Geocentric = Everything Revolves Around A Car

Here's a quote from a New York Times article: "One adult American in five thinks the Sun revolves around the Earth, an idea science had abandoned by the 17th century."

The article has some other interesting gems in it, but that one knocked me out of my chair. Not because I don't believe it, but because even with all my cynicism I didn't think it was quite that bad. Not only does that explain why I don't get to drive a flying car here in the far-flung year of 2005, but it also explains the resurgent fascination with creationism. It's much easier to say "God did it" or "That mystical piece of toast did it" than to actually stop and read a book or do some research. Putting the responsibility onto someone else is an unfortunate theme amongst humans. I saw it at my former place of employment, and it continues full force. "God done did it all, and now I'm gonna go watch me some NASCAR and then some wrasslin'." Soon to be printed on the newly-designed currency for our blossoming theocracy. After all, them NASCAR cars go around in circles, just like the Sun goes around the Earth! That makes it a divine sport!

Apologies to Peter Gabriel

We've been availing ourselves of the pool here at the complex. (The pool itself is not complex, though it does have an asymmetrical shape.) An hour a day so far, in all of two days. Well, nights, really. It's cooler at night, plus there's far less chance of human contact. Two extremely good things. We also get to see the stars at night, and hear the occasional coyote. There's just something magical about looking up at the sky (and actually seeing stars and not the orange glow of civilization) and hearing a pack of coyotes off in the distance. Funny thing... when my nephew was here it was the first time he had ever seen the glow of civilization at night. I thought that was ironic. I'm happy to see stars again, and he was in awe of the shopping mall glowing in the distance. Hey, he could walk to it, and it had a cool arcade. That's something worthy of awe to an 11-year old.

Oh. If you've read this far and have no idea what the title has to do with the post, here you go.

I Drop It

This didn't surprise me, but it did make me mad. Which, of course, means that I have to share it. California has simplified the instructions it provides its jurors. Why? "Confusing terminology" is cited as the cause. Here's the example that was provided, and I'll let you decide whether it was confusing or not:

Old: "Innocent misrecollection is not uncommon."
New: "People sometimes honestly forget things or make mistakes about what they remember."

The first one has five words and is easy to comprehend. The second has twelve words and smacks of a third-grade reader. The problem is not that the wording is "confusing", the problem is that we're cranking out illiterates in our schools. I just hope that everyone gets on with their cave paintings after I'm dead. Or send me to a cave with my books, and they can go on with their pointing and grunting. When the "No Child Left Behind" rule came along and put the responsibility of a child's education on the school instead of the child, that marked the end of any hope for even a minimally-educated America. In my book, anyway. Reason 834,072 not to replicate the DNA.

It's All In The Reflexes

Weird day. It began with a phone call at 5:00 A.M. when my step brother-in-law thought he was calling my brother-in-law regarding hurricane Katrina. Followed shortly by the inverse of the two aforementioned parties and a missed speed dial button. In other words, I went to bed at 2-ish, was awakened at 5-ish, and at 3-ish I ran out of steam and fell asleep for an hour. On the plus side, though, I was awakened by thunder and looked out the window to see this:

When the rain stopped, we drove down to the Tucson Mall. Along the way, my reflexes were put to the test. A young woman suddenly decided that she and her car needed to occupy the exact same space as our car. She didn't use her turn signal, wave, or even turn her head in our general direction. She just went for it. Luckily, I wasn't groggy from my nap. She didn't have to make a turn, she didn't even speed up. I honked the horn at her, and she gave me an "oh well" hand gesture. My teeth are grinding so much that sparks are flying out of my mouth like one of those little wind-up Godzilla toys. (I'm trying to cut back on cursing, and it's also good to be able to spit forth flame on cue.) Then, however, came the part that made Deb and I curse up a storm. First one set of wee bitty hands appeared, then another. The woman had two small kids in the back of the car. If I hadn't been paying attention, the kid on the driver's side would have been crushed. If I had panicked, I could've easily hit her car and made her spin, and probably both kids would be crushed. (My car was the larger in this equation.)

Now, I may not understand why people want to have children, but I understand it even less when the people who do have children don't give enough of a damn about them to turn their heads when they're driving on a three lane highway. I guess you can always make more kids, right? Idiots.

Catalina Highway, Mt. Lemmon, 9000 feet, and Irony

Backing up a bit... On the 22nd we all went for a drive on the Catalina Highway. Our destination was Mt. Lemmon, but as in so many things it wasn't the destination so much as it was the journey. I'm not even sure how to begin with this one. I mean, I've been to a lot of places in the U.S. I've seen some amazing sights. New York certainly has its share of scenic beauty, and I've seen a great deal of that. But... oh my. Never have I driven so short a distance (about 80 miles round trip) yet travelled so far and seen so much. To start out on a trip that begins in the desert city of Tucson, with saguaro cacti and temperatures in the 90s at an elevation of about 2500 feet above sea level, and end up almost 9000 feet above sea level with the air about 20 degrees cooler in the middle of a pine forest? Oh, and if you look that way you see another state? If you look down, you see the tiny little ribbon of a road that brought you up so high. A stretch of road that, moments before, seemed so incredibly high off the ground. The first view from the first stop lets you look out across the huge sprawl that is Tucson. It's a vast city. (Coming home the other day, we passed a sign denoting the city limits. 21 miles away from the city's center.) Not only did we get to look out over the city, but got to see heavy rain over parts of it. Heavy rain that blotted out the mountains beyond. Rain that looked like a part of the sky fell on the ground. (There's nothing quite like hearing thunder in the sky when you're a few thousand feet closer to the clouds.)

And waterfalls? Plural? We didn't go near them, but the binoculars showed us they were huge. Just as the binoculars showed us the unfortunate fate of the cars that drove off the road at the Seven Cataracts Vista. If there was anyone in the cars when they went over the edge, they certainly didn't survive. And they didn't even roll all the way down to the bottom.

Windy Point Vista was unanimously the scariest part of the trip. Mainly because the scenic overlook was built away from the side of the mountain so you were really looking straight down on... well, everything you had seen so far. Not a place for those afraid of heights, yet three out of four of us were just that. (Myself included.) I'm not ashamed to say that I clutched the iron railing as I took pictures. Yet, if you look at the pictures, you'll notice which idiot went up even higher to take pictures of the other three? Looking down at the road, and the previous stop, wayyyy down there... yikes.

And the sky kept putting on a show for us. Sunny, then cloudy, then thunder. Always raining over part of the city (or state). For us, though, it was comfortable and breezy.

Drive up a little (ha!) more, and there's a sign informing you that what you see in the distance is New Mexico. I do not know exactly how far that is, but Google maps estimates 120 miles as the crow flies. (That's like being able to see Montauk Point from Brooklyn, or Oswego from my parents' house.) (Putting things in perspective for my faithful readers.) (And don't quote me on distances, OK? Close comparative analogy, here.)

Also of note were the stone walls, made of indigenous rocks. What kind of rocks? Neat kinds. Like rocks with mica, and iron pyrite (fool's gold).

Further we drove, and things kept changing. There was a lake up there, but we didn't stop. At just over 8,000 feet, we hit the ski resort. And grass. Lots of it. Pretty cool.

On the way back down, we were treated to a textbook Arizona sunset. The sky changes so rapidly through so many colors, if you look away for a minute and look back it's as if you're looking at an entirely different sky.

The whole trip was amazing. We travelled the climatic equivalent of Mexico to Canada in under 100 miles. It took us a little over five hours, but I'm ready to spend another 5000 hours there. I want to explore every rock, every waterfall, every precipitous drop. But I'll need to get a few more cards for the ol' digital camera first...

Oh yeah. Irony. At the apex of our journey we encountered a family consisting of mommy (Barbie), daddy (Lloyd), and Brittany/Morgan/Paige/Paisley/Ampersand/Insert pretentious name here. Barbie did not shut up. Not once. Lloyd was taking pictures, but then it came time for the "spontaneous" photo of the little offspring. The kid was four, and wanted nothing to do with it. We think she was actually having fun getting Barbie all annoyed. (When we got back in the car, I turned to Deb and told her she was wonderful. She asked me why I said that, to which I responded "because you are nothing at all like that woman.") Here's the irony: Barbie & Company were on the same flight out of Tucson as Scott & Matt. Way to put a cap on the vacation!

Flight, Flood, and Formatting

No major excursions today. We took Scott and Matt to the airport at 11 A.M. our time. At 11 P.M. our time, they finally got home. They don't have luggage, but they're home. Where it's currently 46 degrees. That's a 50 degree difference, give or take. (I hope they don't get sick.) They finally did get to see a nifty thunderstorm, though. Lots and lots of lightning, and enough rain to make the news around here. Most of the dry riverbeds and washes to the south of us aren't dry any longer. They're flooding. The Santa Cruz River rose over 11 feet in five hours! That's in a "river" that didn't have any flowing water last week. None. Think about that one for a minute. They're also evacuating people. Some people got evacuated to a casino, which I find fascinating. Now that you're safe from the flooding, prepare for a fleecing!

This is all well to the south of us. We had a light rain for most of the day, and it's stayed cool. (74 as I type this.) No more ceiling leaks or anything like that.

