Thursday, 28 July 2011

Today is Isla’s birthday. She is one year old.

I took the day off work and, after stopping at a nearby park to take some pictures of Isla, we all drove to Como Zoo. The weather was hot and humid, just like it’s been for most of the month. We looked at a few animals; Isla pointed to a tortoise and called it a kitty. Later, we went into a kid’s play area, and she and Owen had fun playing in the water, cooling down after being in the heat.

We ran a few errands, during which time Isla slept, then quickly drove back home to prepare for Isla’s party. Her party was pretty much theme-less (since we don’t really know what she likes yet), but we decorated a little and ordered pizza for the family. Besides her parents and her brother, the guests included Isla’s two of grandparents and her great-grandma (the ones who think Isla’s birth is worthy of celebrating). In the future, I am sure we will have bigger celebrations for her but, for now, I liked keeping it understated and simple, just as her brother’s first birthday was.

Isla received some play dishes, a blue-eyed doll, clothes for the doll, a blanket for the doll, and a little toy car to ‘drive’ around in. She also had her first taste of dessert today. Like her father and her brother, she didn’t seem to think it was all that tasty.

In the evening, Owen and I drove over to Home Depot to pick up a 2×4 so that we could measure and mark Isla’s height on it. We have a similar 2×4 for Owen, and we’ve marked his height ever since he was one (and we retro-marked his birth and six-month heights). Comparing the two boards side by side reveals that Isla is consistently about an inch shorter than her brother.

Happy birthday to Isla!

Monday, 25 July 2011

I’ve had a string of bad luck when it comes to neighbors.

When I was a kid, my bedroom window faced the street, and across the street lived a couple of greasers who were always fixing their car. For some reason, their vehicles needed to be jumped every night at 10:00 pm.

Later, we moved to a townhome and the two guys who shared our driveway drove their remote-controlled toy cars incessantly.  This wasn’t so loud, but it was a whining, squealing noise that we heard all day during the weekends. Finally, my Dad acquired a frequency jamming device and stopped their hobby cold whenever they tried to engage in it. I loved this bit of subversive problem-solving. However, my bedroom shared a wall with another neighbor, and they partied with loud, pounding music every Friday and Saturday night. I pounded on the walls a couple of times, but they just pounded back.

When I moved into a duplex with a friend of mine, the man who lived upstairs was also a problem. Actually, he was a freelance photographer, so his job took him away for long weekends. But when he returned, he returned in full-force, pounding (and ‘pounding’ really is the best word here) his girlfriend at the most bizarre times of the day. It was quite difficult to sit in my bedroom doing phone Witnessing while upstairs I heard an amalgam of bed groans and lady squeals.

When Jennifer and I moved into an apartment, I was again submitted to a loud neighbor. I would pound on the ceiling with a yard stick I’d acquired from the State Fair until, one night, I hit the ceiling so hard that I broke the stick.  A couple of years later, I awoke to policemen knocking on our door. They wanted to know if we’d heard any loud noises that morning. “Why yes we have,” I said. Later, I found out the loud noise was the sound of a gun, and that the woman upstairs had been murdered.

Jennifer and I next lived in a townhome, where the woman next door didn’t seem to mind that her son built a band room in their garage and practiced his drums at 5:00 in the morning. When I brought this to the woman’s attention, she claimed to have no idea her son was doing that. Yeah, right. What a liar.

When we moved to a house, I thought our problems were behind us. But there was a guy whose property butted up to ours. He practiced bow hunting right there in his backyard, and would shout to his dog all weekend to fetch. The dog ran from yard to yard chasing after fake pigeons. One morning, I spotted an arrow in the siding of our house.

But I think the worst neighbors I’ve ever had are the ones I have right now. Not only can I hear the arguments and TV shows in the apartment right next door, but just outside our windows is an 18-story building – filled with people on government assistance. Since most of them have no jobs, they have no compulsion to go to bed at any decent hour. One particularly horrible individual has spent the last three summers working on his car until after midnight each day. He starts it up and lets it loudly idle for about ten minutes before peeling away. The car has no muffler, and it’s so loud I can hear it three blocks away. Other neighbors sit outside talking about how awesome their unemployed lives are, and still other neighbors are too stupid to know their car alarms are going off all night. More than once, I’ve had to leave notes under people’s windshields telling them to shut off their goddam car alarms.

Man, I hate car alarms.

