Situation Normal - All Fouled Up.
As dramatic as this week has been - there is no use denying it any longer - for most people (not all - but most), things are back to normal here in San Diego. And things are all fouled up.
Yes, there are still hotspots and fires here and there - as this map will show. But if it weren't for the preceeding conflagrations, I don't think the present fires would be national news.
Yes, a sizable numer of people were diplaced but most are back home or headed that direction.
And yes, more people than should have lost their homes - so there is that to deal with.
Thankfully, while a number of people we know were evacuated, none have lost their homes.
But at this point, if you are calling your boss, begging off work due to the fires, expect a raised eyebrow, a shrug of the shoulders and a suspicious look.
I, myself, am dressed and ready to head back to the "House of Pain" at o-dark-thiry to get a jump on things as most people in my industry will be returning to work and making up for lost time today. The only thing keeping me from leaving right now is the big bowl of oatmeal on the desk before me.
The only reason I am blogging right now is because there are very few things I can stand to do while eating and blogging is one of them.
Much has been said about the way the people and the government of San Diego performed this week - most of it complimentary. No need for me to rehash it all except to say that I am amazed and proud of the way the situation was handled.
And I am pretty sure the mayor won't be taking to the air waves blaming Bush and promising to rebuild San Diego as a white-chocolate city. Although if he did, Dick Cheney and Barak Obama would be the perfect residents. Turns out they are cousins.
What a week. What a!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Update 10/24/07 - 5:16am
Yesterday morning, it was still dark when I stepped out the door on my way to work and there was a red glow in the sky to the East.
I drove Eastward about a mile to a vantage point and saw a red rope of fire coiled around the base of the hills in the distance.
I visited the same vantage point yesterday afternoon on my way home from work and all was smoke and ash. It was hard to tell in the daylight if there were still active fires or if the smoke was just coming from the smoldering remains of the brush fires.
After putting up the previous post this morning, I threw on some sweats, grabbed the camera and headed out to the same vantage spot again.
Nothing. No fires in sight. It still smells like smoke but I suppose all of San Diego is going to smell like smoke for the time being.
It looks like we personally are in the clear.
I drove Eastward about a mile to a vantage point and saw a red rope of fire coiled around the base of the hills in the distance.
I visited the same vantage point yesterday afternoon on my way home from work and all was smoke and ash. It was hard to tell in the daylight if there were still active fires or if the smoke was just coming from the smoldering remains of the brush fires.
After putting up the previous post this morning, I threw on some sweats, grabbed the camera and headed out to the same vantage spot again.
Nothing. No fires in sight. It still smells like smoke but I suppose all of San Diego is going to smell like smoke for the time being.
It looks like we personally are in the clear.
A Stab in the Dark
Here is what the sunset looked like from my back deck yesterday:
Here is what the moon looked like at 3:45 this morning:
Too early to tell I suppose, but it seems like an improvement.
What with the Great Upheaval at work and all (click topic to the right for past posts), this is the time of morning where I would be heading out the door to work. I think I will stick around this morning. Throw back a pot of coffee with the wife before seeing each other off to work around 7:30 or so - assuming we both end up going to work today.
I also felt like I really ought to do some posting this morning which brings me to our cultural observations of the day.
I phoned a friend yesterday to check in and he assured me that all was fine with him and his. I remarked that my wife had talked to his wife and that my wife had told me that they had an eventful morning. "Well, I'm going to blog about it" was his reply.
I knew what he meant. What he meant was, "Nothing of any real importance happened and I want to tell you the story via the blog so that I can get my thoughts together and add the photos etc." Which is perfectly fine and no big deal. But I couldn't help dishing him some good-natured righteous indignation, "LOOK PAL. When I call and ask you if you are all right I don't want to hear, 'Well, I'm going to blog about it'. I want to hear what the H.E. double hockey-sticks is going on!"
We both had a good laugh.
Which brings me to the other side of that cultural coin - a number of friends have e-mailed me expressing concern because I have not been blogging the fire very much and they want to make sure we are okay. Which I find interesting.
The only thing keeping me from blogging is THE MAN. And the 70-hour work weeks I have been putting in the last 3 weeks. The wife asked me if I ever have trouble coming up with something to blog about. Sadly, no. Rest assured that I always have something to say and the only thing keeping me from blogging about it is my present work situation. (note: I did not say "something interesting" or "something important". I just said I always have "something" to say)
Well back to the topic at hand.
The best sources for information on the fires that I have found are these:
http://www.10news.com/ - They have a live video feed that I have been running in a corner of my desktop at work. It is exactly what the folks watching TV are seeing.
www.sdcountyemergency.com/ - This is the San Diego County Government emergency website. They have a pdf map of the fires as well as evacuation areas and possible future evacuation areas. They also have a ticker-tape of sorts with very relevant and up-to-date information
Google Maps - This is a map of the fires, evacuation areas and aid centers of all stripes
So how close did we come to never having to finish the family room re-model? Judging by all the sources I have seen on TV, the web and in person yesterday morning - we were 4 miles from the flames and 2 1/2 miles from being evacuated. That may seem uncomfortably close to some but I am learning that 4 miles is not necessarily 4 miles when it comes to fire.
Our home is not in the woods. We do not live on the edge of a tinder-box prairie. We are surrounded by city blocks of residential homes. Between us and the flames sits four miles of densely populated neighborhoods and an 8-lane freeway. It would have to be some fire to ravage four miles of city blocks and jump a freeway without being beaten back by the fire-fighting powers that be. Add to the mix that the Harris fire is butted up against the Sweetwater reservoir. The aircraft have been filling their tanks in the reservoir and not so much having to travel to the fire to drop so much as just having to gain enough altitude to make their drops.
The real concern for us is not that the fire might travel house-to-house. The issue at hand for us is that air-borne embers could rain down upon us and cause damage.
That seems a lot less likely this morning than it did yesterday morning.
But like I said, it's still early and I am just taking a "stab in the dark".
More to come, I am sure . . .
Here is what the moon looked like at 3:45 this morning:
Too early to tell I suppose, but it seems like an improvement. What with the Great Upheaval at work and all (click topic to the right for past posts), this is the time of morning where I would be heading out the door to work. I think I will stick around this morning. Throw back a pot of coffee with the wife before seeing each other off to work around 7:30 or so - assuming we both end up going to work today.
I also felt like I really ought to do some posting this morning which brings me to our cultural observations of the day.
I phoned a friend yesterday to check in and he assured me that all was fine with him and his. I remarked that my wife had talked to his wife and that my wife had told me that they had an eventful morning. "Well, I'm going to blog about it" was his reply.
I knew what he meant. What he meant was, "Nothing of any real importance happened and I want to tell you the story via the blog so that I can get my thoughts together and add the photos etc." Which is perfectly fine and no big deal. But I couldn't help dishing him some good-natured righteous indignation, "LOOK PAL. When I call and ask you if you are all right I don't want to hear, 'Well, I'm going to blog about it'. I want to hear what the H.E. double hockey-sticks is going on!"
We both had a good laugh.
Which brings me to the other side of that cultural coin - a number of friends have e-mailed me expressing concern because I have not been blogging the fire very much and they want to make sure we are okay. Which I find interesting.
