A few days ago I got a call.
Customer: "is this the store manager?"
Me : "yes, how can I help you?"
Customer: "you guys sold me a piece of crap. You need to get out here now and fix it!"
Me: "OK, I will do what I can, can you let me know what is going on?"
Customer: "I bought a dryer from you and it keeps making a buzzing sound."
Me: "What kind of buzzing sound?"
Customer: "It happens when the dryer is running, I don't know what it is, you just need to come and fix it, I am not answering anymore questions."
Me: "I will get a service tech out there tomorrow to look at it."
Customer: "no, you will come out and replace it tomorrow or I will never shop with you again and I will tell everyone I work with that you sell junk."
Me: "OK, sir, let me call the delivery center and see if I can get it swapped out for you tomorrow."
Customer: "you had better"
Me: " I will call you back in a few minutes."
30 minutes later, I call back.
Me: "I will have new dryer out to you tomorrow."
Customer: "Never mind"
Me: "Why"
Customer: "my wife came home and told me that was the sound the dryer makes when the clothes are done."
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Eric Clapton
Dear Boys,
Mommy has you brainwashed with Celine Dion's Taking Chances CD right now. First of all you should realize that mommy is so out of it, she still plays her music on CD! I guess it is time I intervene before the damage is irreparable. I need to introduce to you the biggest influence in my life musically.
First you have to understand how much Daddy loves music. Those big headphones he wears are not because he doesn't love you, and are not meant to be a punishment he just loves that song a little bit more than he should right now and mommy won't let him play it at the volume he wants.
I don't know how long ago I fell in love with music. I think I might have started in my Mother's womb getting down to my own heart beat and the liquid rhythms that must have surrounded that pre-birth experience. I confess that the first song I got down to was Michael Jackson's Billie Jean. I lived with my foster parents at the time and my foster sister Gracie would play music in her bedroom and if I hid in the closet I could hear what she was listening to. I fondly remember listening to the original MJ's Billie Jean. I guess you could say I was a closet Michael Jackson fan. Grandma Dean bought me that record when she found out. I listened to that thing like a 13 year old girl. I even used to enjoy pretending I was Michael singing against Paul McCartney on "The girl is mine" probably because I was more of a lover than fighter too.
From there on I sucked in any music I could get my hands on. I dreamed of being good enough to have a band of my own and my mom tried to foster this love, letting me listen to the radio for hours on end. She got me the Styx album because I wanted Mr. Roboto. If you think that is bad I won't tell you that in 5Th grade she bought me a Menudo lunch box, probably because I told her I loved Menudo and she thought I meant the band rather than the that delicious first cow stomach based soup.
I don't know how many people have soundtracks to their life, I do. I can't tell you the name of a guy I just met 5 minutes ago, but I can tell you that I was doing in 5th grade when Wham "Made" it big. I can tell you of the first time I heard many songs like Dead or Alive's "You spin me round round," Pet Shop Boys' "West Side Girls"
When I was in 6th grade I found Rap music on an AM station on a LA radio station. I used to sit in Great Grandpa's bathroom and listen to it. I would do so quietly because I wasn't sure if it was something I was supposed to be listening to, it seemed too different. Rap helped me get through the "hair" rock years which I thought was horrible, and I personally believe is responsible for one of the nastiest clothing mistakes since polyester, spandex. It eventually seemed to cross over to FM with bands like the Fat Boys, Run DMC, and the Beastie Boys.
Rap was also there during some hard years of my adolescent life, but that is a story for another time, when your older.
During all of this I was trying every way I could to try and play music. In 4Th grade I tried out for Choir 3 times, finally getting accepted probably because the teacher didn't know what else to do with me. I wanted to play an instrument but we couldn't afford the rental charge for an instrument, but in 7Th grade I finally got that wish and started playing the Sax and later the Tuba. I was never too good at either, but made some of the best friends and had the best experiences through it. (Yes that is why you have to play an instrument and not just sports!)
But the reason I write this entry is to tell you about Clapton. (I am currently in the middle of his autobiography and eating every bit of it up.)
The time I found Clapton was another dark part of life. It had been some time since Kim Johnson's death and I still had not figured out how to deal with it. I did not feel like I had the right to mourn his death as heavily as I did, I didn't know him all that well. Only a few snapshots in comparison to the mosaic that was his. Even though, the brutality of the loss of a man who was such a great father, something I had never had ate a hole in my heart. I couldn't figure out who to talk to about it, the only people I felt really understood needed someone to listen to them. I probably drove my best friends nuts. I remember doing a lot of journal writing at the time about it. (journals long time lost) I was also heavily burdened with the new religion I had found. I was not sure if I could be what it required of me. It made me change the way I viewed life, and I was not sure if that was something I wanted to do. I had many people who even though they loved me and wanted what was best for me in their minds or to save me from this new found cult, sometime myself. It was all hard.
