Bloggus

2007-02-12T10:43:00.001-05:00

If you are still looking here, you'll want to know that now I'm here.

2006-02-15T12:27:00.000-05:00

Testing something...carry on.

2005-11-14T09:28:00.000-05:00

I'm gone, baby. Please change your links. Not all of them, just the ones that brought you here. Go here instead.

2005-11-09T12:06:00.000-05:00

Its more or less official, I'm blogging over here now. This blog will stay up for a while longer, maybe through the new year.

2005-11-04T16:38:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, one other thing: My visual-type skills (layout, design. not eyesight, that is fine) are pretty much non-existent. So does anyone want to format my collection of blog entries for pretty printing? If I was makin a dime off of this, I'd offer it to you, but I'm not, so this would be a labor of love, or at least a labor of like. I'll glean all the stuff into a file and send it to whoever feels like it. Thanks

2005-11-04T09:02:00.000-05:00

The beginning of the end? For some time now I've been contemplating killing this blog. Maybe starting a new one with a different focus, maybe taking a break, maybe just moving it somewhere else and getting a clean sheet of virtual paper to work with. I'm currently setting up a new blog on my own domain (ie not blogger), and by the end of the year I expect to be shutting this one down. I am considering the possibility of combing through the archives of this blog, which I've had for a couple of years now, and compiling a "best of" file. This would become available digitally, or perhaps in a book format that one could order through a print-to-order press. I wouldn't be able to make much money from it, but I think it would be cool to own a couple copies myself, and you could buy one for your bathroom reading or something. But for now, blogging will continue at this site, while I make up my mind and my new site. Stay tuned.

2005-11-03T13:50:00.000-05:00

Note To Self: Candy corn is not a vegetable. Stop eating it like you're winning health points for every kernel. Note From Self: Forget that, its delicious.

2005-11-02T13:00:00.000-05:00

If you aren't in the habit of visiting my son's blog, I reccomend that you spin over there today. Its worth it.

2005-11-01T11:12:00.000-05:00

Quote Sufjan Stevens again: "I like to think we are all participating in the work of a Kingdom that has survived Gregorian chants, Amy Grant, and Stryper." (from here)

2005-10-31T13:38:00.000-05:00

A thing that slightly disturbs me: How much I love the song "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." by Sufjan Stevens.

2005-10-31T11:13:00.000-05:00

Odds and Ends Thing I would like to be said about me some day: "He sings like an angel. A fat, hairy angel." Best advice I've given someone today, where today is Halloween, and said someone is not wearing a costume: "Wear the same stuff you are going to wear tomorrow, and say 'I'm the Jay [his name] of the future, tomorrow to be exact. I'm here with a message!'" Best use of nested quotation marks of the day: The halloween remark above. Best true and humorous email subject line from an unlikely source, appearing as I was posting this entry: From the Information Services department where I work: "A Series of Unfortunate Events"

2005-10-24T09:36:00.000-04:00

Is it just me, or is it you? So we visited Pittsburgh over the weekend to see U2 play. My connection didn't have Philadelphia tix, but it was worth the drive. B's parents flew down and drove out there with us, to help with the boy, so that was pretty cool. Its nice to see them, and it was good to have reliable and eager babysitting at the hotel. This was our first night out without him, so I was a little nervous, but of course everything was fine. What we noticed during our short visit in Pittsburgh, besides how surprisingly cool of a city it seems to be, is how nice people were. The Jamaican parking lot attendant cracked jokes with Rick, the bartender gave us directions (although tipped people tend to be a little more friendly anyway), and even the kid working at Subway was friendly and in good humour. It was a little odd. I realized, sometime on Saturday, that I've felt that vibe about a couple of places we have visited in recent years, and so maybe its not that Pittsburgh is an exceptionally friendly place (I mean this as no slight, hang on:) but that Philadelphia is just full of jerks. By contrast, I suppose, every common courtesy feels like a warm hug, or like the hint of a smell that reminds you of a bygone era. In any event, thanks Pittsburgh, God bless you, keep your minimum wage earners pleasant, and keep your funky bridges painted yellow.

2005-10-19T14:10:00.000-04:00

Peerless? Check out this mastery of the english language, found in an Entertainment Weekly review (culled from metacritic, of course) of the most recent version of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy": "...with the existential tomfoolery of Adams' peerless (and peerlessly Monty Python-British) creation." So...its peerless, in being like Monty Python? So that wouldnt make...monty...peer...oh never mind.

2005-10-13T16:01:00.000-04:00

OK, I'm moving to England. Bye.

2005-10-13T10:13:00.000-04:00

Armchair Futurist How cool would it be for Google or other search engines to take in input besides text? It seems like some pattern recognition intelligence should be on the horizon. Imagine being able to upload a picture to a search engine, and having it return matches from where that picture, or (gasp!) similar items in that picture can be found on the web. For example, if you took a phone-cam picture of a new car you see on the street, you should be able to send that to a search engine to recognize it, tell you what it is (ie Googling with "define:" at the beginning, which you can do now), where to buy them, news about them, all the normal Google functionality. Froogle, Google News, other results based on that image. The technology exists in a very affordable consumer level thumbprint recognition, and other biometrics, so I'm sure that at a higher level of computing there is this sort of more complex pattern recognition ability being developed, but it has yet to trickle down to us. On the one hand, it sounds so doable and likely to happen, and there is still my inner comicbook fanboy saying "holy technology, batman! thats like the bat-computer or something!" Find a clue to a crime, say a piece of fabric torn from clothing, and have Google display a list of matches for color and pattern. I believe that the technology will eventually become as widely available as a camera-equipped cellphone, where you can point your phone at something and be told what it is, how much it costs, or where you can find more information.

2005-10-12T09:27:00.000-04:00

Tim says: I think you're just Boston biased. If it was called Little Rock Legal I'm guessing you would rather watch Martha Stewart's version of the Apprentice instead. ;) Well, I am biased, but its not just the city, its

2005-10-12T09:19:00.000-04:00

Alias who? Last year they pulled the show mid-season, but did not cancel it, they just wanted to make room for new stuff. But I came across it last night and was quite excited to have it back. This is television, folks!

2005-10-11T16:55:00.000-04:00

saintlukas: in a section on intubation and airway, after "intubated by", what would "Cric By" refer to? saintlukas: criticizing the intubtation? saintlukas: lost points on the dismount, 8.4 TimmyBoom: Crichothyrotomy. If the airway is blocked, making an incision in the chricothyroid membrane and introducing the tube into the trachea through that hole. saintlukas: lovely saintlukas: glad i asked TimmyBoom: Hah. TimmyBoom: We learned it using a pig trachea covered with chicken skin stapled to a plank of wood. Good times. saintlukas: oh my goodness TimmyBoom: Yeah. It's as awesome as it sounds. saintlukas: so are you good at it? TimmyBoom: One can only speculate, as our medical director thinks it's too invasive a procedure for us to handle and so doesn't allow it. saintlukas: oh shucks

2005-10-11T16:08:00.000-04:00

James notes: hey, one good turn deserves another; with all the commenting you do at my site, i owed you at least one. i agree, Alias so far has been disappointing. it's sort of like a Creed album. by the way, Luke, check out this: http://www.scottstapp.com/index.asp. solo release coming in November and i know you can hardly wait. Here are a list of things I'd rather do than listen to a Scott Stapp solo release: 1. Chew tinfoil 2. Suck wax out of the ear of a rabid orangutan 3. Just about anything else.

2005-10-10T16:19:00.000-04:00

Alias Update The best way to describe my relationship with this season of Alias.

2005-10-10T14:02:00.000-04:00

While I haven't been blogging much lately, I am getting a lot of airtime over here.

2005-10-06T10:02:00.001-04:00

Template? Yes, I realized that I just changed the template on this site a few weeks ago, and I haven't even written that much lately. But I was never really satisfied with the selection Blogger gave me, I sorta picked the one I hated the least. This nice new one I found by the link from Timmy's site.

2005-10-06T10:02:00.000-04:00

News from the worlds of Sports and Linguistics The sports radio guys are constantly breaking new ground for the English language. This week? Using a baseball metaphor to talk about actual baseball. Keep in mind that the discussion was of an American League game where the pitchers do not bat. "If they're going to win this game [the pitcher] is going to need to step up to the plate"

2005-09-27T14:35:00.000-04:00

I usually leave the posting of baby pictures to my wife, but this couldnt be helped.

