It's hard to keep track of who knows what, but I think my parents are covered.
To update everyone, here's the short version. Our house has a contract pending on it. We accepted the offer placed and now are waiting for the option period to expire and set a closing date.
The new house accepted our offer and we're waiting to here if an earlier closing is possible.
Now the long version.
Our House
We're working with the realtor who showed us the new house. We said we needed someone to sell our house so we got him to do it. So we signed all the paperwork to sell the house (see a few entries ago) while my mom and aunt were in town, so that was Sunday. Mon-Wednesday we spent cleaning the house and got someone to come out to do the yards on Thursday. We tried doing the lawn but dammit that takes a long time to do when you have to tag out to watch kids and your knees and backs don't work like they used to. I don't care, these guys did a bang up job.
So we get the whole thing cleaned up. Family pictures taken down, flat surfaces uncluttered, kids' rooms cleaned, floor swept and mopped, bathrooms scented and polished, the whole shebang. The kitchen has never looked better.
The house officially goes on the listing service Saturday, just in time for the long weekend. We get a couple calls that morning asking to show the house. We had planned on this and we split up, Mrs. A doing some needed photo work and I took the kids to various shops and restaurants. We left about 09:30. At 12:30, eating Chinese food, we get a call from our realtor that the first person that came by submitted an offer. Full asking price, assuming all closing costs. Only thing they required was we get everything that's not nailed down out of the house. It's an investor that will buy it and rent it. Other than a straight cash offer, our realtor says it's the cleanest deal he's ever seen.
Asking price, the first day listed.
Amazing. So, you'll notice our status is now Pending - Accepting backups. We've had one showing since that day. It's hard to keep the house clean, but it's a small price to pay and it's a short time comparatively. An old friend tried to sell his house and it was on the market for 6 months. He had lake property as well that was listed for 18 months. My long time coworker friend is selling her house, it's only been a month but I'm pretty sure she hates me now.
Our New House
I feel like I may be jinxing it a little by calling it our new house. There are still things that could go wrong; financing problems, seller backs out of our deal, the world could end, etc. However, I'm fairly confident that by this time July 1st, we'll be all boxes and unarranged furniture in our new pad. It's a great little place and cute up front to boot. The backyard is nice with a great covered patio. The cost per square footage is wonderful. It's heavily carpeted, which may have to change, but I don't mind right away. I remember when Mrs. A and I did the floors in our house and how it only took a few days with both of us taking time off of work, but man it was a big pain in the ass. We busted hump getting it down and still had to call Lowes to come finish the parts I was too lazy to do.
But other than the carpet, it's what we need in a house. It has plenty of room, island in the kitchen, office space, entertainment room space, nice living area, good backyard, and if you mapped it, it's about 5 blocks from our current location.
Oh, and we get to use the realty companies moving truck for free.
Yay for us.
Little Mr. Austin is moving up in the world. We had a meeting today with his care takers and he's moving from the Infant Room to the Toddler Room. He's got little shoes so he can go outside and play and he's officially off formula and breast milk. Unofficially he's been off breast milk for about a month, just kind of lost interest. The hard part now is the bottles. He loves the bottles, so moving to sippy cup is going to be hard.
Both he and his sister are doing well. We seem to have shaken our colds, though Lil Mr. A has an ear infection that's keep him up at nights.
Mrs. Austin has some news that I was not aware of. It involves photography and book deals and magazines. I don't know that she'd like me to hand out specifics, but if you'd like to leave a comment that you're interested in hearing about it, I'm sure she'll tell you about it.
For some reason I didn't know about any of it till this last weekend, so I don't have all the facts.
But that's not really anything new.
1.6.05
27.5.05
Serenity: You Can't Stop the Signal
ATTENTION: REVIEW CONTAINS POSSIBLE SPOILERS
you've been warned
Down go the lights. Up comes the static and grain of the projection. Joss Whedon's clean cut but tired head appears on the screen.
There are no commercials, no previews. Wayne Brady isn't whoring for Will Rogers. This is an unfinished, rough cut of the little show that couldn't.
This is Serenity.
In 2002, Fox ran a Friday night death-slot sci-fi show about a small group of traders aboard a shipping freighter. The show held promise, but Fox ran the episodes out of order, on a bad day of the week and at a horrible time. The final episode was the pilot. Three episodes never aired.
In Fox's infinite wisdom, they canceled Firefly because of poor ratings and cost. The story seemed to wander, never find focus and eventually it lost what few viewers it had.
That is, according to the network.
What happened after the show aired, then canceled, can be placed in the Pantheon next to Farscape and Spencer for Hire. The fans amassed. Their voices were heard. Late in 2003, rumors begin swirling the net and convention circuit that Firefly would have a feature film. In March of 2004 that rumor was proven true as Universal announced officially that it was producing Serenity.
Now, more than a year later, the little show that couldn't has become the little movie that will.
For fans of the show, this will be a return to greatness. The show itself had a high budget, but it never appeared that anything was overly rendered. The world Whedon created was a real, tangible, plausible universe. A universe where American and Chinese cultures have merged. A universe in which there are no sound effects in space. A universe where people die, even though you may like them.
This had every part of why the show itself was such overlooked splendor. The writing, the acting, the staging and directing, are far beyond any sci-fi or action or adventure movie since the beginning of the genre. The film doesn't beat you over the head with special effects or bore you with plot lines so contrived you need to read comic books or novels to understand what's happening. It also delivers the history of the universe in a quick, painless prologue. It's perfect for the non-fanatic and allows the movie to stand on it's own. It pretends you've never seen a single episode of the doomed show.
And that's the greatest compliment I can give it. The movie stands on its own.
As Joss Whedon said in his pre-movie speech, this film is the result of the fans screaming into the void, demanding the story be told. If the movie is good, tell your friends, tell everyone. If it sucks, well then it's your fault. If you love it, tell people, if you don't, now's the time for quiet, contemplative thought.
