It took me a while to figure out I just might like making beer at home. First, my bicycle had to be stolen. "What?" you ask.
"Yes," I reply.
Here's proof.
And don't forget to comment there if you've got something to add.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
'Tis the season to re-gift
All of the packages under the Christmas tree have been opened and torn paper and empty boxes are strewn across the house. Gifts are being stored, and eaten, and spent, and whatever else can be done with a gift. Re-gifting the 2010 presents hasn't happened yet. Or at least it shouldn't have.
I have no problem with re-gifting. I've done it myself, and been the recipient. It makes perfect sense and is a wise use of resources. Much better than that old time tradition of putting on the ugly sweater that never sees the light of day just because the giver is coming over, or digging through the closet for that picture frame, decorative plate, or other gewgaw for fear of hearing, "Where's that terra cotta shoe tree I gave you last year?" I am a firm believer that once you give a gift it is up to the receiver to do what he wants with it. Use it, give it, toss it, or store it. Or whatever else you can do with a gift.
But you shouldn't lean over during the festive gift exchange and ask, "Would you like this?" of the person sitting next to you. Even if you are sure she'll say yes. For goodness sake, get home, then decide what to do with it. At least act appreciative. Yes, we all know you are the pickiest person in the family, and you have all sorts of rules for what kinds of gifts you want your children to receive, and as soon as you opened the gift we knew you were displeased. We didn't even have to see it in your eyes, because we have become used to the fact that pretty much nothing pleases you.
At least take the thing home and do whatever you want with it later. Or tell everyone to stop bringing you gifts because you celebrate Festivus and don't believe in spending money you don't have on things that people don't need. Make it a gift-less Christmas, I'm even okay with that. A final suggestion is to stay home. If all that sounds harsh, then learn how to properly re-gift. Thank the giver with an open and honest smile, even while you are secretly figuring out how to get rid of it. I promise if it was from me I will never, ever, ever come to your house and ask where it is.
Because I know. I hope you found a good home for it. If you threw it away, that's fine too (although it kind of defeats your other goal of reducing the crap that goes in your local landfill).
You have to learn how to re-gift properly, because it still offends some people (especially old people). There are right and wrong ways to go about it.
I have no problem with re-gifting. I've done it myself, and been the recipient. It makes perfect sense and is a wise use of resources. Much better than that old time tradition of putting on the ugly sweater that never sees the light of day just because the giver is coming over, or digging through the closet for that picture frame, decorative plate, or other gewgaw for fear of hearing, "Where's that terra cotta shoe tree I gave you last year?" I am a firm believer that once you give a gift it is up to the receiver to do what he wants with it. Use it, give it, toss it, or store it. Or whatever else you can do with a gift.
But you shouldn't lean over during the festive gift exchange and ask, "Would you like this?" of the person sitting next to you. Even if you are sure she'll say yes. For goodness sake, get home, then decide what to do with it. At least act appreciative. Yes, we all know you are the pickiest person in the family, and you have all sorts of rules for what kinds of gifts you want your children to receive, and as soon as you opened the gift we knew you were displeased. We didn't even have to see it in your eyes, because we have become used to the fact that pretty much nothing pleases you.
At least take the thing home and do whatever you want with it later. Or tell everyone to stop bringing you gifts because you celebrate Festivus and don't believe in spending money you don't have on things that people don't need. Make it a gift-less Christmas, I'm even okay with that. A final suggestion is to stay home. If all that sounds harsh, then learn how to properly re-gift. Thank the giver with an open and honest smile, even while you are secretly figuring out how to get rid of it. I promise if it was from me I will never, ever, ever come to your house and ask where it is.
Because I know. I hope you found a good home for it. If you threw it away, that's fine too (although it kind of defeats your other goal of reducing the crap that goes in your local landfill).
You have to learn how to re-gift properly, because it still offends some people (especially old people). There are right and wrong ways to go about it.
Monday, December 27, 2010
The End of Cursive Writing
If you are horrified by the lack of cursive writing ability in America's youth and you think the world is coming to an end because of it, you should probably relax. The Beatle's mop tops weren't the harbinger of societal collapse, nor video games. Cursive should be no worse. Read more and learn why.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas everybody
The argument over the winter holiday greeting is annoying. Conservatives complain that you can't say "Merry Christmas" any more without offending someone. Liberals try to soften the edges by wishing "Happy Holidays" or some other innocuous utterance. I say it is much ado about nothing except people who like to get carried away complaining about things that don't really matter.