2005-09-23T15:29:00.000-04:00

Confession Ok, I'll admit it. I'm concerned about the new season of Alias next week, and I'm starting to wonder...when was the last time I didn't think the show was being written by guys who just make up stuff as the go along, rather than plotting a course for the show? I think that all the fans of the show, of which my family is counted, tend to love it for what it could be, even in the face of what it may have already become. I read this bit below and realized its all true. "I don't think much of the story we've seen so far was setup for the new Vaughn story. Here's how I figure we got here: Season 1 - JJ & co. have a blast with the is-Jack-bad-or-good story line, setting eveything up masterfully to introduce Mom as the villain with the big reveal at the end. Sloane is a deliciously creepy bad guy. They tap a few kegs at the end of the season and start planning the how-bad-is-Mom-really story line Season 2 - They are kind of having fun but are tired of Sydney almost getting caught and the moon eyes between Syd and Vaughn so they create the mid-season reveal - Sloane turns into the uber-villain and Mom seems to be on his side, maybe. Near the end of the season, they start to realize that that they risk Sloane turning into a cartoon and that Jack, Syd, and Sloane in the same room had a magic dynamic but can't happen with the current story line. They decide that they have to fast forward 2 years and set Sloane up with a pardon that everyone believes except Syd and Jack but for it to have ever happened, the Bristows needed to be out of the picture for those two years. Bradley Cooper is sick of his role so it's easy to set up that weird season finale without thinking it through too much. Convinced they are geniuses, JJ & co break out the champagne. Season 3 - In addition to the fantastic story line I'm sure they had for Sloane, they decide to reintroduce angst between Vaughn and Syd by producing a wife that we would all sympathize with and be as torn as Vaughn about what he should do. Syd will be a tad distracted from Sloane's BIG story, just enough to let his new evil plot come closer to succeeding. Instead of viewers being intrigued with this new development, all anyone can focus on is Lauren's eyebrows and that Lena Olin won't return phone messages. Stories are hastily rewritten to make Lauren a bad guy that is eventually vanquished by Vaughn. Drinking starts midseason and it's not champagne. Visions of starting all over again on a desert island dance through JJ's head. Season 4 - The wheels are truly coming off the wagon so they decide to make Sloane good, we think. Well, except for the pounding of that one guy to a bloody pulp. Vaughn and Syd are back together just in time to coincide with the actors themselves breaking up and Lena Olin comes back, but not for long enough to make anyone really happy. At least the whole desert island thing seems to be working. No one can figure out a decent cliff hanger, by this time it's more than just drinking to get through script reviews and somebody's drug-induced joke about Vaughn not being Vaughn and then getting hit by a car actually makes it into the plan. JJ in the corner trying to figure out what's in the hatch.... " In other news, we watched Lost for the first time last night. We had heard how good it was but didnt want to jump in mid-season. They had a one hour recap for the noobs, so we taped it Wednesday and jumped in. We're pretty much instantly hooked. I'm worried, because of my Alias experience, that they are gonna just start throwing wackiness at the show without actually bringing it to a rational end, but there is evidence to the contrary, also.

2005-09-16T13:58:00.000-04:00

Chuck Spanner, Interior Decorator three There was a smell in the air, and I knew immediately what time it was. Time to change the boy's diaper. This inevitably makes him hungry, so the rest of my work day was spent on fatherhood. On a day like this, I'm glad for the change of focus. We drove back to the apartment, arriving around 7:00PM. I had Raisin Bran for dinner. He had mushy fruit from a little jar. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff," I said. I checked the answering machine for messages from his mother, but there were none. Three months without a message, I thought. I had a scotch before bed, and the boy had milk. Once again I was glad our roles were not reversed, but I knew we'd both sleep like babies. The next morning we stopped by the office for coffee and the newspaper, both for me, and to pick up my things for the Richards job. I wasn't looking forward to the visit, honestly. Interior decorating just doesn't hold the same thrill for me if I don't get to look for clues, or at least rough somebody up a little bit, and this was one of those rare decorating jobs that didn't come from those kind of clients. In the office I scanned the newspaper for notes from the boy's mother. We had a system for when she was out of touch on assignments, for keeping her connected with me and the boy. We'd leave each other encoded messages in the classified ads. The messages were never that detailed, but it was a way to avoid her letting on where she was to anyone who might peruse my mailbox or phone lines at the office, while still allowing her to say hello, let us know she was ok, or let her know that we were still around. There was nothing. This must be some job, if she can't even reach her contacts at the paper. I gathered my decorating supplies, mostly catalogs, papers, swatches, samples, and changed and fed the boy so he'd be relaxed during the job. There's nothing like cleaning spit-up off my tile samples in front of a client, or trying to negotiate a fee over the sound of crying. Fortunately my women clients can't resist him, and he makes me appear more domestic, which is an important part of my success. Appearing domestic isn't easy for a man like me. I tend to make people a little bit afraid, and while that has its uses as well, I'd like most people I meet to remember that I'm just a harmless interior decorator. One of the challenges of meeting new customers, however, is the boy's name. I don't tell anyone his name, because I believe that at some point in the future he may need to be disassociated with me for any one of a variety of reasons. Its not so much that I have a lot of enemies, as it is that I have a few really powerful ones. So rather than drive the kid crazy with a double identity, having people call him by something other than his mother-given name, I refer to him as The Boy when we're out and about. The cops all understand this, they have a great appreciation for our predicament. Friend's of cops' wives, who believe they are hiring an interior decorator, however, tend to look at me a little strangely. This is one of the reasons I don't like taking outside jobs, but frankly we could use the money. With my things collected, and the boy in tow, I waved to Jimmy on the way out of the office to car. "Hold down the fort, Jimmy." "You can count on me, Chuck. Don't worry 'bout a thing, you're never alone." I paused, and looked at him quizzically for a moment, but he was already turned away, pouring hot coffee for another customer. To say that Tracy Richards was an above average woman in the looks department would be to say that the subways in our city are a little on the crowded side. She was blonde in the way that women in movies are blonde, and tall in the way that other women might wear 6 inch heels to imitate. When we arrived at her house, she was wearing a large soft bathrobe of the type that I've considered stealing from hotels. The only thing out of place about her appearance was that she was dead, and sprawled out across the kitchen floor. I could see her laying there as we approached the entrance to her modest home, through the screen door. The main door was open, and she appeared to have been shot. I set down the boy in his car seat, and reached for my phone. 911 would be quick, but I had quicker resources on my speed dial. Within minutes an ambulance and three squad cars pulled up. Lenny was the first man on the scene. "Geez, Chuck, what are you doing here?" "She called me about a job." "A job? Like, one of our jobs?" He gestured to himself and the other officers piling out of their cars. "I don't think so. Just a decorator job. She said her girlfriend's sister is married to a cop, says I did her kitchen. It might be Tony. Can you ask around for me, Lenny? You know my position on referral work outside of the department." "Sure thing, Chuck, no problem. I'll talk with the guys later today. We've gotta get this place locked down." "I'll come by the station later for a statement if you want. You think you'll need me for this job?" I asked. "Hard to say right now. Might be something simple for our homicide guys, but we'll be in touch. But do come in for that statement, you were the first on the scene, we better get you on paper." "Lovely. I'll be there." We returned to the car. Its an occupational hazard to be naturally suspicious, I suppose, but I was feeling uneasy. I still hadn't made up my mind about the visit from Samuel Doyle the night before. I didn't let it keep me from sleeping, but it had been in the back of my mind all morning. "Well," I said to the boy, "I guess our morning's been freed up, so whatever that man meant by "Tomorrow" can happen anytime now."

2005-09-16T10:40:00.000-04:00

I'm listening to A Prairie Home Companion from a few weeks ago. The week of Hurricane Katrina, New Orlean's own Dirty Dozen Brass Band played the show from the Minnesota State Fair. I've always been a fan, and sometimes a player myself, of their style of music, from the first time I heard Satchmo rip high notes out of the horn like they were going to save his life. There is so much great music from that part of the country. Its an odd experience to hear Garrison Keillor discuss the tragedy and then hear such bright, dancing music from people who probably feel so broken and scared for their friends and family. I'm reminded then that it was through suffering and fear that the their music was created. Dixieland, blues, gospel, and jazz, none of these were invented by some comfortable elitists in an air-conditioned room trying to come up with the next big thing, nor were they commissioned of by kings or queens for royal appreciation. Most of the best music that has been created in America has been created in the crucible of hardship, and why not? Who needs music the most, anyway, if not someone who doesn't have much else? Among other things, I'll be praying that the people affected by the storm find themselves a song. Say a prayer and write a check, people.

