Sunday, March 29, 2009
When :Holden Attacks
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Fun with History
I like to read old dictionaries. I am not sure why but I do. As I was reading one recently (1925 Webster's with cool Aeroplane terms) I came upon the word "sophisicated".
What image pops in your mind when you hear that word? This is the image that I get:
What image pops in your mind when you hear that word? This is the image that I get:
Urbane, worldly, nice dresser, lives in the Mexico bingo game.
The dicitionary definition is quite different:
Sophisticate: to render worthless by adulteration: pervert: vitiate.
Sophisticate is an adulterer, pervert, depraved ?! (vitiate=depraved I looked it up)
When did the term switch? I turned to Wikipedia for the answer. Sophists were philosophers around the time of Socrates. They got a reputation for duping the local town folks with their fancy words. They used specious arguments in court to win their case. Specious people appear to be on your side but later twist everything against you to win their case or whatever.
So if you used fancy words you might appear to be a sophist and thus untrusted and weasely. Somewhere along the line, sophisticate lost the evil part and just became someone who spoke well and dressed well, etc but now we know the real truth - they are perverters of truth.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Fun with Grammar!
Remember School House Rock? I do not recall one on subject-verb agreement but there should be. If one rule of grammar is broken more often than any other, this is the one.
Rule 9.
With words that indicate portions—percent, fraction, part, majority, some, all, none, remainder, and so forth —look at the noun in your of phrase (object of the preposition) to determine whether to use a singular or plural verb. If the object of the preposition is singular, use a singular verb. If the object of the preposition is plural, use a plural verb.
Examples:
Fifty percent of the pie has disappeared.Pie is the object of the preposition of.
Fifty percent of the pies have disappeared.Pies is the object of the preposition.
One-third of the city is unemployed.
One-third of the people are unemployed.
NOTE: Hyphenate all spelled-out fractions.
All of the pie is gone.
All of the pies are gone.
Some of the pie is missing.
Some of the pies are missing.
So, the object of the preposition is "children" and this billboard should have used the word "are" and not "is". "1 in 5 children are sexually exploited on line"
I saw a billboard yesterday that said "1 in 5 children is sexually exploited on line." Here is my photoshop version of it:
Now, aside from the serious but unproveable message, do the subject and verb agree?
The question becomes "Who is the subject of the sentence?" Is it "1"? If so, then the subject-verb matches. "1 is sexually exploited on line."
But isn't "1 in 5" a modifier of "children"? If the term "twenty-percent of" were substituted in place of "1in 5" then the subject-verb would be "twenty-percent of children is..."
So what is the grammar rule?
Rule 9.
With words that indicate portions—percent, fraction, part, majority, some, all, none, remainder, and so forth —look at the noun in your of phrase (object of the preposition) to determine whether to use a singular or plural verb. If the object of the preposition is singular, use a singular verb. If the object of the preposition is plural, use a plural verb.
Examples:
Fifty percent of the pie has disappeared.Pie is the object of the preposition of.
Fifty percent of the pies have disappeared.Pies is the object of the preposition.
One-third of the city is unemployed.
One-third of the people are unemployed.
NOTE: Hyphenate all spelled-out fractions.
All of the pie is gone.
All of the pies are gone.
Some of the pie is missing.
Some of the pies are missing.
So, the object of the preposition is "children" and this billboard should have used the word "are" and not "is". "1 in 5 children are sexually exploited on line"
I knew it looked wrong when I read it. In more ways than one.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
That was Fun!
I enjoyed the "make your own album" that Pam posted in her blog. I had so much fun I made another. The rules were:
Go to wikipedia and select random page - that is your band name. How awesome is Cavelord.
Go to wikiquotes and select random - the last 4 or 5 words on the last quote.
Go to flickr - last seven days and the third pic is the album art.
Mix and match and voila! viola? volia? I can't remember.
P.S. - I used GIMP as my photo editor. It's free and I learned about it from Pam also. Thanks Pam! It's easy to use. I didn't even have to download the manual. I just played around with it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Trip to the Store - part ii
To catch up, this chapter starts at the second trip to the store following the first trip for cigarettes. It is kinda long, so I apologize for that.
I decided on the follow-up trip to forgo the shortcut and take the long way around. It took about 10 minutes longer on foot but I was no big hurry. As I walked to the main street, South Garden Avenue, I caught sight of another Casa Fernandes resident – Mr. Touch – that was our name for him. Mr. Touch didn’t say much because he had things to do. He had to touch all objects as he walked.