Say what you want. Then shut up. It'll all work out in the end.
Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Enjoy your Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and Winter Solstice. And remember: there is very little difference between Santa Claus and Satan Claws.
Sleep well.
Say what you want. Then shut up. It'll all work out in the end.
Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Enjoy your Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and Winter Solstice. And remember: there is very little difference between Santa Claus and Satan Claws.
Sleep well.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Beer Choice
There are a wide variety of beers available for your personal or professional consumption. You are no doubt already aware of this. Or you have been sleeping.
Regardless . . .
If you are working in the yard on a hot summer afternoon you probably want something light that you can drink one after another. Any of the American lagers come to mind: Pabst, Budweiser, etc. If you want to sip something and consider its dark complexity, then you are better off with some sort of craft brew available in your large liquor supermarket.
I drank Henry Weinhard's Private Reserve from age [removed] to my early thirties before I realized it was just another American lager. Still like it, but I've moved on. After discovering New Belgium's Fat Tire it became the go-to beer at home and at many fine restaurants that served it. Depending what was on sale, though, could alter my choice a time or two. Sierra Nevada, Gordon Biersch, Lagunitas, or any of a multitude (although, truth be told, because this is a blog, and the truth must always be told unless a lie serves better, I rarely grab the Bud or Coors or any of their ilk).
Lately I have been frequenting [large liquor supermarket] and have enjoyed sampling many different brews. Six packs, twelve packs, 22 ounce bottles, I am not picky. I have also brought home Trader Vic's Macadamia Nut Liqueur and an Italian artichoke-based liqueur called Cynar and a really sickeningly sweet kiwi liqueur and some peanut butter-filled pretzels which don't really belong in a blog entry about booze. But they taste great and I can eat them by the handful.
Anyway . . .
I sit in the family room at this very moment and contemplate some beer that is in the fridge. It tempts me, but I leave it to sit and cool. I will bring it to Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow at my mom's house and serve it to anyone who wants to try it. I expect my wife to and probably my sister and brother. Sister's boyfriend might partake. My son will ask, and I will consider his age and turn him down. Four years to go by my count. The beer in question is a four-pack, a most unusual number, and more surprising because it cost over fourteen bucks. I bought it because it is called Palo Santo Marron.
My siblings and I grew up on Palo Santo Drive in Campbell, California. Dogfish Head Brewery (Delaware) makes Palo Santo Marron and I paid the price and we will drink it simply because of its name. Not the best reason to choose a beer, but there are a thousand reasons to choose a beer. Its name can't be the worst.
From the brewery website:
"An unfiltered, unfettered, unprecedented brown ale aged in handmade wooden brewing vessels. The caramel and vanilla complexity unique to this beer comes from the exotic Paraguayan Palo Santo wood from which these tanks were crafted. Palo Santo means "holy tree" and it's wood has been used in South American wine-making communities. This beer is a 12% abv, highly roasty, and malty brown ale aged on the Palo Santo wood."
I don't want to advertise for these folks necessarily, what with their current reality TV show on Discovery Channel, but there you go. I bought their beer. I'll drink it tomorrow. After that, the future will unfold in one way or another.
Drink up.
Regardless . . .
If you are working in the yard on a hot summer afternoon you probably want something light that you can drink one after another. Any of the American lagers come to mind: Pabst, Budweiser, etc. If you want to sip something and consider its dark complexity, then you are better off with some sort of craft brew available in your large liquor supermarket.
I drank Henry Weinhard's Private Reserve from age [removed] to my early thirties before I realized it was just another American lager. Still like it, but I've moved on. After discovering New Belgium's Fat Tire it became the go-to beer at home and at many fine restaurants that served it. Depending what was on sale, though, could alter my choice a time or two. Sierra Nevada, Gordon Biersch, Lagunitas, or any of a multitude (although, truth be told, because this is a blog, and the truth must always be told unless a lie serves better, I rarely grab the Bud or Coors or any of their ilk).
Lately I have been frequenting [large liquor supermarket] and have enjoyed sampling many different brews. Six packs, twelve packs, 22 ounce bottles, I am not picky. I have also brought home Trader Vic's Macadamia Nut Liqueur and an Italian artichoke-based liqueur called Cynar and a really sickeningly sweet kiwi liqueur and some peanut butter-filled pretzels which don't really belong in a blog entry about booze. But they taste great and I can eat them by the handful.
