I'll post some funny posts soon. Right after I try to tie potential military action against Iran with a fable...
You may have heard the children's story, "The Red Wagon". Three royal guards with superhuman eyesight proclaimed no one could sneak something pass them without them noticing it. A young boy tries to trick them by pulling a pile of leaves on a red wagon. The guards inspect the pile, scoff, and proudly proclaim there's not a pinhead of anything in the wagon besides leaves.
The boy tries again, this time with a pile of wood in a red wagon. Then a pile of cloth, a pile of bricks, and so on. The guards inspect every fiber, every crevice, and are assured not a speck of dust has escaped their watchful eye. Finally, the boy goes to them and says, "I've tricked all of you. I've sneaked something past you every day and you never noticed." The guards are incredulous and demand to know what it was. The boy leads them to the courtyard, and a pile of red wagons.
What does this have to do with Iran? The administration has been telling us of Iran's involvement in Iraq for several months now. It seems like the worse Iraq gets, the more Iran gets blamed. Many people are rightfully suspicious of the Bush administration, and some expect them to concoct a story or blow-up a minor incident to justify military action against Iran.
But how do we know that Iran is actively trying to undermine the U.S. occupation in Iraq in the first place?
The Bush administration has repeatedly claimed that Iran was been assisting insurgents in Iraq. The press routinely repeats phrases like "proxy war"; commentators accept on face value that Iran is playing a large role in this conflict.
But when have we ever seen any proof that the Iranian government is actively assisting insurgents? Many skeptics have been focusing on the "leaves"--the manner in which the government may justify a war against Iran. Yet the "red wagon"--the idea that Iran is supporting the insurgents, is being ignored.
I feel like we have all jumped ahead to the conclusion without any hard evidence to justify it. Maybe it "makes sense" that Iran is assisting Iraqi insurgents. It "made sense" that Saddam Hussein had WMDs. It made a lot of sense, more sense than Iran actively fanning this conflict. Yet we found out later the administration reached the conclusion first, and considering that, how could they not distort the evidence to fit what they already know?
The results was that it became dependent on the war's critics to prove that WMDs didn't exist, when the administration never proved they existed in the first place.
I wonder if we are making the same cognitive error about the degree, if any, of Iran's involvement in Iraq.
January 31, 2007
January 29, 2007
Pancake City Podcast--Dead Before Arrival?
The fees and hassle to produce a legal music podcast are prohibitive for me. My original idea was to make a biweekly podcast of six genre-related songs along with a bit of comedy. That's not going to happen. It's way too expensive, especially considering the small-scale nature of what I want to make.
The host of NPR's All Songs Considered podcast (excellent for anyone who likes new music) occasionally mentions, "We try to get rights to play full versions on the podcast. When we can't, you can listen to the whole version of the song at out website, ..."
When a large corporation like NPR can't get rights to include some songs in their podcast, and the DMCA doesn't include a special "Pancake City" exception in the law (I checked--thanks a lot, CONgress), it's time to ask a question that has always guided me through troubled times: "What would Liberal Jesus do?"
Liberal Jesus, is of course, NPR, and if NPR can stream a podcast on the web, maybe I can too.
I've found some answers to my questions, and at least one streaming company, LoudCity, that will supposedly stream a radio station and handle all the royalty paperwork for a monthly fee, starting at $20 per month. I saw supposedly because I need to check the fine print (Garamond, 8pt--very annoying) and see if thereis anything being left out or unmentioned.
I'm not sure I want to pay $20 per month to stream a few podcasts every month, but it's either that or do an underground, illegal version for a few dozen friends and acquaintances.
The host of NPR's All Songs Considered podcast (excellent for anyone who likes new music) occasionally mentions, "We try to get rights to play full versions on the podcast. When we can't, you can listen to the whole version of the song at out website, ..."
When a large corporation like NPR can't get rights to include some songs in their podcast, and the DMCA doesn't include a special "Pancake City" exception in the law (I checked--thanks a lot, CONgress), it's time to ask a question that has always guided me through troubled times: "What would Liberal Jesus do?"
Liberal Jesus, is of course, NPR, and if NPR can stream a podcast on the web, maybe I can too.
I've found some answers to my questions, and at least one streaming company, LoudCity, that will supposedly stream a radio station and handle all the royalty paperwork for a monthly fee, starting at $20 per month. I saw supposedly because I need to check the fine print (Garamond, 8pt--very annoying) and see if thereis anything being left out or unmentioned.
