Sam, evil cat

Sam and the Evil Cat were playing around this morning. I wanted to get some pictures of a funny moment, but, as usual, they were both distracted when I took off and came back into the room and started pointing at them with this thing that beeps and flashes.

So here's a few shots for Grandma.

I just got back from my first two weeks of classes ...

And boy is my brain tired.

In one of the first algebra sessions, my prof was talking about math anxiety, and how some people hated math so much that they spent their entire college careers avoiding it until it's the last thing they need to graduate.

"That's four years without thinking about math," she said. "That only makes it harder."

It hit me afterwards that I hadn't seriously thought about math since before some of my classmates were born.

Here's how the night went before my first test:

Tuesday:

Noon: Get home from Tarrant County College. Pledge to spend all remaining free time reviewing for test, after I get a nap.

3 p.m.: Realize I can't sleep. Pledge to study from 9 p.m. (Sam's bedtime) to Midnight.

9 p.m.: Exhausted after not being able to nap. Prospect of going through two chapters of algebra too daunting. Pledge to get up at 4 a.m. the following morning to study.

11:45 p.m.: Nerves finally chill to point of allowing me to sleep.

First dream of night: I'm in a deserted British police station after dark. A mob is headed to the station, planning to break in and open the gun locker.

Wednesday

1 a.m.: Wife home, wakes me momentarily when she crawls into bed and tells me that she believes in me and "you can do it" for the sixth time in the last 24 hours.

Second dream: x2= (x-h)(x+k)/x+2 = A heavy dog shedding season.

3 a.m.: Wake up, realize that my combination of tossing, turning and snoring has driven wife to the guest bedroom. Hmmm ... Maybe I'll just get up at 5 a.m.

Third dream: I'm in a hotel past checkout time and I don't have the money for the bill. It's been an enjoyable stay, though.

5 a.m.: Wakey-Wakey. I take a very groggy, yet quietly desperate, review of quadratic and polynomial functions.

Not sure I can keep doing that for the next two years.

I made an A. Allowed myself a Tiger Woods fist pump.

Next test: Monday.

The strangest thought to hit me about the whole thing lately is how easy it is to get back into student mode. After a couple of days, you block out the fact that you're older than most everyone there and can't translate half of what they're saying to each other. You realize that 16 (or maybe 18.5) years of sitting in classrooms when you're young gives you a set of skills that aren't going to go away.

James Snipe's mountain lion repost

Update: Apparently, it's not a complete hoax.

Update III: Hello Illinois. (Following Alabama, Georgia, North Carolina and East Texas.)

(Yes, East Texas is a separate state, Thankyouverymuch.)

This has gotten a lot of hits.

Look at what James Snipe hit with his car on county road 328 north of Swenson, Texas in Stonewall County. The lion was still alive [Editor's note: Daaawwwww!] but unable to move, so our neighbor called animal control and they came and put him down. A land owner had seen this one a week before dragging off a 320 lb. steer. Our neighbor is an amateur taxidermist and he's going to stuff him. This one weighed 260 lbs. while most mature male mountain lions weigh 80 to 150 lbs. We had no idea they still roamed around here!

Still don't know if this is for real. "Snipe" is a name I've seen before, but it makes me pause.

Update: Abilene Reporter-News is calling it a hoax.

Summer begins, and it's back to work

I can only imagine how weird it's going to feel Tuesday morning. I start classes at TCC. I don't feel any real excitement, just a vague unease about sticking out with my 36-year-old self and having to plow my way through information I learned in high school and then again during the first stint in college.

But maybe I'm freaking out on the subconsicous level: I've already had two dreams about having a final the next day in a class I didn't know I was in. More of those to come.

Me and Meredith spent the weekend taking it easy, wishing we could've done more about Memorial Day. We "celebrated" on Sunday by taking a trip to Central Market, and discussed on the way back how boring we've become, thinking a trip to Central Market counts as a celebration.

I picked up some expensive hot dogs, beer and some kind of birch-based soda pop. Meredith picked up some things, including the wine pictured above, which she bought primarily because of the name.

This is going to be a pretty rough summer. Eight months after Sam came along, we had finally developed a schedule that allowed both of us to get as much sleep as we needed. Now, with my entire morning taken up with school, normal sleeping times have pretty much been shot through.

But it's not so bad. Last night I watched "The Pursuit of Happyness", which is good motivation. After watching what that guy went through, my problems don't add up to jack.

Sam, who I'll be seeing a lot less of from now on. I'll miss the boy, but it's all so that we can eventually spend more time together as a family.

Needing a barber

I've been searching for a decent place to get a haircut since I moved to Fort Worth two years ago. And I finally found a spot a couple of weeks back, kinda.

I've been spoiled with good barbers. One of my earliest memories is going to Howard's when I was 4 or 5. The shop was right across the street from the Texas Tech campus. I remember watching an old cowboy -- boots, skinny legs, vest, handlebar mustache -- sit down for a shave. It seemed like a horrible waste of whipped cream.

Abilene had several good shops -- one a couple of blocks from my house. How do you know you're in an authentic barber shop?

• A shoe-shine stand that you’ve never patronized.


• A rack of hair products on sale that no one has used since 1967.


• They know how to finish a high-and-tight.

The high-and-tight is simple, but it has to be finished out with a straight-razor trim. South 14th Barbers in Abilene would also add a quick rubdown using a hand-vibrator on your neck and shoulders.

After such treatment (For $8!), you'd feel much better about taking on the world, and no one would ever mistake you for a hippie.

In Fort Worth, there are no olde time barbershops close to my house. I've been visiting a Great Clips in a strip mall a couple of blocks away. I have no problem with the cuts. But the service?

The haircuts are priced in a fast-food type menu above the front counter. The barber chairs are separated by pastel-colored sails, and let's not kid ourselves that anyone ever spent five seconds thinking about putting in a shoeshine stand.

Every damn time I come into the store, I'm asked for my phone number, so that they can call up my file and ask me if I still want a "two on the sides with a trim on the top."

Because you can't just ask me and I can't just relay the information to you in an exchange that lasts maybe four seconds on a slow day. You've got to bother me with my phone number and build a million-dollar computer network to let everyone within the Great Clips community know that I prefer a "two on the sides with a trim on the top" -- and still never remember that it's tapered in the back, not blocked. Freakin' brilliant.

Anyway, after tiring of this, I finally got online, started looking and found an "Old Time Barber Shop" (actual name) within a reasonable driving distance.