The only thing keeping me from blogging is THE MAN. And the 70-hour work weeks I have been putting in the last 3 weeks. The wife asked me if I ever have trouble coming up with something to blog about. Sadly, no. Rest assured that I always have something to say and the only thing keeping me from blogging about it is my present work situation. (note: I did not say "something interesting" or "something important". I just said I always have "something" to say)
Well back to the topic at hand.
The best sources for information on the fires that I have found are these:
http://www.10news.com/ - They have a live video feed that I have been running in a corner of my desktop at work. It is exactly what the folks watching TV are seeing.
www.sdcountyemergency.com/ - This is the San Diego County Government emergency website. They have a pdf map of the fires as well as evacuation areas and possible future evacuation areas. They also have a ticker-tape of sorts with very relevant and up-to-date information
Google Maps - This is a map of the fires, evacuation areas and aid centers of all stripes
So how close did we come to never having to finish the family room re-model? Judging by all the sources I have seen on TV, the web and in person yesterday morning - we were 4 miles from the flames and 2 1/2 miles from being evacuated. That may seem uncomfortably close to some but I am learning that 4 miles is not necessarily 4 miles when it comes to fire.
Our home is not in the woods. We do not live on the edge of a tinder-box prairie. We are surrounded by city blocks of residential homes. Between us and the flames sits four miles of densely populated neighborhoods and an 8-lane freeway. It would have to be some fire to ravage four miles of city blocks and jump a freeway without being beaten back by the fire-fighting powers that be. Add to the mix that the Harris fire is butted up against the Sweetwater reservoir. The aircraft have been filling their tanks in the reservoir and not so much having to travel to the fire to drop so much as just having to gain enough altitude to make their drops.
The real concern for us is not that the fire might travel house-to-house. The issue at hand for us is that air-borne embers could rain down upon us and cause damage.
That seems a lot less likely this morning than it did yesterday morning.
But like I said, it's still early and I am just taking a "stab in the dark".
More to come, I am sure . . .
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Let Me Stand Next to YOUR Fire
The title is more than a line from a Jimi Hendrix song - it's real life here in San Diego today. As Sean over at The Most Significant Thing has observed, we all have our own fire. His is the Rice Fire, mine is the Harris Fire, I have friends that live near the Witch Creek Fire and still others that live near another fire who's name escapes me.And no, the photo above is not of my fire. That would be the view from my back deck of the sunset yesterday through the smokey haze.
Southern California is brush fire and earthquake country. When I see flooding in the mid west and hurricanes in the gulf, I say to myself, "Those people must be crazy to live there". No doubt someone in Kansas is restocking their basement for tornado season and saying the same thing about us today.
Make no mistake about it, this is a serious situation - a nightmarish one for many - an utter devastation for some. But all of San Diego is not on fire - we aren't all huddled in the local school or stadium. It just looks like it on the news.
If you are born and bred in Southern Cal, you learn that every earthquake is not cause for panic.
For us personally, the fire this morning was a level two. I walked outside in the early morning darkness and saw the sky to the east glowing red. On the way to work, I took a detour to check things out.Level One: The ground shimmys and you stop, look, listen and feel
Level Two: The ground shakes and you remark to a friend, "Whoa"
Level Three: The roar in your ears begins and you start to edge for a doorway (one of the safest places to stand in an earthquake).
Level Four: Things begin to rumble and roll and you back away from the windows, head for the exits and grab anyone within reach and yank them along.
Whoa.
Flames that had to be 50-100 feet high judging from how far away they were and yet how massive they still looked. People were pulled off to the side of the road, standing silently in the darkness, witnessing the fury of mother nature. I didn't take the camera as the thought of shooting photos just sort of seemed inappropriate to me. I guess I don't have much of a future in journalism.
The wife's employer gave people a paid day off so she stayed home to hold down the fort - glued to the news. I went in to the office and had the news feed running on the computer. The agreement was, if our neighborhood was issued a call for voluntary evac, I would come home immediately.
The wife and I chatted on the phone and traded e-mails every 45 minutes or so until being home alone with nothing but the news and a yard full of smoke was more than any sane wife should have to take. She called and I could tell by her tone that it was time to come home. So I did.
Its not like I was getting any significant amount of work done anyway. Most of my clients were not working today. Half the mortgage lenders were closed. Those that were open refused to fund mortgage loans until they could send out an inspector to make sure their collateral still exists.
So that is the status. We alternate between looking out the window, checking e-mails and the news and checking in with friends.
No doubt, more to come . . .
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Classy Chicken
"An elegant, easy-to-make chicken dish bursting with flavors of sun dried tomatoes and creamy white wine sauce. My husband calls it the classiest meal I serve because it's exactly like what you order in a fancy restaurant! Very low in fat and calories, and it only takes 1/2 hour from start to finish. Pairs nicely with roasted baby potatoes and steamed broccoli."
RECIPE HERE
Weekend Adventures, 10/21/07 or The Silver Surfer vs Green Lantern
In the movie, "A Man Without a Face", a disfigured Mel Gibson agrees to tutor a struggling pre-teen, named Charles Nordstat, to pass the entrance exam to a military academy that Charles wants to attend. For one assignment, the young pupil turns in a treatise on government that he obviously plagiarized. His punishment? Rewrite the assignment or there will be no more tutoring. Charles is allowed to write on anything and so he titles his essay "Why the Silver Surfer Sucks More and the Green Lantern". Which, when held up against the previous essay he submitted, looks base, foolish and uninteresting. But at least it came from his heart.
With that in mind, I offer you, "Why the Coronado Dawg Beach Sucks More Than the Ocean Beach Dawg Beach".
First, let's review this past work-week, shall we?
Monday 4:30am-5:30pm
Tuesday 4:30am-5:30pm
Wednesday 4:00am - 5:00pm
Thursday 6:00am - 5:00pm
Friday 3:45am-5:00pm
Enough has been said on the topic and if you are unfamiliar, click on "The Great Upheaval" topic to the right.
This is now week three of this schedule and alarm bells are starting to sound inside my being. "She can't take much morre of this, Captain!" (in thick Scottish accent)
My goal this weekend is three-fold:
1) Physically move my body as little as possible
2) Physically move the Dawg's body as much as possible
3) Do just enough pick-up around the house that the health department does not come-a-knocking
How to handle 1 & 2? Dawg Beach, with a chair and stack of magazines, of course.
I have had the Coronado Dawg beach recommended to me a couple of times recently so I decided to try it. If San Deigo had a "Hamptons" where the well-heeled went to play, it would be Coronado. If we had a Beverly Hills, it would be La Jolla and if we had a Venice Beach, it would be Ocean Beach.
So we were off to where the rich dawggies play. I had a basic, working knowledge of where the Coronado dawg beach was and I knew we had arrived when I saw a parade of leashed dawgs headed over the grassy knoll to where the beach must be. "That's odd" I thought to myself; "If this is a dawg beach, why all the leashes?" At Ocean beach, you throw open the back of the jeep and the dawg leaps unfettered from the car to the sand. Well, when in Rome . . .
We got the harness on and the leash out. Backpack? Check. Chair? Check. and we joined the parade.
When we actually got to the beach, about half the folks "released the hounds" so I did the same. Got that? Half the folks unleashed their dawgs. What is the point of a leash-free park if you don't unleash the dawg? Its like sending a kid to a candy store without any money. To each his own.