But he needn't worry. The plot is simple and easy to follow. It's linear and clean with few breaks for exposition. The characters are well defined, full of purpose and as amiable as a family dog. You can't help but love everyone in this cast and crew for the job they did. Even in this rough, 80-90% completed version, the signs of greatness are there. Left as is, I would put this among the all time bests. Polished up, I fear for the rest of the movies this summer.
But here's the problem, it's still a little movie. Serenity appeals to a broader audience, but the broader audience must know about it. So here's where you come in. Tell you friends. Tell your AIM buddies and your blog commentors and your message board friends. Tell your brothers and sisters and mom's and dad's and college buddies and bridge partners and mechanics and grocers. Tell everyone you can think of that this is the movie to see this summer. You have to get the word out because in the light of the high dollar trademarks coming out that are bound to or have already disappointed, we, the fans, have to speak up and let Hollywood know that good movies are appreciated.
Little shows should be too.
Huzzah to Universal.
Huzzah to Joss Whedon
Huzzah to the Browncoats.
For more information about the movie, please visit The Browncoats
Starring: Nathan Fillion (Capt. Malcolm Reynolds), Gina Torres (Zoe), Alan Tudyk (Wash), Sean Maher (Simon), Jewel Staite (Kaylee), Summer Glau (River), Ron Glass (Shepherd Book), Morena Baccarin (Inara), Adam Baldwin (Jayne), Chiwetel Ejiofor (The Operative), David Krumholtz (Mr. Universe), Raphael Feldman (Fanty), Yan Feldman (Mingo), Michael Hitchcock (Dr. Mathias)
Director: Joss Whedon
Rated: Unrated
U.S. Opening Date: September 30, 2005
25.5.05
House Update
We've signed the paperwork to sell our house. It's been a good house to us for these past few years. Nothing really wrong with it, just too small for us now. It'd a be a great house for a couple without kids or newly married looking to start a family, or a family with one kid. Two kids is just too much. It's got a great backyard, good kitchen, nice floors, cool paint jobs on all the rooms. I kind hate to leave it behind, but it's crowded and I want a projector TV.
Anyway, so we made an offer on the new house and the guy flat out said, "No way." So we countered with a slightly higher offer and he thought about it for a day and came back saying ok to that offer, but we'd have to take the Contingency off the table and he was ok with closing on the 22nd of July. The good news is we got a better price off the guy, the bad news is we have to sell our house first before the 22nd or we'll end up having to buy the new house without selling the old one. We'll be able to push the closing back a few weeks, so I don't understand the whole taking the Contingency off the table thing. I mean, what does that get you?
Anyway, we're making our house Sellable now. Our house hasn't been this clean since we moved in and there was no furniture. We've got to take down the family photos, all the clutter, the books, probably a good idea to take down the Legos and comic stuff. Mrs. A did a great job yesterday of cleaning most of the house and doing some work in the backyard. I did what I could, but I had my big toenail removed and I was in a bit of pain. (More on that later. To plagerize a friend, it's the Bride of Goopy Toe.)
So that's what's going on now. Today we'll be doing the kids' rooms and the office as well as the yard, provided this guy shows up. Then our little sign will be in the front yard. *sniff* Kinda sad, but at least we didn't live there for 30 years or something insane.
Anyway, so we made an offer on the new house and the guy flat out said, "No way." So we countered with a slightly higher offer and he thought about it for a day and came back saying ok to that offer, but we'd have to take the Contingency off the table and he was ok with closing on the 22nd of July. The good news is we got a better price off the guy, the bad news is we have to sell our house first before the 22nd or we'll end up having to buy the new house without selling the old one. We'll be able to push the closing back a few weeks, so I don't understand the whole taking the Contingency off the table thing. I mean, what does that get you?
Anyway, we're making our house Sellable now. Our house hasn't been this clean since we moved in and there was no furniture. We've got to take down the family photos, all the clutter, the books, probably a good idea to take down the Legos and comic stuff. Mrs. A did a great job yesterday of cleaning most of the house and doing some work in the backyard. I did what I could, but I had my big toenail removed and I was in a bit of pain. (More on that later. To plagerize a friend, it's the Bride of Goopy Toe.)
So that's what's going on now. Today we'll be doing the kids' rooms and the office as well as the yard, provided this guy shows up. Then our little sign will be in the front yard. *sniff* Kinda sad, but at least we didn't live there for 30 years or something insane.
23.5.05
...cue music and roll tape.
Now that Star Wars is finally wrapped up, the world can go about its business. I still have to get a few hundred dollars worth of Lego sets (shh, don't tell my wife) but that will take years. And I still don't have a place for all of them, really.
But that's about to change. Last week, Mrs. A and I decided that weird noises in chimneys and attics and loud noises from neighbors just aren't things we can deal with anymore. So we're moving. Mrs. A printed off a bunch of listings for houses that met our needs and in our range and we spent the evenings checking them out.
We ran across a really nice model to build on a wooded lot backing up to a greenbelt. We were very close to dropping some escrow money on it. But by the time all the added rooms and extra's were factored in, it would have pushed the cost well past what our limit was. Plus, you can't negotiate with a builder. They say it's a price, it's pretty much that price. It's like getting a high demand brand new car, yeah you could haggle a little bit, but you're not going to save much. It's a principle thing.
And the principle was, I was set on this house. It was in the same area, it was plenty big and was on a nice lot. It was new so we could get anything we wanted and get it right the first time.
That is until cooler and more thoughtful heads prevailed. Mrs. A was wise enough to say, "You know what? I want to be absolutely sure." So she printed up 20 more houses that matched our criteria and we spent some of the day Saturday looking at those. Well, we found one. It's in our neighborhood and has all the things we need, plus it's within our price range. It's 10 years old and has a great, immaculate yard and a wonderful deck. The only two drawbacks it has is it's fully carpeted and it doesn't have a media room. But those are small things and can be overcome. The rest of the house, plus the cost per square foot, is really quite something. There's also something to be said about moving to a new house, but only a couple blocks away. Your house changes, but not really your home. Schools stay the same, shopping, routes to work. I think it'll be nice.
