It Ain't Easy Being Green

John McCain is making his big nomination acceptance speech in front of a giant green screen. Crayola green. Kermit the Frog green.

It certainly does its best to emphasize just how hale and hearty this 72 year-old cancer survivor is.

I smell another "Make McCain Interesting" contest coming on.

(Note to self: find some good video editing software)

Update: The Green Screen Mystery is Solved! Turn out that the green was part of a larger image, specifically the lawn at Walter Reed, uh, Middle School. You gotta click that link to read the full story!

I Made This!

Pardon my rudimentary Photoshop skills....

So Many Shades of Wrong

Bill Clinton just finished his speech at the DNC, extolling the virtues of Obama and leading to Biden's speech, and the house band played him off with "Addicted to Love".

Are they ragging on Bill? How is that an appropriate choice? They played the entire first verse and part of the chorus, stopping abruptly when it was time for the title line.

Permit me to break my months of inactivity by plaintively wondering--WTF?!?

Sometimes I Wish I Were Charlene*

Catching up on TV from the DVR list tonight, I'm watching last night's Colbert Report.

Incidentally, this is one of CJ's favorite shows. He loves the eagle, and gets very excited whenever we watch "Bear Pore".

Anyway, I read the article on Yahoo this morning about the Colbert Bump in reference to Hillary's appearance last night. I didn't know that John Edwards also made an appearance and did one of the funniest and smartest monologues I've seen in sometime.

Oh, John. I'm so sad things didn't work out this year. I would have voted for you, if you hadn't dropped out five days before our primary.

I'm still behind you, and I'll see you in four years. You'll get my vote, and you won't even have to buy me a jet-ski.

*a cyber cookie to whomever gets the reference.

But Not the Hippie-potamus

I typically check the blogroll either at night, shortly before bed, or at work while I eat salad at my desk for lunch. This means I usually don't have the chance to respond as I would like. The past couple days, I've read several interesting blog posts from people I know (or knew, like Roy) and people I don't know (like Steph, and Rae) on the meanings of the word, "hippie".

The posts piqued my interests for two reasons. One, I've been reading the article on Larry Brilliant in the most recent Rolling Stone. Brilliant is the executive in charge of DotOrg, Google's recent launch into the world of corporate philanthropy. Brilliant is not a typical Silicon Valley CEO--he travelled across Europe to New Delhi with Wavy Gravy in the 70s, toking the entire way, arriving at an ashram of a guru. At the guru's urging, Brilliant travelled back into India and helped medical workers eradicate smallpox from the known world. In the 80s, Brilliant founded the Seva Foundation, dedicated to healing the blind, and ponied up the money for The Well, an early bulletin board think tank dedicated to the digitized sharing of ideas. He was friends with Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir, and won a TED aware for his work at using technology to develop early warning systems to detect pandemics. (I'm going my memory here, so if I got a detail wrong, please don't bust my balls over it). Anyway, Brilliant is an old hippie functioning in the corporate world.

The second reason is that I might be a hippie myself. I had some very eloquent thoughts on this subject morning, but instead of blogging I had to complete over 40 process and subprocess flows, so my thoughts may be rougher than the genius that struck me earlier. Bear with me.

Members of the M-Clan can vouch for my hair length since they've seen me most recently. I may have cut an inch off since then, but not much. I own a hybrid vehicle, replaced all my bulbs with CFLs, recycle my junk mail, cans, and plastics, and until the soft real estate market set in, had plans to mount solar panels to the roof of my house. I don't wear makeup, hate wearing dresses, and decline to shave my legs. My dream is to have a little patch of land to grow my own veggies and be as self-sufficient as possible, but reality is that I have to work.

My work is in the corporate realm--information technology--translating very geeky things into common English, driving project plans, defining processes, and leading a team of analysts doing the same types of things I do. A very non-hippie job. A very yuppie job.

I am a study of contradictions. I am a nerd, a geek, a dweeb, and a moron. I am a twisted freak, a loving mother, a decent cook, and an indecent wife. I'm a raving humans right liberal with a fiscal conservative bent. I mutter obscenities under my breath when I pay my quarterly HOA dues and tsk-tsk judgingly when my neighbors leave their trash cans outside their garage doors. I turn my music up, tell the kids to get off my xeriscaped non-lawn, refuse to grow up, and mourn the spoiled nature of teenagers today.

The things is, I don't necessarily apply these labels to myself because I defined their meanings and truly understand what they represent. These are labels placed on me by others in an attempt to define who I am. It seems very common to me that as a people, we categorize and generalize in an attempt to bring order and obtain easy explanations to complicated issues. As part of that process, we label each other because it is easier to understand a label than it is to understand the complexities of each human brain.

