My iPod is Scratched

My iPod is scratched. It's a new iPod. Amazon.com sent it to me only about a week ago.

Why, you ask, is your iPod scratched, Dan?

Three words: Ben, Ben, Ben. A name so nice, you have to say it thrice.

We're in Naperville, IL (near Chicago) visiting my in-laws. Ben needs to be entertained. In fact, Bobby asked me, "Dad, why can't I listen to your iPod?" (the boys are listening to Heinlein's Starship Troopers from Audible.com)

I said, "Do you really want Ben to wander around the house not being entertained?"

Bobby responded, "I take back my stupid question. He can use the iPod all he wants."

We don't want Ben to be bored. There's no telling what Ben might do if he's bored. What's that saying? "The idle mind is the devil's playground?"

Something like that.

Last night, Brittany attempted to watch a movie and have Ben sit quietly. There was no "sitting quietly" for Ben. He was marching around the room with a bean-bag chair on his head. Unfortunately, it made his younger sister and cousin follow him around as if they were all in some marching band.

Brittany's quiet-time movie-time wasn't.

Then, when she did get Ben to lay down on the floor and watch the movie, he decided rolling from one side of the room to the other side of the room, rapidly, and repeatedly, would be a good idea. Hence, Brittany attempted to watch the movie as Ben vigorously rolled around on the floor.

I suppose that was a tad distracting.

Hence, I've let Ben borrow my brand-new iPod. Because, I knew if he was listening to a story that interested him, he might not thunder around the house, bouncing off the walls, and knocking people over. I gave it to him and said, "Ben, see how pristine and smooth the surface of my iPod is? Please don't scratch it."

Ben responded with all the solmenness a 12-year old boy can muster, "I promise I won't Dad."

And he did scratch it.

I'm working through the grieving process now.

I've been listening to Scott Sigler's PodCast of Ancestor. I highly recommend Scott Sigler's PodCasts if you've not heard any of them. They're free, so you're not losing anything by trying it out. www.scottsigler.net or look for Earthcore or Ancestor using ITunes PodCasting section.

I have Thrush. My mouth is a mess. I went to see a doctor at an urgent care center in Schenectady on Saturday, and she gave me Erithromycin. I don't know why she gave me an anti-biotic for Thrush. That seems counter intuitive.

I happen to have some Nystatin cream for another use. I've been coating my tongue with that topical cream. It seems to be working.

Hopefully, I'll get over my Thrush soon. It's very painful.

Barb drove the entire way out here from Scotia, NY. It took us about 15 hours. I thought it would take 20 hours. I'm so very glad it didn't take 20 hours.

Later all.

You'd Think...

You'd think I could BLOG more often, but I was in NYC for five weeks and my weekends were precious and I didn't have much time in NYC to BLOG.

...so I didn't.

Well, Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat, please put a penny in the old man's hat....

We're traveling to Chicago, IL on Christmas day. Apparently, what that means is we must therefore need celebrate Christmas on Saturday morning (the 24th) rather than on Sunday. According to my master and owner (the Evil Overlord, my wife Barb), we'll be leaving for Chicago *early* Sunday morning.

Of course, this means we'll have to miss church on Sunday. I'd probably blow off church anyway. I'd just sit in my easy chair, "I've got chocolate in my stocking, I can't go to church today."

I learned a lot about NYC. I now know that Uptown is a direction. From Penn Station, you go Uptown to Times Square and again Uptown to Grand Central Station. Hence, you'll go Downtown the other way.

Last Thursday, the 15th, the NYC MTA was talking about going on strike. This particular week, I was staying at The New York Helmsley, which is really close to our client's site. Hence, I would easily walk from the hotel to the site.

The MTA strike was on my mind anyway. At midnight, Thursday night, the MTA would decide to strike or not -- so they said. They didn't actually strike until Tuesday of this week.

At about 11pm I went to bed in my hotel room, but I checked the t.v. first. No strike. They were still in talks.

I woke up at 2am Friday morning and turned on the t.v. I had to find out if the MTA was striking -- still in talks.

Then, I dreampt I was in NYC and my red Expedition was somehow magically transported from the parking garage in Albany to NYC. I remember thinking in my dream, "How did my car arrive here? Oh well, doesn't really matter. Let's drive...."

In my dream, I was trying to get out of the city in my Expidition. I drove, got in this big long line of cars to cross a bridge out of Manhattan, got lost, crossed back into Manhattan and was back in the same line but it was three times longer than before.

That was my dream. I woke up at 6am and checked the t.v. again. This time, they were still in talks.

I woke up at 8:30 am for the day. They'd decided to strike on these two token bus lines that no one really used much anyway. I was able to Escape to Albany Friday evening. My company sent someone else down to NYC this week (five weeks was enough for me for a while). He got to experience the MTA strike.

Christmas Eve day we're all gonna go over my sister Karen's house. We do a gift exchange. This year, we have $20.00 gifts. We put names in a hat and pull them out. You're not allowed to get anyone from your own family.

Our family got both of my brother-in-laws and the husband of my cousin. One brother-in-law is an avid golfer -- as is the cousin's husband. Fortunately for me, I found boxes of Topflite (tm) golf balls this past Spring for like $1.00 per box of 18 balls.

That's a really good deal. Only a buck! They were on sale at Wal-Mart. Some guy there was buying like 10 boxes. I figured I'd pick up two boxes with exactly these two gentlemen in mind. I knew they liked golf.

Fortunately again, we got them for our gift giving drawing!

I told my mom I was giving them the $1.00 box of balls each for their $20.00 gifts. Mind you, the boxes are easily worth $20.00 regardless of the fact I only paid $1.00.

My mom's like, "You should get them each a bottle of wine or something also along with the boxes of balls."

I'm like, "No! They're getting their '$20.00 Gift' and that's that!"

Now... If I'd gotten the wine for a buck also... maybe.

Geesh! You should never tell your mom things.

I got my other brother-in-law a book on local bike trails. He's a really avid biker. I had this 30% off coupon for Borders books that I received via email somehow, so the $17.00 book cost me less than $13.00.

Gee. I hope none of them read my BLOG.

McFlurry's and other items of interest

You know why McDonalds® McFlurryTM spoons are so different? They are a tapered hollow square in shape with a latch at the end.

I just saw a woman at McDonalds® make me a McFlurryTM she attached the spoon to a spinning device and used it to mix my McFlurryTM! No wonder these spoons are so strange!

In in Manhattan NYC right now. I've been at a client site. I'm helping resolve issues we have. I've been very, very busy. The vast majority of the users we have are fairly non-technical, so I get to see all kinds of really things.

One guy told me our web-based application was logging him off whenever he stepped away from the computer. Turns out the Windows Screen-Saver was kicking in and logging him off Windows. Our application was fine. Just fine.

I've turned off many Windows Messenger Service services on systems here. Apparently, folks were getting random message boxes from "our application" about faxes being received, etc. So, I merely turned off the Messenger service and set it to manual on restart. They no longer get these random dialog boxes from our application.

For anyone who doesn't know, Windows Messenger messeges have nothing to do anything a user might see using a web-based application. They're two separate things.

Anyway, I'm really, really busy here. Sometimes, I can't even write an email message without having multiple interruptions. Gosh. It's so much fun! (not really).

I'll write more later.

Re-Furbish

Barb mentioned this today.

If you're refurbishing something, when did you furbish it? What is "furbishing" anyway?

I'm going back to NYC tomorrow morning. I was there last week until Tuesday night. I came home, attended work on Wednesday, Thanksgiving on Thursday, worked from home on Friday, off this weekend.

My boss called Saturday night and asked if I'd go to NYC again for the week. I had a doctor's appointment I didn't want to miss today, so I'm leaving tomorrow.

I'll write more later.

NYC and Back and Again

I went to NY City for the day last Wednesday and returned home on Friday at 11pm.