The front of the house looks like the cut away scenes from sitcoms where they've returned from the commercial, there's a jingle reprise and the inside action starts. It's really cute.
So last night we put on offer on it and today Mrs. A is working with both the lender and our agent to get the ball rolling. We now have to think about our house and the things we have to do to it to get it to sell, which isn't much. Repair a fence, trim some bushes and edges, that's about it. I'm sure any buyers will say they want a new water heater or AC or something, but I don't see us budging on much. We'll see.
And for all you Housing Experts out there, I await your calls. I'm sure we're bound to get a ton of emails or comments or phone calls about something, and we could use the advice, so let 'em fly. I don't want to say much more about it right now for fear of jinxing it.
The other exciting thing that happened was a visit from my mom and aunt. (I guess, Grandma Woodland Park and Aunt Littleton? Seems a bit lengthy.) They came down for the weekend to see the family and some sites around Austin. There was an original plan to have a big birthday bash for the little ones in between their birth dates, but no one but my mom and aunt could come down at that time. Work, health, other plans pretty much dictated that.
For those who didn't come, there was no party, nothing planned, don't feel bad, don't think you ruined anything. We went to Red Lobster, saw Robots. It was ok.
So the first day, my mom and aunt and I head to Fredericksburg out in the Hill Country. The Hill Country in Austin in a weird mix of Texas and Germany. Fredericksburg is notorious for wild flowers, peaches, pecans and schnitzel. My mom and I both had a story about going there and eating at a restaurant and asking how the schnitzel was, and both stories end with the waitress going, "The schnitzel is good! You will have some?" Like really overeagerly, like it was some agenda they had to push. Like schnitzel isn't really good, but don't tell the Germans. Like Chilli's saying "Try the Spam! It's good, ya?"
But the main event was the Wild Flower Seed Farm just outside of Fredericksburg. My mom is a gardening nut, or a green thumb however you want to look at it. Growing up we had a vegetable garden and strawberry patch and a rhubarb bush and tomato vines and all measure of flowers and trees. 70% of her photos are of flowers. Several of the trips made to Texas have involved trips to gardens or looking for flowers.
She likes flowers.
So we went to this place, and it was ok. They, being in the German countryside that they are, also had a place to get beer. So all was good.
I felt a little bad because we knew they were coming out, but we ended up using that weekend to find a new house. They ended up watching the kids a few times while we were out. I'd have rather they watched the kids while we went out to a movie or drinking or something, but this was actually helpful, and I dig that. So thanks guys.
By the same token, they were able to spend a lot of time with the grandkids and I'm sure they didn't mind that at all.
Decent weekend.
So the big thing LIA will be keeping track of now is the new home. Home Watch, we'll call it. And on going update from now until we've unpacked the last box. You guys are in for a real treat. Maybe I'll paint the blog and you can watch it dry. Trust me, it's more fun for us.
But that's about to change. Last week, Mrs. A and I decided that weird noises in chimneys and attics and loud noises from neighbors just aren't things we can deal with anymore. So we're moving. Mrs. A printed off a bunch of listings for houses that met our needs and in our range and we spent the evenings checking them out.
We ran across a really nice model to build on a wooded lot backing up to a greenbelt. We were very close to dropping some escrow money on it. But by the time all the added rooms and extra's were factored in, it would have pushed the cost well past what our limit was. Plus, you can't negotiate with a builder. They say it's a price, it's pretty much that price. It's like getting a high demand brand new car, yeah you could haggle a little bit, but you're not going to save much. It's a principle thing.
And the principle was, I was set on this house. It was in the same area, it was plenty big and was on a nice lot. It was new so we could get anything we wanted and get it right the first time.
That is until cooler and more thoughtful heads prevailed. Mrs. A was wise enough to say, "You know what? I want to be absolutely sure." So she printed up 20 more houses that matched our criteria and we spent some of the day Saturday looking at those. Well, we found one. It's in our neighborhood and has all the things we need, plus it's within our price range. It's 10 years old and has a great, immaculate yard and a wonderful deck. The only two drawbacks it has is it's fully carpeted and it doesn't have a media room. But those are small things and can be overcome. The rest of the house, plus the cost per square foot, is really quite something. There's also something to be said about moving to a new house, but only a couple blocks away. Your house changes, but not really your home. Schools stay the same, shopping, routes to work. I think it'll be nice.
The front of the house looks like the cut away scenes from sitcoms where they've returned from the commercial, there's a jingle reprise and the inside action starts. It's really cute.
So last night we put on offer on it and today Mrs. A is working with both the lender and our agent to get the ball rolling. We now have to think about our house and the things we have to do to it to get it to sell, which isn't much. Repair a fence, trim some bushes and edges, that's about it. I'm sure any buyers will say they want a new water heater or AC or something, but I don't see us budging on much. We'll see.
And for all you Housing Experts out there, I await your calls. I'm sure we're bound to get a ton of emails or comments or phone calls about something, and we could use the advice, so let 'em fly. I don't want to say much more about it right now for fear of jinxing it.
The other exciting thing that happened was a visit from my mom and aunt. (I guess, Grandma Woodland Park and Aunt Littleton? Seems a bit lengthy.) They came down for the weekend to see the family and some sites around Austin. There was an original plan to have a big birthday bash for the little ones in between their birth dates, but no one but my mom and aunt could come down at that time. Work, health, other plans pretty much dictated that.
For those who didn't come, there was no party, nothing planned, don't feel bad, don't think you ruined anything. We went to Red Lobster, saw Robots. It was ok.