The first thing that struck me about the beach was how comparatively small and uninteresting it was. Ocean Beach is the largest leash-free dawg park in America. Coronado *ahem* is not. Ocean Beach also has an inlet where you can walk inland for about 1/2 mile along a river of sorts. The Coronado Dawg beach butts up against the North Island Naval base and has helicopters flying overhead every few minutes. Whatever - grading levels of paradise at this point, right?
As we made our way towards the water I noticed a big steaming pile of "dawg has been here" left behind in a clump of seaweed. "That's weird, you would think that these folks would be a little more conscientious about that sort of thing." I thought to myself.
That was when I stepped in a big steaming pile of "dawg has been here" that squished between my toes. As Sean's sixth-grade woodshop teacher would say, "Shootdang!". The magic was somewhat lessened at this point. Of course, the dawg was having a ball tearing back and forth.
I set up the chair, magazines and dawggie water bowl and waded into the surf to clean up. When I got back to the chair, everything was covered in flies. Everything. I must have set up too close to a clump of seaweed.
I moved camp and the flies followed. That does it. Packed up camp. Headed to the car - disregarding the "leash your dawg when walking to and from the beach" rule.
15 minutes later, I threw open the back of the Jeep and the dawg bounded onto the Ocean Beach sand. Back where we belong.
Stayed at the beach for over an hour and had a great time. Sure, there was a scuffle or two with an aggressive dawg here and there - but they're dawgs. It's what they do. Not a leash in sight and nothing but sand between the toes.
With that in mind, I offer you, "Why the Coronado Dawg Beach Sucks More Than the Ocean Beach Dawg Beach".
First, let's review this past work-week, shall we?
Monday 4:30am-5:30pm
Tuesday 4:30am-5:30pm
Wednesday 4:00am - 5:00pm
Thursday 6:00am - 5:00pm
Friday 3:45am-5:00pm
Enough has been said on the topic and if you are unfamiliar, click on "The Great Upheaval" topic to the right.
This is now week three of this schedule and alarm bells are starting to sound inside my being. "She can't take much morre of this, Captain!" (in thick Scottish accent)
My goal this weekend is three-fold:
1) Physically move my body as little as possible
2) Physically move the Dawg's body as much as possible
3) Do just enough pick-up around the house that the health department does not come-a-knocking
How to handle 1 & 2? Dawg Beach, with a chair and stack of magazines, of course.
I have had the Coronado Dawg beach recommended to me a couple of times recently so I decided to try it. If San Deigo had a "Hamptons" where the well-heeled went to play, it would be Coronado. If we had a Beverly Hills, it would be La Jolla and if we had a Venice Beach, it would be Ocean Beach.
So we were off to where the rich dawggies play. I had a basic, working knowledge of where the Coronado dawg beach was and I knew we had arrived when I saw a parade of leashed dawgs headed over the grassy knoll to where the beach must be. "That's odd" I thought to myself; "If this is a dawg beach, why all the leashes?" At Ocean beach, you throw open the back of the jeep and the dawg leaps unfettered from the car to the sand. Well, when in Rome . . .
We got the harness on and the leash out. Backpack? Check. Chair? Check. and we joined the parade.
When we actually got to the beach, about half the folks "released the hounds" so I did the same. Got that? Half the folks unleashed their dawgs. What is the point of a leash-free park if you don't unleash the dawg? Its like sending a kid to a candy store without any money. To each his own.
The first thing that struck me about the beach was how comparatively small and uninteresting it was. Ocean Beach is the largest leash-free dawg park in America. Coronado *ahem* is not. Ocean Beach also has an inlet where you can walk inland for about 1/2 mile along a river of sorts. The Coronado Dawg beach butts up against the North Island Naval base and has helicopters flying overhead every few minutes. Whatever - grading levels of paradise at this point, right?
As we made our way towards the water I noticed a big steaming pile of "dawg has been here" left behind in a clump of seaweed. "That's weird, you would think that these folks would be a little more conscientious about that sort of thing." I thought to myself.
That was when I stepped in a big steaming pile of "dawg has been here" that squished between my toes. As Sean's sixth-grade woodshop teacher would say, "Shootdang!". The magic was somewhat lessened at this point. Of course, the dawg was having a ball tearing back and forth.
I set up the chair, magazines and dawggie water bowl and waded into the surf to clean up. When I got back to the chair, everything was covered in flies. Everything. I must have set up too close to a clump of seaweed.
I moved camp and the flies followed. That does it. Packed up camp. Headed to the car - disregarding the "leash your dawg when walking to and from the beach" rule.
15 minutes later, I threw open the back of the Jeep and the dawg bounded onto the Ocean Beach sand. Back where we belong.
Stayed at the beach for over an hour and had a great time. Sure, there was a scuffle or two with an aggressive dawg here and there - but they're dawgs. It's what they do. Not a leash in sight and nothing but sand between the toes.
Quote of the Day
"Why is it that when we grow up we have an easier time pushing fast-forward or rewind rather than play? Adults seem more conmfortable analyzing the past or focusing on the future than simply relishing the joy and possibility of now - something kids do by default."
- Kristin Armstrong
- Kristin Armstrong
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Champaign of Beers
This is a fantastic ad campaign. (click on the "videos" link and watch all three)
In fact, although I can't stand the swill, I am tempted to buy a 6-pack to salute the creative genius.
THAT'S good advertising.
In fact, although I can't stand the swill, I am tempted to buy a 6-pack to salute the creative genius.
THAT'S good advertising.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
"Its Only Tuesday"
"Honestly, today could not have come at a worse time this week."
An excellent Onion. (some coarse language)
An excellent Onion. (some coarse language)
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Dog Blogging
Views From Two Wheels has a funny comic posted about blogging.
Warning: This link goes to his blog, which links back to my blog and if you're not careful, you may never escape!
Warning: This link goes to his blog, which links back to my blog and if you're not careful, you may never escape!
Quote of the Day
A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else.
- Steve Prefontaine
- Steve Prefontaine
Monday, October 15, 2007
Weekend Adventures, 10/15/07
Not much to tell since I spent 8 hours at the office on Saturday and the wife is under the weather.
Sunday morning was the usual drill only this time we had a blazing fire in the fireplace. About six months ago, a huge limb came crashing down off the ol' Elm tree in the front yard. We cut it up and have been using it for firewood. There is something very satisfying about growing your own firewood.
After breakfast, the Dawg and I headed back to the office for about 3 hours. Then to BevMo. I rarely ever go to BevMo - I don't have one near my house and, to my knowledge, there isn't one on my regular route from hither to yon. But there is one between the office and the Balboa Dawg Park.
For those who don't know, BevMo is the WalMart of alcohol. Where your local grocer will carry 5 types of Vodka, BevMo will carry 25. I decided to stop by and peruse the Bourbon isle in search of something "cheap and yum". They had a dizzying array of choices. So what do I buy? The same old cheap rock-gut I always buy at the grocery store.
At the check out, you are supposed to swipe your club card. Naturally, I did not have mine on me since I rarely ever visit the store. The checker did a half-eye roll and asked for my phone number. She keyed it in and asked, "Is your name Teresa?".
"Uh, no."
"Well your phone number is registered to a Teresa."
"Does it matter?" I replied.