Anyway, I had heard this song one day at work at Subway, half of it anyway, the store owner never could get the stereo to play correctly, so in the back you would only hear half of the song. I listened to Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" I wasn't blown away until a few days later I was sitting on the couch at home watching MTV when it used to still play videos, even if it was only 10 of them. I saw the Unplugged show featuring Eric Clapton. When I heard the song, I broke down, it was a great moment. In this song I found something for me to help me look at the death of Kim in a more positive manner if that can be said. Clapton was sad at the loss of his son but he found a way to be hopeful about it. It also helped me unite this world of pain and suffering with the unknown world of Heaven. Not only that but I started to feel like I was my father's son and I had work to do for him and a responsibility to do right for him and my family that were already in heaven. I felt like Kim and my own Father where together and Kim would watch over my family. Clapton's grief helped me rid myself of my own. There are not too many famous people I really care to meet, but I would like to meet Clapton to let him hear my testimony of what heaven really is and that his song helped a struggling 19 year old boy find his way. I guess that is what the Blue's are about right?
So yea, momma has you listening to some stuff that I don't really like, but if it makes her feel a bond with you boys, I will lend her your ear. Sing away little fellas, hope mommy is as understanding in 10 years when we are rocking out the house. . .in the white room. . .
Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on, 'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.
Would you hold my hand if I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand if I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way through night and day 'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven.
Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees. Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please.
(guitar solo)
Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure, And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven.
Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on, 'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.
Picking a favorite Clapton song is like picking a favorite Son, I might have one, but I am never telling. . .Here are two to enjoy from Unplugged. Tears In Heaven and Old Love .
Mommy has you brainwashed with Celine Dion's Taking Chances CD right now. First of all you should realize that mommy is so out of it, she still plays her music on CD! I guess it is time I intervene before the damage is irreparable. I need to introduce to you the biggest influence in my life musically.
First you have to understand how much Daddy loves music. Those big headphones he wears are not because he doesn't love you, and are not meant to be a punishment he just loves that song a little bit more than he should right now and mommy won't let him play it at the volume he wants.
I don't know how long ago I fell in love with music. I think I might have started in my Mother's womb getting down to my own heart beat and the liquid rhythms that must have surrounded that pre-birth experience. I confess that the first song I got down to was Michael Jackson's Billie Jean. I lived with my foster parents at the time and my foster sister Gracie would play music in her bedroom and if I hid in the closet I could hear what she was listening to. I fondly remember listening to the original MJ's Billie Jean. I guess you could say I was a closet Michael Jackson fan. Grandma Dean bought me that record when she found out. I listened to that thing like a 13 year old girl. I even used to enjoy pretending I was Michael singing against Paul McCartney on "The girl is mine" probably because I was more of a lover than fighter too.
From there on I sucked in any music I could get my hands on. I dreamed of being good enough to have a band of my own and my mom tried to foster this love, letting me listen to the radio for hours on end. She got me the Styx album because I wanted Mr. Roboto. If you think that is bad I won't tell you that in 5Th grade she bought me a Menudo lunch box, probably because I told her I loved Menudo and she thought I meant the band rather than the that delicious first cow stomach based soup.
I don't know how many people have soundtracks to their life, I do. I can't tell you the name of a guy I just met 5 minutes ago, but I can tell you that I was doing in 5th grade when Wham "Made" it big. I can tell you of the first time I heard many songs like Dead or Alive's "You spin me round round," Pet Shop Boys' "West Side Girls"
When I was in 6th grade I found Rap music on an AM station on a LA radio station. I used to sit in Great Grandpa's bathroom and listen to it. I would do so quietly because I wasn't sure if it was something I was supposed to be listening to, it seemed too different. Rap helped me get through the "hair" rock years which I thought was horrible, and I personally believe is responsible for one of the nastiest clothing mistakes since polyester, spandex. It eventually seemed to cross over to FM with bands like the Fat Boys, Run DMC, and the Beastie Boys.
Rap was also there during some hard years of my adolescent life, but that is a story for another time, when your older.
