Morning showers 'fore noon glowers

Oh, showers have powers of revivification,
and scour 'way hours' veget- and stagn-ation.
Mere minutes ago I was sad and all wilty,
tired and cranky, and feeling quite filty.
Now after showers both hot and quite schiv'ry
(washing off soil, and heat, respectiv'ry),
I'm feeling quite human, most civil and neat.
Now, how long will this last, in this bothersome heat?

(As one might tell, though I feel great, I am stil in fact suffering from my lack of sleep. It's just that suffering doesn't entail as much suffering anymore. Yay!)

I love coffee

I do. I love it. If I could date it, I'd never have gone to matchdoctor. It's 5:18 a.m. and I haven't slept. I was sad. But now I've had a big mug of doubled-strength coffee and now I'm more happy. Another mug and I'll be truly happy.

Coffee is good. I love it.

Her side of the story

I've been rambling on here about my parenting experiences for about six months now. But my perspective isn't the whole deal, is it? Well, now all who wish can learn how it looks from the other side; Grace has started her own blog.

What have I wrought? Ah, well. I may not always be the good guy, but I have no doubt it will get entertaining.

Going Postal*

Came up with a line today that will become a parenting staple for me:

"Just take everything you know you're not supposed to do, and don't do it."

Come to think of it, I don't know why this should be limited to parenting.

Had a good day today. Got ahead on housework, got some stuff mailed, fed the kids very ripe/soft/sweet bananas while we waited for our pizza, and hit the park. They've both gained serious levels in playground skills over the spring; Grace can climb nearly to the top of the swing (by the "legs" that anchor the swingset to the ground) and Eve can climb almost anything, and can actually get out of the little-kid swings by herself through shear gripping power.

Post office was fun. Grace met a little boy about her age, and started telling him stories about her life. "One time, I was saying to Eve -- this is Eve -- 'Do you love Mommy?' And she said..." He responded to the amusing ending with guffaws that sounded a bit like he might have been sucking up to the pretty girl with the ponytail, but who knows; she's got a knack for delivery. She was telling another story when, in typical 5-year-old manner, the boy got distracted and started commenting on something else; she waited for a moment and broke in, "Excuse me... excuse me? Can I finish this?"

Eve did some more scary-genius-looking things again. They were watching Beauty and the Beast clips on YouTube (Netflix doesn't have it, for some reason) for awhile this morning. Well, while at the library, Eve goes into the stacks at the children's section -- with no help from anyone -- and comes back with... Beauty and the Beast. NOT the Disney version; the artwork was completely different (Mercer Meyer, in fact). She's always done these things, just rarely enough to be almost certainly coincidence, but just regularly enough to creep people out. (Like saying at two weeks old something that sounded exactly like "hellll-lo!" -- twice. Like at 7 months, after someone calls "Eve!" looking up with a grin and saying "What?!" -- only once. Freaky stuff.)

At home, leftover bananas, now too soft from travel to be enjoyed on their own, got mashed into banana-cornmeal pudding -- which did not go over well with Grace, unfortunately. Ah, well, I kinda liked it, and Eve will eat almost anything.

Got Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men out of the library; this seriously needs to be made into a movie. Grace is going to love it, I think -- and if she doesn't, hell with her, I will, and I know Erin will when I'm done.

* Going Postal was a recent Pratchett novel. And I went to the post office. So, it's like a double entendre, see? Yes, I thought you'd appreciate it.

Back from the Wedding, Part II

So we got to the wedding pre-wedding dinner in the home of Marty, the groom (who, incidentally, I'd never met); he and the bride were not there -- presumably they were at the wedding rehearsal. Several of my in-laws (yes, for simplicity's sake I'll still call them that... more than simplicity, actually, wee below) and Marty's family. Marty wasn't the reproductive prodigy that Erin's mom had been (Erin and I are both the last of 8), but they all came with husbands, wives and kids. Slow and steady wins the genetic race, I guess.