I'm not sure I want to pay $20 per month to stream a few podcasts every month, but it's either that or do an underground, illegal version for a few dozen friends and acquaintances.
January 16, 2007
Bush Administration in a Nutshell
"In next week's State of the Union address, President Bush plans to foist fiscal responsibility on Democrats who blame him for federal deficit " (WP link)
January 12, 2007
January 09, 2007
Obituary
Momofuku Ando, the creator of Ramen instant noodles, died on Jan. 5, 2007. It was a slow and painful death.
On his death bed, Ando addressed the long-time health critics of his deep-friend instant noodles. "Maybe they were right. Maybe my noodles are unhealthy." He died soon after less than a century old.
On his death bed, Ando addressed the long-time health critics of his deep-friend instant noodles. "Maybe they were right. Maybe my noodles are unhealthy." He died soon after less than a century old.
Future Projects
I'm trying to restore a sense of balance in my life by playing poker less and putting my energy into other activities. I have not been successful playing poker less often, in spite of the fact it is often frustrating, tedious, and lately, not profitable.
But as I am a man of leisure, I have enough free time for both. I'm trying to post more regularly. I will be adding a chunk of photos to my Flickr account soon (first one up).
I have also been toying with the idea of doing a bimonthly music podcast of about six songs a week. There are some logistical issues, and I'm not sure I'm up to the commitment of doing a biweekly podcast. Maybe I'll give it a shot for a month and see how it goes.
I have been thinking of writing a Pancake City book for a while now. Fifty/fifty old and new material. I like the idea of writing a book where I only have to write half the book.
I think I'm going to have to go back to unplugging my wireless adapter and put it in another room. It has been pretty effective in getting me to concentrate.
Just thinking out loud. Well, writing out loud. Except that I'm writing, so there's no sound involved. I guess I'm thinking out loud and writing out silently. My ideas, also silent, may be sound, figuratively. And literally? What are we to call the noiseless voice in our head that "says" our thoughts without lips? You know, the one we can hear without ears.
What is the difference between the memory of candy cane red and seeing the red in a candy cane in real life? Does the memory have any reliability, any truth?
Okay, I need to stop. I probably sound like the intro in a Philosophy 101 book. Leave some comments, people--it encourages me to write.
But as I am a man of leisure, I have enough free time for both. I'm trying to post more regularly. I will be adding a chunk of photos to my Flickr account soon (first one up).
I have also been toying with the idea of doing a bimonthly music podcast of about six songs a week. There are some logistical issues, and I'm not sure I'm up to the commitment of doing a biweekly podcast. Maybe I'll give it a shot for a month and see how it goes.
I have been thinking of writing a Pancake City book for a while now. Fifty/fifty old and new material. I like the idea of writing a book where I only have to write half the book.
I think I'm going to have to go back to unplugging my wireless adapter and put it in another room. It has been pretty effective in getting me to concentrate.
Just thinking out loud. Well, writing out loud. Except that I'm writing, so there's no sound involved. I guess I'm thinking out loud and writing out silently. My ideas, also silent, may be sound, figuratively. And literally? What are we to call the noiseless voice in our head that "says" our thoughts without lips? You know, the one we can hear without ears.
What is the difference between the memory of candy cane red and seeing the red in a candy cane in real life? Does the memory have any reliability, any truth?
Okay, I need to stop. I probably sound like the intro in a Philosophy 101 book. Leave some comments, people--it encourages me to write.
January 08, 2007
January 07, 2007
Borat
Finally saw Borat. It's very funny, but not what I expected. My preconception was that, at its heart, the movie was a social satire, subversively illuminating people's hidden (and not-so-hidden) prejudice and stereotypes as Sasha Baren Cohen travels through America.
While that's part of the movie, I found the movie's center to be shock comedy above everything else. Sometimes the shock came from Borat saying something outlandish (and usually anti-Semitic), but much more often it was something else entirely: nude wrestling, stumbling in an antique store, the Pamela Anderson scene, and so on.
What social commentary the movie offers is more on how people react to outlandish statements from a stranger: usually with indifference or a conscious ignoring of the remark, out of uncertainty or a desire to avoid confrontation.
The movie paints a muddy picture in this regard. When Borat enters a gun shop and asks the owner "What's the best gun to kill a Jew?", I found it difficult to judge the owner's matter-of-fact answer. Did he understand Borat and have no problem with what he said? Did he feel disturbed but decided to ignore the comment out of misguided politeness, or that he was more concerned with making a sale? Did he rationalize what he heard, like "He can't seriously want to kill a Jewish person. He must mean something else by 'Jew'."?
