to interpretation.

Guys, it wasn't bad. There was the occasional pin prick for the local anesthetic (sp, apologies to my uncle in Colorado Springs) followed by some pretty damned uncomfortable nad smooshing and arranging. But then the numbness took over and I was left chatting with the good Doctor about Battlestar Gallactica. It was very surreal.

So now I have to take another day off for bed rest, and as I write this with an ice pack on my groin, I have to remind myself that I took this one for the team. We have two wonderful children and even if we had two horrible children, we have two children. That's enough. I like kids, I like my kids, I like other peoples' kids, but two is enough. Two is almost two too many to have Mrs. A deliver.

After pushing out two melons through a lemon hole, the least I could do is feel like I've been kicked in the groin for a week.

I can't lift anything for a week, it'll be about 6 months until it's safe to go smokeless while makin' whoopee, but so far it's not bad. I can't walk really well yet, but it's only be about 10 hours since the operation. I got a milk shake out of it and a good nap.

Not a bad day, other than the nut wounds.


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Get your asses over to Flikr, people. It's Mrs. A's latest and greatest toy and there's some good shit.

New Photos

For those regular readers, if you notice the new link to your right, that is where all photo updates will be occuring. In an effort to conserve space and adapt a more user friendly upload process, Mrs. A went with Flickr for all our family photo hosting needs.

This blog will be updated as regularly as before, just no pictures.

(If you're using anything but Internet Explorer, all the sidebar stuff is way down at the bottom of the page. Sorry about that, I have no control over Blogger not working with Mozilla or Firefox or Opera.)

Eewww.

***WARNING - SURGICAL PICTURES***

I know I haven't really kept readers abreast of Mrs. Austin's knee situation as much as I could have, but really where's the time? No pictures of swollen knees in a brace, no pictures of Mrs. A reclining ever so gently in her rehab knee bending machine.





However, you folks are in for a treat. Mrs. A just got back from a doctor visit during which time they removed her stitches. Not only does she not have to wear dressings and bandages anymore, but she can take a shower without having to treat her leg like a leftover sandwich AND she can start weaning herself off her crutches. It's a momentous day.

The doctor also sent home her photos from the surgery. These were the arthroscopic photos, so while they may look vaguely internal, there's really nothing recognizable about them. Mrs. A gave me the info on each pic and I will do the same for you fine readers.

Again, they are internal images, but not bloody or gory. They look more like if you were preparing a turkey. Dad, just stop here, you'll pass out and Grandma Brighton will have to cart your ass off to the hospital.





These are the images taken before surgery. In the image on the right we're looking past the femur (top) as the dark object/tool is pulling away the meniscus. The reddish pinkish area is the ACL or what's left of it. The 2nd image is the ACL from the front. Yeah, it's hard to tell if that's really what's supposed to be there or not. I don't know medicine, so I have no frame of reference. When you see the reconstruction, you'll appreciate the damage better. It's not supposed to look like someone took a shotgun to a gooseberry pie. The third image is the damage from the back. That little white sausage thing is what's left of the ligament.





Here's the newly inserted cadaver ligament. We found out today it was from a 30 year old, no mention of sex or athletic ability. Donor could have been a 400 lbs. accountant or a 110 lbs. aerobic instructor, we can only guess. The image on the left, the big band of what looks like hair, is the front of the replacement ACL. The image on the right is the rear view. Now go back and look at the first few pictures. Pretty horrendous trauma, wouldn't you say?





These last two are what's known as collateral damage. I guess in this case it's Lateral Damage? (heh, damn that was funny.) Anyway, in these two you can see small tears in the medial and lateral collateral ligament. These heal on their own and don't usually require replacements.

So she's on the road to recovery. It'll be several months of PT and wearing a large Robo-brace. Then a smaller brace, then now brace unless she wants to run somewhere or jump on the trampoline...or go skiing. That's right. In 2 years she'll be able to go skiing again and man if I'm not going to make sure she only skiis when it's sunny and wearing goggles.

Or maybe we'll just buy and inner tube and find a large hill.

Who cares if it was a classic, let's jack with it...

Loonatics.

Please sign my petition.

Here.

