Have you ever left something undone so long that now the the thought of doing whatever it was that was left undone is now twice as unpleasant as it was before? That’s how I feel about my “vacation beard”. I was going to let it grow for a week, just to see what happened. That week grew into two, which is now up to three. It’s thick enough that I know hardware other than a bic shaver will have to be involved. It will be electric, silver and noisy. I will likely try to do it in the morning, half awake. I will most likely leave a large patch of shubbery on my face and not notice it until I get to work. You now know the source of my fear. Pray for me.
Author: Kevin Lawver
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Happy St. Nicholas Day!
It’s a holiday my family borrowed while we lived in Germany. Those crazy Germans. Somewhere around December 5th, all the little German kids put their shoes outside the door when they go to bed. Then, when they wake up the next morning, there’s a little present from St. Nick waiting for them in their stinky shoes. We loved it growing up. It was a little Christmas preview.
This year, I went a little crazy. I got the family a St. Nick present, and bought myself one too. The fam (my fam, not my extended fam) got a new VCR. I got myself a new PC Camera. It’s sitting on top of my monitor waiting to broadcast my fuzzy face. I just need to find some free webcam software. Any suggestions?
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My Britney problem — and
My Britney problem — and yours – A great article from Salon about the pop princess and what she’s peddling. It’s a fascinating point of view. It makes it hard to think about having another kid. What if the baby’s a girl? It seems like such a herculean task to raise a girl today. I don’t know how I’d do. Raising a boy is pretty easy. They don’t discover girls until they’re 9 or 10, and even then, it’s in an ewww gross sort of way. Girls have it so much harder, and from an earlier age.
I’ll have to remember to tell my “Hey, she’s a GIRL.” story sometime.
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Jen’s finally starting to feel
Jen’s finally starting to feel better. It’s about time, if you ask me. I can only handle being SuperDad for so long! Honestly, it was a great relief to see that I could take care of everything if I had to. Max was fed, fairly clean, happy and doing his Max thing. Jen was cared for. She had her cough medicine, lozenges, juice, quiet and sleep. We got delivery a little too often and the place wasn’t as clean as it could have been, but what do you want from me?
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I am
If I were a work of art, I would be Pablo Picasso’s Three Musicians.
I am colourful and provoking, always looking to break out of the mould and to pioneer new ways of doing things. I have a jaunty outlook and although I am a bit weird, most people have some idea what I’m about.
Which work of art would you be? The Art Test
It’s all well and good, but did I have to be the creepy guy on the right?
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The webcam is coming, kiddies.
The webcam is coming, kiddies. Be forewarned. My fat (currently fuzzy) face will soon be plastered all over the site. Yay for webcams! Maybe I’ll go start up camboys or something and become a web celebrity or something. mmmmmmmmm, celebrity.
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Someone should be embarrassed. I
Someone should be embarrassed. I have never seen anything so hideous. Check out the cartoons. Please don’t visit if you have a weak stomach for things that reek of easy-bake recipes gone wrong.
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The Armpit
Gene Weingarten’s article in the Washington Post Magazine this weekend, Why Not the Worst? was excellent. It’s a profile of Battle Mountain, Nevada, the armpit of America. Really, it sounds just wonderful. From the gigantic BM whitewashed on the hill to the delapidated downtown, it sounds really… armpittarific.
But, that’s not all. It’s really a great piece about America and how things have changed. Read it.
Which brings me to one of this weekend’s little epiphanies. Between being DAD, getting Jen to medicate her poor flu-ridden self and coughing up oyster-like collections myself, I got to go out for a little while. On Saturday, while Jen and Max were napping, I went to the book store, bought the latest Preacher collection and Purple Cane Road by James Lee Burke. Then, I went to Saigon Cafe, had fried spring rolls and Pork with Funny Noodle and read.
It brought back memories of my pre-married life in Tucson. I went out to lunch every day, always with reading material. Since we had to stagger our lunch times so the phones were always manned, I always ate alone. So, I read. I read almost the entire John Irving library (Hotel New Hampshire and the latest are the only ones I haven’t read), the entire James Lee Burke collection, and more comic books than I can count.