If James was Winston Churchill, Mr. Touch was Jimmy Stewart. Mr. Touch always wore a nice, although worn, suit and fedora. At first glance, Mr. Touch might not gather any attention. His tall frame in a suit walking down the street would not raise any suspicions, that is until he walked in the middle of the street and touched the manhole cover with his foot. As he walked, he touched each fence post or nearby branch and was on the watch for the next manhole cover. If a post or bush were not available, Mr. Touch would lightly but deliberately touch the top of his head until an object appeared that needed touching.
I imagine now that Mr. Touch needed to touch each item to reassure himself that he was living in the real world - almost like pinching oneself to make sure you are not in a dream, Mr. Touch touched things to make sure he was not in a dream or worse.
Maybe Mr. Touch's alternate world was such an awful place that he had to constantly remind himself that he wasn't there. His tactile reactions were all he had to let him know that he was safe in this world.
I let him walk past me without engaging in conversation. As I approached the corner, I saw yet another resident – Tom. Tom was younger and more professorial than the other residents. He spoke clearly and succinctly. “Good to day to you” he said to me as I approached the entrance to the apartment complex that contained Casa Fernandes.
“Hello. Say Tom – I haven’t seen James around for a few weeks. Is he ok?”
“The old chap is fine. Every few weeks he has electro shock therapy. He is recovering from that but he will be up and around in no time.”
“Electro-shock therapy? Does that hurt?”
“I haven’t had it myself but most of the residents here do. It helps keep them calm. Going to the store are you?” He chose to ignore the part about pain.
“Hmmm? Oh yes – I am going to the store.”
“Ah. Well, carry on then and stay away from too much candy. It is bad for your teeth.”
“Ok, thanks Tom.”
I did not pay attention to Tom’s warning and headed straight for the candy aisles. I purchased a Missile Pop - a tri-colored cone shaped sucker that actually got sharper and sharper as it sat in the mouth. If anyone ever tried to attack me on the way home and there was always that chance, I could remove the sucker from my mouth and use it as a javelin and spear the attacker with the sharpened end.
“That’ll be 15 cents.” Said Claire, the large-haired cashier. “No cigarettes today?”
“No, just the candy- I am trying to quit the cigarettes.”
“Huh? Oh, good one. Ok, have a good day.”
I made it back home in nine minutes flat. As I entered our backyard from the shortcut, I could see my Dad setting up the barbeque and getting ready to grill. Looks like we were having a BBQ tonight.
“Ape, go inside and get me the hot dogs.” My dad started every sentence with Ape. I have no idea why. I guess it was his joke instead of saying “Hey”. Or he liked calling me an ape. Never could figure that out.
I ran inside and grabbed the hot dogs. As the sun set, the hot dogs and burgers grilled and our entire family stayed outside listening to albums from a speaker placed near the door.
“Honey, go inside and put on the Linda Ronstadt album.” My mom called me honey, much better than ape. I went inside and changed the album and Blue Bayou started to play.
I'm going back someday
Come what may
To Blue Bayou
Where the folks are fine
And the world is mine
On Blue Bayou
Where those fishing boats
With their sails afloat
If I could only see
That familiar sunrise
Through sleepy eyes
How happy I'd be
The barbeque was especially good that day. My dad even made his famous guacamole with his secret ingredient – pickle juice.
“Keeps it fresh. Ape! Stay out of that!”
That night sleep came easy. Our bedroom was in the corner of the house, closest to the shortcut. We had bunk beds and I got top bunk. The beds overlooked a window that had a shutter on the bottom half but was exposed on the top half of the window.
Lying in the top bunk, I could see out the window and had a view of the backyard fence and above that the light post of the church parking lot. I often fell asleep staring at the light post convinced it was a UFO.
The only problem with the shortcut was that other people could use it too. It was a hole in the defenses of our castle. Intruders could enter undetected and pass close to the house. One night, the police chased a suspect down our driveway and right through the shortcut.
As I slept that night, another intruder had entered our sanctuary undetected. A tall man stood outside the window, tall enough to see over the shutter and watched me sleep. From my vantage point, he appeared as a silhouette – all details washed out by the bright light post over the fence.
My sleep turned uneasy and I awoke. As I looked out the window to try and determine whether it was day or night, the shadow disappeared beneath the shutter. As it descended, I thought I saw a head – wearing a hat.
My heart surged. Was someone behind the shutter? Who was watching me? Was it a dream? It must have been a dream. I was a good dreamer. I once had a dream that the milkman was the Zodiac killer. That dream scared me for days. Truth be told, it still scares me. My pulse relaxed and I turned over to try and sleep again. It was just a dream but got to ask Mom to put up some curtains.
As I fell back asleep, the shadow wearing a hat quietly entered the shortcut and disappeared into the dark of night.