Anyway . . .
I sit in the family room at this very moment and contemplate some beer that is in the fridge. It tempts me, but I leave it to sit and cool. I will bring it to Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow at my mom's house and serve it to anyone who wants to try it. I expect my wife to and probably my sister and brother. Sister's boyfriend might partake. My son will ask, and I will consider his age and turn him down. Four years to go by my count. The beer in question is a four-pack, a most unusual number, and more surprising because it cost over fourteen bucks. I bought it because it is called Palo Santo Marron.
My siblings and I grew up on Palo Santo Drive in Campbell, California. Dogfish Head Brewery (Delaware) makes Palo Santo Marron and I paid the price and we will drink it simply because of its name. Not the best reason to choose a beer, but there are a thousand reasons to choose a beer. Its name can't be the worst.
From the brewery website:
"An unfiltered, unfettered, unprecedented brown ale aged in handmade wooden brewing vessels. The caramel and vanilla complexity unique to this beer comes from the exotic Paraguayan Palo Santo wood from which these tanks were crafted. Palo Santo means "holy tree" and it's wood has been used in South American wine-making communities. This beer is a 12% abv, highly roasty, and malty brown ale aged on the Palo Santo wood."
I don't want to advertise for these folks necessarily, what with their current reality TV show on Discovery Channel, but there you go. I bought their beer. I'll drink it tomorrow. After that, the future will unfold in one way or another.
Drink up.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Santa Claus vs. Tooth Fairy
Read my latest newspaper column about my various successes and failures with a number of different imaginary childhood heroes. Warning: the story may shock you. Please do not read while operating heavy machinery.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Christmas Three
For many years we put up a Christmas tree. It was a family event, and the children's eyes sparkled as they strung the lights and tinsel and hung each ornament with a solemnity that defied description. Therefore that is the extent of the description. We also hung outdoor lights and spent too much. All fine American traditions.
Then we tired of some of the spectacle. Eventually we even chose not to have a tree. One year I attempted to make a tree-like sculpture with some extra PVC pipe left over from a backyard plumbing project. I drilled holes in the pipes so the kids could hang some ornaments, but it lacked the splendor. I promised I wouldn't repeat the experiment.
I did try a miniature tree, though, a twelve-inch darling we got for free and which I placed on top of a stereo speaker. We would stand in a circle and gaze down at the tree in all its glory.
A couple of years ago there was some clamoring for another tree. Something about it being the last Christmas before the eldest child left for college. Boo hoo, I said, but I was quickly outvoted. Now we are several years into the new tree routine, and we have a skinny, leaning twig of a tree propped up against the living room wall. Hark the herald angels sing. Sure.
Our old tree stand was a sturdy metal thing that never gave us a bit of a problem. The one we have now is a big box store version: it's a large plastic thing that could hold a tree of hefty girth. It is bigger than most people need. It is the SUV of Christmas tree stands. It is the portable storage unit of Christmas tree stands. It is the Costco of Christmas tree stands. It is the four-car garage of Christmas tree stands. It is the two terabyte back up hard drive of Christmas tree stands. It is the excessive metaphor of Christmas tree stands. It is the . . . oh, never mind.
The opening in the stand is so wide that the screws from each of the four compass points (if the stand is placed in perfect feng shui position) barely reach the wood. It is a nice tree, but it is faced with an eight-foot ceiling. And we are not so obsessed with achieving the maximum effect that we got a tree with great girth. Therefore, the murdering screws don't embed themselves deeply enough that the tree is held firmly. It listed every time we tried to make it as straight as possible. I put four wood blocks at the end of the screws which helped, but it still leans. For a while it looked like it was going to lean right over the dog bed so I turned the tree around. If it leans anywhere, it will lean gently against the edge of the fireplace. No harm done to the ornaments.
Meanwhile, the family tells me that the back of the tree now shows at the front, and it was not heavily decorated (as the back of the tree never is). I say it doesn't really matter. It is not as if we are going to have so many visitors over the holidays that we care a whole lot what the front of tree looks like. After all, it doesn't look under-decorated unless one looks at the back. And what goofy guest is going to do that? Besides, in a couple of weeks the tree is going to be dumped into the gutter.
Ho ho ho.