The other noteworthy event, for me at least, is that I reformatted my computer today. It started to hang whenever I tried to do anything with images. That's why my last few posts have had links to the Kodak site instead of any eye candy. Repairing XP just made it worse, so I started over. Saved all of my images, but my e-mails are gone. So if you're reading this and you want to hear from me, send me an e-mail.

OK, off to install more stuff. Keeps my mind off of how empty the apartment is now.

Chiracahua National Monument

Holy. Cow. That's all there is to say. For a last-minute, "let's see what this is" kind of trip... holy cow. We got to see all manner of amazing rock formations, Mars, giant mutant monster clouds over a spooky Little House on the Prairie house... just awesome. Five bucks per adult gets you admission for seven days. That's almost a dollar a day! (I don't know. I suck at math.) I'll advise you to look at the pics, (Deb's making her own photo gallery as I type. The ones on this one are just the good ones from my camera.) but for the curious it's "cheer-uh-cow-uh". Now you know.

In other news, my nephew has started a blog. It's the "Kid Photo" link on the blogroll. I just hope he and my brother can continue blogging at the rapid-fire 28.8 speeds they achieve at home.

Desert Museum and "uh tunnuh buttuhfloyz"

Today's excursion was to the Arizona-Sonoran Desert Museum. It is in the desert, but I wouldn't call it a museum. More like a hiking zoo. It was also warm, but not terrible. Unfortunately, "warm" meant that the coyotes and wolves didn't come out. We did get to see every other critter there, though. We even caught a glimpse of a prairie dog this time! The pictures are here, but as of this writing they haven't been organized nor have Deb's pictures been added.

We also got to experience the antics of another species. This happened at around 6pm, when the desert really comes alive. The animal in question is the Red-blooded Idiot (ignoramus ignoramus). We were fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to see two different sub-species. While enjoying the brightly colored flowers and multitude of butterflies at the butterfly garden, we heard the call of the New York Idiot (vinnicus goombaticus). They are extremely rare in Arizona, and are heard only during tourist season. This specimen was heard to cry out: "Hey! Dehs uh tunnuh buttuhfloyz ova heeyuh!" I've spent some time in the field, so I'm able to translate that into: "Hey! There's a ton of butterflies over here!" I couldn't help but laugh as soon as I heard that, because in my head I was hearing the follow-up statements: "There's a friggin' ton of air out here!" and "There's a ton of dirt on the ground!" This species can be counted on to remark upon the obvious at decibel levels that would drown out commercial airliners.

The other species of Idiot was encountered shortly after that. This was the sub-species Illiterate Fat Ass (no readicus butt hugeicus). This alpha female was heard to bellow "Which way are the hummingbirds?" to no one in particular. I suppose she didn't realize that her Death Star-sized ass was nigh-eclipsing the sign which read, in part, "< Hummingbirds". (Where the "<" denotes an arrow pointing the direction one would travel should one desire to see the hummingbirds.)

These and many more species were pouring in to the establishment as we were leaving. We were all glad they were travelling in the opposite direction.

It should be noted that we had some fascinating discussions regarding the different sub-species we had encountered. Punctuated with much laughter. Science at its best!

CSI: Old Tucson

Today we went a little bit beyond Saguaro National Park to see Old Tucson Studios. We had no idea what to expect from the place. It wasn't bad, though it's apparently their off season so some of the stuff was closed. That was a little disappointing, but if you look at the pictures it wasn't disappointing in the case of the log flume ride. Ick. The best part about it being off season was the fact that there were very few other human beings in the place. That's why some of the pictures look like we were in a ghost town. It's a multi-faceted visit. Some of it consisted of out-and-out price gouging (like chargin $2 for a soda from a vending machine?!? Nope.), to cheesy (like the godawful stunt show hosted by some friggin' junior high school kids), to authentic and cool (the derelict train, wagons, buildings...). There were a bunch of movies shot at the place during the last 60 years or so. Scott knew them, but the only one I'm really familiar with is The Three Amigos. Because, honestly, who doesn't love Chevy Chase in a big stupid sombrero? That's comedy!

We also got to experience the haunted mine. It was cheesy, but well done. Rubber bats, rats, and skeletons... and a maze. In the dark. With small angled bits of wood on the floor so you're not only feeling your way along the walls, but you're also tripping as you drag your feet. Oh! And narrow, too. My shoulders were brushing against the walls, and just when you turn to correct that the walls turn as well. Deb made it through the maze first, and then got to see yours truly come through with Matt holding my shirttail in one hand and Scott in the other. A conga line of Scotsmen in a haunted house in the desert doesn't happen every day.

Then, cut to about 11pm. We're all outside on the patio because it's a cool, breezy evening. We're watching a small airplane go by in the distance. Then it turned around and headed back. And again. And again. It slowly dawns on us that this plane is flying in a search pattern over the mountains. You know, the ones directly out our front windows? After about an hour, a helicopter comes zooming in on the scene. Low. Very low. The helicopter zapped its bajillion candle power spotlight on the mountains while the airplane continued to circle. Cool! The binoculars are out, we're looking at all this stuff as it goes on for about 20 minutes. No idea what/who they're looking for. The helicopter and airplane abruptly leave in different directions, but the helicopter came back about five minutes later to shine the spotlight on the mountain again. Then it left. That was it. Hopefully there will be some mention of it on the news tomorrow. Otherwise it'll just be one of them there mysteries of the desert.

Hey, when you vacation with us, you get a thrill-a-minute! We should charge for this!

Rock Climbing

The highlight of the day was spent climbing up, down, and around the Saguaro National Park. Matt and Scott went scurrying up the nearest bit of rocks, and kept right on scurrying. Deb headed off in one direction, leaving me to just shuffle along and take pictures of everyone either high above my head or sprinting for the next ridge. Didn't really bother me, though. Not only was I immersed in the awesome scenery and absolute silence of the place, but I had the car keys. They weren't going anywhere without me.

If you've read Scott's stuff over at his blog "Scootertown", you know that he's discovered that aches and pains don't exist in this climate. If you have aches and pains and have resigned yourself to the fact that they'll be with you until you die, you're wrong. (I was.) It's good to see him actually feeling well for a change.

Click on the things for pictures, yadda yadda. I'm tired, so that's it from me.

Tombstone 2 - Electric Boogaloo

My brother and nephew are out for a visit. Most people can't tell we're related. Personally, I tend to agree. I mean, for one thing, he's taller than I am. For another... umm... did I mention he's taller? Good lord, we've got the same damn head. Except mine is bigger, because I'm smarter. Or I've got encephalitis. Never could tell. (In case you're wondering, we're looking at the sunset. Not the neighbors.)

My nephew is almost as tall as I am. This is completely unfair, and he needs to stop it immediately. My niece is already taller than I am, and I think that's quite enough.

Their first full day in AZ found them in Tombstone. Probably because we drove them there. A good time was had by all. It was significantly less crowded, and the temperature was much cooler. It's really a fascinating place to visit, even if you're not into the whole western/wild west thing. And speaking of wild west things, poor Deb had to put up with this:

Somebody send her a sympathy e-mail, quick!

Survey

I get a lot of people from across the globe reading my words, so I'm making this blog thingy interactive with a question. This is not me being sarcastic. This is an actual, honest question to which I would like an honest answer. Here it is:

Why do people have children?

I'm not looking for a biology lesson. I'm looking for the why. What is it that makes you wake up one day and say: "I'd like to make another person!" (This question, obviously, is for those who actually planned the existence of their children.) A few words of warning first. Don't tell me it's genetic. I've known plenty of people of both genders of all ages and sexual orientations who flat-out do not want children. They may like children, even love them. But they don't want to make one.

So please, share your thoughts. I hate it when I can't figure things out. I've opened comments to all comers for this one. Thanks in advance.

I Still Got It

Those of you who might be concerned for my personality losing some of its New York cuddliness may put those fears to rest. I'm still a pissed off bastard. We were in the bastion of consumerism this evening (Wal-Mart) and I got to the point where I could hear my Highland ancestors screaming full-throated battlecries and whirling claymores in my head. Why? We were in the express lane, and there was a kid at the register (referred to henceforth as "Todd") and a kid buying crap (aka "Spicoli"). A gallon of neapolitan ice cream and three single-subject notebooks. Spicoli was stoned out of his mind. Hence the nickname. (Todd was either on something or just rock stupid. Too tough to call.) He was purchasing his items with a debit card. Todd rang up the ice cream... and stopped. Spicoli was swiping his damn debit card through the machine from the moment he put his crap on the counter. Slllooooowwwwwlllyyy. And he had to keep doing it, because the machine wasn't reading it. Why? Because the machine was working about 852 bajillion times faster than his drugged-out brain could ever process. Todd was helpful, though. He walked around to Spicoli and tried to swipe the card for him. Yes, walked around. Not "hurried around", not even "scooted". Walked. I've never worked a day of retail in my life, yet even I know you can spin the damn card reader around! Todd couldn't get the card to work either. So he put it in a plastic bag and then ran it through. Yep. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it, so I don't blame you. So, Spicoli has finally purchased his ice cream. Hooray! It's at this point that the guy behind him in line (the one in front of us) reminds him that he has not yet purchased his wee notebooks.

