I went bowling yesterday for the first time in a long while. When getting our shoes and paying for our games up front, the chiquita at the desk asked for all of our names so she could input them in their system for us. We were 12 people so one less thing standing between us and bowling sounded good.
We get to the lanes and find that the desk in the center has been replaced by a computer screen. Not only did the computer screen already have all of our names, but, we soon learned, the computer automatically KEEPS SCORE!
You go up and bowl, the lane talks to the computer and tells it how many pins you knocked down. Then after your second ball, it tallies your total for the frame. If you get a strike, spare or split, you get a cute little movie on the screen.
Now for all of my friends who believe math is hard (and you know who you are), this is probably a dream come true. No more need to tally scores and compute strikes and spares. Come to think of it, I'm guessing my "math is hard" friends are also probably the least likely to go bowling in the first place so maybe this was never a source of stress for you at all.
Personally, I have fond memories as a child of bowling with my family (my folks were avid bowlers) and learning how to do math by scoring the bowling games. It was a physical activity coupled with some mental stimulation.
Ten plus the next two balls. Ten plus the next ball.
It was a math exercise. And even if I was a crappy bowler as a kid, I was often distracted from this fact by rushing back to the desk after my turn so I could fill in my score with that short little pencil with no eraser.
No such luck for my kids. The computer has taken over.
I'm guessing there's only so many times I can have them count the number of balls in the ball return.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Breaking Away
At last, I’m on vacation for the next week. Hallelujah!
I say that not so much for the vacation at this moment, but the fact that I’ve finally left the office. Has everyone realized how ridiculous it is to take vacation from work these days?
“I’m gonna need these 30 projects done before you go.” – Of course, if you weren’t going away you’d have 3 months to do them but what if you get hit by a bus or your plane goes down? It’ll take us at least 3 months to find someone to replace you.
“I just want you to look at this” – It’s something you had nothing to do with but just in case I decide I might have wanted you to look at it while you were away.
“Where are we with everything you’ve touched for the last year?” – code for I don’t want to be caught without an answer on something while you’re away.
Or better yet – “Write me a status memo on every project you’ve touched in the last year.”
OK, sure. I’ll get right on that. Ah, hell, maybe it’s just easier if I don’t go.
As good as I think I am at what I do, I am a firm believer that nobody is indispensable. Beside for the fact that you’ll have my cell number and I have my Blackberry wherever I go so if need be, you can always find me.
Then why, oh why, must it always be so freakin’ hellish getting out of the office before vacation?
No matter how much planning goes into it, it is always this way. I’m always so stressed by the time I leave the office that the first two days of vacation are always spent just recovering from the last day at work.
And let’s talk about when you get back…
Many of the items you were working on were courteously held in check until you returned because you’re the best guy to do it (code for “I’ve got enough of my own work to do, thank you.”)
Now in all honesty, I must admit that my colleagues where I work are a better-than-the-average-bear group. They enjoy their vacations as much as I do. So when I'm out, they do everything they can NOT to have to interrupt me. They know I'll do the same for them so it works out for both of us.
We also generally share assignments (e.g., no one person is an island) expressly for the reason that we CAN step in for one another.
When assignments are courteously held until my return, it's usually the case of my clients deciding that they'd rather wait a week until I return than to brief someone new on the subject from scratch.
I just wish it wasn't so freakin' hellish to leave. I swear. By the time I drag my sorry ass onto the train to head home, all I want is to drink heavily and veg out to some music on my new iPod.
The music is on. The drinking will come later.
So for right now, my trusty laptop and blog will have to serve me to blow off some steam.
I say that not so much for the vacation at this moment, but the fact that I’ve finally left the office. Has everyone realized how ridiculous it is to take vacation from work these days?
“I’m gonna need these 30 projects done before you go.” – Of course, if you weren’t going away you’d have 3 months to do them but what if you get hit by a bus or your plane goes down? It’ll take us at least 3 months to find someone to replace you.
“I just want you to look at this” – It’s something you had nothing to do with but just in case I decide I might have wanted you to look at it while you were away.
“Where are we with everything you’ve touched for the last year?” – code for I don’t want to be caught without an answer on something while you’re away.
Or better yet – “Write me a status memo on every project you’ve touched in the last year.”
OK, sure. I’ll get right on that. Ah, hell, maybe it’s just easier if I don’t go.
As good as I think I am at what I do, I am a firm believer that nobody is indispensable. Beside for the fact that you’ll have my cell number and I have my Blackberry wherever I go so if need be, you can always find me.
Then why, oh why, must it always be so freakin’ hellish getting out of the office before vacation?
No matter how much planning goes into it, it is always this way. I’m always so stressed by the time I leave the office that the first two days of vacation are always spent just recovering from the last day at work.
And let’s talk about when you get back…
Many of the items you were working on were courteously held in check until you returned because you’re the best guy to do it (code for “I’ve got enough of my own work to do, thank you.”)
Now in all honesty, I must admit that my colleagues where I work are a better-than-the-average-bear group. They enjoy their vacations as much as I do. So when I'm out, they do everything they can NOT to have to interrupt me. They know I'll do the same for them so it works out for both of us.
We also generally share assignments (e.g., no one person is an island) expressly for the reason that we CAN step in for one another.
When assignments are courteously held until my return, it's usually the case of my clients deciding that they'd rather wait a week until I return than to brief someone new on the subject from scratch.
I just wish it wasn't so freakin' hellish to leave. I swear. By the time I drag my sorry ass onto the train to head home, all I want is to drink heavily and veg out to some music on my new iPod.
The music is on. The drinking will come later.
So for right now, my trusty laptop and blog will have to serve me to blow off some steam.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
The Mouths Of Babes
MLB was readying Monkey Boy and Peanut for their swim classes the other day when Peanut happened to mention that if she gets thirsty during swim class, she just drinks from the pool.
Somewhat dismayed, MLB tried to explain to Peanut (who is only 4) that although the pool has chlorine in it, it might not be very clean.
Peanut was unfazed.
To try to make her point, MLB went on to explain that it is quite possible that some of the little kids who take lessons here might actually pee in the pool.
"It's OK," replied Peanut.
MLB and Monkey Boy looked at each other dumbfounded.
Monkey decided to take a shot.
"You know, some of those kids probably fart in the pool."
Peanut blinks calmly. Monkey Boy persists. Maybe she didn't hear him.
"It's fart water. You're drinking fart water."
At this point, Peanut shrugs and simply responds, "I don't mind."
While mildly gross, and no doubt constituting one of those stories Peanut will hate us telling her dates when she grows up, I'm thinking we ought to get this young lady an application to compete on Fear Factor.
Those wimps have nothing on my little girl.
Somewhat dismayed, MLB tried to explain to Peanut (who is only 4) that although the pool has chlorine in it, it might not be very clean.
Peanut was unfazed.
To try to make her point, MLB went on to explain that it is quite possible that some of the little kids who take lessons here might actually pee in the pool.
"It's OK," replied Peanut.
MLB and Monkey Boy looked at each other dumbfounded.
Monkey decided to take a shot.
"You know, some of those kids probably fart in the pool."
Peanut blinks calmly. Monkey Boy persists. Maybe she didn't hear him.
"It's fart water. You're drinking fart water."
At this point, Peanut shrugs and simply responds, "I don't mind."
While mildly gross, and no doubt constituting one of those stories Peanut will hate us telling her dates when she grows up, I'm thinking we ought to get this young lady an application to compete on Fear Factor.
Those wimps have nothing on my little girl.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
When Worlds Collide, Part Deux
Sorry about the clipped ending to the last blog. Apparently there are limitations to the size of fields when you’re entering them from a Blackberry.
Anyway, where was I? Right. The two trade shows.
OK, so you have the Consumer Electronics Show with 140,000 geeks in Vegas during the same week as the Adult Entertainment Expo.
I wish I had a camera here with me. But having none, I shot some footage with my mental camera. So if you’ll dim the lights, I’ll roll the film.
Picture, if you will, the scene caused when the impossibly, inhumanly (bordering on absurd) buxom porn star strolls down the convention center thoroughfare. CES attendees stop, gawk, lower their cell phones and blackberries and part to make way.
Or the moment when the bald, handlebar-mustached and ridiculously tattooed “producer” of quality adult films excuses himself to get past the gearheads riding the exhibition hall escalator.
On this beautiful, mid-60s day in Vegas, dozens of techies sit on benches and grass dining on salads and sandwiches. In their midst, nonchalantly sits a large white man with dreadlocks (I didn’t know white people could grow dreadlocks?!) and more piercings on his face than you’d think could be possible. (How do you keep food and drink in your mouth when you’ve got multiple holes in your cheeks?) Beside him stands two platinum blondes who keep adjusting their skirts because, let’s face it, there isn’t much skirt there. One has to imagine that’s why they’re standing and not sitting with him.
OK, last one.
As I’m standing in the very long taxi line with Consumer Electronics fans from many nations, I notice up ahead in line two young boys, probably 12-13 and their dads, arms full of “fan materials” collected at the Adult Entertainment Expo. All four have spiked hair and tight t-shirts. They laugh, clearly having enjoyed a day of wholesome father-son bonding.
You can turn the lights back up now.
Just a few thoughts about the Consumer Electronics Show:
Do you remember as a kid going to Disney World and riding the “Carousel of Progress”? As the show progresses, you watch the same family go from turn of the century (and I don’t mean 2000) up through modern day and then into the future. You watch grandma play virtual reality video games with her grandson. Mom cook a Christmas dinner with a voice-recognition oven. The kids calling from somewhere far away on their video phone.
The CES is the last scene of Carousel of Progress. From computers to phones to portables to cameras to cars to anything else you can think of, the latest, best, fastest, most amazing of their kinds are on display. It’s a little bit of H.G. Wells, Ray Bradbury and Star Wars rolled into one.
Our first video game as kids was Pong, by Telstar. How cool was it that each player could move his white vertical line up and down to hit the little white “ball” back and forth. And we thought video games had really quantum leaped when we got an Atari. I mean, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Pac Man. Loved ‘em. They were the coolest thing and kept us busy for hours.
