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29th March 2004
Bad day in general
After actually getting the kids to bed on time for once last night, Natzoid and I settled back to watch whatever mindless drivel it is that we usually watch on a Sunday night. Actually, that's not quite fair in that Sunday is just about the best night on TV, designed to make you stay up late and oversleep Monday morning.
Just after ten o'clock, there was a knock at the door. Normally we ignore anything/anyone who knocks on our door after eight o'clock unless we know in advance that we're having visitors. However the knock last night was a very familiar three solid strikes so, armed with the dogs just in case, we opened the door to find the owner of the knock was who we had thought it was, Sam's 11 year old friend C from a couple of doors down. Of course the barking and growling had woken Sam and the Bean who were eager to find out who this late night visitor was.
C's grandmother (with whom she and her mother live) has been ill for some time with lung cancer and barely a few minutes earlier had lost her battle at their home. The tears were flowing and those deep, from the very center of your being sobs that are only visible in the grieving were only interrupted by wails. It's never a pretty sight in anyone, and even less so in a child of that age. The poor kid must have waited until her grandmother's death had been confirmed and wanted to get out of the house as soon as she could get the question in to any listening adult. I know that feeling. When my grandfather died, I was asked to spend the night at my grandmother's house to keep her company. I was 16, this was my first experience of death, and I wasn't man enough to live up to the task. I went home with my mother, then I left the following morning. I don't remember where I was between that day and the day of his cremation. That's how desperate C must have felt last night. The adults are all busy preparing and the kids sit in an emotional turmoil wondering whether to disappear or ask questions. Thankfully C is pretty much a permanent resident here so she had somewhere she could escape to, and more importantly, a friend to turn to.
As usual, any trauma of this kind results in my recoiling because I have never managed to reconcile or understand the couple of hours that changed my life. I suppose in matters of life and death, you can count on me; to faint. Or at least be so tongue-tied and teared up that I become the essence of uselessness. Natzoid, on the other hand, as you would expect, dived into practical mode. First of all the cookies and hot-chocolate came out and the kids sat having whatever kiddie conversations they have in such situations; Natzoid had the decency to suggest that we give them some privacy. Once some calm was established, Natzoid then produced a ham from somewhere and started baking it, together with brownies. I must confess that I was a little confused by this mad bout of cooking until just before she went to bed, Natzoid sliced the ham and brownies and put them in containers to go, telling C not to forget them in the morning. Under these circumstances, I would never have thought about such things, but then again whenever I stress about anything, food is the last of my worries and I forget that other people seem to need more of it than I.
Due to a mixture of selfish introspection, altruistic worrying and Nic's nightime gymnastics I didn't sleep very well. But I bet I slept better than C did. Poor kid is in for the worst few days of her short life so far. I guess we'll be seeing even more than usual of her.
Another one of God's little cruelties hit me last night, another one that puts yet another nail in the coffin for His existence. Merciful? I think not. The wound inflicted on C last night will scar her emotionally for life. I must admit, I woke up crying...
28th March 2004
I finally admit it
I had a rush of blood this morning and ordered the pay-per-view Arsenal vs Man Utd game. I began watching with a combination of trepidation and anticipation. It was worth the cash just for the pure entertainment factor. But the result being as it was, I now have to finally admit to myself that there is zero chance in hell of Utd finishing anywhere other than third in the Premiership this year. All in all, a disappointing season. I have to say though, Arsenal are a class act at the moment.
It was nice to see the return of Ole Gunnar Solskjaer and watch him architect the goal, and one might argue that given the last ten minutes, it would not have been an unfair result if we had won. One thing that does puzzle me is why Djemba-Djemba keeps starting in the first team; other than one fairly skillful volley, he was nothing other than a prima-donna. My preference would be to drop Scholesy back into midfield and let Saha into Scholesy's position.
And next weekend, we get to do it all over again in the FA cup. How much football can one man absorb afford?
Normal non-footballing nonsense will return anon.
27th March 2004
Experiment V
Anyone have Mulder's phone number? I think I've become a victim of the Man. Or in this case, the Woman. Whatever they told me they were testing for, I don't believe them. That TB test? That was really implanting a chipped transceiver under my skin. The only reason for the follow-up visit was to ensure that I had not found and removed it. The tetanus shot was really a flu vaccine that Natzoid had secretly asked them to administer and that is why I feel so unwell today.
Via this damned embedded transceiver, the Man will know that I'm suffering too. What will he do with this information? Use it to issue an emergency Lemsip? Nope. He'll do nothing because that would give the game away. Damn the man. Damn hospitals. I'm never sick unless I have recently been to one of those most detested of places.
Some streaming streak of blubber probably issued a massive orgy of infected suspension in my direction as I walked in. Only healthy people should be allowed in hospitals. The ill who feel the need to be hospitalized should be thrown out the door each morning ready to be picked up by the local council and incinerated, their ashes buried with the same caution as nuclear waste. If you're really that bad, hole up in bed and stay out of healthy peoples' ways you selfless sharer of microbes and MP3s. I want neither since neither are moral.
Damn the Man. Or Woman. Damn doctors, their damned nanny-state health advice and the stupid syringes they use to perpetrate their acts of "humanity." Now I remember why I didn't like Howard Dean; doctor ergo sadist.
25th March 2004
Mountain, meet molehill
So a bunch of British soldiers were found in Mexico. Big bloody deal. There are two explanations for this. The first is that they were there doing a bit of caving. The second is that they were doing some work for the British government. The former is by far the most likely, so why is there an outcry? If it's the latter then there will be a reason for it and Fox's reaction is evidence of guilt of something.
Methinks the lady doth protest too much.
23rd March 2004
Just call me the pincushion kid
I lost account of how many shots I had today. And that's before I start on the shots of Jamesons. Tetanus, TB test and bloodwork. If all goes well, I should be given a clean bill of health on Thursday or soon thereafter. In fact the doctor actually commented on how strong my heart was (not even the slightest trace of a murmur). I told her that was because as a European, I drank a bottle of Chateauneuf du Papes as an apperitif religiously every morning.
