Insights into The Daughter - Part Three

More quotes from The Daughter's Facebook page.

How they deal with parents:

"I got a ride, mom." "With who?" "I don't know but they have candy."

"Who are you on the phone with?" "My drug dealer, mom."

"What are you gonna do there?" "Smoke pot, get drunk, and kill people, mom."

"Mom, I'm going out!" "With friends?" "No mom, with Chewbacca."

"Will there be boys there?" "No mom, it's a nun party."

"Be safe!" "No mom, I was planning on dying today."

*Checks phone* 4 Missed calls -- Mom. CRAP IM IN TROUBLE!
********************************

Letters & Thanks:

Dear Math: grow up and solve your own problems.

Dear bed: I'm sorry I left you this morning, take me back?

Dear homework: you're not attractive and I'm not doing you.

Dear sleep: I know we had problems when I was younger, but now I love you.

Thanks phone, for being strong every time I dropped you.

Thank you, hand sanitizer, for telling me I have a cut on my hand.
********************************

Peace be with you.

Insights into The Daughter - Part Two

More quotes from The Daughter's Facebook page:

********************************
Things that happen:

Screaming "I have my phone!!" to avoid being thrown in the water.

Pretending to look for your homework when you know you don't have it.

Shouting out the wrong answer in class with confidence.

Lying in bed Wondering if it's worth it to get up and pee.

Questions on a test that give away the answers to other questions.
(Been there done that!)

Counting people to see which paragraph you have to read out loud.
(I have done this as well.)

Not knowing what to do when people are singing me the birthday song.

********************************
Glimpses into her mind that she still remembers being small:

Middle school is so dramatic.

Life is getting too complicated, I wanna be 5 again.

My email address is stupid because I made it when I was 11.

Back in Kindergarten: sticking out your tongue = flipping them off.
(This is pretty good.)

We used to call people and say "Can you play?" instead of "Can you hangout?".

When we were little, why were we so scared of our parents counting to three?
(Ha, I wonder about that too!!)

Peace be with you.

Insights into The Daughter

So I went to The Daughter's Facebook page to see what she was up to.
They all have a page of their favorite quotes. She may have written some
of these on her own, but I know a lot of them are gleaned from different
web pages that you can link to, I'm not cool enough to really understand
the intricacies of Facebook, but these give me an insight into the dark
recesses of an Eighth-grader's mind.

I am taking a chance with my life here by even posting this, since I know
that The Daughter has read at least one of my posts...I really hope she
doesn't see this one!

General Sayings & Quotes:

Wouldn't it be ironic if you choked on a life saver?

I mentally say “Wed-nes-day” when writing the word “Wednesday”.
(I do this!)

Everyone's house has a different smell. BUT I CAN'T SMELL MINE!

Trust takes years to build, seconds to break, forever to repair.

I will go slightly out of my way to step on a crunchy-looking leaf.
(I do this too!)

What other number pencil is there but 2?

I like your makeup...LOL JK, it looks like you got gang-banged by Crayola.

If I text a person in the same room as me, I stare at them 'til they get it.

No, you don't look cool with your middle finger up when you pose for pictures.

I'm nice to the weird kid, so he will spare my life when he snaps.

I like it when I pause a movie and the actor's face looks funny.

Friends buy you lunch, BEST friends eat your lunch.

If you want the rainbow, you gotta go through the rain.

Why do teachers care if we hug? At least we aren't shooting each other!

Shut up Sophomores, you were a Freshman like, 10 minutes ago.

"yo banana boy" IS SPELLED THE SAME WAY BACKWARDS -- is it too amazing?

"Let's eat Grandma!" or, "Let's eat, Grandma!" Punctuation saves lives.

If I miss 11/11/11 11:11:11 I will be pissed.

I always wonder where a hobo gets the marker for the sign he/she holds.

Hey Cupid, can you shoot both of us next time?

When I clear my calculator I click the button a good 14 times.
(I do this.)

You're 12. You smoke. You're not a virgin. Your bf is 17? Are you proud?

"Patrick! I'm claustrophobic!" "Nice Try Squidward, but there's no Santa here."

I still sing the alphabet song to remember alphabetical order.
(And I do this too!!)

111 111 111 x 111 111 111 = 12345678987654321 ...Mind. Blown.

Peace be with you.

Happy Birthday To Me!!

Since today is my 54'th birthday, I would like to say howdy
to all you wacky bloggers in Blogworld. As MY birthday gift
to YOU, I present a VideoBlog!

Since I am posting this after midnight on August 3, it is
technically my birthday right now.

And all I want for my birthday from my bride is for her to
take me out to breakfast this morning to IHOP, which I will
enjoy immensely after sleeping in...since we are all on
vacation all this week.

And from The Daughter, all I want is a big long hug.

Some of you 'older' folks may remember a kid's show called
Sheriff John...if you were fortunate enough to have a TV...
And this is the little ditty he used to sing for the kids
watching the show when they had a birthday.