So the first day, my mom and aunt and I head to Fredericksburg out in the Hill Country. The Hill Country in Austin in a weird mix of Texas and Germany. Fredericksburg is notorious for wild flowers, peaches, pecans and schnitzel. My mom and I both had a story about going there and eating at a restaurant and asking how the schnitzel was, and both stories end with the waitress going, "The schnitzel is good! You will have some?" Like really overeagerly, like it was some agenda they had to push. Like schnitzel isn't really good, but don't tell the Germans. Like Chilli's saying "Try the Spam! It's good, ya?"
But the main event was the Wild Flower Seed Farm just outside of Fredericksburg. My mom is a gardening nut, or a green thumb however you want to look at it. Growing up we had a vegetable garden and strawberry patch and a rhubarb bush and tomato vines and all measure of flowers and trees. 70% of her photos are of flowers. Several of the trips made to Texas have involved trips to gardens or looking for flowers.
She likes flowers.
So we went to this place, and it was ok. They, being in the German countryside that they are, also had a place to get beer. So all was good.
I felt a little bad because we knew they were coming out, but we ended up using that weekend to find a new house. They ended up watching the kids a few times while we were out. I'd have rather they watched the kids while we went out to a movie or drinking or something, but this was actually helpful, and I dig that. So thanks guys.
By the same token, they were able to spend a lot of time with the grandkids and I'm sure they didn't mind that at all.
Decent weekend.
So the big thing LIA will be keeping track of now is the new home. Home Watch, we'll call it. And on going update from now until we've unpacked the last box. You guys are in for a real treat. Maybe I'll paint the blog and you can watch it dry. Trust me, it's more fun for us.
19.5.05
May the Force be with you.
I saw Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope in 1977. My parents didn't go right away, they waited a few months. I was 4.
I saw Empire Strikes Back after it'd been in the theaters for a few months. I was 7.
I saw Return of the Jedi opening day, I was 10.
When Lucas released the special editions in the theaters, I saw them opening day. I was 23.
When Phantom Menace came out in 1999 I was 25 years old and had moved to a different state and married a very understanding woman.
In 2002, I had a one year old girl. Attack of the Clones would come out 2 weeks later. I was 28.
The Revenge of the Sith, the last of the released films, came out this morning at 12:01, May 19th, 2005. I'm 32. I have a 4 year old girl, and a one year old son. I've been married almost 7 years.
After some quick math, I'm guessing I've spent or have received as gifts, over $8,000 in Star Wars merchandise. That's not taking into account how many quarters I've plunked into video games or popcorn and sodas at the theater. That's books, shirts, hats, games, Legos, comics, toys, videos and movie tickets. (By the way, the average price of a movie in 1977 was $2.29.)
I've read over 30 novels and 40 comic books. I've collected 42 Star Wars Lego sets. I've seen A New Hope several hundred times.
My groom's cake at my wedding was decorated with the Rebel Alliance symbol. The Medal Ceremony song was played when Mrs. Austin and I walked out after saying "I do."
In 1994 I began writing a book I planned on pitching to Bantam books. The story would later be told in an eerily similar novel trilogy, The Black Fleet Crisis.
I saw the first movie when I was four. My brother was one. The final movie my children are four and one. (Don't worry, they won't see the last one till they're older.)
I've never worn a Star Wars costume. I've never had a lightsaber. I've never gotten into heated discussions about what Jedi could kick what Sith's ass. I know a lot of stuff about the universe, but on a 1 to 10 scale of fanaticism, I'm more of a 6 or 7. Sure, it's influenced my life. I love comic books and sci-fiction. But it hasn't turned me into a rabid uber-nerd who has technical specs of all the ships or the vital stats of all the people memorized.
The story made a huge impact on what I believe and how I see the world. I don't want to dirty the memory of this nearly 30 year journey by talk of how bad someone acted or what lines were poorly written or which effects didn't hide the wires. I'd rather look back on this fondly as an experience that no generation has had until now. And it's done now. Lucas just won't live forever. He can't really think about doing 3 more. He's said so.
I won't expect it. It's a good story across six pretty amazingly crafted films.
I'll leave it at that.
I saw Empire Strikes Back after it'd been in the theaters for a few months. I was 7.
I saw Return of the Jedi opening day, I was 10.
When Lucas released the special editions in the theaters, I saw them opening day. I was 23.
When Phantom Menace came out in 1999 I was 25 years old and had moved to a different state and married a very understanding woman.
In 2002, I had a one year old girl. Attack of the Clones would come out 2 weeks later. I was 28.
The Revenge of the Sith, the last of the released films, came out this morning at 12:01, May 19th, 2005. I'm 32. I have a 4 year old girl, and a one year old son. I've been married almost 7 years.
After some quick math, I'm guessing I've spent or have received as gifts, over $8,000 in Star Wars merchandise. That's not taking into account how many quarters I've plunked into video games or popcorn and sodas at the theater. That's books, shirts, hats, games, Legos, comics, toys, videos and movie tickets. (By the way, the average price of a movie in 1977 was $2.29.)
I've read over 30 novels and 40 comic books. I've collected 42 Star Wars Lego sets. I've seen A New Hope several hundred times.
My groom's cake at my wedding was decorated with the Rebel Alliance symbol. The Medal Ceremony song was played when Mrs. Austin and I walked out after saying "I do."
In 1994 I began writing a book I planned on pitching to Bantam books. The story would later be told in an eerily similar novel trilogy, The Black Fleet Crisis.
I saw the first movie when I was four. My brother was one. The final movie my children are four and one. (Don't worry, they won't see the last one till they're older.)
I've never worn a Star Wars costume. I've never had a lightsaber. I've never gotten into heated discussions about what Jedi could kick what Sith's ass. I know a lot of stuff about the universe, but on a 1 to 10 scale of fanaticism, I'm more of a 6 or 7. Sure, it's influenced my life. I love comic books and sci-fiction. But it hasn't turned me into a rabid uber-nerd who has technical specs of all the ships or the vital stats of all the people memorized.
