Babies

I got to thinking.  It must be really tough being a baby.  I am glad I don't remember my experiences. Aside from the obvious perks, sleeping all day and having the ability to just crap your pants whenever you feel like it and then have it magically just whisked away, the rest of it seems pretty rough.

First of all, can you imagine reaching your arms up and having your head so big that you can neither touch the top of your head or touch hands together when reaching around your head?  So, now you got this giant head on this tiny little, weak neck.  Your head is flopping all around.  Strange people are picking you up and talking in annoying voices to you.  You open your eyes to see what is going on and all you see are fuzzy shapes.  Now everyone is laughing at you.  While you were trying to check things out, apparently you inadvertently went cross-eyed.  Laugh it up jerks.  I got fresh poopie that I am sending into the diaper right... about... now! Kapow!

Now you are hungry.  You are thinking some pizza sounds nice.  Maybe some steak.  Nah, you get a super duper big gulp the size of your giant head (that equates out to be like a 300,000 oz) drink of the nastiest thing on the planet... milk.  Worse than that, there is a good chance it came from a powder mix, blech! Hey you big turd! I hate milk, so guess whose brewing a nice, juicy mess in the ol' diaper? That's right!  This kid is! Kablow!  Take that! I am so gonna wake up 10 times or more tonight when you are trying to sleep.

ER

Last week Mandy and I had to spend the night at the hospital. It wasn't because either one of us was sick.  The pediatrician just wanted us to spend the night at the hospital so that we could be there for every one of the twin's feedings all through the night, which are every three hours.  I am not sure why.  Perhaps so that they can make sure we know which end of the baby to put a diaper on and which end to plug the bottle into.  Perhaps so that they can laugh at us as we waddle in on 2 hours of sleep and try to feed two kids.

At the hospital they have something called "Hotel stay".  It costs $15 and you need a doctor's order to stay there.  They stuff you in a labor recovery room or a broom closet.  There is a couch that they claim you can sleep on, but it is too short for anyone except a midget. And then there is a hospital bed, with the side thingies and the buttons and everything and the plastic covered mattress.  There is also a TV and a bathroom.  The TV didn't work and the light switches were scattered in random places all over the room, so it took me about 5 minutes to figure out how to turn them all off.

Before they will let you stay, they want you to pay your $15.  Because I was checking in at night, the only place in the hospital that can take your money is the emergency room.  I am instructed to go to the other side of the hospital through several very dark and extremely creepy hallways of the hospital.  I was actually more surprised that I did NOT see a ghost of a skinny old frail man in a robe towing an IV pole behind him pleading for my soul, than if I actually would have seen this.

Finally I make it over to the ER.  There is a desk with two attendants.  It looks like a regular admittance desk to see a doctor.  There is a wood divider between the two admittance clerks, that affords a portion of privacy between two people if they were checking in at the same time.  Just enough privacy that the two can not see each other, but can still hear everything each other is saying.  As I enter the room there is a girl staggering towards the desk.  She is in her pajamas, her hair is swirled and twisted like the sky on a stormy night.  Her face is gaunt and her jaw is hanging open like a worn out handbag. When she reached the desk she collapsed forward and caught herself on the edge of the desk with her arms and her head resting on the desk.  I paused and considered the situation.  If I were her, I think I would just want people to A. Don't talk to me. B. Leave me the Hell alone and just get me a dang bed! So, I casually wandered up the the other admittance clerk and told him that I needed to pay for a hotel stay.

On the other side of the divider I can hear the other clerk "Can I help you" "Ug... I...ug...don't feel good..." Not looking up from her monitor the clerk kept asking her questions "What's your address?"  The poor girl played along and jumped through the hoops that were asked of her speaking without pausing like every sentence was one word "eleven-forty-two-East-three-hundred-south-Logan-Utah-eight-four-three-two-one. Ug"  Finally she began ending her sentences with barf.  I didn't know what she was puking in, but I could tell it was in some sort of container and not the floor.  The clerk was just getting warmed up and was not going to stop until they had all of her insurance information, contact information and emergency contacts.  I completed my transaction and left.

As I walked away I thought "It is a good thing she didn't have a stab wound, a severed limb or stroke"  mainly because I would not have been able to deal with blood or freaky symptoms less than I did with the puking. But because I couldn't help but think that if there is any place that should have the policy of "Let's get you comfortable and not dying or feeling like dying before we go through the minute details of something like "So, let's talk about how you are paying us, and then we will see what we can do based on what you tell us."

As bad as this sounds, I just couldn't see a government employee or agency sitting there being more attentive or more capable of helping.  You know because I always get such wonderful customer service when I go to the DMV, call the IRS or need to go to the court house. I'm just saying.

Now watch this.

Drivers

Tonight I was driving home and a car passed me.  I saw it coming in my rearview mirror and it was changing lanes by just casually drifting from lane to lane without signaling.  I said to myself "Self, hundred bucks says this driver is limp wrist driver"  When the car passed, I looked over and I was right.  I didn't have a hundred bucks, so I owe myself another hundred.

What is the limp wristed driver? How did I know?  Can I learn to identify drivers too?  Easy there Johnny!  Stay with me and you too can be a professional driver identification personnel (or P.D.I.P) just like me.  I have combined years of observation and hundreds of thousands of miles to form this very informative and highly stereotyping list (hopefully to the point of being offensive) of drivers, and what you can expect from them.

The first, not because they are the most heinous or prevalent, but because I had just mentioned it, are the Limp Wristed driver.  The LWD drives with his arm propped on top of the steering wheel.  This driver is so chill, relaxed and cool that he cannot even be bothered with the laborious task of gripping the steering wheel.  His hand hangs limply from his arm over the back of the steering wheel.  Thus the name "Limp wristed driver" This driver, does everything smoothly and lazily.  a lane change is a smooth drift into another lane.  signaling, is way too much effort.  This driver just flows around like a breeze.  He is chill.  He is relaxed.  He is usually scanning the other cars for the ladies.  He may or may not be a catch.  But to himself, he sure is. This is the type of driver that usually runs head on into a telephone pole while checking out a jogger. I give the LWD his space and don't follow.

