Dang it All

2007-12-25T21:40:00.001-06:00

Strange phrase related to me at work tonight:

"You know her, she's the crazy one who slept with Gerald Ford's son."

2007-11-13T09:18:00.001-06:00

Big goings on in the Golden household. Kelsey turned 25 last week. We celebrated by taking a couple of day trips. We visited Mepkin Abbey on Friday, where we both saw our very first monk in the flesh. The grounds were also neat.

And Kelsey found herself a tree nook to peek out of:

Then we scooted down to Mount Pleasant for lunch, and zipped up through the historical district of Georgetown on the way home. From the highway Georgetown looks like a skeezy, rundown slummy sort of town. But once you take a few side streets, it's surprisingly nice. Of course, the stench from the paper mill persists, but at least the view is better, if not the smell.

On Saturday, we woke up bright and early (it's been a long time since we've been awake at 6) and drove 3 hours to the Riverbanks Zoo in Columbia. Kelsey made friends with an endangered lorikeet there:

And I made friends with a goat:

A good couple of days. And aren't digital cameras fun?

2007-10-24T12:39:00.000-05:00

Another condo-related discovery:
When the hot water heater in the unit above develops a leak, it's our carpet that becomes moist and spongy. I knew there was a reason we owned 15 towels.

2007-10-20T17:59:00.001-05:00

I made a disturbing discovery the other day. The condo that Kelsey and I spent an obscene amount of money (for us) to buy can be vaccuumed in its entirety without changing the outlet the Hoover is plugged in to.

2007-10-09T14:46:00.001-05:00

Today's selection from "The Best Loved Poems of the American People," copyright 1936:

The Manly Man

The World has room for the manly man, with the spirit of manly cheer;
The world delights in the man who smiles when his eyes keep back the tear;
It loves the man who, when things are wrong, can take his place and stand
With his face to the fight and his eyes to the light, and toil with a willing hand;
The manly man is the country's need, the moment's need, forsooth,
With a heart that beats to the pulsing troop of the lilied leagues of truth;
The world is his and it waits for him, and it leaps to hear the ring
Of the blow he strikes and the wheels he turns and hammers he dares to swing;
It likes the forward look on his face, the poise of his noble head,
And the onward lunge of his tireless will and the sweep of his dauntless tread!
Hurrah for the manly man who comes with sunlight on his face,
And the strength to do and the will to dare and the courage to find his place!
The world delights in the manly man, and the weak and evil flee
When the manly man goes forth to hold his own on land or sea!
- Unknown

Hurrah for the manly man!

2007-10-05T21:13:00.000-05:00

It's like Christmas! After months of self-imposed budgeting, the money floodgates are inching wider, and I tempted fate by buying a new CD tonight. So far, the latest offering from The New Pornographers isn't half bad.

2007-10-03T18:01:00.001-05:00

One of these days, the people at World Market are going to figure out that we just walk around the store to take advantage of their free coffee. Hopefully not soon, though.

2007-09-30T15:27:00.000-05:00

Today's lesson:

Buy more than 1 belt. That way, when your oversized cat pees on your jeans, you don't have to choose between wearing a belt that smells like cat pee and having your pants fall down.

2007-09-30T12:34:00.000-05:00

I think the camera adds 10 pounds to cats as well:

2007-09-28T00:08:00.000-05:00

Most editors are failed writers - but so are most writers.
~T.S. Eliot

I have no clear conception of why I like poetry. Kelsey asked me on our way back from the bookstore last night. When we arrived, she headed straight for the home decorating books. And I put off my usual coveting of the Douglas Adams collection to check out the paltry poetry offerings. A passing reference to Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" had made me realize it had been a while since I'd read it. So I found it, and read it, and realized why it had been a while. But even though Eliot, to me, is like trying to digest a whole block of cheese at once, I still enjoyed it. I just can't explain why very well.

Kelsey does not like poetry. She says it's too flowery and overwrought. Too many words trying to say one little thing. Me, I like that. Perhaps because I spend my working hours trying to "omit needless words," I enjoy it when someone who actually appreciates language takes those words and crafts something beautiful out of them. But I have to agree with my wife. There is a whole lot of bad poetry out there, giving the entire genre a bad name.

Everybody has five or 10 bad poems hanging around somewhere that they thought were the essence of their soul when they were 14. Most of us realize pretty soon how awful these poems (about sobbing hearts and uncatchable clouds) really are. Yet many bad poets somehow missed the telegram. Maybe because poems are relatively short, bad writers think they're within grasp. In order to write a novel you have to be at least a mediocre writer, with some grasp of plot and character. But anybody with 10 minutes and a thesaurus can slap out a sonnet.

But the good poetry, ah, now that's good stuff. I believe good poetry is good because it tells us something true, something about how the writer really feels, it captures one tiny moment of truth and tells us everything about it. "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." Bad poetry tells us how the writer thinks he or she should feel. How the writer wishes to feel. How the writer might feel. Red Smith was right when he said, "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." Real poets leave nothing out, they bare it all. Now, they may choose which parts of their lives to write poems about. But once a topic is begun, there's no going back. When Hopkins praises God in my favorite poem you can feel his joy. When Billy Collins rhapsodizes you're in the room with him. You have to be careful reading Plath or Sexton or you'll wish you had your head in an oven, too.

I certainly feel some connection. Well-written poetry makes me feel as if I know some part of the poet. But I still don't know why I really like poetry. Because I think it's edifying? Perhaps. Because I like to stand back and appreciate how artists can make words do acrobatics? Maybe. I really don't know. But after writing all this, I realize that I don't really care.

2007-09-22T09:20:00.001-05:00

Today's joke:

What did the farmer say when his tractor went missing?

Where's my tractor?

2007-09-18T20:04:00.000-05:00

A trip to the grocery store this morning meant we missed the UPS man. We returned to find his yellow and brown slip advising us that he had tried to deliver our package, but had, regretfully, found nobody home. It said that we could expect him to try again tomorrow. But, in addition, if we weren't the kind of people who felt as though we could wait that long, he appended a note offering to meet us "behind the bowling alley at 5:35."

Neither Kelsey nor I have ever experienced this sort of 1) solicitousness or 2) creepiness from a delivery man. Kelsey immediately decided it was a ploy to kidnap her. I couldn't imagine the average homeowner taking him up on this offer. I have had no experience in completing drug deals, but I imagine the whole affair would have "gone down" like a stock scene from "Shaft."

Kelsey and I would pull into the parking lot, wearing shades, around 5:25, just to scope out the place beforehand and make sure the cops weren't hiding inside the vet's office. We'd make nervous jokes and laugh to scare away the butterflies in our stomach. Around 5:32 a large earthtone UPS truck would nose its way around the corner and pull up 15 or 20 feet from us. I'd wait for the driver to exit. Then, after Kelsey assured me that she had my back, I'd slowly step out of our bright orange Vibe.

My eyes wide behind my sunglasses, I'd shuffle forward to the halfway spot between the two vehicles. My hand would shake as I nervously handed the man in khaki shorts the slip he'd left in our door. In return, he'd hand me our 2-Port PS/2 KVM Switch, and we'd head back to our respective cars, neither of us saying a word. Just another handoff in the seedy world of next-day delivery.

Now I'm kind of sorry I didn't bother to go pick up our package, just to see what it was really like.

