A Neat New Year

As 2006 ends, we're off to a neat start to the New Year.

When Diane and Gina were gone the other day I sorted my closet, ditched a bunch of stuff I no longer wear and straightened the rest. I know my dress shirts don't need to be on wooden hangers, but at Ross they're really cheap and they look damn nice.

We're getting started on a bigger reorganizing project in the basement, too. When I brought up Christmas boxes I discovered the the bottom on some of them were rotting. The dirt isn't as dry as I thought. So I've declared the basement a cardboard-free zone, and we're going to get everything into plastic or onto shelves. Bought 14 18-gallon stackable containers at Wal Mart today, and Diane's begun the sorting. I'll build shelves, bring in patio pavers, organize and stack until there isn't a single bit of wood or cardboard on the dirt in there. Wood-eating bugs are not allowed. Or at least certainly not encouraged.

Anyway, Happy New Year (and New Fence!) to everyone!

A White (Board) Christmas

My Christmas Eve activities included buying and installing door stops (nothing says Happy Holidays like well-stopped doors) and reorganizing my work file cabinets. They, my desk and the previously described white board are ready for the New Year.

Here's the Board. I know it has nothing to do with Christmas, but I did have an egg nog post recently. Have a wonderful Christmas one and all!

Eggnog as Proof the Devil is Real

I lifted the following in its entirety and made no changes. If the last line does not establish demonic existance, the very idea of combining eggs and rum should.

"Many believe that eggnog is a tradition that was brought to America from Europe. This is partially true. Eggnog is related to various milk and wine punches that had been concocted long ago in the "Old World". However, in America a new twist was put on the theme. Rum was used in the place of wine. In Colonial America, rum was commonly called "grog", so the name eggnog is likely derived from the very descriptive term for this drink, "egg-and-grog", which corrupted to egg'n'grog and soon to eggnog. At least this is one version...
Other experts would have it that the "nog" of eggnog comes from the word "noggin". A noggin was a small, wooden, carved mug. It was used to serve drinks at table in taverns (while drinks beside the fire were served in tankards). It is thought that eggnog started out as a mixture of Spanish "Sherry" and milk. The English called this concoction "Dry sack posset". It is very easy to see how an egg drink in a noggin could become eggnog.
The true story might be a mixture of the two and eggnog was originally called "egg and grog in a noggin"."

An Odd Realization

Had a weird day yesterday. Went to Merced to drop off some gifts (very short sticks like the rest of you got) and visit folks. Mom was off gambling. (Diane keeps saying I should call ahead, but I just don't.) Had a nice visit with Suzie and Katie.

Then there was dad.

Went there first and spent about two hours. Julie was there for part of it, but mostly it was just him and I. And as we talked, I kind of kept waiting for him to ask questions about my life. How's Diane? How's the house? How's work going, natural things like that. But they didn't come. The conversation was about his life, his health, the child support he once paid, paying Chad's mortgage now, etc. (Can you believe that? It baffles me.)

Anyway, he and I went out to lunch and at the end of it he asked two questions: If I was still doing work in Stockton, and was I still teaching at Columbia. And I'm convinced he asked them to be polite. Certainly neither elicited new information.

And it struck me: He really just doesn't care. Not anymore. I don't believe it's social ineptitude or whatever damaged coping mechinism he's used all his life. It felt different. I honestly believe he's sort of filed me (Us? I don't know) away is some distant-past folder.

It's an odd realization. Lord knows I went through several stages of trying to understand and cope after the divorce, and I'm in a good place. But this was a bit unexpected.

Anyway, I wanted to write it down. Next time: Why egg nog is proof the Devil is alive and wants us all to go to Hell.

It's time to get rich

We've decided it's time to get rich.

Lotto winnings would be nice, but since we don't play it's not a viable option. Neither is gambling since:
1) We suck at it and
2) We don't enjoy it

So that leaves earning and investing, I'm afraid, and we're getting serious about it. In the past year or so, we divided up our old 401(k)s with our practice spouses (as required by the courts,) bought life insurance, transferred our 401(k)s into SEP-IRA accounts and have those invested in a nicely diversified and fairly aggressive portfolio of low-cost mutual funds.

