From Guasti to Sea World

If you don't know where Guasti is, it's very close to the Ontario Intl. Airport, off the I-10 near the 15. The obvious way to get from Guasti to Sea World is to go south on the 15 until you hit the 8 down in San Diego, and Sea World is not too far away from there.

Click here to see the directions Google Maps gave me. Oddly enough, Yahoo Maps told me to go the same way.

As much as I like Google, I think I'll follow Mapquest's directions.

*EDIT - Guasti is no more. The Homestyle Cafe has moved, and the Winery has been torn down.

Freeway vs Surface Streets

I was heading back into downtown Los Angeles on the 110 and around the 91 the traffic started to backup. One of those large freeway signs said it would take 35 minutes to get into downtown, and sure enough, within a mile or so, traffic was stop-go, stop-go. At one point we were completely stopped for what seemed like almost a minute, meanwhile traffic in the other lanes seemed to fly past. Of course when you're stopped, even 30mph looks fast.

Around Slauson another sign said it was now 20 minutes to downtown. I looked at my watch again. Sure enough, exactly 15 minutes had elapsed since the sign proclaiming the 35-min trip into downtown.

Now I would much rather be on surface streets stopped at a red light than sitting on the freeway, stopped for no reason at all, other than the fact that someone had jammed their brakes on at that very spot, 2 hours ago, and people were still stopping there. Residual slowing/stopping they call it. You stop your car, and the car behind you is forced to come to a complete stop. You then move on but before the car behind you can move on, the car behind him is forced to stop, and the cycle repeats, and if traffic is heavy enough people can still be coming to a stop at that very spot where you hit your brakes two hours before.

So I got off at Slauson and headed north into the city, and within 15 minutes I was at City Hall gassing up my car.

20 minutes to downtown indeed. Yeah, if you want to stay on the freeway in stop-go traffic.

Of course it doesn't always work out to your advantage to get off the freeway, but as I said, I'd rather be on surface streets stopped for a red light, than going nowhere on the freeway.

Amish Paradise

Just coz we're on a Wierd Al kick ;)

Weird Al does it again

"I wanna roll with the gangstas,
but so far they all think I'm too white and nerdy."

Bat Out Of Hell

Photo by (but used without the permission) of Ron Jenkins, photographer for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, and can be clicked on to view a slightly larger version.
Now aside from the obvious bat to the jaw, what are a few things we can glean from this photograph?

I won't spoil it for anyone. Feel free to post your observations in the comments section.

A WoW entry

This won't be of interest to most of my readers (unless a lot of you play World of Warcraft, and maybe you do).

Last week I went on a Raid to Molten Core, a dungeon filled with some of the biggest & baddest monsters & demons in the game. Lucky I went in with 39 members of one of the baddest guilds on my server. The reason I was going was to get the Petrified Leaf, an item that only drops in MC and which begins a bloody hard quest that will eventually reward me with Rhok'delar, one of the baddest Bows in the World of Warcraft.

This is the same guild whose Onyxia Run I went on a month or two back, and which let me have one of the best helms in the game for my Hunter, as well as letting me have the Dragon Sinew that gets made into the string for the Uber Bow.

So one can get the Leaf and complete the quest, which involves killing four bad asss demons, one at a time, all on your own, and then have an Uber Bow which they can't use because they don't have the Bowstring. I'm lucky enough to have been gifted with both Leaf and Bowstring, I just need to kill the demons.

I took one down the day after I got the Leaf and began the quest, and I was surprised at how easily he went down, especially as I've seen other Hunters have the devil's own time killing this guy.

This morning I took out the second of the four demons. She wasn't as easy as the first demon. I fought her off an on during the least several days, trying different tactics, all to no avail. At one point I even sat back and let another Hunter have a go at her, only to see him take her out on his first attempt. *cry*

But this morning I was finally successful. Two down, two to go.

Out of sight

Today I saw something only a small number of people have witnessed first hand. No, that doesn't make me special. I was just in the right place at the right time :)

As I watched him over breakfast, Hermes maneuvered his own shell and one of his two new shells together, then holding on to the lip of the new shell he quickly swung across and slid into his new home. He'd already been in the new shell last night but was back in one of his old shells this morning, until he changed his mind and changed shells, again.

Both the new shells are a little larger than his two old shells, but one of the new shells is larger again than the other. He chose the smaller of the two new shells, I think he will have more fun playing with the biggest one (he does love to climb) than making use of it as a home. Maybe after he's molted one or two more times he might view the biggest shell as a home instead of a toy.

Allow me to educate you

When you meet an Australian for the first time it is not necessary for you to say "Oh, you're from Australia. Good 'ay, mayte." It is also not necessary to ask if we know your friend or relative from Sydney. Do you know my Uncle from Cleveland. No? Funny that.

G'day is pronounced as I've just typed it. Hard G, followed by Day, as in G-Day. It is not Good 'Ay. If you're not going to make the effort to pronounce it properly, don't even bother trying.

A Koala is not a bear. Like most Aussie mammals it is a marsupial. It may look like a teddy but it's still not a bear. It does not belong to the Bear family. Do not call it a Koala Bear.

An Emu is an E-Mew, not an E-Moo. Importing them doesn't give you the right to change their name. Do cats moo? Do cows mew? See the difference?

When an Aussie (oz-ee not oss-ee) attempts to correct you on the mispronunciation of an Australian word, listen to the man. Your continued mispronunciation only makes you look like a wanker.

Steve Irwin was an actor (and a bit of a galah, see Australian slang term). Most Australians do not dress, talk or act like him. In fact now that he's dead it's a good bet that no Australians act like that. Just because you see four Aussies in loud, colorful shirts dancing around singing children's songs, that doesn't mean we all do it.

Internal Body Clocks, and Golf

Liz's car is in the shop so I had to ride the bus today. Wanting to catch the early bus so I could get to work on time, I set my alarm to 4:30am, 20 minutes earlier than I'd normally get up.

This morning I woke up, rolled over, and looked at the clock; it was 4:29am.

Now this was not my usual wake-up time, and yet my internal body clock woke me just seconds before the alarm was due to go off.

* * *

At the doctor's yesterday I saw a Golf Magazine in the waiting room. A Golf Magazine in a doctor's waiting room. Wow! That's the last place you'd expect to see one.(sarcasm -off) The magazine had Kathy Ireland on the front, because it was actually Golf For Women. Although one could argue that the large number of pages with pretty women on them actually makes this a Golf Magazine for Men :P

Anyway, while looking through the Index there were quite a lot of very good articles about golf (in a Golf Magazine no less :P) that would make this magazine useful for both male and female golfers. One of the articles that wouldn't be so useful to men was the fashion section. Yup, every self-respecting women's magazine has to have a fashion section, even a golf magazine. I pointed that section out to Liz and she promptly turned to the appropriate page and started oohing over all the fashions, shoes (of course), polos, pants, etc.

Later that day, with time to kill before picking up the kids, we stopped by a large clothing discount store where Liz browsed through the shoe section. Go figure ;) She was checking out one pair of shoes and she turned them over to look at the soles. Would these be ok for golf? she asked me. I laughed and told her the soles were not suitable, we needed something with grip. If not spikes (impossible to find on regular shoes) then at least a good tread pattern.

We settled on a pair of shoes that had a nice series of bumps over the sole, but more importantly, a pair which appealed visually to Liz as well ;)

Today Liz said she's going back to find an outfit which matches her new shoes. Golf is fun, she told me :)

Tomorrow while the kids are at school we're going to the local Par 3 Course. It has a driving range as well so Liz can loosen up by hitting a few balls (& cure any headache she might have, inside joke) then we'll play around, and after that we might even play some golf :P

At least the Crocs didn't get him.

Crikey, Steve! You're a bloody idiot. But at least the Crocs didn't get ya, hey?

Let's go, Dodgers! Let's go! Clap clap clap!

JE and I went to the Dodgers vs Colorado game last night. The place was packed. Official attendance count was approx. 50,000 people. Not bad, nothing like the 100,000 or so you get at The G at an AFL game, but for a small baseball stadium it was a big crowd. The parking lot was jam packed as well. We found a spot just about as far from the Pavilion seats as you can get, without being on the other side of the stadium. After walking almost 10 minutes from our car to the stadium we then lined up to get JE a pizza, but someone mentioned they were out of pizzas, so we got him a Dodger Dog instead. The line at the concession stand was pretty long as well and by the time we got to our seats it was bottom of the 3rd and the Dodgers were scoring their first run of the game.

Top of the 4th the Rockies got 3 runs, a lead which the Dodgers promptly erased by scoring 3 runs of their own in the bottom of the 4th. The Dodgers added two more runs, one in the 6th and one in the 8th, while holding the Rockies scoreless for the remainder of the game to take the win. It was an excellent game.

Afterwards everyone traipsed down to the outfield to get a good vantage point for the Fireworks show which JE thought was fantastic. His dad liked it, too :P

I must say, if you don't leave until the end of the game, getting out of Dodger Stadium afterwards can be a nightmare. Everyone takes their own route to the exit, so you end up with at least 5 cars trying to merge into just one lane at the actual exit. Crazy. If you're not aggressive, you don't get out. I might have a little Ford Focus but I've been here a while, and while I'm normally one of the nicest, most polite guys you'll meet, when the need arises I'm one of the most aggressive drivers on the road, or in the parking lot as the case may be. So when people start being rude and think they're cutting in because I have a little car and they have an SUV, they can just get the fu...er...think again.