Great place. Shoeshine stand, wooden furnishings, free sodas and mostly bald barbers. I was given a complete high-and-tight that was finished off with a hot-towel rubdown on my neck.

The only problem was the price: $20, including tip. I realize that, considering the shop is in a prime real estate area in Keller, they have to charge that to make ends meet. Still, I can't but feel slightly chafed.

It's a definition of the suburban experience: I'm not paying for a trip to an olde time barbershop, I'm actually buying the experience of going to a place like an olde time barbershop.

I dunno. I'll keep looking, but so far they have a new customer.

Registered

I'm officially enrolled, summer session I at Tarrant County College. Here comes algebra.

The wierdest thing about the process was that it was all online, which is something I'd heard of, but never went through. It's too easy -- you go to the site, click a few boxes and you're done. It left me a little edgy.

It's the same difficulty with technology that my Dad shows when he calls the refrigerator the "icebox" or refuses all entreaties to get a new answering machine.

I have no problem with using the Internet to buy junk. Using it to schedule a couple of six-week courses that will go onto my permanent academic record seems too ephemeral.

At North Texas, circa early- to mid-1990s, we had "teleregistration." Teleregistration consisted of calling a computer and dialing in the class you wanted to take. The computer would then either tell you that the class was full, or that you were now enrolled in "Feminist iconography of 18th century artistic and philosophical movements" when you were trying to get into miniature golf.

Teleregistration required a certain amount of quick decision-making, flexibility and organization. By the time you hung up the phone, you hadn't just signed up for classes, you had accomplished something, by God.

Photo from Todd.

That's me during my sophomore year, with a 32-inch waistline, a glorious mane of blonde hair that could be seen from the front, and my lucky teleregistration hat. Laugh if you will -- that hat got me into a lot of in-demand classes. I lost it a long time ago, the last bits of it of probably have dissolved on the bottom of the Brazos river by now, but that's another story.*

Notes: The Hico Steak Cookoff
The latest: The event was ... apparently last weekend. People keep dropping by this site after plugging in the search words, and I don't have any news to give or any links to follow, as the town has yet to post this year's winners on the Web.

I can say that my parents went and had their usual good time, tho it seems that the lady who brings the fried pies did not attend this year, a no-show that gave us all the blues.

Update: The FLDS thing
I recently read a story reporting that the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints compound near Eldorado was showing a decreased amount of activity, and that the "lush green lawn around the temple was now brown." Just thought y'all might like to know.

Maybe lawn destruction could be the linchpin to defeating the cult. We just send in covert gardeners with Roundup and the people flee in terror of God's wrath.

Animals in the e-mail
My wife sent me a note that contained only this budget line for an AP story from my hometown:

LUBBOCK — Turns out there was no need for window dressing after all. The confused wild turkey that smashed into a window at the Lubbock county courthouse Monday was laid out for a while, but eventually was able to fly away. AP Photo.

I'm sure that there would have been a need for window dressing, but an argument about whether or not it was still bow huntin' season got everyone distracted.

And Scott forwarded this bit from the town of Swenson (out in the middle of nowhere northwest of Abilene, and I've been there):


Another shot showed the dead cat, which I don't really want to see every time I come back here. Anyway, from the e-mail:

Look at what James Snipe hit with his car on county road 328 north of Swenson, Texas in Stonewall County. The lion was still alive [Editor's note: Daaawwwww!] but unable to move, so our neighbor called animal control and they came and put him down. A land owner had seen this one a week before dragging off a 320 lb. steer. Our neighbor is an amateur taxidermist and he's going to stuff him. This one weighed 260 lbs. while most mature male mountain lions weigh 80 to 150 lbs. We had no idea they still roamed around here!

The freakin' cat weighed 260 pounds? Dang. Maybe he was stalking the car.

Of course, the whole thing could be a fake. Not that it'd actually matter if it was.

Updated: It's real, sorta.

Later.

*The story: I was on a canoe trip on the Brazos, and the wind blew the hat off my head. I got sunburned, bad. No, it's not much of a story. Thanks.

The Force never looked so beautiful

And I'm pining for an XBox 360 like dead parrots pine for the fjords.

Notes: Evil Cat, cartoon brutality, life-changing decisions, etc.

So.

The original plan was to let people know once classes started, but since it’s the main thing on my mind nowadays I’ll go ahead and announce it.

This summer, I’ll start taking college classes to begin the process of getting certified to teach middle school math. It’ll be about two years. To qualify, I first have to take a lot of catch-up courses, and right now I’m in the middle of the usual last-minute application rush I’ve always enjoyed so well.

I’m not going to pretend that I’ve had a deep voice chanting "Teach the children, give them a compass" in the back of my head since I can remember. I’m planning on teaching middle school math because I figure I can handle the age group, and the scarcity of math teachers will give me better salary options and a better chance to work where I want to. I don’t love numbers. I like numbers. I flirted with numbers in college and thought the usual journalistic fear of numbers was stupid.

Everybody wants to spend their lives doing what they love to do. I’d love to do that, whatever it is. On the other hand, doing what you love can also make you suffer. My Dad made a career out of doing what he loved, and I saw it break his heart on a bi-annual basis.

My last three jobs were a lot of fun: Old-folks home attendant, pizza maker, assistant sports editor. They all had something about them to enjoy, and I wasn’t in some personal drama over whether or not this was the lifelong decision that would complete me as a person. It’s a job. Lighten up.

Baby tips
VMarks sent me this link to "baby tips" which includes some of the following advice.

Some of the humor there is pretty sick. It’s weird, how I’d have thought all of it was hilarious before Sam was born. Now, I still laugh at it, but a part of me cringes to see someone doing something awful to an infant, even in cartoon form. Being a parent makes you edgy.

The evil cat attacks the environment
Both outside and inside: First she eats the zinnias, then she vomits on the floor.

(Second Picture not included)

Even though the results don’t look like the flowers, come to think of it.

A deeper prison

Another week, another adjustment.

We got scared of coming in every morning and seeing this:

We were terrified that Sam would figure out that a little lean and jump means freedom, and possible head owwies.

So we adjusted the bed, just as Ikea designed the crib.

Man, when I was putting that thing together, I busted my thumb with a hammer so many times I lost count and spent most of the night cursing Sweden and all things viking related.

But lowering the mattress wasn't that bad, just took about 15 minutes for the whole project. Next step: We take off the bars and Sam gets an actual bed. So that he can come into our room at 4 a.m. and demand to watch Barney.

Dark side of politics

One day, the idea of relating virtually everything we come across into a Star Wars metaphor will seem old and outdated.