2007-09-15T10:46:00.001-05:00

A scrapbook of quotes from my week:

I'm an American; I don't need to see something to know I don't like it.
- Tommy Smothers

The history of the world
Step one. You need a lot of water -- from above and below. The water of heaven fills the lakes and rivers. Now add equal amounts of darkness and daylight. while there is light the sun draws the water back up to restock heaven.
- "Mister Pip"

Bless mommy, bless Jake, bless Darryl... bless Kate Jackson, David Hasslehoff, Vanna White and Suzanne Summers.
- Ronnie Simonsen in "How's Your News"

Carla: [about a male intern] You're right; he definitely has a cute little butt.
Elliot: It's almost like it's been sculpted.
J.D.: Who cares? Everyone has a cute butt; I have a cute butt.
Carla: You should bring it in someday.
- Scrubs

2007-09-13T22:46:00.000-05:00

The problem with trying to maintain a blog:
You have to have something to write about.

2007-09-10T13:23:00.001-05:00

One more reason that eels are icky, via the Washington Post:

Remember the science-fiction monster with a jaw within a jaw that terrorized Sigourney Weaver in the "Alien" films? Well, it turns out a similar double-jawed creature actually exists: The moray eel has a second set of jaws located in its throat that snaps forward to grab prey and quickly pull it down into the eel's digestive system.

2007-09-09T16:14:00.001-05:00

I finished reading Tuesdays with Morrie this morning and began C.S. Lewis' Letters to Children. Both books advocate the throwing off of our dour adult mantle and a return to the sense of wonder and glee embraced by young children. As Lewis wrote: "When I was 10, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am 50 I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up."

I am a person who still thinks it very important to act "very grown up." It's hard for Kelsey to elicit belly laughs from me, although this doesn't keep her from tickling me incessantly until they come. And I have a particular aversion to singing or dancing in public.

Luckily, Kelsey is my secret weapon in the fight against becoming too serious. As Mr. Darcy has his Elizabeth Bennet, I have Kelsey, who has no compunctions about splashing about in the ocean just for fun. And who melts into a 5'7" pile of goo at the sight of any small furry creature, be it cat, dog, squirrel, raccoon, meerkat or capybara. Her songs, made up on the spot about our cats Truffle and Marzipan, will never win any songwriting awards, but the love and whimsy they evince are priceless.

She keeps me grounded and pokes holes in my hot air, and I love her for that.

Thanks, Buster.

2007-09-06T21:13:00.000-05:00

Happiness is...

A classic tale of English aristocracy and old money,
Sounds of la Nouvelle scène française seeping out the speakers,
Egyptian cotton pulled up just below the chin,
A glass of chilled gewurztraminer sweating on the nightstand,
A beautiful Cherokee-German princess on the next pillow,
And an American mutt cat sleeping on your toes.

2007-09-02T21:06:00.000-05:00

Looking forward to seven days without work, I plan to take long walks, read good books, eat scrumptious food, polish off the rest of that box of wine that's been sitting in our fridge for a week and watch Kelsey beat me at Monopoly a few more times. I think it's something about the way she bats her eyes when she can't come up with the rent that does me in.

I might even be able to coax her back into the ocean sometime this week, if the jellyfish sting didn't put her off the idea forever. There won't be that many opportunities left this year.

2007-09-01T18:51:00.000-05:00

Current favorite song:
"Massive Nights" by The Hold Steady

2007-09-01T11:12:00.000-05:00

Library book sales have to be the best thing since sliced bananas. For a grand total of $2.75, I was able to read (and keep!) 6 great books in the last month, and I've just started a new one. I can recommend without hesitation The Shipping News, Eating Mammals, The Book of Guys, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency and Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Just so-so was Accordion Crimes. My favorite passage from the No. 1 Ladies:

Really, there was nothing that she felt she had to hide.

Now constipation was quite a different matter. It would be dreadful for the whole world to know about troubles of that nature. She felt terribly sorry for people who suffered from constipation, and she knew that there were many who did. There were probably enough of them to form a political party -- with a chance of government perhaps -- but what would such a party do if it was in power? Nothing, she imagined. It would try to pass legislation, but would fail.

Now it's on to the sequel. Library sales are my favorite.

2007-08-31T15:23:00.001-05:00

Today's column from David Brooks:

Every year we go to the beach, and every year it becomes more obvious that beach vacations are a metaphor for the human predicament.

Ooh! A metaphor! How far can we stretch it?

For while in his soul the contemporary man seeks to realize the loftiness of his essential nature, in actual life he finds himself whacking a ball against the windmill arm in an eternal game of mini golf.

Is that it? Will it snap? Can we possibly take this any further?

Middle-aged man seeks the spiritual grandeur of a mountain vacation but is trapped in the saltwater taffy of a beach vacation.

Can there be more? Is it even be more comparisons to be made?

Our lesser self is our beach self, which is a banal bimbo-ized version of the person we think we are. Our beach self munches on cheese fries while browsing through strip malls of unnecessary objects. Our beach self suffers from sandzheimers syndrome, which is manifested by the tendency to spend hours staring at oncoming waves, making scientific observations like, ``Here comes a big one.''

Summer must be a slow time for columnists.

2007-08-28T22:37:00.000-05:00

I feel I'm finally coming into my musical own. Not that I have any musical talent. Kelsey can attest to the fact that my singing voice mainly conists of a nasal falsetto that I warble Christmas carols in. No, I'm finally finding music for myself that I like.

Growing up there were two types of music in the Golden household: gospel (The Cathedrals) and folk music (Harry Chapin). I still enjoy Harry Chapin and Carole King. And, in the right mood, I can appreciate the harmony of a good gospel quartet. Hitting the teenage years, I was firmly ensconced in the contemporary Christian music scene. DC-Talk, the Newsboys, Audio Adrenaline were my bands of choice. And while they're not horrible, looking back at them now I find schmaltzy lyrics, bad cliches and sloppy, heavy-handed melodies. But then, those are the sort of things that actually appeal to teens.

Off to college and all of a sudden a whole new musical world opened up. I discovered there was much more out there than Christian knock-offs of popular music, and I found the popular music itself. I devoured Green Day, Offspring, Live, Rage Against the Machine and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It seemed that everybody else was 5 years ahead of me. If it wasn't in a movie soundtrack I totally missed every popular song of the '90s. It took me years to rediscover bands that had been hot, had their one-hit wonder and died out a decade ago. Then Dave introduced me to punk. And I took in Bad Religion, the Ramones, Black Flag and Die Toten Hosen.

At this point, I listened to anybody who had suggestions on music. Coming from a background where I had very little exposure to different styles or genres, I was willing to try pretty much anything. I didn't like all of it, but I tried. I went through a lot of phases. There was the pop era. The pop-punk era. The punk era. The rapcore era. The new age era. The hard rock era. The classic rock era. The singer-songwriter era. So much to listen to; going to college and finding all this free music (I was a bad bad man) was like being exposed to a whole library of books I didn't even know existed.

But upon graduating, I still didn't really have a sense of what I really liked. And I wasn't confident enough in my musical taste to support any opinions. There were certainly some bands I enjoyed more than others. But I couldn't tell people why I liked They Might Be Giants more than System of a Down, or why I had a soft spot for Kid Rock, but didn't really appreciate Eminem.