She did not chastise my smoking and declared my lungs to be fairly free of congestion. I told her that since moving to the US and the associated drop in cigarette prices, I managed to suck down three packs a day rather than my usual two so I could keep all the muck at the bottom of my lungs and not hamper the functional parts.
Any history of family mental problems? Well, no homicidal maniacs that I know of. I should have remembered to tell them about Natzoid.
Mother, father, siblings all alive and well? Sure, if you ignore the agoraphobia, wine-guzzling and fear of the black sheep who moved to the US.
Any allergies? Hmm, mosquitos, turkish delight and idiot business people. No, I don't think they count. I did forget to tell her I was allergic to novacaine though. Ne'er mind.
Seriously though, the doctor and nurses were great and pampered to my phobia by using baby syringes and not having me walk over to the blood lab, but sending someone over to do it in a nice little private room. The doctor even stayed with me, just in case.
Man, those syringes have come on over the years. I didn't even notice the tetanus. The last time I had a tetanus injection, it was right into my backside following a bicycle accident, and I think it was the first time I said the F*** word in front of my mother. That thing hurt. And today it's not even noticeable. I've had mosquito bites that were more painful - do mosquitos use novacaine?
Great clinic and brilliant staff. Maybe over time, I will be weened off my phobia of all things medical? Then again, if they give me a clean bill of health, why should I torment myself?
Last thing. If my heart is so strong, that lessens the chances of my death being from a heart-attack. Good thing, you might think. Well I was thinking about the alternatives...long drawn out painful death from something that takes years to kill you. Bad thing. I think I may have to double my lard portions with each meal. And start drinking more beer and spirits to offset the breakfast wine.
Fear and loathing in Minneapolis
In a couple of short hours, I will be in a frenzy of fear, for today, peeps, is INS medical examination day. The INS approved doctor in Robbinsdale will be torturing me beyond your and my wildest imagination. I will have to admit to being a smoker, drinker and eating extra portions of lard with every meal.
No doubt if we didn't have a SUV, I would be needing one to carry the multitudnous Healthy Living pamphlets home. It's a shame I didn't do this before winter as we could have used them in the basement fireplace.
I cannot tell you how unenthused I am about the prospect of being poked, prodded and listened to. There might even be a chest X-ray involved.
Expect a horror movie script based on the details by the end of the day. That's if I can still type with only a third of my blood left. I can tell you, when I get home, there will be a couple of stiff drinks consumed.
22nd March 2004
Who'd have 'em?
Having pestered me for lunch at length with moans about how hungry she was (even though the second bowl of cereal had been finished off seconds earlier), I made Zoe a sandwich. Thinking it would be fine to leave her to eat it, I return to find it shredded all over the table and all over the floor. Shop Vac time.
Honestly, who else has to hoover their table cloth after every meal?
You know that "done with the dish" advert? Well I'm done with the screaming. And the vacuuming. And the not listening. And the writing on furniture. And the climbing. And the piles of chocolate drops mixed with dessicated coconut on a stool.
It's no wonder the dogs are fat bastards. If they get half of what I clean up every day, I'm going to stop feeding them dog food.
I say it again, because I can and because it infuriates me, honestly, who else has to hoover their table cloth after every meal?
Update: She has now colored both her own and Nico's leg with marker. I am about to explode.
21st March 2004
More on Taiwan
I finally got my hands on a decent representation of how mad Taiwan is. Click on the picture to see the whole glory.
And I thought I was a geek
Natzoid started writing in a notebook this morning and I asked her what she was up to. "Just writing down all the suff I need to do," came the response. To which my response was "You have a Palm Pilot for that." So we dusted off her Palm and set about resurrecting it. She is now checking out such essential free software as a Mars clock, tidal flow, predicting your psychic ability, interpreting omens in your life and the ultimate one, an English to Danish dictionary.
Did you know you can download a science fiction novel in German to your Palm? And not content with Winemaster, she is downloading Winemaster v3.0. And a Russian to Korean dictionary. NerdAlert 1.6 to fake alerts on your Palm. Kaleidoscope pictures anyone?
She's downloaded a program to conjugate Portuguese verbs automatically. South African maps. A program to help her pass her private pilots license. A program to help her with her non-existant diabetes.
She's screaming program names followed by a "CLICK!"
And not a single one is of any use to her. But she's downloading them because they are free. Jesus H.
20th March 2004
Little to do with me but...
Having been to China and Taiwan, I find this fascinating. As a Western visitor, it's weird how you can pick up on the "vibe" of a place literally within hours of getting off a plane.
Taiwan, to me, was absolutely mad but it oozed friendliness from every pore. One evening, after work, we took a taxi to a bar that my colleague knew. It wasn't yet open and we were just about to hail another cab and present the driver with a business card that had the name of our hotel on it in Chinese, when the owner showed up, armed with bags of groceries. She opened early because we were there. Nothing is ever too much trouble for these people, and we helped her with her groceries so drinks were free.
We also ate for free one night, having revisited the restaurant that we had been to before. The couple who owned it were elated that we liked their eatery so much that we returned. As a matter of fact, it wasn't the food, it was the atmosphere. As I said, it oozed friendliness.
Contrast that with China, where when you get off the plane and through immigration, several Beijing shysters are waiting to pounce. The hotels are adorned with women in traditional dress serving Western drinks for a few cents an hour. The people are regimented and the uber class from Hong Kong frown down on their Chinese counterparts. The military are ever-present, just waiting for someone to not comply. Law is a theory. Theories are just that, theories and don't necessarily need to be understood.
The hostility of Beijing is something I have never witnessed before. I said a couple of days ago that NYC was harsh; you cannot imagine how intimidating Beijing is. A guy on his own, where he doesn't speak more than a couple of words of the language in a country that censors web access. It makes you feel extremely vulnerable. Yet in a similar place with the same language only a few hundred miles away, you're not vulnerable, just comfortable and fascinated.