Today I saw a demo of Playstation 3.
I’m not a big video gamer anymore. Monkey Boy got a Gamecube this year so I’ve played a few of his games and thought they were pretty impressive.
But I am not exaggerating when I tell you that the Playstation 3 demo at the Sony booth had hundreds (yes, hundreds) of grown adults standing there with their mouths open. We turned to each other as if to say, “are my eyes really seeing what I’m seeing?” OK, we were watching the next generation of gaming on a 70 inch high definition plasma TV, but still.
I defy anyone to see this and not be blown away.
If you’re one of those folks who get scared by technology, this show isn’t for you. The future is coming faster than we think. So if that concept stresses you out, you can go ride the Dumbo ride.
Me? If Playstation 3 is a glimpse of what’s to come, I’m getting back on the Carousel of Progress.
Anyway, where was I? Right. The two trade shows.
OK, so you have the Consumer Electronics Show with 140,000 geeks in Vegas during the same week as the Adult Entertainment Expo.
I wish I had a camera here with me. But having none, I shot some footage with my mental camera. So if you’ll dim the lights, I’ll roll the film.
Picture, if you will, the scene caused when the impossibly, inhumanly (bordering on absurd) buxom porn star strolls down the convention center thoroughfare. CES attendees stop, gawk, lower their cell phones and blackberries and part to make way.
Or the moment when the bald, handlebar-mustached and ridiculously tattooed “producer” of quality adult films excuses himself to get past the gearheads riding the exhibition hall escalator.
On this beautiful, mid-60s day in Vegas, dozens of techies sit on benches and grass dining on salads and sandwiches. In their midst, nonchalantly sits a large white man with dreadlocks (I didn’t know white people could grow dreadlocks?!) and more piercings on his face than you’d think could be possible. (How do you keep food and drink in your mouth when you’ve got multiple holes in your cheeks?) Beside him stands two platinum blondes who keep adjusting their skirts because, let’s face it, there isn’t much skirt there. One has to imagine that’s why they’re standing and not sitting with him.
OK, last one.
As I’m standing in the very long taxi line with Consumer Electronics fans from many nations, I notice up ahead in line two young boys, probably 12-13 and their dads, arms full of “fan materials” collected at the Adult Entertainment Expo. All four have spiked hair and tight t-shirts. They laugh, clearly having enjoyed a day of wholesome father-son bonding.
You can turn the lights back up now.
Just a few thoughts about the Consumer Electronics Show:
Do you remember as a kid going to Disney World and riding the “Carousel of Progress”? As the show progresses, you watch the same family go from turn of the century (and I don’t mean 2000) up through modern day and then into the future. You watch grandma play virtual reality video games with her grandson. Mom cook a Christmas dinner with a voice-recognition oven. The kids calling from somewhere far away on their video phone.
The CES is the last scene of Carousel of Progress. From computers to phones to portables to cameras to cars to anything else you can think of, the latest, best, fastest, most amazing of their kinds are on display. It’s a little bit of H.G. Wells, Ray Bradbury and Star Wars rolled into one.
Our first video game as kids was Pong, by Telstar. How cool was it that each player could move his white vertical line up and down to hit the little white “ball” back and forth. And we thought video games had really quantum leaped when we got an Atari. I mean, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Pac Man. Loved ‘em. They were the coolest thing and kept us busy for hours.
Today I saw a demo of Playstation 3.
I’m not a big video gamer anymore. Monkey Boy got a Gamecube this year so I’ve played a few of his games and thought they were pretty impressive.
But I am not exaggerating when I tell you that the Playstation 3 demo at the Sony booth had hundreds (yes, hundreds) of grown adults standing there with their mouths open. We turned to each other as if to say, “are my eyes really seeing what I’m seeing?” OK, we were watching the next generation of gaming on a 70 inch high definition plasma TV, but still.
I defy anyone to see this and not be blown away.
If you’re one of those folks who get scared by technology, this show isn’t for you. The future is coming faster than we think. So if that concept stresses you out, you can go ride the Dumbo ride.
Me? If Playstation 3 is a glimpse of what’s to come, I’m getting back on the Carousel of Progress.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
When Worlds Collide
So I'm in Las Vegas attending some meetings Ford work at the Consumer Electronics Show. 140,000 of the world's biggest techies, gearheads and geeks in one place. Pocket protectors abound.
In keeping with the theme of CES, I'm writing this on my Blackberry so please excuse any typos.
Maybe I'm the last person to know this but I discovered that each year during the geek convention, the Adult Entertainment Expo is held.
More to come.
In keeping with the theme of CES, I'm writing this on my Blackberry so please excuse any typos.
Maybe I'm the last person to know this but I discovered that each year during the geek convention, the Adult Entertainment Expo is held.
More to come.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
The Goldens
Conventional wisdom says the world is divided into Leaders and Followers.
It’s also commonly said that any group can’t exist with only Leaders (too much fighting over jurisdiction) or with only Followers (nobody to lead the way).
I think there’s a third group that falls somewhere between the Leaders and Followers. And these people are pure gold.
The Goldens are a group who are happy to lead but are equally happy to follow if an acceptable Leader steps up.
I guess you could distinguish a Golden from a Leader in that some Leaders are only happy if they’re leading. It’s kind of like driving. Some people must drive the car because they hate the lack of control when they’re a passenger. These types of Leaders are NOT Goldens.
On the other hand, you can distinguish a Golden from a Follower because no matter how a group might be flailing about in the breeze, a Follower will not step up to lead. The Follower might notice the disorganization. Might even be able to recognize the need for leadership. However, a true Follower will not lead.
I’m involved in a bunch of groups/organizations from Boards, professional committees, civic and political committees, interest groups, committees for activities my kids are involved in, etc.
I constantly watch the dynamics in these groups and it’s gotten so that now I can pretty quickly determine who in the group falls into which category.
The most successful of the groups I’m involved with are comprised exclusively of Leaders and Goldens. Better to have Goldens than Followers because you can lop of areas of responsibility and delegate them to a Golden and THEY WILL GET DONE. Not so with a Follower. In the Follower’s case, unless we’re talking a single discrete task, it will usually require a bunch of reminding, prodding, etc. of the Follower to make sure the task gets done.
What constantly amazes me though is that you can have someone who is the most base Follower you can imagine in one context, and then find that the same Follower is a Leader in another setting. I don’t get it.
I mean, you can’t lead unless you’re willing to take on the responsibility of making sure something happens.
Followers don’t do this. They can sit around all day until there’s someone to follow.
But when someone you know is a Leader joins your group and then just sits around, or worse, allows deadlines to be missed or tasks not be accomplished, I just find it shocking. I mean, how can their “Leader” side let things fall to pot?
I’ll take a Golden over a Follower any day. Goldens have enough Leader in them that when they’re assigned a task, you just know it’s going to get done. It’s almost like doing it yourself.
If you’re part of a group, aspire to be a Golden.
They’re pure--, well, you know.
It’s also commonly said that any group can’t exist with only Leaders (too much fighting over jurisdiction) or with only Followers (nobody to lead the way).
I think there’s a third group that falls somewhere between the Leaders and Followers. And these people are pure gold.
The Goldens are a group who are happy to lead but are equally happy to follow if an acceptable Leader steps up.
I guess you could distinguish a Golden from a Leader in that some Leaders are only happy if they’re leading. It’s kind of like driving. Some people must drive the car because they hate the lack of control when they’re a passenger. These types of Leaders are NOT Goldens.
On the other hand, you can distinguish a Golden from a Follower because no matter how a group might be flailing about in the breeze, a Follower will not step up to lead. The Follower might notice the disorganization. Might even be able to recognize the need for leadership. However, a true Follower will not lead.
I’m involved in a bunch of groups/organizations from Boards, professional committees, civic and political committees, interest groups, committees for activities my kids are involved in, etc.
I constantly watch the dynamics in these groups and it’s gotten so that now I can pretty quickly determine who in the group falls into which category.
The most successful of the groups I’m involved with are comprised exclusively of Leaders and Goldens. Better to have Goldens than Followers because you can lop of areas of responsibility and delegate them to a Golden and THEY WILL GET DONE. Not so with a Follower. In the Follower’s case, unless we’re talking a single discrete task, it will usually require a bunch of reminding, prodding, etc. of the Follower to make sure the task gets done.
What constantly amazes me though is that you can have someone who is the most base Follower you can imagine in one context, and then find that the same Follower is a Leader in another setting. I don’t get it.
I mean, you can’t lead unless you’re willing to take on the responsibility of making sure something happens.
Followers don’t do this. They can sit around all day until there’s someone to follow.
But when someone you know is a Leader joins your group and then just sits around, or worse, allows deadlines to be missed or tasks not be accomplished, I just find it shocking. I mean, how can their “Leader” side let things fall to pot?
I’ll take a Golden over a Follower any day. Goldens have enough Leader in them that when they’re assigned a task, you just know it’s going to get done. It’s almost like doing it yourself.
If you’re part of a group, aspire to be a Golden.
They’re pure--, well, you know.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
A Dirty Secret
I am the leader of a local chapter of what I have come to learn is viewed in many circles as a disgusting, despicable organization. Just plain evil.
The organization used to be chartered by the high school PTA. It was dropped several years ago without notice.
People who find out I’m involved suggest we change the organization’s name so that it’s not recognized as a local chapter of the larger organization.
I should feel dirty, cheap, even ashamed.
Skinheads? KKK? The Taliban?
Nope, nope and nope.
I’m the Cubmaster of Monkey Boy’s Cub Scout Pack.
There, I said it.
I bet the FBI has been alerted and I’m no doubt under double secret investigation in 14 states.
Look, I’m a very liberal person. Somehow, in some way, I’ve come to learn to be respectful and tolerant of people with differing views than my own. Could have been due to my East Coast college education. Could have been genetics. In either case, I know that there are times that my opinions and perspectives may be very different than this country’s majority (heck, I learned that when I thought it was a sure thing that Dubya would not be re-elected). I still get to live here even though I didn’t vote for the guy.
