Tuesday, 10 January 2012

Here is the list of my “Word of the Year” words for every year since I started having a word of the year in 1999:

1999: Filmlet

2000: Viscosity

2001: Denouement

2002: GMP

2003: Environmental Monitoring

2004: Big Lake

2005: Cephalohematoma

2006: Cognitive Dissonance

2007: Apraxia

2008: Geocaching

2009: Matriculation

2010: Firestorm

I’ve decided that my word of the year for 2011 is DUNNAGE.

It’s an appropriate word, for one thing. I had never heard of the word until 2011. Basically, it’s the junk that gets inserted into a box so that the important stuff doesn’t slosh around during shipping.

It’s probably the least glamorous word I’ve ever selected, but, like I said, it’s appropriate for 2011. Since April, I have been working in the packaging department at my job and, soon after starting in that new position, I began hearing the word and seeing stickers that read DUNNAGE slapped on the side of boxes. I didn’t pay much attention to it for a while, but then, one day, I figured it must have meant all that paper we shoved into the sides so that the product did not become damaged. I looked it up on an online dictionary just to be sure. But, yeah, that’s basically it.

So…a word I’d never heard before, and one that represents a major transition I made during the year. What more could you ask for in a word?

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

I found a dime today.

This brings the total amount of money I’ve found so far this year up to $5.18.

“Whoa!” you say. “How did you find that much money in less than two weeks?”

Yeah, I know, it’s crazy. It took me months to reach the five dollar mark in 2011.

But last week, I found a five dollar bill on the ground. I brought it up to the Lost and Found. I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing to do, or a weird thing to do. See, five dollars seems like enough money to where someone would notice that they lost it, but it’s also a low enough amount to where that same person might just shrug their shoulders and figure it’s lost.

Anyway, I handed it to the lady and she said, “You can keep that. No one ever comes up here looking for a five dollar bill.”

So I did.

So that, plus a nickel, some random pennies, and today’s dime brings the total up to the aforementioned $5.18.

I think it’s gonna be a great year.

Thursday, 12 January 2012

With great trepidation, I tuned into NPR today. After about 20 interesting seconds of news, they segued into the Republican Primaries for the duotrigintillionth time (yes, it’s a real number), so I switched channels. About fifteen minutes later, I tried again. Once more, there was some bit on Mitt Romney’s favorite breed of horse, or some such shit that I can’t believe anyone really cares about. So I switched channels.

During my lunchbreak, however, I inadvertently switched over to NPR again and, in what surely must have been the only five consecutive minutes all calendar year, they were not talking about Newt Gingrich’s planters warts. Instead, they were discussing the number of planets in the universe.

Okay, if you’re like me, you’ve just always assumed there were boatloads of planets out there. But it’s never been proven. But now there’s new evidence, thanks to the Kepler Space Observatory, that planets outnumber stars.

READ THIS ARTICLE (I promise you, the link won’t take you to NPR).

This only makes sense, I think. I mean, as the spinning disks gather accretion that eventually becomes a star, it stands to reason that the new star does not capture 100% of the dust. This remaining dust gathers separately as planets.

For the past five years, we’ve claimed to have only eight planets orbiting our star and, I suppose, by definition that is true. But the real number of objects that orbits the sun is way, way higher, including some objects that are larger than the planet Mercury.

These are indeed exciting times in the field of astronomy. Let’s hope some of these planets have life on them. And let’s hope at least one of those lives runs for office.

Sunday, 08 January 2012

Today, after laying on his stomach on the living floor for about 15 minutes and writing and drawing random sketches on his little white board, Owen presented me with his picture of – as he called it – puffy math symbols. He explained that he first drew the images like normal, then traced around them so they were “puffy” and then deleted any ink that remained on the inside. He quizzed me on if I could correctly identify all of the symbols (I got one incorrect, otherwise I was spot-on), and then returned to the floor to doodle some more. That’s when I grabbed the camera and took a picture of his work.

Here it is:

Ignoring the blacked-out doodles in the lower-right corner (which he added after quizzing me), the images are (clockwise from top-left): plus, minus, times, division, a lemniscate, pi, phi, and square root. Those are all math symbols, by the way.

He asked if he forgot any symbols. I told him there were others, but I couldn’t recall how to draw them correctly. I was thinking of the summation symbol when I said that. Of course, there are also e and i and parentheses, but since those are more closely associated with writing, I didn’t know if Owen would find them very interesting from a mathematical perspective.

Maybe I was wrong.

Monday, 09 January 2012

Today, about three miles into my drive to work, I pulled off my stocking cap and began itching my scalp vigorously in one specific spot. I quickly realized that I had a thick, solid clump of something in my hair. I couldn’t get it out – not without sudden acute trichotillomania, anyway.

What was that thing?

Was it shampoo? I wondered. No, shampoo doesn’t clump like that.