I met and married Kelsey, and she exposed me to even more great music, Le Tigre, Ryan Adams, The Proclaimers. And finally, I started finding my own taste. It's probably a process everybody goes through. First enjoying music because everybody else does. Then enjoying a genre that your friends recommend. Then picking the music you like and not caring if other people think you're weird for listening to The Born Again Floozies. I'm sure I'm not alone. I'm also guessing I was never as behind as I thought I was. Those years of back catalogues of thousands of artists you've never even heard of are just a little intimidating at first.

But I think I found the secret. It doesn't really matter if you're an expert on alt.country or Phish's biggest fan. Nobody cares. Nobody will even remember. What matters is that you close your eyes, tap your toes, hum along and dance to the music.

2007-08-26T19:52:00.000-05:00

Kelsey and I are getting old. We shake our wrinkly fists at the wall when the young'uns next door make noise at 1 in the morning. We scowl at the whippersnappers zipping around the streets on their crotch rockets. And we just don't appreciate MTV at all.

We were invited to a going-away party on Friday night for one of my colleagues on the copy desk. Working at night, we're used to staying up pretty late, and the revelry wasn't even scheduled to start until midnight. Unfortunately, Friday night was my night to stick around at the paper until the first copies actually started rolling off the presses and make one last check. And on Friday night, the people manning the presses got off to a late start. A very late start. Most nights, we finish up around midnight and the presses start spitting out papers around 12:15. On Friday, after a series of unfortunate events, the presses didn't start until 1:40. I didn't get home until around 2.

Being the old duffers that we are, Kelsey and I decided to call it a night and pack it in. We couldn't imagine the party would actually drag on that much longer. I didn't want us to be those people who show up right when the place is winding down and everybody's thinking of leaving. And then all of a sudden everybody has to stick around another 30 minutes just to be polite. So we went to bed.

Lo and behold, come Saturday I find out that the merriment continued until 9 in the morning. We went to bed just as the fun was getting started. Upon being told, Kelsey said, "Ugh. I'm too old for that."

2007-08-24T22:17:00.000-05:00

Today's lesson:
When putting on new socks, make sure the sticker ends up in the trash. Do not lay it on the bed, where it could end up on the back of your pants.
I spent 6 hours at work today walking around with my butt advertising its "Oooh! Ahh! Cushioned comfort."

2007-08-23T16:47:00.001-05:00

It is yet another measure of how far our culture has fallen when The Associated Press sends out a nationwide NewsAlert that "Lindsay Lohan has reached a plea deal."

2007-08-20T19:35:00.000-05:00

Just in case anybody's still wondering what to get me for Christmas:

Or there's always the Mockers. (Key quote: Pants are lame, and Dockers® are the lamest pants we can think of. They’re so lame that we decided to come out with a Utilikilt so sleek and clean and stylish that your Docker wearing friends would cry in secret shame.)

Please, please realize I'm joking.

2007-08-18T20:34:00.000-05:00

Kelsey noticed yesterday that today is the five-year anniversary of this blog. So be prepared for some serious navel-gazing.

A few things that have changed in the past five years:
Musical tastes (From Enigma and Goldfinger to Jon Troast and Toots and the Maytals)
Weight (From 150 to 185 to 165 to about 170)
Fashion (No more plastic shirts, Kelsey, I promise)
Waist size
Drink (I'll have a Guinness, please)
Job (Good riddance, telemarketing)
Hair color (auburn to blond to crimson to pink to blond to auburn)

A few things that haven't:
Literary tastes (Just finished J.R.R. Tolkien's latest posthumous work)
My fondness for cheese
Glasses (John Lennon frames never go out of style)
UHF is still funny
Avoiding sidewalk cracks
I still read Sinfest

2007-08-17T19:45:00.000-05:00

One of the advantages of working in a business where I deal with words all day: I get to learn new ones. Today I came across complaisant. What's the difference between that and complacent, you ask? I'll tell you!

Complaisant means 'eager to please' and 'showing a cheerful willingness to others' wishes'. Complacent is quite the opposite, 'being pleased with oneself; contented to a fault'. However, they share one meaning, which may cause them to be confused - each also carries the sense of 'obliging, agreeable'.

So, for example, when Kelsey was stung by a jellyfish on Tuesday, I was not complacent about it. Instead, I was complaisant and quickly helped her back to the car and home where she could pour vinegar on her leg.

2007-08-13T19:24:00.000-05:00

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Exude animal magnetism to capture prey. The time could be ripe to go on the prowl for a passionate pairing.

Rowr.

2007-08-12T18:11:00.000-05:00

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Intuitions seem to give the wrong message. An atmosphere that seems tranquil may hide a disturbance, but a feeling of foreboding could be groundless. Hang tight and don't make decisions.

If we can manage to stumble out of bed at 5 in the morning, we plan to see the big meteor show tomorrow. I'm guessing there's at least a small chance the alarm will be turned off.

We're nearing the end of our semi-annual viewing of As Time Goes By, with only 2 episodes left of the dour, sallow-faced Lionel and his Pooh. In one of those serendipitous coincidences, a recent episode featured Lionel singing ''I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts," a song apparently made famous by the now-deceased Merv Griffin. Strange how such strands weave.

2007-08-11T19:06:00.000-05:00

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Put something away for a rainy day. It's far better to save your pennies and buy the best than to squander them on something of little value. Loved ones share your ambitions this week.

Kelsey and I are scrimping and saving for the next few weeks as she awaits the launch of her new job. In the meantime, we're catching up on our Netflix queue and discovering the simple joys, that is, the free ones. Mad props to Ben Franklin for that library idea. Great one, Benny.

I brought a trio of tea back from Darjeeling in April with a sample of first flush (Spring), second flush (Summer) and Autumn tea leaves. We brewed all three the other day to see which we liked best. The consensus? First flush is too strong, unless you're trying to wake up in the morning. If given the choice, second flush is the way to go. And avoid that Pu Erh, for heaven's sake. That's some nasty stuff.

2007-01-13T20:50:00.000-06:00

All men are not slimy warthogs. Some men are silly giraffes, some woebegone puppies, some insecure frogs. But if one is not careful, those slimy warthogs can ruin it for all the others.
~ Cynthia Heimel

For the last couple of months, Lifetime has been doggedly interrupting my reruns of Will and Grace to peddle their new dating show, "Gay, Straight or Taken?" (which incidentally has one of the most inane catchphrases ever dreamed up: "Do you have GST?" I don't know; perhaps you could tell me what that means, and then I'll let you know.)
Basically, the show involves a woman trying to deduce which of three prospective bachelors is actually available for her. If she chooses wrong, the gay or taken man gets the prize. If she chooses right, she receives "a luxurious dream getaway for her and this available bachelor."
Now, I can kind of see the draw for the straight guy. I mean, who wouldn't want to go on vacation with a shallow, vapid person you just met that morning?
And I understand how the whole thing might just be fun for the gay guy.
But the taken one? First of all, how taken can you be if you're trying to convince someone else to fall for you? Second, what sane woman is going to let her man pretend to fawn all over someone else, whether it's for a luxurious prize or not?

I can just see the conversation now:
Him: Honey, I'm going to be on this TV show where I have to pretend to enjoy making out with this attractive girl. But I won't really like it, I promise. And it's all for us, so we can finally take that honeymoon we've been dreaming about since we got you knocked up. So don't worry.
Her: Will there be a hot tub involved?
Him: I'm not sure you heard me. It's a dating TV show.
Her: Oh yeah. Well, be sure to pack some flip-flops, sweetie!