It was as if you could see the scales fall from the checker's eyes. "No, I guess it doesn't". And I was on my way.
The dawg and I headed for the Balboa dawg park to stretch our legs since he had spent most of the weekend horizontal on the floor of my office. The usual romp ensued. I struck up a conversation with a man who's dawg was doing it's best to playfully eat the face off my dawg. He commented on how well behaved my dawg was and asked if I ever go to the dawg beach in Coronado.
"No," I replied, "I go to the dawg beach in Ocean Beach".
"Oh" he said - and then he proceeded to explain through his thick Indian accent that he had heard that it was a pretty rough crowd of canines that frequented Ocean Beach.
"You would like the dawg beach in Coronado. It's beautiful and everyone is so nice".
This is the second time in a week that someone has:
1) Commented on how well my dawg plays with others
2) Recommended that I would like Coronado's Dawg Beach better than the OB Dawg beach
It's as if we have been invited into some sort of club. Now that I think about it, there may be some truth to the rumors about the OB Dawg Beach.
Once the dawg had run himself out and was reduced to laying in the grass panting, we loaded up and headed for home. I had to stop by Home Depot to pick up another hose because as the dawg has now pulverised two of the three that we own.
Which brings me to the whole point of this post (I actually was just going to head straight to the office without posting this morning but this just had to be shared). Home Depot has a section where they lay out all the Christmas gear every year. Yesterday, all the aisles and shelving were up but none of the decor had been unpacked yet. From floor to ceiling, as far as the eye can see, were pallets of holiday cheer waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting populace:
Sunday morning was the usual drill only this time we had a blazing fire in the fireplace. About six months ago, a huge limb came crashing down off the ol' Elm tree in the front yard. We cut it up and have been using it for firewood. There is something very satisfying about growing your own firewood.
After breakfast, the Dawg and I headed back to the office for about 3 hours. Then to BevMo. I rarely ever go to BevMo - I don't have one near my house and, to my knowledge, there isn't one on my regular route from hither to yon. But there is one between the office and the Balboa Dawg Park.
For those who don't know, BevMo is the WalMart of alcohol. Where your local grocer will carry 5 types of Vodka, BevMo will carry 25. I decided to stop by and peruse the Bourbon isle in search of something "cheap and yum". They had a dizzying array of choices. So what do I buy? The same old cheap rock-gut I always buy at the grocery store.
At the check out, you are supposed to swipe your club card. Naturally, I did not have mine on me since I rarely ever visit the store. The checker did a half-eye roll and asked for my phone number. She keyed it in and asked, "Is your name Teresa?".
"Uh, no."
"Well your phone number is registered to a Teresa."
"Does it matter?" I replied.
It was as if you could see the scales fall from the checker's eyes. "No, I guess it doesn't". And I was on my way.
The dawg and I headed for the Balboa dawg park to stretch our legs since he had spent most of the weekend horizontal on the floor of my office. The usual romp ensued. I struck up a conversation with a man who's dawg was doing it's best to playfully eat the face off my dawg. He commented on how well behaved my dawg was and asked if I ever go to the dawg beach in Coronado.
"No," I replied, "I go to the dawg beach in Ocean Beach".
"Oh" he said - and then he proceeded to explain through his thick Indian accent that he had heard that it was a pretty rough crowd of canines that frequented Ocean Beach.
"You would like the dawg beach in Coronado. It's beautiful and everyone is so nice".
This is the second time in a week that someone has:
1) Commented on how well my dawg plays with others
2) Recommended that I would like Coronado's Dawg Beach better than the OB Dawg beach
It's as if we have been invited into some sort of club. Now that I think about it, there may be some truth to the rumors about the OB Dawg Beach.
Once the dawg had run himself out and was reduced to laying in the grass panting, we loaded up and headed for home. I had to stop by Home Depot to pick up another hose because as the dawg has now pulverised two of the three that we own.
Which brings me to the whole point of this post (I actually was just going to head straight to the office without posting this morning but this just had to be shared). Home Depot has a section where they lay out all the Christmas gear every year. Yesterday, all the aisles and shelving were up but none of the decor had been unpacked yet. From floor to ceiling, as far as the eye can see, were pallets of holiday cheer waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting populace:
That's right. XMES. I was tempted to tell the clerk that he had mis-spelled it. "You left off the second 'S'".
Only 71 shopping days left.
Quote of the Day
I don't run to see how fast I am. I run to see how far I can go.
- loyal TFS reader
- loyal TFS reader
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Trying to Steal Beer Money is a Bad Idea
Via The Sun:
HT: Fark
"Thirty drinkers waded in after five masked thugs tried to rob them at gunpoint and demanded cash from the tills.
"The gang burst into the Beaufoy Bar in Battersea, South West London, expecting to grab cash and valuables.
"But as they walked to the bar shouting the odds one drinker picked up a chair and smashed one over the head.
"Others then joined in, battering the raiders with anything that came to hand.
"One drinker, who did not want to be named, said yesterday: “They got what was coming to them."
HT: Fark
Attention Readers of The Most Significant Thing
Blogging is resumed (761 words)
The difference between blogging and not blogging? About 193 words.
And they say blogging is addictive . . .
The difference between blogging and not blogging? About 193 words.
And they say blogging is addictive . . .
Attention Readers of The Most Significant Thing
Key quotes:
And on it goes for 568 words. And our wives wonder how we can talk for hours about nothing . . .
"All blogging has been suspended until everyone stops being sick around here. . .
"Until we get some peace and quiet around here, all blogging has been suspended. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until this week's job is finished. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until I get something done around here. . .
"Until Apple gets it together and the iPods stop catching people's pants on fire, all blogging has been suspended. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until I get these chores done, too. . .
"until we all cheer up, all blogging has been suspended. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until after the next marathon. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until both family cars function properly. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until we make back the four hundred dollars we spent at CostCo yesterday. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until the enemy's destruction is assured, or at least a treaty is signed in the Great War with the Ants. . .
"All blogging has been suspended until the guests leave. . .
"Until I get one fine day trip out of [the boat], all blogging has been suspended."
And on it goes for 568 words. And our wives wonder how we can talk for hours about nothing . . .
The Great Upheaval - Part 10!
Sick of hearing about it? Whhhhheeeelllll, I sure am sick of living it. But I have to get it off my chest . . .
Work-week in review:
Monday: 4:30am-6pm
Tuesday: 4:30am-6pm
Wednesday: 4:30am-5pm
At this point, it should be noted that I finally had the tiger by the tail. As I was packing up Wednesday evening, I carefully reviewed the situation at the office. "Yes, I think I can sleep in a little tomorrow . . ."
I got up Thursday morning, did a little blogging and got to work a little late.
Thursday: 8:30am-7:30pm
Why 7:30pm? Because all hades broke loose once again. The co-worker in the office next to mine was laid-off and I inherited all her files and clients who were angry about her being laid off.
Friday: 4:00am-5:00pm
Saturday: 8:00am-5:30pm
Sunday: TBA
Yes, I was in the office on Saturday and I will be going into the office today - which means 12 straight days of work by the end of this upcoming week. And spare me the "you're a work-a-holic who needs to enjoy life more" tirades.
