We spent the first night in Traralgon and the next morning headed out to Munro where Mum's fiance lives. The kids had a great time there, JE rode Keith's 3-wheeled motorscooter up and down the road out the front of his property while the Bunny took a turn sitting on the ponies out the back (pictures to come). There was numerous wildlife around, deer in the paddock up the road, lots of birds, including some cockatoos that are considering nesting in a tree at the bottom of Keith's backyard. Glenn, Keith's son, took us for a drive in his truck up through the forest, roo spotting, although we only got a good sighting of one wallaby as we rounded one bend and pretty much nothing else. Glenn took us to a couple of graves buried deep within the forest, discovered by the Rangers who have set up a memorial around it. Apparently they belong to mother and her son who were killed in a flood over 150 years ago. They were members of one of the first families to settle in the Gippsland region, and like many early pioneers paid the ultimate price in taming the land for those to follow.
Friday we headed back into Traralgon, briefly, before continuing back on to Melbourne to stay with my older sister and her family. We visited the Melbourne Aquarium, the Zoo, did a spot of shopping in the City, and while waiting for our train at the Southern Cross Station (formerly Spencer St.) got caught in a football crowd getting out of the Essendon Bombers & Western Bulldogs game. It was quite an experience for Liz, standing on the platform surrounded by a sea of people in Red & Black, and Red, White & Blue jumpers, scarves, hats, etc. Of course when the train arrived everyone boarded, so we were packed in and standing up for about half our ride back to my sister's house.
After a few days we headed back down to Traralgon. I drove down with the Bunny taking a nap, while everyone else rode the train down, taking in the sights.
Now Liz's parents are in town as well. The FIL is here sort of looking after the kids, while the MIL is down the street with Liz and my sisters, shopping, getting their hair done, nails, eyebrows, etc., all in preparation for the big day this Saturday.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Almost 20 hours later
and here we are.
The shuttle picked us up around 6:45pm and got us to LAX within 30 minutes, pretty good time, I thought, for a flight scheduled to leave around 11:40pm, 4 hours later. 11:15pm came and we hadn't yet begun boarding the plane, something to do with the Jetway at that gate. Finally the plane was towed out and back in to another gate where we were able to board, but we never made it off the ground. The take-off was aborted and we returned to the gate so an engineer could examine our plane. Over 3 hours later than scheduled we finally took off and were on our way to Australia.
We were met by my older sister, my Mum, and my future stepfather, who took us to my sister's for a lunch we'd been waiting 2 years for. Fish & Chips :)
We relaxed for an hour or so after lunch, then piled in the car and headed out to the Latrobe Valley and Mum's home. Practically a 2 hours drive on top of our 14 1/2 plane ride (not counting the 3+ hours delay). We managed to get a spot of sleep on the plane, but not much more than a couple of hours, so now we are pretty much running on empty, and just trying to hang on to a decent hour to go to bed so our body clocks adjust to Aussie Time.
The shuttle picked us up around 6:45pm and got us to LAX within 30 minutes, pretty good time, I thought, for a flight scheduled to leave around 11:40pm, 4 hours later. 11:15pm came and we hadn't yet begun boarding the plane, something to do with the Jetway at that gate. Finally the plane was towed out and back in to another gate where we were able to board, but we never made it off the ground. The take-off was aborted and we returned to the gate so an engineer could examine our plane. Over 3 hours later than scheduled we finally took off and were on our way to Australia.
We were met by my older sister, my Mum, and my future stepfather, who took us to my sister's for a lunch we'd been waiting 2 years for. Fish & Chips :)
We relaxed for an hour or so after lunch, then piled in the car and headed out to the Latrobe Valley and Mum's home. Practically a 2 hours drive on top of our 14 1/2 plane ride (not counting the 3+ hours delay). We managed to get a spot of sleep on the plane, but not much more than a couple of hours, so now we are pretty much running on empty, and just trying to hang on to a decent hour to go to bed so our body clocks adjust to Aussie Time.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Life is like eating an elephant
I have a very good friend in hospital, I'm leaving for Australia next weekend, I'm working OT every day and have been for the past 2 1/2 weeks, and my Mum is getting married in 3 weeks time. Sometimes the only way to get through life is one bite at a time, which is also the same way you eat an elephant.
I got that 1,000 marbles email the other day. About the fellow who figured out that based on average life-expectancy he had about 1,000 Saturdays left to spend with his family, so he bought every marble he could find in three Toy Stores to get 1,000 marbles, which he kept in a jar and took one out every Saturday. As the level of marbles slowly decreased he said it helped him focus more on what was important in his life.
My father's parents both passed away when I was fairly young. I don't recall if they made it in to their 70s but I don't think they did. My father passed away at 62 years of age. My Mum's father died when she was still young but that may have been an accidental death rather than an illness (I honestly don't know). Of course my paternal grandfather was an alcoholic and had suffered from Alzheimer's before I knew him. My paternal grandmother was a habitual smoker until her final years. My own father had numerous things going on with him and we're still not sure exactly what was the cause of death, but there were several to choose from.
I didn't mention that I turn 38 in two weeks times. Two times 38 is 76. Seventy-six. If I make it to seventy-six years old I'll have had a good innings. If I make it to my eighties, I'll consider that a bloody miracle. Like my dad I've had my brushes with death over the years. At least three that I can recall where Death probably glanced my way and said, "NOT HIM, NOT YET."
In 38 years time my son will be 45 and my daughter 40 (Good Lord!), and if they bless me with grandchildren (Oh, revenge! Sweet, sweet revenge! >:) they'll possibly be in their teens.
Thirty-eight years. Fifty-two Saturdays per year. That's one thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-six Saturdays. And if I manage to empty that jar of marbles and I wake up the next day, that's a bonus; that's one more day I've been given to spend with my family.
*EDIT - I looked at my father's memoir and saw both his parents lived well into their 80s, despite alcoholism and smoking like chimneys, so this old dog might have a few years in him yet ;)
I got that 1,000 marbles email the other day. About the fellow who figured out that based on average life-expectancy he had about 1,000 Saturdays left to spend with his family, so he bought every marble he could find in three Toy Stores to get 1,000 marbles, which he kept in a jar and took one out every Saturday. As the level of marbles slowly decreased he said it helped him focus more on what was important in his life.
My father's parents both passed away when I was fairly young. I don't recall if they made it in to their 70s but I don't think they did. My father passed away at 62 years of age. My Mum's father died when she was still young but that may have been an accidental death rather than an illness (I honestly don't know). Of course my paternal grandfather was an alcoholic and had suffered from Alzheimer's before I knew him. My paternal grandmother was a habitual smoker until her final years. My own father had numerous things going on with him and we're still not sure exactly what was the cause of death, but there were several to choose from.
I didn't mention that I turn 38 in two weeks times. Two times 38 is 76. Seventy-six. If I make it to seventy-six years old I'll have had a good innings. If I make it to my eighties, I'll consider that a bloody miracle. Like my dad I've had my brushes with death over the years. At least three that I can recall where Death probably glanced my way and said, "NOT HIM, NOT YET."
In 38 years time my son will be 45 and my daughter 40 (Good Lord!), and if they bless me with grandchildren (Oh, revenge! Sweet, sweet revenge! >:) they'll possibly be in their teens.
Thirty-eight years. Fifty-two Saturdays per year. That's one thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-six Saturdays. And if I manage to empty that jar of marbles and I wake up the next day, that's a bonus; that's one more day I've been given to spend with my family.
*EDIT - I looked at my father's memoir and saw both his parents lived well into their 80s, despite alcoholism and smoking like chimneys, so this old dog might have a few years in him yet ;)
Thursday, August 09, 2007
A tacky act for a sick kitty?
This afternoon one of the ladies at work, through one of the guys, sent out an email asking for help with a stray kitty she took in. Kitty has a skin disorder of some kind, and the Vet has told her it will cost about $500 to treat it, so the email asked for monetary contributions to help the lady pay for kitty's treatment.
You take in a stray kitty then ask your coworkers for help to pay for medical treatment? I thought about it for just long enough to hit Delete, then promptly put it out of my mind.
Then a folder arrived on my desk, with a picture of the kitty and a reprint of the email. This is the preferred method in our office of passing around a card (birthday, retirement, etc) with a collection envelope to raise funds for a gift for said birthday, retirement, etc.
The lady who brought me the folder asked if I'd seen it.
Aah, yeah, I've seen it, I said. I meant I'd seen the email, but I didn't care that my reply was misinterpreted, and the lady took the folder away. What I forgot was that normally a list accompanies these folders, a list of everyone's name, and before you pass on the folder you check off your name so the next poor sap to get the folder can pick a victim to keep the folder moving.
So the folder arrived back at my desk. This time I knew better, and I checked off my name before looking down the list for my victim. Aah, here was a name of someone who was still in the office and hadn't left for the day.
I took the folder around to this lady and handed it over, but I just couldn't contain the evilness within me that sometimes materializes as a dark, macabre sense of humor.
"She's raising money to have the kitty put down," I said, winking at my victim. She looked at me and gasped, but she has a wicked sense of humor, too, so she knew I was joking and found it funny in a dark, macabre, totally inappropriate way. "It's cheaper than the operation," I added, and we both shared an "Oooohhh," moment as I left her with the folder, and the list, and the envelope full of money, and her conscience.
Now before you say to me, "John, you've got a dog. What if he needed an operation? Wouldn't you ask your coworkers for money to pay for it?"
No, I would not.
I'd either find the money, or I'd have him put down. And if the Vet is incredulous that this is a simple, relatively inexpensive operation, but I'm choosing to have the animal put down instead, it's this simple. It's a dog. It's a pet. It's family, but not quite, and I'm not spending money on an operation our family can't afford, just for a pet. I'd sell everything necessary if my wife or kids needed an operation, but this is a pet we're talking about. And yes, I would hit up my coworkers for money for a life saving operation for my wife or kids, but not for a pet.
I had no issue with the woman sending out the email asking for help. It was a simple matter to hit Delete. But I had serious issues with her then passing around a collection envelope because it was obvious nobody cared enough about her stray pet cat to come by and give her money.
So when I said putting the kitty down was cheaper than the operation, I wasn't quite joking. Sometimes you have to weigh up your alternatives and say, yes, this is a tough decision, but when the alternative means going in to debt, and possibly losing my car or my house, that's not an alternative at all.
You take in a stray kitty then ask your coworkers for help to pay for medical treatment? I thought about it for just long enough to hit Delete, then promptly put it out of my mind.
Then a folder arrived on my desk, with a picture of the kitty and a reprint of the email. This is the preferred method in our office of passing around a card (birthday, retirement, etc) with a collection envelope to raise funds for a gift for said birthday, retirement, etc.
The lady who brought me the folder asked if I'd seen it.
Aah, yeah, I've seen it, I said. I meant I'd seen the email, but I didn't care that my reply was misinterpreted, and the lady took the folder away. What I forgot was that normally a list accompanies these folders, a list of everyone's name, and before you pass on the folder you check off your name so the next poor sap to get the folder can pick a victim to keep the folder moving.
So the folder arrived back at my desk. This time I knew better, and I checked off my name before looking down the list for my victim. Aah, here was a name of someone who was still in the office and hadn't left for the day.
I took the folder around to this lady and handed it over, but I just couldn't contain the evilness within me that sometimes materializes as a dark, macabre sense of humor.
"She's raising money to have the kitty put down," I said, winking at my victim. She looked at me and gasped, but she has a wicked sense of humor, too, so she knew I was joking and found it funny in a dark, macabre, totally inappropriate way. "It's cheaper than the operation," I added, and we both shared an "Oooohhh," moment as I left her with the folder, and the list, and the envelope full of money, and her conscience.
Now before you say to me, "John, you've got a dog. What if he needed an operation? Wouldn't you ask your coworkers for money to pay for it?"
No, I would not.
I'd either find the money, or I'd have him put down. And if the Vet is incredulous that this is a simple, relatively inexpensive operation, but I'm choosing to have the animal put down instead, it's this simple. It's a dog. It's a pet. It's family, but not quite, and I'm not spending money on an operation our family can't afford, just for a pet. I'd sell everything necessary if my wife or kids needed an operation, but this is a pet we're talking about. And yes, I would hit up my coworkers for money for a life saving operation for my wife or kids, but not for a pet.
I had no issue with the woman sending out the email asking for help. It was a simple matter to hit Delete. But I had serious issues with her then passing around a collection envelope because it was obvious nobody cared enough about her stray pet cat to come by and give her money.
So when I said putting the kitty down was cheaper than the operation, I wasn't quite joking. Sometimes you have to weigh up your alternatives and say, yes, this is a tough decision, but when the alternative means going in to debt, and possibly losing my car or my house, that's not an alternative at all.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Knott's Berry Farm
Tonight after work we took the kids down to Knott's Berry Farm, and despite it being summer it was relatively empty and the kids were able to practically walk on to most of the rides as soon as they joined the queue. They also played a couple of the games, one had them picking out a plastic duck to win a prize, depending on the number of the bottom of the duck. For $5 they got three picks but they sort of had more than that because as soon as they saw the ducks they were grabbing them all. I handed over $5 and JE promptly showed the guy his duck, which had a #3 on it. Good lad. Amber turned over a #1 but the guy gave her a #2 sized prize because he said she'd turned over two #1 ducks, which she probably had...actually she'd turned over even more than that :D
JE also did the Strong Man challenge where you swing a large mallet and try to make the bell ring. He got an inflatable hammer for his effort and I almost passed out blowing it up for him :}
I rode with the kids on one ride, then Liz took them on the Merry Go Round, and while watching them go around memories came back of a childhood summer spent at Lakes Entrance in Victoria, where my grandparents currently reside. Every summer there is a carnival at Lakes Entrance, and it's also become one of the hot spots to see in the New Year. Or at least it used to be, not sure if it still is. As well as the carnival there was always a huge fireworks show right before midnight and the road along the esplanade would be closed as people lined up to watch the fireworks being set off from a barge in the estuary.
Many years ago one of my uncles was working the lucky ticket booth at the carnival. It was an early version of the lotto scratchies. You bought a ticket and peeled open the cardboard flap, and if the number revealed was one of the lucky numbers on the giant board you won a prize, probably cash. For some reason I have a feeling that my uncle had told my father he'd make sure he won, but the ticket he got was not a winner. I think this made my father mad at my uncle and we didn't go in to the carnival. Being a very young lad with a child's twisted sense of logic I recall thinking that because we hadn't won that meant we couldn't go in. I do remember asking my parents about that but they didn't seem to want to talk about it, which is probably why I think my dad was angry with my uncle.
I don't remember where we went, probably visited a few of the stores along the esplanade, but on our way back we did stop and spend some time at the carnival. Admission was free, you just paid for the rides and sideshow games. You actually bought a sheet of tickets for the rides and just tore off what you needed for that particular ride. I remember that we had some tickets left over at the end of the night, and before we left my parents gave the remaining tickets to another man for his family. I do the same thing myself now, although I think the actual physical tickets are getting phased out. The OC Fair had signs saying "This ride X tickets", etc, but they were actually credits on a magnetic card that you swiped each time you entered a ride, and when you ran out of "tickets" or credits you just recharged the card at the "ticket" booth.
Back to the past and the Lakes Entrance carnival. I had a turn on a Merry Go Round, but this one was a rather strange Merry Go Round. Instead of animals it had bicycles that you pedaled as the Merry Go Round turned. The lower platform was fixed in place and the bikes' wheels would actually turn as you rode around. Before the ride began I remember pushing on the pedals with all my might and I recall the Merry Go Round turning a little bit. My father also took a turn at the shooting gallery with the air rifles (BB guns). They were real working air rifles that you don't see these days for all sorts of legality issues, but back then you paid your $2 and got 4 pellets and you had to knock over 4 metal ducks to win a prize. 3 didn't cut it, you had to make every shot count. Being a more than decent shot my father was able to win a couple of prizes at the shooting gallery, and when I was older I followed in his food steps and the shooting gallery was always a guaranteed prize-winner for me. It's also a macho thing among guys visiting the carnival together, or maybe just with country boys where shooting comes as natural as breathing; if your mates can knock over 4 ducks you better be able to as well, or you can expect to get teased for the rest of the night ;)
So my memories of my childhood carnivals are mostly good, and I hope tonight's trip to Knott's will be remembered equally as fondly by my two children, even if remembering that carnival from yesteryear did make me a little melancholy.
JE also did the Strong Man challenge where you swing a large mallet and try to make the bell ring. He got an inflatable hammer for his effort and I almost passed out blowing it up for him :}
I rode with the kids on one ride, then Liz took them on the Merry Go Round, and while watching them go around memories came back of a childhood summer spent at Lakes Entrance in Victoria, where my grandparents currently reside. Every summer there is a carnival at Lakes Entrance, and it's also become one of the hot spots to see in the New Year. Or at least it used to be, not sure if it still is. As well as the carnival there was always a huge fireworks show right before midnight and the road along the esplanade would be closed as people lined up to watch the fireworks being set off from a barge in the estuary.
Many years ago one of my uncles was working the lucky ticket booth at the carnival. It was an early version of the lotto scratchies. You bought a ticket and peeled open the cardboard flap, and if the number revealed was one of the lucky numbers on the giant board you won a prize, probably cash. For some reason I have a feeling that my uncle had told my father he'd make sure he won, but the ticket he got was not a winner. I think this made my father mad at my uncle and we didn't go in to the carnival. Being a very young lad with a child's twisted sense of logic I recall thinking that because we hadn't won that meant we couldn't go in. I do remember asking my parents about that but they didn't seem to want to talk about it, which is probably why I think my dad was angry with my uncle.