2005-09-09T09:40:00.000-04:00

Chuck Spanner, Interior Decorator two I was driving back to my office with the boy, after the hostage gig. It was getting on in the afternoon, and the sun made the river in the heart of the city burn with red and gold. I stopped at the newspaper stand in front of my office building, and bought my afternoon coffee. I've been buying coffee from Jimmy for about 4 years, ever since his old man got too sick to work. He's an honest kid, and a good pair of eyes to have on the street. "Whats the word, Jimmy?" "Nothing to report, General," Jimmy quipped. I picked up the car seat at my feet, the boy was still sleeping. "I've got some work to do this afternoon, so keep an eye out, and if anyone comes by looking like they need a decorator, give me a warning, ok?" Jimmy gestured to the old two-way radio on the counter behind the newspapers. "You got it, Chuck." The elevator was empty, as usual, and the doors protested and strained as they opened with a "ding" at the 11th floor. I've been meaning to call the landlord about the elevator, some day I'm going to get stuck in there at an inopportune time. I walked down the stained maroon carpet to my office at the end of the hallway. The windows behind my desk overlook a back alley and some dumpsters, so I keep the blinds closed. Many people have remarked that an interior decorator should have a nicer office, but the clients of most interior decorators are not on police officer budgets. Its the price of doing what I love, I console myself. I was drinking my coffee with my feet up on the desk when the phone rang. "Twice in one day, looks like Christmas is back on," I said to the boy, who was playing with some fabric swatches in the corner. I pushed the answer button, not in a hurry to move my feet. "Chuck Spanner." "Hi, are you the interior decorator?" A woman's voice came over the speaker. "Sure am. Are you calling about the police officer's discount?" Sometimes a first time client needs a little help getting through the formalities of my work. "Umm...no. I'm not an officer, I'm an accountant. My name is Tracy Richards." She sounded puzzled. "An accountant with the police?" I prompted, expectantly. "No. Whats all this about the police?" "What seems to be your trouble, miss?" Perhaps we could cut to the chase, I thought. "What are you talking about? There's no trouble. I'm remodeling my kitchen and I need a decorator." "Oh, right, of course." I struggled to collect myself, swinging my feet around to the floor and picking up the phone reciever. "May I ask who referred you to me?" I never advertise, and I don't hang a sign out. This is not the sort of client I usually do business with. "My girlfriend's sister just had their den redecorated. I liked the look of it so much, I had her get me your number from her husband's address book." Lenny doesn't have a den. It must have been Tony Fisk. I've often wondered about the benefit of asking my clients not to refer me to their friends, but explaining that to a cops wife would be suspicious to say the least. "So, would you like to set up a consultation visit? I just finished a job, so I have most of the rest of this week free." "That would be great, thank you. How about tomorrow at noon?" "That will be fine." I marked her appointment and address in my book, and hung up the phone. Great. A customer who is only looking for decorator work is much harder to please then a cop who is looking for a little extra service. My specialty is not redesigning kitchens, my specialty is a little more hands on. I had no sooner set down my pen when the phone rang again. I expected it was Ms. Richards again. "Chuck Spanner." "Mr. Spanner. We have a job for you." The voice was deep and smooth, with a slight accent that I couldn't quite place. "Who is we, and what kind of job?" I replied. Why do ominous phone voices always make vague statements and wait for a response before filling in the important parts? Am I supposed to say whether I'd take the job or not based on this statement?" "You have a reputation for not looking too closely at the type of job. This is what we require at this time." The voice was still calm, not elevating at all. "Well I'm quite particular about who I work for, so you may be wasting your time." I was not amused. "Perhaps we better speak in person." The line went dead. I hung up the phone and before I had lifted my hand from the reciever I heard a knock at the door. Mental note: Speak to Jimmy about the meaning of keeping an eye out. Before unlocking the three bolts on the door, I picked up the boy and put him back in his car seat, which I slid behind my desk next to the chair. Motioning to him the need for silence with my right hand, I reached with my left for the roll of quarters in the inside pocket of my jacket, hanging on the back of the desk chair. I gripped the quarters in my right fist, approached the door calmly, releasing each bolt from the top down. The man at the door was clearly no threat. Holding a briefcase in one hand, his other was resting on an antique ebony cane with a gold ball at the top. He appeared to be in his early 70's, with his suit appearing to be in its early 20's. "Mr. Spanner, I presume?" The distinct voice was that of the caller, I was sure. I slipped my hand into my pants pocket, releasing the roll of quarters in a manner I considered inconspicuous, but the elderly visitor was of keen eye. "Quarters? A man like you doesn't carry a firearm?" "Interior decorating isn't that dangerous a business, if you do it right." "Ah yes. Very well, then, I'll play along. May I come in?" His demeanor seemed to lighten a little, his face softening into a more grandfatherly smile. I had the feeling that although he was being polite, he may not take no for an answer. Realizing that the only way I was going to satisfy my curiosity was to hear him out, I took a step back from the door and watched him shuffle in towards one of the chairs facing my desk. As I walked around to my chair behind the desk, he began. "My name is Samuel Doyle. I represent a private agency that has been contracted by the U.S. Government to take care of a few," he paused for a breathe, "loose ends." "Let me guess. Their new bathroom tiles don't match the fixtures and drapes?" "Don't be coy, Mr. Spanner. You and I both know what you are." "And what, exactly, is that?" "You've been doing private detecting and the occasional muscle work for the police force and other clients for quite some time now. You don't ask a lot of questions. They can't pay you directly, because that would imply that the police condone your methods. Any implication which, for political reasons, they are not in a position to allow. As a result, you hide behind this childish ruse of imitation expensive lamps and wall hangings in order to facilitate the exchange of money from the force to your pocket." I decided there was no benefit in arguing the facts, but neither could I see how affirming his words would help my position, so I changed the subject. "So the feds are outsourcing spook work now? That doesn't sound likely." "The feds, like everyone from time to time, need the benefit of an outside perspective on things. A second opinion, if you will." "And you, somehow, convinced them that you were the perspective that they need?" "Exactly. A small task, when you consider that they are not willing to trust the details of this case with any of their own agents at this time." I was beginning to understand the situation. "So, the feds have a mole, they aren't sure how high up the mole sits on the chain of command, and they hired you." "Correct, I knew you'd understand. And we, in turn, would like to hire you. The job involves someone who is leading a double life, something that you obviously know a little about yourself." He smiled warmly, nonthreatening, but confident. "I don't see it that way." "Really? You charge money for amateurish decorator work, which you wouldn't be hired for by anyone who didn't also need some other problem taken care of for them, discretely. What exactly do you call that?" "A fortunate convergence of my career choice and my hobbies." "I see. You have interesting hobbies, Mr. Spanner." "Well here's the part that escapes me, Mr. Doyle. How did you manage to land this contract with Uncle Sam if you didn't have people ready to go to work? Don't you have your own resources?" "Ah, well I'm glad you asked. My company is more of a placement agency, not a vigilante group." "Great, so I'm supposed to give up being self-employed to do some temping?" "I have a unique gift for finding the right people for the right jobs." "But not necessarily in that order? You said you already have the contract." "Oh, we've had our eye on you for quite some time, Mr. Spanner. We were just waiting for the right job to come along." "Well, you may be wasting your time. As I mentioned, I'm a little bit particular about who I work for. Its one of the perks of being my own boss." "I think you'll want to consider our offer very carefully. Obviously the government does not know of your dealings with the local authorities. I assume you want to keep it that way." "Are you blackmailing me, Mr. Doyle?" "Not at all, Mr. Spanner. I'm simply stating the facts: if we are to inform our clients that the best man for their job is unavailable because his schedule is filled with under-the-table heavy work for the police, it may raise an eyebrow or two that you do not want raised." I said nothing, staring at this gentelman, trying to decide my next move. I was between a rock and a hard place, and about to jump from over the barrel into the fire. He broke the silence first. "And besides, the job pays very well, and I think you'll really like the people we have assembled to work with you." This last statement I at least had an answer for. "I work alone. You want me for this job, because of what I can do, then you have to let me do it my way." "For now, that is acceptable," Doyle said, rising to his feet. "But you are never alone, Mr. Spanner. Remember that." He removed an envelope from his inside jacket pocket, set it gingerly on the desk, patting it once to straighten it with the edge of the desk, and shuffled out of the room. I stared at the envelope for a full minute after the door had clicked shut. I picked it up and carefully used my letter opener against it's seam. Inside was a single business card with one word printed in the center, in small, neat lettering. "Tomorrow."

2005-09-08T15:04:00.000-04:00

Someone sent us one of these recently, and I thought it was a very cool idea.

2005-09-06T09:57:00.000-04:00

Home Depot Continued It occurs to me that if I did buy a new trash can, and got the free lid, and I wanted to get rid of the old lidless one, I wouldn't be able to. If I drag a trash can to the curb, they certainly wont take it away. They'll empty it out and leave it on the curb. If I leave it there, empty, it may puzzle them, but I bet they still wont take it. I'd have to wrap it in a trashbag and hope they don't notice, I suppose.

2005-09-06T09:29:00.000-04:00

I've noticed a condition that I experienced last year during our house purchase and preparation, that I seem to experience an increase in creative energy inversely proportional to the amount of sleep I'm getting. It could be the adrenaline of new adventure and life transition, but writing first thing in the morning seems to happen very naturally in these times. I'm not sure how many chapters I do of Chuck Spanner, but I welcome feedback if you are enjoying it.

