I was (re)watching the "Inauguration, part 2" episode of "West Wing" today when I was reminded, by the show, of something that came to mind for me during my San Diego vacation back in July. A portion of the episode involved hotel Bibles, as does this particular post.
When we stayed at the Marriott, not only did it have a King James Bible, but it also had a Book of Mormon. I suppose I should google, I mean research, this...is the Marriott an LDS (Latter Day Saint, aka Mormon) run company? Perhaps just the Residence Inn offshoot? Perhaps just whomever was in charge of supplying the hotel Bibles? Maybe other hotel rooms had different religious texts (THAT would be keen in my book). My older friends may joke and say my ex knew i was going to be there and planted the book...
Anyhow, I've come to expect the inevitability of the hotel Bible, regardless of my lack of Christianity, it doesn't bother me. I've gotten used to it like I've gotten used to the Pledge of Allegiance (though I had a quiver when Lash first reported learning it). However, I was somewhat bothered by the placement of a Book of Mormon in my room. Regardless of my lapsed Mormonism, I thought it pushed the inevitable too much further.
Just once, I'd like to find a hotel room that is missing its Bible, and in its place has the Koran, the Torah or even the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Now that would be something.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Date Night
It's been a good long time since Lash and I were able to spend any time together one-on-one, so I decided to make Friday a father-son night and let Lash pick the doings. He picked going to a movie--cool. He picked Anacondas... well, he's my son and I love him and so we watched Anacondas.
One of the trailers was for Shaun of the Dead. Enjoyed the trailer though I thought it gave away a bit too much. Also had a trailer for Resident Evil: Apocalypse. The trailer we've been seeing on tv has had me deciding not to see the film in theaters; the trailer at the theater has me rethinking. The Lickers look awesome.
OK, Anacondas. The pluses: when the snakes are seen swimming in the water--really nice. When the snakes are moving so fast that you can't linger focus on them--really nice (the cgi is great, but the speed and frenetic chaos of snake strikes is caught better in the parts where you don't have lingering glimpses of the snakes. Plus, less snake equals more suspense and for a bad movie, it had decent suspense and more than a few instances of good "jump out of your seat" moments (I actually twitched once, and that NEVER happens) Lash watched the whole movie peeking through his fingers. The biggest plus: he loved it.
Minuses:
1. Every now and then, as background mood music, the composer put in a quick rattle. Anacondas are not rattle snakes.
2. Anacondas hunt in the water, not the trees.
3. Anacondas rarely attack humans, so multiple Anacondas going to town on humans is a bit odd, but able to be thrown away easy enough for the sake of the film.
4. Anacondas usually mate in the water, not on mud flats. While the mud was crucial to the film plot, since the anaconda will typically mate in water, our resident anaconda expert in the film should have said that instead of saying that they'd find the anacondas mating on a mud flat...
5. Perhaps most important: the plot takes place in Borneo, Malaysia. Anacondas live in South America. Malaysia is not in South America. Malaysia has no anacondas.
6. Lake Placid syndrome: too many people survived. And the end was far too predictable.
One of the trailers was for Shaun of the Dead. Enjoyed the trailer though I thought it gave away a bit too much. Also had a trailer for Resident Evil: Apocalypse. The trailer we've been seeing on tv has had me deciding not to see the film in theaters; the trailer at the theater has me rethinking. The Lickers look awesome.
OK, Anacondas. The pluses: when the snakes are seen swimming in the water--really nice. When the snakes are moving so fast that you can't linger focus on them--really nice (the cgi is great, but the speed and frenetic chaos of snake strikes is caught better in the parts where you don't have lingering glimpses of the snakes. Plus, less snake equals more suspense and for a bad movie, it had decent suspense and more than a few instances of good "jump out of your seat" moments (I actually twitched once, and that NEVER happens) Lash watched the whole movie peeking through his fingers. The biggest plus: he loved it.
Minuses:
1. Every now and then, as background mood music, the composer put in a quick rattle. Anacondas are not rattle snakes.
2. Anacondas hunt in the water, not the trees.
3. Anacondas rarely attack humans, so multiple Anacondas going to town on humans is a bit odd, but able to be thrown away easy enough for the sake of the film.
4. Anacondas usually mate in the water, not on mud flats. While the mud was crucial to the film plot, since the anaconda will typically mate in water, our resident anaconda expert in the film should have said that instead of saying that they'd find the anacondas mating on a mud flat...
5. Perhaps most important: the plot takes place in Borneo, Malaysia. Anacondas live in South America. Malaysia is not in South America. Malaysia has no anacondas.
6. Lake Placid syndrome: too many people survived. And the end was far too predictable.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Shaun of the Dead
So, I've seen Shaun of the Dead (due out in theaters September 24th) and am very impressed.
Ever see one of those older, 80s zombie movie crapfests that are just too funny because they suck so much? Thankfully, not the case here. Shaun's funny in all the right ways--because it's a freaking comedy and the comedy of the movie works really well in this horror flick gone awry.
From the opening sequence in the Winchester (the pub he frequents), to the scene where he tries to convince his mom to let him rescue her and not step-dad, to the reality-sports footage at the end... the show never disappointed.
Zombies are definitely my favorite horror genre, and I'd been thinking I wouldn't see another good one until Romero's Land of the Dead comes out. Now, can't wait to see a less-grainy Shaun when it hits theaters in three weeks.
Definitely fabulous, and funny in a good way.
Ever see one of those older, 80s zombie movie crapfests that are just too funny because they suck so much? Thankfully, not the case here. Shaun's funny in all the right ways--because it's a freaking comedy and the comedy of the movie works really well in this horror flick gone awry.
From the opening sequence in the Winchester (the pub he frequents), to the scene where he tries to convince his mom to let him rescue her and not step-dad, to the reality-sports footage at the end... the show never disappointed.