We got home close to midnight, JE was sound asleep. I carried him upstairs and tried to get him to wake up to pee, to tell Liz about the fireworks, nothing. Head raised for a second, but only to turn the other way and flop back down on my shoulder. I put him into bed and he was dead to the world. There wasn't even a murmered request for a story.

I wasn't far behind him, although I still logged into WoW for a bit. It's nice logging in and having 20 gold waiting for me in the mail from my in-game auctions. I'm saving up for one of the more prestigious "shinies" in WoW, the Epic Mount and I almost have enough gold for it. I killed critters for another hour or so and made another 20 gold, and before I logged I listed a few more auctions which should net me another 10 gold or so. It might seem boring and monotonous just killing mobs for hours on end, but the gold racks up, and I have a friendly guild that likes to chat a lot and most of my guild-mates are my age, married, with kids, so for me WoW is very much a social experience.

I crashed around 1:30 or so then snapped awake at 8:30. Liz made the excellent decision that we should go to Hometown Buffet for breakfast. Yummo! Now I have a tummy full of carb-heavy food, JE is with the in-laws, Amber will be napping real soon. Gonna get me a drink then dive into WoW and make some more gold. Epic Mount! Here I come!

*edit* Saturday night. I now have the gold but the Stormpike Guard don't love me. I need to kill more people, real people (in-game of course :P) to get the Stormpike to like me enough to sell me one of their Turbo Rams.

Forget those blankety-blank Snakes!!!

We got blankety-blank iPods on this blankety-blank Plane!!!

Now if you don't want to read the first two posts (pt I & pt II of the story) in that thread, I'll make a long story short. I know, I know, normally I make a long story even longer, so yes, this goes against my very nature.

Long story short.

US guy onna Plane onna trip to Ottawa goes to the toilet and accidentally drops his iPod in the bowl. He says he didn't realize it at the time so he flushed as per usual, washed his hands, then went back to his seat.

But the iPod didn't flush.

A minute or so later the guy hears one Stewardess talking to the other about there being something in the toilet stopping it from flushing, and maybe if they run some water they can clear it.

All embarrassed, thinking it's something he "did" in the toilet, the guy tries to act nonchalant by hooking up his iPod and tuning everything out...but his iPod is not on his belt, or in his pocket, or in his carry-on. The guy puts 2 & 2 together and realizes where his iPod is and what's blocking the toilet that has the Stewardesses all concerned.

He approaches one of the Stewardesses and informs her that he thinks he dropped his iPod in the toilet, so there's no need to call TSA or anything like that. The Stewardess tells him they already have. They offer their condolences, tell him it's unfortunate, etc. so the guy goes back to his seat and tries to act normal for a passenger whose actions have required that TSA be called.

Shortly before landing in Ottawa the pilot panics the passengers by announcing over the intercom that they've found a suspicious object in the toilet, and when their plane lands it's met by police & customs officers.

Acting on advice from the Stewardesses the guy gets off the plane last and tells a nearby Police Officer that the object is his iPod which fell into the toilet. The Cop takes down his name & license number but doesn't separate him from the passengers, instead everyone is taken to a hangar where they wait some more.

Finally the police announce that a table is being set up and everyone needs to form a line because every single passenger will be interviewed and asked for ID, etc. Our guy lines up but is taken away from his fellow passengers, frisked and subject to a more thorough interview, which included having the hard drive of his iMac searched for "child pornography, hate speech" etc.

The interviewers had a field day when they discovered that this out-of-work online gamer (he's a programmer who is "between jobs" after leaving Amazon.com) was there in Canada to meet a girl from his World of Warcraft guild, in other words, someone he met...online!!! Ooohhh!!! Very suspicious!!!

For five hours our guy and almost every other passenger were detained and questioned over an iPod in the toilet.

Should our guy have been questioned? Yeah, he should have. For 5-hours? Long after the bomb squad had examined his iPod and determined it was nothing more than an iPod? That in itself is questionable.

Cheating to Win

February 1981 was a dark month for the Australian Cricket Team.

On February 1st, in a one-day match (as opposed to a five-day test) between Australia and New Zealand, the game came down to the final ball of the day with the Kiwis needing a six just to tie the Australian's score of 235 runs. A tied game is just that; there is no overtime, the game is declared a tie. As it is impossible to score seven runs off a single delivery the Kiwis really had little chance of victory. Their only real chance lay in the final ball being declared a No Ball or a Wide, in which case the Kiwis would score a single run, and the bowler would be required to bowl another "final ball". The Kiwi batsman would then need to hit this new "final ball" ball almost 100 metres over the boundary fence, on the full. The Cricket equivalent of a Home Run.

In Cricket the Tail End batters are usually the team's bowlers, and are notoriously poor hitters, and the chances of a tail ender hitting a six are fairly slim. There are exceptions. The West Indies team has on occasion fielded a team where almost everyone could be considered a decent batsman. The Aussies themselves have had some big hitting Tail Enders, like Rod Marsh and Shane Warne, who rarely scored big but could usually be counted on to hit a couple of boundaries and maybe a six or two, before going out.

So the chances of the Kiwi batter hitting a six and even tying up the match were very slim.

The Aussie Captain, Ian Chappell, then made what could be considered the greatest mistake of his career. He ordered the Australian bowler, who just happened to be his younger brother, Trevor, to bowl his final ball underarm, which Trevor agreed to do. While slower than a regular over-the-shoulder delivery, the low height of the underarm delivery essentially denied the Kiwi batter any chance at all of hitting a six. Both Australians and New Zealanders were disgusted at the Aussie Cricket Team's actions and the rules of Cricket were shortly rewritten to prevent the underarm delivery from being used unless both Captains agreed beforehand.

The underarm ball was in the rules because it was de rigueur when cricket was first created. Today's over-the-shoulder method, in fact any method where the delivery arm was raised higher than the waist, was severely frowned upon.

It was in the rules. It was considered an acceptable method of bowling. The umpires were aware of Ian's orders to his brother and even informed the Kiwi batsman that the delivery would be underarm. Regardless, it just wasn't cricket. It was unsportsmanlike, and the rules were changed to prevent such low tactics being used in the future.

There was an article in a recent Sports Illustrated about a Little League Championship Match between two teams of nine & ten-year old boys. It's the bottom of the ninth. The batting team is down by one with two outs, but they have a runner on third and their biggest hitter is at the plate. The coach of the fielding team then gave his pitcher orders to walk the big hitter, because waiting behind him was their opponent's weakest hitter. The big hitter got walked, the weak hitter struck out, parents screamed, and the coaching staff almost came to blows. It was a strategic move and one commonly used in the Major Leagues, but these weren't professional adult players, these were little leaguers. Nine and ten year old boys. Learning the hard way how the game is played.

The author of the article stated that walking a batter, even a big hitter, has no place in a Little League game. I would argue that walking a batter has no place in any game, period. I hate seeing a big hitter get walked (unless it's Barry Bonds, they can walk that steroid abusing cheater until he retires and I'll cheer the whole time), I hate seeing a QB kneel down and run the clock out, I hate seeing basketball players deliberately foul a poor free throw shooter when the game is down to the wire (even if it's Shaq).

All of these actions are within the rules, just like bowling underarm, and just like Trevor Chappell's infamous delivery they're all unsportsmanlike. Using the rules to deprive your opponent of even the smallest chance of victory is cheating in my books. One day I'll need to talk to my son about my feelings on this.

People unclear on the concept

An elderly Jewish gentleman marries a much younger woman, but no matter what the husband does sexually, his young wife never achieves an orgasm.

Since a Jewish wife is entitled to sexual pleasure, they approach their rabbi and ask his advice. The rabbi listens to their story, strokes his beard, and makes the following suggestion:

"Hire a strapping young man, and while the two of you are making love, have the young man wave a towel over you. That will help the wife fantasize and bring on an orgasm."

So they go home and follow the rabbi's advice. They hire a handsome young man and he waves a towel over them as they make love, but it doesn't help and the young wife is still unsatisfied. They return to the rabbi and he says, "Let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife while you wave the towel over them."

Once again, they follow the rabbi's advice. The young man gets into bed with the wife while the husband stands over them waving the towel. The young man goes to work with great enthusiasm and the wife soon has an enormous, room-shaking, earsplitting orgasm.

The elderly husband smiles triumphantly at the young man and says to him, "You see, you young schmuck? That's how you wave a towel!"

My daughter has no say in it

This is the song that will be played at her wedding reception during the daddy-daughter dance.

A real WTF!?!?!?

I was driving home from the Bus Station today and there was this sort of annoying sound coming from the radio. It was on, and tuned into my favorite station, Country 93.9 KZLA...but...that wasn't country music I was hearing. So I turned it up a bit and there was Ace of Base singing their one-hit wonder "I saw the sign."

Um...ok...I kind of like that song, it's catchy, and it's a dance song from my party days...but it's not Country by any stretch.

As I pulled into the driveway Nelly was telling me it's getting hot in here so I should take off all my clothes. No thanks, Nelly, I don't swing that way...and WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING ON MY COUNTRY STATION?!?!?!