I decided on the follow-up trip to forgo the shortcut and take the long way around. It took about 10 minutes longer on foot but I was no big hurry. As I walked to the main street, South Garden Avenue, I caught sight of another Casa Fernandes resident – Mr. Touch – that was our name for him. Mr. Touch didn’t say much because he had things to do. He had to touch all objects as he walked.
If James was Winston Churchill, Mr. Touch was Jimmy Stewart. Mr. Touch always wore a nice, although worn, suit and fedora. At first glance, Mr. Touch might not gather any attention. His tall frame in a suit walking down the street would not raise any suspicions, that is until he walked in the middle of the street and touched the manhole cover with his foot. As he walked, he touched each fence post or nearby branch and was on the watch for the next manhole cover. If a post or bush were not available, Mr. Touch would lightly but deliberately touch the top of his head until an object appeared that needed touching.
I imagine now that Mr. Touch needed to touch each item to reassure himself that he was living in the real world - almost like pinching oneself to make sure you are not in a dream, Mr. Touch touched things to make sure he was not in a dream or worse.
Maybe Mr. Touch's alternate world was such an awful place that he had to constantly remind himself that he wasn't there. His tactile reactions were all he had to let him know that he was safe in this world.
I let him walk past me without engaging in conversation. As I approached the corner, I saw yet another resident – Tom. Tom was younger and more professorial than the other residents. He spoke clearly and succinctly. “Good to day to you” he said to me as I approached the entrance to the apartment complex that contained Casa Fernandes.
“Hello. Say Tom – I haven’t seen James around for a few weeks. Is he ok?”
“The old chap is fine. Every few weeks he has electro shock therapy. He is recovering from that but he will be up and around in no time.”
“Electro-shock therapy? Does that hurt?”
“I haven’t had it myself but most of the residents here do. It helps keep them calm. Going to the store are you?” He chose to ignore the part about pain.
“Hmmm? Oh yes – I am going to the store.”
“Ah. Well, carry on then and stay away from too much candy. It is bad for your teeth.”
“Ok, thanks Tom.”
I did not pay attention to Tom’s warning and headed straight for the candy aisles. I purchased a Missile Pop - a tri-colored cone shaped sucker that actually got sharper and sharper as it sat in the mouth. If anyone ever tried to attack me on the way home and there was always that chance, I could remove the sucker from my mouth and use it as a javelin and spear the attacker with the sharpened end.
“That’ll be 15 cents.” Said Claire, the large-haired cashier. “No cigarettes today?”
“No, just the candy- I am trying to quit the cigarettes.”
“Huh? Oh, good one. Ok, have a good day.”
I made it back home in nine minutes flat. As I entered our backyard from the shortcut, I could see my Dad setting up the barbeque and getting ready to grill. Looks like we were having a BBQ tonight.
“Ape, go inside and get me the hot dogs.” My dad started every sentence with Ape. I have no idea why. I guess it was his joke instead of saying “Hey”. Or he liked calling me an ape. Never could figure that out.
I ran inside and grabbed the hot dogs. As the sun set, the hot dogs and burgers grilled and our entire family stayed outside listening to albums from a speaker placed near the door.
“Honey, go inside and put on the Linda Ronstadt album.” My mom called me honey, much better than ape. I went inside and changed the album and Blue Bayou started to play.
I'm going back someday
Come what may
To Blue Bayou
Where the folks are fine
And the world is mine
On Blue Bayou
Where those fishing boats
With their sails afloat
If I could only see
That familiar sunrise
Through sleepy eyes
How happy I'd be
The barbeque was especially good that day. My dad even made his famous guacamole with his secret ingredient – pickle juice.
“Keeps it fresh. Ape! Stay out of that!”
That night sleep came easy. Our bedroom was in the corner of the house, closest to the shortcut. We had bunk beds and I got top bunk. The beds overlooked a window that had a shutter on the bottom half but was exposed on the top half of the window.
Lying in the top bunk, I could see out the window and had a view of the backyard fence and above that the light post of the church parking lot. I often fell asleep staring at the light post convinced it was a UFO.
The only problem with the shortcut was that other people could use it too. It was a hole in the defenses of our castle. Intruders could enter undetected and pass close to the house. One night, the police chased a suspect down our driveway and right through the shortcut.
As I slept that night, another intruder had entered our sanctuary undetected. A tall man stood outside the window, tall enough to see over the shutter and watched me sleep. From my vantage point, he appeared as a silhouette – all details washed out by the bright light post over the fence.
My sleep turned uneasy and I awoke. As I looked out the window to try and determine whether it was day or night, the shadow disappeared beneath the shutter. As it descended, I thought I saw a head – wearing a hat.