During all of this I was trying every way I could to try and play music. In 4Th grade I tried out for Choir 3 times, finally getting accepted probably because the teacher didn't know what else to do with me. I wanted to play an instrument but we couldn't afford the rental charge for an instrument, but in 7Th grade I finally got that wish and started playing the Sax and later the Tuba. I was never too good at either, but made some of the best friends and had the best experiences through it. (Yes that is why you have to play an instrument and not just sports!)
But the reason I write this entry is to tell you about Clapton. (I am currently in the middle of his autobiography and eating every bit of it up.)
The time I found Clapton was another dark part of life. It had been some time since Kim Johnson's death and I still had not figured out how to deal with it. I did not feel like I had the right to mourn his death as heavily as I did, I didn't know him all that well. Only a few snapshots in comparison to the mosaic that was his. Even though, the brutality of the loss of a man who was such a great father, something I had never had ate a hole in my heart. I couldn't figure out who to talk to about it, the only people I felt really understood needed someone to listen to them. I probably drove my best friends nuts. I remember doing a lot of journal writing at the time about it. (journals long time lost) I was also heavily burdened with the new religion I had found. I was not sure if I could be what it required of me. It made me change the way I viewed life, and I was not sure if that was something I wanted to do. I had many people who even though they loved me and wanted what was best for me in their minds or to save me from this new found cult, sometime myself. It was all hard.
Anyway, I had heard this song one day at work at Subway, half of it anyway, the store owner never could get the stereo to play correctly, so in the back you would only hear half of the song. I listened to Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" I wasn't blown away until a few days later I was sitting on the couch at home watching MTV when it used to still play videos, even if it was only 10 of them. I saw the Unplugged show featuring Eric Clapton. When I heard the song, I broke down, it was a great moment. In this song I found something for me to help me look at the death of Kim in a more positive manner if that can be said. Clapton was sad at the loss of his son but he found a way to be hopeful about it. It also helped me unite this world of pain and suffering with the unknown world of Heaven. Not only that but I started to feel like I was my father's son and I had work to do for him and a responsibility to do right for him and my family that were already in heaven. I felt like Kim and my own Father where together and Kim would watch over my family. Clapton's grief helped me rid myself of my own. There are not too many famous people I really care to meet, but I would like to meet Clapton to let him hear my testimony of what heaven really is and that his song helped a struggling 19 year old boy find his way. I guess that is what the Blue's are about right?
So yea, momma has you listening to some stuff that I don't really like, but if it makes her feel a bond with you boys, I will lend her your ear. Sing away little fellas, hope mommy is as understanding in 10 years when we are rocking out the house. . .in the white room. . .
Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on, 'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.
Would you hold my hand if I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand if I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way through night and day 'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven.
Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees. Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please.
(guitar solo)
Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure, And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven.
Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on, 'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.
Picking a favorite Clapton song is like picking a favorite Son, I might have one, but I am never telling. . .Here are two to enjoy from Unplugged. Tears In Heaven and Old Love .
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Sundays
Ever since I became LDS, I learned the value of Sundays. We don't do the best Sabbath day activities ever, but in our own way, it is about our family and what is more Sabbath then that?. I try to stay away from work and try my hardest to focus on the boys. (except for that little nap)Today our house was ruled by boys, I tried to snap a few pictures to just give you an idea of what you are missing. Here is the breakdown:
At church the two oldest boys chowed down Lifesavers. The whole pack; ate them like candy. We came home and they did the same. Monkey just told me somebody messed up and put nothing but red ones in one pack. Yes he can read, but obviously his perception still needs work.
Squawky came home and went through the fridge, like always. He eats everything. Last night he ate three man sized servings of "Misacetti" (spaghetti) in the same time I managed to eat one serving. When he becomes a teenager, I am sending him to live with Nana for the summers, she is used to feeding never ending boy bellies. It will give her time to reminisce.
Here are some pictures from the day:
Monkey as Superman with his head in the Cat in the Hat sorting hat.
Monkey's mommy told him if he says, "I hate Squawky" again she would wash his mouth out with soap. He said, we have pineapple flavored soap and it would taste good. I grabbed the camera and . . .
. . .the results.
Squawky comes out and shows off his Decepticon socks (evil Transformers)
5 Minutes later
...broken plate...Coincidence?
I made this picture small on purpose. If you have a strong stomach you will notice definite boy hanging from the right nostril.
The next little Transformer. . .
Wifey wanted to take some sweet pictures of the boys by the Christmas tree and this is what she got. . .
