this is why I always go out for lunch
Not a fan of the break room at the office.
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prepare for what's coming
Vacation can make you appreciate some of the small things at home that you take for granted. For example, the condo where we're staying has cable TV, but no interactive channel guide. So if we want to see what's on, we have to look at the preview channel, which has about 3/8 of an inch for display below an infomercial or entertainment news show.
So we end up flipping through channels hoping to see something worthwhile. On one hand, this gives us the chance to experience media that we'd normally avoid, like anything with 'evangelical' in the network name. The first thirty seconds or so are riveting, then there's a sharp wave of nausea. Like the 'scientist' who was talking about the right of every child to have one mother and one father. And how science shouldn't be influenced by politics or religion, but should be subject to ethics. And how the fact that such 'ungodly' experiments can go on in South Korea and Japan doesn't make it OK for us to violate 'embryonic ethics' at home.
Some of the condos in this complex are owner-occupied, but this one seems to be a full-time rental unit. I say that because most of the condos have a locked closet (presumably where the owners keep the good towels), and this one doesn't. And the few books scattered around are pulp mystery novels from the mid-eighties and little else - another opportunity to experience media that we'd normally avoid. Curiously, nestled among the pulp is a copy of Joshua Harris' Boy Meets Girl: Say Hello to Courtship. Harris is a pastor who wrote a couple of books about the pure and spiritual approach of courtship as an alternative to dating. Of course, I flipped immediately to the section on avoiding lust. Harris suggests to his girlfriend that they go and hang out in a backyard hammock, but he soon finds himself uncomfortable with the lustful thoughts this inspires, and he springs from the hammock. (The book is a little unclear about how his girlfriend felt to be suddenly dumped on the ground.) Harris suggests a number of rules for physical intimacy, which is basically limited to hand-holding and - if he feels a little edgy - putting his arm around her shoulders.
There was a time when I would have engaged anyone, anywhere in an argument about the boundaries of politics, religion and science, but those days are largely gone. There are some people who just aren't interested in hearing the opinions of others, people who have firmly rationalized their belief system to the point where it is unassailable.
I'm speaking of myself, of course.
The evangelical nutjob didn't elaborate about how to 'prepare for what's coming' - I'm not sure if he was talking about the Rapture, or something more likely, like having all those ungodly Asians reject their entire value system. I like to think that religion will refuse to adapt, and continue to be marginalized as a moral compass. It's easy to laugh at people like Harris, who deny themselves even a pre-nuptial kiss - but these are the same people who, once together, breed like rabbits. Then they home-school their children to prevent them from being exposed to - well, media they'd normally avoid.
Scouting made me what I am today
I am slightly embarrassed to admit that I am an Eagle Scout. As in, the highest rank in the Boy Scouts of America. I wouldn't put that on a resume because the Boy Scouts appear to have become something else since I left the organization a couple of decades ago - or perhaps the Boy Scouts were always on the conservative fringe and I was oblivious to it. Or because I'm in such illustrious company.
But today I was oddly reminded of going to Scout summer camp - a week of camping, hiking and hours on the rifle range. In the interest of full disclosure and the innocence/obliviousness of youth, I also qualified as a sharpshooter, and even got a certificate from the NRA. Well, I had no desire for a political career anyway.
There was a fair amount of dry humor at Scout camp. Younger Scouts were subject to a small amount of hazing from their older peers. When I became one of the older Scouts, I realized that the hazing was merely meant to get annoying younger kids to go away for a while. Sending the kids down to the Quartermaster's to get a left-handed screwdriver or a bucket of smoke would do the trick.
Then there was the weather rock. The weather rock was a boulder, tied with a rope and suspended from a log tripod, not far from the parade ground. You could tell the weather by looking at the weather rock, we were told. If the rock was warm, it was sunny; if it was swaying, it was windy; if it was wet, it was raining.
Older Scouts who proved themselves worthy might be asked to come back as camp counselors the following year. One year it appeared that I was a shoo-in for this honor, until I led the Scouts in a slightly bawdy song at the communal campfire. The invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.