My heart surged. Was someone behind the shutter? Who was watching me? Was it a dream? It must have been a dream. I was a good dreamer. I once had a dream that the milkman was the Zodiac killer. That dream scared me for days. Truth be told, it still scares me. My pulse relaxed and I turned over to try and sleep again. It was just a dream but got to ask Mom to put up some curtains.
As I fell back asleep, the shadow wearing a hat quietly entered the shortcut and disappeared into the dark of night.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Star Wizard of Alderaan
Ok. Some I was going to the store this morning and I was thinking about Star Wars as I often do. I was thinking specifically of Uncle Owen and trying to remember the name of aunt. Aunt Beru? Aunt Veru? Veruch? Anyway - I remembered that Uncle Owen was also Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz's uncle. Right? "Uncle Owen? Auntie Em?"
So, I started to see similarities between the two-
C3PO= Tin Man
Lion= Chewbacca
Munchkins = Ewoks
Luke=Dorothy
Good Witch=Yoda
Bad Witch=Vader
Both go on journeys and discover they have powers.
So I googled it to see how original my idea was. Surely, I was the first person ever to see the connection. There were several millions responses including a thesis paper from some college on the subject. Oh well - it sounded like a good idea for a minute. Someone even did a mash-up video of it.
Aunt Beru is her name.
So, I started to see similarities between the two-
C3PO= Tin Man
Lion= Chewbacca
Munchkins = Ewoks
Luke=Dorothy
Good Witch=Yoda
Bad Witch=Vader
Both go on journeys and discover they have powers.
So I googled it to see how original my idea was. Surely, I was the first person ever to see the connection. There were several millions responses including a thesis paper from some college on the subject. Oh well - it sounded like a good idea for a minute. Someone even did a mash-up video of it.
Aunt Beru is her name.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Embarassing Moments
So, no one blogs anymore? It's been a rainy Wednesday at Pam's blog for a week plus now. Come on! I need to know what Cowboy did today. Did he sleep? or run around? what? Need the details!
For my own blog of childhood memories, it takes me a while to fully conjure up the past and get the images in my mind. Like the story now -- I am going to walk to the store and meet Mr. Touch and Tom. I will describe them then finish up the store story (what should I buy - Lick em stick, Chick-n-stick, that big block of chocolate?- oh Chunky) then I was thinking of having a BBQ that night and kind of retelling my BBQ story (jasmine, albums, etc) then that night something happens! Something sinister that I am not sure happened. It might have been a dream but I think it was real. Oh well, you will see.
But Casa Fernandes will wait until Friday or so.
Today, I went to a restaurant for lunch and had to wash my hands. As I walked into the bathroom, I didn't see the familiar sign of a mens' room - the urinal so, I panicked and walked out thinking I had walked into the womens' room. It got me thinking of embarassing moments in life. They are probably bigger to you than to anyone else but the memory is usually strong. So what's yours?
In looking at the web, most moments involve farting in public, losing your shorts somewhere, things in your teeth, etc. One was for having huge sweat stains and trying to hide them.
My personal embarassing moment happened when Aunt Lydia and Uncle Don took me to Los Angeles to see a hockey game. The motel had a pool and on three sides was a restaurant with huge glass windows looking out over the pool. I had on white gym shorts as swimming trunks that became invisible when wet. So I had to leave the pool and get to my towel basically naked.
Awkward!
For my own blog of childhood memories, it takes me a while to fully conjure up the past and get the images in my mind. Like the story now -- I am going to walk to the store and meet Mr. Touch and Tom. I will describe them then finish up the store story (what should I buy - Lick em stick, Chick-n-stick, that big block of chocolate?- oh Chunky) then I was thinking of having a BBQ that night and kind of retelling my BBQ story (jasmine, albums, etc) then that night something happens! Something sinister that I am not sure happened. It might have been a dream but I think it was real. Oh well, you will see.
But Casa Fernandes will wait until Friday or so.
Today, I went to a restaurant for lunch and had to wash my hands. As I walked into the bathroom, I didn't see the familiar sign of a mens' room - the urinal so, I panicked and walked out thinking I had walked into the womens' room. It got me thinking of embarassing moments in life. They are probably bigger to you than to anyone else but the memory is usually strong. So what's yours?
In looking at the web, most moments involve farting in public, losing your shorts somewhere, things in your teeth, etc. One was for having huge sweat stains and trying to hide them.
My personal embarassing moment happened when Aunt Lydia and Uncle Don took me to Los Angeles to see a hockey game. The motel had a pool and on three sides was a restaurant with huge glass windows looking out over the pool. I had on white gym shorts as swimming trunks that became invisible when wet. So I had to leave the pool and get to my towel basically naked.
