All On

There's something very appealing about betting it all. Something about operating with reckless abandon that suits me. Forget managing your risk, hedging your bets, diversifying your... whatever it is that needs diversifying. Its all or nothing, baby. Take a chance, cash 'em in, go for broke, stick your neck out, lay it on the line. Lemme see what you got.

"Put up or shut up, people! You can't touch this. You think you bad? Huh? You think you BAAAAAd? I'm ALL ON, baby!"

"Jim, sit down. First of all, its "All In". Second of all, this is only the first hand, and I haven't even finished dealing. Jaysus! Chill out, will you?"

See, I stink at poker. I don't know how to be reserved. I don't know how to be cool. In fact, I probably wouldn't play the game at all if it weren't for that "ALL IN" thing. Gawd, I LOVE doing that!

A delapidated fixer-upper at peak price way above neighborhood comps? Variable-rate, interest-only loan with 10-year balloon payment? Triple my mortgage and take on some very expensive headaches? Pay closing costs for the sellers, their in-laws, and their babysitter's parents too? YYYYES! I AM ALL IN!

But its not just the betting. I can't deal either. Clockwise, counterclockwise - I can never remember. Burn and turn? What the HELL is that? And I can't manage the chips. Why do they have SO many freaking colors? I can't even remember the names of the games, much less how to play them. Mexican Sweat, English Stud, In the Hole, Down and Dirty, Screw your Neighbor, In-Between, Flop your Nuts. Its all so baffling. I'm always left feeling isolated and confused, and yet... strangely aroused. I forget whether a full house beats a straight. Crap, what's a straight again? How many chips do I put in? Are three Aces good? Is it my turn yet?

Yeah, my friends LOVE it when I come to poker.

I belong to a poker club, of sorts. We play maybe 4 times a year, with rotating host. It all started back in a former job, when a bunch of us would gather, maybe 30 times per day, to play a game called "Liar's Poker". Its a game you play with a dollar bill - the serial number is your poker hand. Except you build your best hand based on ALL the unseen serial numbers from ALL the players. And the point of the game is to lie your ass off, but don't get caught. See, THAT I understand. Anyway, we REALLY played it a lot. I mean, when you stop at the bank on the way to work to get a stack of fifty clean dollar bills, you kinda got a little problem. But DAMN we had some fun.

Now though, its all about Texas Hold 'Em. And people are freaking out about poker these days. I mean, people used to trade stocks, but now they're supplementing their income on pokerstars.com. And after playing themselves into a pasty-white, bug-eyed plasma glow, they come to poker night ready to KICK YOUR ASS. God help you if you push on a ragged flop - they'll be up in your grill, pointing out how incredibly stupid you are. Damn, when did sitting around drinking with friends get all competitive?

I stopped going. A few of us have started a splinter group that meets occasionally, with rotating host. No cards, no chips, no flops, and nothing "In the Hole"? Good food, alcohol and cigars? I'm ALL ON.

Bill-Payin' Fool

This is the first installment of a whole "BoreBlogging" series.

According to Wikipedia:
   Boreblogging: Writing about personal matters that are barely interesting even to the writer.

I suppose one might argue that this defines my entire blog. sigh....


Anyway, today was bill-paying day. And you know what that means... put on some headphones and listen to music videos all day. I only paid one bill, but I listened to a lot of good music. Here are some of my favorites from today.



Shirley Manson. There is no more to say.

Garbage - Milk



Ok, seriously, this is the best music video ever produced. Stephane Sednaoui has done a number of Bjork videos, but this was the best. Yeah, the music rocks, but the video is so simple its almost zen-like. Standing on a flat-bed tractor trailer driving through the crowded streets of NYC. She also did a nighttime version, and I had a difficult time deciding which was better. In the end, I really love her energy as she moves around the flatbed on this one - classic Bjork. She didn't move at all on the nighttime one.

Bjork - Big Time Sensuality



I really like the Sneaker Pimps, although they pale in comparison to Portishead. Mostly because I love the whole trip-hop genre, even though it was rather "trendy" - WAS is the operative word, 'cuz its time has come and gone. Kinda like me.