2005-09-06T09:19:00.000-04:00

Chuck Spanner, Interior Decorator One I was at my desk reading the day's headlines, when the phone rang. I let it ring the customary three times, not wanting to appear over eager. "Chuck Spanner" "Chuck. Its Lenny. We got a live one today. You watching the news?" "Nope. Whaddya got?" "One shooter, 2 hostages. Typical disgruntled ex-employee. He's on the horn, but tearing our negotiator apart." "The new guy?" "Yeah. I'm not sure he has the stomach for this." "What are the demands?" "Oh, the usual impossibles. A free pass, his old job back, you know." "You want me to talk with him?" "I don't care what you have to do. One of the hostages is the chief's nephew, his sister's kid. He's a little worked up right now." I took down the address and checked my duffel. Tile samples, color book, fabric swatches, roll of quarters. I put the quarters into my inner jacket pocket. I picked out a nice lamp from the storeroom carefully packed it into the bag. The boy was sleeping in his car seat, and I grabbed him on the way out the door. Lenny was a good cop, but he knew when he was overmatched. He didn't have much sense of color, either, but his apartment had a nice open plan and I had been able to do some nice things with large hanging plants. The scene downtown was a mess. Eight squad cars, police blockades and blue uniforms everywhere. I picked out Lenny from the crowd, he was barking orders through a bullhorn and trying to look collected. "Chuck, you made good time." "I drove fast, most of the traffic cops are here, from the looks of it." "Yeah, well, we're a little nervous over this one. No one can get near the building, the shooter's on the fourth floor, he keeps moving from window to window, and keeping us pretty well pinned down." "Is there a way in?" "Parking garage 'round back. Freight elevator from there." "Ok, I'll be back soon." "F'cryin out loud, Chuck. You aint takin the kid in there are you? Why'd you bring him out here?" "His mom's out of town on business." "Well let one of our guys watch him, there's a man with a gun in there." "The gun is pointed out here at you guys, I think I'll take my chances." I drove around back and into the garage, parked, located the freight elevator and went to the fourth floor. When the elevator doors opened, I was in a reception area, neatly kept, with the exception of a man and a woman with duct tape over their mouths, tied to two of the chairs in the corner to my right, and with the second exception of two men with their shotguns pointed at my head about twenty feet away. One was wearing ripped jeans and a heavy metal t-shirt, the other, by contrast, had on neatly pressed dress slacks, and a white shirt with deep blue tie. I set the car seat down in the elevator, keeping the doors open. "How'd you get in here?" the dressy man asked. "Elevator," I replied calmly. The jean wearing man spoke, "That's an awfully nice suit for a cop. You hired muscle?" "Thank you. I'm an interior decorator. I heard they were looking for some new artwork for this office." I was slowly moving towards the center of the room. "What?" Jean-man looked puzzled. "There's a hundred cops outside, they wouldn't let no decorator in here." "Is that so? I didn't even see them, came in the back," I replied, the distance between me and the gunmen now about ten feet. "Is there a problem?" A muffled groan escaped from the man tied up, now behind me. I pretended not to notice him. Jean-man seemed to be the bigger talker. "There won't be a problem soon. We're just here to get my cousin his job back." He nodded towards the well dressed man. "Is that your boy?" I was now within arms reach of either man's gun barrel. "Yes sir, he's mine. Take your son to work day, today. But I suppose if I had known there would be all this excitement, I may have left him at home with his mother. As a matter of fact, I might have stayed home myself. I don't suppose the office manager is here, is she?" The well dressed man gestured with his gun to the woman tied up behind me. "That's her." "Oh. Well I don't suppose you'd consider letting me speak with her about her artwork? I drove all the way across town for this, and traffic was murder." "She's a hostage!" Jean-man spat, starting to lose his patience. "Oh, right, of course. Well, that's different then, isn't it." I turned my back on both men, to look at the woman. I took a half step backwards, absentmindedly, while making thoughtful noises. "Well, how about this. If you are planning on getting your job back, you certainly would want to help your office manager out with this decorating, right? And I'm not expert, but untying her now could only make things better for you in the long run, I would imagine." "I'm not so sure about that." He looked towards his cousin, "Jake said..." His voice ended abruptly as I finished my step backwards and brought my hands up on either side of me, shoving the shotguns towards the ceiling. I brought my elbows back sharply, in an attempt to knock the wind out of both opponents. The man I assume was Jake threw a hook at my head that would have hurt for days, if I hadn't stepped into him and landed an uppercut that landed him on his back on the receptionists desk. The well dressed man was regaining his composure and attempted to level his gun towards my chest, but he was too close to me for such a long shotgun, and I easily grabbed the barrel and wrested it from his grip. I tossed the gun across the room out of reach, and moved towards him. Obviously, cousin Jake was the mouth and muscle that had put the well dressed man up to this, because he crumbled into a heap on the floor, sobbing and shaking with fear. I tied the men up with their own belts and some phone cords, and then cut loose the hostages. They followed me outside, and some officers met us in the garage by my car. Lenny didn't seem surprised. Lenny is a smart man. "Good work as usual, Chuck," he said. "I suppose you'll want to be getting paid. Do we need to go back to my place?" "No," I replied, opening the trunk of my car and unzipping the duffel bag. "I have pictures of your apartment on file. Tell me what you think of this. That corner table by your easy chair needs a little more light." "That's a pretty nice lamp," Lenny said, "I'll take it. How much?" "Four hundred dollars." "Four hundred? Prices going up?" "There were two shooters, not one, you're lucky that's all I charge. And its a nice lamp." "Well," Lenny hesitated, and then nodded, "I suppose I don't have much choice." "You know the drill," I said. "If you want those little red candy fish, you can go to Ikea and buy your own lamp. If you want the additional services that I provide, you call Chuck Spanner, Interior Decorator."

2005-09-05T21:21:00.000-04:00

Home Depot Update You'll be relieved to know that even though I haven't written about them in a long time, there are still plent of humorous things going on at the Home Depot. Last night, while stopping in for some charcoal (the price has gone up by $2, but its still the best deal around) and some smoke wood (hickory), I attempted to buy some new lids for our outdoor trash barrels. One of the lids to our cans has been long gone, blown away or stolen as it was haphazardly thrown around by the garbage collectors, and the other has a 6 inch hole in the top that was apparantly caused by squirrels. I'm not sure how the squirrels originally broke through, they must have a little squirrel-awl or a squirrel-corkscrew to make a little hole, before they chewed around and widened it. In any case, we have one barrel without a lid, and one with squirrel-door access in it. So I was at the depot, and I asked the friendly lady walking by how much a trashcan lid cost. "How much for just the lid?" "You can't buy just the lid" "But I need a new lid" "You have to buy a can, the lids are free with them" "But if I buy another trashcan, I'll still have more cans then lids, it doesnt even anything out" "But if we let you buy a lid, then we'll have more trashcans then we have lids" "But you can order more, you're the Home Depot!" (shrugs, smiles)

2005-09-01T14:51:00.000-04:00

Well...we're home, as you've gathered. I plan on having a lot of writing to do about parenthood, babyhood, and all the other hoods, but quite frankly I'm not feeling up to it yet. Besides, all my best jokes this week have been quite unrepeatable to anyone with the exception of my wife, since most of them refer to baby and mother type activities. The best I could come up with is a rough draft for my first childrens book/song. Try it out on your kids and if they go cross-eyed or start to smell funny, let me know. A is for Arkansas B is for Baklava C is for Cha Cha Cha D is for Dingalingalingalingaling E is for Exoskeleton F is for Franco-American G is for Geriontologist H is for Hidehidehidehi I is for Ichthyology J is for Journal of Psychology K is for Krispy Kreme L is for Lamalamadingdong M is for Macrobiotic N is for Neurotic O is for Optimistic P is for Pee Q is for Quixote R is for Rigoletto S is for Sanguine T is for Toodeloo U is for Uvula V is for Vanagon W is for Wax Museum X is for Ten Y is for Yetti and Z is for Zimbabwe

2005-08-25T14:07:00.000-04:00

From now on you'll find baby updates and pictures here.

2005-08-24T21:53:00.000-04:00

We're home. Thanks to everyone for your letters and support.

2005-08-24T00:02:00.000-04:00

2005-08-23T12:21:00.000-04:00

it begins lets face it, you aren't here to read what I say today. you're here for these. the details: Bruce Wayne Stevens (named for my father), born 11:05PM August 22nd, 2005. 18.5 inches, 7 pounds and 1.5 ounces of masculine fury.

2005-08-08T12:30:00.000-04:00

Mail Call My mailbox here at work has two major functions: 1. Collecting my pay stub every-other week (the actual money is deposited, directly and electroncally, into my wife's purse), stapled to a bi-weekly newsletter that is promptly discarded. 2. Collecting technology-related junk mail. Although my paycheck is filled with many opportunities for comedy, today I will discuss junk mail. Specifically, the envelope I retrieved while microwaving my leftover pasta and sausage in the kitchen/mail/copy room declares, in red and blue, with more punctuation and fractured phrasing than necessary: "Get rid of spyware across your entire enterprise -- in minutes -- without leaving your desk!" Fabulous. Just what I needed. One more thing I can do without leaving my desk. One more excuse to stay seated, while my carpals tunnel, my weight increases, my eyes fail, and my vitality slowly drips away. I'm sure there are people in the Information Technology industry who might say "you know, if I could just find a way to spend more time sitting here at my desk, this job would be perfect. If I could get food and drink intravenously, I would be a paragon of productivity and perhaps even the employee of the month." What I want is an offer to take me on some sort of exotic information technology journey, to say "now, travel to foreign lands, have an excuse to be away from your desk for protracted periods of time, all under the guise of network security!" That envelope I would open, the product I would examine, and the purchase request form I would fill out and send to accounting. But when I get a chance to stretch my legs, flex my hands, and refocus my eyes as I go out to reheat my lunch, I see "Hey! Go sit down again! More ways to be chained to your desk! What are you doing up anyway? There is work to be done!" No thanks. Efficiency is bad for my health.

2005-08-04T10:07:00.000-04:00

Baseball News Oh Yeah!

2005-08-03T12:06:00.000-04:00

Hey Kids...sorry for the radio silence, nothing to report. The doc says not much chance of K-Mart opening ahead of schedule, so that puts us around next Monday, the 8th, for the big shebang (or hebang, we're not sure yet). Bridget is darn ready to get things underway, I think she's running laps around town right now tryin to get the party started. Also, we got a new camera, so you can rest assured that whatever happens, it will be well documented.

2005-07-22T14:40:00.000-04:00

instead of sleeping last night, i watched this. "Ask not what your rest home can do for you, ask what you can do for your rest home!"

2005-07-20T08:22:00.000-04:00

Compliment? A friend of mine has mentioned on more than one occasion that I should write down some of the interesting things I say. I just realized, now months later, that what she was implying was the phrase "instead of speaking them."

2005-07-18T10:01:00.000-04:00

Multiple Choice: How humid is it?

A. A ten minute walk and I'm sweating like I've run a marathon, only without the inevitable cardiac arrest or complete lung collapse that I would doubtless experience in the second mile.

B. I was drier in the shower this morning than I am standing outside waiting for my train at 8:45

C. I am a human teabag, steeped in the dainty cup of Philadelphia humidity, atop an asphalt saucer with taxicab biscuits alongside.