The story made a huge impact on what I believe and how I see the world. I don't want to dirty the memory of this nearly 30 year journey by talk of how bad someone acted or what lines were poorly written or which effects didn't hide the wires. I'd rather look back on this fondly as an experience that no generation has had until now. And it's done now. Lucas just won't live forever. He can't really think about doing 3 more. He's said so.
I won't expect it. It's a good story across six pretty amazingly crafted films.
I'll leave it at that.
18.5.05
Revenge of the Dorks
You know it had to happen. You've been waiting for it. Well it's finally here.
That's right. Dan Rather's Wednesday edition of 60 Minutes has been canceled.
Heh, gotcha.
No really. To answer your questions:
I will be going tonight because I need closure. Star Wars has been an integral part of my life growing up and has really dictated what I'm doing now which is trying to tell stories. I love science fiction. I love space ships and laser blasters and odd critters. I love technology that looks old but is way beyond anything we have. I love the idea of The Force and The Jedi and The Sith. I love all these things because they are simple and easily identifiable. I don't have think to hard to appreciate Star Wars. That's not a dig, that's like complimenting Mac and Cheese for being comfort food. It serves a purpose and it serves it well.
Now, with that said, the first two movies were pretty bad. I liked them because they had some relation to the original idea. I can appreciate watching what, in my mind, happened in the past. How people came to be who they are, explanations and events that have only be alluded to by the first movies. It's like watching The Godfather movies, then watching a few other movies later that tell the story of how Don Vito came to this country and became Don. There's not much suspense because you know what will happen, but the "huh, no kidding" value is still there. I can appreciate that.
I can also appreciate the last minute heroics of fighter pilots. Man, something about a winning touchdown or a final blast from a space fighter with a crescendo of music really makes me blubbery. Don't ask, I don't know.
What I can't appreciate is the atrocious acting in these movies and the crappy lines. I don't want to dig on George Lucas because that's a popular fad among fans and disparagers alike. "He can't direct." "He can't write comfortable dialogue." "He's only out for it to get more money." Whatever. I do think he should have let someone else direct the films because, let's face it, Hayden Christiansenbergsonn can't act fer shit. Neither could Jake Lloyd. Those two could have been replaced by a garbage disposal and I'm sure the movie would have made a few more bucks.
Believe what you want. I believe certain things and one is that George has a great vision and no one since J.R.R Tolkien has had a comparable concept. No one. Think of the universe he created. Think of anything any other creator has done to mirror that. It's hard isn't it? The best I can think of is Jim Henson with The Dark Crystal. Star Wars has nothing to do with Earth or Earthlings or things we know and appreciate. You might say The Matrix was a good creation. It was, but it's based on human programmed computers. Superman, Batman, Spiderman. All good. All take place on Earth. Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion. Also good. Takes place on Middle Earth, somehow eluding to the fact that Middle is the time and not a place. A time before modern man. A myth still based on human understanding.
So, that's what I believe, and that's why I will see this movie. I will see it because I believe in Darth Vader and R2 and Obi-Wan and Yoda and X-Wings and The Jedi and lightsabers and Star Destroyers, and I don't believe I'm being taken by a money grubbing elitist who doesn't care for the fans. He can do what he wants. If you don't support him, don't see the movie. But don't try to make me feel bad for going. I have my reasons.
May the Force be with you.
#end
That's right. Dan Rather's Wednesday edition of 60 Minutes has been canceled.
Heh, gotcha.
No really. To answer your questions:
- Yes, I will be seeing Revenge of the Sith tonight.
- No, Mrs. Austin will not be attending.
- Yes, I will be waiting in line for hours before hand.
- No, I will not be dressed up like Ben Kenobi. (Never heard that one before.)
- No, I am not a virgin who lives in his parents' basement.
I will be going tonight because I need closure. Star Wars has been an integral part of my life growing up and has really dictated what I'm doing now which is trying to tell stories. I love science fiction. I love space ships and laser blasters and odd critters. I love technology that looks old but is way beyond anything we have. I love the idea of The Force and The Jedi and The Sith. I love all these things because they are simple and easily identifiable. I don't have think to hard to appreciate Star Wars. That's not a dig, that's like complimenting Mac and Cheese for being comfort food. It serves a purpose and it serves it well.
Now, with that said, the first two movies were pretty bad. I liked them because they had some relation to the original idea. I can appreciate watching what, in my mind, happened in the past. How people came to be who they are, explanations and events that have only be alluded to by the first movies. It's like watching The Godfather movies, then watching a few other movies later that tell the story of how Don Vito came to this country and became Don. There's not much suspense because you know what will happen, but the "huh, no kidding" value is still there. I can appreciate that.
I can also appreciate the last minute heroics of fighter pilots. Man, something about a winning touchdown or a final blast from a space fighter with a crescendo of music really makes me blubbery. Don't ask, I don't know.
What I can't appreciate is the atrocious acting in these movies and the crappy lines. I don't want to dig on George Lucas because that's a popular fad among fans and disparagers alike. "He can't direct." "He can't write comfortable dialogue." "He's only out for it to get more money." Whatever. I do think he should have let someone else direct the films because, let's face it, Hayden Christiansenbergsonn can't act fer shit. Neither could Jake Lloyd. Those two could have been replaced by a garbage disposal and I'm sure the movie would have made a few more bucks.
Believe what you want. I believe certain things and one is that George has a great vision and no one since J.R.R Tolkien has had a comparable concept. No one. Think of the universe he created. Think of anything any other creator has done to mirror that. It's hard isn't it? The best I can think of is Jim Henson with The Dark Crystal. Star Wars has nothing to do with Earth or Earthlings or things we know and appreciate. You might say The Matrix was a good creation. It was, but it's based on human programmed computers. Superman, Batman, Spiderman. All good. All take place on Earth. Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion. Also good. Takes place on Middle Earth, somehow eluding to the fact that Middle is the time and not a place. A time before modern man. A myth still based on human understanding.
