Monday, April 23, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Urge to kill rising...
This post is pretty much written in code, but anyone who has had to assemble furniture may recognize pieces of it. The last thing I want to do is run down the fine American employees of a fine US juvenile furniture manufacturer, so I'm not going to name the company I'm talking about.
I started assembling a changing table two days ago. At this point, I'm wishing I'd taken on an easier task, like maybe the Boston Marathon, or Everest. I'm not the handiest guy on Earth, but I've put together quite a bit of the furniture in our house; I'm an old hand with a screwdriver and an allen wrench, so nothing in the instructions seemed difficult.
In practice, however, I found myself dealing with instructions like "Tighten the four screws securely because you're about to cover them up, making them inaccessible forever," followed immediately by "bend outward the panels you just screwed in securely, taking care not to TEAR THE TABLE APART ENTIRELY."
There are eight connectors, called "cam locks" in the instructions, that appear to be responsible for holding together the entire apparatus. I screwed in the connectors they lock into, carefully bent the sides apart without breaking them, put the shelf in place, and turned the cam locks...and instead of locking, they spun freely. Uh....huh?
Some quick examination revealed that the connectors weren't long enough to reach into the cam locks. So I bent the sides apart again to pull the shelf out, loosened them what seemed an appropriate amount, carefully put the shelf in place to check the placement of the connectors (making sure they were unscrewed far enough for the locks to engage.
...I carefully bent the sides apart without breaking them, put the shelf in place, and turned the cam locks...and instead of locking, they spun freely. Uh....huh?
Some quick examination revealed that the connectors weren't long enough to reach into the cam locks. So I bent the sides apart again to pull the shelf out, loosened them what seemed an appropriate amount, carefully put the shelf in place to check the placement of the connectors (making sure they were unscrewed far enough for the locks to engage.
[Hey, John, you just repeated the last two paragraphs. Yes, I did, because THAT'S HOW IT FUCKING HAPPENED. If I wanted to be more accurate, I would've repeated them FOUR TIMES.]
So the fourth time I had to bend apart the sides, it started to seem that they weren't as solid as they were when I first screwed them in. No problem, I figured that when the locks finally engaged they would hold everything together.
So I went to tighten the shelf -- two of the locks engaged correctly! Huzzah! The third one tightened...and then suddenly went loose. Oh, that can't be good. The fourth was still completely loose.
So I pulled the shelf back out, yet again, to find a bent connector, a "cam lock" in two pieces, and the sides of the table looser still, after another bending. I briefly considered that having 7/8 of the connectors in place would probably be plenty...then I thought about my wife's reaction to gaps between the shelves and sides of the table...and asked myself whether I would really be happy with the idea of my kids being "7/8ths supported" by this table.
So I put everything aside to start on the crib. And as I was stacking the vast amounts of styrofoam and plastic packing material in the corner of the baby's room to make way for the crib...what should drop out of the bottom of the box, but a folded-up half-sheet of typing paper, crushed in the bottom of the box.
I unfolded the sheet, to find an "Instructional Addendum." This addendum let me know that I shouldn't screw in the cam lock connectors to the stopping point, but only to an arbitrary point on the shaft; otherwise the cam locks would not engage properly, and "breakage will occur." Huh. Good thing I didn't know this ahead of time. Good thing this fine manufacturer didn't build their threads to an idiot-proof level of precision that could've prevented the problem. And it's a good thing they didn't spend the 5 minutes to put the "Instructional addendum" in the plastic bag with the rest of the instructions.
Because if they'd done all that, I'd have a fucking changing table in the nursery by now, instead of a pile of fine wood and wood veneers.
SO today I figure I get to order new hardware, and wait 3 weeks for it to arrive, hoping the hardware gets here before the baby. The good news is the crib only involves nuts and bolts, and it's about 50% done already.
So, as I said at the beginning, I have no desire to run down the fine American employees of a fine US juvenile furniture manufacturer...but to address them, and their shoddy connectors, variably threaded screws, and shoved-in-the-bottom-of-the-box "Addendum" for one moment...do you all maybe THINK THIS SORT OF LAZY SHIT MIGHT BE A TEENSY PART OF THE REASON WHY WE'RE ALL BUYING OUR FURNITURE FROM THE SWEDES THESE DAYS?! YOU'RE GETTING YOUR ASSES KICKED BY FUCKING SOCIALISTS!
Ahhh. That's better...
I started assembling a changing table two days ago. At this point, I'm wishing I'd taken on an easier task, like maybe the Boston Marathon, or Everest. I'm not the handiest guy on Earth, but I've put together quite a bit of the furniture in our house; I'm an old hand with a screwdriver and an allen wrench, so nothing in the instructions seemed difficult.
In practice, however, I found myself dealing with instructions like "Tighten the four screws securely because you're about to cover them up, making them inaccessible forever," followed immediately by "bend outward the panels you just screwed in securely, taking care not to TEAR THE TABLE APART ENTIRELY."
There are eight connectors, called "cam locks" in the instructions, that appear to be responsible for holding together the entire apparatus. I screwed in the connectors they lock into, carefully bent the sides apart without breaking them, put the shelf in place, and turned the cam locks...and instead of locking, they spun freely. Uh....huh?
Some quick examination revealed that the connectors weren't long enough to reach into the cam locks. So I bent the sides apart again to pull the shelf out, loosened them what seemed an appropriate amount, carefully put the shelf in place to check the placement of the connectors (making sure they were unscrewed far enough for the locks to engage.
...I carefully bent the sides apart without breaking them, put the shelf in place, and turned the cam locks...and instead of locking, they spun freely. Uh....huh?
Some quick examination revealed that the connectors weren't long enough to reach into the cam locks. So I bent the sides apart again to pull the shelf out, loosened them what seemed an appropriate amount, carefully put the shelf in place to check the placement of the connectors (making sure they were unscrewed far enough for the locks to engage.
[Hey, John, you just repeated the last two paragraphs. Yes, I did, because THAT'S HOW IT FUCKING HAPPENED. If I wanted to be more accurate, I would've repeated them FOUR TIMES.]
So the fourth time I had to bend apart the sides, it started to seem that they weren't as solid as they were when I first screwed them in. No problem, I figured that when the locks finally engaged they would hold everything together.
So I went to tighten the shelf -- two of the locks engaged correctly! Huzzah! The third one tightened...and then suddenly went loose. Oh, that can't be good. The fourth was still completely loose.
So I pulled the shelf back out, yet again, to find a bent connector, a "cam lock" in two pieces, and the sides of the table looser still, after another bending. I briefly considered that having 7/8 of the connectors in place would probably be plenty...then I thought about my wife's reaction to gaps between the shelves and sides of the table...and asked myself whether I would really be happy with the idea of my kids being "7/8ths supported" by this table.
So I put everything aside to start on the crib. And as I was stacking the vast amounts of styrofoam and plastic packing material in the corner of the baby's room to make way for the crib...what should drop out of the bottom of the box, but a folded-up half-sheet of typing paper, crushed in the bottom of the box.
I unfolded the sheet, to find an "Instructional Addendum." This addendum let me know that I shouldn't screw in the cam lock connectors to the stopping point, but only to an arbitrary point on the shaft; otherwise the cam locks would not engage properly, and "breakage will occur." Huh. Good thing I didn't know this ahead of time. Good thing this fine manufacturer didn't build their threads to an idiot-proof level of precision that could've prevented the problem. And it's a good thing they didn't spend the 5 minutes to put the "Instructional addendum" in the plastic bag with the rest of the instructions.
Because if they'd done all that, I'd have a fucking changing table in the nursery by now, instead of a pile of fine wood and wood veneers.
SO today I figure I get to order new hardware, and wait 3 weeks for it to arrive, hoping the hardware gets here before the baby. The good news is the crib only involves nuts and bolts, and it's about 50% done already.