I'd like to go back to Taiwan at some point, as a tourist rather than a worker. With the possible exception of Northern Ireland, they are some of the most friendly people you will ever meet. I'm not sure I can say the same about China.
I think the striking differences between the two places are enough to justify Taiwan's independence. The Taiwanese regard themselves as being genuinely Chinese (ie pre-Mao), and do not want to be associated with the post-Maoism China. I think I respect that and can understand where their hearts are.
How lucky are we that we sit debating what they should do?
I think I'm going to make a conscious effort to learn Mandarin. I made a good start while there, but the 'new economy' will need linguists who are technologists. And it might be fun mistaking a pronunciation of "ma" as being a horse rather than your mother.
Sieh Shieh peeps. Oh, and Yeeehaw, which is how people appear to answer their phones. Rednecks in China? Whodathunkit?
Go Taiwan.
Parental tip #1367 rev C.01
Never, ever, under any circumstances, take your four year old daughter, who is so ready for school that she screams about wanting to go, to a "do" that is designed to raise funds to feed kids. The irony of her gluttenous and obnoxious behavior was not lost on me.
Also a good tip when hobnobbing with the big-boys is not to take your socially inadequate, agoraphobic husband whose conversational skills rival those of a baboon. Other than an occasional expletive uttered in Zoe's direction to stop her hurting someone or avoid a catastrophe, the only things he has in common with the fellow attendees are that he agrees with what they are doing and he is a biped.
Seriously though, these people are nice, if a little scary. A room full of the God squad tends to intimidate me. It's the reason I don't go into churches. Lovely people they may be, but I have little to converse with them about. Thank Heavens for Minnesota weather and babies. Both can be relied upon for some good old-fashioned banality.
Agoraphobic geeks should not be allowed to socialize. I'm heading back into hibernation.
19th March 2004
Life does not suck
I've been writing some software for Natzoid to use and have loved it. If there is a better job than writing PHP and MySQL code, I have yet to find it. It's quick, it's easy and if you have even a modicum of common sense, you can wow the technically challenged with just a few hours effort. I cannot get over what a fundamentally excellent programming language PHP is. It's a work of absolute genius.
In the meantime, today's parental tip is to not let your child eat lipstick. The resulting diapers are horrendous.
Message ends.
18th March 2004
New lows in hypocrisy
The British political system has hit a new nadir. Just when I thought Clare Short had scooped the prize for breaching national security, the loons emerge waving their ballot papers. A collection of blatant self-serving, powerhungry autocrats MPs have decided they want access to security personnel under what they call Government Accountability. This would be the same brand of accountability that Clare Short so vigorously defended?
Michael 'wannabe Tony' Howard and his minions have about as much right to access those people as I have. None. Their manipulation and obfuscation serves only to advertise the fact that they will do anything, including compromising national security, to gain power.
I've said it before and I'll probably say it again. Triple adverb has his faults to be sure, but he is a fundamentally sound human being and is the nearest thing that we have to a statesman who is willing to stand up for his beliefs rather than slithering on the opposition benches, desperately trying to get in a body blow.
Come election time, it will be a travesty if the Tory party are elected. A cabinet fashioned from the skeletons of Thatcher's legacy would put the UK back into the dark ages. I know a lot of the British public is angry with Tony Blair at the moment, but are your memories really that short? Thatcher's storm-troopers had 18 years to reek havoc on the country. Triple adverb hasn't even had 10 to try to repair the damage.
Better late than never
I sat and watched Fried Green Tomatoes tonight. Initially I dismissed it as a chick-flick but I became quickly engrossed with it and its undertones. Call me behind the times, but I don't much care for modern cinema so anything that is critically acclaimed goes on my list of things to do when my toe-nails don't need clipping.
Sometimes that kind of block-headedness hits you back. While I think I'm being uber-cool by avoiding pop-culture, I'm not really. I have no idea when this film was made (I would guess the early nineties) but I have missed out by not having seen it before.
My fascination with the American South was born when I was about thirteen. When one wet Wednesday afternoon, my English literature teacher handed out copies of To Kill a Mockingbird. Call me uncouth but I could have ditched Shakespeare and Keats in a heartbeat, being as they are, completely dull. To this day, I have only ever read two Shakespeare plays and I have deliberately forgotten all I know about Keats. But Harper Lee's epic about the horrors that plagued the blacks in the deep South burned itself into my psyche forever.
The first time I came to the US, it was NYC and it was nasty. I hated the place. Cold, inhuman and more hostile than my home town. However as I traveled around, I grew to love the place. Chicago was the most worrying trip I ever took yet it changed my life beyond all expectations. I dreaded the prospect of being there when I set out. And yet by the end of two weeks, it was to shape the whole of my life, not to mention creating two others. It's where I finally realized that my calling was outside the North of England, and where I met Natzoid.
America is still a strange place to me. On the one hand, I feel I have friends that I have never met thanks to the internet and I doubt that these people even know I regard them as friends. My Chinese guys would understand this concept of friendship. I'm not so sure that my American friends would. On the other hand, sometimes forces seem to act against you because of your accent. Just like Atticus, but for different reasons.
We live in an intolerant world. It may be a chick-flick but Fried Green Tomatoes gave me a long needed recalibration of how I look at humanity. Maybe I'll try to be pleasant to strangers again because of it.
Speaking of being kind to strangers, although I still think A Streetcar Named Desire is an awful play and would sooner read Arthur Miller, the lure is there. Kerouac still taunts me. I should have been that guy. Just like Natzoid should have been Vonnegut because she's that good. I tell you, if you could spend an evening with her, you would understand what an incredibly incisive view of the world she has. It literally makes me feel totally inadequate. Maybe I should re-read Harper Lee.
And more than ever I want to move to North Carolina. Hills people, hills.
16th March 2004
You've got to love Lurpak
Joy. Rapture. Rainbow Foods down the road from us has started stocking Lurpak. Real butter rather than that sweet-cream nonsense that gets passed off as butter. And it's salted. I rarely salt anything but I do insist that my butter is salted, after all what is one more sin against the shrine (sic) that is my body?