So, that's what I believe, and that's why I will see this movie. I will see it because I believe in Darth Vader and R2 and Obi-Wan and Yoda and X-Wings and The Jedi and lightsabers and Star Destroyers, and I don't believe I'm being taken by a money grubbing elitist who doesn't care for the fans. He can do what he wants. If you don't support him, don't see the movie. But don't try to make me feel bad for going. I have my reasons.
May the Force be with you.
#end
14.5.05
I have to move.
I think I may have written about this before. It's 11pm on a Saturday. I'm awake because Mrs. A is at a wedding doing a shoot and I'm staying up for her, but if I wasn't, I'd be awake because the goddamn neighboors are at it again with their music.
I'm going to play the race card here and pose the question, what the fuck is with Mexicans and having to listen to their music outside so freakin' loud? I like loud music, but I know that after a certain time I should shut the shit off. I mean, it's not like I'm out washing my car and will appreciate this background noise, I've got kids in bed.
Speaking of, the one house is having some kind of party and the kids are all still awake. Man, 11 o'clock. I don't think I got to stay up that late till I graduated high school.
Oh this makes me so sick of living here. I like our house. It's small but it's well kept and we're pretty conveniently located. I just hate our neighborhood. It's always like a block party, all the time. It's just guys sitting out by their trucks drinking beer listening to the incesent oompa beats of latino music until we have to call 311 and get the cops to tell them to shut the party down.
Which makes me feel bad, because then when we have people over and we hang outside for smokes and beer, we're a little loud. But not this loud. We never fired up the car stereo and cranked up Nine Inch Nails.
Well, maybe we should. Maybe we should fight back with really loud industrial music at 6am when they're all trying to sleep it off. I'd go out and fire up the lawn mower and the stereo and the weed eater. It just enfuriates me. I can't believe that all Mexicans are like this, but all are neighboors are Mexican and they all do it. It must be some love of the tuba and accordian that just makes them want to stay up late and piss off the white people.
And how many times do we have to call the cops before they get the message? I know the people across the way we've called about at least five times. Are they forgetful? Evil? Stupid? What kind of curtousy must you lack to do this to your streetmates? What kind of thought goes through your head when you've got noises like this playing at midnight? Weekend or not SOMEONE has got to have babies or kids or is trying to shake a cold and needs some rest.
So, again, I have to call 311. They've been going at it since 5pm. I don't do anything until after 10. I should do something at 8. What's the ordinance around here anyway?
When I lived in an apartment, and I was going to have a party, I'd tell my neighboors. "Hey, I'm going to have people over. You're invited. We're going to have some music. If we get out of control, just stop on by and let us know and we'll cool it." No, nothing. And they get pissed when you give them the, "Hey, silencio, por favor!" Like we're imposing on them.
I have to move. I have to get out of here. They play music at 2pm when I try taking a nap. They play it early in the morning, late at night. For no reason. It's not the 5th of May or the 4th of July or Christmas or Easter or anything that I can really excuse, it's just a Saturday night.
And no that doesn't make it alright.
Addendum.
I want to apologize to anyone reading this if I've offended you. I have nothing against any race of people. There are so many other reason to think people are jerks, why be racial about it. If the people on my block were white people playing country or black people playing hip hop or old people playing big band I'd be just as upset. It's more the loud music I have a problem with, not the people. It just so happens that all the people doing it at that time were one race. Other people on our street have done similar things that aren't Latino, I just haven't written about them. It was unfair of me to say that.
Carry on.
I'm going to play the race card here and pose the question, what the fuck is with Mexicans and having to listen to their music outside so freakin' loud? I like loud music, but I know that after a certain time I should shut the shit off. I mean, it's not like I'm out washing my car and will appreciate this background noise, I've got kids in bed.
Speaking of, the one house is having some kind of party and the kids are all still awake. Man, 11 o'clock. I don't think I got to stay up that late till I graduated high school.
Oh this makes me so sick of living here. I like our house. It's small but it's well kept and we're pretty conveniently located. I just hate our neighborhood. It's always like a block party, all the time. It's just guys sitting out by their trucks drinking beer listening to the incesent oompa beats of latino music until we have to call 311 and get the cops to tell them to shut the party down.
Which makes me feel bad, because then when we have people over and we hang outside for smokes and beer, we're a little loud. But not this loud. We never fired up the car stereo and cranked up Nine Inch Nails.
Well, maybe we should. Maybe we should fight back with really loud industrial music at 6am when they're all trying to sleep it off. I'd go out and fire up the lawn mower and the stereo and the weed eater. It just enfuriates me. I can't believe that all Mexicans are like this, but all are neighboors are Mexican and they all do it. It must be some love of the tuba and accordian that just makes them want to stay up late and piss off the white people.
And how many times do we have to call the cops before they get the message? I know the people across the way we've called about at least five times. Are they forgetful? Evil? Stupid? What kind of curtousy must you lack to do this to your streetmates? What kind of thought goes through your head when you've got noises like this playing at midnight? Weekend or not SOMEONE has got to have babies or kids or is trying to shake a cold and needs some rest.
So, again, I have to call 311. They've been going at it since 5pm. I don't do anything until after 10. I should do something at 8. What's the ordinance around here anyway?
When I lived in an apartment, and I was going to have a party, I'd tell my neighboors. "Hey, I'm going to have people over. You're invited. We're going to have some music. If we get out of control, just stop on by and let us know and we'll cool it." No, nothing. And they get pissed when you give them the, "Hey, silencio, por favor!" Like we're imposing on them.
I have to move. I have to get out of here. They play music at 2pm when I try taking a nap. They play it early in the morning, late at night. For no reason. It's not the 5th of May or the 4th of July or Christmas or Easter or anything that I can really excuse, it's just a Saturday night.
And no that doesn't make it alright.
Addendum.