And yes, I know that I'm generalizing human behavior, and I get the irony. I think this particular generalization is valid. I'm been thinking about the need to categorize, understand, and explain a lot the past few weeks since Battlestar Galactica came back, but that's another post.

I guess my point is that I am all of things while not being any of these at the same time. I just am who I am, which doesn't seem to be acceptable for those who have to apply a label.

BareNaked Java

DISCLAIMER: I am not a programmer. I work with Java folks, and I don't pretend to be as smart as them. This struck me as a funny idea and I poked through the Java help forums for beginner stuff. If it isn't structurally sound, I'm not surprised. And yeah, pretend I did the indents, cuz I did, but stupid Blogger won't show them.


class IfHadMillionDollars {
public static void main(String [] args {

switch (purchase) {
case 1: System.out.println("house"); break;
case 2: System.out.println("furniture"); // chesterfield or ottoman; break;
case 3: System.out.println("k-car"); // reliant automobile; break;
case 4: System.out.println("your love"); break;
}
void buildTreeHouse(){
if (isHelping){ // effort not as hard
tinyFridge--; // pre-wrapped sausages (bacon == null)
}
}
switch (purchase) {
case 5: System.out.println("fur coat"); // coat == real; break;
case 6: System.out.println("exotic pet"); // llama or emu; break;
case 7: System.out.println("Merrick's remains"); // crazy elephant bones; break;
case 8: System.out.println("your love"); break;
}
void gotoStore(){
if (rentLimo){ // cost is increased
kraftDinner--; // fancy Dijon Ketchup
}
}
switch (purchase) {
case 9: System.out.println("green dress"); // dress == real; break;
case 10: System.out.println("art"); // Picasso or Garfunkel; break;
case 11: System.out.println("monkey"); // I have always wanted a monkey; break;
case 12: System.out.println("your love"); break;
}
System.out.println("I'd be rich.");
}
}
}

Latest Police Stats

NOTE: I did not make this, although I wish I had.

Random Silliness

In case it wasn't already obvious, work and life have been kicking my ass lately. The MMWP has grown to gigantic proportions, and my days are filled with meetings leaving little time (except evenings and weekends) to catch up on emails and regular work.

Tonight is one of the few nights I've been able to successfully boycott working after dinner.

As a result, most conversations between Tom and me consist of me ranting while he listens as we come home, or us cracking jokes while listening to Stephanie Miller on the way to work. A few nights ago, I spotted a new billboard on our commute route--a Spanish McDonald's board advertising, "Sausage McMuffin con huevo".

This spawned some predictable responses:

"What do they call a Quarter Pounder in Mexico?"
"Does Mexico use metric or imperial?"
"Metric, I think."
"What's the Spanish word for quarter?"
"What's 'Royale' in Spanish?"
"I got it--they call it the Quarter Pounder con queso!"

I spent a good deal of time amending everything I saw with "con huevo". It's just fun to say. Billboard for healthcare? "Cigna con huevo!" City bus with a PSA plastered to the side? "Just say no con huevo!" Be caller number 9 to win tickets to big concert, "Kansas con huevo!"

Somewhere around there, things took an odder turn. Tom has a smattering of French from his childhood spent growing up 40 miles from the Canadian border, trying to get a peek of boobies from the CBC programming coming from Montreal. I recall ridiculously little of my 2 1/2 years of Spanish--just about enough to translate "con huevo". I asked Tom what quickly became a dangerous question:

"What's the French word for egg?"
"Oeuf."
"Uff?"
"Oeuf."
"Uhff?" I was trying to curl my mouth around my teeth but it wasn't working right. My French pronunciation is pitiable. "How is that spelled?"
"O-e-u-f."
"Well, that there's your problem! There are entirely too many vowels in that word!"

Tom laughed. "French has that. Remember 'oui'?"
"Wee? Oh, oui! Oui!
"Why do ya ask?"
"I was wondering if the French call it, 'Sausage McMuffin avec oeuf'."
"I'm sure they have a different name."
"I hope so. Avec oeuf isn't as cool as con huevo!"

This is about the time when I morphed into Beavis. "Huevo! Con huevo! Necessito huevo por mi queso! Si!" Then it was time for another of my stupid questions. "Hey, if I go to France, and I order two eggs, would I ask for "duh uff?"
"Duh-zehrv."
"What?"
Tom repeats it, something sounding like a pretentious pronunciation of deserve.
"Where'd the z come from?"
"When the x precedes a vowel, it sounds like a zed."
"Zed? Since when are you kiwi?"
Tom ignores me. "Zed. 'Deux oeuv'."
"Duh uhv...wait--where is the v coming from?"
"Plural. F becomes a v. Deux oeuv."
"Duhuhvvvvv."
"Close."
"What about three eggs?"
"Trois oeuv, I think."
"Five?"
"Cinq oeuv."
"Sank oeuv?"
"Your pronunciation sucks."
"I know!"
"Just sayin'"
"My mouth isn't made right."
"Uh-huh."
"What oeuv?"
"No, I said uh-huh."