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
My favorite Christmas gift 2007
Some of my favorite Christmas songs: Last Christmas by Wham, Litttle St. Nick by The Beach Boys
You would think that my favorite Christmas present this year would be something from one of my little punks. I have to admit I will enjoy reading the Nixon biography from them, but it is not my favorite. My favorite present this year is revenge. ( I know, it sounds sooo Christmasy right? Sounds like a Tim Burton Christmas movie) My favorite this year is from Walker's baby.
You might remember a past blog "It's On" if you have not read this one yet, pause and review. It will explain so much. If you prefer to just read this blog, here is a short recap. Walker switched my Laker's license plate with a King's plate. I swore revenge.
About 2 months ago, I hatched my plan but knew I would have to have patience to pull it off in the best manner. Timing is everything. I put the plan in play and with the support of my wife and a secret confidant who shall not be named. (I will say that when the first Deanery medal is awarded they will definitely be in the running.) About two weeks ago I started planting the seed in Walker's head. I told him, in a wisper, "it's coming." The plan really came together in the last week and I had all the youth from our Ward (church congregation for you non-Mormons) go up to The Walker this last Sunday and tell him, "it's coming." He was really starting to get worried, I could see the uncontrollable twitch from his right eye.
To really make him worry, I asked him when he was leaving town. We have his house key and if he is gone, that leaves him so vulnerable. I heard he thought I was going to mow LA into his lawn. It was in consideration.
It is now Christmas morning and by now revenge has been served. There has been no call from Walker to let me know that he has felt the fury yet, he wouldn't let me know, but I know.
You see, this morning he received his very first Christmas gift from his daughter. A framed Photo. . .
You would think that my favorite Christmas present this year would be something from one of my little punks. I have to admit I will enjoy reading the Nixon biography from them, but it is not my favorite. My favorite present this year is revenge. ( I know, it sounds sooo Christmasy right? Sounds like a Tim Burton Christmas movie) My favorite this year is from Walker's baby.
You might remember a past blog "It's On" if you have not read this one yet, pause and review. It will explain so much. If you prefer to just read this blog, here is a short recap. Walker switched my Laker's license plate with a King's plate. I swore revenge.
About 2 months ago, I hatched my plan but knew I would have to have patience to pull it off in the best manner. Timing is everything. I put the plan in play and with the support of my wife and a secret confidant who shall not be named. (I will say that when the first Deanery medal is awarded they will definitely be in the running.) About two weeks ago I started planting the seed in Walker's head. I told him, in a wisper, "it's coming." The plan really came together in the last week and I had all the youth from our Ward (church congregation for you non-Mormons) go up to The Walker this last Sunday and tell him, "it's coming." He was really starting to get worried, I could see the uncontrollable twitch from his right eye.
To really make him worry, I asked him when he was leaving town. We have his house key and if he is gone, that leaves him so vulnerable. I heard he thought I was going to mow LA into his lawn. It was in consideration.
It is now Christmas morning and by now revenge has been served. There has been no call from Walker to let me know that he has felt the fury yet, he wouldn't let me know, but I know.
You see, this morning he received his very first Christmas gift from his daughter. A framed Photo. . .
. . .isn't it the sweetest little gift to give a Sacramento King's fan? Thanks Walker, you made my Christmas.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Break Down
Have you ever watched a movie and in the end the screenwriter reveals the obvious but surprising ending? You know, you think, 'man how did I miss that?' I had that experience this week. But first let me tell you how it all started. (Hayden_Elk-LakeSerenade_05_Hollywood.mp3)
A couple of weeks ago, Squawky fell out of the bed. I heard the crash, boom. (He hit his head on the nightstand on the way down, thus the crash. The boom was from him hitting the floor) I jumped up and ran to the room. He was fine after a good hard cry. Those that know me well, know I'm not just soft and gooey on the outside, but soft and gooey on the inside too. So I reminisced about the other times members of my family got hurt that I remembered. . .
the time Monkey fell down cement steps at grandma and grandpa's house. I gracefully displaced the wifey to get to him in my rush. (her side of the story is a little different)
The time my brother threw my sister across the room and she got a gash right above her eye, after hitting our old console TV (look it up kids, it was before flat panels.) The thing I remember most that time was when she saw her own blood, the scream was as blood curdling as the girls in the scary movies.
The time my brother fell off the top bunk and cracked his head open on the stereo speaker. (I had whined to my mom that night that I never got to sleep on the bottom, and she forced him to sleep on the top. I still don't know if it was an accident or a set up?)
The time I broke my brothers arm while we were Karate Kid fighting in the front yard. He tried to kick (The Crane) and I grabbed his foot and tried to throw him up in the air.