I don't remember where we went, probably visited a few of the stores along the esplanade, but on our way back we did stop and spend some time at the carnival. Admission was free, you just paid for the rides and sideshow games. You actually bought a sheet of tickets for the rides and just tore off what you needed for that particular ride. I remember that we had some tickets left over at the end of the night, and before we left my parents gave the remaining tickets to another man for his family. I do the same thing myself now, although I think the actual physical tickets are getting phased out. The OC Fair had signs saying "This ride X tickets", etc, but they were actually credits on a magnetic card that you swiped each time you entered a ride, and when you ran out of "tickets" or credits you just recharged the card at the "ticket" booth.
Back to the past and the Lakes Entrance carnival. I had a turn on a Merry Go Round, but this one was a rather strange Merry Go Round. Instead of animals it had bicycles that you pedaled as the Merry Go Round turned. The lower platform was fixed in place and the bikes' wheels would actually turn as you rode around. Before the ride began I remember pushing on the pedals with all my might and I recall the Merry Go Round turning a little bit. My father also took a turn at the shooting gallery with the air rifles (BB guns). They were real working air rifles that you don't see these days for all sorts of legality issues, but back then you paid your $2 and got 4 pellets and you had to knock over 4 metal ducks to win a prize. 3 didn't cut it, you had to make every shot count. Being a more than decent shot my father was able to win a couple of prizes at the shooting gallery, and when I was older I followed in his food steps and the shooting gallery was always a guaranteed prize-winner for me. It's also a macho thing among guys visiting the carnival together, or maybe just with country boys where shooting comes as natural as breathing; if your mates can knock over 4 ducks you better be able to as well, or you can expect to get teased for the rest of the night ;)
So my memories of my childhood carnivals are mostly good, and I hope tonight's trip to Knott's will be remembered equally as fondly by my two children, even if remembering that carnival from yesteryear did make me a little melancholy.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Something strange...in your neighborhood
Last week Liz came to bed around 2am or so and woke me up looking for her book. She likes to read before going to sleep but her book could not be found and after a brief but thorough search (meaning I was kicked out of bed to help look) Liz reluctantly retired without reading. Over the next couple of days, when we had a spare moment, we looked for the book. I even lay down on the floor and looked under the bed and under the bedside tables, but the book could not be found. Strange.
A couple of nights ago I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder, so I rolled over and asked Liz what she wanted. With her head buried in a new book Liz didn't reply. Grumpy from being woken up at 2am and pissed off that Liz had promptly gone back to reading her new book I got a little snappy. Finally Liz responded and denied tapping me on the shoulder. Grrr. It's a good thing I can go straight back to sleep when I want to, because I did just that. But I was sure she'd tapped me on the shoulder.
Last night Liz came to bed and showed me her old book. It had been lying on the floor under her bedside table, where we'd both looked several times and somehow failed to see it. Liz said it was actually standing up on one edge, not lying flat. So somehow both of us failed to see a very obvious book standing up on one edge, several times.
But then things in our house have a habit of disappearing for a day or two, then reappearing in quite obvious spots as if they've been lying there all along and we've just somehow failed to see them. We would joke that it was a ghost hiding them. With the disappearance of the book last week, and it's reappearance in a spot where it's impossible to have overlooked it, the ghost explanation may be closer to the truth than we thought. Then again, we also have two young kids ;)
A couple of nights ago I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder, so I rolled over and asked Liz what she wanted. With her head buried in a new book Liz didn't reply. Grumpy from being woken up at 2am and pissed off that Liz had promptly gone back to reading her new book I got a little snappy. Finally Liz responded and denied tapping me on the shoulder. Grrr. It's a good thing I can go straight back to sleep when I want to, because I did just that. But I was sure she'd tapped me on the shoulder.
Last night Liz came to bed and showed me her old book. It had been lying on the floor under her bedside table, where we'd both looked several times and somehow failed to see it. Liz said it was actually standing up on one edge, not lying flat. So somehow both of us failed to see a very obvious book standing up on one edge, several times.
But then things in our house have a habit of disappearing for a day or two, then reappearing in quite obvious spots as if they've been lying there all along and we've just somehow failed to see them. We would joke that it was a ghost hiding them. With the disappearance of the book last week, and it's reappearance in a spot where it's impossible to have overlooked it, the ghost explanation may be closer to the truth than we thought. Then again, we also have two young kids ;)
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Something in the air?
I took JE to watch The Simpson's movie Saturday morning, and after dropping him with the in-laws, Liz and I decided to call Xinh to see if she wanted to see The Bourne Ultimatum Sunday morning. I got her voicemail so I left a msg asking if she wanted to watch the movie with us, unless she wasn't feeling well. I don't know why I said that.
Shortly after leaving the message my phone rang. It was Xinh. She didn't sound well. She was calling from hospital. After having abdominal pains Monday she'd gone home but she wasn't better on Tuesday, so she called her doctor who had called in sick as well. Wednesday, feeling even worse, she went in to ER and stayed there almost all day without being seen. Late in the evening someone who'd been there several hours prior to her also hadn't been seen, so Xinh went home and returned the next day. Finally she was examined and checked in under suspicion of appendicitis. She signed a form for a laparoscopic appendectomy with the option to open her up in case they found something more serious, which they did. They found a perforated intestine and an abscess the size of a cantaloupe, which is not a small fruit.
Liz and I pretty much canceled any plans and headed off to the hospital. Xinh was recovering ok but had not been able to rest because she couldn't get in to a comfortable position and the nurses hadn't been willing to go through the rigmarole Xinh felt was required to get her into a comfortable position. After raising and lowering Xinh's bed a few times, rolling her back and forth a couple of times, sliding pillows under various parts of her anatomy (I'm a good friend, but Liz took care of that assignment), we finally got Xinh into a position in which she felt comfortable.
With the battery in her cell phone running low, and it being Xinh's only contact to the outside world, we called her friend Natey (who'd already taken Xinh's dog to the kennel) and he stopped by her apartment and picked up her charger and came in. Another friend, Susan, also stopped by, and with four of us there now (five including Xinh) Liz and I decided to take our leave.
I couldn't resist snapping a picture of the room next to Xinh's. She's staying on the 6th floor of the hospital, and the room next to her we felt should have gone the same way of the 13th floor in most buildings.
Yup, that's the room next to Xinh's room at the hospital >:)
Notice how blurry it is? It's like it didn't want me taking its picture ;)
Shortly after leaving the message my phone rang. It was Xinh. She didn't sound well. She was calling from hospital. After having abdominal pains Monday she'd gone home but she wasn't better on Tuesday, so she called her doctor who had called in sick as well. Wednesday, feeling even worse, she went in to ER and stayed there almost all day without being seen. Late in the evening someone who'd been there several hours prior to her also hadn't been seen, so Xinh went home and returned the next day. Finally she was examined and checked in under suspicion of appendicitis. She signed a form for a laparoscopic appendectomy with the option to open her up in case they found something more serious, which they did. They found a perforated intestine and an abscess the size of a cantaloupe, which is not a small fruit.
Liz and I pretty much canceled any plans and headed off to the hospital. Xinh was recovering ok but had not been able to rest because she couldn't get in to a comfortable position and the nurses hadn't been willing to go through the rigmarole Xinh felt was required to get her into a comfortable position. After raising and lowering Xinh's bed a few times, rolling her back and forth a couple of times, sliding pillows under various parts of her anatomy (I'm a good friend, but Liz took care of that assignment), we finally got Xinh into a position in which she felt comfortable.
With the battery in her cell phone running low, and it being Xinh's only contact to the outside world, we called her friend Natey (who'd already taken Xinh's dog to the kennel) and he stopped by her apartment and picked up her charger and came in. Another friend, Susan, also stopped by, and with four of us there now (five including Xinh) Liz and I decided to take our leave.
I couldn't resist snapping a picture of the room next to Xinh's. She's staying on the 6th floor of the hospital, and the room next to her we felt should have gone the same way of the 13th floor in most buildings.
Yup, that's the room next to Xinh's room at the hospital >:)
Notice how blurry it is? It's like it didn't want me taking its picture ;)
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Buying a Kilt, pt II
Dr. Nicholas Fiddes has written an excellent guide to buying a Kilt, and it explains a lot about Kilts, tartans, the naming of such, and so on. Very useful information, and he's actually made his 58-page book(let) available online, free of charge, in Adobe's PDF formart. You can get it here, if you're interested.
And if you'd like to do a search of your own family name, to see if you happen to have a family/clan tartan, the Scottish Tartan Authority has an excellent tartan search site here.
Considering I want a good Kilt in the Fraser tartan, and an order for a good kilt in a select design can sometimes take a couple of months to be filled, I don't think I'll be wearing a Kilt at Mum's wedding. Not sure Mum, or my sisters for that matter, would have been willing to let me do so without a fight, anyway. It might have appeared a little disruptive.
But that's not stopped my desire for one...even if I do only wear it once or twice a year. Considering St. Andrew's Day (the patron Saint of Scotland) is November 30, if I did special order a Fraser Kilt I would have it in time to wear to work for St. Andrew's Day. That would be rather brave of me, I think.
Oh, except looking at my calendar, November 30 falls on a Friday this year, and that Friday just happens to be my Rostered Day Off. No Kilt for St. Andrew's Day this year. I might still send out an office-wide email on Thursday, November 29 telling everyone to remember to wear their family's tartan for St. Andrew's Day ;)
And if you'd like to do a search of your own family name, to see if you happen to have a family/clan tartan, the Scottish Tartan Authority has an excellent tartan search site here.
Considering I want a good Kilt in the Fraser tartan, and an order for a good kilt in a select design can sometimes take a couple of months to be filled, I don't think I'll be wearing a Kilt at Mum's wedding. Not sure Mum, or my sisters for that matter, would have been willing to let me do so without a fight, anyway. It might have appeared a little disruptive.
But that's not stopped my desire for one...even if I do only wear it once or twice a year. Considering St. Andrew's Day (the patron Saint of Scotland) is November 30, if I did special order a Fraser Kilt I would have it in time to wear to work for St. Andrew's Day. That would be rather brave of me, I think.
Oh, except looking at my calendar, November 30 falls on a Friday this year, and that Friday just happens to be my Rostered Day Off. No Kilt for St. Andrew's Day this year. I might still send out an office-wide email on Thursday, November 29 telling everyone to remember to wear their family's tartan for St. Andrew's Day ;)
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Buying a Kilt
When my English ancestor came to Australia he brought with him a Scottish wife. Being English he had no clan, just a family name, but with his wife being Scottish her family name was also her clan name. As such there's no official tartan for my family, but there is a Fraser tartan, that being my great(x3) Grandmother's clan. While looking up kilts online I found they seem to be rather expensive. I can buy a decent suit for the same price as a single, good quality kilt...and that's just the kilt. That does nae include a sporran or any other kilt accessories.
Of course when I looked up the Fraser tartan I found there's not just the Fraser tartan, there's a Fraser Red Ancient tartan:
and a Fraser Red Modern tartan.
There's a Hunting tartan, a Muted tartan, and a Weathered tartan, and more, to boot, and then in the Fraser name alone, even under the name "Red Modern" there's different tartans yet again.
I have a tie of my father's in the Fraser tartan color, but I believe it's the Ancient Tartan, not the Modern tartan, which I think is the sharper of the two. The question is, do I get a kilt to match my father's tie? Or do I get a kilt in the color that I prefer, being the Modern Red? Considering I'd never wear the tie with the kilt, is it even necessary to match them? Then again, I can just hear my wife saying, "Why do you even need a kilt?"
And if my family name is English, why would I get a Scottish kilt? How important is the Fraser identity to me when that's not my name?
Our Scottish heritage was important to my father, and it being important to him means it's important to me. It was important enough to my father that he purchased a Fraser tartan tie. It was important enough to him that for years he wore a tam o'shanter, although he stopped wearing it when he realized it was no in the Fraser colors, and again that's how important it was to him; as much as he loved his tam he refused to wear one in the wrong colors.
It's probably too late to be getting a kilt now for me mother's wedding, and considering she wants me to walk her down the aisle, if I was going to be wearing a kilt for that auspicious ceremony it could nae just be the kilt; it would have to be the whole kilt & caboodle, including a jacket in the correct cut to accompany a kilt. But I fear that even if I were to don traditional Scottish garb for that occasion, it would take attention away from my mother, and it would also, later, take attention away from my wife, as difficult as that may be considering she looks FUCKING AMAZING! in the dress she finally picked out. And no, you can't see a picture, yet.
So there's no point me looking at kilts at this point in time, but maybe next St. Patrick's Day, at the local Gaelic Festival, I might pick up a Fraser kilt (even though the Festival is Irish and the Frasers are Scottish ;). And yes, as much as you don't want them now, there will be pictures ;)
Of course when I looked up the Fraser tartan I found there's not just the Fraser tartan, there's a Fraser Red Ancient tartan:
and a Fraser Red Modern tartan.
There's a Hunting tartan, a Muted tartan, and a Weathered tartan, and more, to boot, and then in the Fraser name alone, even under the name "Red Modern" there's different tartans yet again.
I have a tie of my father's in the Fraser tartan color, but I believe it's the Ancient Tartan, not the Modern tartan, which I think is the sharper of the two. The question is, do I get a kilt to match my father's tie? Or do I get a kilt in the color that I prefer, being the Modern Red? Considering I'd never wear the tie with the kilt, is it even necessary to match them? Then again, I can just hear my wife saying, "Why do you even need a kilt?"
And if my family name is English, why would I get a Scottish kilt? How important is the Fraser identity to me when that's not my name?
Our Scottish heritage was important to my father, and it being important to him means it's important to me. It was important enough to my father that he purchased a Fraser tartan tie. It was important enough to him that for years he wore a tam o'shanter, although he stopped wearing it when he realized it was no in the Fraser colors, and again that's how important it was to him; as much as he loved his tam he refused to wear one in the wrong colors.
It's probably too late to be getting a kilt now for me mother's wedding, and considering she wants me to walk her down the aisle, if I was going to be wearing a kilt for that auspicious ceremony it could nae just be the kilt; it would have to be the whole kilt & caboodle, including a jacket in the correct cut to accompany a kilt. But I fear that even if I were to don traditional Scottish garb for that occasion, it would take attention away from my mother, and it would also, later, take attention away from my wife, as difficult as that may be considering she looks FUCKING AMAZING! in the dress she finally picked out. And no, you can't see a picture, yet.
So there's no point me looking at kilts at this point in time, but maybe next St. Patrick's Day, at the local Gaelic Festival, I might pick up a Fraser kilt (even though the Festival is Irish and the Frasers are Scottish ;). And yes, as much as you don't want them now, there will be pictures ;)
Monday, July 30, 2007
Ding!!!
Saturday afternoon I finally got off my arse (figuratively speaking, not literally) and ground through the last half a million XP I needed to level my Dwarven Hunter to 70, the highest a character can (currently) go in the World of Warcraft. Being 70 meant I'd earned the right to fly a Gryphon everywhere, instead of stuck riding along the ground on my Battle Ram, and as soon as I could was tearing skywards on my Gryphon, not unlike Superman. Up, up, and away!
Apparently there's a ceiling but I never hit it, although the ground got pretty far away and I could only make out one or two buildings, so back down, down, down I went. The only problem is, and it's probably a gripe among all 70s, is that the lvl 60 Epic Mount runs faster than the lvl 70 Mount can fly. There's an "Epic" Flying Mount but he costs five times as much as the Regular version, although he apparently flies four times faster than the regular Flying Mount, and over twice as fast as the Epic Ground Mount. I go back to Australia in a few weeks time for my Mum's wedding. I wonder if that's enough time for a casual, hardcore gamer like me to accrue 5,000 gold coins? I'll probably end up doing nothing but killing Mobs for hours on end, day after day. Then again, I don't do much more than that in WoW anyway ;)
I know a couple of my Guildmates have the Epic Flying Mount on one of their toons, and with the daunting challenge of farming 5,000g in front of me, I can see why they only have it on one of their toons. A quick Google of "Buy WoW Gold" reveals that 5,000g can be bought for around $400. If I'm lucky, I can grind out that gold at approx. 100g/hour, but more likely we're looking at 80g/hour, or 60+ hours. For $400 that comes out to about $6.50/hour, or slightly more than Minimum Wage. On a somewhat positive note, I usually get in an average of 3 hours of WoW per night, with a few extra hours thrown in on the weekend, sometimes as much as 30 hours per week. Chances are good that I will have an Epic Flying Mount before I go back to Australia :)
Apparently there's a ceiling but I never hit it, although the ground got pretty far away and I could only make out one or two buildings, so back down, down, down I went. The only problem is, and it's probably a gripe among all 70s, is that the lvl 60 Epic Mount runs faster than the lvl 70 Mount can fly. There's an "Epic" Flying Mount but he costs five times as much as the Regular version, although he apparently flies four times faster than the regular Flying Mount, and over twice as fast as the Epic Ground Mount. I go back to Australia in a few weeks time for my Mum's wedding. I wonder if that's enough time for a casual, hardcore gamer like me to accrue 5,000 gold coins? I'll probably end up doing nothing but killing Mobs for hours on end, day after day. Then again, I don't do much more than that in WoW anyway ;)
I know a couple of my Guildmates have the Epic Flying Mount on one of their toons, and with the daunting challenge of farming 5,000g in front of me, I can see why they only have it on one of their toons. A quick Google of "Buy WoW Gold" reveals that 5,000g can be bought for around $400. If I'm lucky, I can grind out that gold at approx. 100g/hour, but more likely we're looking at 80g/hour, or 60+ hours. For $400 that comes out to about $6.50/hour, or slightly more than Minimum Wage. On a somewhat positive note, I usually get in an average of 3 hours of WoW per night, with a few extra hours thrown in on the weekend, sometimes as much as 30 hours per week. Chances are good that I will have an Epic Flying Mount before I go back to Australia :)
The O.C. Fair
On Friday Liz and I took the kids to the Orange County Fair for the afternoon.