=Begin Screed=
Work-a-holics want to be at work. I want to be at home - with the wife, the dawg, the cat and the beer. There is nothing more irritating to someone who isn't enamoured with their job that is requiring unpaid overtime than to be told that they love their job too much and should lighten up.
=End Screed=
Oh, and everyone received a 25-36% pay-cut this week.
The good news is, I no longer feel like I am on the chopping block. It is a bittersweet victory though. I feel like a prisoner in shackles and chains rejoicing because the guillotine has been temporarily shut down for routine maintenance.
In talking with a co-worker who has been in the business for going on 4 decades, she said she had weathered three of these down turns - one in the late 80's - one in the late 90's and this one, which she said is the worst she has ever seen.
So once every decade.
If we make it through this one, best to spend the next ten years saving $$ to get through the next one, I suppose. . . .
Work-week in review:
Monday: 4:30am-6pm
Tuesday: 4:30am-6pm
Wednesday: 4:30am-5pm
At this point, it should be noted that I finally had the tiger by the tail. As I was packing up Wednesday evening, I carefully reviewed the situation at the office. "Yes, I think I can sleep in a little tomorrow . . ."
I got up Thursday morning, did a little blogging and got to work a little late.
Thursday: 8:30am-7:30pm
Why 7:30pm? Because all hades broke loose once again. The co-worker in the office next to mine was laid-off and I inherited all her files and clients who were angry about her being laid off.
Friday: 4:00am-5:00pm
Saturday: 8:00am-5:30pm
Sunday: TBA
Yes, I was in the office on Saturday and I will be going into the office today - which means 12 straight days of work by the end of this upcoming week. And spare me the "you're a work-a-holic who needs to enjoy life more" tirades.
=Begin Screed=
Work-a-holics want to be at work. I want to be at home - with the wife, the dawg, the cat and the beer. There is nothing more irritating to someone who isn't enamoured with their job that is requiring unpaid overtime than to be told that they love their job too much and should lighten up.
=End Screed=
Oh, and everyone received a 25-36% pay-cut this week.
The good news is, I no longer feel like I am on the chopping block. It is a bittersweet victory though. I feel like a prisoner in shackles and chains rejoicing because the guillotine has been temporarily shut down for routine maintenance.
In talking with a co-worker who has been in the business for going on 4 decades, she said she had weathered three of these down turns - one in the late 80's - one in the late 90's and this one, which she said is the worst she has ever seen.
So once every decade.
If we make it through this one, best to spend the next ten years saving $$ to get through the next one, I suppose. . . .
Quote of the Day
Don't let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.
- John Wooden, legendary UCLA basketball coach
- John Wooden, legendary UCLA basketball coach
Marathon Runners Need to Baby Themselves . . .
There is an interesting article over at Her Active Life extolling the virtues of child diarrhea medicine and why adult athletes should be taking some.
Key Graphs:
Key Graphs:
"The drink of champions (little and large, it seems), the nectar of the stars (athletes and your under-one-year-old), the elixir for all ages, is Pedialyte. . .
"Pedialyte is marketed mainly to the un-jet-set: it’s meant to quickly rehydrate toddlers experiencing diarrhea. It is also a standard fix in hospitals for hydration of patients at any age. Beyond the infirmed, elderly and infant needs, athletes in-the-know have discovered its power to remedy. The child-friendly flavors contain electrolytes (such as sodium, potassium and glucose) that are the exact ingredients in most popular soft drinks (at a fraction of the cost and sugar content). Compared to original Gatorade, Pedialyte has more than twice the sodium per ounce and half the carbs."HT: The Final Sprint
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Signs of Life
So.
I have been getting up at 3am and heading to the office as early as possible.
Some (most) people can work late, others (me) prefer to work early. If I get to the office at 4:30am, I know that I can't leave until 5pm so I might as well get down to business and keep plugging away. I don't have the option to leave.
But come 5pm, the doors of the cell swing wide and I can leave any time I want. I am sorry, but give me the chance to bolt from the house of pain and I am taking it. I don't understand these people who stay at their desks into the evening knowing that home and hearth await them and the only thing standing between them and family is a desire to work late. No thanks.
I have been putting in the long hours for a number of reasons.
1) I no longer have an assistant and I am trying to provide flawless service to my clients as we are in an extraordinarily competitive market.
B) I need extra time during the day to pow-wow with sales reps, target potential clients and coordinate marketing strategies.
3) It doesn't hurt to get to the office before your boss and leave after him.
What a job. What a world. What a!
I don't want my job to be my life. I don't need to be wealthy (by my standards). I just want to make $X. Make the car payments, pay the mortgage, spruce up the homestead every few months or so and maybe take a vacation once every couple of years.
The trouble is, with the Real Estate market as it is, I am making $H and there is half an alphabet between $H and $X.
Money isn't health, money isn't happiness, money isn't life. But as the wealthy father of one of my high-school sweethearts said (as were were driving the convertible Mercedes to the lake-side cabin in Big Bear):
"People who say money can't buy happiness are shopping in the wrong place. I have been poor and I have been rich - I prefer to be rich."
Of course, he was working 15-hour days and sleeping with his secretary . . . .
Yeah, just enough to pay the bills and take a cheap vacation every couple of years - see the future birthplace of James T. Kirk, the ball of string, Mt. Rushmore. . . . The American dream, I suppose.
I really should get dressed and go to work . . . .
I have been getting up at 3am and heading to the office as early as possible.
Some (most) people can work late, others (me) prefer to work early. If I get to the office at 4:30am, I know that I can't leave until 5pm so I might as well get down to business and keep plugging away. I don't have the option to leave.
But come 5pm, the doors of the cell swing wide and I can leave any time I want. I am sorry, but give me the chance to bolt from the house of pain and I am taking it. I don't understand these people who stay at their desks into the evening knowing that home and hearth await them and the only thing standing between them and family is a desire to work late. No thanks.
I have been putting in the long hours for a number of reasons.
1) I no longer have an assistant and I am trying to provide flawless service to my clients as we are in an extraordinarily competitive market.
B) I need extra time during the day to pow-wow with sales reps, target potential clients and coordinate marketing strategies.
3) It doesn't hurt to get to the office before your boss and leave after him.
What a job. What a world. What a!
I don't want my job to be my life. I don't need to be wealthy (by my standards). I just want to make $X. Make the car payments, pay the mortgage, spruce up the homestead every few months or so and maybe take a vacation once every couple of years.
The trouble is, with the Real Estate market as it is, I am making $H and there is half an alphabet between $H and $X.
Money isn't health, money isn't happiness, money isn't life. But as the wealthy father of one of my high-school sweethearts said (as were were driving the convertible Mercedes to the lake-side cabin in Big Bear):
"People who say money can't buy happiness are shopping in the wrong place. I have been poor and I have been rich - I prefer to be rich."
Of course, he was working 15-hour days and sleeping with his secretary . . . .
Yeah, just enough to pay the bills and take a cheap vacation every couple of years - see the future birthplace of James T. Kirk, the ball of string, Mt. Rushmore. . . . The American dream, I suppose.
I really should get dressed and go to work . . . .
Quote of the Day
"Nothing's better than the wind to your back, the sun in front of you, and your friends beside you."
Aaron Douglas Trimble
Aaron Douglas Trimble
What do you know?
There were 6 children on the Brady Bunch, can you name them all?