Natzoid was unwell yesterday so being the caring kind of chap that I am, I made her some toast and covered it in melted Lurpak. I have not seen her face light up as much since she tasted her first bottle of Scrumpy Jack, which is a damning indictment upon me eh? The downside of this little piece of humanitarianism is that the Bean got a taste of the toast with all its Lardy Lurpak goodness and insisted that she have buttered toast for lunch. Now you can't feed one kid and not the other, so as part of my super-human effort to ween Nic off his gallon a day milk habit (I wish they made the thread on the milk containers the same pitch as the baby bottle tops), I made him some toast too. Old four teeth took to it like a Bean on a cup-cake. His eyes lit up as vividly as Natzoid's. However, giving a 16 month old toast covered in lovely Lardy Lurpak is not to be recommended. You may think that you've saved yourself a bit of time by just making toast for lunch (slacker), but the aftermath can be more prolonged than detoxifying a nuclear incident. Unfortunately, he is now hooked, as is Bean. In addition to buying two gallons of milk at a time, we will need to buy bread and Lurpak.
For those unfortunate souls who have grown up with the sweet-cream butter impersonator, I urge you all to seek out Denmark's finest export. An adequate alternative would be Anchor.
The availability of my treasured English goodies is expanding on nearly a weekly basis. Would the powers that be bring it upon themselves to export Hollands' Steak and Kidney puddings? I am not worthy. Walkers crisps? Galaxy chocolate? Decent bacon? If they do, I need never return to England again, except for an odd pint of Scrumpy Jack.
Jittering illogical response to the inevitable
I am fortunate in that I have been blessed thus far in my adult life with good health. In fact since leaving University, I have needed medical attention only twice; once for a painful throat and once for an attack of arthritis in my wrist. The reason that I'm fortunate (in addition to the obvious) is that I fear doctors more than any other people on the planet. They know things, you know, like lawyers know things. I suppose I look at them like non-geeks look at geeks.
My fear has been intensified by the fact that I need an INS medical next Tuesday. This means I will have to voluntarily surrender myself to a real, live doctor. I have no idea what to expect but I have a horrible suspicion that they will want blood. The only thing I fear more than doctors is needles. The last time someone tried to inject me anywhere other than in my mouth, I fainted.
Just thinking about this is making me shake at a higher frequency than the funk that surrounds that kid with the security blanket in Charlie Brown. Doctors, needles, medical stuff. It's too much. I need to lie down and I need something to sedate me prior to going there. The countdown has begun and I'm petrified.
15th March 2004
Give me strength
Nothing will make me more defiant than a good conspiracy theory. It also leaves me with a distinctly bitter taste in my mouth when I look at the left, understanding as I do that a sensible leftist objection to war can be made but that the reality is different.
A sure fire way of having a conservative government is to over-react on a massive scale, which is what seems to be happening globally. Moderate liberals will run the other way, as I am doing, in an effort to distance themselves from the lunatic fringe (© Kinnock.) If I were a conspiracy theorist, I would say that the conspiracy theories that abound are all part of a vast right-wing plot to get themselves re-elected. That's how ridiculous conspiracy theory is.
14th March 2004
People really are stupid
Another Sunday and I am questioning my normally leftist leanings once again. The reason? Stupid people. It seems that Spanish PM, Jose Maria Aznar has been defeated in the election there and that the reason for his defeat is that 90% of the Spanish population were against invading Iraq and blame the Madrid bombings on that governmental stance.
That thinking would be logically sound were we dealing with reasonable people. The fact is that we are not. On the back of a report that says 1 in 10 British muslims support attacks on the US and that more British muslims were in favor of such attacks than were against going to war, what does it take to convince the great unwashed that these extremists are a real, live, tangible threat?
Having lived in a place that ritually stopped due to IRA threats and having spent time in Northern Ireland, perhaps I'm more paranoid than most. I've seen the results of bombs first hand and it isn't pretty. To ignore the threat is folly.
The IRA are a bunch of nutters, no doubt. Bombing a town center the day before Mother's Day was, I thought, a new low in human underachievement. But as much as I despise their leadership, they had the decency to talk about it and start to move to a political solution. The threat that we deal with today appear they won't be happy until we're all poverty stricken, bearded and women take their place behind men. And they don't even want to talk about it. They'll rant, they'll pontificate and they'll blow people up. Not much room for dialogue there eh?
Not having invaded Iraq would not stop these zealots. Madrid was a target whether they backed the invasion of Iraq or not. They are a Western non-muslim country ergo a target. Sure, they will have been moved up the list because of their stance but if their stance had been any different, someone else would be in mourning now.
So why punish a government for doing the right thing for the whole world? Are they really that selfish that they would want to do what their beliefs say is right, only to have the consequences inflicted upon someone else? It's classic NIMBYism on a global level. To me, that is an ostrich stance, head squarely buried in the sand, in complete denial of a serious problem.
I think I'm right in saying that the new ruling party in Spain has pledged to withdraw their troops from Iraq. That's akin to giving the school bully your lunch money or paying the mob for protection.
The only way to deal with these people is head-on. Ignoring the problem only makes it worse.
That the Spanish people have voted as they have shows a fundamental selfishness and knee-jerk reaction. Madrid may not be in mourning today had their government taken a different stance, but somewhere else would be. Paris maybe? Probably not, but you can bet there would be someone else who would be picking up pieces. Which is why we needed to do what was done.
The logic is not that difficult to follow. Nutters need to be dealt with. What part of that sentence do people have a problem with?
Apocalypse now
Just got out of bed and haven't even had coffee yet. Dogs have been through the garbage. Caught Zoe biting Nic. Kitchen a disaster area. What could start a day off worse?
Ah yes, being beaten by City. Perfect.