Awkward!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Casa Fernandes Update
Ok - what happened to my last post? I had lots of pithy, funny comments in there and they got lost in the ether of the internet. I hate it when that happens. Well, I had to go to Murrieta for work and decided to drive. The first pic was going over the Grapevine. The snow had just started and it looked kinda nice. I took a pic while driving dangerously close to those big rigs. What was I thinking?
The other pic was Holden being silly and a picture of my rug which is really wood slats like a hardwood floor. I am on the only one who sees the irony in covering a carpeted floor with a rug that looks like a hardwood floor?
Anyway, I think I have a plot for this rambling Casa Fernandes tale. So here is the next mini-chapter. We have met James, the beautiful dreamer, and here is the intro to the next two characters we will meet - Mr. Touch and a guy named Tom. I couldn't remember his name so I went with Tom.
Trips to the Store
For whatever reason, my family required at least three trips per day to the local store – Food Town. Food Town was most easily accessed through the shortcut, through the church, past Casa Fernandes and around the corner to the store. Only one street had to be crossed and the total trip on foot was less than 10 minutes.
Food Town itself was a typical small market – some canned food aisles, a produce section, a butcher in the back and a refrigerator section in the far back aisle. The all important candy aisle was closest to the registers. The registers were those key-punch style registers. The numbers 1-9 ran in columns for the dollars and cents. I remember watching with fascination as the cashier could push several buttons at once without looking to ring up an order.
Maybe my grandma needed flour for her tortillas or a pack of Salems, maybe it was my great-grandmother’s need for a carton of milk and a pack of Marlboros, maybe my mom needed a loaf of bread or a pack of Tareytons. Now that I think about, we were just enablers of their respective smoking addictions. Don’t even get me started on why 8 year olds were allowed to buy cigarettes in the first place. Although we did have a note:
“Dear Food Town – please sell a pack of cigarettes to my son. He will not smoke them – honestly. Signed, his Mom."
Even more strange was that neither my brother nor I (the primary couriers) smoked – then or now. Maybe being the drug mules for so long turned us off to the habit.
I used to toss the cigarettes in the air and catch them as I made my way home. On one trip, I threw the box too high and it went over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Our neighbor was insane and bought a ram to eat the grass instead of just mowing once a month like a normal person. The ram was a heartless creature who acted well, like a ram and tried to head butt you if you went into his territory. I had to hop the fence, retrieve the cigarettes and hop back over before the ram could attack me. Luckily I made it and the cigarettes were delivered safely.
The reward for a fast trip to the store was a portion of the change. Granma was the best tipper usually giving all of the leftover change. I never felt right accepting money from my Great-grandma. She spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so even getting her order right was a small miracle. It usually involved lots of pantomime and pointing at empty containers. My mom usually allowed us to keep part of the change.
And with the newly earned cash, a trip to the store was in order to spend the tip. It was on one of those follow-up trips that I met two more residents of Casa Fernandes and gained a little insight into what really went on there.
The other pic was Holden being silly and a picture of my rug which is really wood slats like a hardwood floor. I am on the only one who sees the irony in covering a carpeted floor with a rug that looks like a hardwood floor?
Anyway, I think I have a plot for this rambling Casa Fernandes tale. So here is the next mini-chapter. We have met James, the beautiful dreamer, and here is the intro to the next two characters we will meet - Mr. Touch and a guy named Tom. I couldn't remember his name so I went with Tom.
Trips to the Store
For whatever reason, my family required at least three trips per day to the local store – Food Town. Food Town was most easily accessed through the shortcut, through the church, past Casa Fernandes and around the corner to the store. Only one street had to be crossed and the total trip on foot was less than 10 minutes.
Food Town itself was a typical small market – some canned food aisles, a produce section, a butcher in the back and a refrigerator section in the far back aisle. The all important candy aisle was closest to the registers. The registers were those key-punch style registers. The numbers 1-9 ran in columns for the dollars and cents. I remember watching with fascination as the cashier could push several buttons at once without looking to ring up an order.
Maybe my grandma needed flour for her tortillas or a pack of Salems, maybe it was my great-grandmother’s need for a carton of milk and a pack of Marlboros, maybe my mom needed a loaf of bread or a pack of Tareytons. Now that I think about, we were just enablers of their respective smoking addictions. Don’t even get me started on why 8 year olds were allowed to buy cigarettes in the first place. Although we did have a note:
“Dear Food Town – please sell a pack of cigarettes to my son. He will not smoke them – honestly. Signed, his Mom."
Even more strange was that neither my brother nor I (the primary couriers) smoked – then or now. Maybe being the drug mules for so long turned us off to the habit.