See, here's the thing. Despite the fact that it was an absolutely lovely day here, cool, upper 60s low 70s, and we were in an air-conditioned store... if I had been carrying ice cream it would've turned to steam by now. I think the candies in the display next to me had all fused into one billion-calorie nugget at this point.

Through teamwork and perseverance, Spicoli and Todd managed to complete the purchase. Sure, it took about 20 minutes longer than it should have, but I'm certain they formed a bond that only two stoners can share. Shame that neither of them will remember it.

Oh, and when we finally exited the store, a string of expletives that would make Lenny blush was heard ringing through the Arizona night sky. A white-hot slice of New York, baby.

For those of you still reading, the picture is of part of the ceiling at the San Xavier mission. I just thought it looked neat.

Not Apparent

While enjoying our breakfast/lunch/dinner today at a local eatery, Deb and I got to overhear a familial conversation. Couldn't help it. The parents of two darling young girls were trying to get them to behave. The names of the children: Paige and Morgan. (Some of you see where this is going already.) Paige wasn't really hungry, and kept fidgeting. By "fidgeting" I mean getting up every .003 seconds and crawling under the table, wandering around, things like that. The parents were doing their darndest to deal with the situation. That is, if the situation was a friggin' debate. "We won't go to the toy store unless you eat! Morgan, you listen because this affects you too!" They also told her that if she crawled under the table, she'd get bugs. Bugs? Nice. On the plus side, it means she'll be deathly afraid of restaurants for the rest of her life. Did I mention that both children were under the age of 5? They had a stroller for one of them, for cryin' out loud! You don't have a long-winded dissertation on the causal relationships of dining etiquette with someone in a stroller! They go home, they go in their room, and they are told to read. No TV, no "outside and play", no computer, no video games. They read. If you tell me the child is too young to read, I'll give you my mom's e-mail address and she'll tell you how old I was when I learned to read.

Oh, and the parents were younger than me. Damn stupid kids having kids.

The picture is from tonight's walk at sunset. Have I mentioned lately how great it is here?

Cafe ImPressive

As anyone who has a cafepress store would do, we ordered some stuff from them. It all arrived today, and I have to say that we're really impressed. The image transfers on the shirts are excellent. I'll admit I was a little bit worried about the t-shirt images when I was first making the store, because my only frame of reference are those iron-on t-shirt things from the 70s. You know, the ones that just break and flake off? These are an entirely different world of quality. The colors are strong, and they look good. (I mean technical quality. I'm not being pompous.) The journal is also excellent. Blank pages inside, and the cover colors perfectly matched what I had on my screen. Last but not least, we got one tile and one tile box thing. Easily the best of the bunch, and that's saying a lot. The images look so freakin' good on the tiles! I don't skimp on color in my images. I go for rich colors, and I don't look back. Well, these tiles are just awesome! The colors really pop. My only negative is in the construction of the actual box. It's made of alderwood, whatever that is, and it just feels a little flimsy to me. But then, my knowledge of jewelry boxes is severely limited, so that may have a lot to do with it.

So, all in all, we're quite pleased. Didn't know what to expect quality-wise from cafepress, but now I'm glad to have stores there. (Sorry this whole thing just sounded like a commercial, but now I feel better about selling things after having seen them.)

On that note, here's another shot from last night. No inspired story, though it certainly deserves one.

Interlude

He stumbled as he ran. Heart pounding, blood thundering in his head and drowning out the sound of his own labored breathing. As he caught his balance, he glanced up at the moon and threw a wordless curse at it. The moon was not his friend this night. Enough light for it to be seen, but not enough light to let him find his way with any speed across the unforgiving terrain. His need for haste was great. His pursuer did not need light, but he did. Just a little more. Just a little more light, and he wouldn't trip so often. Just a little more speed, and he wouldn't fear for his life. Just a little more time, and he might actually live until the morning. Just a little more luck, and he'd never go out into the desert at night again.

He tripped again, and fell headlong to the rocky soil. Just like that, his time, luck, and speed ran out. Unfortunately for him, there was just enough light to see his own extermination.

Despite the dark clouds, this picture was taken at the last light of sunset. Just a short walk from our apartment. Pretty neat, huh?

Dust in the Wind

I need help with this one. Really. See, the Kansas board of education has taken steps to lessen the role of evolution in the origins of life, and go with an "intelligent design" model. (Formerly known as "creationism".) Maybe I'm wrong, but last time I checked it was the 21st century. We don't drill holes in the heads of crazy people to let the demons out, we don't administer leeches for an appendicitis, and we don't round off our maps with "here there be dragons!" So why the monumental leap backwards? And for that matter, exactly which version of creationism is going to be taught? The one where humans were created out of mud? That's a nice cross-cultural, muti-pantheon one, so it's got broad appeal. Older, too. By a lot. Much more creative than the idea of a Doug Henning type of creator, lifting up his holy handkerchief and Lo! there's a guy in a fig leaf. For my next trick, I'll make your brains disappear. Wait for it...

I guess I'm concerned not for the intelligence of America, as I knew that was headed for the crapper anyway. My concern is that if this trend continues then most of the people I know will be burned as witches simply because they know how to do stuff on a computer. That real-yet-unreal dimension of ones and zeroes is downright scary! If'n I can't touch it, then it's bad! She turned me into a newt!

Theocracy and de-evolution. Two of many reasons I will never have children.

Summer Goeth Before the Fall, Too

I'm not often proud of the pictures and stuff that I make. I like them, enjoy looking at them, but they usually don't make me go: "Wow! I made that!" This image would be one of the few exceptions to that rule. It may be wrong to feel pride, but I don't care. While I was putting this on the requisite ton of things over at cafepress, I wanted to buy most of them. Not because of the pride, but because of how this particular image spoke to me. Or speaks to me. (Metaphorically, of course.) (Crying angels weren't talking in my head when I worked for the government and was stressed out of my mind. They sure as hell aren't about to start now!) (The yodelling eggplants, however, will keep pestering me until the day I die.)

In other news, the roof still isn't fixed. Doesn't really bother me considering that the same storm knocked out power to several thousand people who, as of yesterday, still didn't have power. I'll take a leaky ceiling over no power any day.

Lock, Stock, and Rain(bow) Barrel

Day three of the stock thing was uneventful. We left at lunch, because today was pretty much just a sales pitch day. Oh well. I will say that we got our money's worth out of the deal, and I'm sure the whole course would be equally beneficial. (Toot toot)

This evening's "severe weather alert" was precipitated (no pun intended) by a very cool double rainbow. Yes, it's out our front window. That area seems to be rainbow central or something. The bottom "bow" was very strong and fully formed, but neither of us could get it in one shot. This is the best picture I could get, though. I have others, but they all have dots of rain on them.

Speaking of rain, I may have been a bit harsh in my estimate of Arizona's monsoons. I say that in the hopes of appeasing the monsoon gods who have seen fit to pound the apartment so severely that the roof is leaking. Where? Why, in the computer room, of course! We had just shut off the computers after a particularly close (and loud!) bolt of lightning struck, and went to another room. I was walking by the computer room when I heard an odd sound. Like the window was open. Nope! Just water leaking in through the ceiling and dripping on the new carpet. Oh, and on one of the power strips. Nothing too severe, right? (Luckily, not near the computers.) We did move some furniture and put up some garbage cans to catch the water, though. There's a strip of water damage about a foot long on this side of the closet, and maybe six inches on the other. This is one of the good things about living in an apartment. Tomorrow we make a call and say "fix it", and it gets fixed. Sunday or not. Because, same time tomorrow, we're likely to have more thunderstorms.

Lastly, I had my first international sale at cafepress. Japan, no less. That there interweb is really cool.

Stocks! In the Name of Love...

Day two of the STAR Trader thing was even more informative than the first. It was also the day that they finally did their little reveal of the prices of the more advanced classes. I think it's safe to say that the simple fact that neither of us screamed, laughed uncontrollably, or just fell out of our chairs is testament to the fact that we are both professional people. I'm not going to quote prices, but rather I'll use analogies to describe these gems. The cost of their software alone (for a whopping six months, mind you) could buy you two or three top of the line computer systems. With monitors. Not kidding. Their most expensive package o' classes, which included that nifty software, was about half of my former annual salary. Gross. (Yes, before taxes. And again, I'm not kidding.) There were about eight different packages, but those two bookend the price ranges offered.

Now, I don't consider myself cheap. I'm sure there are those who would disagree with me, but I don't care. I think many of you will agree with me when I say that if I'm going to give someone money with that many zeroes on it, you damn well better worship me, peel me grapes, and throw rose petals at my feet. And I get to beat the crap out of you whenever I feel like it. I do not expect to pay that much money to sit in a room with 49 other people who have difficulty with some of the, shall we say, more basic aspects of education? (Case in point: more than one person today had a problem following the alphabet. English. You know, the one with the song? Yeah.) We also learned today that the people in the room wanted to retire at 65, and live for 30 years afterwards. I think that the fact that 1/3 of the people in the room are 94 1/2 had a lot to do with that strange demographic hiccup. 95 is a speed, not an age. If you want to be that old, then there's something seriously wrong with you.