13th March 2004
The dilemma escalates
Ananova are reporting that the Spanish security services have arrested five people in connection with Thursday's bombs in Madrid. What has rattled my cage is the following:
The five were arrested in connection with a mobile phone found inside an explosives-packed gym bag found on one of the bombed commuter trains.
Dilemma
So, if someone hits your blog by googling "rigging cell phones as detonators", what do you do? Do you ignore it because it's probably some random internet idiot or do you act on it and forward the IP and all that jazz to someone? And if you do act, to whom would you send the information?
Girly night
Ani DiFranco, Tori etc. I think I need chocolate and Mydol. Kids are having the nearest they will have to a camp-out in the living room for another three months. We are being girly.
Why did we buy red wine? It should have been a white.
I'm not a pretty girl.
Addendum: Have found a bug in the timezone handling. Bugger.
12th March 2004
Math 101 a la Yates
I've just spent some time doing numbers with Zoe (and no, I don't mean running a book or fiddling SEC filings) and came back to the computer ready to blog about how kids have the attention span of Elizabeth Taylor and that 50 is not a high number, when I suddenly remembered that she's only just four and the Differential Equations paper that I had just given her was a little ambitious.
Seriously though, she has done well. She's mastered counting to 50 and we have been working on writing teen numbers; she's got it but we'll do it again to get it into her kid brain "reinforce the concept" (puke.)
I swear by the time Sam was this age, I had thrown out every Barbie doll and My Little Pony I could find and had her sat doing linear algebra. Speaking of which, she still hasn't turned in last week's Fourier Analysis assignment or her C program (she's not O to the O yet, that's next week) to do a bubble sort of a list of values contained within a b-tree structure (recursion you know).
God-damn slacker kids. They spend too much time reading stupid stories and not enough focussing on what is important in life.
It needs no commentary...
11th March 2004
More domestic bliss
I should rename this to be Learning Domesticity After a Lifetime in the Wild. But I won't because it would sound like a gazillion domestic blogs. If I leave it as it is, I have room for manouvre. This way I can rant and moan about everything and it's yappy little lapdog. And boy, could I rant about the yappy little b'tard in our neighbors' back yard - the stupid little rat is out there 14 hours a day, whether it's 90° or -40°, trying to jump over a fence that my dogs have effortlessly cleared by a good two feet. But I won't.
We've reached Thursday and the house is not at a point where walking into the front room causes me to reach simultaneously for my cigarettes and a G&T - never advisable, gin is flamable. This achievement has been sponsored by Oxyclean and a firm "pick up your toys" attitude. If you have ever read Douglas Adams' description of Dirk Gently's house in The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul, you can imagine what our place looks like most of the time, except replace coffee cups with toys and ashtrays with paper and crayons. But you must keep the socks. The clean sock basket has a constant presence in our living room due to the frequency of new loads of laundry arriving with the eternal odd sock. The sock is cursorily compared to the myriad socks in the OSB™ and then thrown in with the others. Of course the OSB™ is a constant source of temptation to the sprogs as well as the dogs, so we have socks abounding. Are they clean? Are they dirty? Who knows? We'll send them through the laundry again. Anyway, the point is don't forget to keep the socks in that image for maximum reality.
The only thing I haven't kept up well with since the start of the week is the cooking. Sunday started out well with a rather good stew. Monday I made schnitzel with chicken. Tuesday was a cobble together of left-overs and last night Natzoid did chicken wrapped in bacon and fried in butter, topped with mozarella - let me hear you say mmm - over a bed of fried rice. Lardy, lardy. We skipped the veg because it would have clashed or curdled or something. Today, I am contemplating making a shepherd's pie in order to keep up the pretense of being tamed. I have never understood the difference between a cottage pie and a shepherd's pie - the only delta appears to be the addition of some good for nothing vegetables. If you're going to put anything in a pie, it be a fruit of some description, should once have moo'd or be of the potato or onion genii. My spidey senses told me last time, that the shepherd's pie was a big hit so we'll see if I can repeat the illusion.
You know, I'm starting to excel at this domesticity malarchy. I wonder whether I should just sod the cottage pie and apply for Martha Stewart's old job.
10th March 2004
Disappointed in Mr North
Mr North who is my Euchre buddy against Mr East and Mr West is as well known as our opponents for skill and aggressive play. However I do feel let down by him. The last game we played, we were up by a whopping 8-1 when he decided to over-trump my ace. What the hell is the point in that? That was the start of a slide that led us to 8-8, then to 9-9 before I bailed his worthless arse out by a fiendish bluff early in the hand, throwing away an ace of spades and thereby making Easty and Westy believe I was out of them. Ha! More fool them. They paid. They paid good.
You should have seen it. It was a marvelous dummy. But, I tell you, if I could have got at Mr North after throwing the Hand of Demise, he'd be missing a finger. And some of the calls he made were outrageous too.
Northy, next time, get your game head on or I might start partnering with Westy. Just a warning, is all.
Fatherhood
One of the nicer things about not working for a few months is actually spending an extended amount of time with the kids. I have never really had that before due to travel, long hours, commute etc. It's sad to say that when Bean was Nic's age, I don't remember her having as much character as Nic has now; but that is probably because I was on a plane.
It will come as no surprise to anyone that knows us that Nic was a welcome surprise to us. And fate dealt us a good hand with a little brother for Bean. I cannot imagine what the last 16 months would have been like for Bean if Nic hadn't been around. They are the best of friends and there is some really visible love between them. And the occasional spat. Even though Beanie would not have been an only child had Nic not come along, we have got to the point where Sam's interests are more adult than Zoe's so the time they spend playing is getting less, so she would have been alone a lot. I can't imagine not having a brother; there's something comforting in being able to say absolutely anything to a family member. So Nic is a real gift for Zoe and for us.
It's nice to be able to develop little routines that get them over their tantrums. For example, Nic is a beast first thing in the morning. But if you get him a bottle and plonk him in dad's reclining seat for just a few minutes, there are no screams when it's diaper time.