Then today I opened a new savings account at HSBC Bank, an online bank that's fully FDIC insured. They're paying nearly 5% interest on regular savings accounts, which beats the hell out of the 1% (or less) Bank of America pays.

Bring on the wealth!

Modem madness and holiday hangovers

Technology abandoned me today. Or it delivered me. It's hard to tell.

Was up early, at my desk about 7:30 and found our Internet connection down. Tried to reset the modem and it refused. Tried the cable TV and it worked. This is not a good sign.

I called Comcast and they tried to reset my modem but it refused their efforts, too. Sometime alone in the dark, cold December night, the old modem died in its sleep. The Comcast guy made an appointment for a tech to come out tomorrow, but also said I could take the dead modem in to a Comcast center and swap it for a living one. The nearest Comcast center is in Valley Springs -- 45 miles away. Still that's faster than a tech tomorrow, so I was on the road by 8:05. (At 8:02 it was 24 degrees...)

Back home by 10 or so with my Brand New Modem. Took calls to somewhere in Florida (Comcast) and somewhere in India (Linksys) to get back in full operation. Took a live-chat session with LaShon (I didn't ask where she was...) to restore our e-mail accounts. Was back in business somewhere around 2:30 p.m.

So on the one hand I could complain about the pretty much lost day, but on the other hand tech support in two continents straightened out hardware and software issues and now I have three computers (Frankie's home) back on line at cable speeds. And for free. So I choose not to complain.

As for the Holiday Hangover, a neighbor had a dinner party on Saturday and invited us and two other couples from our block. There was a lot of wine and various liquors. To give you an idea of how drunk we all were, before the night was over we went carroling. And it was my idea...

Hats for Trees!

It's starting to look a lot like Christmas...

There's snow outside.

A big-ol tree inside.





And a hat on top!

Why We're Not Exchanging Gifts

My sisters and I are not exchanging gifts this year, and although they attribute it to the fact that's we've all bought or are repairing houses and at least 2/3s of the group does not have "real" jobs at the moment, I know the true reason.

It looks something like this.

Murphys had a wander-the-streets open house the other night and in a store I normally don't go to I found this figurine. And, if we had been exchanging gifts this year, I would have bought it for Sonnjea.

I know I should have learned my lesson by now. After allowing Dave to draw me into pig wars with Sonnjea and Scott, I was forced to surrender when they sent the world's most hideous hula pig one year. She's also sent me a fancy chickens calendar, so I know not to open barnyard hostilities with a natural. But it's tempting!

And if meditating cow isn't to you're liking, here are some other options:

That last one is Sam-Moo-Ri, by the way.

Anyway, we're not sending gifts this year. I'm sure it's not personal.

Happy Bears

Here are some happy Cal fans. And this was before USC lost!

Palms and Thumbs, Fighting

Turns out, I don't want a Palm Treo 680 after all.

I think.

We stopped at a Cingular store the other day because I wanted to try out a Treo 680 (and four other smartphones) because I've now read enough to know that ease of use is a big factor. (And I have less-than-dainty thumbs, which plays a role.) (Thinking about that last sentence I'm forced to ask: Can one have dainty thumbs? Or are thumbs by definition not dainty?)

Anyway, the only reason I'm not entirely ruling out the Treo 680 is because the store only had a dummy model, and I'm not sure the typing experience is the same on a dummy model. If it is, the 680 is 86ed.

Also tried the Samsung Blackjack (also a dummy model), the Nokia E62 and a Cingular 8525. Didn't like any of them.

The Blackberry 8700, however, is a bird of a different color. (Which works better than a horse of a different feather...)

If I was to get a smartphone/pda/geekthing, it'd be this one. Nice keyboard. Nice screen. Lower monthly cost than the others. But there is still a monthly cost and it's more than I can justify right now. When the business requires it, I'll take the plunge. But for now, Diane needs new Christmas gift ideas!

First Flakes

I know, some people would say we've been flakes for a long time, but we don't listen to those people!

Rained last night and this morning, and right around 8 a.m. the rain started getting fat. And white. It snowed on and off for just a little while and didn't stick. Arnold got a few inches and the hardware store parking lot was slushy.

Next time, I'll take pictures.

