Toasted

Do you have fond memories of your grandma?  I have fond memories of my Grandma Martin who would make me toast as a child that was based on a form of non-nutrition called ‘white bread.’  To further increase my chances of not getting any nutrition she would slather it with margerine.  It was salty, buttery nothingness that was probably as useful for me as rice cakes, but I won’t get into rice cakes.

Then, one year my whole family got sick with some sort of flu/cold thing and the only thing that tastes good to us was toast.  We used real butter, but I’m sure that we used lots of it and it tasted fantastic… and we could keep it down.  My mom made a lot of it, though my brother and I tried as well to make some.

As you can tell the important women in my life had a toast making knack.  Jessica however, did not start out making me toasted bread.  Instead she would try to make me pecan pies, because that is what I wanted to eat.  Unfortunately those toasted as well.  or underbaked, or overflowed, or sideways slipped into the trash can because she was fed up with them.  Fortunately many of them turned out and slid onto my fork and into my mouth down into my quickly expanding belly.

And as you may have surmised, pies have a crust, which needs to be baked, which is a lot like toast.  So I’m glad to have had toast in my life, it has had special sentimental value that rice cakes have not.

Next time I may share about my other Grandma having carob energy drinks and soy nuts – those are also sentimental but completely unrelated to toast.

Frogger: Senior Edition

Do you remember the arcade game Grogger from back in the days of 0 bit graphics? OK, so maybe frogger was 8 bit graphics, but it was an early game. The object, for those of you who read this blog but are too young to recall, is to get a frog to jump across multiple lanes of traffic without getting hit. You could move the frog several directions if I recall correctly, but in the end, it wasn’t an amazing game by today’s standards. You can read more about it at Wikipedia.

Well, last week Jessica and I were driving down a busy road here in Aurora (Iliff on Google Maps) and we saw a man in a motorized wheel chair trying to cross the street. I commented that he would be best off getting to a cross walk and waiting for a light to allow him to cross safely. About a quarter mile later we saw a man who had narrowly crossed the same street with a walker! It was like Senior Frogger championships or something only the drivers of the cars did not know. When I get old enough to need assistance to be mobile, and I hope my girls read this and show it to me if I resist, please require me to be safe by going to intersections designed for pedestrians.

Oh, and if you happen to see old people doing dangerous things, try to get some footage of it, because I can totally see this as a reality TV show.

How Often Does This Happen To You?

This morning Jessica showed me two pictures of different hair cuts. She was about to leave for her hair appointment so she wanted to have my backing on her choice to get a mohawk. OK, the pictures weren’t of mohawks. But they were of girls who had the exact same hair cut to me. They could have been twins, I swear. But they weren’t. In her detail oriented eyes they were different cuts with similar styling. To me in my hairblind eyes they were both blonde, both looked like they’d been airbrushed/photoshopped to death and were under studio lighting. Their hair? I didn’t care about that part of the picture because I was distracted by everything else.

Sometimes being a man is completely insane because I just can’t think clearly about what Jessica is presenting me. I think I’m going to use my digital camera for good [instead of evil?] next time and we’ll scan in the photos of the styles she likes and then shoot some pictures of her head in the same angle and then I’ll morph the pictures together so that we can pretend what Jessica would look like with her hair done by professional hairdressers every morning instead of by herself while Abby and Evie vie for attention 🙂

At the Airport

Overheard walking through the ‘port:
“I took, like, a sleeping pill. It totally freaked me out. It was, like, a Xanax.”

What the heck? Xanax should mellow people out! Maybe she shouldn’t have mixed the Xanax with methamphetamine [note: Microsoft Word doesn’t offer synonyms for methamphetamine].

So this morning as I was waiting for my Grande Soy Latte at Starbucks (which I don’t prefer, but given I consumed Folgers all week, this was a step in the right direction in my caffeinated world) I noticed that the young lady in front of me was wearing a Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt. It was not lingerie it was a sweatshirt. Weird. Weirder still was the fact that her pants had a large hole in their right buttock [20% of the total right buttock area in my general estimation]. There was some sort of fabric underneath the pants that made sure that the public was not exposed to skin, but there was an awkwardness to this for me because I didn’t know if she was wearing a long striped shirt that extended way beyond what I have seen in shirt design, or if I was being exposed to the stripy colorfulness of her undergarment. I didn’t want to be exposed to either of the options, but it was clear that this hole was a fashion. The third alternative is that there was a colorful, stripy, and stupid piece of cloth sewn into the pants, but that defeats the purpose of the hole and I did not see any thread that indicated sewing lines. And I know sewing lines in pants like I know molecular biology [which I don’t].