So, as I said at the beginning, I have no desire to run down the fine American employees of a fine US juvenile furniture manufacturer...but to address them, and their shoddy connectors, variably threaded screws, and shoved-in-the-bottom-of-the-box "Addendum" for one moment...do you all maybe THINK THIS SORT OF LAZY SHIT MIGHT BE A TEENSY PART OF THE REASON WHY WE'RE ALL BUYING OUR FURNITURE FROM THE SWEDES THESE DAYS?! YOU'RE GETTING YOUR ASSES KICKED BY FUCKING SOCIALISTS!
Ahhh. That's better...
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Making me feel old...
All Things Considered today played a fantastic essay from a gentleman who was a student at Columbine HS during the massacre there.
He's now 26.
He's now 26.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Quick notes...
I was watching the BoSox game on Patriots Day and saw this happen. Be sure to wait until after the advertisement to see the replays.
--
Reason interviews one of the creators of The Venture Brothers, a Cartoon Network show that needs to be on your Tivo or Netflix list.
--
Some new pictures of my baby mama.
--
The big homebrew experiment is on temporary hold, after TurboTax Online informed me that we owed Uncle Sam $1700 for last year. In an ordinary year, this would be my indication to increase our withholding; but now that my income will be variable and we have another deduction on the way, I have no idea what I should do. Grumble.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Water into whine
Just the suggestion of an appearance by Dick Cheney can convert Mormons into hippies?
He really IS the most powerful man on Earth!
He really IS the most powerful man on Earth!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Dumpster diving
Now that I'm unemployed and have the time (if not the cash) to think about having a hobby, I've decided to take up homebrewing. I spent a short apprenticeship with a couple of our devoted brewer friends, now I'm getting ready to order equipment and ingredients.
Of course, I'm going to need beer bottles -- non-screw-top bottles.
Back when I still lived in a group home for underprivileged slackers, two of my roommates took up brewing. Like any beer lover, rather than buying boring empty bottles, they took the value-added approach, buying multiple cases of Sam Adams and bringing them home to the rest of the ambition-impaired residents with an admonition to "Drink up!"
I had no desire to become a brewer at the time, but this certainly seemed like a part of the hobby I could get behind. However, my current roommates are either too pregnant or too feline to help me empty multiple cases.
I thought I was in good shape when I stopped by the base Packy this weekend and found that they're now carrying one of my favorite beers of all time. I brought home a case, grabbed my botttle opener to start digging into the important pre-brewing task of bottle emptying, and found...a screwtop. Derrrrrrrrrr...
[Inner voice: "So, John, you think you know enough about beer to brew your own, so why don't you know that your favorite beer comes in a screwtop??" John: Shut up, that's why.]
Clearly, drastic measures were necessary. Monday morning is neighborhood trash day, so during the sweet spot of the morning, after the employed folks have started their commute but before the Waste Management guys arrived...I went surveying the neighborhood recycling bins. Reuse > Recycling, right? I'm just making sure the neighborhood doesn't end up under 20ft of seawater next summer. AlGore would approve, even as the fashionable homeowners of the area considered calling the cops.
My rules: the bottle/can bins here are uncovered, so I was only grabbing visible bottles. No opening bags or bins, or rearranging the bin unless there were good bottles in view. There is a fine line between being a cheap craft brewer and being a bum.
I obviously missed at least one good party the other night, as some folks down the block had a 2L of Absolut Citron and about a case of Red Bull in the bin -- along with the mother lode, almost two grocery bags worth of Sam Adams bottles. Screw Monday morning, I'm heading back over there Saturday night.
Overall, it was a successful trip, I hauled in close to two cases of bottles (although not all of them were ideal -- see #3 below).
Some thoughts for my little corner of Newport, based on my expedition:
1. Too many damn wine drinkers around here. Don't get me wrong, I like my wine too; but you won't find a half-dozen bottles of wine in my recycling bin Monday morning without finding a few beer bottles as well.
2. If you're drinking Bud Light, what exactly is the point, or what do you think you're proving, by buying bottles? "Sure, my favorite beverage is the fermented product of indeterminate grains of dubious quality in superindustrial setting, but by God I'm no low-class cheapass! I drink LONGNECKS."
Please. Once you've decided a cheap buzz trumps taste, just buy the cans. In fact, buy the talls. The extra beer in each container provides a clear incentive to drink faster, so as to avoid the situation where the beer at the bottom of the can has been heated to undrinkability (about 1-2 degrees above absolute zero, by my guess).
3. For the three or four homes on my block alone who put away multiple packs of Heineken and Heine Lite last week... Heineken? Seriously? When we can WALK to liquor stores that carry fine east coast brews like Dogfish Head, Long Trail or Otter Creek? When some of your neighbors are the owners-brewers of local mainstay Newport Storm? No -- not you. When given a choice, you're going to pay about the same money, for beer to drink in your own home, and make it Heineken? Please see #2 above -- most of the same ideas apply.
I'm actually somewhat comforted by the preponderance of Heineken in this 'hood, because it means no one will be trying to steal my beer, which I'm planning to name "This Ale is as much UNLIKE Heineken as I could possibly make it."
Wish me luck.
Of course, I'm going to need beer bottles -- non-screw-top bottles.
Back when I still lived in a group home for underprivileged slackers, two of my roommates took up brewing. Like any beer lover, rather than buying boring empty bottles, they took the value-added approach, buying multiple cases of Sam Adams and bringing them home to the rest of the ambition-impaired residents with an admonition to "Drink up!"
I had no desire to become a brewer at the time, but this certainly seemed like a part of the hobby I could get behind. However, my current roommates are either too pregnant or too feline to help me empty multiple cases.
I thought I was in good shape when I stopped by the base Packy this weekend and found that they're now carrying one of my favorite beers of all time. I brought home a case, grabbed my botttle opener to start digging into the important pre-brewing task of bottle emptying, and found...a screwtop. Derrrrrrrrrr...
[Inner voice: "So, John, you think you know enough about beer to brew your own, so why don't you know that your favorite beer comes in a screwtop??" John: Shut up, that's why.]
Clearly, drastic measures were necessary. Monday morning is neighborhood trash day, so during the sweet spot of the morning, after the employed folks have started their commute but before the Waste Management guys arrived...I went surveying the neighborhood recycling bins. Reuse > Recycling, right? I'm just making sure the neighborhood doesn't end up under 20ft of seawater next summer. AlGore would approve, even as the fashionable homeowners of the area considered calling the cops.
My rules: the bottle/can bins here are uncovered, so I was only grabbing visible bottles. No opening bags or bins, or rearranging the bin unless there were good bottles in view. There is a fine line between being a cheap craft brewer and being a bum.
I obviously missed at least one good party the other night, as some folks down the block had a 2L of Absolut Citron and about a case of Red Bull in the bin -- along with the mother lode, almost two grocery bags worth of Sam Adams bottles. Screw Monday morning, I'm heading back over there Saturday night.
Overall, it was a successful trip, I hauled in close to two cases of bottles (although not all of them were ideal -- see #3 below).
Some thoughts for my little corner of Newport, based on my expedition:
1. Too many damn wine drinkers around here. Don't get me wrong, I like my wine too; but you won't find a half-dozen bottles of wine in my recycling bin Monday morning without finding a few beer bottles as well.
2. If you're drinking Bud Light, what exactly is the point, or what do you think you're proving, by buying bottles? "Sure, my favorite beverage is the fermented product of indeterminate grains of dubious quality in superindustrial setting, but by God I'm no low-class cheapass! I drink LONGNECKS."
Please. Once you've decided a cheap buzz trumps taste, just buy the cans. In fact, buy the talls. The extra beer in each container provides a clear incentive to drink faster, so as to avoid the situation where the beer at the bottom of the can has been heated to undrinkability (about 1-2 degrees above absolute zero, by my guess).