---

News from the home front:

Other than hockey being canceled we've got little to focus on other than Mrs. Austin's knee. Rowan's RUV is something that will just take time to heal, so we have to wait for that. Think of it as ear tubes, kids just have to grow out of it, sometimes it requires a procedure, sometimes not. She's in good spirits, likes school and her friends so I'm not terribly worried. The thought of her getting her kidney's operated on scares the clothes off me but that's down the road if at all.

Mrs. A can't seem to stay immobile. She'll hate me for saying this, but she's as stubborn as a mule. I won't go into details. She's in a lot of pain, she falls a lot and we have to ask for a lot of help from friends and family. It's frustrating for her because she's tired of the pain and it's frustrating for me because there's very little I can do to help.

I don't know, I thought after a week it'd be over with and she'd be starting on her PT, but she's worse off now than when she first hurt it. She's in constant pain and doesn't know how to just sit the fuck down and not do anything. I'm worried she'll really jack up her knee for good or have to go back for more surgery.

She knows I love her and I'm doing all I can, and she's doing the best she can. We were hoping that after the surgery, the mobility might start coming back and the pain would lessen. All the nurses told us wonderful stories about people jumping out of beds and playing basketball in 6 months. No one mentioned that the first couple weeks is like living with a skinless, cancer ridden quadrapalegic.

Well, we'll keep you all posted. Go sign the petition, it'll make you feel better.

Dear Fan:

On behalf of the 30 NHL teams, I want to say how sorry we are that, given the practical reality that there are not enough days available to play a representative regular season and Stanley Cup Playoff, we have been left with no choice but to cancel the remainder of the games scheduled for the 2004-05 campaign.

The NHL is very fortunate to enjoy the support of the most loyal and passionate fans in all of professional sports, and we want you to know how very much we appreciate the patience and understanding you have shown the NHL during this very difficult time in our history. We understand the impact this dispute has had on you, our loyal fans, and I want you to know we worked very hard, starting as far back as 1999, to prevent this from happening.

Our intention throughout the collective bargaining process has been, and continues to be, the creation of an enduring partnership with our players that will allow you to enjoy a world-class product, at affordable prices, and enter each season confident that your favorite team can compete for the most cherished trophy in pro sports, the Stanley Cup. Our resolve to deliver on that promise will not change.

While various economic systems we have proposed to the players' Union would have permitted the maintenance of an average salary in the neighborhood of $1.3 million (U.S.), and would have allocated as much as 55% of every dollar of revenue that the League and Clubs can generate to the players, Union leadership has not shown, to date, any interest in sharing our vision for the future.

Accordingly, we remain resolute, for the good of the League and our fans, to postpone our return to the ice until we can assure you that the current business issues have been resolved in a way that assures the long-term viability of all our Clubs. I can promise you, though, that when NHL hockey does return, it will be in a way that allows our great game to prosper for years to come, both on and off the ice.

Sincerely,

Gary B. Bettman


-They can all blow me. Stupid greedy SOB's the lot of them.

That was a wicked hit, Tom. Let's hope it's not his knee.

It's been a couple years since Mrs. A and I have been skiing. We decided since she was getting ready to go back to work it might be best if we went earlier instead of waiting. So we packed up the kids and the bags and flew up to Colorado.





Colorado isn't gripped with the bitter cold and heavy snow the folks back east received over the past couple weeks, but it's still cold and it still has snow. You can't just go up into the mountains in January and expect a lot of butterflies and sunny meadows. Colorado is actually one of the sunniest places in the US. Doesn't mean it's warmer, just sunnier. Weird lil' fact, I know.

So we stayed with my Dad and Stepmom for the duration and put in a few visits to my Mom and Stepdad as well as some other relatives. Living in Colorado all my life then moving to Texas really drove home the fact that an hour drive somewhere is nothing. From Denver, you can be out of the state in about three hours. From Austin it'd take you five if you just went straight south. From Austin to Amarillo is almost 10 hours. Texas is big, ya'll.





Up the hills we go. Leaving the kids with granpa for the day, Mrs. Austin and I head to loveland to do a little shushing on the baby slopes (we're not great skiiers) and possibly staying the night close by. After about 10 runs, one on a nearby killer death hill we came to find out is no harder than the baby slopes, Mrs. Austin wiped out. Now, when I say wiped out, I don't mean spun out a little and fell on her ass, I mean she crashed like star in the death throws of going super nova. Accompanying this abatement was a cry the likes of which I've never heard. It was a primal, gut wrenching scream that immediately spoke of the pain that lay hidden.