Next we have the 9 and 3 driver.  One hand is on the 3 O'Clock position on the steering wheel and the other is on the 9 O'clock position. This driver usually does not use the back rest of their seat.  They are sitting straight up and looking intently on the road ahead.  The visual scan that we learned about in driver's ed is employed here.  Check the road. Check the speed.  Check the mirrors.  Check the road. Check the speed.  Check the mirrors...  This driver scares me.  I figure if it takes that much mental energy, just to safely operate the vehicle, I fear what happens when something other than the ordinary occurs. Think of these drivers as a computer running at full CPU.  When a new application starts.  Everything freezes.  This driver is usually the one that applies full brake pedal when a traffic jam is encountered.  This driver is usually rear ended or else they might panic, swerve and dodge into on coming traffic.  This driver is responsible for your skiddish and erratic driving patterns during rush hour traffic. Stay away from 9 and 3.  Because they are usually going at or below the speed limit, this is easy to do.

The blue hair.  While actually quite rare, we all know a blue hair.  It is the old lady, or sometimes man, who all we see is the top of their head and their eyes peering between the steering wheel and the dash.  They can't see the road, so they just guess based on objects they see whizzing by them in their side windows.  They drive slow and bob back and forth between the lines.  I make sure I pass the blue hair and get safely in front of them.  They often will not see you and will run into the back of you while you are sitting at a traffic light or sign.  Beyond that, the blue hair is basically harmless.

Mommy.  Mommy is usually operating an SUV.  Mommy usually has a DVD playing for her brood of children.  Mommy's windows are smeared with sticky hand prints and the seats of her car have years of french fries stuck between them. Mommy is usually talking on the phone.  Mommy is also oblivious to the fact that she is well exceeding any speed limits.  Mommy usually tail gates because she can just ride the bumper in front of her rather than checking her speed.  You may think Mommy wants to pass you, but if you get over to let her pass, she will slow down and drive next to you.  Mommy can also veer into other lanes as she glances over her shoulder to say "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KIDS WANT NOW? TIMMY STOP HITTING SALLY!  BILLY GIVE JOHNNY HIS TOY BACK!"  Mommy isn't that much of a threat. Mommy just has her attention divided amongst many things.  Just speed up until you encounter another vehicle traveling quickly, get over and Mommy will latch onto the bumper of that car.  Those two will sail on merrily down the road and hopefully find all the speed traps for you.

The Asian.  I don't know what to attribute the Asian driver's habits to.  Culture? Spacial ineptitude? Suicidal tendencies? The Asian can be intimidating until you understand his habits.  You can easily predict the Asian's movements by asking "What would be the most dangerous thing they could do right now?"  Once you identify what that dangerous stunt will be, sit back and watch the Asian perform that very stunt. Drive safely and defensively around the Asian and they will avoid you.  Once you demonstrate safe driving practices, they will move on and look for a much more haphazard situation.

I also find every region of the country has their own driving "culture".  If you find yourself saying "The drivers in Nebraska are crazy!" then you are failing to understand the driving culture of that region. Like the joke about the elderly woman who hears on the news of a driver on the interstate driving the wrong direction on the road.  Panicked, she thinks of her husband who is out travelling in the same area.  Quickly she calls him on his cell phone and warns him of the dangerous driver going the wrong direction, to which he replies "One car going the wrong direction?  They are all going the wrong direction!"

In California I quickly learned that the roads there must be damaged by sunlight or something.  If there was so much as a sliver of light between my front bumper and the car in front of me, someone would slide in and occupy that space. You just get right on that bumper and go.  All traffic moves like a giant snake.

In Utah where I drive, everyone thinks of it as a race.  People in the left lane are the elite.  The competitors.  The champions. The lane to the right of the left lane, those are the non-competitors.  People who are only driving for the sake of getting to a new location.  People in the right lane are merging, exiting or getting paid an hourly salary while on the road.  Sometimes a non-competitor will enter the left lane.  It thereby becomes the responsibility of the other drivers to teach the violating driver and display displeasure by riding their bumper.  In California this is regular driving and therefore California driver's are seen in Utah to be rude, but in fact they are driving they way they were taught to drive, by not letting the road see daylight.  If the offending driver fails to notice their fauxpaux, the drivers will pass on the right as fast as possible and then merge back into the left lane as close to them as possible without actually swiping off their front bumper with your rear bumper.  Most driver's will take the hint and get over at this point.

As you can see, there are many other categorize, sub-categories and hybrid categories. But these are the most identifiable and the most easily dealt with groups.  I hope you find this informative.  Now get out there and drive!

Rnnin' just ain't no fun

Today I started a new blog. Tomorrow I begin the journey

http://runningaintnofun.blogspot.com/2010/07/journey-begins.html

Checkit ooouuuut!

Mt. Whitney

A week ago today I was just arriving to base camp on Mt. Whitney. Since returning I have had lots of questions about my trip. To address them all I have set up a little Q&A for all general knowledge regarding my trip.

Q. Where is Mt. Whitney?

A. It is in California -- it's this whole other country.

Q. How tall is Mt. Whitney?

A. 14,494 ft. above see level making it the tallest peak in the continental United States.

Q. How long is the hike?

A. 22 miles round trip. As far as time to hike? I am not sure. Somewhere around 11,000 feet the air becomes thin enough that reality becomes a swirling vortex of bright colors, abstract thought patterns and air gasping, mindlessly staggering about.

Q. Geez, sounds tough. Why would you do that?

A. Simply stated, bragging rights. When I die, I couldn't imagine myself looking back and saying "I am sure glad I passed on THAT opportunity. That would have been VERY difficult!"

Q. What if any, special preparations did you take.

A. That is a good question. I found that growing the common Friendly Mutton Chops (or FMC, for short) was sufficient preparation for my needs.

Q. How long after my milk's expiration date can I safely consume it?

A. Who submitted this? This has nothing to do with Mt. Whitney. Let me tell you a little secret. Rotten milk and fresh milk smell exactly the same. Milk is gross fresh or rotten. Don't ever drink it raw. EVER!

Q. Would you hike Mt. Whitney again?

A. The more the pains and aches of the trip fade, the more that answer shifts to the affirmative.

In summary, it was a great trip. It might be my ego talking here, but I think sweet lady Mt. Whitney took a liking to me. At one point on my descent I looked over in a small indention in the snow and pristinely nestled and preserved was a $5 bill and this little note.