Zombies are definitely my favorite horror genre, and I'd been thinking I wouldn't see another good one until Romero's Land of the Dead comes out. Now, can't wait to see a less-grainy Shaun when it hits theaters in three weeks.
Definitely fabulous, and funny in a good way.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Out of Work
Well, as it turns out, students who are enrolled in fewer than 3 units a term (as I am, while on adjunct enrollment status) are not allowed to work for the University. Apparently, the fact that I worked for the University while adjunctly enrolled last semester was some sort of miraculous fluke. So now I have no job in the English Department (those poor Freshmen will have to learn how to write a sentence in high school now or something) and my boss in the Agriculture Department is trying to convince the Dept. to hire me as an independant contractor so that he doesn't have to replace me. One good thing from this: as an English Masters Candidate, it warms my heart to be treated as someone who is indespensible by the Ag. Dept. such that they'll try to loophole the system in hopes of not losing me. It's too bad my own departmental peers lack that level of confidence and loyalty.
Meanwhile, I dodged the Boy Scouts bullet with Lash again this past week. Quite evilly of me, I denied his Scouting request as partial punishment for his fighting at school and explained to him that Scouting would be something he has to prove himself responsible enough to be a part of and he'll have to show good behaviour from now until next recruitment drive before I'll consider it again.
Meanwhile, I dodged the Boy Scouts bullet with Lash again this past week. Quite evilly of me, I denied his Scouting request as partial punishment for his fighting at school and explained to him that Scouting would be something he has to prove himself responsible enough to be a part of and he'll have to show good behaviour from now until next recruitment drive before I'll consider it again.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
May Day
My friend Drew's blog today reminded me that a couple weeks back I mentioned I would have some things to say about Bowling for Columbine and Elephant.
Of course, I don't really have as coherent a grip on what I wanted to say now as I did then. I remember one level of emotion--a small sense of peevedness over how America started to blow up over the evils of school shootings after Columbine, that it was a spark to light the flame of gun control debate for the coming decade or longer, as well it should be.
I graduated from high school in June of 1992, in a small California town named Marysville. Our sister and rival school was one called Lindhurst High. All but one of my closest friends in high school were Lindhurst High School graduates (including ex-rommates the Chrises).
On May 1st, 1992 Lindhurst High was taken hostage by a former student, who killed three students and one teacher and wounded many others. The female contingent of the Chrises was one of the hostages and to this day can't even sit through a film like Bowling for Columbine or Elephant. People I knew and loved were killed there, wounded physically or emotionally, or both.
I remember running the two miles from school to home when the news broke so I could try and reach my friends, to find them still alive and safe. We all cut school so frequently it was a good, though losing, bet that they wouldn't have even been there. That day was misery, and I wasn't even physically there. It profoundly changed me, changed my friends.
This was one of the many tragedies of my life, one of the sadder turning points for me ideologically. I'm glad the NRA never came here with Charleton Heston and held a rally after this happened, and I wouldn't have wanted the media in my face or my friends' faces, but sometimes it makes me feel like Americans didn't care about the tragedy of school shootings before Columbine, like the lives of my friends were somehow less, as were the lives of school shooting victims before Lindhurst and since pre-Columbine.
I don't understand how any rational mind could actually be against more strict gun control laws.
Of course, I don't really have as coherent a grip on what I wanted to say now as I did then. I remember one level of emotion--a small sense of peevedness over how America started to blow up over the evils of school shootings after Columbine, that it was a spark to light the flame of gun control debate for the coming decade or longer, as well it should be.
I graduated from high school in June of 1992, in a small California town named Marysville. Our sister and rival school was one called Lindhurst High. All but one of my closest friends in high school were Lindhurst High School graduates (including ex-rommates the Chrises).
On May 1st, 1992 Lindhurst High was taken hostage by a former student, who killed three students and one teacher and wounded many others. The female contingent of the Chrises was one of the hostages and to this day can't even sit through a film like Bowling for Columbine or Elephant. People I knew and loved were killed there, wounded physically or emotionally, or both.
I remember running the two miles from school to home when the news broke so I could try and reach my friends, to find them still alive and safe. We all cut school so frequently it was a good, though losing, bet that they wouldn't have even been there. That day was misery, and I wasn't even physically there. It profoundly changed me, changed my friends.
This was one of the many tragedies of my life, one of the sadder turning points for me ideologically. I'm glad the NRA never came here with Charleton Heston and held a rally after this happened, and I wouldn't have wanted the media in my face or my friends' faces, but sometimes it makes me feel like Americans didn't care about the tragedy of school shootings before Columbine, like the lives of my friends were somehow less, as were the lives of school shooting victims before Lindhurst and since pre-Columbine.
I don't understand how any rational mind could actually be against more strict gun control laws.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Detention
Today, Lash received detention for pushing another boy at his school (Rosedale Elementary). In no way do I condone Lash doing this, but this kid he pushed has been bullyinh him for more than a year, so I can understand where the frustration that caused it would come from. I am so effing tired of how frequently I see kids, victims of bullies, get in trouble when they finally lose their cool and retaliate, but I never see the bullies receiving the same treatment.
I've decided to write a letter to his school over this, though I expect there to be nothing good to come from it.
8-23-04
To Whom It May Concern:
In no way do I condone my son Lash pushing his classmate Marcos, nor do I condone any misconduct on his part and feel that the detention he is receiving is quite fair.
I do, however, wonder where the teachers, or playground attendants, were when Marcos provoked the pushing he received by shoving my son to the ground, and hope he is facing similar discipline. I wonder where the supervision is, where the safety of my child is, when, with increasing frequency, I pick Lash up from school sporting new bruises from the same two children who kick, punch and shove him on a nearly daily basis; or on the occasions I pick Lash up from school in clothes that have been torn by other children inappropriately laying their hands on him.