I think one's view of scenes like this has more to do with one's opinion on human nature, whether it be cynical or optimistic, than anything else. These scenes are too short and edited to offer a definite conclusion. It puts the movie in the odd place of needing its DVD release, with substantial extended scenes, to fully answer these questions, and perhaps lay a true claim to the land of social commentary.
While that's part of the movie, I found the movie's center to be shock comedy above everything else. Sometimes the shock came from Borat saying something outlandish (and usually anti-Semitic), but much more often it was something else entirely: nude wrestling, stumbling in an antique store, the Pamela Anderson scene, and so on.
What social commentary the movie offers is more on how people react to outlandish statements from a stranger: usually with indifference or a conscious ignoring of the remark, out of uncertainty or a desire to avoid confrontation.
The movie paints a muddy picture in this regard. When Borat enters a gun shop and asks the owner "What's the best gun to kill a Jew?", I found it difficult to judge the owner's matter-of-fact answer. Did he understand Borat and have no problem with what he said? Did he feel disturbed but decided to ignore the comment out of misguided politeness, or that he was more concerned with making a sale? Did he rationalize what he heard, like "He can't seriously want to kill a Jewish person. He must mean something else by 'Jew'."?
I think one's view of scenes like this has more to do with one's opinion on human nature, whether it be cynical or optimistic, than anything else. These scenes are too short and edited to offer a definite conclusion. It puts the movie in the odd place of needing its DVD release, with substantial extended scenes, to fully answer these questions, and perhaps lay a true claim to the land of social commentary.
January 05, 2007
Odd Dream
I didn't realize this memory was from an early-morning dream until it popped in my head a few minutes ago and I realized how loony it was. Elvis was at a press conference in Washington D.C. to speak against anti-immigration legislation. I was wondering what Elvis' connection to immigrants is when the NPR announcer conveniently mentioned that Elvis was born in Mexico. I remember thinking, "That can't be right. Elvis is dead. It must have been an Elvis impersonator."
Case solved. I won't be hard on myself for not asking what an Elvis impersonator was doing at a news conference, or why NPR was reporting on it, as I was still technically asleep.
Case solved. I won't be hard on myself for not asking what an Elvis impersonator was doing at a news conference, or why NPR was reporting on it, as I was still technically asleep.
January 04, 2007
Random Roundup
- I haven’t read it yet, but I glanced through Dave Barry’s “2006 Year in Review” column. The Washington Post Magazine highlighted some of the sentences in yellow. Look, I like Dave Barry, but highlighting a Dave Barry joke is like putting glitter on a stripper.
- I’m writing a few proposals to companies about my ideas for new products. One of them is to Hostess, for “Hostess $$ugh Balls.” A box of miniature doughnut balls. Most of them are filled with a delicious lemon custard, but a few are filled with real dough!
I’m picturing on the box the Twinkie Cowboy kicking his heels while holding two fistfuls of cash dough. This is the only relation cash has to the product. The winning balls will just be filled with regular dough, so not only will the consumer be confused, she will also be disappointed, as the regular doughnut balls are inferior to the custard-filled one.
- Ever since the advent of cell phones, I have been tempted to ride up and down in an elevator and have fake phone conversations when people walk in.
"He’s all whiny, like ‘You can’t fire me, I have cancer.’ So I tell him, ‘No. What you have is no job. Now get out of here, baldy.’ What? [...] Well, he wasn’t completely bald. But he was going to get there in a few weeks, so I went with it.’ "
"How should I know where to put the body?" [notices other riders] “Hey, call me back in a few minutes.” [...] “I’m in an elevator.” [...] “They didn’t hear anything.” [...] “Are you crazy? I’m not killing someone else.” [...] "They're not even on the elevator anymore." [mouths to other riders, run]
January 02, 2007
Happy New Year
Putting an exclamation point at the end would be emotional lying as I ended up going to bed at 11:30 p.m. on the 31th. Yes, I am an old man. I can't wait for Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes.
I went to Florida for a week with Mom and Tina. We mostly stayed at the beach, and had a relaxing time. Global warming though has taken away the cache of vacationing to a warm climate.
I live in Washington D.C., an area that, up until a few years ago, had a potent combination of unpredictable winter weather and neurotic, fear-spongy residents. The local news stations are experts at whipping up weather-related fear. One of their tools is promotional ads for their respective station's "Storm Center".