Upon returning to base camp I also found a penny that was minted in the year I was born and found that marmots had visited, urinated and crapped in everyone's tent except mine.

Being at that altitude gives you a good idea how it will be for yourself if you jumped forward 40 years. Small hills that you would otherwise scramble up, present formidable and air gasping challenges. I felt like superman when I returned to lower elevations.

Here is what I wrote in the guest book:

Why did Captain Kirk climb the mountain?

Twins

Recently my wife's twin sister moved in while she gets started in a new school program, finds a new job and gets on her feet a little bit.

After only a short time of this, I only have one observation... or reaffirmation. And that is that twins are crazy. Absolutely, undeniably insane. Individually, perfectly normal. Together, a set of twins will conjoin into a robot with a strobe light head, one chainsaw arm, one puppy dog arm a gumball machine midsection that shoots strawberry flavored moth balls that travels on a monster truck tire instead of legs.

This transformation seems true with any set of twins that I know. I am usually confused, entertained, scared, humored, and alarmed to varying degrees, that if monitored would swing about wildly like a tachometer on a rally car racing on some street course weaving through a sinewy old world township with cobblestone roads and frequent hairpin turns.

Let me illustrate with with a slightly (but not much) exaggerated situation. Our kids are with their grandma and grandpa for a week. Delighted by our recent release in responsibility, Mandy and I went on a date. We sat in the car for a few hours just talking about anything and everything we could think of. We came home and Mindy was just finishing a movie. Mandy started talking to Mindy. I sat on the couch with my brow furrowed. I couldn't figure out what Mandy was talking about. Mindy replied with a comment that seemed absolutely out of context from Mandy's. sort of like this:

Mandy: "One time I asked dad why the sky was blue"

Mindy: "My car has new tires on it"

Mandy: "I decided the sky was blue because blue is pretty"

Mindy: "Sometimes you can get used tires, that are just as good as new, but waaaay cheaper!"

Mandy: "Some lakes are really blue"

Mindy: "The word 'tire' is weird"

The conversation continued on like that and they started interrupting each other and talking louder. Their body language indicated that they were getting angry. I sat there staring, trying to figure out what was happening. Their conversations began to tighten and revolve around a smaller and smaller handful of topics. I tossed in a few thoughts about the dozen or so topics they seemed to be talking about then openly admitted that I had no clue what was happening. They both explained in unison what topic they were discussing and were both in perfect agreeance. It was like watching a Japanese game show... or tennis.

Did I mention Mandy is pregnant with twin girls? Can you imagine how much time I will be spending in the future with a confused scowl on my face watching interactions and wondering what is going on? Considerable amounts of time, my friend, considerable amounts of time.

New diet

So I've been thinking. I hear all of this talk about diets and weight loss. Protein diets, vegetarian diets. Some guy says he's gone 70 years without eating.

Hear ye! Hear ye! I've contrived a new diet! There's two parts.

1. Only eat light stuff. Things like angel food cake, bread, whip cream, and Cheetohs. Because, you can count the calories all you want, but there's just no way you can put on more weight than you eat. That's just silly! You can't eat like 5 lbs. of graham crackers and put on 10 lbs. Your body just can't do that. It can't just make fat out of thin air. Plus fat is soft and white and smooshy and oily. something like Cocoa Crunch is dark and crunchy and not soft and not oily. Think of all the extra work your body has to go through to turn that to fat. Your body is lazy and it is going to wait until you eat bacon cheeseburger and turn that into fat... not that kettle corn you are working on.

2. Eat cold stuff. Just think how much energy (energy = burnt calories = weight loss) you need to bring a bowl of ice cream to body temperature. The more ice cream you eat, the more energy it takes to heat up that stuff so that you don't die of hypothermia. In my roughest of estimations, I'll bet it takes all of the calories in ice cream just to digest it. And then you are just left with milk... which is really good for you.

probably the most ideal food is ice cream cake. It is the best of both worlds. Plus you can have the bakery write your name on your cake, so that no one else will eat it.

Happy weight loss everyone!

Customer Service

I like to shop -- for some things. I don't like to make purchases for items I know nothing about like well, lets just make a broad sweeping categorization and say feminine products, running shoes or wireless USB adapters. Until a few weeks ago I was only vaguely aware of a wireless USB adapters. They were like hairless cats. I had heard of them, seen pictures, and laughed quietly to myself when I had imagined owning one. But I had always figured they were not for me.

There I stood in Best Buy looking at cables and routers and wireless cards and yes, even USB adapters. Staggering, I wobbled around doing my best to look confused. I probably looked like one of those actors on an infomercial struggling to remember the proper steps to do something simple like breathing, while a voice over says "Tired of clumsily breathing on your own? Well now you don't have to!"

In hindsight, my acting skills might have been too convincing because when an employee approached me, he said "Can I answer any questions for you?" I said "Yeah, I just moved my computer and it is no longer within a cables distance to the router." He looked at me like I had just said "Breathing is soooo difficult! Do you have a paper that reminds me of the steps to breathing so that I don't die? Preferably with lots of pictures " tapping the side of my head with my finger "I don't read so well. Or... dare I ask? A machine that might do my breathing for me?" He reached down and tossed a USB adapter into my stomach and walked away. I still had more questions. Would a wireless card work? is it cheaper to run an cable through my attic? Why are some of the adapters more expensive? I no longer had the benefit of google at home to answer all of my inquiries. I stared at the price, looked at the adapter and finally decided there must be something better.

I wandered down the street a few doors from Best Buy and went into Staples. Most of the adapters that I looked at were less expensive there. An employee busied himself nearby straightening items and looking busy. I finally called out to him "Do you know if these are any good?" I raised an adapter for him to see. He shrugged and came over and looked at the adapters with me. He seemed to know about as much as I did about them. He did say that the Belkins seemed to get returned a lot and that if I had any problems I could bring mine back. Enough said. I picked up a Netgear adapter knowing that my router was a Netgear and if nothing else, they might play nice with each other coming from the same family right?