Late last Spring, I witnessed a girl choking my son on the playground before school. The playground attendant was less than ten feet away and wasn’t paying enough attention to notice or break it up. I made no fuss because she had told Lash it was a game and he believed her. Last week, one of his classmates punched him on the nose during recess. By his report, he told the playground attendant and nothing was done. I made no fuss because she told Lash it was an accident and he forgave her.
I applaud you in ensuring this other boy has a safe environment to learn in, and I’m disappointed in my son for resorting to a physical answer to the behaviour he receives from this other boy. I only wish someone would put the same amount of care into my own son’s safety for once, as I haven’t seen that occurring to date.
I've decided to write a letter to his school over this, though I expect there to be nothing good to come from it.
8-23-04
To Whom It May Concern:
In no way do I condone my son Lash pushing his classmate Marcos, nor do I condone any misconduct on his part and feel that the detention he is receiving is quite fair.
I do, however, wonder where the teachers, or playground attendants, were when Marcos provoked the pushing he received by shoving my son to the ground, and hope he is facing similar discipline. I wonder where the supervision is, where the safety of my child is, when, with increasing frequency, I pick Lash up from school sporting new bruises from the same two children who kick, punch and shove him on a nearly daily basis; or on the occasions I pick Lash up from school in clothes that have been torn by other children inappropriately laying their hands on him.
Late last Spring, I witnessed a girl choking my son on the playground before school. The playground attendant was less than ten feet away and wasn’t paying enough attention to notice or break it up. I made no fuss because she had told Lash it was a game and he believed her. Last week, one of his classmates punched him on the nose during recess. By his report, he told the playground attendant and nothing was done. I made no fuss because she told Lash it was an accident and he forgave her.
I applaud you in ensuring this other boy has a safe environment to learn in, and I’m disappointed in my son for resorting to a physical answer to the behaviour he receives from this other boy. I only wish someone would put the same amount of care into my own son’s safety for once, as I haven’t seen that occurring to date.
Friday, August 20, 2004
Jobs
My ex-roomate has this tumor in her foot that's been horrible to her for some months now. As she is a veteran of the good old US Army, she has health insurance through them (she has other insurance but it isn't as comprehensive AND if she uses it at all, the VA will cut all her benefits... gotta love their loyalty to their soldiers). It's taken them approx. 4-5 months to finally get her set up with a Dr.'s appointment about this TUMOR. And being as efficient as they are, rather than have her see an oncologist in town (or in 90-minute away Sacramento or Redding), they give her an appointment in Martinez (4 hours by car). Given the pain driving causes her, this distance is impossible for her, so her husband has to take off work to drive her. This leaves her needing someone to watch her two young children, pick them up from school, etc. Enter me.
I've nothing better going on Thursday (yesterday), so when she asks the favor on Tuesday, I happily agree to help out, especially given how ridiculous the US government is being about treating one of its veterans.
Fast forward to Wednesday. I've been waiting all summer for news of whether I'd have a teaching job again this year. I was approached about it in May, and have heard nothing since--to the point I've resigned myself to just continuing the TA job in the agriculture department (where the pay is actually better and the job is more stable). So Wednesday, just before the closing of business hours, I get ab E-MAIL from the head of my section of the English Dept. to officially offer me the job, and let me know I would need to be at a special meeting the following morning (Thursday) from nine to noon.
How preposterous is that? I've worked for the guy for two years before losing my job to budget cuts last year. He knows I can't just drop everything with zero notice, and has my home number. Why I had to get an e-mail when it was too late to even reply that day is beyond me.
So, as should be obvious, I had to reply that I wouldn't be at the meeting, as I would be busy caring for the young children of my ex-roomate on her ridiculously distant trip to the doctor. And so, I didn't go to the meeting. And so, I don't expect I'll actually have the job.
But wait, there's more. So now it's Thursday. The doctors know she's coming from Chico and they know how far Chico is. So they wait until a half hour before her appointment to call her cellphone and tell her they need to cancel her appointment because they only scheduled her for fifteen minutes and would actually need a half hour. Excuse me, but how fucked is that? They didn't check their logs early enough to save her from wsting eight hours on the road? They couldn't have squeezed her in (what's fifteen minutes more at a doctor visit)? So now she has to go through the whole ordeal all over again.
In other news, I hate spaghetti. Today on 30 Minute Meals Rachael Ray had a spaghetti with meatballs recipe that actually made me eager to try it out. That'll be sometime next week. Tonight is MY family-famous enchiladas.
I've nothing better going on Thursday (yesterday), so when she asks the favor on Tuesday, I happily agree to help out, especially given how ridiculous the US government is being about treating one of its veterans.
Fast forward to Wednesday. I've been waiting all summer for news of whether I'd have a teaching job again this year. I was approached about it in May, and have heard nothing since--to the point I've resigned myself to just continuing the TA job in the agriculture department (where the pay is actually better and the job is more stable). So Wednesday, just before the closing of business hours, I get ab E-MAIL from the head of my section of the English Dept. to officially offer me the job, and let me know I would need to be at a special meeting the following morning (Thursday) from nine to noon.
How preposterous is that? I've worked for the guy for two years before losing my job to budget cuts last year. He knows I can't just drop everything with zero notice, and has my home number. Why I had to get an e-mail when it was too late to even reply that day is beyond me.
So, as should be obvious, I had to reply that I wouldn't be at the meeting, as I would be busy caring for the young children of my ex-roomate on her ridiculously distant trip to the doctor. And so, I didn't go to the meeting. And so, I don't expect I'll actually have the job.