The ads start off with a gruesome collection of winter images. People trudging to work through wind-whipped snow. Cars stacked on top of each other. Babies floating down the Potomac. An announcer utters with immense gravity: "Washington. Under Siege". Or: "Winter Warning: Is the Snow-Nado Back?"
Oh, no! What do we do? The announcer's voices softens: "Tune in to Channel 5, the only local channel with the Channel 5 Snow Patrol Doppler 5000 Protection League! Of Justice." Whew.
Then Channel 7 airs their promo, except they have the Doppler 7000. Wow, that's 2,000 more Doppler! And Channel 9 has the Doppler 9000, and Channel 13 has the Doppler 13000, and...wait a minute. Those Doppler douche-bags.
Anyway, the weather has been so mild this season that it has derailed most of the usual weather hysteria. I wish the unseasonable weather was a fluke, but as the Bush administration has stated, the warming trend over the past several years is real, and is caused, we know now, by what the scientific community calls "Angry Monkeys in Outer Space".
These angry monkeys have made the last few winters in D.C. almost devoid of snow and forced local news stations to lower their promo airing standards from "Threat of Flurries" to "Brr! It's cloudy outside." (Seriously. They occasionally can't help to air one of the promos, but the announcer has a tint of shame to his speech, like a co-worker the next day after he crapped his pants at the office holiday party.)
Back to my point. Thanks to angry space monkeys, vacationing to a warm climate in the winter barely earns a quiver of jealously anymore. This is a typical conversation I had with my friends when I got home:
ME: "How was your Christmas?"
FRIEND: "I'm Jewish."
ME: "That's good to hear. Guess what! I was in Florida!"
FRIEND: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup. 70 degrees weather the whole time. What was the weather like here?"
FRIEND: "60 degrees the whole time."
ME: "Oh."
FRIEND: "Yeah, we had another warm front."
ME: "Well, it was so warm in Florida that I could wear shorts at night."
FRIEND: "Lucky. I had to switch to pants after 8:00 p.m."
There's no way to make people jealous anymore with a winter trip. Where am I going to fly to now to make people jealous? Outer space? Not without a food-fitted Gatling gun and a box full of bananas. Besides, I would probably just have this conversation:
ME: "Guess what! I went to the Sun!"
FRIEND: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup. 6,000 Kelvin the whole time."
FRIEND: "4,000 Kelvin here."
ME: "Oh."
FRIEND: "Yeah, we had another hole in the ozone layer."
ME: "Well, it was so warm on he Sun that I was vaporized instantly into hydrogen."
FRIEND: "Lucky. I had to be a semi-liquid after 10 p.m."
I went to Florida for a week with Mom and Tina. We mostly stayed at the beach, and had a relaxing time. Global warming though has taken away the cache of vacationing to a warm climate.
I live in Washington D.C., an area that, up until a few years ago, had a potent combination of unpredictable winter weather and neurotic, fear-spongy residents. The local news stations are experts at whipping up weather-related fear. One of their tools is promotional ads for their respective station's "Storm Center".
The ads start off with a gruesome collection of winter images. People trudging to work through wind-whipped snow. Cars stacked on top of each other. Babies floating down the Potomac. An announcer utters with immense gravity: "Washington. Under Siege". Or: "Winter Warning: Is the Snow-Nado Back?"
Oh, no! What do we do? The announcer's voices softens: "Tune in to Channel 5, the only local channel with the Channel 5 Snow Patrol Doppler 5000 Protection League! Of Justice." Whew.
Then Channel 7 airs their promo, except they have the Doppler 7000. Wow, that's 2,000 more Doppler! And Channel 9 has the Doppler 9000, and Channel 13 has the Doppler 13000, and...wait a minute. Those Doppler douche-bags.
Anyway, the weather has been so mild this season that it has derailed most of the usual weather hysteria. I wish the unseasonable weather was a fluke, but as the Bush administration has stated, the warming trend over the past several years is real, and is caused, we know now, by what the scientific community calls "Angry Monkeys in Outer Space".
These angry monkeys have made the last few winters in D.C. almost devoid of snow and forced local news stations to lower their promo airing standards from "Threat of Flurries" to "Brr! It's cloudy outside." (Seriously. They occasionally can't help to air one of the promos, but the announcer has a tint of shame to his speech, like a co-worker the next day after he crapped his pants at the office holiday party.)