Tom's making a turn onto another surface street, and I realize we've been carrying on this silliness for almost twenty minutes of our ride. Tom is counting in French under his breath, while I'm still pondering the whole oeuf to oeuv thing and this mysterious zed. "So French has a hidden Z?"
"Sometimes."
"Is there a silent q?"
"No."
"There are silent t's and silent r's."
"Yeah, tons of those."
I try counting to ten as Tom laughs at my attempt, "Uhn, duh, twah, cat, sank, seize, set, wheat, nuff, deesay."
"Dix."
"What?"
"You said deesay. Not deesay, dix."
"Deece?"
"Yep. What's deesay?"
"Deesay? Oh, dice. Twelve in Spanish."
"Oh, OK."
"So, Deece uhv?"
"No, dix oeuv." He says it again like he's drawing out deserve.
"I thought that was two eggs?"
"No, deux oeuv, dix oeuv. It's different."
"Not different enough if I'm ordering. I don't wanna ask for two eggs and get a dozen."
"Ten, not twelve."
"Whatever."
"Nuff of."
"What?"
"Nine eggs. Neuf oeuv."
"As is, 'I've had enough of neuf oeuv?'"
Tom laughs. "Yeah, that would work."

What's really weird about this whole conversation?

I'm allergic to egg yolks. I'll never order eggs in any language.

All That Gas

I was checking my email a few moments ago when I heard CJ wildly laughing in our bedroom. I had set him up earlier with an Animaniacs DVD and decided to go investigate to see what was tickling him so.

It was a Great Wakkorotti cartoon. In this one, Wakko "sings" Blue Danube completely in belches, unhinging his jaw in more and more impossible ways until a great big burping finish. That was what my son was finding so funny. It reminded me of something I wrote about five year ago, when I actually owned slippingreality dot com and was giving running a website a try (it died a painless death, but that's ok. It was a fun experiment with FrontPage).

Anyway, here's what I wrote--please to enjoy:

Farts are funny.

It's a fact. Everyone knows this, even children. When I was a kid, my dad would make a production number out of his farts, leaning in the doorway and cocking one leg up, knee bent, to let one rip. He did this to much amusement from my sister and me, and to much consternation from my mother. I used to think his beaming expression after one of these displays was in reaction to the giggle fit coming from us; now I know that his grin was the result of his own amusement.

When visiting the family last March, I babysat my nephew, 5, and my niece, 2. We were watching Nickelodeon for the eighth hour when a commercial came on featuring an animated lawn mower which ate grass and belched. My nephew loved it. He imitated the noises and laughed, and looked at me and said, "Burps are funny." Then my niece, who was nestled in my lap, looked at me with her angelic face and announced, "Farts funny, too!"

Farts are usually dismissed as a juvenile attempt to make people laugh without substance, but Aristophanes used flatulence as a humor device in many of his early plays, most of which are considered classics. Some modern movies are falling back on the fart jokes, and are becoming box office hits.

Why are farts so funny? Part of it is the word. Fart. Fart fart fart. It's fun to say, and it's hard not to laugh when someone says it. Part of it is the sound. The fart doesn't have to be real; a polyester clad posterior on a leather chair can provide hours of entertainment if the weather conditions permit. The sounds can be tiny or thunderous, and can sometimes contain harmony if done just right. Tom can sound like a brass band after eating popcorn. This is why we don't go to the movies very often.

Sometimes farts are funny only to the ones who smelt it, and not the ones who dealt it. During that same visit last March, Tom's niece wanted to show us her dance routine. To the Backstreet Boys. I won't go on that tangent now. Her dance contained mostly gymnastic movements, and at the height of her cartwheel, she erupted with a blast that was rather impressive for her small size. Initially, she was embarrassed as Tom, his brother, and I resembled three monkeys who could speak no evil as we fought laughter. She yelled at her brother, who was singing the praises of her flatulence from the doorway, until he began to blow fart noises on his arm and she started to laugh and finished her dance. The noises brought her back from the momentary horror. Of course, she had to start her song over, but again, I won't get into that.

Me? I don't fart.

Honestly.

Farts are funny. It's an incontrovertible fact. And I'll try to remember that tonight when Tom pulls the covers over my head.

The New Year's Day University of Phoenix Insight Jobing.Com Tostitos Fiesta Post

It's been a very good vacation, the longest we've taken at home in sometime. Tom goes back to work tomorrow, and CJ returns to daycare, but I'm still off through Monday. I'm hoping to continue the progress we've made on the homefront, and complete a bit of online training before returning to work.