I took it home, removed the packaging, installed the software and installed the adapter. It worked great. I was happy. Several days went by and things started to happen to my computer. Bad things. It started crashing and slowing down. If you've read my last post you know my hard drive failed. When all of the dust settled from that fiasco my wireless adapter no longer worked. I tried to take it back to Staples. They told me the return policy was only for 2 weeks. I thought they were just joking around with me. I laughed. They restated their return policy, this time with more fervency. I stopped laughing. I didn't want them to think they were funny. Because they were not. I left knowing there was only one solution -- a call to Netgear customer service.

A few days later when I had strengthened my resolve, when I had steeled my determination, when I had explored any possible alternatives, I finally sighed the sigh of a man being led down the chambers to the execution room. I said my farewells and kissed my goodbyes and picked up the phone and began dialing. "Thank you for calling Netgear, your service is very important to us. A customer service agent will be with you as soon as possible. Please stay on the line and someone will be right with you!" slowly, sounds begin to queue up. At first I thought it was music, but then I realized it was just the sound of baby seals being tortured. The music/tortured wails of tormented baby seals faded "Our team of seasoned representatives is occupied helping other customers at this time. Please stay on the line and one of them will be with you as soon as possible."

I became very worried at that point that they were referring to their customer service representatives as "seasoned" I like to buy products from companies that have novice, beginner, or even bumbling buffoons that have never really had to deal with customer service issues. The kind that sit around playing solitaire and when I call they look at each other in confusion "Do you hear that? What is that? I think... well... I think that sounds like a phone?" and they dig the ringing phone out from under a stack of papers. They don't know how to use the phone and the first few seconds of the conversation is them saying "Hello? Hello? HELLO?" as they hold the phone upside down to their head. A co-worker makes a twisting gesture to indicate the phone is upside down and finally the customer service agent gets the phone figured out and the customer service agents mouth to each other "What do we do?" and they all shrug at each other. That's the kind of product I like to buy. Product from companies like that. Nope, I was the owner of a product that had "seasoned" customer service agents. I sighed. "This isn't going to be pretty"

The music came back. This time I thought I could hear the subliminal messages in the music. I could hear it echoing in my subconscious "You love our product. You love us. Everything we say makes sense. We are correct. You are wrong. You love that we are always correct. Do exactly as we say. Buy all of our products. Send us all of your money. You love us. We are always correct..." The music faded "Your call is important to us. All of our representatives are busy at this time... blah blah blah. We know you have invested too much time to hang up now. We are actually too busy flirting with our co-workers that are of the opposite sex. We used to care, but that was back when they promised us raises, and all of that was a very VERY long time ago. Please hold and perhaps one of our seasoned agents will possibly tire of hearing the phone ring and will rudely answer the phone, not really help you and get off the phone with you as soon as humanly possible. Thanks sucka!" and then the music faded back in. Now imagine this cycle happening 2 or 3 hundred more times. I was drifting into a coma, lost all hope for humanity and trying to decide on the best method to kill myself when I suddenly heard a click and a female say in a thick Indian accent. "Heddo, myie name ees Emily. How cun I be of service to you?" I gasped in horror. This was going to be everything I feared and quite possibly more.

Emily had me run through all of the setup that I had already done. When we were nearly complete Emily stopped in the middle of her script and apologized "Ieem soo very sorry sir" I don't know if one of her flirting co-workers smacked her on the butt or unhooked her bra strap, but her train of thought became completely derailed. She started over and yes, we went through all of the steps again. Finally she said "I cannot help you sir. You will need to uneenstall thee Netgear setup program and try re-eenstalling it. I am very confident sir that this will feeks your problem. Goodbye" Then there was a click and I was disconnected. I felt like I had just gone the entire length of an elephants digestive system and had been deposited somewhere on the Serengeti to fend for myself. I had already tried reinstalling the software. I tried again... just in case, I don't know. Probably because of a soft voice from my subconscious that said "You are never right. Netgear customer service agents are always right. You should send them all of your money."

Surprise surprise, it didn't work. I called again. This time I sat on hold for exactly one hour, where it kicked me out and sent me to an answering machine that asked me what number and what time to call me back. I left a message. They never called back. A few days later after I realized they were really never going to call me and I would have to be like a jilted lover and stalk them until they either resolved my issue or got a restraining order.

This time I was only on hold for possibly 20 minutes. "Heddo sir, myiee name ees Steve. How can I help you?" I recounted my entire adventure to Steve. When I finished explaining to him my plight, Steve said "Thank you for calleeng, unfortunately I cunnot be of serveece to you at theese tieeme. Please call 1-888-blahblah where someone will be able to better assist you." So, I had graduated from the first protocol of the customer service screening process. I had now entered the inner sanctum. I now had in my possession the phone number for the Illuminati. The Jedi's of customer service. If the people I had talked to before were seasoned. I was now talking to the marinated and slow roasted of customer support personnel.

I anxiously dialed. Someone answered imediately "What ees your customer service number?" I stammered. Customer service number? I didn't have a number? I could make one up! What if it was wrong? What if it had too many digits? They would know I was a fraud! "I um... I don't have one?" The agent shot back "Ees thees the first tieeme you have called sir?" They had me on the ropes. I didn't know what to do. I blurted out "To this number yes!" There was a click and I was routed back to the hold system. I immediately recognized its life draining pull, sucking my will out through my ear. Then... someone answered "How cun I help you sir?" I gushed out my entire story to him. He asked a few questions. What sort of router I had. What sort of operating system I had. If I could hook an ethernet cable up to my router. I was not close enough to do so. He laughed "Sir, how cun I help you eef you are not even connected to your router?" I laughed. "That is exactly why I am using a USB adapter, right?" He scoffed "I don't theenk you can expect me to help you unteel you are able to connect your computer to the router. Call back when you are able to do so sir."