So, needless to say, we're not going to sign up for any additional classes. If it was a tenth as much, then we'd probably do it. The classes are really quite good. It's a bit discouraging to learn that two out of three instructors borrowed the money to take these advanced courses from Mommy and Daddy, though. (Damn kids.) We're going back tomorrow. Just because. We paid for three days, we'll get as much out of it as we can. I'm just not keen on selling a kidney to learn more. (Not my own, anyway.)

If You Call in the Next Ten Minutes...

... we'll give you a free Pocket Fisherman! (No idea why you'd want to fish in your pockets, and I really don't want to know.)

Today was our first day of the STAR Trader stock market seminar thingy we purchased thanks to a late night infomercial. The parts that sucked were having to get up at 7am in order to get there on time, and having to take a sleeping pill in order to fall asleep in the first place. (Yeah, I know. Boo hoo.) The class was very informative. I'm impressed with it all so far, and we both feel we're getting our money's worth. Teach me how to read charts on a computer to make money? Where have you been all my life?!? I don't have to talk to anyone, never go near a phone, don't have to get up early, and I get rewarded based on how well I figure stuff out? I think I hear my calling calling.

It was also interesting to note yet another cultural difference. I've been in a large number of classes in NY, both as a student and as an instructor. This was the first time I have ever seen every single person come back from break and lunch on time if not early! Sure, you could argue that since the people actually paid to be there, they're not going to want to miss any of it. I would counter that since the people who were in the classes I taught paid taxes, they had paid to be there as well. (But that kind of logic never worked.)

Anyhoo, we've got two more days of learnin', which means two more days of alarm clocks.

Oh! Here's something that'll scare the people who know me... it was flippin' freezing in the classroom! Granted, I'm still not wearing pants, but it used to take a hell of a lot for me to get a chill. (Hypothermia for a normal person = chill for me) Either my blood has thinned out to a fine mist, or we were right under an A/C vent, but it actually felt good to go outside into the 90-ish weather! (Hmm... maybe I was abducted by aliens and replaced with a replicant. Stupid aliens could've at least made this body thinner. Or maybe some hair.)

Extreme Golf!

We saw an ad for a golf course earlier today. Something that sure wouldn't have worked in New York. I don't remember which golf course, but the commercial opened with: "It's never too hot to golf", and halfway through told us to "play until you're dehydrated." Neat! I guess it's OK, as long as they expire in the sand trap. See, if a New York commercial had that, they'd have lawsuits up the wazoo with cries of: "But they told me to play until I was dehydrated!" No, not all New Yorkers do what their televisions tell them to do. Calm down. They do love to sue, though. If they can sue over spoiled meat, they'd sure as hell sue for false advertising. And they'd never have something like the stupid motorist law.

Personally, I'm waiting for the "misuse of an apostrophe S" law.

Annie Get Your Apples

Peachy goodness

Apple goodness

We went to the enchanting Apple Annie's Orchard today in scenic Willcox. We picked peaches, apples, and also visited their vegetable place for some fresh veggies.

For those of you who know me and fear that I may have been abducted by aliens and replaced with a replicant, don't worry. I'm not going to eat any of the peaches or apples. The veggies in question are: corn, hot peppers, onion, and green beans. (The latter being
consumed exclusively by my lovely wife.)

Here's something interesting for those of you who have never seen a peach tree up close:

Some sort of icky sap stuff, leaking all over the place, making amber for the next Jurassic Park movie or something. (Jurassic Orchard? Kind of a mix between Jurassic Park and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.)

Quite a nice day, and significantly cooler than Tucson. On the way back, I got to drive through one of Arizona's dreaded monsoons. Fear! Panic! Terror! Summer shower! Er... yeah. It rained fairly hard for about 10 minutes, which means I had to slow from 80 to about 55. Oh the humanity! I could still see not only the car in front of me, but the semi in front of him. All with that damnable space cushion. We got home, and that particular storm had made the news. (!?!) I drove past a few cars that had pulled over to the shoulder, and one that was off in the median. Not kidding. Maybe I'm missing something. I think these people would shriek uncontrollably if they had to drive through a light flurry of snow, much less a blizzard where the only thing you can see is snow. Pulling over for rain strikes me as funny. (Especially since the people who pulled over didn't even go as far as the overpass, where they would've at least been out of the scary, scary rain.)

My Boss is Weird

I'm slacking off. (No, that's not another pantsless reference.) Working for oneself is time consuming, but since I do most of that work on the computer there isn't much of an excuse for not posting. Oh! I know! The boss will see me if I'm blogging and not working! (Get it? Self employed? Makes it almost impossible to file a sexual harassment suit against your employer.) Been doing some designing of banners and stuff, some shameless self-promoting of the online stores... you know, all the stuff I need to do to keep the boss happy. I've even dusted off an old book I started to write, way back when. Yes, write. Not read. Before my creativity was dammed (and damned) and diverted by a job almost everyone I met told me I shouldn't be in. (He says, ending his sentence in a preposition.) It's interesting to read my style of writing from over ten years ago, and see how it's changed. The characters are kind of waking up in my head, too. I'll get moments where a scene just pops into my head, and I have to type it out for inclusion. (I don't scribble things down. I type them out. Because I want to be able to read them later on.) For the curious, it's a horror story. Even though it's a horror story, it has nothing to do with my former employer. Go figure.

I come from a long line of self-employed people. Both sets of grandparents were self-employed, my parents were self-employed... I know it takes a lot of hard work and all that kind of stuff. Those who know me know I am capapble of hard work. The part that's going to take some getting used to is actually feeling rewarded for the hard work. Thirteen years of negative conditioning to rail against, after all.

Strawberry Schubert

I don't know why I was reminded of this, but I'm going to share a childhood memory with you. It's one of those memories that explains a little bit about why I am the way I am. (Thank you, Popeye.) (Shuup, Loopy.)

I have no idea how old I was, so I'm going to say that I was 8. Just because. It was either Thanksgiving or Christmas. (Wait, some clarity does occur in this recollection. Just wait for it.) The usual holiday pattern was to first go to one grandparents' house for the meal or whatever, and then scoot over to the other grandparents' house for a while. This particular holiday, though, both sets of grandparents were in the same house. The memory is of the moment that my father's parents came into my mother's parents' house. My father's father (Grandpa M) was, for whatever reason, obscured from the view of my mother's father (Grandpa J). When Grandpa J finally saw Grandpa M, he remarked: "Well, I didn't see you there! What are ya, hidin'?" Without missing a beat, Grandpa M responded: "No, I'm Handel."

If you laughed at that, I'm shocked and a little scared for you. For those who don't understand the joke, Haydn was a composer, as was Handel. My grandfather was also a composer as well as a piano teacher. But that's not the point. The point is that he heard something, thought of a funny response, knew damn well that the listener wasn't going to get it, but said it anyway. I got it, though. (Don't ask me how. I guess when half of your grandparents are piano teachers, you pick up on the names of composers.) It's that kind of wit that's in my brain now. I can't even begin to tell you how many people I've met over the years must think I'm an idiot, because I take long pauses to respond to anything they say. It's not because I'm slow. It's because I have to get all (or at least most of) the jokes and ridiculously outlandish comparative analogies out of the way before I can respond. Unless, of course, I know the listener does what I do. Then it's anything goes. (And other Cole Porter songs.) Think I'm kidding? Just ask my poor wife. She said something yesterday that, in my mind, sparked the words and music from that disco classic "Love Machine" by The Miracles. No, I don't know why. No, I can't get it to stop. Yes, that's why I'm a huge fan of MST3K. Yes, that's why most people could never understand Jerf and I when we were having a conversation.

My point? Um... my brain is funny. Or something.

It's Not The Heat, It's The Lack Of Pants

Since the long-awaited monsoon season is upon us, I've made an observation. I've heard, as I'm sure you have, the saying "it's not the heat, it's the humidity." Well, from the first time I heard that phrase, I laughed at it. I'm a person who got uncomfortably hot if the room was above 62 degrees. In my mind, no amount of moisture was going to change that.

And then I moved somewhere where the humidity was in the single digits to low teens.

As if by magic, I could now tolerate 80 and 90 degree weather. Even triple digits aren't so bad, as long as I've got my super-cool hat on.

Now, however, it's humid. As I write this, we have 64% humidity. Bleagh. It was literally 20 degrees cooler today than it's been in a while (88 instead of 108), and it felt ten times worse. (For the mathematically-minded, that's one unit of worse for every two degrees F.)

There are, however, positive aspects of this increased humidity...

Saw this out our front window this evening. Not bad.

Lenny

Spoke with Lenny today. She's been worried about me, as all moms apparently are. (Yes, Lenny is a she. No, Lenny is not my mom. She just thinks she is.) She is one of a small group of people who I wish I could just pick up and move out here and go: "See? You can live like this! It doesn't have to suck! You can make money doing what you enjoy, rather than being miserable!" Unfortunately, she works for an organization that doesn't have a clue how to actually reward good people. It can't even recognize good ones from bad ones. Bah and good riddance.

So, after my digression, it was good to speak with her and a couple other people who shall remain anonymous. (Just in case I get any more unwelcome visitors.) I do miss them. A lot. But I don't miss the place, because I hate what it did to me. And would have continued to do to me as long as I allowed it. Enough = way more than enough.

