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Posts for the date of Saturday, May 25, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:27 AM |
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Confessions of a Caffeine Deprived Madman, Part II:
We're going to a family barbeque tomorrow. Wife has a thing against meat this week, which is cool. However, she wants to bring kabobs.
Never understood kabobs. Essentially, they are meat and vegetables on a stick. They are a linear stew. Why?
Put the damn things in a pot and cook them properly. Stew should not be on a stick.
Note to self: Frozen dinner idea: Pizzabobs(TM). Dough, Cheese, Tomatoes and Pepperoni on a stick. Heat and eat. Mmmmm. Good.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:14 AM |
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FBI warns of possible scuba diver terror attacks
Oh. Okay. But I'll remember to go about my normal life while I'm at it. But I won't fly, drive, walk, run, swim, drink the water, dance, sing, go shopping, go to the movies, go to any sporting events or any gathering of people. I won't visit monuments, parks, celebrations of any sort of national pride or significance, I won't buy an American car and I certainly won't go to Disney World because I don't want to go anywhere where there might be the distinct possibility of a terrorist attack. Or even a terrorist scowl. Or someone who is reading an article about a terrorist who scowls.
I feel like the police keep calling me at 2 a.m. to say, "There may be some armed criminals trying to break into your house. Or not. Just wanted you to know. Go back to sleep and have a good evening."
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Posts for the date of Friday, May 24, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 2:29 PM |
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Note to my wife about her post today.
I don't have a dress code. I work from home.
Neener.
I could work naked if I want.
Not that I would.
Paper cuts, you know?
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 2:27 PM |
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Sometimes shaking a bug is nearly impossible. I feel like I’ve been put on a biological terror alert by my brain that’s as vague and unfocused as those the government is now issuing.
“This is the brain. We have uncorroborated reports that SOMETHING is going to happen between the vicinity of the head and toes sometime between January 1 and December 31. Do not panic. Go about your business. But be vigilant!”
I don’t know if I’m better or not. Every time I think I’m better my body reminds me that . . . well . . . I’m not. I’ll come crashing down into exhaustion so complete that even my clothes feel brittle and dry.
But, I’ll try to get back to my regular publishing schedule next week. I’ve had a ton of topics I wanted to cover this week, but most of them were lost in the haze of fever.
Really, I promise a return to normal next week. But, for now, I leave you for this weekend with this piece of familial pastiche.
Today was the bubble extravaganza at Matilda’s school. I was up until 11 p.m. last night creating a bubble solution that would amaze and amuse a mass throng of six and seven year olds for thirty minutes.
I felt like a mad scientist finding the formula to raise a zombie army. “Mwhahaha! Add glycerin. Yes. Yes! YESSSSSSSSSSSSS.”
Of course, moronic me didn’t consider the fact that these kids would be more interested in slinging the solution at one another in an attempt to blind little Johnny or Susie. It’s survival of the fittest . . . or cruelest in first grade.
The whole event went off well, for the most part. It was raining, so we go shoved underneath a little bridge in order to protect ourselves from getting wet. Which, of course was pointless. Between having kids with more soap and water on them than had been applied in their previous evening’s bath time coming up and hugging me and the fact that the humidity level was at 80000%, I was soaking wet. Lost another four pounds of fat in addition to the six pounds I lost from the flu.
My lovely daughter, however, was the picture of grace and ease. She moved through the bubble stations like a pro (of course, she had been our guinea pig) and didn’t viciously attack anyone with my precisely concocted bubble solution, nor did she drink any of it (several kids did . . . and subsequently imitated the cartoons we grew up with by hiccupping water and bubbles for an hour).
By far, the most interesting and adventurous group we had was a group of hard of hearing kids. Not only were they amazingly well behaved, but these kids had a little flame of scientist in their hearts. Despite the myriad of tools we had provided, this group discovered a new way of using the tools. They taught me how to use my own hands to make bubbles and there was a sheer joy in each discovery they made. You could almost hear the neurons making connections right in front of you. There was a crack and sizzle of brain activity occurring.
The teachers turned out to be of no help at all. And I don’t blame them a bit. I think that, after the entire school year, they were thrilled to have other people on the receiving end of the kids’ abuse. Every day they are the ones who get tapioca in their hair, vomit on their shoes and urine on their carpet because someone was afraid to ask to go to the bathroom. These teachers deserve combat pay from May until the end of the school year. These kids know that summer vacation is around the corner and, despite the fact that half of them go to camp, summer school or other organized activities; the last month of school becomes an exercise in personal freedom.
Do math? You can’t make me. Stop torturing Jimmy by putting bubble solution in his eyeball and asking him to call me master? No!
When did this start happening? Since when is summer an extension of school? When I was a kid, summer was a disorganized mess of swimming, getting dirty and watching subpar television in the frigid comfort of forced air. The kids who went to summer camp were freaks whose parents clearly didn’t love them.
Of course, the greatest moment for me today was when I dropped by my daughter’s class afterward, caked in a soapy slime. They were reading a story as a group and I didn’t want to interrupt. She saw me in the hallway, waved and, using proper sign language, signed “thank you.”