We started off slowly, recovering from last minute Christmas shopping, birthday festivities, and general stress. Since last Thursday, we've managed to reorganize some clutter in the living room, tackle Christopher's messy bedroom (truly like entering the Heart of Darkness, I emerged muttering, "The horror; the horror." My fault for buying him all those toys, I suppose), and do a complete Clean Sweep of our bedroom.

I don't know if you've ever seen Clean Sweep on TLC--homeowners get help clearing out their junk rooms. A decorator and carpenter redo the rooms while the homeowners sort out the mess before it goes back into the house. I watch for two reasons: 1) I feel a little better about being such a packrat compared to people who have rooms so full of stuff they can barely open the door anymore, and 2) It gives me ideas on how to tackle my own clutter problems and make things more manageable.

In the living room, I got some large baskets to fit under the coffee table and end tables for CJ's toys. I know a lot of parents have those huge trunk-type tables, but we foolishly bought our furniture in our child-free days without thinking about where we would need to stash crayons, puzzles, and several plastic dinosaurs. In CJ's room, I sorted through his clothes to pull out what he's outgrown and stashed them in a container that fits under his bed. We'll put the clothes out at a yard sale in a few months. Our bedroom was a much larger effort--it had become a catchall for various things throughout the house, my clothes were stacked on top of my dresser for lack of room, and Tom wanted to change the furniture arrangement.

First, Tom helped me go through my clothes and I pared quite a bit from my wardrobe. I felt some guilt; as a kid, we didn't have a lot of money, so anything I bought to wear I had to wear, whether I liked it or not. I don't buy clothes often, but I have a closet full of blouses I've worn once and then realized I didn't like them, shirts and pants that didn't fit right after a few washes, and other t-shirts and things that I hesitated to throw away once they became ragged, thinking I would fix them. I was pretty ruthless--I made a big pile for yard sale and made enough space for everything to fit. Then we went through baskets and boxes of junk and sorted those out, and managed to store most of it under the bed. Finally, we moved the furniture around per Tom's idea, and it's like we've discovered a whole new room! We now have space for a couple chairs in there so we can sit and watch cartoons with CJ in there, or get away and read.

I should mention this is all stuff we've been wanting to do for most of the year, but got derailed through various means.

We also managed to get out of the house a few times. Today we went to get coaxial cable and special fasteners so I could run cable over the bedroom doorway from the outlet (we moved the TV to another wall), stopped at Chik-Fil-A for yummy chicken, and all got haircuts. There were a few moments where I began to freak while Tom got his haircut--Christopher didn't recognize Tom without his glasses and long hair while dressed in that black cape and got rather upset, insisting I go with him to help find Daddy. Once Tom took the cape off, put his glasses on, and spoke to CJ, CJ was fine with it. Tom watched CJ while CJ and I got haircuts. My stylist was very good, but was a little too enthused by my "virgin hair". Apparently, hairdressers don't see untouched, uncolored, unpermed, completely un-product-covered hair like mine, and she ran her fingers through it quite a lot. Enough so that Tom asked if she was hitting on me, but I don't think she was.

Right now, Tom is in bed sleeping since he has to wake early tomorrow. Christopher is still fighting bedtime, so I'm still up until I'm sure he's asleep. For the past two hours, he's tried laying on the couch in the living room, then I brought him back into his room. Last I checked, he was busily covering pictures in a board book with black crayon then wiping it off with a diaper wipe. It's one of his favorite bedtime activities.

Hope the New Year brings good things to everyone. I'm hoping it brings more great moments to my family like the ones we've had this week. As boring as the events may seem when written down, this has been one of best vacations in a long time.

The Only Winning Move Is Not to Play

Today, Christopher gave me a Rubik's Cube for Christmas. Tom told me it was genuinely from him; CJ saw it when the two of them were at Barnes and Noble, and CJ grabbed it and carried it around the store while telling Tom, "We haf to go show Mommy."

That would explain why the top of the package was already partially opened.

Anyway, I am now freaking obsessed with this thing. I stared at it for some time, and told Tom I was afraid to touch it, that I would mess it up. He laughed and told me it's there to play with, not to just stare at for hours. So finally, I picked it up and gave it a twist...

I had a Rubik's Once before, when I was about 5. Mom couldn't get it out of my hands. She had to hide it before I left for school. I spent days twisting, twisting, twisting, trying to solve it. One morning, Mom found the cube sitting by her chair, solved. She picked it up and a sticker fell off. I had gotten so frustrated with the darned thing I had peeled off each sticker and restuck them in order.

I haven't tried peeling this one yet.