So while I'm probably didn't turn out exactly as Scouting intended, I think I can say that Scouting really did help to make me what I am today. It occurs to me that I could probably say the same thing of parochial school... but that's another story.
we aim to please
Our boy's newest endeavor is to pee standing up. He's only been trying this for a week or so, and usually he drops trou, ponders the situation for a few moments, then decides to sit down instead. Then, a few days ago, he decided to go with the flow, and he did a pretty good job. The cleanup only required was a few paper towels and disinfecting wipes.
Grandma heard the good news. "So, he did a pretty good job standing up at the toilet?"
"Yep," I said proudly. "And he was about 95% accurate, which has always been good enough for me. So I don't think I have anything left to teach him."
evil Samaritan
On the first day of Spring, Milwaukee was expecting snow. My wife's cousin was going to be out of town, and she asked if we could shovel around one corner of the house, a spot where water has been leaking into the basement.
We got a foot of it in less than 24 hours. After shoveling snow at our house, I drove to her house. She had a shovel by the side of the house, so I wouldn't have to take one with me. Of course, I had to walk through the snow drifts to get to the shovel. Have you ever picked up something expecting it to be light, only to have the surprising weight jerk your arm out of its socket? Well, apparently her shovel was made from lead, or perhaps depleted uranium.
I shoveled the corner of the house where she was worried about water. Finishing, I realized how weird it looked to shovel one side of the house, and then trudge back through the snow to the street - not to mention that I hadn't shoveled the front sidewalk. So I shoveled back to the sidewalk, and then the length of the sidewalk. The shovel grew heavier all the while, and I wondered if it was actually designed for tamping instead.
When shoveling the sidewalk in front of my own house, I generally go a few feet beyond where I think the property line would be. Partially because I think you look like a bad neighbor if you bring out a yardstick and go exactly to the line, and a jackass if you're obviously short of that line. But I'd like to think that if I go the extra couple of feet, then the neighbor will pay me back some day - hopefully some day when we've had a foot of snow. Hence, the evil Samaritan: I'm only going for the appearance of helping out with no interest in reward. For whatever reason, one of my neighbors is pretty good about going a couple of feet over the line if he shovels first. The other... well, I suspect that he has a shovel-mounted GPS.
With the wife's cousin, I figured that over-shoveling would somehow pay back at some point. While I pondered this, I saw the cousin's neighbor come out of her house - an elderly, heavyset Polish-looking woman (I'm a bit Slavic, I can call it like I see it) come out of her house and just shake her head slowly, then walk back around the side of her house. I felt sorry for her. As I shoveled the front walk of the cousin's house, I thought, why not just shovel her sidewalk too?
As I was finishing the front steps, the Polish woman was just firing up her snowblower. It took her about 45 seconds to shovel her front walk.
I mustered my remaining strength and dragged the shovel of Sisyphus back to the side of the house, then trudged back to my car. I quickly discovered that I was stuck. So it was back to the shovel. A few minutes later I was finally on my way.
I threw my sweaty clothes into the washing machine, and a quarter fell out of my jacket pocket. Karma confuses me.
more bacon than the pan can handle
On Saturday we're heading off on our annual trip to St. Augustine, Florida. My wife's family has been going down there for years, and this will be my... um, seventh? eighth? time. I wasn't that hip to the idea at first - I always thought that vacations were an opportunity to go somewhere new. But what do I know? When I was growing up, my family rarely went on vacations. (I look back with a mixture of sadness and relief.)
In the last few years, I've come to appreciate going to the same place. Something my wife read recently pointed out that there's a lot less pressure when the you're looking at the landscape and not a map. You can look for new restaurants that weren't there last year. You can feel superior to the lesser tourists when you're a regular.
Proust said "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes." (Not only is that apt, but it gives me the opportunity to appear literate.) Not to get all sappy, but having a toddler along does change one's perspective, and it gives me an excuse to go back to the alligator farm. Going to Ripley's is probably a few years off, though.