Then we tired of some of the spectacle. Eventually we even chose not to have a tree. One year I attempted to make a tree-like sculpture with some extra PVC pipe left over from a backyard plumbing project. I drilled holes in the pipes so the kids could hang some ornaments, but it lacked the splendor. I promised I wouldn't repeat the experiment.
I did try a miniature tree, though, a twelve-inch darling we got for free and which I placed on top of a stereo speaker. We would stand in a circle and gaze down at the tree in all its glory.
A couple of years ago there was some clamoring for another tree. Something about it being the last Christmas before the eldest child left for college. Boo hoo, I said, but I was quickly outvoted. Now we are several years into the new tree routine, and we have a skinny, leaning twig of a tree propped up against the living room wall. Hark the herald angels sing. Sure.
Our old tree stand was a sturdy metal thing that never gave us a bit of a problem. The one we have now is a big box store version: it's a large plastic thing that could hold a tree of hefty girth. It is bigger than most people need. It is the SUV of Christmas tree stands. It is the portable storage unit of Christmas tree stands. It is the Costco of Christmas tree stands. It is the four-car garage of Christmas tree stands. It is the two terabyte back up hard drive of Christmas tree stands. It is the excessive metaphor of Christmas tree stands. It is the . . . oh, never mind.
The opening in the stand is so wide that the screws from each of the four compass points (if the stand is placed in perfect feng shui position) barely reach the wood. It is a nice tree, but it is faced with an eight-foot ceiling. And we are not so obsessed with achieving the maximum effect that we got a tree with great girth. Therefore, the murdering screws don't embed themselves deeply enough that the tree is held firmly. It listed every time we tried to make it as straight as possible. I put four wood blocks at the end of the screws which helped, but it still leans. For a while it looked like it was going to lean right over the dog bed so I turned the tree around. If it leans anywhere, it will lean gently against the edge of the fireplace. No harm done to the ornaments.
Meanwhile, the family tells me that the back of the tree now shows at the front, and it was not heavily decorated (as the back of the tree never is). I say it doesn't really matter. It is not as if we are going to have so many visitors over the holidays that we care a whole lot what the front of tree looks like. After all, it doesn't look under-decorated unless one looks at the back. And what goofy guest is going to do that? Besides, in a couple of weeks the tree is going to be dumped into the gutter.
Ho ho ho.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Another newspaper column
Besides the freebies I offer on the web (this stream-of-consciousness blog, the humor column blog, or the rock and roll haiku blog), I also get paid to write for a local newspaper group.
Crazy, huh?
So I'll post links here for those published pieces, because I know there are people online in countries around the world who can't wait to get more of me. Here's one about how youth is quickly leaving me behind.
Crazy, huh?
So I'll post links here for those published pieces, because I know there are people online in countries around the world who can't wait to get more of me. Here's one about how youth is quickly leaving me behind.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Tree Trimming
Part Two of ??? in the Christmas Theme
Called the teenaged boy downstairs to help "trim the tree." He stomped around and wanted to complain, because, after all, his parents had said he could watch "Saw" tonight. The first in the well known slasher series. "I already helped," he said, because he had, indeed, helped even out the cut on the trunk and he had lifted into the tree stand and stood around for hours as his father crawled around on the cold concrete trying to make everything all Even Steven.
When we explained that tree trimming was actually putting the ornaments on the tree, he was very agreeable.
We like to modify the Xmas traditions over the years, not wanting to get all stuck in the mud and all that. This year the big switch was the so-called top notch. We have used a star in years gone by, and more recently a Santa stuffy, but for 2010 we decided to mash up a whole bunch of silliness on the top of the tree: the Santa stuffy and a pair of Christmasy dinosaurs and a Santa hat and a teddy bear and a few other things so that there is a veritable party on the top of the Christmas tree.
And that is what I think Christmas is all about.
Called the teenaged boy downstairs to help "trim the tree." He stomped around and wanted to complain, because, after all, his parents had said he could watch "Saw" tonight. The first in the well known slasher series. "I already helped," he said, because he had, indeed, helped even out the cut on the trunk and he had lifted into the tree stand and stood around for hours as his father crawled around on the cold concrete trying to make everything all Even Steven.
When we explained that tree trimming was actually putting the ornaments on the tree, he was very agreeable.