Now my radio has been playing up recently. It would cut out then return on its own agenda. Sometimes we would even switch stations but to no avail. If we were listening to KROQ, it didn't matter which button we tried or what frequency the display showed, we continued listening to KROQ.

So I got inside and turned on the stereo in our family room, and there was Nelly, on 93.9, repeating how hot it was.

I went to KZLA's website but the information there was rather ambiguous. I called them but their 800 number was engaged, and their business line wasn't being answered. It wasn't until I emailed their Program Director and immediately got an Out of Office auto-reply that my fears were confirmed.

93.9 is no longer Country but has become Rhythmic A/C, whatever that means.

Actually I know what it means. It means it's time for the Cap'n to get cliche, chew some gum and kick some arses, and the Cap'n is all out of gum.

I need Country music and I need it NOW, DAMMIT!

WTF ? ? ?

Well not really WTF situations, more just random thoughts, but WTF is so much more attention grabbing :)

We'll start off with a real WTF though.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Somebody told me that you had a boyfriend who looks like a girlfriend that I had in February..."

WTF kind of lyrics are these? Is someone's boyfriend/girlfriend a cross dresser? These are the kind of lyrics that generate discussions along the lines of:

"WTF kind of lyrics are these?"

"You just don't understand them."

"You're right, I don't. So explain them to me."

"You wouldn't understand them anyway."

"Noo, that just means you don't understand them either."

"I understand them, I just can't explain them to you because you wouldn't understand them."

"That means you don't understand them."

"I do understand them!"

"So explain them to me."

"You wouldn't understand them."

"WTF EVER!!!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After making a purchase, when you get your change do you like the notes/bills to be a certain way, and do you rearrange them so they're all facing the same way and sorted by value? Or do you just stuff the wad of crumpled up notes into your purse/wallet?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What time do you wait to call the cops to report your neighbors for partying too hard & too loud? 10pm? 11pm? Midnight? This is if you don't know your neighbors well enough to get invited to said party, or don't know which of the ignorant SOBs is blasting crappy dance music with way too much bass until 1am Sunday morning.
Is it ok to tell the cops you think you heard gun shots and screaming?
Don't say you did, just say you think you did.
"I don't know, it sounded like gun shots...maybe it was their TV."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

People who make a left turn from the middle of the road (driving US style, adapt to country of residence) and block you from going past on their right. People who sit in the left lane and don't turn on their turn signal until after they get a green light so you're now stuck behind them while they wait for oncoming traffic. Oncoming drivers who turn left (or right) without using their turn signal so you yield to them thinking they're going straight ahead. People in front of you making a left turn at a light (with their turn signal on) who never pull into the intersection until after the light has changed so you're forced to wait for the next green. People waiting to make a right who "yield" to the pedestrian who needs to cross 6 lanes of traffic before he'd be impeded by their vehicle.

Is it justifiable to shoot any or all of these drivers?
Actually you can get a ticket (here in the U.S.) for not yielding to a Ped even if they just stepped onto the road and it will take them 20 seconds to get to your location.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Compact Space Only" - Is it ok to open your door into the side of the SUV shoe-horned into the "Compact" space next to your car? How many times is it permissible to do this? Should "Compact Only" Parking Structures have low entrances that prevent a vehicle taller than 6-feet from entering? Should this be clearly marked, or should it be up to the driver to obey the "Compact Only" sign? Is it ok to wait for the driver of the SUV and taser him when he finally returns? What if it's a soccer mom, is it ok to taser her and the kids? Or just her?

Gillette are officially nuts

A 5-blade razor? With a battery for extra follicle stimulation?

I think it might almost be time to revert to a former look...

My kids freak me out

by doing exactly what I did when I was their age.

A couple of years back I was talking to my Dad on the phone when JE ran across the sofa. He ran across the cushions, but not in the middle of the sofa, he ran across the front of the cushions, where your knees go. Now it's only a 1-foot drop to the floor but it was a wooden floor (maybe even slate, it was at a relative's house on the other side of the country, so I've only ever been there once) and JE was young and fragile and my startled exclamation made my Dad laugh because he knew JE had done something I would have done at his age.

As the wheel turns.

Our daughter, who's not even two, has taken to pushing her small chairs across the floor to our desks and then climbs up to stand on them. This freaks me out as well!

I know a lot of kids break bones playing and just being kids...but I don't want the kids with broken bones to be my kids! I was bad enough as a child and I have the scars to prove it.

Kids, please, just calm down and sit down here in the middle of the floor in this nice, padded room, far away from anything harmful...now stay there for the next 20 years.

Thank you. I feel much better.

Shaving

I doubt it's just me, maybe it is, but I doubt it. When I shave with my electric razor at work I almost always shave my neck and the sides of my face first, leaving the obligatory goatee, one of which I had for a few years. Then I'll shave my chin, leaving a mustache, which gets shaved off last. Sometimes I'll shave the mustache first, leaving a chin-only goatee.

I think I look good with a goatee, a little hard even, especially with my old goatee which at its longest made me look a little like Jim "The Anvil" Neidhart. Pictures are not currently available :P

I don't think I look so good with a mustache.

What, me worry?

Gay Pride

Offer them coffee, and they ask for mud

We had a rather fun "welcome to the new office" meeting yesterday afternoon. It was established that everyone and not just the chiefs & big-wigs will receive key card access to all doors, which was met with a resounding cheer. Previously we'd been forced to come in the front door only, yet we could leave the office by any door. The big-wigs, on the other hand, can come and go as they please.

One Inspector also enquired as to why we couldn't have our drip-filter coffee pot in the new breakroom. Our Bureau Chief asked why we didn't have it. Confusion reigned for a minute as everyone thought everyone else had said NO to the pot, then the Bureau Chief said if we had it, it was fine by him if we set it up. Keep in mind we already have a Keurig machine which makes a freshly brewed 8oz cup of coffee, in the flavor and strength of your choice, whenever you want it, but some people still want the coffee from the pot.

As soon as the meeting was over I located the pot, placed it on the counter next to our Keurig machine, plugged it in, and walked away. In the cupboard above the pot is the grinder, coffee beans and filters, and while I might be in charge of the Keurig machine (ordering supplies, paying bills, etc), I was not the one who brought up the coffee pot topic. I don't want the thing, and I'll be damned if I'm spending half my day making coffee for people. Plus I've been cutting way back on my coffee consumption, some days I don't even have a single cup, so I'm not making 10 pots of coffee a day for other people to drink. It's not in my job description, and until the Bureau Chief tells me I have to do it, I'm not doing it.

This morning the Inspector who spoke up in the meeting stopped by my desk and said to me with a grin that he bet I was glad I had the coffee pot back, just one more thing to take care of.

No, I said, with an equally large shit-eating grin on my face.

You're not going to make the coffee, he asked.

No, I replied, still grinning like a lunatic. If people want coffee from the pot I'm sure someone will make it, I told him.

Like R! the Inspector said, equally happy that "someone else" would be making the coffee.

Now R! might make a pot or two here and there, I thought, but even R! is not going to be happy, or willing, to make every single pot of coffee.

If people want drop filtered coffee instead of hi-tech freshly brewed coffee, they can make it themselves. Mwah hah ha!

Jumping on the band wagon...NOT!!!

Mel Gibson got a little bit drunk, drove his car a little bit fast, then made a few racist /antisemitic comments. Why do we care? Because he's Mel Gibson! If I did the same thing, would you care? No, but then I'm not Mel Gibson. I'm also not Naveed Afzal Haq.

Mel just made a few inappropriate comments while under the influence, not unlike a lot of people when they get drunk. I know I've done it, if you've been plastered before you probably have too. But Naveed...he did a whole lot more than make a few inappropriate comments. No prizes for guessing who received more attention from the Press though.

Paul Hogan gave an interview a few years back, after he left Australia and traded in his wife of 30+ years for a younger model. Hoges copped a lot of flack from the Aussies over that, and in this one particular interview he said something along the lines of how his actions hadn't changed the way people perceived him. He said he'd always had his knockers (not boobs but detractors & critics) and they'd always been looking for something to hold against him. Those people had never liked him, and his leaving Noelene for Linda was just another reason for them to rag on him. Hoges said his real fans, the people who loved him, they understood that not all marriages last so his leaving Noelene for Linda was no big deal.

Back to Mel Gibson. How do I feel about Mel making antisemitic comments? I don't really care either way. When Liz told me what had happened I shook my head and said "Aah, Mel." and that was it. If you loved Mel before this, you probably still love him, and maybe even feel a little sad for him. If you hated Mel, then this is just more anti-Mel ammunition for you. If you, like me, don't really care either way, you probably still don't care either way. After all, he's only Mel Gibson.

Hot makes you cold, and vice versa

Because of the physiology of our bodies, drinking cold water or liquids when we're hot does not make us cooler (the consumption of liquid nitrogen, oxygen, or any other super cooled liquid being the exception, of course). By drinking a cold beverage you fool your body into thinking your core is cooler than what it actually is, and when we're cold our body reduces the flow of blood to our skin surface and extremities to reduce heat loss, so we're making our body do the very opposite of what we really need it to do. By drinking a hot beverage the reverse occurs, our body thinks our core is hotter than what it actually is so it increases the flow of blood to our skin surface and extremities to promote heat loss; despite this, when we're hot and sweaty a hot cup of tea or coffee is usually the last thing on our minds.

