Cerebrate Good Times

I'm going to combine a couple different thoughts complaints here into one post about pet peeves. First is the less egregious complaint, which is that Samuel has been learning how to whistle lately. And it's really getting on my nerves. He's just getting to the point where he can start to hit a few different notes, and it's pretty constant every evening and all weekend long. Sometimes I'm about to lie down to sleep and I hear the whistles drifting up through the vent, and I cringe. I can't say exactly why it's so irritating, but it is. I don't want to discourage him, though, so I'm not going to say anything. Now on to the much more serious complaint. I don't think of myself as a "pet peeves" person, but I guess this is #1 on my list. It's simply this: saying you'll do something and not doing it.  There are so many examples of this. I depend on some people at work for a weekly task, and I have told them multiple times that...

So, that happened. Camping, I mean. Friday afternoon the boy scouts gathered at the scoutmaster's house to caravan to the camp site. Questions about where we were going were answered by naming some person that apparently everyone in Idaho knows. "It's at so-and-so's place." Oh. Okay, then. Eventually I was able to get someone to point out where we were going, more or less, on a map. And eventually we were off. The property was a patch of dirt in the scrubland just a few minutes from some local sand dunes. We basically got there in time to set up camp and cook dinner. Then we hung around the fire and the kids told scary stories while I tried to watch the Jazz game on my phone (there was surprisingly decent reception). Of course it rained a bit, which is pretty much a legal requirement when you camp, and then it cleared up and the temperature plummeted. We all scrambled for our tents and, in my case, shivered for the next 8 hours. I hadn't been campin...

Last weekend was kind of an interesting one where lots of things seem to happen close together. It started Friday, when Katie informed me she had driven to the school and had gotten a flat tire. I had her use the tire inflator to get enough air in it to get home. Later I couldn't see an obvious nail or anything in it, so I took it back where we had gotten it for warranty-covered repair. They had to replace it, but of course they didn't have the same tire in stock so I had to pay for an upgrade. Blah. On Saturday the kids went outside to hide plastic eggs with candy, and Sam put one in the furnace exhaust pipe, which drops down into our basement. I spent all day trying to flush it out, using a shop vac from either end to suck it out, then an air compressor, and even a hose to flush it out with water. I never managed to find it, but things were obviously moving through the pipe well enough so I patched things back up. I ordered a 30-foot flexible inspection camera that attaches...

Sitcoms are funny. What? That's what they're for? Sure, smart guy/gal, but I'm not talking about anything intentional. What I mean is the way they portray children. Children in a lot of TV shows only exist to move the plot forward on occasion. Babies and toddlers in particular very very little screen time. Otherwise they're always mysteriously sleeping, in the crib, or just not mentioned at all . Meanwhile, the adult characters are free to have whatever adventures they would have even with no children in the picture. This to me is the most unreal aspect of entertainment. It's not the giant monsters in movies or the impossibly good-looking people who abound. It's perfectly obedient children. We're all about gritty realism these days, so why doesn't anybody have to change a diaper blowout in the middle of a terrorist attack?

These last few days in our house have been a fascinating experiment incorporating elements of psychology, physiology and biology. It all started last Thursday evening, when we realized that our house was 85 degrees despite the thermostat being set at 75. I called an AC repair company first thing Friday morning, and we were informed that it would take at least a week for the replacement part to arrive. In the meantime we’ve experience a slow descent into the depths of Hell, and I’ve become convinced that we are a part of some scientific experiment. The mornings are comparatively pleasant, in the low 80s in the house, climbing to the mid-90s in the late afternoon, and remaining scorching until after the sun sets. We’ve been spending time outside and going various places as much as possible, but we can’t completely avoid the house. So obviously we’re hot and sweaty (I’ve discovered that I can drink more water than I ever expected), and more irritable, and it’s hard to be motivated t...

Empathy is a funny thing. And if by “funny” I mean “awful.” I like to think I can appreciate the misfortunes of others without having to experience them directly. No, really, Universe. I’m good. Well, okay. There are some situations I have been less than empathetic about because I don’t have personal perspective. Like whatever brain parasite causes people to wear skinny jeans. I will never empathize with that. Anyway, this post isn’t about those situations, but one I have actually now experienced firsthand. Generally speaking, I’ve been extremely fortunate throughout my life in terms of my health. I mean, I’ve experienced lesser issues like horrible acne, comical near-sightedness, braces, and that nasty bout with Crohn’s disease which has fortunately remained in check for the most part. But I didn’t inherit any kind of “fat” genes (skinny genes don’t demand skinny jeans), and I even still have a decent head of hair (knock on wood). I am used to going throughout my daily life ...