Sneaker Pimps - 6 underground



Ok, I admit I'm a Limp Bizkit fan of sorts. They certainly have their limitations, and their videos (including this one) are juvenile male-fantasies. And this is one of the only songs suitable for consumption by the general public. Something about combining rap with head-banging rock REALLY appeals to me for some reason.

Limp Bizkit - Take a Look Around



Why don't they make good grunge music anymore? I really miss Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, etc. This is standard rock concert footage. But daaaammnnn - I swear I'd do Eddie Vedder.

Pearl Jam - Black



Ok, Korn kicks it - straight up. It scratches an itch somewhere. Its like taking the 90's band "Living Color" and kicking it up several notches. And this is a cool video, although I'm not sure what it all means. I can't stop listening to the music long enough to concentrate on it.

Korn - Freak on a Leash



Yeah, all their stuff is exactly the same, but again, I really like the combination of rap and rock. Shinoda and Bennington compliment each other, but it gets old after a while.

Linkin Park - In The End

Weather Wars

Sen. James Inhofe (R Ok), who serves on the Environment and Public Works Committee, recently exposed the truth about global warm-ongering. I mean, he really blew the lid off this thing.

Inhofe: "Its all about the money. I mean, think about what would happen to the Weather Channel's ratings if people stopped being scared."

HA! In your FACE corporate...-ish America! We're not swallowing your "weather reports" anymore!

"Increased cloudiness, continued warmth and a chance for rain in the evening? Sorry, not buying it.

"Afternoon breezes, 10-15 mph, with gusts to 25 mph? Yeah, nice try.

WE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING - you Weather Channel fat cats with your big lobbying money! We know that you topped your own record for the biggest annual profit by a U.S. company last year, racking up earnings that amounted to $4.5 million per hour. We know you posted net income of $39.5 billion - despite a 4 percent drop in earnings in the final three months of 2006. We know you spent a record amount as one of the top Capitol Hill lobbyists. And we know that you won the dubious "Worst EU Lobbyist" award in 2006, for your shameful efforts to dispel scientific data on climate change. Oh, wait... damn, that was all Exxon Mobil - my bad.

Still, you've been exposed, you Weather Channel... "meteorologists", you. So take your scam somewhere else man - its cold as SHIT outside!

And thank you Mr. Inhofe, for setting the story straight on this "War over the Weather". (Jesus Christ, why is everything a goddamn war these days?)

Shoot me now

Everyone who has lived in the Washington, D.C. area for a while probably has a Wilson Bridge story. I remember spending the night on the bridge once. It was 20 degrees, and since I typically ran my car with less than a dollar's worth of gas in the tank, I couldn't run the car all night. Which didn't matter, 'cuz it was an old Volkswagon Beetle that had no heat even when the car was running.

But my all-time favorite Wilson Bridge story was one I read in the Washington Post, some time ago. This guy was traveling through the area with his family on I95 North. He got a flat tire just as he entered the bridge from the Virginia side. You may recall that the Virginia side of the river, at that spot, has a couple hundred yards of muck at low tide. Anyway, after getting his family out of the car and positioned in a relatively safe place, he returned to the vehicle to fix the flat tire. As he was getting things out of the trunk, he saw a car speeding towards him, and it was obvious the car wasn't going to stop. So he did the ONLY thing he could do - he jumped over the jersey barrier to escape certain death. A couple of seconds later his car was totalled and he was chest-deep in muck (his family was fine). While he stood there stuck in the muck, he must have reflected back on how, just a few short minutes earlier, he'd been sipping his coffee and talking quietly with the wife.


Today, I was that guy - figuratively speaking. Yesterday, I was Mr. Mom, happily unemployed. Then I got the call at about 7pm. This morning, I was up at 5. It was 8 degrees out. I rushed out the door and schlepped my way around the Beltway with a bazillion other poor schmucks. I drove to Charlottesville for a day-long meeting - my first in YEARS.

I too did my own reflecting. I thought about a commercial I'd seen during the Super Bowl. Portrayed in a rain-forest setting that resembled a "Lost" episode, these office workers were sent running for their lives when management called a meeting. Hundreds of these office workers ran past a security guard and dove off a cliff to certain death.