3. For the three or four homes on my block alone who put away multiple packs of Heineken and Heine Lite last week... Heineken? Seriously? When we can WALK to liquor stores that carry fine east coast brews like Dogfish Head, Long Trail or Otter Creek? When some of your neighbors are the owners-brewers of local mainstay Newport Storm? No -- not you. When given a choice, you're going to pay about the same money, for beer to drink in your own home, and make it Heineken? Please see #2 above -- most of the same ideas apply.
I'm actually somewhat comforted by the preponderance of Heineken in this 'hood, because it means no one will be trying to steal my beer, which I'm planning to name "This Ale is as much UNLIKE Heineken as I could possibly make it."
Wish me luck.
"There are few things better than Cat Thread"
So says my sister. If you're not a frequent browser of Fark, behold the cat thread and acknowledge its power.
Bevy of backlogged posts on the way. I was in a foul mood yesterday on account of failing a Cisco exam, but I'm over it now. Why is a man with no interest in holding down a full-time IT job taking Cisco exams? Good question, long answer, don't ask.
Just know that all the cycles I'd usually invest in posting all things funny and informative are going into knowing the details of Cisco WLSEs and ASAs and ISRs and BFDs and WTFs. Grrrr.
Bevy of backlogged posts on the way. I was in a foul mood yesterday on account of failing a Cisco exam, but I'm over it now. Why is a man with no interest in holding down a full-time IT job taking Cisco exams? Good question, long answer, don't ask.
Just know that all the cycles I'd usually invest in posting all things funny and informative are going into knowing the details of Cisco WLSEs and ASAs and ISRs and BFDs and WTFs. Grrrr.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Flying Chief Stirrup of the Staff?!?!?
As found on Slog, the following paragraph from a NYT story about the British hostages being released from Iran:
I think this is all part of a contest among high-ranking British military and law enforcement to see who can convince the US media to publish the most Monty Python-esque name. If CNN's next interview is with Commodore Sir B. Naanna Hammack of the HMS Naughtybits, I won't be the least bit surprised...
While I'm on the subject... I don't want to talk about anything even vaguely political but since this is Navy-related, it's got me spun up. Seeing those sailors forced to make those degrading statements made me sympathetic for the first time to the "OMG GLASS PARKING LOT!!!" crowd. Infuriating. Also, anyone questioning what those British sailors did or said while in Iranian captivity, or who thinks the average US sailor would be any better trained to deal with a similar situation, should STFU and go back to enjoying the ignorance those sailors make possible. That is all.
Boarding two naval helicopters, they then left for their base in Devon, where they are to be debriefed and to undergo medical and psychological checkups, said Air Chief Marshal Sir Jock Stirrup, chief of the defense staff.
I think this is all part of a contest among high-ranking British military and law enforcement to see who can convince the US media to publish the most Monty Python-esque name. If CNN's next interview is with Commodore Sir B. Naanna Hammack of the HMS Naughtybits, I won't be the least bit surprised...
While I'm on the subject... I don't want to talk about anything even vaguely political but since this is Navy-related, it's got me spun up. Seeing those sailors forced to make those degrading statements made me sympathetic for the first time to the "OMG GLASS PARKING LOT!!!" crowd. Infuriating. Also, anyone questioning what those British sailors did or said while in Iranian captivity, or who thinks the average US sailor would be any better trained to deal with a similar situation, should STFU and go back to enjoying the ignorance those sailors make possible. That is all.
Housekeeping
If you're visiting the site in person you've probably seen the sidebar morph every now and again; I like the idea of having some dynamic content over there I can mess with and update more-or-less transparently even when I'm not in the mood to spew words.
I just realized that there are people out there saying nice things about me and I should probably separate the links for people I know in-the-flesh from those I really only know via their electrons; so you'll see that on the right.
You'll also see online news links and links to books I'm reading. I do control what is posted in those, they're not auto-generated by Google or Amazon. Being posted over there doesn't mean it's the greatest thing I've ever read or 100% agreement with what you'll find; more likely, I just found it interesting, funny or generally worth your time. I'm also going to add links to products I've purchased or enjoyed.
And yes, I can theoretically make money on the Amazon links, although the main reason they're up is because I like the way their interface lets me post pictures and descriptions of books I've read without devoting a post to each.
If you don't have some other site/cause/etc. that you support by shopping Amazon through an associate link, then clicking that link when you buy through Amazon would be much appreciated.
Of course, all this stuff adds overhead to the site, but it's hard for me to gauge how badly it slows down because everything is slow on my ancient laptop. Let me know if things really start to crawl...
[EDIT: A new reader (hi Dad) just informed me that some piece of javascript on the page is freaking out Safari, which seems to happen on 10.3.9 or 10.4. Sorry about that...]
I just realized that there are people out there saying nice things about me and I should probably separate the links for people I know in-the-flesh from those I really only know via their electrons; so you'll see that on the right.
You'll also see online news links and links to books I'm reading. I do control what is posted in those, they're not auto-generated by Google or Amazon. Being posted over there doesn't mean it's the greatest thing I've ever read or 100% agreement with what you'll find; more likely, I just found it interesting, funny or generally worth your time. I'm also going to add links to products I've purchased or enjoyed.
And yes, I can theoretically make money on the Amazon links, although the main reason they're up is because I like the way their interface lets me post pictures and descriptions of books I've read without devoting a post to each.
If you don't have some other site/cause/etc. that you support by shopping Amazon through an associate link, then clicking that link when you buy through Amazon would be much appreciated.
Of course, all this stuff adds overhead to the site, but it's hard for me to gauge how badly it slows down because everything is slow on my ancient laptop. Let me know if things really start to crawl...
[EDIT: A new reader (hi Dad) just informed me that some piece of javascript on the page is freaking out Safari, which seems to happen on 10.3.9 or 10.4. Sorry about that...]
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
My favorite coffee, on sale
Through April 18, online orders at Papanicholas Coffee are 20% off with the discount code "thinkspring". Papanicholas is probably familiar to folks who have lived in Chicagoland, as it's widely available in groceries there.
I like coffee that kicks me in the junk and steals my wallet, and their dark roasts are the real deal. Plus, it always arrives fresh, it's reasonably priced compared to the beans from the store that rhymes with "TarChucks" and just as good.
Even though they no longer have the Viking Blend that got me through many hungover Sunday mornings, I still order up several pounds of French roast every time it goes on sale.
(I'm not affiliated with this company and I don't get money for pushing their products.)
I like coffee that kicks me in the junk and steals my wallet, and their dark roasts are the real deal. Plus, it always arrives fresh, it's reasonably priced compared to the beans from the store that rhymes with "TarChucks" and just as good.
Even though they no longer have the Viking Blend that got me through many hungover Sunday mornings, I still order up several pounds of French roast every time it goes on sale.
(I'm not affiliated with this company and I don't get money for pushing their products.)
Rockin' the '80s
I'm man enough to admit that I went 10-for-10 in this Entertainment Weekly "Name that '80s hair metal band" quiz. If you have to ask how or why I was able to pull off this achievement, just chalk it up to the fact that I will be celebrating my 12th birthday for the 24th time this September.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
My wife is funny
Noted during breakfast, as ESPN was on the TV in the cafe:
"Phil Jackson is looking more and more like Colonel Sanders these days."
"Phil Jackson is looking more and more like Colonel Sanders these days."
Thursday, March 29, 2007
How will this work...
Hi Guinness! I live in Guinness's house, he's been nice enough not to kick me out yet.
29 days, 22 hours, and boy are my arms tired
I'm leaving town for a few days, may or may not have time and material to post...so I leave you with this...
Fark readers have already seen this one, but the Google Maps directions for getting from Chicago to London deserve a link. See step 20.