I washed my socks and undershorts and tee-shirt in the sink the first night with "invigorating body wash". The second night, I told my CEO I *had* to have new understuff; he told me to expense it.

I had an interesting trek through Manhattan looking for Hanes® (Hanes® is the best, BTW, IMHO) Jockey Briefs, a tee-shirt, and socks. Found the Hanes® in a drug store, of all places, the socks in a shoe repair shop, and the tee was a 2XL (but not 2XL Long) grey-colored shirt.

The clients I was working with asked me if I'd return with a different shirt on tomorrow. Yes. I'm going back tomorrow for "two days". I hope to return by Thanksgiving!

I've been REALLY busy, so more later....

Short Vacation

It's been way to long since my last entry. I've been really busy at work, and I keep forgetting to work on this blog when I get home.

Anyway, we went on a short vacation yesterday. Yes. One day. But, it was terrific. We went to this place in the Berkshires in Mass. It was very nice. We swam in a heated pool, sat in a hot tub, and enjoyed chats by a huge fireplace.

I had a great time spending time with my wife and kids. We played Pictionary. Bekah actually draws really well.

Enough for now.

Salt of the Earth

There was this dude that I used to work with at Microsoft who took it on as his own personal vendetta to make farting a normal part of life.

He'd fart in front of anyone at any time. I think he felt that farting was just a part of natural existence, and we should all be able to fart at will whenever and wherever we please.

A smart man, with a PhD in Physics from Cal Tec no less, he'd fart whenever the urge occurred. I heard various comments on his activities and not once did I ever hear anyone say something like, "You know, that guy farts whenever he wants. I admire that about him."

Rather, they were like, "You know, that guy farts and he is so strange. It's just wrong."

Folks. There are just some things you'll never be able to change in society -- no matter how you think it should be. Public farting will never be okay. You can't change the world's opinion about farting by doing it.

I guess that's NOT being Salt of the Earth.

I did learn a lesson about being Salt of the Earth this week though. The dude I talk about that rides my bus. You know, the guy with less-than-full mental faculties available to him?

Well, he turned 54 on Tuesday, November 1st. I knew his birthday was coming up because he'd mentioned it a few times in the past. I didn't know for sure which day in November it was, though.

Another guy on our bus, I'll call him Bob because that's his real name, had many of us on the bus sign a card for my other friend. I figured, he'd just give our friend the card.

He didn't. He gave him a balloon tied to a Dunken Donuts Munchkin's box, a bag with puzzle books in it, and a new hat.

Now that, my friends, is being Salt of the Earth. Could I have done something like that? Sure! Did I? Nope. Didn't even think about.

I'm telling you all. I learn more and more every day from my bus-ride friends.

Until next time....

Carving Pumpkins

Last night, the girls and I carved three pumpkins. I did the traditional "scary" pumpkin with triangle eyes, two slits for a nose, and sharp, jagged teeth. Brittany carved a tinker-bell like fairy. Bekah carved a large, round hole.

Bekah says the hole is a doorway into the pumpkin house. To the casual observer; however, I feel the hole looks just like what it is -- a big hole. You could, with some imagination, think of it as a giant, gaping maw awaiting its next victim. That's how I prefer to think upon it now.

We had a lot of pumpkin seeds, so we baked them. I don't like pumpkin pie or bread, but I love baked and salted pumpkin seeds. Don't you wonder who first came up with ideas to do things with seeds?

I think, if the early-settlers didn't know what to do with something, they simply baked it. No matter what it was. Think about popcorn. How do you think that was invented? Probably, some early-settler didn't know what to do with the dried kernels of maze and baked it. Pop!

They've probably baked apple seeds, but they're poisonous. They probably baked peach-pits, but they explode in the microwave and sharp shard of peach-pit get scattered across the kitchen like so much shrapnel.

Here's how I imagine it....

****Somewhen in the mid-1600's in the colonies of America****

The women are standing around the solid oak kitchen table carving up these newly grown pumpkin fruit thingies and wondering what to do with them.

Aunt Mary-Martha: "Let-ith us-ith cut-ith up-ith the flesh-ith and bake-ith them-ith for pies and cakes -iths.

Aunt Mary-Gertrude: "Sound-ith like-ith a plan-ith!"

Young Cousin Mary-Mary: "Prithee thee ladies, what-ith of the seed-iths?"

Young and beautiful and slightly more modern Cousin Jane: "Let's bake them!"

The other ladies, standing around the table, simply stared at young and beautiful Cousin Jane and blinked. Realizing her mistake, Cousin Jane repeated: "Let-ith us-ith bake-ith them-ith."

"Ahhh," nodded the ladies in agreement. Of course, if you don't know what to do with something, bake it! What were they thinking???

Later, Granpa Jedidia, upon sampling his first baked pumpkin seed remarked, "They-ith need-ith salt-ith!" and gruffly thrust the bowl back at Grandma Mary-Mergatroid.

Hence was the pumpkin seed treat born.

All the other gentlemen were secretly afraid of Cousin Jane for her modern ways and speech patterns. All, that is, except for her beau, Third Cousin Robert. He liked smart woman. He kept his preference secret though. Third Cousin Robert and Cousin Jane often snuck out together and held hands, even though they knew they could be stoned for it. They did it anyway.

**************************************

Which brings me to another point -- marrying a smart woman. You know, I thought I was doing a good thing by marrying a smart woman. It's really something you should seriously contemplate.

I can't get away with anything. Nothing. Nada. Period. Barb (The Evil Overlord) is on to me with every sneaky thing I try to get away with. With eyes that watch hither and thither and an exacting and calculating mind that' s as sharp as can be, I can't pull the wool over her eyes in any fashion.

A smart wife makes for good conversations and the occasional intelligent offspring, but don't count on being able to get away with any shenanigans if you marry a smart woman. You've been warned.

If you've already done the terrible deed and have married a smart woman, you have my sympathies. I'm with ya man. Really. If you've not, and you go ahead and marry a smart woman, you've been warned.

Well, I guess you can have my sympathies too. Misery loves company.

Birthday Boy

Saturday was my birthday. Barb was out of town visiting Charlotte, NC. We still had stuff there she decided she needed to pick up this weekend. So, she went.

Saturday morning, Bekah woke me up. I asked if I could sleep more. Bekah said no. I needed to wake up. Hence, Brittany delivered a hot plate of birthday-boy breakfast foods. Eggs, corned beef hash, and pancakes with birthday candles alit on them.

Ben brewed my coffee, so I had a fresh cup. I enjoyed a most wonderful breakfast.

I was super tired Saturday, so I just rested. I didn't even shower or change cloths. I ordered delivery Pizza for dinner. I stayed up late though and watched my favorite weekend shows on Adult Swim: Full Metal Alchemist, Inuyasha, and Samurai Shamploo. I have to say though, Samurai Shamploo is a bit strange.

As much as I like Japanese Anime, I can't recommend the show: "Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo". It's a show I can't comprehend. You don't believe it's a show? It is, check it out:
http://www.tv.com/bobobo-bo-bo-bobo/show/34817/summary.html?q=bobobo

My 19-year old daughter bought me three things: An MP3 player I picked out at FYE, the DVD "Ciderhouse Rules" (which I highly recommend as a movie), and another DVD I don't think I'll mention here.

Bekah picked out for me (and Barb bought) some plastic food containers and a corresponding "lazy susan" thingy. They're plastic containers of two sizes and the lids that stack on the "lazy susan". After I unwrapped that gift, Bekah washed all the containers and lids and put it together.

I've noticed a few containers in-use now too -- with things like pieces of construction paper in them, etc. Bekah's really enjoying the gift she picked out for me. When she washed the containers, she used like 8 kitchen hand towels. I ended up washing them all yesterday. I didn't want our supply of kitchen hand towels to be depleted.