And if the video below does not play, you could try This Link:



Peace be with you.

Shopping with The Daughter

Last week I was assigned the task of taking The Daughter
shopping to get some new clothes. I am usually not the preferred
parent to undertake clothes shopping expeditions, but it needed
to be done, and my bride was already engaged in some other
endeavor, so I guess I got lucky.

However, since we were going to do this at Target, one of our
favorite places to shop, I didn't mind it too much. At least
there would be lots of things I could browse for while she was
shopping, I didn't expect to be too bored.

We arrived at our destination (which, lucky for us, is only a
few blocks away), and we proceeded to shop. First, I had to
make sure her cell phone was charged, as she would be calling
me when it was time for me to fulfill my part of the arrangement
(pay for her stuff).

The Daughter: OK, I'll be a while, I have to find some white
shorts with an awesome belt, and try stuff on. You go in the car
and wait. I will call you when I am done.
Me: Why can't I just walk around the store and look at stuff I
like?
The Daughter: No, because you will embarrass me.
Me: How can I embarrass you if I am not around you?
The Daughter: Because there are lots of people that I know that
come into this store, and I don't want them to see you.
Me: Tell you what, I will just wait right over there...
(referring to the cool benches they have at Target by the
changing rooms.)

Being a camera hound, I had to take some shots of them, as
they are so abstract:



After assuring her I will not be seen, I leave to browse the
store. I spend some time looking at the TV's and electronic
stuff. They have DVD players, burners, and printers. They have
2 Gig USB drives for 30 bucks! I first got a 250 Meg thumb
drive several years ago for $70.00!! They also have blank DVD's.
I could probably pick up a few of those.

Why is it that even if you already HAVE a DVD burner or a TV,
you still like to look at the ones at the store? The one thing
that Target does not carry is computers. I wish they did.

*****A Slight Digression*****

During the Halloween and Christmas seasons, when The
Daughter was pre-teen and sweet, we used to go around
and turn on all the noisy decoration displays. You know
how they have, for example, the motorized coffins, and
when you press the button all the lights and noise come
on? Or if it was Christmas, you turn on all the noisy
Christmas displays that play music.

I like when the seasons overlap, so we would run through all the
aisles and hit all the buttons to turn everything on. We would
then dash away, listening to an animatronic cacophony of music,
jangling bells, groaning zombies, and Ho Ho Ho's from Santa,
all blaring out from the aisles. We used to have such fun
together.

She used to be my little buddy. We would tell everyone that
I was Big Fart, and she was my sidekick, Little Toot. If I
mentioned that today, she would think it was dumb.

*****-*****

Next I went over to look at office supplies. I don't know why I
like to browse the office supplies area. I could go to Staples
and look around all day. It's not that I need any more binders,
folders, pens, or tape.

I wander back to The Daughter to see how she is making out.
She is trying on sunglasses. That was not on the itinerary.


She tells me she is trying to find a pair of white shorts
with an awesome belt. "Why don't you just ask someone?"
I ask her. She gives me a look of puzzlement. I look around
and find one of the Red Shirts that work there.

I ask her, "Excuse me, but do you guys have any white shorts
with an awesome belt?"

"Padre!" The Daughter exclaims. (You may recall that she is
still in the phase where she calls us Madre and Padre). "I told
you to go wait in the car!"

I find my way over to the garden center. I could probably hang
out here for a while. I find a nice quiet oasis where I can lay
down and maybe rest for a bit:

Just as I start getting sleepy, my cell phone rings. The
Daughter is ready for me now. I perform my fatherly duty of
paying for her purchases.

Now she must endure the ride home with me...she will be forced
to be in my presence during the five minute drive home.

Peace be with you.

Observations on The Daughter

As some of you may be able to glean from my past posts, one of
the biggest challenges of my miserable little life it to get any
kind of positive attention from The Daughter. Now, I do get some
attention from her, but it is usually centered on something that
I am doing that just happens to annoy her (such as looking at
her, being in the same room as her, or breathing).

It is odd that she will insist that I sit with her sometimes
when she is watching TV, but then I will get groans of
disapproval because I am either sitting too close to her, or
making too much noise while eating, or for accidentally looking
in her direction.

I think she just wants me there so I can go and fetch her snacks
and drinks, plug in her laptop, or bring the cat to her. I think
though, she may be smarter than I realize, because sometimes I
catch her making a little expression that can only be translated
as 'I am really just kidding when I tell you that I have no use
for you...I am just trying to see how flustered I can get you'.

She likes to go with me to Roger's house on Thursday nights for
band practice, but only because she likes Roger, and because his
grand daughter is just her age, and they can hang out. We try to
teach her a few chords on the guitar or keyboard, and she likes
to pound away on the drums as well, so she is easily entertained.

But mostly, her and Roger just sit next to each other on the
sofa and text each other! It is like watching the two stooges,
their thumbs flying away, silly little grins on their faces. The
only way I can get a word in edgewise is to try to send a text
myself.