We like to modify the Xmas traditions over the years, not wanting to get all stuck in the mud and all that. This year the big switch was the so-called top notch. We have used a star in years gone by, and more recently a Santa stuffy, but for 2010 we decided to mash up a whole bunch of silliness on the top of the tree: the Santa stuffy and a pair of Christmasy dinosaurs and a Santa hat and a teddy bear and a few other things so that there is a veritable party on the top of the Christmas tree.
And that is what I think Christmas is all about.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Christmas Shopping
I don't do a whole lot of Christmas shopping. The wife and I have tried to minimize the amount of gift giving we have to do, by rationally discussing it with middle aged siblings ("Seriously, why am I trying to figure out a gift for you?") and teaching the children that it is better to give than receive ("Seriously, why am I trying to figure out a gift for you?") and inventing something precious for everyone else: the gift of time and space.
What is that?
Well, it can be identified best by saying what it is not. It is not anything to open, or eat, or put on a shelf, or figure out how to get rid of. It is not anything that deserves a thank you note. It is time and space, and I am pleased to give it to you.
You're welcome.
That said, I just spent some time this morning Christmas shopping. It was nice, actually. Early on a Wednesday morning several weeks before Christmas. No crowds, calm salespeople, no traffic. Oh yeah, everyone else was working. Sorry folks. I'm just lucky that way.
Went to Toys R Us for the nieces and Staples for the daughter and Home Depot for the son, then I went to the library to check out a few slasher flicks for my own enjoyment. When I got home it became apparent that several people had been forgotten, most notably children who might just be saddened by my lack of caring.
I've got a couple of weeks left. I'll see what I can do. But seriously, I really don't like Christmas shopping.
Ho ho ho.
mattbaxx: something to read
rock 'n roll haiku
What is that?
Well, it can be identified best by saying what it is not. It is not anything to open, or eat, or put on a shelf, or figure out how to get rid of. It is not anything that deserves a thank you note. It is time and space, and I am pleased to give it to you.
You're welcome.
That said, I just spent some time this morning Christmas shopping. It was nice, actually. Early on a Wednesday morning several weeks before Christmas. No crowds, calm salespeople, no traffic. Oh yeah, everyone else was working. Sorry folks. I'm just lucky that way.
Went to Toys R Us for the nieces and Staples for the daughter and Home Depot for the son, then I went to the library to check out a few slasher flicks for my own enjoyment. When I got home it became apparent that several people had been forgotten, most notably children who might just be saddened by my lack of caring.
I've got a couple of weeks left. I'll see what I can do. But seriously, I really don't like Christmas shopping.
Ho ho ho.
mattbaxx: something to read
rock 'n roll haiku
Monday, November 29, 2010
Exercise and Driving
I can't believe I just allowed in an old piece of exercise equipment. I am the master of minimalism! I don't follow the "if you haven't used it in a year, get rid of it" rule, I toss stuff that hasn't been used in the past few hours. I hate bringing stuff into the house!
And I know the track record of home exercise equipment across this vast land. We make plans for "the new you" and we have New Year's resolutions and it's easy and it's quick and it's convenient and it's only three easy payments of this-or-that and it all turns into a dust-collecting dirty clothes hanger within weeks.
The thing in my extra room is a twenty year old solo flex that has sat unused for about ten years in a friend's house after he upgraded to a newer weight system (that, according to him, is actually used regularly). I knew what I was risking, I knew that I should turn down his kind offer, but then I accepted, and I actually went to his house to get it, and I dragged all hundred-plus pounds of it out of the car and into the garage and then into the spare bedroom abandoned by our oldest daughter about a year ago.
My son says he'll use it. I have plans to use it. But let's get serious, you and I both know what the odds are. The odds are against us. By a wide margin!
Which makes it just the kind of challenge I like.
And I know the track record of home exercise equipment across this vast land. We make plans for "the new you" and we have New Year's resolutions and it's easy and it's quick and it's convenient and it's only three easy payments of this-or-that and it all turns into a dust-collecting dirty clothes hanger within weeks.
The thing in my extra room is a twenty year old solo flex that has sat unused for about ten years in a friend's house after he upgraded to a newer weight system (that, according to him, is actually used regularly). I knew what I was risking, I knew that I should turn down his kind offer, but then I accepted, and I actually went to his house to get it, and I dragged all hundred-plus pounds of it out of the car and into the garage and then into the spare bedroom abandoned by our oldest daughter about a year ago.
My son says he'll use it. I have plans to use it. But let's get serious, you and I both know what the odds are. The odds are against us. By a wide margin!