It was at this time, when I had no responsibilities, no debts, nothing to do but work and goof off that I realized I’d lived a sheltered life and knew next to nothing about how the world works. I decided, at the ripe young age of 20 that I needed to get out and meet different people. It was something I’d missed at BYU, where everyone’s lily-white and mostly from Utah or Idaho. They’re 99.6% conservative young Republicans, think the same things, do the same things, etc. After that, and my accident on my mission (that story will come much much much later if I ever decide to tell it here), I knew I was missing something. I’d lived all over the world and seen a lot, but hadn’t met people who didn’t agree with what I’d been taught my whole life. So, I began a quest (yeah, another one). I wanted to meet and get to know people from all different “categories”.
I didn’t have to go far. If you’ve never worked tech support, I’ll let you in on a secret. The facelessness of phone work means you can look like pretty much whatever you want. AOL in Tucson was a hotbed of “alternative lifestyles”. There I met my first lesbian, bi-sexual, gay man, transsexual, transvestite, pot smokers, etc etc. After working with them for a while, I realized they weren’t as different as I thought they’d be. Their views weren’t way out there and devilish like I was brought up to believe. They were just people, doing their thing the way they saw fit. They were pleasant and cool and loved to share their views on everything.
(this is a lot longer than I had intended)
And that’s where it began. Six and a half years ago. Now, I’m married, have a son, a good job, and have been working on this concept. Reading the article in the Post yesterday formalized it a little bit. So, here it is. America is big enough for anyone who wants to live here and do their thing. As long as you can live with a couple rules (you know, the “good of the society” stuff, going without murderin’ or thievin’), you’re ok. You can find somewhere to live, a group of people who agree with you, a place to live unfettered by anyone else’s ideas or rules. That’s part of what makes America great. The American Dream isn’t one dream. It’s the opportunity for everyone to have their own dream and to follow it. That little town in Nevada was a place for people with a little town dream. New York is a place for big city dreams. There are thousands of towns and places here that fit all kinds of dreams, you just have to find one that fits yours.
:: and the soapbox goes away, and I’m going to get back to work – happy Monday ::
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Random Thoughts
- Never buy sushi in bulk from a guy with a plastic hat at Costco who swears it’s really tasty
- I wish TiVo had a playlist feature. I want the “Max, sit and watch this while I do X.” list of Blue’s Clues and other things TiVo’s recorded.
- This one’s for Jodi: If you’re a company, and you’re planning on laying people off, please make sure the cuts don’t look personal. If they do, you’ll have a hard time getting the people left to get back to work.
- Fried Spring Rolls + Pork with Funny Noodle = Great Lunch
- Comic Book Collecting is not a hobby; it’s an addiction. I broke my addiction before I got married. I walked into a comic book shop today, and didn’t recognize 70% of the titles for sale. Consider me cured.
- I cleared two major projects in two days last week. I am a genius. And if that sounds like arrogance – it’s not. I’m just trying to convince myself this isn’t a fluke.
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Profile
You can tell everything you want to know about him from the way walks: short clipped fast steps, his heels pounding the floor with a slap. He wears the corporate casual wardrobe like a uniform. His khaki Dockers pressed to a crease in the front, his oxford shirts in several solid muted colors, afraid to show any personality. It’s the same thing every day of the week. He is completely ordinary in every way, except one. He’s compensated for a complete lack of charisma and talent with longevity. He is where is he is because he’s stuck around, moving to management when the technology surpassed him and he couldn’t keep up. He knows the words, and tries to pepper his audience with them, hoping they won’t ask him to explain what any of them mean. He knows his days of walking his zip-zip heel slapping way through the halls are numbered and tries to look busy by inventing projects with important names. To justify his salary, he must keep busy. He must keep track of numbers, whether they mean anything or not. The spreadsheets and reports pile up, highlighted in a pastel rainbow according to a indiscernable color code. He is the bane of our existence. He stays while those who do real work drop like flies around us, caught in “budget cuts” and “restructuring”. We whisper and point and wonder, why not him? He does nothing. He makes more than three of our former colleagues combined. We sit, we wonder, we seethe.