And that will be a sad day.

Missing the geek dungeon

Or

Wanting to pull out the +3 battle ax for reality

My freshman year at North Texas, I spent the majority of my time immersing myself into role playing games. Dungeon and Dragons, Palladian, Paranoia. I played miniatures once. Real gold-medal geek-olympics-type stuff.

This phase lasted about three semesters, after which I started hanging around guys who actually spent time with girls. And suddenly, scrounging together enough gold pieces to buy that elvish long bow wasn’t that high of a priority.

I’ve found that, given enough time, most of my old obsessions will come back to me, and lately, for a lot of reasons, I’ve been missing the fun of pure geekish escapism.

Reasons? Well, marriage kind of takes away the need to present myself as a with it dude who bends reality to his will and therefore has no need to pretend to kill pretend goblins. (No, no one ever bought my attempt to portray myself that way. Duh.) Secondly, I’ve been camping recently, but not enough to fulfill the need to get out there for the adventure and danger. (The "danger" of being eaten by skunks and smelling really, really bad.)

And what really got my mind headed in this direction was two news bits: Dungeons and Dragons is coming out with a "revolutionary" reboot on the game rules, and Gary Gygax, one of the guys who started the D&D franchise, died in early march.

Quick joke, from The Latest Word blog, thanks to Todd:

When referring to Gygax's death, you can say he:

1) Started a new character sheet.

2) Is looking for a ninth-level cleric.

3) Failed his save vs. death magic.

4) Is food for purple worms.

5) Immediately became an NPC.

6) Finished the Doritos.

And so on ...

Those were some good times back in college: Staying up until dawn hyped on vivarin and cheap cola; rolling a 20 at the exact right time, living through what were actually some decent stories; laughing at our own social incompetence.

The problem with daydreaming about this now is that I really have no where to take the memory. I don’t know any one who plays any more, starting a group would be an organizational nightmare, and joining some kind of club would bring me into contact with people who take the game way too seriously. (Imagine yourself stumbling into a political conversation with someone who cares deeply about the latest mining habitats for dwarves. You get the idea.)

So, I’m left with scouring the fantasy books at the library for a decent story (not an easy thing) and hoping that someday I’ll get together with people who can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.

I’ll be the scout. I’m always the scout.

Quick treat

A website that tells you what the No. 1 song was on any day of any year going back to 1891.

Obviously, this is great birthday material.

Dec. 10, 1971, was Sly and the Family Stone's "Family Affair."

I don't have a clue. Maybe I'd recognize it if I heard it.

It begs the question, is it better to have a birthday song that you don't recognize but by a group with a lot of street cred, or is it better to have a piece of excrement that you hate but that bursts into your head as soon as you hear the title, like 1981's Dec. 10 No. 1, "Physical"?

Actually, that's pretty easy to answer.

Grandparent fulfillment post, No. 3

Here are a few pictures of Sam, who seems to be very comfortable with the camera, and a short story.

When I was working the gourmet case at Central Market, the food I hated handling the most was whipped sweet potatoes. I like it as food, but as something to work with it was too soft to spoon and too firm to pour. It was also sticky to a point where it was impossible to go through a day without having to take some time off to wash and rub the stuff off of you, and you'd still go home looking like you were the cutter from a butcher shop where animals bled orange cream.

Sweet potatoes were the worst, until I ran into pureed prunes. Mix them together, and ughhh...



Otherwise:

Sam with blanket. He likes it so far, but doesn't seem to be really attached to it. I'm wondering when they start developing those "I want my binky" type feelings.

This is Sam's favorite thing to do. He's been pulling up for two weeks or so, and will stand at the window in his room, happily watching the world go by, and drooling gallons at a time.

Sam goes for the camera. His expression in this one kind of disturbs me.

Lubbock: THE conservative bellwether

Always strange to see a hometown nobody much mentions for most of my life keep coming up. It's not always good, but it's fascinating to me.

This morning, Peggy Noonan used the anchor of South Plains civilization to guage George Bush's unpopularity:

In Lubbock, Texas – Lubbock Comma Texas, the heart of Texas conservatism – they dislike President Bush. He has lost them. I was there and saw it. Confusion has been followed by frustration has turned into resentment, and this is huge. Everyone knows the president's poll numbers are at historic lows, but if he is over in Lubbock, there is no place in this country that likes him. I made a speech and moved around and I was tough on him and no one – not one – defended or disagreed. I did the same in North Carolina recently, and again no defenders. I did the same in Fresno, Calif., and no defenders, not one...

The reasons for the quiet break with Mr. Bush: spending, they say first, growth in the power and size of government, Iraq.

She doesn't mention illegal immigration, which I'm going to hazard a guess and say is a fairly big deal among conservatives in Lubbock, probably moreso than the war in Iraq.

Buy my interest here is mainly in Lubbock being used as a political weathervane.

George Bush (the first) made a remark after winning the 1988 election that a friend of his from Lubbock said things were good, so Bush guessed it'd all be all right. The comment led to a few news stories about Lubbock becoming the next Peoria (as in "Will it play in ...?")

This didn't last long, as pollsters soon realized that asking if Lubbockites preferred the conservative option was akin to asking attendees at a baptist convention if they were fond of Jesus. The results were too uniform to be of much use as a national guage.

After 9/11, Bush (the second) wanted a terrorist policy that "the boys from Lubbock" could understand.

The Bushes don't give a great reflection of the city. They -- inadvertently, maybe -- peg Lubbock as a place where downhome folks sit on porches, drink heavily sweetened tea, swat flies and make vague remarks over the state of the world as they hear it coming over the wireless.

Noonan's remarks are different. Lubbock becomes the cliff that you daren't jump over if you're a conservative politician. I can hear the dismissals now (Lubbockites automatically tense any time they get national attention) about how we're a bunch of racist meth-adled simple folk with family trees that don't fork.

But I think Noonan's hit something here: If conservatives hack off this crowd, there's no where else for them to go.

Spooky baby

In this one, the ghost of Sam haunts his parents for an unjustified nap time.

(He's standing up in his crib, by the way. That's actually the reason I shot this.)

A new post

I haven't been writing much lately for a lot of reasons. Mainly it has to do with me doing the once-a-decade-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life survey and trying to come up with one or two answers.

Hence, I've cocooned myself off so that I could focus on a couple of things. Soon I'll emerge, again, as the most kick-ass butterfly ever.

There's a lot of stuff going on that I've thought about posting on, and I'm doing a disservice to myself by not sitting me butt down and pounding it out. I'll get back to it soon.