I unhooked my computer, dragged it all back into the room where the router was, set it all back up and hooked an ethernet cable from the computer to the router and redialed my secret, black ops, upper echelon customer service number. My phone call was immediately answered and I gave the agent my customer number, that I had made sure I had received from my last call. The agent excused himself while he read the notes on my case and in a few moments he returned and asked if I was now connected via an ethernet to the router. I said I was. He proceeded to direct me through several operating system and router menus and reconfiguring options. Finally he told me to restart my computer. I did. When it had rebooted he asked "OK sir, does eet say you are connected to the router wirelessly?" I couldn't tell. so I opened the Netgear wireless program that came with the installation CD with my adapter. The program that every customer service agent thus far had wanted me to open. I told him it was not. At that moment he laughed a very irritated laugh and suddenly became very angry "How do you know that eet is not connected?" He shouted "Um, because the Netgear setup program says it isn't. It says is still scanning" "Well dat ees why you are not connecting to the router! Because you keep opening the Netgear setup program. Why deed you open that program?" "I-I thought that's what you - I thought that is how I could tell if it was connected. I mean didn't that come with the adapter?" "Sir, close that program eemeedeeutly. I do not want you to ever open dat program again! OK!" "OK!" I said. Then we ran through some more setup options and he asked me if I was now connected to the router wirelessly "I want you to open Explorer dees time OK! NOT NETGEAR SETUP!" "OK! I get it! Never-ever-ever-again" I muttered back.

Finally we finished configuring and he was satisfied that my problem was resolved. Before hanging up he reiterated "And never open Netgear Setup again sir" I laughed "I got it. Never open Netgear Setup" I have never opened Netgear Setup since and haven't had any more issues with it, so it must be happy again. Slowly my faith in humanity has returned and I no longer think about suicide. I still get a craving every once in a while to empty my wallet into an envelope and mail it to an address in India that I have no idea how I know. Instead I end up sending them my toenail clippings or whatever is readily available at the moment and I think my computer is somewhat happy again.

Electronics melt down

This was a bad BAD month for electronics around the house. I lost our phone one day. I found it. It was in my coat pocket. The coat that had JUST been washed. Yeah, the phone hasn't worked properly since.

A few weeks later I lost my ipod. I found it. in the pocket of my other coat. The other coat that had just been washed also. The ipod never made so much as a whimper or quiver. It was just plain dead.

We also moved our computer out of our spare bedroom so that Mandy's sister could move in for a while. I hooked up a USB wireless adapter to the computer so that we could still enjoy the benefits of the world wide super interwebs. You know so, I can update this blog and make sure all of my friends are doing well on their Mafiaville Farm Wars on Facebook.

So I moved the computer and installed the software for the Netgear USB adapter. Everything works as it should and this little plastic doodad magically pulls the intersupernets right out of thin air. I don't know how it does it. It's all magic to me and I am thoroughly impressed and also satisfied with my purchase.

Then one day the computer suddenly dies. I get the blue screen of death. It tells me something about a driver conflict and some cryptic message on how to fix it.

Having me work on a computer is about like your redneck gunsmith who scratches his head with the barrel of your broken pistol, looks down the barrel and says "Huh, I dunno what's it could be? Somefin jis ain't right with it." as he stares into the barrel with one eye closed and pulls the trigger a few times. "If'n it wuz wurkin rightly my face woulda looked like swiss cheez ba now!" he says with a toothless grin.

I start removing and reinstalling drivers, the whole time restarting and cycling the power on the computer. Then one time when I restarted the computer the hard drive started groaning and grumbling like it was a garbage disposal and the computer would not boot. This is the hard drive with the book I am working on. The hard drive with all of our family videos converted from VHS. The hard drive with all of our family photos on it. The electronic device on the end of a series of tragically destroyed devices.

You know that instant when your knee jerk reaction is to pick something up and smash it? That was me at that moment. I wanted to break the computer. I knew it only make things worse if I did. So I sat there for a few seconds and imagined how satisfying it would be to ripe the mother board out and stomp on it. To see the resistors, chips and capacitors spraying off in shattered disarray. Instead I grit my teeth, leaned in real close to the computer and whispered through clamped teeth "You-are-NOT-dying-now! not-on-MY-clock!" and I left it sitting there to think about what it had done. I did not return until several days later when I had some advice from a coworker that sometimes... maybe... if the moon was in the right position in the sky and the prevailing winds came from the right direction and the right speed and the humidity was perfect and the ambient temperature was within the area referred to as "The Golden Temperature" you can flip a decrepit and expiring hard drive over and it MIGHT work if just for a few seconds. I tried it. It worked. It didn't sound pretty but it was booting.

It took a long time booting. I left it and went and ran some errands, cut my toenails, brushed my driveway off with a mascara brush and tentatively checked back on the computer. It was just finished restarting after what it was calling a "recovery" Which I learned at that moment meant. Erase everything and reinstall windows. I sat silently for a few more seconds as I imagined how satisfying it would be to hear the computer crunching and crushing under the weight of the car. I sighed and produced the other half of my two pronged attack. A new hard drive. It came with a program that copied everything, bit for bit over to the new hard drive. I ran the program. Checked to make sure the new hard drive had all of the whatever was left of the information on the old hard drive and then I unplugged the old hard drive and took great satisfaction in taking it apart and showing Walker what the guts of a hard drive look like. I still have the disks from the old hard drive. I plan on showing Walker what the insides of a hard drive look like when they interact with a projectile from a high caliber rifle.

The new hard drive works great. To end on a happy note, I found the old files from the old hard drive before the "recovery" buried deep in the file structure of the hard drive. I found our videos. I found our pictures and most of all, I found my book. But now my USB wireless adapter no longer worked. Join us next time for the exciting tale of me Vs. tech support in India. You don't want to miss it. I get yelled at. Until next time... Hasta

March

March. Such a strange month. If March were personified I am convinced it would be a pimply faced, squeaky voiced, pre-teen. Jr. high was a horribly, disturbing and awkward time of my life. It stands to reason March would be in Jr. high school. Probably gets stuffed in his locker by a bully... named Old Man Winter.

You see, December comes around and we are all excited for Winter. It's the Christmas season and you can't have Christmas without snow. It snows in December and we all jump around and shovel our driveways and make snowmen and have snowball fights.

Then January comes and we still sort of smile because the snow is so pretty, even though we have to put on coats and it makes our feet wet and we track slush all through our houses.

Then February comes. The snow is gray. The sky is gray. our summer tans have faded and we are all gray. It is freaking cold outside and we are tired of staying inside. We ate way too much candy and we wouldn't mind running around outside and melting off a few pounds. We put a holiday in the middle of February to not make us not feel bad about cuddling under a warm blanket, preferably with a significant other and eating more chocolate, which naturally releases endorphins and makes us feel better about the otherwise gloomy month.