Was it soap? Hm. Maybe. But my bar soap never meets up with my scalp and, even if it did, I’m sure I would have remembered cleaving off a piece of the soap and grinding it into my head until it stuck to my hair.

After playing with the clump for a few more seconds (yes, I realize that’s an unfortunate choice of words), I smelled my fingers. They smelled like sap. Tree sap.

Then the memories came flooding back. You know, those long lost memories from ten minutes earlier. Turns out, this morning, I had hoisted up our Holiday Tree and carried it from the living room, around into the dining room, through the kitchen, and out Door Beta (yeah, we need names for our doors). At some point, the live tree, which brushed along my left side as I carried it out to the deck, must’ve decided to bequeath upon me a lovely parting gift.

I washed the affected hair upon arriving at work. The sinks at work are all motion-sensitive, so I had to keep waving my hands around while I cleansed the offending area.

I was a little disappointed that none of my co-workers commented that I had a wonderful, rugged, outdoorsy scent about me.

Friday, 06 January 2012

We live on a street with no restrictions on parking. Unlike nearly every other street in the city, there are no annoying signs like “No Parking Tuesdays 2:30-6:15” or “20 Minute Parking on School Days” or “10 Minute Parking for Domestic Vehicles on Even-Numbered Days and 7.4 Minute Parking for Handicapped on All Days Except the Third Friday in May.” No sir, not on our street. Just go ahead and park along the edge of my property any time you want, day or night.

I think we have the only two parking spaces left in the city.

Anyway, I was rocking Isla to sleep tonight and, perched up on the second floor, I was looking out the window. A Subaru pulled up, slowed down, and then – despite there being twice the needed space – the driver decided to parallel park. She did a rather lousy job, too (was at least a foot from the curb).

After parking, four people exited the car: the woman driver, a man in the passenger side, and another man and woman in the backseat. The man in the front passenger seat got out, took a swig of some Rock Star beverage he was drinking, and then tossed the can right onto my lawn.

What a weasel-necked asswipe!

I mean, it’s too bad there weren’t any cup-holders in the car, or even a floor in the car where he could have tossed his can. And it’s too bad that loser couldn’t be bothered to carry that heavy, heavy can the three or blocks to his destination, or even just drop it in one of the many recycle bins scattered between here and the end of the block.

See? Here are three recycle bins between my home and the end of the block. (And that doesn’t even count the other side of the street.)

A few minutes later, I walked outside and picked up the can – it was still about 1/3 full. So that Neanderthal seemed to think it was okay if his concoction of chemicals just spilled out onto my lawn and killed my grass. I was going to bring the can inside, but then I figured I’d give the dick-brain one more chance. I gently set the can on the car’s roof, near the passenger door, hoping that when the sub-adequate knuckle-dragger returned to the car, he would think, “Whoa, there’s my Rock Star drink. I must’ve foolishly tossed it aside earlier. That was careless and insensitive of me. I guess I’ll bring it with me into the car now and dispose of it properly now that some benevolent soul has afforded me a second chance.”

The can, sitting on the car.

My wife tells me I let him off easily. She says I should have left a note. Man, she can be so heartless sometimes.

Saturday, 07 January 2012

When I went outside this morning, guess what I found sitting on the side of the road, near the curb?

If you guessed anything besides the above-mentioned can, then you’re too dumb to keep reading.

What kind of sad excuse for a homo sapien is this? If I went out somewhere with my friends, and I just threw some litter on the ground, they’d all look at me like I was some sort of smarmy ignoramus. I would think that this salamander brain would have been especially wary of impressing his friends, since they were all riding in an Impreza.

Yeah, that’s the kind of car it was. An Impreza. How pretentious is that? I, on the other hand, drive a Cavalier – a car name that is so self-effacing, you can’t help feel sorry for it.

Here’s the “Impreza’s” license plate, by the way:

…so please contact the owner if you happened to know who they are. I have a mostly-empty can of Rock Star they can come pick up.

I’m not sure if this fuckwit thought he was impressing his friends by carelessly tossing garbage onto the grass, but I think his friends should consider hanging out with less self-centered troglodytes.

Monday, 02 January 2012

Jennifer dictates a blog post:

Once upon a time, I was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking around aimlessly into space and then I told me wife, “I don’t know what to do.” And she said, “Do the dishes.” No, wait, I said: “I don’t know what to do. Tell me something to do.” And then she said, “Do the dishes if you don’t know what to do.”

And then I said, “I don’t know if I want to do the dishes.” And then, a couple minutes later, she saw that I was doing the dishes. And then I quit doing the dishes and I didn’t know what to do after that. And I was bothering the crap out of my wife & being obnoxious and so she said, “I’m ready for you to go back to work.”

The end.

But you’re not really publishing that, right?

Yeah, I am. Why would I bother typing all this if I wasn’t gonna use it?

Why?