Anyway, today, I looked out the window, across the parking lot and saw an old woman sitting in the shade. I’ve seen her there before. She lives in the 18-story building and, when the weather is just right, she comes out and parks herself (she’s in a wheelchair) under the shade of a tree. Her cat sits on her lap, or jumps off and sits in the cool grass for a few minutes. After a lifetime of terrible neighbors, it’s nice to see someone who doesn’t announce their presence, bt just sits there and enjoys life.

And while I’m not a praying man, I gotta admit, THIS IS THE BEST PRAYER I HAVE EVER HEARD. Amen.

Tuesday, 26 July 2011

This evening, Jennifer and I watched the pilot episode of the Sopranos.

I gotta say, my initial impression is how amazingly mediocre it was. I mean, it wasn’t a bad show. It just was, well, nothing special. I guess I was expecting more since, you know, it’s often ranked as one of the best television shows ever.

In case you didn’t already know, the show centers around an Italian-American family who lives near New York City. They’re involved in mob activities. They’re Catholic. Despite seeming to be annoyed with their relatives at every turn, they have an inordinate attachment to their family. And, even though they’ve all been in America for probably their whole lives, they like to throw around Italian phrases and just act obnoxious to each other. They owe each other favors. It’s all very cliche, really. In fact, it smacks of a poor man’s version of Goodfellas, which, of course, is already a poor man’s version of The Godfather Trilogy. The similarities are so strong that the script writers felt compelled to include explicit references to these films during the course of the show.

About the only thing unique is the scenes of Tony Soprano visiting a therapist. Well, even that’s not so unique. I already saw it in Analyze This.

Still, I’m willing to give this a chance, much as I know most shows don’t really shine during their pilot. Perhaps I’ll have a more glowing review in a few months. Capiche?

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

While on the drive home from work a few days ago, I visited Cities 97, a station I usually avoid due to the smarmy DJs and faux-variety. But what could I do? All the other stations were playing commercials, and public radio was spending their 10th straight hour talking about the namby-pambies in congress.

I had never heard the song before. A woman was singing, and there was chanting in the background. There was a driving drum beat. I left the song on, thinking, “hey, this isn’t too bad.” After a minute or so, I started to pay attention to the chanting and I noticed that the singers were saying “rolling in the deep.” This made me realize that the song I was listening to was Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” a song title I only know because I keep track of the number one songs and this song had been #1 for about two months during May and June.

This was fascinating because I almost never like the #1 songs anymore. (“Hey,” you ask, “if you don’t like the music on the top of the charts, then why do you bother tracking it anymore?” That’s a great question, I’ll answer it in an upcoming blog.) In fact, I just checked, and I’d have to go back three years to the last time a song went to #1 that I did not totally think was god-awful. Most every song in between then and now has featured some guy or girl rapping to some synthesized music beat, or worse: they’ve simply stolen a decent song and bastardized the hell out of it. The ‘singers’ don’t even really sing, they just autotune their voices and, as if on cue, about two-thirds of the way through the ‘song,’ a person of the opposite gender – who is way cooler than the main rapper if it’s a guy, and way hotter than the main rapper if it’s a girl – breaks in with some fast rapping lyrics that are supposed to blow my mind by their slavish devotion to the formula. If you don’t believe me, CLICK HERE to listen to and see the music video for the current #1 song, a piece of crap so bad that it’s only saving grace is that it will be forgotten in months as it sinks into the sameness of the thirty #1 songs before it.

Speaking of music videos, today I had to watch the “Rolling in the Deep” music video, just to hear the song again. It’s a wierd music video that, I feel, detracts from the song (as do almost all music videos that are not made by either Michael Jackson or Weird Al). I don’t know why there’s a ninja fighting with cocaine, or why the drummer is squished under a staircase, or why Adele doesn’t even feel moved enough to stand up, but it wasn’t that bad, as far as music videos go.

Anyway, I’m just saying: It’s nice to see that a non-pile-of-crap ascended to the top of the pop charts for once.

Oh, and speaking of #1 songs, here’s a site of Men Who Look Like Kenny Rogers. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Sunday, 24 July 2011

During that state of half awake/half asleep that I always experience during mornings when I stay in bed late, I had dream that was unique in its detail.

For no apparent reason, I was suddenly in the home my grandparents’ owned in the 1980s. They lived there for about nine years and, during that time, my immediate family and I lived there with them for about two months. It was an A-frame house, with a high, peaked ceiling in the center and steeply sloping walls on the side.

For some reason I was there with many of my relatives. I was my present age, but most everyone else was the age they were years ago.

In the large dining room, my grandparents had a big, heavy table. One of my uncles was sitting at the table. So was my mom and my sister. Jennifer was there, too, standing off to the side with Owen. My grandfather was not there, thought I didn’t notice this until after I woke up and thought about the dream.