By the time I was able to stop and get my skiis off and waddle back up the mountain, she was already prone and clawing at the snow begging me to get her boot off. After several calls from the lift overhead NOT to take it off, I instead took a picture while we waited for the Ski Patrol to arrive.





The picture was her idea, really. Don't anyone get on my case for being an asshat for not helping. Injury on a slope? What would you do? Exactly.

They snowmobiled her down to the little first aid center and put some snow on it. It was already starting to swell. We called the rest of the trip off and headed home, stopping at a drug store to pick up some scripts and a brace. This whole time I'm coming down with the flu. So when she bought it my third or forth thought was, "Sweet, we can go home now."





The rest of the weekend was spent taking it easy. A drive down to see my mom in Colorado Springs, watched some movies, had some folks over for dinner, pretty laid back. Mrs. A was in a lot of pain and I was sick as a dog, but for some reason, this time more than any since I've moved down here, we had a good time in Colorado. We didn't fight, we didn't go to sleep angry, we didn't pass days in the cold silence that comes from being away from home and pissed at the other person. It was definitely one of the most memorably trips we've had.





Lil Miss Austin loved the snow. She'd only seen it maybe twice in her life and when she was very small, so this will hopefully be a fond memory for her. Mrs. A recalled a time when her family would go to Cloudcroft, NM and go sledding. She said she couldn't have been more than 3 at the time, so this was something we had to do, get the kids to play in the snow.





















While we were up there, Mrs. A got her new camera delivered. Her photography is going gang busters and honestly, with her level of customer service and friendliness and at the rates she charges, I don't see it being long before she won't have to go back to Swell Computers to help support the family. This new camera takes some mighty nice shots.





Coming home, Mrs. A visits a specialist and gets an MRI done. We now know that she has a torn ACL and MCL and brused bones and other ligaments. The MCL will heal on its own, but the ACL will need replacement. She goes in for surgery this coming Friday. They're going to use a cadaver replacement instead of taking a bit from her hip. That's less recovery time, but they're accelerating the surgery date because she has to be off crutches by her first wedding in March, so that will take more rehab time. All in all she's looking at 6 months of recovery and then about 2 years before she can ski again. All activities from now on will require a brace.

I don't know if she takes heart in it, but I tried to tell her she has one of the most famous sporting injuries ever, the dreaded ACL. She's in good spirits about it, but I know it's a crushing blow to have something like this happen. She could use some support, so give her a shout and let her know she's still a cool kid and not a broken doll.

---

One MILLION dollars. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha!

Hey you. It's been a while, hasn't it? Good to see you again. I hope all is well. Things are going pretty well at Casa de Austin. I don't have a lot of pictures -well that's a lie, I have a lot of pictures, just not resized and on the web server yet- so this is just an update for those regular readers who can't live another second without hearing about our little clan and the minutiae that is our day to day lives. I know, I know, the gleaming beacon of hope has returned. I hope you leave today sated and ready for a nap.

---

The big news, Mrs. Austin's Bridal Expo experience was well worth the price of admission. She made three bookings over the two days plus -I believe- three more after the fact from people that came by. Mrs. Austin is a natural sales person. I don't mean smarmy, greasy vacuum sales type of thing. She just excels at opening up to clients and contemporaries and giving them all the information available about the product. She makes them feel smart and excited without being pressured. And she is genuinely excited about what she's doing, which makes the product seem more enticing. It's not like going to 7-11 to get a pack of smokes, the clerk could care less if you bought that or a Slim Jim. Mr. IG -Mrs. A's brother- noted that watching her at the Expo was like watching something as close to its natural environment as possible. A fish to water, if you pardon the pedestrian cliché.

So she did very well and was thoroughly exhausted when it was over. But she wasn't completely done. She had to come photograph my company's yearly kick off event.

---

For the past 5 months, ever since I came over to my new company, I've been the resident graphic design/creative genius. First off, and I'm not trying to be humble here, but I in no way claim any title not afforded me by an institution of higher learning or a man behind the curtain. That being said, with a company as small as mine -120 employees, most of whom are traders- when you find someone with any level of artistic expertise, you want to use them. From the company's point of view, it's a cost saving method. They don't have to pay anyone for it and they have more control.