I was on the Elliptical Trainer at the gym this morning for all of 12 minutes. I started off at 130spm(strides per minute), after about 3 minutes stepped it up to 150spm for 5 minutes, then finished off the last two minutes or so at 170spm, before slowing right down for a couple of minutes around 100spm. Apparently I burned up 1600 calories in just 12 minutes. I didn't really start perspiring until about 5 minutes in to the workout, but the difference between the Elliptical Trainer and the Treadmill is not just in the impact level of the workout (with two dodgy knees I want as low impact as I can get), I usually don't perspire anywhere near as much using a treadmill as I do on the Elliptical Trainer. I also seem to have to run for 20 to 30 minutes on a treadmill for it to tell me I've burned anywhere near 1000 calories, let alone 1600.

Let's see...if I have a 3-foot (or 1 yard) stride, then in the 12 minutes I did:
3x130 + 5x150 + 2x170 + 2x100 = 1680 strides
1680 strides = 0.95 miles in 12 minutes = approx. 4.75 miles per hour
which is not even what I set the treadmill on for a workout, so why was I sweating like a pig for doing considerably less than the average treadmill workout, and why was I still sweating at work almost an hour later...well that was because the building management decided to follow Mayor Villaraigosa's idiotic directive and set the thermostat at 78F so it's not like the building was cool when we got here.

But if my calculations are correct, I took approx. 1600 strides, and the machine claimed I burned off 1600 calories...that's like 1 calorie per step! I reckon I burned off more though, what with the rate I was perspiring even after I'd finished exercising, but still...1600 calories in 12 minutes??? I dont even burn off that much after 30 minutes on the treadmill.

How can 12 minutes on the Elliptical Trainer provide a more intensive workout than 30 minutes on the treadmill? Riddle me that, Edward Nigma.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I miss you :(

The war on Tourism...I mean Terrorism

This is bloody ridiculous!

The Property Manager of Southgate, a very large Mall and popular tourist shopping spot in Melbourne, Australia, is upset because some tourists were taking photographs of "obscure things...things that would be of no interest to put in a photo album". The items being photographed were facades of buildings, i.e., shop fronts, which I'm sure some people would find interesting. Maybe Ms. Barrance does not find them interesting, although she's Property Manager of Southgate so I'd think she should be fascinated by facades of buildings, but that doesn't mean other people wouldn't be fascinated by them.

When we were in Australia we took a photograph of a mural inside a large department store that featured a male model. The mural had been painted over a wall and a door in such a way that the door "knob" was in an extremely inappropriate but very amusing position, in relation to the male model, that is. So we took a photograph of it. No, we didn't display it in a photo album, but we showed it to several friends when we got back :)

Tourists take photographs of things, often things we consider mundane and ordinary, but these are tourists, this is the first, last, & only time they might see these things, even if it's just a shop front. I walk down the streets of Los Angeles and people are taking photographs and video taping everything and anything. If it moves, shoot it. I understand. I did that when I first got here, too. I took many, many photographs of downtown Los Angeles. When we got the photos developed Liz asked me where I'd taken them. I told her they'd all been taken within a block of her office, and yet it was the first time she'd seen most of those objects and buildings.

I think Ms. Barrance needs to learn the difference between a tourist and a terrorist.

Eccythump, this one's for you

I've brought over a lot of stuff from Australia, including almost an entire suitcase full of Games Workshop miniatures (1.5" high, plastic models for table top battle games). One of those games was Necromunda, a game Eccythump and I spent many months playing and arguing over, on account of the rules being a little ambiguous and so Eccy and I could never agree on exactly which rule applied in each situation.

A week or so ago, JE discovered the clear plastic storage box containing the Necromunda game, the box of which is decorated with savage looking punks with bright red mohawks wielding very BIG Guns. Guns deserves a capital G because they have really BIG Guns.

Being 6-years old JE immediately wanted to play with this fascinating looking game, unfortunately many of the pieces are missing, on account of me leaving the game in the care of my 6 year old nephew for 6 years. I don't blame the nephew, I left it for him because he'd always wanted to play with it but I knew exactly what would happen if he did, and I left it to him anyway. The plastic models were also mostly unpainted on account of me being a lazy bastard, and Eccy and I didn't really care about them being unpainted, we just had fun playing and arguing and spending quality time together.

Today I bought new paints (on account of the old ones being dried up, after 5+ years of non-use ;) and just spent over 2 hours painting 6 models. And the following pics are the results of my 2+ hours of concentration. Not fantastic, not bad, but not great work either. But then all I wanted to do was get a few models painted for JE to play with, and he's not going to care about a slap dash job, he just wants to play with them.

Aah, Eccy. Those were the good old days. When are you next coming to visit us? It's only a 15-hour plane ride ;)

Here's the best of the pics. One of them is not so hot, but it shows 5 of the 6 models I painted, all together. The pics are clickable and will blow up to Epic Proportions if you do so. Fairly warned be thee, says I.

An illegitimate minority?

I'm seriously considering checking the "Other" category on any form that ask for my ethnicity (other than those where I might get in trouble from the Feds), then writing in Australian-American, for that's what I am. I think if someone whose family has never set foot outside of the U.S. anytime in the last 200 years can claim to be an African-American, I, who have only been here in the U.S. for 8 years, can call myself an Australian-American.

I'm an American citizen but I don't think like an American, but after being here for eight years I also no longer think quite like an Australian. I'm not an American, and I'm not an Australian; I'm an Australian-American. In fact that's legally correct because I am a citizen of both countries.

I'm sure I'll get funny looks from some people, but I'll just explain that while I may look Caucasian, I'm actually an Australian-American.

Use Google for good, not evil

Actually it's not so much evil...just googling the wrong things, and not even the wrong things, really, just sometimes I google my previous life, like the Twin Cities Archery Club. I used to belong to this club. Shot in a few tournaments with them. Won a few trophies. Had a good time with the gang. I just googled them now (as you can probably tell) and it made me depressed. Not because of anything that's happened, just because this is one more chapter in my life that's closed to me now. I know the President and Secretary. I could email them...but there's no point. We might email each other back and forth, and then we'd stop, and life would go on, as it always does.

Circus! Curcus!

We took JE to the Circus last night, it was pretty good, and the seats Liz bought were awesome, just 3 rows from ringside. The Circus (or at least Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey, whose show we saw) appear to be giving their shows a theme and tying everything in together; this time around it was the Circus of Dreams, where all of your dreams can come true.

A "family" was randomly picked out of the audience, and they just happened to be sitting in the very front row, right in front of us in fact. Dad, Mom, older daughter, Jan, and younger brother, Dan, all ran into the center ring and were asked what their "dream Circus job" was. As soon as Dad opened his mouth it was obvious they were plants. "Well that's easy," said Dad, "I want to be the Ring Master so everyone has to do what I say." And with that a bright red, sequined Ring Master's jacket was lowered from the ceiling and "Dad" slid it on. "Oh yeah! This is great," he said, as he ran off backstage. Mom said she wanted to be a trapeze aerialist and a ring was lowered from the ceiling. Mom climbed in, showing too much familiarity with the ring than would be expected in a non-Circus Mom, and the ring was hoisted away up into the ceiling. Jan said she wanted to be a Circus Dancer. She received a multi-colored wraparound skirt like that worn by the other Circus Dancers, and when she put it on and stepped in with the Dancers she was indistinguishable.

Then Dan spoke up saying he was just a little kid, what could he do? Quite a lot, really. Dan, like Dad, Mom, & Jan, was a ringer. He was actually one of the youngest actors in the Chinese Theatre group which gave three performances throughout the evening. As well as the very athletic Chinese acrobats we were treated to several performances by the Clowns. The Cossack Horse Riders also gave several excellent shows, and were later described by Liz as "yummy". She then had to explain to our 6-year old son with the big ears what "yummy" meant :D

Madame Shamshiva gave two performances which involved a lot of tricks with dogs, cats, and doves, but midway through her second performance I started to develop a dislike for her. The trained animals were very good, I just got bad vibes from her. Maybe it was the way one of the dogs cowered from her and rolled onto his back, which is what he was meant to do, the rolling on the back that is, not the cowering. Maybe it was that she seemed to take all of the credit for the animals, and accepted all the accolades when they performed a difficult trick, rather than directing your applause to the animal who actually performed the trick. Yes, she may have trained them, but to me she gave off a vibe of "I taught him that. Aren't I clever?"

The real highlight of the show was the Globe of Death, or something like that. Three motorbikes (the enduro variety, not street bikes) rode up the ramp and inside the Globe, positioned themselves, then began riding around the inside of the Globe until they were actually riding sideways, then they began riding higher and darting in among each other, crisscrossing in an awesome display of skill (& trust) where one wrong move would have been catastrophic. Then another bike joined them and their dance with death resumed. Then two more bikes rode in and it was just a blur of machinery inside the Globes as everyone rode seemingly at random between everyone else, but in what was obviously a brilliantly choreographed dance. I guess you'd start that with two bikes, but it's not something that could be practiced at slow speeds, because at times the bikes were doing complete loops, riding upside-down across the roof of the Globe, and there's no way you can slowly ride a bike upside down. I forget if there were eventually 6 or 7 bikes inside zipping around and missing each other by inches, but as the riders set a new World Record for 5 bikes inside the Globe of Death way back in 2003, I suspect it was probably 7.