When I lived there, they kept an old comfy chair in the corner of that room but in my dream, the chair was replaced by a large-screen TV. I was standing near the TV, watching what was on screen. And guess what was on screen? Well, you’ll never guess, so I’ll just tell you.

It was the music video to “We Are the World.” You know, the one where all the celebrities are in a big room, swaying back and forth, swapping turns at the microphones, and holding hands like they’re all best friends. (And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, CLICK HERE.)

My dream came into focus right at the fifty-second mark, when Kenny Rogers says “We can’t go on / pretending day by day,” then James Ingram finishes by saying, “that someone, somewhere/ will soon make a change.” In my brain (which does not have this song memorized), my dream then moved right on to the two-minute mark of the video, when Willie Nelson delivers the most faith-based line of the song: “As God has shown us/by turning stone to bread.”

So while I was standing there watching this video, my grandma and Isla were standing directly in front of the TV singing along and swaying to the music. Isla was standing right at my grandma’s feet, kind of leaning on my grandma’s legs to steady herself. My Grandma had a hand on Isla’s shoulder to hold her there. This is pretty much the stage Isla is at in real life: She can stand very well, especially if she’s supported somehow, and she likes to look at the TV and to sway back and forth whenever there’s any sort of music playing.

My grandma was holding something in her hand, which I believe was a microphone. It was as if she and Isla were doing karaoke. Which, in a way, is weird, because I can’t really see my grandma ever singing like that, and I don’t think she’s ever owned a karaoke set-up.

Anyway, I remember thinking that I was happy that Isla got to meet her great-grandma. But only in my dream, of course. In reality, Isla’s and her great-grandma’s lives have overlapped by nearly a year now, and they have never been in contact with one another.

Saturday, 23 July 2011

First:

Turns out, some Edmonton mom is upset that a church passed out candy to her daughter at a playground. I would be upset, too. Notice, in the video, the mom simply says other people might have other “intentions,” but the journalist inserted the word “good” into the write-up below. Bad journalist! The mom didn’t say the church had “good intentions” (and they didn’t), she only said they had “intentions.”

Her daughter Angeline, meanwhile, said she doesn’t like taking “candy from strangers,” and I have to add that I think it’s very astute of that young girl to recognize that Christians are stranger than most.

Second:

Back on June 2nd, I blogged about my experience being a chaperone for Owen’s Kindergarten class as they attended a performance at the Ordway.

Here’s an excerpt from that blog post:

Oddly, the creators’ homepage titles the play Darwin the Dinosaur, while the staff at the Ordway introduced it as Corbian the Dinosaur (and, in fact, that’s what they call it at their site). Not sure why the difference. I wrote to the Ordway to ask them but, as of yet, no response.

I realize that I never provided any updates on that.

In fact, a few days later, I did receive an update. A very polite, friendly-sounding woman from the Ordway called and left a message on my voicemail. Here’s what she said:

Hi James this is XXXXXXXX from Ordway center for the performing arts. I am returning a message. We received an email from you via the Ordway contact form asking about our choice in titling Corbian the Dinosaur that rather than Darwin.

Indeed with this particular company, you have the choice of one name or the other, because some places and locations and markets have had some issue with Darwin and the scientific notations that that means and, kind of, the connections that sometimes Darwin can have especially for school groups and so to be as inclusive as possible we chose one of the options which was Corbian the Dinosaur. So I hope that gives you some understanding.

You definitely saw the exact same performance. The Corbian visual arts and dance just allows this particular performance the option of two different names however your market wants to handle it.

Thanks so much for coming out to the Flint Hills International Children’s Festival. It was great to have you here. And if you have any other questions, feel free to give me a call my direct line is XXX-XXX-XXXX. Thanks again. Take care James. Bye.

So, let me make this clear before going forward: I have nothing negative to say about this woman nor about the Ordway. As I said, she was very polite in her message, and she offered a thorough, honest response. Also, I can understand that the Ordway wishes to be as inclusive as possible. In fact, I’m not even gonna say anything negative about Corbian, because they too offered us an outstanding experience and I can understand that, being artists, they want their work to be seen and enjoyed by as many people as possible.

Instead, I’ll just say something negative about religion (and that’s not being pessimistic, it’s just being realistic). The Ordway representative noted that the name “Darwin” carries “scientific notations” and that it has some kind of “connections.” She’s right: Darwin is very rightly associated with science. And who could possibly have an “issue” with that? Oh, I don’t know…maybe the home-schoolers that were in the audience. Or, more correctly, their parents. Or maybe the Christian parents of schooled children, too. I mean, they’re the one who deny evolution, right?