The boys didn't do much though. I think they contributed some to the MP3 player, but it wasn't terribly expensive ($60.00). What I wanted was a cheapo MP3 player that had a memory expansion slot. That's what I got. It will let you put in up to an additional 512MB as an SD (secure digital) card. It already has 256MB RAM.

Personally, I just don't see the need to spend a huge amount of cash on an MP3 player. A Gigabyte of memory is nice, but a tad excessive for most applications. I can put half a novel on 256MB. If I get an expansion SD, I can probably get a whole novel on it. No biggie.

I put on a book-on-CD on it and let Brittany listen to it Saturday while she worked on a sewing project. Brittany's been combing the yardsales all summer long for velour. She's making a velour blanket. On Saturday, she spent a few hours cutting variously sized squares out of her many pieces of velour garments.

If you've not started downloading Podcasts, check out http://www.ipodder.org/whatIsPodcasting or any other web-site on Podcasting. I already downloaded and listened to the Podcast novel by Scott Sigler (http://www.scottsigler.net/earthcore/) called Earthcore.

Free novels on the Internet all legal like! Wow. I like it already. Plus, Earthcore is a good novel!

Friday, October 21, 2005

I didn't have a better title, so I used today's date.

My Greek professor in college told us the ancient Romans were like me. They didn't have any better way to name their children, so they numbered them. Very unimaginative, if you ask me. For example, they'd have their first son and name him "Marcus."

That situation worked well until their second son arrived. Hmm. What to name him? We already used Marcus. Can you think of another name? Nope? Me neither? Okay, let's name him "Secondus" (for second).

I know you've heard of "Quintus" for fifth, and I'm certain you've heard of "Octavius Caesar" for Eighth.

You don't believe me, do you? Check this out:
http://www.behindthename.com/php/view.php?name=quintus

Yeah, they really did that. Can you imagine?

Anyway, so I titled today's BLOG title, "Friday, October 21, 2005." Don't be expecting me to spout pure genius all the time. I just can't live up to that kind of pressure!

Okay, so... Barb is on the road. I got home from the dentist yesterday and she announced she wanted to drive to Charlotte, NC today. We still have some stuff in our old house there we need. "I'm going to Charlotte by myself. I'll leave early Friday, pick up our stuff on Saturday, spend the night with Tammi, and return on Sunday."

I'm like, "Uh, can you at least take one of our children with you? Brittany? Bobby? Even Ben!???"

No, that won't work out. Brittany is in college and really can't miss a day. Bobby has a math quiz today and a big lab assignment to turn in. Ben... well, enough said there. I think.

Bekah wouldn't be much help either and she has school and dance class later this afternoon.

Barb called our friends and neighbors. My sister Karen is taking Bobby to school this morning. Bekah will ride the bus home and get off at a friend's house rather than our house. The friend's mom will take Bekah to dance class and then home. Later, another friend's mom will pick Bekah up and take her somewhere else.

I can't remember where or why. Hmm... I should probably know that detail, but I do know how to get in touch with them, so I'm okay, I think.

All the kids are taken care of. Barb's on the road. I know she'll be fine by herself, but I'd rather she had someone with her on the drive there.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The other day, I looked out my window here at work and saw a cop mounted on a horse walking up the street. That's not something you'd see in Charlotte. There are definitely a lot of different things about working in Albany, NY.

Another thing is I work in an area surrounded by banks. We've had at least two bank robberies while I've been sitting across the street. On Wednesday, I looked up and there were like 10 cops surrounding the Bank of America right across from me.

We figured another robbery (ho hum). I went out to get my bus pass for next month and there was a cop on a bike sitting there. I asked about the robbery. He stated someone accidentally hit the silent alarm button. It was a false alarm.

I'd certainly hate to be that person! Can you imagine? Oops. I hit the silent alarm! Oh no!

My mom has this thingy she wears around her neck in case she falls and is alone. It's the "help, I've fallen and can't get up" button.

If she accidentally hits it, it goes off and there is NO WAY to reset it. You have to wait for them to call you on the intercom thingy. "Mrs. Coleman, are you all right?"

"Yes. Sorry. I accidentally hit the button."

"That's okay. I'll reset it now. Thank you. Bye."

Same deal except 10 cops don't show up at your door.

--------------------------------------------------------

Tomorrow is my 44th birthday. Barb is out of town. I think she likes to leave me alone on my birthday. Nah. I'm kidding.

There's a woman I work with here named Crystal who will be 23 on Sunday. So, she's almost exactly 21 years younger than I am. Not only that, Crystal's mom and dad are both younger than I am. They had her while in high school.

So, I'm older than the parents of one of my co-workers. Yeah.

---------------------------------------------------------

I went to the dentist yesterday and had a temporary crown put on. I get the real crown on November 10th. I saw her measuring the color of my tooth for the crown and said, "No. I want a gold crown."

"Are you kidding?"

"No. Look at my other crowns, they're all gold."

"Oh, yeah. But, you're kidding right?"

"No. I really want a gold crown."

"You're serious? Sometimes, people kid with us when they tell us they want a gold crown. You really want one?"

"Yes. I'm serious."

Jeepers! You'd think I was some crazy crackpot, wanting a gold crown? What's up with that? What's wrong with wanting gold teeth?

If I had my druthers, I'd have ALL my teeth made of gold. I asked my old dentist in Charlotte if she'd do that for me. She said no.

I asked my new dentist yesterday, she said no too. Barb also says no. What's up with woman not liking gold teeth? I mentioned my desire for all gold teeth to Barb's brother, John, one day a few years ago. John thought it was a terrific idea!

I think that's just another basic difference between men and women. Women don't really like gold teeth. It's probably in the same category as "Are farts funny?" To a guy, almost any guy, farts are just hilarious. To a woman, farts are no laughing matter.

I'll never understand how anyone can not find farts just too funny for words. I'll never understand why a person wouldn't want metal teeth. It just doesn't make any sense to me.

Daily Blogging

My friend, Benjamin McDonald, says that if I'm not blogging nearly *daily*, then it's not really a blog.

Okay, okay. So, I'll blog more. Okay? Jeepers!

Working in Albany, NY is interesting.

First off, I ride the bus in the morning from Schenectady, NY to Albany, NY with almost exclusively state-workers as co-riders. Last Monday, Columbus Day, I didn't have off. I don't know of any non-Governmental business other than the banking industry that actually gives its employees Columbus Day off.

So, I get on the bus Monday morning with two other folks. The total of three of us rode the bus from Schenectady to Albany.

On the way home, I was the ONLY rider. I told the driver, just take me to the Greyhound station in Schenectady. You can drive the highway the whole way. He said he couldn't because of liability issues if he was in an accident in a place not on his route.

I still got home 15 minutes earlier than normal.

There's a lot of moving to and from NY City here in Albany. A young woman who was one of our secretaries here at the office just moved to NYC. Another developer just moved to Manhattan as his live-in girlfriend got a job there.

One of our program managers moved from NYC here a few months ago. I think lots of local businesses and general people in the area move to and from NYC often.

I don't know about you, but when I think of NYC (coming from Charlotte, NC), I think of folks who've lived there all their lives, etc. It's kind of interesting "rubbing elbows" with folks who've lived there, worked there, are from there, etc. At least for me.

The bulk of the 911-tragedy (not to lessen the importance of the Pentagon or the flight that crashed) happened in NYC. This is the Twin Towers state!

I've only been to NYC once, really. I've been through there at a Greyhound station a few times, and once, in a fit of stupidity, some sergeant and I drove in and quickly drove out of the city when I was on a TDY to Newark as a 1st Lieutenant in the USAF.

The scariest place I've ever driven, though, is Berlin, Germany. That was terrifying. NY might be scary, but Berlin has it beat by a long shot. They have mad-crazy busses barreling down the right-hand lane where no one else is allowed to use -- unless you're turning right. Watch out folks, I gotta swerve in front of some insanely accelerating bus so I can come to a screeching halt to turn! Woo hoo!