February fades and now we have March. A March is what? An extended begrudging and rhythmic walk. A method to arrive at a desired destination. Spring! Warm weather! Sunshine! Vibrant colors! Anything but gray and dreariness.

Yep, Old Man Winter pretty much shows up when he wants. Leaves when he wants. Sometimes he leaves and then pops his head back in the door to make sure no one is trash talking him after he leaves. People hide inside and peek out their blinds and whisper to each other "Shhh! don't go out there! Winter's out there! You want him to bite your nose and nip at your toes?" Winter even scares away the sun, and the sun isn't a regular ol' pushover either. Big ball of burning gas. Really hot. Gives you sunburns. Get too close to the sun and you die. That sun, is afraid of Winter.

By about mid to late March Spring arrives. Starts to set up camp. Winter says his goodbyes and pretends to yawn and then he ducks behind a tree. Spring rolls out a beautiful tapestry of daisies. There's a tap on Spring's left shoulder. Winter cackles in a withering and crackly laugh and runs around Spring's Right shoulder and quickly defecates a layer of slush on the daisies. Spring slaps her forehead. She can't believe she fell for the same trick again. Just like the past 128 years in a row! Spring sighs and it appears as if Winter has left. Hopefully for good this time. Spring carefully sprinkles out green pastures and thoughtfully places tender flowering buds on the trees. The sun sees Spring's progress and mumbles sheepishly "Well... I really should stop by and see what you've done this year Spring" But just as the sun comes skipping around the corner Winter jumps up from a ditch he was hiding in. The sun is startled. Not only does he stop. He runs cowardly away. Poor Spring always becomes so disappointed when this happens.

I'm so glad it is April now. April is such a refreshing and zesty month. I personally think Winter is a bit afraid of April. I heard once that Winter and April dated for a few years. But then April dumped Winter. Some say April and Spring had a fling (that's where the term 'Spring Fling' came from you see) and that April dumped Winter for Spring. I think this just adds to the uncomfortableness Winter has for April.

Sometimes Winter will stay out late drinking with his crony Jack Frost. Sometimes, when winter and Jack get that glazed look in their eyes and they start sloshing their drinks around and slurring and stumbling. Sometimes Winter will say "Hey Jack!" and then he will look around like he doesn't remember what he was about to say. Then he will continue after a few seconds "We should go 'nta town and just freeze everything. ah'm talken' snow... and... icicles and the whole bit!" and then he will mumble under his breath "Show that April what kinda man I can be!" and Jack will laugh in his fast pitched, giddy laugh. "Yeah! Let's go!" And so they do. And that's why sometimes it snows in April. Because Winter is an ass, and a bully and a drunk and I don't like Winter anymore and I wish he would just go away. I want sunburns and to walk outside and feel sweaty and sit in the shade and sip lemonade. That's what I want. Maybe I'm just saying all of this because it just snowed on the last day of March

New Facebook

I just love the new layout of Facebook. (Shaking my head "no" and with disgust)

It is like this:

At work we have a small Men's bathroom. It's a one seater and has standing room for one. It is generally occupied when you need it most. But it could be worse. I have visited restrooms that when the door is opened, everyone in the hall is allowed to see your... um, performance.

A few years ago, the restroom had a plastic soap dispenser. It broke. It became plugged up. Rather than replacing the old dispenser with a replica a new style was installed. This left a gaping hole in the wall where the old dispenser was. Not really feeling like patching a hole the right way, a metal plate was screwed into the wall over the hole left by the old soap dispenser.

After years of service the "new" dispenser developed congested arteries. Layer upon layer of soap built up in the pump of the dispenser. The amount dispensed, diminished until this soap Scrooge stopped giving anything at all. Most of us, myself included resorted to angrily slamming the button on the dispenser hoping soap would be awarded on merits of frustration. It really only needed a clean out. a pipe cleaner run through it and it would be fine. A solution was finally found when some poor restroom patron finally resolved to bring in a bottle of hand soap from home and place it next to the sink.

This offering was accepted by the bathroom gods and a new-new dispenser was installed... above the old one. So now there is the hole in the wall covered by the metal plate from the old dispenser. The old-new dispenser that died of congestive heart failure and the new-new dispenser.

Next to the sink is one of those stainless steel, in-wall towel dispenser and garbage can combos. I'm not entirely sure why but the bathroom gods deemed this process either too cumbersome or too expensive, but it was abandoned. a new motion activated towel dispenser was bolted right to the old stainless steel dispenser.

Eventually the batteries died in the new towel dispenser. It was then decided that a new-new towel dispenser would be a better solution, rather than new batteries in the old-new dispenser. The new-new towel dispenser was stuffed in the corner directly over your right shoulder when you are using the sink. Being motion activated it would spew out a length of towels every time you moved your shoulder while scrubbing your hands. By the time you needed towels there was an eight foot length of towels piled up on the floor next to the sink. The new-new dispenser went through towels REALLY fast. This was solved by adjusting the amount of paper towel it dispensed to 6 inches. By the time you needed the towels, there was a good 3 feet for you. New problem with the new-new dispenser. It was now going through batteries really fast. This was solved by putting batteries in the 0ld-new dispenser.

Now we have the new-new towel dispenser that is plagued with problems. So when that one dies, you fall back on the old-new dispenser that only had the problem of needing batteries, that is bolted onto the old-old dispenser that did not have any problems.

Next to sink we have the gaping hole from the original soap dispenser and the old-new dispenser and the new-new soap dispenser that is doomed to the fate of the original two because it is always filled with cheap soap that has too much wax or glycerin in it.

With the new version of Facebook, I can't find a way to shut off all of the Farm Wars, Mafiaville, and "Ralphie Pencilarms took the 'how much can you bench press?' quiz and found out he would loose a fist fight with an earthworm. " notifications. I only like to see my friend's status updates so that I can make peanut gallery comments. Wading through all of the crap, is becoming surprisingly mundane. I participate less. I can see other people participating less and to be honest, I just want to take my potty break and get back to my life without all of the extra features that don't work.

That's all. This gripe session over. Insert your comments here ->

100

Last week was Walker's 100th day of school. To mark the even they centered the day around activities involving the number 100. One of the activities was to fill out a book about 100. I enjoyed his book so much I thought I would share.