Once upon a time JE used to enjoy going on the Giant Slide but lately we haven't been able to pay him to ride it. The bunny, on the other hand, thought the Giant Slide was great and together we went on it three times. She also went on two kiddy Roller Coasters, once with me & once by herself, and she was screaming with laughter the whole time. When she saw the Chair Lift ride she was adamant that she wanted to ride it, too. Liz declined but I managed to talk JE into riding it with us so we rode it across the park and back again. Afterwards we still had a couple of tickets left so JE took the bunny through the mirror maze, again. He also went through the Fun House and was a bit disappointed that it didn't have two stories like the one from last year's LA Fair. I was, too. It didn't take him much more than 30 seconds to go from one end of the Fun House to the other, and that's being kind to the Fun House. It was so short that we were able to get the bunny on to the Flying Dumbo ride (again by herself) then walk to the Fun House, which JE went through twice (and got stuck behind a slow kid the second time through), and when we got back to the Dumbo ride it still hadn't stopped.
The kids also played a couple of midway games. They both went "fishing" and won a small, stuffed turtle each, while JE threw darts at balloons, popping two (with two darts) and won himself a stuffed dog. The bunny wanted to pop balloons too but we didn't think it wise to let her be throwing darts around. Lord knows where they'd end up.
The (supposed) last stop was the Petting Farm, where they sold small cones of feed for $2. I don't think the girl in charge of selling the food was happy to hear me telling JE what would happen if he went in there with a pellet-filled cone. You get mugged by goats is what happens. You offer them a small handful of pellets but they go for the cone instead, and one quick crunch is all it takes to spill the pellets all over the ground. Inside the enclosure was a gumball machine set up to dispense a handful of pellets for 25¢, so I got a handful and gave the kids some each. They tried to feed the baby wallaby and the baby goat and were somewhat successful, although the baby wallaby was a bit freaked out by the little boy who kept trying to pick him up (his parents didn't do too good a job of stopping him), and after eating a few pellets he ran off. The wallaby, that is, not the boy.
On the way out we passed the stage where a group of Chinese performers were just starting their show, so we sat down to watch. Initially I stood behind the bunny's stroller but Liz called me over to sit down at the table next to her. It was shortly after that I heard the people behind me yelling at people in front to sit down...perhaps they'd also been yelling at me. One woman (who appeared to be someone's nanny) was approached by a man and told she was blocking the view of people behind her. She nodded and handed off the baby she was holding to the woman who appeared to be the baby's mother, who was sitting in the baby's stroller, then remained standing. Of course the yells from behind us persisted, directed specifically at the nanny, and when it was mentioned that there was an empty seat next to her (I think that comment came from my wife) a young boy crawled out of the stroller and sat in the empty seat, while the nanny remained standing, for the entire show.
Finally we made it out of the Fair grounds back to the car and despite not having had a nap both kids stayed awake the entire drive home, but neither of them stayed awake long once they were home in bed ;)
Once upon a time JE used to enjoy going on the Giant Slide but lately we haven't been able to pay him to ride it. The bunny, on the other hand, thought the Giant Slide was great and together we went on it three times. She also went on two kiddy Roller Coasters, once with me & once by herself, and she was screaming with laughter the whole time. When she saw the Chair Lift ride she was adamant that she wanted to ride it, too. Liz declined but I managed to talk JE into riding it with us so we rode it across the park and back again. Afterwards we still had a couple of tickets left so JE took the bunny through the mirror maze, again. He also went through the Fun House and was a bit disappointed that it didn't have two stories like the one from last year's LA Fair. I was, too. It didn't take him much more than 30 seconds to go from one end of the Fun House to the other, and that's being kind to the Fun House. It was so short that we were able to get the bunny on to the Flying Dumbo ride (again by herself) then walk to the Fun House, which JE went through twice (and got stuck behind a slow kid the second time through), and when we got back to the Dumbo ride it still hadn't stopped.
The kids also played a couple of midway games. They both went "fishing" and won a small, stuffed turtle each, while JE threw darts at balloons, popping two (with two darts) and won himself a stuffed dog. The bunny wanted to pop balloons too but we didn't think it wise to let her be throwing darts around. Lord knows where they'd end up.
The (supposed) last stop was the Petting Farm, where they sold small cones of feed for $2. I don't think the girl in charge of selling the food was happy to hear me telling JE what would happen if he went in there with a pellet-filled cone. You get mugged by goats is what happens. You offer them a small handful of pellets but they go for the cone instead, and one quick crunch is all it takes to spill the pellets all over the ground. Inside the enclosure was a gumball machine set up to dispense a handful of pellets for 25¢, so I got a handful and gave the kids some each. They tried to feed the baby wallaby and the baby goat and were somewhat successful, although the baby wallaby was a bit freaked out by the little boy who kept trying to pick him up (his parents didn't do too good a job of stopping him), and after eating a few pellets he ran off. The wallaby, that is, not the boy.
On the way out we passed the stage where a group of Chinese performers were just starting their show, so we sat down to watch. Initially I stood behind the bunny's stroller but Liz called me over to sit down at the table next to her. It was shortly after that I heard the people behind me yelling at people in front to sit down...perhaps they'd also been yelling at me. One woman (who appeared to be someone's nanny) was approached by a man and told she was blocking the view of people behind her. She nodded and handed off the baby she was holding to the woman who appeared to be the baby's mother, who was sitting in the baby's stroller, then remained standing. Of course the yells from behind us persisted, directed specifically at the nanny, and when it was mentioned that there was an empty seat next to her (I think that comment came from my wife) a young boy crawled out of the stroller and sat in the empty seat, while the nanny remained standing, for the entire show.
Finally we made it out of the Fair grounds back to the car and despite not having had a nap both kids stayed awake the entire drive home, but neither of them stayed awake long once they were home in bed ;)
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Battle at Rorke's Drift
On January 22nd and January 23rd, 1879, one hundred & thirty-nine British soldiers defended "Rorke's Drift", a mission station in Natal, South Africa, against a Zulu army numbering somewhere between 4,000 and 5,000 warriors. Armed with single-shot, breech loading Martini-Henry rifles chambered for a large (by today's standards) .577 caliber round, the British soldiers successfully repelled every attack, even when it came down to bayonet vs spear.
The Battle at Rorke's Drift has been the inspiration for several paintings
"Defense of Rorke's Drift" by Alphonse de Neuville (1835-1885)
and at least two movies; Zulu Dawn (1979), and the older (but better, IMHO), Zulu (1964), which gave Michael Caine his big break.
Being a movie I grew up with and watched at every chance, even just the few minutes of the final battle between the British soldiers and the Zulu warriors is enough to send a chill down my spine.
As the Zulu chant and work themselves up into a frenzy before they launch their final assault, the soldier who rallies his fellow soldiers, leading them in the singing of "Men of Harlech" (a Welsh battle hymn), is Welshman Emmanuel Ivor, an accomplished singer and performer in his own right.
If you're a war movie buff I totally recommend checking out Zulu if you get the chance, then again, if you're a war movie buff, you probably already have ;)
The Battle at Rorke's Drift has been the inspiration for several paintings
"Defense of Rorke's Drift" by Alphonse de Neuville (1835-1885)and at least two movies; Zulu Dawn (1979), and the older (but better, IMHO), Zulu (1964), which gave Michael Caine his big break.
Being a movie I grew up with and watched at every chance, even just the few minutes of the final battle between the British soldiers and the Zulu warriors is enough to send a chill down my spine.
As the Zulu chant and work themselves up into a frenzy before they launch their final assault, the soldier who rallies his fellow soldiers, leading them in the singing of "Men of Harlech" (a Welsh battle hymn), is Welshman Emmanuel Ivor, an accomplished singer and performer in his own right.
If you're a war movie buff I totally recommend checking out Zulu if you get the chance, then again, if you're a war movie buff, you probably already have ;)
Pocket Pool on a Phone or PC
My Razr phone comes with a Pool game, which lends itself well to a phone because pool is not a twitch, reflex-based game so doesn't require a lot of processing power from the phone, or frantic button pressing from the player. But the limitations of the phone, the small screen, etc, can make playing the game somewhat frustrating, combine that with computer players who can line up the perfect shot, including bank shots and cannon shots, and you have a challenging game which lends itself well to the old gamer's cry of "Cheating bitch!" (as made popular by Kurt Russell in John Carpenter's "The Thing").
The game also requires you to know the rules of three games of Pool, being 8-Ball UK, 8-Ball US, and 9-Ball. While the game does provide a small Rules page you can often find yourself making a foul without knowing why. Take breaking, for example. You shoot the ball down the table and into the rack of balls at the other end, only to be told it was an Illegal Break, or you committed a Foul. Why? I had to go online to find that out, and what I found was that (naturally) an Illegal Break varies from game to game. In 9-Ball the cue ball has to make contact with the lowest numbered ball first, which is not hard on the break because the Yellow (Ball #1) is the ball closest to the shooting line. On the break you must also either pot a ball (any ball) or cause four (or more) balls to hit a cushion. If you don't do this it's an Illegal Break, or a Foul, and your opponent can choose to rerack the balls, or play the table as is. In 8-Ball (both US & UK) a similar condition to the break applies, where you must drive four (or more) balls to the cushion, or pot one (or more) balls.
When not on the break you must hit one of your own balls first then either the cue ball or your own ball must hit another ball or a cushion, or you must pocket one of your own balls. So the old backyard method of snookering your opponent by hitting the cue ball just hard enough that it touches one of your own balls then stops is actually a Foul if neither ball hits a cushion.
The Pool game on my Razr is actually rather fun, if not for the computer "cheating" through superior knowledge of geometry and vectors, and in the limitations imposed on you by the digital controls, especially when your cue ball is at the other end of the table from your target ball. Sometimes you find a single press of the key moves the targeting reticle just too far for the shot you want, so you move it back and now you have the same problem from the other side. You can either miss to the left, or miss to the right, whereas the computer doesn't seem to be affected by the same limitations and makes table-length shots with ease.
I still think one of the best and most realistic computerized Pool games I've ever played was Virtual Pool, which virtually eliminated the aiming problem so common to 99% of PC Pool games. Rather than using keys to move your targeting reticle back & forth, your Virtual Pool cue was controlled by the mouse. So as you slid the mouse left and right your point of view rotated around the cue ball and changed the direction of your shot incrementally. By sliding the mouse forwards and backwards your "virtual head" raised and lowered over the cue ball, allowing you to get down low and really line up your shot. Finally when you felt the balls were in alignment and it was time to shoot you'd press & hold 'S' then slide your mouse backwards then forwards, simulating the action required to use a real pool cue. Whereas most games required you to press a button to start then stop a power meter to determine how hard you hit the cue ball, Virtual Pool gave you more precise control; the faster you slid your mouse forward, the harder you struck the ball. Ingenious!
Of course despite the more refined control Virtual Pool gave you over your cue, when playing a computer you were still subject to the same, freakishly genius way the computer could nail bank shots & combo shots. How can you beat someone who knows not just where the cue ball is going to go, but where their target ball will go, and where any other balls involved in the shot will go, too. We can determine this ourselves to some degree, but when you shoot a ball into a pack of balls it's almost impossible to determine what will happen on the other side. But the computer knows because it has to calculate everything that's going to happen, so your computer opponent knows exactly what will happen if it hits Ball 1 at Angle X with Force F.
In 9-Ball you have an easy out. Unlike 8-Ball where it's an automatic loss-of-game if you sink the Black out-of-turn, in 9-Ball it's a game winning shot as long as you hit the lowest numbered ball first. Sink the 9 on the break, you win. Hit the 8 (legally) into the 9 and sink it, you win. Hit the 1 and cannon the cue ball into the 9, sinking it, and you win. The computer knows this, too, but will often ignore this facet of the game. I've played games where the computer is on a run and I've been waiting for him to make a mistake because the 9 is poised over a corner pocket so as soon as it's my turn, it's Game Over, I Win! Cheating? Hardly, it's within the rules of the game :)
So while I never played 9-Ball until I came here to the U.S., I'm finding it's my game of choice against a computer opponent. Especially when playing a jammy bastard who pulls off impossible shots, and does things like bounce his target ball off the two corners of a pocket sending it back out into play, where it rolls down the table and drops into the opposite pocket. When the computer has precise control of every ball on the table and they play a shot like that, you know they meant to do it. Just like when the best player in the game repeatedly sinks the 9-Ball on the break. Jammy bastard! So when I get the chance to sink the 9-Ball out-of-turn I grab it with both hands.
"You got lucky this time," says the best player in the game. Hey, a win is a win, and I'll take them whenever I can get them.
*EDIT*
I was going to respond to Wolf's comment with one of my own (Noob ;) but realized it was quickly turning in to an entry length post, so I figured I'd add it here.
Growing up I had a grandfather who had a room in his house devoted to his pool table, and so I became very familiar with the three mainstream Pocket Pool games, being 8-Ball Pool, Billards, and Snooker. 8-Ball Pool you already know how to play, while Snooker you may have seen on the Tele' but billed as Pot Black (or at least that's the name the older series went by). Snooker is played with 10 red balls initially racked in a triangle a la 8-Ball (which uses 15 balls) but in addition to the 10 reds you have 6 colored balls: yellow; brown; green; blue; pink; & black, which are placed on the spots that you may have seen on better quality pool tables. The object of Snooker is to pot a red ball, then pot a colored ball of your choice (which gets respotted after potting), then pot another red ball, another (or the same) colored ball, and so on. You score 1 point for a red, and 2 to 7 points for a colored ball (in order as named earlier). After the reds are all sunk you work on the colored balls, again in successive order, until the black is sunk. The winner is not necessarily the person who potted the black, but who scored the most points during the game. Sink the most reds but only pot yellow and brown (or not sink a colored at all) and you might find yourself losing to someone who sinks the pink or black each time they pot a red. The term "snooker", meaning to finish your turn leaving your opponent no clear shot at a legal ball without making a bank shot, comes from this game.
Finally there's "English Billiards", the gentleman's game, best played among friends while smoking cigars and drinking expensive wine, whiskey or cognac. English Billiards (henceforth just called Billiards) is played between two players, each with their own cue ball (one of which is marked with a spot), and a single red ball. Yep, just the one red ball, which is placed on the dot at the bottom of the table. Technically there's no "break" in Billiards (no racked balls to break), so the person with the first shot has just one way to shoot and keep their turn; sink the red ball, or their own cue ball, on the "break". If you fail to score your opponent places his ball in the D at the top of the table and takes his first shot shooting down the table, that is, his ball must cross the line before striking the red ball or your own cue ball.
Now with three balls on the table you can also score with a "cannnon", that is striking both balls in either order with your own cue ball in one shot. You can also sink any or all of the balls during a cannon and score additional points. Be warned that if you sink the red or your own cue ball they come back out and get placed on the table and you keep your turn, but if you sink your opponent's cue ball it does not return to the table until the start of his turn, leaving you with just your own cue ball and the red with which to score points, which once again can now only occur through potting a ball. So it's not necessarily a good idea to pot your opponent's ball because it limits the ways you can score; it's better to attempt to pot your own cue ball, if possible. Billiards is played until one player wins by reaching a predetermined score, usually 100 but sometimes higher if players are particularly skilled and have no trouble scoring 100+ points in a single run.
Walter Lindrum: "G'day son. How about a game of Billiards?"
Sonny Jim: "If it's ok with you, sir, let's just say we played and you won."
Walter Lindrum's gravesite at Melbourne General Cemetary in Carlton North, Victoria, Australia. The man wasn't a fanatic, he was that damn good.
The game also requires you to know the rules of three games of Pool, being 8-Ball UK, 8-Ball US, and 9-Ball. While the game does provide a small Rules page you can often find yourself making a foul without knowing why. Take breaking, for example. You shoot the ball down the table and into the rack of balls at the other end, only to be told it was an Illegal Break, or you committed a Foul. Why? I had to go online to find that out, and what I found was that (naturally) an Illegal Break varies from game to game. In 9-Ball the cue ball has to make contact with the lowest numbered ball first, which is not hard on the break because the Yellow (Ball #1) is the ball closest to the shooting line. On the break you must also either pot a ball (any ball) or cause four (or more) balls to hit a cushion. If you don't do this it's an Illegal Break, or a Foul, and your opponent can choose to rerack the balls, or play the table as is. In 8-Ball (both US & UK) a similar condition to the break applies, where you must drive four (or more) balls to the cushion, or pot one (or more) balls.
When not on the break you must hit one of your own balls first then either the cue ball or your own ball must hit another ball or a cushion, or you must pocket one of your own balls. So the old backyard method of snookering your opponent by hitting the cue ball just hard enough that it touches one of your own balls then stops is actually a Foul if neither ball hits a cushion.