That's enough for today. I hope your freaking happy, Benjamin.

Knee Surgery Again

I had my fourth meniscus knee surgery this past Wednesday. It was my third on my left knee. Fortunately, I think this time my surgery was successful. I'm still pretty sore, but I think the knee is finally without the constant pain I was feeling from before.

They gave me an epidural, so I was awake during the surgery. I was definitely uncomfortable. Plus, when I watched the doctor saw away at the inside of my knee, I got a tad nauseous. He just "punched" into me knee with the tool and immediately began chewing away at my cartilage.

No gingerly cutting and putting in the tool. He just pounded on my knee with it, was in, and began cutting away. Then, he took out this thing called a Plica. That may have been the problem all along.

I watched all this on a t.v. monitor. They didn't let me see the actual work on the knee itself. The nurse asked if I wanted more pain medicine before he started, but I said "no" because I wanted to see what was going on.

I'm thinking I should've said "yes" regardless. However, last time, they doped me up with so much morphine, I didn't remember a think. As nice as that was, I really wanted to see what was going on this time.

Let's see... what else is going on.

Brittany turned 19 on the 5th. I turn 44 on the 22nd. Megan, my sister, turned 29 on the 11th. Kristen, another sister, turned 43 on the 8th. We're both 43 years old right now. My mom says they (whoever they are) call that Irish Twins (when two siblings are born less than a year apart).

So, Kristen and I are the same age for two weeks (exactly) every year.

Megan got engaged to Bill on the 10th. He got on his knee and asked her at midnight, the 10th. So, guess who gets a call from his mother at 1am on the 10th?

I'm like, "Who died?"

"Nothing's wrong. Your sister wants to talk to you."

"What's wrong!"

"I got engaged! I just wanted you to know right away!"

Gah. It's One-Freaking-AM-in-the-morning! "Congratulations honey! I'm so glad for you. Can I go back to sleep now?"

She actually went into Karen's house (another sister) and got her out of bed to tell her.

Megan also called Kristen at 1am.

We really do love Megan though. Really. Congratulations Megan, if you're reading this.

Megan doesn't know when they're getting married.

We had a mega-birthday party for all the October babies yesterday. We had 20 people at our house. Bill was also born on October 11th (same as Megan whom he's engaged to now -- but he's like 37 years old and Megan is 29).

All the food was cooked, all the dishes prepared, and the high winds in the area knocked over a tree which took out a couple utility-power poles which took out our power. So, we celebrated without any power. No biggie.

I did; however, go to bed at 7:30pm last night. With nothing to do (electronically) and with no lights, you go to be early! I slept until 6am!

Ben got up at 2am and woke me up (that's okay 'cause I had to pee anyway). He didn't have anything to do. I showed him the bookcase with books in it. He grabbed a Harry Potter book and read. He was still reading at 6am.

Ben did complain that being offline was a problem for him. He wondered, at 2am, if I could take him to the local library. He wanted to let his online buddies know he'd be out of commission for a day or so.

I said I doubted the library was open for business at 2am. Plus, I was going back to bed. I was still tired at 2am. I don't know why, but I was. Can you imagine that?

We still had no power this morning. I don't know if Ben will survive the day, but I think he will, somehow.

That's all for today.

Random Stuff for October 1st

So, I'm sitting here rebooting my computer and my wife is looking at the caller-id list on our phone.

"Who is Brian Kelly?"

I'm thinking furiously. Who was that person who called this morning? Oh yeah...

"That was Jenna." (a call from Jenna for Brittany)

"Why is his name Brian Kelly?"

At this point, I pause and all brain activity ceases. I don't know what to say. Perhaps, his mother named him Brian Kelly? Why is anyone named the way they are? Is this one of those mysteries of life that're unanswerable?

Barb answered her own question though, "Oh, Jenna's last name must be Kelly."

Yeah. I would gather that also. Of course, that information doesn't exactly explain why Brian is named Brian Kelly, but Barb's answering her own question allowed me to keep my mouth wisely shut.

===========================

While I was eating dinner last night, Barb was telling me she took our 12-year old son, Ben, to the mall yesterday. According to Barb, it was a "...really good day at the mall. Out of the last three times I've taken Ben to the mall, this is the first time a security guard didn't yell at him."

I paused, fork half-way to my open, gaping maw. "What happened the other two times?"

Apparently, security guards don't appreciate a running, lurching 12-year old boy trying desperately to go down and upward bound escalator.

In a similar fashion, said security guards (at another mall this time) don't appreciate a 12-year old boy greedily scooping coinage out of the fountain in the middle of the mall. Ben's explanation on this event was, "I wasn't stealing it! I was just throwing it back."

However, Friday's visit to the mall was security-guard event free. Something I'm glad to report to you all.

===============================

I had a very, very shameful thing happen to me about two weeks at work. I really hate to admit this, but confession is good for the soul, right?

I was caught... listening to Cher.

I just really like that Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves song. So, I like listened to it about 12 times in a row. Apparently, headphones aren't really always all that quiet. After about the 11th time in a row Vic asked me if I was listening to Cher.

Shamefully, I admitted my guilt.

Laughter occurred, directed at my general location. Later, Vic played Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves for all of us over his speakers for the whole room to hear (dedicating it to me).

I didn't listen to it for days afterwards. Even when I finally got up the courage to listen to that song again, I did so with the volume turned way, way down.

Government Conspiracies and the Empire State Plaza

Today, there was a tech expo at the Empire State Plaza here in Albany, NY. I wanted to go to it because in general, these kinds of events have lots of cool swag. Swag is loot you get from the various vendor tables.

I scored three pens, a pencil, a non-Frizbee® brand flying Frizbee®-like thingy, a lightbulb-shaped foam stress-squeezy-thingy (which I will put over my head at work when I feel an idea coming on) and this dart-thingy you can throw against smooth surfaces and have it stick.

While I'm grateful for the free stuff, I don't think it was a terrific haul overall. I've seen better. There were no flashlights or tee-shirts or many other larger swag items. I wonder if the economy is just too down right now for primo-swag. I don't know.

Maybe I'll go back tomorrow and get more free swag. I wouldn't mind having a full set of those darts for work.

The Empire State Plaza is gi-normous. I'm talking beyond scale. I'm walking along the thing and there is this arena-like facility called "The Egg" (because, alas, it's shaped like an egg). I'm looking at it and it looks small.

In the plaza area, there are four separate sky-scrapers, and they're big things. They don't really look big when you're there because the scale is all skewed. I walked along the side of one building that had to go on for close to half a mile if not longer. You know how it is with buildings, you walk and the building is behind you and you're at the next building. Not this building, it went on and on and on and on.

The underground part of the Plaza area is likewise gi-normous. We're talking talking bowling-alley sized empty areas along the main pathway on each side. I couldn't believe the available space.

Up topside, though, where the there were no buildings, there was a lot of open space. Know what I noticed? There were no pidgeons.

Apparently, and I have this from a very reliable source -- my Capital District Transit Authority (CDTA) bus driver -- and he gets this from his sister direct -- there is a secret government conspiracy to kill pidgeons.

I know you're reeling in your computer chair right now, having read my revelation. I can't believe it either, but according to the following web-site, it's true. (And you KNOW everything on the Internet is true, right?):

http://www.commondreams.org/news2005/0908-05.htm

Anyway, next time you're out and about, look around you. You'll see I'm right. The pidgeons are almost all gone.

Until next time...

Beluga Dan

So, that guy I've been talking about on the bus, the one who is slightly mentally-handicapped. Well, there's another dude that rides the bus named Dan also. This other Dan is much, much skinnier than I am.

Said other friend (mentally handicapped one) calls the other Dan "Slender Dan" -- not to my face though. I found out this information second-hand; however, I was able to confirm this is the case.

What does that mean about me?