*shrug.*

Tuesday, 03 January 2012

Well, as tangentially hinted at above, today was my first day at work since December 23rd. I don’t hate my job, so I really don’t mind being there; I was even kind of looking forward to coming in to work today because I had some stuff I wanted to get done.

My main problem with my job is the commute.

I’ve solved this problem by carpooling (to save money) and listening to books on tape (to enjoy the time). When neither of those is an option – and I thank the local libraries for systematically removing their audio cassette books from the shelves – I listen to the radio, usually NPR.

But, as they informed me about five times today, today is the “start” of the election season.

Oh, I’m sorry – I guess all that extended coverage about Michelle Bachmann running around Iowa and Newt Gingrich saying asinine things for the past several months must not have counted. From listening to NPR, I thought the election “season” got under way sometime last August. But I guess they are referring to their coverage, because at no point during my drive to or from work did NPR spend more than 10 minutes not talking about the Iowa Primaries today. They were practically tripping over themselves trying to find something to talk about regarding the candidates and their tactics and what level of hatred they all have towards gays, women, science, and poor people. And, of course, their unfortunate last name.

If NPR gets this worked up over the Republican’s Iowan Primary, I can’t wait to see how they act when the Democrats are looking for a candidate.

For more on the Republican primaries, CLICK HERE.

OR HERE.

OR HERE.

OR HERE.

Or just let me sum it up for you: It’s all boring nonsense designed to help you figure out which misogynistic asshole is the best man for the next of 49 more primaries.

Wednesday, 04 January 2012

I think I need to take my brewing know-how to the next stage (or “level,” if you prefer palindromes).

Whenever a co-worker discovers I brew beer, they get all interested and ask questions, like I’m an expert. But, I quickly exhaust my knowledge and refer them to THIS VIDEO, which then deflects the conversation onto my film-making hobby.

When I first joined Toastmasters, I figured I would give a speech or two about beer brewing, but then I learned that a few other guys in the club have the same hobby, so I don’t really want to give a speech about brewing in front of people that probably are better brew connoisseurs than I.

Finally, the co-worker who borrowed my brewing equipment last spring – just so she could see if she wanted to invest in the hobby – has now become the master. She’s whipping up yeast, concocting her own recipes, and – according to my wife – has way, way better labels.

Anyway, I received an Amazon gift card as an Xmas gift, so I’m gonna buy a copy of The Complete Joy of Homebrewing. And some caps. It’s always good to have some spare caps around.

Thursday, 05 January 2012

Today, as part of my commute home from work, I began heading east on a main street in St. Paul. As soon as I  made the turn onto this particular street, I noticed something was wrong. Traffic heading west was backed up a bit, and the cars were slowly swerving into my lane. I gawked as I drove by: there was a busted up bookshelf littering the road. Then, about two hundred feet later, there was a busted up changing table (or something similar – there are so many diapers in my life I guess I’m just assuming it was a changing table). Then, about 500 feet later, near an exit ramp, was a desk chair in perfectly good condition. Well, close – there was one caster wheel missing.

“Huh,” thought I. Someone must’ve lost a load out the back of their pick-up. I kept driving. The desk chair reminded me that we’ve been wanting one. Ever since we moved, we’ve been using the rocking chair at our desk. This doesn’t work too well. Sometimes, I fetch the big green exercise ball and sit on that. It works pretty decent, actually, but the height is not adjustable, and without back support, we can only sit there for a brief period. That desk chair lying there, tossed aside and forgotten, meanwhile, was exactly the sort of chair we need.

Now we own it.

Oh – and I found that fifth wheel, too.

Sunday, 01 January 2012

Jennifer and I rang in the new year by finishing up our office slash playroom:

I know what you’re thinking – “office slash playroom” is a lousy name for part of the house, right? Yeah, we’re still working on that. The problem is, we have so many areas of the house, I don’t know what to call them all. For example, we have a deck AND a porch. Worse, we have this area by the circuit breakers (down in the basement) and I’m never sure how to describe that area. It’s kind of a utility room, but not really.

We also have three landings. We’ve only ever had one landing before: in our townhome. For those who don’t know, a ‘landing’ is aplace in a staircase where it flattens out for a bit – usually to turn a corner. In our townhome, we just called that spot “The Landing.” But in our new mansion, we have three of them. What to call them?

We named them (in descending order from highest elevation to lowest): The Kent, The Tudor, and the Windsor. This allows us to speak with greater precision, as in, “Owen, pick up your toys and set them on the Tudor so I can vacuum,” or, “Hey, the cat just threw up on the Windsor.”

Other things requiring better names are the two car stalls of our garage (the East and West Wing?), the three ‘spaces’ in our basement that are not the bathroom or the laundry room, and, of course, that pesky office slash playroom. I’m also pushing for a name for our entire estate, too, though the main issue with that seems to be that Jennifer and I can not agree on a suffix: Shall it be a Manor? A Dwelling? Just plain Home? A Castle? Or (my favorite) a Compound?

Clearly, we have our work cut out for us.