A significant portion of the week will be spent on a patio facing the ocean breeze. Beer might be involved. I'm taking the iPod and some speakers, and creating a playlist is challenging. On one hand, my wife and I have, er, diverging musical tastes. (Honey, I'll rip the Black Eyed Peas for you, but there's a song on their last album that is not, I repeat not, going to ever taint my iPod.) Meanwhile, I like a lot of different kinds of music, and the others on the patio may not share my interests, so no Miles Davis, Kraftwerk, Damned or Underworld. The Dead Kennedys might have to make an appearance. (Deal with it, all their songs are, like, two minutes long anyway.) I also got a couple of new CD's in the mix now, including the new Mike Doughty album (which inspired the title of this entry).
A few weeks ago, my boss challenged me to come up with a proposal for - well, it doesn't really matter, except that it's going to define much of what I do for the rest of the year. He wanted me to present it the day before I leave for this vacation, which isn't ideal, but it's better than waiting until afterward. So I've poured a lot of time and energy into this proposal. Today, it got rescheduled for - obviously - my first day back in the office after the vacation. I expect I'll be mulling that over while I'm sitting on the patio. After everyone else has gone to bed. Might have to go off the playlist for that. Beer might be involved.
But I'm not going to let this overshadow my vacation. I'm going to come back rested, a few pounds heavier, and with sand in my suitcase.
frankly
I am trying to eradicate the word 'frankly' from my vocabulary. I really should have no use for it - whenever someone starts a sentence with "Frankly, ... " I want to interrupt: "What, are you not normally frank with me?"
I can think of only two scenarios where use of the word is permissible: when disagreeing with a superior officer, or in certain, highly dramatic situations in which you're breaking up with someone.
However, I was curious about the origin of the word. Assuming that this doesn't have anything to do with hot dogs or the Gaullic peoples that settled France, 'frank' means 'free' as in not being a slave or otherwise in captivity, as derived from the Latin francus. A frank could be a pen or pigsty; a mark to indicate postage has been paid, or to indicate that the message can be sent free of charge; or a heron. Incidentally, a franklin was a freeman, or born of free but not noble birth, or a fairly whiny turtle that lives on Nick Jr.
you can't save the planet from irony
A couple is forced to cut down a couple of redwood trees that are blocking their neighbor's solar panels. Obvious irony, especially coming out of environmentally progressive California. But it gets better. The plaintiff's case was based on a law that protects a homeowner's right to sunlight:
Vargas says the law protects his $70,000 investment in solar power, and he believes it should be strengthened.$70K on a solar power system? The redwoods were the only living organisms that would have been around long enough to see the return on that investment.
Meanwhile, the Norwegian pro-whaling lobby points out, surprisingly enough, that eating whale meat is better for the environment than eating farm animals. The argument is that whaling has less of a carbon footprint. Since the Norwegian anti-whaling lobby was slow to issue a press release, Greenpeace commented that greenhouse gases are only a small part of the equation. Gas could be a big factor in the whales' revenge, however.
But maybe you shouldn't even be reading this.
so much for 'head like a hole'
Nine Inch Nails is giving away a handful of tracks from their latest release, Ghosts.
I'm no music critic. In fact, it's music critics that make me hesitate to pick up a copy of Rolling Stone or anything of that ilk. To me, it's all about name-dropping and inside jokes, and frankly, I've never cared much about the personalities behind the music. Maybe that's blasphemy, separating the art from the artist. Maybe it's just a product of my ignorance. I like old-school jazz, but I'm not the guy who can listen to a few measures and identify Coltrane. I remember liking 'People are People' but then freaking out a little when I saw what Depeche Mode actually looked like.
Hmmm... now I think I understand why, back in the late eighties, my dad sent my brother to ask me if I was gay.
Anyway, I was a big fan of NiN back in the day. But that day is over. The new stuff? Trent sounds like an angry Philip Glass, maybe with a bad hangover to boot.