The Pool game on my Razr is actually rather fun, if not for the computer "cheating" through superior knowledge of geometry and vectors, and in the limitations imposed on you by the digital controls, especially when your cue ball is at the other end of the table from your target ball. Sometimes you find a single press of the key moves the targeting reticle just too far for the shot you want, so you move it back and now you have the same problem from the other side. You can either miss to the left, or miss to the right, whereas the computer doesn't seem to be affected by the same limitations and makes table-length shots with ease.
I still think one of the best and most realistic computerized Pool games I've ever played was Virtual Pool, which virtually eliminated the aiming problem so common to 99% of PC Pool games. Rather than using keys to move your targeting reticle back & forth, your Virtual Pool cue was controlled by the mouse. So as you slid the mouse left and right your point of view rotated around the cue ball and changed the direction of your shot incrementally. By sliding the mouse forwards and backwards your "virtual head" raised and lowered over the cue ball, allowing you to get down low and really line up your shot. Finally when you felt the balls were in alignment and it was time to shoot you'd press & hold 'S' then slide your mouse backwards then forwards, simulating the action required to use a real pool cue. Whereas most games required you to press a button to start then stop a power meter to determine how hard you hit the cue ball, Virtual Pool gave you more precise control; the faster you slid your mouse forward, the harder you struck the ball. Ingenious!
Of course despite the more refined control Virtual Pool gave you over your cue, when playing a computer you were still subject to the same, freakishly genius way the computer could nail bank shots & combo shots. How can you beat someone who knows not just where the cue ball is going to go, but where their target ball will go, and where any other balls involved in the shot will go, too. We can determine this ourselves to some degree, but when you shoot a ball into a pack of balls it's almost impossible to determine what will happen on the other side. But the computer knows because it has to calculate everything that's going to happen, so your computer opponent knows exactly what will happen if it hits Ball 1 at Angle X with Force F.
In 9-Ball you have an easy out. Unlike 8-Ball where it's an automatic loss-of-game if you sink the Black out-of-turn, in 9-Ball it's a game winning shot as long as you hit the lowest numbered ball first. Sink the 9 on the break, you win. Hit the 8 (legally) into the 9 and sink it, you win. Hit the 1 and cannon the cue ball into the 9, sinking it, and you win. The computer knows this, too, but will often ignore this facet of the game. I've played games where the computer is on a run and I've been waiting for him to make a mistake because the 9 is poised over a corner pocket so as soon as it's my turn, it's Game Over, I Win! Cheating? Hardly, it's within the rules of the game :)
So while I never played 9-Ball until I came here to the U.S., I'm finding it's my game of choice against a computer opponent. Especially when playing a jammy bastard who pulls off impossible shots, and does things like bounce his target ball off the two corners of a pocket sending it back out into play, where it rolls down the table and drops into the opposite pocket. When the computer has precise control of every ball on the table and they play a shot like that, you know they meant to do it. Just like when the best player in the game repeatedly sinks the 9-Ball on the break. Jammy bastard! So when I get the chance to sink the 9-Ball out-of-turn I grab it with both hands.
"You got lucky this time," says the best player in the game. Hey, a win is a win, and I'll take them whenever I can get them.
*EDIT*
I was going to respond to Wolf's comment with one of my own (Noob ;) but realized it was quickly turning in to an entry length post, so I figured I'd add it here.
Growing up I had a grandfather who had a room in his house devoted to his pool table, and so I became very familiar with the three mainstream Pocket Pool games, being 8-Ball Pool, Billards, and Snooker. 8-Ball Pool you already know how to play, while Snooker you may have seen on the Tele' but billed as Pot Black (or at least that's the name the older series went by). Snooker is played with 10 red balls initially racked in a triangle a la 8-Ball (which uses 15 balls) but in addition to the 10 reds you have 6 colored balls: yellow; brown; green; blue; pink; & black, which are placed on the spots that you may have seen on better quality pool tables. The object of Snooker is to pot a red ball, then pot a colored ball of your choice (which gets respotted after potting), then pot another red ball, another (or the same) colored ball, and so on. You score 1 point for a red, and 2 to 7 points for a colored ball (in order as named earlier). After the reds are all sunk you work on the colored balls, again in successive order, until the black is sunk. The winner is not necessarily the person who potted the black, but who scored the most points during the game. Sink the most reds but only pot yellow and brown (or not sink a colored at all) and you might find yourself losing to someone who sinks the pink or black each time they pot a red. The term "snooker", meaning to finish your turn leaving your opponent no clear shot at a legal ball without making a bank shot, comes from this game.
Finally there's "English Billiards", the gentleman's game, best played among friends while smoking cigars and drinking expensive wine, whiskey or cognac. English Billiards (henceforth just called Billiards) is played between two players, each with their own cue ball (one of which is marked with a spot), and a single red ball. Yep, just the one red ball, which is placed on the dot at the bottom of the table. Technically there's no "break" in Billiards (no racked balls to break), so the person with the first shot has just one way to shoot and keep their turn; sink the red ball, or their own cue ball, on the "break". If you fail to score your opponent places his ball in the D at the top of the table and takes his first shot shooting down the table, that is, his ball must cross the line before striking the red ball or your own cue ball.
Now with three balls on the table you can also score with a "cannnon", that is striking both balls in either order with your own cue ball in one shot. You can also sink any or all of the balls during a cannon and score additional points. Be warned that if you sink the red or your own cue ball they come back out and get placed on the table and you keep your turn, but if you sink your opponent's cue ball it does not return to the table until the start of his turn, leaving you with just your own cue ball and the red with which to score points, which once again can now only occur through potting a ball. So it's not necessarily a good idea to pot your opponent's ball because it limits the ways you can score; it's better to attempt to pot your own cue ball, if possible. Billiards is played until one player wins by reaching a predetermined score, usually 100 but sometimes higher if players are particularly skilled and have no trouble scoring 100+ points in a single run.
Walter Lindrum: "G'day son. How about a game of Billiards?"
Sonny Jim: "If it's ok with you, sir, let's just say we played and you won."
Walter Lindrum's gravesite at Melbourne General Cemetary in Carlton North, Victoria, Australia. The man wasn't a fanatic, he was that damn good.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Quick, think of something witty for a title!
Sunday Liz and I hooked up with Xinh and we went in to Burbank to watch HP5. For some reason I was thinking this was the HP book I'd quit reading halfway through, but as we watched the movie more and more of it seemed familiar, and now I wonder if I didn't give up on She-who-shall-not-be-named (because I've forgotten her bloody name) midway through HP6. Initially the HP books reminded me very much of Enid Blyton's stories, the Magic Faraway Tree, and various other english books I grew up with, then somewhere between HP5 and HP6 She-who-shall-not-be-named changed something with her writing style, because as much as I wanted to read HP6, all I could do was pick it up, read a bit, then put it down. It wasn't the length of the books, I've read thicker; it wasn't the content, I've read worse. It was something in the way she wrote that made reading her a chore, at least for me. I've had other books like that as well where I've really wanted to read them and I could only manage to read them a few pages at a time, too, before finally giving up on them. A writing instructor told me I was probably subconsciously picking up flaws in the way the authors wrote and so their words didn't flow, for me at least, which made reading them very difficult.
That said, I found HP5:The Movie very enjoyable, although the actors are getting older and I fear by the time HP7:The Movie comes out, at best the cast will look like college kids. Then again, HP7's kids are probably High School-senior age so college-age kids are not too far off. I tell you what though, they better be filming HP7:The Movie as you read this, or the kids really will look too old.
After HP5 let out the three of us made our way to a chinese-buffet that Xinh recommended, and I fear I ate too much. Dinner-time came around and I was still rather stuffed. It was Liz's Dad's birthday this Sunday so we ended up buying him dinner, which actually meant crashing their dinner at a local restaurant, eating some of their food (and I really shouldn't have) then paying for the entire meal and taking our kids home.
Around 2am Monday morning I awoke to the unpleasant sensation of imminent vomiting. I lay there for a few moments, trying to use superior will power to suppress it but soon came to the realization that this was not going to work, this time (it's worked in the past). I trotted to our bathroom and got ready to drive the white, porcelain bus. While not enjoyable, this vomiting session was also not particularly unpleasant, I've had far worse (vomiting blood, for one...make that two). After a couple of heaves my stomach was empty and I was feeling that post-nauseous euphoria that accompanies a good expulsion, along with the cold sweat. I crawled back into bed where I went back to sleep for the next 8 hours, except for getting up, briefly, around 5am and emailing my boss that I wouldn't be coming in to work that day.
The rest of the week has been rather uneventful, it's a short week for me, too (even shorter, now). I'm off Friday and Liz and I are taking the kids down to the O.C. Fair. It should be a good day, just hope it's not too hot.
That said, I found HP5:The Movie very enjoyable, although the actors are getting older and I fear by the time HP7:The Movie comes out, at best the cast will look like college kids. Then again, HP7's kids are probably High School-senior age so college-age kids are not too far off. I tell you what though, they better be filming HP7:The Movie as you read this, or the kids really will look too old.
After HP5 let out the three of us made our way to a chinese-buffet that Xinh recommended, and I fear I ate too much. Dinner-time came around and I was still rather stuffed. It was Liz's Dad's birthday this Sunday so we ended up buying him dinner, which actually meant crashing their dinner at a local restaurant, eating some of their food (and I really shouldn't have) then paying for the entire meal and taking our kids home.
Around 2am Monday morning I awoke to the unpleasant sensation of imminent vomiting. I lay there for a few moments, trying to use superior will power to suppress it but soon came to the realization that this was not going to work, this time (it's worked in the past). I trotted to our bathroom and got ready to drive the white, porcelain bus. While not enjoyable, this vomiting session was also not particularly unpleasant, I've had far worse (vomiting blood, for one...make that two). After a couple of heaves my stomach was empty and I was feeling that post-nauseous euphoria that accompanies a good expulsion, along with the cold sweat. I crawled back into bed where I went back to sleep for the next 8 hours, except for getting up, briefly, around 5am and emailing my boss that I wouldn't be coming in to work that day.
The rest of the week has been rather uneventful, it's a short week for me, too (even shorter, now). I'm off Friday and Liz and I are taking the kids down to the O.C. Fair. It should be a good day, just hope it's not too hot.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
More Coffee News
The Calorie-Count.com website claims the following...
A Tall (12oz) Non-fat Caffè Latte apparently has 126 calories. 0g of Fat, 12g of Protein, and 18g of Carbs, of which 16g are Sugars.
A Tall (12oz) Soy Latte has 162 calories, 5g of Fat (1g Saturated), 8g of Protein, and 22g of Carbs (1g Dietary Fiber, 17g Sugars)
At Starbucks' website I was able to pull up the following information.
Tall Non-fat Caffè Latte - 100 calories, 0g fat, 10g of Protein, and 15g of Carbs (14g from Sugars).
Tall Soy Latte - 130 calories, 4g of fat (0.5g Saturated), 7g Protein, 18g Carbs (14g from Sugars).
Now I don't drink Tall drinks, I drink Grande, and according to Starbucks,
my Grande Non-Fat Caffè Latte has 130 Calories, 13g Proteins, and 19g Carbs (18g from Sugars)
While the Grande Soy Latte 170 Calories, 4.5g Fat (0.5g Saturated), 9g Protein, 23g Carbs (17g from Sugars).
Oddly enough the Calorie-Count.com website's figures for Tall Lattes are very close to Starbucks figures for their Grande drinks. Do we believe Starbucks? Or Calorie-count.com? Or do we hazard a guess that someone at Calorie-Count.com entered the Grande figures for Tall-sized drinks? And why are both of these figures different from those I found last month on a third website?
Regardless of who's right or wrong, what this all boils down to is that I was about to go and get a Soy Latte but I've changed my mind; I'm sticking with my Non-fat Caffè Latte, Grande of course ;)
Although, I just noticed the Café Au Lait stats.
70 Calories (almost half that of my Caffé Latte), 0g Fat, 7g Protein (but who drinks coffee for Protein?). 10g Carbs, all of it sugar, but again close to half that of my Caffé Latte.
I think I'll give a non-Fat Grande Café Au Lait a try.
Of course an Americano has even less calories, carbs, etc, but with it I'll need to add Creamer & Sugar which defeats the purpose of getting the lower calorie drink in the first place.
A Tall (12oz) Non-fat Caffè Latte apparently has 126 calories. 0g of Fat, 12g of Protein, and 18g of Carbs, of which 16g are Sugars.
A Tall (12oz) Soy Latte has 162 calories, 5g of Fat (1g Saturated), 8g of Protein, and 22g of Carbs (1g Dietary Fiber, 17g Sugars)
At Starbucks' website I was able to pull up the following information.
Tall Non-fat Caffè Latte - 100 calories, 0g fat, 10g of Protein, and 15g of Carbs (14g from Sugars).
Tall Soy Latte - 130 calories, 4g of fat (0.5g Saturated), 7g Protein, 18g Carbs (14g from Sugars).
Now I don't drink Tall drinks, I drink Grande, and according to Starbucks,
my Grande Non-Fat Caffè Latte has 130 Calories, 13g Proteins, and 19g Carbs (18g from Sugars)
While the Grande Soy Latte 170 Calories, 4.5g Fat (0.5g Saturated), 9g Protein, 23g Carbs (17g from Sugars).
Oddly enough the Calorie-Count.com website's figures for Tall Lattes are very close to Starbucks figures for their Grande drinks. Do we believe Starbucks? Or Calorie-count.com? Or do we hazard a guess that someone at Calorie-Count.com entered the Grande figures for Tall-sized drinks? And why are both of these figures different from those I found last month on a third website?
Regardless of who's right or wrong, what this all boils down to is that I was about to go and get a Soy Latte but I've changed my mind; I'm sticking with my Non-fat Caffè Latte, Grande of course ;)
Although, I just noticed the Café Au Lait stats.
70 Calories (almost half that of my Caffé Latte), 0g Fat, 7g Protein (but who drinks coffee for Protein?). 10g Carbs, all of it sugar, but again close to half that of my Caffé Latte.
I think I'll give a non-Fat Grande Café Au Lait a try.
Of course an Americano has even less calories, carbs, etc, but with it I'll need to add Creamer & Sugar which defeats the purpose of getting the lower calorie drink in the first place.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The waltz was easy...
once I figured it out, but what the hell kind of tempo is 1, 2, cha-cha-cha, 3, 4, cha-cha-cha?
To top it off, our Instructor wants us to start on either the upbeat or the downbeat (I can't remember which) but basically you take 3 steps to start, then do the cha-cha-cha. So it's 1, 2, 3, cha-cha-cha, 1, 2, cha-cha-cha, 3, 4, cha-cha-cha
I'm listening to the music and trying to work out when to take that first step to the left and I can't hear it because there is no 1, 2, 3, cha-cha-cha. It's all 1, 2, cha-cha-cha, 1, 2, cha-cha-cha. Apparently any fool can start with the 2-step cha-cha-cha, but our Instructor wants us to learn the advanced Cha-Cha and start with a 3-step.
I think the first step is supposed to be on the final "cha". Yeah, that makes sense. I don't know why I didn't get that last night.
When we're in the chorus line everything works well. I'm dancing ok, Liz is dancing ok. We've totally got it. Then we cross the room and hook up and everything goes to pieces. It doesn't help that nobody wants to give us room, even though we're two of the tallest people on the floor.
Sometimes you just want to start smacking people and yelling "Get the fuck out of our way! We were here first! Go back to your own little spot and STOP CROWDING US!!! I'm gonna be stamping on toes soon and they won't be my wife's. You hear what I'm saying?!"
So we slowly start to get the hang of it, and we're moving together and doing ok, and then one of the Staff comes by and starts to tell us what we're doing wrong, or what we need to do right, and then it all goes to hell in a handcart again.
And sweat! I was still sweating at the In-laws over half an hour later. Of course it didn't help that they wanted us to show them what we'd learned, and my kids were jumping all over me, and my son (who's still a young boy but not so little any more) practically jumped into my arms, so of course my daughter did the same thing when I finally put my boy down, which is when I was asked to show off the Cha-cha, which I did while carrying 30+ pounds of child.
I'm not really complaining. I actually had fun. And I'm enjoying learning how to dance with Liz without stepping on her toes. More importantly she's learning how to dance with me. She already knows how to dance (and well, I might add), but she's used to dancing with her family who are also quite competent dancers. Liz is not used to dancing with someone who doesn't know how to dance so it's a learning process for her, too.
To top it off, our Instructor wants us to start on either the upbeat or the downbeat (I can't remember which) but basically you take 3 steps to start, then do the cha-cha-cha. So it's 1, 2, 3, cha-cha-cha, 1, 2, cha-cha-cha, 3, 4, cha-cha-cha
I'm listening to the music and trying to work out when to take that first step to the left and I can't hear it because there is no 1, 2, 3, cha-cha-cha. It's all 1, 2, cha-cha-cha, 1, 2, cha-cha-cha. Apparently any fool can start with the 2-step cha-cha-cha, but our Instructor wants us to learn the advanced Cha-Cha and start with a 3-step.
I think the first step is supposed to be on the final "cha". Yeah, that makes sense. I don't know why I didn't get that last night.
When we're in the chorus line everything works well. I'm dancing ok, Liz is dancing ok. We've totally got it. Then we cross the room and hook up and everything goes to pieces. It doesn't help that nobody wants to give us room, even though we're two of the tallest people on the floor.