When is a Christmas Tree like Wedding Shoes?

When it comes to shopping, I diverge with my gender. I actually enjoy shopping with Diane, and make occassionally helpful suggestions when it comes to clothes, shoes and the like. In a weak moment, Diane might even admit I have good taste.

Then there are wedding shoes. Before our wedding (which seems the most appropriate time to shop for wedding shoes) we were looking and looking. And looking. And I eventaully realized that we weren't actually shopping for wedding shoes, we were just looking at wedding shoes.

After that, Diane was on her own with the shoes. (And she eventually found lovely ones.)

So yesterday, because Frankie's still home, we went looking for a giant cut-it-yerself tree. I know we don't need a giant tree, but we do have tall ceilings and a nine-foot tree would look damn cool. (We have friends in New Jersey who have one of those let's-stay-married side agreements where Dick gets to buy any sized tree he wants -- like 15 feet -- and Marilyn doesn't try to talk sense to him any more.)

So we drive to Twain Hart, which is an hour away, and walk around both sections of this very nice tree farm. And, I will admit, some of their trees were of the mutant variety. (The Forest of Lost Trees, Frankie called it, although we did not see Herbie the Elf...) Some, however, were quite lovely -- at least from two sides.

Anyway, we did not purchase a tree. Frankie was bummed.

Zero Down, 38 to Go

Since Diane began writing her column, we've had camera issues. The small Fuji digital we have is OK but finicky, and in the wrong lighting or at the wrong settings doesn't take great pictures. This is a problem because Diane gets paid for the pictures she takes that run in the paper.

The alternative is that she sometimes gets to use the Nikon D70 school newspaper camera, when I have it checked out. Nice SLR Nikon digital that takes great pictures. But during the semester, I don't have it checked out.

A couple of weeks ago after a particularly frustrating Fuji experience, we decided (OK, she complained and I decided) it was time to get a new camera. Tried to get the D70s, but at the price I wanted to spend could only order it from a place who later told me they didn't have it and I could wait weeks for their backorders to be filled. I passed.

Ended up getting a Nikon D50 instead. Came out after the D70 and has many of its features with a slightly simplier interface. Should serve our purposes for many, many years. Only have an 18-55 lens right now (and an old, broken 300mm lens that works but doesn't autofocus), but Diane's column pictures should be better.

She only has to publish 38 more to pay for the camera!

A Damn Lot to be Thankful For

It's been a good year, and I know it.

Listing everything I'm thankful for would take more time and typing than anyone wants to read, so I'll mention just a few highlights.

I'm thankful for my family, Diane and the kids. My life has never been better, richer or more fun.

I'm thankful for my sisters and brothers-in-law. I know you don't get to pick your siblings, but if you did, I'd pick you. (Weird is somehow intreguing...)

I'm thankful that our health is all good and that Stanford did it's job for mom.

I'm thankful that mom's remaining work career can now be counted in mere days. Yea!

I'm thankful that our business got off to a good start and looks promising.

I'm thankful that Dave Richards told me to buy this house -- and I listened!

Have a great Thanksgiving.

The authors in this category are all women. How would he stand out?

Publishers baffle me.

My book, The Girly Girls Survival Guide, has been submitted to several publishers and my agent forwards me their responses periodically. And the responses have been pretty uniform -- they like the idea, the writing and the approach. They wish they had had this book when they went off to college or moved into their first apartments. But they don't know if they can sell it, or how to sell it, so they pass.

Frustrating.

Here are some of the comments I've gotten:

• I actually got a big kick out of this -- and I learned a lot about my car! That said, I don't think I can move forward with it. It's not that it's not right for our list -- actually, this kind of thing is perfect for me. The issue is with this particular category. It's not very robust... I know this book would differentiate itself because it also covers car care, computer care, and bicycle care, but that actually might make it more difficult to shelve in the store -- where does it go?

• As I mentioned, I loved this proposal, but after looking into the competition for this category, there was some hesitation as to whether we'd be able to compete with similar titles already on the shelf. Also, since so many fix-it books for women are backed by strong female personalities, there was some concern that the author's lack of a platform in this area would make it a bit difficult for us to help him stand out from the crowd. I loved Steve's approach to this subject, however, and do agree that his advice would be incredibly useful to any girl moving into her first apartment.... I really regret having to pass on this since the content is so great, but we just can't see how we'd be able to break it out on a large enough scale to make it work for our list.