Okay, so I'm NOT slender. But, do we need to make a point of it?

What am I? Beluga Dan?

I've decided to relate to a Beluga Whale. I explained this to another person on the bus and she laughed and laughed. After the weekend, I saw her and she said, "Hey Bazooka Dan!"

I said, "What? Bazooka Dan?" I was thinking about maybe Bazooka (TM) gum or perhaps she saw me with a bazooka somewhere. (You know me and my bazookas).

"You remember, Slender Dan and Bazooka Dan."

"Ah. You mean Baluga Dan!"

"Yeah that's it!"

"A Baluga is a whale, you know."

"Oh. That's funny and makes sense now. I didn't know that."

Yeah. I'm wondering why she thought my whole "Baluga Dan" business was funny to begin with.

I've been working out regularly though. I'm working on becoming "Dolphin Dan". However, I will admit I went swimming at a friends house this past Labor Day and made Baluga sounds in the water. I'm not really sure what "Baluga Sounds" are, but I made them. I did say, "Baluuuuga!" a lot. I know if I were really a Baluga Whale, I'd say "Baluuuga!" a lot, so I did.

Emotional Intelligence

I've been pondering the concept of "Emotional Intelligence" lately. First and foremost, I must admit that I'm humble enough to think that I came up with the whole idea of Emotional Intelligence.

Apparently, that's not the case though. I "googled" it. According to www.eqi.org:

[quote]
Emotional intelligence is the innate potential to feel, use, communicate, recognize, remember, learn from, manage and understand emotions.
[/quote]

Anyway, I've been thinking about this topic of late.

Seems to me, no matter how stupid a person is, and I mean they could have like an 80 IQ or a 155 IQ, everyone more or less has a basic emotional intelligence level. People know when they're being laughed at, teased, or made to feel bad by someone else. It doesn't take a genius to tell when someone is being mean to you.

I find this interesting, because as you may know, I've been riding the public bus a lot lately and occassionally I get to ride with some people who are intellectually-challenged. One in particular I have a relationship with and I like him and likes me.

I've noticed this friend, while slightly retarded, is fully capable of feeling the full range of emotions that come with being teased, etc. He's probably been teased all his life, and brutally so, and henceforth has a good deal of experience in this area.

While my friend may not be able to practice integral calculus, I perceive he's every-bit as emotionally *aware* as I am (not necessarily emotionally mature, but certainly capable of feeling the same range of emotions I have).

In fact, I'd go as far as to say that most adults (there are exceptions, I'm sure) all have about the same emotional IQ. We can all feel the same range of emotions and understand their impact on us.

Saying we all have about the same range of emotional capacity brings me to my next point -- I find it interesting how Jesus, in the Bible, told emotion-based stories called parables to teach.

Who among us hasn't received an emotion-wrenching email from a friend about some person with a problem and an very emotional story about other people, etc? How about that story from the early days of the Internet, even before the World Wide Web, where a young cancer patient in England had a wish to get as many postcards as possible. Even now, almost 20-years after the story first circulated via email, postcards still pour in. Said patient is now in full remission and has been for years and an adult.

I think everyone knows the parable of the Good Samaratin.

Regardless, I ponder that perhaps children learn via direct instruction as they're not fully emotionally ready yet. Adults learn best via emotionally charged stories. If you really want to get you point across to an adult, make it a parable-like story and the point will be better made.

Why don't we use this fact more often? I would think politicians would gravitate to this system. Maybe they do but we don't see the stories reported. Why don't pontificators write such stories in the editorial section of the newspaper rather than what I currently read?

For me though, the best thing to remember is that no matter how much smarter I might be from someone else, they still have feelings and an "Emotional IQ" equivalent to mine. I need to ensure I treat everyone well.

That's my thought for the day.

Complete Body Wash and Breakfasts

This morning, after my shower, I noticed a bottle of what appears to be "Oil of Olay Complete Body Wash" in my shower.

I'm thinking to myself, "What's 'complete' mean here?"

Does "complete" mean like the body wash covers all body parts? You can wash everything with it -- hair, head, feet, etc. Sounds a tad dull because you can pretty much wash your whole body with any soap-like substance. I've used soap on my hair a few times in the past. I don't recommend it for regular use, but it works in a pinch.

When I was in England, I couldn't find bar-soap readily and ended up purchasing "body wash" at the local chemists (pharmacies). I used it for hair and body. Said body washes never claimed to be complete, though.

I worry. Did I miss something in England my family member (I'm not sure exactly who uses this Oil of Olay stuff, I'm guessing it's neither my 16-year old nor my 12-year old sons) isn't missing now? What could that thing I'm missing be?

Maybe "complete" means the components making up the body wash are all you would ever possibly need in a body wash -- nothing else required. If this is the case, then how can anyone be sure they got all the requirements needed for a "complete" body wash? Maybe there's one or a few components they've missed? Is this body wash really complete?

Ever notice for most t.v. breakfast cereal commercials the cereal is always part of a "complete breakfast" including orange juice, milk, and toast. I'm always thinking, when I see such commercials, "Come on. You could eliminate the cereal and still have a 'complete' breakfast with that!"

Who decided cereal, milk, orange juice, and toast are a complete breakfast? Did the US government declare this fact? Do doctors and nutritionists universally agree that cereal, milk, orange juice, and toast are a "complete breakfast"? What are eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, grits, coffee, and a biscuit? Would that be a more complete or less complete breakfast or equally as complete but differently complete?

Speaking of body wash, I then looked at my shower with further scrutiny and noticed those mesh scrunchy-thingies women use to slather the body wash on their bodies with. I say women use them because I know of no man who will admit to using a mesh scrunchy-thingy in the shower.

Some men may admit to using wash cloths. I don't really understand the purpose of a wash cloth myself. I mean, why get in the way of me and my bar of soap? I got the soap. Just apply it directly to the skin. No need for a middle man. After the washing, you now have an additional item, the wash cloth, to launder, fold, store, etc.

No. I will neither confirm nor deny to having tried the mesh scrunchy-thingy once or twice in my lifetime either.

Quicky Family Update

Since I've been so lax....

It's the bus rides that've kept me from BLOG'ing. Honest. Me and the "Leroy Brown" singer dude were up all night waiting on the bus....

Acutally, the bus, yet again, failed to show up last night at 5:30pm. I'm standing there in downtown Albany, NY with the smells of the city wafting by, waiting for my bus until like 6:05pm.

I called Vic on my Trac cell phone. Trac phones are "pay as you go" phones. My mom just gave me her old Trac phone which had like 178 minutes on it still. Thanks mom!

I said, "Vic!"

Vic said, "Huh?"

I said, "Can you take me home today? The bus didn't come again."

Vic said, "Huh?"

No, not really. Vic said, "I have a meeting I have to go to. I can after that."

I said, "The meeting hasn't started yet??!!"

Anyway, one of the ladies awaiting the same bus was like interrogating every other bus driver dropping off folks at our site about our late/never-arrived bus. She got one of the drivers to agree to take us home on his way to the garage. So, he did.

Since there were only three of us on the bus, we zipped home, and I ended up getting home at about the same time I normally would on the regular express bus anyway. Not bad.

Poor Vic tried to hunt me down after the meeting, but I was home already.

...so, I went home to my family, and I need to get moving on to the family update part:

Well, let's see:

Barb is doing okay. Not terrific but okay. The move from NC was pretty hard on her.

I just did a search for registered sex offenders at http://www.registeredoffenderslist.org -- they want money, of course, for the complete list, but at least you can get a general number. In Charlotte, NC at my zip-code there, we have 70 registered offenders. In Scotia, NY. ZERO.

I'll have to let Barb know about this fact tonight.

Brittany starts college *today* at Schenectady County Community College. I'm not sure what she's taking. I should know, but I've been too busy playing games on the Internet to find out.

Bobby starts 11th grade next Wednesday.

Ben starts home-school 7th grade soon.