So last month I did a poster based on the company's theme of Back to the Future. It was a lame ol' graphic trick of finding a bunch of photos online and pasting them with some clever text into an image. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. After that I was tapped with the unofficial moniker of Event Coordinator for the next year's theme; High Rollers.

With the popularity of poker reaching a height not seen in my lifetime, the company decided that the 2005 theme would be gambling, card playing, poker. (Ironically enough, the day trading business has always been dubiously paralleled with gambling. This would be akin to an acrophobe jumping out of a plane.) Long and short of it, there would be a media blitz, internally of course, culminating in an yearly kick-off event. This would involve an additional internal web site, posters, a big sign, a poker vendor to host a night of gambling, prizes, food and a skit performed by the higher ups. I wrote the script, created posters, recreated our company logo, bought all the gifts and hired my wife to take pictures of the event.

Taking pictures of people playing poker? How droll, you may say. Well, our Chairman -and owner I believe- had a surprise up his sleeve that he didn't tell to a soul. All he wanted was a photographer and a backdrop and sign, but couldn't say more than that.

So when two armed guards walked in with a bag, we knew something was up.

After the skit, the owner said that it's hard to envision all the goals they've set as a company. It's difficult to get a mental picture of what kind of rewards would wait for us at the end of the year. That's why he brought in...

...A MILLION DOLLARS IN CASH...

...and let everyone take a picture with it. Talk about ballsy and something to create incentive. We have pictures of it, and I'll post the one with me later. It'll be the only time in my life, I'm fairly certain, that I will be that close to that much money. Sad that it wasn't mine, but all the same it was pretty cool.

---

The kids are continuing to develop. Pilgrim can sit up on his own, stand up with the help of a small table or chair. He's taking his cue for LMA about getting lippy and loves to chatter. It’s nothing intelligible yet, but very close. It's like a dog that sounds like it's saying 'I love you' when in fact it's trying to loose that peanut butter from the roof of its mouth. His anthropomorphic phrase is, "I want my mama." It's cute, but it's gibberish. He's also got three teeth coming that have broken through their gummy prison.

Lil Miss Austin. Wow. How do you quantify this child? Just like any child I would guess. She's almost four, yet still has potty accidents. She is sweet and kind and loves playing with her brother, yet throws a tantrum when you don't give her a car cup with milk. She loves going to the coffee place, but never eats anything. She's an enigma wrapped in a three-foot body. Sometimes she's smarter than I give her credit for, other times I have to remember she's a little kid, not quite just a kid. Oh, yeah, and she cut of most of her hair. Remember that long hair she had? Gone. It was really quiet one day and when we finally found what she was doing, the bathroom was covered in hair. It's gone from mid back to just about the shoulders now after Mrs. A's valiant recovery efforts, but there's still a patch of bangs that just has to grow out. I had to laugh, Mrs. A had to cry.

---

Pictures soon, promise.

Unholy

In a single moment, a plate shifted and jumped. Moments later a wave was born. This wave raced and spread. There was little warning and no time. Planet Earth has lost, as of now, 0.00002% of it's people. Some islands have lost their entire population.

I know you've read it. I know you know the stories. This isn't an NPR pledge drive. This is what you do as a citizen of Earth. Help its people.

Now, I've heard that it provides faster relief to donate to the International Red Cross rather than the American Red Cross but the ARC said they would be as seemless as possible to get the money to the places that need it.

Either way, give something. Don't give coats or blankets or food, we can't possibly know what these people need. Let those who know how to handle this make the choice for you, but make sure they're funded. Donate. The world helped America's people after September 11th, make sure they don't regret their decision.



Donate American Red Cross

Donate ICRC

Half Life, All the Fun.

This holiday season saw to it to bring me one giant time killer in the form of the highly anticipated offering from Valve Software, Half Life 2.

Before I go on, there will be spoilers below. If you like the game and are planning on playing it or are already playing it, do not read. Scan down to the picture below and you can pick up there.

Half Life is the story of a up-and-coming MIT grad who has a secured a job at a facility called Black Mesa. I'm not going into detail about the story because frankly just playing the game didn't make me feel like I knew what was going on, so here's a timeline. Half Life 2 picks up several years later where Gordon is reawakened or brought out of limbo to again pick up a gun and shoot some stuff.