• Well, I pitched the book today in pub board, and we are going to take a pass. We felt the material split audience by covering everything from computers to cars to lawn to home interior. Then we considered whether we could follow the model of the successful Dare to Repair, which does focus on home, then came out with a car manual, and most recently a plumbing guide. The home improvement shelf, however, is a very tough one to crack, and we weren’t confident we’d get the sell in. I wish I had better news. He’s a great writer, and it’s a book I’d wished I’d had when I was his daughter’s age.

So that's where it stands.

Holding up my end

I want to hold up my end of this electronic conversation, but I have little to say. Lately my posts have read like a Veruca Salt diary page "I want this, and I want this, and I want this..."

Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but it's starting to feel a little shallow.

Been busy with work, which is good, and Diane has been swamped with work, which is also good. It's a production day at school tomorrow, so we'll try to put together the final issue of the semester. I have a bunch of stories to edit tonight, and we'll see how it goes tomorrow.

Friday, I suspect I have a Bond movie on my agenda...

Ouch!

Enough said.

Giant Invisible Birds

CHRRRP!

Idgie is deathly afraid of giant invisible birds, and I don't know why. (Besides the obvious, I guess.)

One might ask, "How often does Idgie encounter giant invisible birds?" and that's not a bad question. If Idgie could type, she'd probably write: TOO DOGGAM OFTEN!!!!!

I guess there's a story. When the batteries get low in the smoke detectors in our house, they CHRRRRP!

Once. Then silence for about 40 seconds.

Then CHRRRRP!

Freaks Idgie out. The last time it happened, I changed the battery but pressed the test button, which sets off the whole screaming alarm for about three seconds. Idgie got out and took off. I found her an hour later sitting in front of someone's house two blocks away. (She was, I will note, VERY happy to see me.)

This morning, about 6:30, one of the alarms started in. CHRRRRP!

CHRRRRP!

I know better, now. Let Idgie out and changed out all the as-of-yet unchanged batteries (except the one I need my big-ass ladder for and that will happen this weekend) so our dog wouldn't be scared of the big invisible birds.

CHRRRRP!

I hear they go north for the winter.

CHRRRRP!

To Oregon.

Column Fodder

One of the downsides to being married to a newspaper columnist, as I am discovering, is that occassionally you become a character in the column. Our blogs had that honor yesterday. I would link to the story, but The Union Democrat website hasn't figured out how to include its local columnists' work on-line, so I just mention it in passing and will show you the column when I next see you.

Other than the whole rooster in the mall bit, it wasn't too damning. Oh, she did call us geeks, but sometimes it's hard to argue...

How about this one?

Well BMWs appeal to this crowd -- how about this one? It's the new 328i coupe.

I was in Modesto today for some client meetings and just happened to pass by the BMW dealer and took a look in person. Have to admit that the car looks rich -- maybe too rich for my taste. (Maybe my taste is evolving, though...) The blue I had up yesterday is nice, but they had a light metallic silver on the lot. The picture does nothing for it. I'm not enamored of silver cars necessarily (although Mom's Yaris is nice!) But this car was made for this color. It looks like a shark, it truly does. A live four-wheeled shark.

I am happy to report that the interior lives up to the exterior. For Dave's sake, I'm just going to start rooting for the Phillies now.

To Infiniti -- and Beyond

Because it's fun to window shop, especially in upscale windows we don't normally shop at, we've been window shopping for a car.

Not that we'll be buying a car in the near future. But what we have now is functional; a 4-wheel drive SUV for the winter (and space and because we used to run a bike touring company) and a near-full-sized pickup for hauling whatever needs to be hauled wherever it needs to be hauled.

What we want is fun. A two-door sports coupe that drives. We've got the roads for it, and given the 50,000 miles we put on our cars each year, apparently a semi-legit justification. In terms of money-is-no-object sports cars, I really like the Nissan 350Z, and Diane went through a Lexis SC430 moment. Then she decided that was too pretentious, and we blended our exterior preferences and discovered the Infiniti G35 coupe. A truly pretty car -- the luxury cousin of the 350Z with a backseat.