Sometimes you just want to start smacking people and yelling "Get the fuck out of our way! We were here first! Go back to your own little spot and STOP CROWDING US!!! I'm gonna be stamping on toes soon and they won't be my wife's. You hear what I'm saying?!"
So we slowly start to get the hang of it, and we're moving together and doing ok, and then one of the Staff comes by and starts to tell us what we're doing wrong, or what we need to do right, and then it all goes to hell in a handcart again.
And sweat! I was still sweating at the In-laws over half an hour later. Of course it didn't help that they wanted us to show them what we'd learned, and my kids were jumping all over me, and my son (who's still a young boy but not so little any more) practically jumped into my arms, so of course my daughter did the same thing when I finally put my boy down, which is when I was asked to show off the Cha-cha, which I did while carrying 30+ pounds of child.
I'm not really complaining. I actually had fun. And I'm enjoying learning how to dance with Liz without stepping on her toes. More importantly she's learning how to dance with me. She already knows how to dance (and well, I might add), but she's used to dancing with her family who are also quite competent dancers. Liz is not used to dancing with someone who doesn't know how to dance so it's a learning process for her, too.
The Highwaymen
sing The Highwayman.
As much as I love country, and as famous as this song is, I don't believe I've ever heard it until GoCountry played it this morning, and right away I loved it.
Here's Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash, collectively known as The Highwaymen singing their title song, The Highwayman.
As much as I love country, and as famous as this song is, I don't believe I've ever heard it until GoCountry played it this morning, and right away I loved it.
Here's Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash, collectively known as The Highwaymen singing their title song, The Highwayman.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Just another typical Monday.
Shortly after getting in to work this morning an email was sent around congratulating the successful candidate for a position I'd interviewed for a few weeks ago. No, I wasn't the successful candidate, and it wasn't the guy who's been here for 10+ years and is already working in that position; it was a girl who's been here for less than two years.
I decided to go to Starbucks and get a conciliatory latte. While making my drink the barista asked me what I'd ordered.
"Non-fat latte," I told him, as I watched him pour a latte from the whole milk pot.
"Non-fat latte," he said to me, handing me my...whole-milk latte? Aah, it doesn't matter; it's only a few more calories.
Back at the office I took the first sip from my latte. What the??? This isn't even a whole milk latte!!! What the hell am I drinking???
The answer to that would be "Vanessa's" Hazelnut Latte. Which wasn't too bad once I was no longer expecting a regular latte. I sure hope Vanessa took a sip of "her" drink before she left Starbucks.
A Subway opened up across the street. I went over there with two coworkers and got a Turkey & Ham on Honey-Oat...or at least that's what I ordered. Got back to the office and discovered I had a Turkey & Ham on Wheat. Better than White at least, which would have been taken back to Subway...maybe...they were kind of busy when I left.
I wonder...dare I say it?
Come on, Monday! Is that the best you can do? BRING IT!!!
I decided to go to Starbucks and get a conciliatory latte. While making my drink the barista asked me what I'd ordered.
"Non-fat latte," I told him, as I watched him pour a latte from the whole milk pot.
"Non-fat latte," he said to me, handing me my...whole-milk latte? Aah, it doesn't matter; it's only a few more calories.
Back at the office I took the first sip from my latte. What the??? This isn't even a whole milk latte!!! What the hell am I drinking???
The answer to that would be "Vanessa's" Hazelnut Latte. Which wasn't too bad once I was no longer expecting a regular latte. I sure hope Vanessa took a sip of "her" drink before she left Starbucks.
A Subway opened up across the street. I went over there with two coworkers and got a Turkey & Ham on Honey-Oat...or at least that's what I ordered. Got back to the office and discovered I had a Turkey & Ham on Wheat. Better than White at least, which would have been taken back to Subway...maybe...they were kind of busy when I left.
I wonder...dare I say it?
Come on, Monday! Is that the best you can do? BRING IT!!!
Where to begin
when there's not much to say...
Probably the most exciting thing to happen all week was getting a Juror Summons, because I've always wanted to be on a Jury. And having a Government job means I get paid my regular wage for the entire time I'm on Jury Duty, so for me it represents no undue hardship and is actually something I'm looking forward to doing. Before I became a Citizen I received at least three Juror Summons, and I kept responding saying "I'm not a U.S. Citizen", but they kept sending me more. Then I became a U.S. Citizen and I never received another Juror Summons. Until now.
The phone system to call in was not the most helpful. The very first question the automated system would ask me was "Are you a U.S. Citizen? Press 1 for Yes, 2 for No." So I'd hit 2 (back when I wasn't a U.S. Citizen) then get asked every other question as well (Are you a convicted Felon, etc), then get put on Hold. I'd get put on Hold by an automated phone system. Finally it would come back and say "You said you are not a Citizen. Is this correct? 1 for Yes, 2 for No." See where they're going here? This is the reverse of the first question. It's now a negative question, but with a qualifier, which means it's easier to answer than a true negative question.
"Are you not a U.S. Citizen?"
Yes, that is correct, I am not.
No, that is incorrect, I am.
I'm sure there's probably a 4" thick grammar book discussing how to answer Negative Questions, but it seems to me that as obtuse as the above answers are, they're technically the correct answers for that particular negative question.
"He's not your dog?"
"No, he's not" answers the question with no ambiguity, but is it correct to answer this particular question like that? Or should you say, "Yes (that is correct), he's not my dog."
Both of these questions are phrased in such a way that the questioner appears to already have a preconceived idea regarding the situation.
"I didn't see you there. Didn't you go to the party last night?"
"You don't seem too fond of him. He's not your dog?
Despite this, it seems that a No answer should be more correct when agreeing with a Negative Question, simply because we're taught that No is negative.
Didn't you go to the party last night?
No, I did not.
He's not your dog?
No, he's not.
But appearances can be deceiving, and an incorrect answer is still an incorrect answer regardless of how correct it appears, and regardless of common usage and acceptance. Remember, once upon a time it was accepted that the world was flat, and in fact it appeared that it was, but eventually everyone came around and realized the error of their ways.
Still, I'm very open to people commenting and providing reputable references that support their point of view. So, which is correct?
Q. He's not your dog?
A1. Yes, he's not my dog.
A2. No, he's not my dog.
Probably the most exciting thing to happen all week was getting a Juror Summons, because I've always wanted to be on a Jury. And having a Government job means I get paid my regular wage for the entire time I'm on Jury Duty, so for me it represents no undue hardship and is actually something I'm looking forward to doing. Before I became a Citizen I received at least three Juror Summons, and I kept responding saying "I'm not a U.S. Citizen", but they kept sending me more. Then I became a U.S. Citizen and I never received another Juror Summons. Until now.
The phone system to call in was not the most helpful. The very first question the automated system would ask me was "Are you a U.S. Citizen? Press 1 for Yes, 2 for No." So I'd hit 2 (back when I wasn't a U.S. Citizen) then get asked every other question as well (Are you a convicted Felon, etc), then get put on Hold. I'd get put on Hold by an automated phone system. Finally it would come back and say "You said you are not a Citizen. Is this correct? 1 for Yes, 2 for No." See where they're going here? This is the reverse of the first question. It's now a negative question, but with a qualifier, which means it's easier to answer than a true negative question.
"Are you not a U.S. Citizen?"
Yes, that is correct, I am not.
No, that is incorrect, I am.
I'm sure there's probably a 4" thick grammar book discussing how to answer Negative Questions, but it seems to me that as obtuse as the above answers are, they're technically the correct answers for that particular negative question.
"He's not your dog?"
"No, he's not" answers the question with no ambiguity, but is it correct to answer this particular question like that? Or should you say, "Yes (that is correct), he's not my dog."
Both of these questions are phrased in such a way that the questioner appears to already have a preconceived idea regarding the situation.
"I didn't see you there. Didn't you go to the party last night?"
"You don't seem too fond of him. He's not your dog?
Despite this, it seems that a No answer should be more correct when agreeing with a Negative Question, simply because we're taught that No is negative.
Didn't you go to the party last night?
No, I did not.
He's not your dog?
No, he's not.
But appearances can be deceiving, and an incorrect answer is still an incorrect answer regardless of how correct it appears, and regardless of common usage and acceptance. Remember, once upon a time it was accepted that the world was flat, and in fact it appeared that it was, but eventually everyone came around and realized the error of their ways.
Still, I'm very open to people commenting and providing reputable references that support their point of view. So, which is correct?
Q. He's not your dog?
A1. Yes, he's not my dog.
A2. No, he's not my dog.
Friday, July 06, 2007
I-Pwnd
Or, careful with that iPhone, Eugene.
You'd think if you just bought a $500 phone, you'd be a little more careful taking it out of the box.
You'd think if you just bought a $500 phone, you'd be a little more careful taking it out of the box.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Bus Driver pwnd by one of his own
As I was approaching my bus stop this afternoon I saw an elderly gentleman coming the other way. When he saw the next bus approaching he began running towards the bus stop, waving his arms. Being already at the bus stop myself I began waving at the bus too. I also attempted to make eye contact with the driver but he looked away from me in a blatant "I don't see you there, waving your arms, so I don't have to stop for you" kind of way, despite the fact that this stop was one of his scheduled stops and he darn well should have stopped.
The bus roared passed me as the elderly man approached, then he said "7756. It's ok, thank you. 7756."
Er...ok.
We chatted for a bit and I noticed his ID badge on his shirt was a Metro ID badge. Metro just happens to be the agency that owns the bus and pays the driver who drove passed us.
The gentleman waved at the next bus that came along and this one stopped for him. "7756," he said to me, "have a good evening," and he waved as he boarded the bus. I looked at him curiously as he stepped through the doorway and heard him say once more, "7756." Then I noticed above this bus's door a 4-digit number. Not 7756, but within that vicinity.
The gentleman had taken note of the earlier bus's number and was repeating it to himself to ensure he remembered it. Darned if I haven't remembered it, too.
Quite a few times I've filed a complaint on the Metro website about Bus Drivers failing to stop for me. Not once have I even got so much as an Auto-Response to my complaints. I had a feeling that when this particular gentleman filed a complaint about the driver of Metro Bus No 7756 that someone was going to listen to him.
Karma can be a real bitch sometimes :D
The bus roared passed me as the elderly man approached, then he said "7756. It's ok, thank you. 7756."
Er...ok.
We chatted for a bit and I noticed his ID badge on his shirt was a Metro ID badge. Metro just happens to be the agency that owns the bus and pays the driver who drove passed us.
The gentleman waved at the next bus that came along and this one stopped for him. "7756," he said to me, "have a good evening," and he waved as he boarded the bus. I looked at him curiously as he stepped through the doorway and heard him say once more, "7756." Then I noticed above this bus's door a 4-digit number. Not 7756, but within that vicinity.
The gentleman had taken note of the earlier bus's number and was repeating it to himself to ensure he remembered it. Darned if I haven't remembered it, too.
Quite a few times I've filed a complaint on the Metro website about Bus Drivers failing to stop for me. Not once have I even got so much as an Auto-Response to my complaints. I had a feeling that when this particular gentleman filed a complaint about the driver of Metro Bus No 7756 that someone was going to listen to him.
Karma can be a real bitch sometimes :D
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Happy 4th of July
This morning Liz & her Mom, and JE & I headed out to the Ontario Mall. While the women were shopping JE and I caught the Transformers movie. It was actually pretty good, for a movie based on a 20-year old animated TV show. Amusingly my last post was relevant to a tiny portion of the movie when the power of the All Spark (a cube that turns tech into transformers) was demonstrated on a cell phone. The guy doing the demonstration looks at the phone and comments that the Japanese are geniuses. Another character then says, aside, to her boss, "Nokia (No-KEY-Uh) are from Finland." Her Boss holds his finger up to his mouth in a "Shh, don't embarrass him" kind of way.
We were barely home from the mall and the movie when it was time for JE and I had to head back out again to Dodger Stadium. When we'd tried to buy tickets for this game a couple of weeks ago the "cheap seats" were all sold out and we ended up buying seats alongside the Left Foul Line, but three tiers up. Here's a picture of our view of the field, courtesy of my Razr V3xx:
We're actually closer than what it looks like.
It still would have been an exceptional Foul Ball that made it up to us, but not knowing quite how far up we were JE and I took our gloves anyway. The Dodgers lost but it came down to the wire, and at the bottom of the 9th the Dodgers needed 3 Runs for the tie and had 2 runners on base, with 2 outs. But it wasn't meant to be and their "last chance" struck out.
Interesting to note is that the Dodgers' Short Stop, Rafael Furcal, started his career with the Braves and played with them until 2005. In case you didn't know, the team the Dodgers played tonight was the Braves. When I saw that on the big screen everything came together because the Dodgers player I'd seen walk up to the Braves runner on 2nd and give him a "What's happening, Homie?" handshake and have a moment during a mid-innings downtime was none other than Rafael Furcal.
At the bottom of the ninth the Dodgers' hitter who struck out with two runners on base was not Rafael Furcal. But it was Rafael who struck out with the bases loaded at the bottom of the second, ending the innings. A Home Run, or even just a Hit, would have given the Dodgers another Run or two (or four) and could have made a world of difference at the end of the night. Rafael avoided any further dishonor by making it to first base at the bottom of the ninth where he watched Olmedo Saenz strike out to end the game. Of course he can't win, either way. If he'd struck out to lose the game against his former team I'd have said he threw the game, especially in light of his "What's happening, Homie?" gesture towards the Braves' runner. And of course he didn't strike out but made it to first base; the Braves didn't want the Dodgers to suspect Rafael was not 100% loyal to them and that he'd thrown the game earlier by striking out with the Bases Loaded.
A C-17 flyover had been arranged prior to the game and here's a picture:
Did I mention there were fireworks at the end of the game? JE and I braved the stairs and just made it down to the field when the lights went out. Yup, we were allowed to take the field to watch the fireworks, which was something JE was looking forward to. Actually that's two things he was looking forward to, being on the field and watching the fireworks. Here's a short clip of the Fireworks, again courtesy of my Razr.
When we finally made it back to our car (I'm sure we emerged from the stadium on the complete opposite side to our car) I abandoned my plan of just sitting and waiting for most of the traffic to clear and rolled out to try my luck with all the SUVs Angelenos feel compelled to own. We actually made it out fairly quickly, considering how disorganized the parking lot is. But we wound up in the wrong lane and got routed off Stadium Way by the helpful traffic police, who further down the road again routed us away from the 110S entrance. I guess they figured if we were all going that particular way we needed the 110N, the entrance of which we passed shortly afterwards. After passing over the 110 we ended up in Chinatown and I knew exactly where to go to get onto the I-10, which is the Freeway I really needed (the 110S would have taken me straight to the I-10 as well).
Playing his DS I thought JE was going to hang on until we got home but a glance in my kiddy mirror a little while later showed JE fast asleep. He'd had a nap in the car on the way to Dodger Stadium but it was just a short one, and this time he was out for the count.
We were barely home from the mall and the movie when it was time for JE and I had to head back out again to Dodger Stadium. When we'd tried to buy tickets for this game a couple of weeks ago the "cheap seats" were all sold out and we ended up buying seats alongside the Left Foul Line, but three tiers up. Here's a picture of our view of the field, courtesy of my Razr V3xx:
We're actually closer than what it looks like.
It still would have been an exceptional Foul Ball that made it up to us, but not knowing quite how far up we were JE and I took our gloves anyway. The Dodgers lost but it came down to the wire, and at the bottom of the 9th the Dodgers needed 3 Runs for the tie and had 2 runners on base, with 2 outs. But it wasn't meant to be and their "last chance" struck out.
Interesting to note is that the Dodgers' Short Stop, Rafael Furcal, started his career with the Braves and played with them until 2005. In case you didn't know, the team the Dodgers played tonight was the Braves. When I saw that on the big screen everything came together because the Dodgers player I'd seen walk up to the Braves runner on 2nd and give him a "What's happening, Homie?" handshake and have a moment during a mid-innings downtime was none other than Rafael Furcal.
At the bottom of the ninth the Dodgers' hitter who struck out with two runners on base was not Rafael Furcal. But it was Rafael who struck out with the bases loaded at the bottom of the second, ending the innings. A Home Run, or even just a Hit, would have given the Dodgers another Run or two (or four) and could have made a world of difference at the end of the night. Rafael avoided any further dishonor by making it to first base at the bottom of the ninth where he watched Olmedo Saenz strike out to end the game. Of course he can't win, either way. If he'd struck out to lose the game against his former team I'd have said he threw the game, especially in light of his "What's happening, Homie?" gesture towards the Braves' runner. And of course he didn't strike out but made it to first base; the Braves didn't want the Dodgers to suspect Rafael was not 100% loyal to them and that he'd thrown the game earlier by striking out with the Bases Loaded.
A C-17 flyover had been arranged prior to the game and here's a picture:
Did I mention there were fireworks at the end of the game? JE and I braved the stairs and just made it down to the field when the lights went out. Yup, we were allowed to take the field to watch the fireworks, which was something JE was looking forward to. Actually that's two things he was looking forward to, being on the field and watching the fireworks. Here's a short clip of the Fireworks, again courtesy of my Razr.When we finally made it back to our car (I'm sure we emerged from the stadium on the complete opposite side to our car) I abandoned my plan of just sitting and waiting for most of the traffic to clear and rolled out to try my luck with all the SUVs Angelenos feel compelled to own. We actually made it out fairly quickly, considering how disorganized the parking lot is. But we wound up in the wrong lane and got routed off Stadium Way by the helpful traffic police, who further down the road again routed us away from the 110S entrance. I guess they figured if we were all going that particular way we needed the 110N, the entrance of which we passed shortly afterwards. After passing over the 110 we ended up in Chinatown and I knew exactly where to go to get onto the I-10, which is the Freeway I really needed (the 110S would have taken me straight to the I-10 as well).