Meanwhile, here's something moderately interesting from the Wall Street Journal -- a critique of a book that examines the writer's quest for status:

For scholarly authors who want to flaunt their erudition and thereby make a status claim, Mr. Zaid offers Noel Coward's deflating remark: "Having to read a footnote resembles having to go downstairs to answer the door while in the midst of making love." And Mr. Zaid has a fine eye for authors who value media attention more than the work that inspired it: "What matters isn't the poem," he observes, "but to appear on television as a poet."

Mr. Zaid's goal is to capture the variety of anxieties that beset literary fame-seekers, and he does so with a mocking cleverness. A serious theme, though, runs through his book – that with the possible exception of a few agonized painters and musicians, no one can quite touch the exquisite torment of the literary artist as he faces the hazards of fate. And yet reading Mr. Zaid's account, one can't help noticing a resemblance to another social figure: the businessman.

Sick, disgusting, twisted and a nice lawn

A random thought brought on by a sad event:

I've followed the Warren Jeff's cult thing (Fundamental Church of Latter Day Saints) with interest for a few years now.

I heard about the compound in Eldorado fairly soon after it started, thanks to the fact that I was in the town reporting on a random story and the guy I was interviewing happened to mention a compound with "these fundamentalist mormons" going up outside of town.

It sounded foreboding, and the last couple of weeks we've all come to know how.

One of the things that struck me was the area photo of the temple (with the "nuptial" rooms).

Dang, that's a green lawn for being out in the middle of nowhere near desert-like San Angelo. And we're in the middle of April. I can only imagine the thousands of gallons of water and hours of labor they had to pour on that sucker to get it to look like that, tho I can imagine it pretty well.

It brought to mind a story my brother told me while I was working in his lawn-care business. A friend of his in the same line of work had won a huge, $50,000-a-year-plus contract to tend the grounds of one of the mormon places of worship in Lubbock.

A contract like that will keep a man set for the year. But he soon regretted taking the job, because the mormon folks who ran the place were never happy with anything -- the lawn had to be immaculate to the point of other-worldliness, and trying to meet their needs had him running in circles.

To point out to the easily offended, I don't think that the modern Church of LDS has anything to do with the cult, other than the fact that they developed from the same group that moved into Utah back in the 1800s.

The random thought: I wonder if that culture spawned a rather strong obsession with lawns. The pioneers in Utah were able to survive only through massive and collective irrigation efforts to bring water to their farms. Maybe that somehow transformed to an immaculate lawn being "Godly."

No idea, just curious.

Sci-fi delicious

Just saw this:

Fox has given the green light to "Virtuality," a two-hour back-door pilot from "Battlestar Galactica" mastermind Ronald D. Moore.
The sci-fi project, from Universal Media Studios and producers Gail Berman and Lloyd Braun, is set aboard the Phaeton, Earth's first starship. It revolves around its crew of 12 astronauts on a 10-year journey to explore a distant solar system. To help them endure the long trip and keep their minds occupied, NASA has equipped the ship with advanced virtual-reality modules, allowing the crew members to assume adventurous identities and go to any place they want. The plan works flawlessly until a mysterious "bug" is found in the system.
"It's very much about what's fantasy and what's reality; what we do to escape our lives and what actually institutes our lives; are these things very different," UMS president Katherine Pope said.

Mmmmm ...

This should be good, but I need to put the should in italics. Moore might be burnt out, and Fox killed "Firefly" for no good reason.

I'm one of many who were never too keen on the holodeck in the Star Trek series. It offered too many easy outs for too many problems, and they never addressed the problem of exactly what happens to humanity when physical holograms are finally created.

I'm currently in the camp that says we're doomed. Your typical human has to decide between being in a fake world were he can do whatever he wants all the time or being in the real world and getting the typical weggie that reality gives every day. We don't stand a chance.

Hat tip: NRO

At the botanical garden

In Fort Worth, where the family spent part of Sunday.


We have a few pictures. It's required. Everybody -- brides, prom girls, new engagees, families with horribly ugly children -- were taking pictures of themselves at the Forth Worth Botanical Garden.


Sam now has a new way of getting around. I'm kinda excited by this, because it means I can stay in backpacking shape. After the boy gains about 10 more pounds.

About Hulu

It's been out there for a bit, but wanted to pass on a recommendation for Hulu.com.

Besides sports, I watch almost no TV nowadays. But I have watched a lot of stuff on-line.

I was going to TV network sites and watching a few shows, but the quality tended to suck. "Jericho" on CBS comes to mind. I got tired of watching the episodes because I got sick of a pause every six seconds.

Hulu.com is what you'd prefer these sites to do. It's obvious the networks don't take on-line programming seriously because they haven't invested the capital to make a smoothe-running system. The programs at Hulu run without a pause and the offerings are increasing daily. It's a combination of new and old, and they also have a few movies. It's all free -- you just have to watch a short commercial every 15 minutes or so.

I am not being paid to do this. Thanks.

Also, NBC's cancelation of "Journeyman" is a freakin' crime. Thanks again.

From Hell -- what makes a truly awful film

A guardian critic reviews the latest Paris Hilton film.

Actually, he doesn't review the film. Why bother, when you can instead write a lengthy meditation on some of the worst garbage Hollywood and other filmmakers have produced throughout the decades?

"A generically appalling film like The Hottie and the Nottie is a scab that looks revolting while it is freshly coagulated; but once it festers, hardens and falls off the skin, it leaves no scar. By contrast, a truly bad movie, a bad movie for the ages, a bad movie made on an epic, lavish scale, is the cultural equivalent of leprosy: you can't stand looking at it, but at the same time you can't take your eyes off it. You are horrified by it, repelled by it, yet you are simultaneously mesmerised by its enticing hideousness. A monstrously bad movie is like the Medusa: those who gaze on its hideous countenance are doomed, but who can resist taking a gander?"

Bug people

Folks always made fun of Tom Delay’s background as an exterminator. I’m beginning to see how the experience made excellent congressional training.

Last year, we hired an exterminator, after the bug problem in my house got under the skin of my very lovely and granola wife. The man came out, talked to us about his company’s "vision" for half an hour, and tried to sign us up for seasonal treatments at $200 a pop. We said we’d think about it (we were thinking, "Hell no") and he eventually sprayed and left.

Two months later, the bug company began leaving messages on our phone, saying it was time for a treatment. Three weeks after that, an exterminator showed up unannounced at our door, asking if he could spray the insides.

"Ah, no."

How ‘bout a perimeter treatment?