I want to apologize to anyone reading this if I've offended you. I have nothing against any race of people. There are so many other reason to think people are jerks, why be racial about it. If the people on my block were white people playing country or black people playing hip hop or old people playing big band I'd be just as upset. It's more the loud music I have a problem with, not the people. It just so happens that all the people doing it at that time were one race. Other people on our street have done similar things that aren't Latino, I just haven't written about them. It was unfair of me to say that.
Carry on.
10.5.05
Austin Smoking and You
For those living in the self proclaimed Live Music Capital of the world, you may be interested in knowing that as of Sept. 1, 2005, you will not be able to smoke in any public place in Austin.
An ordinance passed over the weekend banning smoking in all public buildings and within 15 feet of all entrances to public buildings. This includes bars, billiard halls, restaurants and bowling alleys. A fine of $2,000 could be applied to anyone violating the ordinance.
But don't lose hope, Austinites. Until the year 2012, there are seven places around town in which you can smoke. Only a couple are obscure, the rest you probably wouldn't want to go to anyway.
The striking thing about the measure passing on the weekend was the turn out. First, it only passed by some 3,000 votes. Second, a good 60,000 people voted. In a city of a million people, that's a decent percentage of voter aged adults getting out on a Saturday to curtail someone else’s personal freedoms.
You heard me. Let's step aside from the fact that this bill sounds the death knell for bars and musicians in Austin. Let's forget that tourism will suffer because the cool places to go to will have to shut down or will be fined into closure because they choose to ignore the ban. Let's instead talk about personal freedoms.
Now, smoking isn't a Constitutional Right. It shouldn't be, don't get me wrong. However, if drinking (another legal narcotic) is allowed and causes just as many traffic deaths as does exposure to second hand smoke, why not ban liquor? Did prohibition work? Did it? Of course it did. It worked so well we don't have it now.
I'm actually trying to quit smoking, so I can appreciate going to places that are not very smoky. Not because of the smoke in the air, but because of the desire it creates to light up myself. I'm also a parent, and I appreciate that people are looking out for kids. What I don't think happened when people voted for this was a good look at some facts about Austin and it's apparent rampant smoking hoodlums terrorizing senior citizens and babies.
(from Keep Austin Free)
99% are smoke free. 99%. That's a better rating than most FDA approved drugs. That means that out of 100 restaurants, only 1 allows smoking. That means if you had time to pick from all the restaurants and bars in Austin, only 211 would be withheld from your picking. I haven't been to 211 different restaurants in my whole life and now some folks have decided that it's more important that those final bastions of free choice must be squashed to make room for...for...
...not them.
Because see, the people who voted for the ban aren't the people who go to live music shows on 6th street. They aren't the ones in a crappy bar at 1am watching a hockey game and drinking whiskey. Bars are for drinking, smoking and flirting. Bars are for playing darts, having a cigar, drinking some whiskey and talking really loud about stuff you probably shouldn't. It's a culture; it's a part of society. You don't like it? Go at the source.
Stop the production of tobacco related material. This isn't 1700's Virginia anymore; we don't need the stuff to thrive as an economically sound colony separate from The Crown. You can't have something be legal but prohibited to the extent that it is creating second-class citizens. If suddenly there was a referendum to ban all alcohol in bars or within 15 feet of all public buildings, there would be a HUGE outcry for its dismissal.
However, all ranting aside, I'm in the minority. Just like Gay Marriage and Religion in Schools, I just can't see why anyone would want this. It doesn't make sense to me. Putting limits on personal freedoms that don't necessarily help in the way the measure was intended is political homogeny. No child is dying because of second hand smoke they breathed in while at a shot bar. No waitress or barkeeper is stupid enough to realize that if they don't like working at one of the 211 allowed smoking locations, they can't work at the other 46,000. Anyone falling into these two categories should not be the burden of society. Parents who bring their children to bars should have the kids removed (and apparently not given to gay people.)
But again, I'm in the 49% that just doesn't get it. Along with Houston, New York, Minneapolis and a slew of other cities, Austin is now in line with America and American hates you smokers.
An ordinance passed over the weekend banning smoking in all public buildings and within 15 feet of all entrances to public buildings. This includes bars, billiard halls, restaurants and bowling alleys. A fine of $2,000 could be applied to anyone violating the ordinance.
But don't lose hope, Austinites. Until the year 2012, there are seven places around town in which you can smoke. Only a couple are obscure, the rest you probably wouldn't want to go to anyway.
The striking thing about the measure passing on the weekend was the turn out. First, it only passed by some 3,000 votes. Second, a good 60,000 people voted. In a city of a million people, that's a decent percentage of voter aged adults getting out on a Saturday to curtail someone else’s personal freedoms.
You heard me. Let's step aside from the fact that this bill sounds the death knell for bars and musicians in Austin. Let's forget that tourism will suffer because the cool places to go to will have to shut down or will be fined into closure because they choose to ignore the ban. Let's instead talk about personal freedoms.
Now, smoking isn't a Constitutional Right. It shouldn't be, don't get me wrong. However, if drinking (another legal narcotic) is allowed and causes just as many traffic deaths as does exposure to second hand smoke, why not ban liquor? Did prohibition work? Did it? Of course it did. It worked so well we don't have it now.
I'm actually trying to quit smoking, so I can appreciate going to places that are not very smoky. Not because of the smoke in the air, but because of the desire it creates to light up myself. I'm also a parent, and I appreciate that people are looking out for kids. What I don't think happened when people voted for this was a good look at some facts about Austin and it's apparent rampant smoking hoodlums terrorizing senior citizens and babies.
- Of 46,000 businesses in Austin, over 99% are smoke free.
- No smoking is allowed anywhere children under 18 are present.
- Over 2000 restaurants are smoke free. Only 6 allow smoking.
- Over 400 bars are smoke free. Only 200 allow smoking.
- Over 150 live music venues are smoke free. Only 63 allow smoking.
- Only 211 businesses and their employees have chosen to allow smoking in Austin.