On that note, this is what our sunsets often look like:

Copies are available in the lobby. (Shameless plug, I know. Oh well.)

Boom

That orange thing is the moon, by the way. You probably guessed that, but just in case. Lightning, thunder, and a tiny bit of rain. Thunderstorms in the desert. Neat huh?

I Wish I Could Play the Bagpipes

James Doohan died today, and it made me sad. Silly to be sad for someone I've never met, and whom I know only through a single role. But dammit, it's Scotty! Relics is one of if not my favorite Next Gen episode. Why? Because Scotty is in it. When we went to the Star Trek Experience in Las Vegas, what did I take a picture of? The phasers? No. The costumes? No. Spock's ears? No. It was the computer Scotty spoke to in Star Trek IV. "Computer? Hello computer." Say those three words in a fake Scottish accent, and you'll detect the Trek fans from the regular people.

Star Trek was not a large part of my childhood, primarily because we weren't able to see it. (No cable in the woods. Still.) I played a lot of catch-up in my post-college years. Sure, the original series is "campy" by today's standards. But it wasn't a western, and that's significant. The show inspired more people to do more things than I could possibly list, but on a personal level it does something pretty darn special for me. Watch Star Trek with Deb. We both enjoy the shows thoroughly, play "who can name that episode faster", and have ridiculously geeky conversations and then laugh about it.

So, silly as it may be, thanks Mr. Doohan. For making me laugh when I hear the words: "It's green."

That's Not Love in the Air

Lightning, baby. Pretty cool stuff. (And, ok, this isn't the best animated gif ever. But it was taken with my digital camera shooting 60-second clip avi files. I'm surprised I got anything at all.)

The thunderstorms are forecast for the next 10 days, so I guess the overdue monsoon season is here. We'll try to get better lightning pictures without getting electrocuted. That's a line we don't want to cross. I'm also toying with the idea of setting up the webcam to just flat-out record the next one. Depends on how fast the storm is. This one was very powerful, but over in minutes. By the time we realized it was raining, got the cameras, looked outside... it had already pretty much gone away. Such is the power of a mountain/desert thunderstorm, I guess.

Comcast, Capitalism, and a Casino

We trundled off to the casino yesterday with our friends. None of us did well, but we had our shirts as well as the cars that brought us, so I guess it wasn't so bad. One thing that's missing from the casino here that I got so used to seeing in our trips to Atlantic City: oxygen tanks. Specifically, oxygen tanks strapped to the 800 year old blue hair riding around in a power chair, with a hole cut in the oxygen mask to allow for easier smoking. Haven't seen that, and part of me misses the sight. The negative from this trip (apart from losing): RC cola. While I prefer Pepsi over Coke, I can drink either without a fuss. Yes I can tell the difference. Anybody can tell the difference. People who say they taste the same are either lying, stupid, or smoke 8 packs a day so their sense of taste is gone. This particular casino purveys RC cola to those possessed of a non-alcoholic thirst. RC cola tastes like it was mixed in a 10 year old plastic pail used to collect coins, and the occasional ash. Those who have seen me eat know that when I drink soda I don't do it lightly. A one-liter bottle is easily polished off, and a 2-liter could go if I'm thirsty. I didn't even drink half of this RC glasslet. Ick.

As for capitalism, I've made a bunch of new stuff at cafepress. And I can say with no small amount of pride (and a greater amount of joy) that I've actually sold something there! Woohoo! (And no, it wasn't to a family member. So there.) Just click on the cafepress link to see what's there. I'm making more stuff all the time, too. Nothing beats working for yourself!

Ah, ComCast. I'll spare you the details, but give you something to think about. For those of you who don't pay bills online, do you deduct the price of the stamp from what you're sending? Paying bills online is faster, and costs less by not only the price of the stamp, but in the price of the postal worker, the gas in the postal worker's vehicle, time... you get the idea. Now, if a company claims to have an online bill paying feature, yet can't get it to work, would you deduct the price of the stamp from your bill? A bill that you would normally pay online? Or do you just gladly pay the $5 extra a year because the company can't be bothered to fix its website? If enough people deducted the cost of the stamp from what they owed, the company would notice.

Why, look! A windmill! I've seen those before... somewhere... Gotta go change my name to "Don".

It's Funny to Me

I don't like to discuss politics or things political. I just don't. Sure, I exploded over the presidential election, but that was pretty much it from me politics-wise. But here's something from Wil Wheaton (yes, that Wil Wheaton) that just needed to be shared. Yep, violence in video games is a worthwhile crusade. You go Hillary. Violent video games are what made me the madman I am today. The hours of playing Jumpman taught me to leap off of ladders. Hell, Seven Cities of Gold taught me that it was OK to wipe out entire Indian villages. (That's back when we could still call them "Indians", and not "Native Americans".) (And Native Americans aren't "native", but that's a whole other thing.) Video games and the violence contained therein are a release, not an actuator. The piddling amount of violence in those early video games kept me from eviscerating fellow schoolmates. As the graphics got better, so did I. Even during my years working in the Den of Stupid, I played video games. (Thank you Morrowind, for keeping me out of an institution!) As for the sex in video games... hey, if that's all they're doing, then good. If they figure out how to view it, then that means they're developing a job skill. Besides, if parents are really concerned, then maybe they shouldn't buy the games little Timmy cries about without looking at them first. Just a thought. But what the hell do I know. I don't have kids.

Caller Beware, and Other Stuff

We've been receiving phone calls from a mystery organization. They're a mystery, because they never leave a message. The caller ID had a name that meant nothing to us. All we know is that they're in Ogden, Utah. Whoever they are, they're persistent. The calls would start at about 8:30 am, and stop at around 7:00 pm. Most of the time, we ignore them. If they don't want to leave a message, then it's not important. But the other day, this place called us four times before noon. If it's so damned important to call so many damn times, how friggin' hard is it to say who you are and what the hell you want? So... Deb and I agreed that we'd answer the next one. Her version of how she was going to handle the call was decidedly much more pleasant than what I had running through my head.

The phone rang, the caller ID said it was the mystery company, and I answered it. What follows is a transcript of that conversation.

(phone rings) Me: "What?" (Not "hello", not "hi", but "What?" This momentarily stunned the Ogdenite or Ogdonian or Obelisk or whatever the hell they call people from Ogden.)

Timmy the Phone Jockey: "Um.. can I speak with Deborah?"

Me: "No. Can I speak with your manager please?"

Timmy: "Um... sure, if you want."

(Followed by questions to his co-workers as to whether or not a manger is around. He finally found one and explained that he didn't know what the problem was, just that I had asked to speak to a manager.)

Billy the Manager: "Can I help you sir?"

Me: "Yes you can. I want you to put this number on your 'do not call' list. I have no idea what company you are with, and I really don't care at this point. All I know is that you call repeatedly and never leave a message. If you call this number again, you will be hearing from my attorney."

Billy the Manager: "Yes sir!"

Me: "Thank you." (click.)

They have not called again.

Have I mentioned lately that I hate the phone? Hate it with a passion. If you haven't done so already, sign up for the National Do Not Call Registry to stop most telemarketers. If you sign up for something, though, they have a right to call you if you provide your phone number. However, when either of us sign up for things, we always check the "e-mail only" contact preference. Seems it's easier to get someone to dial a phone than to compose something in writing. Even when you ask for writing, you get calls. Bastards.

Which leads me to this...

Typos leap off the page at me and stab me in the eye. (Not literally, as that would be bad.) I received the statement for my Amazon.com credit card. I read the bill and said: "Oh no!" Not because of the balance, but because of the following fragment found at the very end of the bill: "Amazon.com and your done". (Note: I put the period outside of the quotes because they didn't have one at all.) I guess I should really be happy. I've never had a done before, but now I do. I should go out on the balcony and yell "The done is mine!"

See... Amazon got its start by selling books. Books! Books with words in them and stuff. It's bad enough watching the English language die a long, slow, languishing death. Watching it be thrashed about by a purveyor of books is inexcuseable.

Yes, I e-mailed them. I doubt they'll respond. We shall see.

Somebody Call Michael Martin Murphey

Yes, I said Michael Martin Murphey. Go run to your CD compilation of "AM Hits of the 70s" if you don't know who I mean.

Deb and I went out for lunch today to celebrate, and also stopped by the post office. When we got out of the car at the post office, we said: "Gee, it's awfully cloudy over there." Followed shortly by: "That's smoke!"

(These shots aren't from the post office, in case you were wondering.) There's a wildfire burning in the Coronado National Forest, and we could see it. Well, we could see the smoke. Saw the actual edge of the fire as a line of smoke, but never any flames. We did, of course, hop in the car and try and go see it. Never got closer than these pictures, because we were sidetracked by something else we'd been meaning to see. (More on that tomorrow.)

Pretty cool, huh? You tell me what other couple you know who celebrates their anniversary by actively seeking out a forest fire!

Segundo Aniversario Feliz!

Happy Anniversary to the most wonderfully amazing person in the entire world! She's put up with me for years, and we've shared some pretty amazing adventures together. From Alaska to New York to Florida to Arizona and most everything in between. She's made the unbearable bearable, the boring exciting, and the exciting spectacular. I am, without a doubt, the luckiest man in the world.