2006-12-07T11:18:00.000-06:00

Pictures of the Day

2006-11-25T16:41:00.000-06:00

Yumm-o.

Here it is, finally: Your chance to support your favorite chef by voting for her tea creation. Take a couple seconds out of your busy life to click over to Tea Chef and vote for Kelsey's Cranberry Tea Trifle. Yes, despite what it says on the site, the inspiration and work was all Kelsey's. I played no part except encouragement. But don't let us down, we want that fabulous tea-related prize, and you can help us get it. Voting is over when the month ends, so hurry up and vote now.

2006-11-16T23:17:00.000-06:00

Everybody needs a hug. It changes your metabolism.
~ Leo Buscaglia
Music playing right now: The Temptations - My Girl

It was cloudy outside today, but I still had sunshine. Even though it's cold oustide, I've still got the month of May. What's that you say? What makes me feel like this? My honey.

On a slightly different note, my honey is about to embark on a culinary experiment. From the generous people at TeaChef, we got a free sample of cranberry tea today, from which we plan to make a very tasty, delectable and oh-so-fattening dessert. Can't give too much away though, it is a contest after all. Suffice it to say that soon I'll be in cranberry cream heaven.

2006-10-27T17:19:00.000-05:00

How to make money (A lesson in three easy steps):

1. Buy a dress for $19.
2. Sell the dress for $177.
3. Dance the macarena.

2006-10-25T22:07:00.000-05:00

Nobody really cares if you're miserable, so you might as well be happy.
~ Cynthia Nelms
Music playing right now: Guster - Fa Fa (Never Be the Same Again)

Contentment is a slippery bugger. Hard to hold onto and impossible to nail down. I imagine a mischevious elf, sitting on my head with the goal of joie de vivre hanging off his fishing pole. He dangles it in my peripheral vision, just out of view. I always know it's there, but if I ever try and get a full-on straight-ahead look at it, just to see what it's made up of, it gets jerked away. It's the proverbial carrot-on-a-stick. Except I'm not so crazy 'bout carrots that I'd follow them that long. Maybe a Reeses-on-a-stick would work better for me. Regardless, the point is the same. I think Our Lady Peace said it well: Happiness is not a fish you can catch.

So I was surprised yesterday when I found that I'd caught it. Without trying. I think that's the way it works. It's like the flu. Or chicken pox. You can only catch it when you're not trying to. Somehow, with no Herculean effort on my part, sitting in the bathtub with a good book, a pretty wife, a purring cat and a full belly, I was pretty darn happy. I blame most of my state on Kelsey. If I had to list or describe what it is about her that twangs my heartstrings, I couldn't do it. I just know that holding her hand soothes me, and watching her sleep makes me want to coo like an old Jewish widow at a pram full of baby. She makes me comfortable and cozy and content and somehow in the midst of all that she made me happy, too.

It's scary knowing that so much of my joy is embodied by one person. One person who has the same fragile skin and organs as the rest of us. It means that one day I might lose that joy, my twinkle. But there's no future in thinking that way. Much better to sock away as much of her as I can while I can and give her back all of me in return. And together we'll make the world sick with our cuteness.

2006-10-08T20:15:00.000-05:00

Here's to hoping the third time's the charm. Anybody want to join me this year?

2006-10-06T12:39:00.000-05:00

Another reason to wander around the neighborhood late at night: Free foosball tables.

2006-10-02T18:26:00.000-05:00

Some persons are very decisive when it comes to avoiding decisions.
~ Brendan Francis

A couple of years ago I splurged and spent $30 on a bike from the Salvation Army. It was only after I got it home that I discovered the 10-gear bike only had 2 functioning gears. Nevertheless it's held up pretty well. A few weeks ago the gear started skipping random notches in the chain. Which meant that about every 4th or 5th rotation my foot would jerk forward 2 or 3 inches and the chain slack would slap back into place. I think it's the bike's version of a death rattle.

Kelsey and I went biking in a neighborhood near our condo today. I think we figured out where the real people live. The ones who don't own three houses and maintain the one 2 blocks from the beach year round so they can spend 3 weeks a year in it.

I'm looking forward to moving into a real house with Kelsey. It's still a few years off. We have to make our condo perfect before we sell it and start all over with something else, but it'll be nice to have a yard and land to call our own. I know whatever we get it'll be smaller than we hope for and more expensive than we really want to pay, but Kelsey will make it beautiful. And I'll nod and be slightly frustrating to her by questioning all of her choices and telling her I want something totally outlandish and strange. But it'll all come together and be better than I thought it would be. Because that's just the type of neurotic buzzkill I am. I'm glad she puts up with me.

I'm so glad we didn't end up with an orange office like I said I wanted.

2006-09-02T22:29:00.000-05:00

All I want for Christmas:

The suit Barry Manilow wore to the Emmys.

2006-08-18T19:41:00.000-05:00

The weirder you're going to behave, the more normal you should look. It works in reverse, too. When I see a kid with three or four rings in his nose, I know there is absolutely nothing extraordinary about that person.
~ P.J. O'Rourke

Twice in the last month or so, Kelsey and I have walked through a parking lot and come upon a male of sufficient age to know better relieving himself on the asphalt. The first was around midnight after a concert in which more than a few people were noticeably inebriated. So while we were perturbed at his indecent whizzing, it was at least somewhat understandable. But the second incident happened in the early evening at a major tourist venue here in Myrtle Beach. The sun had not yet gone down, there were bathrooms less than 100 feet away and other patrons even closer. But none of those factors stopped this man on his quest for relief.

I don't think I'm prudish and I don't care about the numerous hygienic ramifications of these exhibitionist acts, I'm just flabbergasted that people have no compunctions about whipping out their willies and letting loose. Have they no shame? Was this some sort of weird fraternity bet? Do they think we don't notice the soft trickling sound of warm urine on hot asphalt? I'm dumbfounded. If you've got any explanation for what could compel a rational human to behave this way, let me know. I'm pooped.

2006-08-12T12:51:00.000-05:00

Pictures of the (rainy) day

2006-08-09T15:39:00.000-05:00

Life goes faster on protein.
~ Martin H. Fischer

In an effort to combat cooking boredom, Kelsey and I have embarked on a mission to try each and every recipe in our heretofore only slightly-used copy of Vegetarian Planet. So far, we've made it through Havana Sandwiches, Avocado Bistro Salad and Apple Burgers (I have to agree with the reviewers at Booklist: "Long ingredient lists and time-consuming techniques make these burgers more complicated for the time-pressed cook than their fast-food cousins." But they were tasty).
Last night Kelsey made some delectable Nutty Enchiladas with Spicy Chili sauce. Filled with a ragout of tofu, cottage cheese and spinach, they were very good. Unfortunately, the recipe that said it made 8 gave us 15 enchiladas. We're going to be enjoying them for the next 2 or 3 days. So if you're in the neighborhood and want an almond-chipotle topped carrot-tofu enchilada, come on by. We'll be happy to warm one up for you.