But wait, there's more. So now it's Thursday. The doctors know she's coming from Chico and they know how far Chico is. So they wait until a half hour before her appointment to call her cellphone and tell her they need to cancel her appointment because they only scheduled her for fifteen minutes and would actually need a half hour. Excuse me, but how fucked is that? They didn't check their logs early enough to save her from wsting eight hours on the road? They couldn't have squeezed her in (what's fifteen minutes more at a doctor visit)? So now she has to go through the whole ordeal all over again.
In other news, I hate spaghetti. Today on 30 Minute Meals Rachael Ray had a spaghetti with meatballs recipe that actually made me eager to try it out. That'll be sometime next week. Tonight is MY family-famous enchiladas.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Food Good
Like some people, I love watching Food TV. It's equal parts entertainment with equal parts fun in trying to replicate. Right now I'm really digging "Good Eats" and "30 Minute Meals." Not that big a fan of the FOOD on Good Eats yet, actually, but what makes it really watchable and cool for me is that the host explains the little details about things like the equipment that I never knew before. Rather than say I need to use a doible boiler, he says I need to use a double boiler, what a double boiler does, HOW to use a double boiler and why. It's really good for people like me who, being somewhat of an idiot savant of cooking before this, is really retarded as to the function of my cooking materials.
A ceramic mortar and pestle are best for grinding your own spices, by the way. Marble is too smoothe and too difficult to get good traction on the spice. Iron is great for texture, but too corrosive.
The best steak I've had:
The thickness you choose will determine the redness/wellness of the meat, so if you like a well done steak, go for something thinner (but not sandwich thin). If you like it bloody like I do, go for something at least a half inch thick. Experiment with the cut until you get the right one for you.
Start by putting some cooking oil on a plate (they suggest Canola. For something healthier, and nicer tasting, I go with extra virgin olive oil, or whatever olive oil is handy).
Preheat cast iron skillet on high (if you don't have a cast iron skillet, use any old skillet that will survive a trip inside your oven), and preheat your oven on 500 degrees farenheit.
Coat both sides of the steak with the oil from the plate. Coat sides of steak with salt and pepper to your taste (actually, I also replace this with steak seasoning. Most grocery stores have a few varieties, all usually sporting some combo of garlic, onion, pepper, salt, red pepper, sometimes cumin...again, try different kinds out and find the one that works best for you. I find it MUCH tastier than just salt and pepper, though just salt and pepper makes a really tasty steak here too).
Now that you have a wet and spicy steak, fry it in your skillet for 30 seconds, flip it for 30 more seconds, flip it and place the skillet inside the oven and cook for two mintues. Then flip the steak and cook it inside the oven for two minutes again. Then you're done.
This meal has a tendency to get very smoky, it's a result you should expect so ventilate well.
Garnish with whatever else you like. Sauteed mushrooms are good. Lately I've really been digging sauteed zucchini with almonds.
A ceramic mortar and pestle are best for grinding your own spices, by the way. Marble is too smoothe and too difficult to get good traction on the spice. Iron is great for texture, but too corrosive.
The best steak I've had:
The thickness you choose will determine the redness/wellness of the meat, so if you like a well done steak, go for something thinner (but not sandwich thin). If you like it bloody like I do, go for something at least a half inch thick. Experiment with the cut until you get the right one for you.
Start by putting some cooking oil on a plate (they suggest Canola. For something healthier, and nicer tasting, I go with extra virgin olive oil, or whatever olive oil is handy).
Preheat cast iron skillet on high (if you don't have a cast iron skillet, use any old skillet that will survive a trip inside your oven), and preheat your oven on 500 degrees farenheit.
Coat both sides of the steak with the oil from the plate. Coat sides of steak with salt and pepper to your taste (actually, I also replace this with steak seasoning. Most grocery stores have a few varieties, all usually sporting some combo of garlic, onion, pepper, salt, red pepper, sometimes cumin...again, try different kinds out and find the one that works best for you. I find it MUCH tastier than just salt and pepper, though just salt and pepper makes a really tasty steak here too).
Now that you have a wet and spicy steak, fry it in your skillet for 30 seconds, flip it for 30 more seconds, flip it and place the skillet inside the oven and cook for two mintues. Then flip the steak and cook it inside the oven for two minutes again. Then you're done.
This meal has a tendency to get very smoky, it's a result you should expect so ventilate well.
Garnish with whatever else you like. Sauteed mushrooms are good. Lately I've really been digging sauteed zucchini with almonds.
Monday, August 09, 2004
Go West
Last week, we took in a new foster kid, #B2. He's fairly nice and easier to deal with.
So I finally borrowed a friend's copy of West Wing seasons 1 and 2 on DVD and have been watching them (and hence not posting here). I avoided the show for quite some time, as the premise seemed very very uninteresting to me. Then, on one of my Fridays at the Chrises, I saw the episode where Ainsley first meets the President while dancing in her bathrobe... which, coincidentally enough, is now how far I've gotten in sequential viewing after borrowing the aforementioned disks. It's proven to be a much more enjoyable show than I'd ever thought it would be. Between it, Justice League Unlimited, Teen Titans and the Food Network (have I got a great steak recipe for you) I've finally decided to bite the bullet and return to being a television subscriber. Hoping to get on to Dish Network, where I can record my shows Tivo-like to watch at my leisure.
So I finally borrowed a friend's copy of West Wing seasons 1 and 2 on DVD and have been watching them (and hence not posting here). I avoided the show for quite some time, as the premise seemed very very uninteresting to me. Then, on one of my Fridays at the Chrises, I saw the episode where Ainsley first meets the President while dancing in her bathrobe... which, coincidentally enough, is now how far I've gotten in sequential viewing after borrowing the aforementioned disks. It's proven to be a much more enjoyable show than I'd ever thought it would be. Between it, Justice League Unlimited, Teen Titans and the Food Network (have I got a great steak recipe for you) I've finally decided to bite the bullet and return to being a television subscriber. Hoping to get on to Dish Network, where I can record my shows Tivo-like to watch at my leisure.