There are seven ingredients in a McDonald's Big Mac, what are they?
Can you recite the Ten Commandments?
Get out a pen and paper and give it a try.
Then check out how you compare to others.
There are seven ingredients in a McDonald's Big Mac, what are they?
Can you recite the Ten Commandments?
Get out a pen and paper and give it a try.
Then check out how you compare to others.
MilitaryTimes.com
I have heard of this site more than once but never felt compelled to visit until this morning (more on that in the next post). While there, I came across this video. It has a goofy amature quality to it but the sincerity is, I think, undeniable, compelling, and moving.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Back in the Saddle Again
I put in 14 hour days last week and felt pretty good about the way I left things at the office on Friday.
I spent a little extra time at home this morning blogging about this and that only to get smashed at work once again.
Sooooo – blogging, running and surfing are back on the shelf for the time being.
Oh, and the wife reports that the dawg ate another hose today.
We only have one left . . . .
Quote of the Day
Blessings are placed within our reach, but they are not placed within our hands.
- Unknown
- Unknown
Weekend Adventures, Part 2 - The Big One
The Dawg turned one yesterday. They just grow up so fast *sniff*.
The Dawg at 2 months:
The Dawg Yesterday:
We started off the day with a pot of coffee and CBS Sunday Morning. Afterwards we loaded the birthday-dawg in the car and went out to a dawg-friendly place for breakfast. We stopped by Petsmart for some birthday fare and then spent some time at the Dawg Park.
Gifts? But of course! Here's the Dawg posing with his new squeaky toy and Doggles.
Okay, the Doggels were more for our amusement than for his and the squeaky toy was destroyed in about 90 seconds.
I believe the highlight of his day was his new bone.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Quote of the day
It is difficult to train for a marathon; but it is even more difficult to not be able to train for a marathon.
- Aaron Douglas Trimble
- Aaron Douglas Trimble
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Only 401 Days Left!
This is the longest Presidential race in history and I am not sure it is for the better.
Nevertheless, I bring you THIS:
The Candidate Calculator
Answer a bunch of questions and it tells you who to vote for
A year from now . . .
Apparently my man is Mitt (94.59% match)
Nevertheless, I bring you THIS:
The Candidate Calculator
Answer a bunch of questions and it tells you who to vote for
A year from now . . .
Apparently my man is Mitt (94.59% match)
Weekend Adventures, 10/06/07 - Part 1
What a week. I have been getting up at 3am, starting work at the office at 4:30am and calling it quits around 6pm.
Needless to say, I was not entirely enthusiastic when the wife reminded me of the dinner party we were going to Friday night with some clients of hers. The affair was to involve some sort of official wine tasting at a shwanky house in Hillcrest.
"That's what I need", I thought to myself, "to round out the end of a 70-hour work week surrounded by strangers, pretending to taste the subtle nuances and/or hints or raspberries and truffles in a glass of wine when all I want is a beer and/or bourbon". Especially as we have already established the fact that I am a total Philistine.
Well, there was no begging off.
I knocked off work at 4:45, reminding my supervisor that I had been in the office since 4:30am. I took her silence to mean that it was okay for me to leave early. I jetted home, picked up the dawg and bee-lined to the Balboa Dawg Park. The dawg park was only 5 minutes from the house where my wife and I would meet and the schwank didn't start until 6:30. I figured, run the dawg for 45 minutes and then head to the party while the dawg sleeps it off in the car.
It was a wonderful evening at the dawg park. We pulled up to the parking area and the dawg started whining in anticipation. I have long given up on the leash for these types of outings because as soon as I open the tailgate, the dawg gallops to the entrance gate of the dawg park and sits patiently while I catch up.
The park must have had 50 dawgs there and as many owners. The weather was cool and there was an Autumn breeze in the air. But the amazing thing was, it was silent. I mean silent. Even though the dawgs were tearing around pell-mell, not a single one was barking. The owners, likewise, were quiet. I just stood there, breathing in the fall air, feeling the breeze wash the work week away, and the only sound was the soft jingle, jangle of dawg tags. Wonderful.
I struck up a soft and easy conversation with the owner of a pooch that my dawg had taken a liking to and when it was time to scoot, I was in a frame of mind to be a decent human being again.
I drove up to the casa-de-schwank and the wife was waiting outside. The wife knew two of the people that were going to be there and I knew none. There is something both relaxing and challenging about attending an intimate gathering of strangers.
Relaxing because no one knows what a miserable wretch you are - your slate is CLEAN, baby! On the other hand, it is tough to strike up any meaningful conversations so you are limited to discreetly admiring the house, commenting on the food and drink and avoiding the embarrassing fallback of , "So, what do you do for a living?"
=to be continued=
We're back. Posting about the dawg park made me want to go back - so we did. I packed the camping chair, a couple of magazines and picked up some canned beers and chips on the way (no glass in the park).
Where was I? . . . .
The food was amazing. I think it was "nosch". I don't know what "nosch" is but I have heard the word and I think it means tiny food that takes hours to prepare and is meant to give you an emotional / life / taste experience as opposed to normal food which is supposed to fill your belly.
The company was gracious, kind and fun. We all stood around, drinking champagne and swooning over four kinds of "stinky cheeses" (that's how the host referred to them), pate, home-pickled olives, caviar with creme-freche etc etc. and, of course, the obligatory bowl of potato chips.
At one point THIS GUY ordered us all into the dining room where each of us had a place setting complete with color maps of Italy, Spain and France and three - THREE! - glasses of champagne (or, as I learned, sparkling wine).
Mark proceeded to tell us all about the different types of sparkling wine. We were given pens to mark our maps, we sampled the three offerings and proceeded to sally-forth with our thoughtful comments on each. I discovered that I particularly like Prosecco - which you can apparently drink 24 hours a day. No Kidding?
It was delightful. The breeze at the park had washed away the work-week from my skin, the cool Autumn air had filled my lungs and washed away the work week from inside my chest, spending time with the dawg had washed the work week from a few corners of my soul and the sparkling wine, nosch and company was batting "clean up".
After sampling three "Charmat Method" sparkling wines, we all headed back into the kitchen for some nosch that made the previous nosch look like . . . well, I am attempted to say, "made the previous nosch look like hot wings at hooters" but that would not be accurate and would do a disservice to the previous nosch. Let's just say that it was good before - It was GREAT now . . .
Again, THIS GUY ordered us back into the dining room to taste three "Methode Champenoise" sparkling wines. After which, there was dessert and the company of strangers who had been eating and drinking all night settled into "clean up mode" (and by that I mean wisely cleaning up all the nosch that was left).
The wife and I said our good byes and headed for home.
It was a wonderful evening. I have no idea what it cost to lay out such a fantastic spread or to what was paid to have Mark Hayes Stuart come and lead the party through the regions of Italy, France and Spain via sparkling wine. But if it is anything less than priceless, it was money well spent.
Call THIS GUY, invite some friends and break out the nosch cookbook. I am on my way . . .
Needless to say, I was not entirely enthusiastic when the wife reminded me of the dinner party we were going to Friday night with some clients of hers. The affair was to involve some sort of official wine tasting at a shwanky house in Hillcrest.