2006-08-05T15:13:00.000-05:00

This planet has - or rather had - a problem, which was this: most of the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper, which is odd because on the whole it wasn't the small green pieces of paper that were unhappy.
~ Douglas Adams
Music playing right now: Barenaked Ladies - Too Little, Too Late

I'm very happy with my life for the most part. My wife is beautiful, I own my home, I've got a steady job, a car that runs, I live blocks from the beach, and I can afford to splurge on luxuries every once in a while. I'm pretty content. I traipse happily through life thinking that there couldn't be anybody who has it better than me. And, for the most part, I think I'm right.
But then I look at hotel rates in Charleston and I'm reminded that I'm stuck squarely in the lower middle class. Not that being middle class is a bad thing, but sometimes it would be nice to be able to drop $1800 a night for a hotel room.
It's a good thing I've got this English degree. One day I'm sure that'll really pay off. But while I'm waiting for the icicles to start forming in Hades, go buy some stuff from Kelsey. Remember, Christmas is only 141 days away.

2006-08-04T19:21:00.000-05:00

The flood of print has turned reading into a process of gulping rather than savoring.
~ Warren Chappell
Music playing right now: Barry Williams - The Real Greg Brady

Readers everywhere are finding out the truth. After reading newspaper copy 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, I find that I have no other voice. Gone are the superlatives, the florid metaphors. Here to stay are the concrete, no-nonsense verbs. References to pop culture? Maybe. References to real culture? Never.
No longer will there be any lighthearted ~~articles~~ stories of days on the beach, lounging in the sun, unless they're prefaced by a good, solid lead-in.
"It was blisteringly hot on the sands of Surfside Beach Friday, as Dan and Kelsey Golden quickly discovered when they kicked off their flip-flops and yelped their way across the dunes."
I fear I've lost my writing voice forever, replaced by AP style and reporter-ese.
Please, Dorothy Parker, give me my muse back.

2006-07-21T21:28:00.000-05:00

What I'm currently lusting after:
The Complete New Yorker

2006-07-02T14:54:00.000-05:00

Amazing insights into the inner workings of the Internet (via the presigious senator from Alaska):
http://blog.wired.com/27BStroke6/?entry_id=1512499

Key quote:
"They want to deliver vast amounts of information over the internet. And again, the internet is not something you just dump something on. It's not a truck.It's a series of tubes."

- Thanks to Neil for the link

2006-06-27T11:58:00.000-05:00

Picture of the Day

2006-06-23T18:31:00.000-05:00

To finish is both a relief and a release from an extraordinarily pleasant prison.
~ Robert Burchfield, on completing the Oxford English Dictionary

High up on the list of things I don't expect to see when I enter the bathroom stall at work?
The Official Melrose Place Companion.

2006-06-21T21:13:00.000-05:00

For the last couple of weeks I've had a hankering for a really good guy's movie. (Dick flick?) Something with guns and cursing and dark, rainy nights and shallowly developed characters who get killed in fun and interesting ways. Realistic (no flying swordsmen) but not too realistic (don't need moral questions or consequences screwing with our fun murders) Something along the lines of Boondock Saints or Payback. I'm open to suggestions if anybody still reads this.

2006-06-17T20:25:00.000-05:00

Top 5 things taking up the time I usually spend on blogging:

Work
Cooking (gotta love the homemade bread)
Madden Football
Backgammon
James Clavell

Damn that Asian Saga!

2006-06-04T21:36:00.000-05:00

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
~ Robert Frost

Well, I take back my comment a couple months ago about how Kelsey and I will never buy a place in Myrtle Beach.

Because we have. We're closing June 28 on a condo 8 blocks from the beach. Are we excited? You have no idea.

2006-05-27T13:37:00.000-05:00

Picture of the Day

One of these days we'll teach Truffle that, although they taste yummy, hands aren't for eating.

Disclaimer: Despite what it may look like, you don't need to call the ASPCA. Truffle's the aggressor here.

2006-05-25T10:18:00.000-05:00

Picture of the Day

2006-05-18T22:59:00.000-05:00

Pictures of Yesterday

They're in the midst of the giant spring Harley rally here in Myrtle Beach. They say there will be over 300,000 bikers here over the 10-day rally. Kelsey and I ventured down to check out a few of the hogs yesterday. She wants an orange one.

Kelsey also looks cute taking aim at the castle across the bay.

I want a yellow one.

2006-05-13T14:52:00.000-05:00

2006-05-12T16:04:00.000-05:00

Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of a witness.
~ Margaret Millar
Music playing right now: The Dandy Warhols - Get Off

I started saying howdy instead of hello when I was in high school in upstate NY, mostly just to be a little different than everybody else. Cause that's what high school is all about, right? Showing how much cooler you are than everybody else by being just a little different, but not different enough to really upset the norm. Anyway...

I still use howdy all the time. Kelsey thinks I should retire it and I halfway agree. It kind of makes me sound like a hick. But by now it's been ingrained in my vocabulary. I might as well try to stop saying 'spiffy.'

It's not usually much of a problem, but aberrations do occur. The most common is that people think I'm saying 'How are you?' I guess this makes sense. There aren't a whole lot of people in either Kansas or South Carolina who say howdy. But it's always a little uncomfortable when I say 'Howdy!' and somebody says, 'Oh, pretty good.'

I think I may need a new greeting. But I still want something more interesting than Hello. Any ideas? Greetings? Live long and prosper? Hey there? I'll think about it.

2006-05-06T14:53:00.000-05:00

It is impossible to imagine Goethe or Beethoven being good at billiards or golf.
~ Henry Louis Mencken
Music playing right now: Tokyo trance

My birthday was about a week ago (Happy Birthday me!) and Kelsey and I had a great time. As part of the celebrations, Kelsey's mom sent me a copy of Chibi Robo. A very fine gift, as I'd been craving it since spying it in Best Buy a few weeks back. The problem is, now Kelsey and I can't stop playing.

Who knew that picking up trash and scrubbing floors could be so fun? I credit its success to the same thing that made The Sims so popular. While nothing particularly amazing is happening, it seems so real. You almost believe that these midget machines actually do exist.

At first Kelsey wasn't that enthralled. Sure, it was cute, with the little girl in the frog costume and the spunky pint-sized robot pal. But it was just another game, right? Then yesterday she started playing. And now I have competition for the GameCube.

Anticipating this addiction, or so it seems, the game developers added a feature designed solely to shame us. Whenever you save your game, it tells you how many points you have, how far along in the game you are, etc. And it also tells you how long you've been playing. As if I didn't feel bad enough already for ignoring my lovely, beautiful, adoring, smart, funny, sexy, witty, bright-eyed wife, here's proof of just how long I've been doing it. Of course, the only way to avoid some of that guilt is to keep her game-time total above mine. And besides, if she plays more, she can figure out the hard parts so I don't have to.

Yes, I think I have a problem. Chibi-robo: Cute metal manservant? Or evil scrapmetal spawn? I guess I'll just have to keep playing to figure it out.

2006-05-03T15:20:00.000-05:00

Whenever I feel like exercise, I lie down until the feeling passes.
~ Robert M. Hutchins
Music playing right now: The Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Phenomena

Kelsey and I have been taking almost daily constitutionals on the beach, and in our walks we have discovered a slightly strange phenomenon: the overweight older man who doesn't care anymore.