Playing his DS I thought JE was going to hang on until we got home but a glance in my kiddy mirror a little while later showed JE fast asleep. He'd had a nap in the car on the way to Dodger Stadium but it was just a short one, and this time he was out for the count.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Nokia: A mispronunciation
or When the Japanese are really Finnish
I don't know if it's just me, or a misconception held by the general populace, but Nokia is not a Japanese company. Nope, it's not, Nokia is Finnish, as in from Finland.
So if Nokia is not Japanese but Finnish, how do we pronounce Nokia? Is it still No-KEY-Uh? Nope. Uh uh. That's a Japanese pronunciation, but Nokia are not a Japanese company, they're Finnish. The best pronunciation I could find, from a Fin himself, put the emphasis on the NO, not on the KEY. But the Fin didn't elaborate as to whether it's NO-Key-Uh or KNOCK-Ee-Uh. Although he did state that the first syllable is short, like the rest of the word, which makes me think he actually means KNOCK-Ee-Uh. Because the O in Knock is short, whereas the O in No is long.
But when push comes to shove Nokia actually cannot be correctly pronounced in English, or in any language for that matter, but Finnish. You can come close, but unless you know how to speak Finnish or make the correct Finnish sounds, you cannot pronounce Nokia correctly. Until then, the best we have to go with is KNOCK-Ee-Uh.
All this is a moot point, really, because I no longer have a Nokia but a Razor, or MotoRazr as it's correctly known...aah crap, I just have a cell phone. Then again, in Australia or the U.K. I'd actually have a Mobile.
Can't we all just get along???
But all of this brings up an interesting point. What is the "correct" pronunciation of a word? Can you say that the correct pronunciation in the U.S. is No-KEY-Uh if that's how almost every Nokia user pronounces it? And what if that's how it's pronounced in commercials? What if that's how the CEO of Nokia USA pronounces it?
What if, like in the US of A (and many other countries in the world), people from different parts of Finland have slightly different accents, and so the Fins themselves have several different ways of pronouncing Nokia? Does it come down to how the CEO of Nokia Finland says it? Or is it how it's pronounced in commercials in Finland...Finland, Finland. The country where I want to be Pony Trekking or camping.
Aah, let's forget Nokia, Finland, and even obscure Monty Python references, and just listen to some singing horses from Sweden the country that gave us ABBA.
I don't know if it's just me, or a misconception held by the general populace, but Nokia is not a Japanese company. Nope, it's not, Nokia is Finnish, as in from Finland.
So if Nokia is not Japanese but Finnish, how do we pronounce Nokia? Is it still No-KEY-Uh? Nope. Uh uh. That's a Japanese pronunciation, but Nokia are not a Japanese company, they're Finnish. The best pronunciation I could find, from a Fin himself, put the emphasis on the NO, not on the KEY. But the Fin didn't elaborate as to whether it's NO-Key-Uh or KNOCK-Ee-Uh. Although he did state that the first syllable is short, like the rest of the word, which makes me think he actually means KNOCK-Ee-Uh. Because the O in Knock is short, whereas the O in No is long.
But when push comes to shove Nokia actually cannot be correctly pronounced in English, or in any language for that matter, but Finnish. You can come close, but unless you know how to speak Finnish or make the correct Finnish sounds, you cannot pronounce Nokia correctly. Until then, the best we have to go with is KNOCK-Ee-Uh.
All this is a moot point, really, because I no longer have a Nokia but a Razor, or MotoRazr as it's correctly known...aah crap, I just have a cell phone. Then again, in Australia or the U.K. I'd actually have a Mobile.
Can't we all just get along???
But all of this brings up an interesting point. What is the "correct" pronunciation of a word? Can you say that the correct pronunciation in the U.S. is No-KEY-Uh if that's how almost every Nokia user pronounces it? And what if that's how it's pronounced in commercials? What if that's how the CEO of Nokia USA pronounces it?
What if, like in the US of A (and many other countries in the world), people from different parts of Finland have slightly different accents, and so the Fins themselves have several different ways of pronouncing Nokia? Does it come down to how the CEO of Nokia Finland says it? Or is it how it's pronounced in commercials in Finland...Finland, Finland. The country where I want to be Pony Trekking or camping.
Aah, let's forget Nokia, Finland, and even obscure Monty Python references, and just listen to some singing horses from Sweden the country that gave us ABBA.
Monday, July 02, 2007
The weekend in review
As has become customary, our trip down San Diego way this Friday was via Ontario, specifically the Homestyle Cafe on Old Brookside Road in Guasti where we stopped for a late breakfast. Liz and I split a plate of Pork Chops and eggs with breakfast potatoes, biscuits & gravy, and we pretty much managed to finish the plate. JE got the kids breakfast pancake, which was not a kid's pancake but one of their regular pancakes and it was as big as JE's head...bigger even. I helped him out and together we devoured most of it.
We weren't overly impressed with the service this time around, mainly because a large group of bikers were already there so the place was very crowded for a Friday morning. Our waitress seemed to have no clue how to be a waitress, but I'm sure I've seen her working there before. Several times she passed our table, and she'd acknowledge us, but she just kept saying "I'll get to you a minute" or something like that. Finally she stopped but only to ask if we wanted coffee, and as soon as she poured Liz and I a cup each she was off and running again. I didn't get why she couldn't just take our order as several times she brought other people their food then ran passed our table, empty-handed, back to the kitchen area. Of course once we'd finally ordered our food was pretty quick in coming.
The trip down to Carlsbad (Legoland area) was uneventful, which is good, except for the guy who'd run his car headfirst into the concrete divider which backed up traffic for a bit, but finally we'd made it to Legoland. Liz dropped JE and me near the front entrance then went off shopping at the nearby outlet mall. We met up later and after a bit of a drive found this local deli where JE refused to eat anything but chips, I had some roast pork (very tender and tasty), while Liz had prime rib. Afterwards we shared a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake (this is a euopean/german-style deli) before the drive back home.
Saturday morning Liz took JE to the in-laws, picked up our daughter and took her to ballet, then dropped her back at the in-laws before coming home where we spent the next hour or two cleaning up the kids toys in the upstairs hallway, and we did an awesome job of cleaning and getting the place straightened out. We also visited Lowe's where we got two new toilets and Liz picked out the tile to redo the upstairs bathrooms' floors. We also checked out shower stalls and our en suite bathroom will get a total overhaul for well under $1,000, at least in materials; not sure how much the family friend will charge us for labor. The plan is to remove our current tub/shower which takes up 1/3 of the bathroom and replace it with a corner shower stall (half the size), while also having the current linoleum floor replaced with slate/tile. This will really open up our bathroom. The second new toilet will go in the kids' bathroom which will also get a slate/tile floor. I'm hopeful that these new toilets will do a much better job of flushing unmentionables than our current toilets, which tend to do an incomplete job and prompt one to flush a second time...and maybe a third. In light of one my recent posts that's not a very water conscious act.
Sunday we bummed around most of the day before joining the kids at the in-laws where we spent far too long in the pool. Last week almost the entire complex was in the pool, this time we just had 3 families in the water and it was considerably more pleasant. Our daughter is really taking to the water now. We have a vest on her so she can float and bob around and she loves in. At one point she had a nerf ball filled with water and she was squeezing it out on my head. The next thing I knew she was climbing into the pool and sitting on my back. "Look at me!" she'd cry to Liz. This is one of her favorite phrases right now. "Look at me! I'm swimming!"
With the summer evening fast approaching it was starting to get a little cool and we managed to get the kids out of the pool and inside in showers, followed by a yummy dinner prepared by Liz's mom. It's funny how the food her mom prepares is traditional Shanghai-style food, but it's certainly not what most westerners would consider traditional chinese food. That doesn't mean it's not yummy, coz it is :) In fact I offer prefer Liz's mom's food to the same dishes we sometimes order in Shanghai-style restaurants. Mmm-mm good :)
We weren't overly impressed with the service this time around, mainly because a large group of bikers were already there so the place was very crowded for a Friday morning. Our waitress seemed to have no clue how to be a waitress, but I'm sure I've seen her working there before. Several times she passed our table, and she'd acknowledge us, but she just kept saying "I'll get to you a minute" or something like that. Finally she stopped but only to ask if we wanted coffee, and as soon as she poured Liz and I a cup each she was off and running again. I didn't get why she couldn't just take our order as several times she brought other people their food then ran passed our table, empty-handed, back to the kitchen area. Of course once we'd finally ordered our food was pretty quick in coming.
The trip down to Carlsbad (Legoland area) was uneventful, which is good, except for the guy who'd run his car headfirst into the concrete divider which backed up traffic for a bit, but finally we'd made it to Legoland. Liz dropped JE and me near the front entrance then went off shopping at the nearby outlet mall. We met up later and after a bit of a drive found this local deli where JE refused to eat anything but chips, I had some roast pork (very tender and tasty), while Liz had prime rib. Afterwards we shared a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake (this is a euopean/german-style deli) before the drive back home.
Saturday morning Liz took JE to the in-laws, picked up our daughter and took her to ballet, then dropped her back at the in-laws before coming home where we spent the next hour or two cleaning up the kids toys in the upstairs hallway, and we did an awesome job of cleaning and getting the place straightened out. We also visited Lowe's where we got two new toilets and Liz picked out the tile to redo the upstairs bathrooms' floors. We also checked out shower stalls and our en suite bathroom will get a total overhaul for well under $1,000, at least in materials; not sure how much the family friend will charge us for labor. The plan is to remove our current tub/shower which takes up 1/3 of the bathroom and replace it with a corner shower stall (half the size), while also having the current linoleum floor replaced with slate/tile. This will really open up our bathroom. The second new toilet will go in the kids' bathroom which will also get a slate/tile floor. I'm hopeful that these new toilets will do a much better job of flushing unmentionables than our current toilets, which tend to do an incomplete job and prompt one to flush a second time...and maybe a third. In light of one my recent posts that's not a very water conscious act.
Sunday we bummed around most of the day before joining the kids at the in-laws where we spent far too long in the pool. Last week almost the entire complex was in the pool, this time we just had 3 families in the water and it was considerably more pleasant. Our daughter is really taking to the water now. We have a vest on her so she can float and bob around and she loves in. At one point she had a nerf ball filled with water and she was squeezing it out on my head. The next thing I knew she was climbing into the pool and sitting on my back. "Look at me!" she'd cry to Liz. This is one of her favorite phrases right now. "Look at me! I'm swimming!"
With the summer evening fast approaching it was starting to get a little cool and we managed to get the kids out of the pool and inside in showers, followed by a yummy dinner prepared by Liz's mom. It's funny how the food her mom prepares is traditional Shanghai-style food, but it's certainly not what most westerners would consider traditional chinese food. That doesn't mean it's not yummy, coz it is :) In fact I offer prefer Liz's mom's food to the same dishes we sometimes order in Shanghai-style restaurants. Mmm-mm good :)
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Steroids...how effective are they?
or a completely uneducated, uninformed narrative.
What can steroids do? First I'd like to tell you what they can't do. They can't enhance what you don't have. They can't make you a better baseball player unless you're already a good baseball player. They can't make you a Home Run machine unless you already have the skills to hit the ball. Any idiot can swing a bat, but it takes good hand-eye coordination to swing a bat and hit a baseball moving at 95mph; it takes even more skill to not just hit the ball, but hit it where you want it to go. Steroids cannot make you do this if you couldn't hit the ball in the first place.
This may sound like I'm advocating steroid use in sports, particularly baseball, and of course the first baseballer you're going to think of with respect to steroids and being a home run machine is Barry Bonds...or maybe Sammy Sosa. I'm not advocating the use of steroids in sports, and I'm not saying Barry or Sammy used them.
I was all ready to write a scathing article about Barry Bonds and how steroids have perverted the game and how there will always be a dark cloud hanging over Barry's head if/when he breaks Hank Aaron's all-time Home Run record, even though it's never been proven that he used steroids. But as I read about Barry on Wikipedia and checked out his Stats I came to the realization that all steroids could possibly do for Barry was make him stronger. They don't help him hit the 95mph baseball, they only help him hit the ball harder & further.
You may (or may not) be interested to know that while Barry may not (yet) be the All-Time Home Run King, he is still a current Baseball record holder, several times over.
What does all of this say about Barry Bonds and his possible use of Steroids?
It says that with or without steroids (not saying he took them, that would be libel, being the written form of slander) that Barry Bonds is an amazing baseball player. As I said earlier, steroids don't help you hit a baseball, they just help you hit it further. You still need to be able to hit the damn thing, and no amount of steroids is going to help you there. Look at those 2,500 career walks and don't doubt for a minute that Barry couldn't have hit a lot more Home Runs than his current 749. Forget Hank Aaron's 755 career Home Runs, if it wasn't for the many intentional walks Barry would have smashed Hank's record several seasons ago and would probably have had close to 1,000 career Home Runs by now.
I disagree with sports stars taking steriods for anything other than recovering from an injury, but I also disagree with pitchers deliberately walking a batter, and despite their best efforts it looks like Barry will still succeed in breaking Hank's record. Now if Barry did take steroids or some other performance enhancing drug, those he is alleged to have taken were not barred by MLB at the time it is alleged he took them. The only thing illegal about them at that time was their use without prescription, but his use of them was not in violation of any MLB rules or policies. Intentionally walking a batter is also not in violation of the rules, it's a cheap tactic, it does not make for good TV, but it's also permissible.
Steroids may have helped Barry hit the ball further and thus hit Home Runs that may have otherwise fallen into the outfield, but the pitchers have also been working against Barry and denied him the opportunity to hit many more Home Runs. Two wrongs don't make a right but no matter how immoral or cheap we may think their actions were/are, neither Barry nor the pitchers have done anything wrong in the world of professional baseball.
What can steroids do? First I'd like to tell you what they can't do. They can't enhance what you don't have. They can't make you a better baseball player unless you're already a good baseball player. They can't make you a Home Run machine unless you already have the skills to hit the ball. Any idiot can swing a bat, but it takes good hand-eye coordination to swing a bat and hit a baseball moving at 95mph; it takes even more skill to not just hit the ball, but hit it where you want it to go. Steroids cannot make you do this if you couldn't hit the ball in the first place.
This may sound like I'm advocating steroid use in sports, particularly baseball, and of course the first baseballer you're going to think of with respect to steroids and being a home run machine is Barry Bonds...or maybe Sammy Sosa. I'm not advocating the use of steroids in sports, and I'm not saying Barry or Sammy used them.
I was all ready to write a scathing article about Barry Bonds and how steroids have perverted the game and how there will always be a dark cloud hanging over Barry's head if/when he breaks Hank Aaron's all-time Home Run record, even though it's never been proven that he used steroids. But as I read about Barry on Wikipedia and checked out his Stats I came to the realization that all steroids could possibly do for Barry was make him stronger. They don't help him hit the 95mph baseball, they only help him hit the ball harder & further.
You may (or may not) be interested to know that while Barry may not (yet) be the All-Time Home Run King, he is still a current Baseball record holder, several times over.
- He is one of only four players in the 40-40 club. That's 40 (or more) Home Runs and 40 (or more) stolen bases in a single season.
- He's the only player to have hit 400 or more Home Runs and stolen 400 or more Bases in their career, in fact he's now in the 500/500 bracket. He's not just a dangerous man to have at bat, he's a dangerous man to have on base, too.
- Despite this, he holds the record for the most walks in both a season (198), and in a career, having been walked 2,439 times, to date. He also holds the record for the most intentional walks in a season (68 times).
- He went eight consecutive seasons with a .600 (or higher) Slugging Percentage (being Total Bases div. by At Bats). So the pitchers probably think it's safer to walk him to first and let him try to steal a base or two, than risk letting him hit a double, triple, or even a Home Run.
What does all of this say about Barry Bonds and his possible use of Steroids?
It says that with or without steroids (not saying he took them, that would be libel, being the written form of slander) that Barry Bonds is an amazing baseball player. As I said earlier, steroids don't help you hit a baseball, they just help you hit it further. You still need to be able to hit the damn thing, and no amount of steroids is going to help you there. Look at those 2,500 career walks and don't doubt for a minute that Barry couldn't have hit a lot more Home Runs than his current 749. Forget Hank Aaron's 755 career Home Runs, if it wasn't for the many intentional walks Barry would have smashed Hank's record several seasons ago and would probably have had close to 1,000 career Home Runs by now.
I disagree with sports stars taking steriods for anything other than recovering from an injury, but I also disagree with pitchers deliberately walking a batter, and despite their best efforts it looks like Barry will still succeed in breaking Hank's record. Now if Barry did take steroids or some other performance enhancing drug, those he is alleged to have taken were not barred by MLB at the time it is alleged he took them. The only thing illegal about them at that time was their use without prescription, but his use of them was not in violation of any MLB rules or policies. Intentionally walking a batter is also not in violation of the rules, it's a cheap tactic, it does not make for good TV, but it's also permissible.