Friday, July 16, 2004
It's Not Easy Being Green
For the longest time, I had green hair. A huge fan of Japanese anime as a kid, at the age of ten I first watched the American version of Robotech: Macross Saga and seeing Miriya Sterling's green hair I knew then that green was the proper color my own hair was to be. Of course, I had to wait until adulthood before I could do anything about it.
So, for the longest time as an adult, I had green hair. Occasionally riddled with the random month or two where I allowed it to brown again (oddly, every time my distant friend Adam has visited has been a time when I let the brown lapse back in). Then, for the past year I've been lax and brown again.
Having no idea WHY I'd let it go brown again for so long, I decided today to undergo the process of re-greening my hair. Now I remember why I let it go for so long... damn that bleach is irritating!
See, I have dark brown hair so in order for the green to show, I have to bleach my hair blonde first (which really turns out a light orange, but hey, it's green soon after). The whole bleaching ordeal is a nightmare. Enduring that for thirty minutes of application, and hours of continued irritation after rinse makes every trip down the green dye highway a trip fraught with sacrifice.
So, for next week's vacation I will be freshly green again. Huzzah!
So, for the longest time as an adult, I had green hair. Occasionally riddled with the random month or two where I allowed it to brown again (oddly, every time my distant friend Adam has visited has been a time when I let the brown lapse back in). Then, for the past year I've been lax and brown again.
Having no idea WHY I'd let it go brown again for so long, I decided today to undergo the process of re-greening my hair. Now I remember why I let it go for so long... damn that bleach is irritating!
See, I have dark brown hair so in order for the green to show, I have to bleach my hair blonde first (which really turns out a light orange, but hey, it's green soon after). The whole bleaching ordeal is a nightmare. Enduring that for thirty minutes of application, and hours of continued irritation after rinse makes every trip down the green dye highway a trip fraught with sacrifice.
So, for next week's vacation I will be freshly green again. Huzzah!
Monday, July 12, 2004
Reconnected
Sometimes I try to think of witty titles to my blog postings, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I try and they really just come off lame. Guess which this is?
So anyway, after a year of shunning television, and after two months of light exposure to the Chrises' satellite tv, and after six months of Kazaa being a butt-load slower than usual I bit the bullet and became a tv viewer again. Having had a bad taste in my mouth, still, from digital cable and its constant outages, I went with the only other option in our area: satellite.
This, in turn, left me two options: Dish Network and Directv. The major decision factor came when Directv was charging for its Tivo and Dish Network was giving its tivo-like program away gratis to new members as part of a promotion. Their dvr, as they call it, is really cool. Now I can record and store 100 hours of tv shows... and I can rewind, pause and fast forward tv shows as I watch them--sommething I was never able to do with cable. The only major downfall, for me, is I can't watch one channel while I record another; I need a different receiver for that and don't want to pay the extra charge, as I'm cheap.
Now I have a lot more than when we had digital cable, and for about 20 bucks less per month. Now I can watch Simpsons and Dead Like Me again, and Queer as Folk... and now I can get in to shows like West Wing and CSI as they air and not as they release on dvd.
Now I can see me wasting far too much time in front of the telly. I knew there was another reason I stopped having cable.
So anyway, after a year of shunning television, and after two months of light exposure to the Chrises' satellite tv, and after six months of Kazaa being a butt-load slower than usual I bit the bullet and became a tv viewer again. Having had a bad taste in my mouth, still, from digital cable and its constant outages, I went with the only other option in our area: satellite.
This, in turn, left me two options: Dish Network and Directv. The major decision factor came when Directv was charging for its Tivo and Dish Network was giving its tivo-like program away gratis to new members as part of a promotion. Their dvr, as they call it, is really cool. Now I can record and store 100 hours of tv shows... and I can rewind, pause and fast forward tv shows as I watch them--sommething I was never able to do with cable. The only major downfall, for me, is I can't watch one channel while I record another; I need a different receiver for that and don't want to pay the extra charge, as I'm cheap.
Now I have a lot more than when we had digital cable, and for about 20 bucks less per month. Now I can watch Simpsons and Dead Like Me again, and Queer as Folk... and now I can get in to shows like West Wing and CSI as they air and not as they release on dvd.
Now I can see me wasting far too much time in front of the telly. I knew there was another reason I stopped having cable.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Canada Day
Happy Canada Day, all my beautiful Canadian-American readers. For some reason, my Canadian friends grouse ever so slightly when I remind them that Canada is America too.
Today I took the van in for an oil change and check up. The owner of the shop was giving out American flags to all of the customers. Lash really dug that. What I really dug was that the owner gave flags to the car next to us, and the owner got all three of her kids waving their flags and singing "O, Canada." That was a hoot.
So, afterward I had to drive foster kid #B to Sacramento Airport and shuffled him on his merry way to a family visit elsewhere (I am being dodgy because foster child identity and whereabouts is CONFIDENTIAL. Shhhh). This was also a pre-test on my part to see if the van would be more likely or less likely to survive the SDCC trip in three weeks. So far, I'm guessing more likely, though I need to watch the temperature. #B was supposed to call here when his plane landed, which would have been 4 hours ago... he's forgetful, and I'm positive I'd have heard frantic calls from other people by now if he hadn't arrived all safe and sound, so I'll just chalk his lack of call to the usual forgetfulness.