I used to toss the cigarettes in the air and catch them as I made my way home. On one trip, I threw the box too high and it went over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Our neighbor was insane and bought a ram to eat the grass instead of just mowing once a month like a normal person. The ram was a heartless creature who acted well, like a ram and tried to head butt you if you went into his territory. I had to hop the fence, retrieve the cigarettes and hop back over before the ram could attack me. Luckily I made it and the cigarettes were delivered safely.
The reward for a fast trip to the store was a portion of the change. Granma was the best tipper usually giving all of the leftover change. I never felt right accepting money from my Great-grandma. She spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so even getting her order right was a small miracle. It usually involved lots of pantomime and pointing at empty containers. My mom usually allowed us to keep part of the change.
And with the newly earned cash, a trip to the store was in order to spend the tip. It was on one of those follow-up trips that I met two more residents of Casa Fernandes and gained a little insight into what really went on there.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Top Album of All Time
I am currently listening to Ten by Pearl Jam and I was thinking that song for song this has to be one of the best albums ever.
So what's your favorite album (no Greatest Hits allowed)? You know, where each song is as good as the next and you don't have to skip the filler songs to get to the hits. Listening to an entire album is very rare is the randomizing iTunes world.
I got curious and googled it. According to Rolling Stone - #1 is Sgt. Peppers which is hard to disagree. Great songs. I would rank it #1 also. In fact the Beatles have 10 of their 12 albums listed and 4 of the Top Ten are Beatles.
U2 had 5 of their 10 albums listed.
The Police had 4 of their 5 listed.
Nirvana had 2 of their 3 listed.
Velvet Underground had all 4 of their studio albums listed which is pretty amazing.
That got me thinking of the actor John Cazale. Remember him? Well he died very young at age 42 of bone cancer. In his short but amazing career, he made 5 films. All 5 films were nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards. Dog Day Afternoon, The Conversation, Deer Hunter and of course, Godfather and Godfather II. Yes, Fredo from the Godfather who couldn't do anything right was portrayed by an actor who could do no wrong. Here's to you Fredo!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Move-In
Finally completed the move-in to my new apartment. The bed is being delivered tomorrow and everything will finally be done. Whew! My back is aching from moving this and that and two bowling balls I didn't know I had and stuff. It's funny how when you move you take stuff out of one closet and move it into the new closet.
The gym is still there and I am still going. While I have not made peace with the treadmill, I have befriended the eliptical machine -which raises a strange math question that I thought about while working out.
Every three minutes I slightly change the workout. For the first three minutes, I do not use my hands, the next three I use the arm thingies on the machine and for the last three I hold on to the pulse reader thing and then repeat for a total of 30 minutes.
So I was thinking that I spent 30 minutes working out and did three activities over and over, so 10 minutes for each step. Since I do the steps in 3 minute increments, how can I total 10 minutes? I mean 10 does not go into 3 equally. It seems like there is a left over minute somewhere.
I think I figured out but let's see if you can. I'll tell you my answer next post.
Another stupid math thing that used to puzzle me is when I was pumping gas. Let's say I was pumping $10.00 worth of gas. At $1.00 per gallon, I would get 10 gallons. At $2.00 per gallon, I would get 5 gallons. Now, let's say gas was $1.50 per gallon - halfway between $1.00 and $2.00.
Logic says that I would receive the halfway point between 10 gallons and 5 gallons - 7.5 gallons right?
Well do the math - 10/1.5 = 6.67 gallons. I don't know - it just doesn't make sense to me.
Is anyone still there? Did you see math and your eyes glazed over and skipped to this section. Well, go back and read the math part. It's interesting! Ok on with the show. Here is my next little installment of the "Casa Fernandes Chronicles" or my working title "Beautiful Dreamer"
Outside
Access to the parking lot was made via “the shortcut”- two boards were missing in our fence. Due to some geographical anomaly which to this day I am unable to explain, the parking lot ground level was a full three feet higher than our backyard.
It was as if God himself lifted the church and its accompanying parking lot three feet higher than the surrounding ground. Either that or the Hayward fault that we heard so much about ran right through our backyard. So to access the parking lot, one had to fit through the opening of the fence and enter a piece of ground that was a no man’s land known as “the ditch”. Nothing but weeds and spiders lived in “the ditch.” The ditch separated our low land back yard from the raised level of the church parking lot. I once saw a spider with legs so long and a web so thick that I feared using the shortcut for weeks. Surely the spider would ensnare me in its thick web and eat me alive!
Once through the shortcut, the church parking lot was ours for the taking. Most lazy summer days were spent playing basketball on the parking lot. Well, our version of basketball anyway. More often than not, we didn’t have a “basketball.” We used any ball that fit in the basket – volleyball, soccer ball, four-square ball, even the occasional tennis ball was used in a pinch.