To hear some people talk about the Cub Scouts, you’d think it was the Taliban farm team.
Yes, I know that Scouting’s main establishing organization is the church (one of several I believe). I also know that Scouting has taken some intolerant views with respect to sexual persuasion. I think the views are narrow minded and probably driven by ignorance and arrogance.
There are plenty of gay men with sons who are model fathers to their kids, model citizens and great role models. There are also plenty of straight men who are deadbeat Dads and criminals.
But when I learned tonight that someone in my community suggested that we change the name of our pack from Cub Scouts to the Outdoor Club, I wonder if we’ve gone too far.
As a national fundraiser, Cub Scouts sell popcorn. It is to Boy Scouts what cookies are to Girl Scouts. I’ve heard people refer to the product these kids sell as homophobic popcorn.
As far as I can tell, popcorn has no views on sexuality. And frankly neither do the Dads involved in our pack. We couldn’t care less.
Scouting is a fun, rewarding program that teaches boys a ton of different skills, offers leadership opportunities, provides a mechanism through which a 7 year old like Monkey Boy and his friends can perform service projects for the community.
Let’s not destroy or dismiss the organization simply because it hasn’t arrived in the 21st century yet. Heck, I read that some state like Louisiana still has a law on its books that makes it illegal to tie your alligator to a fire plug.
I can’t imagine the local cops issue many summonses for violating the law these days. The law just hasn’t caught up with the times.
I think in time, Scouting will catch up and allow any male without a prison record to be a scout leader. It’s bound to happen. It just may take some more time.
Frankly, I don’t care if you tie your alligator to the hydrant. As long as it doesn’t hurt me or mine, he can stay there all day.
He can even be a scout leader.
The organization used to be chartered by the high school PTA. It was dropped several years ago without notice.
People who find out I’m involved suggest we change the organization’s name so that it’s not recognized as a local chapter of the larger organization.
I should feel dirty, cheap, even ashamed.
Skinheads? KKK? The Taliban?
Nope, nope and nope.
I’m the Cubmaster of Monkey Boy’s Cub Scout Pack.
There, I said it.
I bet the FBI has been alerted and I’m no doubt under double secret investigation in 14 states.
Look, I’m a very liberal person. Somehow, in some way, I’ve come to learn to be respectful and tolerant of people with differing views than my own. Could have been due to my East Coast college education. Could have been genetics. In either case, I know that there are times that my opinions and perspectives may be very different than this country’s majority (heck, I learned that when I thought it was a sure thing that Dubya would not be re-elected). I still get to live here even though I didn’t vote for the guy.
To hear some people talk about the Cub Scouts, you’d think it was the Taliban farm team.
Yes, I know that Scouting’s main establishing organization is the church (one of several I believe). I also know that Scouting has taken some intolerant views with respect to sexual persuasion. I think the views are narrow minded and probably driven by ignorance and arrogance.
There are plenty of gay men with sons who are model fathers to their kids, model citizens and great role models. There are also plenty of straight men who are deadbeat Dads and criminals.
But when I learned tonight that someone in my community suggested that we change the name of our pack from Cub Scouts to the Outdoor Club, I wonder if we’ve gone too far.
As a national fundraiser, Cub Scouts sell popcorn. It is to Boy Scouts what cookies are to Girl Scouts. I’ve heard people refer to the product these kids sell as homophobic popcorn.
As far as I can tell, popcorn has no views on sexuality. And frankly neither do the Dads involved in our pack. We couldn’t care less.
Scouting is a fun, rewarding program that teaches boys a ton of different skills, offers leadership opportunities, provides a mechanism through which a 7 year old like Monkey Boy and his friends can perform service projects for the community.
Let’s not destroy or dismiss the organization simply because it hasn’t arrived in the 21st century yet. Heck, I read that some state like Louisiana still has a law on its books that makes it illegal to tie your alligator to a fire plug.
I can’t imagine the local cops issue many summonses for violating the law these days. The law just hasn’t caught up with the times.
I think in time, Scouting will catch up and allow any male without a prison record to be a scout leader. It’s bound to happen. It just may take some more time.
Frankly, I don’t care if you tie your alligator to the hydrant. As long as it doesn’t hurt me or mine, he can stay there all day.
He can even be a scout leader.
Monday, January 02, 2006
A Man Of Leisure
Today I’m doing something I’ve never done before.
We’ll I’m sure I did it when I was a kid, probably lots in college, maybe some when we were first married. But it’s been so long that neither MLB nor I could remember the last time. So it feels like we’ve never done it before. Know what it is?
Nothing.
Yes, that’s right. Today we’re doing NOTHING!
We slept until 8:15 – a freakin’ record in our house where we’re usually lucky just to reach 7am before one of the kids or the dog needs attention.
And you know what? I’ve scheduled a nap in for this afternoon.
Yep, got that penciled in at about 2:00 right after my 1:00 appointment to do nada, and before my 3:00 reservation to do zippo. I take my nothingness very seriously.
The kids asked if they could stay in their sweats all day. Our answer? You betcha.
I didn’t shower until about noon and that’s only because our computer consultant dude is coming by later to replace a doohickey on our computer. So I showered. For Ed. Otherwise, I might have considered joining the kids in their clothes boycott for the day.
Sometimes, the lives of 4 people get completely out of control. In a single day, we could face ballet, soccer, two birthday parties, maybe a playdate, a dinner date with another family, and 3 or 4 more things I’m not thinking about. As much as we try to limit the number of scheduled activities we sign the kids up for, inevitably our downtime is always uptime.
But not today.
OK, I know some wiseguy out there is thinking that I’m doing SOMETHING because I’m writing this. Technically correct. But I don’t count it because I can stop whenever I want. And I can pick it up whenever I want. No timeclock punching for us today.
I worked out a little, watched the end of a movie I’ve been catching in bits and pieces (“Paper Moon” – a classic), did some Blo-pen art with the kids. That’s about it.
I might eventually get motivated to sort my socks later while watching a DVD or something. But that’s only because Santa brought me a bunch of new socks and there are too many now to get the drawer closed.
Hmm, sock sorting. Might have to schedule a second nap.
We’ll I’m sure I did it when I was a kid, probably lots in college, maybe some when we were first married. But it’s been so long that neither MLB nor I could remember the last time. So it feels like we’ve never done it before. Know what it is?
Nothing.
Yes, that’s right. Today we’re doing NOTHING!
We slept until 8:15 – a freakin’ record in our house where we’re usually lucky just to reach 7am before one of the kids or the dog needs attention.
And you know what? I’ve scheduled a nap in for this afternoon.
Yep, got that penciled in at about 2:00 right after my 1:00 appointment to do nada, and before my 3:00 reservation to do zippo. I take my nothingness very seriously.
The kids asked if they could stay in their sweats all day. Our answer? You betcha.
I didn’t shower until about noon and that’s only because our computer consultant dude is coming by later to replace a doohickey on our computer. So I showered. For Ed. Otherwise, I might have considered joining the kids in their clothes boycott for the day.
Sometimes, the lives of 4 people get completely out of control. In a single day, we could face ballet, soccer, two birthday parties, maybe a playdate, a dinner date with another family, and 3 or 4 more things I’m not thinking about. As much as we try to limit the number of scheduled activities we sign the kids up for, inevitably our downtime is always uptime.
But not today.
OK, I know some wiseguy out there is thinking that I’m doing SOMETHING because I’m writing this. Technically correct. But I don’t count it because I can stop whenever I want. And I can pick it up whenever I want. No timeclock punching for us today.
I worked out a little, watched the end of a movie I’ve been catching in bits and pieces (“Paper Moon” – a classic), did some Blo-pen art with the kids. That’s about it.
I might eventually get motivated to sort my socks later while watching a DVD or something. But that’s only because Santa brought me a bunch of new socks and there are too many now to get the drawer closed.
Hmm, sock sorting. Might have to schedule a second nap.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Auld Lang Syne
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne my dear,
For auld lang syne
We’ll take a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
What the hell does that mean?
OK, I get that it’s a drinking song (cup o’kindness, anyone?). But considering this is referred to on the web as one of the best known songs in English-speaking countries, I wonder how many people really know what it means.
Obviously, people sing the song, by Robert Burns, to mark the New Year but several references I found on the web admit that most people have no idea what they’re singing and that many can only recall a fraction of the words. My guess is that by midnight, there’s been enough cups o’kindness enjoyed that fellow party goers don’t notice.
It literally translates from the Scottish as “old long since”. Does that clear things up for you? Didn’t think so.
The English version is “old long ago,” “times gone by” or “days gone by”. Now we’re getting somewhere. As we know, people in the U.S., U.K. and English-speaking Canada use it to signify the start of a new year. But did you know:
-- in Taiwan, it’s used as a graduation and a funeral song
-- in Japan, many stores play it to usher customers out when it’s closing time
-- in the U.K., it’s played at the end of the annual Trades Union Congress
-- in Korea, the lyrics of the national anthem were sung to this tune until the current anthem music was written
-- in the Maldives, this WAS the national anthem prior to 1972 – words and music
-- in Portugal, this song is used by boy scouts to mark a farewell
-- the University of Virginia’s fight song, “The Good Old Song” carries this tune.
While the Scottish took the song with them as they emigrated throughout the world, its association with New Year’s Eve is most commonly attributed to bandleader Guy Lombardo who used it on radio and later TV New Year’s Eve shows since 1929 (what a guy!). However, newspaper accounts dating back as early as 1896 describe party goers on both sides of the Atlantic singing it to usher in the new year.
Another interesting bit of trivia – the meter of “Auld Lang Syne” is identical to “America The Beautiful” and the songs can be sung perfectly with their lyrics switched.
I feel much better now. How about you?
Happy New Year!
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne my dear,
For auld lang syne
We’ll take a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
What the hell does that mean?