Fortunately, Kate (one of Marty's) had printed out name labels, red for Darlene's side, blue for Marty's. Being a smart-ass, I immediately appropriated the one for my niece Caitlin and spent the rest of the evening as "Darlene's Favorite Granddaughter" (They were all "Marty's Favorite This" or "Darlene's Favorite That." In retrospect, I should have stayed "Darlene's Favorite Son-In-Law," as that was probably the only distinction of which there was only one).

It wasn't fortunate for me, because I didn't actually read anyone else's. For one thing, the women I didn't already know had a tendency to put them on their chests, and as the type was fairly tiny, I felt a little self-conscious about staring close and long enough to read them.

This leads me to my first realization. YMMV, but I found that, for me, just because you no longer think of the person you married as your wife, doesn't mean you don't still think of the family you married into as your in-laws. Yes, they are still the same people they were to me before, all the siblings and their spouses, all the nieces and nephews. Now, this actually doesn't mean much. Erin being the last of 8 with a good distance between him and 7 means that there's a wide age-bubble around me. Just about everyone was 40+ or 20-.

The food was mountainous. The kind of thing where the people responsible would afterward say "What are we gonna do with all this?" -- and they did, I was there for it). I went back to find tables of her family, and tables of his family; the only one regularly crossing the line was Grace, my 5-year-old, who was holding a table of Marty's teen-aged grandchildren spellbound with tales of her life ("I don't know how I'm ever going to get registered for school, since we keep getting there late..." Another blog, that).

Darlene and Marty ("Dar-Mar", as they'd become known) eventually showed up. Grace was very eager to meet her new grandpa, and presented him with a handful of dandelions she'd gathered on our way to the house. "I figured, since I'm a flowergirl, I might as well start now." she explained. By the end of the night, Marty was pretty impressed with Grace. I don't think he was prepared for her level of precocity. Most people aren't...

The evening went well. I unthinkingly left Erin in charge of the kids for the first hour or so, and I felt bad about that -- Eve was particularly difficult as, unused to the suburbs, she had a penchant for invading the neighbors' yards if not constantly watched. So I made a special point to be co-parent for the rest of the trip.

Well, mostly. I screwed up the morning of the wedding. See, the wedding coincided with the weekend of the Bayberry Community Garage Sale -- and annual event wherein the entire neighborhood has its yard/garage/rummage sales simultaneously. It's equivalent to the spawning of the grunion; hordes of garage-sailors clog the roads, looking for $40 couches, 25-cent travel mugs, $1 CDs, etc. And I love it. I was itching to get out there and look for homeschooling supplies. Maybe I could pick up some microscope slides! Ooh!

So, when Eve passed out for a nap, I moseyed over to the church sale -- only just across the street! Well, then I realized that most of the sale was in the parking lot behind the church... I wandered that... found nothing... back at the front, I was about to buy that 25-cent travel mug when Erin yelled my name from across the street.

Yeah, I flubbed up. See, I thought we were leaving at 1:30. Turns out, the wedding was across town and we were leaving at 1. It was 1. Erin had gotten home, Eve was not dressed, and no one knew where I was. Oh, yeah, I hadn't told anyone. Well, I was just going across the street, right? Of course, after the parking lot detour, I was gone a half-hour. Eek.

So Erin was pissed. Rightfully so. Well, I finally conveyed enough understanding of the gravity of my carelessness, and made damn sure the rest of the evening I was on top of things. For the rest of the evening, we were a parenting commando squad -- switching off to give one another breaks to eat, drink, socialize. People noticed how well we worked together.

In fact, they noticed so much that I think they started to forget we're not married anymore. At one point my brother-in-law looked at the inflatable mattress set up for Erin and the girls and asked casually, "So, who's this fr,t he whole family?" Erin answered, a little awkwardly, "Well... me and the kids."

(In another fun moment, at Mass the day after the wedding, Marty introduced us to someone as "Darlene's daughter Erin, and her daughter Eve, and her daughter Grace... and this is Sean, Erin's husband!" I smiled, and muttered, "Something like that, anyway.")

The wedding itself was mostly fun. Erin, after much agonizing and dread over what to wear, had settled on a pale green shirt, less-pale tie, and dark green jacket. It looked great; in fact, I'm going to want to borrow the tie next time I have reason to wear one. No one made any disturbing comments, though one person did seem to stare a bit.