Then The Daughter stops and gives me an evil glare, as if I had
interrupted something important. Roger just chuckles...he has
raised kids, he knows what teenagers are like.

Once, several weeks ago, I had accidentally left the key turned on
in the car, and when it was time to leave, my battery was dead.
Can you believe The Daughter was actually GLAD about this, so
we didn't have to go home yet??? I hated to disappoint her by
getting a jump from the bass player, but all good things must
end.

But she surprises me too...on the way home, she thanked me for
letting her come with me to practice...and I think she might
have even smiled at me!

Peace be with you.

What's Cooking?

I have mentioned this before, and I will say it again.
While I don't mind making dinner at our house, the hardest
part about cooking is figuring out WHAT to make.

To compound this, I am not particularly fussy about what I eat,
so if I am asked what I want for dinner, and I say "anything is
fine", this is not a cop-out, it is just my way of saying that
'Anything you decide is fine with me'.
(Actually, yeah, it is a cop-out, sorry).

On Sundays, which is usually shopping day, we make the list.
We try to figure out what we will have on Monday, Tuesday, etc.
We take turns picking something for the day. I like to go
first, so I can pick the easy stuff.

"Ok, on Monday, we'll have pasta!" I exclaim helpfully.
(Cool, my responsibility for Monday is over).

My bride decides on chicken for Tuesday.
Being very picky, The Daughter selects Sonic for Wednesday.

Now, we could have leftovers for Thursday, and since Friday is
pizza night, we might be all done. Except I am the only one in
the house who actually eats leftovers. Maybe I am just too easy,
but if nobody is going to eat leftovers, then why bother cooking
anything?

If you are going to spend all that time and money making a big
meal, and then getting only one serving out of it, it is cheaper
to just eat out every day. Besides, the leftovers takes care of
a whole day that would otherwise need planning. Is my logic so
advanced that nobody else sees it but me?

And on top of that, I hate the cleaning up part. It all looks so
fun and easy on the cooking shows, where all the ingredients are
pre-measured for the chef in their own little containers. All
they have to do is dump everything together.

I haven't seen Chef Emeril dumping a pile of greasy pans into the
sink when he was done with his cooking show.
(But in his defense, I also concede that he has worked pretty
hard to get where he is, and has paid his dues).
The point being, cleaning up isn't fun.

Allow me to share with you one of my favorite recipes:

Go to restaurant. Order. Eat. Drink. Be merry.

Peace be with you.

The Haunted Light Switch

Like many homes these days, we have a few electrical outlets
that are grounded...I think it is a 'safety feature'. I know you
have seen them, they have those red and black buttons on
them so you can reset them:

I believe that when you have outside electrical outlets, and
they get wet when it rains, it trips them off, and you can't use
certain outlets inside the house that they are connected to
until it dries out. You can hit the red reset button on the
switch, and the other outlets will again work. But if the switch
is still wet, it will trip off again.

So let me finish setting this up...it just so happens that I
have the reset switch in MY bathroom, and luckily enough,
the electrical outlet in The Daughter's bathroom is connected
to this switch. Which means I have the power to turn the
electricity in her bathroom on or off.

Being a teenager now (well, in another 3 weeks, anyway) she
spends a lot of time in her little bathroom. She needs power for
her radio, her hairdryer, and the small lamp she has plugged in
for a nightlight.

It rained all day here yesterday. We got home from work and I
knew the switch had tripped. I hit the red button to reset it,
but if the circuit is not completely dry, it will trip off again
after a minute or two.

The Daughter heads into her bathroom to primp and preen, and
when the switch trips off the light goes out in there. I hit the
reset button again, it stays on for a minute, then goes off. I
can hear the grunts of surprise coming from The Daughter now
as the light goes on and off.

"Madre!" she calls (she is on a kick where she calls us Madre
and Padre). "The lamp in my bathroom is creepy!"
(Creepy is one her favorite words lately, and I am known as
a 'creeper').

"What do you mean, creepy?" asks my bride.
"It keeps turning off and on by itself. Come look."

My bride goes in there, the lamp is on. "It's fine," she says,
and leaves. Now it flips off again, and I hit the switch to
turn it back on from my remote location.

Are you starting to understand how much fun I have with
The Daughter, and how much she no doubt enjoys living in
the same house as me?

I decide to go into her bathroom to see what is going on.
"May I help you?" she asks graciously.
I make a big show of unplugging and re-plugging the cord into
the socket, and make sure the bulb is screwed in tightly.
"Seems ok to me," I tell her. "Are you sure you didn't bump it?"

"No, it keeps going on and off by itself. It's creepy!"
"Well, if I fix it, can I have a hug?"
"No, go away, creeper!"
I go and fetch a Hug Coupon to bring her.

When she was ten, she made the mistake of creating a stack
of Hug Coupons for me...each one is good for a hug, all neatly
drawn out.