Fark readers have already seen this one, but the Google Maps directions for getting from Chicago to London deserve a link. See step 20.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Ruth's dream
So my lovely wife had a dream this morning -- In her dream, we were at one of the mansions here in town for a pool party with a bunch of our friends (most of whom are also pregnant).
Then, at a point in the party where I was inside the house (either getting another drink, or giving one back, I assume), someone stands up at a microphone and starts announcing the sex of the babies of the pregnant women in attendance (I joked to Ruth that this scene reminded me of the "Garden Party" episode of The Boondocks: "Jesus was black, Ronald Reagan was the devil, and the government is lying about 9/11.").
We don't know what we're having and don't want to know (no one knows, as the one test that could've told us was done by an anonymous tech who didn't write it down and has surely forgotten by now), but the dream speaker was apparently clairvoyant, because she told the whole crowd that we're having a boy. Ruth was quite disappointed that our surprise had been ruined, but tried to get everyone to keep quiet about it because I hadn't heard and she still wanted me to be surprised.
Of course, as she's telling everyone to shut up, I suddenly show up and say, "Wha happened?" I think as she was telling me about the dream, we started laughing too hard at that point for her to tell me if I ever found out the sex or not. Or maybe after I popped back into the party, that's when the phone rang in real life and woke us up.
So, we're not sure if this dream is just a weird hormone-inspired mash-up of anxieties, or some sort of prophesy. Of course, as I told her this morning, there's really nothing mysterious about predicting something that has a 50-60% chance of being true anyway. If our kid ends up looking like the blond, curly-haired toddler she dreamed about last week, then I'll be spooked.
Any aspiring Josephs out there want to take a stab at an interpretation?
Then, at a point in the party where I was inside the house (either getting another drink, or giving one back, I assume), someone stands up at a microphone and starts announcing the sex of the babies of the pregnant women in attendance (I joked to Ruth that this scene reminded me of the "Garden Party" episode of The Boondocks: "Jesus was black, Ronald Reagan was the devil, and the government is lying about 9/11.").
We don't know what we're having and don't want to know (no one knows, as the one test that could've told us was done by an anonymous tech who didn't write it down and has surely forgotten by now), but the dream speaker was apparently clairvoyant, because she told the whole crowd that we're having a boy. Ruth was quite disappointed that our surprise had been ruined, but tried to get everyone to keep quiet about it because I hadn't heard and she still wanted me to be surprised.
Of course, as she's telling everyone to shut up, I suddenly show up and say, "Wha happened?" I think as she was telling me about the dream, we started laughing too hard at that point for her to tell me if I ever found out the sex or not. Or maybe after I popped back into the party, that's when the phone rang in real life and woke us up.
So, we're not sure if this dream is just a weird hormone-inspired mash-up of anxieties, or some sort of prophesy. Of course, as I told her this morning, there's really nothing mysterious about predicting something that has a 50-60% chance of being true anyway. If our kid ends up looking like the blond, curly-haired toddler she dreamed about last week, then I'll be spooked.
Any aspiring Josephs out there want to take a stab at an interpretation?
Sunday, March 25, 2007
One more thought
This one didn't make it into the paranoia post, two posts down...
While we were talking to our OB about prenatal education during a visit this past week, he got to talking about infant CPR.
He told us, "You'll have the usual paranoia of 'is the baby breathing?' You won't want to leave it at first, just in case. That's pretty normal. And really, you'll have some paranoia about your kids until, um...[Doc looks into the middle distance, probably thinking of his own five kids, and tries to think of when he stopped being paranoid]...until death."
While we were talking to our OB about prenatal education during a visit this past week, he got to talking about infant CPR.
He told us, "You'll have the usual paranoia of 'is the baby breathing?' You won't want to leave it at first, just in case. That's pretty normal. And really, you'll have some paranoia about your kids until, um...[Doc looks into the middle distance, probably thinking of his own five kids, and tries to think of when he stopped being paranoid]...until death."
Our poor furry boys...
Last night we had the pleasure of hosting our friends Dan and Heather and their 16-month-old son Noah, who were passing through on a cross-country trip. We had a blast, as we always have with them; one of our other old neighbors from VA is in town for training so we had a partial reunion of sorts.
After meeting Noah, we know a few things for sure.
• Our home is a toddler death trap. I realize ours won't be running the day he or she is born, but I also realize I won't have all day to be babyproofing when June gets here.
• I have seen the future, and when we get there Guinness and Aslan will be very, very unhappy cats. We can only hope that they get used to our babies, as ours won't be running into the house and screeching "KITTY!" at jet-plane decibels. At least not until they're a few days old.
• I have never truly been tired.
• My gut has been telling me that Karma is going to punish our couch-potato ways by giving us a child who never stops moving. Now I'm sure of it.
After meeting Noah, we know a few things for sure.
• Our home is a toddler death trap. I realize ours won't be running the day he or she is born, but I also realize I won't have all day to be babyproofing when June gets here.
• I have seen the future, and when we get there Guinness and Aslan will be very, very unhappy cats. We can only hope that they get used to our babies, as ours won't be running into the house and screeching "KITTY!" at jet-plane decibels. At least not until they're a few days old.
• I have never truly been tired.
• My gut has been telling me that Karma is going to punish our couch-potato ways by giving us a child who never stops moving. Now I'm sure of it.
Paranoia and car seats
So, as a soon-to-be parent, I'm supposed to be spending vast amounts of my time worrying about safety equipment like car seats and up-armored Japanese-constructed minivans and the like. Never mind that my parents just duct-taped me to the radio antenna on their 1915 Mercedes coupe for the drive home and I turned out just fine (now get off my lawn).
We looked at car seats, registered for the latest model from a brand that got high marks in Baby Bargains (Hey, look at all those registries over on the right! doesn't that put you in a buying mood?), and I basically put that out of my mind, until I have to install it.
But I couldn't miss the recent kerfuffle over flawed car seat testing in Consumer Reports.
Summary for those of you out of the infant-raising set: Consumer Reports (quite sensibly) thought it would be a good idea to test infant car seats in side impact accidents the same way new cars are tested. They released the results of these tests to much fanfare: Almost every seat tested failed, two so spectacularly that CR demanded they be recalled.
Less than two weeks later, CR retracted their report, after discovering that their independent lab hadn't tested what they wanted -- instead of testing at the 38 MPH standard, they'd tested 70 MPH side impacts. The link to CR above is their apology and analysis of what went wrong, which was admirable.
What got me to thinking, though, is that the problematic testing has brought out the worst sort of parental paranoia. I've seen Internet stories, true or not, of parents dumping their car seats for one of the two that "passed" the 70 MPH test; blog and message board posts along the lines of "so that means I should get one of those two, right?"; and I've talked with at least a couple of parents who proudly pointed at their infant seat and said, "That one passed the CR test."
I'm usually not the type to get in arguments in person, but I really wanted to tell these folks: Unless you're in the habit of having your car hoisted into the middle of an Interstate by helicopter, 70 MPH side impacts into your stationary vehicle are not a situation you're ever likely to encounter.
Not to mention, you can't test what would really happen in a 70 MPH side impact without testing the exact models of vehicles involved in the accident. CR explains that most injuries at that speed are caused by "intrusion," which is weasel-wording for "The car going 70 rips clean through the car going zero and your restraints become useless." Of course how bad the accident ends up depends on all sorts of variables; but that's exactly why it can't be accurately tested.
If you do happen to be that unlucky -- let's say you're making a left when someone blows through the light at twice the speed limit in their invisible car -- anyone who leaves the scene of the accident is going to have to be really lucky, infant seat or no.
You might as well test infant seats by dropping the Monty Python 16-ton weight on them, for how useful this information would be in the real world. And yet...people still want to put stock in these tests, still want to believe that when the one in a million shot hits, that they can do something about it.