All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening.

Yahoo Maps? What's that?

I may never use Yahoo Maps again (except for the fact that I have a ton of saved addresses in My Yahoo Maps®) because Google Maps are Friggin' AWESOME! Did they recently upgrade their Maps? Or have they always been this awesome?

Type in the address, maximize the window, and there's a full screen Map, not like this piddly little thing Yahoo gives you. Need to zoom in on an area, position the mouse cursor over your point of interest and roll the mouse wheel forward. Want to Zoom out, same thing but in reverse. Want to scroll the map? Left click & hold anywhere on the map...and drag! It's that simple!

Printing. Google Maps provide a much easier to read map than Yahoo.

But the real clincher, more for the fun & wowness factor, is the button in the top right corner that says Satellite. Click it and the Map changes to a recent Satellite photo that can be Zoomed in to disturbing levels.

I can see my House!!!

Scratch & Sniff : Public Transport

Aah, the smells of Public Transport.

This morning on the bus the guy that chose to stand over top of me had an interesting aroma that I just couldn't quite place. It wasn't B.O., but it was definitely an unwashed kind of odor, and when I finally placed it, man did I wish I hadn't.

It was stale urine, as if the guy had pissed in his pants a few days ago and hadn't washed them or even changed out of them.

This afternoon, thankfully just a few stops before mine, no, it wasn't the same guy; an older guy got on and I offered him the seat next to me (I had the aisle seat). After he sits down he turns to me and says "thank you", and I pretty damn near got drunk right there. This guy was also pissed, but in a different way than the morning guy.

We drove past the police station and the guy tells me he works there. Phew! I try to avoid breathing whatever the hell he's blowing out coz he reeks more than the morning guy. Then, he tells me they've been knocking back a few at work.

Like it's not already obvious!

This guy continued to talk the rest of the way, changing subjects almost every sentence, and blowing out a massive amount of alcohol fumes with every breath. I've never been so glad to get to my stop. I said goodbye to the old lush, got off the bus and staggered, I mean walked home.

Sixth Sense 2 *Contains spoilers*

Do a Ctrl-A or just click & drag to highlight the below text.

Why did Malcom's patient shoot him at the start of SS(1)? Because Malcolm didn't help him like he said he would.

In SS2 it's revealed that Malcolm's patient (& murderer) is actually an adult Cole. In SS(1) Malcolm's ghost actually traveled back in time to find and treat a young Cole, but as we all know from the end of SS(1), while Malcolm accepts his death and moves on, Cole still sees dead people!

Now, after years of seeing dead people at all hours of the day and night (as will be chronicled in SS2), Cole goes insane and takes out his frustration on the one person who he thinks let him down most, Dr. Malcolm Crowe.

The mandatory Shyamalan twist being that Malcolm won't even attempt to help Cole until after Cole has killed him!

Babies; nature's chemical weapons

Liz falls for it almost every time. I pick Amber up and stick her butt in Liz's face and ask if she thinks Amber is dirty, so Liz takes a big sniff. And that's definitely the wrong thing to do when someone shoves a baby's butt in your face :D

Using Blogging powers for good, not evil

Mog's Blog reminded me of my recent trip to the Vet/Kennel where I was picking up Anzac (who we're trying to find a new home for, by the way, so if you live in the Los Angeles area, or even the Southern California area, and are in the market for a good doggy, check out this page.)

Mog stopping to pick up a kitten abandoned on the highway reminded me of the kitten a chap brought into the Vets while I was there. The little guy can't have been much more than four weeks old yet someone had dumped him in this fellow's yard. The reason for the dumping was quite clear; although the kitten was very cute, his left eye was twice the size of his right and it was obvious he'd need surgery, but it was just as obvious that he was destined to go through life with one eye. So someone didn't want to deal with the expense of taking care of the kitten, and couldn't even be stuffed taking him to the animal shelter and claiming they'd found him, so they just dumped him in someone else's yard. Nice one, asshole, solve your problem by making it someone else's problem.

In the two days that the chap said he'd had him, the kitten had totally bonded with him; finding himself a surrogate mother. The guy was most likely in for several hundred dollars of Vets' bills, and at the end of it all, his new pet would still be missing one eye, but the guy didn't seem overly concerned with that; he was more concerned with making sure the kitten got taken care of, properly.

Some people are pet people, some people should never be allowed near pets.

More from the douche bag

This guy is great! :)

I told you I love to hate him. And it's not just me, either, everyone loves to hate him...or maybe everyone just hates him :P The guy loves to talk, but he always seems to ask the most inane questions. Today we had an hour long training session with a Cisco Rep on how to use our new Cisco phones (which come with voicemail), and we lucked out and had Mr. D in our session. When the Cisco Rep was talking about the voicemail, Mr. D asks her what they're supposed to do with voicemails. The Cisco Rep appears confused by Mr D's question, and rightly so, because it's definitely a "what the f**k???" kind of question.

"Um, what do you mean, what do you do with voicemails?"

First up Mr D blows his own trumpet by saying many people know his name, as if he's extremely important (more likely everyone knows his name so they know who to avoid), then he elaborates, explaining that because everyone knows him, he keeps getting calls from people so he has all these voicemails (today is our second day in the new office with voicemail), but as Mr D continues with his story he informs us that it's actually the one guy who's called and he just leaves his name and number but no message. And apparently he's left ten messages since yesterday.

Mr D explains that there's no actual message, just a name and a number, and he appears averse to just returning the call and asking why this fellow keeps calling him, so, what should he do? Should he forward the messages to someone? What...should he...do?

The Rep takes in the room and our expressions, and she realizes that we're all familiar with Mr D and his WTF questions, so she goes with the flow and tells Mr D that if this guy has left 10 messages for him, maybe he should return his calls.

As Mr D is about to ask something equally stupid, or perhaps repeat his question in the hope that he will be provided with some magical number to which he can forward all his voicemails and never have to deal with them himself, two other coworkers cut him off and ask slightly more relevant questions, like how many days will messages remain in the voicemail box, and how many messages can it hold. Everyone thinks Mr D will be the first to discover the answer to that second question. With the training session over everyone got up to leave, except for Mr D who apparently stayed behind to ask more WTF questions.

One of the best features of our new phones is call forwarding. We decided we should set up Call Forward so all our incoming calls go to Mr D's line. We also thought of leaving voicemails for him using a funny voice and giving Mr D's own number, so if he ever returns our calls he will get his own voicemail. Mr D makes life so much fun :)

Where's my coffee?

We moved to our new office today (finally merged with the crew from the Main Office after 5 years, that I've been here) , and I find out I'm still in charge of the coffee. I thought I'd be able to fob it off on some poor, unsuspecting schmoe from the Main Office but no such luck. It's a little annoying, and disruptive, to be in charge of the coffee. I get bugged a few times a day for change (because I keep all the money, I think I'll just start telling people I have no change) or because the pot needs refilling, and yet we have a Keurig machine which makes an 8oz cup of freshly brewed coffee whenever you need it.

In preparation for the move I did some OT this past weekend. There were a few peeps in the office but I was the only one there that drank coffee, so I was damned if I was going to make a 12-cup pot of coffee for me; I just used the Keurig machine. Mid-way through the morning one of the guys I love to hate showed up.

Just to bitch about this guy for a minute, we used to host training sessions for engineers from other bureaus, and we'd cater for those sessions, brewing up a pot of coffee and bring in donuts and pastries. Although there was also coffee in the break room, this guy would come into the conference room and help himself to a cup of coffee and a donut or two, but he'd wait until nobody was in there to pull this shit. It got so you couldn't leave the room for a second or he'd be in there eating everything. In the break room we have both the Keurig machine, and a drip filter pot. The drip filter coffee is crap, compared to the Keurig stuff, but this guy drinks the drip filter coffee and claims it's gourmet stuff (I make it, it's nothing flash, it's the cheapest coffee I can buy at those office supply stores. It's crap), but I think he drinks the pot stuff so he doesn't have to pay for it. The pot coffee is donation, whatever you want to pay for it. 25c, 50c, 60c, doesn't matter. The Keurig is 60c a cup, not negotiable, unless you want to pay more. This guy got the idea in his head that the drip filter coffee is free, and despite being told otherwise, in his mind it's free so he never pays for it. Every time you tell him it's not free, he acts amazed as if that's the first time he's heard that.

So he gets in to work on Saturday, goes into the breakroom, comes out and asks me what they're doing about the coffee. I play dumb with him because as I said earlier, I love to hate this jerk.

The machine is in there, I say.

But there's no coffee, he says.

Sure there is, I say. There's a whole rack of the K-cups for the coffee machine.

In the pot? he asks, probably really confused.

I relent and tell him I wasn't making a pot for just a couple of people so he can just use the machine.

Now this is why I love to hate this guy.

Instead of paying 60c for a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the Keurig machine in our breakroom, this guy hits the streets of downtown L.A. on a Saturday morning, in search of a coffee shop, where he will probably spend $2 or more for a cup of ordinary coffee. Of course while he's out for an hour he's still billing OT, even though he's not actually working in the office. Finally, when he gets back in, he complains that nothing is open, at 8:30am, in downtown L.A., on a Saturday morning.