At one point during today's meeting, the thought of jumping off a cliff did occur to me. Hey, its a paycheck.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Today the students conducted a science experiment involving sound waves. After receiving a lecture about sound and how it travels through matter to the tympanic membrane (exasperated look - "Daddy, do you mean, like, the eardrum?"), they were given an experiment involving a tin can with a string attached. The students put the string into one ear, and then closed both ears up tight with their fingers. The instructor would then speak into the tin can on the other end, and the students would see if they could hear what was being said.

It went something like this:

Instructor: "Hello, Joshua."
Student: "Hello, Daddy!"
Instructor: "Can you hear me, Joshua?"
Student: "Yes, Daddy! This is cool!"
Instructor(recognizing an opportunity): "Joshua, can you please go clean your room?"
Student: silence
Instructor(a bit louder): "Joshua, please go clean up your room!"
Student: silence
Instructor: "Joshua! Why can't you hear me?"
Student: silence (cocks head to one side - with puzzled look, for effect)
Instructor (softly): "Joshua, go play some video games."
Student: "THANKS, DADDY!"

Caught Red-Handed

Today the students updated their birding journals. While its kind of a bummer my camera doesn't have remote shuttering capability, I was able to use the interval timer to get these shots...




House Finch




Tufted Titmouse




Chickadee




American Goldfinch

Finally...

Well, wouldn't you know it. I finally got my blog back up and there's no one here but me and my computer. sigh

Anyway, I'd deleted the blog and had to rebuild it from a backup, along with some additional reconstructing. So some of the comments are gone, and some of the posts are out of order.

Oh, and I changed the look while I was at it. Check out the link for the LOST parody video - Portishead ROCKS!

DIY - Warning Strong Language

Several thousand years ago, back in a former life, and under the rule of a former wife, I attended a PTA meeting. The featured speaker was a child development expert. She said something that has stuck with me to this day: "Never do for your child what she can do for herself." I remember making a mental note to always have baby girls. That didn't turn out so well.

Seriously, this is a very hot topic at the Academy. As in, the Headmistress does things her way, and Headmaster gets all hot about it. We come from opposite ends of the spectrum. On her end (that would be the wrong end), you do EVERYTHING for your kids. You protect them from all bad things. You smooth out all the bumps. You take on and solve all their problems. On my end of the spectrum (ie: NOT the wrong end), you do squat for your kids. Screw them - they're on their own. Well ok, maybe that's not quite true. I do occasionally help them count their money when I need to borrow some.

Let me just qualify that last paragraph. See, I could not begin to come close to the Headmistress's level of love, unselfishness and devotion toward the kids, and even, on occasion, toward the Headmaster (source of all the angst in her life). So when I say that I am right and she is wrong, I mean that in the most loving, kind, sincere and gloating way possible.

Recently, my brother Michael stopped to play some darts in a local brew pub in Portland, Oregon. He went into the little gift shop and picked up a copy of a brewing magazine. He was startled to see that the grungy-looking person on the cover of the magazine was sitting at the bar. He walked up and tried to strike a conversation. "Hey, how ya doin? Is this you on the cover of this magazine?" The guy looks Michael over, and says "I hope you didn't pay money for that shirt." Undaunted, Michael sits down and continues to talk (he stole ALL my extroversion genes). Turns out the guy was actually the owner of the brew pub. Finally, Michael tells the guy that he has this nephew who is really into beer, and is thinking about trying his hand at home brewing. He asks if the guy would mind signing the cover of the magazine for him. The pub owner gives Michael a pained look. Grudgingly, he says "Sure, what's his name?" "Ryan". The guy takes the magazine, signs it, hands it back to Michael and returns to his beer. Michael thanks him and heads for the door.

He stops to look down at the signature. Here is what it said:


I mean, sure its kind of funny, but this reminds me of why I think its a bad idea to protect your kids. There's a WHOLE lot of crap they're going to have to deal with throughout their lives, and I figure its my job to help prepare them for it. How can I prepare them for it if I do EVERYTHING for them?

Back in our old neighborhood, there were some neighborhood kids who used to come over to "play with J&K". In reality, they'd completely ignore the boys, monopolize their toys, and coerce them into giving them stuff. The past several weekends we've had boys their age come over and "play" with them. And by play, I mean completely ignore your host, monopolize their video gaming system, then head out the door with their video games and memory cards stuffed in your pockets.