I realize that with one of our kids still in the oven and the other probably not conceived yet, we haven't had the virtual lobotomy that overcomes parents on the subject of safety. I fully expect this to be the first post that brings me the dreaded "You'll understand when you have kids" comment. (If you considered writing that comment, consider this your preemptive "Bite Me."
But the simple fact is, this isn't a fight-or-flight, daddy-bird-defending-the-nest scenario that calls for instinctive overreaction. My kids don't need a parent who can't think clearly, who reacts mindlessly and trusts anything he reads on the Internet because it's "for the kids" or "better safe than sorry."
Aside from being far too long, this post is my reminder to myself that while a little paranoia about my kids might be good -- I won't be telling them to run out in the street just because a car wasn't there yesterday -- a lot of this life, and probably 80% of what happens to my kids over the courses of their lives, will be outside my control. The sooner I'm at peace with that, the better.
We looked at car seats, registered for the latest model from a brand that got high marks in Baby Bargains (Hey, look at all those registries over on the right! doesn't that put you in a buying mood?), and I basically put that out of my mind, until I have to install it.
But I couldn't miss the recent kerfuffle over flawed car seat testing in Consumer Reports.
Summary for those of you out of the infant-raising set: Consumer Reports (quite sensibly) thought it would be a good idea to test infant car seats in side impact accidents the same way new cars are tested. They released the results of these tests to much fanfare: Almost every seat tested failed, two so spectacularly that CR demanded they be recalled.
Less than two weeks later, CR retracted their report, after discovering that their independent lab hadn't tested what they wanted -- instead of testing at the 38 MPH standard, they'd tested 70 MPH side impacts. The link to CR above is their apology and analysis of what went wrong, which was admirable.
What got me to thinking, though, is that the problematic testing has brought out the worst sort of parental paranoia. I've seen Internet stories, true or not, of parents dumping their car seats for one of the two that "passed" the 70 MPH test; blog and message board posts along the lines of "so that means I should get one of those two, right?"; and I've talked with at least a couple of parents who proudly pointed at their infant seat and said, "That one passed the CR test."
I'm usually not the type to get in arguments in person, but I really wanted to tell these folks: Unless you're in the habit of having your car hoisted into the middle of an Interstate by helicopter, 70 MPH side impacts into your stationary vehicle are not a situation you're ever likely to encounter.
Not to mention, you can't test what would really happen in a 70 MPH side impact without testing the exact models of vehicles involved in the accident. CR explains that most injuries at that speed are caused by "intrusion," which is weasel-wording for "The car going 70 rips clean through the car going zero and your restraints become useless." Of course how bad the accident ends up depends on all sorts of variables; but that's exactly why it can't be accurately tested.
If you do happen to be that unlucky -- let's say you're making a left when someone blows through the light at twice the speed limit in their invisible car -- anyone who leaves the scene of the accident is going to have to be really lucky, infant seat or no.
You might as well test infant seats by dropping the Monty Python 16-ton weight on them, for how useful this information would be in the real world. And yet...people still want to put stock in these tests, still want to believe that when the one in a million shot hits, that they can do something about it.
I realize that with one of our kids still in the oven and the other probably not conceived yet, we haven't had the virtual lobotomy that overcomes parents on the subject of safety. I fully expect this to be the first post that brings me the dreaded "You'll understand when you have kids" comment. (If you considered writing that comment, consider this your preemptive "Bite Me."
But the simple fact is, this isn't a fight-or-flight, daddy-bird-defending-the-nest scenario that calls for instinctive overreaction. My kids don't need a parent who can't think clearly, who reacts mindlessly and trusts anything he reads on the Internet because it's "for the kids" or "better safe than sorry."
Aside from being far too long, this post is my reminder to myself that while a little paranoia about my kids might be good -- I won't be telling them to run out in the street just because a car wasn't there yesterday -- a lot of this life, and probably 80% of what happens to my kids over the courses of their lives, will be outside my control. The sooner I'm at peace with that, the better.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Just a warning
We just finished watching The Departed; so as I warned my wife, expect me to spend the next fucking day and half talking like a motherfucker in a Martin fucking Scorsese movie, you fucking pricks.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Some people need to be shot laughed at
While walking to our OB appointment this morning (all is well with baby and mommy), we saw a man half-heartedly jogging down our street. He looked like he could've been jogging faster, but he was also pushing a side-by-side jogging stroller with only one baby in it. While yelling into his cell phone LOUD ENOUGH FOR US TO HEAR HIM HALF A BLOCK AWAY.
Poor kid would've been better off being babysat by the TV.
Once at the OB's office, we were sitting in the waiting area. I should note the waiting room is quite small -- 7 or 8 chairs, a tableful of magazines and not a lot of manuvering space around any of them. During our wait, a woman brings in her toddler in a stroller. The woman had clearly been to this office before and the kid was quite old enough to stand and walk, although not like the huge 4-year-olds we sometimes see folded in half and stuffed into an umbrella stroller because they've got their valets (mommy and daddy) trained so well.
Despite this situation that clearly called for leaving her stroller on the porch and walking the child into the waiting room, the woman still thought it was a good idea to heft the stroller up through multiple doors and a tall step (the office is in an old house), then try to muscle the stroller around the waiting area, bumping the magazine table and chairs multiple times along the way. She might have had an easier time if he other hand wasn't involved with steadying her colossal diaper bag, which had probably just barely fit into the back of her SUV.
My first instinct was "I should help her through the door." Then the smarter, less chivalrous part of my brain took over and said, "But I shouldn't enable the stupid and self-absorbed in perpetuating their behavior." If someone enjoys making their own life more difficult, who am I to stop them?
Luckily for everyone who wanted to get out of the office sometime that morning without climbing over the baby, another patient gave the stroller lady a seat away from the rest of the room, with just enough space next to it to park the stroller. That parking spot also prevented anyone from getting within 3 feet of the pass-through window to talk to the receptionist, but that was OK; we all knew who the most important person in the room was.
Within a few seconds, the baby starts getting a little antsy; just some shaking her head, swinging her legs. I would too, if I'd just recently figured out the walking thing but some unbearable hag had imprisoned me in a stroller. Her mother responds by unbuckling the poor girl's stroller restraint, removing her jacket with a comment about how she had to be getting hot...and then buckling her back into the (immobile, not going anywhere) stroller. I guess mommy didn't want her baby messing up her UGG boots by actually standing or walking in them.
As a good friend was telling me last night -- "More and more I don't want to leave the house. People are just that stupid."
Poor kid would've been better off being babysat by the TV.
Once at the OB's office, we were sitting in the waiting area. I should note the waiting room is quite small -- 7 or 8 chairs, a tableful of magazines and not a lot of manuvering space around any of them. During our wait, a woman brings in her toddler in a stroller. The woman had clearly been to this office before and the kid was quite old enough to stand and walk, although not like the huge 4-year-olds we sometimes see folded in half and stuffed into an umbrella stroller because they've got their valets (mommy and daddy) trained so well.
Despite this situation that clearly called for leaving her stroller on the porch and walking the child into the waiting room, the woman still thought it was a good idea to heft the stroller up through multiple doors and a tall step (the office is in an old house), then try to muscle the stroller around the waiting area, bumping the magazine table and chairs multiple times along the way. She might have had an easier time if he other hand wasn't involved with steadying her colossal diaper bag, which had probably just barely fit into the back of her SUV.
My first instinct was "I should help her through the door." Then the smarter, less chivalrous part of my brain took over and said, "But I shouldn't enable the stupid and self-absorbed in perpetuating their behavior." If someone enjoys making their own life more difficult, who am I to stop them?
Luckily for everyone who wanted to get out of the office sometime that morning without climbing over the baby, another patient gave the stroller lady a seat away from the rest of the room, with just enough space next to it to park the stroller. That parking spot also prevented anyone from getting within 3 feet of the pass-through window to talk to the receptionist, but that was OK; we all knew who the most important person in the room was.