The time . . .OK so you get the point.
But I have to tell you about this. I was in 7th grade (February 13th, 1987 to be exact, you will understand why I recall this date later.) my friends and I used to play this game that we called Bike Tag. (sometimes it was bike laser tag, when we could get the guns to work) We went to a school in Lakewood California called Gompers (yea, I know how does that ever get to be a name for a school right?) Needless to say I am one of the rare people who knows that Samuel Gompers was a guy who helped form the unions. (I guess that means I should have a natural leaning towards the democrat way, good thing I only went there for a year) The whole school was pavement. There was only grass on the sidewalk and where the marquee was, so it was perfect for riding bikes all over the place. The way the game worked was just like ped-tag, you know on foot. The person that was "it" had to ride all the way to the fence and the rest of us took off. We could ride anywhere on the school grounds and there was no safe place. You rode until you got tagged by the "it" person. I don't know if this is grounds for the claim of the original x-games, but we thought it was pretty edgy. Needless to say there were many a time that the way the "it" guy tagged you was by crashing into you. Believe me, you can learn a lot from those old '70's safety videos that teach you how to crash.
Anyway, while playing one day, my sister decided to tag along. She had a girl bike, pink and everything. She hated that bike. She kept getting caught and could not catch the others on it. So I wanted to help her out, I let her ride mine and I took hers. I liked her bike, it had a banana seat and everything. I would sit on the back part of the seat and have more power to pedal.
I was being chased by one of my friends and took a corner too sharp, I would like to tell you that the crash was spectacular, I don't know, I just know somehow I was on the ground and the bike was on top and I had a terrible pain in my leg.
I had a friends dad take me home and I hopped up the steps on my good foot until the last step where somehow I decided to hop on the hurt leg. It hurt more than the original crash. Since my mom was a nurse she decided my leg was not broken and I would be fine. I slept on the couch all night long, in misery. She finally gave in and let me go to the hospital. I got a cast all the way up to the upper thigh. I was 14, barely a teenager and I was already proving to my mom I was right and she was wrong.
The reason I remember the date so well is that all I could think of was that I had chocolates that I wanted to give to my girlfriend because it was valentines and it just wouldn't be the same if I missed giving them to her on that day. I talked my mom into taking me to the school after the cast.
I walked to the office in my daisy duke pant on one side and my curled super tight acid-wash pant on the other side. I asked if I could go to my girlfriend's class and give her the chocolates. They thought I was the sweetest little freckle-faced, red head they had ever met. They would not let me deliver the chocolate but would deliver the it for me.
Flash forward:When Squawk fell that night I thought I should blog about this but there was no great moment to wrap it all up. That final part that makes you feel like you got some meat with your salad.
So, I thought that was good enough to blog about, but then. . .
I was sitting with The Walker at basketball this Wednesday when I complained that I had a slight pull in my right quad. He complained that I had finally gotten him out to basketball again and I was going to get hurt and he would be stuck coming to basketball by himself. (you see, I don't mind passing to The Walker, it is soooo cute watching the little guy go in the lane and throw his little underhand shot up to the basket.)
The next game started and I got a rebound and starting driving quickly up the court. ( I can't call it a fast break, I am 34 and white, there is no way that can be called fast) While driving one of the other guys got his foot under mine. I rolled my foot heard a pop and now I have my meat for you.
During the longest days of my working year in which I will walk the most. . . I will be wearing a black shoe on the right foot because I have a black boot on the left for my broken foot. See the sacrifices I make for you.
So you look at the facts and let me know what do you think caused it? I of course blame The Walker.
"Hear" is a great sentimental piece by Irish Indie Damien Rice
A couple of weeks ago, Squawky fell out of the bed. I heard the crash, boom. (He hit his head on the nightstand on the way down, thus the crash. The boom was from him hitting the floor) I jumped up and ran to the room. He was fine after a good hard cry. Those that know me well, know I'm not just soft and gooey on the outside, but soft and gooey on the inside too. So I reminisced about the other times members of my family got hurt that I remembered. . .
the time Monkey fell down cement steps at grandma and grandpa's house. I gracefully displaced the wifey to get to him in my rush. (her side of the story is a little different)
The time my brother threw my sister across the room and she got a gash right above her eye, after hitting our old console TV (look it up kids, it was before flat panels.) The thing I remember most that time was when she saw her own blood, the scream was as blood curdling as the girls in the scary movies.
The time my brother fell off the top bunk and cracked his head open on the stereo speaker. (I had whined to my mom that night that I never got to sleep on the bottom, and she forced him to sleep on the top. I still don't know if it was an accident or a set up?)