The ceremony was odd. For one thing, the place was a bizarre cross between wedding chapel and funeral parlor; I realized soon after saying that that it probably was, in fact, used for both those purposed. For another thing, the wedding song was "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee" -- set, as usual, to Beethoven's "Ode de Joye." It was the first time I'd ever heard someone manage to make Beethoven sound rinky-tink. I can't describe it, other than to say I had to fight the urge to bounce my hands back and forth with the music.

I also realized during the ceremony that there were far fewer people than I'd expected. I mentioned this to Erin and was told that the 400 figure had been exaggeration, intended as irony; "They've only invited immediate family and there are still like 400 people." I chastized Erin for this, of course -- when dealing with someone who takes things literally as often as I do, one should never do that sort of thing.

The Patriotism of Foodtown

So I'm doing some shopping just before the store closes and I notice a full-length poster in Foodtown's window. "In Honor Of Those Who Have Served Out Country [or words to that effect]:" And then it gives the store's hours for Memorial Day. 8 am to 9 pm.

The EXACT SAME HOURS they have every other day of the week; I checked the sign on the door; 8 am to 9 pm for each day, Sunday through Saturday.

"In Honor Of Those Who Have Served Out Country, We Will Be Conducting Business As Usual, The Same Hours As Usual. God Bless America."

Now, I'm not a big fan of flag-waving patriotic grandstanding. I'm a firm believer that patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels (actually, these days there are a few competitors, like The Children and The Environment, but the principle remains). But somehow advertising it as if you're doing something and then doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING is even worse.

Bite me, Foodtown. This sort of thing is why I shop at the mom & pop fruit & vegetable stores.

I had sox today

White athletic ones up to my mid-calf. Felt nice sliding into 'em.

Hey, I take what I can get these days.

Hummus and Broccoli Spreads, as requested

Hummus

1 large can (30 oz? 28? Whatever) chickpeas
(or equivalent amount cooked yourself).
2 Tbsp tahini (peanut butter works just as well and is cheaper)
1 Tbsp ground cumin
1 tsp garlic powder
1/2 to 1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Drain the chick peas, but reserve liquid. If using a food processor, just throw all ingredients in and blend until basically pureed (I like to leave some lumps); add reserved liquid a little at a time until a smooth but not gloppy consistency is acquired (this may vary to suit your taste).

If you're not using a food processor, put chick peas on a plate or other flat surface in a single layer, and crush with a fork. I don't mind leaving a few recognizable pieces in there for texture. When all are crushed, put it all in a bowl and mix together.

Traditionally, this is served with pitas (I like to make my own if I have time), but I've recently discovered the power of spreading them on sandwiches, either as a spread or as a main sandwich ingredient.

The seasonings are variable with taste, especially the cumin, garlic and lemon. For variety, try adding roasted red pepper, or curry instead of cumin (and perhaps double it).


Broccoli Spread (I have no better name for this. Serious load of vitamins in broccoli)

1 head broccoli florets
1/2 small onion
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/4 to /2 cup pasta sauce
1 tsp oregano/Italian seasoning
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp garlic powder

Steam the broccoli florets until soft.

Slice or mince onion, sauté in oil until tender. Add onions and oil to steamed florets in food processor or bowl of electric mixer. Start mixing/processing until broccoli is minced quite small; add sauce a few tablespoons at a time until a spreadlike consistency is achieved. Add other seasonings.

I sertve this next to the hummus, and it makes at least as good a spread or sandwich as the hummus.

Back from the wedding, Part I

Been back fro awhile, actually. But Monday was recovery from the weekend, and Tuesday I was incapacitated with mystery illness.

The trip as great, starting with the trip itself. Erin rented the car and came to pick us up, a little late, at 11 a.m. I'd burned my Ultimate Road Trip Playlist to two CDs. Actually, it wasn't quite my URTP, since I'd accidentally deleted the first part, and had to quickly reassemble it from memory. Among other things, "Everybody Gets Laid Tonight" by the Hammerheads got left off. But I put some new ones on I'd not thought of before, so it was okay.