See what I'm saying? I worry that homeschooling is a bad form of protection. I mean, sure, I love that they don't have to endure getting bullied, pushed around and pressured into deviant behavior (gosh I miss school). But I worry that they'll be unable to handle themselves when they run into the harsh reality of the world.

I dunno, maybe I'll start bullying them and pushing them around.

J&K have an adult half-brother. He's a great kid (or person, to be more correct): good natured, humorous, kind, and honest. But to me, he seems completely unprepared to face the world on his own. Which is probably why he hasn't. I mean, why should he? He's got everything he needs, has no requirements or responsibilities, and no one to pressure him into getting OUT THERE.

With the younger boys, I tend to make them do EVERYTHING. Got a question? YOU tell ME the answer. Need a snack? Help yourself. And clean up your mess. Don't understand how something works? Read the instructions.

Sometimes I feel like I'm doing the right thing, but sometimes I think that eventually they'll grow to resent me. They'll shut me out at some point - stop asking the questions; stop interacting with me.

Hm..

Maybe then I'll be able to get something done around here.

Remotes Are From Mars Too

After years of conflict over the SAME issue, the Headmistress and I have forged a deal. She doesn't touch my tools. I don't touch her underwear drawer. (hey, I was fresh out, ok?)

See, she breaks something every time she picks up a tool. So in the interest of salvaging what's left of the house, we had to come to some kind of terms. We've not had the same luck regarding the various remote controls required to operate all the electronics. Once, when she used the DVD remote to hammer a 3-inch decking screw into the wall to hang a picture, I tried to classify all remote controls as tools . But I quickly discovered that coming between her and the Food Network was hazardous to my health.

One of the real issues here at the Academy is that our daughter has acquired the Headmistress's incompetence with remote controls, and even improved upon it. (competency visual aid: Imagine a number line. Imagine starting at zero and taking a left-hand turn.) She handles a remote control with all the deftness of a toddler picking up a cat by the tail. In fact, take that analogy one step further because you can actually hear the remote control's pathetic little cries for help.

I can't tell you how many times I've encountered her standing in front of a television, remote in each hand, leaning sharply to one side and thrusting them at the television as she randomly presses the buttons - like a kid intently focused on killing some video-game villain. The fact that the remotes actually control the audio/video equipment located directly behind her contributes significantly to the drama.

How many times have I been called into the kitchen to "FIX IT QUICKLY BEFORE I MISS THIS RACHAEL RAY RERUN AGAIN!" You can feel the urgency build with each step Miss Ray takes toward her refrigerator. I quickly assess the situation. The screen is monochrome purple. There is a small picture in the lower right corner with the the Telemundo channel showing on it. For some reason the Telemundo characters are speaking English, while Rachael Ray is speaking Spanish with English subtitles. The word COMPONENT1 is flashing across the top of the screen in large, neon green block letters. And some ominous-looking timer is rapidly counting down to zero, as though something will blow up if I don't act quickly. I walk over to the kitchen table with all the resignation of someone facing a firing squad. I sit down, put my head between my legs and grab my ankles.


I've tried those "Universal" remote controls. I spent an entire afternoon programming various buttons to perform macro functions that would enable eight different devices to talk to one another. It was like the U.N. of T.V.

Me: "Honey, check this out. Let's say you're watching TV and you want to switch over to DVD. Just press these two buttons at the same time, set the volume, then press this button to control the DVD menu."
Her: [blink]
Me: "Honey? Is anything wrong? Is there something in your eye?"
Her: [blink]
Me: Honey? [thinks to self: hm.. now would be a good time to tell her what really happened when Mark and I went to Vegas that time.]

I quickly discovered that the Universal Remote was designed to create a Universal Cluster@#$. It took me weeks to undo that damage. How can the simple functions on a remote control completely perplex someone who spends 18 hours a day furiously pushing buttons on her Blackberry?

I've pretty much given up at this point. Now, I simply shrug it off when I hear the familiar "Ooops.. JIM!" I just walk in, take the remote, and start hammering a 3-inch decking screw into my forehead.