These "Manatees" can be seen along almost any stretch of the beach but are most common in front of condos, often seen with their mate, an older woman who may or may not also be overweight. After close observation, it is clear that there is an age range in which overweight males prefer not to be seen without their shirts. Until puberty hits, most chunky boys will happily waddle into the waves with only shorts protecting them from the brisk ocean breeze. Somewhere around age 13, the teens will start wearing shirts. Some of them will take these off to swim, but many will not. The desire to cover up their manboobs (or 'Mannary glands') usually persists until middle age, although the exact timing can vary.

Nevertheless, it seems that all men hit a certain age of enlightenment and eventually give up and accept what they look like. If they're naturally skinny, they're naturally skinny and they don't mind the world seeing. If they're naturally Rubenesque, they show that off as well. It's unclear exactly what prompts this change. Perhaps some men finally become comfortable in their skin. Others might realize their wife is planning to stick with them no matter what they look like and simply let themselves go.

I have only one request for these men. I appreciate that you are comfortable with your body and don't mind having tan lines where your fat rolls squish together. But please don't expect me not to giggle just a little when you run after a football and I see your breasticles jiggling like a bowl of jello on a washing machine.

2006-05-01T20:41:00.000-05:00

For those of you who just can't get enough news, the Wall Street Journal is currently in the midst of a free 10-day period for its entire site. It may be your one chance to see this premier paper for free.

2006-04-22T22:50:00.000-05:00

Endurance is frequently a form of indecision.
~ Elizabeth Bibesco

The bathrooms we have at work are small affairs, two urinals and two stalls. Nine times out of ten, there's nobody else in there when I visit. But occasionally I'll actually have to share the space with another person answering nature's call. If that person is ensconced in a stall, the same thing almost always happens. I'll go about my business, do my thing, wash my hands, dry them, and there won't be a peep from inside that stall, as if the space were inhabited by a defecating mime. But as I make my way to the door and squeak it open, a sonorous, moist fart will erupt from the toilet hermit behind me, pent up and finally released by the stall's grateful occupant.

It's not like I'm going to be staring in there to see who's flapping their butt cheeks. Why do people need solitude to fart?

2006-04-08T16:34:00.000-05:00

A life without cause is a life without effect.
~ Barbarella

So I've been watching a few stand-up comedians lately, on Comedy Central and on DVD. And I've noticed that my blog, and others, tend to share a lot of similarities with comedians' monologues.

There's the familiar tone that entries are written in -- dropped names and informal language -- that struggles to make this something readers can relate to. Like some comedians, I also have a habit of starting with 'So,' as if I'm continuing a conversation already in progress: 'So what's the deal with newspapers?' (My Jerry Seinfeld impression is horrible in person. It translates even less well to the written word.)

And like comics, my goal is to let you into my life just enough to amuse you, but not enough for you to really see what's going on. I pick and choose the parts that are the most interesting or the most amusing. Nobody would read this if I detailed my search for the perfect pair of shoes. Unless I happened to be there on the same day as a belligerent midget who kept stepping on my toes.

If I truly narrated my entire life, I'm sure you'd find it incredibly boring. But on the off chance that I'm wrong, perhaps I'll try it a little bit here:

9:00 a.m. - Wake up and roll over on top of the cat. Wonder if I should get up and squeeze in a game of Madden '06 before taking a bath or sleep in another half hour.
9:30 a.m. - Wake up again. Roll over on top of Kelsey. We convince each other to get out of bed.
10:00 a.m. - Take a bath. Kelsey has gone back to sleep, pooped by our recent long walks on the beach.
11:00 a.m. - Venture outside for a short zip around the neighborhood. Slip down the dirt road to see what the construction crews are up to. Stomp past the golf course and giggle at the players who suck.
Noon - Toast some bread. Surreptitiously lick the knife after buttering the toast. Use the same knife for the peanut butter. Put the now germ-laden peanut butter back in the cabinet. Hope Kelsey doesn't come down with dysentery.
12:30 p.m. - Check e-mail and find that I've been missing out on free male enlargement aids.
12:31 p.m. - Get depressed that the Internet gods think I need male enlargement.
12:32 p.m. - Kelsey assuages my male ego.
1:30 p.m. - Watch the tail end of The Thomas Crown Affair. Wish that I had a nifty bowler hat like Pierce Brosnan.
2:00 p.m. - Clean up the kitchen. Wonder why all the dishes in the dishwasher came out crusty.
2:05 p.m. - Realize we forgot to add soap before we turned dishwasher on.
2:07 p.m. - Reload dishwasher. Add soap.
2:30 p.m. - Head for work. Sing along to Weezer, 'Say It Ain't So.' Make up idiotic head bobs and hand motions to complement my awful singing.
2:45 p.m. - Arrive at work. Get serious. Wish there was more coffee. Make some 'Lemon Verbena' tea instead.
4:00 p.m. - Bemoan weakness of tea. Try to convince Neil to make a ruckus and grind coffee beans. It's a no go.
4:30 p.m. - Dead whale reported on scanner. Fantasize about headline: 'Blubbering follows death'
5:00 p.m. - Start writing blog. Decide to be insanely detailed.
5:05 p.m. - Giggle when I read this in my flip dictionary: "testicle pouch: scrotum"
5:30 p.m. - Cross fingers and hope somebody comments.

2006-04-06T23:30:00.000-05:00

Rene Descartes walks into a bar. The bartender says, 'Hey Rene! How's it going? Would you like a nice cold, tasty beer?' Descartes says, 'I think not.' And then he disappears.

Yes. I know I'm a nerd.

2006-03-31T16:54:00.000-06:00

What is being lost is the magic of the word. I am not an image person. Imagery belongs to another civilization: the caveman. Caveman couldn't express himself so he put images on walls.
~ Elie Wiesel, 1995
Music playing right now: The Buggles - Video Killed the Radio Star

I blame Hollywood. And Bollywood. And those damn independent producers. There's just too much to watch these days.

Kelsey and I signed up for Netflix about a month ago. And we've enjoyed it so far. It's nice to be able to skip the trips to Blockbuster and know that as soon as Tristram Shandy comes out on DVD it's headed straight to our mailbox. But the damn discs just keep coming. And coming.

Since they charge by the month, not the movie, I feel like in order to get my money's worth I need to pack as many movies as I can into those 30 days. Which means that as soon as a red envelope shows up, I'm on edge, waiting until I have 2 hours of free time to quickly watch the movie, send it back, and get the next one on our ever-growing queue. The back of my mind is always thinking, ''If we can make it through 10 movies this month, it's only $1.50 each. We've got 45 other movies in our queue that we'll never get to if we don't watch this one.''

I should relax and enjoy The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, but instead I try and squeeze it in late at night so I can put it back in the mail the next day and revel in my triumph over Blockbuster's $3.99 rental fees. And I end up drooling on the couch arm when I fall asleep.

Now we've decided to embark on a quest into the giant world of TV on DVD. More and more discs are being added to our queue. And there's no end in sight. Little hope for a long spate of fetid crap we don't really want to see. I've been snared by Netflix.

2006-03-30T15:19:00.000-06:00

Solitude shows us what should be; society shows us what we are.
~ Robert Cecil

I've been surprised at how insular Kelsey and I have become since moving to Myrtle Beach. When we first moved here, I worried that we'd be lonely and bored all the time, that we'd have nobody to hang out with. And for a while, we were a little bored. But then we met a few people, and found things to do, and adjusted to our new life. And I think we're pretty happy. We don't go out and light up the town very often. We don't even hang out with other people that often. But I'm not sure it really matters to us that much. We're just having fun by ourselves.