Apparently 5 and 2 are the magic ages for long car trips. We hypothesized that it's to do with language; once you can make sentences, it's easier to entertain yourself with your thoughts. Regardless of why, the interruptions from the rear were minimal, and it was the most relaxing trip to her mom's we'd had since... well, since Grace was born.

And we discussed. We discussed everything. We discuss anyway, of course, over McDonalds while the kids romp in the playground, over coffee after the kids are in bed, over hot wings and beer while the kids try frantically to wipe hot sauce off their tongues (joke). But nothing's quite like discussing things on the open road, for five hours, while the Allman Brothers sing about ramblin' and the box of the everyday is left another mile behind as each minute passes.

We talked about our marriage. It was a weird thing. All either of us can figure is, our kids really needed to be born.

Grace was conceived months after we were married, in what may have been her first ovulation after we'd gotten the sex thing worked out, and we had her name ready for her from the very beginning.

While Erin was pregnant with Eve, a friend of hers joked that, to complement "Grace", we should name her "Nature"... then weeks before she was born (and we still had no name for a girl), Erin's best friend walked up to our table at McDonalds and said, "I've got it! "Eve"!" And hearing it seemed more like remembering than realization.

Then after Eve was born, it seemed like it was done. For Erin especially, there was a feeling of doneness, even though it was a great pregnancy and easy, stress-free delivery. The feelings and realizations that led to the end of our marriage started flooding in after years of repression, as a direct consequence of the pregnancy and birth of Eve.

And then, when it came, the pain was over in days -- it was almost as if we felt it merely out of a sense of expectation, of obligation. As Erin put it on the trip, and I agreed, it was like something from a fairy tale, as if we'd been sucked into this weird little world for a few years, and then our stay was over and we were dumped back into the real world. We'd been left marked by our stay there, and of course we'd brought back the girls. But we're both just beginning to remember what we were like, as aspect of us from that life fall away -- I've been thinking for awhile now that the monster thing, which started a comment of Erin's long before we were married, has gotten old and doesn't really feel like who I am anymore.

So yeah, we discussed. And though this may sound bittersweet as I relate it here, it wasn't that way; it was simply fascinating. And liberating. And wonderful to talk with her like that.

I'd made lunch -- smoked turkey and American cheese on a roll, and I'd made hummus and my amazing broccoli spread (didn't get to make pita, so we ate these on wheat bread as sandwiches and it was terrific). Several apples and bananas. We still had to stop for some snacks on the way, that's how road trips are. With the pauses for Grace to tell stories, etc, the two CDs lasted almost the entire trip.

We pulled in at 4:45, when the night-before-the-wedding dinner at Marty's (the groom's) house was at 5:30. We had a quick clean-up and off we went, me in my snazzy Bruce Lee shirt and jeans, to meet the new in-laws.

to be continued...

My Mom's Wedding

Not my mom, really. My mother-in-law (mother-ex-law?) is getting married Saturday. Heading up to Syracuse tomorrow with the kids and their mom. It's a pretty involved affair (says the guy who played mp3s at Knights of Columbus and baked his own wedding cake), but it sounds fun. For one thing, it will be the only second wedding I've ever attended where I'm not related to half the women there.

Also of note: the last wedding I attended (excluding a tiny, brief ceremony in the park) was mine. At which a number of the same people as at this one were, of course, in attendance.

I bought some new clothes for it. Just tried on the whole outfit for the first time tonight, and I think I look pretty good. I suppose someone will get a shot I can post here; convenient, since I just shaved the facial growth.

Note on that front: I'm immensely enjoying the stubble, Feels nice, growing your own sandpaper. I know it'll just get annoying soon, but I'm enjoying it for the moment.

Way tired. 'Night, all.

Shave the Males

Shaved tonight. Goatee gone. First time in years. Feels weird, but kinda nice. I made faces in the mirror; I'm much more expressive this way. The 5-year-old cried a little bit, but she's okay with it now. I'm kinda dreading what happens when the 2-year-old sees it in the morning. Hadn't thought about them.

