I Think That Was A Typo...

From an article on thinking like a marketer to get kids to eat healthy:

"Eating during meals is unhealthful for a variety of reasons."

So I guess my four-year-old had it right all along... He sure does he best not to eat during meals.

Incidentally, they were starting to talk about the effects of television and getting the television out of the kitchen, so I suspect that was not what they meant to say.

Mindless Rant

Okay, is it only me, or does anyone else look at the latest HP personal computer campaign and think "The Nightmare Before Christmas"? I swear it's the same font.

And I'm not sure how that is supposed to work with their slogan of "The PC is becoming personal again." I mean, is the new bootup sound file going to be written by Danny Elfman? Is Clippy going to be replaced by Jack Skellington? I just don't get how "creepy" equals "personal".

But what do I know? I'm just a consumer. And I did buy an HP. But only because Jared at CompUSA convinced me it was the best deal, not because Tim Burton produced their ad campaign.

Quote Of The Day

"The elitists are such boneheads they think literature exists to be admired. Wrong. Literature exists to create memories so true and important that we allow them to become part of ourselves, shaping our future actions because we remember that once someone we admired did this, and someone we hated and feared did that."
- Orson Scott Card

Maestro, some punctuation, s'il vois plait?

Subject line of recent spam: Ready to sell your Timeshare Terhi?

First of all, this is MY email account, not my wife's. Second of all, while she is a doll, she's never even seen a timeshare. Thirdly, no, I'd never sell her.

In other news now that I'm the homeowners association president I had someone call up today to complain about...me! Or at least my fence. The one I built nearly a year ago. I don't think they realized it was my fence. And they wouldn't listen long enough for my wife to explain that it was our fence they were complaining about.

Evidently my fence is an eyesore, and it sounds like she believes it's the reason why she hasn't been able to sell her house. (She's selling "by owner," which I'm sure has nothing to do with it). Never mind that another house that has a much better view of the longest span of the fence sold within days of going on the market (Hers, incidentally, can't even see our fence, unless perhaps you're standing on the roof).

My paranoia says we're likely to see a battle over this, but according to the C.C.&R.s we're covered. I did ask the previous president on at least two separate occasions. He did grant me permission both times. He saw the construction. He saw the paint color. There is no record in any of the books that he gave me that this person ever complained to him about it. I should be well and truly covered. Though of course this will all look terrible just because I'm the current president.

Anyway, it's definitely Monday. It's a good thing she also mentioned she'll be unable to attend the neighborhood block party tomorrow night. I'd hate to have her sour things for me and my family. Though with my luck she'll change her mind and come. Like Malificent at Briar Rose's birthday party.

Okay, perhaps I'm a little too paranoid.

The Cold War

The cold continues apace. No one in our household is completely over it yet. It casts a gloom over everything--even more than the thick smoke rolling in from a range fire just across the border. We are sick of being sick.

On the bright side, no bridges collapsed under me on the way home from work. Perspective is a good thing. I'm sure there are dozens of people in Minnesota would would love to just have a cold.

Unanswered Questions

I've been down with a cold. As usual, whenever I get sick I finally finish the book that's been sitting on my nightstand for months and months. This time it was "Flags of Our Fathers," by James Bradley. The book traces the lives of the six soldiers pictured in the famous "Flag Raising Over Iwo Jima" picture from WWII, of which one was the author's father.

The book provides a poignant and horrifying account of what the battle for Iwo Jima was like, but is ultimately about something else--fathers and children. His father, one of three flagraisers who survived Iwo Jima (the battle was by no means over when they posted the flag), nearly never spoke about his experiences, constantly dodged the press, and never acknowledged The Picture.

In short, there was an entire aspect of John Bradley his children never knew about. They knew he was in The Picture, but it was just something they took for granted--partly because their father didn't talk, but also because children seldom realize that anything about their lives is not normal.

In short, it summarizes the relationship I had with my father. My father was no one even remotely famous--that's not what I mean. I mean that while I knew a great deal about my father, I can't say that I really knew my father. It was not, in the case of John and James Bradley, because he didn't talk about himself. My dad was quite a talker.

I think the fault is mainly mine, because I don't think I ever viewed my dad as a normal person. I never questioned what I saw. How did he feel about working two or three jobs? Did he regret not having done something different with his life? Was he satisfied with the relationship he had with us children?

I could have found out easily enough. I'm sure he would have talked to me about it. But I never really had that kind of relationship with my dad. Not to mention it being hard to find those kinds of moments.