I wish I had 100 arms and hands.

That would be awesome! Forget walking! I would just roll everywhere I go. When people looked at me strange, I just say "That's the way I roll"

I wouldn't want 100 zombies

There are a lot of things that I don't want, but 100 zombies ranks right up there with Nancy Pelosi as a neighbor or getting in a fist fight with a 100 armed man.

I can make 100 germs.

It's true! He can! Sometimes when he can't get to a booger with his index finger he will switch to his pinkie for better depth.

Having 100 monkeys could really be a problem.

I think this is a good call. Owning 100 monkeys would be hilarious for the first 10 seconds until one of them flung some poop and hit you in the face.

I can lift 100 germs.

I know he can lift a lot more than just 100. It is where he puts them that keeps me up at night.

I could never eat 100 brains.

So very true... again. I can't imagine brains tasting very good. They are grey. That is most likely why zombies are groaning most of the time.

I can eat 100 chocolate chips.

I've seen him eat 100 chocolate chips per handful. I wonder how he would feel about 100 chocolate brains? Mmmm! chocolate brain!

First grade journal

It could be argued that I led a sheltered life. I never did drugs. Was completely unaware of anyone doing drugs when I grew up. I was never offered drugs, never saw drugs or for that matter did not know where I could have found drugs if I did want them. This is a good thing. I don't know if I could have handled loosing any more brain function than I already lack from. I come by this naturally. Until last week I merely hypothesized this. Yesterday I found out I have always been this way.

I was cleaning out my closet and came across a journal I had kept in first grade. I would like to share.

Today is Monday. We have no heat in our room and it is foggy outside!

Apparently this is DYNAMITE! with my teacher. Perhaps she was trying to plant ideas into my fertile brain that if I were to blow up the school the tight wad school district would have to build a new school with better than sub-standard heating.

From the moment I picked up a pencil I knew how to endlessly ramble about nothing. I still have no clue what this says. It reads:

ICOTFISFRUMMYGRAPOTHAOORSmoLI SaSd tnnwodritwosdgauthaorFunuithywEFrsh

in.

I think it says something about fishing and grandpa. I was right. Some grandpas do smell like rotting fish.

Today is Friday. Last night I usnpewinmy mom said wieorGoenswmin.

I think my teacher was starting to work on spacing between words. Still I think I confused the both of us. There are a lot of question marks here. but hey! I spelled "said" correctly! This afforded me another stamp on my paper and a hopeful subconscious suggestion to dynamite the school. My mom said something about going swimming. Mankind will never know what exactly she said though.

Today is the last day of January. I think the fog stays here because it likes to stay.

I think I had issues with the fog.

Today is Jerry's birthday. Tonight the fog.

I make it sound so ominous and foreboding. like a zombie attack. Today is a good day because it is Jerry's birthday and we will have cupcakes and sing happy birthday! But don't get too cheery because tonight the fog will come, and steal all of your happiness away and make you dark and gloomy, just like the fog.

Today is Friday. It is snowing hard. Tomorrow I want to get the snow and spit in heaven.

Um... OK? Maybe this repels the fog?

When I grow up I want to sit in space.

Oh yeah! Sitting in space is where its all at! Really, who doesn't want to grow up to be a couch potato that just happens to do all his couch potatoing in SPACE!

Last night it snowed. It is snowing now. Today we will eat marmalade jam. We think my fish is going to have babies. I got my finger slammed in the door.

That's a rather strange collection of sentences. That was a busy day for me, a lot going on. Snowing, (thank goodness it isn't foggy!) marmalade jam, pregnant fish and a crushed finger. I don't know how I had time to pencil all this in.

Mrs. Parker brought sea horses to school. They might die.

WHAT??? Did we kill the sea horses? Why did Mrs. Parker stamp "GREAT" After I said they might die? was she going to kill them? Was the fog going to come in the night and murder them? Oh, those poor sea horses! They just wanted to gallop around in the ocean or sit in space and now they were sentenced to death!

Today is Monday. I got new shoes. one of my fish that was going to have babies and it died this morning.

Aren't Mondays the worst! Yeah, new shoes definitely rock and you can run so fast in new shoes and WHAT??? My pregnant fish died? First the sea horses and now my pregnant fish? Is there no end to my aquatic misery? At least in space I won't have to be troubled by such heinous things like fog and fish pandemics, I can just sit there... and float.

Let's move on.

The leprechaun keeps knocking on the door.

Was I the only on that saw this leprechaun? Add leprechauns to the list of things that won't bother me in space.

Today is the first day of Spring. I like Spring but when summer comes you get stung by a bee.

Were bee stings like a right of passage into summer? I sure was pessimistic about spring. Spring is great, but Spring leads to summer and that's when the bees attack you and sting out your eyeballs and then after summer comes winter and then the fog that steals your happiness and murders your fish. I am going to go sit in space where none of this happens.

I don't like G force. They think they are a hero, but they aren't.

I don't remember what G force was, but I thought they were hero imposters.

Today is Tuesday. I got a kite. I can't find the string.

You see in space you don't need string. Kites just float. You can just sit there and watch them float.

Substitute Judy is talking too much. Hat.

Long winded substitutes are ruthless! I don't know what "hat" had to do with anything. Maybe it was one more thing I was going to add to my list of things I didn't have to worry about in space. My list must have been pretty long. Add substitutes that talk too much.

Space is going to be so great. I can't wait to grow up.

One more thing

I can tell you are a person of superior intellect and extremely web savvy. How do I know this? You are here, reading this silly. Deductive logic dictates that you are sharp witted, classy and possess an affinity for the finer things in life as all of my readers are.

I however wish I were more like you dear reader. I am slow witted, often become confused and distracted by shiny lights and sparkly objects and am plagued with frail thought processes.

Last week I detailed a few things I do not like. Allow me to add another item to my dislike list. Drive-thrus. Let's explore a typical drive-thru experience for me.