Back to my point. Thanks to angry space monkeys, vacationing to a warm climate in the winter barely earns a quiver of jealously anymore. This is a typical conversation I had with my friends when I got home:
ME: "How was your Christmas?"
FRIEND: "I'm Jewish."
ME: "That's good to hear. Guess what! I was in Florida!"
FRIEND: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup. 70 degrees weather the whole time. What was the weather like here?"
FRIEND: "60 degrees the whole time."
ME: "Oh."
FRIEND: "Yeah, we had another warm front."
ME: "Well, it was so warm in Florida that I could wear shorts at night."
FRIEND: "Lucky. I had to switch to pants after 8:00 p.m."
There's no way to make people jealous anymore with a winter trip. Where am I going to fly to now to make people jealous? Outer space? Not without a food-fitted Gatling gun and a box full of bananas. Besides, I would probably just have this conversation:
ME: "Guess what! I went to the Sun!"
FRIEND: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup. 6,000 Kelvin the whole time."
FRIEND: "4,000 Kelvin here."
ME: "Oh."
FRIEND: "Yeah, we had another hole in the ozone layer."
ME: "Well, it was so warm on he Sun that I was vaporized instantly into hydrogen."
FRIEND: "Lucky. I had to be a semi-liquid after 10 p.m."
December 25, 2006
Our Spirit of Christmas
My family’s favorite part of Christmas isn’t receiving gifts. It’s not giving gifts. It’s using trickery and guile to find out what they’re getting from each other before Christmas.
By using “they’re” instead of “we’re”, it may appear that I consider myself an outsider to their shenanigans, one who holds surprise to be the best part of gift giving and looks with dismay on anyone who seeks to corrupt the joy of the unknown before the appropriate day.
It may appear this way because it is absolutely true. I love surprises. They love CSI: Christmas Scene Investigator. We battle yearly, the purist vs. “This one is practically unwrapped already. Might as well open it now.” I always lose, it’s just a matter of what degree.
Yesterday, I was wrapping their gifts in a bedroom in my Mom’s house. I knew ahead of time this was a huge tactical blunder, much like a dopey security guard walking in one of the worst neighborhoods in Brooklyn and swinging in each hand a large bag with a giant $ sign on it, while singing “Whistle While You Work” to himself and pausing occasionally to adjust his boxers or wave to strangers.
It was the only time I had to wrap the gifts, but I can blame no one but myself for what happened next. First, Tina tried the blunt approach. She walked in the room and began searching through the big bag of gifts that I brought. ‘Tina, what are you doing?” I snapped. She looked hurt. “What? I thought they were wrapped.”
Okay. Perhaps she didn’t see the scissors in my right hand. Or the wrapping paper strewn on the floor. Or that I had to spit out a piece of ribbon in my mouth before I could scold her. She stomped out of the room. “Everyone, watch out. Jason is Mr. Cranky Pants today.”
I could still hear the cries of “Mr. Cranky Pants” after she went downstairs, so I shut the door. I didn’t want to shut the door, because a closed door near Christmastime attracts a lot of attention in my family, much like a suitcase handcuffed to a courier pokes the curiosity of even the most virtuous.
A few minutes later, I realized I forgot to bring name tags for the gifts, so I opened the door a crack and slid out to grab some downstairs. Right after I put my foot on the first step, I heard a soft voice whisper behind me, “He’s gone, let’s go!” I turn around to see Michele and my Mom make a dash for the room.
I chased them down and shoved them out before they could discover anything. Then I locked the bedroom door, and, I’m being completely serious here, shoved a laundry hamper and a chair in front of the door to barricade it lest one of them pick the lock. Which they have done before. Usually with a letter opener, but they’ll use a paper clip if they have to.
After I finished wrapping the nameless gifts, I brought them downstairs. A luxury the family did not always have. After our dad passed away, there were a few hours in the day when Mom was at work and the three of us were at home, unsupervised. Michele and Tina used this valuable time for many tasks, one of which was to unwrap and rewrap their gifts.
They could have got away with it too, if they weren’t so proud of themselves that they burst into laughter in the midst of unwrapping presents Christmas morning (or occasionally crying to Mom a few days before Christmas because they unwrapped all their presents and found that they weren't getting something they really wanted). My family isn't Jewish, but we know the meaning of chutzpah.
"Oops. I wasn't supposed to tell you that."
As Tina and Michele were retelling the story on Christmas day, Mom shook her fist triumphantly. My Mom, the master bargain hunter, managed to get something for nothing again. Michele blabbed the goods to Tina, but Mom was still victorious: she pulled a fast one over her gullible kids.