When she gave them to me, I asked her if there were
any restrictions, black-out dates, or expiration on them. She
assured me they would be valid forever. Little did she realize
that in two years she would be twelve, and have little desire to
hug her daddy.

However, surprisingly, she still honors those coupons, and when
I present one to her, I still get a hug, however reluctantly. As
I get my quick hug, I realize she is not very much shorter than
I am. I remember back just 12 short years ago how I used to
carry her cradled in one arm like a football, with a spit-up towel
always draped over my shoulder.

Now when I look in her bathroom, I see bras on the floor, razors
in the sink, and deodorant in her cabinet. I wipe back a tear
from my face as she terminates the hug.

I make it a point to not bombard her with too many hug requests,
lest she get upset and refuse to honor them. I do not abuse the
privilege of the Hug Coupon.

Peace be with you.

13 Going On 18

Being an older gentleman, I have experienced lots of things in
my life. And, as any parent will tell you, nothing compares with
having kids. There are certain things in your life that will
change, and you can only understand this if you either have kids,
or are lucky enough to spend a lot of time around them.

My saying is, you have no idea how much you can love
someone until you have a kid.

You know how we all get certain songs stuck in our heads from
time to time. We end up humming it to ourselves all day long,
sometimes even to the point of annoyance. When we have kids, the
songs you get stuck in your head may change.

There is nothing quite as charming as going to work, and maybe
being in a meeting with a room full of functional adults, and
having "Wee Willie Winkie" repeating inside your skull over and
over again.

You may be talking to your boss, discussing important business-
things, but in your head, you are hearing:

London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down...

You are shocked to discover you know the words to the second
and third verses as well:

Build it up with iron bars, iron bars, iron bars...
Iron bars may bend and break, bend and break, bend and break...

And in fact, before you had the kid, you probably didn't know
there even WAS a second and third verse.

Now, even though I only have one kid, as they progress through
the various stages of baby, toddler, pre-teen, and teenager
wannabee, it is almost as if you have had several different
kids. As usual, I will use The Daughter as an example.

The Daughter: Age 2

Through memories, photos, and videos, I nostalgically observe
this wonderful, sweet little girl as she learns how to walk, talk,
and become her own person. We have The Daughter at age 2.

The Daughter: Age 5

We have a little person with whom we can now interact with.
She lovingly grabs me and hugs me. Hearing her tiny little
voice saying 'Daddy' is about the sweetest sound I have ever
heard in all my life.
Our TV fare includes Arthur, Elmo's World, and Barney.
Like other parents, this is the stage where I learn to
hate Barney.

The Daughter: Age 8

She plays games with me, we go to movies together, and go on
bike rides. We have stretched our entertainment horizon to
include Spongebob, Dragon Tales, and Cyberchase.
This is just a fabulous age.

The Daughter: Age 10

It just keeps getting better and better.
She is smart and funny. We go to the Daddy-Daughter dance
on Valentine's day. She still tolerates my presence and
continues to acknowledge my existence. Life is good.

The Daughter: Age 12

All good things must come to an end.
I am not allowed to touch her (which means no hugs).
I speak only when spoken to.
I am allowed to chauffeur her to different places and
to friends' houses.
I am also permitted to fund her extra-curricular activities.

But I know she still loves me...she is just not as demonstrative
as she once was. And often, I catch glimpses of the sweet little
thing I used to know.

Projecting The Daughter at Age 15:

She will probably allow me to teach her how to (gasp) drive.
She will also realize by then that she is not getting a Vette.

Projecting The Daughter at Age 21:

She will be excelling in her college education (resulting from a
Scholarship) so she can get a good job that she likes and make a
lot of money.

Projecting The Daughter at Age 30:

I will be babysitting my grandchildren.
She will be supporting me in the lifestyle I have become accustomed to.

Projecting The Daughter at Age 40:

She will attend my funeral and will know that I was the best
daddy I could possibly be. She will forgive me for all the times
I have failed her, and keep me in her memory all her life. She
will remember how much I loved her and always did the best
that I could.

Peace be with you.

Happy Anniversary!

Happy Valentine's Day to one and all.

I am proud to say I was very good to my bride this year.
Just last evening, when we were shopping, as we went
past the greeting card aisle, I stopped her, pointed
to the cards, and asked her to pick out whatever card
she wanted. You really can't get more considerate than
that. No wonder she loves me so much.

Holidays always bring back memories for me. Some good, and
some not so good. This Valentine's day makes me harken back
to three years ago...Tuesday, February 13, 2007:

I had arrived home from work, and was preparing dinner for my
loving family. My bride and I have a pact, that whoever gets
home from work first gets to start making dinner.

We have found that the hardest part about making dinner is not
MAKING dinner, but figuring out WHAT to make for dinner. So I
thought I would start out by chopping lettuce for a salad. We
had just gotten some new knives, and I was anxious to try them
out:



So here I am, chopping chopping chopping. The new knife is
excellent, solid one-piece aluminum, easy to handle. I can
barely get my fingers out of the way fast enough when I start
chopping really fast. In fact, too fast...