Dollars v. Sense

The standard marriage vows mention good times v. bad times, richer v. poorer. I never understood that redundancy - I mean let's face it, good times v. bad times is all about the money. Look at any personal-finances scale and you'll see "Bad Times on one end, and "Good Times on the other. At least, I've been told that "Good Times" is on the other end: from where I'm standing on the scale, the path to "Good Times" fades to a point on the horizon right about at the "We Can Pay The Electric Bill This Month" mark. Money can't buy you happiness? Why the hell call it "Good Times" then?


Here is my chart of marital bliss. As you can see, the leaner the budget, the meaner the couple. Ergo, the fatter the budget, the happier the couple. Well, to a point, anyway - I think that once you reach a certain level of financial comfort, you've pretty much peaked on the happiness scale. Any more comfort and things start to fall apart. I imagine that once your combined annual income gets much over, say $50k, a typical conversation over champagne breakfast goes like this:

Him: "I am NOT spending another four weeks in Paris shopping for Zac Posen handbags and Perigord truffles."
Her: "What Everrrr."

The Academy's purchasing habits are the financial equivalent of chumming. On any given weekend, I'll go through the house collecting all the clutter that needs to be taken to the curb and disposed of. Most of it was purchased the previous weekend. Out at the curb, people gather like seagulls behind a fishing boat. Yes, our purchases generally have a life-cycle of 7 days or less. That giant flat-screen plasma I bought last month? Two inches too small - let's buy a new one. That leather satchel she got last week? Its full and she doesnt feel like cleaning it out - let's get another one. That professional diamond-blade tile saw I bought? It won't do radial cuts - give it away and buy a better one. But let's charge it and save the cash for impulse items like the professional wireless weather station, or a spare digital camcorder with thermal imaging capability.

Yeah, we're financial idiots - I admit it. To me, a tax shelter is the cabinet where I stash all those tax forms that I usually don't get around to filing until September. All those people who are worried about the burgeoning federal deficit? They're obviously unaware that we haven't filed 2005 yet - the penalties alone will get Uncle Sam back into the black.

So this is all a very long way of saying that the Headmaster is heading back to www-- w-- wwe-- wwwweerrrrr-- Sigh... I'm heading back to w-w- w-o-r-k.

I'm prostituting myself to corporate biz-dev Johns as a part-time proposal hit-man for hire. That thousand-page RFP that's been sitting on your desk for 3 months and must go out by tomorrow? I'm your guy. After all, I've got a lot of experience crafting proposals. Including this gem that I banged out one New Year's Eve: "Honey, its the last day of the year, and if we want that favorable tax status we'd better head over to the Justice of the Peace." Gosh, I thought the Headmistress was going to swoon over that one.

Of course, we didn't file until September.

Don't Look Back

HEY LOOKOUT!

A SAFE is about to fall on your head!

HA! SIKE!! Just kidding! Made you look!
.
.
No. Seriously.

---

In an earlier post, I expressed relief at how sister ET's (Elizabeth) biopsy results came back negative - benign tumor. In an "anonymous" comment to that post, ET related how she'd subsequently been contacted by the doctor to inform her that they'd been looking at the wrong test results. Doh! Heh heh, sorry 'bout that! The following day they contacted her to inform her that the test results were, in fact, negative after all.

What a rollercoaster ride that must have been - I can only imagine. Except, they weren't finished. On a routine follow-up visit to the doctor's office two days later, they informed her that they'd misread the test results, and that her tumor was, indeed, malignant. Its almost too cruel to be true.

Yesterday, we learned that it is inoperable. So we're hanging all our hopes on chemistry.

Its all too tempting to draw comparisons to Barbara's ordeal, which came to a close only two short months ago. But such comparisons are useless. ET shares Barbara's strength, her humor and her determination, but she is an entirely different person. And she's well-grounded, surrounded by an adoring family. I cannot help but know in my heart that her outcome will be an entirely different one. She will overcome.

And so its onward, and upward...

---

note: the drawing was inspired by Shel Silvertein's poem entitled "Safe?", and the accompanying illustration, from his book "Falling Up".

Chairman of the Bored

The following is a reenactment of an actual conversation overheard in one of the Academy's classrooms. Bill Watterson's cartoon style is inimitable, so the drawings aren't that great. But I sure do miss old Calvin.

Note - I really wanted to name Kyle Calvin, since my grandpa's name was Calvin. But the Headmistress would have none of it. I suppose its fortunate for Kyle...