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Posts for the date of Thursday, May 23, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:48 AM |
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Sorry gang. I was out sick yesterday and now I play catch up. There's nothing worse than the stomach flu, is there? Except, perhaps, for an anal probe from particularly vicious aliens. However, how often does that happen?
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, May 21, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:44 PM |
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If you’re looking for the pictures of Leo Laporte’s hair, scroll to yesterday’s post. When it gets archived I’ll provide a static link because, well, we all love Leo’s hair.
My oldest daughter is six (and 11/12, she would like me to tell you). She’s a pretty girl, and getting prettier every day (her Mom’s fault, alas . . . I am not genetically related, though I’ve had severe psychological effects as a step-dad). Deep down, I know it’s inevitable that boys will start calling. I dread that day. Though I plan to make their lives a living hell, as is my parental duty.
At this point, she should be thinking boys are gross and disgusting creatures that carry germs and may be only a few evolutionary steps above cockroaches. And, for the most part, she does. She freaks any time her mother and I hold hands, much less kiss.
But, times they are a-changin’. This year she has discovered the recess pastime of chasing boys. According to her, there is a pecking order that must be met. Thomas is chased first, then Jordan, then Ellis and so on. What does she do when she catches the boys? Gives them to Claire, because “She knows what to do with them.” Thank god it’s someone else’s kid that knows what to do with the boys.
But, much to my dismay, the fascination with the elusive creature known as “boy” has begun. And the boys are noticing her. Naturally, this is pre-adolescent mimicry, but still . . . it’s heart-wrenching to know that this little girl is growing up and that, at some point, she’s going to start dating.
I’ve told her she can start dating when we make the first trip to Mars.
Recently, she came home from school with two notes from boys. Here they are:
Hmm . . . Boy number one is clearly a stalker in the making. “I think of you sometimes” is something akin to “play Misty for me.” It’s not comforting. I imagine that as soon as he’s allowed to cross the street he’ll be standing outside my door at odd hours. The little bastard.
Boy number two is clearly not ready to commit. He’s taken the time to write, but didn’t want to give too much away all at once. I think he’s playing hard to get. Or, perhaps he’s trying to set the record straight. I have to admit, I respect him. At least he doesn’t want to lead her on, make her think they’ll share pudding cups at lunch. Let’s be realistic. He’s six and has to keep his options open. Everything changes in second grade.
Either way, I think this proves that romance is not dead amongst the youngsters. Granted, these aren’t the most expressive love notes I’ve ever seen, in fact the first is downright disturbing, but I think these boys should be given credit for taking the time to write. In this technological age they would normally just send Instant Messages. Not that my daughter has access to the Internet yet. Still, most of these kids do their homework on a PDA, so I’m sure they all have their own email accounts, WebPages and message boards.
The bottom line is these boys are supposed to be out playing war or Pokemon or something. Not writing love notes to my daughter. And, when she is old enough for love notes, I will be correcting them and sending them back for revision. I won’t stand for a semi-illiterate moron dating my little girl.
In fact, I have a few criteria for her future beaus:
1. Must be a physicist, astronaut or guitarist for Power Pop trio. Will not accept psychologist, race car driver or Senator.
2. He must not drive a sports car, SUV, motorcycle or any other flashy, gas-guzzling machine. Acceptable means of transportation are: Segway, hybrid car, hover car (I figure this is at least a decade and a half off).
3. He may not be named Trey, Clay, Brandon, Cliff, Geoff (Jeff is okay), Sterling or Chad.
4. Must be able to discern between David Lynch, Ray Lynch and Lynchmob.
5. Must have thorough understanding of the works of Kurt Vonnegut, James Steinbeck and William Carlos Williams.
But, most of all he better be able to run fast, because inevitably he’ll make her cry. And woe is the boy who makes my little angel cry.
Note to self: Check out legality of tarring and feathering . . .
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:22 PM |
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Ahhhhhh. We’re back. Looks like Blog Spot had a little system burp that required a little nudging. Reason number 124 to get my own domain.
Right this second I shouldn’t be writing this. I’m too busy. I have so much to get done in the next few weeks I’ll be kissing my evenings goodbye. The good news is the weeks following will be a little lean, so it’ll all balance out.
My schedule will look something like this:
· 6:30 Wake up. (More likely be punched awake by the freshly fed baby who has been laying next to me since the wife went to get ready for work.)
· 7-8 Get self, kids, wife ready for the day.
· 8-8:30 Get eldest on the bus, answer email, get coffee ready
· 8:30-3 Work my hiney off
· 3-3:30 Get eldest from bus. Find out how her day was, supervise homework and snack.
· 3:30-5 Work.
· 5-8:30 Dinner, play with kids, bathe kids, read stories, supervise tooth brushings, etc.
· 8:30-11:30 Continue working.
· 11:30-11:31 See how my wife is doing and how her day was.
· 11:32-6:30 Try to sleep without panic attacks.
The wife is busy these days too. She has class on Thursdays and will need to work the other nights as well. So, we’ll be just happy and content all the time!