So today we move into the new office, we're finding our cubicles and getting used to a new office layout, we're unpacking all our boxes (almost everyone has 10 boxes, some people have a lot more), the office is pretty much a madhouse.

And this guy comes up to me and asks what we're doing about coffee.

I play dumb again, but I'm busy unpacking and setting up computers for me and my girls so I'm not really into the game today. The best I can manage to do is to tell him the Keurig machine will be installed tomorrow (the vendor took it away Monday and is hopefully servicing it prior to it's reinstallation in our new office).

What about today? asks this guy.

We've got a cafeteria downstairs, I tell him (and we do, it's a friggin' awesome cafeteria). I tell him, if you want coffee, go downstairs and get a cup.

I just know once the Keurig machine is set up tomorrow, he's going to ask where the drip filter pot is. But because the biggest wig in the office doesn't want a drip filter pot in the breakroom, we're not setting it up. This guy won't be pleased, but I don't give a shit.

Actually I must give at least a shit, or I wouldn't have posted this :P

I wish we lived in the south, coz this guy is the perfect candidate for that unbeatable southern defense plea: "He just needed killin'."

Real Life in dreams

I hit snooze a couple of times this morning. The third time the alarm went off I was dreaming I was in a planetarium with Liz and we were lying back watching the star show but it turned into one of those 3D-rides you go on at Amusement Parks, where you watch the movie as the seats move around and you feel like you really are flying over Antarctica in a helicopter.

When the alarm went off the song on the radio intruded into my dream but it didn't wake me up, it just became the background track for the 3D-movie. Liz eventually had to shove me to wake me up :P

I've turned alarm clocks off in my dreams before. Quite literally picked up the alarm clock in my dream (and in real life, too, I guess) and turned the alarm off, and the dream continued on but without the alarm ringing.

The most bizarre time I did this I was playing soccer (in my dream of course) on the field at my old Primary School and when the alarm went off I noticed a door in the field, like a storm shelter door. I opened the door and went down the steps and sitting on a shelf in this storm shelter was a ringing alarm clock. I picked it up, turned off the alarm, and went back up on to the field and continued my game of soccer.

Not Safe For Work

Nooooo, definitely not safe for work, or kiddies, or prudes, or Republicans...not even sure the Democrats would like this one. Nope, you've got to have a wicked sense of humor (and some privacy) to appreciate "Do you take it?" by The Wet Spots.

So long, and thanks for the Fish Tape

Before we went out earlier I threw out some trash, and as I threw it into the dumpster I saw an extremely long strip of narrow metal and I thought, that looks like a Fish Tape. Liz doesn't like me Dumpster Diving and as she was already in the car with Amber I knew I had no chance of checking out my hunch, so out we went.

When we returned and put Amber to bed she had a poopy diaper, so I took it straight out to the dumpster (rather than leave it in our bin in the kitchen all night to stink our house up) and when I lifted the lid of the dumpster, there was my Fish Tape. In I went and as soon as I grabbed the tape I knew my hunch was correct. I managed to pull it out and the only problem with it was the handle had come off the side so the Fish Tape couldn't be wound back into the case.

No problem. There was still a square bit where the handle had been attached (it looks more like the handle slips on and off this square, so maybe they just lost the handle) and I have spanners, so I took the Fish Tape into the garage, took out a 1/2" spanner, which fit the square perfectly, and using the spanner as a handle I wound the Fish Tape back into the case.

I was going to buy a Fish Tape because at some point I want to run the Internet/Cable TV cables down the inside of family room wall behind the TV, and I'll need Fish Tape to do that. But it's worth the trouble of doing that because that will look a damn sight more professional than what we currently have; cables emerging from the closet, running across the wall, over the top of the door frame, and in behind the TV. Yep, now I can do a professional cable install...but when I'm ready and not a moment before :P

Actually my sister & her husband will be here later this year, and he's an Electrical Engineer. Not quite the same as an Electrician, but damn close to it. I might enlist his help with this little project ;)

* EDIT *

Fish Tape is a thin, narrow, strip of metal with a hook of some kind on the end; in my case, it has a spiral of wire akin to a spring. The fish tape is fed down into the space inside a wall, between the drywall and the studs, until it reaches the hole you've cut in the drywall for your TV cable to come through. You then attach a thin piece of wire to the hook (wire spring) and reel in the Fish Tape, which pulls the wire up along with it. You now have a piece of thin wire in your attic running down inside the wall to the hole in the drywall which is where you'll put your TV cable outlet. In the attic is also your Cable TV cable, which you attach to the thin piece of wire. You then pull the wire back down which pulls the Cable TV cable along with it, and now, you have a small hole in your drywall with your Cable TV cables coming out of it. Finally you feed the Cable TV cable through the hole in your outlet plate, attach the plate to the wall, and you have a professionally installed (or so it would seem) Cable TV outlet where none existed before.
You do this so you don't have cables emerging from your closet and running around the floor and through doorways and across ceilings.

It's the first day of Summer!

I don't know, it might be, it might not be. I'm just being silly because Hermes, or Mr. Crabs (depending on the time of day and who's asking) has finally resurfaced. It seems like he went underground three weeks ago, and I was starting to worry about the little guy. What he was doing was molting, again. This is the second time that I know of but I'm sure he's molted more than twice. But now that he's located on the kitchen bench next to the sink he's more visible than he was when he was on top of the toy shelf in the corner of the living room. He also seems to like his new location a little more. He seems to be more active (not that we paid him much attention when he was in the corner), and a couple of times he's actually climbed on top of his log hut (a half circle of pine bark placed on its side). He may also be ready for a new shell now. When I look at the shell he was in when Liz bought him, it's so tiny compared to how large he is now. I might have to stop at the pet store and pick up another shell or two for him.

Why do Manequins have nipples?

Anatomic Correctness is the obvious answer, but while that explains proportionality of legs to arms to torsos to heads, and yes, breasts, that doesn't explain why female manequins need nipples on those breasts. The only logical answer I can come up with is so when skimpier lines of clothing are being designed, the designers can take into account the nipple location and thus ensure sufficient coverage of the nipple occurs.

The illogical answer, and the one I fear to be more accurate, is that over the years manequin sculptors developed a wicked sense of humor, or perhaps they had it all along, but in more prudish times were never allowed to express themselves. Now, in more open, accepting times (unless you're a homosexual who wants to get married to another homosexual) the average person finds nothing wrong with walking past a manequin that seems to be feeling the cold.

So, has anyone observed a male manequin in his natural state, or near-undress? Do they possess Anatomic Correctness bordering on the obscene? The question that then springs to mind is, on what side does a male manequin dress? Or are male manequins, like Barbie's on-again/off-again boyfriend Ken, in possession of nothing more than a small plastic mound?

Is it the weekend yet?

Today was my RDO (Rostered Day Off) but did I get the day off?

No, I still had to work.

Fortunately my other boss got up before I did to attend to our daughter, who managed to wake our son up, and I actually got to sleep in for half an hour or so...past 7am that is. But even 7am is technically a two hour sleep in, so it's all good.

JE had his final dentist appointment (until his regularly scheduled check-up in September) so we all went to that, then we dropped him at school and swung by my mate's place to borrow his SUV for the day. He'd already told me it would need gas. "There's a gas station just down the road," he says, as he takes a small gas can down from his garage shelf and shakes it. "Yeah, I think this should be enough to get you there." He then empties the gas can into the SUV's tank. I get in, start it up, and the needle is marginally above empty...if I use my imagination.

My mate's SUV has a real gearbox, but fortunately I know what to do with the third pedal so it's not an issue. If anything, driving a manual (stick) in the U.S. is easier than in Australia because here I'm shifting with my right hand, and I'm right-handed. In Australia you shift with your left hand unless you have a column shift...I think. It's been so long I can't remember if an Aussie car's column-shifter is on the right or left.

I made it to the gas station and put in a little over four gallons of gas, and paid $15 for the privelage, which constituted a quarter of a tank, i.e., $60 to fill this baby from Empty, I continue my journey to Ikea in West Covina. Driving on the freeway for the first time in years in a manual (I had a Puegot with a manual gearbox many years ago) was not an issue. Merging from the 605S onto the 10E was also not a huge issue, if you ever drive through that interchange in L.A. you'll know why I specifically mention it here. Got to Ikea without a problem and Liz and the baby arrived shortly afterwards.

After a bit of a run around, returning some things, keeping others which couldn't be returned because Ikea no longer sell them, eating lunch, etc, we got the under & over bedset the in-laws wanted and it was time to head back home. Just before I left I helped a lady get a HUGE Ikea box into her Ford Focus station wagon. Nobody else was around, no attendants, no other customers, and the poor lady was looking so distressed that I felt compelled to help her out. (This is what being a Christian is all about, helping each other in times of need. Not accosting customers as they leave their local 7-11 and telling them Jesus loves them and that we're living in the end of days and unless we repent we'll be left behind and lady, shut the fuck up. That's what my lovely wife told her).

Liz followed me home from the Ikea, then it was off to the local Sam's Club to pick up two Twin matresses (Why the f**k is a single matress called a Twin? It's a single matress. A Twin is actually a double bed matress, but no, a Double is really a Full. At least we can agree that a Queen is a Homosexual and a King is a...CAL-KING??? What the f**k is a Cal-King? Well it's not as wide as a regular King, but it's got the length, baby! You know what I'm talking about, size matters, right? Er...how did we get onto this conversation?

