Monday, 23 January 2012

If you want to see how incredibly adorable my daughter is, CLICK ON OVER to my wife’s blog, where she has posted five recent videos (as in, from the past four months) of Isla engaging in age-appropriate antics.

This evening, Owen and I read a couple chapters from The Invisible Island, by Ron Roy. We’re working our way through all the A to Z Mystery books. Yes, there is one book for each letter of the alphabet (plus five more – go figure).

The first book in the series that we read was The Talking T. Rex. Of course, the series starts with the letter A, but we didn’t know that it was a series at the time. We just happened to be at Como Zoo, and Owen saw the book sitting on a rack, and he asked if we could buy it. It only cost like $4, so I figured it was a decent bargain. When I was paging through the book later, I realized it was part of a series. So, we finished up the T book, then started with the A book. Now we are up to the letter I.

These are quite perfect books for us. There’s nothing too scary or upsetting for Owen. The mysteries keep us both interested in turning the pages, and each chapter takes us about 15 minutes to read. So, on late nights, we read one chapter. If we manage to settle down for the evening a little earlier, we read two or three chapters.

I whole-heartily endorse them for the 5-10 year old in your life.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

One of my co-workers was kind enough to give me a ride to and from work today while the mechanics dismantled our Saturn looking for all the money I’ve made this week.

On the way home this evening, she made an astute observation. She has no children, but she is engaged, and she’s starting to think that kids might be in store for her near future. Nevertheless, she’s a bit nervous about the prospect of having the responsibility of taking care of a tiny human.

She noted that her friends that currently have children are often unable or unwilling to go out for fun evenings. Normally, everyone just assumes this is because kids are a big hassle: you have to get them to bed early, you can’t keep them in their seat at a restaurant, and you don’t dare bring them to that slasher movie everyone is raving about. However, my one-day carpooler said that her friends often bow out due to cost. Think about it: if you want to go to a restaurant with friends, bringing your kid means another meal to buy (okay, so we’re not talking about infants here, obviously), but leaving your kid home means paying for a baby-sitter. She said, more often than not, her friends decline offers not because of parental duties, but because of increased cost.

I thought that was an interesting observation. I was going to tell her that my wife and I usually decline invitations because we just don’t like people, but I don’t really know this co-worker that well, and I wanted to stay on her good side for the next time the car mechanics feel like eating my paycheck.

Saturday, 21 January 2012

The woman that I recently married – (oh, wait, that doesn’t sound right. Let me try again)

The bride from the wedding I recently officiated was kind enough to direct me to her on-line posting of photos from the ceremony and allow me to have some of them. Here, then, is an image of me with my reverend hat on:

I’m the one in the middle.

This couple did not request any religious elements to their connubial ceremony. Which, in my opinion, is awesome, since my iBible hasn’t yet arrived in the mail.

And now I found out I may have another job as reverend this summer. If this keeps up, I may have to change career paths. Though, truth be told, while being a reverend has its rewards, one thing it does not have is a cubicle.

Sunday, 22 January 2012

I finally opened up my new Viewmaster reels today. The set of three reels, which comprised a portion of my recent Amazon purchase (well, I didn’t really make the purchase, since I used a gift card that I received as a gift back on Xmas Eve) arrived a few days ago, but I was busy in that party capitol of the world.

I promised Owen we would look at the Viewmasters while laying in his bed before bedtime tonight. And, well, I technically kept my promise, but the batteries were nearly dead. As the Viewmasters were all black and white photos of vintage cars, they were very difficult to see projected onto his ceiling with such low candlepower. Owen, bless his heart, suggested I go get the “other Viewmaster,” which is his way of telling me to get the stereoscope (the viewer that you hold up to your eyes).

Viewmaster stereoscope

I told him that that viewer only works during the day, when you can point them out a window.

(Yes, yes, I know we could have turned on the light, but Viewmaster aficionados will attest that this is a pale imitation to natural lighting. Also, the point of this activity was to calm Owen down in preparation for sleep.)

I didn’t have anymore batteries and, in fact, the batteries I was using were purloined from one of his robots. The projector uses four – four! – C-cell batteries which, let me tell you, are not the cheapest batteries on the market. I wish that the projector had a plug-in adapter. Really, I wish everything that was battery powered had a plug-in adapter. I really hate the proliferation of cordless things that are not able to be plugged in (such as the VIewmaster projector) or do not work when plugged in and recharging (such as my electric shaver).

Anyway, if I remember, or if Owen remembers, we’ll use the stereoscopes to look at the new Viewmaster reels tomorrow.

Friday, 20 January 2012

While in Janesville, the hotel where I am accommodating has seen fit to leave a copy of USA Today outside my door in the morning. That’s very nice of them. Unfortunately, didn’t discover the paper until I was leaving for my busy day. So, I basically just tossed the paper into the room and saved it for “later.”

Later turned out to be today. Tucked away in a side column on page 3A, was a story about a teacher in an Atlanta, Georgia suburb. He resigned. Or maybe it was a she. I don’t know.

“Why did he/she resign?” you ask.

Good question.