Driving down the road in the car. From the back Walker says "Dad, I'm hungry. Can we go to McDonalds?" to which Mandy replies "No, you didn't eat anything last time I took you there" and I add "Besides that, you just want to go inside and play in the play area and that McDonald's doesn't even have a play area AND I HATE McDonald's food"

Suddenly there is a whining noise that sounds like a wind-up siren on an antique fire truck "DaaaAAAAADDDDDD! I'm zursty" (Shelby's way of saying "thirsty") I look over at Mandy "What do you want to do?" She portrays the most realistic look of despair that she can manage "I don't know? I'm pretty hungry too. Do you want to stop real quick and get something?" Then she begins bouncing in her seat so fast it is almost like a vibration as she claps her hands "And maybe -- we could get some ice cream!" Her eyes flare really big like the heavens were parted and she just caught a glimpse of an angelic choir serenading her. The smile stays fixed on her face like someone sprayed it with super-mega-ultra hairspray, that was designed to hold up the 80's wing style and standing bangs hairdos.

"All right, where do you want to go? We could go to oh -- nevermind, there goes Wendy's. How about Taco Bell?" Mandy says "No, there's nothing there the kids will eat." "Well, Walker has somehow lived to the age of 8 on just scraps of candy that he could beg off of strangers and tubs of yogurt." I add. "Well there's..." "No" Mandy interrupts. "Or there's..." "Uh uh!" I reply. Finally we decide on a destination. Joe's dead animal grill and/pet salon. Home of the free burger with every doggy bath.

As usual we are pressed for time, so the drive-thru is the only option. The car hasn't completely rolled to a stop and I am frantically scanning the menu for something edible. "Welcome to Joe's would you like to try a dead meat burger with a side of fried mange clippings?" Of course the answer is "No" but there is that awkward social moment where I don't know if I should acknowledge the question or just pretend they asked me if they could help me. I sigh and reply "No I would not like a dead meat burger with a a side of mange clippings" The autonomous speaker in the menu garbles out "Would you? Could you? in a box?" I shake my head angrily "No! I don't want a burger, or green eggs and ham or fried mange clippings! Just ask me if you can help me and we can get on with this!" Slowly the speaker in the menu says "Can I help you?" Or at least that is what I think it said. It sounded more like Charlie Brown's parents than anything. Having waded through the formalities of the process I proceed to my next step. "No you can't help me! I haven't even looked at the menu yet! How's somebody supposed to just drive up and know what they want? Do you honestly get that many return customers that they have your menu memorized and know what they want before they even veer into your drive thru? Are there that many sadistic and wantonly suicidal people out there that consume your food on a regular basis?" The voice behind the menu is silent for a few seconds "Go ahead and order when you are ready" "Thank you!" I reply. "What was that? You want a number 2?" the speaker says "NO! I said 'THANK YOU'!" Another pause from the voice "Sir" The voice continues in a nasaly drone "I have every right to refuse you service for talking inappropriately to me" "NO!" I giggle with a frustrated twitch "I said T-H-A-N-K YOU!" Another pause "Sir, you don't have to talk so loudly. I can hear you just fine. Are you ready to order?" "No, I haven't even looked at your menu! Give me a minute please!"

By this time 3 cars have pulled up in line behind me. I can see the driver of the car behind me glancing at his watch. He looks nervous and tense like he only has 30 seconds to eat something or he will expire and deflate into a lifeless goo on the floorboard of his car.

Nothing looks good. The number 7 looks palatable. But for $8.99 for the "value" meal? I look at the price of the sandwich alone, the toasted toenail clippings that come as a side, and the price of a drink individually and add them up to see if I can just save money by ordering them separately. "Have you had a chance to decide yet?" the menu says to me "No, just one more minute" I can hear the person with the headset taking orders say quietly to another coworker "This guys like taking forever! What kind of moron doesn't know what to order? Just look at the menu and order something!"

I glance in my rear view mirror. There are 12 cars lined up behind me. One of the cars has Jack Bauer and McGyver in it. They both have ticking bombs in their laps and are looking hopelessly at me because apparently the only way to disarm their bombs is with a dead meat burger, no onions, extra mustard. The gravity of the situation begins to weigh heavily on me. I can feel the fate of the planet is weighted on my prompt decision here. Nothing looks good, so I spew out the first number I think of "42!" The menu asks "What drink would you like with that?" In my frazzled state of mind I had neglected to even read their drink menu. I scan, scan again and yet a third time. I don't see any drinks on the menu. I stammer out "Uh... the red one!" I secretly hope it is a fruit drink, artificially flavored fruit drink or even flavor that is inspired by fruit flavor. I curse myself because I realize you can get Coke anywhere, even at Joe's dead meat shack and pet salon.

Satisfied I prepare to pull forward until it occurs to me that I am only 1/4 the way complete with my order. Fortunately Mandy usually knows what she wants. There are usually strange requests with her order and I try to talk her out of them because I don't think they will do it, and I am usually wrong. "Um, I would like, um, a steamed squirrel salad... and some Fettuccine sauce... on the side. In a mickey mouse cup" I glare over at her and whisper "They won't have fettuccine sauce and they certainly won't have a Mickey Mouse cup!" She bats her eyelids at me and simply says "Just ask" And so I do and they respond like everyone that comes through orders that.

Then I move on to the kids. They look around like they didn't even notice we were at a fast food restaurant. "What? Can we go inside and play in the play area?" They ask. "No! They don't have a play area! Now do you want boiled foam shaped like drumsticks that are lightly breaded or do you want the hot dog that I am afraid is really dog meat?" "What toy does it come with?" They ask "GR...pft...IKGHT..." Is all I can say. By now my face is bright red and a vein is bobbing to the beat of my heart on one side of my head. There are now over 37,000 cars behind us waiting. They guy right behind us has died and Jack Bauer and McGyver have left their bombs in the car and can now be plainly seen running each in different directions as fast as they can before their bombs explode.

The menu says "What else can I get for you?" "And I'll take two orders of the kids chicken couch foam thingys, both of them with Sprite" I say "We don't have Sprite" "7-up?" I plead "No" "Fine just give me the clear carbonated stuff that has lots of sugar in it. The kids will like that" The menu replies "OK, so that's our Kaboom high potency energy drinks" I look over at Mandy "Is that the drink that has more caffeine than 163 cups of coffee?" She shrugs back. I look back at the menu "Uh, yeah sure, whatever" "OK, that'll be $187.34 at the first window" I look back at Mandy as I put the car in drive "Did he just say $187.34?" From the back seat I hear "I don't like chicken foam drumsticks!"