Within a few seconds, the baby starts getting a little antsy; just some shaking her head, swinging her legs. I would too, if I'd just recently figured out the walking thing but some unbearable hag had imprisoned me in a stroller. Her mother responds by unbuckling the poor girl's stroller restraint, removing her jacket with a comment about how she had to be getting hot...and then buckling her back into the (immobile, not going anywhere) stroller. I guess mommy didn't want her baby messing up her UGG boots by actually standing or walking in them.
As a good friend was telling me last night -- "More and more I don't want to leave the house. People are just that stupid."
Friday, March 16, 2007
Oh holy cold
I just came in from clearing our ez-slide front porch and cleaning the snow-sleet mixture from our car so my wife could run errands.
I'm somehow still able to type with these ice cubes at the ends of my arms.
I'm somehow still able to type with these ice cubes at the ends of my arms.
We have a lid.
Well, make that "we have a Log-In Date for our dossier with the China Center of Adoption Affairs."
March 8, 2007 -- so if current referral times somehow stay stable (Which they probably won't) we would be getting a referral in July 2008 and traveling in Fall 2008; chances are we will be moving to my wife's new job posting (Japan, we hope) in late 2008 or early 2009.
We sure love cutting it close...
March 8, 2007 -- so if current referral times somehow stay stable (Which they probably won't) we would be getting a referral in July 2008 and traveling in Fall 2008; chances are we will be moving to my wife's new job posting (Japan, we hope) in late 2008 or early 2009.
We sure love cutting it close...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Sometimes I'm funny
I don't usually laugh at my own jokes but I'm still giggling about my comment on this page (first comment, I'm JA3).
It figures that the funniest thing I've said in the past week was on someone ELSE's blog.
It figures that the funniest thing I've said in the past week was on someone ELSE's blog.
Less than a month,
And I've already fallen off the posting wagon. Last week it was Chicago; there is a post or two in draft waiting to be published. I will get better, now that I'm settling comfortably into unemployment.
In honor of the NCAA tourney, I should note that after four days, unemployment is definitely not overrated. Unemployment is a #1 seed, the unquestioned and undefeated champ. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to plan what I'm doing at not-work tomorrow.
In honor of the NCAA tourney, I should note that after four days, unemployment is definitely not overrated. Unemployment is a #1 seed, the unquestioned and undefeated champ. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to plan what I'm doing at not-work tomorrow.
Ball game or porn movie?
CBS claims that two of the officials for the just-started VCU vs. Duke game are "Zelton D. Steed" and "John Hughes."
I think someone just forgot to get the ref names before game time and made those up on the fly.
[I heard "John Holmes" the first time but as I look again, the name is "John Hughes." I still like the subject of the post enough that I'm not taking it down. Just pretend I said "Ball game or '80s teen movie" instead. And don't think about how little sense this makes.]
I think someone just forgot to get the ref names before game time and made those up on the fly.
[I heard "John Holmes" the first time but as I look again, the name is "John Hughes." I still like the subject of the post enough that I'm not taking it down. Just pretend I said "Ball game or '80s teen movie" instead. And don't think about how little sense this makes.]
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Straphanger
In Chicago the remainder of the week, working every day; thus not thinking too much about a baby on the way (except for the sudden realization that we're 2.5 months fromm that Ruth can't sleep a wink, and this probably isn't a good thing for our sanity now that we're staying with her Dad)
This was a pretty common post back on my first blog, when I had to come to Chicago every so often to make sure I still had a job. Now, I'm in the middle of what could be my last work trip ever to Chicago and it's deeply weird. The company has no clue how much time "part-time" work will entail, so this could literally be it, after almost 11 years.
I'm looking forward to being unemployed and being daddy, much more so than I've ever looked forward to this place (sorry everybody); but after this much time, the place and people are a part of me.
UPDATE, now that I'm home... my actual "so long" party was easy. A fantastic cake, answering all the usual questions about the kid and Ruth (feeling fine; no idea what sex the baby is, and no desire to know; June 1st; Yep, I'm gonna be a full-time daddy; Oh, BTW, maybe I didn't mention we're adopting from China too?), then back to work.
The harder part was that last day. There are people there I've worked with since the day I arrived and even if they're just "work friends" that I never spent any outside time around, leaving them was emotional. I dropped a tear or 10, and I think one of my bosses even welled up a little as well.
On the bright side, they made it clear the door is always open; heck, they let me keep the keys, so even if it's not open, I can get in.
After saying goodbye to the people who were important, the actual departure was an anticlimax. An email to thank everyone and say "so long," and a quick stroll through the office and out the door.
But man, once I made the parking lot and started walking to the train platform...it was like a weight coming off my shoulders with every step. It's still taking some time to get used to the new routine (I almost opened my timecard yesterday to enter "one hour - mopped kitchen floor"), but I'm walking on air.
This was a pretty common post back on my first blog, when I had to come to Chicago every so often to make sure I still had a job. Now, I'm in the middle of what could be my last work trip ever to Chicago and it's deeply weird. The company has no clue how much time "part-time" work will entail, so this could literally be it, after almost 11 years.
I'm looking forward to being unemployed and being daddy, much more so than I've ever looked forward to this place (sorry everybody); but after this much time, the place and people are a part of me.
UPDATE, now that I'm home... my actual "so long" party was easy. A fantastic cake, answering all the usual questions about the kid and Ruth (feeling fine; no idea what sex the baby is, and no desire to know; June 1st; Yep, I'm gonna be a full-time daddy; Oh, BTW, maybe I didn't mention we're adopting from China too?), then back to work.
The harder part was that last day. There are people there I've worked with since the day I arrived and even if they're just "work friends" that I never spent any outside time around, leaving them was emotional. I dropped a tear or 10, and I think one of my bosses even welled up a little as well.
On the bright side, they made it clear the door is always open; heck, they let me keep the keys, so even if it's not open, I can get in.
After saying goodbye to the people who were important, the actual departure was an anticlimax. An email to thank everyone and say "so long," and a quick stroll through the office and out the door.
But man, once I made the parking lot and started walking to the train platform...it was like a weight coming off my shoulders with every step. It's still taking some time to get used to the new routine (I almost opened my timecard yesterday to enter "one hour - mopped kitchen floor"), but I'm walking on air.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Friday, March 2, 2007
Hooray for negative!
Gestational Diabetes test was negative. Yay for my wife's pancreas!
Gotta run....
Gotta run....
Air travel
I despise air travel and I have to fly this evening, from a rainy and crappy place to a snowy and crappy place.
On the other hand, this is my last plane trip for a long time that won't involve any diapers, strollers, car seats or cheerios.
So I guess I'll just have to enjoy it now...
On the other hand, this is my last plane trip for a long time that won't involve any diapers, strollers, car seats or cheerios.
So I guess I'll just have to enjoy it now...
Thursday, March 1, 2007
On the subject of acronyms
Being a recovering IT nerd and having a wife in the military, my life is suffused with acronyms. Everyone more or less assumes I'm speaking Mandarin when I check the ARP cache to match their MAC to their IP, or TELNET to their SMTP to figure out if their POP is working. When my wife explains that her friend left an LHA before his PRD to go on IA, and therefore wasn't around for the PRT, people figure it's all vital to national security (while those who know better realize she's talking about sit-ups).
We've thought all along our lives had too much of that shit. But oh, then we started trying to have kids, and entered another whole realm of acronymity, for lack of a better word.
First, we found ourselves up close and personal with what I call "Infertility Culture," or as the residents call themselves, "TTCers." This is a group of people who can reveal the innermost secrets of their husbands' testicles in the anonymity of the Internet, but literally sprint in and out of their fertility clinic lest they encounter another human in person. (I just realized I sound like I'm being hard on these folks -- I don't mean it. I don't know how we kept our own good spirits during those years, other than having each other).