Back to the topic at hand. I dropped one of the Twin/Single matresses at our house (for use later in the year when the family comes to visit) and headed for the in-laws, arriving just seconds before the FIL got there with JE, having picked him up from school. I got a good workout (by carrying a Twin/Single matress up two flights of stairs, as well as two heavy boxes) and sweating like a pig started assembling the under & over beds, finishing just after the FIL got back from his doctor's appointment.

We returned Spyfor's SUV and hung out for a little while, and so arrived late for dinner with the in-laws where they were shouting us at our favorite local chinese restaurant (where they know us by name, I'm the gwai lo 鬼佬) . Dinner was great but after a long, hot, tiring day, all I really wanted to do was get home and have a shower. I haven't done that yet because we had to put our daughter down to bed and the little angel wouldn't go to sleep straight away, and our bathroom is right next to her bedroom, so we're on the computers instead...but at least I got to update my Blog ;)

Later all. Shower time, finally.

When ingenuity meets opportunity

Just...wow!

And now, the Million Dollar Blog.

All Hail, the Haiku Grandmaster!

Haiku Grandmaster?
Hail, the Haiku Grandmaster!
Hail, Cap'n John! Hail!

What a racket

A "disabled, homeless" conman boarded my bus this morning, the second bus which heads down Spring St. I've used quotes there because while he'd like everyone to think he's disabled and homeless, I very much doubt he is. What he is, plain & simple, is a conman.

He hobbled on board the bus, leaning heavily (and prominently) on his walking stick, then started his spiel, in espanol of course. Why in espanol? Because speakers of espanol are predominantly Roman Catholic, or at least Christian, and this guy uses that to his benefit. I see the same thing at our freeway offramps, "homeless" people deliberately targeting the hispanics, using signs written in espanol (first, with an english translation second) intended to provoke sympathy and charitable feelings in the reader. Catholocism has instilled in their espanol-speaking parishioners an almost irresistible urge to give their money away. It's why the Catholic Church is one of the richest "non-profit" organizations in the entire world, because it's so good at convincing Catholics to give away their money, whether they can afford it or not.

Back to the story.

Leaning heavily on his walking stick, the conman talks slowly and softly, in espanol, and I don't know what he's saying, maybe just preaching, I don't know. He talks for a while then says in english "ladies & gentlemen, god bless you" then he switches back to espanol. One lady (of south-american descent) fell for it and gave him a dollar. I was not surprised to see her cross herself seconds later (you know, spectacles, testicles, wallet & watch, well, that was more accurate back when a man used to carry his wallet in his left vest pocket and his fob watch in the right). I've seen this guy operate before so I ignored him as he slowly made his way down the aisle, as did most everyone else.

When we arrived at my stop I saw the conman was second-in-line at the rear door, and given how he'd leaned on his stick I figured it would take him a while to get off, so I went to the front door, which is closer to the corner anyway. As I got off the light was changing so I crossed Spring St. (with the light), got to the other side and stopped, waiting for the light to change again so I could cross 6th St. Naturally I was looking across 6th St. at this point in time, and I could not believe my eyes when I saw the conman there, on the opposite corner, running to get in line to board a north bound bus.

In the time I'd taken to cross one street, this "crippled" man had crossed both streets. Remember I said the light was changing as I got off the bus, this meant the conman had run across the road against the lights. This is the same guy who leaned so reliantly on his walking stick on my bus, and yet he was able to run to catch a second bus.

Sure enough, once he'd boarded, I saw him again slump over his stick at the front of the bus and I could hear his voice in my head as he started his spiel.

I will give him credit for having a good work ethic; it was barely 6am and he was already working the marks. That's dedication for you. But let's consider this.

He rides a bus for no more than 10 minutes, and within 60 seconds of him getting off a bus he'll be on another one, working that set of passengers. He might get just $1 on one trip, and nothing on another, but every now and then he probably hits it big and scores $10 or more, and he probably nails that at least once an hour. He probably rides the buses for almost 12 hours, 6am to 6pm, and he probably makes at least $20 per hour. Let's say he takes time out for lunch, he probably still stops for no more than 30 minutes. Time is money after all, and he probably still averages $20+ per hour for the whole day. That's a 12 hour day, by the way. That's $240 (or more) for one day, $1200 for the 5-day week, approx. $5,000 for the month, or $60,000 for the year, clear, no tax, no social security, no deductions at all. He keeps the lot! And to "earn" that $60,000 he does nothing more than ride the buses all day, fleecing naive sheep out of their money. If he really is homeless he probably sleeps at the mission, so no cost to him. Then he has dinner and breakfast at the mission, again, no cost to him. Come to think of it he probably doesn't even break for lunch (he'd have to spend his own money for that), so no lunch = no cost. So of that $5,000 he gets each month, he keeps it all.

Oh, but how humiliating it must be to have to beg for money every minute of every day, you say.

Er...are you not getting this? This guy is not "begging" for money. This is his job! He's a conman tricking gullible people into giving him money. It's not humiliating at all. If I knew that I could make a guaranteed $60,000 (that's Net) just by riding a bus for 12 hours a day, five days a week, and asking people for money...Hell yeah, I'd do it, and I wouldn't be embarrassed about it.

Look at what I do now.

I get up at 4:45 (or a little later), and I leave home at 5:30. I'm already on board a bus by 5:45, but I can get up at 4:45, have breakfast and be on board a bus at 5:15am, and I do that sometimes, too. So my "working day" would start then instead of at 6:15 when I get to my office. I currently work a 9 1/2 hour a day (but I only work 9 days in the fortnight) and I get home around 5pm. I could be riding the buses for the 12 hours like this guy, and still be home at a similar time to what I am now, and I'd be bringing home more than my current gross wage.

Hmmm...my current job will allow me 12-months of unpaid leave of absence, and at the end of that 12-months I can walk straight back into my job, no hassles, no questions asked.

I think the choice is obvious, don't you? I think it's time Cap'n John became a "disabled, homeless" Cap'n.

"Yar! I was an honest, sea-faring man, a god-fearing man. I went to Church every Sunday unless I was at sea, and then I always made sure to read my bible. Then one day a fierce sea serpent attacked my ship and bit my leg clean off. (Knock on "wooden leg" at this point, actually small plank of wood strapped to thigh). Oh, I'm not angry with God, for he was watching out for me that day. That sea serpent might have got my leg, but God made sure I'm still here today, and He made sure I can still tell you all that Jesus loves you. Oh yes, he does. Yar! Now gimme your damn money! Yar! Thank you, thank you very much. God bless you, God bless you all. Yar."

Hell, with a spiel like that, I could probably clear $100,000 per year.

Titanic 2 : The Sequel

A very well done trailer.

Liz told her side of the story, allow me to elaborate a little more.

Normally I take JE to the dentist on my Friday off, but Liz took him this time so I decided to surprise her by getting rid of the carpet on the garage floor. After all, she'd been complaining all week that she wanted it gone. This meant I had to move everything on the right side of the garage over to the left side, then pull up the carpet on the right side of the garage, then move everything in the garage back to the right side so I could pull up the carpet on the left side. Then I had to cut the carpet up into bite size pieces so I could get them out to the dumpster, and so they'd fit. I also chose to organize the garage, restacking everything neatly (I am the Tetris King) so the garage looked a gazillion percent better.

In the middle of all this Liz called wanting me to redo the shelves in the closet in the family room. The brackets holding the shelves are spaced too far apart, and the shelves are bowing in the middle from the weight of all the books.

So after I got done with the carpet, and fed Amber and put her down for her nap, I hit the family room. First I took out all the books, computer bits, toys, videos, etc, that were all on the shelves, then unscrewed the brackets and moved them several inches in to more evenly distribute the weight across the shelves. Then I restacked the shelves but this time double stacked the books (1 row in front of the other) which opened up space for all of our VHS tapes and DVDs, which had been rendered homeless when our entertainment unit bit the dust last week (Ikea stuff is reasonably study until you move it, and then it collapses).

Around 2pm I was finally finished, and had just enough time for a shower and to plop down in front of the computer, before Liz and JE arrived home, ready to head out to the first of two birthday parties (see Liz's Blog) which was at the Kids Island place I warned everyone about the other week.

We get to Kids Island and are stopped at the door because both Liz and I are wearing shoes without socks, and Kids Island require all adults to wear socks, but not shoes. No shoes (or bare feet) inside Kids Island! They will, however, sell you socks at $2 each (so $4/pair?) I don't know why it's ok for the kids to have bare feet but not the adults, but it is. So while JE and Amber ran in and started playing, I stood outside in the foyer while Liz went next door and bought us each a pair of socks. But of course she didn't just buy two pairs of socks (when any old socks would do) clever, money-conscious wife that she is, she bought socks that we can take home and wash and wear later and not be embarassed to be seen in public in them. No, I'm not faulting her for that, just explaining why it seemed to take her forever to return from the store, which was just next door, where she only went to buy socks.