Then yesterday we were killing time before meeting the family in Berkeley and saw an Infiniti dealership and took a closer look. And couldn't believe that a company who got the exterior styling of a car so right could have screwed up the interior so badly. Cheesy plastic-pebble dash, old-lady analog clock (I guess that's a luxury styling cue), CalTrans orange gauges. Completely spastic cheap-ass materials with pretentious styling.

The funny thing was we later took a look at a Scion TC, which costs about half when the G35 costs, and liked the interior a whole lot more. So now we're without a favorite.

Any suggestions?

Sweaty Palms

I confess. I covet a Palm Treo.

I know this is just the Geek Gene run amok, because I don't even much like my cell phone. See, but a Treo is more than just an unreliable phone with crappy reception. It's a complete communications device (with crappy reception)

I was convinced that the Treo 700p was going to be my plunge into the smartphone arena, but it would have required changing cell carriers, which I'm not opposed to, but with the kids still on our plan (and bill -- ain't we swell...) that gets complicated. But today I read about the new Treo 680. All the features of the 700p, including the so-much-better-than-Windows operating system, but on Cingular's much slower network. And half the price.

I see an upgrade in my future. Call it a hunch.

White Board Wonders

Now I know Mr. Fix-It over in the Kitchen is the King of All Things White Board, but he's not the only one who has one. As Elliott & Nelson started picking up jobs, I bought a nice white board at Staples. Ended up getting a good deal on it and listing our jobs and marketing efforts. It worked OK, but the way I had it organized, I had to erase some of a client's information to enter new information. "Submitted 9/1" would get replaced with "Approved 9/15" for instance. This is dumb.

Then when we were making a marketing call with a prospective client, I saw the way he had his white board set up. Using black art tape, he made rows and columns and his white board looked like a nice, neat spreadsheet. Took me two minutes to decide to steal his idea and two weeks to find the tape. But now I have a 10-column board with labels for each column: Job, client, designer, due, staff, submitted, approved, invoiced, paid, follow-up. There are 12 rows down the board for open jobs.

Eleven of them are filled.

Is Writing a Mental Illness? Or Just a Syndrome?

Maybe this has been simmering since the recent discussions of writing and perfectionism, or maybe it's a reaction to editing (and correcting and scoring) the first assignments in my newswriting class. All I know is this: Writing is a bitch. Doing it will make you crazy and teaching it will make you mean.

It looks so frickin' easy. I've pushed a shovel around constructions sites (in Virginia in summer in 95% humidity) and yeah, sitting at a desk is less damn sweaty. But if you need to dig for a footer 24 inches deep, you dig then measure and know it's right.

Writing ain't like that. Here's a lead I wrote for a story 11 years ago:

On a gray January afternoon in 1970, Stanislaus County sheriff's Detective Billy Joe Dickens was murdered, shot in the back by a bank robber he never saw.

Here's how I still wonder if I should have written it:

On a gray January afternoon in 1970, Stanislaus County sheriff's Detective Billy Joe Dickens was murdered, shot in the back by a bank robber he never even saw.

It's 11 years later and I still don't know if I did it right.
And I still care.

Why I like Sci Fi

When Gina was home recently, she spent the whole time on the couch watching cooking shows. Emeril, Rachael Ray, Iron Chef, cook-off specials, bake-a-cake-shaped-like-a-tree documentaries, you name it.

The other night I was watching something on the Sci Fi Channel and Anonymous Diane pointed out that I wasn't much different. Just better shows. (I don't think that was her word, to be fair.)

I like Sci Fi. Always have.

When I was a kid, I knew the title of every original Star Trek episode. I had a tricorder and communicator. (And I still think a cell phone company should make a phone that looks exactly like an original Trek communicator...) I would read at night after I was supposed to be asleep with the light from a phaser flashlight. So it's not new.

The first screenplay I wrote was sci fi. I saw two movies last year that really worked. On was The Constant Gardener. The other was Serenity. That led me to Firefly, which is the best television show I never saw on TV. This year, new shows (or new season's of old shows) I've watched include the sci-fi comedy Eureka and the sci fi noir Battlestar Galactica. (Which is nothing like the cheesy Galactica of my childhood. The beer-drinking woman in the picture is Starbuck this time around.)