Part of the problem, too, was the context-gap. I didn't become a father myself until recently, and by then my dad was already going downhill. By the time I really started questioning my own life and wondering if his would offer any answers he wasn't really around to ask anymore.

Some of the questions didn't really come up until after he died. Talking to others who knew him brought up a lot of facets of my dad that I'd either forgotten or never realized were there. Sometimes what's right in front of your face is the hardest to see. When he was alive I never questioned. Now he's gone, and all I have is questions.

My mother is still alive. I still have a chance with her.

From the "Gee Whiz" File

I sat in on a presentation at work today where a colleague discussed the things he learned at a design and usability training seminar recently. It was, of course, interesting professionally, but something particular caught my eye.

At one point the speaker showed a list of all the organizations that have attended this workshop in the past year. One of the organizations listed was "LDS Church." So there you have it. Our church may be "backward" culturally, but we're "with it" when it comes to IT. Or at least getting with it. I will say that I've noticed a distinct improvement in the quality and functionality of the church's websites over the past few years.

In other news, we're gearing up to go to a family reunion soon. This is our immediate family's first attempt at such, so this could be interesting. According to weather.com it's "only" going to be in the mid-nineties where we're going. Did I already say this could be interesting?

What am I...

...reading: "The Eyre Affair" by Jasper Fforde. A quirky little alternate history tale with a bit of harsh language and occasional violations of narrative style--and the occasional dash of unexpected humor.

...doing: Still working on the playhouse and maintaining the lawn--when I get outside at all!

...planning: Family reunion next week.

...waiting on: Babylon 5, seasons 1 & 2

...still recovering from: Cracked ribs mentioned two weeks ago. I'm getting better, just slowly

...wishing for: Either rain or cooler weather...or both!

...lauging about: Subject line from spam: "Cash for Women!" Sounds like a good trade to me. Too bad I don't have any to spare.

Shine Fourth

The Fourth was a good day, if a hot one. We had our annual get-together with friends from our old neighborhood, and this was the first year that all three of our kids were able to fend for themselves. It helps immensely that our friends' kids are very good with our kids. There was plenty of food, good conversation, bearable shade, and plenty to do. The event ended with a mid-summer version of an easter-egg hunt: scouring the lawn for Airsoft pellets. My kids brought home at least a hundred--and are now proceeding to fight over them.

Afterward we went home and made some homemade ice cream. Or ice soy, really. It turned out quite well, and for considerably less than it costs in stores. Eeeeexcellent!

The kids wanted to stay up to watch fireworks. We didn't really want them to stay up that late, but decided to indulge them this once. Fortunately, between the Macy's Fireworks Spectacular (odd use of the word--like calling "CSI: Miami" a television dramatic) and our neighbors who lit theirs off early so their two-year-old could go to bed, our kids were satiated and crashed before the neighborhood bombardment began after dark.

This was our first Fourth with a dog. It could have been worse. She was quite disturbed by the noise, but was content to lay next to the bed and let us soothe here until it calmed down. I'm just glad our neighborhood is comparatively tame. Our old neigborhood was like that for several days before and after the holiday. With few exceptions it's been quiet until last night.

Only the youngest child was awake before I headed out for work this morning. All things considered I'm feeling fairly good. Except when I sneeze. My ribs still don't like that.

Cramming Cultural Cuisine

One person on my team at work lives in another city. He was in town this week, so we all went out to lunch together today. For whatever reason we ended up at an Indian restaurant. I've had Indian before, so I can't say I was surprised that it was good. More likely just surprised that I didn't learn my lesson last time not to eat so much. That's the trouble with buffets. I only tried most of the dishes, not all, but I'm still stuffed.

My ribs are still hurting, though not that much during the day. It just makes sleeping rather uncomfortable, as there are only about two positions that aren't painful. I don't really want to go see a doctor. We're still paying off my little adventure to the emergency room a couple months ago.

The weekend is nearly here. And then we get two very short workweeks next week, thanks to the Fourth of July falling in the middle of the week. So far the kids haven't asked if we can buy fireworks, but probably because no one in our subdivision has been lighting any off yet. Which is in itself amazing. The last neighborhood where we lived they'd start a couple weeks early.

I'm tired. It's been one of those weeks where, even though I've accomplished a fair deal, I still feel like I'm getting farther behind.

Two hours left to work today, and I'm struggling against the effects of a localized gravitational anomaly in the area of my eyelids.

Go Dogs Go!

Our group at work had a big meeting on Monday, followed by a "team-building" exercise at the local indoor go-cart track. The latter was not mandatory, but I decided to go anyway. And what did we learn? I'm the most cautious driver in our group. I wasn't surprised to see the various male managers blowing by me, but I was a bit surprised to find our female director was also a faster driver than me.