Which makes it just the kind of challenge I like.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Month off
I'm back. Not that any of you missed me. I've spent the month of November (National Novel Writing Month) working on my 2010 NaNoWriMo book, Beer Maker. It's coming along great, the beer and the book. The research itself has been magical. There's a line of 22-oz. bottles on the windowsill above the computer. Very pretty.
The newest Internet sensation is the new blog Rock 'n Roll Haiku. I'm handling the technical side of things right now, my brother Scott is doing the creative work. I hope to learn from his example.
Christmas is coming and there's more beer to drink.
Pindabble is back. You're welcome.
The newest Internet sensation is the new blog Rock 'n Roll Haiku. I'm handling the technical side of things right now, my brother Scott is doing the creative work. I hope to learn from his example.
Christmas is coming and there's more beer to drink.
Pindabble is back. You're welcome.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Saturday Night
Saturday night's all right for fighting. Elton John said it first. W.A.S.P. repeated the edict, and Nickelback added to the refrain.
Saturday night is indeed all right for fighting.
Saturday night is also all right for abandoning a blog. This is the proof.
Saturday night is indeed all right for fighting.
Saturday night is also all right for abandoning a blog. This is the proof.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Subheading
The subheading says it all, I think.
Pindabble: Sticking my superficial interest to a cork board.
Yes, clever person, that's a combination of the words "pin" and "dabble." It is made up, but yet it also makes perfect sense. Don't you agree? Of course you do. So, that's it. Pindabble. It is as if I was writing near-daily nonsenseries on yellow sticky notes and putting them on the fridge. But you'd never see them if I did that. So I put them here.
But not for long, because as I have already said, I am losing interest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ever heard of Dean Karnazes? A crazy running guy who ran 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days a couple of years ago, and who has run 350 miles without stopping, and runs in all kinds of crazy ways. Well, I ran 5+ miles with him this evening in Palo Alto, CA! The Silicon Valley Marathon became the Dean Karnazes Silicon Valley Marathon last year, and so runners could sign up to run with him. So I did. Didn't really say much, not because he was unwilling to listen, but because I just don't say much! The run went around the Stanford University campus. Very pretty.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ever heard of the Amazing Race? It's a TV show where people run around for days and days and circumnavigate the globe and win valuable prizes. A friend (Kurtis) and I did a local version for three hours last Saturday. Ten stops, had to do nine of them, three were mandatory. We got a tad off course after about 80 minutes, but regrouped and ended up visiting all 10 because we didn't know if our first one counted (it wasn't a restaurant, it was a chiropractor!). We did well on the bonus minutes, and ended up in first place. Total shocker. Three hundred bucks and paid entry to the National Championships in New Orleans two weeks later.
We had to decline, though. Such travel would be a big deal to figure out for two family men like Kurtis and me, and I had already signed up for the 2010 Silicon Valley Marathon . . . which was going to be the day after the New Orleans race. Sometimes you just have to choose.
Right now I choose to stop typin
Pindabble: Sticking my superficial interest to a cork board.
Yes, clever person, that's a combination of the words "pin" and "dabble." It is made up, but yet it also makes perfect sense. Don't you agree? Of course you do. So, that's it. Pindabble. It is as if I was writing near-daily nonsenseries on yellow sticky notes and putting them on the fridge. But you'd never see them if I did that. So I put them here.
But not for long, because as I have already said, I am losing interest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ever heard of Dean Karnazes? A crazy running guy who ran 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days a couple of years ago, and who has run 350 miles without stopping, and runs in all kinds of crazy ways. Well, I ran 5+ miles with him this evening in Palo Alto, CA! The Silicon Valley Marathon became the Dean Karnazes Silicon Valley Marathon last year, and so runners could sign up to run with him. So I did. Didn't really say much, not because he was unwilling to listen, but because I just don't say much! The run went around the Stanford University campus. Very pretty.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ever heard of the Amazing Race? It's a TV show where people run around for days and days and circumnavigate the globe and win valuable prizes. A friend (Kurtis) and I did a local version for three hours last Saturday. Ten stops, had to do nine of them, three were mandatory. We got a tad off course after about 80 minutes, but regrouped and ended up visiting all 10 because we didn't know if our first one counted (it wasn't a restaurant, it was a chiropractor!). We did well on the bonus minutes, and ended up in first place. Total shocker. Three hundred bucks and paid entry to the National Championships in New Orleans two weeks later.