I forget how I learned that Santa Claus isn’t real. I have a hunch though Mom had to resist doing a fist pump and saying, "Yes!" afterwards. And that, if I have kids, it will be hard for me not to do the same.
Update: After Tina read the post, she said, "I found out Santa didn't exist when Mom asked me to write his name on a gift tag."
By using “they’re” instead of “we’re”, it may appear that I consider myself an outsider to their shenanigans, one who holds surprise to be the best part of gift giving and looks with dismay on anyone who seeks to corrupt the joy of the unknown before the appropriate day.
It may appear this way because it is absolutely true. I love surprises. They love CSI: Christmas Scene Investigator. We battle yearly, the purist vs. “This one is practically unwrapped already. Might as well open it now.” I always lose, it’s just a matter of what degree.
Yesterday, I was wrapping their gifts in a bedroom in my Mom’s house. I knew ahead of time this was a huge tactical blunder, much like a dopey security guard walking in one of the worst neighborhoods in Brooklyn and swinging in each hand a large bag with a giant $ sign on it, while singing “Whistle While You Work” to himself and pausing occasionally to adjust his boxers or wave to strangers.
It was the only time I had to wrap the gifts, but I can blame no one but myself for what happened next. First, Tina tried the blunt approach. She walked in the room and began searching through the big bag of gifts that I brought. ‘Tina, what are you doing?” I snapped. She looked hurt. “What? I thought they were wrapped.”
Okay. Perhaps she didn’t see the scissors in my right hand. Or the wrapping paper strewn on the floor. Or that I had to spit out a piece of ribbon in my mouth before I could scold her. She stomped out of the room. “Everyone, watch out. Jason is Mr. Cranky Pants today.”
I could still hear the cries of “Mr. Cranky Pants” after she went downstairs, so I shut the door. I didn’t want to shut the door, because a closed door near Christmastime attracts a lot of attention in my family, much like a suitcase handcuffed to a courier pokes the curiosity of even the most virtuous.
A few minutes later, I realized I forgot to bring name tags for the gifts, so I opened the door a crack and slid out to grab some downstairs. Right after I put my foot on the first step, I heard a soft voice whisper behind me, “He’s gone, let’s go!” I turn around to see Michele and my Mom make a dash for the room.
I chased them down and shoved them out before they could discover anything. Then I locked the bedroom door, and, I’m being completely serious here, shoved a laundry hamper and a chair in front of the door to barricade it lest one of them pick the lock. Which they have done before. Usually with a letter opener, but they’ll use a paper clip if they have to.
After I finished wrapping the nameless gifts, I brought them downstairs. A luxury the family did not always have. After our dad passed away, there were a few hours in the day when Mom was at work and the three of us were at home, unsupervised. Michele and Tina used this valuable time for many tasks, one of which was to unwrap and rewrap their gifts.
They could have got away with it too, if they weren’t so proud of themselves that they burst into laughter in the midst of unwrapping presents Christmas morning (or occasionally crying to Mom a few days before Christmas because they unwrapped all their presents and found that they weren't getting something they really wanted). My family isn't Jewish, but we know the meaning of chutzpah.
Leaving gifts under the tree is no longer a risky behavior. Michele and Tina view surreptitious unwrapping the same way they view the Barbies and My Little Ponies they played with as children. They have moved on long ago to more sophisticated techniques.
All of which they learned from my Mom. Michele and Tina have come a long way, but they’re still not even in the same league as her.
This year, Tina had a good idea. Knowing my Mom loves to find out what she’s getting ahead of time as much as she does, Tina called Mom and proposed a trade: I’ll tell you one gift you don’t know about if you tell me one gift I don’t know about.
Mom agreed, and asked about the heavy, thin object. Mom thought it was a Picasso painting. Unfortunately it was a baking sheet. Tina asked about a medium-sized box, and found out Mom got her wine glasses.
Tina called Michele to crow about her cleverness.
“Guess what. I got Mom to tell me one of the gifts she got me.”
Michele knew most of the gifts Tina got. “Which one?”
“The wine glasses. I told her about the baking sheet, and she told me about the wine glasses.”
“Tina, you fool. Mom didn’t get you wine glasses. She hid the real present in a wine glass box."
"Oops. I wasn't supposed to tell you that."
As Tina and Michele were retelling the story on Christmas day, Mom shook her fist triumphantly. My Mom, the master bargain hunter, managed to get something for nothing again. Michele blabbed the goods to Tina, but Mom was still victorious: she pulled a fast one over her gullible kids.