The backboard was attached to a light post that seemingly stretched several hundred feet in the sky. At the base of the light pole was a concrete base of about two feet square with a small pole at each corner to prevent cars from ramming into the tall but light light pole.
When we didn’t have a basket ball, we used to stand on each small pole and carefully hop to the next one, hugging the light pole for balance. We did this for seemingly hours on end – from corner pole to corner pole. A delicate balancing act performed daily -two feet above the ground. Since church was not in session, not too many people interrupted our adventure round and round the light pole.
One day that all changed when we were visited by an odd older man with a smile and laugh that gave him a kid-like quality and innocence. Imagine a Winston Churchill-like man with a hearty laugh and less teeth (three to be exact). That man as we came to learn was named James and he lived across the street at a curious place called Casa Fernandes. In between jolly laughs, he sang one tune over and over “Beautiful Dreamer.” We would come to learn that summer that James was indeed a beautiful dreamer.
Access to the parking lot was made via “the shortcut”- two boards were missing in our fence. Due to some geographical anomaly which to this day I am unable to explain, the parking lot ground level was a full three feet higher than our backyard.
It was as if God himself lifted the church and its accompanying parking lot three feet higher than the surrounding ground. Either that or the Hayward fault that we heard so much about ran right through our backyard. So to access the parking lot, one had to fit through the opening of the fence and enter a piece of ground that was a no man’s land known as “the ditch”. Nothing but weeds and spiders lived in “the ditch.” The ditch separated our low land back yard from the raised level of the church parking lot. I once saw a spider with legs so long and a web so thick that I feared using the shortcut for weeks. Surely the spider would ensnare me in its thick web and eat me alive!
Once through the shortcut, the church parking lot was ours for the taking. Most lazy summer days were spent playing basketball on the parking lot. Well, our version of basketball anyway. More often than not, we didn’t have a “basketball.” We used any ball that fit in the basket – volleyball, soccer ball, four-square ball, even the occasional tennis ball was used in a pinch.
The backboard was attached to a light post that seemingly stretched several hundred feet in the sky. At the base of the light pole was a concrete base of about two feet square with a small pole at each corner to prevent cars from ramming into the tall but light light pole.
When we didn’t have a basket ball, we used to stand on each small pole and carefully hop to the next one, hugging the light pole for balance. We did this for seemingly hours on end – from corner pole to corner pole. A delicate balancing act performed daily -two feet above the ground. Since church was not in session, not too many people interrupted our adventure round and round the light pole.
One day that all changed when we were visited by an odd older man with a smile and laugh that gave him a kid-like quality and innocence. Imagine a Winston Churchill-like man with a hearty laugh and less teeth (three to be exact). That man as we came to learn was named James and he lived across the street at a curious place called Casa Fernandes. In between jolly laughs, he sang one tune over and over “Beautiful Dreamer.” We would come to learn that summer that James was indeed a beautiful dreamer.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Origin of Love
I was reading the paper (does anyone else still read "the paper"? The paper contains facts. This paper contains facts - "Pregnant man gives birth" That's a fact) I digress.
I was reading the paper and came across this ad:
I was reading the paper and came across this ad:
"The" John Cameron Mitchell is reprising his role as Hedwig! The original Hedwig!
I went on line right away and bought tickets. So I am going!
I want to see this business, we call show.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Ch-ch-changes
Thank you David Bowie. Things are a-changing. Jen is having a boy, Pam is hitched. Congrats to both of you - really the four of you - ok the five of you including the little fetus.
Changes for me? You betcha. Not as dramatic or life altering but some changes are coming my way. I think that life goes in cycles and for me it has been 5 year cycles. I changed jobs every 5 years for the past 15 years but no job change this year.
First, my car kinda died. Not really died but failed the smog which is a death sentence for cars. It was going to be $1500 to bring it up to snuff and I didn't want to pay on an old car. A car I loved and enjoyed but alas, it was time to put it down. So I switched to a Mazda. It's a cute little sport-ute. A 2007 CX7 - a lease return but really cute. Here is a pic of one - mine is black
It's cute. I am also moving to somewhere else. A secret location - can't share the details but I am moving hopefully to a place with less window smashing goodness. It is actually back to the same place I used to live in San Leandro - on 143rd Avenue. So that's a change. I'll probably move next week or so.
So new car and a new place to live. Same job and everything else. Same battle getting to the gym on a regular basis. Still loathing the treadmill - I curse your rusty innards!
I went to the gym on the Monday after New years and it was packed to the rafters with people. There was an hour wait to get to a treadmill. It reminded me of the first day of Chabot. Tons of people with new clothes working around kind of disoriented and two weeks later they are gone. Gyms must love New Years and peoples' resolutions. The crowds have already dropped off a bit. Ah well, maybe next year.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Plans for 2009
The New Year is always a good time to make plans. I guess you can make resolutions too but resolutions seem so concrete and unyielding. Plans are more elastic and change with you. I guess some resolutions are just plans anyway. "I plan to go to the gym more often." It is a resolution and a plan. Either way it will probably fail.