The time I broke my brothers arm while we were Karate Kid fighting in the front yard. He tried to kick (The Crane) and I grabbed his foot and tried to throw him up in the air.
The time . . .OK so you get the point.
But I have to tell you about this. I was in 7th grade (February 13th, 1987 to be exact, you will understand why I recall this date later.) my friends and I used to play this game that we called Bike Tag. (sometimes it was bike laser tag, when we could get the guns to work) We went to a school in Lakewood California called Gompers (yea, I know how does that ever get to be a name for a school right?) Needless to say I am one of the rare people who knows that Samuel Gompers was a guy who helped form the unions. (I guess that means I should have a natural leaning towards the democrat way, good thing I only went there for a year) The whole school was pavement. There was only grass on the sidewalk and where the marquee was, so it was perfect for riding bikes all over the place. The way the game worked was just like ped-tag, you know on foot. The person that was "it" had to ride all the way to the fence and the rest of us took off. We could ride anywhere on the school grounds and there was no safe place. You rode until you got tagged by the "it" person. I don't know if this is grounds for the claim of the original x-games, but we thought it was pretty edgy. Needless to say there were many a time that the way the "it" guy tagged you was by crashing into you. Believe me, you can learn a lot from those old '70's safety videos that teach you how to crash.
Anyway, while playing one day, my sister decided to tag along. She had a girl bike, pink and everything. She hated that bike. She kept getting caught and could not catch the others on it. So I wanted to help her out, I let her ride mine and I took hers. I liked her bike, it had a banana seat and everything. I would sit on the back part of the seat and have more power to pedal.
I was being chased by one of my friends and took a corner too sharp, I would like to tell you that the crash was spectacular, I don't know, I just know somehow I was on the ground and the bike was on top and I had a terrible pain in my leg.
I had a friends dad take me home and I hopped up the steps on my good foot until the last step where somehow I decided to hop on the hurt leg. It hurt more than the original crash. Since my mom was a nurse she decided my leg was not broken and I would be fine. I slept on the couch all night long, in misery. She finally gave in and let me go to the hospital. I got a cast all the way up to the upper thigh. I was 14, barely a teenager and I was already proving to my mom I was right and she was wrong.
The reason I remember the date so well is that all I could think of was that I had chocolates that I wanted to give to my girlfriend because it was valentines and it just wouldn't be the same if I missed giving them to her on that day. I talked my mom into taking me to the school after the cast.
I walked to the office in my daisy duke pant on one side and my curled super tight acid-wash pant on the other side. I asked if I could go to my girlfriend's class and give her the chocolates. They thought I was the sweetest little freckle-faced, red head they had ever met. They would not let me deliver the chocolate but would deliver the it for me.
Flash forward:When Squawk fell that night I thought I should blog about this but there was no great moment to wrap it all up. That final part that makes you feel like you got some meat with your salad.
So, I thought that was good enough to blog about, but then. . .
I was sitting with The Walker at basketball this Wednesday when I complained that I had a slight pull in my right quad. He complained that I had finally gotten him out to basketball again and I was going to get hurt and he would be stuck coming to basketball by himself. (you see, I don't mind passing to The Walker, it is soooo cute watching the little guy go in the lane and throw his little underhand shot up to the basket.)
The next game started and I got a rebound and starting driving quickly up the court. ( I can't call it a fast break, I am 34 and white, there is no way that can be called fast) While driving one of the other guys got his foot under mine. I rolled my foot heard a pop and now I have my meat for you.
During the longest days of my working year in which I will walk the most. . . I will be wearing a black shoe on the right foot because I have a black boot on the left for my broken foot. See the sacrifices I make for you.
So you look at the facts and let me know what do you think caused it? I of course blame The Walker.
"Hear" is a great sentimental piece by Irish Indie Damien Rice
Monday, October 29, 2007
A moment of silence please.
It has been tough these last few weeks. We knew the time was coming. He finally passed tonight.
Let me take you back.
In 1996 I started working at Circuit City and Nana expressed her concern that perhaps it was a bad idea due to my known love of electronics, music and movies. She thought I would squander all my income. Oh she had no idea! (alright, who am I fooling, she knew everything, but never complained, just let me make my own choices)
My prized possession was a surround sound system that was way too big and way too loud. Two front speakers with 12" sub woofers built into each speaker to provide the best bottom end sounds. But the prize in the whole system was a JBL sub woofer. The thing could boom with a good resonance, not that cheap boom you hear in low rider cars (guilty pleasure: We Like the cars that go boom-Le Tigre. Sorry only owned it on Tape. Hey it was 9Th grade, we all made mistakes in our adolescence years.)