Honestly, if it wasn't for this little website that I just found, I wouldn't have any idea that there was a story behind the game. I mean, I did a lot of shooting and blowing shit up, but if you asked me who the bad guys were, I don't think I could have given you an intelligent answer. I'd have said, "Well, there was apparently this other scientist who sounded a lot like Richard Dawson and looked like The Architect from The Matrix, but I don't think he was actually the bad guy. There were some aliens, but they were friendly. There were head crabs! Yes, head crabs had to have been the bad guys."

Seriously. Now, I'm a relatively smart guy. I'm not Chaucer or Hawking, but I should know after playing 5 straight days of this game, who the bad guys were. Come to think of it, I don't think I knew who the bad guys were in the first Half Life game. It all seems so nebulous.

And I know why. The main character, Doctor Gordon Freeman, is really good at putting hot lead into shit and following instructions. For a first person game, there's really no other alternative. You have to limit the amount of choice the player can make and ultimately make it for him. It cracks me up to see characters in the game say, "You didn't have to be here," or, "This isn't your fight." Well, crap honey, now you tell me. See, there was this cinematic about 20 seconds ago that dropped me off here. I can't make any choices. It's my fight whether I want it or not.

So now, just like when I watch West Wing, the only time I'm sure something important is happening is when the music changes. If there wasn't that cue, I'd be lost. "Oh, crap. Better pay attention, the techno-beat just fired up. Something's gonna go wrong."

Now I don't want to get down on this game simply because I may not have the mental faculties to deal with a complex story line such as this in a video game, but what happens when you reach the end of a game like this is that you don't feel you done much aside from max out your brain from all the pseudo adrenaline you've pumped into it. The game ends with you lobbing energy cores into a portal that the tweed jacketed scientist is trying to open. Where's the portal going? Don't know. What's on the other side? Um, bad shit would be my guess, but I don't have a name. So why are you doing this? Well, honestly, there's the rough and tumble chick who has needed my help and is good with a gun and I'm just hoping she'll take her top off if I win.

Yes, yes. Sad day.

So you blow this portal up. The scientist is gone and there is a massive explosion that is paused suddenly. A G-man shows up and talks some philosphical deepness whilst you wonder what's going on with that explosion and that girl. Then the game becomes the end of 2001: A Space Odessy and the G-man leaves through a white door opened in the blackness, followed by credits. My first thought was that I'm now a bigger pawn than I thought. So I went from being a scientist to a one man killing machine in a hazard suit.

I don't know. I guess the thing that sucks the most is that the game is done. A movie you know has a limited time so you're sort of geared for that. A book you can see how many pages are left and can tell how long you have to enjoy the story and characters. With the game, you can kind of guess how far along you are, but it'd be just a guess and it could end at any time. I honestly thought the explosion was going to open a gate to Planet Trouble and I'd let millions of angry Something-Or-Others in and have to deal with them. The way the game was going, it was a possibility.

Well, maybe that's what they'll do for Half Life 3.





Nothing to see here, just seeing if you'd skip this far down.

Cheers!

Stuff your own stocking.

Happy Yuletime!

I thought I had another post explaining the beliefs Mrs. Austin holds and in which she is raising the children, but I don’t. I’ll let Wikipedia do my work for me.

What came up this year, as it has the past few years, is when to celebrate this winter festival. I call it Christmas, Mrs. A calls it Yule. However, her beliefs in this are stronger than mine so she gets last say and the say in how to portray it to the kids.

I keep having problems trying to wrap my brain around it. You open presents Christmas morning, not on the 22nd. What about all those songs with the word Christmas in it? I have to replace vocabulary and adjust a few dates with this one.

But I will say that now I can appreciate what Jewish/Christian couples go through every year until they can come up with a compromise. Our compromise is we celebrate Yule on the 22nd with our family and then Christmas with her or my parents, depending on where we are. And to be honest, and extraordinarily shallow, anymore the holiday is about presents to me. Yes it’s materialistic and sad, but I really only have faith in myself, family and friends. To exchange gifts with them is the only reason I need to have a celebration. If you want to go to mass or circle to receive the body of Christ or stand a vigil to make sure the sun rises again, that’s your thing. Me? I’m jumping out of bed with my kids to see if Santa has eaten the cookies and left us stuff.

---

But I won’t go any farther into that. I don’t want to start a flame war over what amounts to just another day. At most I get a day off of work, and that is reason enough to have a party.