Turned my head and looked away for a moment, and it was too
late. Next thing I know, I am running water over my finger, and
the blood wouldn't stop coming out. Luckily, my helpful Daughter
was home, and didn't freak out too badly, as she was only ten
years old at the time.

It's funny how your mind works. My first thought (and the one
that continued long after) was that I was pissed at myself for
being so stupid. Then, as I was rinsing my finger in water, and
realized I had sliced through the nail, that this was going to
be a hassle.

There was no pain at all, but when the stream of water was
hitting the wound, I could feel the flap of skin bouncing
around. That sensation is worse than pain.

I hailed The Daughter and asked her if she could run and get me
a band-aid. Loving child that she is, she complied and helped me
put it on. However, it became obvious that the band-aid was not
going to quite do the job:



So I went online and started searching for the Urgent Care URL
to make an appointment with them. We are very lucky that we
happen to have one just a block or two from the house, but I
figure rather than showing up and waiting, we could make an
appointment on the internet, and they could call us on the phone
when they are ready.

Just then, my bride got home, and she said "No, we are going
down there right now". So off we went.

I was expecting to have to wait the normal hour or two, but
quickly discovered that if you are bleeding pretty good, they
put you on top of the list. I hope nobody there got mad at me
for 'bumping' them.

Saw the doctor, and he had some concerns about 'vascular
damage'. Apparently, I had nearly circumcised the tip of my
finger, had I completed the circle, a whole cap of flesh from the
tip of my finger would have come off, leaving nothing underneath
but exposed inner tissue, which would have been complicated. As
it was, there was enough left where he was able to stitch it all
down and hope that enough blood would be able to get into the
detached portion to allow healing.

So, just for you, I documented the healing procedure.
I hope these are not too graphic for you...

My finger at Day 5, the first time I was able to get a look at
it, since this was the day the doctor removed the covering
bandage:


Day 7:


Day 15 and Day 21, the biggest problem now is keeping me from
snagging the up-lifted nail on something...this would not be
pleasant, I can assure you. So I just kept a small band-aid on
it to protect the nail:

Day 24 and Day 32, and now we are making some real progress.
The dead nail AND the scab have fallen away, leaving pink puffy
skin that is well-supplied with life-giving blood!

Day 42...you can hardly even see scar now:


To this day, The Daughter will only allow me use a knife if I
promise to be careful.

Peace be with you.

Incommunicado

One thing I like about Friday nights is that I don't have to go
to work the next day. The best part about a day off is the night
before...you don't have to worry about what time you go to bed.

I like to browse the internet late at night, as I have the time
to surf without being disturbed. And, since I have been
blogging as of late, I have more time to peruse other blogs
attentively.

The Daughter, too likes to mess around on her laptop and cell
phone at night. She has lots of people to talk to, and texting
is her preferred method of communicating.

Since I know she will respond to me electronically, I can go
onto Facebook and send her a message while she is holed up in
her room.

Me: Why don't you get off Facebook and do something productive
with your life?

The Daughter: can u go downstairs and get my charger? in my
binder pencilbag, hey thx

Ah, a response! She acknowledges my existence, then.
But notice the 'text speak'? Sure you do, you all use it. The
electronic shorthand that is fine for casual texting.
But I don't use it.

I am not college-educated, I am just a working slob. But I do
have lots of interests, and I do like to read. I have
self-educated myself on things that I personally take an
interest in. So when I write, I am kind of a stickler about
correct spelling and punctuation. And since I am older, this
electronic boom kind of happened after I was already pretty set
in my ways.

So, even when I send emails and quick casual text messages over
the phone, I can't help but use proper English grammar. In fact,
when I got my cell phone, one of the requirements was that the
keyboard lent easy generation of capital letters and symbols.

The Daughter makes it even MORE interesting by being so
careless that she even misspells the already-bad shorthand!

ANYWAY...as usual, I digress. The point being, it is kind of
cute when I see her embrace the technology of laziness...

The Daughter: still waitin here

Me: Are you hungry? Would you like some food? When is the last
time you ate anything?

The Daughter: had cracks n pop at lxs h;s
Translation: I consumed crackers and a carbonated beverage
at Lexy's home.

Me: That's not good enough, it is my responsibility to nourish
your growing body with healthful goodness.

The Daughter: no pps nt hngry nd chgr
Translation: No thank-you, Father, I have no appetite.
But I still would like my cell phone charger, if I may.

Attentive parent that I am, I go down to retrieve her charger.
I knock lightly at her door, waiting for an affirmative response
from her.

I slowly open the door, mindful of the danger (I have to be wary
of the Singularity...it tends to move to different places in her
room).

She is propped up in her bed, laptop open in front of her.
Also on her lap, the cell phone and the ipod. The lambent glow
of the various electronic devices illuminate her visage.