Kelsey and I go for long walks on the beach, play backgammon at the coffee house, bike around the neigborhood and watch The Amazing Race. All by ourselves. And we love it. My concerns about us getting tired of each other have turned out to be completely baseless. We stick together like peanut butter and velcro and are just as sweet (and sometimes a little nutty!).

Maybe someday we'll expand our circle and have a full social circle, but for now, we're just fine going it solo together.

2006-03-25T20:31:00.000-06:00

"I kill me"
- ALF

I think I have a smidgen of ALF in me. While I haven't found any taste for cat (yet), I do crack myself up a lot. Kelsey will attest to the fact that I have a fondness for puns and bad jokes. And while they may not amuse anybody else, I can often giggle at my own cleverness for hours, days, even months. Months ago, I looked deep into Kelsey's eyes and told her, "You make me feel...you make me feel...you make me feel like a natural woman." I thought it was hilarious. It still makes me chuckle. Often. And Kelsey thinks I'm as funny as Helen Keller in a dodgeball match. In other words, not funny at all. Definitely not funny.

Tonight I found myself amazed at my own wit by a comment I left on Eliot's blog. Being the environmentally aware guy he is, Eliot highlighted world water day, which seeks to provide fresh drinking water to parched mouths around the world. Struck by their predicament, I retorted with a caustic, pithy bit of wit that has kept me smiling all night: 'Let them drink coke.' I find it amusing on so many levels.

I may need help.

2006-03-20T19:38:00.000-06:00

Love is in the air...

2006-03-18T13:16:00.000-06:00

My second sock creature came out looking much better than my first:

Picture of the Day

2006-03-17T11:17:00.000-06:00

Kelsey and I are just starting to appreciate living in a place where we can get up and say, "Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?" Our new plan is to work up to walking from one end of Myrtle Beach to the other. Maybe overnight. Life is good by the ocean.

2006-03-13T19:09:00.000-06:00

There's just something inherently funny about the word 'fart.'

2006-03-10T16:44:00.000-06:00

Devotees of grammatical studies have not been distinguished for any very remarkable felicities of expression.
~ Bronson Alcott
Music playing right now: Le Tigre - What's Yr Take on Cassavetes

Oh, those tricksy homonyms.

In the early stages of every romantic relationship there comes a time of tension, a time of unmentioned strain when it becomes obvious that neither person has uttered the L word. New couples will dance around the word for weeks, perhaps months, before one member summons the intestinal fortitude to risk crushing rejection. The fear of being the only one in love knots in the pit of the stomach and just sits there, like a stubborn chunk of angst.

In the interests of putting off this terror as long as possible, fresh-faced paramours will employ all sorts of tricks. For example, the almost-saying-it-but-not-quite-yet technique: "You know, I really really like you. A lot. A whole lot." Or the made-you-think-I-was-going-to method: "Kelsey, I love ... the way you look in that dress."

A few weeks after Kelsey and I had started dating, she tried a new method on me, the homonym approach. We were at a movie, at one of those theaters that projects film trivia and ads onto the screen before the movie while pop music plays in the background. We were chatting a bit, answering the odd question that popped up in front of us and pretty much just waiting for Monsieur Ibrahim to start. We had drifted into silence when all of a sudden, Kelsey looked at me and said "I love you too." I was stunned. Surprised. Confused. I gagged on my tongue and threw up my heart. I went back through all of our recent conversations in my head to see if I'd let the L word slip yet. I was pretty sure I hadn't. I'd thought about it, but was still working up my courage. So why was she saying "I love you too"? What had I missed? What was going on?

And then she said something about how Bono had a really unique voice and I realized my mistake. Damn Irish band got my hopes up.

She maintains that the whole thing was an accident. She wasn't trying to play with my emotions. She didn't even think of how it sounded. And that's all probably true. But I still believe there was some part of her that knew what was going on and let it slip. Some Freudian unconscious segment of her mind that knew what I was thinking and wanted to prompt me to say it sooner. Love's a sneaky thing when it wants to be.

2006-03-10T14:04:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

2006-03-09T13:08:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

2006-03-07T15:58:00.000-06:00

Don't forget that the flavors of wine and cheese depend upon the types of infecting microorganisms.
~ Martin H. Fischer
Music playing right now: Bobby McFerrin - Coyote

Don't put that in your mouth.

I have to tell myself that quite a bit during the day. Whenever I come upon something unknown or interesting, one of my first instincts is to stick it in my mouth. Sometimes, this is OK. It works fine when faced with an assortment of mystery-flavored jellybeans. Or when walking through an herb garden. It works less well when cleaning.

I opened the refrigerator the other day and found something sticky on the top of the bag of lettuce I picked up. Naturally, I stuck my finger in my mouth to figure out what it was. It turned out to just be lemon juice leaking from the bottle on the rack above, but I think I was lucky. I credit this urge of mine with my ironclad stomach. I can eat pretty much anything and suffer almost no digestive repercussions.

I figure that the millions of germs I have ingested over the years have mutated into sentient beings by now. Beings who have joined into tribes and clans. There are probably city states in my intestines. These Spartan-like germ warriors jealously guard their colon communities, repelling any new invaders. Which pretty much gives me carte blanche to eat whatever I want.

But probably not everything. The time when I really have to watch myself is when I scoop our cats' litterbox. Marzipan and Truffle don't have much to do during the day, so they keep themselves amused by eating and pooping quite a bit. And by the time I convince myself it needs to be cleaned there are 15 or 20 little kitty turds in the sand. And every single one looks like a breakfast sausage. Exactly. It's uncanny. Every time I perform my sanitary duty, I wonder if they taste like sausage too. And I have to remind myself that there are lines that should not be crossed, tastes that should not be tried. It's tough, but I keep up the good fight. And so far, I'm winning.

Unless there's something weird looking on my desk.

2006-03-05T14:47:00.000-06:00

Chess is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when they are only wasting their time.
~ George Bernard Shaw

I finally reached my goal. Last night, I triumphed in my endeavor to top the leader board of WEBoggle. Truly, it was a historic night.

2006-03-03T22:23:00.000-06:00

Ugh. Three giant cups of coffee and five Sam's Club cupcakes do not a happy stomach make.

2006-03-03T14:55:00.000-06:00

Food is an important part of a balanced diet.
~ Fran Lebowitz

Kelsey and I both woke up this morning just feeling kind of blah. Not particularly grumpy, or mad or sad. Just blah. It's a good thing they had cupcakes when I got to work.

2006-03-03T09:08:00.000-06:00

There's a reason that Kelsey and I will probably never buy a home here in Myrtle Beach. I edited a story last night on home prices in the area. Prices in most neighborhoods increased about 30 percent last year. That's huge. But what really surprised me was the average cost of living on the beach. It depends on the location, but you'd have to shell out at least $1 million. Compared to the average prices last year, those homes have doubled in value. Doubled. That's insane. When's this bubble going to burst?

2006-03-01T22:46:00.000-06:00

2006-02-26T17:10:00.000-06:00

Why does it only take one day for a state to take money from your bank account owed on a tax return but it takes 8-10 business days to get a refund?

2006-02-24T22:58:00.000-06:00

No more sock monkeys. This will be my next craft project:

Learn how to make your own Chewie Tissue Box Cozy.

2006-02-23T13:57:00.000-06:00

What did you do on your days off this week? I made a sock monkey.