We had to decline, though. Such travel would be a big deal to figure out for two family men like Kurtis and me, and I had already signed up for the 2010 Silicon Valley Marathon . . . which was going to be the day after the New Orleans race. Sometimes you just have to choose.
Right now I choose to stop typin
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
No Surprise
Yep, I am losing interest. A few early, short, and uninspiring posts. Followed by extensive dictionary definitions that only obfuscate what they are intending to illuminate. It all makes it seem rather pointless. Which isn't surprising, is it?
No, it isn't.
Today I subbed in a middle school music classroom. They're on short days for parent conferences, and the teacher in question had a fifth period prep, and usually goes to a nearby elementary school for sixth, but they were on short days as well. So I was done at 11:30.
Not bad. That's about thirty bucks an hour.
Tomorrow: another post. Or the next day. No promises.
No, it isn't.
Today I subbed in a middle school music classroom. They're on short days for parent conferences, and the teacher in question had a fifth period prep, and usually goes to a nearby elementary school for sixth, but they were on short days as well. So I was done at 11:30.
Not bad. That's about thirty bucks an hour.
Tomorrow: another post. Or the next day. No promises.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Dabble
dab·ble v
1. vi to have a casual or superficial interest in something
2. vi to paddle, play, or splash in water
3. vt to wet something by dipping it in a liquid
4. vt to daub, splash, or spatter somebody or something with a liquid
5. vi to move the bill to the bottom of shallow water in order to reach food (refers to ducks)
1. vi to have a casual or superficial interest in something
2. vi to paddle, play, or splash in water
3. vt to wet something by dipping it in a liquid
4. vt to daub, splash, or spatter somebody or something with a liquid
5. vi to move the bill to the bottom of shallow water in order to reach food (refers to ducks)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Pin
pin n
1. a small thin metal stick with a sharp point and a rounded head, used for holding pieces of fabric together
2. any fastener that has a sharp metal point designed to pierce the things it is fastening
3. See safety pin n. 1 See safety pin n. 2
4. a badge, piece of jewelry, or other decorative item that attaches to clothing by means of a sharp metal point or a clasp
5. See hairpin n. 1
6. a bobby pin
7. See cotter pin
8. See rolling pin
9. the smallest amount (dated informal)
10. a thin metal terminal extending from an electrical or electronic device such as a plug or a vacuum tube, used to connect the device by socket to other circuitry
11. a thin metal rod used to hold the ends of a fractured bone together
12. a peg used to attach a crown to the root of a tooth
13. the part of a key that inserts into a lock
14. any of the pegs on a stringed instrument such as a piano that hold the strings and can be turned to tighten or loosen them to tune the instrument
15. the safety clip on a hand grenade that must be removed before the grenade can be detonated
16. any of the club-shaped targets used in various games of bowling
17. a pole with a flag on it, used to mark each hole on a golf course
18. a fall in wrestling in which an opponent’s shoulders are made to touch the mat
19. any of the rounded pegs that guide the paper through a computer printer
20. any of the tiny wires on the printhead of a dot matrix printer that form one dot of a letter or symbol
21. See belaying pin
22. See thole pin
npl pins
somebody’s legs (informal)
vt
1. to fasten, attach, or secure something with a pin
2. to hold somebody or something immobile, for example, on the ground
3. to make it impossible for a chess opponent to move a piece without exposing the king to check or a valuable piece to capture
4. to hold a wrestling opponent’s shoulders to the mat
5. to give a young woman a fraternity pin as a sign of commitment to a relationship
1. a small thin metal stick with a sharp point and a rounded head, used for holding pieces of fabric together
2. any fastener that has a sharp metal point designed to pierce the things it is fastening
3. See safety pin n. 1 See safety pin n. 2
4. a badge, piece of jewelry, or other decorative item that attaches to clothing by means of a sharp metal point or a clasp
5. See hairpin n. 1
6. a bobby pin
7. See cotter pin
8. See rolling pin
9. the smallest amount (dated informal)
10. a thin metal terminal extending from an electrical or electronic device such as a plug or a vacuum tube, used to connect the device by socket to other circuitry
11. a thin metal rod used to hold the ends of a fractured bone together
12. a peg used to attach a crown to the root of a tooth
13. the part of a key that inserts into a lock
14. any of the pegs on a stringed instrument such as a piano that hold the strings and can be turned to tighten or loosen them to tune the instrument
15. the safety clip on a hand grenade that must be removed before the grenade can be detonated
16. any of the club-shaped targets used in various games of bowling
17. a pole with a flag on it, used to mark each hole on a golf course
18. a fall in wrestling in which an opponent’s shoulders are made to touch the mat
19. any of the rounded pegs that guide the paper through a computer printer
20. any of the tiny wires on the printhead of a dot matrix printer that form one dot of a letter or symbol
21. See belaying pin
22. See thole pin
npl pins
somebody’s legs (informal)
vt
1. to fasten, attach, or secure something with a pin
2. to hold somebody or something immobile, for example, on the ground
3. to make it impossible for a chess opponent to move a piece without exposing the king to check or a valuable piece to capture
4. to hold a wrestling opponent’s shoulders to the mat
5. to give a young woman a fraternity pin as a sign of commitment to a relationship
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Substitute Teaching
I don't have much prepared for today. Seriously, I have nothing, which is a far cry from not much. If I had "not much" I'd be in much better shape. I have nothing.