Not that I care. If my future with the company relies on my ability to screech a go cart around a track with as little braking as possible then I'm more than happy to move on to another company. I'm pleased that I was able to loosen up some and just go for it, however. My best lap time was 26.7 seconds, which was nearly five seconds slower than our crazed web design lead, but also ten seconds faster than my initial lap times. So I reckon for a rookie (and one who, by nature, is allergic to speed) I did okay.

Anyway, it was actually kind of fun--right up until I went to pull into pit row after the last lap. Someone coming up behind me lost control of their cart and T-boned me at full speed. Being a skinny person, there was extra side-to-side room in my seat that the seat-belt really couldn't help with. I got slammed into the side of my seat and bruised three or four ribs. My mobility is somewhat restricted, and I can only find one comfortable position to sleep in at night.

In spite of that I was able to finish the inside walls on the playhouse last night. Still, I'm looking forward to getting over my "racing injury." And I doubt I'll be going go-carting any time soon.

President For Life

My wife saw a small notice posted somewhere in our subdivision that our homeowners association was having elections today, but she didn't notice where. I couldn't find any trace of the sign, personally, but since I care about what happens in our neighborhood I decided to see if I could track it down. I found it mainly by whose cars were parked outside of whose house, and arrived ten minutes late.

I was just in time to be nominated and voted in as president. To be honest, I wasn't surprised, and was somewhat prepared for that eventuality. We have a small, vocal, but essentially chicken group of attendees at each meeting. They want someone to make sure that the CC&Rs are kept, but they don't want to be the one to have to deliver the message.

Fortunately they also nominated me a vice president who's a bit tougher-looking than I am (and drives a Harley), so I think we'll be all right. It'll largely be a thankless job, but there'll at least be ONE benefit: I don't have to ask anyone before I change anything on my property.

Mwah ha ha ha!!!!! The corruption begins!

Feelin' Snarky

My boys woke up too early again this morning, and in an effort to keep things at least mildly under control I put on some early-morning kids TV. In listening to the theme music as the singer extolled the virtues of a CGI kewpie-faced airplane I noticed repeated references to "magic" and "magical."

It seems that magic is a required element in kids programming, even if there is none. At least the only magic I noticed in the show was sparkles trailing from the airplane's wings. I guess it's easier to call it magic than have to explain condensation (or fuel leaks) to tots, but still. It's become such an overworked term that I'm getting kinda sick of it.

Like another stop-motion television series about a tank engine that will remain nameless. The place it occurs is billed as a "magical land where dreams come true." Except I've never seen any magic there, either. And your dreams only come true if they involve a bunch of talking trains that continually get into scrapes and personality conflicts.

Kids are no dummies. I'm pretty sure most kids are totally immune to "magic" these days. "Yeah dad, I know. The plane is magic. The trains are magic. This pencil is magic. Suzy's diapers are magic. Everything's magic."

Okay, perhaps the diapers are magic--the dark arts, to be sure.

"How Much Older Can I Get?"

Morgan Freeman offers some thoughts on aging gracefully and appreciating life...couched in golf terms.

Projectile Dieting

I've been putting on a little weight lately, but I'd have preferred to take it back off slowly. Instead I got stomach flu over the weekend, the same stuff my kids have been passing around for the last week. I'm still not entirely back up to snuff, as food still does not appeal at all, but at least I'm functional. And I've dropped five pounds. Uhm...yay?

Thanks But No Thanks!

It would seem that at least some people in Africa aren't so keen on foreign aid. I've taken enough college economics to see that he has a point. To quote Dr. McCoy, "Drilling holes in his head isn't the answer! The artery must be repaired!"

The Greatest Generation

Last night I got back to reading "Flags of Our Fathers," a book about the men in the famous "flag-raising on Iwo Jima" photo. I read about the battle for Tarawa, where we lost over 1000 men in three days. The American public was upset about the losses, and couldn't understand the point of sacrificing so much for a tiny little island.

It reminds me, of course, of the war we're in right now. Every single complaint applied to the War on Terror could be applied to World War II. Yet they continued the fight at a cost that makes the Iraq War look like playground fisticuffs.

I dare say that America today wouldn't have won WWII. That doesn't fill me with hope, considering that WWIII has already started.

Polar Bear Dung Destroys Planet!

One of my gripes about the Global Warming current (I'm not going to say debate, as that's no longer allowed) is that they focus entirely on greenhouse gasses causing everything. Another is that everything gets blamed on Global Warming, and hence, greenhouse gasses. The polar ice caps are melting? Blame CO2 emmissions!