(from Keep Austin Free)
99% are smoke free. 99%. That's a better rating than most FDA approved drugs. That means that out of 100 restaurants, only 1 allows smoking. That means if you had time to pick from all the restaurants and bars in Austin, only 211 would be withheld from your picking. I haven't been to 211 different restaurants in my whole life and now some folks have decided that it's more important that those final bastions of free choice must be squashed to make room for...for...
...not them.
Because see, the people who voted for the ban aren't the people who go to live music shows on 6th street. They aren't the ones in a crappy bar at 1am watching a hockey game and drinking whiskey. Bars are for drinking, smoking and flirting. Bars are for playing darts, having a cigar, drinking some whiskey and talking really loud about stuff you probably shouldn't. It's a culture; it's a part of society. You don't like it? Go at the source.
Stop the production of tobacco related material. This isn't 1700's Virginia anymore; we don't need the stuff to thrive as an economically sound colony separate from The Crown. You can't have something be legal but prohibited to the extent that it is creating second-class citizens. If suddenly there was a referendum to ban all alcohol in bars or within 15 feet of all public buildings, there would be a HUGE outcry for its dismissal.
However, all ranting aside, I'm in the minority. Just like Gay Marriage and Religion in Schools, I just can't see why anyone would want this. It doesn't make sense to me. Putting limits on personal freedoms that don't necessarily help in the way the measure was intended is political homogeny. No child is dying because of second hand smoke they breathed in while at a shot bar. No waitress or barkeeper is stupid enough to realize that if they don't like working at one of the 211 allowed smoking locations, they can't work at the other 46,000. Anyone falling into these two categories should not be the burden of society. Parents who bring their children to bars should have the kids removed (and apparently not given to gay people.)
But again, I'm in the 49% that just doesn't get it. Along with Houston, New York, Minneapolis and a slew of other cities, Austin is now in line with America and American hates you smokers.
9.5.05
LMA is the big 4.0
Today marks the birth of Little Miss Austin, or Scoot Scoot as Mrs. A likes to call her.
That's right, aging hipsters. For those keeping track. LMA is now four years old. She was born pre 9/11, pre-home ownership, pre-Governor Ahnold, pre-war in Iraq. Here's some things that happened on this day in history.
LMA was awoke this morning with a little carrot cake muffin and a candle and a cup with vanilla milk (her favorite.) Tonight we're going to either Chuck E Cheese or Red Lobster, both her favorite restaurants. (We're pushing for seafood.) She took a couple dozen muffins to school with her to share because her school has this thing about sugar, so cupcakes and cake were out. She wore a nice dress and some new sandals and she was really pretty happy about it being her birthday.
Over the weekend we went to Mrs. A's mom's house (I guess she's Grandma Conroe?) and helped clean the place up a bit. The original plan for Mother's Day was to let Mrs. A go out early, get a hotel by herself so she could sleep alone and late and be luxuriously laid back on Friday, then she and her brother would get to the house to clean, then the kids and I would come out on Sunday. Well those plans got put aside for different reasons and we all ended going out on Saturday morning.
As Mrs. A repeated like a mantra, "This is a bad idea."
There were some low parts of the trip, not least of which was Pilgrim staying up most of the night in the hotel yowling like there was someone slowing removing his toes every 30 minutes. Man that kid doesn't sleep. Still, at almost a year old, he wakes up several times a night. Usually he puts himself back to sleep, but not after screaming for 10-15 minutes. When it's another room you can tune it out, but when he's 10 feet away, it's hard to ignore. I felt bad for anyone in rooms near us because I could hear him 4 doors down in the hallway.
Ugh.
Also, from now on, Pilgrim will be known as Yogi. His favorite car pastime is grabbing both feet and doing the splits while giggling. He, like most babies, just thing chewing on his feet is so much fun. Well, he does it in his sleep now, just grabs a foot and pulls so he's got two feet in the air. I said I was doing to start calling him Dhalsim but Cheryl didn't know who that was (why would she?) so we started calling him Yogi.
Thing about these kids, we call them tons of little pet names. Scooterface, Space Cadet, Pumpkin Butter, Puppy, it's hard to really pick one and stick with it for this page. LMA seems to have been a solid choice, but the little guy, I don't know. Yogi might work. Who knows.
So anyway, this was a non-entry. Just kinda rambled.
Ciao.
6.5.05
Orwellian Indeed.
I just have to post these links without much diatribe because frankly, there's nothing much I could say to ease the taste of bile that's slowly creeping into my throat.
Bewitched Statue in Salem. No not Oregon. I think they're also planning a Tonto statue in Wounded Knee Creek, SD and a Kato statue near an old internment camp in San Francisco.
No gay sperm for me thanks. I only want wife beating, alcoholic sperm. Only the best for my yet-to-be-baby.
I just can't find the words anymore. I think I'm going to start writing a new dictionay for people who have lost the ability to communicate after seeing so many hateful things happen in their world.
Bewitched Statue in Salem. No not Oregon. I think they're also planning a Tonto statue in Wounded Knee Creek, SD and a Kato statue near an old internment camp in San Francisco.
No gay sperm for me thanks. I only want wife beating, alcoholic sperm. Only the best for my yet-to-be-baby.
I just can't find the words anymore. I think I'm going to start writing a new dictionay for people who have lost the ability to communicate after seeing so many hateful things happen in their world.
5.5.05
(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.
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.
4.5.05
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.
2.5.05
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.
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!
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?
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.
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!
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?
29.4.05
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.
26.4.05
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.
25.4.05
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!!
(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.
22.4.05
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.
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.
21.4.05
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.
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.
20.4.05
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.
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.
14.4.05
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?
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?
13.4.05
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.
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.
12.4.05
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.
So, now it's easier to leave your feed back, all 4 of you.
7.4.05
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.
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...
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.
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...
28.3.05
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?
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?
21.3.05
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!
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!
19.3.05
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.
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.
7.3.05
...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.
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.
4.3.05
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!"
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!"
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