I've already spent several moments today twisting, peering, shaking my head, twisting backwards, and occasionally biting my tongue to keep from cursing (CJ said "shit" at the store yesterday, but that's another story). I got all the yellows at one point, but had to abandon them to try to align my blues and whites.

Heaven help me. I'm on vacation for another week and a half, and I can already tell I'm getting nothing productive done.

Merry Christmas!

OK, since I mentioned it--CJ picked up the s-word from either Tom or me (we're equal opportunity shitters) and said it a couple times over the weekend. We didn't make a big deal and directed him to something else. Yesterday, we went out to finish our Christmas shopping and split up at the shopping center. Tom went to one store, and I took CJ to Linens 'N' Things.

I was trying to find a coffee grinder for my friend, Jay, who is seriously into coffee. I couldn't find one. I was next to all the coffee makers and carafes, and I knew they had to be there somewhere. I said to CJ, who was riding in the cart, "I can't find the coffee grinders. I wonder if they're out?"

My sweet little angel looked at me and with perfect inflection intoned, "Shit."

Again, I didn't make a big deal of it. He had a good point. Just then, I found what I was looking for and moved on.

Later, we were looking at candles while Christopher sang "Jingle Bells" to me ("Jinga bell, Jinga bell, Jinga alda way! Oh wah fun, do-doo-doo, jinga alda way!"). He started singing it using nonsense words, bobbing his head, "Shoo shoo shoo, shoo shoo shoo, shoo shoo doo doo shoo!", and then I realized he was using the s-word again instead of "shoo". Luckily, he was singing softly, no one overheard, and I was able to get him back on the right words.

I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this latest development. My own darned fault, I know. I have a mouth like a sailor at home; it's a failing. Anyway, for any who have gone through this: Am I doing the right thing, letting it go and directing him to another word or activity or should I do something else? It seems to me that if I laugh, or get angry, then he'll say it more often--or who knows what other word he might pick. I'm sure I've given him plenty of choices.

And yes, later on, I told Tom what had happened while CJ was watching Bugs Bunny in our bedroom, and we laughed our asses off.

Where, Oh, Where Are You To-Night?

Jenn, your phone calls and emails have been duly noted (and quite enjoyed, especially the sung voice mail), and I'm really sorry I have been remiss in sticking with my plan to update once a month. Where have I been? Nowhere, really, just stuck in the details.

November and December have contained 2.5 weeks of training and the rest of time in planning sessions for the Mighty Morphing Web Project. After 18 months of prototyping and analysis, we're ready to go forward and managing to secure a big chunk of cash to do so. So I've been involved in sessions to plan timelines, priorities, documentation structure, resource planning, and kickoff. Somewhere in there I have found time to breathe, but barely. During this time, I'd been planning everything except my role, since I didn't know what my role would be over the next three years as we make this thing a reality. So I found the courage last week to approach my boss and create my own--essentially, I want to define the documentation standards, create the templates, hire the analysts, implement the governance, and oversee the analysts, providing guidance along the way. I also want visibility, so I want to filter the information into the regular status communications, prepare end of release containment reports, and participate in the ongoing strategy discussions for the overall project.

Amazingly, I made a strong case for why I was the best person for the role, and gave some examples of things I've done that fit in, as well as ideas for the way we should do things for MMWP. Even more amazingly, my boss thought I was right on point with my ideas and agreed that I fit exactly what he's needing for this kind of role. So, I got it.

One must be careful about one wishes for, though. Today I found out that while I may have my dream role, I may be doing it for another boss. Not sure how I feel about that. There are pros and cons to each person--I'm more hung up on the surprise of it. Remember those trainings I mentioned earlier? Turns out those discussions happened while I out learning new stuff, and since we're moving at Mach 2 to get everything ready, everyone on my team assumed I had gotten an update about from someone else. In actuality, no one told me a thing, and I bopped along blissfully ignorant of the impending new director.

Surprise!

On another topic--my little boy turns 3 tomorrow! I have two dozen cupcakes in the pantry ready to go to daycare tomorrow for an informal class party. I'm working from home tomorrow so I can bake a spice cake and make the cream cheese frosting, then it's time for Birthday Dinner Party! This is the first year CJ has talked about parties and birthdays, so I think he'll enjoy it. I have hats and balloons and squawking things, and way too many toys for one child to handle. Our friends Jay and Erik are coming, along with her sister Robin (who watched CJ when Tom and I had to go to Florida earlier this year). No kids this year, since we were too late with the planning to execute that piece, but I still think my little boy will be pleased.