One of the great things about being a stay at home dad (hopefully temporarily though although if we could afford me not working, I'd be more than happy to stay home with them or just work part-time) is that you catch yourself doing stupid things that you wouldn't normally have had the energy for. For example, during the trauma that is the first diaper this morning, I caught myself singing "wave your bum in the air like you don't care."
Hell, I'm soft this morning. Having banned the (bloody) Wiggles for the last few days (apparently they are in the main bathroom so Zoe needs to use our bathroom), I may relent.
Damn, I don't know who dumped Kava Kava in my Java Java this morning. Ah, no-one; I'm still livid about that football game.
9th March 2004
Excuse me
I don't often get as angry as this and the normally relatively family safe haven of yatescentral is rarely graced with such words but...
The fecking refereeing was a disgrace. Alberto 'roll me over and call me Crimson' can spiral his way two-thirds of the way down the pitch and he didn't dive. Ronaldo gets a foot to the thigh and ends up being stretchered off and not even a free kick. The fecking linesmen are obviously female (sorry ladies) in that they wouldn't know an offside rule if it painted itself fecking purple and screamed its decisions at them.
Porto are a bunch of bloody fairies and I now regard them with as much disdain as the Argentinian side that had the 'hand of God' incident. If those two incidents don't merit the intervention of the fourth referee, I don't know what ever will. We allow it in cricket.
I am incensed. That game will henceforth be known as The Fucking Tossers and the Cheating Fucking Tossers That Tell Them.
Fucking disgraceful. And I'm not talking about my language.
And what does my dad do? Calls me and says "Never mind. Do you have a minute? My computer is broken." "Like yeah dad, the biggest crime since fecking Maradonna and you are on your computer."
That's it. I'm giving up wine if that is what it does for your passion.
HT: Manu 1 - 0 Porto
Alberto could dive for the marines. It's a bloody disgrace. If Scholes's second goal was off-side, you can slap my arse and call me Osama. If we end up going out because of that call, I'm going to head to wherever that linesman is from and deliver him a real verdict.
Banjo award looks to be heading in Porto's direction, along with the Jacques Cousteau award.
And the best bit? All the kids and all the dogs are asleep. Bring it on ya bunch of Portuguese wusses. We have documentary evidence that the turf at Old Trafford should be booked for bringing you down. Tackled by a blade of grass? Isn't life cruel.
Back to it. Check back at full-time for more balanced news.
Zoe's opinion of dad
This is Zoe's latest portrait of dad in D major. She follows the Ecky Thump Movement:
Splintered blog today
Today's posts will probably be numerous and short. At 13:30 CST, ESPN2 are showing Man Utd vs Porto in the Champion's League so I'm sure I'll be ranting/celebrating* at numerous points during half-time and after the match. I have the banjo ready.
And then there'll probably be the rest of the usual crap that springs to mind.
* Delete as applicable depending on the scoreline
Headline news
From Ananova, comes the top headline this morning:
Feeling Down? Listen to The Smiths.
Quality, originality and excellence. I'm talking about the Smiths. Not Ananova.
8th March 2004
My own software ate my own post
I'd just penned a classic and my own software ate it. Don't you hate that? Damned default session time-outs. Mumble. Grumble.
Alright, it wasn't a classic, just the usual bunk, but it's the principle. ETA on fix is about 10 minutes. 'Cos we're good around here.
Reasons to be cheerful
When I got to bed last night, the pillow-snatchers had already visited and thus I was bereft. A less than ideal situation as I require at least two to get anything like a good night's rest. At 04:30, I received a kick to the mouth. That was followed at 04:45 by a kick to the nose. At this point, I arose, cursed loudly and longly then headed for the sofa. And just as I was dropping back to sleep the ritual morning barrage of alarm clocks were ignored by the whole household except me and the dogs, one whom immediately proffered me a gift in the guise of a big pile of steaming barf, just like she had done twelve hours previously.
So I can find few reasons to be cheerful. Well, except that whole being alive thing I suppose.
7th March 2004
A bit of a rant
Steve's posts about Martha Stewart got me thinking. Not about insider trading or obstructing an investigation, but about the smaller (legal) injustices that go on within corporations all the time. The ones that mean that 10% of the population control 90% of the wealth (or whatever the statistic is).
Boards of directors of public companies are the most self-serving people in existance. Although on the face of it they are there to provide share-holder value, rarely is that my experience (with one exception - a CEO who cut his salary in half to stem the bleed - a rare man with integrity.) Share-options are handed out in vast amounts to supplement the meagre (sic) salaries they draw. And it really is an old-boy's club. One of my favorite Chancer quotes is "Money grows on trees here, but you're not allowed in the orchard." I think that entirely sums it up. Luck, more than judgement, is too often the key criteria of being on a board. I say that with the caveat that if you founded a company with your own ideas and cash, then you deserve a seat. These six or seven figure salaries that are topped up with six or seven figure share option deals are paid, for the most part, to ensure that the right little people in the taxonomy (the ones who do the day-to-day tactical work) are employed. In my book, that's not a terrific skill worth millions.
The man I admire the most in business is a guy who has been CEO of two companies that I have worked for. He's a motivator. He leads by example and he understood every aspect of the businesses down to the last detail. During the days when we had an alpha product, I once took over from him having been attending to a piece of software for more than 24 hours. I cannot imagine many other CEOs willing to go to that length.
Anyway, back to the point. At my last employer's I was compensated adequately and I have no quarrels with them about that. What I do have a problem with is the reasoning behind the refusal of our MBO offer. By refusing the MBO, they have effectively chosen to hold on to a piece of IP that they will never be able to use (they will have got rid of everybody who knew anything about it) or license (for the same reason). So in effect, the decision was based on the chance that they might in the future find someone bright enough to realise its potential or someone who is daft who may want to license it, knowing full well that there is no way of fixing it if it ever goes wrong. We were not even invited to the board meeting to present the proposal. Dismissed, out of hand. The majority of the BODs are the senior management so they could veto the offer prior to a public airing. Is that share-holder value? Or parenting of share-holders? Were I in their shoes, my reaction would have been to call an EGM...you just do these things when business does these things to you.