"No thanks."

He left, and about 20 minutes later, we had a rather testy message on the answering machine (we never answer) from the bug people. But at least that was the last we heard of them.

Last month, the termites came. They haven’t swarmed, but they’ve deposited little brown mounds on a spot on the high wall over the kitchen.

And so the estimate process began again. We’ve had two people over so far, will have two more tomorrow.

The first guy was pretty laid back, and was in and out in about 30 minutes.

The next guy was from Terminix. He came in, talked about his vision for what the house needed, and refused to give a price. Then he spent about an hour going through and around the house, going so far as to pull out some metal-detector looking doohickey with which he went over the walls -- a grim expression plastered on his face the entire time.

Then he came back in and started to give his sales presentation to Meredith*. The presentation includes a 10-minute video, which talks about Terminix’s dedication to the customer and features some really disgusting photos of termites.

Then, he gives his first price: $110 a month for the next two years for complete coverage. (The first guy just had a one-time cost of $700.)

There is sticker shock. How about a one-time treatment?

"$900."

Still too high.

"We have a coupon out there right now, I think. That'd make it $800."

Umm ...

"Perhaps $650?"

I hear, "What can I do for us to begin treatment today?" He even calls the manager, who tells him to tell us to get bent.

Finally, three hours after he first arrived in the house, he leaves.

I have distant memories from the growing up years of the exterminator.

A man came by our house in an unmarked white van and sprayed around, after which point, mom paid him. And that was about it.

I’m left wondering if Mom was lucky enough to know someone, or if the trend to the hard-sell-packages-that-nobody-needs is new to the business of bug killing.

I don't know. I just wish Dale Dribble had a blog.

* I left Meredith alone for two reasons. Salesmen love to play couples off on each other. And I didn't want to sit through it. I would have had more sympathy for Meredith had she not let the man in the house before I put my pants on.

There's gold in them thar trees

Shopping at Kroger, noticed the price of pecans:

$8 for 16 ozs.

I'm going to retire to Hico and pick the pecan trees for the rest of my life.

Once again -- So long, sukas.

Axl Rose: A tool who could be a Pepper, too

Huh ...

"Many have tried, but so far nobody has been able to pry the decade-in-the-works Guns N' Roses album "Chinese Democracy" from the hands of lone remaining original member Axl Rose.

"Now, Dr Pepper thinks it's up to the challenge. The soft drink company says it will give a free can of Dr Pepper to "everyone in America" (excluding ex-GNR members Slash and Buckethead) if "Chinese Democracy" arrives anytime during the calendar year 2008."

FromBillboard.com

I mainly remember Guns N' Roses for "Welcome to the Jungle", the prefered song to play in the Monterey locker room before football games in the late '80s. We'd listen to the anarchic tempos and Slash's building riffs, and then we'd go out and lose. Again.

It serves as proof that there is no music out there that makes you tougher. We could have just spent the time listening to the B-52's "Roam". Would've been in a better mood when Coach Brown spent half an hour at midfield after the game telling us how we sucked. Again.

It's the water. And maybe the meth.

I'm happy to defend Lubbock, but sometimes you just got to take the bad with the good:

LUBBOCK (AP) -- If you're looking for cavity-free pearly whites, search anywhere but Lubbock. A new study in next month's Men's Health magazine says this West Texas city has the worst teeth of the 100 large U.S. cities examined. El Paso (No. 95), San Antonio (89) and Dallas (87) weren't far ahead. The magazine said the best teeth could be found in Madison, Wis.; Nashville, Tenn.; and Raleigh, N.C.

Lubbock lives mainly on well water, which has more salt and flouride than lake water. Too much flouride will stain your teeth (but still protect against cavities). That, and I've met plenty of people from the area who see the British as a shining example of dentistry.

Hat tip: Scott

Easter vacation

Finally.

I haven't spent any significant time in Lubbock for four years. So, after giving my wife a serious guilt trip when we couldn't make it back for Christmas, I wrangled a promise that we'd go to my hometown for Easter.

That's what we've been doing for the last five days. I don't like to maintain radio silence here for so long. I wanted to blog in Lubbock, but Mom's computer decided to die -- and to not get into te Easter spirit and come back.

Anyway. No real stories to tell. It was a family vacation with no disasters. I noticed that I started off taking a lot of pictures, and then got bored. So, here's a few shots of the Lubbock trip.

Seymour road and buildings and plant life.

We stayed off the Interstates for the trip and took Route 114 instead, one of the great West Texas roads. Great because you go through Seymour, which has a Subway.

And great because you drive by some legendary Texas ranches. Route 114 goes through Guthrie, which is basically the town of the Four 6's ranch.

This week's saddle soap: Wildflower jubilee!

We stopped in Guthrie for a Coke and Feed Sam break. The town has one service station, est. 1939. I got a big kick out of a recent expansion project, which added some room in the back, plywood serving as the walls.

Meredith noticed they used whiskey and coke bottles and coffee cans to fill in the gaps on the rock wall.

Sam cried about the last hour of the trip. We got in about 4:30 and spent the rest of the day talking to my brothers and sister and letting Sam play with everyone.

The trip did a world of good for Sam. Being around all those people seemed to switch on a light for him and his personality bubbled up.

Prairie Dog Town

No one can say they've experienced Lubbock without a visit to Prairie Dog Town. It's our version on whatever cheesy thing every one else takes everyone to see when they have visitors. While we were there, an Indian (of India) family arrived -- one girl was dressed in full traditional Indian garb, and they proceeded to take many pictures of her with the prairie dogs.

Meredith and Sam, and vital history.
We saw some other stuff that day: The wineries, Texas Tech, but see above statement about taking pictures.

Baseball and George

The next day, Sam got to see his first Texas Tech sporting event. The Raiders of Red fell 3-4 after a pretty good effort against a Longhorn team that had many more grande hombres.

Sam with Grandad and mom.

And, for those who either worked at the Avalanche-Journal or lived in West Hall, yes, that's George Watson just above Meredith's head.

I keep forgetting that he has a beard and didn't recognize him until he got on the field for post-game interviews.

So we had a good trip. Kept reminding myself on the way home that we needed to do this again soon. Sometime. Within the foreseeable future. Who knows.

The broken-legged cat says goodbye.

The simple joys of launching cars into the air and shooting them

I know what to do when the Saturn finally gives out ...


http://view.break.com/175421 - Watch more free videos

Thanks to Tom.

Holy killer sting ray!

Killer sting ray!