"That's what I need", I thought to myself, "to round out the end of a 70-hour work week surrounded by strangers, pretending to taste the subtle nuances and/or hints or raspberries and truffles in a glass of wine when all I want is a beer and/or bourbon". Especially as we have already established the fact that I am a total Philistine.
Well, there was no begging off.
I knocked off work at 4:45, reminding my supervisor that I had been in the office since 4:30am. I took her silence to mean that it was okay for me to leave early. I jetted home, picked up the dawg and bee-lined to the Balboa Dawg Park. The dawg park was only 5 minutes from the house where my wife and I would meet and the schwank didn't start until 6:30. I figured, run the dawg for 45 minutes and then head to the party while the dawg sleeps it off in the car.
It was a wonderful evening at the dawg park. We pulled up to the parking area and the dawg started whining in anticipation. I have long given up on the leash for these types of outings because as soon as I open the tailgate, the dawg gallops to the entrance gate of the dawg park and sits patiently while I catch up.
The park must have had 50 dawgs there and as many owners. The weather was cool and there was an Autumn breeze in the air. But the amazing thing was, it was silent. I mean silent. Even though the dawgs were tearing around pell-mell, not a single one was barking. The owners, likewise, were quiet. I just stood there, breathing in the fall air, feeling the breeze wash the work week away, and the only sound was the soft jingle, jangle of dawg tags. Wonderful.
I struck up a soft and easy conversation with the owner of a pooch that my dawg had taken a liking to and when it was time to scoot, I was in a frame of mind to be a decent human being again.
I drove up to the casa-de-schwank and the wife was waiting outside. The wife knew two of the people that were going to be there and I knew none. There is something both relaxing and challenging about attending an intimate gathering of strangers.
Relaxing because no one knows what a miserable wretch you are - your slate is CLEAN, baby! On the other hand, it is tough to strike up any meaningful conversations so you are limited to discreetly admiring the house, commenting on the food and drink and avoiding the embarrassing fallback of , "So, what do you do for a living?"
=to be continued=
We're back. Posting about the dawg park made me want to go back - so we did. I packed the camping chair, a couple of magazines and picked up some canned beers and chips on the way (no glass in the park).
Where was I? . . . .
The food was amazing. I think it was "nosch". I don't know what "nosch" is but I have heard the word and I think it means tiny food that takes hours to prepare and is meant to give you an emotional / life / taste experience as opposed to normal food which is supposed to fill your belly.
The company was gracious, kind and fun. We all stood around, drinking champagne and swooning over four kinds of "stinky cheeses" (that's how the host referred to them), pate, home-pickled olives, caviar with creme-freche etc etc. and, of course, the obligatory bowl of potato chips.
At one point THIS GUY ordered us all into the dining room where each of us had a place setting complete with color maps of Italy, Spain and France and three - THREE! - glasses of champagne (or, as I learned, sparkling wine).
Mark proceeded to tell us all about the different types of sparkling wine. We were given pens to mark our maps, we sampled the three offerings and proceeded to sally-forth with our thoughtful comments on each. I discovered that I particularly like Prosecco - which you can apparently drink 24 hours a day. No Kidding?
It was delightful. The breeze at the park had washed away the work-week from my skin, the cool Autumn air had filled my lungs and washed away the work week from inside my chest, spending time with the dawg had washed the work week from a few corners of my soul and the sparkling wine, nosch and company was batting "clean up".
After sampling three "Charmat Method" sparkling wines, we all headed back into the kitchen for some nosch that made the previous nosch look like . . . well, I am attempted to say, "made the previous nosch look like hot wings at hooters" but that would not be accurate and would do a disservice to the previous nosch. Let's just say that it was good before - It was GREAT now . . .
Again, THIS GUY ordered us back into the dining room to taste three "Methode Champenoise" sparkling wines. After which, there was dessert and the company of strangers who had been eating and drinking all night settled into "clean up mode" (and by that I mean wisely cleaning up all the nosch that was left).
The wife and I said our good byes and headed for home.
It was a wonderful evening. I have no idea what it cost to lay out such a fantastic spread or to what was paid to have Mark Hayes Stuart come and lead the party through the regions of Italy, France and Spain via sparkling wine. But if it is anything less than priceless, it was money well spent.
Call THIS GUY, invite some friends and break out the nosch cookbook. I am on my way . . .
North Korea and "The Bomb"
From The Onion:
North Korea Dismantling Nuclear Program
"I'm so pleased that North Korea has shifted from pretending to have nuclear weapons to pretending to get rid of them."
North Korea Dismantling Nuclear Program
"I'm so pleased that North Korea has shifted from pretending to have nuclear weapons to pretending to get rid of them."
Kalamata Pork Tenderloin with Rosemary
This is a quick and tasty dish that will definitely impress your guests. They will think you spent all day preparing this! Greek olives and fresh rosemary give it a lot of flavor!
Recipe Here
AAAAAAAnd We're Back (for now) . . .
The sweet freedom of the weekend is here and I can come up for air.
As I have previously mentioned, my old county manager was something of an optimist which led him to hang onto staff in preparation of the inevitable upturn in the market. This meant that there was a lot of thumb-twiddling by staff that didn't have much to do.
The new county manager is most definitely not an optimist. He seems to believe in staying ahead of the market by letting people go in anticipation of the future downturn. This leads to over-worked and understaffed folks coming in at 4:30am (such as myself).
Working 4:30am to 6pm does not leave much room for the rhythms and routines of normal daily life. But that is work-week talk and this is the WEEKEND!
I slept until 9am this morning. My blessed wife had made coffee before heading out to work. I loaded and started the dishwasher, did the same for the clothes washer, installed the new scanner / printer / copier / espresso maker gizmo, and now this.
*Deep breaths*
As I have previously mentioned, my old county manager was something of an optimist which led him to hang onto staff in preparation of the inevitable upturn in the market. This meant that there was a lot of thumb-twiddling by staff that didn't have much to do.
The new county manager is most definitely not an optimist. He seems to believe in staying ahead of the market by letting people go in anticipation of the future downturn. This leads to over-worked and understaffed folks coming in at 4:30am (such as myself).
Working 4:30am to 6pm does not leave much room for the rhythms and routines of normal daily life. But that is work-week talk and this is the WEEKEND!
I slept until 9am this morning. My blessed wife had made coffee before heading out to work. I loaded and started the dishwasher, did the same for the clothes washer, installed the new scanner / printer / copier / espresso maker gizmo, and now this.
*Deep breaths*
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Mama-mia
The Great Upheaval just got worse. I don't have time to go into it right now. My plan for the near future is to be up by 3am and in the office by 4am.
All running, surfing and blogging is temporarily suspended. I hope to get back to all three this weekend. For now, it's eat, sleep and work.
All running, surfing and blogging is temporarily suspended. I hope to get back to all three this weekend. For now, it's eat, sleep and work.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
The Man Behind the Curtain
Bill Lobdell is a columnist for the LA Times. His current assignment is a series of columns entitled "Living Vicariously in LA". The premise is, he heads out into LA and spends time experiencing life in someone else's shoes; he tries being a life guard, being a botox patient, and recently, a conservative talk radio host.
I was pleased to see that he chose the Hugh Hewitt show for his talk-radio experiment. Hugh turned over the show to Bill for one hour the other day and the predictable train-wreck ensued. The interesting part is the behind-the-scene video of the workings of the Hugh Hewitt show.