Can't quite get rid of the stubble. Maybe that's why I grew it in the first place?

Ah, well.

A Forest of Hydras

I've mentioned before, I'm a bit of a geek. I say "a bit of" because I'm something of an underachiever as a geek. I can program a bit, enough to sort numbers, work with text, and pull web pages, but I can't do anything particularly cool. I like Star Wars, but can't name the actor who played Uncle Owen or any of the characters from the Jedi Academy books. It's not really even geeky anymore to like the Lord of the Rings, since it became a big SFX movie.

Where I'm really a geek is life sciences. I'm the guy who, when the rest of the neighborhood is moaning over the tent-caterpillar infestation, will say, "Cool, kids, you've gotta come and see this!!! They're building a silk tent!!!" At 35, I'll be late for a meeting because I was watching two ant colonies fight on the sidewalk. My main interest in computer programming is from a desire to create artificial life simulations.

So I have a fish tank.

Well, it's not really a fish tank, because there are no fish in it. It's got copepods. Copepods are little crustaceans, not much bigger than a good-sized comma in standard newspaper print. They came with a few liters of pondwater I picked up back in December, and have been eating algae in the tank ever since. Their numbers range from several dozen to several hundred depending on... well, I haven't figured that out yet.

A few months ago, I found something else in the tank. Didn't know what at first... little things a bit bigger than sesame seed that crawled around on the glass, like flocks of tiny sheep, munching the algae growing there. These turned out to be ostracods (called, appropriately enough, "seed shrimp"), another kind of crustacean. This was interesting, because I'd had the tank going for months when they showed up. I can only guess they'd finally gotten numerous enough to notice. Since then, they've multiplied into the hundreds, and that glass of my tank is free of algae except for little spots that don't get much bigger than 2 to 3mm before they're grazed down.

In fact, having no predators in the tank, I've been worried about overpopulation, of both the copepods and the ostracods. Then last week I noticed a third kind of crustacean in there, tiny black dots a little smaller than poppy seeds that swim (unlike the ostracods, which mostly crawl) with a smooth motion (unlike the jerky copepods). I still haven't identified them.

Today, looking in on the little things, I noticed something new on the glass. A thin strand of bright green, not more than 2mm long. I looked closer, certain it couldn't be what I thought it was, and yep... it was. A tiny green hydra. Now, the presence of a hydra was fine news to me -- they're predators, rather like a freshwater anemone. I'd had some when I first gotten the water samples with the copepods, but I'd thought they hadn't survived the transfer to the tank; I'd been hoping to get to the little pond and get some more now that it's warm out.

And then as I looked I counted at least a dozen, some of them just tiny green specks, against the glass. I saw a few more on the sides. WTF? Where the had they come from? I haven't added anything but treated tap water since December, at the latest.

Now, the interesting thing about green hydras is the reason they're green; they have symbiotic algae in their bodies, which photosynthesize for them, so they aren't entirely dependent on predation. Finally, I looked down into the tank, and I noticed, in the right corner, a forest of hydras. Hundreds of them, in an area no more than 5 inches long by about a 1/3-inch wide.

Of course: the spot closest to the sunlight, which was also farthest from the front of the tank. Hidden at the top of the water, where he light refracted funny from most angles I'd look at it, and lost in the green of the free-floating algae in the water, I never saw them. They'd been there for months, eating larval copepods now and again, but probably mostly living off the sunlight. Many have tiny hydras budding off of them even now; no telling how many generations they're into. Only now, I guess, is the population high enough that they've had to spread out.

So this is pretty cool. I'm thinking I'm going to put off that trip to the pond for awhile and see what else turns up in the tank. So far it's had a marvelous property of balancing itself out.

I'm not Cuban

Not that there's anything wrong with that. I wouldn't mind being Cuban if I were. But I'm not.

I've just been made aware that some people have assumed from my photo that I'm dark-haired and complected. One MD personality specified a suspicion of Cuban ancestry.

In fact, I am of Irish, German and Swedish extraction. And a little French that I don't often admit to. In short, you don't get a lot whiter than me without having worn an an Aryan Youth badge, or living in Scandinavia. (Okay, that wasn't actually shorter than the sentence before it.)