"A woman from the Thumb was killed today when a large sting ray leaped from the water off the Florida Keys and struck her while she was with her family on a fishing boat."

I don't know. Condolences to the family, but I can think of many far less interesting ways to go, when it comes down to it.

*And I'd like to post more today, but this computer I'm on right now is so slow it took me 90 minutes just to do this.

Baby pictures pro quo

I'm happy to post the latest of Sam, so long as Mom manages to get hold of the baseball tickets.

Sam update: He's good.

More inclusive Sam update: He's been up on all fours for about two weeks now. He hasn't yet mastered the idea of moving-arms-and-legs-at-the-same-time, but he's getting there -- which we sort of dread because we're now in a race to child-proof the house. He's starting to eat solid foods and enjoys blowing bubbles, two abilities that don't mix well. Otherwise, if you've read any of the headlines from the area lately, you'll agree that me and Meredith qualify for Dallas/Fort Worth parents of the year.

Sam and a recently awakened Dad share a moment of togetherness
and a mutual attempt to avoid throwing up.

He's got the smiling part down pretty well.

He moves right now through a combination of rolling and getting up on all fours and then falling in the direction he wants to go. It's not terribly efficient, but it keeps him busy.

Memories of being 12 and awkward

This link allows you to play all Nintendo eight-bit games on your browser.

At least it's supposed to. My computer wouldn't make it go.

Itsnow

I filled the bird feeder this morning. The yard was full of birds, and the little peckers looked hungry. They definitely dug in.

And few hours later:

And still later:

This is the most I've seen it snow in the Metroplex since at least my college days. All I've wanted to do for the past six hours is nap.

Kansas City begins to bug

Oh Good Lord. In a post on barbecue regionalism that asks why can’t we all get along, I noticed this comment from a “Mike Drips”:

"I grew up in Kansas City, barbeque capital of the universe. It is truly sad to see so many people think and believe that they have eaten barbeque, when the truth is that if one has not eaten BBQ in Kansas City, then you're just kidding yourself if you think you have eaten BBQ. The only two BBQ restaurants in the greater Kansas City area that are true pure BBQ, are Gate and Bryant's. The latter is where President Truman went for BBQ. The other BBQ restaurants such as KC Masterpiece are adequate but more in line with standard dreadful restaurant BBQ that one can find anywhere. Granted, NC and TN have some claim to almost serving BBQ, but they don't reach the high standard of KC BBQ. Texans in their usual way, think that they too should be mentioned as a BBQ mecca while in fact, their BBQ is no better than what one would find in a Denny's restaurant in North Dakota."

Thing is, I’ve always wanted to go to North Carolina, Memphis, etc., to try the barbecue, which I’m sure would be great. I’d even enjoy it in KC, so long as I didn’t have to look at their women while eating. But it is senseless beyond the pale to denigrate what a Stubbs or a Harolds could do with brisket, ribs and sausage.

I’ve known three or four Kansas City people, and they are always ready to talk trash about how great the Chiefs are and how good the barbecue is. Well, we all know how good the Chiefs are ...

RiffTrax good

Oops: Hat tip to Rex 2.o, who pointed out the site a long time ago.

I keep telling the Mystery Science Theater 3000 fans I know about RiffTrax, then always forget to send them the link.

To describe it: The cast from MST3K -- Mike, Crow, Servo -- have reformed as a web service. You download a soundtrack to play along with the movie they’re making fun of.

Originally, the riff consisted only of audio, which would slowly go off track 4-5 times during the movie and you’d have to re-sync things. They’ve since improved their product and now have a DVD player you can download that will automatically sync-up to the movie soundtrack.

The great thing is that they no longer have to worry about copyright issues, so they can make fun of any movie out there. They've also had some guest riffers on, most recently Weird Al Yankovic.

So far I’ve watched Raiders of the Lost Ark, a couple of the Star Wars riffs, and Road House. All of them had me laughing until I wept. It’s worth a look for anyone who liked the old series on Comedy Central.

Anyway, I thought of posting this after they put some riffs of campaign commercials on YouTube. They're good, but the movie riffs have the most funny.

The actual site.

The blog with the commercials.

And a couple of samples below.

Behold the ToddCam

That's right, a buddy of mine has set up an internet cam for his work area in the garage.

I think. When I checked this morning it was pointed at the snow in his backyard.

Anyway, I have yet to actually make a Todd sighting, but I have seen the garage door open and shut a couple of times. So I know he's not dead.

Backpacking the Bend

I took a backpacking trip to Big Bend over the weekend. Like a moron, I forgot my camera, so here's a few shots I found on Google Images.

I went with buddies Jeremy and Clark. We left Thursday night. We were planning on getting a hotel room close to the park and starting off on a two-night trek the next day.

• Travel tip: Book your motel room in West Texas about six months in advance. $3-gallon-gasoline has set off another oil boom in the Permian Basin and trans-Pecos area, and every freakin' hotel was filled with workers. The parking lots are filled with work trucks. The lobbies are filled with surly clerks who don't even bother answering the phone after 2 a.m.

There were no rooms in Odessa or Monahans. We finally gave up at about 3:30 a.m. and found a dark place to park the car at a Fort Stockton truck stop. After six hours of using my luggage as a pillow, we stiffly drove to IHOP for breakfast and made our way to Big Bend.

And there's not too much to tell after that. Clark fell ill. Me and Jeremy could only wonder at the toughness it took for him to climb about 1,600 feet with 40 pounds on his back, but once there, and after a night of rest that didn't cure him, there wasn't much else we could do. We walked back out and went home after one night.

Still, it was enough to at least remind me of why I take these trips when I can -- walking up into the Chisos Mountains, taking in the smell of dust, sage, pine and heat-blasted rock, and pushing into one of the most remote places in the United States.

The downside would be learning how out-of-shape you are. Really, when we realized that we'd have to leave early, the main thing that came to my mind was that I was already tired, sore and filthy and wouldn't mind a shower all that much. My calves are still screaming in pain.

Washington Post on dumb women

The column I posted about below has raised the danders of many.

The Washington Post editor apparently explained it today as being tongue-in-cheek and to be taken as a joke. (Via Politico.)

Pomfret said that being an opinion article, he’s not surprised readers reacted to it strongly. But added: “Perhaps it wasn’t packaged well enough to make it clear that it was tongue-in-cheek.”
Even if intended as a joke, the Allen piece clearly isn't the best way for the Post to
achieve its goal of bringing in more women readers, and it remains to be seen if the fallout continues today.
“It’s not the first time in opinion journalism that something has fallen flat,” Pomfret said.