Hugh is one of my favorite talk-radio hosts and it is fascinating to see the pathetically uninspiring studio from which he spins his craft. Man, I don't know how the guy does it.
I was pleased to see that he chose the Hugh Hewitt show for his talk-radio experiment. Hugh turned over the show to Bill for one hour the other day and the predictable train-wreck ensued. The interesting part is the behind-the-scene video of the workings of the Hugh Hewitt show.
Hugh is one of my favorite talk-radio hosts and it is fascinating to see the pathetically uninspiring studio from which he spins his craft. Man, I don't know how the guy does it.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Weekend Adventures
I haven't been running or surfing due to the Great Upheaval at work. This is causing the dawg to run amok. We had to get out this weekend.
The wife headed to work at 8am on Saturday and the dawg and I headed to Dawg Beach. I wore my swimsuit as the last time we went to the beach the Dawg swam for the first time with a little encouragement from me. I was extraordinarily careful to not lock myself out of the car this time.
We had the usual great time. A number of people commented on how big the dawg is (up to 90 pounds now). I suppose he was in the top 5% size-wise at the beach Saturday. One of the great things about the big dawg is how gentle he is with the little dawgs. At one point a tiny little yapper charged him and I could see the look of concern on the other dawg owner's faces. Not to worry, the big dawg assumed the playful-puppy-position and they had a blast chasing each other around the beach. Until burly-tat-man arrived with his pit bull.
I have been around enough good-natured pit bulls to know that they aren't all bad. I have also read enough about pit bulls to know that they are a "bully-breed" and should be approached with caution. BT man's pit bull joined the fray and the lil' yapper got spooked and barred his teeth. This is usually the point at which my big dawg backs off or goes looking for another playmate. Not the pit-bull though.
The pit bull went for the yapper and things escalated pretty fast. One of the yapper's owners scooped him up in her arms to separate the two but the pit bull had death on his mind. The pit bull lunged at the yapper in the woman's arms, caught one of its hinds legs and attempted to pull the yapper from its owner's grasp.
That's when everyone within 15 feet of the incident, including myself, lunged at the pit bull. Burly-tat-man got there first and pulled his dawg off the yapper. He was very apologetic but no one - and I mean no one - was interested in his apology. The crowd shot him looks of scorn and the gathering dissipated. Rule number one of dawg parks: If you can't control your dawg, don't bother showing up. The Dawg and I were done anyhow so we headed for home.
By the time we got back, I had just enough time to pick up the house and change the laundry before heading to a double birthday party for our friend's 3 and 7-year-old boys. A couple hours into the party, I sat down on the love-sac and passed out.
Sunday morning, we did the usual routine. CBS Sunday Morning had a segment on Annie Lennox that reminded me of a segment on her on one of the special features discs for Lord of the Rings. We pulled the dvd out and watched it - which then reminded me of a segment dealing with all the horses that were used in the movie. I thought the wife would appreciate it so we watched that. By that time, the wife had to head to a function with some work-mates. I begged off and planned to work around the house for the rest of the afternoon.
There is something almost insurmountably difficult in lazing around until two on a Sunday and then starting chores. I couldn't do it.
I popped in the second and then third Lord of the Rings discs and watched until I went horizontal on the couch. The wife had to wake me up when she got home.
As I get older, I think that stress effects me more. Maybe its because the stakes are higher. All I know is that since all the madness at work began, I have been exhausted most of the time. That doesn't mean I sleep though. I have been awake since 12:30am this morning.
At 2:30 I gave up, pulled on some sweats and sat down at the 'puter. The cat came out - which is unusual - she normally sleeps like the dead all night. Then the wife staggered out for a glass of water - followed by the dawg, who wanted to know what was going on. And there we were - the whole family - up at 2:30am.
The girls (wife and cat) have since re-retired to the bedroom and the dawg is unconscious at my feet. Just me clackety-clacking on the keyboard waiting for the start of another stressful week.
Man-o-man.
The wife headed to work at 8am on Saturday and the dawg and I headed to Dawg Beach. I wore my swimsuit as the last time we went to the beach the Dawg swam for the first time with a little encouragement from me. I was extraordinarily careful to not lock myself out of the car this time.
We had the usual great time. A number of people commented on how big the dawg is (up to 90 pounds now). I suppose he was in the top 5% size-wise at the beach Saturday. One of the great things about the big dawg is how gentle he is with the little dawgs. At one point a tiny little yapper charged him and I could see the look of concern on the other dawg owner's faces. Not to worry, the big dawg assumed the playful-puppy-position and they had a blast chasing each other around the beach. Until burly-tat-man arrived with his pit bull.
I have been around enough good-natured pit bulls to know that they aren't all bad. I have also read enough about pit bulls to know that they are a "bully-breed" and should be approached with caution. BT man's pit bull joined the fray and the lil' yapper got spooked and barred his teeth. This is usually the point at which my big dawg backs off or goes looking for another playmate. Not the pit-bull though.
The pit bull went for the yapper and things escalated pretty fast. One of the yapper's owners scooped him up in her arms to separate the two but the pit bull had death on his mind. The pit bull lunged at the yapper in the woman's arms, caught one of its hinds legs and attempted to pull the yapper from its owner's grasp.
That's when everyone within 15 feet of the incident, including myself, lunged at the pit bull. Burly-tat-man got there first and pulled his dawg off the yapper. He was very apologetic but no one - and I mean no one - was interested in his apology. The crowd shot him looks of scorn and the gathering dissipated. Rule number one of dawg parks: If you can't control your dawg, don't bother showing up. The Dawg and I were done anyhow so we headed for home.
By the time we got back, I had just enough time to pick up the house and change the laundry before heading to a double birthday party for our friend's 3 and 7-year-old boys. A couple hours into the party, I sat down on the love-sac and passed out.
Sunday morning, we did the usual routine. CBS Sunday Morning had a segment on Annie Lennox that reminded me of a segment on her on one of the special features discs for Lord of the Rings. We pulled the dvd out and watched it - which then reminded me of a segment dealing with all the horses that were used in the movie. I thought the wife would appreciate it so we watched that. By that time, the wife had to head to a function with some work-mates. I begged off and planned to work around the house for the rest of the afternoon.
There is something almost insurmountably difficult in lazing around until two on a Sunday and then starting chores. I couldn't do it.
I popped in the second and then third Lord of the Rings discs and watched until I went horizontal on the couch. The wife had to wake me up when she got home.
As I get older, I think that stress effects me more. Maybe its because the stakes are higher. All I know is that since all the madness at work began, I have been exhausted most of the time. That doesn't mean I sleep though. I have been awake since 12:30am this morning.
At 2:30 I gave up, pulled on some sweats and sat down at the 'puter. The cat came out - which is unusual - she normally sleeps like the dead all night. Then the wife staggered out for a glass of water - followed by the dawg, who wanted to know what was going on. And there we were - the whole family - up at 2:30am.
The girls (wife and cat) have since re-retired to the bedroom and the dawg is unconscious at my feet. Just me clackety-clacking on the keyboard waiting for the start of another stressful week.
Man-o-man.
Quote of the Day
You must listen to your body. Run through annoyance but not through pain.
- Dr. George Sheehan
- Dr. George Sheehan
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