I've uploaded new photos to show this, but they've not yet been approved. Stay tuned. Brace yourselves for disappointment; I actually look pretty geeky in these pics.

My family is so effin' cool.

Before heading out today, the kids and their Mom dropped by and gave me this.

(Inside is here.)

She's always insisted on sharing Mother's Day with me, considering our general role-obfuscation. Now you know why I think she's so cool.

Calling All MILTs

Mommies I'd Like to Thank.

Thank you, Mommies, for being who you are.

Hugs.

T-Shirts

I've been seeing a lot of great tee shirts in my neighborhood lately. Recent winners include:

You've been a bad boy.
Now go to my room.

RELAX
BITCH

The "Schoolhouse Rock" logo

The Thundercats logo

On that score, my favorite webcomic, Questionable Content, regularly comes up with great ones for its characters; those that the readership goes nuts for end designed into shirts. My personal favorites include

She Blinded Me With Library Science

Evolution Kills

Math is Delicious!

Aerodynamically Curvaceous

Vegetable Helper

So tonight I was at the 99 Super Store (Armani Girl wasn't in ) and didn't have enough cash for my purchase. They have a $10 minimum for cards. Fortunately, I'd noticed they had a shelf of Hamburger Helper -- not Nameless Brand Ground Beef helper, but the genuine Betty Crocker article. I'm not a fan, but I know the kids' mom uses it.

Due to an unlikely and inconvenient succession of naps, we did not get out to the park until after 7 p.m., which meant getting home about 9 pm. They'd not yet had dinner. So I have to come up with dinner. I realize I have the HH, but it's nutritionally crap and I don't have ground beef anyway.

Then it hits me. Why hamburger? I quickly chop up an apple, a pepper, some broccoli and some onion, start to sauté it, then follow th HH instructions (having selected Tomato Basil).

It worked! The veggies were not terribly overdone (I'll omit the sauté step next time around), were still nutritious, and colorful. The 5-year-old stated that it was better than the stuff with the beef. Yahoo.

Now, I'm still not going to make it a mainstay. It's still loaded with crap ingredients, and more expensive that just cooking pasta and throwing on some tomato sauce. But barring that, it's not a bad one-skillet emergency meal.

For any vampire fans: new novel out

Disclaimer: This is about an author I like -- I blogged about him awhile back. Once again, I'm not affiliated as anything other than a fan, so though what follows may seem a bit like an advertisement, it's nothing I'm selling. If you don't like vampire fiction, don't bother reading further.

Thirteen Bullets, a vampire novel, is in print, and listed on Amazon.com.

I thought I'd take this occasion to issue a review. Note that this review is based on the online serialization of the book; I'd assume the print edition is a little more polished.

This is Wellington's best writing (in print, anyway) to date. Having previously authored the Monster Trilogy of zombie novels, his writing here is leaner, his characterization more vivid. His take on the nature and psychology of the undead was refreshing, seeming to take part equally in obscure legends and modern action-horror. Particularly for those who are tired of effete, tragic antihero vampires, this may be just what you've been waiting for.

It follows the story of Pennsylvania State Trooper Laura Caxton as she's pulled into the investigation of the first vampire activity in America in twenty years. Yes, that word was "investigation"; Wellington has apparently decided that having the protagonists spend the first half of the story trying to convince themselves and others that vampires even exist is a little boring. Instead, his setting -- otherwise like the real world -- is one where vampires and other supernatural entities are known but rare phenomena; people keep assuming vampires are extinct in the wild, until another one shows up after a few decades.

And yes, that was "in the wild." Part of the cleverness of the world where vampires are real is that it allows Wellington to explore the ramifications of the law. One of these is that the one known living vampire is kept alive (or whatever) under lock and key, but for legal reasons cannot simply be killed.

This is an interesting turnaround from recent literary tradition, wherein vampires are worldly, often sympathetic creatures who must fear wholesale violent reaction from human society. In 13B, vampires are pretty much irredeemable villains (if only because they've no interest in redemption). After the first new vampire shows up, we are allowed to hear (mercifully briefly) reporters' insinuations of its unfair treatment at the hands of the authorities (most of whom it had just gleefully slaughtered).