I'm the Daddy of the MACDaddy

Before anyone overreacts... it's a lyric. Stop it.

We did the unthinkable today. The other night we saw one of them there late night infomercials about making money. (Yeah, I know. Bear with me.) This one dealt with making money in the stock market. It was free, it was close, and it killed a couple hours in the afternoon, so why not? So, today we went to the lovely Westin La Paloma Resort & Spa, and saw the STAR trader spiel. It was actually quite well done. I expected the sales pitch, and we got it right off the bat. But not in a sneaky way. He was very up-front about it all, and I give him a lot of credit for that. One thing I didn't expect, though, was to actually learn something. I fully expected them to do everything to entice us to pay for the seminar, but never actually provide us with any useful information. I was wrong. The guy was roughly my age, and he showed a room that was jam-packed with less than two dozen people what to look for, and stressed that you could find it all online.

Now... a moment of digression. The room this thing was in was large. Large. It had two chandeliers, roughly the dimensions of your average sofa. This was a training room that we would've killed for. They had 30 chairs set up in there, and the room could have easily fit 250 more. (I'm being conservative.) Deb and I were laughing, because it was such a huge room, and here's this tiny pocket of people who are either insomniacs or know people who are and they all had three hours to kill.

It made sense, though, which kinda scares me. I've never given a hoot about the stock market before, but this was different. Show me computers, show me charts, and tell me I can figure it out by looking at it this way... and damn if it didn't make sense. So he was either a hypnotist, or correct. (Or I'm just an idiot.) (But Deb figured it out too, so there.)

We got home, and it took some digging but I actually found a free program that makes the charts and stuff. It's fascinating. So now, 10 years after the fact, I understand Ray. (Two people will get that. Everyone else just keep on going.)

Oh yeah. MACD is one of the charts. Speaking of some of those letters, we had the unfortunate necessity to eat at McDonald's before this shindig. Ugh. Haven't eaten McDonald's food since... January? And no fast food since March. It's official. My stomach can't stand that crap. That doesn't make me sad, as I don't miss it. (Pizza, yes.)

Too Much For A T-Shirt

I was talking with my brother today, and the discussion turned to our grandmother. (My mother's mother.) She and my grandfather owned a little grocery store/deli, and my grandmother worked there every day. "Worked" being far too small a term for what she did. Preparing enough food to feed an army, cleaning, working the register, doing the books... she did all that and then some. It was rare for her to take off, even on holidays. Holidays were the days that she spent cooking food for the police/fire departments so they'd have turkey dinners. She finally reached a point in her life when she realized that she had spent decades of her existence for other people, and finally started doing things for herself. She lost weight, she redecorated her house, and was coming to the realization that she could actually have a little fun in life. Sure, she still got up at 4am after going to bed at 1am, but she was enjoying it just a little bit more. Then one morning just like any other, she woke up, got out of bed, and died. Just like that. In probably as much time as it took me to type that, if not for you to read it.

Discussing this bit of nearly-18-years-gone history led me to say: "That's the way I want to die, but it is not the way I want to live." (While that saying will fit on a T-shirt, the explanation will not.) I saw my parents doing the same thing, but they stopped. Now with hindsight being what it is, I saw Deb and I doing the same thing. Spending ridiculously long hours working our collective asses off... all for nothing.

Every day I wake up and I see our mountain view, and I am glad. Glad that I didn't have a stroke or heart attack before I was 40, because that's certainly where I was headed. Glad that we got out of jobs that were stealing more than a small part of our souls and a large part of our happiness. We will still fight our battles here and there, but it's on our own time and our own terms. We still encounter idiots, but they don't have so much control over our lives.

In short: work is not worth dying for, but life is certainly worth living. Sure, that's more of a fortune cookie phrase than a T-shirt, but I'm working on it.

Who I Want to Be When I Grow Up

"Hey ya damn kids! Get the hell off my lawn!"

Or probably more appropriately for this guy: "Hey ya damn kids! Get the hell off my horse!"

Love this guy. No, I'm sure he doesn't dress like this every day. But I bet he wishes he could.
I thought he deserved his own post.

If you want to read more about Zeke, go here.

ComScat

If you're really observant, you noticed I got rid of the ComCast link. (If you actually noticed that, I'm impressed.) I'm angry with ComCast specifically, and cable companies in general. The part that made me angry is only partially due to ComCast, but they're bearing the brunt of my rage right now. See, I hate the phone. Hate it. I'd rather sit bare-assed on a cactus in 120 degree heat than talk on the phone in an air conditioned room. (I apologize for the mental image, but I trust my point is made.) On three separate occasions this week, for three very different things, I've been to websites to contact people at businesses for one reason or another. Now, I'm a geek. I understand websites to a certain degree and I appreciate a good one when I see it. I'm also of the opinion that if you have a business in this day and age, you need to have a decent website. Not just a website, but a decent website. Not every website can have every bit of information on it, so a decent business website must also have some sort of e-mail link on it. Whether it opens an embedded message system or opens your e-mail application... doesn't matter. It just needs to be there. One such site this week had me digging through no less than four pages and four domains before I could find a link to send my e-mail. By that time my question had become a rant. My bank's website has an e-mail link, and I sent them a question this week as well. They replied to me via e-mail... with a canned response that told me to call someone. Nope. If I send you an e-mail and you send me a message that tells me to call, then you just took a huge step closer to losing me as a customer. If you don't have the capacity to solve a problem via e-mail, then don't put the link on the page. Bastards.

As for ComCast... their website sucks. My first e-mail communication with them was to tell them that their website was abysmal. They've got a racket as far as their pricing is concerned, because they really don't have competition. For my readers in the Long Island area, I tell you honestly that Cablevision kicks ass. If for no other reason than they do not charge extra if you have more than one computer and would like each computer to have its own IP address. (I know at least two of you understand my rage over this.)

I'm getting to the point where I'm going to start an online petition about cable companies. Nationwide. I know they have the technology to do certain things, but they just don't bother. Even though it would greatly increase their customer base. (Out here, anyway.) If anybody in the cable biz wants to e-mail me for some free ideas, go for it.

Until then, I'm shopping for a better deal. Too bad it means we'll have to move to get it. Friggin' monopoly.

Mexico Addendum

I can't believe I forgot this. While in Mexico last week something extremely odd happened. Deb and I were browsing in a shop, and we walked past two of the owners/salesmen/craftsmen. They were conversing in Spanish, and as I've mentioned before my Spanish is severely limited so I wasn't paying attention to it. That is until I heard something that went something like this... "[Spanish Spanish Spanish] Monty Python [Spanish Spanish Spanish] nudge nudge [Spanish Spanish Spanish]." Where I can only assume the last Spanish bit was "say no more", because that bit is deeply ingrained into my very being.

I'm in Mexico in a shop that sells brasswork javelinas and cacti, and two guys are standing there reciting the "nudge nudge" sketch in Spanish? See, this is why I need cybernetic implants. I would have been able to go online to babelfish and then say "la mueca rápida rápida de la mueca guiña no guiña a opinión del nudge del nudge no más." Sure, they would have thrown me out of the shop, because translating it back gives you "the fast fast face of the face yaws does not yaw not more to opinion of nudge of nudge." Which is apparently the formal translation of "snap snap grin grin wink wink nudge nudge say no more."

But what the hell do I know? I'm a lazy American, and I only speak English.

PSA

Did some redesigning, as you've probably noticed. I got tired of all the banners and flashing and stuff. The links are still there, but the distractions aren't. That first link on the left for the Animal Rescue Site is the only one I ask people to visit daily. No, I don't get any click-through money or anything like that. But it only takes two clicks for you to help feed an animal that needs it. If you can't spare two clicks, then I have no use for you. Whether you choose to click on the other things on the site is entirely up to you.

Maroon Menace

While eating lunch the other day, we were witness to a group of women from the Red Hat Society. (No, they weren't a bunch of Linux fanatics.) In a nutshell, this organization was formed by some older ladies who wanted to have more fun in life. So what's the first thing they do? Mandate a uniform. Nothing screams "fun" quite so loudly as conformity. Just a bunch of people who are scared that they don't "fit in", so they make their own gang of bitties and say "Look at how different we all are!... in the same way." You rebels, you.

For those of you who haven't yet been sucked into a cult, there's still hope. Oh, and if you think you haven't been sucked into a cult, but you enjoy reality TV shows, I've got some bad news for you...

Just a Touch of Surrealism

The world can be pretty entertaining if you're observant. Humans, for example. Since we've been in Tucson, I've seen three different teenagers with spiked mohawks. (The haircut, not the hatchet.) Different colored mohawks, too. For whatever that's worth. I've also seen (on separate occasions) a few twenty- or thirty-something guys wearing polo shirts with the collar turned up. On purpose. Maybe it gets so hot here that the fabric of space-time has actually bent a little bit, and there are pockets of 1985 rolling around. If my hair spontaneously regenerates and I drop 40 pounds, I'll know for sure. But I don't just mean the entertainment that is observing humans, either. (Though that's pretty entertaining. Just ask Lenny.) I mean that sometimes you see things that cause you to look around for a witness to share in the strangeness or make you wish you had a camera. Like this...