Rather than trickle in a few hundred thousand dollars of things you cannot in good faith warranty, why not take that money from a buy-out and take a no-risk royalty stream? The reason is that because we were a bunch of mad 'do everything' start-up bastards who were quite willing to go the extra mile for anyone, we're not allowed in the orchard. We don't talk jargon; we do what needs doing. That, right there, is why the majority of wealth is owned by a monetary minority.
I know I'm not the brightest button ever to have graced the planet and I know I'm not the daftest either. What I will not acknowledge is that collective self-serving BODs are any brighter than I am. After all, I understand the techie stuff as well as the commercial.
I know the CEO of a company here in Minnesota who is a blogger of a successful start-up company who I will not name for good reason. By my reckoning, I have met about half the senior team at their company and can honestly say that their management and balance are about as aligned with my own as they could be. I hope I end up working with them soon.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not against making money. I just think that orchards are where everyone should be allowed based on merit not on school-tie. 'Cos mine was one ugly-arsed thing, royal blue with gold stripes, and it came from a state comprehensive, not Eton.
Here endeth the tirade.
Too good to miss
Via Yayaempress, Invade Canada. Reasons why, strategy, tactics and the new borders are all discussed at length.
Staying alive
As parents, our primary job with children is to keep them alive, which is difficult when they insist on being suicidal. I have mentioned before how Nic 'Edmund Hillary' has a love of climbing anything that looks even vaguely climbable. In fact, while climbing the sub-woofer last week, Nic took a tumble and got a small graze on his chin. Last night, we reached new lows.
Zoe Bean, who had been watching a (bloody) Wiggles video for what seemed like four lifetimes, was cruelly interrupted by the evil Dad who insists on translating Rebus from its native Scottish to American for Natzoid's benefit (can you imagine the American response to it being set in Glasgow? Taggart on US TV? Never.)
Anyhoo, having been deprived of the (bloody) Wiggles, said Bean decided to throw a fit, naturally resulting in one of Dad's patented time-outs(TM). She had been in her room screeching for less than two minutes when the volume and intensity of screams elevated to red alert. Upon speedy investigation, it was discovered that she had a gash on her forehead from falling off her bed. Said gash was the worst she has ever experienced and had quite the bump associated with it.
Of course having got clocked on the bonce, we were concerned about concussion so the little monster darling sat up telling us how many fingers we were holding up and generally milking it for all it was worth. Ice-cream, chocolate etc. Bandages were applied and re-applied after she'd messed them up. All while I was desperately trying to translate Scottish to American.
Thankfully today the swelling is down and she's left with a small cut on her forehead, to match Nic's little graze on his chin. Keeping the buggers alive is a tad difficult when they are intent on self-destruction. Has it taught her anything about safety? Nada. She's bombing around the house at top speed chasing the dogs.
And as if that wasn't enough the Orangus Gittus has just relieved the coffee grounds from the garbage. All this while Nic is stood upright on his high-chair table. Where's that email about wellbutrin again?
6th March 2004
An old staple
One of the frustrating things about English genealogy is that once you get so far back, you hit a brick wall. If you're of Eastern European descent you're even more SOL. It was only during the 1800s that the UK started the census process and some of those records have since been lost to fires.
Natzoid has her lineage traced back to virtually 0 A.D. and I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't an ancestor of hers with a boarding record for one ark run by a guy called Noah.
We've got as far back with my grandfather's ancestors as we probably can now. Anything else that we will discover will be in church records for the area and totally unsubstantiated. My Czek grandmother? Please. My other grandparents? No further than the 1850s. The best we've done is 1796 and that's as good as it's going to get in the near-term. I'd like to be able to take a trip back to the UK at some point and do some more digging into the church records, but I know it's not in my short-term future.
I have a strange relationship with the UK. On the one hand I love my American house, space and garden. On the other I miss the community ties that you get from going down to your local pub in the evening. You know, old Blackie who props up the bar from dawn to dusk and is so totally unintelligible that you actually like the guy no matter what he's saying. The barstaff who get to know you. The mixture of young and old all sat around chatting away. America's bars don't cut it. They are soulless dens of inequity hidden in awful places so the prudish don't need to see them. Unless they are downtown, in which case they are pretty much superficial plastic designer bars, light years away from the warm fire of The Fleece with its polished brasses and sloping pool table.
Anyway, unless we win the lottery, there isn't a church register or Ram's Head in my future. It's a delicious irony that I only ever started with the genealogy after moving to the US. With age comes wisdom eh? Usually much too late. The lottery eh? If I win that baby, we'll be a-doing ourselves some serious travelling.
Big Pimpin'
In Natzoid-speak I'm big pimpin'. I've put some more of my mother's work up over here. I'll continue to add to it as and when I get scans or pictures.
PS - At the third attempt this season, Utd finally beat Fulham. Phew.
Another Saturday, another game against Fulham
After last weekend's dismal league performance, I am left wondering whether Fulham might be too much for the mighty reds. Should I spend $15.95 to find out?
5th March 2004
Minnesotans rumbled
I now understand Minnesotans. While recovering lying down, Natzoid and I had the Minnesota Public Radio pledge drive on the radio. The featured guest was a meteorologist (nothing like a bit of weather talk to stir up the emotions of a Minnesotan.)
Ole and Sven called in rabid about the fact that winters ain't what they used to be. "You call this winter? We've only had 64 inches of snow. That's what we call September in Minnesota."
"You remember the blizzard of Armistice Day of 1954? We got 2 miles of the white stuff before breakfast and it didn't stop there."
Some unfortunate (probably Latina but obviously not Scandinavian) girl called in to enquire as to whether there was any truth to the old addage it's too cold to snow, which whipped up a furore of scientific explanations, folk-lore and general nonsense. And of course much lamenting of the fact that winters aren't what they used to be.