In its eulogy, I remember two things:
1. How the boys always watched my glee when the THX promo came on at the beginning of movies. (Which they always did with both hands over their ears)
2. My all time favorite experience with the ol' boy. THE GUY DOWNSTAIRS had a cheap AIWA mini-system. Not to bad for a little shelf system, but still little. The guy downstairs loved to play rap music really loud, it was obnoxious, not because it was rap music but because it sounded bad. One day Mike Ike, my roommate and I took these huge tower speakers and tipped them over onto the floor of the apartment sending the sound to The Guy Downstairs. I dipped into my pre-ipod CD collection (I know kids, dad is old) and busted out Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor (TocattaandFugueinDminor.mp3), da da da (pause/rest ) da da da da daa daaaa daaaaaaa. Then the bass really kicked in, ah sweet torture. We would go down three flights of stairs to see if we could feel it, not hear it on the bottom floor, to feel it. Oh, we could, and it was beautiful!
After coming back up the stairs I went into my bedroom while Mike Ike jumped into the shower. About a minute later, I heard what I thought was pounding at the door. I poked my head out of the bedroom and saw, THE GUY DOWNSTAIRS. . . upstairs. I think he was mad. I couldn't really tell, he was yelling but I could only see his mouth moving, I must not have got the message because he eventually reverted to sign language although if I ever see my kids using that kind of sign, I am washing their hands with soap. I stood there and he stood there, I think I heard the counter melody of wha-aaa-aaa-aaa, wa, wa , wa. (you know, Clint Eastwood, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly) The guys downstairs was a big dude. Looked like Karl Malone, I was basically John Stockton sized compared to him. I was just stalling for Mike Ike to get out of the shower, cause he always comes out with just a towel on, and he was a big boy. When Mike Ike came out, The GUY DOWNSTAIRS went back downstairs, decrescendo. . .mezzo-piano. . .piano. . .pianissimo. . . pianississimo. The 'ol sub must have made Bach proud.
So please pause your movie, and for one breif moment, let silence ring.
OK, all done, come on boys we're going sub shopping. Here is a song that I would not normally post, but I think the sub would have wanted something with a little bass. I'llBeMissingYou.mp3
Let me take you back.
In 1996 I started working at Circuit City and Nana expressed her concern that perhaps it was a bad idea due to my known love of electronics, music and movies. She thought I would squander all my income. Oh she had no idea! (alright, who am I fooling, she knew everything, but never complained, just let me make my own choices)
My prized possession was a surround sound system that was way too big and way too loud. Two front speakers with 12" sub woofers built into each speaker to provide the best bottom end sounds. But the prize in the whole system was a JBL sub woofer. The thing could boom with a good resonance, not that cheap boom you hear in low rider cars (guilty pleasure: We Like the cars that go boom-Le Tigre. Sorry only owned it on Tape. Hey it was 9Th grade, we all made mistakes in our adolescence years.)
In its eulogy, I remember two things:
1. How the boys always watched my glee when the THX promo came on at the beginning of movies. (Which they always did with both hands over their ears)
2. My all time favorite experience with the ol' boy. THE GUY DOWNSTAIRS had a cheap AIWA mini-system. Not to bad for a little shelf system, but still little. The guy downstairs loved to play rap music really loud, it was obnoxious, not because it was rap music but because it sounded bad. One day Mike Ike, my roommate and I took these huge tower speakers and tipped them over onto the floor of the apartment sending the sound to The Guy Downstairs. I dipped into my pre-ipod CD collection (I know kids, dad is old) and busted out Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor (TocattaandFugueinDminor.mp3), da da da (pause/rest ) da da da da daa daaaa daaaaaaa. Then the bass really kicked in, ah sweet torture. We would go down three flights of stairs to see if we could feel it, not hear it on the bottom floor, to feel it. Oh, we could, and it was beautiful!