Bekah starts 2nd grad next Wednesday.

I'm really enjoying living near my family, and I love my new job as a software developer for a small ASP in Albany, NY.

Interestingly enough, my office window at work faces two banks. Both have been robbed within the last year. Of course, I never saw either robbery. I need to get a web-cam going and keep an electronic "eye" out on the corner. Maybe I can get some interesting footage? Who knows.

I think we finally found a church we can attend. Barb and Brittany found it. All my efforts at church finding were bust. When you go to a church and are brand-spanking-new to the church community and not one single person bothers to even say "hello" to you, that's not a good sign.

Brittany and I searched for a while together. We experienced some very interesting church mornings. One morning, the female pastor gave a sermon that consisted of a book report on a book she read by Hillary Clinton and a movie she watched Saturday night.

During the "sermon", some unfortunate man passed out in the pews near the front. Someone called 911, and Brittany and I snuck out when the rescue trucks arrived.

We attened another church where folks hopped vigorously as they sang. At least they hopped in-place. We didn't have a any bunny-hopping up and down the aisles, but we did have some serious hopping in-place going on all around us.

I can live with hopping, I suppose. I don't particularly want to hop myself, but that's cool. You can hop if you want. But, no one said a word to us that day as visitors. We didn't go back.

There's an interesting spiritual community here in the Capital District. Folks seem to be on one end of the spiritual spectrum or the other, with very few "middle-roaders" so to speak. You have a lot of small, charismatic groups who focus on speaking in tongues, etc. Then, you have your older churches that appear to be fairly dead, spiritually.

Brittany and I did attend a charismatic church a couple of times. We had a bit of a freakish experience there, which I won't go into detail publically, but I'm glad to say we've not been back and Brittany isn't attending the study any longer.

One of my third-cousins had his 40th birthday party this past Sunday. I think over 70-folks attended. Our family attended as did two of my sisters and my mom and step-father. It was just a lot of fun, and I loved being around the family.

Brittany finally met up with a 19-year old child of yet another third-cousin of mine, and it appears they may have a lot in common. We'll see how that goes.

Bus Paranoia

So, like it's been forever since my last post. Sorry.

I was IM'ing with a bud today, and he's like, "Dude, you never post to your BLOG anymore."

I'm like, "Dude, you're so right." I promised I'd update it tonight, so I am.

I'm mostly lazy. That's the single biggest reason I've not BLOG'd in a while. I've been playing a lot of Warcraft III on Battle.NET lately.

I just love playing with my fellow 12-year olds. They're so brutal. It's a riot. I've been called every name in the book. My online name is Uxorious -- more or less a word from the Latin Uxor (wife) and meaning "hen pecked". Or perhaps, "ruled by your wife" may be a better meaning. Look it up at www.dictionary.com. It's really a word.

I've been playing this really fun game where you get a tank and go and try to attack the other side's town and you have all these tank varieties, weapon choices, etc. The game has a tremendous amount of potential. Some like 14-year old probably designed it.

I also love to play tower wars where you build towers to defend against the other guy. I like to play tower defenses where you build towers to defend against the computer. I like tower-based games the best. My son's think I'm boring. Whatever, right?

I've been riding the bus to work since April. I get on the bus at 7:10am in downtown Schenectady and ride it to smack-dab in the middle of Albany to arrive usually about 7:50am. At night, I get on the bus at 5:45pm to arrive in Schenectaday at about 6:30pm. I have like almost 12-hour days.

The bus is an interesting microcosm of life. You meet all sorts on the bus. Today, I assisted a nearly blind, somewhat odiferous, mentally-handicapped man find the correct bus to board. He was looking for bus 14 or 15. I announced the various buses as they passed by, so he took that as a sign that I wanted a deeper relationship with him.

Attempting to stand upwind of said gentleman, I also had to bend my ear his way and concentrate on what he was saying. Often, it appears, severe slurring of speach goes along with mental handicaps. I think he's moving South with his Social Security checks now. That's what I think he said.

He said he tried to give someone he works with $20.00 as a goodbye gift.

I wouldn't be able to accept any cash from a mentally handicapped person. It may make them feel bad, but I would feel worse like I was taking advantage of them.

Said gentleman said he had very bad glaucoma, and I could see his eyes were very cloudy. I was glad to be able to help him, still.

There's another guy I ride with regularly who sometimes forgets to medicate, I think. He then becomes a tad boisterous, but never mean or threatening. Just vocal. You know as most of us have this mental audio-shut-off-valve in our heads that tells us to shut up. His valve just doesn't work.

Speaking of which, we had yet another gentleman, and I'm glad this event only happened once, rode on our bus and talked non-stop. He sat next to this poor woman on the bus and spoke to her incessantly. When finally, he had nothing left to say, he sang, at the top of his lungs, "Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown."

The whole song.

I made up a song that I'm going to compose and sing once I get my new musical group off the ground. The song's name is "Bus Paranoia". It goes:

Bus Paranoia, Bus Paranoia
I'm gonna miss the bus.
I'm gonna miss the bus.

That's all I've written. I have a tune for it too, but I can't type out the tune, so you'll have to go without that.

The new group is call F.O.M. Sort of like P.O.D. but older, uglier, and fatter. F.O.M. stand for "Fat Old Men". Right now, I'm the only guy in the band, and I sold my guitar. I guess I'll get a kazoo.

I'll write more soon, I promise.

"Missing Words"

... just to finish up my thoughts on my last BLOG entry: Whenever a woman asks a man to "come look at ", this act of "looking" will very likely entail some kind of physical commitment from the man.

For example, this past Friday my sister, Megan, asked me to "...come with me and look at this used bicycle for sale." at a yard sale. I should've known. I thought she wanted my opinion on the bike.

And, to Megan's credit, she still maintains that's the primary purpose of my visit to said yard sale -- to pontificate on the virtues of the $25.00 bicycle. The fact that I had to lend her the $25.00 for the bike has nothing to do with the fact she asked me to go "look" at it with her. Nope. Not at all.

My wife and youngest daughter had me gawking at tree sap the other day. I don't know why, and fortunately, I didn't have to do any physical act other than glare suspicously at the sap. However, this experience leads me to another interesting observation about man/woman behavior.

"Come look at this tree sap." (as if I've never seen tree sap before, okay?).

"Yeah. Wow. Tree sap. Thanks for making me come walk all the way over here to look at this."

"Why do you think it's there?"

How the dickens am I supposed to know? Why, all the sudden, when faced with life's incredible physical mysteries, am I suddenly the font of all-knowledge?

Tonight, my wife asked me why the liquide lemonade container, placed in the door of the refrigerator, froze. "Why did this freeze, Dan?"

"Because it got really, really cold," was my deadpan reply.

"No, I mean why did it freeze and nothing else froze?"

"Because it got colder than anything else in the refrigerator."

"No. You know what I mean. Why did it freeze?"

What? Now I'm some kind of freezing-point-of-lemonade expert? When did I get all these knowledge accolades without my knowing it? I DON'T KNOW! WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME THESE STRANGE QUESTIONS?

Then, if I should opine on something important to the family, I'm no longer an expert in anything. Here's an example: We had a window air conditioner in Charlotte that was too far from the electrical outlet. Knowing that improperly used extension cords with air conditioners are a cause of fire in homes, I went to Home Depot and purchased about 10 feet of 20-amp extension-cord wire. Then, I purchased 15-amp plugs (because the 20-amp plugs are weird looking thingies). I then put this wonderful extension cord together, and my wife forbade me from using it.

After I spoke to an expert (the HVAC guy that worked on our HVAC system) and had him confirm that indeed, my extension cord was safe and appropriate for what we needed, I was allowed to use it.

Hence, anytime I have an opinion on something practical or useful, it's useless. However, I'm an expert on the deeper mysteries of life like why lemonade freezes or why sap oozes from a tree.