Today I took the van in for an oil change and check up. The owner of the shop was giving out American flags to all of the customers. Lash really dug that. What I really dug was that the owner gave flags to the car next to us, and the owner got all three of her kids waving their flags and singing "O, Canada." That was a hoot.
So, afterward I had to drive foster kid #B to Sacramento Airport and shuffled him on his merry way to a family visit elsewhere (I am being dodgy because foster child identity and whereabouts is CONFIDENTIAL. Shhhh). This was also a pre-test on my part to see if the van would be more likely or less likely to survive the SDCC trip in three weeks. So far, I'm guessing more likely, though I need to watch the temperature. #B was supposed to call here when his plane landed, which would have been 4 hours ago... he's forgetful, and I'm positive I'd have heard frantic calls from other people by now if he hadn't arrived all safe and sound, so I'll just chalk his lack of call to the usual forgetfulness.
Ugh
Yesterday the Mustang broke down. Very frustrating as we can't repair it right now unless we want to give up going on our vacation next month, and we can't repair it next month unless I want to give up paying my tuition for the semester. Right now I only hope the Plymouth stays strong and successfully shuttles us around town, to and from our vacation, and etc. for the remainder of the Summer. Light a candle for us or something.
I really should stop letting Denise use our vehicles. Every car we've ever had since marrying has broken down within two years, and always when she was driving it. This is the second time the Mustang died under her watch... I love her, but her luck has been pretty shady thus far with our vehicles.
As I said, light a candle for us or something--this vacation is a biggie for us and I really really really need it. *Chanting* Let's go, Plymouth! Let's go! Let's go, Plymouth! Let's go!
I really should stop letting Denise use our vehicles. Every car we've ever had since marrying has broken down within two years, and always when she was driving it. This is the second time the Mustang died under her watch... I love her, but her luck has been pretty shady thus far with our vehicles.
As I said, light a candle for us or something--this vacation is a biggie for us and I really really really need it. *Chanting* Let's go, Plymouth! Let's go! Let's go, Plymouth! Let's go!
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Play that Funky Music
Both of the front speakers in my minivan have ceased working. Being that I lack the automotive gene and the electronics gene, I have no clue how to fix it. Now I must blast the radio so that the back speakers can be heard and enjoyed from the front. Generally no problem--until I discovered that for some reason, the Cardigan's cover of "Iron Man" lacks vocals when played only on the rear speakers. Funky.
Right now I am listening to my favorite band, Cowboy, and my favorite of their songs: "Flag Tattoo." This is nice.
My calf STILL hurts. I wonder if that abominable cramp caused something to be pulled.
We received a new foster child this week (yesterday, to be exact). He's a pretty good kid so far.
I think I've been relatively boring the last couple days, sorry. Been reading another blog, btw, ar myboyfriendisatwat.com; she is making me think I need to write some poetry again. I've allowed malaise to silence my pen for a wee bit too long now.
Since I have but one reader, my works won't offend too many...
Right now I am listening to my favorite band, Cowboy, and my favorite of their songs: "Flag Tattoo." This is nice.
My calf STILL hurts. I wonder if that abominable cramp caused something to be pulled.
We received a new foster child this week (yesterday, to be exact). He's a pretty good kid so far.
I think I've been relatively boring the last couple days, sorry. Been reading another blog, btw, ar myboyfriendisatwat.com; she is making me think I need to write some poetry again. I've allowed malaise to silence my pen for a wee bit too long now.
Since I have but one reader, my works won't offend too many...
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Mother, Plus Identity Update
So my mother called yesterday, primarily to talk to Lash & Aeia, but Lash was in trouble so she cut the convo short with him and all phone convos with Aeia are short.
Anyway, we ended up talking and she got to talking about my "Evan Formerly Known As Dave" post (which I'd emailed her). It turns out that she's very jazzed that I'm changing my name to Evan--as it was the name she had originally wanted for me, but had been bullied into David by my father, who shall forever more be refered to in quirky and asinine ways. Had she had her druthers, my name would have been Evan Lee Peterson (It's weird that I've been leaning towards L word middle names for myself myself). Lee is my boss' name and while he's a really cool boss, I don't think it works.
I also made the mistake of mentioning that I'm also considering a complete name change: moving Evan to 1st place status and adopting a whole new set of middle and last names. She supports it, but suggested I change my last name to Born, which is my stepfather's last name. It would be a very nice thing because she'll never be able to give him children of his own... Me, though, I just don't like the name aesthetically, and if I'm going to change my whole name, it's going to be something I like the ring of.
Right now, the front-runner new name is Evan Lash Lucio Vidal (I would then be named after my son, my maternal great-grandfather and my maternal great-great-great grandmother, whose poetry in translation is also the subject of my Thesis work as well as bearing the original first name that my mother had intended for me).
Later that evening, she also e-mailed me to apologize for never having asked me if the sperm monkey had molested me. She said she'd never asked because she knew for a fact that he didn't--because he didn't have the opportunity (which is incorrect, but the fact she thought to write and apologize at all is MONUMENTAL coming from my mother, so I'll take it as the touching gesture it's meant to be--especially since she is right that he never did).
Anyway, we ended up talking and she got to talking about my "Evan Formerly Known As Dave" post (which I'd emailed her). It turns out that she's very jazzed that I'm changing my name to Evan--as it was the name she had originally wanted for me, but had been bullied into David by my father, who shall forever more be refered to in quirky and asinine ways. Had she had her druthers, my name would have been Evan Lee Peterson (It's weird that I've been leaning towards L word middle names for myself myself). Lee is my boss' name and while he's a really cool boss, I don't think it works.
I also made the mistake of mentioning that I'm also considering a complete name change: moving Evan to 1st place status and adopting a whole new set of middle and last names. She supports it, but suggested I change my last name to Born, which is my stepfather's last name. It would be a very nice thing because she'll never be able to give him children of his own... Me, though, I just don't like the name aesthetically, and if I'm going to change my whole name, it's going to be something I like the ring of.