After coming back up the stairs I went into my bedroom while Mike Ike jumped into the shower. About a minute later, I heard what I thought was pounding at the door. I poked my head out of the bedroom and saw, THE GUY DOWNSTAIRS. . . upstairs. I think he was mad. I couldn't really tell, he was yelling but I could only see his mouth moving, I must not have got the message because he eventually reverted to sign language although if I ever see my kids using that kind of sign, I am washing their hands with soap. I stood there and he stood there, I think I heard the counter melody of wha-aaa-aaa-aaa, wa, wa , wa. (you know, Clint Eastwood, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly) The guys downstairs was a big dude. Looked like Karl Malone, I was basically John Stockton sized compared to him. I was just stalling for Mike Ike to get out of the shower, cause he always comes out with just a towel on, and he was a big boy. When Mike Ike came out, The GUY DOWNSTAIRS went back downstairs, decrescendo. . .mezzo-piano. . .piano. . .pianissimo. . . pianississimo. The 'ol sub must have made Bach proud.
So please pause your movie, and for one breif moment, let silence ring.
OK, all done, come on boys we're going sub shopping. Here is a song that I would not normally post, but I think the sub would have wanted something with a little bass. I'llBeMissingYou.mp3
Sunday, October 14, 2007
So Tired!
A complimentary song:01SoTired.m4a by Eric Clapton (new Clapton autobiography just released this past Tuesday)
It seems like it should be Spring not Fall. Everyone is having babies. First question is what is wrong with you people? Do you like suffering? Who in their right mind wants to be pregnant in summer? Anyway, with the thought of all of you (Walkers, Johnsons, Ferkins, and more) I dedicate this blog entry.
Back in the Spring of '01 we where a young struggling family. I was working 3 jobs and we had our first baby, Monkey. (Get your nachos ready cause here comes the cheese) He was our everything! We dressed him "cute." We were at his beck and call. While we were not condescending enough to think that he was the cutest little baby ever, he was the cutest we had seen. I remember taking him home from the hospital and pointing out the trees and the sky telling him about the order of the Cosmos. I was the typical overprotective parent, but only half that of Wifeys. That car seat belt had to be no less than 1 centimeter from his chin, and you know my work was inspected every time. Sound familiar to all you first time parents. The one thing I don't do is preach to you, do what you want, spoil, do it now while you can.
People used to tell us Monkey was a great baby. All I remember is that every time I turned around in bed my wife was gone. She was "always" up. I used to freak out when there was a noise. I don't remember a time we were so tired. Because I worked so much at the time and I am a fumbling idiot when I am awakened in the dead of night, Wifey did all the work. Even then,I thought he would never sleep through the night. Like Clapton says paraphrasing a little: thank goodness your momma is a natural!"
So flash forward to '07. The children don't cry through the night, but they have a tendency to visit our bed. Either they are that good or I just sleep that deep that many mornings I awake to them in the bed and I have no idea when they showed up. Last night Sqwuak came to bed and started scratching. It is like nails on a chalkboard for Wifeys and me because we know he is tearing himself up.) He has eczema and if you ever met him you probably think he is accident prone, not so, just scratches a lot! So much so that he has open sores in every hinge on his body. He scratches so much he has thick scar tissue under the sores. While he sleeps he scratches. We try and get him to stop, of course that just makes him mad and he starts kicking and crying. Then we try to scratch for him because we won't dig into his skin with our nails like he does. That makes him mad, so then we try and give him lotion. Inevitably one of us parents usually leaves the bed and heads for the couch. Last night, Sqwuak got up and followed wifey around. She would come back and he would come back, she would go and he would go. It was odd. Eventually she got him to sleep on the couch. The last thing I heard from her is, "you're getting up with the boys in the morning." We have had our children around for 6 years and they still get us up almost every night.
Monkey is scary at night. No, not scared, scary. He moves in stealth. He sometimes needs to go to the bathroom. He will come and stand by the side of the bed. I don't know how long he stands there, I just know that when I wake in the middle of the night, I don't expect to see a face a few inches from my bed. (now you know why I don't sleep with a bat under my pillow) In the morning when he decides he no longer wants to sleep he comes and sits on the bed. He will sit there awake for 45 minutes. Trying every so often to get one of us up. He is learning to tell time and will ask what time we are getting up. (Once he learns that certain times mean he should still sleep, I am changing the clocks in the bedroom back a few hours.)
I used to be amazed because Nana never got up to an alarm. I understand now, I painfully understand.
One would hope we could nap during the day time. Don't even think about it. I think the boys have super hearing and recognize the change in my breathing pattern, because I will have just fallen asleep and I will be hit with something, jumped on (sqwuaks favorite move) or just told to wake up really really loud. I had a friend once who could sleep with his eyes open, it was freaky then, I covet that now.
The good news, I still love'em and even though I don't come to every beck and call, I still think about it.
See if this will help get the buggers to sleep: 2-13GoodNight.m4a by the Beatles, but you already knew that.
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