2005-07-15T09:24:00.000-04:00

Family Business, by special guest bloggers I'm happy to feature two guests to the blog, today. In order of appearance: Julie Kunst, aunt of the impending offspring, and my wife Bridget, host to the same. Dear niece/nephew, Soon you will be welcomed into this world so I want us to start getting more acquainted. You should be aware of the one rule I have for you and Alexia: I am your favorite aunt, regardless of what your other relatives may tell you. It's going to be hard for us to see each other a lot so I expect that when you're old enough to talk you'll convince your mom and dad to move closer to me. I know that you got a lot of presents this past weekend so you'll have to let me know what important things you still need. I'll make sure I don't buy any outfits that you'll look silly in-there's nothing worse than a silly outfit! Don't be sad if we don't meet immediately after you're born. You've given no guarantees on a Birthday yet so I'll have to wait and then book a flight down to see you. I'll try to bring you a b-day cake but remember I live far away and it might not taste the same by the time it gets to you. Of course you'll be eating everything second hand anyway so it shouldn't make a difference. On the subject of names: I have heard Kermit coming up in conversation. You must rebel at all costs against this one, I cannot stress this enough!! They get to choose the name you'll have for the rest of your life, don't let them go crazy. Just keep crying when they say your name if you don't like it, they'll get the hint eventually. Okay, I don't want to overwhelm you so that's all I'm going to write for now. There's a lot to learn when you're first born but don't be scared, I'm coming down to help you out. Lots of love from Aunty (the #1 aunt. don't forget that!) Dear auntie: don't worry, mommy already promised me I would not be named Kermit. She says she'll have the dr's give daddy an epidural if he insists on the name during delivery. On the other hand, I am not totally sure mom and dad have a final name for me, so I am a little nervous, but they seem pretty smart, so hopefully they will figure it out soon. The dr looked at me the other day with what mom called an ultrasound. All I know is they push on me a lot and take pictures and measure my bones and head. Theythink I weigh 5 lbs 13 oz, but maybe a pound more or less. I think its rude to talk about my weight, I am not done growing yet and at the rate mom is sending me Snickers I'm likely to fatten up nicely. The dr said Iwon't be 9 lbs, and mommy was very happy. I don't see why, 9 lbs is a good solid weight. The other dr checked mom out on tuesday. He noticedthat I am all nice and snug in mom's tummy and not even close to coming out yet. I made a deal with the womb not to contract yet, so I can stay in here awhile longer. I don't see any reason to do all that work of being born, besides its only week 36, and I still have a little room. Mom says I don't but she can't see in here. She gets cranky when I use my foot to explore her ribs. But she is happy that I moved my head down. I was proud about that. Well, daddy is having a baby shower at work today, soI don't know what I need yet. I think I will need more cloth diapers. Mom bought me really cool ones, but not quite enough since I plan on being very prolific in the pee and poo area of life. Mom will have to tell you when she knows more later. Right now I feel like napping. I got my excercise when mom woke up this morning. Thanks for the introduction auntie! Love, baby

2005-07-05T10:28:00.000-04:00

Please Welcome The latest addition to my family.

2005-06-30T10:04:00.000-04:00

The labor class people have suggested that we bring a boombox with some music to relax, distract, or otherwise assist the wife during the labor process. I've suggested some songs before, but here's my new Birthing Mega-Mix. Driving to the Hospital: A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Presley (remixed) Early Labor: I Get Knocked Down - Chumbawumba Intense Labor: 1812 Overture - Tchaikovsky (with real cannons) Baby Presentation: We Are the Champions - Queen I'm sure I'll need a couple more songs for the labor stages, but this is a good start, I think. Also, more strange things to say to the doctor when the baby is handed to us (a continuation of this and this: 1. No thanks. 2. Delicious! 3. Woah, she knows kung-fu! 4. So thats what all the noise was about, huh?

2005-06-28T16:58:00.000-04:00

The Countdown to Parenthood Continues The debate rages in our home over baby names. Rages may be too strong a word, though. The debate in our home over baby names sits beneath the fast food heating lamp of perpetual indecision, in any case. Apparantly not all words with the feminine "a" at the end make fabulous girls names in my wife's opinion. Spatula, Australia, Medulla Oblongata, all rejected. And apparantly not all famous male names are desirable either. Omar, Elvis, and Kermit sit atop the scrap heap of potential offspring-identifiers. Some days I feel that we wont really be satisfied with a name unless we get a chance to try it out for a few weeks with the actual child. Two weeks each with our four favorite names should do the trick, and we'll have a proper moniker on the little crumb-cruncher well in time for Christmas cards. Of course the child will never find out. It really is a brilliant design by God to have kids not remember much that happens in the first two years. Its like a teacher dropping your lowest exam scores at the end of a semester. You're bound to make some monumental blunders in the baby-handling department, and we'll just be prepared for it by disavowing any knowledge of said blunders and removing them from the memory of your child, leaving them reasonably healthy and well adjusted until they reach the age of three. After that, you're on your own. The last thing you want is a precocious three-year old yelling "Careful? You tell me to be careful after you almost dropped me on the cold tile floor two years ago? Where was your 'careful' then? You know that 'bouncing baby' is just an expression, right?" No good can come of this. Time-synced amnesia is a built-in form of grace for the neophyte parent, and saves our nation millions of dollars annually in therapy bills. You've got enough problems with your parents just from what you do remember, why add two more years? My wife had a doctor's appointment today that I was not able to attend. Apparantly we are up to weekly visits now, where they essentially make sure the baby hasn't fallen out since the last trip 7 days ago. I would assume that we'd notice if that happened, but, unlike Tom Cruise, I tend to trust the professionals on this one. So there will be lots of waiting room time in our future, lots of pink paper gowns that would be considered inappropriate in almost any other setting (although I'm considering showing up to work in one, to see if anyone notices), lots of little cups, scales, jelly-like substances, medical apparatus, and paper forms. Lots of "do you have any questions" from the professionals and lots of "No. Should we? I mean, I don't know, what should I have questions about? Are we bad parents for not asking enough questions?" from us. Hopefully something funny will happen soon, and the next entries will practically write themselves.

2005-06-27T13:43:00.000-04:00

The Perilous Journey: In Which The Family Discusses K-Mart, and The Baby Learns Kung-Fu

You may have noticed that I neglected to tell you about the last two labor classes we attended a couple of weeks ago. This sort of writing is fraught with peril, as many people become squeamish by medical talk. I am one of those people. Many people find themselves in awkward positions around issues of the body, childbirth, and child-raising. For example, my friend Steve has narrowly avoided a civil suit while walking into Babies "R" Us, and, upon not finding the bottle section, asking a rather well endowed counter-woman "Excuse me, where do you keep your nipples?" Peril, I tell you. Its everywhere.

So in my case there is no way to discuss the events factually without using the word "uterus" more times than most people, especially me, are comfortable. There was a whole lot of uterus talk, and I'm just not going to enjoy reproducing (har har) it all here. So from here on, we will be referring to that general area that is the business end of birthing as "K-Mart." K-Mart really is an amazing place. All sorts of little miracles that make up the One Big Miracle happen at K-Mart. I have seen more pictures, diagrams and maps of K-Mart then I ever dreamed posible. Given the right working materials and tools, I believe I could reconstruct K-Mart from scratch, such is the depth of detailed knowledge that has been thrust apon me. Thrust is another word I will try to avoid for the rest of my tale.

The second class at the hospital was mercifully free of cattle humor. The cause of this was also the downside, though. We were the only students in attendance. Yessiree, just what I wanted: A one-on-one (one-on-two, I guess?) session in labor, breathing, and, of course, K-Mart. In a room of a dozen couples, its easy to stand in the back and do our massage, breathing, slow dancing, and fake emotional support stuff in a relaxed manner, with a few quiet humorous comments to relieve the pressure. I had hoped that I would live my whole life without ever standing in a quiet room, with the piano/flute/cricket orchestra playing, slow dancing with my wife and telling her when to breathe, while a middle aged, friendly nurse looked on, timing the fake contractions with her stopwatch, and then saying "I liked the way you held her hand when you told her to breathe." Another hope unfulfilled, though. And then, of course, we had the series of laminated maps of K-Mart. Again, in a larger crowd we would be able to admire K-Mart from afar, but there was no escape. We got the full frontal K-Mart tour in a private session.

Don't get me wrong, now. I have all manner of respect for K-Mart. It is where we all come from, and it plays a vital role in this whole project. It is worthy of honor and fear, and its a wonder that the guys in our little classes aren't just hanging around the water cooler discussing it. "Hey, whaddya think of that K-Mart?" "That's something, allright." "Does it have a hemi?" The third and final class was a return to the classroom full of parents-to-be. Less about breathing and screaming, this class had a lot of information about drugs, medical procedures, and the sort of things that I sincerly hope the doctors retain better than I did. One of the highlights was the diagram of the baby-health-monitor, which appears to be a metal rod protruding from the top of the babies head during the labor process. It appears to be in the line drawing, but we were told, assured, and insisted upon that this is just a surface attached little electrode that monitors the vital signs of the child. Being a software developer myself, I am convinced that given a little time alone with the machinery I could program it to teach my baby Kung Fu in-K-Mart-o. Naturally I made this suggestion at least once to my wife as we looked over the diagrams. We took a tour of the birthery after the class, saw the warming trays, toaster ovens, and various medical apparati that the hospital has to work with if needed, and we tried not to notice the woman screaming down the hall.

As much as my life this past month has been all about K-Mart, I gather from all my friends who have recently experienced the One Big Miracle that my life soon will become entirely about poop. I can hardly wait!

2005-06-24T23:08:00.000-04:00

More Pics I took these pics from our suite window the first night we were there. No wonder the city never sleeps, there is so much light we would offer be up at midnight thinking, "lets go out!!" not even realizing how late it was.

2005-06-24T22:45:00.000-04:00

"Thank you for not dying in our deli." By the way, we finally went to the Belly Delly deli, of "we don't like to deliver" fame. There was plenty of good food, literally available by the pound. We bought a couple of pounds and went upstairs to the seating area, where we were greeted by the following sign: Bridget took those pics, and these. Rupert Jee's Hello Deli from Letterman fame, and the Frozen Fruit Whippy sign Dave instructed him to post on show the night before.
And let's not forget:

2005-06-24T22:34:00.000-04:00

The Journey Home Now I am eating eggs, over-hard, and drinking Moxie. When I sleep, I may dream of riding a three-legged mule through Chucky Cheese's ball pit, and this dream may remind me of our 13 block 45 minute cab ride to Penn Station at rush hour. Or I may dream of dragging an elephant by it's trunk up the side of a mountain in the middle of a rockslide, and be reminded of walking through Penn Station at 5:30 PM dragging our luggage through a crowd of people roughly equivalent to the population of my home state. I may be glad to be home, to have the night time actually be dark, or I may miss the freedom of being out of town, away from the routine and responsibility of life.