A tangle of wires snakes down around the nightstand, they
terminate at the power strip that supplies all her energy needs.

At this point, since I am there in person, she really has no
choice but to communicate with me verbally. So I watch in
amusement as her mouth tries to form the words.

"Thanks, dad, could you plug it in over there, and give me
the other end? My cell phone is dead." She does not look up
from her laptop, however.

I tell her that if she is going to be on the laptop, she can't
be in her room with the door closed, I have an obligation to be
nosy and controlling of her life until she is around thirty.

She closes the laptop, opens the phone, and dismisses me with a
wave of her hand.

And they say that parents don't communicate with their kids anymore.

Peace be with you.

A Day in the Life

A listener to the show called in recently with a question:

"We care so much about your daily life. We really and truly are
so interested in the minute and granular details of your
exciting suburban life. We really want to know."

"Well, there's really not much to tell," I explained.
"I always thought my life was kind of normal, mundane. I work,
I sleep."

So, here is a typical day, if that is what they want:

I get home from work. I put my stuff down on the counter and
turn on the light in the kitchen. Pop! That damn floodlight
has burned out again. You know, we moved into this house in
1996, and suddenly about a year ago, all the floodlights burned
out. They have all been replaced in the past year. How could
it blow already after the previously-installed one lasted more
than ten years?

Luckily, I had an extra one stored (I hate darkness in the
house. I always make sure I have plenty of spare light bulbs).

The old one wouldn't come out. It must be screwed in too tight.
If I am not careful, it will break off, and I will have to use
pliers to dig the remnants out of the socket. Which means I
will have to turn off power to the kitchen. Which means
re-setting the clock on the microwave and coffee-maker. Not
good.

The Lord is smiling on me this day, and it comes out. I screw in
the new bulb, but it is not bright enough. Must have gotten the
60 Watt by mistake, I normally go for about 2,000 Watts.
(I hate darkness in the house).
I place 'light bulbs' on the shopping list.

My bride arrives home. "Why do you have light bulbs on the shopping
list?" she inquires innocently. "You have a whole cabinet full of them."
"Yes, but they are not the correct kind."
"So what do we do with all these other ones?"
"Maybe we can sell them to Tony or Robert."

Working together like two gears in a finely-oiled machine, we
both have dinner prepared. The Daughter is upstairs shaving her
legs again (remember, she is just shy of 13, so this is
important to her). The music is so loud in her room she can't
hear us calling her for dinner.

I pick up the phone to call her on her cell phone, as I am too
lazy to hike up the stairs. I get voice mail. I send her a text
message telling her to get down here.

(This is how we communicate with her. She forgot how to
interact with us face to face). But that's ok, because even when
she talks to us, all of her sentences end with the "uhh" phrase,
as in:

"I'm coming-Uhh"
"I'm gonna clean my room soon-Uhh"
"I'm washing my hands-Uhh"
(The dialect may vary, depending on what state you are in).

After dinner, I help The Daughter with her homework.
As we are working, she makes an off-hand comment about maybe
going to Hobby Lobby tonight. "What time do they close?" she
asks. They close around 8:00 PM (it is currently 7:30).
"Oh, I have to get some stuff for my science project that is due
tomorrow."

Deadly pause...probably a project that she got two weeks ago,
and now I know we will pulling another all-nighter. Time to
rally the troops. We must efficiently coordinate our time now.

I ask my bride if she can take The Daughter to Hobby Lobby while
I finish computing the missile trajectories for the homework we
have started (amazing what they make them do in Seventh Grade
Social Studies these days).

Fast-forward about three hours. My bride and I are reading in bed,
The Daughter is in her room with the music blaring. She needs
to get to bed. We call her on her cell again. This time she
answers! "Turn off the music! Go to bed!"

"But I have to wash my hair-Uhh!"
(It will take her an hour to dry it).

And they say families don't do things together anymore.

Peace be with you.

Jiggling the Handle - Part Two

Recall in our latest exciting Episode, our hero (Moi) had just
completed an extensive plumbing repair, and was taking a
well-earned rest.

...Our story continues...

As I laid down to take a well-deserved nap, I was suddenly
startled by the sound of water gushing against the wall in a
pretty strong stream...

Since I was only semi-conscious (a state that I seem to be in a
lot, lately), it took me a few minutes to realize what may have
been happening here...

I dashed into the bathroom to find a powerful stream of water
blasting out of the damn riser valve at a velocity of about
several gallons per minute.

My first thought is panic...how to stop this, and stop it
quickly! You know what kind of damage water will do, especially
originating on the second floor!

Going through my mind...calling a plumber...by the time he gets
here, the whole upper floor will have collapsed onto the ground
floor.

As you may know, most residences in the US have the main water
valve at the street in front of the house under a grate...and
the only way to turn off the water is by using a 'water
key'...which is a big stiff metal rod with two prongs on it.
You have to get down there and really turn on the thing to get
it to turn off. Most people don't have a water key...a pipe
wrench might do it in a pinch.