Picture of the Day:

2006-02-21T15:17:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

2006-02-20T12:06:00.000-06:00

Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.
~ Albert Einstein
Music playing right now: The Rentals - Friends of P.

I'm very happy I kissed my wife on our first date.

For a long time I struggled against the idea. Kelsey and I had a longstanding disagreement about what constituted our first date. I said it was either the first time we met at Kelly's Irish Pub or the first time I went to her place to watch a movie. She persuasively argued that I simply invited myself over both times. It wasn't until a party put on by my college newspaper adviser that I plucked up the courage to invite her somewhere. I'm glad I finally gave in and accepted her version.

The night of the shindig, the two of us drove over to Nick's house, both slightly nervous and not sure what to expect. At that point I had only been working at The Vantage for three or four months and I knew perhaps five of the people who were expected to attend, at the most. Kelsey knew none, besides me. And she didn't even know me that well. It all worked out pretty well, though. Our lack of companions made it much easier for us to slink off to a couch and hang out by ourselves.

Sitting on the couch, I relieved my date anxiety by impressing Kelsey with a series of magic tricks that I'm sure were devastatingly impressive. I still get made fun of for those. Finally, I worked up the courage to reach out and hold her hand, in a move that rivaled the smoothest of junior high heartbreakers.

If my hand-holding maneuver were to be described with an animal metaphor, Kelsey would probably characterize it as a petrified guinea pig, furtively darting from one shelter into another in a dead sprint, to snatch a morsel of food. I would prefer to describe it as a King Cobra, head striking its prey with deadly accuracy and no thought of denial. Either way, it was unnaturally quick. The way Kelsey talks about it, it came out of nowhere and had all the panache of farting in an elevator.

But it worked. And we had a good time on that couch. Talking every once in a while. Mostly just sitting and letting the rest of the party flow around us. And at the end of the evening I took her back to her apartment, where I mustered my courage again and leaned in for a kiss.

I'm glad it was on our first date. It says something about the instant attraction; it's reminiscent of cheesy romantic comedies, where two sets of eyes glue themselves together and block everything else out in their mission to bring their respective faces together. It wasn't quite as contrived and schlocky as that, but I don't mind people getting that idea when I mention it. Kelsey and I were meant for each other. And we have a kiss on our very first date to prove it.

Picture of the Day:

2006-02-18T21:04:00.000-06:00

Skeletons in Alito's closet? Is he an undercover assassin? Check out this brief from the Purdue newspaper.

More here.

2006-02-18T14:51:00.000-06:00

It's articles like this that make me realize there's a reason we're getting nowhere in Iraq.

2006-02-18T13:49:00.000-06:00

I think all of the radio stations in town have joined together and placed a bug in my car so that they know exactly when I start it up and turn on the radio. That way they can all start playing commercials at precisely the same time and none of them have to start a song until 30 seconds before I pull into the parking lot at work.

2006-02-17T22:21:00.000-06:00

Finally, Kelsey and I are getting out of the house tonight and doing something fun. If you're lucky, something interesting will happen and you'll hear about it.

2006-02-15T15:42:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

2006-02-14T15:30:00.000-06:00

(Valentine's Day) Picture of the Day

2006-02-14T11:54:00.000-06:00

We can't quite decide if the world is growing worse, or if the reporters are just working harder. ~The Houghton Line, November 1965
Music playing right now: Ben Taylor - Another Run Around the Sun

The good people at Testy Copy Editors have been sharing some of the bad lead paragraphs to news stories they've encountered over the years. A couple of my favorites:

It's spring, and the hills echo with the booming of prairie chickens in their mating season, making much more noise than the candidates running for the Flint Hills school board.

and

(Pitcher's name) can count the number of runs the team has scored in his last three starts on the fingers of a hand that has had all the fingers chopped off.

Reporters can be funny.

2006-02-12T15:58:00.000-06:00

His ignorance is encyclopedic
~ Abba Eban

Inspired by A.J. Jacobs' feat of reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica in a year, I've decided to make better use of my spare time at work. I've decided to attempt reading every wikipedia entry from ? to Zaldy Zshornack. There's only 969,905 articles. How long can it take? So far tonight I've learned that there's a special punctuation for annotating chess matches, ? & the Mysterians were the first U.S. band to labeled "punk rock," and the slippery devil's staircase is not nearly as exciting as it sounds. And did you know there's a name for that question mark/exclamation point punctuation?! It's the slightly dirty-sounding interrobang. But no need to rest on my laurels, The exciting world of @ awaits.

2006-02-11T17:50:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

2006-02-11T14:37:00.000-06:00

The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.
~ Douglas Adams
Music playing right now: The Nields - I Need a Doctor

If I had to name my one major flaw, it would have to be my weakness for bad jokes. (I know, it's crazy to think I have any flaws, but suspend your belief for a moment.) I watched Lethal Weapon for about the 8th time today and remembered just how great a job the Mr. Shane Black did writing that flick.

My favorite part has to be when Riggs has just overpowered the guards holding Murtaugh and his daughter and they're about to bust outta there. He runs up to Murtaugh, dripping blood and sweat and says, "What did one shepherd say to the other shepherd? Let's get the flock out of here."

Now, if that's not comic genius I don't know what is. In a similar tone, Neil told me a pretty dumb joke a while back (Did you hear about the fire at the circus? It was in tents!) that I then had to go and repeat to everybody I knew.

I think this weakness may stem from my fondness for wordplay and puns in general. But no matter the source, I have to give credit to my wife for putting up with my incredibly bad jokes every day. A model of patience, she is. Will I ever get over this flaw? Stop making people groan and learn some real jokes? Perhaps, but like a midget at a urinal, you're just going to have to stay on your toes.

2006-02-09T22:28:00.000-06:00

The background: Kelsey and I moved to Myrtle Beach in November without knowing anybody and without contacts.

The problem: After three months, we have made few friends and still spend most nights hanging out with each other. While there is nobody more awesome and cool than us, it would be nice to see other people once in a while. Note: The few people we have gotten to known a bit more are very nice. For instance, Patrick and Neil are a blast. But with working nights and other people actually having lives and other commitments, we seldom get together with anybody outside of work.

Possible solution #1: Volunteer at the hospital in our spare time. Meet other volunteers as well as patients who look like they'd be fun to spend time with if they were healthy.
Flaw: We're not that nice.

Possible solution #2: Join a church, meet neat friends in Sunday School.
Flaw: We have yet to find a church we like enough to return to. And besides Nash, what church friend would go hang out at the bar on Saturday night?

Possible solution #3: Meet people through the Internet.
Flaw: A quick search of Xanga's Myrtle Beach metro area reveals that all 4,000 members in the area are the same 14-year-old girl.

Possible solution #4: Use the extra time to become fluent in Latin.
Flaw: Tim still has my copy of Wheelock's Latin.

So we're stumped. Anybody out there have other good ideas?

2006-02-09T13:17:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

2006-02-08T21:51:00.000-06:00

Picture(s) of the Day

Apologies for the blurriness

Perhaps tomorrow we'll have a finished product to show.

2006-02-07T17:50:00.000-06:00

Picture of the Day

Mmmm...homemade pita bread...

2006-02-06T13:09:00.000-06:00

Picture of the (last 3) day(s)

and first part of my application to be a 'Live Mannequin'