So your Minnesotans are officially rumbled. They actually enjoy the torture of winter as it gives them a metric by which to assess future winters. And of course, they will never be as bad as they were.
And my advice to MPR is that if you want Minnesotans to cough up, all you need to do is mention snow in every sentence (wait a minute, they do that year-round already) and change your phone number to 1-888-BLIZZARD and they'd come rushing armed with checks from The First Luther Bank of Wobegon hopeful that they may relive their childhoods when snow was snow and cold was losing a limb.
Shameless promotion
Here's one of my mum's pictures. She's started selling prints as well as originals.
You know it was a good night
When you wake up to find the Dark Side of the Eighties in your CD drive, your cell-phone battery dead (thanks Natzoid) and the family of French men that you thought you had evicted from your head have returned with all their cousins. Still, it could be worse. I'm not sure how, but I know it could be.
4th March 2004
It's only seven and the Oasis and Verve are out
Expect little of any sense tomorrow. When da boys hit the speakers so early, it's usually a bad sign.
Sing with me with now "Maybe you're the same as me, you take two sugars in your tea."
Oh My God (the sequel)
Via Alfred the OK, Tony Blair for president. I've joked about this in the past. I'd vote for TB. Better than the alternatives.
Days without football are like broken pencils
Completely pointless.
Stop the press
Minneapolis, MN - via yateswire - Yatescentral founder and CEO, Kenny Yates today issued a statement on the status of his position. Speaking to a packed audience of Zoe and Nic, he declared "I'm not very good at this haus-frau business."
Having convicted Zoe of fraud for managing to obtain a third bowl of cereal through deceptive practices and having rescued Nic from the dinner table again, Yates commented "I really am fecking useless at anything that cannot be controlled by a keyboard."
He also warned of a shortfall in projected earnings for the first quarter of 2004. Analysts had predicted break-even quarterly figures however due to the ongoing downturn in commercial activity, he warned that net income was down substantially over the first quarter of 2003 and that a return to profitability almost certainly would be during the second quarter at the earliest.
In a highly uncharacteristic move, Yates also explained that he thought the company that Natzoid is working for at the moment had awful marketing and although not prone to wanton acts of charity, he would undertake to spruce a few things up for them. "It's pants," Yates said, "I'll have a bash at tarting it up." The self proclaimed King of Powerpoint then flounced dramatically towards a Windows machine, armed with a pack of Marlboro and an attitude. Twenty minutes later he declared that he would "finish it tomorrow."
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Regulation FD:
The statements made within this release are the opinions of the management. All forward looking statements are viewed in greyscale and are subject to volatile market conditions, not to mention seratonin levels. blog.yatescentral.com is a wholly owned subsidiary of yatescentral.com
3rd March 2004
Beer - not just for breakfast
Steve is evil. He's posting all sorts of anecdotes about his home brew and Man Camp(TM). If you haven't been over there today, do so. I nearly broke my own coffee spitting record on a number of occasions. I'm jealous but I do have the wisdom of experience with home-brew:
Wart's ESB - carried home and dumped into bed by Maestro's sister after two modest bottles.
Maestro's pumpkin wine - completely lost season (can't even remember what time of year it was).
My dad's bitter - pounding the lane between their house and the Ram to keep warm, the night before returning to Uni.
Wart's dad's Saki - only time I have ever seen the guy angry, having seen off his last bottle.
And to crown this post, for some mysterious reason, Natzoid has just turned up with a bottle of Sujo. She surely must have filed divorce papers to hate me that much. Sujo is the dictionary definition of alcoholic, in that you have to be to even contemplate drinking it. My South Korean friend, Mr P, is famous in Seoul for drinking a bottle of this stuff each day during his University years. Bless you Mr P:
Wigan-ese 101
Melly has been trying to understand Wigan-ese in the comments to the last Paris Hilton post, without much success. So I thought I'd give you all a quick 101 of how to talk Wigan-ese:
Leither: One hailing from Leigh in Lancashire.
Lobby: A stew-like foodstuff primarily made from boiled potatoes and cheap meat.
Lobby-gobbler: One hailing from Leigh in Lancashire.
Pie-eater: One hailing from Wigan in Lancashire. (See also "fat bastard".)
Never let it be said that I am not one to listen.
2nd March 2004
The injustice
So Natzoid now has a job feeding children which makes me a Haus-Frau. Given she's performed some minor miracles with their book-keeping, they are talking about hiring her full-time. Which would be all well and good but for the fact that the people who work there ritually face having to visit war-torn or famine-stricken countries around the world. For example, the lady she works with is currently scheduled to visit El Salvador and Capetown and one of the guys has cut short his annual vacation to drop in on Haiti.
So, as you can imagine, as a seasoned traveller, my gut-reaction was to balk. Even staying in high-end hotels in China, Taiwan and Korea doesn't eliminate risk. For example, walking down the street in Shenzhen was akin to playing Russian roulette. So the thought of Natzoid wandering around some African wasteland doesn't sit easy with me. She who is wearing my shoes today due to the fact that she was trying playfully to kick my butt last night and somehow managed to damage her ankle such that it swelled up enough for her not to be able to get her own shoes on.
As you can imagine, I wasn't pleased with the idea at all. So what has she just IM'd me? Her first trip would be to the Bahamas. The fecking Bahamas people. Well known for its starving kids and general lack of cocktails. Not.
Why is it that when I travelled, I got to go to the armpits of the earth and Natzoid will be swanning around with a Gin and Tonic as an escort. I tell you, there is no justice in the world.
1st March 2004
Because it's so easy now and because I can...
Let me hear you say "moose"...
Oh My God
Until today, the only thing I knew about Paris Hilton was that there was some steamy video knocking around on the net somewhere. Apparently, she fell into a pond or some such after the Oscars (yawn) last night. I read the story and saw a picture of her. Can we say moose? Yes, I think we can. Straight from the Pamela Anderson school of women I wouldn't touch with someone else's. How is it that people find these plastic Barbie dolls attractive? I tell you, if all women looked like our Paris here, I'd be gay.