I forget how I learned that Santa Claus isn’t real. I have a hunch though Mom had to resist doing a fist pump and saying, "Yes!" afterwards. And that, if I have kids, it will be hard for me not to do the same.
Update: After Tina read the post, she said, "I found out Santa didn't exist when Mom asked me to write his name on a gift tag."
December 23, 2006
Pretty Cute Kitty...
One of the Wii Kitties.
I have a lot of things I want to write about, but if I don't write them down soon, I'm going to forget them. Notes for myself:
sake, Mom's Christmas tree, family comments, podcast, bad dog, james bond, robot chicken, "let the cat out of the bag", poop bag review
I have a lot of things I want to write about, but if I don't write them down soon, I'm going to forget them. Notes for myself:
sake, Mom's Christmas tree, family comments, podcast, bad dog, james bond, robot chicken, "let the cat out of the bag", poop bag review
December 22, 2006
December 16, 2006
Doggy Senility
I read a blurb in Psychology Today that 90% of dogs have a moment of senility by the time they are seven. How does a creature that chases its own tail, eats poop, and says hi by sniffing each other's butts have a moment of senility?
December 15, 2006
Broad Daylight: Derogatory to Women? You Decide.
No one gets killed in daylight anymore. When there's a news report on a day time killing, the person is always murdered in broad daylight. It reflects a sense of shock and outrage. Murder, we made a deal: you get the night, we get the day. But when death slips into the sunlight, it better have a good reason, and a gang shooting in front of a school yard doesn't cut it.
How are we supposed to feel when someone is killed on a cloudy day? Rain? The evening after daylight savings time, when someone expected there to be more anti-evil rays (sunlight) then they are on that day? News reporters should be more descriptive about the weather at the time of death.
"A bus load of children holding puppies selected for extra cuteness was killed in a head-on collision with a demon-possessed clown car driven by Michael Richards. Police say that Richards may have been distracted by the tornado wrestling with a giant rainbow."
I need to know how to feel when someone dies, and "broad daylight" doesn't illuminate my feelings the way it used to.
How are we supposed to feel when someone is killed on a cloudy day? Rain? The evening after daylight savings time, when someone expected there to be more anti-evil rays (sunlight) then they are on that day? News reporters should be more descriptive about the weather at the time of death.
"A bus load of children holding puppies selected for extra cuteness was killed in a head-on collision with a demon-possessed clown car driven by Michael Richards. Police say that Richards may have been distracted by the tornado wrestling with a giant rainbow."
I need to know how to feel when someone dies, and "broad daylight" doesn't illuminate my feelings the way it used to.
December 11, 2006
I Got Me In'Net!
The DSL service was activated earlier than I expected. Remember when I said in my last post how it was nice to be without Internet access? I lied. That was just to trick the Access Gods. IT WAS HORRIBLE. I spent hours each day, staring at a blank monitor, clicking my mouse like a puppy locked outside a house and pawing a frost-covered window.
The experience did give me valuable insight, thought, that will come in handy if I ever decide to live like a half-naked barbarian.
I missed you SO much Internet. This was the first time in years we were away from each other for more than a week. It was a difficult time. I admit, at times, I thought about having a fling with a trampy dial-up connection. Just for a day or two. But I held strong, and can still make up and respect myself when I look in the mirror. Which I won't be doing much of now, along with shopping, visiting art galleries, or frankly, leaving the house at all.
We have a lot of catching up to do, but once we're done reconnecting, I'll be back to my regular schedule of posting twice a month.
The experience did give me valuable insight, thought, that will come in handy if I ever decide to live like a half-naked barbarian.
I missed you SO much Internet. This was the first time in years we were away from each other for more than a week. It was a difficult time. I admit, at times, I thought about having a fling with a trampy dial-up connection. Just for a day or two. But I held strong, and can still make up and respect myself when I look in the mirror. Which I won't be doing much of now, along with shopping, visiting art galleries, or frankly, leaving the house at all.
We have a lot of catching up to do, but once we're done reconnecting, I'll be back to my regular schedule of posting twice a month.
December 09, 2006
Where Have I Been?
Sorry for the lack of posts recently. Last week, I had my 30th birthday party. It's the first time I went out with friends for my birthday in almost a decade. For much of my life, I felt like I didn't have many friends that liked me enough to come to a birthday party, so I rarely had one. I feel blessed to be in a different place in my life now.