Driving through southern Arizona, up and down mountains, through rolling fields, scrub, cactus, huge trees and parched rock... an iridescent peacock on the porch of a dilapidated house. I saw six on the property, but this shot was taken from a moving car, so give me a little credit. We passed an alpaca farm on this trip, and I've even seen an ostrich ranch north of Tucson. But those were big, sprawling businesses. With signs and whatnot. This was an addition to an outhouse with a flock of peacocks and peahens.

Thank you, digital camera! For making my world a little bit weirder.

Mexico - A Short Story

We have returned safely from Mexico. Call off the border patrol.

We went with friends of ours (who did all the driving! Thanks Dan!) to Nogales, AZ. From there, we walked across the border into Nogales, Mexico. Why are both towns named the same thing? Because you can never have too many towns whose names translate into "Walnuts." (If you think I'm kidding, you look it up!)

How can I describe this little slice of Mexico? I'll try involving all of the senses. It smelled like New York City on a hot August afternoon. For those of you who haven't had that experience, that's hot asphalt + urine + rotting garbage + strange intermixing food smells + car exhaust + sweaty humans. Add a touch of burro in there, and you've got an idea. The sounds were those of Latin music (not the Gregorian chant kind, but the kind where there are lots of brass instruments and people speaking Spanish), and the persistence of salesmen. I am happy to say that everyone we encountered in Mexico considered me their friend. They all said so. "Come into my shop, my friend!" "Good afternoon, my friend!" It was just all sunshine and gumdrops!

Actually, they were very civil. True, they could have been cursing us out in Spanish as we walked away. Most of them took "no" for an answer and went on to the next person. One guy did follow us for a half a block or so, but he eventually went back to his little shop.

The sights were... well, poor. Not dirt-poor, living in a cardboard box. But poor as in "please buy my cheap crap so I can feed my burro" poor. (And that isn't a slur. One of the burro owners actually said: "But I need to feed my burro!" as we declined his offer to have our picture taken with said burro.) (If you thought I was kidding about the burros, I counted four. So there.)

As for touch... I think only one merchant touched me on the shoulder. Briefly. (He did not make the sale.) (I may have lived on Long Island for a lot of years, but I still react to being touched in true upstate NY fashion: if I'm not choking and I'm not married to you, then you have absolutely no right to be within three feet of me, and you need to back the hell away before the offending appendage is removed and consumed.) (I think the years on LI reduced the radius from 3 feet to 2.5, but the principle is the same.) (Count the parentheticals, and win a prize!)

There were some strange old women who were apparently trying to sell used Fisher Price horses and those odd wooden snake toys. And also what appeared to be individually-wrapped starburst candies. I didn't really look. There were some young women and what I assume to be their offspring begging in the streets. The kids were wearing NY Yankees caps and sport shirts, and the women were wearing brightly-colored sheet-looking things. Again, I didn't look, because I'm a cold and heartless bastard. Although, it would have been funnier if I had gone with Deb's suggestion of shouting: "I am the Chupacabra!" and running down the street. Unfortunately, my compendium of Spanish consists of what I learned from Sesame Street. So really all I could do is run down the street, counting to twenty, and occasionally saying "abierto", "cerrado", and "peligro!" True, running down the street shouting about twenty exploding Chupacabras may have turned some heads, but it was hot and I was carrying stuff, so running was out of the question. Maybe next time.

There was some cheap crap there, and there was some cheap decent stuff there. We haggled, we purchased some stuff, and all in all had an enjoyable time. There were a couple of things that I found odd, though. Like cow skulls for sale. I know full well that cow skulls are an integral part of Southwestern decorating, and have been for decades. I just find it interesting that not only are there cow skulls for sale in many stores (competitively priced, mind you), but that it's someone's job to go out and collect the cow skulls. One way or another. Maybe they're scouring the desert for authentic sun-bleached ones, or maybe they're picking through the scrap pile at the slaughterhouse. Either way, it's not my idea of a dream job. (Oh. For the curious: about $16.)

Another curious item was spotted by yours truly back on good ol' US of A soil just north of the border. (Like 50 feet north of the border.) We walked past a grocery store with a sign in the window proudly proclaiming the price per pound of "Bolognia". I didn't know that you could sell tiny European principalities by the pound, nor would I ever have guessed that it could be obtained in such a fashion in the southernmost reaches of Arizona. Live and learn, I guess.

We took an incredibly scenic route to get there, so I'll probably post some pics of that in the near future. Living in Arizona is like living in five different states as far as terrain is concerned. That's very, very cool.

On the Road to Mexico

We're off for a day trip to Mexico tomorrow. If you don't hear from us by Saturday, send out search parties. Or, have a party with lots of margaritas. Whichever.

Hot 'n' Stuff

It's just after midnight as I type this, and it's a cool 95 degrees. It only got up to 108 or so today, but it's cloudy so the heat isn't dissipating. Desert weather dynamics in action. Supposed to be in the triple digits all week. Which probably means that in July and August, you either burst into flames if you stand too near an exterior wall, or your cells just give up and liquefy. I'm just going to take the shelves out of the fridge, drill a little air vent, and hibernate in there. (Deb already has dibs on the freezer.)

Oh yeah. Probably won't post a picture of this, but my family will at least get a kick out of this... remember all the broken and damaged furniture from the move? Well, yours truly got himself one of them there idears. Put two of the dresser drawer faces together bottom to bottom, put some of the drawer side panels underneath that, cut the damaged strips from the entertainment center... and made a table. See, we're still looking for a coffee table that doesn't suck, but in the interim we needed something to use. Norm Abrams would be proud. (Or scared to tears.)

I've also been working on stores. Online stores, that is. I'm nowhere near done with everything I want to do, but if you're curious go to cafepress.com and search for "wontar". You'll find the five or so stores I've got done so far.

More pictures on the way, too. But in the meantime, here's a page out of my better half's book in the form of the pic of the day. It's the view off of our patio. Last night.

Father's Day

Happy Father's Day, Dad! Thanks for everything. From teaching me what little I know about cars (not from your lack of knowledge, but from my lack of aptitude for it). Thanks for not being outwardly disappointed that I never really picked up on the whole "car" thing. Thanks for the work ethic that has caused me to be admired by some and loathed by many (and that wasn't sarcasm. Those who don't want to do a decent day's work can bite me.) Thanks for having your words come out of my mouth more and more often as I get older. At this stage of the game, if I had found out something contrary to your words I'd be saying them by now. (So you were either right, or I've been successfully brainwashed.) Thanks for the temper that drives me, and the amazing ability for restraint and control. (Which has kept me out of prison more than a few times because it's kept me from breaking people in half.) (It's made my skin glow red and my blood pressure skyrocket from time to time, but it's an OK trade.)

I'm not going to run down a litany of things. Just know that I appreciate them, and you, and I'm glad you're my dad.

Must Be Genetic

My brother told me a story today that had me laughing hysterically. See, he's a manager now, and he's currently going through some of the stuff that I went through. Hopefully he'll be smarter about it than I was and get the hell out before his blood pressure makes his head explode. But I digress...

He works in an optical lab, which means that his co-workers work with lenses, frames, temples (strangely called "arms" by those not in the biz), and other eyeglass terminology that won't mean squat to the average reader. One of his many, many duties is quality control. He was inspecting one job recently, and attached to the job was a hand-written note from one of his co-workers. (I'm paraphrasing the note, but using quotes anyway. Sue me.) The note said: "Thair lense is too beg." Now, you may be thinking that this is some sort of optical shorthand or lingo of some type. Nope. This is idiot longhand. Those who can speak and read kindergarten-level English would have grabbed their favorite crayon and scribbled out "Their lens is too big." Because in kindergarten we still have trouble with sentence structure, and really can't decide between "their lenses are" and "the lens is". But hey, what do you want from a five year old?

Unfortunately, the person in question was just a wee bit older than I am. That's a hell of a long way from five. After a certain age, I think it should be a law that if you can't spell a three-letter word, you should be mulched. At least then you'd be doing some good for future generations.

He offered to bring in one of several dictionaries he has so this individual could perhaps learn to spell. Not to memorize it, of course, but at the very least to learn how to spell "lens". After all, it is one of the nouns encountered most frequently in this person's day. There should be at least a passing familiarity with one of the tame four-letter words.

He needed to laugh just as much as he needed to vent. I know exactly how he feels. When you get to the point in your job where you have the overpowering urge to pick people up and shake them because of their relentless stupidity, then it's time to go. If you stay, you'll either end up with high blood pressure, an ulcer, both (or worse), or actually caving in and tossing stupid people around like hay bales. (That's worse, because you just get tired that way.)

Maybe he'll kick back with me and we can watch the English language continue to languish and die. We're from a generation that didn't have a "no child left behind" asinine policy, and we can spell because of it. If you were stupid, you had to repeat a grade. You failed. You were mocked. If you continued to be stupid, you failed again. Or maybe, just maybe, if you failed that gave you a reason to actually try harder and succeed! Revelation! Education was more important than your flippin' self-esteem.