We were just accosted by the worst salesmen ever. The first one apparently tried to open our door, and immediately upon my answering he launched into an overly friendly condescending spiel about how he wants to demonstrate his carpet cleaning. When I told him no politely, he continued to ask me what is the most trafficked carpet area in the house. While he was ignoring my attempts to be civil, a second salesman walked up to the door and asked what the first guy was selling. Apparently he has something against magazine salesmen and kicks them out of his neighborhood when the come around, because "they're all thieves." As I refused to let the first one in the house, the second one insisted that he wouldn't take more than a moment. When I insisted that it was an extremely bad time (which is the truth) he second man asserted that he had no choice but to come by on Saturdays because nobody was home during the week. He also pointed out that they are paid on commission, tryi...

*Warning: This is a vituperative post intended for venting purposes only. On the other hand, the rage mixed with the sleep deprivation might be amusing, like mixing prescriptions. Before the baby was born, I contacted the hospital to get Katie registered, because I didn't want to get blood on the stack of forms I would no doubt have to fill out before they would allow the baby to enter the world. ("Push her back in, he hasn't finished form 863-C yet!") They told us we could prepay for the delivery, which would give us a 25% discount. While that sounded suspiciously good, I said okay, so a few days later we got a bill. The bill assumed a two-day stay, free from complications. With the prepayment discount, it was only about $1,000. I knew we'd still get a bill from the doctor (probably $500 or so for what ended up being a whole 30 minutes of work), but I figured that would take care of most of it. Today we got a couple bills in the mail, adjusting the actual amount ...

Before I begin, let’s all take a deep breath. Okay, are you ready? Let me start by saying that I’m glad so many people are active in raising awareness of diseases. This tends to happen when someone we know is afflicted with the disease, so it’s natural. Runs/walks for the cure for ________ are great. There is, however, one aspect of this increased visibility of disease that bothers me, and that’s the trendiness of certain causes. The best example of this is breast cancer. Now, don’t get me wrong. Breast cancer is a horrible disease, and it kills a lot of women (around 25,000 in the U.S. in 2004, which is the most recent statistic I could find). I would be overjoyed to hear there is a 100% effective treatment for it. But you know what killed 25,000 men in the U.S. in 2004? Prostate cancer. Here’s a fun experiment. Go to your local grocery store and count the number of pink ribbons you see on products. Then count the number of blue ribbons you see. A comparative search usi...

I have been thinking a lot lately about certain examples of popular media (okay, one in particular, but I’m not going to tell what it is, because many, many people out there are rabid avid fans of this particular “work” and I have no desire to be lynched), and I have come to a conclusion. Even if you present it in the most beautiful, mouth-watering way possible, with dainty vegetables on the side and a delicious-but-low-fat sauce, dog doo is still dog doo. *Please note that this post is meant to help me feel better by venting, albeit in a cryptic way. So don’t worry that it makes little if any sense to anyone reading it—it was written solely for therapeutic purposes. This post has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration and is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.

I have an issue I wanted to present to our city council, but then I realized it’s bigger than just my little corner of the valley. So I thought about taking it before the county, but of course it’s bigger than that. The state legislature? Nope, not good enough. How about Congress? Possibly, but it may not be a problem unique to the United States , and it might be better to warn the rest of the world before this spreads across the world. So now I’m trying to figure out how to approach the United Nations about the problem of yard sale signage. Now, I don’t have any issue with people holding yard sales. It’s a good way to get rid of junk and maybe make a little money, and it’s fun to see what people are willing to put a price tag on. My problem is with the hundreds of signs posted around the neighborhood every weekend. Most of the time you don’t know where the sales are, because there’s an arrow on the sign instead of an address. Then they always say “this weekend” or something, with no...

If anyone hacked my bank account, at least the effort would go unrewarded...

At first I thought this writers’ strike was going to have the unintentional effect of improving society (until we all switch over to Telemundo just because they still have writers). With nothing to watch on TV, families would spend more time with each other, and we would eventually bring peace to the planet. Unfortunately, I was totally wrong. What is instead happening is the networks are dusting off all the television shows which were filmed but didn’t make that discriminating cut which such winners as “Caveman” passed. Meanwhile, Fox is rapidly becoming the all American Idol channel, except for the moments it decides to run “classic” episodes of its primetime shows. “See how it all began, with the first episode of ‘House’ this Wednesday” (actual commercial). (I actually do like “House,” but it was just funny the way they tried to make it sound like an ingenious programming selection instead of a desperate attempt to fill a time slot.) Stay tuned for about a million “new” realit...