I dunno. I thought it was tongue-in-cheek, my wife thought it was satire -- bad satire. I guess I'm happy I'm not someone who could read something like that and think someone -- at the Post, for crying out loud -- was making a serious argument as to the inferiority of women, thereby getting my own dander up.

Of women and The Cougar

Wow.

Writer Charlotte Allen (not familiar with) pens a scathing column in the Washington Post on the stupidity of women.

No man could write something like this and expect to keep his job as Harvard University president:

What is it about us women? Why do we always fall for the hysterical, the superficial and the gooily sentimental? Take a look at the New York Times bestseller list. At the top of the paperback nonfiction chart and pitched to an exclusively female readership is Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love." Here's the book's autobiographical plot: Gilbert gets bored with her perfectly okay husband, so she has an affair behind his back. Then, when that doesn't pan out, she goes to Italy and gains 23 pounds forking pasta so she has to buy a whole new wardrobe, goes to India to meditate (that's the snooze part), and finally, at an Indonesian beach, finds fulfillment by -- get this -- picking up a Latin lover!

Even worse, she takes down Grey's Anatomy.

I think I speak for all married men when I say, "Of course I don't think women are dumber than men. Honey?"

Tho the column was funny to read. Allen briefly touches on the stupidity in men, namely the naturally induced stupidity, which has a reasonable source, and the "catastrophic stupidity."

That's the balancing part that allowed the piece to get by editors, I assume.

Most men are aware of their potential catastrophic stupidity. Most men -- except maybe the ever-so-earnest president of the coolest frat on campus back when you were in college.

...

Driving back from Big Bend Saturday on Interstate 20, I couldn't help but think of one of my episodes of catastrophic stupidity, which I now call The Cougar Incident.

With apologies to those who were expecting something completely different.

In 1999, the car I had was totalled after a collision with a drunk (uninsured, of course).

I was in some decent money at the time. So I went to the car lot, checked out some of the used vehicles, and ended up in the new section staring at the just-redesigned cougars. Love was in the air.

The stupidity reached its zenith about a year later: I was in my red, V-6 Cougar on I-20, going about 100 mph. I had no radar detector, but I did have about 10 cars following in my wake. It was dark, and I wasn't driving with my headlights so much as using the force. Every 10 minutes the pressure would get to me and I'd slow down to 90 and scream "AAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Then I'd push it back to 100. I once made the Dallas-to-Lubbock run in four hours.

After one year of ownership, I had three speeding tickets and a monthly insurance bill of $225.

I loaned the car to a guy who had some issues with medicines* of questionable legality, and in one day he managed to fire off the air bag and crack the windshield -- $2,000 of damage that I had to pay for.

I fought like a moron to hold on to that car, but I finally had to sell. By the time I handed the keys over, I was commuting from Hico to my job in Abilene because free was the only place I could afford. Didn't get completely out of debt until I got married.

Oh, the stupidity.

God I miss that car.

UPDATE: My wife, who is not terribly fond of the Post piece, says that the entire thing is satire, written so as to fold in on itself and eliminate its reason for being written. I'm thinking it's more tongue-in-cheek grousing that doesn't have to follow its own logic. We also had a strong disagreement on "zenith" vs. "nadir", which I lost. That is all.

*Tip: Don't do that.

Will be back next week

Need recovery time after this.

Dogs are awesome

No shame, but this story had me choking up:

Dennis thought he had seen the last of the dog days later when his squad headed back to its command post some 65 miles away. He couldn't take the dog with him and watched as it tried to follow the Humvees away from the border.

Two days later, while Dennis and a comrade were working on a Humvee, he looked up and saw the dog staring at him.

"Somehow that crazy damned dog tracked us," he wrote Jan. 9.

They say there are no athiests in foxholes. And no soldier ever brought back any damn cat from Iraq.

Just sayin'.

Story found on Ace.

Familiar name from the New York Times

In an article about Texas women and the Democratic primary*:

“While all those redneck bubba cowboys were driving the cattle, the women were running the ranches,” said Terri Burke, a longtime Abilene newspaper editor who was recently named executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Texas.

My eyebrows went up at "redneck bubba cowboys," but I'm sure the statement was made tongue-in-cheek.

Burke was hired at the Abilene Reporter-News all of two weeks after I got there.

I now know two people who have been quoted in the big two** of American newspapers: Burke in the Times and T. Wilson in the Washington Post (on being an unemployed computer guy in Texas). This means nothing, other than the fact I'm getting old.

UPDATE: My wife was not happy with my description of the story below, feeling that I neglected to note that the story did detail some of the proud history of the politically active women in the state's history, which tends to get a short shrift nationally, as everyone on the east coast thinks of us as bubba rednecks. OK.

*The point of the story: Texas women are aware of the Democratic primary. They may vote for Obama, on the other hand, they may vote for Clinton. Or maybe not.

** Also known as the "Big Three" when you include the Wall Street Journal.

Obama ad sighting

I imagine everyone else, at least everyone else who watches more TV than I do, has see many.

But there it was for me, on Saturday, as I watched the Raiders of Red keep up their losing ways to Oklahoma.

"Something somethhing Obama, something something something Obama, and I approve this message."

The first primary campaign ad. For the coupla readers I have from out of state -- we don't get many nationalized campaign ads around here. I can't even remember the last time I saw a Presidential campaign ad. Our primary is too late, usually, to make a difference, and the parties don't even bother putting up a fight here in November.

We tend to save our campaign stupidity for the statewide elections.

And it gets pretty stupid. I still recall Tony Sanchez's run in 2004, where I knew nothing about his politics, only that he thought he could win by showing a video recording of Rick Perry trying to weasel his way out of a speeding ticket. And he showed that ad about 898,567 times per channel.

Perry: Can't you just let us get back on down the road?
Cue dark music.
Announcer: Rick Perry, why don't we just let HIM get back on down the road?

Good God. That'll be running around in my head until death for no good reason. I was worried, that, if Sanchez won, it'd be the theme of his governance.

• Our campaign is back on the road ... and crossing the finish line ... with the most speed!
• Let's put teenage pregnancy back on down the road!
• Let's put roadway litter back on down the road!
• Senate Bill 19, subset 55, regarding the taxation of natural resources under the management of non-native third party interests, can get back on the road.

I'd usually bemoan the fact that we're in for a short burst of this nonsense, but I'm kind of looking forward to it. We haven't seen two top national political campaigns desperate for votes go after each other like Rocky and the Russian for a long time. This should be kind of fun.