This, then, is nothing.
I am seriously working on a description of Pindabble. I could very well likely have it posted by tomorrow, which would make tomorrow a very auspicious day in the world of the Internets and blogs and things to read and things to do other than read. If I could describe Pindabble succinctly and effortlessly we'd all be much better off.
But let's be serious . . . I made up the damned word three days ago.
If your life is hanging on the edge of the answer, perhaps you need to reassess.
And I mean in a big, BIG, way.
This, then, is nothing.
I am seriously working on a description of Pindabble. I could very well likely have it posted by tomorrow, which would make tomorrow a very auspicious day in the world of the Internets and blogs and things to read and things to do other than read. If I could describe Pindabble succinctly and effortlessly we'd all be much better off.
But let's be serious . . . I made up the damned word three days ago.
If your life is hanging on the edge of the answer, perhaps you need to reassess.
And I mean in a big, BIG, way.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Buy a Book
Don't forget to buy one of my books. Imagine how much you'll enjoy a couple hundred of pages of me if you are so thrilled by just a paragraph or three. Just imagine!
Check the bookstore at the mattbaxx blog.
Or go straight to the source: Lulu.com.
Check the bookstore at the mattbaxx blog.
Or go straight to the source: Lulu.com.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Sticking to it
I am proving to be more consistent at this daily blogging thing than I thought. See, day two, and I've posted twice. The math is almost scary.
By the way, if you have by some miraculous set of circumstances wandered by good ol' Pindabble, be sure to check out my real blog, mattbaxx.blogspot.com. A weekly humor column sent up once each, er, week. You'll like it, really. You can trust me.
Though everything else is fine with the world, you will have to wait a bit more before any explanation is given for the title of this blog. Possibly because I want to keep you in suspenders (that's what we used to say in the good old days for "keep you in suspense"), but more likely because I have not yet fashioned an explanation.
It is Pindabble. That's what it is. No more, no less.
Well, maybe a little less.
By the way, if you have by some miraculous set of circumstances wandered by good ol' Pindabble, be sure to check out my real blog, mattbaxx.blogspot.com. A weekly humor column sent up once each, er, week. You'll like it, really. You can trust me.
Though everything else is fine with the world, you will have to wait a bit more before any explanation is given for the title of this blog. Possibly because I want to keep you in suspenders (that's what we used to say in the good old days for "keep you in suspense"), but more likely because I have not yet fashioned an explanation.
It is Pindabble. That's what it is. No more, no less.
Well, maybe a little less.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Daily Prattle
The first. Of not many, quite frankly. Most blogs seem to peter out soon after beginning. There's a big rush at first, if not even twice daily. And then in three months no one really gives a damn anymore. Including the blogger, who has gone on to more interesting venues, such as Facebook or Twitter or whatever else is out there right now.
I couldn't care less.
Actually, I could care less. A little less. I usually leave a small reserve of uncaringness for those moments when it seems important to lower everyone's expectations. That moment is now. Lower your expectations. Please. For the sake of everyone involved.
Pindabble. Explanation tomorrow.
I couldn't care less.
Actually, I could care less. A little less. I usually leave a small reserve of uncaringness for those moments when it seems important to lower everyone's expectations. That moment is now. Lower your expectations. Please. For the sake of everyone involved.
Pindabble. Explanation tomorrow.
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