Right now, the front-runner new name is Evan Lash Lucio Vidal (I would then be named after my son, my maternal great-grandfather and my maternal great-great-great grandmother, whose poetry in translation is also the subject of my Thesis work as well as bearing the original first name that my mother had intended for me).
Later that evening, she also e-mailed me to apologize for never having asked me if the sperm monkey had molested me. She said she'd never asked because she knew for a fact that he didn't--because he didn't have the opportunity (which is incorrect, but the fact she thought to write and apologize at all is MONUMENTAL coming from my mother, so I'll take it as the touching gesture it's meant to be--especially since she is right that he never did).
Ouch
This morning I woke up screaming, and thankfully I woke everyone else in the house up with my screaming as well. Pain is more fun that way.
For whatever reason, my left calf decided to undergo a massive cramp around 6 am this morning while I was enjoying a good night's sleep. The pain was so bloody intense I couldn't move, I couldn't massage the cramp--all I could do was scream.
It took Denise a good three minutes to realize that maybe, just maybe massaging my calf would be a lot more helpful to my dilemma than just sitting there asking a dying man to stop screaming. Once she'd realized this, the pain was finally rubbed off and I was able to go back to sleep.
Sixteen hours later, my calf remains incredibly sore and pained, completely having thrown my ability to work out today.
I think I'm coming down with a flu or something as well.
Today was just not my day.
For whatever reason, my left calf decided to undergo a massive cramp around 6 am this morning while I was enjoying a good night's sleep. The pain was so bloody intense I couldn't move, I couldn't massage the cramp--all I could do was scream.
It took Denise a good three minutes to realize that maybe, just maybe massaging my calf would be a lot more helpful to my dilemma than just sitting there asking a dying man to stop screaming. Once she'd realized this, the pain was finally rubbed off and I was able to go back to sleep.
Sixteen hours later, my calf remains incredibly sore and pained, completely having thrown my ability to work out today.
I think I'm coming down with a flu or something as well.
Today was just not my day.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
the Evan Formerly Known as Dave
So, my birth certificate says my name is David Evan Peterson.
I've recently dropped the "David" from mine, though not legally--not yet. Admittedly, changing my name so suddenly at the ripe old age of near-thirty (as I was still 29) can be quite confusing for the people who know me, and a difficult change for them to live with/get used to. I have been "Dave" for so long, to so many people, that it's hard to imagine me as anyone else.
The important question I'm asked least often is "why?"
Now, I share the "why?" And now, when asked the "why?" (online anyway), I can simply direct someone to this posting.
I was named David Peterson, after my father, David Peterson. Our middle names differ.
When I was nine or ten my father was arrested for molesting children (I would say the neighbor friend of his step-daughter and his own neice, but I was young, and the details are lost to me). He was quite guilty of this crime. He was also still my daddy, and I still wanted to love him. Kids are weird that way. This is the same guy who beat me when I was five because I said I was Mexican because I liked tacos. Now I like tacos and burritos--it must really get his ire up. Though I wouldn't know.
(An aside: Nowadays, if your parent is sent to prison for molesting kids you might be lucky enough to be offered counselling services. I was not. No one ever even bothered to try and find out if he ever molested me. He did not, but still... thanks for caring.)
I remember crying for what seemed forever that my daddy was a Bad Man and was going to go to prison.
He would call me on occasion from prison, all sad and contrite, and I ate it all up--hook line and sinker (I'm a lover of cliches).
At thirteen I visited him in prison, staying with his wife in Susanville for two weeks while I was there. I have two memories that are very strong from this trip--only one goes back to him: I remember feeling shamed by him for calling my step-sister a whore when she pissed me off once. Granted, it was wrong of me to call her a whore, but I wonder now at what moral authority he had to chastise me for being a thirteen year-old asshole.
He got out of prison when I was either fifteen or sixteen. He did his parole, and visited me for the first time some day during Christmas break of my senior year in high school (I was seventeen). He drove up, took me to McDonalds, bought me two CDs at Target and then dropped me off at my aunt's. All told, maybe two hours of quality time in which he spent telling me about the sexual activities with his then current live-in girlfriend. Thanks for the quality time there, dad.
Shortly thereafter, he returned to prison, presumably for a parole violation. I really don't know for what exactly. I believe I was told domestic violence. He got back out of prison when I was 22. He began writing me a lot. He'd found God... he was sorry... he understood if I never wanted to see him again... blah blah blah. I wrote him that he would have his final chance with me. He was never a father to me, but he could try to be a part of my life now, and a part of his newborn grandson's life. This opened communication for us and I started to forgive him again. He eventually sent a present for my son's first Christmas (a high chair which we kept and used for more than four years) and then I never heard from him again. Never in the past six years.
For the past twenty years I've been a fairly unhappy person. Last summer I had an epiphany that I was carrying a lot--A LOT-- of father baggage. Getting rid of this baggage seemed to be the obvious solution to some of my problems.
David Peterson is a liar. David Peterson is a closet racist. David Peterson is a child beater. David Peterson is a wife beater. David Peterson is a child abandoner. David Peterson is a child molester.
I am none of these things.
Therefore I am not David Peterson. Nor does David Peterson deserve to have anyone named after him. I sure as Hell won't be.
(It's extremely ironic that "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin is playing on my MP3 player right this second)
So, from now on, I am Evan Peterson. That's why the change.
I'm finally looking into the forms and fees for legally changing my name. As soon as I know how to fill them out, and as soon as I have the money, and as soon as I know what, if anything, I want my new middle name to be, I will legally be Evan Peterson, and will be David nevermore.