Everyone I have spoken to this month has asked me if I’m “ready for Christmas.” I don’t understand what that means. Why do people give themselves so much to do this month that it all becomes one big endorsement for lobotomies? Calm down, people! Nobody cares if you didn’t get your giant, inflatable Peanuts -character-themed nativity scene on the lawn. Next July you won’t be sitting around mourning the fact that you gave people in the neighborhood the exact same wassail mix as Judy down the street (curse her eyes!). As you lie on your deathbed, surrounded by family, you’re not going to be thinking, “Oh, if only I had been able to find that glass reindeer ornament I searched for my whole life!” And if that is the thought you take with you as you depart this mortal life, you can take comfort in knowing that the world will not be made worse by your passing. Don’t get me wrong. I like Christmas decorations and giving gifts and all that. But I don’t see why those things are such a focal...

I suppose winter is really an underrated season. I mean, it gives us a chance to take a break from complaining about the heat by complaining about the cold. It allows us to feel less guilty when we drink hot chocolate every day. It affords us the opportunity to do donuts in parking lots (or bagels, of you prefer). The story of winter you never hear is that the humidity all freezes out of the air, horribly drying your skin. That’s not the worst of it, however. The real evil of winter is in the static electricity that lurks where you least suspect it. I was nearly electrocuted a couple times just trying to kiss my wife. Our couch is so charged with static that your hair starts to rise the moment you sit down. I tried wiping things down with dryer sheets, but it’s at best a temporary solution. I feel like I’m living in one of those old dryer sheet commercials. “Static! It’ll stop you…”

It really bothers me that so many people have only one way of doing things. They go at one speed all the time. I’m big into adapting what I’m doing based on how much time I have. If I need to get something done quickly, I can just move faster. If that isn’t enough, I pick the most important parts to do. I just don’t understand how some people are unable to change gears, so to speak. I won’t give any examples because they would invariably involve someone I know who might be offended. But you know who you are. I am shaking my finger at you in disapproval.

Have you seen any commercials lately for hair products? They seem less like shampoo commercials and more like advertisements for Dole. The claim is that by “infusing” their products with “natural essences” it will help your hair be shiny and, presumably, ready to munch on before the main course. Why does anybody think that your hair needs vitamins? Vitamins nourish your body when they are absorbed through your digestive system. Your hair is not alive. That’s why it doesn’t hurt when you cut it. You might as well pour milk on a skeleton, hoping it will keep the bones strong. Frankly, I’d rather trust unpronounceable chemicals to keep my hair clean. At least they’ve been developed and tested in some lab. Let’s not shop for hair products at Jamba Juice.

All right, people. Listen up. This is going to be tough for some of you, especially the ladies. It’s time to lay down the law. Just because you can sing vibrato doesn’t mean you should sing every song that way. Yes, I know. It takes skill and control. It also takes skill and control for me to turn a doorknob with my feet, but you don’t see me doing that in front of company. Now calm down and take a deep breath. Together we can get through this.

Do you have any DVDs that play several previews before you can get to the actual movie? That really bothers me. I paid for this disc. I own it. I don’t need Hollywood cramming more and more advertising in my life. Has anybody ever bought a movie because they saw the preview on a disc they just bought? They’re always for some really famous movie you already know, or they’re for some show that is apparently intended as a cure to insomnia. Let’s see if I can make one up. “Imagine a world where everything you knew (dramatic pause)… is turned upside down. Trevor Dingbat was just an ordinary boy… until one day, his life was changed forever. Now he’s facing the greatest challenge of his life because he decided to… Wish upon a Star .” I totally made that up in 30 seconds. But it sounds genuine, doesn’t it? [Update: According to the IMDB, Wish upon a Star is a real movie, made in 1996, about a girl who wishes to trade places with her older, popular sibling.]

I started writing a post about the trapped Utah miners and the emotional manipulation employed by the media, but that kind of bored me. So instead I’m going to go for something a little more lighthearted. I like pens. Can I just say that? I’m constantly in search of the perfect pen. There are many criteria involved: how smoothly it writes, how much the ink bleeds, how rich and dark the color is (I prefer to use black ink), whether it clicks or has a cap, how much it costs, and whether it is disposable or refillable. The list goes on. Maybe I’m weird. Or maybe this fascinates me because I’m so interested in language. At any rate, you might be bored, but at least I’m not anymore. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to daydream about Bics and Pilots.