Steroids may have helped Barry hit the ball further and thus hit Home Runs that may have otherwise fallen into the outfield, but the pitchers have also been working against Barry and denied him the opportunity to hit many more Home Runs. Two wrongs don't make a right but no matter how immoral or cheap we may think their actions were/are, neither Barry nor the pitchers have done anything wrong in the world of professional baseball.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Learning to dance
or I got rhythm but I don't got the moves
I can carry a tune and sing pretty well but I hate 3/4 time, it just seems...unnatural; It's like there's a beat missing, and theoretically there is, if you're used to 4/4 time in which most songs are written. I find it especially difficult trying to play a 3/4 song on guitar because the chord changes are usually on the 1st and 3rd note of each bar, so you might play a song like this:
A and 2 and C and G and 2 and D and A and 2 and C and G and 2 and D and so on, and usually I've lost it by then. In 4/4 time the chord changes follow a more natural rhythm. A and 2 and C and 4 and G and 2 and D and 4 and A and 2 and so on.
So it shouldn't come as a big surprise that I have trouble dancing the Waltz and other classical dances, which are almost all written in 3/4 time. Or at least I did have trouble until last night when Liz and I went to our first Ballroom Dance Class, and I learned a little secret about Classical Dancing. I learned that rather than dance a Waltz while counting Ooone Two Three, Ooone Two Three, and so on, it's actually easier to count Ooone Two Three, Foooour Five Six. This made a whole lot more sense for a very simple reason. On One you take a longer stride with your Left Foot, and on Four you take a longer stride with your Right Foot, and on Two, Three, Five and Six you take shorter steps. Now there's no confusion trying to remember which foot you're supposed to move on One this time, because if it's One it's your Left Foot, and if it's Four it's your Right Foot.
Of course this usually only got confusing when you performed what the Teachers called a Box Waltz, being one you perform on a crowded dance floor where you have enough room to turn on the spot but cannot move around the floor itself. So you'd step forward with your left foot (one), bring your right foot up and to the side (two), then bring your left foot across to your right foot (three). Now step back with your right foot (four), bring your left foot back and to the side (five), then move your right foot across to meet it (six), and repeat with left foot forward (one), and so on. A Waltz is not a three-step dance, it is, but not really. It's actually a six-step dance because you alternate feet with each longer step. As such, dancing a Waltz and counting Ooone Two Three Foooour Five Six, and so on, makes learning to dance a Waltz a darn sight easier.
They just might make a dancer out of me, yet.
I can carry a tune and sing pretty well but I hate 3/4 time, it just seems...unnatural; It's like there's a beat missing, and theoretically there is, if you're used to 4/4 time in which most songs are written. I find it especially difficult trying to play a 3/4 song on guitar because the chord changes are usually on the 1st and 3rd note of each bar, so you might play a song like this:
A and 2 and C and G and 2 and D and A and 2 and C and G and 2 and D and so on, and usually I've lost it by then. In 4/4 time the chord changes follow a more natural rhythm. A and 2 and C and 4 and G and 2 and D and 4 and A and 2 and so on.
So it shouldn't come as a big surprise that I have trouble dancing the Waltz and other classical dances, which are almost all written in 3/4 time. Or at least I did have trouble until last night when Liz and I went to our first Ballroom Dance Class, and I learned a little secret about Classical Dancing. I learned that rather than dance a Waltz while counting Ooone Two Three, Ooone Two Three, and so on, it's actually easier to count Ooone Two Three, Foooour Five Six. This made a whole lot more sense for a very simple reason. On One you take a longer stride with your Left Foot, and on Four you take a longer stride with your Right Foot, and on Two, Three, Five and Six you take shorter steps. Now there's no confusion trying to remember which foot you're supposed to move on One this time, because if it's One it's your Left Foot, and if it's Four it's your Right Foot.
Of course this usually only got confusing when you performed what the Teachers called a Box Waltz, being one you perform on a crowded dance floor where you have enough room to turn on the spot but cannot move around the floor itself. So you'd step forward with your left foot (one), bring your right foot up and to the side (two), then bring your left foot across to your right foot (three). Now step back with your right foot (four), bring your left foot back and to the side (five), then move your right foot across to meet it (six), and repeat with left foot forward (one), and so on. A Waltz is not a three-step dance, it is, but not really. It's actually a six-step dance because you alternate feet with each longer step. As such, dancing a Waltz and counting Ooone Two Three Foooour Five Six, and so on, makes learning to dance a Waltz a darn sight easier.
They just might make a dancer out of me, yet.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Conserving Water
Or An Idea with Merit, but hardly Practical
Our Director sent out a Memo, basically restating what the Mayor had said about cutting our water consumption by 10%. I totally wanted to reply to it asking if that meant instead of drinking 5 bottles of water per day I should only drink 4 1/2, but I refrained. Probably a wise idea ;)
Seriously, how do they expect people who work in an office to reduce water consumption. Actually, here are a few ideas )
To: All Staff
Re: 10% reduction in Water Consumption.
Date: Today! Now!
Here are a few suggestions to assist staff with the Mayor's goal of reducing water consumption by 10%
* Drink 4 1/2 bottles of water per day, not 5.
* Only fill the 10-cup coffee maker to the 9-cup mark.
* Keep track of your trips to the restroom. On the 10th trip do not flush the toilet or wash your hands.
* Every 10th person who wants to wash their coffee cup or lunch dishes in the sink...cannot.
Please feel free to include other helpful suggestions of how we can all save water. Together we can make a difference.
Our Director sent out a Memo, basically restating what the Mayor had said about cutting our water consumption by 10%. I totally wanted to reply to it asking if that meant instead of drinking 5 bottles of water per day I should only drink 4 1/2, but I refrained. Probably a wise idea ;)
Seriously, how do they expect people who work in an office to reduce water consumption. Actually, here are a few ideas )
To: All Staff
Re: 10% reduction in Water Consumption.
Date: Today! Now!
Here are a few suggestions to assist staff with the Mayor's goal of reducing water consumption by 10%
* Drink 4 1/2 bottles of water per day, not 5.
* Only fill the 10-cup coffee maker to the 9-cup mark.
* Keep track of your trips to the restroom. On the 10th trip do not flush the toilet or wash your hands.
* Every 10th person who wants to wash their coffee cup or lunch dishes in the sink...cannot.
Please feel free to include other helpful suggestions of how we can all save water. Together we can make a difference.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Not a bad weekend
or I knew I should have turned left at Albuquerque
Friday morning after dropping the kids at school Liz and I had breakfast together at a local diner. Then we went shopping at Liz's favorite store where we purchased a garden storage bin. Back home, aided by my trusty rubber mallet, I put the thing together, loaded it up with "stuff" then parked it around the back. I then felt compelled to clean up the backyard, which included trimming one of the trees and replacing the latch on the gate. After lunch I waited for the Cable Guy, and waited, and waited, and around 3:45pm he finally arrived to install our DVR (he was scheduled to be there between 1pm and 3pm). With the DVR set up JE and I hit the local Par 3 golf course where he was ecstatic to be allowed to drive the golf cart around. They've done a bit of grounds work and it's not just a simple Par 3 anymore, now it's a little bit challenging. I made a few Pars, but I also had my share of triple Bogeys. I lost one hole to JE, and on another was thinking too much about the bunker guarding the front of the green, flubbed my tee-shot, and hit my ball barely 10 feet in front of me. Yup, on one hole my 7-year old son hit his tee shot further than me. I managed to scrape in with a +19 score. Liz picked us up around 8:30 and it was hometime and bedtime.
After breakfast with the in-laws (and leaving the kids with them) we headed east out to Ontario. I wanted to take Liz to Victoria Gardens, a mall I'd discovered on a site visit out that way, but I couldn't quite remember where it was. We exited the 15N at Foothill, which is the correct exit, but we turned right instead of left, so after a detour we wound up at Ontario Mills Mall which is where Liz wanted to go anyway.
We shopped around a bit then I finally convinced Liz to come in to Dave & Busters with me where we played a few games of Ghost Squad, or tried to. They have four Ghost Squad machines set up in the Ontario D&B, and it wasn't until we sat down at the third machine that we were able to get a game together. On the first machine the trigger on my rifle was jammed. The attendant appeared like lightning and set us up on the second machine with 10 credits. Liz burned through most of them because my rifle on the second machine didn't work properly either.
After that Liz and I had lunch, in D&B, and then decided to give another machine one last chance, because I still hadn't been able to play :( This machine and its rifles worked pretty good, and Liz and I were soon sitting side-by-side mowing down terrorists. We beat the first two levels and made it to the end of the final level, grenaded the boss's shield away, then promptly forgot we had grenade launchers and tried to shoot the final boss to pieces. He still had a tiny bit of health left when we ran out of time and I swear if we'd both just tossed a couple more grenades we would have beaten the game. Someone claimed she didn't like video games, but I think she enjoyed playing Ghost Squad ;)
Sunday afternoon we rescued the in-laws and went swimming in their pool. Our baby girl was a little scared to go in, but with a little bit of encouragement (and no, that doesn't mean we just tossed her in) she was swimming around with me. More to the point she was holding on to my shoulders, and kept afloat by her buoyancy vest she felt confident enough to kick her legs. Then it was all "Look at me! I'm swimming!". She even got a face full of water a few times but it didn't phase her, and when it was finally time to get out she had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the pool. It's a big change from last year when she'd cling to me for dear life and couldn't wait to get out.
All in all, it was a pretty good weekend.
Friday morning after dropping the kids at school Liz and I had breakfast together at a local diner. Then we went shopping at Liz's favorite store where we purchased a garden storage bin. Back home, aided by my trusty rubber mallet, I put the thing together, loaded it up with "stuff" then parked it around the back. I then felt compelled to clean up the backyard, which included trimming one of the trees and replacing the latch on the gate. After lunch I waited for the Cable Guy, and waited, and waited, and around 3:45pm he finally arrived to install our DVR (he was scheduled to be there between 1pm and 3pm). With the DVR set up JE and I hit the local Par 3 golf course where he was ecstatic to be allowed to drive the golf cart around. They've done a bit of grounds work and it's not just a simple Par 3 anymore, now it's a little bit challenging. I made a few Pars, but I also had my share of triple Bogeys. I lost one hole to JE, and on another was thinking too much about the bunker guarding the front of the green, flubbed my tee-shot, and hit my ball barely 10 feet in front of me. Yup, on one hole my 7-year old son hit his tee shot further than me. I managed to scrape in with a +19 score. Liz picked us up around 8:30 and it was hometime and bedtime.
After breakfast with the in-laws (and leaving the kids with them) we headed east out to Ontario. I wanted to take Liz to Victoria Gardens, a mall I'd discovered on a site visit out that way, but I couldn't quite remember where it was. We exited the 15N at Foothill, which is the correct exit, but we turned right instead of left, so after a detour we wound up at Ontario Mills Mall which is where Liz wanted to go anyway.
We shopped around a bit then I finally convinced Liz to come in to Dave & Busters with me where we played a few games of Ghost Squad, or tried to. They have four Ghost Squad machines set up in the Ontario D&B, and it wasn't until we sat down at the third machine that we were able to get a game together. On the first machine the trigger on my rifle was jammed. The attendant appeared like lightning and set us up on the second machine with 10 credits. Liz burned through most of them because my rifle on the second machine didn't work properly either.
After that Liz and I had lunch, in D&B, and then decided to give another machine one last chance, because I still hadn't been able to play :( This machine and its rifles worked pretty good, and Liz and I were soon sitting side-by-side mowing down terrorists. We beat the first two levels and made it to the end of the final level, grenaded the boss's shield away, then promptly forgot we had grenade launchers and tried to shoot the final boss to pieces. He still had a tiny bit of health left when we ran out of time and I swear if we'd both just tossed a couple more grenades we would have beaten the game. Someone claimed she didn't like video games, but I think she enjoyed playing Ghost Squad ;)
Sunday afternoon we rescued the in-laws and went swimming in their pool. Our baby girl was a little scared to go in, but with a little bit of encouragement (and no, that doesn't mean we just tossed her in) she was swimming around with me. More to the point she was holding on to my shoulders, and kept afloat by her buoyancy vest she felt confident enough to kick her legs. Then it was all "Look at me! I'm swimming!". She even got a face full of water a few times but it didn't phase her, and when it was finally time to get out she had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the pool. It's a big change from last year when she'd cling to me for dear life and couldn't wait to get out.
All in all, it was a pretty good weekend.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Carbs in coffee
Or Why you can't lose weight drinking coffee.
Actually you can, but how many of us drink straight coffee these days? I do, at home, but I also put in an ounce or two of creamer. At Starbucks or Gloria Jeans or a random coffee house I usually order a Latte. Now I've recently taken to drinking non-fat lattes in an effort to be a little healthier, but a recent trip to a dieting website to find out how many carbs are in my coffee revealed some startling news.
A 16-oz latte made with whole milk can contain approx. 23 grams of carbohydrates and 146 calories, while a non-fat latte contains approx. 24 grams of carbs and 86 calories. Less calories for going non-fat, which is good, but practically the same amount of carbs; not so good if you're trying to lose weight. That morning latte has almost 25g of carbs in it, which is 5g more than the recommended daily allowance of carbs for a starting Atkins' dieter.
Then you get another latte midway through the morning, and maybe a third after lunch to take back to the office. Midway through the afternoon, as you're struggling with a report the boss just dumped on you, a coworker suggests a Starbucks run and you're all over that like Whipped Cream on a Frappuccino. Congratulations. You've just consumed 100g of carbs in one day, and that's potentially your average work day. You cut out 300 calories going non-fat (which counts for something), but you're still snarfing down all those carbs.
Guess it's time to switch from Lattes to Cafe Americanos. After all, water can't have many carbs in it, can it? Can it?
Actually you can, but how many of us drink straight coffee these days? I do, at home, but I also put in an ounce or two of creamer. At Starbucks or Gloria Jeans or a random coffee house I usually order a Latte. Now I've recently taken to drinking non-fat lattes in an effort to be a little healthier, but a recent trip to a dieting website to find out how many carbs are in my coffee revealed some startling news.
A 16-oz latte made with whole milk can contain approx. 23 grams of carbohydrates and 146 calories, while a non-fat latte contains approx. 24 grams of carbs and 86 calories. Less calories for going non-fat, which is good, but practically the same amount of carbs; not so good if you're trying to lose weight. That morning latte has almost 25g of carbs in it, which is 5g more than the recommended daily allowance of carbs for a starting Atkins' dieter.
Then you get another latte midway through the morning, and maybe a third after lunch to take back to the office. Midway through the afternoon, as you're struggling with a report the boss just dumped on you, a coworker suggests a Starbucks run and you're all over that like Whipped Cream on a Frappuccino. Congratulations. You've just consumed 100g of carbs in one day, and that's potentially your average work day. You cut out 300 calories going non-fat (which counts for something), but you're still snarfing down all those carbs.
Guess it's time to switch from Lattes to Cafe Americanos. After all, water can't have many carbs in it, can it? Can it?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Thank you, Dad
Or how we're shaped by our parents
I'm a fairly capable guy with my hands. When we moved into our house I tore up the downstairs carpet and laid down wood-laminate flooring. I replaced the dining area chandelier, the stairway light, the upstairs hallway light fixture, and all the light fixtures in all three bathrooms, as well as the faucets in the same. I took out the sliding glass door for the kids' bath and put in a shower rod and curtain. I completely removed the kids' toilet when it got clogged up, extracted the plastic, toy boat and reinstalled the toilet.
Today, after a trip to Home Depot, I removed the old tap & pipe leading from the wall to the toilet tank (after turning off the water to the house, which annoyingly doesn't turn off but still slowly runs so you have to turn on the downstairs taps and it's bloody lucky I was working in the upstairs bathroom) and...er...forgot where I was. Oh yeah, in our bathroom, replacing the old flexible but still fairly solid pipe with a considerably more flexible pipe so Liz and I can use our en-suite toilet again. Which I accomplished most successfully.
I have my father to thank for my handyman skills, but it's not so much handyman skills, it's an almost unshakable faith in myself that leads me to believe I can do almost anything around the house, and I probably could, with the right tools.
My father may have moved on to the next stage in his journey through life & death (or whatever happens after this) but he lives on through me. Almost all of our parents will live on through us, and through our children, both the good and the bad. We have them to thank for the positives in our lives, and we (usually) have them to thank for the negatives.
"When I grow up I'm never going to treat my kids this way," you might say to your mum, then lo & behold, what happens? You grow up, have kids, and find yourself treating them exactly the same way your mum treated you...often because your kids are treating you the same way you treated your mum ;)
Embrace the positive, and try to change the negative for the better, but don't worry (too much) if you can't, it's your nature.
I'm a fairly capable guy with my hands. When we moved into our house I tore up the downstairs carpet and laid down wood-laminate flooring. I replaced the dining area chandelier, the stairway light, the upstairs hallway light fixture, and all the light fixtures in all three bathrooms, as well as the faucets in the same. I took out the sliding glass door for the kids' bath and put in a shower rod and curtain. I completely removed the kids' toilet when it got clogged up, extracted the plastic, toy boat and reinstalled the toilet.
Today, after a trip to Home Depot, I removed the old tap & pipe leading from the wall to the toilet tank (after turning off the water to the house, which annoyingly doesn't turn off but still slowly runs so you have to turn on the downstairs taps and it's bloody lucky I was working in the upstairs bathroom) and...er...forgot where I was. Oh yeah, in our bathroom, replacing the old flexible but still fairly solid pipe with a considerably more flexible pipe so Liz and I can use our en-suite toilet again. Which I accomplished most successfully.