And it's good for newspapers, which might actually see some new ad revenue for once.

Ha!

Another entry in the vein of posting-something-so-I-don't-have-to-write-some-of-the-stuff-I'm-thinking-about-right-now-because-I'm-not-in-the-mood. That vein. I could go for a Coke.

Something for the weekend

Got this while visiting my usual political haunts. I don't think it's political. But I could be wrong.

Smoke on the water. In the land of the rising sun.



I like the sound, tho the singing parts tend to raise my Spock eyebrow.

It's fun to see big editors blast each other

Kind of like watching two battleships go at it from a row boat's vantage point.

Anyway: The link shows how the state editor at the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette decided not to go quietly, dropping along a few f-bombs, sexism complaints and so on in her goodbye note, which is then answered by another editor, who blows her off.

I've visited the Democrat-Gazette a couple of times, but the only thing I remember about it was that it seemed to be a lively place.

Tri-weekly baby picture update

A couple of shots from Sam, who has entered the overalls and rides-in-the-stroller-without-the-baby-seat phase. And has a serious side.

A-J sports editor leaving

Huh. Just heard that Lubbock Avalanche-Journal sports editor Patrick Gonzales has accepted a position as assistant sports editor in Detroit.

Patrick's a good guy. I crashed on his couch a few times in Abilene when I was having heating issues with my house.

Can't find an announcement anywhere. Best of of luck to him.

Neat-o

The reason Stradivariusesses are the best violins.

Quick links

Going around the internet this morning:

Weird stuff about your favorite toys. This is great info to have at a party after everyone's had two beers and starts talking about their childhood.

The Bible, as done by Lego. Several hundred illustrations. Handy as a Cliff Notes for Sunday school.

Texas Monthly: Of Lajitas and the steak whisperer

It's fun to nitpick Texas Monthly: It attempts to mix the fashion consciousness of Vanity Fair with the Texnicity of your cowhand grandpa, often with some weird results.

But two articles in the December edition are definitely worth reading.

One details the rise and fall of the big time resort at Lajitas, as envisioned by big rich guy Steve Smith. Smith made his fortune in Austin, bought Lajitas on a whim, then decided to make a destination spot for the rich and famous. Not that anyone famous ever showed up to pay $33 for a breakfast of coffee, orange juice, fruit and Special K.

The story goes into the amazing stupidity of the entire project on many levels: People not understanding that a brutal desert may not be the best place for championship golf course, resort executives dumb enough to insult a waitress' honor in close-knit Terlingua, turning the local convenience store and gathering place into a knick-knack shop with a coffee bar.

Definitely a good read. The Lajitas story hits a nerve with people. I'll even occasionally get a hit on the post I wrote after hearing of the resort's bankruptcy last year.

Also of interest: Steak.

The magazine lists the best (?) Texas steak restaurants.*

I don't have much of dog in this fight (I wonder how long we'll be able to say that?). Steak is expensive, and I'm happy to eat it once a month off of the Foreman grill, tho I am starting to experiment with marinades.

Still, it's pleasant to see that the Perini Ranch in Buffalo Gap was named No. 3, after a couple of metropolitan-type restaurants I have no interest in going to.

Perini's is easily my favorite steak place: It's basically just a bunch of buildings on an old family ranch converted into a restaurant. The recipes are highly original, yet familiar, and the service is friendly. They aren't putting on airs just because Robert Duvall stops by every chance he gets.

And the story even mentions the Hico Steak Cookoff, via a list of tips from a two-time champion who claims the steak "talks" to him.

*TM does a good job of showing our priorities. The steak article got the cover, the story on the best schools in the state got a small stamp on the cover.

Beware the attic

While checking our attic recently for dead rats, I came across a mostly empty cardboard box that contained a couple of plastic jack-o'-lanterns and this:

My wife was scared of what I might write here, but I have just a few thoughts:

• You'd think, when moving, that packing ALL your S&M gear would be a priority.
• The peacock feathers on the crotch of the leather-thong jockstrap -- nice touch.
• Some of you may be slightly titillated. All I can think about? The people in this house before us consisted of two middle-aged chunky dudes who kept about 15 cats.
• At least I don't have to worry about my Halloween costume this year.

Good Knight, night

The news that Bobby Knight was resigning made me want to talk to someone, and I had ESPN on all day at work. It's interesting -- I got a call from a friend who had just seen the story at the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal web site, before anyone else had it. It was interesting to watch it blow up.

I thought I would have something lengthy to say about Knight, but I don't. He did good things for Tech, he's a complex guy who scares the hell out of most of the people he comes across. I'm sad. I listened to Knight being lionized, I listened to the usual scorn heaped upon Texas Tech.

But all of these things had been covered by ESPN and sports radio by the time I got home*. Even the headline for this post has probably been used 800,000 times in the last 30 years. So, no reason to join this conversation.

It's over. Good luck to Pat.

*Actually, one thing I didn't hear discussed was how much his personna, or the perception of it, was influenced by the movie "Patton." It's obvious that the character Scott created, not necessarily the actual Patton, was the basis for the way the public interpreted "The General." I think.

Super

To be honest, I was surprised by the outcome of the game. I, like every other person, thought the Pats would win. I thought, and think, that all the sports pundits picking the Giants had more to do with them wanting to see New England go down.

But I don't see it as the greatest shocker ever. New England had limped through the playoffs. The Giants were on a roll and just kept getting better. I was thinking close game going in.

And the game was boring until the final 10 minutes. Then it was pretty good. At Scott's mighty Super Bowl party, it was funny. Everyone talked during the game, then got quiet to watch the commercials.

My favorite was the one with the animals screaming.

And, for a nice little cap on the season. The video below wasn't posted originally because I thought everyone had already seen it. Just in case you haven't, it was the funniest thing I saw last month. Go Raiders.

Salty subtitle warning.

Roll on

Sam first figured out, sort of, how to roll more than a month ago. We encouraged him to do it more than the two times that he did, but he didn't seem interested, and one of the 937 books that Meredith has read on child rearing said it was OK -- if he was't interested you don't have to worry about it.

But, at his four-month checkup, our doctor advised that we go ahead and work on it. And a couple of days later:

Here's Sam on the floor. Here's Sam, deciding he wants to check out his copy of Baby's Ivanhoe.
And swing the arm around ...

And you have it.
He seems to have it down pretty well -- roll, grab toy, puke on toy, scream. Rolling is now his favorite thing to do, followed by eating and screaming. And he really loves to scream.

The only problem is that we now have to worry about this: