I don't get SpongeBob

Norah recently discovered SpongeBob SquarePants, and she digs it a lot. Not to the point of obsession, but she still likes it. So I've been watching with her, mainly because I've been sitting in the same room. I know that a while back, SpongeBob was a bit hit with adults as well as kids (my brother-in-law, as far as I know, still likes it), but I just don't get it. SpongeBob is, in a word, annoying. In two words: REALLY ANNOYING. I mean, it's mildly amusing, but I can't imagine anyone over the age of 10 enjoying it for more than five minutes. After about five minutes I just get sick of it. It's not really that hilarious. I'd like to say that its popularity among older people is due to the fact that they watch while they're, you know, enjoying some natural consciousness-altering substances, but my brother-in-law certainly doesn't do that, so that can't be all of it. Can it?

Can someone explain it to me? I just don't get it. Frankly, Disney's Phineas and Ferb is much, MUCH better thant SpongeBob SquarePants, at least for adults. I think it's better for kids, too, but Norah digs the absorbant, yellow, and porous dude. There's just no accounting for taste!

I've been meaning to write about racism, but I've been too scared

I'm not racist. Not even a little bit. I reject Avenue Q's song "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist" completely (and, even though I haven't seen the show, I know that's satirical, but still). I'm not racist.

How can I, a middle-class white man, make that statement? I mean, I must be, as the song says, a little bit racist, right? I must harbor some resentment toward people who aren't white people, right? I'm deluding myself, right?

Well, I don't think so. I know that some people are racist, and I know I'm not perfect, but racism just isn't a part of my mental or emotional makeup. I'm not even trying to be "politically correct" and say that I'm careful never to offend people while I'm really masking my racism. I still use the term "black" more often than "African-American," and if that makes me racist, then I guess I am. But that seems silly. Everyone calls me white and not Polish-Lithuanian-German-Scotch/Irish American, and that's fine. Maybe that makes those people racist, too.

I don't know why I'm not racist. My parents don't act like racists, but they're more prejudicial than I am, and I call them on it all the time. They don't go around burning crosses, but they do make generalization based on race, and I always have to point out how silly they sound when they say it. My father is worse than my mother, but they both do it. I don't think of them as racist, but I suppose some people would. The point is: When I was growing up, they never made those statements around me (my parents, to their credit, understood that adults don't really need to discuss absolutely everything with their impressionable children, so I never knew much about my parents' political beliefs, for instance, until I was much older, because when I was 12, it wasn't any of my goddamned business), and they never did anything that was racist. It was never an issue for us. I didn't know many people of different races, because Bucks County in the 1980s was mostly white, but when I did encounter people of different races (mostly Asians, if I remember correctly), I didn't really think anything of it. They were just kids. Of course, some of the stereotypes applied, but not to the point where I could say "Man, all those Asian kids are good at math and science!" It just wasn't an issue.

It became less of an issue as I got older, because I met more and more people and learned more and more about people. I have worked with people of other races and taught people of other races, and if I was racist before (and I doubt it), I learned that you really can't generalize about people. Why this is a stunning insight I'll never know, but it seems some people still can't make it (including, occasionally, my parents). I say I'm not racist not only because I don't discriminate against people (I'm not in any position to do so, but it's not like I would anyway), but because I never make statements (or even think statements) like "Well, all black people like fried chicken." I think that's what people say when they claim that everyone is a "little bit" racist - doesn't everyone say or think something like that at some time or another? Well, I don't. I've said things like "When I taught, I noticed that many of the Hispanic kids came from single-parent households," but if that's racist, we might as well never discuss anything ever again. That's just a statement of fact based on the kids I talked to. It's certainly not generalizing, as in, "All Hispanic kids come from single-parent households." That would be untrue and racist.

I suppose it depends on your definition of racism. Have I told racist jokes before? I sure have, when I was a kid and didn't know any better. I've also told Polish jokes even though I'm Polish, so there's that. Yes, the jokes were racist, but I also had no idea that they were racist. Nobody told me, either, I just came to the realization that they were. I don't call people "Oriental" anymore, either, because those people who were offended by it said it was dismissive, and as I read exactly what "Oriental" meant, I came to realize that while I might not consider it offensive, it's defining a group of people by what they are not, i.e. European. "Oriental" is a term that Europeans used to define something exotic, and it's outdated. I don't think it's politically correct to call someone Asian (or, better yet, by their specific nationality), but if it is, so be it. Similarly, I don't think calling someone "black" is racist, mainly because I see far too many "African-Americans" calling themselves "black." Of course, many African-Americans call themselves the "n" word, too, but I never use that because, well, it's racist. It saddens me when black people call themselves the "n" word, as well.

Again, it gets back to your definition of racism. Is it racist to look at demographics and state facts that can be gleaned from them? Is it racist to point out that Pine Ridge, the reservation in South Dakota that is famous because of the Leonard Peltier case, is the poorest place in the United States? I suppose it's racist to draw conclusions about all Indians (whoops, can I not use that term, even though many Natives use it?) from the example of Pine Ridge, but some people say we can't even draw conclusions about the residents of Pine Ridge from the example of Pine Ridge. Again, how can we ever fix the problems of minorities in this country if anyone who addresses them is shouted down with charges of racism? I know my history, and I know that the problems faced by minorities are largely "not their fault." However, at some point, someone - black or white or yellow or red - has to talk about what can be done to alleviate those problems and what everyone - not just white people, not just black people - can do to move forward. It's too easy to shout "racism" and ignore anyone who doesn't agree with you.

I write this because of many factors, but Roger's Labor Day post helped spur me on. In that post, he links to a letter from the editor in GQ magazine (yeah, I know) in which the editor writes about having a discussion about race and how the president needs to start one. This ties into Roger's larger theme about how civil discourse has become decidedly less civil, to the point where people at a town hall health care meeting heckled a woman in a wheelchair who was worried about losing her coverage. Yes, a woman in a wheelchair. Later on in the video, two interesting things occurred: One man, who was interviewed about it, said he wasn't at the meeting to listen to anyone's opinions (what, pray tell, are the town hall meetings for, then?) and another person, commenting on the story, claimed that if you're a Republican, you're evil and racist and ugly and you don't like porn. Okay, maybe not that last part, but he basically stereotyped all Republicans as hateful people, which seemed to me as bad as heckling someone at a town hall meeting who doesn't agree with you. That's why we never have frank discussions about race - because it's far too easy to shout, and if we disagree on health insurance, can you imagine the bile that will be unleashed if President Obama started a national discussion about racism?

I'm certainly not condoning racism. I know it's still far too prevalent in this country. When my parents, who are extremely tolerant people, can say things like "Well, that's just the way Hispanics are," I know that plenty of people harbor far uglier thoughts. But it's never fun, no matter how ugly your beliefs are, to be yelled at about them. If we begin a discussion about race, minorities will have to get used to the fact that there are some really, really stupid people out there - and guess what? Some of them are minorities! Yelling at racists won't change their minds; it will simply entrench their opinions more. Some people think, "Well, it's fine that I yell, because I don't want to engage racists in meaningful conversation anyway," but that seems like a silly opinion to have, especially if you want to change minds. If you want to feel morally superior to people, yelling at them is fine. But to change someone's mind, you have to understand why they feel a certain way. Most people don't want to know why someone is racist, they just want them to stop being racist. Similarly, most racists don't want to talk about it, because they think they'll get yelled at. Most racists, I would guess, are "casual" racists, like my parents, who wouldn't dream of discriminating against someone based on their race but think nothing of making generalizations based on race. So they would be appalled that someone thinks they're racist and would immediately get defensive. There's room for leeway on both sides. And, of course, it's very difficult to bring it up with anyone, because even racists are aware of the ugly history of racism. If it's your family, you might be able to bring it up (as I do with my parents, even though I never say they're racists), but it's something you just don't bring up with people, even if they're close friends, unless it gets obvious. I certainly don't blame people for never speaking of it; nobody wants to admit they make racist statements, even if they aren't aggressive racists.

I'm not sure what the solution is. I have a feeling I know why I'm not racist. Part of it is because my family was never one to put pressure on the kids to conform. We had a strong family structure (and my grandparents were racist in the way that people born in the first two decades of the twentieth century were; i.e., they were raised with certain attitudes and never gave them much thought, but they didn't go around burning crosses and lynching people, either), but it was never a case of my grandfather or father sitting me down and explaining what the world was like and if I was a real Burgas I'd think that way too. It's no revelation to say that racism is learned, and I think a lot of it has to do with parents and grandparents making a concerted effort to "indoctrinate" their children. My parents never believed in that. They raised me by example, and generally, their example was a good one (as I wrote, they rarely discussed "adult" topics with me). I learned from their actions that we should treat people as individuals, so even if they thought all Pakistanis, for instance, were raving Muslims lunatics (they didn't), I'd never know, and the only Pakistani I ever met was a wonderful man who made us dinner one night, and damn! it was tasty. Many young people learn to parrot their parents' prejudices, and by the time they start thinking for themselves, it's too late. The other reason I'm not racist, of course, is where I grew up. I grew up in a middle class neighborhood and was exposed early on to a relatively liberal lifestyle (my parents voted for Ronald Reagan, I know, but it's not like they were hardcore Republicans - they just didn't like Carter). And I went to college, where any prejudices I might have had (and I don't recall having any) were blown up fairly quickly. I just never cared about someone's label. Again, maybe early on I wasn't exposed to large groups of a certain stereotype living up to that stereotype, so I didn't get a chance to "learn" that "all" of a certain minority was lazy or drunk or angry or dumb, and by the time I met members of those minorities I was smart enough to realize that one drunk person doesn't mean everyone of that group is drunk.

One thing that seems crucial for combatting racism is thinking about our attitudes toward the world, something I do maybe even too often. Whenever I ask my parents to "prove" what they're generalizing, they sputter a retraction and we all move on. If you ask racists where they get their information, they either retreat further into name-calling or they're forced to realize they don't have accurate information. At least then they're exposed and they might be forced to re-evaluate their thoughts. Many don't, of course, but instead of yelling at them, people should ask them why they believe what they do and try to get them to admit it's all anecdotal, based on one experience they had when they were 12 years old, or it's something "their Daddy always said." People don't think enough these days, and it's frustrating. One thing I appreciate about my father is that he does a lot of research before he makes up his mind. Once he makes up his mind, his opinion tends to calcify into hard certainty even if new evidence comes to light, but at least he does research beforehand. I know that education won't solve all our problems, but it's a start.

I don't mean to be so self-congratulatory in this post, because I'm well aware of my shortcomings. Racism just isn't one of them. And I don't think I'm alone in this. I've never heard my lovely wife express any sort of racist sentiment. Beyond that, I'd like to think most of the people I've met in my life aren't given to generalizing based on race, but, like I mentioned above, it's very difficult to tell. But I do reject the idea that "everyone's a little bit racist." You might think that would make it easier to discuss racism. I think it puts people on edge and less trusting. If I ever meet Roger (although then I'd have to go to Albany, and who wants that?), I'd like to think we could meet without either of us thinking to ourselves, "Well, this guy is white/black, so he has some attitudes about things that are common to his race." That seems awfully shallow.

Or maybe I am just deluding myself. Maybe I'm a raving racist and I just don't know it. That would be weird.

"Cool kids never have the time"

As we reach Labor Day, I ought to post this, because it's about summertime, more specifically the summer of 1979. Thirty years ago, in May 1979, I moved from Liederbach, West Germany, to Warminster, Pennsylvania. My family had moved to Germany from Warminster in 1975 when my dad's company, Sperry Univac, asked him to take a job in Europe. My mother, always one to leap on a chance to travel, told him it was a great idea. Four years later we moved back. I spent one month in second grade (I turned eight in May 1979), then experienced my first summer (that I can remember) in Pennsylvania. Thirty years later, it's still the best summer I ever had.

We lived on a street (my house was here!) with a bunch of families with younger kids, so it was kind of a paradise. Behind me lived my best friends, Frank and Dave Alvaro, who are twins and are a few months younger than I am (and yes, it's the same Dave whose wedding I missed a few years ago; it became moot that I missed it last year, when he split up with his wife), but on my street we had a bunch of other kids. They were all about the same age, too - at eight, I was about in the middle of the bunch, age-wise. Down the street were the oldest kids around, and they might have been 11. Our next-door neighbors had a younger daughter who was probably six. We had about 15 kids living either on the street or on the street behind us, where Frank and Dave lived. It was kind of the perfect storm for fun, and we took advantage.

All summer we played with each other. This was, of course, in the era before hundreds of channels on television, and it was summer anyway, so nothing was on. It was also before video games went nuts, so nobody was playing those. We watched a few cartoons (I'm not sure if Star Blazers had hit the United States yet, because that was one for which Frank, David, and I stopped everything to watch), but nothing really distracted us too much from enjoying the outdoors. I had brought a giant ball back from Germany. It was about waist-high on us kids, and it was painted like a soccer ball. We decided we were going to play "Kick the Can" all day, every day. Of course, we didn't use a can. We used my giant ball.

I don't know if you've ever played "Kick the Can," but here it is: Someone is "It," and someone else kicks the ball as far as they can. We kicked it up the street, because our street was on a slight incline and kicking it down the street would have meant it would have rolled forever. Once the ball is kicked, everyone else ran and hid while the person who's "It" went and got the ball. Then the "It" person would place the ball at a set place (this was a lamp post on our front yard, because our house was centrally located) and start looking for the others. When the "It" person caught one person, he or she would escort that person back to "jail," which is where the ball is, usually. When they caught everyone, someone else would be "It." Yay!

Of course, there's a catch. At any time, a person who hasn't been caught yet can run to the ball and kick it, thereby freeing all the prisoners and making the "It" person start all over again. In our neighborhood, this was ridiculously easy, and therefore the "It" person could remain "It" for many, many hours. Why we kept playing remains a mystery. Perhaps it was the great many places to hide in our neighborhood.

We had a blast playing "Kick the Can." Back then, very few people had fences in their yards, so the kids could easily move through back yards to various hiding places (upon reflection, this may have been why some people started putting up fences, but we were kids - what did we care?). We had to make boundaries for where you could hide, too, because otherwise someone might end up on a different street altogether. For three months, we played "Kick the Can" almost every day. It really was a wonderful time, because all the kids were at an age when they still liked to play together. By the next summer, some of the kids were 12 and beginning to hang out with the older kids and didn't want to be seen with 9-year-olds. And, of course, as we got older, we didn't want to hang out with the kids who were a few years younger than we were (even though my next-door neighbor grew up to be a hottie - but that was a decade later). At night we would play "Flashlight Tag" or "Ghost in the Graveyard," two more hiding and seeking games. None of us were old enough for jobs, so we had no place to be and nothing to do except have fun. And we did.

It's very odd how this era came to an end, because it was almost poetic and something you might see in a sepia-toned movie about the loss of childhood innocence. We all went back to school in the autumn of 1979, me to third grade (where I was the first teacher who had a real positive influence on me in terms of making learning fun; before that I enjoyed school, but I didn't really think it was that important) and the others to their various grades. One day my soccer ball, which I left out at night, ended up in a neighbor's yard a few doors down, where their dog popped it somehow. I found it and wept (okay, not really, but I was kind of sad). It signaled the end of the summer, somehow, and the next summer, we didn't even try to recreate the magic from the year before. That's not to say I didn't have a wonderful time, but it wasn't the same. As I mentioned, some of the kids grew up just enough that they didn't want to hang out with us, and I also made some other friends from my school who lived near me, so Frank and Dave and I played with them. (I never stopped hanging out with Frank and Dave, who remain some of my best friends to this day. I mean, they lived behind me, for crying out loud, and were three months younger than I was. And they're awesome. What was I going to do, stop hanging out with them?) We played different games, watched more television than we should have (still not as much as some kids), and I started riding my bicycle a lot more to more distant places (not too far away, of course - I wasn't even a teenager yet) and I started reading more, going well on my way down the path to nerdiness. I had a wonderful childhood and adolescence (much better than a lot of people, I guess, as I've heard their stories over the years), but I always look back at that summer, 30 years ago, and wonder how I got so lucky to have such a golden time. I've spoken to other people who were there in the intervening years, and they agree with me, so it wasn't just me viewing it through rose-colored glasses.

I just find it strange that it was 30 years ago. The oddest thing about growing older is not the way you feel, because I still feel fairly young (and I am, I know, but I'm not as young as I used to be), but that you can remember things that happened decades ago. Not just years, whole ten-year bunches. I remember when I graduated from high school and thought about the ten years that had passed since I moved back to the U. S. and thought that was a long time. Ah, how foolish I was.

Anyway, I just thought it would be fun to share a nice memory with you. Take it as you will.

Power out(r)age!

There I was, typing a new post for this here blog at approximately 1.45 this afternoon, when the power went out. Sigh. The two darling children were very puzzled by the fact that The Emperor's New Groove suddenly disappeared from the television screen, and I wondered if it was just our house or the whole neighborhood. I waited a few minutes to see if it would come back on, then called SRP (Salt River Project), our electricity providers.

The nice lady who answered the phone told me to check my circuit breaker. As I was outside doing so, one of the people who lives across the street (we're still not sure on the living arrangements in that house) told me her power was out too. I relayed this information to the SRP representative, and I also told her flipping the main breaker did nothing to fix my problem. She told me she'd get right on it.

I put Mia in her bed (she doesn't nap anymore, but she also gets bored easily, and with no television, there wasn't much to do, so I figured she could relax a bit) and hung out with Norah for the afternoon. I thought about going in the pool, but decided against it in case Mia had a seizure or otherwise got upset for some reason. The house didn't get too, too hot right away, so it wasn't really that awful. We rarely get power outages in these parts, but when we get them in the summer, it's really, really horrible, as you can imagine.

At 3.15 I called SRP back and asked what was going on. The woman was very vague, as she couldn't really tell me if they had alerted anyone about my problem or if they had alerted someone and those people weren't fixing anything yet. By this time I had found out that the people two doors down had also lost power, another nugget I relayed to the SRP rep. She said they would get right on it.

About 20 minutes later our next-door neighbors knocked on the door and asked if our power was out. I told them yes and that I had called twice to let SRP know what was happening. The woman told me she had just gotten off the phone with "them" (I assume SRP, because they're a bit of a monopoly 'round these parts, but she never expressively said the company's name) and that they told her no one had called in. I said she was lying. Which she was. Or she was just ignorant. I don't know which is worse.

At 4.15 I called back. They had finally dispatched a team to, and I quote, "an underground mine" where the problem was. I really didn't feel like getting the entire story about what the hell she was talking about, so I just asked if they had a ballpark figure for when the power was coming back on. Yes, she said, eight p.m. I almost, but not quite, lost it. "Eight o'clock?" I said, not angrily, but more aghast. "So I'll be without power for six hours?" Yes, she said, but it was only an estimate. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to be reassuring, because in my world, when a company estimates a timeframe, you can usually automatically add at least an hour if not two to it. I told the lady such. I still wasn't angry, just exasperated (it wasn't, after all, her fault). I told her I had called in at 1.45, so I hoped they just weren't figuring this out right now, as that meant they wasted a good two hours in which they could have been working. Oh well - at least now I had an idea of when the power would be back on.

Mia's OT showed up, then Krys came home. We had already decided that we were going out to dinner, so we headed off to the mall and the Cheesecake Factory, where neither Norah nor Mia ate. Good times! We got back around 7.45, and the power still wasn't on. We put Mia to bed in the dark (well, by candlelight, but we don't have many candles). We read to Norah by flashlight (I've just about finished reading Wuthering Heights to her - man, that Heathcliff is a scumbag!). We put Norah to bed and then I called SRP back, as it was about 8.15. The estimated fix time had been amended to 10. I tried not to feel smug.

We jumped in the pool (aaaaaahhhhhhh!) and hung out for a while, and while we were in there, the power came back on. Yay! Surprisingly, our refrigerator and freezer lost very little coldness, so none of our food was ruined from the seven hour-outage. And I could post this. Man, I hate summers in Arizona. But you already knew that.

It's a good day!

Sorry I've been away. We went to San Diego last week to have a bit of a vacation, and I went to the Comic-Con (read about it here!), so I had no access to yonder Internet for a few days, and since I've been back, I've been busy. I'll try to be better now, though!

Anyway, it's a good day because today is the anniversary of our wedding. It's been 15 years! Crystal is the "gift" for 15 years, but Krys and I never get anything for each other except cute cards, so she got no crystal! I'm very proud that we've lasted for 15 years, mainly because I've seen some people I know have marriages that don't last and also because most of my friends waited until they were older, so I'm fairly proud that I was so young and knew who I wanted to spend my life with.

It's still very cool being married, and it's a wonderful feeling to know that Krys and I will always be there for each other. I just thought I'd mention what a good day it is. And promise I'll post something substantial very soon!

It Came From the Eighties!!!!! (With a Special Celebrity Cameo!)

I visited Pennsylvania this past weekend for our second annual high school reunion picnic, which this year was a bit more significant as I actually graduated 20 years ago. I went stag, as I needed some time away from the kids and it's far more expensive to buy four plane tickets than one (imagine that!). I flew out on Wednesday night and spent Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and most of Sunday in my old stomping grounds - namely, Bucks County, PA. This year I won't write about my experiences, as I did last year, mainly because the kids weren't around, so my visit mainly concerned sitting around with friends drinking (not too much, as I just can't deal with a lot of alcohol anymore, plus I was driving most places), which no one wants to hear about. At the actual picnic, I had a grand time catching up with people, some of whom I hadn't seen in 20 years and others who I see every time I go home, but they all make me feel inadequate (off the top of my head, we had a psychiatrist, at least one doctor, a woman who works for the Peace Corps in Niger, a lawyer, and a person who's working on a vaccine for staph infections at the picnic, and I'm sure I'm missing several other impressive occupations, making my day of watching television and blogging seem trivial by comparison - even if I LOVE IT!) so I'll just say to any of them who might be reading, It was great to see you, and I hope I can do it again next year.

However, while I was home, my mom told me that she had dug out some old photo albums, so of course I had to go through them. These are pictures from no later than May of 1993, when I graduated from college, and going back to probably 1986 (the only dated photograph is from July 1987, but a few look older than that). So sit back and return with me to a time when I was actually skinny. I know, it's hard to believe, but I have photographic proof! These photos star my sister, my parents, my bride-to-be, and perhaps the greatest celebrity cameo in history. I kid you not!


That's my sister, by the way.


Check out that skinny dude! That's my dad, back when he had (some) hair.


Man, I look like a total nerd. What's up with the hair and glasses? Dang. That's my aunt and uncle and my two young cousins.


This is my sister and I waiting at the airport in the summer of 1988 before our trip to Barbados. My parents took us cool places, because they're awesome.


This is when we arrived in Barbados. I have no idea where I'm going with such intensity, but I love that picture.

All right, ladies, avert your eyes before you're overcome with desire! Stud Alert!!!!

Look at those abs! Is it any wonder I was beating them off with a stick?



This is my senior prom in May 1989. That's my girlfriend, Holly. She was a pretty cool chick. We grew apart once we went off to school, but I had a nice little romance with her.


High school graduation. Look at how uncynical I am! So very, very foolish of me!


Check out those glasses! And yes, that is my Billy and the Boingers T-shirt. That's just how I rolled, man!


A dude should never match his mother. But check out those shorts! The '80s ruled.


My sister and I again.


This is July of 1987 at Ricketts Glen, Pennsylvania. The girl on the right was an exchange student who lived with us for a time. Check out my tan! And that's a Little Shop of Horrors T-shirt I'm wearing.


That's my dad in a rare moment of levity. Well, I guess it wasn't all that rare, but this is still not too common from him.


I don't know when this was taken, but it was in the Poconos, I know that much. Check out the shades!


This is kind of murky, but it still cracks me the fuck up. This is when I got all four of my wisdom teeth out and I had to have ice on both sides of my mouth for a few days. It was no fun.


This was probably junior year, but I'm not sure. This was my first girlfriend Krista. I wonder what happened to her.


I live to be goofy.


Look at that idiot. He thinks the world is his oyster. What a kook!


This would be my lovely future bride. We were in Nanticoke, PA, where my grandparents lived. This was my grandfather's funeral in the winter of 1993. It was the first time Krys met my parents. Fun!


Here I am sitting around at my grandfather's funeral. That's some stylin' hair on that dude!


This is my graduation from Penn State, meaning it's May of 1993.


That's my maternal grandmother. She was 82 at the time. She was pretty awesome.


My sister again. You might be wondering, does she ever smile?


Hell yeah she does! Barb and my mom were flying to New Orleans once and yes, Richard Simmons was on the flight with them. So they got their picture taken with him. Don't they all look happy? Richard Simmons is awesome, man.

So those are my mother's olde-tyme daguerreotypes. I hope you dug 'em!

Plugging the other blog!

If you're at all interested, I have two long posts about my vacation in Disneyland up at the other blog. Go read Part One, then have a butcher's at Part Two.

Unless, of course, you have better things to do. You don't, do you? Of course you don't!

Random thoughts about Disneyland in particular and the Los Angeles area in general

I'll delve into our holiday to SoCal over at my daughters' blog, mainly because it was a kid-oriented vacation, but I thought I'd write about some things that struck me about our week-long journey to the wilds of Cali.

1. Driving for seven hours anywhere is a chore. Driving seven hours with two small children is pretty much suicidal. Even if they're pretty good kids, as ours are. If we want to get information out of terrorists, we should put them in a mini-van with about six kids and make them drive cross-country without a portable DVD player.

2. Speaking of portable DVD players, Krys bought one before our trip even though I didn't really think it was that great an idea. We did use it, but not until late in the trip when they were really being punchy. I think that's a happy medium. I asked my mom about driving all over Europe when I was their age, and she said we were generally good. So why can't modern kids shut it?

3. It was really pleasant to drive through an urban area that had to be molded around hills and valleys and natural impediments instead of simply thrown out in grid patterns. I didn't like LA all that much, but at least it had some character, unlike this boring-ass place where I live.

4. As much as I didn't really like Los Angeles, I can see why so many people live there. Every day was overcast, but it rained only very briefly, and the temperature hovered in the 70s all the time. You could actually go out and do things, and at night, it was ridiculously pleasant.

5. Whoever came up with FastPass is a freakin' genius. For those of you who don't know, FastPass is a ticket you can get at the rides in Disneyland and California Adventure that allows you to come back at a certain time and not stand in line. It's a beautiful thing. You do have to wait until that certain time (usually between an hour and three from the time you get the ticket) to ride, but you can go do other things while you wait. I love FastPass.

6. Of course, neither park was all that crowded. The weather may have factored into this, and the fact that we were there during the week. I don't know. However, the longest wait time for a ride (the wait times are extremely mutable, but not too far off) was 60 minutes, and I only saw that twice (at Splash Mountain and Space Mountain). Usually the wait times were between 25-40 minutes, which isn't that bad. Of course, we used FastPass a lot, so it didn't matter!

7. I hate to admit this, but one of the extremely few benefits of having a person in a wheelchair in your party is that you very often get on the rides much sooner, as in immediately (they allow you to go through the exit). In fact, that and handicapped parking might be the only benefits to having a child in a wheelchair. Yeah, it doesn't make up for everything else.

8. Newport Beach is nice.

9. Man, food is expensive in Disneyland. I know that's stating the obvious, but man!

10. The worst job for a "cast member" (which is what they call those who work at the parks) besides, you know, cleaning the toilets, has to be herding the folk every night just before the fireworks display. Krys and I went back to the park on Friday night after the kids were asleep just to get away from them for a while, and we came off a ride in Tomorrowland minutes before the fireworks. We were herded around the center cul-de-sac that ends at the castle and which was packed with people toward Adventureland and Frontierland and back down Main Street, because the brick walkways were, as the cast members patiently explained, not a viewing area. We managed to duck under a rope separating us from the real viewing area and therefore had a decent view of the fireworks, but anyone trying to stop on the walkway was chided by the cast members. Apparently sometimes they actually have to get physical because people are not listening. Nothing like that happened on Friday night, but it still has to be the suckiest part of their day.

11. California Adventure closes on most nights at 9 p.m. That is, as the kids say, lame.

12. There are a lot of fat, ugly, slovenly people in this world. I know, I'm one of them, but come on! Well, I'm at least not slovenly. But when we hear about the obesity problem in the United States, it's probably because the researchers went to someplace like Disneyland. Man. I don't like to call people fat and ugly (I don't mind calling someone "slovenly," because it's not that hard to look decent), but it's true - there are a lot of them at Disneyland. And not a lot of hot chicks. What was I supposed to do with my time? Pay attention to the children?

Check the other blog for longer posts about our vacation. There will be photographs!

Yeah, so I should probably explain where I've been

My five readers want to know!

I'm a bit off the grid this week. Obviously, I have Internet access, as I'm posting this, but the family and I went off to beautiful Anaheim, California, to visit Disneyland with my parents. So we've been a bit busy, and by the time I get home at night, I'm really too tired to write anything. I wanted to post an odd picture every day that we were here, but I forgot the cord that attaches the digital camera to the computer (it's my father's PC), and the chip doesn't fit, so I can't even do that. I do have some fun pictures, however, so I'll post those when I get back.

I know I might lose even my five readers now, but I'll be back on Sunday. Have a nice (rest of the) week.

It's hard to be a Luddite these days

Today is a rather important day in the history of the universe, and my lovely wife bought me an iPod Nano with the funky adapter that allows you to listen to it in your car. Yes, I've never had an iPod before today, nor have I ever been interested in one. I bought one for Krys a few years ago, and she really digs it. One of the reasons I never wanted one is because I prefer listening to albums the way they were recorded, in the order the artist wanted. Of course, the convenience of the iPod means when I fly to Pennsylvania in June I won't have to take a bunch of CDs with me, I can just take my iPod. So there's that. But now I have to figure out how to use the furshlugginer thing.

I felt the same way about my digital camera. I never saw the need for one. Of course, now I love it, but I still think of it as cheating, because you should live with the photographs you take, man! I got over that, however, and I'm much more jazzed about the iPod, even though I still consider it cheating to listen to random songs instead of where they're supposed to be on the album. The good thing about it is finding songs on iTunes that you like but are on albums you wouldn't necessarily like. That's going to be coolio.

I still resist getting a Blackberry or any other portable Internet/phone device, mainly because I can't imagine ever being comfortable with a screen or keys that small. I'm old, man! That's probably why I will never Twitter. Twitter seems like the kind of thing people do when they're out walking around with their portable Internet, and I will never have that. I can barely tolerate my cell phone! When I'm on the computer, I'm sitting in my chair at home, and there's almost nothing to Twitter about (of course, most people have nothing to Twitter about, but at least they're out in the world interacting with others when they have their banal thoughts). That's another reason why I don't like webcomics, which seems to be the trend in comic-bookery: I like to read in bed, and I'm not lugging my laptop in there just to read something on the screen (that and I'm cantankerous and covetous of actual printed material). So I will resist getting a portable Internet device with all my might.

Now I have to start putting songs on my iPod. That should be groovy!

(And yes, this is a roundabout way of saying that today's my birthday. But you already knew that, right? Isn't it marked on your calendars in bright red pen????)

My wife thinks I'm odd

Now, this isn't news, of course, but it's why she said that I'm odd recently. Over the past few months I've been biting the inside of my lip. It's kind of a compulsion. This happens to me every once in a while - the inside of my lip becomes dryer and, well, biteable. I don't know why it happens; it doesn't seem to coincide with any kind of temperature, but it happens occasionally. When it does, I feel the need to bite my lip. I don't like to do it, but like I said, it's kind of a compulsion. It doesn't hurt at all, and it doesn't seem to cause any long-term damage to the inside of my lip. Then, last week, something happened and the inside of my lip is no longer that dry and therefore no longer biteable. In fact, I doubt if I could bite it without doing some damage. Again, I have no idea why this happens. Does my body chemistry change? Is it because of the weather? The temperature rose last week to triple digits, but then it went back down. It's still hot, but not the ridiculous heat we'll get later in the summer. Anyway, I'm not biting the inside of my lip anymore. Any ideas what happened?

This isn't a big physiological problem, but I find it interesting. I made the mistake of mentioning it to my lovely wife, who called me "odd." This is why my wife and I never speak to each other. It's best if we don't know what's going on in each others' minds.

The first day of ... spring?

I think we need to rename the seasons in the Basin of Hell here. It's been in the 90s all week, and who knows when (or if) the heat will break. So here's what I propose:

Today (21 March) begins First Summer.
21 June begins Really Super-Hot Oh My God What Kind Of Crap Is This Summer.
21 September begins Second Summer.
21 December begins Fall/Spring. "Falling"? "Sprautumn"?

That works.

You know, I lord it over people during December, January, and February, because the weather here is so darned nice compared to the rest of the country. Well, now the tables are turned! You may tell me about the cooling rain you get where you are, and the chilly sunny days with a hint of storm behind them, or those blustery partly sunny/partly cloudy days where the clouds just pile up and it seems like all the forces of nature are arrayed against the puny humans. God, I love those days.

Seriously. In the 90s. All week.

The quality of friendship

I'm not sure why I thought of this. A friend of mine just had a birthday, and two others' are coming up, so maybe that's it. Or maybe it's something else!

I don't hang out with friends very often. I moved away from Pennsylvania in 1993, leaving behind my childhood and/or college friends. I lived in Oregon for eight years, during which I made many friends, but then I moved away from there as well. Since I have lived in Arizona, I've made some more friends, but once you have children, it's far more difficult to hang out with anyone. But I still love my friends, even though I hardly ever see them. But then there's Facebook, which I don't really like but allows me to see what's up with some people I rarely see.

But what makes a friend? I have some friends with whom I have been close for decades. These are childhood friends and high school friends. Obviously, none of them live in Phoenix, so I don't see them that often. I would love to see them more often, but of course I'm probably not moving back to Pennsylvania anytime soon in this economy. Back in June, when I visited my parents, I saw some friends from high school who I hadn't seen since graduation. I loved seeing them, and I feel like we reconnected with them. Do they still count as friends? I consider them so, even if I've missed the past 20 years. Seeing them, however, made the years fall away, and it was like no time had passed. I'm sure that's not a unique sensation, but there it is. These are the people you can say absolutely anything to, because you've known them for so long and shared so much with them. I can send some of my friends an e-mail with the subject line "Have some!" and a body of "I sang with Aqueduct Pocket!" and they'll laugh and know exactly what I'm talking about. These are people that I did school projects with and made drunken videotapes with (well, I wasn't drunk, but someone may have been). They are people I will love forever.

Then, of course, there are the people I met once I left high school. Some are college friends, but I really didn't make a lot of friends in college. There's only three, actually, that I still keep in touch with, and I married one of those. I still correspond with one person I met in Australia, and I'm glad I still count her among my friends. When we moved to Portland, I met more people, and still consider many of them friends. Some of them were co-workers, but there were also people I met in conjunction with graduate school. I don't share the intimacy of a long-time friend with some of those friends, but I still think of them as dear friends. One, in particular, became friends with both Krys and I, and we miss her terribly (especially as she moved to England recently). Then, we moved to Arizona. I still have friends from when I worked, but it's been a while since I had a job, so I simply don't have as many people as I'm close to here. I consider Mia's home therapists friends, which again might sound odd, but they've been so intimately connected to our lives for so long that I don't think that's too much of a stretch. Perhaps they don't feel the same way, but that's okay.

In today's connected world, there are people on-line that, weirdly enough, I consider friends, even if we've never met. I know more about Roger, for instance, than many people I've met, because he updates his blog every day (man, I couldn't do that even when I first started blogging!) and shares a great deal about his life. I've actually met Tom and Tim and even eaten meals with both gentlemen, but I know them largely through their blogs. Are these people "friends"? Maybe they don't think so, but I think of them as such. Maybe that makes me strange. But I think of people I haven't seen in years and years as friends (the longest I've gone without seeing a friend, currently, is 17 years), so why not people I know only through the Internet?

My point is that friends appear very weirdly in life. Perhaps I consider more people friends than most and ought to think in terms of acquaintances (I have those, too). But I also love having friends. Krys has fewer than I do, and she has always said that she doesn't need as many as I do. I suppose that's true, but it's not like I need friends around me all the time, as I would think the fact that I live 2000 miles away from most of them proves. In today's world, it's even difficult to be friends with people even if you live close to them - so much takes precedent in life, and children really do take up a great deal of time. I don't know how often I'd see my friends if I lived near them - more than I do now, of course, but definitely not as often as I might expect. But that doesn't matter too much. What matters is that when I get the opportunities, I can reach out to a great many people and share my life, and they can share theirs without either of us worrying about embarrassment. I've gotten more sentimental in my dotage, but I've always been a bit that way when it comes to my friends. I love them all, and although I wish I could see them more often, I'm happy that we're still connected, even after all these years and across all these miles.

I'm not really sure what the point of this post was. Except that my friends should read my damned blog and leave comments. Sheesh, like they have lives or something!

I feel old

Today on the radio I heard that it was Rihanna's 21st birthday. Rihanna, I'm sure you know, is the singer who has been in the news recently. She was allegedly beaten up by her boyfriend, by whom she is sticking, apparently. It's always nice to see a woman sticking by the guy who beats her up. She's the first native of Barbados to win a Grammy. That last bit was why I feel old. When Rihanna was about 5 months old, I was in Barbados. It was just before my senior year in high school. She was somewhere on that island, 5 months old, probably singing something! I don't know why that makes me feel old, but it does.

OMG!!!!!! The Messiah is coming!

You may or may not have heard, but President Messiah is in town, and tomorrow, he's speaking at Dobson High School in beautiful Mesa. In fact, it's about half a mile from my house. Squeeeee!!!!!! It was a spur-of-the-moment thing for Our Beloved Leader, so he only decided to speak there on Friday, but it wasn't in the paper until yesterday. Tickets were free, but people had already starting lining up for them when they were given away yesterday, so I had no chance to get them. Oh well. Apparently they're going to continue classes while he's speaking (at 10.30 in the morning), which is odd. Wouldn't they let the kids in for free?

I may have to watch local news for the coverage. I never watch local news! But that's what I will do for coverage of the Messiah!

Hans Beck has died

You might not know who Hans Beck is, and neither did I until today, when I read that he died a week ago. Hans Beck invented Playmobil, perhaps the greatest toy line ever. I was stunned, reading that obituary, that he created them in 1974, because I remember playing with them when I lived in Germany in the middle 1970s, so they were brand new when I started playing with them (my parents were cutting-edge, don't you know). I loved playing with Playmobil toys, and I still own a comic book based on the toys (it's a Western, if you can believe it, and yes, it's AWESOME). If you have children, you need to buy some Playmobil!

Rest in peace, Herr Beck!

Plan your future!

We got this in the mail a few days ago, and Krys was flipping through it and found some fun classes you can take at Mesa Community College. Your future is assured if you join up with these classes! Trust me!

Razzle Dazzle Simple Bead Jewelry. You will learn to make a stunning necklace, bracelet and earrings using beautiful Swarovski crystal beads. All materials and supplies are included.

Tamales, Yes I Can!! [Two exclamation points are necessary, damn it!] Yes, you can! You will learn to make Red Chili Con Carne Burros and Chimichangas. These dishes are a Southwest tradition so join us for fun, laughter, and ethnic cooking together!

Conversations in New Thought. 'Conversations' is a discussion-based class that explores old and new ways of thinking about philosophy, religion, science and psychology.

Flirting 101. Flirting allows you to have fun no matter where you are and to interact with people you are interested in meeting. This class will cover the basics of body language: breaking the ice, small talk, how to get their number or how to terminate the interaction respectfully. You'll learn where to meet people, how to avoid common mistakes, make a good first impression and what signals you may be sending off that may be hurting you. This is for men and women who want to learn the basics of becoming comfortable in "the flirt."

Past Life Regression. This course will discuss how past lives play a major role in your current life path. Learn how to relax deeply and use you inner senses. Group regression will be performed.

Basic Belly Dancing. This class is designed for the beginner, focusing on the basic elements of Middle Eastern Dance: The elegant and graceful movements celebrate the strength and beauty of the female form, regardless of age and body shape. Body awareness, posture and the anatomy of hip work, with an introduction to the rhythm structure of the music are taught in this class, as well as putting basic steps together to create a simple dance routine. Costuming will be discussed with ideas on how to put together an inexpensive costume. Individual attention will be given to students when needed. Students should wear clothing that allows the body to move without restriction.

Italic Calligraphy. This course will introduce you to the beautiful Italic alphabet and techniques using the traditional pen. You will learn letter forms and gain detailed knowledge of the broad edge pen. Begin to use calligraphy for your personal and professional writing.

Stacks, Piles and Stash: It's Here Somewhere. Do you wonder why we keep everything? Have you tried to break this habit but need the support from a professional organizer? Then this is the class for you! This course works with emotional/mental as well as the physical reasons we have clutter in our lives and how to deal with it. Have you always wanted to learn how to set up your desk for better productivity? Come learn how to handle your mail and how to handle your paper more than once, but not a dozen times. Learn the self-talk messages when deciding to file or not to file. Second night of class will be hands-on working with our clutter.

How To Become a Mystery Shopper. Learn what a Mystery Shopper does and how to get started earning money while having fun. Typical assignments include evaluating restaurants, retail stores, banks, gas stations, and events. An optional working lunch is included. Owning or having access to a computer is highly recommended to be successful as a mystery shopper.

Look at all those great classes! Sign up now! Your future demands it!!!!!

All abooooooardddd!

The Saturday after Christmas the entire clan (our family, my parents, and my sister's family; ten people in all) went northward to Clarkdale, Arizona, in the beautiful Verde Valley. There we boarded the Verde Canyon Railroad for an afternoon of sightseeing. We had wanted to go on the train for a while, and so did my mom, so she made the arrangements to go. We'll probably have to go back in the autumn to see the leaves changing color, but it was a fun time nonetheless.

The train has indoor and outdoor cars, so you can stand outside and check out the scenery. The indoor cars have windows, of course, but it's still hard to see what is passing by. The temperature up north was much cooler than here in the Basin, but at least it wasn't raining. I spent a great deal of the trip north from Clarkdale to Perkinsville (a ghost ranch where the train stops and turns around) outside, mainly because I wanted to see the sights. Krys spent most of the trip inside hanging out with Mia, and they had a grand time. It was a very nice afternoon. I have written more about our journey (and our Christmas holiday in general) over at the kids' blog, mainly because it was all about them for the most part. But I figured I'd post some of the more scenic pictures here. So enjoy the Verde River Valley!








Check out my natty hat!


That's fashion, baby!

Most of everything else we did over the holiday dealt with the children, so I have pictures of them. I did get this nifty tool for Christmas:

How manly am I?????

Hard core dude at the gas station/convenience store

Today I bought petrol. Usually I don't have to go inside, because the pump prints out the receipt, but it must have been out of paper, because it claimed it was printing the receipt but nothing came out. So I had to go inside and get the receipt (it was for the van, which technically belongs to Mia, so I have to keep track of the expenses, otherwise I would have skipped getting the receipt). I rarely have to go inside the convenience store when I get gas, and there's a reason why I'm glad about that!

A dude was at the counter getting rung up for his purchases. He was buying a jug of Coors. No, it wasn't a regular bottle, nor was it a 40-oz. It was kind of in between. I'll stick with "jug." This was at 10.15 in the morning, by the way. He was waiting for the clerk to get him his cigarettes. Cigarettes and beer at 10.15 in the morning! The Breakfast of Champions!

Now, someone might be tempted to joke with this dude for his purchases. As I went to the other register, I glanced over at the dude. He had a pistol strapped to his belt, just hanging out there. I suppose no one would joke around with this guy about his purchase of a jug of beer and ciggies with that gun on his hip.

What he was going to do after buying his beer and cigarettes, I don't want to know. Presumably it involved firing bullets at something while drinking and smoking. That's just the kind of hard core dudes that hang out at the Circle K, man!

Picture day goes to Seattle yet again!

Who doesn't love Seattle? If you've ever been to Seattle, you know how excellent it is. So in July 2001, when Krys's sister and her boyfriend visited us, we went north for a weekend. At this point, we knew were moving to Arizona, so we wanted to get as much Northwesting in as possible!

This is downtown Seattle. The picture is a bit small, but if you click it, you will make it huge! This is from the Space Needle. You are mandated by the local government to go up into the Space Needle every time you visit the Emerald City. I bet you didn't know that!

This is Lake Washington, which I've mentioned before. It's where the house from Sleepless in Seattle floats. Lakes are fun.

Here's another shot of downtown:

We went to a baseball game at the brand-spanking-new Safeco Field. It's a gorgeous ballpark with stunning views of downtown (you can see it in the background of the downtown photos), and we had a great time. I've always been a Mariners fan (I'm not sure why, just that I've always been fascinated with Seattle; I still own a Mariners cap from about 1982), so it was cool to see them in the ballpark during their astonishing 116-win season (not that it helped in the postseason, but still). The game went extra innings, but we left before that because it was getting late. We listened to it on the radio, so we heard the Mariners win. We also got to see Barry Bonds hit a home run, which was nice. I mean, I don't like Bonds at all, but it was kind of cool to see him hit one out.

Here's some of the ballpark.

Here's Ichiro at the plate. This was during his MVP and Rookie of the Year season. He only got one hit in this game, however.

This is Pike Place Market, which I've shown before. That doesn't make it any less cool.

This was our last trip to Seattle, and like most of the other things we used to do in Oregon, we miss it a lot. It's a very cool city. Too bad the Mariners suck these days.