OK, I get that it’s a drinking song (cup o’kindness, anyone?). But considering this is referred to on the web as one of the best known songs in English-speaking countries, I wonder how many people really know what it means.
Obviously, people sing the song, by Robert Burns, to mark the New Year but several references I found on the web admit that most people have no idea what they’re singing and that many can only recall a fraction of the words. My guess is that by midnight, there’s been enough cups o’kindness enjoyed that fellow party goers don’t notice.
It literally translates from the Scottish as “old long since”. Does that clear things up for you? Didn’t think so.
The English version is “old long ago,” “times gone by” or “days gone by”. Now we’re getting somewhere. As we know, people in the U.S., U.K. and English-speaking Canada use it to signify the start of a new year. But did you know:
-- in Taiwan, it’s used as a graduation and a funeral song
-- in Japan, many stores play it to usher customers out when it’s closing time
-- in the U.K., it’s played at the end of the annual Trades Union Congress
-- in Korea, the lyrics of the national anthem were sung to this tune until the current anthem music was written
-- in the Maldives, this WAS the national anthem prior to 1972 – words and music
-- in Portugal, this song is used by boy scouts to mark a farewell
-- the University of Virginia’s fight song, “The Good Old Song” carries this tune.
While the Scottish took the song with them as they emigrated throughout the world, its association with New Year’s Eve is most commonly attributed to bandleader Guy Lombardo who used it on radio and later TV New Year’s Eve shows since 1929 (what a guy!). However, newspaper accounts dating back as early as 1896 describe party goers on both sides of the Atlantic singing it to usher in the new year.
Another interesting bit of trivia – the meter of “Auld Lang Syne” is identical to “America The Beautiful” and the songs can be sung perfectly with their lyrics switched.
I feel much better now. How about you?
Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Resolutions
It’s usually this time of year that people always make resolutions for the coming year. OK, I waited until the very last possible day. I’ve been busy. Sue me.
People always end up choosing things with good intentions, but it’s usually things they’re not likely to follow through on. More of a wish list -- except people don’t realize that with resolutions, YOU are the fairy god mother who needs to make the wishes come true.
For January and February, people will eat less (all the holiday goodies having been safely ingested before the resolution kicked in), work out more (it’s cold, what else is there to do?), watch less TV (until sweeps kicks in in February) and try to be nicer to their fellow human beings (it’s all that holiday goodwill carrying over). Come March, all bets are off.
What resolutions? Did I say that? Well I didn’t know they’d open a Cinnabon right next to my office. The gym was too full and I was too fat so I didn’t want all those people to see me in my workout clothes. The dog ate my homework. The sun was in my eyes.
Of course there are those with a very high opinion of themselves who don’t think they need resolutions. Resolutions? Not for me. I’m perfect just the way I am.
Oprah’s got a new thing this year where she tells her viewers to ask themselves "What have you done today to make you feel proud." MLB is an avid Oprah watcher so I’m usually up on what’s happening on the show. I think it’s a worthy effort to make people think more about others and less about themselves. Not a bad goal. We’ll always look out for ourselves but it’s less natural to be watching out for others.
Of course, after this intense period of natural catastrophes, I think many of us have done more (at least more than ever before) in 2005 to help others. How many people who never donated time, money, belongings, etc. to anything before, volunteered or donated to Tsunami Relief, Katrina Relief, the American Red Cross, etc. Sad that it takes such public and devastating suffering of others to wake the rest of us up. But at least it did. It would be sadder if we all just read about Katrina in the paper and then turned to the sports section without blinking an eye. I think overall, we reacted responsibly and admirably.
But back to resolutions. Resolutions are SUPPOSED to be about ourselves. It’s a time to conduct a personal inventory and determine what we need more or less of in our lives. What could we be doing better? It’s a time to be selfish. It’s all about you. If one of the things you think you could be doing more of is helping others, then that’s fine. But you choose that as a resolution because it’s something you think YOU should be doing.
Of course, I could say I’m making a resolution to be less selfish so in that case, I shouldn’t make any resolutions. We have a way of talking ourselves out of anything.
So without further ado, here are my own resolutions:
-- Spend more time with MLB and the kids.
-- Try to play when the kids ask me to play with them. Such requests are often met with a "later" or "tomorrow" response. Before long, they’ll stop asking and I’ll be the one begging them to play.
-- Make sure the people (family and friends) that I love and appreciate, know it. I’m going to try to call, email and get together more.
-- Keep up with my workout routine. For the first time in a decade, I feel fit and have lots of energy. It’s not easy to keep up but I really want to.
-- Write at least one, and hopefully two, more scripts
That’s all I can think of right now. It’s a good start.
Happy New Year to everyone who has stopped by to read this. I hope 2006 brings you everything you want.
People always end up choosing things with good intentions, but it’s usually things they’re not likely to follow through on. More of a wish list -- except people don’t realize that with resolutions, YOU are the fairy god mother who needs to make the wishes come true.
For January and February, people will eat less (all the holiday goodies having been safely ingested before the resolution kicked in), work out more (it’s cold, what else is there to do?), watch less TV (until sweeps kicks in in February) and try to be nicer to their fellow human beings (it’s all that holiday goodwill carrying over). Come March, all bets are off.
What resolutions? Did I say that? Well I didn’t know they’d open a Cinnabon right next to my office. The gym was too full and I was too fat so I didn’t want all those people to see me in my workout clothes. The dog ate my homework. The sun was in my eyes.
Of course there are those with a very high opinion of themselves who don’t think they need resolutions. Resolutions? Not for me. I’m perfect just the way I am.
Oprah’s got a new thing this year where she tells her viewers to ask themselves "What have you done today to make you feel proud." MLB is an avid Oprah watcher so I’m usually up on what’s happening on the show. I think it’s a worthy effort to make people think more about others and less about themselves. Not a bad goal. We’ll always look out for ourselves but it’s less natural to be watching out for others.
Of course, after this intense period of natural catastrophes, I think many of us have done more (at least more than ever before) in 2005 to help others. How many people who never donated time, money, belongings, etc. to anything before, volunteered or donated to Tsunami Relief, Katrina Relief, the American Red Cross, etc. Sad that it takes such public and devastating suffering of others to wake the rest of us up. But at least it did. It would be sadder if we all just read about Katrina in the paper and then turned to the sports section without blinking an eye. I think overall, we reacted responsibly and admirably.
But back to resolutions. Resolutions are SUPPOSED to be about ourselves. It’s a time to conduct a personal inventory and determine what we need more or less of in our lives. What could we be doing better? It’s a time to be selfish. It’s all about you. If one of the things you think you could be doing more of is helping others, then that’s fine. But you choose that as a resolution because it’s something you think YOU should be doing.
Of course, I could say I’m making a resolution to be less selfish so in that case, I shouldn’t make any resolutions. We have a way of talking ourselves out of anything.
So without further ado, here are my own resolutions:
-- Spend more time with MLB and the kids.
-- Try to play when the kids ask me to play with them. Such requests are often met with a "later" or "tomorrow" response. Before long, they’ll stop asking and I’ll be the one begging them to play.
-- Make sure the people (family and friends) that I love and appreciate, know it. I’m going to try to call, email and get together more.
-- Keep up with my workout routine. For the first time in a decade, I feel fit and have lots of energy. It’s not easy to keep up but I really want to.
-- Write at least one, and hopefully two, more scripts
That’s all I can think of right now. It’s a good start.
Happy New Year to everyone who has stopped by to read this. I hope 2006 brings you everything you want.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Spectacular
Today’s Hanukah gift to the kids was tickets to see the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. We went tonight. The kids liked the fact that they opened envelopes with the tickets and we said “Go get dressed, we leave in an hour.”
At some point while Peanut was dressing, she asked me “What does spectacular mean?”. I told her that it meant fantastic, super special, big and flashy.
Well the show was all that. The Rockettes were impressive – just the amount of work it takes to get 36 women to move in unison like that. The stage is huge, the musical numbers expansive, the amount of movement and action overwhelming at times. Spectacular? Probably but I wanted to make sure.
I came home and looked the word up. It means “Of the nature of a spectacle; impressive or sensational.” OK, I guess it WAS spectacular. And while I thought it was fun to watch the kids enjoy the show and shout out things they found particularly engaging during the performance, I wasn’t sure it was something I’d ever need to do again. MLB felt the same way.
The more I thought about this, the more I realized how similar tonight’s experience is frequently to movie-going. I love movies. Popcorn “spectaculars” to quiet dramas to quirky independents. And even though I didn’t develop an appreciation for the “oldies” until after marrying MLB, I now count some of them among my favorites too.
However, there’s so much “spectacular” work being done these days but at the end of the day, they have very little resonance. Two vastly different films I saw recently illustrate the point.
I caught “Fantastic Four” on DVD last week and while I enjoyed the “spectacle”, I was sadly disappointed by the film. I loved FF as a kid. I always hoped that as effects got better and better, that they would make a film version worthy of release and admiration. Instead, I felt there was plenty of glitz, but no real heart. We’ve seen in the Spiderman and X-Men films that it’s possible to care about or relate to a character at the same time our jaws are dropping over their super powers. It can be done. It wasn’t here. I heard there’s a sequel in development so I’m hoping that maybe now that they’ve gotten the “origin” story out of the way, they can give our 4 more to engage a viewer than just more things to blow up. A textbook case of spectacular without substance.
On the other end of the spectrum, “Good Night and Good Luck” was not much of a spectacle. In fact, it wasn’t much of anything. On reflection, it probably would’ve made a decent magazine article.
A 2-hour movie? Not so much.
Black and white without much of a soundtrack? Even less so.
I found the story so thin and the pacing so plodding that at times I actually found myself nodding off. At least Fantastic Four had spectacle.
So where I’m netting out here is that spectacle can be pure, unadulterated fun. Like I said, I’m open to all kind of movies. I don’t need every one to deliver a message or change my life. Sometimes, you just want a fun ride. The Radio City thing falls in that category. FF probably does too.
But a person can’t live on spectacle alone. And if everything was only spectacle, we’d tire of films very quickly. We need more to stimulate us than a big explosion or 72 legs kicking in unison.
I happy the kids enjoyed tonight’s spectacular. But I also know that they’ve been engaged (in the way that makes them want to watch something over and over) by films that offer more than just spectacle.
Hopefully we as parents, and Hollywood as the supplier of such content, will provide more substantial “meals” that we can share with our kids to balance out the helpings of spectacle. We’ve always heard that everything in moderation is the way to happiness. Maybe the saying is right?
At some point while Peanut was dressing, she asked me “What does spectacular mean?”. I told her that it meant fantastic, super special, big and flashy.
Well the show was all that. The Rockettes were impressive – just the amount of work it takes to get 36 women to move in unison like that. The stage is huge, the musical numbers expansive, the amount of movement and action overwhelming at times. Spectacular? Probably but I wanted to make sure.
I came home and looked the word up. It means “Of the nature of a spectacle; impressive or sensational.” OK, I guess it WAS spectacular. And while I thought it was fun to watch the kids enjoy the show and shout out things they found particularly engaging during the performance, I wasn’t sure it was something I’d ever need to do again. MLB felt the same way.
The more I thought about this, the more I realized how similar tonight’s experience is frequently to movie-going. I love movies. Popcorn “spectaculars” to quiet dramas to quirky independents. And even though I didn’t develop an appreciation for the “oldies” until after marrying MLB, I now count some of them among my favorites too.
However, there’s so much “spectacular” work being done these days but at the end of the day, they have very little resonance. Two vastly different films I saw recently illustrate the point.
I caught “Fantastic Four” on DVD last week and while I enjoyed the “spectacle”, I was sadly disappointed by the film. I loved FF as a kid. I always hoped that as effects got better and better, that they would make a film version worthy of release and admiration. Instead, I felt there was plenty of glitz, but no real heart. We’ve seen in the Spiderman and X-Men films that it’s possible to care about or relate to a character at the same time our jaws are dropping over their super powers. It can be done. It wasn’t here. I heard there’s a sequel in development so I’m hoping that maybe now that they’ve gotten the “origin” story out of the way, they can give our 4 more to engage a viewer than just more things to blow up. A textbook case of spectacular without substance.
On the other end of the spectrum, “Good Night and Good Luck” was not much of a spectacle. In fact, it wasn’t much of anything. On reflection, it probably would’ve made a decent magazine article.
A 2-hour movie? Not so much.
Black and white without much of a soundtrack? Even less so.
I found the story so thin and the pacing so plodding that at times I actually found myself nodding off. At least Fantastic Four had spectacle.
So where I’m netting out here is that spectacle can be pure, unadulterated fun. Like I said, I’m open to all kind of movies. I don’t need every one to deliver a message or change my life. Sometimes, you just want a fun ride. The Radio City thing falls in that category. FF probably does too.
But a person can’t live on spectacle alone. And if everything was only spectacle, we’d tire of films very quickly. We need more to stimulate us than a big explosion or 72 legs kicking in unison.
I happy the kids enjoyed tonight’s spectacular. But I also know that they’ve been engaged (in the way that makes them want to watch something over and over) by films that offer more than just spectacle.
Hopefully we as parents, and Hollywood as the supplier of such content, will provide more substantial “meals” that we can share with our kids to balance out the helpings of spectacle. We’ve always heard that everything in moderation is the way to happiness. Maybe the saying is right?
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Buying A Ticket
An aged rabbi goes to temple and prays to God. “I’ve been your humble servant my entire life. Please let me win the lottery.” The next day, he comes back and says “God, I didn’t win. I gave my life to you. Please let me win the lottery.” He comes back again the next day and says “Lord, why? Why won’t you let me win the lottery?” There is a bolt of lightning and a white light. When the smoke clears, a booming voice says “Rabbi, meet me half way here. At least buy a ticket.”
I’ve bought a lottery ticket or two over the years (especially when that Mega Millions goes through the roof) and while I don’t have any expectation of divine intervention to help me win, I still buy it with the mindset that I’ve got just as much chance of winning as anyone else. Why can’t it be me this time?
Yes, ladies and gents. I’m an optimist.
Prepare for the worst but hope for the best. In the lottery example, clearly the odds are against me. But my point is that some people will look at those odds and never bother buying a ticket because, they’ll reason, they’ll never win. Clearly, like the rabbi, they WILL never win unless they take the chance.
I live my life by that principle. Try new things, take chances, swim upstream. While it may be hard work and the odds may be against success, there’s absolutely no chance of success by not even trying.
I’m not sure what makes someone an optimist. Genetics? I doubt it. When I accuse my mother of being a pessimist, she responds “I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist. And in real life, everything goes wrong.” Clearly, Mom doesn’t play on the optimist team.
I think my Dad was more of a fatalist. He believed that everything happened for a reason. Didn’t get that job you were hoping for? That’s because there’s a better job out there that you’re meant to get. I’m not sure I buy that approach either because it presupposes that your future has already been decided. If that’s the case, no matter what you do, you can’t change your fate. I think you can.
To a certain extent, I believe in self-fulfilling prophecies. If you say you can’t than you can’t. If you say you can, and convince yourself of that fact, then sometimes you can will yourself to actually accomplishing what you set out to do.
Maybe I missed my calling as a high school football coach? Or a motivational speaker? In either case, I’m sure I would’ve been good at it.
I’ve bought a lottery ticket or two over the years (especially when that Mega Millions goes through the roof) and while I don’t have any expectation of divine intervention to help me win, I still buy it with the mindset that I’ve got just as much chance of winning as anyone else. Why can’t it be me this time?
Yes, ladies and gents. I’m an optimist.
Prepare for the worst but hope for the best. In the lottery example, clearly the odds are against me. But my point is that some people will look at those odds and never bother buying a ticket because, they’ll reason, they’ll never win. Clearly, like the rabbi, they WILL never win unless they take the chance.
I live my life by that principle. Try new things, take chances, swim upstream. While it may be hard work and the odds may be against success, there’s absolutely no chance of success by not even trying.
I’m not sure what makes someone an optimist. Genetics? I doubt it. When I accuse my mother of being a pessimist, she responds “I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist. And in real life, everything goes wrong.” Clearly, Mom doesn’t play on the optimist team.
I think my Dad was more of a fatalist. He believed that everything happened for a reason. Didn’t get that job you were hoping for? That’s because there’s a better job out there that you’re meant to get. I’m not sure I buy that approach either because it presupposes that your future has already been decided. If that’s the case, no matter what you do, you can’t change your fate. I think you can.
To a certain extent, I believe in self-fulfilling prophecies. If you say you can’t than you can’t. If you say you can, and convince yourself of that fact, then sometimes you can will yourself to actually accomplishing what you set out to do.
Maybe I missed my calling as a high school football coach? Or a motivational speaker? In either case, I’m sure I would’ve been good at it.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Half Full
2005 came in like a lion, kicking our asses starting on New Year’s Day.
It was the year for things to break, plans to be foiled, loved ones to be lost, and promises to remain unfulfilled. If there was a chance for something to go our way or not, in 2005, the smart money was against us. Being the optimist I am, I kept betting on us.
So here I am at the end of December and the year is still kicking my ass. We undertook a major deal at work that someone in their infinite wisdom determined must be closed by year end.
You don’t need to ask if it has closed yet, do you?
The project started off interesting. I worked with people I didn’t usually interface with, dealt with new subject matters and had an opportunity to raise my profile within the company. Not bad things. But it’s December 28th for God’s sake.
Everyone else has gone away for the holidays. Skiing, the Caribbean, Europe. Some even further. On Tuesday, January 3rd, they’ll all return to work relaxed, rested and ready to take on 2006.
Me? Not so much.
I took last week off for vacation (it was my year to mind the fort between Christmas and New Years so I planned for the week before Christmas). I have 17 vacation days left and they only let you carry over 10. When I planned to take the week, I figured that the deal would HAVE to be done by December 19th. Shoulda known better.
Instead, I was called, emailed, faxed, conferenced, messengered, carrier pigeoned and smoke signaled. Any way they could, they reached me. Let’s just say that when I went in to talk to my boss about vacation time, she told me without asking that she made arrangements with HR to have them carry over all 17 of my days since I worked every single day of my vacation. Hmmm, 17 extra days of vacation. 2006 is starting to look better already.
Speaking of looking better, being the glass half full guy that I am (and needing something positive to keep me going until this deal closes), I figured I would try to find some good things about 2005. Here goes:
- My family is happy and healthy
- I’m more than gainfully employed in a stimulating job
- We have made some new friends
- Monkey Boy learned to ride his bike, play the piano, shoot a basketball
- Peanut is learning to swim, to dance and to read
- I’ve lost weight and kept it off
- MLB has gotten more involved with PTA work and she’s enjoying it
- We took some nice vacations, long weekends and day trips
- Although certain things broke, the repairs we were “forced” to make make the house look better and or more comfortable to live in
- While some doors closed, others opened
- Our expectations were lowered so much by 2005 that I just know 2006 is gonna rock – even if it is helped along by comparison.
With all that to be thankful for, I’ll quit bitching about 2005.
I’ll stop being a baby, shut up and finish my damn deal. And when I’m all done?
I’m gonna quench my thirst with this here half glass of water.
It was the year for things to break, plans to be foiled, loved ones to be lost, and promises to remain unfulfilled. If there was a chance for something to go our way or not, in 2005, the smart money was against us. Being the optimist I am, I kept betting on us.
So here I am at the end of December and the year is still kicking my ass. We undertook a major deal at work that someone in their infinite wisdom determined must be closed by year end.
You don’t need to ask if it has closed yet, do you?
The project started off interesting. I worked with people I didn’t usually interface with, dealt with new subject matters and had an opportunity to raise my profile within the company. Not bad things. But it’s December 28th for God’s sake.
Everyone else has gone away for the holidays. Skiing, the Caribbean, Europe. Some even further. On Tuesday, January 3rd, they’ll all return to work relaxed, rested and ready to take on 2006.
Me? Not so much.
I took last week off for vacation (it was my year to mind the fort between Christmas and New Years so I planned for the week before Christmas). I have 17 vacation days left and they only let you carry over 10. When I planned to take the week, I figured that the deal would HAVE to be done by December 19th. Shoulda known better.
Instead, I was called, emailed, faxed, conferenced, messengered, carrier pigeoned and smoke signaled. Any way they could, they reached me. Let’s just say that when I went in to talk to my boss about vacation time, she told me without asking that she made arrangements with HR to have them carry over all 17 of my days since I worked every single day of my vacation. Hmmm, 17 extra days of vacation. 2006 is starting to look better already.
Speaking of looking better, being the glass half full guy that I am (and needing something positive to keep me going until this deal closes), I figured I would try to find some good things about 2005. Here goes:
- My family is happy and healthy
- I’m more than gainfully employed in a stimulating job
- We have made some new friends
- Monkey Boy learned to ride his bike, play the piano, shoot a basketball
- Peanut is learning to swim, to dance and to read
- I’ve lost weight and kept it off
- MLB has gotten more involved with PTA work and she’s enjoying it
- We took some nice vacations, long weekends and day trips
- Although certain things broke, the repairs we were “forced” to make make the house look better and or more comfortable to live in
- While some doors closed, others opened
- Our expectations were lowered so much by 2005 that I just know 2006 is gonna rock – even if it is helped along by comparison.
With all that to be thankful for, I’ll quit bitching about 2005.
I’ll stop being a baby, shut up and finish my damn deal. And when I’m all done?
I’m gonna quench my thirst with this here half glass of water.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Power Of Yes
Last night for Hanukah, we gave the kids books. In past years, we’ve given solely books, figuring that they get so many toys for Christmas, books are an easy thing to buy 8 of, and it freshens up the old bookshelves in just over a week.
Besides, after our first night of the donations (described in my “Best Laid Plans” blog), MLB and I needed a safe evening.
Tonight however, we decided to walk on the wild side again. Thanks to MLB’s creative gift-giving prowess (see “Mary Christmas” blog), she came up with an idea that cost us nothing (except patience) and the kids had a ball.
After lighting the candles and blessing them, we handed each kid an envelope. Of course Monkey Boy’s first reaction was “Are you making us give away money again?”
After assuring him we weren’t (to which he responded he would be OK with adopting more manatees – I think he secretly still aspires to having his name engraved in a plaque on Floyd’s tank), he opened his envelope to reveal Mom and Dad Coupons.
It was a booklet of 5 homemade coupons – 2 redeemable for an extra dessert, 2 redeemable for an extra bedtime story, and 1 redeemable for an extra 15 minutes of television. Monkey Boy read them aloud for Peanut who wasn’t sure she understood the concept.
Since we had just finished dinner and dessert, Monkey immediately ripped out a coupon for extra dessert and helped himself to an extra piece of cake. Clearly, HE understood the concept.
Peanut thought about redeeming one of hers for an extra slice of pumpkin pie (monkey see, monkey do – she’ll usually do what her brother does). But she was really quite full from dinner and the slice she already ate so we talked her out of it.
We hung out for a while after dinner. I played Digimon Rumble on the GameCube with Monkey Boy while MLB played Barbie Fashion Show with Peanut on the computer. Two Christmas presents the kids were dying to play with.
After play time, Peanut was digested enough to start thinking about pumpkin pie again. She forked over one of her dessert coupons and indulged. If Peanut was not getting the concept initially, she was now with the program.
When we herded the kids to bed, instead of protesting and beginning their usual stall tactics, Monkey and Peanut both whipped out their 15 minute TV coupons. They were feeling the power.
After 15 minutes of tube time, we finally got them into bed. Just as I tuck Monkey Boy in, he holds one finger in the air.
“May I get out of bed for a minute?” he asks.
While I was ready for bed myself, I knew what was coming. And he knew I couldn’t say no.
I nodded and he leapt from his bed to his desk where his coupon book lay. He forked over one of his book coupons and away we went into a bedtime story. In the other room, I heard MLB laugh as Peanut pulled the same routine.
After our books, as I tucked Monkey into bed once more, he said “I love these coupons. You guys have to do what the coupon says!”
I’m not sure what lesson was taught tonight. I’m not sure there was one.
One thing’s for sure, now that they’ve had a taste of the power these coupons give them, I’m thinking we go for TWO nights of coupons next year.
Besides, after our first night of the donations (described in my “Best Laid Plans” blog), MLB and I needed a safe evening.
Tonight however, we decided to walk on the wild side again. Thanks to MLB’s creative gift-giving prowess (see “Mary Christmas” blog), she came up with an idea that cost us nothing (except patience) and the kids had a ball.
After lighting the candles and blessing them, we handed each kid an envelope. Of course Monkey Boy’s first reaction was “Are you making us give away money again?”
After assuring him we weren’t (to which he responded he would be OK with adopting more manatees – I think he secretly still aspires to having his name engraved in a plaque on Floyd’s tank), he opened his envelope to reveal Mom and Dad Coupons.
It was a booklet of 5 homemade coupons – 2 redeemable for an extra dessert, 2 redeemable for an extra bedtime story, and 1 redeemable for an extra 15 minutes of television. Monkey Boy read them aloud for Peanut who wasn’t sure she understood the concept.
Since we had just finished dinner and dessert, Monkey immediately ripped out a coupon for extra dessert and helped himself to an extra piece of cake. Clearly, HE understood the concept.
Peanut thought about redeeming one of hers for an extra slice of pumpkin pie (monkey see, monkey do – she’ll usually do what her brother does). But she was really quite full from dinner and the slice she already ate so we talked her out of it.
We hung out for a while after dinner. I played Digimon Rumble on the GameCube with Monkey Boy while MLB played Barbie Fashion Show with Peanut on the computer. Two Christmas presents the kids were dying to play with.
After play time, Peanut was digested enough to start thinking about pumpkin pie again. She forked over one of her dessert coupons and indulged. If Peanut was not getting the concept initially, she was now with the program.
When we herded the kids to bed, instead of protesting and beginning their usual stall tactics, Monkey and Peanut both whipped out their 15 minute TV coupons. They were feeling the power.
After 15 minutes of tube time, we finally got them into bed. Just as I tuck Monkey Boy in, he holds one finger in the air.
“May I get out of bed for a minute?” he asks.
While I was ready for bed myself, I knew what was coming. And he knew I couldn’t say no.
I nodded and he leapt from his bed to his desk where his coupon book lay. He forked over one of his book coupons and away we went into a bedtime story. In the other room, I heard MLB laugh as Peanut pulled the same routine.
After our books, as I tucked Monkey into bed once more, he said “I love these coupons. You guys have to do what the coupon says!”
I’m not sure what lesson was taught tonight. I’m not sure there was one.
One thing’s for sure, now that they’ve had a taste of the power these coupons give them, I’m thinking we go for TWO nights of coupons next year.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Best Laid Plans
So back in my blog entry entitled “More or Less”, I explained how we were going to experiment with the kids this year and try to have them make a donation somewhere instead of receiving a gift themselves.
Last night was Christmas and the first night of Hanukah. Given that they woke up to a living room stacked with more gifts than “Toys For Tots” collects for the season, we decided that anything we’d give them for Hanukah last night would just become “one more” so we laid our donation plan on them.
After lighting the candles and saying the blessing, we explained how this would work. We gave each kid $25 in cash. Then MLB presented printouts from various charitable donation sites she found that she thought might spark the gift-giving desires within our kids.
There was a site where you could donate money toward educational toys for underprivileged villages in underdeveloped countries. Another where you could donate musical instruments to schools in similar underdeveloped countries. Another would let you buy a family a cow so it (the family) could use it (the cow) for farming and for milking. Still another offered the same gig but let you choose other sorts of livestock and farming/breeding animals.
The one that sparked Monkey Boy’s imagination was an “Adopt-A-Manatee” site (www.savethemanatee.org). He’s a nature and animal lover and all it took was one photo of these gentle, beautiful giants to make him thrust his $25 cash back across the table at us. It was a beautiful moment.
After a little hesitation, Peanut went for the Musical Instruments. She returned her cash and we were cooking with gas.
This morning, Monkey Boy reiterated over breakfast how cool he thought that it was that he was going to adopt a manatee. He wanted to know if he could pick his manatee? Where did it live? Could we visit it? Etc.
So MLB took Monkey upstairs and they went online to try to make his donation and find out more.
Sure enough, they gave lots of photos of manatees and you were able to pick the one you adopted. Monkey picked a big guy named Floyd. Next, he learned that for his $25, he not only would help feed and maintain Floyd, but he’d also get:
But then this donation thing took a turn we weren’t expecting.
All of a sudden, Peanut asks: "If Monkey Boy gets all that stuff, what do I get for my donation?" Not a bad question given the context.
After checking out the Musical Instruments site and finding all you get is a receipt for your taxes, we explained that the whole idea wasn’t to GET something for the donation. It was supposed to be about doing something for someone or something else and not yourself. It was to drive home the idea that there were other people and things in the world less fortunate than we were and it’s a good idea, during this time of year when we’re getting so much, to remember these other people and do something, however small, to make the world better for others.
Peanut nodded. I think we almost had her convinced.
That is, until Monkey Boy asked if they were going to engrave his name on a plaque on the tank where Floyd lives.
We explained to Monkey that you’d have to give much more than $25 for them to do something like that. He accepted this answer.
But Peanut decided to drop her plan to donate musical instruments and adopted a manatee named Lily instead.
Just in case.
Last night was Christmas and the first night of Hanukah. Given that they woke up to a living room stacked with more gifts than “Toys For Tots” collects for the season, we decided that anything we’d give them for Hanukah last night would just become “one more” so we laid our donation plan on them.