I then spent the next 2 hours chasing around after Amber, who'd just woken up from the nap she'd had while Daddy was still working his ass off. So while Amber was recharged and ready to go, Daddy was ready to drop. Liz got compliments from all of the other mothers about how good I was with Amber; apparently their husbands would never help out like I was doing...come to think of it, I was the only husband/father there. What's up with that? I know some of the husbands still live and work in China while their wives & children live in the U.S., but not all of them do that. Where were the other husbands? Actually there were only one or two little ones like Amber, so it's not like husbands were really necessary.

At the bottom of Kids Island I discovered a two-years & under enclosed area, where I was able to sit down and still keep an eye on Amber. One of the other mothers brought her little guy in so for a while I watched two little nippers instead of the one. Then another mom came in with her little one, but she stayed instead of taking advantage of Capn John's Handy Dandy Babysitting Service, thank god.

The most amusing moment was when Amber got knocked over by none other than the birthday girl herself, right in front of Liz, bday girl's mom, and another mom. I pointed at bday girl and loudly proclaimed "She did it!". Liz told me to shush. "That's the birthday girl," she said. "Oh, like that makes it ok," I said. I was just being silly. Mainland Chinese are kind of funny though. They like to make jokes and things, but they have their own special brand of humor, and they often don't get jokes made by people who are not Chinese.

At 6pm that party was done and we dropped Amber with the inlaws, then headed to my mate's place for his daughter's 4th birthday party, where I was finally able to kick back, put my feet up, eat pizza, drink beer, and just relax for a few hours.

We made it home at 9:30pm and got JE into bed (Amber stayed with the inlaws) which was when Liz decided she didn't like the way I'd rearranged the garage because she couldn't find anything, like the crockpot, which was never in the garage to begin with. So she had to go through everything, rearranging all of the boxes, and more trips were made to the dumpster.

Saturday we went to the zoo late in the afternoon and ran around finding the six Dodge cars hidden throughout the zoo in some promotion Dodge are having. We saw a few animals but JE just wanted to find the cars. Dodge had painted them with photo mosaics, i.e., thousands of tiny photos of tigers fit together in such a way that when viewed from a distance they made a large picture of a tiger, or thousands of tiny photos of penguins that when viewed from a distance made a large penguin picture, etc. Now also on the cars was another picture, a cartoon of a tiger or a penguin, etc, and you had to find the picture, answer the Dodge Rep's question, and you'd get a small prize. Prize?! Did you say prize?! JE was all over that, of course he didn't care for the animals but just wanted to find the cars. Also the Zoo closes at 5pm, and by 4:30pm most of the animals have been brought in for the night so a lot of the exhibits appeared empty, so it's hardly an interesting place to be late in the afternoon. This would explain why the LA Zoo closes at 5pm, even during summer with Daylight Saving Time, instead of staying open a lot later like other zoos do.

After the zoo we stopped at a park just around the corner from Liz's parents' house. Liz called her parents to see if they wanted us to bring JE to their place, or if they wanted to come to the park and get him and Amber. They said they'd come to the park so Liz hung up, and the kids played for a while longer, but Liz's parents never arrived.

I told Liz they'd gone to the wrong park.

How could they go to the wrong park, she said, we're right around the corner from their house, they bring the kids to this park all the time.

Then her phone rang. It was her parents. They'd gone to the wrong park.

Now I will cut them some slack because the park they drove to is on the same street as the park we were at, but it was in the next city over! The park we were at was just around the corner from their house!

JE was more than willing to stay with his grandparents that night but Amber sometimes has attachment issues, and Saturday night she wanted to stay with Mum and Dad. She'll go to her grandparents when she's in that mood but she refuses to stay with them, and she'll scream for me to come and get her if they hold on to her.

Sunday we managed to sleep in late then did nothing all day, which is very satisfying, but can be very hard to accomplish when you have kids.

Thus endeth another weekend.

Where there's a will...

The guys doing our floor have almost finished downstairs, I expect they will work on the stairs next. They're doing an excellent job. We have the family room cleared out for them, as well as the upstairs hallway. Both our children's bedrooms are packed with stuff with from the family room.

Luckily when the Adelphia guys installed our digital cable, there was enough cable to go from the family room into the hallway and into JE's room, where I set up my computer, the cable modem, and router, amid all the clutter.

So I can still type Blog entries, surf the Net...and play Warcraft! :D

The kids are with the Inlaws, and Liz has gone out to Ontario Mills Mall, so I get to play by myself without interruptions. I said BY not WITH!

Condoleeza Rice : No better friend...

Public Service Announcement

If you subscribed to Netflix prior to January 15, 2005, regardless of whether or not you are still a subscriber, you should visit this website to check out the results of the class action lawsuit against Netflix.

Frank Chavez signed up for Netflix as many of us did for the convenience of their service, in which Netflix originally promised "unlimited" DVD rentals, for a flat monthly fee, the DVDs to be transmitted via "one-day delivery". Don't bother looking for that specific wording because after Mr. Chavez brought a lawsuit against Netflix they changed the wording of their advertising and Terms of Use. Netflix acknowledge that the Litigation was a contributing factor in them modifying their Terms of Use, but they deny any wrongdoing.

Nevertheless Mr. Chavez not only won his suit (or more to the point, Netflix agreed to settle) but he filed a motion to certify a class of all similarly situation individuals, i.e., a class action law suit, which was approved. If you are a current Netflix subscriber, and have been since at least January 15, 2005, you may be entitled to a free 1-month upgrade. If you are no longer a subscriber but were prior to January 15, 2005, you may be entitled to a free month of Netflix.

More information about the settlement can be found here.

That is all.

You know it's a good workout...

when you have a shower, and 30 minutes later you're still sweating. That, or you know you're out of shape.

I got up this morning at the usual time, although that's arguable as I didn't hit snooze 10 times :P, got dressed, had a quick breakfast, ran around like a lunatic tracking down my shorts, door keys, padlock, etc, and still caught the early bus that comes by just 25 minutes after I get up.

Oddly enough, the early bus which comes by at 5:10am is more crowded than the bus half an hour later. Go figure. I still got a seat because even though several people were standing up, there were at least 4 empty seats at the back. I had to push past one guy who mistakenly thought I wanted to stand up in the aisle like him, but I got my seat and settled down to continue reading Thief of Lives.

The bus stopped at the El Monte Bus Station and a few people got off, and then we were on the Freeway and on our way into downtown. And then the bus stopped. On the Freeway. And not at a designated stop. The engine was off, the lights went out, and the driver called out, "Please, nobody get off the bus! Please, nobody get off the bus!" I didn't repeat myself, the bus driver did.

As the world famous Richie Benaud once said "What the f**k's going on?!"

The bus driver got out, then got back on the bus, and we heard him tell dispatch "I don't know what happened." The engine started and the driver rev'd it a bit, got out, messed around outside some more, got back on, rev'd the engine a bit more, and we were under way!

So I got into downtown earlier than usual, but later than expected. The doors to the Plaza where the 24-hour Fitness is located were locked. Automatic doors that automatically don't open. What a concept!

Fortunately a guy walking past was wearing workout clothes so I caught up to him and after a little verbal interaction that I like to call "conversation", I ascertained that he was also going to the gym so I walked with him. Great thing, conversation, you never know when it will come in handy.

I hit the gym, did 15 minutes on this treadmill/stairmaster/ski-machine type thing, had a shower, put my shirt on, and it gets wet because I'm still sweating.

When I left the gym I was passed by one of the two buses that stop outside my office. Fortunately there was a stop at the other end of the block and several people were waiting to board so I quckly ran and caught the bus. That's right, I'd just worked out and I was still able to run a whole block! I know, very impressive :)

I got to work about 30 minutes late (I blame the bus), and I'm still sweating. To make matters worse, we have a new landlord who wants to be rid of us (we're actually moving in a month or two), so he's being a total bastard and not turning on the A/C until at least 7am, so our office is like an oven (well not quite, but it's still a lot warmer than is comfortable).

Actually that did help, because my shirt dried out fairly quickly in our hot office :P

I'm still thinking I might need a second t-shirt to put on after working out, then after I get to the office and stop sweating I can change into my dress shirt. Of course maybe once I've been working out for a while I might stop sweating a lot sooner.

I was extremely impressed by a girl running on the treadmill/stairmaster/ski-machine type thing next to me. She was there, going like the clappers when I got on, she ran flat out the entire 15 minutes I was working out (and I had a good pace on me) and when I left she was still on the machine running her arse off...maybe literally.

What the???

I did a search on Netflix for The Craic and do I find it? I haven't yet, because Netflix tell me that 466 movies titles matched my searched. Oh, really? There were 465 other movies with the word Craic in their name?

Let's see...the first movie is 10,000 Black Men Named George...nope, no Craic there.
What's the second movie? It's African Grace: A West African Dance for Cardio Fitness...er...no Craic there, either.
The third movie is Alamo: A True Story of Courage. Hmm, no Craic there.
So what's going on? My search cannot have returned every movie Netflix carry, because I find it hard to believe their library consists of just 466 titles...so how on earth did they decide that 466 movies matched my search terms? And if none of the titles matched my search term, why wouldn't Netflix admit it?

I doubt Netflix do carry The Craic, because a Netflix search for the star, Jimeoin KcKeown, gives me three hits, and none of them are for Jimeoin, but at least all three actors had the surname McKeown. I'm sure none of the 466 Movie Titles have Craic in their title.

Stupid Netflix search engine.