By the way, I'm accepting suggestions for a new middle name. it has to sound well spoken aloud with Evan and Peterson, and it has to look well aesthetically when written with them. Feel free to post comments of suggested names or e-mail them. I like heroic names, both fictional and mythological.
I've recently dropped the "David" from mine, though not legally--not yet. Admittedly, changing my name so suddenly at the ripe old age of near-thirty (as I was still 29) can be quite confusing for the people who know me, and a difficult change for them to live with/get used to. I have been "Dave" for so long, to so many people, that it's hard to imagine me as anyone else.
The important question I'm asked least often is "why?"
Now, I share the "why?" And now, when asked the "why?" (online anyway), I can simply direct someone to this posting.
I was named David Peterson, after my father, David Peterson. Our middle names differ.
When I was nine or ten my father was arrested for molesting children (I would say the neighbor friend of his step-daughter and his own neice, but I was young, and the details are lost to me). He was quite guilty of this crime. He was also still my daddy, and I still wanted to love him. Kids are weird that way. This is the same guy who beat me when I was five because I said I was Mexican because I liked tacos. Now I like tacos and burritos--it must really get his ire up. Though I wouldn't know.
(An aside: Nowadays, if your parent is sent to prison for molesting kids you might be lucky enough to be offered counselling services. I was not. No one ever even bothered to try and find out if he ever molested me. He did not, but still... thanks for caring.)
I remember crying for what seemed forever that my daddy was a Bad Man and was going to go to prison.
He would call me on occasion from prison, all sad and contrite, and I ate it all up--hook line and sinker (I'm a lover of cliches).
At thirteen I visited him in prison, staying with his wife in Susanville for two weeks while I was there. I have two memories that are very strong from this trip--only one goes back to him: I remember feeling shamed by him for calling my step-sister a whore when she pissed me off once. Granted, it was wrong of me to call her a whore, but I wonder now at what moral authority he had to chastise me for being a thirteen year-old asshole.
He got out of prison when I was either fifteen or sixteen. He did his parole, and visited me for the first time some day during Christmas break of my senior year in high school (I was seventeen). He drove up, took me to McDonalds, bought me two CDs at Target and then dropped me off at my aunt's. All told, maybe two hours of quality time in which he spent telling me about the sexual activities with his then current live-in girlfriend. Thanks for the quality time there, dad.
Shortly thereafter, he returned to prison, presumably for a parole violation. I really don't know for what exactly. I believe I was told domestic violence. He got back out of prison when I was 22. He began writing me a lot. He'd found God... he was sorry... he understood if I never wanted to see him again... blah blah blah. I wrote him that he would have his final chance with me. He was never a father to me, but he could try to be a part of my life now, and a part of his newborn grandson's life. This opened communication for us and I started to forgive him again. He eventually sent a present for my son's first Christmas (a high chair which we kept and used for more than four years) and then I never heard from him again. Never in the past six years.
For the past twenty years I've been a fairly unhappy person. Last summer I had an epiphany that I was carrying a lot--A LOT-- of father baggage. Getting rid of this baggage seemed to be the obvious solution to some of my problems.
David Peterson is a liar. David Peterson is a closet racist. David Peterson is a child beater. David Peterson is a wife beater. David Peterson is a child abandoner. David Peterson is a child molester.
I am none of these things.
Therefore I am not David Peterson. Nor does David Peterson deserve to have anyone named after him. I sure as Hell won't be.
(It's extremely ironic that "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin is playing on my MP3 player right this second)
So, from now on, I am Evan Peterson. That's why the change.
I'm finally looking into the forms and fees for legally changing my name. As soon as I know how to fill them out, and as soon as I have the money, and as soon as I know what, if anything, I want my new middle name to be, I will legally be Evan Peterson, and will be David nevermore.
By the way, I'm accepting suggestions for a new middle name. it has to sound well spoken aloud with Evan and Peterson, and it has to look well aesthetically when written with them. Feel free to post comments of suggested names or e-mail them. I like heroic names, both fictional and mythological.
Hmph
Well, the world didn't end upon turning thirty. Everyone can take a collective sigh of relief now I guess.
My emotional roller coaster, however, is now in full swing.
Yeah, baby.
My emotional roller coaster, however, is now in full swing.
Yeah, baby.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
One Day...
One day left. Tomorrow is the end of the world for me. What happens next? I wish I knew.
Swag report:
Thus far, for those interested in the material things, I've received:
2 DVDs (Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter; and Daria, the Movie) from my pal Drew.
From Denise and the kids: Buffy Season 6 on dvd; a new portable cd player with car radio attachment; a cd backpack for when I'm working out; the flaming watch; Pieces of April on DVD; Fargo on DVD; swimming goggles.
Beautiful and much appreciated letters from both Adrienne and Scott numero Uno.
I've always been a big fan of swag. We DO live in a material world afterall. At least if one can believe Madonna.
Swag report:
Thus far, for those interested in the material things, I've received:
2 DVDs (Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter; and Daria, the Movie) from my pal Drew.
From Denise and the kids: Buffy Season 6 on dvd; a new portable cd player with car radio attachment; a cd backpack for when I'm working out; the flaming watch; Pieces of April on DVD; Fargo on DVD; swimming goggles.
Beautiful and much appreciated letters from both Adrienne and Scott numero Uno.
I've always been a big fan of swag. We DO live in a material world afterall. At least if one can believe Madonna.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Scout Horror
My son brought home a flyer about joining the Scouts today. He was very excited about it. Thankfully, when told he'd have to choose between the Scouts or keeping Karate as his extracurricular activity, he chose karate. He's not quite ready for me to sit him down and explain the anti-gay Scout organization and how it is prejudiced against many of the people in his life whom he loves.
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