After lighting the candles and saying the blessing, we explained how this would work. We gave each kid $25 in cash. Then MLB presented printouts from various charitable donation sites she found that she thought might spark the gift-giving desires within our kids.
There was a site where you could donate money toward educational toys for underprivileged villages in underdeveloped countries. Another where you could donate musical instruments to schools in similar underdeveloped countries. Another would let you buy a family a cow so it (the family) could use it (the cow) for farming and for milking. Still another offered the same gig but let you choose other sorts of livestock and farming/breeding animals.
The one that sparked Monkey Boy’s imagination was an “Adopt-A-Manatee” site (www.savethemanatee.org). He’s a nature and animal lover and all it took was one photo of these gentle, beautiful giants to make him thrust his $25 cash back across the table at us. It was a beautiful moment.
After a little hesitation, Peanut went for the Musical Instruments. She returned her cash and we were cooking with gas.
This morning, Monkey Boy reiterated over breakfast how cool he thought that it was that he was going to adopt a manatee. He wanted to know if he could pick his manatee? Where did it live? Could we visit it? Etc.
So MLB took Monkey upstairs and they went online to try to make his donation and find out more.
Sure enough, they gave lots of photos of manatees and you were able to pick the one you adopted. Monkey picked a big guy named Floyd. Next, he learned that for his $25, he not only would help feed and maintain Floyd, but he’d also get:
-- A photo of his manatee
-- The manatee's biography
-- An adoption certificate
-- A membership handbook
-- Four newsletters throughout the year with updated reports on his adoptee
But then this donation thing took a turn we weren’t expecting.
All of a sudden, Peanut asks: "If Monkey Boy gets all that stuff, what do I get for my donation?" Not a bad question given the context.
After checking out the Musical Instruments site and finding all you get is a receipt for your taxes, we explained that the whole idea wasn’t to GET something for the donation. It was supposed to be about doing something for someone or something else and not yourself. It was to drive home the idea that there were other people and things in the world less fortunate than we were and it’s a good idea, during this time of year when we’re getting so much, to remember these other people and do something, however small, to make the world better for others.
Peanut nodded. I think we almost had her convinced.
That is, until Monkey Boy asked if they were going to engrave his name on a plaque on the tank where Floyd lives.
We explained to Monkey that you’d have to give much more than $25 for them to do something like that. He accepted this answer.
But Peanut decided to drop her plan to donate musical instruments and adopted a manatee named Lily instead.
Just in case.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Happy Festivus!
Today was quite festive in our house. Christmas and the first night of Hanukah on the same night. How often does that happen?
Since I'm serious suffering from food coma, I thought I might just share a few images of the day.
First up are the menorahs on the traditional Christmas table cloth.
Next is our prized collection of "Santa Claus is Coming To Town" ornaments. These haven't made it onto the tree because the kids have too much fun playing with them.
We're one of those couples who buy ornaments wherever we travel so our tree becomes a travelogue for us.
Our tree fell over earlier this year and we lost some of our dearest, most treasured ornaments.
Of the ones that survived, this is one of my favs since it reminds me of the trip MLB and I took to the Grand Canyon before the kids. We rode the mules down to the bottom of the Canyon and stayed at the Phantom Ranch. I don't think they do the mules these days so we're glad we got to do it when we did.
This chile pepper star is from our trip to San Diego a few years back. A really fun trip and a wonderful city to visit. We were wandering the shops in Old Town one night and spied this ornament. It captured the flavor (pun intended) for us.
Since I'm serious suffering from food coma, I thought I might just share a few images of the day.
First up are the menorahs on the traditional Christmas table cloth.
Next is our prized collection of "Santa Claus is Coming To Town" ornaments. These haven't made it onto the tree because the kids have too much fun playing with them.
We're one of those couples who buy ornaments wherever we travel so our tree becomes a travelogue for us.Our tree fell over earlier this year and we lost some of our dearest, most treasured ornaments.
Of the ones that survived, this is one of my favs since it reminds me of the trip MLB and I took to the Grand Canyon before the kids. We rode the mules down to the bottom of the Canyon and stayed at the Phantom Ranch. I don't think they do the mules these days so we're glad we got to do it when we did.
This chile pepper star is from our trip to San Diego a few years back. A really fun trip and a wonderful city to visit. We were wandering the shops in Old Town one night and spied this ornament. It captured the flavor (pun intended) for us.
Last but not least, here's our happy family in front of the tree.
Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah to all!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Mary Christmas
As I mentioned in previous posts, today is MLB’s birthday. Yes, that’s right. Christmas Eve.
“That sucks!”
“What a gyp?!”
Those are usually the kind of responses MLB gets when she tells people when her birthday is.
Most people reason that when your birthday is on the eve of the biggest gift-giving day of the year, odds are people will just give you a COMBO gift – “It’s a Birthday/Christmas present.” So when everyone else collects two gifts for the two occasions, the birthday girl only gets one.
That might be the case in some families, but not in MLB’s. They’ve always been very strict about NOT combining the two holidays. In fact, the 24th is EXCLUSIVELY MLB’s birthday until evening when they go to Christmas Eve mass. Cards and presents are given, Happy Birthday is sung, cake is eaten. It’s just like her birthday is on some random day.
But what I’ve come to learn over time is that MLB IS Christmas Eve. She so takes the season and the holiday to heart that I jokingly call her “Mary Christmas” this time of year. From ornaments, to wrap, to cards, to trees, to baking. This holiday is so much a part of who she is, I’d swear she was a long lost elf if not for the fact that she’s 5 foot 9.
While she may not have a little North Pole workshop for making gifts, she does have an extraordinary knack for finding the perfect gift for each person.
Some people sweat this time of year mercilessly. What do I get for my mother? What do I get for the kids? What do I get for the person who has everything? It’s torture for them. They dread it.
Not so for MLB. She’s so incredibly gifted (pun intended) at gift-giving, I keep telling her that she should write a book on the subject. I’ve seen “gift suggestion” books in the Barnes & Noble but none of them offer the creativity that comes so naturally to MLB.
Here’s just an example: I’m a huge movie buff. One year for Hanukah, MLB got me eight t-shirts from different film festivals around the world. She planned this for a year, calling each festival around the time it occurred and ordering over the phone. Sundance, Berlin, Hamptons, Nantucket. To get the Cannes Film Festival shirt, she tracked down by phone some guy in a tent on a beach in France. Only problem, he didn’t take credit cards. After explaining this project she was working on for me, she convinced this guy to ship her the t-shirt from France with an invoice and she would (and did) later send him payment.
She knows better than anyone the pleasure of catching someone by surprise with a gift. It’s exactly what they wanted even though they didn’t consciously know they wanted it. If there isn’t a little Santa’s magic at work there, I don’t know what it is.
In any case, because MLB is this way, we all try just a little harder to come up with something special for her when this time of year rolls around.
Happy Birthday, MLB. Hope you liked your birthday present AND what Santa leaves for you by the tree.
“That sucks!”
“What a gyp?!”
Those are usually the kind of responses MLB gets when she tells people when her birthday is.
Most people reason that when your birthday is on the eve of the biggest gift-giving day of the year, odds are people will just give you a COMBO gift – “It’s a Birthday/Christmas present.” So when everyone else collects two gifts for the two occasions, the birthday girl only gets one.
That might be the case in some families, but not in MLB’s. They’ve always been very strict about NOT combining the two holidays. In fact, the 24th is EXCLUSIVELY MLB’s birthday until evening when they go to Christmas Eve mass. Cards and presents are given, Happy Birthday is sung, cake is eaten. It’s just like her birthday is on some random day.
But what I’ve come to learn over time is that MLB IS Christmas Eve. She so takes the season and the holiday to heart that I jokingly call her “Mary Christmas” this time of year. From ornaments, to wrap, to cards, to trees, to baking. This holiday is so much a part of who she is, I’d swear she was a long lost elf if not for the fact that she’s 5 foot 9.
While she may not have a little North Pole workshop for making gifts, she does have an extraordinary knack for finding the perfect gift for each person.
Some people sweat this time of year mercilessly. What do I get for my mother? What do I get for the kids? What do I get for the person who has everything? It’s torture for them. They dread it.
Not so for MLB. She’s so incredibly gifted (pun intended) at gift-giving, I keep telling her that she should write a book on the subject. I’ve seen “gift suggestion” books in the Barnes & Noble but none of them offer the creativity that comes so naturally to MLB.
Here’s just an example: I’m a huge movie buff. One year for Hanukah, MLB got me eight t-shirts from different film festivals around the world. She planned this for a year, calling each festival around the time it occurred and ordering over the phone. Sundance, Berlin, Hamptons, Nantucket. To get the Cannes Film Festival shirt, she tracked down by phone some guy in a tent on a beach in France. Only problem, he didn’t take credit cards. After explaining this project she was working on for me, she convinced this guy to ship her the t-shirt from France with an invoice and she would (and did) later send him payment.
She knows better than anyone the pleasure of catching someone by surprise with a gift. It’s exactly what they wanted even though they didn’t consciously know they wanted it. If there isn’t a little Santa’s magic at work there, I don’t know what it is.
In any case, because MLB is this way, we all try just a little harder to come up with something special for her when this time of year rolls around.
Happy Birthday, MLB. Hope you liked your birthday present AND what Santa leaves for you by the tree.
Friday, December 23, 2005
A Good Person
Today is my Dad’s birthday. He would’ve been 72. Dad’s been gone almost 16 years already. Cancer.
So on this day, I thought it appropriate to remember him here. There are lots of great, funny stories I can tell. We laughed a lot together.
Looking back, I think I classify my relationship with my Dad in three phases.
First was purely as THE TEACHER. This period ran from birth until I was 14. Dad was a teacher and he taught me lots of things throughout my life. While lots of life lessons were taught, I also fondly recall him teaching me to ride my bike, to play tennis, and to play the basketball game HORSE out on the driveway.