You're wondering why I titled this BLOG "Missing Words" by now? Right? Well, since I can only do one BLOG per day and I had three topics to discuss ("come look at this", "useless opinions", and "missing words"), I snuck in the first two topics first.

Now, let's assume for a moment you're driving the car and your 18-year old daughter blurts out, "Let's have the McClaughlin's over for dinner and eat them."

What would you do? I said, "Eat them!??"

She said, "I mean 'eat with them.'" Of course you do dear. I can only imagine you'd find the entire McClaughlin clan as unpalatable as I would.

A single missing word can really change the meaning of a sentence. I can have you over for dinner and eat you or eat with you. You choose.

I pondered this grammatical wonder today for perhaps five whole minutes. I'm thinking, there are certain verbs where you could really spend time thinking about in terms of changing meaning. Here are some I thought of:

I'm going to take my son to the baseball park and hit/jump/play him.
I'm going to take my son to the baseball park and hit/jump/play with him.

drink them
drink with them

sew them
sew with them

paint them
paint with them

bathe them
bathe with them

I'm sure you can think of more. Be careful to include the preposition with as needed.

That's all for today.

"Come Look At This Bug"

So, I'm sitting downstairs on my computer, minding my own business and playing a video game (Shattered Galaxy at www.sgalaxy.com) and I hear these words from my wife:

"Dan, can you come upstairs and look at a bug?"

These are ominous words. First, I ask you, what does it mean to "look at a bug?" You and I both know she wanted me to kill the bug. Why she didn't ask me to "come upstairs and kill this big bug." I don't know.

Perhaps my wife considered the bug worth looking at before I killed it. However, I find it highly unlikely I'd not look the bug before killing it. Generally, I feel, most people will look at bugs before squashing them -- even if it's just for the fact they can't actually successfully squash anything without having visual confirmation of the thing's location.

I know if I don't get off my happy and lazy buttocks and walk upstairs, I'll have an unhappy wife. Unhappy wife, unhappy life.

Hence, I move my large and ample rear out of my comfy gaming chair and waddle upstairs. There, I find my wife waiting for me with a large wad of toilet paper in hand.

Of course, she wants me to kill the bug. I knew this wasn't just a googly-eyed expedition to view a bug. It was a bug killing expedition.

I wonder, though. As far as the bug's concerned. Wouldn't you think my wife and I are both giants of about the same size? Do you think that our difference in size matters for bug killing? I don't think so. We're both gi-normous compared to the bug. Either of us can kill said same bug with equal ease, I think.

Therefore, I ponder the need to get me out of my comfortable gaming position to walk upstairs to view a bug and thereafter slay same bug. My wife's pretty brave, overall, but for some reason she's decided that bug killing is *my* responsibility.

I looked at the bug. It was indeed a large bug. Almost an inch in length. My wife asked me what kind of bug I thought it was. I said I didn't know -- which is true. I don't have all the bugs in the world memorized.

I squished it. I then threw the bug, toilet paper and all, into the toilet (the bug was in the upstairs bathroom).

My revenge, on my whole family, is I didn't flush. I was gonna let the next person to have to use the toilet see that dead bug floating in the water. Mwa haa haa.

Hero Author to 11-Year Olds Everywhere

I'm a now a fan-fiction hero author to 11-year olds world-wide.

You may wonder how this situation occurred. You may wonder, perhaps, I suffer from delusions of grandeur. That may be the case. You may not care I'm a hero. You may not even care how I became a hero.

However, you will, by reading this BLOG entry, find further details, as specified by myself (and no one else) on this situation.

Ben (my 12-year old son) began watching a Japanese t.v. anime series (in Japanese but subtitled in English) a few weeks back. He got me watching it, and to my chagrin, I must admit, I've gotten hooked.

The anime series gives us a common topic to talk about, among other things. Ben also loves to read this thing called Fan Fiction on http://www.fanfiction.net. People all over the world who can read and write in English have written fiction stories based on various fictional characters in literature, the movies, t.v. series, etc.

There are hundreds of thousands of fan fiction stories up on this web site. The Harry Potter fan fiction alone is well over 100,000 stories. Ben was reading a story and complained that the girl and guy in the story were getting together too easily and in too predicatable a fashion.

Having already said I would like to write some Fan Fiction with my son, I agreed to write a less-predicatble story. I did. I published it, and I've been getting very good reviews from 11-year olds all over the world (well, the Phillipines for one place, perhaps Japan, and the USA for sure).

I'm a hero to 11-year olds everywhere.

If you want to read my reviews, you can view them here:

http://www.fanfiction.net/r/2383240/0/1/

The story is linked from that, but I seriously doubt many of you would be interested in reading it -- unless you're a pre-teen Naruto fan.

It's Been a Week?

I can't believe it's been a week since my last blog.

I'm much better now -- except I'm tired a lot lately. I went to bed at 10pm last night and slept until 6am and still woke up tired. I had like zero energy last night. I came home, ate dinner, played Frizbee ® (except it wasn't a real Frizbee ® but a cheap imitation knock-off we got for free from a bank and it broke, so I need to go buy a real Frizbee ® brand Frizbee soon), visited my mom for a few minutes, and watched t.v. like a slug.

I held Bekah while watching t.v. because I wanted to keep her "contained" as Barb and Brittany were out doing stuff and the boys were upstairs playing computer games and stuff. We watched Japanese anime on the Anime Network On-Demand channel -- girl anime. Bekah enjoyed up until I tried to turn on the "Large Robot" Anime. Then, I had to go back to "Girl Anime" -- which was fine by me.

We watched something called "Madlax" which is kind of hard to say if you think about it. Madlax, Madlax, Madlax. Sounds like some kind of medication you'd take if you were angry or constipated.

Then, we watched Noir -- which is even harder to say -- "No-oir." Actually, I don't really know how to pronounce Noir. I just wing it. "I'm watching something French, I think" I might say, but I'm actually watching Japanese anime dubbed in English.

English translations of Japanese anime tend to be a bit "off" from what I understand, but I don't know really because I'm not fluent in Japanese. How could I really tell? My son, Ben, however, assures me this off-translation stuff is in fact the case. I don't know how he knows though. I'm guessing he's getting his opinions by reading other's opinions and taking them as his own opinions.

Ever notice how opinions are contagious? Let's say, for example, you have no real opinion on whether or not John-Claude Van Dam is a good martial artist or not. You don't even know how to spell Martial Arts let alone know much about them. Then, I with my black belt in Chang Chuan Kung Fu, tell you that he's full of baloney as far as martial arts go. Will you take my opinion as your own now or keep your opinion?

Probably, if you trust and respect me and my opinions, you'll take my opinion. Then, you'll find yourself saying, "While I like John-Claude Van Dam as an actor, I think he's not really a true martial artist." like that's something you came up with on your own but in actuality, you'll be remembering our conversation on this topic and your opinion will be a proxy opinion of the one I gave you.

And, I may have gotten my opinion on John-Claude that same way.

We could have, in reality, one person somewhere with one opinion that told someone about it and everyone else now has that opinion. Well, it's likely we have two opinions: Those who think John-Claude is a terrific martial artist and those who don't. Two people exist somewhere with diametrically opposed opinions and they're the only ones who've actually considered all the facts, etc. The rest of us are just spewing what we've heard from others who heard from them, etc.

For the record, I think John-Claude is an acrobat. Jet Li is a real martial artist. Now you know what to think....

I had a TON of things to write here but I've forgotten them all. I need to carry a notepad with me to write down all my ideas.

Let me just say, my wife's parents are coming to visit us Saturday night for like a week. My wife is a wreck. She can never have her parents visit us without going bonkers first. Oh well.

Later all.
---Dan---

Strep Throat

I have strep throat. I felt my throat getting sore yesterday evening at about 5pm'ish.