I have my father to thank for my handyman skills, but it's not so much handyman skills, it's an almost unshakable faith in myself that leads me to believe I can do almost anything around the house, and I probably could, with the right tools.
My father may have moved on to the next stage in his journey through life & death (or whatever happens after this) but he lives on through me. Almost all of our parents will live on through us, and through our children, both the good and the bad. We have them to thank for the positives in our lives, and we (usually) have them to thank for the negatives.
"When I grow up I'm never going to treat my kids this way," you might say to your mum, then lo & behold, what happens? You grow up, have kids, and find yourself treating them exactly the same way your mum treated you...often because your kids are treating you the same way you treated your mum ;)
Embrace the positive, and try to change the negative for the better, but don't worry (too much) if you can't, it's your nature.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
One fine day in downtown
Or Fiction from the twisted mind of the Cap'n
"I like your ring."
"Huh?" I looked across at the man standing next to me, looked down at the ring on my left hand, then back up at the man. "It's my wedding ri...", the words tapered off as I stared down the barrel of the gun in his hand.
"Give me the fucking ring!" he yelled.
"I like your gun," I said. "Is it a Glock, or a Smith and Wesson?"
"Huh?" he said, confused, momentarily looking down at the gun in his hand. He looked up to see me stepping in towards him. I reached for the gun, twisting my body as he fired a round at point blank range, then my hands closed on the blistering hot metal. Who knew that a gun could get so hot after firing just one round?
I ignored the burning in my fingers and twisted the gun around and up and in a heartbeat the situation had changed and the gun was now pointing at him and it was his turn to look down the barrel.
I'd closed my hands over his so his hands were still wrapped around the gun and his finger was still on the trigger.
"I suggest you let go," I said calmly. "If you fight for the gun it's going to go off, and you'll get shot."
"FUCK YOU!" He screamed. For a second he pushed against me but just for a second, for like I'd said the gun exploded, along with the back of his head, and just like his brains all the fight went out of him.
I let go of his hands and the gun and stepped back as his body collapsed at my feet. I was feeling a little light headed myself, after-effects of the adrenaline rush, I figured. Rather than fall down I sat down and listened to the wailing of sirens that was getting closer and louder. In the heart of downtown the police were never far away, and within seconds a Black & White screeched to a halt with one wheel up on the curb, and two officers leaped out, their guns drawn and pointing in my direction.
I stood up and held out my empty hands, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, which can be tough when you're standing over a dead body.
"He tried to rob me," I said. "We struggled and his gun went off."
One officer looked at me and lowered his gun. The other ignored me and knelt at the body at my feet. I saw him check for a pulse but he stopped when the second officer, still looking at me, said "Don't bother, he's gone." To me, he added, "why didn't you give him what he wanted?"
"He wanted my wedding ring," I said, holding up my hand.
"How much could it be worth?" he asked me.
"My wedding ring? Priceless! Sentimental value and all that."
"What about your life? What value would you put on that?"
"Well, that's priceless too, of course."
"So you traded one for the other?" he asked me, sadly.
"Huh?"
He gestured to his partner, still kneeling at the body at my feet. I looked down at his partner but he wasn't looking back at me. He was looking up at the second officer.
I looked back at the second officer, too. "I don't understand."
"Look again," he said.
I looked down, this time at the body at my feet...my body...at my feet. The front of my body's shirt was soaked in blood.
I looked up at the second officer. "But...I..."
"I'm sorry," he said. "But you're dead. You traded your life for a wedding ring."
"Guess I wasn't as good at dodging bullets as I thought," I mused.
Then I noticed a speck of light out of the corner of my eye, growing brighter and brighter. The officer and I turned to look at it. The other officer just looked at his partner.
"How's it going?" he said.
"Good," replied the second officer. "He's been good; he's getting the light."
"Cool," said the first officer.
"Only I can see you," said the second officer, looking at me. "Or hear you. My mother was a witch, so was my grandmother, and her mother before her. I got the sight from them. You're lucky you're getting the light. See, the dark's got him." He gestured to the ground and I looked and saw my would-be mugger's body, covered in black ant-like specks. His dead body appeared to be glowing but the dark specks crawled all over him and they seemed to be eating his body's light because it got fainter as I watched.
"Oh look at that," said the second officer, and I obeyed, my eyes drawn to the speck of light which was no longer a speck but had grown brighter and larger and was now the size of a door. A figure appeared in the light and I watched as it stepped through. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the glare and I could make out the features of its face and my heart leaped, or it would have, if I hadn't been dead.
"Cathy! Oh my God! Is it really you?"
"Hi, Peter," said the voice that now, truly belonged to my angel. "I missed you."
"Oh Cathy," I said, "I missed you, too!"
I don't know how two spirits managed it but we embraced, and the years since death had torn us apart melted away into nothing.
Finally I turned and faced the second officer. I held up my hand, my left hand, which somehow wore a ghost of my wedding ring, an endless loop, a symbol of my never ending love for Cathy.
"I told you it had sentimental value," I said.
"Priceless," was his reply.
I nodded to him, and holding hands Cathy and I stepped into the light and were gone, together.
"Huh?" I looked across at the man standing next to me, looked down at the ring on my left hand, then back up at the man. "It's my wedding ri...", the words tapered off as I stared down the barrel of the gun in his hand.
"Give me the fucking ring!" he yelled.
"I like your gun," I said. "Is it a Glock, or a Smith and Wesson?"
"Huh?" he said, confused, momentarily looking down at the gun in his hand. He looked up to see me stepping in towards him. I reached for the gun, twisting my body as he fired a round at point blank range, then my hands closed on the blistering hot metal. Who knew that a gun could get so hot after firing just one round?
I ignored the burning in my fingers and twisted the gun around and up and in a heartbeat the situation had changed and the gun was now pointing at him and it was his turn to look down the barrel.
I'd closed my hands over his so his hands were still wrapped around the gun and his finger was still on the trigger.
"I suggest you let go," I said calmly. "If you fight for the gun it's going to go off, and you'll get shot."
"FUCK YOU!" He screamed. For a second he pushed against me but just for a second, for like I'd said the gun exploded, along with the back of his head, and just like his brains all the fight went out of him.
I let go of his hands and the gun and stepped back as his body collapsed at my feet. I was feeling a little light headed myself, after-effects of the adrenaline rush, I figured. Rather than fall down I sat down and listened to the wailing of sirens that was getting closer and louder. In the heart of downtown the police were never far away, and within seconds a Black & White screeched to a halt with one wheel up on the curb, and two officers leaped out, their guns drawn and pointing in my direction.
I stood up and held out my empty hands, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, which can be tough when you're standing over a dead body.
"He tried to rob me," I said. "We struggled and his gun went off."
One officer looked at me and lowered his gun. The other ignored me and knelt at the body at my feet. I saw him check for a pulse but he stopped when the second officer, still looking at me, said "Don't bother, he's gone." To me, he added, "why didn't you give him what he wanted?"
"He wanted my wedding ring," I said, holding up my hand.
"How much could it be worth?" he asked me.
"My wedding ring? Priceless! Sentimental value and all that."
"What about your life? What value would you put on that?"
"Well, that's priceless too, of course."
"So you traded one for the other?" he asked me, sadly.
"Huh?"
He gestured to his partner, still kneeling at the body at my feet. I looked down at his partner but he wasn't looking back at me. He was looking up at the second officer.
I looked back at the second officer, too. "I don't understand."
"Look again," he said.
I looked down, this time at the body at my feet...my body...at my feet. The front of my body's shirt was soaked in blood.
I looked up at the second officer. "But...I..."
"I'm sorry," he said. "But you're dead. You traded your life for a wedding ring."
"Guess I wasn't as good at dodging bullets as I thought," I mused.
Then I noticed a speck of light out of the corner of my eye, growing brighter and brighter. The officer and I turned to look at it. The other officer just looked at his partner.
"How's it going?" he said.
"Good," replied the second officer. "He's been good; he's getting the light."
"Cool," said the first officer.
"Only I can see you," said the second officer, looking at me. "Or hear you. My mother was a witch, so was my grandmother, and her mother before her. I got the sight from them. You're lucky you're getting the light. See, the dark's got him." He gestured to the ground and I looked and saw my would-be mugger's body, covered in black ant-like specks. His dead body appeared to be glowing but the dark specks crawled all over him and they seemed to be eating his body's light because it got fainter as I watched.
"Oh look at that," said the second officer, and I obeyed, my eyes drawn to the speck of light which was no longer a speck but had grown brighter and larger and was now the size of a door. A figure appeared in the light and I watched as it stepped through. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the glare and I could make out the features of its face and my heart leaped, or it would have, if I hadn't been dead.
"Cathy! Oh my God! Is it really you?"
"Hi, Peter," said the voice that now, truly belonged to my angel. "I missed you."
"Oh Cathy," I said, "I missed you, too!"
I don't know how two spirits managed it but we embraced, and the years since death had torn us apart melted away into nothing.
Finally I turned and faced the second officer. I held up my hand, my left hand, which somehow wore a ghost of my wedding ring, an endless loop, a symbol of my never ending love for Cathy.
"I told you it had sentimental value," I said.
"Priceless," was his reply.
I nodded to him, and holding hands Cathy and I stepped into the light and were gone, together.
The dogsh name was Junior!
Or Shades of Indiana!
While strolling back from the local Starbucks I passed a lady I'd passed before (not today, another day, another "before"). I recognized her but I didn't recognize her, because I recognized her dog. It was a littlerat dog Chihuahua with a t-shirt. You don't see many dogs in t-shirts around my office, most of them are in buns. So this dog stood out. I passed the dog in a t-shirt and its owner and was waiting for the pedestrian crossing when I heard a voice calling out, "Junior! Come over here! Get over here, Junior!"
I turned around and it was the lady I hadn't recognized calling to the dog in a t-shirt that I had.
The only reason I could think of for calling a dog "Junior" is a maternal fantasy, an unfulfilled desire to be a mother. Dogs might be family but projecting your non-existent child on to them is just scary. Which is a very apt description for this woman. A few hundred years ago we might have burned her, or dunked her in the local pond. Or both. Better to dunk them afterwards though, they don't burn so well when they're wet.
While strolling back from the local Starbucks I passed a lady I'd passed before (not today, another day, another "before"). I recognized her but I didn't recognize her, because I recognized her dog. It was a little
I turned around and it was the lady I hadn't recognized calling to the dog in a t-shirt that I had.
The only reason I could think of for calling a dog "Junior" is a maternal fantasy, an unfulfilled desire to be a mother. Dogs might be family but projecting your non-existent child on to them is just scary. Which is a very apt description for this woman. A few hundred years ago we might have burned her, or dunked her in the local pond. Or both. Better to dunk them afterwards though, they don't burn so well when they're wet.
Monday, June 04, 2007
MTV Awards
Or What most people are probably talking about around the Water Cooler this morning?
And it's not who won what award, but, OMG! Did you see Will Ferrell and Sacha Baron Cohen kiss?!?!?
I'll confess, I have not seen either Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for make blah blah blah, or, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, which narrowly avoids a blah blah blah of its own for an excessively long title. Will Ferrell has some classic moments, and I've seen some clips from Borat which I also thought were rather amusing, and I'd probably sit down and watch either movie if they were on and enjoy them, too.
I found last night's Kiss (which I think deserves a capital K) and the preceeding interaction between Will and Sacha to be hilarious, and brilliant off-the-wall comedy. By contrast, when Sacha came out to accept his award for Borat (the movie), and he apologized on Borat's behalf (Borat the man/character), I felt his acceptance speech was rather flat, especially coming on the heels of The Kiss (now with a capitalized The ;)
I think a better acceptance speech would have been if Sacha had thanked Will Ferrell, and stage-whispered an "I love you" to him, but while funny that would have had no relevance to Borat (the movie). Borat himself could even have made the acceptance speech, and perhaps Sacha should have gone down that road, instead. Perhaps pre-recording a segment as Borat (in Kazakhastan) then talking with him as if it were live footage. Sacha as Borat's straight man might have been a winner.
And it's not who won what award, but, OMG! Did you see Will Ferrell and Sacha Baron Cohen kiss?!?!?
I'll confess, I have not seen either Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for make blah blah blah, or, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, which narrowly avoids a blah blah blah of its own for an excessively long title. Will Ferrell has some classic moments, and I've seen some clips from Borat which I also thought were rather amusing, and I'd probably sit down and watch either movie if they were on and enjoy them, too.
I found last night's Kiss (which I think deserves a capital K) and the preceeding interaction between Will and Sacha to be hilarious, and brilliant off-the-wall comedy. By contrast, when Sacha came out to accept his award for Borat (the movie), and he apologized on Borat's behalf (Borat the man/character), I felt his acceptance speech was rather flat, especially coming on the heels of The Kiss (now with a capitalized The ;)
I think a better acceptance speech would have been if Sacha had thanked Will Ferrell, and stage-whispered an "I love you" to him, but while funny that would have had no relevance to Borat (the movie). Borat himself could even have made the acceptance speech, and perhaps Sacha should have gone down that road, instead. Perhaps pre-recording a segment as Borat (in Kazakhastan) then talking with him as if it were live footage. Sacha as Borat's straight man might have been a winner.
Grammer Gods, where are you?
Or And and Or. Which is correct? And when? And why not both?
While writing a letter I created a sentence where I stated that I was forced to choose between two alternatives, essentially I said:
Forced to choose between riding Public Transport for three hours or spending one hour in my car I chose to drive.
Now I tried adding a comma between car and I but it made no difference; in both cases Word's Grammar/Spellchecker insisted there was a mistake with the or. When I hit F7 it told me the correct word to use was and. Which makes sense, but or also made sense to me. I can choose one or the other, right? So why is it correct to use or in the sentence immediately preceding this one, but I must use and in my example?
While writing a letter I created a sentence where I stated that I was forced to choose between two alternatives, essentially I said:
Forced to choose between riding Public Transport for three hours or spending one hour in my car I chose to drive.
Now I tried adding a comma between car and I but it made no difference; in both cases Word's Grammar/Spellchecker insisted there was a mistake with the or. When I hit F7 it told me the correct word to use was and. Which makes sense, but or also made sense to me. I can choose one or the other, right? So why is it correct to use or in the sentence immediately preceding this one, but I must use and in my example?
Friday, June 01, 2007
I'm here, and not there
or Is coping through avoidance really coping? Or just avoiding?
Honestly, I don't know whether it's easier or harder having been here for the last 8 years.
Easier, because I've been living my life for the last 8 years without my father's constant presence, so the only day-to-day difference is that I'll never hear his voice on the other end of the telephone.
Harder, because I never lived with him for the last 8 years, so I never watched him die a little more each day, until at the end perhaps it was a relief to know his suffering was finally over.
In August I return to Australia for the third time since my father's death. The first time was to bury him, and the second time was barely a month or so later for the trip that should have introduced my daughter to her Pop. This time around I'll be walking my mother down the aisle as she marries the new man in her life.
Again, easier, because I don't have to live there and constantly see my mother with someone other than my father?
Or harder, because I was never there with her as she stuck to her vows until Death did her and my father part. So I never witnessed her depression as day-by-day she watched the man she loved slowly die, so I'm also not there now to see the positive changes in her, or share in her joy at finding someone new to love.
In September I will be doing one of the hardest things (I hope) that I will ever have to do in my life. I will have to walk down the aisle with my mother and give her away, essentially let her go to a complete stranger, a man I've never met. I know my mum loves him, I know he has the approval of my sisters and one of mum's closest friends, but that won't make it any easier. But I have to do it, anyway.
Bravery is not about being unafraid; it's about being terrified but doing the right thing anyway. The right thing for me to do is let my mum live her life. It's right to let her live, and not expect her to become a Miss Havisham.
In September I will have to really face the fact that my father is gone and that he's never coming back, and that terrifies me.
Honestly, I don't know whether it's easier or harder having been here for the last 8 years.
Easier, because I've been living my life for the last 8 years without my father's constant presence, so the only day-to-day difference is that I'll never hear his voice on the other end of the telephone.
Harder, because I never lived with him for the last 8 years, so I never watched him die a little more each day, until at the end perhaps it was a relief to know his suffering was finally over.
In August I return to Australia for the third time since my father's death. The first time was to bury him, and the second time was barely a month or so later for the trip that should have introduced my daughter to her Pop. This time around I'll be walking my mother down the aisle as she marries the new man in her life.
Again, easier, because I don't have to live there and constantly see my mother with someone other than my father?
Or harder, because I was never there with her as she stuck to her vows until Death did her and my father part. So I never witnessed her depression as day-by-day she watched the man she loved slowly die, so I'm also not there now to see the positive changes in her, or share in her joy at finding someone new to love.
In September I will be doing one of the hardest things (I hope) that I will ever have to do in my life. I will have to walk down the aisle with my mother and give her away, essentially let her go to a complete stranger, a man I've never met. I know my mum loves him, I know he has the approval of my sisters and one of mum's closest friends, but that won't make it any easier. But I have to do it, anyway.
Bravery is not about being unafraid; it's about being terrified but doing the right thing anyway. The right thing for me to do is let my mum live her life. It's right to let her live, and not expect her to become a Miss Havisham.
In September I will have to really face the fact that my father is gone and that he's never coming back, and that terrifies me.
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