Thus, the protagonists are forced to fight not only the creatures of the night, but the restrictions of their offices. The worst foe, though, may be the plot twists and turns Wellington gleefully throws at them -- he seems to pull the rug out from under them so often -- while retaining believability -- that one has to respect them for not simply lying down, especially Caxton, who voices her temptation to do just that.

Throughout, Wellington seems to have enormous fun playing with clichés. Some are simply ignored -- Caxton, for example, is neither sultry sex-kitten, helpless femme nor superwoman, but nothing more nor less than a competently trained State Trooper. Others are more subtly played -- the quiet, badass figure of Special Deputy Arkeley is both second banana to Caxton from the story's perspective (despite his greater rank and expertise with vampires) and eventually revealed as no one to envy, however square his jaw.

The story ends with a clear opening to a sequel -- and in fact Wellington has admitted that the wonderfully-titled 99 Coffins is in the works -- but by this time the character of Caxton is so familiar that the reader experiences more anticipation than annoyance.

Note that Amazon.com has a special bundle offer with another of his books. Also, Wellington has a special offer if you order it.

The Curse of the Silent Bean...

I do various research on press releases. I come across all sorts of companies, public and private, some more obscure or amusing than others. Today's most interesting entry so far is a company serving the liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) sector of the international shipping industry -- the amusingly named STEALTHGAS, INC.

It doesn't get much better than that.

Just heard on the internet...

...that Snopes has started a self-referencing hoax that they've issues a self-referencing hoax.

Word is, they plan to eventually say its debunked, but as part o the joke -- because posting it on snopes.com will only validate it. So the denial will really be an admission!

Spread the word!

The Line

I've heard people (usually, but not always, women) worry about the possibility of friends (usually, but not always, men) wanting some day to "step over the line" of friendship to... well, this is not usually specified, except in vague terms of "something else," or "more." I assume it means a romantic/sexual relationship.

I started considering myself. I've been friends with women in my time. Some quite attractive, physically and otherwise. Sometimes, I've wanted to "step over the line" -- when I was much younger. Much more confused about such things. And much more susceptible behaving in accord with social expectations.

I'm not likely to step over the line now. Because I have no lines. I don't feel the need to categorize my relationships that way -- you are here, she is there, this is the border between what we are and what she and I are. Each person is who and what he or she is to me, and that is all. With no borders, there is no tension.

If I find a woman I know attractive, I let her know. This doesn't mean anything will come of it -- once you remove possessiveness from a relationship, unreturned attraction is not a barrier. Why should it be, anyway? I am fully aware that Catherine Zeta Jones does not return my feelings, and I wish her well.

But I have had many objectively attractive female friends to whom I was not romantically attracted. (Often I have found them sexually attractive, but I'm a typical guy in that regard -- I can walk down a subway car and find a half-dozen women sexually attractive, twice that at rush hour. It doesn't signify.) Sometimes they cannot handle knowing that, and feel embarrassed, uncomfortable, or -- and this one is pretty loopy -- guilty (for having led me on, I suppose, or for not returning the feelings, as if their attractions has moral significance).

I guess they don't believe me when I say that it's not a problem for me. I'm sad when such friends go, but I'm not going to hide my feelings from them. Then I'd be doing just what they seem to be afraid of.

So if I tell a woman I am not seeking more than a platonic relationship (and I hesitate to use the word "more," as my platonic friendships with women have proven far more profound and lasting, on average, than my romantic ones), I mean just that. Maybe it's different for others, but for me it's not just a matter of degree -- I am not going to fall into romantic love as a natural outgrown of platonic friendship; something would have to happen to completely change the way I see her.

Which is not to say that that could not happen -- love is a strange and unpredictable thing, after all, and you don't get to be my friend unless you're someone pretty special to begin with. But it's not going to happen because a some particle decayed at the wrong time.

Once again...

...now, this is the kinda woman I'm looking for.