You must procure a pipe wrench, and get out there and find the
water meter, and all the while, since you are panicking, you are
not thinking clearly or efficiently.

I thank the Lord that we have had an additional water shut-off
valve installed just outside the front door with a simple ball
valve. It was just a matter of digging into the dirt to find it.
I knew it was there somewhere, buried under weeds and plants
(I am so glad that we have holly bushes in the front, all the
scratches I am getting will make me appear to be working really
hard at this).

Success! I crank the valve off (lefty loosey-righty tighty).
I run back into the house to make sure the ceiling is still in
one piece. The water has shut off, giving us some breathing room.

My lovely bride is already up there trying to mop up the water
with towels, and she is getting most of it up before it has a
chance to drain down through the drywall and come through the
ceiling downstairs.

So now that I have a chance to breathe, I can see that the
break has come from the cheapo water valve that was originally
installed in this house. These marvels of human engineering
are not designed to be turned off and on...imagine... a valve
that is not supposed to be turned.

So when I was fixing the problem with the running tank, I had
to turn off the valve, and bend the metal tubing to the side
just a bit...just enough to compromise the integrity of the
tube. Turn on valve, increase pressure...and we have a major
structural failure. The picture below is the replaced valve,
all nice and shiny and new:



Had this event occurred during the daytime when we were at
work, we would have come home to find a single story house
with a huge cathedral ceiling...complete with a nice lap pool in
the family room. I can't thank God enough that this did not happen.

As it is, the damage was limited to a few attractive abstract
stains on the downstairs ceiling...kind of like ink blots, yes?
(It doesn't actually look this bad, I upped the contrast so you
can see the pattern better).



And now, The Daughter is complaining that the toilet in HER
bathroom is running...should she submit the form?

See Option One: Just jiggle the damn handle!

Peace be with you.

Jiggling the Handle - Part One

I consider myself to be a pretty handy guy. When I was
growing up, my dad always made me help him with various
projects he was doing, mostly involving carpentry. I learned
a lot from him about construction, woodworking, drywalling,
and how to use various tools and power saws.

It was not until I looked back years later that I even came
close to realizing what a skillful man he was.

In addition to this excellent education, due to the many many
jobs I have had in my life (and this, too is a story for a
future post) I am semi-well versed in electrical wiring and
plumbing. Very basically, electricity is to wiring as water
is to pipes...if electricity has a place to go, it will go.

So this is pretty basic simple stuff, I can do most home
repairs, such as replacing switches, faucets, fixing leaks,
etc. However, even though I may be capable of said repairs,
you really have to weigh the different options before deciding
on which course to take to resolve the issue:

Option One: Do nothing. Live with it. Not worth the trouble.

Option Two: Fix it myself, if it is a minor enough task that
I think I can handle within a reasonable amount of time.

Option Three: Hire somebody. This is when the problem is
severe enough that I know it HAS to be done, and complicated
enough where I know it would take me somewhere between
two days and Never to get it completed if I did it myself.

I am not completely dim-witted, if there are mechanical issues
in the house that need to be addressed, I am aware of them. I
just choose to selectively ignore them. So if something needs
to be done, I will ask my bride to submit Form 27-a:



For example, she came to me not long ago and said that some of
the light switches are not working. They work if you flip it up
really hard, and then you have to flip it down really hard to
make it turn off. The switch is obviously old and the contacts
are worn. It does warrant a replacement:



Electrical repairs always bug me, because the amount of existing
wiring in the house is finite. You never know how much slack you
are going to find when you remove the old switch. It is tough to
coax the thick wire around the little screw, and as we all know,
you can only bend and un-bend the wire so many times before it
breaks. If I cannot pull any more wire out of the wall, then the
switch will have to be decommissioned and rendered useless,
along with whatever appliance it has been controlling.

I had her submit the form as a way to have a paper trail, but I
added an addendum that the work would have to be delayed until
next spring, when Daylight Savings Time kicks in. (The nature of
the requested repair dictates that power would have to be shut
off in the kitchen.)

As a result of this, the clocks on the coffeemaker and the
microwave would have to be reset. It would be counter-
productive to go through the hassle of setting these clocks
only to have to RE-set them again just a few weeks later, so I
penciled her in for March 14, 2010.

I did not remind her that on that date, I will be in California
with The Daughter to visit my mom, which unfortunately will have
a negative impact on the requested repair. We may have to live
with the loose switches for another six months.

Having narrowly escaped (for now) the electrical repair, my bride
then submitted another form for the upstairs toilet. According
to the form, when you flush, the water in the tank continues to
'run'. I reviewed the documentation and scheduled an initial
inquiry. I was tempted to kick the form back to her as Denied
due to an inaccuracy in the terminology, but I was feeling
generous that day and I did the inspection.