2005-06-24T21:24:00.000-04:00

By the way...just got in from NYC. It was a longish, painfulish trip. I'll tell you a story when I recover.

2005-06-24T21:22:00.000-04:00

Pretty much what I've been telling people for years. In a Postmodern Fundamentalist.

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative

94%

Fundamentalist

75%

Postmodernist

69%

Romanticist

63%

Modernist

31%

Existentialist

25%

Idealist

25%

Materialist

What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com

2005-06-22T22:53:00.000-04:00

Chapter 3, The Quest for Food It was 7:30, and I was hungry. The ballgame was on TV and I didn't feel like leaving the room, but room service costs were approaching NASA project equivalence. We decided to order delivery from a deli that Bridget had seen down the street. They had a menu on the internet with indications that they deliver for free, and the sandwich prices looked reasonable. "Belly Deli, hello?" "Hi, I want to place an order for delivery" "We can't deliver at this time" "OK thanks." click A few minutes later we decide that the deli is close enough to pick up the food ourselves. "Belly Deli, hello?" "I'd like to place an order for pickup" "Ok hold on" Local easy listening on a FM radio station for a few minutes. The line picks up again, and I hear someone in the background, I pick up a little bit: "they don't come pick up their orders..." "Hello?" "Hello I'd like to place an order for delivery" "OK" "I'll have a cheeseburger with..." "Hang on, hang on...is this cash?" "No, credit" "OK....see, the problem we have is, people don't pick up their orders that they call in." "Well, I'm going to pick this order up, I'm hungry!" "Well..ok." "I'll have a cheeseburger with..." "Hang on! Let me get a pencil" I'm not sure what else he thought I was calling to do, if not to place an order, but apparantly writing implements are in scarce supply in the deli's of Times Square. After waiting for a minute or two we decided to spare him the fear of an unclaimed phone order, so I hung up. The baseball game was just getting interesting, so we decided to watch the rest of it before we ventured out to get some food in person from the diner, the old fashioned way, just like the pilgrims used to do it. As the game wrapped up, it was 10:30. I was no longer craving a beef brisket sandwich and my wife wasn't in the mood for a cheeseburger. What we really wanted was popcorn. The microwave in our suite would most likely be accomodating, but we lacked the other essential ingredients to make our dream a reality. I felt like a caveman who had just discovered fire, the day after the buffalo had migrated away. You can't eat fire. Trust me. We ventured out to Broadway, noting the high-noon levels of light despite the high-10:45PM Eastern Standard Time. As we approached 48th street, I saw something I have never seen before. Something beautiful, as if my late night, brisket-deprived dreams had found purchase in the fertile soil of New York City and sprouted into a magical beanstalk of capitalist perfection. Dale and Thomas Popcorn. A whole store dedicated to the creation and distribution of nature's finest between-meal nourishment. Popcorn mixed with many flavors, chocolate, cheddar, barbecue. Barbecue popcorn. I didn't buy any barbecue popcorn, but my heart is warmed knowing that such a thing exists. We bought some Movie Theatre Traditional (salted) as a main course, and Chocolate Chunk 'n Caramel for dessert, with some bottled water. There is a place where dreams come true, my children. A city embued with magic in its constant advertisement-powered daylight. It is New York City, where you can find a store dedicated solely to Popcorn.

2005-06-22T17:45:00.000-04:00

Because you looked worried Because you looked worried I thought I'd let you know that we are still here at the DoubleTree. Apparantly the solution that the folks back at the home office came up with was to put the room on our business manager's personal credit card. Colleen let me know that it wasn't my imagination, I really didn't get the information that we were supposed to be paying for the room, so at least I feel like I didn't forget anything I was told. The training class has been good. The instructor is a good guy, a little older, with a lot of experience, an outgoing easy manner, and a laugh like Roscoe P. Coltrane. He is very patient and willing to look at why my program, which my partner and I have modified and improved to the point of disfunction. We are halfway through the classes, and I'm looking forward to the next set. Last night we took the subway down to the village to meet Kenny and Erika. This was a long, painful endeavour involving being at the wrong subway stations, on the wrong streets, and ending up at the wrong Union Station on the wrong 14th avenue and walking in the wrong direction. But the food at ArtePasta was good, and the coconut sorbet at the place down the street was good, and the company was great, and the subway ride back to Times Square was much more direct and didn't involve 20 minutes of walking and a taxicab ride born of desparation. This evening we'll probably stay in the room and watch a ballgame on tv, while trying not to think about all the madness and responsibility that will no doubt still be there for us when we return home. The training/vacation model is a good one. Bridget sleeps till 11 while I am in class, then she meets me for lunch and hangs out at the hotel for the evening. I'm back with her by 4:45PM and we have a full length evening to fill with whatever excitement we can muster, or whatever quiet we can savor. Speaking of lunch, yesterday we went to Rupert Jee's Hello Deli, of David Letterman fame. Rupert himself took our order and our money. We didn't attempt any celebrity talk, because there was a steady stream of people stopping by to take his picture and ask questions. We did sit at the one table in the deli eating our sandwiches and listen to him very politely answer people, make small talk, and play celebrity, all while still running his business, looking for lids for the soup containers, and doing the hands-on work. He seems pretty much exactly like you see on television, unflappable very tolerant of the madness around him, be it touristing customers or Letterman's antics. We also recognized one of the Late Show crew whose name eludes us both, but does some bits on the show. Today walking around the same area, near the building my class is in, we saw Biff Henderson also. That's all for now, and its much more than you asked for, but you looked worried.

2005-06-21T07:45:00.000-04:00

Drama in the Big Apple We arrived at DoubleTree Suites Times Square this afternoon after a relatively calm Amtrak trip from Philly and cab ride from Penn Station to 47th and 7th. Having never spent time in this city I was surprised to see everything look so much like the movies. It's easy to see why Spider-Man could have a career here but not in Philadelphia. There just aren't enough tall buildings close together to really get anywhere via web-swinging, you'd end up taking a cab and getting stuck on Walnut Street or something. Philadelphia would be a better place for someone like The Flash, or anyone who can fly, I suppose. The U.S. Dollar is down against the NYC Dollar this week. Paying fifteen honest to goodness American dollars for a plate of chicken fingers and some french fries was an experience I'll not soon forget nor forgive. And speaking of dollars, we are experiencing some technical difficulties determining who is actually supposed to pay for this hotel suite. I was under the impression that when I recieved the notification that my room had been arranged through the offices of my employer, the information given to reserve it was also sufficient to pay the bill. I was mistaken. Apparantly, since my last overnight business trip, the financial rules of the company have changed. Every expense except plane and train fares are expected to be payed by the traveller, and then reimbursed by accounts payable. This seems like a scam to be. Essentially, I am loaning the company money at zero interest, money that I am usually borrowing from my own creditor, for a period of however long they take to process my forms and issue my reimbursment check. I was not aware that this was the arrangement when I arrived at the third floor of the hotel and attempted to sign in. "Your credit card is declined for this amount, Mr. Stevens." "I don't want to pay for the room on my card, it should be billed to the card that the room was reserved under." "I'm sorry, we need you to pay for this room on your card." Neither my wife nor I carry enough credit cards to foot the bill for a Times Square business hotel suite, and this was about to become a problem. A few quick calls later, I managed to get my friend Jamie from my department's business office on the line right as he was trying to get out the door to meet his kids. Multiple phone calls and faxes ensued, the mating songs and dances of business machines trying to come to agreement. Eventually, I was given two room keys, two warm cookies, and a smile. We were in, or so we thought. All was well as we unpacked our bags on the ninth floor, admiring the explosive colors of advertising billboards and video signs, the merger of technology, art, and commerce as high as the sky and as far as the eye could see. I was admiring the merger of porcelain, tile, and paper in another anteroom, when I hear the phone ring. I could hear the phone ring because there was a phone right next to the commode. I decided to let my wife answer the call, while I answered another. I hear her voice...it appears that Jamie's efforts were to less avail then we had hoped. The card was declined regardless of multiple attempts to persuade the restrictive financial situation to relent. At this time (9:33 PM) we are still in our room, currently reserved for one night on our own paltry credit, eating tira misu, watching the Red Sox beat the Indians on ESPN2 (a luxury not afforded my home cable package). I've left emails for the relevant players to take up the charge first thing tomorrow morning, and hopefully while I am attending nerd school, my wife will not be wandering the streets of Times Square with all our luggage after checkout time. Stay tuned as the story unravels, or perhaps ravels. In other news, the view from our room is really spectacular, if you like that Broadway sort of lighting scheme. I've taken some pictures that I'll try and post soon.

2005-06-20T13:16:00.000-04:00

gone In less than two hours I'll be aboard an Amtrak train of some sort bound for Manhattan with my wife. I'll be there until Friday night, taking a Learning Tree course. Perhaps one of the nights we are hanging around the hotel I'll blog some more about the labor training, how it is that our baby will learn Kung Fu, and any interesting stories about all the NERDY people you meet at these types of events.