OK, so here’s where it gets weirder: I saw another woman walking through the airport moments later that had incredibly tight pants on that left nothing to question about her lower body structure. I imagine those pants cut off the blood circulation to parts of her body and took a large amount of time to squeeze into. Maybe they have started to make “pants horns”, much like shoe horns, only larger and more stunning in their dimensions.

Even weirder was that Soledad O’Brien is on CNN this morning talking about a coyote. The woman sitting across the airport waiting area from me was smiling a large smile as she watched the news about the coyote. It is kind of scary because I don’t want for her to enjoy coyote news. I guess I’m generally an anti-coyote news sort of guy, which is something I didn’t know about myself. Coyote news feels rather stupid in the grand scheme of things because coyotes, wily or not, just don’t seem to be a really important part of urban ecology. Sure, that could change, but I doubt it.

I have had 4-6 hours of sleep the last couple nights and I’m getting burned out on the whole ‘low on sleep thing.’ To further the issue last night I woke up several times with my brain in a near panic due to not wanting to miss my alarm. The same alarm that woke me up the other days that I was on this trip that kept my sleep to a minimum. For some reason not showing up to the office on time didn’t concern me, but missing a flight to get home where I would be alone was apparently important. Apparently I need to find a sleeping pill that is not, like, Xanax.

Tech Gangsters: IBM

Flickr Photo
You know things are getting pretty rough in the tech world when IBM employees start tagging utility boxes.

I’ve also uploaded some other pictures to the site (click the image above to see my Flickr photos.)

Oh, What a Trashy Dad I Am

This morning upon waking up I had to get the trash out to the curb. There was a lot of it because I cleaned out the garage for the first time this year. It needed it badly and there are still more things to tuck away and more things to pick up and tidy, but its a start. Anyhow, Abby asked if she could help. I told her no she could not because it was cold outside. Colder than a caveman frozen in a block of ice in Sunny California [Trade Mark] that happens to defrost and go to high school with Samwise Gamgee and Polly Shore. So I opened up the blinds at the front window so that Abby could watch me take the trash to the curb. She watched and watched as I took each can, several bags and more cardboard than a Wal-Mart dumpster out to the sidewalk. Each time as I walked back to the house she would wave at me through the window. Her cute little face peering out making sure I was there and when I wasn’t in view she would make sure that she saw me as soon as I was in view. Her hand waved with great excitement at seeing her daddy. It is good to be Abby’s dad – she truly is a joy to her father.

Then I took a walk in the cold (which was not as cold as Ensino Man, but was more like the cold of the bathroom tile when you’ve been nice and warm and cozy in bed, its a bit of a shock but you get used to it and then falling back asleep is more difficult) to return some videos we had rented. I think we rented them when Hoover was the president. They have been in our house for so long that I had grown accustomed to them kind of like the spider that is in the corner of my office that I just can’t get rid of because he’s become a strange companion. A companion like a prairie home companion. A companion like Mr. MacFeely is to Mr. Rogers. A companion like Robin is to Batman. OK, so not that kind of companion, the spider is in a funky spot that I don’t care to put the effort into getting rid of. Jessica would like me to, though.

So, its been a good morning 🙂

A Non-Whiney, Non-Complaint

Yes, I’ve been a wee negative the last couple posts, but this one and the one to follow it will be happy, gleeful, pleased posts. I promise or I’ll… wait, I can’t write something negative that I’d do or this post would fail the glee test 🙂

Anyway, I’ve ordered a new piece of musical equipment (an effects pedal for my guitars) through Amazon who ordered it through Musician’s Friend. Musician’s Friend is shipping it through UPS. UPS is shipping it through Kansas. Kansas is… wait, this is a happy post. Anyway, UPS is really moving it quickly and efficiently, I love their online tracking system because it first gives you the ‘quick’ bit of information like the scheduled delivery time (Friday in my case) and then gives you a link so that if you’re a tracking happy fellow such as myself you can see that at 1:35 AM your package was in Salina, Kansas making its way to Colorado.