Bah. I'm off to listen to more radio shows so I can hear the phrase "to whom" used correctly. I'm 40 years too late, or 100 years too early.

Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

Went to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum today. Holy. Cow. It's open until 10pm on Saturdays, so us arriving at 3:30 really wasn't that big of a deal. Great day. Low 90s, very breezy. But this "museum" isn't a museum in the traditional sense. It's part zoo, part botanical garden, part museum. We spent five hours there, and I could easily see how people could get there at 7:30am and stay until 10pm. I shot about three rolls of film. (Yes, I still use actual film.) Saw mountain lions, coyote, black bear, wolves, javelinas, a bajillion humming birds... I won't bore you with the list, but there were a lot of different types of animals. It's an extremely well-designed place. Lots of shade, drinking fountains scattered along the paths... I was amazed at how comfortable I was traipsing through the desert! (I've been known to traipse.) The museum is just on the other side of Tucson Mountain Park, which is near the Saguaro National Park. Roughly 15 minutes from where we live. Jealous?

You'll see some pictures up soon. Just a little too tired now to worry about it. Woke up and learned I sold two more pictures. Continue to color me happy.

Cutting Edge Technology and 1943

We recently bought a new mini stereo thing from Overstock.com. (They no longer have it, so I can't link to them.) The first one was damaged when we got it, but they were extremely fast and efficient in arranging the return and shipping out a new one. (Therein lies the answer to the question: "Why do you have an Overstock.com button on your site?") It plays MP3 CDs in addition to regular CDs, so we've spent most of the day in the computer room listening to old radio shows. (Dimension X, The Whistler, The Shadow, etc.) And you know... I'd rather listen to radio shows from the 30s and 40s rather than watch most of what's on TV these days. In fact, we just reduced our cable service to the basic package, because we finally realized that we had 400 channels and all of it was crap. We can see the news, Family Guy on Sunday... and that's pretty much it for our shows anyway. If I want to watch reality, I'll go outside. And I've had my fill of idiots, so I really don't need to watch people eating bugs for money or lying face-down in lava for a trip or whatever the hell it is they do. If I want to hear people who can't sing, I'll turn the radio to a rap station and listen to people talk to music. (Damn kids, waving your collective fists at musical tradition.)

Sold another picture, too. Cool. I'll add more pics soon, especially after this weekend. (I'll tell you afterwards, don't worry.)

The DNA Stops Here

I'm very glad I'm not a parent. I'm also glad that my brother was the one to ensure the continuation of the MacDNA, because it sure as hell would've died with me. Two recent stories as to why...

We were eating lunch in a restaurant the other day. Nothing fancy, but not fast food. The restaurant is currently involved with a movie tie-in that gives children an animal mask. Whoopee. The table to my left had a father and son enjoying lunch as well. At least, the father was enjoying lunch. The son must've just finished his lunch of crack-frosted caffeine flakes, because he was bouncing around like flubber in a paint mixer. The father was just calmly enjoying his sammich and iced tea or whatever in the hell he was having, while Junior was getting up out of his chair every .003 picoseconds and jumping up and down whilst wearing the animal mask. Ostensibly to make the baby in the table next to him smile. Which, granted, it did the first time or two. After the 80,000th time, even the baby got sick of it. And babies have the time of their lives with cardboard boxes.

Now, I want to pause here and point out that my parents were never, ever violent with me. They told me to do something, and I generally listened. (Kinda. Eventually.) So there's no deep, dark history of familial violence that prompted the images flashing through my head when I placed myself in the personage of that kid's father. Which is: get up from the table, go into the kitchen, grab a frying pan or large skillet, walk back to the table, and give the kid a good full-on smack to the back of the head with the frying pan while shouting "Sit the F*(% down and shut the F*(% up or you will never eat anything, anywhere ever, ever again!" (I would say the actual expletive, because it's far too difficult to say all those characters in a string and still be taken seriously.)

Now I know that any parents reading this will say: "You don't know! You don't have kids! They're hard to discipline!" No, they're not. They're actually quite easy to discipline. Kids actually respond to discipline. They can also smell fear. When parents are too afraid to discipline their children, then the children are in control. Which leads me to my next story...

A 14 year old boy recently went on a little trip here in Tucson. What kind of trip? The kind where he's driving along a street full of pedestrians, motorists, and just plain ol' ordinary people. Well, that's a bit young to be driving, right? Sure is. Especially since he's driving a 40 friggin' ton earthmover! One tire of this thing is taller than your average big-ass SUV. The kid was cruising down a main thoroughfare doing 30 or 40 miles an hour, for 15 friggin' miles! He knew how to drive the thing, how to lift up the bucket to even move it in the first place, and how to back it up. Cops shot him when he tried to back over them and their cars, and the little Dr. Destructo is now in the hospital in critical condition.

Why was he doing this? Or I should say, "allegedly" doing this? Because mommy and daddy (and presumably he) were moving. Here's a tip for anyone out there who may be thinking of running away from home... don't do it in something quite so conspicuous. I think a flaming chuckwagon being drawn by a team of squid is less conspicuous than a 40 ton earthmover flattening cars and powerlines as it goes.

If I were the father and the cops hadn't shot him... I'd shoot him. Twice. Up close, personal. Hell, it's not like they're going to stay put now! Timmy had a temper tantrum because they're moving... oops! Now they have to move, because everyone will know them as "that family whose little bastard crushed 15 miles of my road and knocked out power for a few thousand people." Way to go, sport! You're bound to have pen pals!

(I just hope his greaseball lawyer is seen as the smudge of slime he is when the trial comes. But that's a whole different topic.)

So... yeah... very glad I'm not a parent. Hope I've made that apparent. (Oh, you knew it was coming.)

Rearrange-O-Rama

Someone who shall remain bald jokingly told his wife that they should move the computers into the coolest room of the apartment instead of the hottest room in the apartment. Unfortunately, he forgot to hold up his "I'm only kidding, dear" sign. So... we spent the day moving furniture around. (Hopefully we won't do this once a month.) Honestly though, it looks much better this way. Our living room now looks like an actual living room instead of a computer room with a loveseat in it. The living room has our sofa and loveseat in it, and the second bedroom is now officially the Computer/Lego room. We've got computers, we've got legos... what else do you need in life?

I've also received a few calls regarding my resume I posted at monster.com. Unfortunately, they're all from insurance companies. I have no idea what it is about my resume that makes them think I want to sell insurance, but I wish I could find it and delete it. Then never, ever write those words in the same sequence ever again. Unless, of course, I needed to summon some sort of demon or something. Good to be prepared.

I also sold another picture today, which brings the total up to four. Look out for me and my art madness!

Strange

Deb and I were riding around southern AZ today as passengers. (We were looking at houses, which I'll probably talk about in another post.) Something very odd happened. We were zipping along quite nicely in the left lane when a red truck came up next to us. Not fast or anything. A definite mosey. The guy stuck his head out the window, and started yelling at us. We have no idea what he said, but I was able to make out something like "what the hell..." and that was it. (Hey, it's hot. Our windows were rolled up, and the AC was on. I'm not about to roll down a window to hear some guy yell.) But then... here's the weird part... he slowed down. Not "slowed down to follow us for the next 50 miles". Just slowed down. He wasn't yelling at us because we were driving slow, not yelling because we were driving fast, and not yelling because we cut him off or anything. (He had to speed up to catch up with us from wherever he came from.) Maybe it's too hot to have road rage here. Or they're just no good at it. Road rage isn't driving up to a random car, yelling at it, and then slowing down again. That's just silly. Unless the reason you slow down is to follow the car for the next 20 or 30 miles, flashing lights and occasionally throwing severed doll heads filled with ketchup out the window. (I've only done that once.) (OK, twice.)

Maybe I could give offensive driving lessons here. Teach people how to drive while ignoring the damn "space cushion" that seems to still be in effect. How to drive while looking like I'm fluent in sign language but also have Tourette's. (Yes, I stole that bit. It's damn funny. Thank you Larry.) These wacky Arizonianites, with their safe driving habits and their politeness... the guy probably was yelling "Have a nice day!" to us. Weird.

Who Watches the Watcher?

I started off today by being very, very, very angry. Not only angry, but angry on the phone. I absolutely hate the phone. Hate it with a passion. (You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.) (Thanks, Bruce.) Rather than go into a long-winded diatribe of why I'm angry/who made me angry, I'm going to give an unsolicited plug for an extremely cool website: StatCounter. They have a hit counter/web tracker that is absolutely top-notch. They have a free service as well as a subscription service, but the free service has a ton of features for your average user. If you have a website, or a blog, and are curious to know who is coming by to view your stuff, I highly recommend their service. For example, I can log in and tell that I had 1,153 page loads on my sites, and 723 of them were unique users. I had visitors from the US, Singapore, India, the UK, Switzerland, Canada, Japan, Finland, Honduras, China, Estonia, and the Philippines. How cool is that? Makes you really appreciate what that first "W" is in "WWW". I can tell where they came from and how long they stayed. It's also how I found out that people were stealing my site content. If that's a concern, then check them out.

No, I don't get a referral or a "finder's fee" for sending you to them. It's just cool. Interesting to know who's coming by for a visit, and who's coming by to steal your silverware.