2005-06-15T16:18:00.000-04:00

Worlds are colliding, Jerry! With the exception of e-commerce, which I am by now accustomed to, it still surprises me on occasion to have the world that I view through dual 17" LCD monitors, or through a laptop on my couch, intersect with the world I hold in my hand and carry around in my messenger bag. Specifically I'm referring to the a notebook I just recieved as part of the Wandering Moleskine Project. As I type, I am looking over notebook #1, and making preparations to add my own contribution to a collective journal that is being mailed around the world. So far entries have been made by people in Zachary, LA, Sebastapol, CA, and wherever Joy started the book from. I know it shouldnt surprise me, but its an odd feeling to hold the book in my hand that I'm looking at a picture of on what is essentially someone else's blog. I'll be scanning pages for the website and mailing it off as soon as I can, and then it will go back to being one of those things I see through the screen, a virtual rather than physical reality.

2005-06-15T14:13:00.000-04:00

This looks like a great event, right up my alley. I don't expect I'll attend, but knowing that something like this exists makes me feel good. IDEAS Boston 2005

2005-06-15T09:47:00.000-04:00

A message to the young lady driving down Springfield Road around 7:40 this morning with the Mardi Gras beads and the Crucifix all hanging from the rearview mirror: "What the?"

2005-06-11T11:18:00.000-04:00

This is great news. G8 ministers back Africa debt deal - Jun 11, 2005

2005-06-07T11:56:00.000-04:00

Labor Training If you've never seen 10 large and very pregnant woman down on all fours on the floor in a conference room then you've probably never had to work as hard as I did to refrain from saying, at exactly the perfect comically-timed moment, "moo." In a similar vein, our class started 30 minutes late because the earlier class wasn't done getting their tour, apparantly the herd was straying for quite some time. There was another, younger couple waiting in the hall with us for the cows to come home, and so we made polite conversation. Polite conversation between two pregnant women is unlike any other polite conversation you've ever had. I imagine its similar to living in a retirement home, when everyone involved is of the age that experts call "talking about all your internal, physical problems loudly." I can't even tell you anything else about it because, quite frankly, I was trying to stuff my socks into my ears. I know more about the inner workings of a woman I've never met before and who's name I did not learn then I know about some of my closest family members. All I remember is that she said her nose was one of the first things to get fat. The class itself was informative. Much information was given about the right ways to breathe (in, and then out, if I recall), positions for sitting, creating a positive environment to relieve the stress of the labor process. The teacher suggested bringing a portable stereo to the hospital, with soothing type music. I suggested "Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine" by the White Stripes, but Bridget declined. The lights were dimmed, blankets were laid on the floor, and music was played. It was like being on hold with technical support, only instead of only hearing that relaxing music that they play to calm irate cusomters who are largely irate about being on hold, the same music that actually increases my blood pressure with its merciless, candy-coated insistence of relaxation, the experience was like having all five senses involved in the same on-hold pattern. Familiar classical piano and flute pieces droned on accompanied by the nature-inspired sounds of crickets, waves, wind, and dirt. I tried not to think about there not being many crickets in the ocean. I also tried not to envision wolves coming out of the woods and eating the chamber orchestra who was rehearsing on the beach. I tried not to tell my wife that I was thinkin about this, but was unsuccessful. Laughing is not the same as the deep and shallow breathing patterns we were learning, but if you squint your eyes at the right time you can make it look fairly similar. We practiced different sitting techniques, breathing, massaging, etc. We were instructed, as the men of the group, to be supportive, understanding, and above all, to not take personally any of the vicious character assassinating comments that are likely to accompany a later phase of delivery. Our main role in the class was to say the right things at the right time. Like during the slow-dancing (seriously) phase, one might say "careful, this is how you got that way to begin with," or during another lesson, "moo." Our second class is this Sunday, I believe its called "Don't Drop the Baby," and features techniques for defending oneself from a wolf attack while attending a beachfront concert.

2005-06-01T08:00:00.000-04:00

Rollout Wednesday I was in early today to get ready for a pretty good sized software upgrade. We've been working on this project for far too long and it will feel good, I hope, to get it out the door. I called my boss just now to see if his part (running a big stack-o-scripts on the Oracle server) was done so I can release the new client software. Me: Are we almost ready? Boss: Yeah...umm...no...umm...hold on Me: OK Boss: {click} He hung up. He didn't say click. Whoops, just called. Now I'm testing...looks like we're good to go...gotta run.

2005-05-30T16:19:00.000-04:00

Beer Can Chicken I made my first attempt at smoking in my Weber charcoal grill today. Beer can chicken, smoked with mesquite. This will also be my first dry rub, and first indirect cooking of something this size. Although I'm working without a thermometer, and without a separate firebox, the results were excellent. Its definitely something we'll do again. Now that I know the smoking will work, I'll be experimenting a lot this summer. the tools the ingredients prep ready served eaten

2005-05-27T11:19:00.000-04:00

"i like them the same way i like my cocaine...in carefully measured doses, followed by a stint at rehab"

2005-05-27T11:18:00.000-04:00

Survey: Northeast has dumbest drivers CNN

2005-05-26T10:19:00.000-04:00

Holy Cow I just realized I've spent the last 30+ minutes looking for cool baby clothing online. Baby clothing. Like, the kind of clothes you put on babies. In other words, I was not looking at new guitars, technology news items, movie reviews, television show reviews, organizational techniques, or any of the other normal things I do on the internet. I'm sure this marks the beginning of something. Or the end. Or both.

2005-05-19T15:19:00.000-04:00

I dont know how I've lived without this.

2005-05-19T12:06:00.000-04:00

A good night. First barbecue of the season was last night, pulled pork and ribs to make you weep with joy. I discovered Boddingtons, and oh yes, we will meet again. The new board is lovely, like riding a sofa down the street. The cadillac comparisons in the reviews were right on. Got a bunch of people to try their hand at skating Glenwood Ave. Very few injuries, also. Erika lookin all bad on the nosewalker. Tim controls the board with his mind, walks it like a puppy.

2005-05-18T16:55:00.000-04:00

RIP The Riddler CNN.com - Batman's Riddler, Frank Gorshin, dead - May 18, 2005

2005-05-18T15:07:00.000-04:00

important news 1. 1Z 559 7YF 03 4127 423 3 Delivered Delivered on: May 18, 2005 9:21 A.M. Delivered to: US Signed by: KAISER Service Type: GROUND and here i am stuck at work.

2005-05-16T21:03:00.000-04:00

Well, another test come and gone, and I probably didn't fail. I probably even got a B+ on one of them, although by the time they are graded and returned to me, I'll have forgotten them and stopped caring. Actually, I've already stopped caring. A good night for skateboarding, I haven't been in a week, but the board isn't here yet. My sources predict a Wednesday arrival, which would be great because La Tortuga and the BoardToBeNamedLater will be in attendance, but the UPS tracking system hasn't been updated since Friday. I'm hoping that's because the tracking system is faulty, and not because the board never left San Rafael. From now on we only buy boards made in Collingdale.

2005-05-16T12:47:00.000-04:00

i will bless the Lord, and my soul will sing, because He has given me sweet and sour chicken in the presence of my workplace. and i will journey to the microwave, and i shall not return until the chicken is at the appropriate temperature. it shall not be too hot, that i might burn my lips, nor shall it be too cold, which is an abomination in my sight.

2005-05-16T12:44:00.000-04:00

SaintLukas: i am gonna fail the heck out of some VLI this evening TimmyBoom: Hah. That good, huh? SaintLukas: oh yeah SaintLukas: calendar convergence circumvented curriculum consumption TimmyBoom: That's about the fanciest way I've ever heard someone say they didn't have time to study.

2005-05-13T11:47:00.000-04:00

Q: How many Sith does it take to screw in a lightbulb? A: Nobody can tell. The singular is the same as the plural!

2005-05-11T09:23:00.000-04:00

Liam is in his "why?" stage. "What happened to your arm?" "I fell off a skateboard" "Why did you fall off your skateboard and hurt yourself?" "Because I was going too fast" "Why were you going too fast?" "Because of gravity" "What's gravity?" "Its the thing that makes you fall down" (suspiciously) "Is it poisonous?"

2005-05-10T17:55:00.000-04:00

If you can't hit the ground running, then hitting the ground forcefully in a downhill rolling fashion is a reasonable alternative.

2005-05-10T17:54:00.000-04:00

write it! i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks. i will not skate in birkenstocks.

2005-05-10T13:59:00.000-04:00

Coming Soon The guy isn't as tall as me. Board is 55 or 57 inches.

2005-05-06T16:44:00.000-04:00

Timmy moved his blog, I'll update the side link shortly. 1013third

2005-05-03T23:35:00.000-04:00

longboard lets go, man. dont walk it. push up the hill, earn the ride back down. watch out for that van, he wont watch out for you. macdade and back, uphill and down, work 'em both. this isn't a carnival ride, use your legs. the pavement sucks here, but keep moving. is that headlights on your left? no, just street lights. here we go, the downhill, catch your breath. no stop signs on the cross street, start prayin, 'cause braking is next weeks lesson. made it, no cars. i love late nights.

2005-05-03T23:31:00.000-04:00

personal trainer come on, push. i'm out of breath. no your not, i can hear you breathing heavy. that means you're just getting started, you weren't workin until now, move. i just need to rest for a minute rest? you sit for a living. rest at work. i'm serious, i'm winded you're barely warmed up. you think that when you get tired that means you're done. you're finally working at it. i'm spent. you're just starting to spend, now. you've got some left. lets slow down. if you weren't struggling, it wouldn't be worth anything. i think i'm dying. you've been dying, fat man. this is the other thing.

2005-05-02T10:54:00.000-04:00

Peter Manfredo Jr., the pride of Providence, wins last night on The Contender

2005-04-25T22:11:00.000-04:00

TimmyBoom: "Why do you keep calling that girl 'iBook'?"