Next week I start vacation till January 7th, but this is still a busy time--CJ's birthday, Christmas, then Tom's birthday. I love Amazon.com! I'm really looking forward to the extended family time of the three of us together, around the house, without having to juggle work and daycare for a bit. Then I'm sure we'll all get sick of each other by the time we have to resume our normal schedules and we won't accomplish half of our "honeydo" lists--but let's focus on the important thing, really:

VACATION!

Last random thing to mention--I have begun my 10th year with my company. I'm a little surprised about it. It's the longest I've been in any one organization in my life, and it seems to have moved quickly. Somehow, I blinked, and now I'm 32, married, a mother, with a career, and I still feel like I'm 17 and should get up early because I'm opening the Hardee's drive-thru tomorrow.

I'm not sure if this is what it means to be all growed up.

Suck it, Malthesar!

99% Geek

My Dynamite Napoleon

Excuse Me. I Couldn't Help Noticing That Strange and Interesting Plant.

Finally--finally!--FINALLY, I've published the report I've been working on for the last 6 months. One of my coworkers told me I looked different a few days later, like I was standing up straighter and smiling more. It's an incredible sense of relief and one of the biggest challenges of my career and I'm very proud that I got it done and done well.

My little guy is conked out on the couch with a cold. I've been giving him Motrin occasionally for fever, and Dimetapp this morning for the snot. The Dimetapp wound him up bigtime! I felt bad because after the Dimetapp he was in a good mood and so goofy and I couldn't help but laugh at his sillier moments, even though I knew it was because he was doped up.

When the Dimetapp wore off, I confess, I gave him a tiny dose of Benedryl instead. It was naptime, and I knew he'd have no nap with Dimetapp (Maybe that should be their new marketing campaign?). So I crossed my fingers and gave him the Benedryl. I temper my guilt with the knowledge that he needs his rest.

Tom is picking up on the antiques and collecting hobby, still working toward putting together his own business. We've been watching more Bargain Hunt. One couple bought a silver ladle from the 18th century to display as a "conversation piece". I don't understand this logic. I imagine every conversation would go this way:

"Is that a ladle?"
"Yes, it's from the 18th century."
"Why did you buy it?"
"As a conversation piece."
"Oh."

I saw someone buy a huge butterchurn once, same purpose. It was a like a barrel with legs, and a giant handle to turn. There was a small window on one end to see the progress. Again, I imagine each conversation as:

"What the heck is that?"
"A butter churn."
"Why would you buy a butter churn?"
"As a conversation piece."
"Oh."

To be fair, these would be conversations with the buyers and their guests. I'm sure that guests and visitors amongst themselves would have some very spirited conversations about the buyers and their interesting taste.

I really don't know what else to add. I post only once a month and still have nothing to say. I'm a very boring person.

What'sa Happ'nin, Hot Stuff?

Suze noted in the comments for Office Space haiku that she waited behind teh great Johnny C while in Malibu. Oh, Suze, how I envy you. How could you stand that close to Dr. Cox and not just jump him then and there?

On the list, I tell you--on the list! In Sharpie!

Moving on--Monsoon season has hit the Valley and I will be glad when it passes in a few weeks. Dew points above 55 degrees equal humidity levels of 40-50%. Not bad back East, but in the summer desert with a temperature of 115? Murderous. Literally. It's difficult to stay hydrated, too hot to go outdoors, and dust storms come from nowhere followed by rain storms that flood the washes quickly and create standing water of an inch or more within minutes because the parched ground can't soak up the rain and quickly as it pounds down. For some reason, I have trouble breathing when the air gets too humid--right before a monsoon hits, I'll feel as though something is sitting on my chest and that feeling doesn't pass till the clouds do. After the rain, though, the desert smells incredible and there's brief respite from the humidity, the air pressure, and the temperature till the next day begins.

Work is still keeping me busy. In fact, I've been so busy I still have nearly three weeks to use before the end of the year. Most of that is planned around the upcoming holidays, and I have a feeling I will be taking some long weekends until then. I took a four day weekend this past weekend that was awesome. I didn't leave the house--just stayed home and played with CJ and cleaned and did some Sudoku and caught up on TiVo. Like Tooz, I have my shows I like to watch but I have to record them all to watch during naptimes and the evenings. Typically, weekend TV is devoted to Blue's Clues, Jack's Big Music Show, The Upside Down show, and Pinky Dinky Doo. It may seem like CJ watches a lot of TV, but he really doesn't. It's more background noise while we color or play. He does actually watch a few of the shows and he'll tell Steve where to find clues, or clap with Jack and Mary, or tell me about the whole Dinky Doo family. I must admit that the television he does watch is more interactive than I recall some things I watched as a kid. I'm fascinated by the Upside Down Show--it's educational focus is on imaginative play and abstract thinking, it's hosted by a pair of actors from New Zealand, and it becomes so absurd at times that I suspect it might be a preschool primer to Monty Python. CJ loves it.