Then we entered the world of adoption, specifically international adoption. I don't know if adoption necessarily needs all the acronyms that come with it, or if the agencies just started using them to make all the former TTCers more comfortable.
Now that we're trying to prepare for Ripley's inevitable arrival, we're finding that every parenting "tribe" out there, no matter how simple sounding the topic they've organized around, has their own acronym-heavy language. Want to learn about the options for cloth diapers or baby carriers (Sorry, "babywearing") from the people who know them best? Well, plan on having to breach every topic's impenetrable wall of acronyms.
Apparently, it really necessary to spend hours of confusion learning acronyms before learning about an environmentally responsible way of capturing the little one's shit. Look, I'm used to getting PAID to learn stupid acronyms. No wonder people just say "screw it" and buy Pampers; I was almost at that point myself.
When I started doing this research, the first couple message board posts I sent my wife came back with a simple reply: "These people scare me." Well, that's OK, I told her. "We don't have to be the crazy people. Just learn from the crazy people."
So, the point of this long winded post is to make a promise to my readers, present and future.
Whereas, my (as-yet unpublished) manifesto says that this is NOT a parenting obsession blog,
But I'm certainly going to end up discussing all manner of obsessive acronym-ready topics,
and Whereas, I would like to think that someday what I'm writing here could be useful to other neophytes,
I promise to define each and every acronym I use, in each and ever post.
So if my experiment in cloth diapers works out, you won't arrive here one day to decipher a subject line that says, "OMG I LUV CD," and when I talk about the adoption you won't have to tolerate a post about how we finally have our LID after going DTC last month -- at least not until after I've told you what a Log In Date and Dossier To China mean.
When I break this promise, I expect -- nay, demand -- that you, both my readers, leave a comment that says "John, what the FUCK does that mean?" Thank you.
We've thought all along our lives had too much of that shit. But oh, then we started trying to have kids, and entered another whole realm of acronymity, for lack of a better word.
First, we found ourselves up close and personal with what I call "Infertility Culture," or as the residents call themselves, "TTCers." This is a group of people who can reveal the innermost secrets of their husbands' testicles in the anonymity of the Internet, but literally sprint in and out of their fertility clinic lest they encounter another human in person. (I just realized I sound like I'm being hard on these folks -- I don't mean it. I don't know how we kept our own good spirits during those years, other than having each other).
Then we entered the world of adoption, specifically international adoption. I don't know if adoption necessarily needs all the acronyms that come with it, or if the agencies just started using them to make all the former TTCers more comfortable.
Now that we're trying to prepare for Ripley's inevitable arrival, we're finding that every parenting "tribe" out there, no matter how simple sounding the topic they've organized around, has their own acronym-heavy language. Want to learn about the options for cloth diapers or baby carriers (Sorry, "babywearing") from the people who know them best? Well, plan on having to breach every topic's impenetrable wall of acronyms.
Apparently, it really necessary to spend hours of confusion learning acronyms before learning about an environmentally responsible way of capturing the little one's shit. Look, I'm used to getting PAID to learn stupid acronyms. No wonder people just say "screw it" and buy Pampers; I was almost at that point myself.
When I started doing this research, the first couple message board posts I sent my wife came back with a simple reply: "These people scare me." Well, that's OK, I told her. "We don't have to be the crazy people. Just learn from the crazy people."
So, the point of this long winded post is to make a promise to my readers, present and future.
Whereas, my (as-yet unpublished) manifesto says that this is NOT a parenting obsession blog,
But I'm certainly going to end up discussing all manner of obsessive acronym-ready topics,
and Whereas, I would like to think that someday what I'm writing here could be useful to other neophytes,
I promise to define each and every acronym I use, in each and ever post.
So if my experiment in cloth diapers works out, you won't arrive here one day to decipher a subject line that says, "OMG I LUV CD," and when I talk about the adoption you won't have to tolerate a post about how we finally have our LID after going DTC last month -- at least not until after I've told you what a Log In Date and Dossier To China mean.
When I break this promise, I expect -- nay, demand -- that you, both my readers, leave a comment that says "John, what the FUCK does that mean?" Thank you.
I am no longer a telecommuter.
Well, not really, anyway. I guess I'm still going to work part-time and they're still going to pay me...but I don't have to plan my life around their shit anymore. When they call and say, "Some herd of self-important advertising cocksuckers think their world is falling down around them because their email is taking 10 minutes longer to arrive than they think it should," I can say, "I am busy watching my kid drool, which is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Call me next week."
This is a profoundly wonderful development in my life, and I'm hoping I get accustomed to the idea before the kids leave for college.
This is a profoundly wonderful development in my life, and I'm hoping I get accustomed to the idea before the kids leave for college.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Half-assed Book reviews
I've been devouring just about every pregnancy book I can get my hands on, which thanks to my friend Karyn is "Just about all of them." Figuring that I needed to bring my testosterone back into balance, I just finished The Expectant Father by Armin A. Brott.
Obviously, most pregnancy books are all about the female experience. Best case, they try to throw in a chapter for the guy, but most of the time the advice can be boiled down to: 1. Don't Panic. 2. Keep her happy, if you know what's good for you.
In the worst cases, fathers (partners, WTFever we're called these days) are relegated to sidebar ghettos within the main text, with advice that assumes a "Y" chromosome is incompatible with higher brain functions: "Buy flowers without being asked!" "Foot rubs sure are nice!" "Pregnancy will change your relationship with your partner!" and my favorite, "Maybe you should stop drinking that six pack every night, drop a few pounds and take an interest in your wife, you son-of-a-bitch!"
As much as I'd love to give The Expectant Father a full review, the copy I got from the local library was the first edition, dated in the stone age of 1995. I realized even before I read it that the book would be woefully inadequate (the link above is to a 2nd edition), because it was published before the Internet took off. I might as well try to give you a lecture on European geography using a map dated 1885. I can only assume the new edition (2001) is an improvement in that department.
As if a book that predated Google wasn't enough of an anachronism, I actually found it in the library next to a book subtitled "Raising your child in the '80s." (holy crap, it's actually listed, if not available, on Amazon.) I'm sure this was quite the "rad" title back in the day. Seeing it on the shelf now, no joke the first thought to pop into my head was a mother, wearing legwarmers and sporting the skycraper hair so popular in my high school yearbook, sitting in a nursery singing A-Ha's "Take on me" as a lullaby to her child in his infant-sized "Members Only" jacket.
Whoa, tangent. Anyway...right. The book I actually READ.
It was refreshing to read a book that acknowledged men as having a different set of feelings and concerns from their pregnant spouses, or indeed having any valid feelings or concerns whatsoever. When it comes to pregnancy and birth, we're often looked at as the junior partners, or subordinate to the cult of mommy. In general, he's very good at telling guys not to buckle to pressure from family and friends to do things a certain way.
I also like how honestly he deals with the inevitable pressures put on guys -- this especially comes out in the chapter where he talks about fear of the delivery room. He comes out squarely against conventional wisdom and says that if the father is too creeped out by the delivery room (and can get his wife to go along), he doesn't have to be in the delivery room. After reading it, I was somewhat surprised he lived to release a second edition -- but I admire him for saying it. Outside of safety matters, a family ought to be able to make their own choices.
My plan, when I write my own "Guy's guide to surviving the amusment park that is having kids" (you're soaking in it!), is to convey to guys that there is a rush of different emotions, unique to guys, that they might experience at every point in the process. Guys should revel in the experience and not believe that these strange new feelings are unusual, or make them weak. But I also plan to tell guys that keeping a lot of these feelings to themselves is also a completely healthy part of guy-hood; that we are not, and shoud not, be part of the modern mommy-cult.