2005-04-25T12:51:00.000-04:00

Food for Thought for Food Smoked Turkey is a totally different thing then regular turkey. It changes the character of the sandwich more than any other condiment, vegetable, or bread choice.

2005-04-24T21:55:00.000-04:00

The Contender Update Man, Alfonso is just awesome.

2005-04-22T11:14:00.000-04:00

Dear Tim: Sorry about your toe. I hope you get lots of sympathy from the babes. Luke

2005-04-21T09:59:00.000-04:00

By the way: I added some links of blogs I read regularly.

2005-04-21T09:39:00.000-04:00

I was sitting in the yard on a couch we dragged out from my house, drinking my first Belhaven Scottish Ale, courtesy of Tim, smelling the pipes, and taking a couple spins down Glenwood Avenue on the longboard. We were watching Dave board barefoot, goofy-footed, and mongo, leaving a smoke trail that you couldn't quite see by the street lamps at midnight, but could smell, from the pipe still in his lips. He said afterwards that its a bad way to smoke a pipe. You'd have to call that a good night.

2005-04-20T14:16:00.000-04:00

Post Your Response TimmyBoom: Once again, it makes me wonder at what you could do if your powers were used for good instead of evil. SaintLukas: i'm open to suggestions SaintLukas: i'll post the question to my blog

2005-04-19T11:05:00.000-04:00

True Stories I just about dislocated my shoulder and gave myself a severe case of temporary dyslexia trying to apply a generic brand icy hot patch to my own lower back, using the mirror in the rest room.

2005-04-19T10:18:00.000-04:00

McSweeney's Internet Tendency: Opening Day Genesis.

2005-04-19T09:59:00.000-04:00

Why is it that... When someone says "to make a long story short" they are almost always either unable or unwilling to do so, and are in the process of demonstrating that?

2005-04-18T12:14:00.000-04:00

These are the rules, obey them. Sample: "All Ushers have been appointed to their position by God and the leaders and all youth are expected to respect and obey them. "

2005-04-14T12:53:00.000-04:00

Cards for that Slightly Above Average Person in Your Life Tim-bob and I discuss the lack of good "like" cards, for those budding, potential, and taking-it-slow relationships. We're here to help. SaintLukas: "how do i like thee, let me count the ways" SaintLukas: 1. you are nice SaintLukas: 1. TimmyBoom: 1. you're nice. 1a. you're really nice. SaintLukas: i like you more than i like orange juice, but less than i like coffee TimmyBoom: Somehow I don't know that that would be taken well. SaintLukas: well you gotta start slow SaintLukas: set boundaries, etc TimmyBoom: True. It's just a way of pacing things. Good point. SaintLukas: yeah SaintLukas: some day you may like someone even more than coffee SaintLukas: but less than purple skittles TimmyBoom: Gives a list to work up. "Today, I've decided that I like you more than hot dogs, but still not as much as a cheese steak." TimmyBoom: Hah. Right. SaintLukas: totally SaintLukas: cheese steak is darn close to that other l word SaintLukas: lust SaintLukas: i mean SaintLukas: never mind TimmyBoom: You lust after cheese steaks? That's just weird, man. SaintLukas: i need you like a long walk in the park...in other words, i could live without both, but its not quite as much fun. SaintLukas: there needs to be a line of hallmark cards for this sort of thing. "you're ok by me", etc TimmyBoom: "I have no problem with you right now." SaintLukas: "lets be slightly more than just friends, but not too much more. just enough to keep you from dating anyone else, because that would suck." TimmyBoom: Hah SaintLukas: "i want to have that awkward moment where our hands brushed by eachother as we were walking, and we almost held hands" SaintLukas: "gazelles! gazelles!" TimmyBoom: "Remember that time you accidentally touched my leg? I do." SaintLukas: awesome! SaintLukas: "thanks for not being a jerk" SaintLukas: "i like you in a way that i dont usually like people. i mean, my friends are cool and all, but come on"SaintLukas: "i never thought i could like again, but you showed me i was wrong, when you almost called that night" SaintLukas: "you're the best girl i've never dated" SaintLukas: "i've got a list of everything i'm looking for in a woman. please read it and see what you can do to change" SaintLukas: the like we share is almost recognizeable TimmyBoom: I haven't felt this way in over a year. SaintLukas: "this seems to be workin out well enough" SaintLukas: i've been in far worse quasi-relationships than this one TimmyBoom: If we had a relationship, it'd be going really well, I think. SaintLukas: i've never liked anyone as much as i like you, without it getting really messy and painful TimmyBoom: I can't wait till we're dating so that we can break up and then get back together. SaintLukas: i feel like i've gained so much in knowing you, considering the minimal initial investment TimmyBoom: Since I pay for everything, doesn't that basically mean we're together? SaintLukas: can i tell my roommate that we're dating, so he'll stop hitting on me? TimmyBoom: Can I tell my roommate that we're not dating, so he won't hit on you? SaintLukas: what? SaintLukas: isnt that the other way around? TimmyBoom: Irony. SaintLukas: "now, about that green card we discussed" TimmyBoom: "You can call me Bambi if I can call you Flower." SaintLukas: remember how i said "friends, with benefits?" well, i need you to fill out these insurance forms and schedule your paid time off SaintLukas: my like is like a yellow, yellow dandilion TimmyBoom: "What color should the kitchen cabinets be?" SaintLukas: i declare my faithfulness to you for an indeterminate length of time, within reason SaintLukas: "you're nicer than most girls i know, and i know some real nice girls" TimmyBoom: When I introduce you to my parents, you'll know we're at the level where I'm completely unsure of my own feelings so I'm trying to get help from any willing third party. SaintLukas: i'm sorry, i dont get infatuated until the 2nd date SaintLukas: "i love the awkward silence after we watch a romantic comedy, and the way you remember that you need to be somewhere else." TimmyBoom: I couldn't help but stare at your face last night. Has that zit popped yet? TimmyBoom: "I wish I could go back to when our relationship was 'no strings attached' and I had no real commitments.... oh wait, no, I'm good." SaintLukas: "Its not that I'm not ready for a commitment, I'm just not sure if I'm ready for one with you" SaintLukas: "The way you always run off right when we are settling in on the couch makes me think 'You better be have a crime fighting alter ego, or I'm going to be very offended'" TimmyBoom: Our goodbye last night was just like in the movies, especially when you slammed the door in my face. TimmyBoom: "What's the worse that could happen? You become too invested and I end up breaking your heart. It's worth a shot." SaintLukas: "I almost want to ask if I could maybe, if its not too forward, set my elbow on the same movie-theatre armrest that your elbow is so delicately resting on" SaintLukas: "I've had my heart broken before, but I didn't go down without a fight" TimmyBoom: "If someone asks, should I say I'm taken... or just on layaway?" SaintLukas: "i've been turned down by uglier girls than you." TimmyBoom: "I promise I'll never leave you, just as long as you promise to never get a restraining order." SaintLukas: forever sounds so...permanent, but i'm free for the next few weeks SaintLukas: just so we're clear up front: if things dont work out, what's your position on my dating your sister? TimmyBoom: "You'll never know how much I care for you, and that's by design." SaintLukas: "I had a great time tonight, you're a wonderful dancer, but lets see how you do in the swimsuit competition, and the feats of strength contest." TimmyBoom: I'm not saying I get bored easily, but... ooh! Seinfeld's on, gotta go." SaintLukas: "I bought you this card because I'm too chicken to say anything meaningful on my own" SaintLukas: "There are no words to describe my feelings for you. Well, there are words, but I'm not sure how to spell them." TimmyBoom: If you ever wonder just how much I love you... could you wait until we're on AIM later to ask me? SaintLukas: "I'm not afraid to introduce you to my parents, I'm afraid of what they'll say after you're gone" TimmyBoom: It's not because I don't think my parents won't like your personality, it's just that they're huge racists. SaintLukas: "I like you and all, but hey, i've got a reputation to consider here" SaintLukas: Hey, in some cultures the chicken is a revered and noble animal! TimmyBoom: "You couldn't possibly be worse than my brother's wife, and they pretend to love her." SaintLukas: Lots of dumber people than us have kids. How hard could it be? SaintLukas: The last relationship I was in didn't last because I'm intimidated by women smarter than me. But I feel comfortable around you. TimmyBoom: I really wanted to hold your hand, but then I remembered that my 2nd grade teacher said that's how babies are made. SaintLukas: I know your friends think you're too good for me, but they don't realize how good I really am.

2005-04-12T12:33:00.000-04:00

radio Do you think that when a d.j. points out speficially that the next song is "by request," he or she is trying to say "see, we care about what you, the customer, wants to hear" or is it more like "hey, if you hate this song, we didn't pick it. we're professionals of good taste, blame caller #4"? By the way, the best internet radio station I've heard all day is here.

2005-04-07T14:23:00.000-04:00

Weather Shock I can tell I'm not acclimated to spring. A big housefly just flew by my head and I freaked out, thinking "woah, what the heck is that?!"

2005-04-06T16:10:00.000-04:00

I may have blogged too soon Top 9TH B:0 S:0 O:2 Edgar Renteria singles on a line drive to left fielder Hideki Matsui. Johnny Damon scores. Manny Ramirez scores. David McCarty to 2nd. Sox go ahead 6-3 in 9th. Makes up for the 4 outs he created in 2 at bats.

2005-04-06T15:19:00.000-04:00

Gambling James Lanford, esquire, has registered his predictions for the outcomes of Bridget's impregnitude. Add your own, include gender, name, date of birth, and resemblance of the baby-in-process. Jay's picks: Gender: Female Name: Gwyneth Guinevere the Gwynificent D.O.B.: August 3, 2005 Resemblance: Initially - alien-sea-creature-thing; over time - Bridget... if you're lucky.