I'm hooked on home flipping shows--Flip That House, Property Ladder. Tom and I are convinced we could do better than the people in the shows. We've looked at the possibilities several times, but not in the Phoenix market. Too unstable right now. I have Season Passes for Bargain Hunt and Cash in the Attic on BBC America. I have to have my Daily Show/Colbert Report fix. So much so that CJ asks for those shows by name (Day-lee show? Bear Pore?). And I have the usual summer foodfare--Hell's Kitchen, Top Chef, Good Eats, and Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares when I can catch it.

That's about all for now. Too darned hot to do anything but watch TV.

For Mrs. Ann

Office Space haiku. I think I've watched this movie way too much.

If you could put the
cover sheets on TPS?
Yeah, that would be great.

If things go well I
Might be showing her my O
face--"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Heh.

I'm gonna lose it!
Sounds like someone's got a case
Of the Mondays!

It seems you've missed work.
I can't exactly say I've
Been missing it, Bob.

Don't take my stapler.
Move my desk and I swear I
Will burn this place down.

Haiku Doin'?

Lapse in updating.
Will attempt to fill in gaps
Solely in haiku.

Took a trip in May.
West Palm Beach--ritzy. Open
Bar, drank way too much.

Rode catamaran
To Peanut Island. Many
homes I can't afford.

Went go karting in
Jupiter. Ran off course but
Still finished the race.

Had picture taken
With Senior Vice President.
I smiled awkwardly.

Sunburn peeling, flew
Home to Phoenix. Was very
Happy to see son.

Most of June has been
Very busy. Catch up on
Work, projects moving.

CJ is talking
in partial clauses. Learns new
Words every day.

Read Dr. Seuss's
ABCs each night for bed.
Memorized each word.

Big I, little i,
i...i...i. Icabod is
Itchy. So am I.

Took time off for Fourth
Of July. Made burgers, watched
Fireworks from backyard.

Birthday is next week.
Excitement mounts though I grow
Older--Thirty-two : )

Shall quickly forget
to mope about if Harry
Potter comes on time.

As for now, not much
Going on. Daily routine
With domestic joy.

Hope you enjoyed the
brief haiku update. If not,
It's all Everett's fault.

Off to Palm Beach

I won't be back till the weekend, so no singing for me to post week. I'm hoping this will be a fun trip, despite the business context--I have to meet the CEO, y'all! Yikes!!!

I'll see you when I get back.

So It Goes

The surge of troops into Iraq has worked so well that there is a proposal to extend tours of duty by three months, from 12 to 15. Don Imus has been fired, and fired again, for stupidly thinking he could describe a women's collegiate team in a way that was politically incorrect, socially unacceptable, and realistically untrue (while 24 hour cable outlets have repeated the epithet so many times my brain has turned it into it's own sitcom jingle). We now know who fathered Anna Nicole's baby, and my baby got his first goose egg at daycare yesterday after horsing around with a classmate. And at some point, while all this was happening, Kurt Vonnegut passed away after long, interesting, and fairly incomprehensible life.

So it goes.

I'm still working on delivery for the project I've been working on for a year, and two weeks from now, will be completely done with the documentation for this particular effort. Then we go into evaluation and I began the documentation for another project. I was picked, inexplicably, as a winner for the department Excellence award at the Platinum award, meaning I receive a monetary award and trip for two to a swanky five-diamond resort in Florida for four days in May. While my teammates and boss are very excited for me, I feel a little strange about it, as if I drove the cement truck but they were the ones who laid the foundation and built the house. Then I tell myself to relax and go with it, stop being my own worst critic, and don't worry about expectations when staring at a blank PowerPoint slide and just do my thing.

This seems like an excellent time to bust out Jenn's five questions for me:
1. What's your favorite speech/drama memory from high school?
I've been mulling this one over for a week, since there are so many--each gavel I picked up; stopping at Ehrler's for ice cream whenever we were near; the year I managed to place 5th in the State and the weirdness Susan and I felt when I kept making it through each level when I had never dreamed I could be one of those kids but Susan knew all along I had the potential; the Cujo joke Susan, Isaac, and I shared while walking into the Pizza Hut in Shepherdsville that drew us some perplexed stares from the waitstaff, and other general memories of friendship, camaraderie, an amazing first kiss, and other assorted benchmarks of life that I can't imagine sharing with anyone other than the people who were in my life then.