Ok gotta stop for a minute. As I was typing this, I realized I was channeling Andy Rooney. Go ahead and read that first paragraph in the style of Andy Rooney. It fits! I guess Andy was the first blogger in history.
Anyway, I do have a plan for 2009. I want to write a story based on childhood memories and incorporate somehow the Casa Fernandes crazy people. I am not sure how it all work but I have the first few paragraphs of the story. Let me know what you think:
You kids! Either in or out! In or out! It’s a beautiful day – go play outside! And close the door – you weren’t born in a barn!”
I never understood why one’s birthplace would have anything to do with the ability to open or close a door. If I were born in a barn, why would I want to leave the door open? I would think that being born in a barn would be kind of drafty and I would want the door closed.
In fact, I had no knowledge of barns at all at the time. I don’t think I had even been in a barn much less born in one. The only barn I can recall as a kid was the Fisher Price Barn made out of tin. But I digress, Mom wanted us to go play outside and we obeyed her animated orders. Notice how Mom only speaks in exclamation points.
Outside - for my brother, two sisters and I – was quite expansive. We had an empty field across the street. The weeds would go wild in the summer and almost on cue would catch fire every summer and provide several minutes of excitement. On the other side of the back fence of our house was a large church and the parking lot of the church was closest to us. When cars weren’t parked there, the parking lot had a half court basketball court and seemingly miles of red hot molten black tar on which to play. We chose the parking lot over the field more often that not.
The church parking lot was a much better option than my Dad’s suggestion “Go count cars on the freeway.” Although I contemplated taking him up on this suggestion several times, I never actually went through with it. I always thought it would be funny to go back to my Dad and say “92”.
“Whaaat? 92 what?”
“I counted the cars on the freeway and counted 92.”
“I think there are more cars on the freeway than that.” He would reply.
“You never specified how long to count cars. So I got up to 92 and thought I would come back and let you know how many I counted.”
“Ah. Great. Go back outside before your Mom sees you. And close the door! She thinks you were born in a barn, you know.”
End Scene. Once back on the parking lot, we would meet James, the first crazy then somehow introduce the others - Mr. Touch, the General, Lola.
That is all for now. The story will get fictional but retain the characters and be based on actual events.
Ok gotta stop for a minute. As I was typing this, I realized I was channeling Andy Rooney. Go ahead and read that first paragraph in the style of Andy Rooney. It fits! I guess Andy was the first blogger in history.
Anyway, I do have a plan for 2009. I want to write a story based on childhood memories and incorporate somehow the Casa Fernandes crazy people. I am not sure how it all work but I have the first few paragraphs of the story. Let me know what you think:
You kids! Either in or out! In or out! It’s a beautiful day – go play outside! And close the door – you weren’t born in a barn!”
I never understood why one’s birthplace would have anything to do with the ability to open or close a door. If I were born in a barn, why would I want to leave the door open? I would think that being born in a barn would be kind of drafty and I would want the door closed.
In fact, I had no knowledge of barns at all at the time. I don’t think I had even been in a barn much less born in one. The only barn I can recall as a kid was the Fisher Price Barn made out of tin. But I digress, Mom wanted us to go play outside and we obeyed her animated orders. Notice how Mom only speaks in exclamation points.
Outside - for my brother, two sisters and I – was quite expansive. We had an empty field across the street. The weeds would go wild in the summer and almost on cue would catch fire every summer and provide several minutes of excitement. On the other side of the back fence of our house was a large church and the parking lot of the church was closest to us. When cars weren’t parked there, the parking lot had a half court basketball court and seemingly miles of red hot molten black tar on which to play. We chose the parking lot over the field more often that not.
The church parking lot was a much better option than my Dad’s suggestion “Go count cars on the freeway.” Although I contemplated taking him up on this suggestion several times, I never actually went through with it. I always thought it would be funny to go back to my Dad and say “92”.
“Whaaat? 92 what?”
“I counted the cars on the freeway and counted 92.”
“I think there are more cars on the freeway than that.” He would reply.
“You never specified how long to count cars. So I got up to 92 and thought I would come back and let you know how many I counted.”
“Ah. Great. Go back outside before your Mom sees you. And close the door! She thinks you were born in a barn, you know.”
End Scene. Once back on the parking lot, we would meet James, the first crazy then somehow introduce the others - Mr. Touch, the General, Lola.
That is all for now. The story will get fictional but retain the characters and be based on actual events.
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