What’s weird though is that the show did not touch on evolution at all. It was just the story of a dinosaur created in a lab by a human. So, even if you’re Christian apologist who refuses to accept evolution or 99% of our ancestors’ history, you still shouldn’t have had any problem with this performance. Corbian’s website (linked above) clearly states the word “Darwin” in the performance’s title, and it’s no secret that the show features a dinosaur, so if anyone was that easily offended, they had ample warning to stay home. Heck, even back when I was a Christian, I wouldn’t have been offended by a show named “Darwin the Dinosaur, I just would’ve thought, “Yeah, that makes sense, since Darwin did stuff with fossils.”

But maybe that’s one reason why I’m not a Christian anymore. After all, as my favorite scripture says, “the taking of offense is what rests in the bosom of the stupid ones” (Ecc. 7:9), so if I wasn’t stupid enough to be offended, then I wasn’t a good Christian.

Anyway, if it was up to me, I would have titled the performance Owen the Dinosaur, after Robert Owen, the man who coined the term ‘dinosaur.’ But I may be biased.

Thursday, 21 July 2011

This afternoon, the group I work for had an outing at a local park. There was catered food, bocci ball, and badminton. The two games were in tournament style, complete with large brackets taped up to the side of the pavilion where participants wrote in their names as they moved up the rankings.

I was in the bocci ball tournament. My team lost their first game, so I had a lot of down time. In between eating ice cream (oh my god! Reece’s Pieces ice cream is like, the best dessert ever) and playing Uno, I checked out the two tables worth of prizes. The plan was, right at the end of the picnic, someone would draw names out of a bowl and the person named would then get to come up and select a prize.

While looking over the prizes, I decided that my first pick would be the camping chairs. Jennifer and I don’t have any nice chairs like that and when we’ve gone camping, or even just a few weeks ago when we were sitting on the shores of the St. Croix watching the fireworks, it would’ve been nice to have some camping chairs. So that was my first choice. But I knew that they would be a popular option so, unless my name was called first or second, I probably wouldn’t get the chairs.

My second choice, I decided, would be one of the bocci ball sets. My third choice would be the board game Fact or Crap, which I’ve never played before but it looked like a fun trivia game in the same spirit (though perhaps not quite as good) as Wits and Wagers.

A couple of hours later, after playing Uno with some co-workers, arguing with them over the rules of the game, and ultimately being proved correct, everyone gathered around for the prizes. First the bocci ball and badminton champions received their gift cards for their superior sportsmanship. Then came the drawings.

The first person to have his name pulled out of the bowl was someone I don’t know, but he went up to the tables and began poking around at everything, as if he couldn’t decide. He started asking questions like, “how do you play this game?” and he began carefully inspecting things like the mini-grill and the Igloo coolers. Some co-workers started heckling him for taking so long.

Finally, the VIP in charge decided to move on while that guy continued to weigh the pros and cons of selecting a badminton set over Guesstures.

My name was called second and, in contrast to my uncertain co-workers, I walked straight up to the camping chairs, grabbed the handles, and sat back down. The woman sitting next to me said, “You don’t mess around, do you?”

No. I don’t.

Here are the two chairs (one of them is in the bag, at left). The baby was sold separately.

Here’s another shot of the chairs, with the model donning a more contemplative expression for this picture.

Friday, 22 July 2011

So, for most of my life (from 1978-2005), the planet Pluto had only one natural satellite: Charon. It was discovered by James Christy and the finding went a long way towards demoting Pluto from the coveted Planet status.

Then, in the middle of 2005, The Hubble Space Telescope team discovered Nix and Hydra (go team!). This meant Pluto had at least three satellites, making Earth once again the only planet with only one natural satellite.

And guess what just happened this week? Pluto, no longer a planet anymore, has been found to have four natural satellites (at least)! READ MORE ABOUT IT HERE. Good for Pluto. I’m glad it has some company to console it now that it kicked out of the Planet Club. Notice IN THIS PRESS RELEASE, however, that New Horizons’ Principal Investigator Alan Stern refers to Pluto as a planet.

This makes me even more excited for New Horizons’ arrival to Pluto. It still has a ways to go on its journey, but it’s past the halfway point and, by December, it will be closer to Pluto than any other human-made object ever. New Horizons is scheduled to make its closest approach to Pluto in 2015.

Also, the dipshits on Kentucky’s Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources commission think we need to start killing Sandhill Cranes. Sign THIS PETITION to US Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar asking him to deny this law.