Normally, when I get a sore throat, I have other symptoms like a cough, nasal or post-nasal drip, and often hoarseness. This time, though, things were different. I just got a sore throat.

I also felt very slightly nauseous. And, my stomach ached. You know how it is when you have a stomach ache -- it feels as if you're hungry. Then, you eat and eating doesn't help much. I had a slight fever too.

I don't know if I had a headache or not because the primary pain in my head area is my throat. It's like if you had a small pain covered by a larger pain.

My throat got more and more sore. None of the pain medications even hardly touched the pain. Late last night, I emailed my boss and one of my co-workers and said I suspected I had strep.

Since I've never had strep before, and I've never had these symptoms before, I figured I probably had strep. Sure enough, I made an appointment, they took a throat culture, and the culture was positive for it.

Now, I'm on antibiotics and Darvacet for the pain, but the Darvacet doesn't seem to be doing much. Nothing is. The pain is rather annoying. I feel into a feverish sleep earlier, but now I'm up. I wish I could just sleep until I'm well again.

The doctor said I'd be contagious until 24-hours after my third dose of the antibiotic. Hence, I'm going to stay home from work again tomorrow. I didn't feel much like doing anything all day today.

Whenever I get sick like this, I always think about what would've happened if I'd gotten sick 100-years ago when they didn't have antibiotics. Would I have been bed-ridden for a week or longer? Would I have died?

They didn't even have good fever-reducing medications back then. It's hard to say, but I suspect if we were at the medical technology of 100-years ago, life would be much, much more tragic for us. Sicknesses that are simple to cure now would be devastating then.

I'm thankful I live now.

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One of those things happened today that you never want to have happen. Background info: My mom is on home hemo-dialysis for a genetic kidney disease she has called polycystic kidney disease (or PKD for short). I do *not* have this disease, but two of my sisters do (one other sister does not).

Since my mom's husband, my step-father Ralph, recently hurt his back (and kept doing stupid things to re-injure himself), I was cleaning my mom's dialysis machine (weekly) and setting up her bicarbonate solution (three times a week) -- "doing her water."

Of course, since I have strep, I was going to avoid my mother all day today. I wasn't sure if I had it or not this morning, but she called and I explained I was staying home from work, etc. Someone else would have to do her water tonight (my wife did).

My wife took my mother to Albany today to meet with a friend and have lunch. She wanted to get some house-hold items before the lunch, so she went out to Wal-Mart and picked up some things for the house. While she was away, my mom called:

"I've fallen and can't get up."

I swear, that's exactly what she said, word for word. I'm like, "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Is Ralph there?"

"Yes, but his back is still hurt." (NOTE: Ralph is not a big guy, he's 67 years old, and he severely injured his spinal column a couple years back.)

"I'll be right there!"

Now, I live all of 1 to 2 minutes from my mom's house by car -- five minutes or so if you're walking. I got in my car and rushed over there.

So, here I am with strep, not wanting to infect my mother and intending to stay away from her all day, driving over there to pick her up off the floor of her house.

Sure enough, I go there and Ralph had put out a blanket for her to make her comfortable. Apparently, she didn't really fall. She slipped out of her easy-chair when bending over to get some pills she'd dropped. Good. The fall didn't hurt her.

I hate to say it, but my mom's no cream-puff light-weight either. She's heavy, but I'm a big strong guy, and I've been working out lately. I was able to get her off the floor. I'm certain my wife wouldn't have been able to do so.

Kind of interesting how I had to stay home today, of all days, and my mom had to fall today. I'm really glad I was there for her.

Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day. My wife handed me two cards: One for her and one for my mom. I wrote to my wife, "How do you like this card I picked out for you?"

Of course, she's the one who purchased it. When she handed it to me, my wife noted, "What you write is what's important. Not what's already on the card itself."

The truth is, I spend about 20 seconds looking for a card. I just want one that's appropriate for the occassion and not offensive. What's pre-written is not very important. I mean, do you folks actually read what's pre-written on a card when you receive it? I know I don't.

I'm looking for: A. Cash. Did I get any cash? (checks are okay too). B. Hand written notes. If there's not a hand written note, then I'm a bit disappointed.

Of course, Cash (or a check) without the hand-written note is okay too.

I didn't give my wife or my mom any cash or checks in their cards. I'm not that dedicated to either of them. I did write nice notes, though. If I do say so myself.

As a side note: I did once send cards to two of my sisters for their birthdays. I was so proud of myself because I got the cards out into the mail ahead of time. I was pretty pleased until they both called me and asked me why I sent cards with nothing (not even a signature or who the card was for) written inside of it.

While it's important to get a card in the mail at the appropriate time, it's also important to remember to actually write some text in the card as well, like, for example, the person's name and who the card is from.

Hence, my wife and mom both got good words in their cards from me (with no money). I'm pretty pleased. I didn't give them blank cards.

Today's My Deceased Father's Birthday

Today's my dad's birthday. He'd be 66-years old if he was still alive. He died 5 years ago -- almost to the day. He died on May 12, 2000.

I thought I'd have more time with my dad. At least, more time than I had. I visited my dad less than a year before he died, so I did get some time with him. Likewise, I'd visited him on and off over the years before that. Still, there are a lot of things I never did concerning my dad.

For one, my dad had never seen any of my four children. I'd always figured I'd get them out to visit him when they were old enough to travel well. My wife and I kept having another baby every four or five years, and we never seemed to have a convenient time to visit. When my dad died, my youngest wasn't even 2-years old yet.

My dad lived in Colorado, and I lived in North Carolina. Always, in the back of my mind, I considered one day I might go and live in Colorado for a while, near my dad, and get to know him better. One day.

I spoke to a gentleman today on the bus ride home who also misses his dad. This gentleman told me how his dad wrote him a letter, affirming his son and how proud he was of his son. I didn't receive anything like that from my dad. Partly, I think, because my dad's cancer metastasized quickly into his brain, and his death was rather sudden.

I could write a lot more about my dad and thoughts I have concerning him and my relationship with him, but I'll leave that all for later. I miss my dad, and I miss the lost opportunities I may have had with him.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Screaming into the Phone at the Wrong Time

Last night, my 18-year old daughter was on the phone "waiting for the beep," so she could let a college know she's going to defer enrollment for a year.

While on hold, she was in the bathroom. Since none of our bathroom doors lock in the older home we live in, I habitually knock on closed bathroom doors. I had to use the bathroom, so I knocked and started to open it.

My daughter screams, "I'M IN THE BATHROOM. I'M IN THE BATHROOM." just as the message is about to begin recording.

Hence, it's very likely someone in this college's admissions department will hearing a very interesting phone message soon.

Fear of Spiders

Last week, my 12-year old son, Ben, approached me. Ben claimed he had a spider trapped in a paper towel, but Ben was afraid to squish the spider. He feard the spider would jump out somehow. Spiders, you see, creep Ben out.

Ben inherits this fear of spiders, I believe, from his mother. Regardless, as a loving and caring father, I decided to rescue my son and take care of the spider for him.

With Ben in tow, I walked to the paper towel in question, picked it up, and began to massage it, as if I were seeking out the hidden prize inside before crushing it. In actuality, though, I was pulling off a small piece of paper towel.

I then flicked the small piece of paper towel with my thumb. The piece flew though the air a very short distance and landed on the counter-top in front of Ben. I then started screaming at the top of my lungs.

Ben, surprised at seeing this quivering, shaking piece of paper in front of him and hearing my heart-wrenching screaming, screamed himself. I continued to scream and looked at Ben as if to say, "Aaaah! I can't believe it got out!"

Ben, seeing my reaction, screamed even louder. I screamed. He screamed. I turned to Ben and screamed. He turned to me and screamed back.

Screaming is so contagious.

Anyway, I started laughing. Ben, seeing me laugh and realizing he was screaming at a piece of paper, began laughing, screaming, and crying all at the same time.

Eventually, we both ended up laughing.