Second stage was as ONE OF THE GUYS. I have two brothers, one older, one younger. During the summer of 1980, the four “men” of the family traveled cross country and back by car for 7 weeks. Mom’s job only let her take 2 weeks of vacation so she flew out and met us mid-trip for that period. During that trip, a father and his 3 pubescent boys became FRIENDS. I’m not saying we didn’t have a good relationship with him during THE TEACHER years, it’s just that we had never spent 24/7 with each other for that long ever before (or ever since). It was an adventure – and rather than feeling he needed to “mature” us during that trip, Dad allowed himself (and us) to just be guys. There were baseball games, whitewater rafting trips and fart jokes. We talked, sang, argued and laughed. It was an amazing time and it changed our relationship with my Dad forever.
The third stage was as a PEER. Unfortunately, just as we were getting started with this stage, Dad’s illness went into overdrive. I graduated college and for the first time in my life, had a full time job, responsibilities. My conversations with Dad were changing. We were exploring and feeling out the new phase of our relationship as two adults. We talked about life, about the future (mostly mine). It was an exciting time for me and this new phase promised to be very rich. Dad’s death unfortunately cut this phase short and I often wonder today if he were still around how he would react to things, situations and people in my life.
While I’ve always enjoyed writing, which was encouraged by both my parents since I was little, I attribute Dad with turning me on to reading more mature books. While I read lots as a younger kid, I wasn’t reading many non-school mandated books as a young adult. Dad was a voracious reader. He had a book with him wherever he went. In the evenings when he was home, we’d often find him in the living room sipping a scotch and pouring through his latest novel. Dad even took a year’s sabbatical from teaching to try his hand at writing a novel.
When I was in 7th grade I think, Dad handed me “The Dead Zone” by Stephen King.
“Read it”, he said, “I think you’ll like it.”
Dubious, I took it anyway and gave it a shot. It changed what I thought about books. To this day I’ve read virtually everything King has written. I found lots of other favorite authors along the way as well.
When Dad died, we found he had been in the middle of Stephen King’s “The Dark Half”. The bookmark was still in the book. I took that one and read it but always left the bookmark in Dad’s spot. It wasn’t until years later during one of my many moves that I realized the bookmark must’ve fallen out. While not all of King’s novels are great, I still read them all. For me and Dad.
So I hope that anyone out there reading will join me in wishing Dad a happy birthday today. I know he knows we’re thinking of him.
Dad was truly a good person. That’s why we had those words inscribed on his headstone.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
So on this day, I thought it appropriate to remember him here. There are lots of great, funny stories I can tell. We laughed a lot together.
Looking back, I think I classify my relationship with my Dad in three phases.
First was purely as THE TEACHER. This period ran from birth until I was 14. Dad was a teacher and he taught me lots of things throughout my life. While lots of life lessons were taught, I also fondly recall him teaching me to ride my bike, to play tennis, and to play the basketball game HORSE out on the driveway.
Second stage was as ONE OF THE GUYS. I have two brothers, one older, one younger. During the summer of 1980, the four “men” of the family traveled cross country and back by car for 7 weeks. Mom’s job only let her take 2 weeks of vacation so she flew out and met us mid-trip for that period. During that trip, a father and his 3 pubescent boys became FRIENDS. I’m not saying we didn’t have a good relationship with him during THE TEACHER years, it’s just that we had never spent 24/7 with each other for that long ever before (or ever since). It was an adventure – and rather than feeling he needed to “mature” us during that trip, Dad allowed himself (and us) to just be guys. There were baseball games, whitewater rafting trips and fart jokes. We talked, sang, argued and laughed. It was an amazing time and it changed our relationship with my Dad forever.
The third stage was as a PEER. Unfortunately, just as we were getting started with this stage, Dad’s illness went into overdrive. I graduated college and for the first time in my life, had a full time job, responsibilities. My conversations with Dad were changing. We were exploring and feeling out the new phase of our relationship as two adults. We talked about life, about the future (mostly mine). It was an exciting time for me and this new phase promised to be very rich. Dad’s death unfortunately cut this phase short and I often wonder today if he were still around how he would react to things, situations and people in my life.
While I’ve always enjoyed writing, which was encouraged by both my parents since I was little, I attribute Dad with turning me on to reading more mature books. While I read lots as a younger kid, I wasn’t reading many non-school mandated books as a young adult. Dad was a voracious reader. He had a book with him wherever he went. In the evenings when he was home, we’d often find him in the living room sipping a scotch and pouring through his latest novel. Dad even took a year’s sabbatical from teaching to try his hand at writing a novel.
When I was in 7th grade I think, Dad handed me “The Dead Zone” by Stephen King.
“Read it”, he said, “I think you’ll like it.”
Dubious, I took it anyway and gave it a shot. It changed what I thought about books. To this day I’ve read virtually everything King has written. I found lots of other favorite authors along the way as well.
When Dad died, we found he had been in the middle of Stephen King’s “The Dark Half”. The bookmark was still in the book. I took that one and read it but always left the bookmark in Dad’s spot. It wasn’t until years later during one of my many moves that I realized the bookmark must’ve fallen out. While not all of King’s novels are great, I still read them all. For me and Dad.
So I hope that anyone out there reading will join me in wishing Dad a happy birthday today. I know he knows we’re thinking of him.
Dad was truly a good person. That’s why we had those words inscribed on his headstone.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Bob The Builder
I’ve never been a Bob. Always Rob, Robert (when Mom gets mad at me) or Robbie (from those who knew me as a kid). Maybe that’s why I don’t share Bob’s famous building skills.
Admission #173 – I’m not handy.
There, I said it. I’m just not. On most things, MLB is way handier than I am.
Of course, she’ll read this and say “That’s not true, dear. You’re handy.” I love her for saying stuff like that to bolster my wounded male ego but I know it’s not true. I think she also says it because if she doesn’t, I’ll quit trying.
It’s a few days before Christmas. Why the rant about handiness?
As I type, I have two bloody fingers wrapped in bandaids, a big splinter in my left palm and a gash in my right wrist that I didn’t even notice until 5 minutes ago.
How’d I get the injuries? Putting an addition on the house? Building a sleigh for Santa? Nope. I mounted some framed pictures on the wall and hung some pre-fab shelves from IKEA.
Lame, I know.
My Big Brother is handy. He’s so handy he gets tagged hanging all the stuff my Mom ever wants hung in her house. (Hey, maybe there’s some upside to this non-handiness.)
My Brother-in-Law is Mr. Handy. He’s a contractor and has a work truck loaded with more tools than the local Sears. Whenever I get in a jam (usually at 10pm on a Sunday night), I call him to talk me through shutting off the gas line or doing something else to save the family from Rob-inflicted peril.
I have no excuse. So I’ll blame my parents.
My Dad wasn’t especially handy. At least not that I recall. He was pretty good with car maintenance (another gene passed along only to Big Bro). But overall, handiness wasn’t a trait prized, valued, nurtured in my family. Maybe it’s the Jewish thing again but school and studying were the major priorities in our house (both my folks were teachers at some point in their careers).
Biology? Get to work.
Metal shop? Must you?
I think the theory was always that if you study really hard and become successful, you’ll always have the dough to PAY someone to do the things you can’t do yourself. I frequently tell MLB that I’d rather pay someone to DO a house project rather than paying them to DO IT OVER after I’ve tried and failed.
There’s always the odd chance that I’ll get it right and we’ll save both time and money.
But really, let’s be honest. How frequently does that happen?
Admission #173 – I’m not handy.
There, I said it. I’m just not. On most things, MLB is way handier than I am.
Of course, she’ll read this and say “That’s not true, dear. You’re handy.” I love her for saying stuff like that to bolster my wounded male ego but I know it’s not true. I think she also says it because if she doesn’t, I’ll quit trying.
It’s a few days before Christmas. Why the rant about handiness?
As I type, I have two bloody fingers wrapped in bandaids, a big splinter in my left palm and a gash in my right wrist that I didn’t even notice until 5 minutes ago.
How’d I get the injuries? Putting an addition on the house? Building a sleigh for Santa? Nope. I mounted some framed pictures on the wall and hung some pre-fab shelves from IKEA.
Lame, I know.
My Big Brother is handy. He’s so handy he gets tagged hanging all the stuff my Mom ever wants hung in her house. (Hey, maybe there’s some upside to this non-handiness.)
My Brother-in-Law is Mr. Handy. He’s a contractor and has a work truck loaded with more tools than the local Sears. Whenever I get in a jam (usually at 10pm on a Sunday night), I call him to talk me through shutting off the gas line or doing something else to save the family from Rob-inflicted peril.
I have no excuse. So I’ll blame my parents.
My Dad wasn’t especially handy. At least not that I recall. He was pretty good with car maintenance (another gene passed along only to Big Bro). But overall, handiness wasn’t a trait prized, valued, nurtured in my family. Maybe it’s the Jewish thing again but school and studying were the major priorities in our house (both my folks were teachers at some point in their careers).
Biology? Get to work.
Metal shop? Must you?
I think the theory was always that if you study really hard and become successful, you’ll always have the dough to PAY someone to do the things you can’t do yourself. I frequently tell MLB that I’d rather pay someone to DO a house project rather than paying them to DO IT OVER after I’ve tried and failed.
There’s always the odd chance that I’ll get it right and we’ll save both time and money.
But really, let’s be honest. How frequently does that happen?
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Trainspotting
If you ever find yourself in the New York area during the holiday season, you must (MUST I SAY) check out the New York Botanical Garden Holiday Train Show.
Trains, you say? Yes, I say.
I'm not train buff or fan myself but trains are just a way to get people to the Botanical Gardens. The show is a spectacular display of New York City landmarks created ENTIRELY from plant materials.
The Statue of Liberty with her gown made of corn husks.
The majestic Brooklyn Bridge made of branches, vines and twigs.
When you look at these lovely recreations and actually SEE what you're looking at (acorns, flowers, orange slices) you'll see it really is a creative masterpiece.
I led Monkey Boy's Cub Scout Pack through a tour there last Sunday and even 7 year olds found it cool.
If you get a chance to see it, don't miss it.
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