So, if I owe you any work that you aren’t paying for right now . . . it’s going to wait. Sorry.
I’ll be back in a few minutes with a real post. I need to decompress for a little while, before the bus comes. My choices are to write a blog or breathe into a brown paper bag. I’ll try blogging.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:50 PM |
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Hullo? Blogger? Can you hear me? Are you alive?
Get the paddles quick! The server is down!
Damn you web monkeys! Damn you all to hell!
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Posts for the date of Monday, May 20, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 9:20 AM |
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The Hair Up There
Ahhh . . . the weekend. Once there was a time in my life where I would spend such a time in a drunken stupor attempting to meet people who shared my slurred speech and red face.
This weekend? I waited in line to meet Geek Gods Leo Laporte and Patrick from TechTV’s “The Screen Savers.” To a geek, these guys are uber-cool. They are the penultimate of coolness.
Clearly, people like me don’t get out often. The fact that I was able to find a beautiful woman who was willing to marry me boggles the mind.
On with the story. We were quite shocked to see the line that was forming. We knew the show was popular, but we didn’t realize how popular. By the time things got rolling, we were about midway through the line. However, during our entire stay at the event, we noticed the end of the line never changed. People kept showing up. There were a few, we were sure, that misread the sign and though they were there for Leo and Patrick of “The Sheep Shavers.”
It was a nice sunny day, slightly cool but not bad. The sun beat down and you could hear the sizzle of the sensitive, pale geek skin cooking in the ultra-violet rays.
TSS producer Paul Block, as played by George Segal, was on hand. This was a real treat. He worked the line like a drunken father in a wedding receiving line. He asked us if there were one thing we could get rid of from the show, what would it be? So, if you work at The Screen Savers right now, be nice to Paul. He apparently is hoping to fire someone. Martin is fine. Apparently Paul thinks Martin is the funniest man on Earth. That’s why Paul is a producer. He likes to tell half-truths and mislead you. If Martin enters the entertainment world, it will be on his own terms. Ever see “King of Comedy”?
We told him that we’d like to see a urinal installed on the set. It gets embarrassing watching Patrick run off the set during the commercial bumpers.
To avoid getting fired, I suggest you buy him stinky cigars. With cigar firmly clamped between his teeth, he wandered around like Ed Asner in Mary Tyler Moore. I half expected him to start arguing with Leo, with Leo responding, “Oh Paaaaul!” and crying.
But all of this is beside the point. My real reason for attending the event was to see Leo’s hair. It has long been a point of debate between my friend John. Is it real? Or does Leo use a Flowbee? Below is a photo comparison from a nice windy Saturday. Perhaps the truth will finally be known:
Hypothesis: Leo’s hair is real, but his stylist needs help.
Evidence:
Besides the snow on the roof, it looks fine here in this slightly dark photo. The wind was low, but here there appears to be no sign of coif lines. Verdict: Inconclusive.
Here we get a better look at Leo’s Do. Now, notice again there is no line and the hair is holding up to the sun and wind nicely. Either he has a good toupee or this is natural. Verdict: Still inconclusive. However, who would buy a piece that has that cowlick in the back?
Here we have a comparison between Patrick and Leo’s hair. Patrick is clearly natural. Looking closely at Leo, it is clear there is no chemical used to adhere the hair to his scalp. Notice the glare, clearly this is the baby skin of newly exposed flesh. An airplane landed in the parking lot nearby after this photo was taken. They thought they had discovered a lost hiker signaling with a mirror. Verdict: Leaning towards real hair. Of course, some good wigs are made of real hair. Perhaps Leo’s wigmaker is an artiste.
Here we see Leo signing. This is the best view of our suspicions. There is a definite delineation between what’s up top and what’s below. Notice his equatorial line. Verdict: Inconclusive. Perhaps working on cable is hazardous to one’s hair color and hairline.
My favorite picture of the day, by the way. Here I think we can conclude that Leo does not wear a piece. That is the hair he was born with, though slightly out of style. I think Alan Alda had that hair cut during the first season of M*A*S*H. Oh, and guys, we thought the guy from Charter was a schmuck too. Verdict: It’s real.
Conclusion: Leo needs a new hairstylist. Perhaps that’s what we should have told Paul. Mr. Block, please . . . Provide your star with proper access to proper hair-styling. You can’t afford to lose his talent to another network because he was dissatisfied with the coif with which you provided him.
Leo: You need a new contract. No matter what they tell you, Great Clips is not the official hair styling salon of TechTV. They’re just trying to keep the bills low by sending you out for hair cuts at $11.99 a piece. $9.99 if they give you a coupon clipped from the back of a grocery receipt. That’s a damn cool watch, though.
I want to go back to that last photo for a second. Look over Patrick’s shoulder at the woman standing below the words “Everything cool . . .” It’s clear she’s looking at the group of us wondering, “Is this really cool? I mean, really. Is it? And where did I leave my Celine Dion CD?”
Thanks to Todd for sharing his pics. You can see his more creative work at Optical Musings.
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