I discovered that the problem could be alleviated by just doing
a slight 'jiggle' of the flush handle after the tank had filled
up. (As I get older, I find that I am getting to be more and
more like electricity...I like to follow the path of least
resistance).

Now I am at an impasse...for me, it is much easier to just
jiggle the damn handle then it is to turn off the water valve,
reach down into the tank and mess with that gooky rubber and
plastic garbage down there, replace the tank gasket, etc etc.
I would much rather be spending my afternoon taking a nap.

(See Option One above).

But, as you all know by now, I am the perfect husband, and I
always do what my family requests (assuming the proper
paperwork has been submitted). I ran down to Lowes, got the
needed equipment, and performed the required repair.
All was well.

As I laid down to take a well-deserved nap, I was suddenly
startled by the sound of water gushing against the wall in a
pretty strong stream...

I am now realizing that this is dragging on for longer than I
intended. In the interest of not creating a post that is TOO
LONG...I must publish the second episode tomorrow...

Peace be with you.

The Black Hole

I am NOT a clean freak. I like the house to be sanitary, but it
doesn't have to be sterile. As long as there are not pieces of
unknown gunk stuck all over the kitchen counters, crusted dishes
sitting in the sink, or crumbs on the floor that I feel when
walking barefoot (which is always), I am good.

A little dust on the furniture or some newspapers or magazines
laying around on the sofa, I am OK with that. It doesn't matter
if the mirrors and windows are a little dirty, or if there are
fingerprints on the fridge.

There is one thing, though, that I can't abide (besides
Jawas)...and that is CLUTTER. I just can't stand extraneous and
useless CRAP laying around all over the place. My bride calls it
chachki stuff. It's like the entire house being a junk drawer.
It's junk drawers run amok. Junk drawers gone wild. Ok, we get
the point.

My lovely young daughter...delicate flower that she is...is not
what I would term terribly neat. I am hoping it is just a phase
that she is going through, and am hopeful it will end some day.

I forget what color the carpet in her room is, because you
really can't even see it. Whatever she has in her hands that
she decides she does not want to continue holding lands on the
floor in whatever location she is standing in at the time.

If she is taking off shoes or jackets, off they go, and wherever
they happen to end up is where they will take up residence.
I just can't see how she can live like this. I am not a neat
freak, but there comes a point where you just can't have CD's,
clothes, books, papers, cell phone chargers, and even CASH just
laying around on the floor like that. We can't even tell which
clothes are clean, and which ones are dirty.

If we bring up a basket full of clean clothes after the wash,
she will pick them out of the basket if she needs them, or maybe
they will end up on the floor. When my bride asks her to bring
down her dirty clothes to get them washed, I have a hunch she
just grabs an armful of stuff and brings it down, no way of
telling if they are really dirty or not.

Food wrappers, empty (or full) soda cans, even un-eaten food
lurk in the dark corners under her bed.

My fear is that one day she will turn out to be one of those
people you read about in the news with newspapers stacked to
the ceiling, and blocking every passageway in the house.

Now here is a paradox...I affectionately refer to her room as a
'Black Hole'...not because stuff mysteriously vanishes, but
because it gets lost. She has lots of stuff in there, but
whatever you are specifically seeking is nowhere to be found.
So I think what we actually have here is a 'Selective
Singularity'...instead of EVERYTHING in her room getting sucked
up into nothingness, which is what any normal black hole would
do (and would result in a spotless room), it seems to feed only
on things that we may actually want to find.

Bride: Hey, I just put our 2009 tax returns in Ariel's room...I
thought I had laid them on her desk, but now I can't find them.

Me: (with a sinking feeling): Uh...how long ago was that?

Bride: I think it was yesterday.

Me: OMG, I hope it is not too late!

So I go and push open her door...I can feel the resistance of
several tons of miscellaneous debris behind the door that must
be shoved aside. I kick through a pile of Teen Beat magazines
with my foot so I can create a pathway towards her desk. My
hope is that I can retrieve the documents before they have
gotten sucked past the Event Horizon.

Before me stands The Desk. The drawers are all open,
mis-matched socks hang out of them, single shoes without their
mates, long ropes of petrified licorice.

I search the top of the desk, gingerly pushing aside Skittles
wrappers and used up iTunes cards. I think I see what I am
looking for.

Wait! What's this? Could it be the clicker from the old TV
that got misplaced in 2006? Her Human Cell Diorama that she
worked on so hard last year, but never turned in because she
couldn't find it?

Suddenly, I start to feel a tugging at my left foot, slowly but
forcefully pulling me towards the closet. I think I may be on
the verge of discovering the exact location of the Singularity.
As I allow myself to be nudged towards the closet, I can feel a
breeze blowing past me...probably the movement of air being
pulled into the gravitational field.

I manage to pull myself free, grab the tax return, and make a
dash for the door. And I discover that I have been in The Room
for almost 7 hours...Apparently the time distortion has affected
my perception of reality. And now I know why it takes her 5
hours to get ready for bed after taking a shower.

Peace be with you.