Overall, I give the book a solid 3 coffee mugs on a scale of 5. (Yeah, still working on my ratings system. Cut me some slack.) On the one hand, I almost have to recommend it, just because I know of so few books for the daddy-to-be that are serious about his role and view him as more than a bystander. Still, I'm not rushing to drop $10 just to see what improvements might be in the 2nd edition.
Obviously, most pregnancy books are all about the female experience. Best case, they try to throw in a chapter for the guy, but most of the time the advice can be boiled down to: 1. Don't Panic. 2. Keep her happy, if you know what's good for you.
In the worst cases, fathers (partners, WTFever we're called these days) are relegated to sidebar ghettos within the main text, with advice that assumes a "Y" chromosome is incompatible with higher brain functions: "Buy flowers without being asked!" "Foot rubs sure are nice!" "Pregnancy will change your relationship with your partner!" and my favorite, "Maybe you should stop drinking that six pack every night, drop a few pounds and take an interest in your wife, you son-of-a-bitch!"
As much as I'd love to give The Expectant Father a full review, the copy I got from the local library was the first edition, dated in the stone age of 1995. I realized even before I read it that the book would be woefully inadequate (the link above is to a 2nd edition), because it was published before the Internet took off. I might as well try to give you a lecture on European geography using a map dated 1885. I can only assume the new edition (2001) is an improvement in that department.
As if a book that predated Google wasn't enough of an anachronism, I actually found it in the library next to a book subtitled "Raising your child in the '80s." (holy crap, it's actually listed, if not available, on Amazon.) I'm sure this was quite the "rad" title back in the day. Seeing it on the shelf now, no joke the first thought to pop into my head was a mother, wearing legwarmers and sporting the skycraper hair so popular in my high school yearbook, sitting in a nursery singing A-Ha's "Take on me" as a lullaby to her child in his infant-sized "Members Only" jacket.
Whoa, tangent. Anyway...right. The book I actually READ.
It was refreshing to read a book that acknowledged men as having a different set of feelings and concerns from their pregnant spouses, or indeed having any valid feelings or concerns whatsoever. When it comes to pregnancy and birth, we're often looked at as the junior partners, or subordinate to the cult of mommy. In general, he's very good at telling guys not to buckle to pressure from family and friends to do things a certain way.
I also like how honestly he deals with the inevitable pressures put on guys -- this especially comes out in the chapter where he talks about fear of the delivery room. He comes out squarely against conventional wisdom and says that if the father is too creeped out by the delivery room (and can get his wife to go along), he doesn't have to be in the delivery room. After reading it, I was somewhat surprised he lived to release a second edition -- but I admire him for saying it. Outside of safety matters, a family ought to be able to make their own choices.
My plan, when I write my own "Guy's guide to surviving the amusment park that is having kids" (you're soaking in it!), is to convey to guys that there is a rush of different emotions, unique to guys, that they might experience at every point in the process. Guys should revel in the experience and not believe that these strange new feelings are unusual, or make them weak. But I also plan to tell guys that keeping a lot of these feelings to themselves is also a completely healthy part of guy-hood; that we are not, and shoud not, be part of the modern mommy-cult.
Overall, I give the book a solid 3 coffee mugs on a scale of 5. (Yeah, still working on my ratings system. Cut me some slack.) On the one hand, I almost have to recommend it, just because I know of so few books for the daddy-to-be that are serious about his role and view him as more than a bystander. Still, I'm not rushing to drop $10 just to see what improvements might be in the 2nd edition.
Happy Anniversary to us
Well, technically the anniversary isn't for another 2 years + 1 day, but this is as close as we get. We celebrated up the street at Rhumbline; I had a brown sugar grilled duck breast with asparagus and sweet potato hash, Ruth had a beef tenderloin with blue cheese butter that rocked.
[EDIT: OK, my math was off. One year and one day, not 2 years + 1 day. I was full of ducky yumminess, so sue me.]
[EDIT: OK, my math was off. One year and one day, not 2 years + 1 day. I was full of ducky yumminess, so sue me.]
Naw, really?
McCain Launches White House Bid
I'm having the same reaction as I did when I heard Jack Palance died: "Wait, didn't this already happen, like a year ago?"
I'm having the same reaction as I did when I heard Jack Palance died: "Wait, didn't this already happen, like a year ago?"
Another twist
I'm fond of telling people that my wife and I have been through every ride in the "Having Kids Amusement Park," from the "Infertility Roller Coaster" to the "Adoption Drop" to the "Miscarriage-a-whirl."
Today, we're getting the crash course in the "Gestational Diabetes sucker punch in the pancreas."
If you're not familiar with testing for Gestational Diabetes (GD, I'll call it from here) -- the mommy-to-be has to drink an orange-flavored solution with three times the straight-to-the-bloodstream dextrosy goodness of a can of Mountain Dew, then has her blood sucked an hour later. If she fails that test, she has to try again a couple days later -- except this time she has to fast 12 hours beforehand, and they suck her blood three times over three hours. End result: A hungry, cranky pregnant woman, several CCs short of blood and suffering from insulin shock on an empty stomach.
In short, if your wife and child aren't diabetic before the tests, they sure as hell will be afterwards.
I realize that poor insulin sensitivity (along with lactose intolerance and the inability to be on time for ANYTHING) is one of the burdens my wife's people deal with in exchange for great tans. But honestly, after seeing her eat sensibly, exercise several times a week and gain very little weight (probably a good amount given her size pre-pregnancy but I'm no OB), I was so not worried about this one.
I probably still shouldn't be worried; as the Doc put it, the initial test is "non-diagnostic" (docspeak for "if you pass, you're fine, but if you fail you might still be fine") and of the women who have to take the fasting test-from-hell, 80% pass and have no further issues.
It would just really really suck that just as I'm going to quit work -- giving us more chances to go out to eat, giving me more chances to cook -- she might be stuck on a diabetes diet for the rest of the pregnancy.
For cryin' out loud, can't this shit just be easy, one time? I suppose we're saving up all our good karma for labor and delivery (oh please oh please oh please).
Today, we're getting the crash course in the "Gestational Diabetes sucker punch in the pancreas."
If you're not familiar with testing for Gestational Diabetes (GD, I'll call it from here) -- the mommy-to-be has to drink an orange-flavored solution with three times the straight-to-the-bloodstream dextrosy goodness of a can of Mountain Dew, then has her blood sucked an hour later. If she fails that test, she has to try again a couple days later -- except this time she has to fast 12 hours beforehand, and they suck her blood three times over three hours. End result: A hungry, cranky pregnant woman, several CCs short of blood and suffering from insulin shock on an empty stomach.
In short, if your wife and child aren't diabetic before the tests, they sure as hell will be afterwards.
I realize that poor insulin sensitivity (along with lactose intolerance and the inability to be on time for ANYTHING) is one of the burdens my wife's people deal with in exchange for great tans. But honestly, after seeing her eat sensibly, exercise several times a week and gain very little weight (probably a good amount given her size pre-pregnancy but I'm no OB), I was so not worried about this one.
I probably still shouldn't be worried; as the Doc put it, the initial test is "non-diagnostic" (docspeak for "if you pass, you're fine, but if you fail you might still be fine") and of the women who have to take the fasting test-from-hell, 80% pass and have no further issues.
It would just really really suck that just as I'm going to quit work -- giving us more chances to go out to eat, giving me more chances to cook -- she might be stuck on a diabetes diet for the rest of the pregnancy.
For cryin' out loud, can't this shit just be easy, one time? I suppose we're saving up all our good karma for labor and delivery (oh please oh please oh please).
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Refurbished MacBooks
Intel...Macs...cheap...soon to be unemployed cheap-ass must resist...reaching for credit card...
With any luck, when my resistance finally breaks down and I buy one, my old-school Tibook will come down with computer dementia and fail to complete the transaction.
With any luck, when my resistance finally breaks down and I buy one, my old-school Tibook will come down with computer dementia and fail to complete the transaction.
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