Well, perhaps not. A new study indicates that dirty snow is contributing at least partly to the increasing temperatures worldwide and more significantly to warming at the poles. It's not encouraging, mind you, and it's no less a problem than whatever else is going on, but it just shows that if you oversimplify things and fail to do due scientific diligence you may end up with the mob all running in the wrong direction.

CO2 and particulate pollution are connected, I'm sure, but the differences could make quite a bit of difference.

Increased solar output, and now particulate pollution. Isn't it time we opened our minds again on Global Warming? Do we really know what we think we know?

Smattering of Elemental Strategy

(Why yes, I DO love the word "smattering." Why do you ask?)

Overheard:
Emma (to the cat): You are so sweet, Jynx!
Walter: I'm not Jynx!

Middle-East:
Michael Totten has a guest columnist on why we should worry about Iran.
Michael Yon rides with the Queen's Royal Lancers.
Michael Yon writes about the courage and intelligence of one of our commanders in Iraq.

What I'm Reading:
I just finished reading "The Psi Corps Trilogy" by J. Gregory Keyes, from an outline by J. Michael Straczynski. The series covers the early origins of the Psi Corps and details the rise of our favorite psi cop, Alfred Bester, from childhood to head of the Corps. The series is ultimately about Bester--the history is just to set the stage, really. This causes the book to be a bit choppy at times, and it skips over events you really wish it would have detailed.

For example, if you're hoping to find out the gory details of Lyta Alexander's bloody revenge on the Psi Corps, prepare to be disappointed. It's alluded to, but entirely skipped over.

Instead, what we have is a classic Straczynski B5 tale: It's all about choices. The book takes one of the most vile human beings and reminds you that he was just that--a human being. You find yourself almost cheering for Bester, even while he's giving you the creeps. You find yourself hoping that he can find redemption and happiness. What we get is a book that, while not exactly satisfying, fits very nicely within the B5 universe and the Straczynksi morality.

I'm glad I read it, even though I wish I hadn't needed to read the whole thing. But you do, and it's worth it.

Audio Book:
"Pattern Recognition" by William Gibson. I've already read this before, but it's a good story well told. It can be as haunting as the "footage" the story revolves around. It details the story of a free-lance "cool" hunter as she undertakes an international search for the creator of the mysterious but provacative "footage," short video segments that pop up on the internet from time to time and has gathered a devoted following.

The annoying beauty of this book, I think, is that not everything is there for a reason. While some things in the book are interconnected in a nearly impossible--yet somehow believable--manner, other things are just...there. There are loose edges, and the ending seems a bit too elysian, but there's something there that won't let you go until it's done.

Gibson has a gift for descriptive detail--not quite poetic like Ray Bradbury, but evocative and multi-leveled. I should probably buy this book someday so I can study the language. I could learn from Gibson.

Notable Quote:
"I suspect I have spent just about exactly as much time actually writing as the average person my age has spent watching television, and that, as much as anything, may be the real secret here" - William Gibson

Idiots Guide to Prophecy

I'm the GM for a D&D group I play with (which makes me a DM, not a GM, I know. So sue me. The game takes place above ground most of the time, so if you want to get technical, I'm really a Surface Master. So there!). As such, I've been developing a game world for the group to play in. In an attempt to round things out a bit more I've been developing some prophecies.

That's not easy task, really. Even without the decision to make each poetic in nature (and in different styles to denote different prophets) it's difficult to get the right balance of vagueness and near-universal applicability without making them meaningless altogether. There has to be enough there that the characters can actually believe they may be part of prophecy--and that the prophecy is helpful to choosing their actions--while leaving room to wiggle if they're really not.

After writing around ten of these I have to say I'm feeling an intense desire to write up one "anti-prophecy" just for fun. Something like:

"Lo, and Drea, Alcoraxis, Fevera, and Wedlin (but not Gaubin, who shall be dead by then) shall go forth to the town of Silverling. There they shall find a grumpy bartender, a genial serving girl, and a mysterious man in the corner, who, though claiming to be able to help them, shall pick their pockets and render no real information. The serving girl, however, if treated kindly and tipped well, will provide information about the location of the Talisman of Ascerotin which they seek, having been told once years ago by her father, god rest is his soul. They should avoid the stables, as a most unpleasant encounter involving a goat, three roosters, and lots of lice awaits them."

That would be fun, especially to see the reaction of the players upon receiving such specific information (especially Gaubin's player). They'd doubtlessly not trust it, and before long be begging for a more "traditional" prophecy. Especially after the lice.