It seems this teacher sent their third-graders home with some math work that included math questions such as…

Each tree had 56 oranges. If eight slaves pick them equally, then how much would each slave pick?

Hm. Not sure why the teacher was so fixated on slavery, but it’s hard to see why that was necessary.

This one is worse:

If Frederick got two beatings per day, how many beatings did he get in one week?

Yikes. How stupid is this teacher that they didn’t realize that just about anything would have been better than “beatings”? Why couldn’t Frederick have received two apples, or dollars, or books, or job offers, or DVDs from Red Box?

And while I’m noting how crappy this teacher must be, let’s also take a look at that grammar: “How MUCH would each slave pick?” How MUCH? The word “much” indicates a ratio compared to the whole, so the answer here would have to be one-eighth, or even “their share.” Assuming the teacher wanted their third-graders to do a little division, they should have used the phrase “How MANY,” thereby forcing the correct answer of seven.

Either way, this teacher gets an F.

Here’s an online version of the story.

Thursday, 19 January 2012

When I sat down in my chair at the class here in Janesville yesterday, the first thing I noticed was a box sitting on the table.

Curiosity quickly overcame my fear of unlabeled boxes, and I picked up the white box and began to inspect it. The cardboard was smooth; polished, almost.

The left side of the box was open and, using the convenient thumb-tab, I pulled out an inner box.

The inner box was monogrammed with a logo and the word “Parker.” I correctly surmised that it was referencing neither Peter nor Charlie but, instead, indicated that the contents were a very classy pen.

I was right.

Turns out, the box held a Parker Multifunction pen. The device can be used as a ball-point pen, pencil, fountain pen, roller ball pen, capping pen, or clicking pen.

Behold.

This is a beautiful pen. Flawless, really. It wrote evenly, both yesterday and today. I even like how it’s weighted.It’s finely balanced both from the left side to the right and from top to bottom. Here’s the proof:

Pen stands on end. Ergo, it is balanced from left to right.

Pen balances on finger at the point between the top and bottom portions. Ergo, it is balanced from top to bottom.

As I assembled the pen to use it for the first time, I said to the co-worker sitting next to me, “I feel like I’m about to sign a bill into law.”

And here’s the best part: We got to keep our new pens.

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Hi. I’m in Janesville.

I’m always a little nervous when I’m at the front desk at a hotel. I mean, they hold my life in their hands. Or, at least, they hold in their hands my residence for the next x-number of days. What if they give me a room on the parking lot side of the building? What if my room is too close to the pool and I smell chlorine all night?

Today I was given room #120. I walked in, pleased that it was not on the parking lot side, but disappointed to discover it looked out on the highway. I set about shutting off the air so that I could have complete silence. Then I stood and listened for a minute. I could hear trucks barreling down the freeway. Then I closed the curtains. God, I hate hotel curtains. They always meet right in the middle, thereby assuring a crack of light from a nearby street lamp inevitably pierces the dark room all night.

I considered going back to the front desk and requesting a room on a higher floor (to get away from the street lamp light) and further from the freeway. But about 18 of my co-workers were also in the hotel, and I don’t want them to know how neurotic I am.

I called my wife and explained the problem to her. She wasn’t too much help, which wasn’t surprising because she spends the first thirty minutes in any hotel room wiping down every surface for fear that the room is covered in blood, sweat, and santorum.

So…Since I only needed one of the two beds, I removed the quilt from one of the beds and wrapped it around the curtain rod. That made it nice and dark. I purposely slept in the bed further from the window and drifted off to sleep.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

I used an iron for, like, the third time in my life.

Back on Monday, when I was packing for my trip to Janesville, my wife instructed me to insert one collared shirt into another and then roll them up. I did that. She also said to hang them up as soon as I got to the hotel on Tuesday. That I did not do.

It wasn’t until this morning, about 15 seconds before I put the shirt on, that I realized I should have hung up the shirts. I put on my blue button shirt and looked in the mirror. I, of course, looked smashing. But my shirt, oh no no, it would never do. It was wrinkled all over – with large creases running the length of the trim and a crumpled up mid-section.

The hotel management has seen fit to equip each room with an iron and an ironing board. I took out the iron and plugged it in. I’m always a little scared to use an iron. They’re so complicated. I never know if a button is going to cause hot water to gently mist onto the clothing, or if it’s going to dump a quart of water on me. And how long should I keep the iron in one spot? And what if I begin ironing a spot that’s folded over, will it become permanently wrinkled?

Anyway, I figured it out good enough. I would estimate a wrinkle reduction of about 80%, and I didn’t burn the shirt. I just plugged it in, didn’t touch any buttons, and waved the magic iron over the shirt splayed out on the table. Oh – yes, I used a table; not the ironing board. I can’t use ironing boards because I hate the screech they make when you open the legs.

The iron I used.

The ironing board I didn’t use.

The ironing board I did use.

Right after that, I donned the shirt and ran out to the lobby to meet up with my co-workers. I attended a presentation for most of the day. I think it was interesting, but the outlet cover on the plug under the projector screen was screwed on crooked, so I was distracted the whole day.

Thursday, 19 January 2012