Trying to narrow it to one, I go back to the one that pops up first: Some details are fuzzy. I think this was senior year, coming back Bowling Green for the State Tournament that year. I don't remember everyone in the car, but I know Mandi, Doug, and I were in the backseat and Susan was driving. This was odd, since I usually sat up front next to Susan, but this time someone else had that place. Doug was the only male, and we covered his head with my jacket while Mandi and I stripped off skirts and pantyhose to put on more comfortable clothing and shoes. Doug got bored and began clucking my name, "Buh-Buh-Buh-BeckEE!!" till Susan was crying with laughter. In general, we were having a grand old time as the sky got darker and darker and Susan began to wonder why we hadn't E-town yet on the Parkway. About that time, we spotted the sign for Shepherdsville--in all the fun, we'd missed the Parkway completely and kept moving up the 65!

This was before cellphones, so we just kept going, grabbed the Gene Snyder Expressway, and came down 64, getting to the high school at least an hour later than we should have (if not longer). Parents were worried, as were our fellow classmates, and it was pretty hard to explain exactly why we had missed the correct exit on a drive Susan had made at least 20 times.

On a somewhat related note--For some reason, I was the only person who could remember which exit to take off the Gene Snyder to get the Bullitt Central High School, the one that looped around and back. Other cars would always take the wrong one and have to turn around. After I graduated, Susan began taking the team to a different high school that weekend instead of Bullitt Central, and the location for Catholic Regionals changed. Coincidence? I think not.

2. If you were offered the chance to go back to college and finish up your degree, regardless of subject matter, what would you study and what would you do with that educational background?
I was thinking of this not too long ago, since I get tuition assistance as a perk and I want to finish my education. My decision was to major in History (or Historical Studies, or Humanities, I forget how ASU has it listed) with a minor in Religion or Cultural Studies. The schools I have available name the subjects differently in their curriculums. Basically, I want to learn more about the patterns of the people who live in this world, about the causes and effects of past actions, and understand how the religions we practice and the places we live influence our decisions and communication. It's something that interests me since I live in an area much different in racial population than where I grew up, and I work for a company where cultural differences can be slight, yet profound. For instance, my boss attended school in India and did well because intelligence was highly celebrated; as he put it, being a nerd was desirable. In my opinion, our culture celebrates and awards mediocrity over intelligence and effort. It just seems like a good idea to understand those overarching differences, especially if I want to continue in my line of work where that cultural divide is not going to go away.

3. What's the funniest thing C.J. has done so far?
He does something funny every day, so there's always a new one. Last Sunday, he had me cracking up when he was playing with his ball--it looks like a softball but is literally soft, stuffed with fiber and safe for playing in the house--anyway, he was about the throw it to me when He lifted his t-shirt and stuck his ball under it, then pulled the t-shirt down. Proportionally, he looked nine months pregnant with this huge round belly sticking way out, then he spread his hands and shook his head, "Where'd it go? Where'd it go?" I stammered out, while laughing, "It's under your shirt!" and he looked down and got this look of surprise, then exclaimed, "there it is!" This might seem strange, since he's only 2, but he was definitely trying to be funny, knew this was funny, and was completely committed to it. Plus, the visual was completely, perfectly absurd.

4. What's the most romantic thing Tom has ever done for you?
Again, lots of moments in nearly eleven years, so narrowing it down is difficult. We're not overt in our notions, but do more subtle things for each other--in other words, he might not give me a card or flowers for Mother's Day, but he'll wash all my laundry and cook my favorite steak for dinner, that kind of thing. When CJ was six months old and the last Harry Potter book came out (the day before my birthday), Tom watched CJ all day on my birthday so I could curl up and read, something I hadn't really done since CJ was born.

We've been getting ready for a yard sale in a couple weeks, and this weekend we were going through our books to decide what to keep and what to sell. I found the copy of The Bean Trees he gave me for one Christmas, with this inscription: "From a man who's very happy a certain Kentucky girl moved to Arizona." Still, for most romantic, I'd pick this example: Right after I moved out to AZ, I discovered I was missing one of my Eddings books, a hardcover copy of the Ruby Knight, that was irreplaceable. I didn't find out I missing it until I had finished a re-read of the book before it, so I was pretty upset. Months later, for our first Christmas, Tom gives me a present to open--a paperback copy of the book, with an apology that he couldn't find the hardback! He'd actually looked on the list in one my other Eddings books to see which one I was missing so he could replace it. A small thing to be sure, but it gave me a fairly good idea of the kind of person he was.

Ten years later, he hasn't proved me wrong on that.

5. What's your dream job?
I doubt it exists. It would give me tons of flexibility to work when and where I want, pay well enough that Tom could stay home and I wouldn't have to worry about the bills, would give me a sense that my accomplishments actually affect the earth and the people on it in someway, give me a tangible feeling of satisfaction for completing my tasks, and let me be as creative as I want to be.

My current job, luckily enough for me, fills some of these goals, but not all. Enough for now, I suppose.

Sort of like this post--enough for now, I suppose.