In the midst of all the reverie that was Christmas at Casa de Conroe, we were visited by Santa on a Jet Ski. That’s right all you Northerners, the great winter elf himself graced our driveways on a Kawasaki. I remember seeing this last year and though, “What an odd, bassackward, Hicksville thing to do. But guess what, it’s Conroe, it’s not Houston. See, in Houston they pull Santa on a giant float that symbolizes Suburban Sprawl. When you have a smaller city by a lake, you pull Chris Cringle on a jet ski.

It’s not the city that did it either. No, that’d be down right O-fficial. This was just some palooka from down the block.

But oh the kids they come a’ runnin’. Older kids, smallish kids, kids with hardly any clothes on. Luckily the Casa is close to the corner so we could see him first and take some photos. A must snapshot for anyone seeking Americana and traditions of the south. We went inside and fried up some pickles.

Then Mrs. A went and broke her foot. Jumping off the trailer with the Santa Ski, she partially fractured the pinkie toe bone high up in her foot. She gimped around in pained for a couple of days, then yesterday went to the doctor to get it looked at. So now she’s wearing a little boot and is supposed to stay off of it. Not likely but that’s what the doctor said.

---

I hope you all have a good holiday. I hope Santa is good to you, or that you find peace in whatever traditions you celebrate. I’m off to play Half Life on my new flat panel monitor, so at this point I’ve lost the ability to care about the outside world.

Have some pictures.

---

”I’m absolutely stuffed. I couldn’t eat another bite.”





Was that me? Oh that was awful, I’m so sorry.





Do you like my hat? Yes I do. I like your party hat!





He’s developed an eating problem, he sleeps through it.





Ah, Texas. Where else could you find a giant illuminated snowman.





I’m raising her right. Don’t believe the lies.





No words.





Again, no words.





Dear Santa, for Christmas I’d like to not break my foot. Oh crap, too late.





I don’t think it’s narcolepsy. Maybe he just really likes socks.

---

Happy Holidays

Freeze Frame!

Sort of belated news. Mrs. Austin got her mailers out and has already received a few calls for weddings. She's also going in to talk with the Austin American Statesman for freelance work.

For those just joining us, Mrs. Austin quit her job at "Swell" Computer Corp. to be with a sick little Mini Mr. Austin after he was born. A few months ago she decided to pursue her interest in photography by signing up to do freelance work with several local and state magazine/newspapers. She also registered to host a booth at the up coming Austin Bridal Expo in January. That was accompanied by a list of people registered to get marraige licenses to whom she sent mailers.

I'm very psyched for her and a little melancholy. She's done in 6 months what I've been trying to do for years. Admittedly she only has to rely on herself where as I would require at least 3 other people. Also, she has a ton of gumption and aggressive marketing and networking skills that I don't have. She's done a lot of work and has sacrificed a lot to make this work.

So her first call came the day after she sent out her mailers. The wedding isn't until August, but still, some up front or payment plan means our babies can eat. Yee haw. She got another call that night.

I'm doing my bit to help out. I've successfully not set up her website, but I have designed her ad. The website thing is killing me. I spent the last week messing with this machine that didn't like me downgrading the operating system. Then she sprung the "this email has to work by tomorrow" card which sent me into a panic. I haven't felt like that since college when I knew a report was due the next day. So far it's all come together and she now is able to do what she likes to do.

The hope is to get X amount of bookings by January or she goes back to Swell Computers. Before you send any hate mail (you two) this was something we came up with together. I was all for her sticking it out until she turned the corner into the black, but she had some practical arguements that I had to agree with. So, if you have an upcoming wedding, or know anyone who does in the Austin area (or even Dallas/Houston/San Antonio) don't hesitate to email her and set up and appointment or ask questions.

The site should be up shortly, so you can check back soon to get the info.

Yay!

---

Pilgrim isn't sleeping. I think he's teething now, it's about that time. Lil Miss Austin started up right about 6 months. Actually she had a couple chompers by 5 months, then nothing else for a long time.

We also finally gave up the guest room. Pilgrim finally got the British Indies room and I'm sure LMA can now sleep peacefully knowing her little brother isn't going to scream at 11, 2, 4:30 and 6. (Six months, shouldn't he be sleeping through the night by now?)

That's all we have going on right now. No plans for Christmas/Yule other than sending out cards and pictures. Have to get up those damnable lights.

(some cute pics coming soon.)