Rock on, I loves me some excess data that will not get my package here any sooner 🙂

Dear Kevin

Dear Kevin,
Would you please stop giving out my cell phone number as your phone number? Sure, there are lots of good reasons to be anonymous and give out wrong information such as fraud, theft and practical jokes, but I’m tired of people calling me up and asking for you. I will confess to liking my ringtone/song so I do enjoy the music playing but I don’t want to get calls for you.

I may in the future start answering the phone as you and see what they’re calling about. Maybe I can have a little fun at your expense as you obviously are having fun at my expense. I’ve noticed that its not just guys or just gals that call which means that you’re not using my phone number to pick-up dates. Well, it doesn’t mean that, but it is highly unlikely.

Well, I just wanted to publicly write this to you since apparently I don’t have your phone number any more than the rest of the world.

Regards,

Randy Peterman

Beware of Change

OK, so I’m not against change. I get it when I (rarely) pay with cash, I see it when I go back to Carson City, Nevada where I go once every several years to nearly wet myself when looking at housing prices and new development in the community. But last night our family went to Fudrucker’s for dinner because Jessica was hankering for a burger and I wasn’t hankering to fire up the grill. I should have stayed home.

When we walked in we were met by a stack of beer boxes, buckets with empy beer bottles (so as to prevent stealing), and a totally scaled down menu. When you are a hamburger based restaurant that sells hamburgers and few other things scaling down your menu is like turning yourself into an overpriced McDonalds. In fact, I think that the service at McDonalds might have been better. They had a table with kids menus on it as you wound yourself through the queue… with a bucket next to it that was empty. It was supposed to have crayons but they had no crayons in the facility. They did, however, add lots more expensive video games for people to play. I just can’t get past the $0.50 per game price. And that’s what they were starting to charge when I was a teenager. Now you have to pay $1.00 or more! Call me a cheap, old fashioned kind of guy but to play a video game that involves shooting people in front of my three year old for $1.00 you’d have to pay me $1,000.00.

And they switched to Pepsi products [which I don’t prefer]. So basically everything that I loved about the restaurant is gone and I’m going to take my business somewhere else that might change, but they might do it gradually or they might maintain a slightly more family friendly atmosphere with choices on their menu. Oh, and I asked the under-aged employee working the register if they had Fat Tire beer. His response was to say, “Fat Tire beer?” slowly and loudly as if I was an old fart who was hard of hearing. “Yes, Fat Tire beer, it’s made in Boulder, CO.”

“I’ve never heard of it before.”

Sorry young’n’, but they’re advertised in neon signs at liquor stores all around the place, most other local restaurants carry them and even Texas (who still thinks they own Colorado) has it. Don’t insult my intelligence when I’m ordering – it is not good customer service.

That is all, our regularly scheduled griping will return later.

Hitting the Nail on the Head

I just used the figure of speech, “… hit the nail on the head.” Which is really a dumb figure of speech. It is like saying something is not rocket science. Or maybe the coolest things since sliced bread. Or killing a bird and wounding a lawyer with one shotgun blast two birds with one stone. Where do these come from? They must have been created by people who didn’t use computers.

If you think about it a nail gun, unless it is really screwed up (which is a bad figure of speech to use when describing a nail gun), will always hit a nail on the head. And rocket science relies on computers now that are made by computer scientists. Those very computer scientists were raised by mothers who were sandwich artists before Subway started calling their minimum wage employees Sandwich Artists. And if you’ve ever seen Shelly Duvall in ‘Rocketman’ then you know that mothers of rocket scientists can make a pretty mean sandwich. And that’s another figure of speech I don’t get: ‘mean.’ Is a mean sandwich one that gives you, to quote a friend, an, “after lunch gas attacks??” Or is a mean sandwich one that is like a gangster with a head tatoo in a foreign language that they don’t read that says, “ice-skating” [Apparently Justin Timberlake’s upcoming movie has a fake tatoo on him that says this ]?

And lastly, sliced bread stinks. It goes moldy faster, gets dry, and when someone forgets to re-attach the twist-tie or the plastic clippy thing from hell, the bread could go spilling all over the floor. And I don’t want to cry over spilt bread.

Please press any key now.