Update: For those who are interested......

Whoa. Six and three-quarters very uncomfortable minutes.

Two years without a TV, the girls' mom decided to introduce them to cartoons on YouTube. They're quite devoted now to both Tom & Jerry and The Family Guy. Normally I don't mind; a little surreal anthropomorphism on the former hand and non-PC, postironic, subversive humor on the latter, are good things. Today, though, they hyperlinked their way to this winner.

I wasnt' sure what to do. I resisted the urge to walk over and change it to something else, because I didn't want to signify that there was anything special about it. We're talking about kids who we've managed to raises with as close to zero distinction vis-a-vis "race" as it is possible to come. The 5-year-old doesn't know "black" and "white" signify anything but basic colors (she did once, at 4, refer to "people with brown faces and all-brown bodies," but that's the closest she's come).

So in the end I just let it play. She asked the usual questions, "Why is he chasin?" etc. And then it ended, and she did not ask to see it again. So I guess that;'s over.

Hopefully, she'll never quite understand why Daddy cringed.

Today's realization...

ome days I'm an ass. No, I already knew that. The realization is, the days when I'm most likely to be an ass are the days I forget that some days I'm an ass. This might help.

Eggs in a Nest

Tonight's dinner was an inspiration. Just came to me as I was preparing lunch. Simple, nutritious, yummy, fun (at least for the 5 year old, who knows what a nest it).

Cooked some rice (about 2 cups raw). Steamed some shredded cabbage and a handful of matchstick carrots over the rice in the rice cooler. Mashed up half a can of chick peas with some yellow food coloring (I would've used turmeric, but I was out) and a dash of cumin and garlic powder.

When cooked, make a nest of cabbage and carrots on each plate. Run hands under cold water (prevents sticking and lets you hold hotter rice -- work fast) and flatten out some rice in your palm, place a small dollop of yellow chickpea mash in the center, add some more rice on top and mold around chickpea "yolk" to shape an egg. (The smaller an egg you can make, the better, as they tend more to fall apart the larger they get.) Place eggs in nests.

Went over big. I'm pretty proud of this one.

UPDATE: For midnight snack (which she eats at 9 p.m.), the 5-year-old wanted some kind of dessert. I offered to do something with the bananas we'd just bought, intending to simply cut them into a fun pattern. Gripped suddenly by new inspiration, I threw together some cornmeal mush (we love cornmeal mush, though I make it with milk and throw in an egg at the end, so there's actual nutrition), with half a banana mashed into the milk, and extra sugar. Sliced the other half banana on top of it and voila, banana pudding. It was appreciated. Man, I gotta write a book...

Slump in Muslim Extremism Continues Through April

May 2 -- WASHINGTON, D.C. -- The United States Task Force on Muslim Affairs today released its latest figures on Muslim Extremism. Once again, the figures of extremist Muslims are in the low double-digit percentages. Among young Muslims, in particular, fewer than ever are spending their days in memorization of the Koran, and show a marked preference for playing countless hours of Guitar Hero II.

Even more alarming, the percentage of Muslims actually engaged in activities aimed at the downfall of western civilization remain in the very low single-digits. This has remained true of nearly all demographics, with a decline among Pakistani-Americans owning small businesses.

"Time was when I was at the cell meetings every month," said Shaukat Bharwana, proprietor of A&J Family Grocery. "But now, the kid that use to help with the stocking and watching the register has gone off to college -- to study city planning, of all things! -- so I have no time. I get of lot of flak from the other guys, but what can I do? I can't just let my business go to hell. With this economy we;ve got now, I'm barely putting Nan on the table as it is."

Asked why he was letting down the extremist cause, Bharwana's former employee, Alfie Khan, said, "'Wana's an okay guy, but he's always going on about the Infidel Conspiracy. I guess he had a rough time comin' over here, but the way he talks, sometimes it would creep me the hell out. I ain't got time for that jihad shiznit."

Brief interviews of area Muslims received such responses of "Can I help you?" "Um, look, I don't work here," "I really don't want to get involved." and "Look, pal, I got 20 minutes left for lunch, find someone else, okay?"