Sci Fi is optimistic, even when the last reminants of the human race are being chased around the galaxy by machines. (A machine race with a monotheistic religion -- there is no God but God -- while the human still worship the ancient Greek deities.) It means we're still around, if nothing else, which I'd like to see. I'd like to think that as a species we're collectively smart enough not to blow ourselves up or completely destroy our planet, but there is precious little evidence to support either of those positions.

And that's what I like about sci fi. It requires optimism that's unsupported by evidence -- like faith in Heaven, the belief that the Cubs will win a World Series one day or the Raiders will ever win another game.

Here's another thing. If I'm out in the forest behind my house and crest a hill, I know what I'm going to see on the other side. But in any sci fi story, that's not true. Crest a hill and you could see an alien army, a Utopian city, a portal to another dimension -- anything you can imagine.

So as a genre, sci fi requires faith and imagination. I think that's not all bad.

Or it's possible I'm just a really big geek.

Silverware Optional

Not sure that it rises to the level of something that makes anybody laugh, but I'm attempting to eat a carton of boysenberry yogurt with an oatmeal-raisin cookie. (No plastic spoons in Stockton today.) Efficient it's not.

In other news, Gina called from a Costa Rican pay phone today after a week in the jungle and saw monkeys! All is right in the world if Gina and Monkeys occur in the same sentence.

Why They Invented Mountain Bikes

So maybe it's not Oregon beautiful, and there is sales tax, but we just got in from a bike ride in the Stanislaus National Forest and it's about as close to heaven as you'll find in California.

The trail cuts off from a forest road behind our house. We got to it today from the actual paved road, but that's not even necessary. I rode it before, years ago, when I just started biking. Diane knew the trail from hiking it and showed me. I'll have to take a camera next time.

Imagine riding in a tunnel of dogwoods. Filtered sunlight. The sweet smells of the forest. Probably 10 to 12 miles the way we did it (I need to replace odometer batteries), and it begins and ends out our back door.

When NSO and them Kitchen people get here, we'll have to do it. (If they want...)

College Game Day

Now that's a sports Saturday worth tuning in for! The Mets mash the Dodgers (and the Yankee's lose -- much cheering by NSO.) UCLA wins, which elicits at least mild pleasure in Koji's Kitchen.

And in This Land, the Bears reign supreme.

We left at 11 a.m. for the 5 p.m. game, despite it being a three-hour drive. Get there, park in our usual spot and start walking the mile or so to campus. Actually we were going to Kip's for a pre-game beer and burger with a Cal-grad former colleague who now works at UC Davis but is still a Bear even if dressed in Aggie overalls... It's kinda funny-looking, actually.

And then we remember the tickets, safely tucked away in Diane's Desk Drawer.

Doh!

Game wasn't yet a sellout, so buying replacement duckets was possible, but we went to Kip's anyway to meet our Bear/Aggie friend, who was with his friends, who happened to have two extra tickets. We quickly bought them beer.

Campus was packed. Small women parted the blue sea of fans, and the band ran through the crowd to play the pre-game rally at Sproul Hall. Lots of cheering and singing along ensued. The nice thing about a successful team is that even I can sing along - and loudly, damnit - but nobody notices.

We march in with the band (as we always do) and watch the Bears put a beating on the Ducks. For highlights, check out the worldwide leader in sports. I don't know what to say about the uniforms, except they worked. The stadium was louder than I've ever heard it, and I discovered that constant yelling to disrupt an opponent can leave you quite light-headed.

Anyway, it was a fine fall day.

Launch

And so it begins. (Bonus point for anyone who can identify the movie reference. Hint: It was said by a cross-dressing dwarf...)

Not sure what this blog will evolve into -- no one ever is, I suspect. I anticipate random, infrequent and innane. But maybe we'll rise above.

I lived in a cloud today. A gray mist envelope that never opened. I stayed at my desk, the door to This Land open, and watched autumn extinguish summer like a wet wool blanket on a dying fire.

I swear, I couldn't script a better life.