Also, two months ago, I vowed to myself that I would move out of my Mom's place before my 30th birthday. I was a day late, but I did it: I moved to NE D.C. It took a lot of hard work and\or me doing absolutely nothing while an opening came up in my friend Meghan's place and she asked if I wanted to move in. This just goes to show you that if you have a specific goal and focus intently on it and/or scratch your balls while random events in life conspire to deliver your goal to you, you can achieve anything. I am submitting a longer version of my inspiring story to Parade magazine (Motto: "Thank God We're Free").
The house is big, old, roomy, and has lots of neat quirks about it. There are cupboards everywhere, some of them 10 feet above the ground. There are about 3 dozen light switches in the house, none of which do what I expect them to do. For example, the garbage disposal light switch has three settings: Off, On, and Really On. Off and On do nothing. Really On, lifting the switch a little bit past the On position, like turning to the 11 setting on a Spinal Tap speaker, activates the disposal.
I like the place a lot, and both my roommates are awesome. We don't have Internet access though, and won't get it until next Friday, so I haven't been able to update the blog or do much besides check my email at the library occasionally.
When I have had Internet access, I was on the Internet for at least 2-3 hours almost every day, mostly playing online poker or reading poker web sites. Occasionally I would watch TV. We have neither Internet access or a TV at the moment, and I'm really surprised how little I miss it. I haven't been bored or going through withdrawal symptoms, as I do sometimes in the past. I'm happy in a way that the DSL won't be activated in a week. The only hassles are checking my dog walking schedule, posting on the blog, and checking my email, the total of which I could do in 15-30 minutes. I like being disconnected, although the second we get net access I know that I will likely fall in my old time wasting habits.
I'm going to try to upload something I wrote about the new James Bond movie before the post becomes irrelevant with time. Besides that, I doubt I will be able to update the blog. Check back in a week. I hope to have a few substantial posts ready to go by then.
Also, two months ago, I vowed to myself that I would move out of my Mom's place before my 30th birthday. I was a day late, but I did it: I moved to NE D.C. It took a lot of hard work and\or me doing absolutely nothing while an opening came up in my friend Meghan's place and she asked if I wanted to move in. This just goes to show you that if you have a specific goal and focus intently on it and/or scratch your balls while random events in life conspire to deliver your goal to you, you can achieve anything. I am submitting a longer version of my inspiring story to Parade magazine (Motto: "Thank God We're Free").
The house is big, old, roomy, and has lots of neat quirks about it. There are cupboards everywhere, some of them 10 feet above the ground. There are about 3 dozen light switches in the house, none of which do what I expect them to do. For example, the garbage disposal light switch has three settings: Off, On, and Really On. Off and On do nothing. Really On, lifting the switch a little bit past the On position, like turning to the 11 setting on a Spinal Tap speaker, activates the disposal.
I like the place a lot, and both my roommates are awesome. We don't have Internet access though, and won't get it until next Friday, so I haven't been able to update the blog or do much besides check my email at the library occasionally.
When I have had Internet access, I was on the Internet for at least 2-3 hours almost every day, mostly playing online poker or reading poker web sites. Occasionally I would watch TV. We have neither Internet access or a TV at the moment, and I'm really surprised how little I miss it. I haven't been bored or going through withdrawal symptoms, as I do sometimes in the past. I'm happy in a way that the DSL won't be activated in a week. The only hassles are checking my dog walking schedule, posting on the blog, and checking my email, the total of which I could do in 15-30 minutes. I like being disconnected, although the second we get net access I know that I will likely fall in my old time wasting habits.
I'm going to try to upload something I wrote about the new James Bond movie before the post becomes irrelevant with time. Besides that, I doubt I will be able to update the blog. Check back in a week. I hope to have a few substantial posts ready to go by then.
November 22, 2006
Get Your Very Own PS3
This is funny.
Edit: Well, that was quick. EBay already took the auction down. It was for a PlayStation 3...made out of a PlayStation 1 and PlayStation 2 duck-taped together.
Edit: Well, that was quick. EBay already took the auction down. It was for a PlayStation 3...made out of a PlayStation 1 and PlayStation 2 duck-taped together.
November 15, 2006
Worst Idea Ever
At least for 2006.
"O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened"
The follow-up interview: "If I did it, and happened to videotape it, here's what the videotape would look like."
"O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened"
The follow-up interview: "If I did it, and happened to videotape it, here's what the videotape would look like."
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